#i can’t help but wax poetic about them

[the-bi-space-ace]

Forever thinking about this gif in particular.

It’s Echo confused and rambling while he’s still plugged into the Techno Union computer. How he’s still stuck in that moment in the Citadel.

It’s how Rex’s helmet is off so Echo can see his face for the first time in who knows how long. So there isn’t a barrier between them. So he can be as open and vulnerable as possible for Echo.

It’s Rex’s face, his guilt and shame passing over his expression. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s remembering exactly what happened that day at the Citadel when he lost Echo. It’s the sorrow there. It’s how fucking upsetting this must be for him.

It’s the way he grabs the back of Echo’s head to keep him from hurting himself. It’s his other hand as a grounding presence. It’s the way he looks like he’s trying to hold Echo together with his touch alone.

It’s all the history between them. It’s the shared loss of Fives. The grief. The pain. It’s the endless hours spent knowing and understanding each other. It’s the reminder that Rex met a shiny on the Rishi moon and watched him grow into a capable soldier and an ARC trooper. The same shiny he watched die at the Citadel. The one he can’t help but see even in this moment, after he’s been tortured and experimented on.

It’s how Echo puts all of his faith in Rex and always will. He’s never found a reason to doubt him even after everything he’s been through.

It’s the way Rex so very clearly loves Echo. The way he lets go so Echo can join the batch and learn who he is now. The way their trust transcends everything. It is woven through every story thread, every scene, every line said between them.

It’s a connection that can’t be severed because they’ve never stopped fighting for it.

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ warnings ꒱ྀི minor pregnancy and daddy kink. breeding. sasuke being kinda mean :p ﾉ wc ꒱ 1.1k ﾉ 18+

“noisy woman .”

he’s grumbling and muttering under his breath in annoyance. other than the meeting of sweat-slicken skin, there’s your pitiful cries that make his cock twitch regrettably. you’re pretty — far too cute of a shinobi even at your sloppiest.

a sibilant sound gets wrangled from his mouth at the subtle squeeze of your wet cunt, disrupting the steady momentum of his hips.

“shit.”

sasuke breathes out huffs of hot air, goosebumps rising on your heated skin. your mind is hazy, full of the thought of his thighs pressing stickily against your ass.

his strong hands plant themselves behind your knees, pushing them on either sides of your head.

“hnn— sasukeeeeeee.”

your eyes cross and your vision blurs. the sight sends blood straight to his throbbing sac, throwing the shinobi off. he staggers, causing his to cock slip out of your wet cunt and you cry at the emptiness. 

“n-nooo.”

your sharp pink nails dig into his skin, desperate to feel more of him.

he sucks his teeth. “would you calm down ?”

he pulls your hand away, and you let it fall against your forehead. your chest raises in anticipation, sweat dripping down the slopes of your breasts. he lines his fat head with your pussy, but god, your folds . . . they’re thick and fat, covering the very hole that he needs to bury himself in.

a trail of spit splats against your center. he couldn’t help it. your pussy is already doused in his cream and your sparkly arousal, but watching the spit drip down your opening ignited a fire in him.

sasuke’s left thumb pulls your lips apart, and his other hand firmly grips his cock. he rubs his heated member against your center before promptly sheathing himself inside.

“ s-sasukeee, y’r gnna hnnh—break me !”

he groans, doubling over from the intrusion.

“shut it.”

it feels like hours has passed the way he’s been mounting you. his cock is digging out your insides, his body caging you against the bed when his spend shoots out, but he’s not done — far from it.

“m’sorry . . . but you’re so big.”

and you’re fucking cute.

you were carefully done up so prettily. ribbons woven in your pigtails, konoha headband around the cinch of your waist, but those were long gone. one pigtail loosened, your makeup smeared, and clothes exposing your tits and cunt.

sasuke isn’t one to fawn over things like looks, he’s much more practical than that, but your beauty itself is a weapon. if he wasn’t careful, you’d puncture him.

you admire his lithe build, and it amazes you that despite being so slender, his cock was able to stretch your cunt until it burned. he re-adjusts the hand behind your knee. the other grabs the side of your ass, lifting you up and down his fat cock.

his strength still takes you aback. the thrusts were too much. your pussy was thoroughly ruined. you slowly begin to use your elbows to clamor away from the uchiha, but he grabs you tighter.

“don’t run from it.”

he’s never particularly talkative. only when he gets competitive and even then, he’d rather let his actions speak for themselves. but now, he can’t stop himself from provoking you. you were easy to rile up.

his hands on your hips slide down to grip the softness of your ass again to tug you back on his cock. your pussy makes an audible squelch when it collides against the base of his pelvis.

“what happened to all that talk earlier, hm ?” he eyes your lewd body, and god , maybe he can understand why jiraiya started waxing poetics about pretty girls.

pretty girls with pretty mouths and pretty holes to breed. he tugs at a puffy nipple, eager to put it in his mouth.

“‘I'm a big girl I can take it.’ that’s what you said, right? so show me. show me how big girls take it.”

you sniffle at the snark in his tone and condescension, but the trail of his warm tongue tracing the lines of your neck softens you.

“y’r mean sasuke.”

“and you’re a brat.”

he kisses you square on the lips, stuffing his tongue in your mouth. his thumb twirls around your clit, drawing precise patterns.

“am I still mean?”

you mewl from the redundant stroke on your achy bud .

“ a buh-big fat meanie.”

he gives one of his charming smirks that borders on a sly smile.

“but you like it. . . and you love me, which is why you said you help me, right ?”

he grabs his cock by the thickest part to pull out. he wipes his meaty tip on your sloppy mound before forcing himself back in. your walls squeeze around his girth, desperate to be full once more.

“'said you’d help me restore my clan.”

his palms pressed down on your belly, right where his cock reached. he’s stimulating all your sensitive spots, and you can barely put words together.

“god — you-you’re so . .”

he spanks your cunt and a pathetic stream of arousal escapes audibly.

he chuckles. “noisy mouth and an even noisier pussy . how cute.”

your knees want to close and push him away from you, but he doesn’t move . like an animal, he keeps you pinned down, and like prey, you can't break free from his grasp. only instead of sinking his claws into you, he sinks his cock deeper, pressing up against your womb.

“squeezing me so tightly. you must want it so bad.” he’s flushed against you, resting all his weight to keep you in place.

“want me to make you a uchiha ? my little wife ?"

“hiccup—p-please.”

“please what ?”

you whine, “make me yours.”

your legs connect at hips, pushing him further into you. he grunts, “so shameless . . . a filthy woman.”

you’re embarrassed. tears wells up in your eyes, and you look at him with adoration, even as he talks so recklessly.

“keep staring at me like that. m’ gonna breed this fat cunt all night.”

he gives you another messy kiss and there’s a surge of happiness when he matches your eagerness. he poured everything into it, tongue lapping at your lips and swallowing your precious moans.

“wan’ to make you a daddy , sasuke,” you whisper.

and he nearly bottoms out. “f-fuck.”

you reach down to grab your breast that jumps with every thrust, pulling on a pert nipple.

“gonna fuck you until my seed takes. until your tits get fat with milk.”

sasuke's on the brink of a rush . though he pursued a life of darkness and revenge, he buried that angst long ago. still, he never thought he’d live to think about things like women and starting families of his own, and now he was here making it a reality.

his mind is plagued with the images of children, a fruitful clan and the swell of your stomach.

he delivers more plunges, fat balls slapping against your seam until they throb. he expels with a sudden start, releasing inside you for the umpteenth that night.

he presses you flushed against him, determined to have nothing escape, not even a drop. he wanted to be sure that you’d be true to your word. you’d be his little wife, free to use and knock up.

sasuke rubs your belly, eyes gleaming red from the numbing intensity. he takes greedy gulps of air watching as you’re stricken with complete lust.

his name falls from your lips like a spell and there’s the familiar burn of desire swirling in his abdomen.

“one more time.”

[mistiell]

The one request that’s bouncing around my head is Astarion dealing with a sick mc like fever chills and no sense of balance because of vitiligo

Hope you enjoy <3 WC: 1.3k

---

You feel like shit. Total and utter shit.

What started as a sore throat has evolved into a fever and chills, along with an absolutely skull splitting migraine. The sheets twist uncomfortably as you turn onto your back, clinging to your sweat slicked skin. You can’t bring yourself to kick them off. Not when the ache in your bones makes it feel like they’re breaking.

The sun has been up for nearly an hour, now. If you don’t come out soon, one of your companions will come get you. A strangled whimper forces it’s way out of your throat as you force yourself up, curling in on yourself and dropping your face into your hands.

After trying to decide between attempting to take a breath through your sufficiently stuffed nose or through your mouth, you choose the latter. Which you realize is a terrible mistake when it suddenly feels like a thousand tiny knives are skinning the inside of your throat. It makes you cough, which makes it a million times worse, which makes you cough even more.

It’s a good minute until you can finally breathe again; throat raw, beads of tears drying on your lashes. You’re sure you’re a sorry sight. It makes you glad no one is here to see you in all your disease ridden glory.

“Sweet Hells, are you hacking up a lung in here–?” Not even all the way inside your tent yet, Astarion stops immediately after he lays eyes on you. The disgust is immediately replaced by a hesitant sort of concern, brows just barely creasing, “Oh dear.”

“Do I look that bad?” He grimaces at the way your voice grates, gaze flitting over various parts of you before he meets your eyes again.

“You look dreadful.” You think it’s meant to be playful, but he looks and sounds just a little too concerned for it to land that way.

You snort anyway, rubbing at your sweaty forehead, “Thanks.”

He hovers there, uncharacteristically quiet as he glances outside before sighing and coming the rest of the way inside. He’s still in his regular clothes, which makes you think the others haven’t started getting their armour on yet. Thank gods.

He sits down in front of you on your bedroll, knees barely a hair’s width from yours as he cradles the nape of your neck in a gentle hand and presses the inside of his wrist to your forehead. Eyes fluttering shut, a small sigh of relief escapes you when his blessedly cool skin meets yours. You barely think about it as you place a sluggish hand over it to keep him there.

“You’re nice and cool.” You sound listless.

“And you’re about as hot as the hells.” He sighs. You can hear the frown in his voice, “This has gotten out of hand.”

Peeling your eyes open, you blink at him in confusion, “What?”

He lets his wrist fall but keeps a kind hold on your neck, looking deadly serious.

“I know how much you love flattery, but you should know you really don’t have to go to such lengths to get me to wax poetic about your eternal beauty.” It seems like he can’t help the smile that cracks that through the act he’s putting on, “I truly appreciate the effort, but a simple, ‘Astarion, my dearest love, tell me I’m pretty.’ would do just fine.”

A giggle bubbles up from your throat, and you list forward to hide your face in his shoulder as you rasp weakly, “I do not sound like that.”

He hums, giving your nape a gentle squeeze before stroking a little line behind your ear with his thumb. You can feel his teasing smile against the side of your head, “Thankfully not. Should you ever call me your dearest love, I fear I may just drop dead a second time.”

Your laughter dies down, and you’re left with an astronomical wave of fatigue. He wraps his free arm around you when you slump further into him.

“Darling?” He jostles you a little bit. Again, he attempts a joke. Again, he’s too worried for it to come out right, “Don’t go dying on me now. With all we’ve been through, it would be such a waste.”

You huff a small, breathy puff of laughter, turning your face so the bridge of your nose rests against the side of his neck, “I won’t.”

He eases his hand up and down the length of your spine. You barely register it when he turns his head just enough to nose at your temple briefly.

“You should lay back down.” His voice is softer now. The feeling of his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear makes you shiver. Although, that could also be the fever.

You sigh, pulling yourself away from his shoulder. The movement sends the world tilting over and over in one direction. Breath hitching, you feel yourself sway as your eyes squeeze shut.

“What’s wrong?” He sounds a little alarmed as you drop your head into your hands.

“Vertigo.” You breathe. Everything keeps spinning behind your eyelids.

You can hear him shift before his hands find one of your forearms and your shoulder blades, guiding you to lay back.

“I have to–.”

He cuts you off, suddenly stern, “The only thing you have to do right now is rest.”

“But the others–.” You try again. It’s in vain.

Scoffing, he turns his nose up. “The others can shove it, as far as I’m concerned.”

You huff, ready to argue until you open your eyes and notice the anxious quirk of his brows. Instead, you sigh, sluggishly placing you hand over his, “Fine.”

You just barely manage to hear the small breath of relief that escapes him as he turns his hand to give yours a squeeze. He leans forward to press his lips to your forehead before pulling away, “I’ll be right back.”

You only nod.

He comes back five minutes later with a small bowl of water, a cloth, and two slices of bread balanced carefully in his arms.

“You don’t have to eat it yet.” Is all he says as he sets the plate down a little ways away. After wetting the cloth, he rings it out into the bowl and folds it in half before laying it over your forehead. You sigh as it cools your skin. It only lasts a few moments before your skin has warmed it again.

He tries again, then again, before huffing; frustrated.

“I’m sorry.” You croak, and he tuts, shaking his head.

“Don’t apologize, darling. It’s not you.” He sighs, looking properly perturbed now.

“Maybe Shadowheart–.”

“I asked. There’s nothing she can do.” It comes out bitterly, but you know it’s only because he’s worried.

You suddenly have an idea, but first you have to ask, “Can you get sick?”

Looking confused, he shakes his head, “No, I can’t. But, what-?” Pulling back the covers, you open your arms. It clicks, and he chuckles as he climbs in beside you, “Plan to use me as an ice pack, do you?”

“That’s the plan.” It comes out more deadpan than you mean it to. It makes him laugh a little harder, and you can feel the vibrations as your head settles over his chest. Having him next to you is like a balm in more ways than one.

Eyes heavy, you sigh as his hand trails idly along the length of your bicep. You guess he can hear your breathing and heart rate slowing when he whispers, “Sleep, my love.”

And who are you to deny him when he asks so nicely?

[imawholeassmood]

Read Between the Lines

read it on ao3

Lena reads the review, rubs her temples a few times, then reads it again. There is no way Super_Girl has rated this book five stars and then wrote multiple paragraphs waxing poetic about how fantastic it was. Lena already submitted her own one-star review which included her breakdown of the writing, the characters, and the plot, of which this book had none.

For months, Lena has been seeing Super_Girl reviews pop up on the same books Lena recently finished. She wondered at this point if Super_Girl might be doing this on purpose – reading the same books just so she could rate the book the opposite of whatever Lena did. At first, it was simple - “Loved it!” or “Couldn’t get into this one,” but as of late, the reviews had gotten longer and more descriptive.

Lena herself always used the same formula for reviewing books: overall star rating with a breakdown of her thoughts on the characters, the plot, and the writing. Books, like most things in life, are easy to rate when you understand the evaluation system. Books follow formulas and rules for a reason – it’s what makes them good. A romance novel, for instance, requires a “happily ever after.” Without it, it cannot be considered a romance, and it certainly wouldn’t be a good one.

So, as Lena reads the latest review by Super_Girl, Lena can’t help but leave a comment. Maybe this person simply needs an education on the book rating system.

“What criteria do you use when rating a book?”

It’s a good starting place for this conversation. Lena has amassed quite the following with people interested in her book reviews and the last thing she wants to do is stir up internet drama to damage her good reputation. She knows how easy it is for people to take something out of context.

The reply comes almost immediately.

“Vibes!”

Lena blinks a few times, then closes the browser and leaves her laptop for the night.

**

Super_Girl does it again with another five-star rating for a book that made Lena seriously consider contacting the literary award agencies to complain about their selection. The book sounded like it was AI generated and had zero plot. And the characters? Don’t even get her started.

“How can you consider this a masterpiece?” she writes under the review. “There is zero substance in this book. It’s just a bunch of flowery words that mean nothing and make no sense. If this is your idea of romance, then I’d hate to be your girlfriend.”

Her phone rings and Lena spends the next hour talking with her assistant, Jess, about the priorities for the week and when they can finalize some presentations. Later, as she lays in bed scrolling on her phone, Lena thinks to check her goodreads account. There, under her latest comment, is a reply from Super_Girl.

“Amidst the turmoil of the crumbling world around them, two people take the time to write love letters to each other. What’s more romantic than that?

I want to meet you in every place I have loved.

I want to be in contact with you.

Swoon.”

Speaking of taking things out of context.

While Lena can see Super_Girl’s point, that’s not enough to change her mind about the book. Especially not in the context of it being a sci-fi fantasy that relegated war to a backdrop in much the same way Hollywood did with Pearl Harbor. Don’t get her started. She types out a response before closing the webpage and going to sleep.

“Relationships develop over time. Even if I agreed with your assessment, this book still lacked any real narrative and there’s zero reason to believe these two people would fall in love. They don’t know anything about each other except that they can write a decent letter.”

**

Oh, no, Lena thinks. Her latest read has her questioning her entire belief system about books. She liked the book. Not because it had a great plot. Not because she was rooting for the characters. She liked the book because…it gave her good vibes. She genuinely had a good time reading it, despite it being a complete shitshow. This never happened to her before.

She opens her goodreads page to leave her review and finds that Super_Girl hasn’t read this one yet. She feels the slightest pang of disappointment but pushes through to her review. At the end of her standard format, she adds a new category: vibes.

It takes a few days, and Lena finds herself checking her account every few hours. She’s sitting at her desk and scrolling on her phone when she gets a notification that Super_Girl commented on her review.

“Vibes?!?! I’m SUPER proud of you! And we agree the characters were awful and the plot was weak, but it was well-written.”

She doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Jess comments about it.

“Oh, nothing,” she says and waves her hand. “Just a literary rival.”

Jess looks at her. “You’re smiling because of…a rival?”

Is that what they were? The word didn’t really feel like a good fit, but Lena goes with it.

“Agreed with me on a point. Can we please stay focused?”

And they do. Lena and Jess go over the latest reports and prepare for an upcoming meeting with one of their international partners. Lena doesn’t think about Super_Girl again until she’s lying in bed and that damn smile creeps backs onto her face.

**

Her next review is not a good one. It makes Lena question the romance genre as a whole. Has the world become so used to being treated like garbage, people can’t even tell the difference between healthy and toxic love?

She’s barely hit submit when Super_Girl comments on her review.

“They were flirting the whole time!”

Lena is still sour enough she doesn’t bother to hold back on her response.

“Flirting where? Being in each other’s orbit is not flirting. Why can’t people just say, ‘I like you and I’d like to go on a date with you?’ instead of whatever BS was happening in this book. Honestly, I’m worried for your love life if you think this is a healthy way to approach communication.”

Super_Girl goes silent for a long while after that.

Lena worries something may have happened and questions whether she should reach out. They haven’t gone this long without a reciprocal review since they started this little dance of theirs almost a year ago. She finds herself rereading their reviews and wondering about who Super_Girl might be behind the screen name. There’s no profile photo, no personal information at all. Just a single word.

Golly.

Lena smiles at that. In fact, she smiles at everything Super_Girl has written. While they may not agree on books, Lena can’t deny that whoever is behind the reviews is a wordsmith who comes across as the sweetest human on the planet.

It surprises her when she receives a notification that she has been selected to read a new release ahead of publication in exchange for an honest review. Lena doesn’t usually agree because she doesn’t want to give people any reason to think her reviews are biased or influenced in any way. She’s about to deny the request, but the cover art depicts two women, one blonde, the other brunette, and Lena never turns down a sapphic story. She accepts the request without another thought.

**

When Lena finishes The Write Stuff, she starts it over and reads it again, cover to cover. The writing, the pacing, and the storytelling are superb. It’s as if the author has studied every article about how a romance novel should be written. The characters are so well written, she has clear images of who each of these women are. She understands their desires, their fears, and their motives. Not only does she care about these people as a couple, but she also cares about them individually in a way she hasn’t cared about a character in a long time. As for the plot itself? It’s perfectly cheesy and still somehow realistic enough to be believable that it could happen in real life.

Lena hasn’t felt this…satisfied by a book since well, since she can’t remember.

So, that’s exactly what she writes in her review.

“I especially loved this line:

I would rewrite history if it meant a chance for a happy future with you.”

When she’s done, she looks up the author and finds that she’s written one other book.

Lena doesn’t recall reading it, but when she clicks on the title, she finds her review posted with a few hundred likes and several dozen comments. One star and zero positive things to say about it. Lena can’t help but think how far the author has come from this first book to the most recent one. It’s an impressive improvement, and Lena Luthor isn’t easily impressed.

Supergirl leaves a comment on her review a few days later.

“It looks like the author has been paying attention to your feedback.”

**

The following week, Lena is staring at the meeting invitation with furrowed brows and a healthy dose of confusion. She presses the call button on the speaker on her desk.

“Yes, Miss Luthor?” Jess says.

“Jess, why do I have a meeting with Supergirl on my calendar?”

Jess is quiet for a moment. She’s quiet so long, in fact, that Lena’s door opens and a blond woman with thick-rimmed glasses wearing chinos and a tucked-in button down steps just inside. She has a nervous smile and fidgets with her glasses.

Lena recognizes her from the photo bio she still has pulled up on her web browser and stands to greet her.

“Miss Danvers,” she says, “please, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Kara Danvers, author of The Write Stuff, who Lena has been internet stalking for the past week shifts in the doorway. Lena comes around the front of her desk. They stare at each other in silence for a moment before Lena hears a faint “go” from Jess in the reception area. That makes Kara shake out of her stupor.

She brings her hand out from behind her back and holds her arm at full length with a bouquet of…plumerias. Lena can’t believe what she’s seeing. Her favorite flowers which represent love and new beginnings are being offered to her by this stunning woman who wrote one of her favorite books of the year. Lena looks from the flowers back to Kara’s face.

“I like you, Lena Reads” Kara says, “and I would like to go on a date with you.”

[lilypadlys]

Haircuts make Dew uncomfortable.

A product of his element transition was that his hair got badly singed and most of the length had to be cut off. Dew loved his platinum blonde, practically white hair. Took immaculate care of it. Adored its body and how it rippled like water. And suddenly it was burnt and matted and gone. Then to add insult to injury, even after it grew back it became a harvest gold.

Dew hates it at first. No matter how much Aether and Mountain insist that his hair is prettier than ever, that it suits him so well, he hates it. At first, he wears it back and under hats and beanies, refusing to deal with it. Eventually it gets so bad though that he tries to bleach it. Unfortunately the bleach further trashes his already damaged hair and he has to get it cut short all over again.

His packmates know he needs help but they aren’t sure what to do. Compliments and affirmations are all well and good but they don't really help. Doesn’t fix it. He knows his packmates mean well but he can’t really take their words to heart.

Then one day, Cumulus asks Dew for his help with doing her hair. Says she’s trimming it to avoid split ends and could he help her with the back sections? He agrees and helps her out. He helps her straighten her hair so she can trim it, then helps her work in product afterwards to help it regain its curl. Then she asks if he would like her to do his.

He refuses immediately. His hair has just gotten back to a couple inches below shoulder length, still too short for his liking, and even an end trim seems like too much. She doesn’t take offense though, just nods and changes the subject; has him pick what scent of hair mask she should use next.

And then next time she does her hair, she has him help her decide how to style it; braids or in space buns. And the time after that if she should cut it all short for summer. He immediately gasps at the thought, and waxes poetic about how pretty her hair is until they’re both giggling. And then he regards his own tangled mane in the mirror.

He asks in a quiet voice if he can borrow her hair scissors. She agrees, handing them over and watching him carefully. He brings the scissors up to the ends of his hair, but he stops. Freezes. He can’t do it.

“Would you like me to help?” She asks gently.

He hesitates and then nods, passing the scissors back over. She gestures for him to sit on the edge of the tub and stands behind him.

“I’m just going to get the ends, alright? Just to help your hair be a bit less tangled. Is that okay?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

She brushes through his hair gently, mindful of the tangles. Asks one more time if he’s okay with this. When he nods again she wraps a towel around him. She works as quickly as she can while still being careful to make sure everything is even. When she’s done, she sets the scissors aside and uses her air magic to sweep the cut ends of his hair away into the trashcan and out of sight. Then she brushes through his hair again and grabs the curling iron.

“Okay if I style it a little?”

“Sure.” Dew shrugs noncommittally.

An ironic perk of Dew’s hair now is that it’s a lot more fire resistant. Still Cumulus is careful not to turn the iron on too hot and risk burning herself. She uses it to add a slight wave to Dew’s hair before finally letting him look.

Dew gets up and shyly glances at himself in the mirror, eyes going wide once he does. Even though it’s not perfect, there’s still damaged ends left from lack of regular care, Dew has to admit that it looks a lot better. Cumulus had to take about three inches off but as he runs a hand through it and doesn’t get caught on a rats nest of tangled ends he sighs in relief. The slight wave has the corner of his mouth quirking up even as he begins to blink rapidly.

“Feel a little bit better?” Cumulus asks.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

They both ignore how Dew’s voice cracks a little. Cumulus definitely doesn’t notice that dampness around Dew’s eyes. She busies herself cleaning up while Dew turns away and rubs his eyes.

“If you’re up for it, I know what might really help. A nice deep shampooing and conditioning will go a long way towards helping maintain your hair. You can use my stuff and I’ll even help you wash if you want.”

Dew knows how protective over her hair products Cumulus is. The fact that she’s offering makes him smile. He nods.

“Thank you.”

Cumulus gets the both of them ensconced in the tub, Dew using his magic to keep the water steamy while Cumulus massages shampoo through his hair. The way her claws gently card over his scalp has him purring in no time despite the stress he’d been feeling. By the time she’s rinsing the conditioner, she practically has to hold him up so he doesn’t fall asleep right there in the bath. After, she helps him stand and wraps him in her fluffiest towel before wrapping a smaller towel around his head to dry his hair.

“Why don’t you get some comfy clothes and I’ll get a nest ready. Sounds good?”

“Uh huh.” Dew’s too worn out and sleepy to fuss about being taken care of.

He dutifully pads off to his room to change and Cumulus makes good on her promise and sets up a blanket and pillow nest. She’s just fluffing the last pillow when Dew returns in an oversized tee and sleep shorts, and mostly dry hair. Without complaint, he hops up on the bed and sinks into the blankets with a happy chirp. Cumulus finishes drying her own hair, changes into pajamas and joins him.

“Okay if I braid your hair? It’ll help with tangles and it’ll be wavy in the morning.”

“Kay.” He murmurs, already drifting off. She giggles and retrieves her brush from her nightstand. Dew is fast asleep before she even ties the braid off with a silk scrunchie.

[avocado-writing]

Ohhhh my lord I would DIE for some sort of AU where Astarion had a lover/partner before he was turned by Cazador???

And maybe he finds you visiting his grave after being freed from the tadpole or something and mentally debating whether to go to you or stay hidden bc he’s insecure about being a vampire?

Idk I’ve just been thinking about this randomly and the angst would be so goooood

Love Love Love your work Avo 💚💚💚

notes: sorry for this I swear I’ll write something happy next.

pairing: astarion x reader.

warnings: hurt, no comfort

rating: T

He dies and leaves you broken.

At least, you think he does. There is no way for him to come to you through those first few years, when Cazador keeps him imprisoned alone and half-crazed with starvation, sucking the innards out of rats until their desiccated husks are his only company. Eventually he manages to endear himself to his master enough that he is allowed out of the palace, though that is only to bring food back in the form of the unsuspecting nobles of Baldur’s Gate.

It is a miserable existence. He hates his body, hates himself, and as Cazador forces him to seduce people back, using his own beauty as bait, the soft nights he spent with you are all that keeps him sane.

Your memory is a light in the darkness of his new life.

On the fifth anniversary of his death, the first chance he has since he was turned, he cannot help but go and visit his grave. Call him maudlin, but he wonders if it has yet fallen into disrepair. As a magistrate he was hardly the most popular man in the city, and now everyone thinks he’s long gone…

He does not find it empty. He finds a sobbing figure next to the headstone.

You are just as lovely as he remembers, though your face is stained with tears. You grieve as if he died yesterday and not several years past. Your fingers carefully caress the engraving of his name, the way you used to trace them over his cheekbones, his lips.

It is a punch to the gut.

“Why did you have to leave me…” you choke, gripping the grass so hard you tear it from the ground.

He wants to hold you in his arms. To tell you that he is here, that death didn’t take him. He wants to remember what it feels like to touch you, really touch you, not just live by an echo of it in his memory. 

But he can’t, because he is a monster. A creature which belongs to the night. You would not want him now, would you? You’re a thing of beating blood and soft flesh and breathed air and life. He simply cannot anchor you to this thing which he has become and drag you down too.

That would just kill him all over again.

Wordlessly, he leaves you to mourn.

He comes back every year, to that little corner of the graveyard. You still cry but as time moves on, it is less, and eventually you make it through a whole visit without shedding a tear. You wax poetic about your favourite memories of him: quiet meals spent together, days when you never left bed, private in-jokes he thinks you would have forgotten by now. He listens to you talk from the shadows. 

It is the one thing he has to look forward to all year.

Then you start bringing company.

Your partner holds your hand tightly, and Astarion seethes from the darkness as you tell them about all him, about the pale elf you used to love. They listen as you fondly recount stories of your time together, and Astarion is torn: you no longer sound hurt like you once did, like the grief is a constant companion as you stumble on through life; but he is bitter. You were his. And now your hand easily links through the fingers of another.

He considers attacking you both. Biting you, trying to turn you. Killing your new paramour and having their bastard blood quench his unholy thirst.

But then you laugh, really laugh, tipping your head back in mirth at something they said, and leaning up against them. The way you used to with him.

How can a dead heart break?

He leaves.

The next year, when the two of you visit, you have matching rings on your fingers.

The year after that, you do not come to his grave at all. He wonders if you have finally forgotten about him. He tries to swallow this fact and move on, but what does he have to move on to? More misery. More loneliness. More Cazador.

The year after he finds you there, once again, and he feels the first twinge of joy in gods know how long –

“We had a baby, Astarion,” you say to the cold stone in front of you, carefully clearing off the moss which has attempted to take it over. “A little boy. He’s so precious… I know you never really liked children, but I hope you’d be pleased for me. I miss you, my darling, but I’m finally happy.”

He never visits his grave again.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate@dhampling

[sunsents]

neteyam sully hcs - how he teases you (M)

headcannons about Neteyam teasing little shit sully. I've been craving to write this because I just KNOW he's so annoying and smug when he wants to be.

➵ pairing: agedup!neteyam x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ warnings: this gets spicy towards the end so be warned. also, neteyams annoying asf, so be warned again.

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Neteyam has a knack for romantics. He's seen plenty of his parents' very public displays of affection that make the entire herd say  "eewwww". At the ripe age of 37, Jake constantly pines over his wife and Neytiri is no better. 

The fact that the married couple has enough kids to form a goddamn baseball team is enough proof on its own. (And yes, Jake is painfully aware of this fact and is itching to introduce the sport to the poor na'vi children.)

Neteyam also has a way with words. In fact, he's so good with them that he can wax poetic about your bowel movements and you'd swoon nonetheless.

"Neteyam, are you drunk?" you'd ask after a particularly rowdy festival.

"No, I'm a poet." he'd tell you, drunk off his ass.

Cue the guy saying whatever comes to mind and trying to make it sound beautiful. "Oh, ____, Why, _____. Every move of your unaware knife stabs my heart. Your hands drip rewards of the sweetest juices a man dare crave." when you’re literally trying to cut fruit, or some shit like this. (idk im no poet use your imagination.)

Worst of all, it works. This man is mighty aware of how embarrassed and shy you get when he intricately weaves words just so he can see you blush and swat at him. He takes pleasure in your angry little tone in some weird, fucked up way. 

Which ends up with him developing a little...kink, if you will. He loves teasing. And in a condescending way too. 

He used to consider himself good-natured - didn't take pleasure in the humiliation of others, surely. His parents' relationship should have taught him well. And it did...but he just can't stop teasing you.

Perhaps it was your strangled voice telling him to cut it out, or the tint of your cheeks complimenting you oh so delightfully. He adored your reactions and coaxing them out was such fun. 

With this devilish smirk that could fluster anyone, (or so you'd tell yourself because you aren't weak...okay, maybe you are. but only for him.) he tells you how red you've become. He'd scissor his hands and squeeze your cheek between the two digits, "You're just so easy to mess with, my love."

This led to his teasing gaining an edge. And as he grew confident, he also got mean. His teases degraded you here and there but he was just so condescending; talking down at you as the prince of Omaticaya. Stuff like. “Oh, yawnetu. You’re always falling at my feet. Should I hold your hand?” when you trip and fall (because he made you trip and fall by looking extra good that day, and also ‘forgetting’ to put on pants. in your kelku, of course. or outside in the forest if you’re into that, you weirdo.)

 “Look at you, getting that fruit all over your mouth. Can’t even eat properly without my help.” when you eat particularly messily. 

“It’s cute that you think you can win these fights.” when you try to snap back. 

When he takes things particularly far, you get angry. Because damn, he's just so annoying sometimes. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine the Olo’eyktan in training to be so smug and condescending. At first, he was all gentlemanly and teeth-rotting sweet. He’d encourage you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and be so freaking kind that it’d make you want to cry. 

When your mate got too comfortable, however, things went down. "Can you pass me the f-

"Only if you kiss me,"

"At what point do you become mature?"

"When you kiss me,"

"God, I hate you."

"Your pussy wasn't exactly screaming I hate you Neteyam this morning, but maybe that's just me."

He’s still sweet, of course. This man has no bad bone in his body, it’s true. He loves you so much that he can’t help but poke fun at your antics, and makes sure you know it’s all fun and games. When it’s fun and game time though, he’s ruthless. 

And he's so proud of himself too. Puffing out his chest smugly and prancing around, boasting his confidence. You just want to wipe that sly smirk off his face - but you can't. It falls on deaf ears when Neteyam jokingly personalizes a better-than-thou attitude

"Oh, do I annoy you?” he would ask you after watching you groan and roll your eyes. “Not more than usual,” you would tell him, and he would just smirk, striding towards you and pulling you into a fat kiss. 

Of course, these shenanigans follow him into the bedroom.

Lo'ak is evidently more like Jake when it comes to teasing. But Neteyam? Eywa have mercy on your poor soul. He's a mix of Neytiri, Jake, and perhaps Tsu'tey combined. (he's alive, argue with the wall.) The epitome of pure sex and the reincarnation of Asmodeus himself.

His tone is sweet yet condescending, smoothly purring into your ear while making fun of how easy it was to make your cunt ache with needy desire.

He would demand you finger yourself right in front of his prying eyes, then coo at you when you couldn't cum no matter how hard you tried. It was pathetic really, how diligently your fingers worked on your poor clit. But to no avail.

Neteyam would feast on the view like it was his meal for the week. With blown-out eyes and feral flicks of his tail, he would tease you all the while. Stuff like, "Let's see those fingers work harder. Oh come on, now you're just messing with me. There's no way you think that's what it takes to make you cum.

"I can’t concentrate when you look at me like that.” 

“Well, you should be concentrating on me instead,…maybe learn a few things.” he drawls, circling the head of his cock with a groan while imagining he’s rubbing your swollen clit.

And you'd try your best to remember how he made you cum. But no matter what, you just couldn't copy the way Neteyam spit on your clit to ease the ache or the way he strokes the nerves so gently with a finger. Only the clit, of course - because he's going to tease you, and teasing you involves edging the shit out of you until your eyes water and you can't help but beg.

The fact that you’re so accustomed to his fingers and cock was a little embarrassing. They had become proviso for you to cum. 

"You can't make yourself cum? How pathetic. Did I fuck you too good that it made you incompetent, or do you just like me too much?"

Neteyam always basks in his torture. He'd watch your hips buck wildly while begging and crying for him to fuck you right. He'd just sit there with wide legs, palming his hard cock and squeezing his balls ever so slightly at your pained mewls. Arms spread, head thrown back, he'd just observe you with additional snarky comments if he felt like it.

"Come on, you can do it. Oh, you got it, yes, there we g-...oh. What a pity."

[rollinouttahere-writes]

yandere jabra x woman reader

I'm on the Hunt, I'm After You

Yandere Jabra x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1

3.6k words

Warnings: harassment, unwanted advances and touching, implied stalking, yandere

“Oh (Y/N), your favorite regular is here~!” Gatherine called out in a singsong voice.

“No! Come on! He was just here for breakfast, you can’t be serious!” You slapped the order ticket onto the table and spun around to face her.

“Yes, and now he’s back for lunch,” she snickered, absolutely no sympathy for your plight. 

“My entire section is packed full, you’re just trying to pawn your customers off on me!” You hissed.

“Oh trust me, he’s in your section. When the hostess tried to explain that there weren’t any openings in your section, he went over there and threw out the people at one of your tables.”

You gawked at the woman, aghast at how casually she was telling you all of this, “Are you kidding me? I don’t suppose he got them to leave the money for their bill behind first, did he?”

“Probably not, but I’m sure you could get him to pay it if you play your cards right,” she winked at you, and the subtext was heard loud and clear.

“Ew, no thanks,” you had to suppress the urge to gag. “He’s so sleazy, how in the hell did you ever date him?”

“I mean, it wasn’t for very long, but he really wasn’t bad or anything. Kinda clingy, though. But now I’ve got my sights set on someone else,” she sighed dreamily.

“And how’s that working for you?” You asked dryly, rolling your eyes. How anyone could want to pursue someone like Rob Lucci was beyond you. Sure, he’s good looking, but that ice cold look in his eyes was extremely off putting.

“It’ll happen,” she spoke resolutely. “These things take time, you know.”

“Yeah, sure.” You had your doubts about her most recent romantic pursuit, but that really wasn’t your business. You ripped another order ticket off your pad and scribbled down your regular’s usual lunch order before placing it with the rest. Fortunately, that man was predictable in what he ordered, so you could spare yourself at least one trip to his table.

Gatherine was continuing to wax poetic about Rob Lucci behind you, but you had your own problems to worry about. You grabbed a bottle of sake from the liquor cabinet and an ochoko to bring with you to the table. 

The kitchen door stood before you, acting as the last barrier between you and the customers. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax. It’s just another customer. A creepy and annoying one, sure, but it was nothing to get so bent out of shape over. You’ll be fine.

With a nod, you confidently walk out and scan the room to figure out which of your tables had been evicted. It didn’t take long to do so, Jabra stuck out from the other customers. Much to your chagrin, he made eye contact and flashed you his typical wolfish grin. As per usual, he was happy to see you.

Making sure to keep your face as neutral as possible, you approached the table he had commandeered. He was here alone this time, which was less than ideal for you. If he was with one of his colleagues, the experience was much more tolerable since they would tend to keep him distracted. Kumadori, as dramatic as he was, kept Jabra more than occupied with his antics, and Fukuro was fun to have around because he would always let loose some piping hot gossip. It was especially funny when the tea he was spilling was at Jabra’s expense.

Alas, you would have no such fun today. 

The ochoko is set onto the table and you pour a generous helping of sake into it, “Good afternoon, sir. I don’t suppose you would know what happened to the people who were here before, would you?” Of course, you already knew what had happened, but you wanted to make the bastard explain himself in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he would feel a bit of shame.

Their plates and glasses were still on the table, though they had all been pushed to one side. You’ll have to flag down a busser to get that cleaned up, lest the manager complains about looking “unprofessional”.

Jabra grins, “Oh, them? They were already done eating, so they let me have their table.”

Your eyes drift over to the half eaten meals, “Is that what happened?”

“What? Are you calling me a liar? That hurts, you know!” Taking a page out of Kumadori’s book, he dramatically clutched at his chest as if your words were so sharp that they actually cut you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if he saw it, “I would never.” Every syllable was completely flat and monotone.

“Well, maybe I pressured them a little,” he snickered. “Did they not pay before they left?”

More like before they were kicked out. Whatever, you don’t want to prolong this interaction by arguing with him, “Nope, can’t say they did.” 

Jabra gasped in mock outrage, “How could they do something like that to you?! Some people are shameless!” He could say that again. He dug around in his pocket, “Tell you what, I’ll cover their bill. I would hate for you to have to pay because they ran out on you.”

Thank god, you had been worried that you were going to have to foot the bill. Jabra acting like this wasn’t completely his fault was certainly annoying, but you could take it if it meant not losing a chunk of your paycheck over his stunt. A wad of cash was held out to you, but all you did was stare at it.

“That is way too much.” Without even counting it, you knew that was easily three or four times their bill.

“C’mon, just take it. It’s a nice tip, isn’t it?” Undeterred by your hesitation, he holds it out more, trying to force the money into your hand. 

You took a decisive step back. You know what game he’s playing here. He isn’t being generous to make up for evicting your table, he’s trying to make it so that you feel like you owe him. Your hands fidgeted with your apron, “It’s too much, I can’t accept that.” The last thing you wanted was for him to have some perceived leverage on you and try to use that against you.

“Since when do waitresses refuse tips?” His fingers drummed against the table, the once relaxed smile had become rigid. “How about this: You can use this to cover my meal, too.”

Even if you took what his bill would be into account, it would still be an absurdly large tip. Now you were torn between standing your ground so as to not give him an in, and caving so that he doesn’t get upset.

Apparently, your internal debate was taking too long for his liking. Jabra reached forward suddenly, grabbed your apron, and yanked you towards him. You yelped as you stumbled and scrambled to stabilize yourself. The first thing that your hand found purchase on was his shoulder. If you hadn't grabbed onto something you would have fallen right onto him. Now that you think about it, that was likely what he had hoped would have happened. 

Sleazy pervert.

Jabra took advantage of the close proximity to stuff the money into your apron. Rather than retracting his hand now that his mission was accomplished, he rested it on your hip, thumb tracing circles over it, “See? You’ve got the money and nothing bad happened”

You begged to differ. Between the smarmy smile on his face and the unwanted touches, you had to fight the impulse to slap him. He deserved it, but unfortunately that would absolutely get you fired. You had to settle for wrenching yourself out of his grip and taking several steps back this time. Through clenched teeth, you mutter out a ‘thanks’.

Taking a moment to calm down, you try to excuse yourself, “I need to go tend to other tables now.”

You try to hurry past him, but he catches your wrist, “Hey, wait! You haven't taken my order yet.”

“You get the same thing every time, I already submitted the order to the kitchen.”

His smile widened, “Well maybe I want to try something new, you never know.”

This man was definitely trying to get a rise out of you. You haven’t bothered giving him a menu after the first time when he waved it off and said he didn’t need one. But if he wanted to play stupid games, then you suppose it was your right to let him have stupid prizes. For once, you found yourself to be the one grinning. Albeit maliciously. 

“Alright. I’ll cancel the lamb chops and fetch you our vegetarian menu to look over.” His smile dropped and he looked downright panicked. Deciding to take it a step further, you reach for the sake bottle, “My bad for bringing this out, I’ll switch it out for some water. Good on you for making healthier choices.”

Finally, his hand abandoned your wrist and snatched the sake bottle out of our other hand, “Whoa there, I was just joking!” Once the adrenaline rush of almost losing his precious alcohol passed, he chuckled, “Didn’t know you could be so funny, rabbit.”

The nickname made you scowl, you hated when he called you that. Any attempt at expressing as much only seemed to encourage him to use it more, so you’ve learned to bite your tongue.

Jabra leaned forward and propped his chin up on his fist, “It’s sweet of you to remember what I like.”

“I’m just doing my job,” you explained flatly before bolting out of there. You wiped your palms on your apron, they had become uncomfortably sweaty during that whole interaction. Him being touchy wasn’t anything new, but he was escalating it beyond the point where you could grin and bear it for the sake of employment. You don’t remember him being this bad when him and Gatherine were still together. Then again, you really hadn’t been paying that much attention, so maybe you just missed it. 

What had you done to be forced to endure this treatment? Even if you did get fired, you couldn’t escape. Working at a place as secretive as Enies Lobby came with pros and cons. Sure, you were being paid extremely well, but that came at the price of not being able to leave freely. If this job didn’t work out, you would be shuffled to a different, less desirable position. Waiting tables was among the better positions given that you made tips on top of a decent wage. You were only five months in on a ten year contract. 

Based on what you’ve heard from your coworkers, you would be pressured to renew your contract after it ends, and if you did choose to leave it was a grueling process involving being thoroughly interrogated to ensure you hadn’t overheard anything you weren’t supposed to. It’s been said that being allowed to leave was virtually impossible and unheard of, they always find something to justify keeping you here. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if speaking to Fukuro was an immediate disqualifier in and of itself. 

The odds of ever being able to leave were unlikely to say the least. This was something you hadn’t known until after you were hired and signed the contract, but that seemed to be the case for everyone. It was scary and disheartening, but you’re trying to stay positive.

If you could just keep this up, your family would be set for at least the next ten years. You sent them almost everything you made, only keeping enough for the most basic of living expenses. Even when you were living as barebones as you were, it felt luxurious by comparison to what you were used to. Your home island was so poverty stricken that your family’s only hope for survival was for as many of you as possible to leave and send back money to those who couldn’t. A handful of your cousins had also applied to work here, but only you were hired. Presumably because of your brother being a promising marine that was climbing the ranks. No doubt he put in a good word for you.

Was it selfish to wish he hadn’t? Probably, but there’s no point in dwelling on that, is there?

After you finished checking on your other tables, you went over to the register with the bill from the guests Jabra had thrown out. You paid it and couldn’t help but be awed by how much berry was still left over. It was enough for a month of groceries back home. You can’t fathom being paid so well that this would be seen as disposable income.

As uncomfortable as Jabra made you… your family needed this money. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to indulge him at least a little if it meant keeping your loved ones from starving. Maybe you could learn to take it in stride and not let it get under your skin when he leered at you like you were a piece of meat.

You shoved the money into one of your pockets and lightly slapped your face. You’re on the clock, now isn’t the time to be getting hung up on your unfortunate situation. Spinning on your heels, you head for the kitchen to see if any of your orders are ready yet.

Someone was coming up on your side, and you turned slightly to see who it was. William, one of the busboys on shift today was heading for the kitchen as well with a tub full of dishes. Oh right, you needed him to clean off one of your tables.

“Hey, Will. After you drop that off could you clean off table 13 for me? Jabra’s at it, but he kicked out the people who were there and their plates need to be taken away.”

He stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at you, “He kicked them out? The fuck is his problem?”

You snorted, “Do you think I know?”

The tub was unceremoniously dropped on a nearby counter and Will less-than-subtly looked out over the dining room. His lip pulled back in disgust when his eyes landed on Jabra and the leftover remains of the previous diners’ meals. He ran a hand through his frizzy red hair and huffed, “What a fucking creep, he’s lucky he’s so high up because if he wasn’t I would kick his sorry ass myself.”

The bold threat made you chuckle. Will was like this with all of the staff here. He didn’t give a shit if someone was a high ranking marine or government agent, he would call out anyone for making the wait staff uncomfortable. Well, almost anyone. Even he knew better than to confront a member of CP9.

“Thanks for worrying about me, but it’s fine. I can handle it.”

Just like that, his attention was back on you. His arms crossed over his chest as he regarded you with an exasperated expression, “Just because you can “handle it” doesn’t mean you should have to. That asshole needs to learn to leave you the hell alone. He didn’t get handsy again this time, did he?”

The way that you immediately averted your gaze and grimaced answered his question. His expression darkened and he began untying his apron, “I’ll kill him.”

“No! No you will not! It will be the other way around, calm down!” You latched onto his arm and tried to talk some sense into your hot headed coworker. “It’s fine, really!”

Will was glowering in Jabra’s direction. His chest heaved with each agitated breath and his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Sharply, he turned his attention to you. His rage contorted face slowly relaxed into a deep scowl and he sighed, “Fine. Whatever. He’s lucky you’re holding me back.”

“Sure he is. Now get back to work before Mal catches us slacking off.” The manager, Mallory as she preferred to be called, was a hardass. You did NOT want to be caught being idle by her.

“Yeah, you’re right. But hey, you better let me know if that creep tries anything else. Even if I can’t beat his ass, maybe we can get something worked out so that you’re less likely to see him.”

You shook your head, “Okay, mom, will do.”

Will grumbled at you to watch it, but ultimately decided to drop the matter for now. You approach and go through the kitchen doors, keeping them open just long enough for William to slip in before they can close. You check the counter and find that fresh plates of hot food are being piled on and one of the cooks slaps the bell a couple of times to signify that an order is ready. From the looks of it, there are a few orders done. 

A quick glance at the tickets confirms that most of these are for your section, so you waste no time piling them onto a tray so you can haul all of these out at once. One of the completed orders was Jabra’s, much to your dismay. You just got away from him and now you’re going to be forced to go back. Lucky you.

Wanting to prolong the inevitable, you saved his table for last. None of the customers you had leading up to him were feeling particularly chatty, so this wound up not being as much of a buffer as you had hoped.

Sucking in a breath and plastering a fake smile onto your face, you hurry over with the hope of dropping off the plate and running before Jabra could harass you again. The table had been cleared, and you can’t help but wonder if Will was mean mugging Jabra the entire time he was there. 

“Here’s your meal,” you state plainly.

You tried to just keep going, you really did, but Jabra’s arm snaked around your waist, effectively keeping you from running. Your mind was screeching for him to stop touching you, but such comments had to stay in your mind.

“What’s the rush? It’s like you’re trying to run away from me,” Jabra’s tone was teasing. If only he knew how right he was. Or maybe he did and this was all some sick joke to him.

“We’re in the middle of the lunch rush, I have a lot to do right now,” you’re surprised at how calm your voice is despite how irritable you felt. Hopefully he’ll accept the answer and let go of you. His grip was so strong that you couldn’t easily step out of it.

“I guess you’ve got a point, I won’t keep you here long.” If only he wouldn’t keep you here at all. “It’s a shame you have to work so hard. Why don’t you let me take you somewhere nice tonight?”

There he goes again. This was far from the first time he made this proposal. He’s nothing if not persistent, you’ll give him that. Your nails dug into your palm as you mulled over your excuse this time. Hanging out with Gatherine? No, you’ve used that too many times. It’s not like he was going to stop if you gave a masterful excuse, you suppose anything would work, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy cleaning tonight.” This wasn’t even a lie, you’ve been meaning to do a deep clean of your apartment for a month now.

Jabra huffed, “You’re going to work all day here only to go home and work some more? Come on, let me treat you to a fun night. It’ll be nice, I promise.” His arm constricted, forcing you even closer.

“I’ve been putting this off for a while, I really want to get it done,” you insisted.

A tense staredown ensued, and you weren’t sure who would win. Would you lose your nerve and break eye contact first, or would he give up? The hair on the back of your neck felt like it was standing up from the tension in the air. His jaw was tight. It appeared your string of rejections were starting to get to him.

“Alright, I get it,” Shockingly, he let go of you and looked down at his food instead.

For a moment, you were too stunned to move. “I get it”? Did he finally get the hint? He shot a questioning look over his shoulder when you didn’t immediately leave, and that was enough to prompt you into scurrying off. You’re not sure what made him see the light, but who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth? 

Despite the discomfort you just felt, you went about your shift with a skip in your step. The possibility that Jabra was going to leave you alone was downright euphoric. You felt bad for whoever was going to be his next unlucky target, but at least you were in the clear! The tips would be missed, but you would allow yourself to be selfish just this once.

The lunch rush slowly came down to a trickle as customers filtered out (of their own volition this time) and weren’t immediately replaced with more. One of the guests that left was Jabra, but you were surprised to find more money left next to his empty plate. You had already covered his bill with the money he’d given you previously, like he’d suggested.

Your fingers ghosted over the berry, then quickly slipped it into your pocket. Maybe it was an apology for his behavior? Unlikely, but not impossible.

Maybe things are going to get better for you now? You had a rough start, but it’ll be smooth sailing with Jabra having called it quits. Everything is going to be fine, great even! You’re finally going to be able to relax.

Surely that sensation of feeling like you’re always being watched will go away now that you’re no longer paranoid about Jabra.

[berrystiles]

Right Where You Left Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Content Warnings: Angst, Lovers to strangers kinda deal ya know, some cursing.

Summary: It's the summer before you head off to college, and there's a fear about that decision that keeps creeping in. You try not to let it drown you, spending time making summer plans for your friends and with your boyfriend Steve. It feels like you can do this, and you're happy to be staring into the summer ready to make memories that will carry you into college. However, unbeknownst to you something else is brewing and Steve has plans of his own. One unexpected breakup later and your summer now looks a lot more like trying to overcome heartbreak.

Author Note: I'm the only one to read over this, so me and Grammarly are all I have regarding editing. Also, I guess this is just what I write now! Inspired by my favorite sad girl songs, if you know them I'm sure you'll see them. I have ideas for a part 2 of this if anyone would be interested? All of this was supposed to be a one-shot type of thing, but it started getting long. Part two would be a resolution as we fade into a happy ending, and get some much needed answers.

Ao3 Link - In case you want to read it there

Steve Harrington is soft smiles passed your way over the tops of all the children he babysits heads. He is weekend movie nights spent curled up next to one another on his couch, so close that you sometimes think you could become one person if you tried hard enough. He’s not your first relationship, but sometimes when you can’t sleep at night there’s a reoccurring thought that he is going to be your last. Steve has been orbiting around your life since elementary school, close but never within reach. That was the way, only knowing him through rumors passed around the halls of Hawkins High, two passing ships in the hallway between classes. This last year though has brought him into your world, no longer is he a passing comet that you stop to stare at. Now he’s yours and your mom will chide and say it’s just high school love, but you can’t imagine a world where his hand doesn’t stay attached to yours. Call it whatever you want, but something about this just feels too real. The kind of love you hear about in novels, the kind people wax poetic structures about. You’re not sure what you did in a past life, or what karma you collected over time, but you’re thankful for the universe putting the two of you together.

The only bleak part of your future with Steve comes after summer ends. You’ve just graduated, and school is expected of you in a way that you know you can’t turn down. Steve has been more than understanding, it’s a pressure he recognizes from his parents. You have no clue what you want to do but your dad swears that you’ll figure it out when you get there. You manage to get into a good school but it’s 5 hours away from Hawkins. Your parents are ecstatic, they can’t stop talking about all the ways you’re going to grow in this next phase of your life. Your parents are the people who met in college, and even though they won’t say it there’s something about you needing to attend that feels a little like them trying to relive their glory days. You love them but you’re not sure if they know you or if they really listen when you talk.

You find that if you put on a smile and nod along to what they say though it gets you through conversations faster. It’s a small price to pay so you can escape the house and rush to Steve. Steve who you hate to leave behind, sweet Steve who has been there to hold your hand and be your rock through it all. You’re not sure if you’d be able to put up with your parents’ expectations if he wasn’t there with you holding you up. You worry you put too much on him like you weigh him down the same way your parents tend to do. Sometimes you tell him your concerns, and he’s always quick to quiet the fear.

The thing with Steve is he is so soft sometimes, and yet you can’t help but feel protected in his arms. Still though, even as he brushes your hair to the side, as his lips touch yours and he peppers you with affection and reassurance, you make a vow to yourself to try and reduce how much you complain. You can’t stop the anxiety that sometimes spikes up despite his kindness that maybe this all hurts a little too much for him. After all, his family held similar expectations for him. You know that his dad is a different kind of mean and demanding than yours. Your family feels like a small-time problem when put into the perspective of Steve’s parents.

You have a mantra you follow, reminding yourself that school, as daunting as it is, is still months away. You have a whole summer to forget about it all. A whole summer of nothing but your friends and Steve. You know you’ll be right next door at the arcade, your shifts and Steve’s always lining up because of a favor Keith owed you. There are plans in place that will carry you through. There’s the drive-in and their Friday night movie deals, sunny days that will be spent at Lover’s Lake, the regular Sunday brunch at your favorite diner, and so much more. You make sure to focus on those things, knowing that all of it will be enough to get you through that first semester of school once you finally go.

However, like with most things that seem to happen in Hawkins, your good luck runs out. You hate to say it, but you didn’t see it coming. Delusional bliss is apparently where you’ve been living and the rose-colored glasses you didn’t know you were wearing are snatched off your face without a moment of hesitation. Looking back the signs will be there in glaring neon colors, and you will hate yourself for missing them. For missing them to the point that you couldn’t even backtrack to fix where your so-called perfect relationship went off the tracks.

It's a week into summer and things are not at all going to plan. Your parents are pressuring you to cut your summer short and go to school three weeks early so you can settle in for classes. And honestly, it’s not the worst idea and if you were anyone else maybe it would be appealing. However, you’re on a fixed time frame and you don’t plan to give up one ounce of time with Steve and your friends before you absolutely must. Despite schedules syncing up, there’s a distance growing between you and Steve. At the time you understand, there are kids to be driven around and then his parents unexpectedly show up back home. You don’t blame him for the distance, you take it in stride and offer your support just like he’s been doing for you. The future version of yourself, will look back and call you an idiot for not digging deeper. But why would you? In all the time, though maybe it hasn’t been that long, Steve has never once been the cause of your anxiety. Never once has he ever done anything to make you question your relationship, or whether you can trust him or not.

After a week of only seeing Steve in passing and on lunch breaks, you finally get the chance to have uninterrupted time with Steve. He catches you on a break at work and asks if you want to get dinner once your shifts end. He doesn’t carry that same glowing smile he always does when he drops these moments on you, but you brush the thought aside assuming this is the residual damage from his parents. You’re just happy at the prospect of being with Steve so you’re quick to agree, and even quicker to pull him in for a kiss to seal the deal. In your excitement, you don’t notice how this kiss doesn’t feel like a welcomed hello, and later you’ll tell yourself that it was the first sign of goodbye. But in the moment Steve is pulling away, and he’s looking at you like he's tracing and memorizing everything about you. “I’ll see you after work,” is the parting sentence before he’s jogging back to Family Video.

Steve and you meet in the middle of your two jobs, and he holds out his hand just like he always does. He leads you to his car, asking you about your day. You tell him about the party coming in, and about all the different characters of teens who came in. You prattle on and on, all the way to your favorite diner. You ask him about his day and try to get him to talk more. A quiet Steve, with eyes not shining, is a version you hate to see. You want nothing more than to pick him up, hopefully, wash off all the grime that his parents so obviously threw on him in the short week they were home. It’s always hard doing this walk and dance, the scars his parents leave him with always cut deeper than you have an awareness of. But it’s never this impossible, by the time you’re leaving the diner you’re more worried about what happened during this visit home than you ever have been. You’ve learned with Steve that when it comes to his parents you can’t poke too much otherwise, he gets spooked. Normally, he finds a way to talk about it usually when you’re both back at his place and the light is off for the night. When it’s so dark in his room that you can’t see the way his face is lined with grief, and pain that he shouldn’t have to experience. You’re so used to the pattern that you don’t mind the car ride after dinner being just the sound of the radio. It’s not unwelcomed, it’s just a part of the pieces that happen, which is why you’re surprised when Steve parks in front of your house.

“Oh, are we not going to yours?” Your brow is furrowed as you turn in your seat to face Steve. Even when you don’t stay at his place, he still is always looking at you when you turn to leave. This time though Steve’s hands are still holding on to the steering wheel, and he can’t turn to face you when he finally gathers the ability to reply. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The radio is still on, and your ears pick up Whitney Houston singing a new song that’s been playing everywhere. “What do you mean,” your stomach feels like it’s falling right out of you and your brain is giving radio silence as you try to gain some understanding of what the hell is going on. You watch as Steve takes a deep breath like he’s centering himself before turning to face you. Every time Steve has ever looked at you it’s been with nothing but softness, an unquestioning gaze that always tells you what he’s thinking. The Steve before you though, these are eyes that aren’t that sweet look he normally gives you. Instead, this one is cold, one that you can barely recall. You have to pull at memories from his reign as King Steve to find some type of look that’s like the one you receive now.

“I just don’t think this is working,” he shrugs like this isn’t the biggest thing to ever happen before. Like he’s telling you something that should be common knowledge.

“I don’t understand, Steve.” There’s a burning feeling in the corners of your eyes. The sensation is a warning that if you don’t pull it together, you’re going to start crying. You don’t know how to pull it together because what little Steve is telling you sounds an awful like a breakup.

Steve sighs, something heavy like he’s just so tired of having to explain himself. It’s an odd sound and it rubs you raw because he hasn’t explained anything. How can he already be tired of a conversation that makes no sense?

“Look, I don’t want this to be harder than it is,” you cut him off before he can continue. “So don’t make it hard, just tell me what’s going on and why you’re saying all of this.” You don’t recognize your voice. The pleading tone sounds watery and not at all like what you know yourself to be. You don’t think you’ve ever begged someone in this way before.

“I just don’t feel the same way for you,” it’s so blunt and to the point that it leaves no room for argument.

“I don’t understand,” you’re repeating yourself and you hate that. You’re not stupid, you can usually piece things together faster than this. The phrase, ‘having the rug pulled out from under you’ rattles around in a way that suddenly makes total sense.

“I don’t know how to explain it any better. I don’t want to date you anymore. I don’t want to see you.” You didn’t realize before that the cold tone he was using still allowed for kindness. In this final statement, his words are ice, and you feel like you just took a plunge into Lover’s Lake in the middle of winter.

You have more you want to say, questions that you feel need to be asked. If you stay though you feel like you’re not going to get them, and honestly, it’s taking more energy to keep yourself together than it would be to stay. You’re not sure if you say anything else if there’s some kind of acknowledgement on your part. All you know is that your body is screaming at you to run. Staying in that car doesn’t feel like a place you belong, so you’re quick to get out. You don’t even make it to the door before Steve is peeling off and driving himself home. The action feels like the last break in any resolve you had. Your Steve would always wait until you were inside before leaving. Always telling you he'd rather know with certainty that you were safe before he ever left. It was one of those things that told you how caring he was, that showed how he loved you.

______________________________________________________________

In what will later be referred to as The Aftermath, you have the next day off. Your mom hovers at your door, knocking and knocking. The sound makes your head hurt and forces you to pull your covers over your head like it’ll drown out everything else. If you had anyone else as a mother, you might be able to convince yourself that she’s doing it from a place of concern. The truth is that this is the same woman who when you came in last night, uncontrollably sobbing and barely getting out the words ‘Steve’ and ‘broke up’, your mom was asking if this meant you’d go to school earlier like she and your father want.

The tears had stopped sometime around when you finally found yourself falling asleep. They haven’t picked back up and everything you ever learned in biology screams out you’re dehydrated. There are things you should be doing, things that you have done for yourself when other relationships ended that made it so the person you were dating was nothing more than a faded memory. Maybe if you go through the ritual of it all, the gathering of reminders, and the disposal of memories it’ll make you feel better. There should be phone calls to girlfriends, and movie nights set up to help push you through these feelings.

Instead, you continue to stay in bed. Your limbs feel like lead, weighed down and stuck, too heavy for you to move. Your curtains are drawn so tight that not even the hot Indiana sun comes through to ruffle you into motion. Your wall has your attention, and you find yourself using the texture of the paint to trace all the lines in your relationship with Steve. Maybe if you follow them to the end like a map, they’ll tell you where you are and where you go from here.

In the midst of The Aftermath, in the bed of your grief, you manage to make one phone call. Well… that’s a lie. You make two phone calls. In no surprise to the imaginary audience watching you grieve; the first call is to Steve. The phone rings and rings and rings. Steve never answers and it should be a sign. You get the standard Harrington voicemail. Steve’s mom’s voice becomes the soundtrack to your day. She tells you to leave a message, and that the family will get back to you when they can. You open your mouth, no plan on what to say but surely there’s something there in your head that will tumble out. The answering machine beep is met with your silence though, just your breath coming through, you wonder if Steve will know it’s you even if you don’t leave your name. Does he still have you memorized in all the ways that you still know him? Did he forget about you in just the span of a day? Worst thought of all, did he even really take the time to trace you down in his memory the same way you did him?

You hang up after that last thought, still no name and still carrying the hope that it could be enough. Your second call is made two hours later when there’s still no call back from Steve, even though he should be off today too. Even though, there’s a piece of your mind screaming over and over that he should have heard the silence in the message and been able to read through it. Maybe that’s unfair of you to place that on Steve, but it also feels unfair that he had the power and took action to bring you where you lay now. The second call is to Keith at the arcade, where you know he’s working since you’re off today. The favor you cashed in on is wasted because your request is for him to take back your schedule.

“I can’t work the day shift anymore,” your voice is hoarse and throat sore as the words stumble out.

“That sounds like a you problem,” you grimace as you hear Keith chewing what you know are those stupid cheese snacks he always carries around.

You hold back a groan and tell yourself your next move, while incredibly bratty, is the only way that you return to work. Your parents hate you working at the place anyway, but you like the independence, you like having your own money and you don’t want to give up another thing this summer.

“It’s going to be your problem because I’m not working any shift that overlaps with Harrington. I’ll quit.” You hate how Steve has transformed into Harrington. Hate how removed it sounds, not at all reflective of how close you had been. If you say his first name though, you know you’re going to cry.

Keith whistles, the tone way too low and drags out in a way that makes you feel a wave of creeping anger you’re not used to.

“So, you and Harrington are over then. Knew he was stupid but didn’t think he was that stupid.”

“He’s not stupid,” your defense is soft, it feels telling of where you are. It isn’t harsh in the way that it should be. It’s not your job to defend Steve anymore, he let you go from that position last night after all.

“I’ll change the schedules,” is the response you get back and it’s the nicest thing that you think Keith has ever said to you. However, you know Keith, and this feels a little too easy.

“Is there a catch?”

“Nah, just can’t afford to lose you so consider it your lucky day.” It doesn’t feel like your lucky day, but you don’t say that. Just mumble out a thank you after he tells you that your shift tomorrow will be the closing shift and Harrington will be gone by then.

True to his word, when you pull into the shared parking lot of Family Video there is no sign of Steve’s car. There’s an awareness that it won’t always be this easy, that Hawkins is too small to go all summer without seeing him. And despite Keith’s previous comments on how he couldn’t afford to lose you, there’s also a silent understanding that he’s still going to be an absolute shit about all of this for the rest of the summer. Keith doesn’t know any other way to be, and it’s a moderate price to pay for your ability to at least show up to work without breaking down.

Dustin is the first one you see in The Aftermath, and you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at you in the arcade that he already knows what’s transpired between you and Steve. You’re not sure if it’s the telltale sign of the obvious breakup look you’re sporting, or if it’s Steve’s own admittance to the teen. Could be a combination of the two though. You looked in the mirror before leaving today. You’re fully aware that you look and feel like shit, and there’s no way to sugarcoat that.

Normally, Dustin would come to chat with you. Whether he’s with the rest of the party or by himself, he always says hello. He would do it before Steve, and you hoped that he’d do it after too. Dustin doesn’t say hello though, he avoids your gaze when you catch him looking your way, and even though you know at one point, he should come to you to complain about a machine he just leaves instead. The act makes you sad, it’s the first divide between the friendships you created and thought you would get to hold on to. Dustin might be in high school now, but he’s still a kid. Rationally, a piece of you should be able to string together how his silence speaks more about how he doesn’t know what to say and less about a side he’s choosing. Reality rarely ever plays out as it rationally should, so instead Dustin just becomes the first domino that falls, and you feel like you should have known everyone else would go along with him.

______________________________________________________________

The next three weeks find you oscillating like a fan. Days spent hiding in your room, working up the courage to move and take care of yourself. Then nights of work or spent rummaging through polaroids that catalog your relationship. You always told yourself you put them in a scrapbook, something to hold the years together so in old age you’d have something to shuffle through. It sounds silly now, but the pictures sit in a shoebox of movie stubs from the Hawk, the receipt from your first date together, and the paper menu from the diner that you talked a waitress into giving you. There are notes scribbled on lined paper that were slipped into your jacket pockets when Steve would kiss you goodbye as he dropped you off at school, dried flowers from prom, and so much more. After a week of crying over the pieces, ink smudging thanks to fresh tears your body can create again now that you’re hydrated, you manage to shove the shoe box in the back corner under your bed. You had to slide it back there with the broom, but you know it’s not within reach now and that feels like progress.

You still dodge calls from your friends that you collected outside of your relationship. When they manage to catch you on the phone they whisper sweet condolences, but underneath it’s an unspoken blame of how you should have known. “He was the King of the school, he only knows how to break hearts,” your friend Val tells you over the phone one night. Val pops her gum on the other end of the line, and it sets off a chain reaction of emotions. You feel like you’re going through the five stages of grief in that moment. Val tries to invite you out and reminds you that Hawkins has more boys than just Steve Harrington. She promises you a good time, a night to help you forget all about Steve. You make an excuse and promise to go out next time, but both of you know it’s a promise you won’t keep.

Your parents seem to have set up some game plan amongst themselves. They’ve learned that they can’t tell you that your heartbreak is juvenile. Instead, they preach about how open you’ll be to new opportunities when you head to school. Your dad has the course list, where he got it from you don’t dare to ask. He tries to plan out your future over dinner, but you don’t even know what life you want for yourself. Before this you just saw Steve in the future, you had naïvely assumed you’d have time to sort out the rest. But Steve’s in the rearview now, and your parents want to know what life you plan to have in your passenger seat.

It's three weeks of juggling it all, but you still haven’t seen Steve. It should feel like the universe is still on your side, but really, it’s more of a cosmic joke. It should be finally time for some peace, instead, the world feels the need to implode again. Your parents are out of town, an annual get-together with their old college friends, and you’re home alone. It’s late, you’ve only been off work for 20 minutes when you get to the grocery store. The pantry at home is bare bones and you’ve been putting off the need to go shopping for the last three days. You’ve been supplementing meals through various fast-food restaurants on the outskirts of town. But you’re tired of driving so far away, plus the taste of grease has become less and less appealing as the days have dragged on.

The evening finds you shrugging off your name tag from the arcade and running into Bradley’s to do some shopping before they close for the night. The air conditioning hits you right as the doors open, it cools your skin in a way that summer nights never will. You close your eyes and pause for a moment, maybe you look crazy, but it’s late and you don’t anticipate anyone else is going to be poking around the store. You grab a cart and you’re on your way, trying to be mindful to be quick because you know how it feels to work a closing shift. You wander up and down the aisles of the store, with no real list in mind just grabbing what sounds good. Your diet is still in a post-break-up mode which means you’re either only consuming junk food or pushing food around on your plate still too sad to eat. Which means, it’s time to be gentle with yourself and just grab the food that calls to you. Now is not a time for healthy eating and hitting every food group on that pyramid they went over in health class.

Because of this though you aren’t paying attention to what’s in front of you. You move through the aisles of the store with your eyes on the shelves, still having confidence in the fact that it’s just you and the store clerk in here. But remember, Hawkins likes to implode both literally and emotionally. You swing your cart into the next aisle, already excited to be browsing the cereal options. You only make it a handful of steps forward, eyes already searching for the cinnamon toast crunch which you’re rarely allowed to bring into the house otherwise your mom will complain. Your cart jolts and pushes you back, and you look up to find that you’ve hit another person’s cart.

You feel silly, and your cheeks are warm in an embarrassed flush. “I’m so sorry,” the words tumble out as you drag your gaze up to see what suburban mom you’ve managed to piss off tonight. When you see who it is though you find yourself wishing it was a mom about to yell at you, instead it’s Steve, you find yourself in front of. He says your name, a hint of surprise, and what you might have previously labeled as nervous energy. You must look stupid, both of you really, just standing in silence as the hum of the grocery store lights buzz on and the radio station the store is set to plays out louder than it should. Steve’s cart is full of popcorn, and snacks that you can trace to each teen you know he babysits, there’s even Robin’s favorite chips and the beer that Eddie likes to drink. All of it slides together and reminds you that it’s Saturday, which means movie night at Steve’s.

You don’t know what to say, and you feel like a deer caught in headlights. Frozen so that you can’t even run to escape the impending collision that is about to take place. It’s Robin rounding around the corner, her voice loud and unapologetic in a way you have always admired. “Hey, dingus, should we grab some ice cream for Erica, or do you think…” her voice trails off as she catches sight of you. “Oh,” and you look to Robin, she raises a hand to give a small wave at you and smile. It’s enough to also jump Steve into movement again, saying your name and you don’t wait to see if there’s more.

You don’t say anything as you turn to leave, though maybe you should have, at least to Robin. But she’s the headlights turning off and giving you the freedom to run. You can eat another fast-food burger tonight, and you hate that you’re just leaving your cart in the middle of the cereal aisle. But you can’t, you won’t just sit there and let yourself wonder that store when it’s obviously not a safe place.

The air conditioning hits you again as you run out the doors. No time to pause this time, and you actually seek comfort in the sticky heat that greets you outside of Bradley’s. The crickets sing to you as you rush to fumble with your keys and drive away before your past tries to catch you outside. You got three weeks of no Steve, and you had been lulled into this fantasy of maybe being okay someday soon. This though, this small interaction, where you didn’t even really talk to him, has shown that you’re not close to that. When you finally manage to pull into your driveway, your hand bangs down on the steering wheel. You mumble to yourself, “that was so stupid, you just ran?”

You’ll eventually make your way into the house about 15 minutes later, after you had completely gone over the entire interaction about three times. You know it will continue to replay all night long. It’ll be inside that you realize you never even stopped to get food, too focused on seeking the safety that you can apparently only find in your room these days. Time drags on and you keep opening and closing the fridge and the cabinets hoping that food will magically appear the next time you start looking. It’s late, Bradley’s will have to be a tomorrow you type of goal. You know Steve and the group will be up late tonight which means the morning will be safe.

You’ve resigned that tonight’s dinner will be a pack of saltines you find buried in the back of the pantry when there’s a knock on your door. Your friends know not to show up unannounced, and if your parents managed to come home early, they wouldn’t be knocking. It’s Hawkins, you remind yourself as you creep to the door, but then the additional it’s Hawkins kicks in and there could be anything waiting for you. You grab your mom’s tennis racket from the closet by the front door and peek out the peephole, but your porch light isn’t on, and you can’t see anything. When you open the door, tennis racket at the ready, there’s no one there. Instead, sitting on the mat right in front of your door is three bags of groceries from Bradley’s.

The bags contain all the items you remember dumping into your cart, including the added addition of one box of cinnamon toast crunch. You can’t prove it, there’s no note, but you don’t really need it do you? There are only two people who would have had access to the cart you left behind, and only one of those two would have added in your favorite cereal. An internal debate rages inside of you, one side of you wanting to leave the food on your porch. Hoping that maybe later Steve will drive by and see it still sitting there. Maybe it will be an ounce of the hurt he's inflicted on you. The other part of you though, the part whose stomach is literally just growling at the prospect of food, wins out. You drag the bags inside and spend the night cycling between the incident in the store and what the bags of food on your porch mean.

The next day feels like a relapse, and you find yourself pacing by your phone, the internal debate to call Steve rages on in your mind. The number of times you pick up that phone and start to punch in his number is too many to count. There’s only one time when you get through the whole number, you only let it ring once before you’re slamming the phone back down and rushing off to your room. You throw yourself onto your bed, face first into your pillow, and you scream. It feels like every emotion that’s been building up since that night in Steve’s car just forces its way out of you. You spend the rest of your day in bed, Don’t Dream It’s Over plays on repeat as you stare at your ceiling and only recognize time passing by the light that streams in from your window.

When your parents come back a week later you say that you want to leave Hawkins earlier after all. They don’t even ask why you changed your mind. They don’t press the issue, which you figured they wouldn’t, but it still stings. instead, they celebrate. Your mom pulls you into her arms and excitedly tells you that it’s the second-best decision you’ve ever made. Your dad chimes in about how the first was applying to college in the first place, his hand feels heavy on your shoulder. The smile you wear feels like it was pasted on, like some macaroni art piece a kindergartener does. Your parents don’t notice though, they never do, they move on already making plans about your departure. The choice doesn’t feel right, but then again, you’re not really sure what the right choice is any more or how it should feel.

______________________________________________________________

You spend the rest of your summer forcing yourself into spaces you don’t want to be in, but it feels like you have to. You got to parties with Val, you spend summer days at the pool with your friends as you planned. It may not be all the friends that you had anticipated being with but it’s something. You feel like with each activity you do you’re adding another band-aid to your heart hoping that this time maybe it’ll stay together. There are times, like at the community pool, when you sit with your friends, and you don’t really feel there. It feels like you’re playing a part and you’ve never been a good actress, so you’re still surprised when everyone just believes it.

Time and life keep moving forward and you wish it felt like you were too, but you still feel stuck. Your parents think that time won’t start moving until you’re away at college, and your friends believe that you need to start dating someone new to feel like you’ve moved on. You don’t think any of them are right but again you’re still stuck wondering what the right move is and how it’s supposed to feel.

What you do manage is to only catch glimpses of Steve for the rest of the summer. You see him at the movies dropping the party off, and you catch him one day leaving Family Video when he’s stayed too late. There’s another day at the grocery store, where you find yourself hiding behind a display stand to avoid the awkward run-in. You see him but you don’t think he ever sees you. You’re not sure if that’s exactly what you want, but if it is then why does it still also ache? A week before you leave you seek Steve out. You spend the morning giving yourself a pep talk, you take the time to perfect your outfit and ensure that you look better than you feel. This encounter is in your control, and you want to make sure it all goes off without a hitch.

You march into Family Video. You’ve been waiting for Robin to leave for her break and for a lull in customers to happen. When all the stars align you take a deep breath, shake out the nerves and move forward with purpose. You have a week left in Hawkins and all your teen magazines have told you that if you want to start college off right you need closure.

The bell above the door rings out in a way that feels louder than you remember. You don’t let it stop you though, you move forward and watch with some satisfaction as Steve’s head pops up and surprise washes over his face. Good, you think to yourself, finally, he knows what it’s like to be ambushed. You’ve planned out what you want to say so once you’re at the counter you speak before Steve can completely derail you.

“Harrington,” the last name comes out a lot calmer than you thought it would, you feel confident. “I leave for school next week…”

“Next week?” Steve interrupts, he looks like he has more to say but you send a glare his way which is enough to have him holding back words. If you paused long enough to just stare at him, you might wonder if he's disappointed, but you don't let the silence linger long enough to notice.

“As I was saying, I leave next week for school, and you owe me some type of closure or explanation for what happened. I’ll be at the diner tomorrow night, 7 pm and I expect you to show up.” You’re proud of yourself, your voice has an edge to it that leaves no room for disagreement.

Steve just says your name and he says it in the same soft way he did when you first started dating. You feel ruffled and some of that confidence feels like it’s being washed down a drain somewhere. “No,” you interrupt him. You can feel the tension in your forehead, you know your brows are furrowed and the frown on your face is reflecting your real emotions instead of some mask you’ve been wearing.

“You just dumped me, out of the blue and you gave me no explanation. I’m leaving next week, and you owe me this. You don’t get to dump me, say that you don’t care for me, and then leave groceries on my doorstep, Steve.” Something in your words must hit a soft spot that you know Steve still has inside of him. Even if his feelings for you are long gone, Steve has always been gooey and soft like caramel on the inside.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” You stare at him a moment longer, trying to figure out if you’re getting an honest response. Once you’re sure you are you nod and turn to leave. When you were dating you never liked saying goodbye to Steve, it was always a see you soon. Now when you leave there’s no goodbye, but it’s more because you don’t want to waste another word on him. Not when you need to prepare for tomorrow.

______________________________________________________________

The next night finds you showing up at the diner first. The waitress recognizes you and tells you it’s been a while since she’s seen you. You don’t have the heart to tell her the reason why, you just smile and walk to the booth that used to belong to Steve and you.

You don’t feel as prepared for your conversation tonight as you would like, but you do feel less fragile. Somewhere between yesterday and today, you’ve managed to slide into the anger stage of your grief. There are times when you’re not sure if you’re going to just hit Steve as soon as you hit him, or worse. Worse is that small intrusive thought that you have about kissing him one last time. It’s weird because you’re so angry, the angriest you think you’ve ever been before. You feel like a pot that was left on a burner too long, just boiling over the edge and sizzling when you hit the stove eye.

And yet, behind all that anger there’s still the part of you that loves Steve. That piece of you can’t even remember the last time you kissed. You have fuzzy memories of when it might have happened. Maybe a goodbye kiss as he dropped you off at home, something that happened underneath his comforter as you both tried to hide away from the world a little longer. Either of those or something more is possible. It’s just... how were you supposed to know you needed to remember it? You think that maybe this time if you knew it was the last, you’d feel more prepared this time. Maybe it’ll help you feel better.

You slide the salt shaker between your hands, watching as it glides over the table as smooth as butter. Another glance at the clock tells you that Steve is late, Steve who was never late to anything that had to do with you before. The heat starts to turn up, and you feel more and more like that roaring boil of the pot. Twenty minutes after the hour he was supposed to be there the bell chimes above the door.

You don’t give in to the urge to look, you watch the salt continue to glide over the table. You know already it’s Steve because that same waitress is telling him that his girlfriend is at the regular booth. Steve doesn’t even correct her, at least not that you can hear. Steve slides into his seat as easily as the salt continued to glide on the table. All the anger you felt feels like it whooshes out of you. You go from feeling like a boiling pot to a balloon that was blown up and then let go before the air could be sealed inside.

As you sit across from him, the silence stretching on like the miles on an interstate you find yourself spiraling. People, mostly your friends and parents, have implied that it was childish of you to assume that your relationship with Steve would be anything long-term. And maybe you were, maybe somewhere in it all you got swept up in teenage fantasies. Sitting across from him though reminds you how it happened. For all the pain he’s caused, Steve Harrington is still the prettiest sight you’ve ever seen.

The people of Hawkins can gather and label you as simple-minded for all you care. Slap a label on you and shelve you in the town library with all the other romance novels, you don’t care. Because for all that they say you saw yourself creating a future with this man in front of you. Sure, maybe you romanticized it all, but God… you would have married Steve if he had given you a chance.

It’s that thought that spurs you back into the anger portion of The Aftermath. Because you didn’t build your relationship up by yourself. Steve was there too, he’s the one that layered the cement for your foundation. Steve with his endless flirting, his soft compliments, his whispered promises of forever. And even at the end, Steve left you with no explanation for this exit he took. And you can’t start your journey until he finally tells you why.

“You never really gave me a why for what happened at the end. I hate that it’s been months and I can’t let go of you, and maybe I’m just oversharing here, maybe I cared more, but I have to know. Steve, what the hell happened to us?” You’re surprised how quickly the words come out, but you’re pleased that they sound so tough. If Steve is surprised that you had to break the silence, he doesn’t show it.

“We’re young, this wasn’t going to be forever.” Steve’s voice isn’t loud, but it feels like it echoes in the diner. You want to sink into the vinyl of the booth, but you know you can’t.

“See, you say that but,” you take a breath to collect yourself to figure out how you say this all. “We talked about plans, Steve.” You look up, it’s easier to stare into the fluorescents than into Steve’s eyes. Your nerves make themselves known as you feel your fingers picking at the dry skin around your nails.

“Maybe somewhere along the way, I was looking farther into the future than you were. And if I was then I guess that’s on me.  But I didn’t even know forever was an option until you gave me the words to use.” You shake your head like it’ll knock away your disbelief. Your gaze drifts from the lights to your hands gathered on the top of the table now.

“There was that time,” You lay your hands flat on the table hoping the action will stop the nerves from expanding. “We had only been together for like 4 months, and it was that really rainy day?” It’s a question, a quick uptake that doesn’t need an answer. You finally look to Steve again, waiting for some recognition to spark in his mind before you bulldoze on.

“We stayed in your bed for hours, wrapped up in one another. It was the laziest and softest day we had since we started dating. And there was that moment, and you told me that you wanted pause time.” A grimace of a smile forms, and it’s a bitter laugh that accompanies it. “You wanted to stay in that moment forever, do you remember that?”

Steve, who has been so emotionless through your every moment since you broke up, seems to finally crack. You watch emotions slide out of him as you wait for a response.

“I remember.” It’s a whisper, a barely audible acknowledgment of your past. If words could hold weight though, if they could carry more than a sound, you think those two would weigh a ton. They sound heavy at least, and for once you’re happy you don’t have to offer to carry them for Steve.

“So, when did that change?” You press on, encouraged by his response.

“I wish I could tell you. I wish there was a day or a time if that would help you. It was slow, and then it was just there and so I ended it.” Steve’s response is a rush of words, and his gaze isn’t even on you. It all collides together like a car crash. And just like a car crash once the collision hits, you can’t look away from it. It feels like a tragedy, and you know you shouldn’t stare, but human nature is human nature, and you can’t change that. Maybe there’s more to say after his confession but instead, Steve leaves without saying goodbye. His departure is quick and you calling his name is the only thing that follows him.

You stay stuck in that booth for a while, Steve’s words rolling around in your head like a tumbleweed. This was supposed to be closure, but it doesn’t feel like anything has been closed. You feel like you’re trying to piece a puzzle together but some of the pieces are still missing. Steve is the only one that has them but he’s refusing to let you see them, so you don’t even know what you’re trying to put together.

A small nagging part of you feels like there’s still more to this. Like something bigger is at play. But if Steve isn’t willing to share with the class despite all your opportunities for him to do so you’re at a loss. You have to, at a certain point, accept the fact that this is an unknown portion that you’ll never get answered. You hate that, hate how bitter it tastes, but you have no other choice than to find a way to work towards it. Because if nothing else, this night has shown that you can’t keep this candle burning when someone is actively blowing it out. It’s time to snuff the flame out yourself. You want to hope that maybe it’ll be easier once there’s some distance between Steve and yourself. Maybe if you’re no longer hiding from him at the grocery store that door that feels like it’s still wide open will start to close and you can move on.

______________________________________________________________

The day before you leave feels like a round of goodbyes. You hadn’t told anyone besides Steve that you’d be leaving early. Your friends are surprised, and you smile and tell them you’re just excited. Steve had always been your secret keeper, the only one that knew the fear you had around going to college. So, you know your lie will go over smoothly with your friends, and just like you’ve been doing for the remainder of the summer your mask of ‘I’m fine’ will help sell the story more.

It's the kids and Robin that you feel the most torn on, the ones that you struggle with when it comes to a goodbye. The breakup fractured a lot of things in your life, and it feels like maybe you lost them all somewhere this summer. They were never really yours though, so how you could have lost them you’re not sure. In the end, you solidify your resolve and even if it means nothing to them it does mean something to you. You’ve already worked your last shift, and yet you sit in the shared parking lot of your former work and the only place you’re guaranteed to find everyone you need all at once. Since the mall is long gone, this is the best place to be on a hot summer day. Unless you want to share the pool water with the rest of the Hawkins. You wait, you let Steve leave for his lunch, and you take that as your moment.

There’s no speech planned, nothing too major in your goodbye. Robin’s surprised face is what greets you when she looks towards the bell ringing. A soft exclamation of surprise escapes her and she looks confused. “I don’t want to waste your time,” you find yourself telling her. This is the quietest you’ve ever seen Robin.

“I just wanted to say goodbye. I know you’re his friend, and we haven’t really talked since… Well, you know when, but sometimes you felt like my friend too and so I just wanted to say goodbye before I left and that I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you before this.”

All your words sound so unsure, and you feel like you should be phrasing questions instead of just statements.

Silence hangs over the store, and you feel like if you don’t leave it’s just going to grow more awkward. “Okay, well then.” You mumble to yourself, and you force a smile and a wave before you turn to go. You make it to the door, it’s open and you are half in the heat and half in the air conditioning when Robin finally speaks.

“I’m sorry,” it’s not what you expect, and you throw a glance over your shoulder. Her face reflects the apology she’s given you. “We were friends, it’s just-” You shake your head and interrupt.

“It’s okay, Robin. He was your friend first, I’m glad that he had you and the kids.” You smile, and it feels real this time. “Maybe when I get back for winter break, we could be friends again?”

 “I’d like that.” Robin matches your smile, and her nod is enthusiastic. You wave one last time and head fully out into the heat, you’ve got one more stop right next door and then your goodbye tour of Hawkins will be over.

The kids are right where you expect them. Tangled together around one of the games, with Max behind the controls. You wait until the losing screen comes on before addressing them. Your goodbye with the kids is just as short as your one with Robin. “You know I’m kind of gonna miss watching you all hold these games hostage,” Your tone is cheerful, not at all scared like you feel inside. The kids are quick to turn around and it’s Will that matches your tone when he calls your name. Will has always been the kindest of the bunch, and he’s quick to hug your side while everyone else smiles and says hello.

Max is the one to break the greetings, always the most impulsive of the group. “What are you doing here, do you work today?”

“Uh no, actually I came here looking for you guys.” You feel like you stumble over your words, especially as Mike gives you the most suspicious look you’ve ever seen him throw your way. He’s always hard to please, but you feel like maybe you shouldn’t have added him to the goodbye tour after all.

“I just wanted to say goodbye, I know we haven’t talked this summer but still.” You find yourself shrugging as you finish talking.

“You’re leaving already?” It’s Dustin this time, and you find yourself surprised. He hasn’t talked to you since the breakup, and you assumed that would carry over to this conversation. His tone sounds disappointed, and you find yourself feeling guilty for a reason you can’t name.

“I leave tomorrow,” there’s a chorus of groans and refusals that leave the kids. Something like regret swells up because sure these were Steve’s kids first, but they were kinda yours too. You knew them before Steve and had a whole weird dynamic with them before you even knew Steve worked next door. A part of you feels like you messed up this summer by not making more of an effort with them.

“I’m sorry about this summer,” the expressions they turn your way feel like they know too much for kids who are too young to be wrapped up in your love life drama. “We’re sorry too,” Lucas tells you. “You have nothing to apologize for okay,” you look at each one of them, the look on your face leaves no room for argument. It’s always worked with the group.

“Maybe when I get home for winter break, we could all do something together?” You offer them the same olive branch that was extended to Robin. Everyone, Mike included you’re happy to note, nods their head. You find yourself ruffling Will’s hair, he’s still the closest to you. “It’s a plan,” you tell them. “I’ll let you get back to the game, make sure you keep that top spot!” Max tells you not to worry about it, a smirk already forming on her face. You give them all one last smile and make your way out of the building.

You think you’re done, and you feel as at peace as you think you can manage under the circumstances of it all. You unlock the door of your car, plans already in mind for what is left to pack up for the trip tomorrow when someone is calling out your name. You look up and find Dustin running towards you. You meet him part of the way, and he’s throwing his arms around your waist and squeezing you tight. There’s a huff of surprise that forces its way out upon the impact, but you don’t hesitate as you return the hug.

His voice is muffled, and you rub soothing circles on his back. “Dustin, I can’t understand you.” You keep your voice soft like you’re talking to a startled animal. It’s just a moment before he pulls back, and you’re met with a teary face. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you this summer,” Dustin’s words are rushed and come out as almost one sound. You find yourself shushing him and pulling him in for another hug. “You’re all good, it’s okay.”

You give him a minute to just feel his big feelings before you push him back. Your hands rest on his shoulders and you find you don’t have to bend down too far to meet his gaze. You wonder when he started getting so tall and remind yourself it was probably sometime this summer.

“Dustin, I’m not mad or upset or anything okay?” You wait for him to nod along to what you’re saying. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this,” there’s enough stress on sorry that you think it could take off like a jet with the force you’re pushing it out. “Steve and I were the adults, you shouldn’t have been caught up in the middle, okay?”

Dustin looks like he’s going to argue, “No arguments! This was between us, and we should have made that clear.” Dustin stares at you for what feels like a minute before he nods.

“I’m gonna miss you,” is what Dustin tells you next. “Keith is never gonna be as cool as you. Whose going kick all the older kids off the games for me?” You laugh, happy to see him joking with you now.

“I’m going to miss you too, kid.” You give his shoulders a squeeze, “I’m going to give you a secret, use it responsibly, okay?” Dustin gives you an excited look and nods his head quickly, “I promise,” he says.

“If Keith gives you any trouble, just tell him that you know about Lucy.” Dustin has questions you can tell. “Keith won’t ask you to tell him, he’ll be too embarrassed. If he asks how you know, then you just tell him I told you. He’ll do whatever you want.”

There’s a part of you that feels like maybe you’ve given him too much power, but Dustin’s always been a smart kid and Keith has always been a dick to him, so you don’t feel too much remorse. Someone should be benefiting from the information anyway, and Dustin feels like the right one out of the party to hold on to the information.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” You quote to him, it’s a quip he used to tell Steve all the time before you started dating. Something from a comic book if you remember correctly.

Dustin’s smile is blinding, “You were always too cool for him you know, it’s his loss.” You smile and hope it doesn’t come off as sad as it feels. “Thanks, Dustin.”

You ruffle his hair, just like you had done to Will. Dustin bats at your hands and you push him toward the arcade, “Go spend time with your friends. I’ll see you in December.”

Dustin starts to go but turns back just as quickly. “You promise?” The happiness that had been there before has been replaced with worry again. “I pinky promise,” you hold out your pinky to show him you’re serious. Dustin comes back just to seal the promise and then waves goodbye again returning to the arcade.

The next morning, when every spare inch of space in your car is covered in your belongings, you finally feel like you could actually leave this place feeling okay. Things are not at all the way you thought they would be when the summer first started. You also still feel a weird sort of dread about attending college, but it feels like you could conquer it. If you could do this, this weird limbo break-up, then you think college can’t be that bad.

Your parents aren’t going with you. Despite their excitement and all the ways they’ve pushed you into this decision, they have both told you they feel you have to do this alone. Everything is set up for you, your dad has given you a paper with your new address on it and a credit card for emergencies. You know in both their eyes they’ve done their job as your parents. They’ve paved the way for success and now it’s your responsibility to make them proud.

It feels fitting that you leave Hawkins the same way you started the summer, all alone. You tell yourself that this is what you need. You tell yourself a lot of things as you make your way to the town line. You try not to look in the rearview mirror, too afraid that you’ll see everything you’re leaving behind and change your mind. You remind yourself it’s a few months, and that you can do this. You just hope that you aren’t lying to yourself. You may not feel happy, but you also don’t feel completely numb either. Maybe that’s the right type of progress though.

[rogueddie]

Different Time AU, Steddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🕓

I'm a Fool to Want You

senoritablack

Steve Harrington is a regular at Valentine’s, a word-of-mouth, traveling party for queers. As a hard-knocked detective in a town meant to kill you slowly, he’s not meaning to be anything but drunk at tonight’s shindig. Somehow, with the help of a gorgeous pianist, he finds himself in love.

Words : 7,755 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1940s )

Don't threaten me with a good time

QueenOfSwords1312

No sooner is Eddie through the door, bottle in hand, than he’s being swept up in someone’s arms and pressed back against a wall. He blinks a few times to steady his vision after the near-whiplash move and comes face-to-face with Coriolanus himself, Steve Harrington. He’s got one hand on Eddie’s waist and the other has smoothly made its way into Eddie’s hair at the back of his head. And Eddie’s still clutching the damn wine bottle neck so he only has one free hand to grasp at Steve’s sweater.

The last time Eddie had seen the beautiful man, he’d been on stage, covered in fake blood and waxing poetic about all the bad decisions he made in his life to land him where he was. Which was hot , if a bit sad, but definitely fucking hot.

“You’re—” Eddie starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“Gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright,” Steve says, already staring at Eddie’s mouth.

Words : 7,496 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern au )

What Do You Want?

Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)

He hears the clink of glass pearls first, then feels a bare arm pressed alongside his own, warm through his thin cotton shirt.

“You here alone, handsome?” asks a low, husky voice, right into his ear. Steve turns to see the most beautiful person on whom he’s ever laid eyes.

Tall, with long, dark hair and darker eyes. A gash of red lipstick on her full lips, a stylish fringed dress and a strings of pearls hanging off her boyish frame.

Words : 1,543 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( The whole series is great, and it is also written / co-written by dodger_chan. Set in the 1920s. )

May I Have This Dance?

sky_neverending

Steve attends a masquerade with Robin, and ends up meeting a handsome stranger who awakens a new feeling.

Words : 3,162 Chapters : 2/2 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1800s )

Moments can be Monuments to You, if Your Life is Interesting and True

DiscoSuperFly

Working 911 dispatch in a small town is equal parts stressful and rewarding. Steve likes to think he's making a difference.

Eddie quietly returns to Hawkins and is surprised by everyone who chose to stay.

Why would a golden boy like Steve Harrington stick around in this dead end town?

Words : 58,749 Chapters : 7/7 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 90s )

Betting On Your Name

FIick

“But I don’t want her Eddie!” The prince throws his hands up. “Why can’t my father see there are other candidates who are closer to me, right here at home!”

“Who do you want then?” Eddie asks his breath catching in his throat, his hands itching to reach out and reassure. This is a dangerous game. Far more so than a silly childhood bet. It’s a very easy thing to say he’ll give Prince Steve the air from his lungs, and another entirely to do so.

Words : 4,533 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

the devil’s camaro (please don’t remember me, it’s only 1993)

roosterroo

It’s 1993. Eddie works at his local garage after serving time for a drug charge in high school. There he meets Steve, a typical well to do suburban dad type, who turns everything Eddie believes on his head. And he’s married- but also flirting with him?

Words : 32,798 Chapters : 6/6 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Here is the Repeated Image of the Lover Destroyed

stevefuckingharrington

He could feel the warm, wet red of his blood slipping down over his fingers and dripping onto the forest floor. He had been stabbed before of course - it came as part of the job - but never quite like this. He could feel himself dying, his life slipping through his own weak grasp.

It was no longer a case of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

Words : 1,744 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

Blood 🩸 & Caffeine ☕

Witch_Weakly

Eddie's got a little vampire...problem. You see, he normally feeds once a month from the blood bank at the hospital where he works. And that's normally fine. The blood provides him with life for a few days - breathing, hunger for real food, a healthy sex drive. And then that fades away, replaced by a mild bloodlust that gets stronger until he finally needs to feed again. This cycle is fine as long as he doesn't go too long. As long as he feeds before he gets so numb and so hungry that he loses himself. Except one day, that's exactly what happens. And it's only been a few weeks since his last feeding. Way too soon. In a panic, he feeds early and now needs silly human things like sleep during his scheduled night shift. Guess it's time for a trip down to the coffee shop. But on top of meeting a hot barista, Eddie finds that his little problem is only getting worse.

Words : 17,756 Chapters : 9/9 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern AU )

[leviathans-watching]

hey :3 can you do a fic about mc who kept her feelings for solomon secretly for more than one year? and mc was fighting with a lower demon who was saying that she likes one of the brother and then she says that it was solomon not the brother/s but she didn't confess because she was afraid that solomon would reject her because he don't want to lose another lover and like those worries? muahh

solomon overhearing your confession

includes: solomon x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: .7k | rated t | m.list

a/n: lmao he's so dumb i love him sm. thanks for requesting and i hope you enjoy!! my inbox is open to chat, request, or leave feedback so come say hi <33

warnings: (mildly humerous) depictions of (poorly executed) bullying

please reblog >:0

“admit it,” a lower-level demon says, pressing her finger into your chest, “you like lucifer!”

“i do not,” you protest hotly.

“fine then,” another says, rolling his eyes, “mammon, then!”

“i don’t like any of the demon brothers,” you argue.

“that’s such a lie!” the leader dismisses. “anyone would like at least one!”

“i thought you didn’t want me to like them,” you say, confused. “otherwise, why would you be threatening me?”

“we obviously need you to admit which one you like so we can warn you off of him,” a third demon says.

“this is so dumb. i already told all of you, i don’t like any of them! there’s actually someone else i hold close.”

“now you’re just making excuses. if that’s really true, then who do you like?”

you hesitate. it’s not as if you’re lying–you really do like solomon–you’ve just never admitted it to anyone and can’t believe the first time you do will be under duress.

“see, you’re not saying anything,” the second one speaks up again, “that means you’ve got to be lying!”

“what is with you weirdos! i like solomon, okay!”

“solomon? you mean like that shady sorcerer?”

“figures,” the third demon says nastily, “two humans, meant for one another.”

“why do you like him?” the leader asks. “how can i believe you without evidence?”

you groan. this is so freaking cliche. “he might be shady, but he’s really smart, okay? and he’s got a good sense of humor and strong morals. they may not be good morals but he knows what he believes in and stands up for it. he also is like, super attractive.” you go on but for the sake of brevity, it will get left up to imagination.

“wow, you must really like him,” the leader demon finally says, face crinkled. “why haven’t you confessed?”

“well, he’s never given an indication that he likes me back,” you say, wondering how you’re life has gotten to this point, “and i don’t do well with rejection in general.”

“i believe in you,” the second crony says passionately. “i’m sure he likes you back! you just have to take the first step!”

“i thought you guys were threatening me,” you say, confused.

“well, we were,” the leader says like you’re stupid, stepping back. “but we don’t actually dislike you. just threats to our chances with the brothers.”

wisely, you hold back the fact that you don’t think they have very much of a chance at all. “so you’re encouraging me now?”

“obviously. it’s kind of pitiful how down bad you are, you know,” the third says. “you seriously need to just jump in with both feet and be brave.”

after a few more inspiring words, they leave you, even more confused and honestly just ready to go back to the house of lamentation. but before you can, a voice speaks up, and seriously, this is way too cliche.

“now, that was interesting,” solomon says, and you turn to him with a scowl.

“how long have you been standing there? and you didn’t help me?”

“well, i got there and was going to help, but then you started waxing poetic about my cheekbones and i figured you had it in control.”

“kill me now.”

“ah, ah, ah, none of that,” he says, clicking his tongue. “at least not before you tell me if you meant everything you said. because if you did,” he continues before you can protest, “that would very good news for me indeed.”

you don’t dare to believe what he’s implying. “maybe,” you say instead. “what would you do if i had?”

his face splits into a handsome smile. “well, take you out on a date, of course,” he says like it’s obvious. “one where you can tell me more about how you like my charming wit and dashing aura.”

“oh god,” you say with feeling. “what have i gotten myself into?”

“the start of something beautiful,” solomon replies grandiosely, taking your hand, and for once, you actually think he might be being serious.

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[underqualified-human]

Pomefiore + Octavinille: Siren S/O

→ Request: Hello, I love this book so much. Can we have a gn!/fem!siren!reader with Octavinelle and Pomefiore? Headcanon please. It’s fine if you don’t wanna or can’t, I just love sirens.

→ A/N: Fun fact: My Yuusona is actually half-siren so this was a super fun prompt! [wasnt sure which type of siren you wanted so I kept in sort of vague]

→ Warnings: no beta,

→ Fandom: Disney: Twisted Wonderland

→ Genre: Headcanons

→ Pronouns: They/Them

Vil Schoenheit:

Power couple, immediate power couple

Posts a bunch of pictures of you guys together on his Magicam account [if you’re okay with it]

Spends a bunch of money on wing/tail care products that you might need

Tries to use his charm on your sisters/family and they are having absolutely none of it lol

Is initially very curious about your singing but understands your apprehension completely

Adding on to the previous point he defends you against people that may have a negative view on sirens [earns him a few points with your sisters]

Rook Hunt:

Wants to hear you sing so much that it rivals Odysseus 

”You know you'll die right?” “It'll be worth it”

Knows you get a lot of compliments based on your looks, so he waxes poetically about your personality

Acts the exact same way around your sisters/family so you’ll have to stop them from killing him

Super into learning about how you care for your non-human appendages

Epel Felmier:

He lives in a semi-landlocked area so he doesn't think it’s that big of a deal

Super nervous about meeting anyone in your family

Won't admit it out loud but definitely wants to hear you sing

Gets a little defensive when he sees people getting too close to you in public

If you have to care for your wings he goes “Don’t worry I’ve dealt with chickens before!” then backtracks if you get offended

Azul Ashengrotto:

Power couple vibes but he's secretly dying on the inside whenever he's near you

Immensely insecure, please reassure him

Wants you to sing at the lounge but then remembers it makes people kill themselves :(

Has discussions about the ocean with you, even if he doesn't have many positive memories associated with it

He knows how important family can be, so he’s absolutely terrified to meet them. While the Pomefiore group doesn't know much about sirens, the mers do.

Please defend him if your sisters/family says something rude, he will not do so himself

Honestly kind of bad at caring for tails or wings since he only has tentacles, but he tries his best

Floyd Leech:

Knows what would happen if you sang but still wants you to do it anyway

Talks to you about random land stuff that he thinks is cool

Brags about you to anyone who will listen is close enough. It’s usually the basketball club

You introduced him to your family and like 5 more ships got sunk that day. They want you to bring him around more often

Isn’t all that good at helping you with tail/wing care, but he does try

Jade Leech:

Power Couple #2

If you guys walk down the hall students part like the red sea

Shares a bunch of information about land plants [mushrooms] with you. You have no choice but to listen, he won’t take no for an answer

Subtly uses the fact that he’s dating a siren as leverage when dealing with customers

Helps you groom your tail/wings

Gets along pretty well with your sisters/family. He knows that they could kill him, but he trusts you enough to not be afraid

Tagging: @angelchanisaweeb [requester]

[smeddiemunson]

I know this has been done to death now but Eddie, Steve, Chrissy and Robin all in a band together.

Eddie plays lead guitar obviously. Chrissy is the singer and plays a little rhythm guitar. Robin plays the bass and Steve is the drummer. They all write songs but it’s mainly Eddie and Robin on the music and Steve and Chrissy on the lyrics. They share all the royalties equally.

Chrissy is the perfect front woman for the band, she’s cute and charming and not quite as abrasive as Eddie or Robin tend to be when asked the more rude questions. She has patch work tattoos that stand out from her pale skin. While her guitar is featured on every song on the recorded version, when she’s playing live she’d much rather just have a microphone and the ability to dance around and have fun with her friends.

Steve never talks in interviews. He’s happy to sit back and let his friends talk about what they’re passionate about. Eddie and Robin know so much about the technical side of music and will go on and on about it for hours, and Chrissy just loves performing. When Steve does speak it’s to wax poetic about his love for everyone else in the band. He develops a little bit of a cult following and doesn’t really know how to handle the outpouring of love from the fans; he doesn’t want to let it go to his head like popularity did in high school. But he knows Robin would never let that happen.

Eddie was made to perform. He was going to anyway, with corroded coffin or otherwise. But Robin and Chrissy came to him with the idea and he can’t say no to his favourite girls. He’s a little more what people expect from their band’s sound. He looks like he would be the creator behind heavy guitar riffs and aggressive drums. No one really expects him to be as fun as he is, always joking around on stage and always hanging out by the stage door just a bit longer than his band mates to talk to the fans that stayed.

Robin looks effortlessly cool. She’s still neurotic as hell and worries a lot but as soon as her bass is in her hand she goes to a different place. They all like to joke about who has the most fans, but it’s Robin by a mile. She oozes sex appeal and mystery while she’s on stage, and she’s such a dork off it that people can’t help but be endeared. There’s even a Twitter account dedicated to finding the clothes she wears because she has the best style in the band and is definitely responsible for making sure they’re cohesive. She’s the glue that keeps everyone together.

When they win their first Grammy for Best New Artist, Robin gives an impassioned speech about finding your people, always being yourself and doing what you love. She shares the message for anyone that’s struggling that it does get better and she’s proof of that, all four of them are proof of that. They preform at pride every year and regularly do stuff for queer charities. Each piece of their merch has a different charity that a percentage of the proceeds go to. The badge set donates to helping homeless teens and the key ring donates to an eating disorder charity.

Their shows are Gay™️. Someone from the crowd will throw a pride flag on stage every show without fail and Chrissy will dance around the stage with it, wrap it around her shoulders and make sure everyone hears her when she sings about wanting to fuck hot girls.

She dances with Robin while she sings and Robin gets on her knees while she’s playing and looks like she absolutely worships Chrissy (which she does) and the only thing stopping her from getting her head under Chrissy’s tiny skirt right then and there is the looming threat of indecent exposure charge. But she doesn’t wait long to satiate her need when they get back onto the tour bus after the show and meet and greats are done.

Eddie is so active on stage. He really gets into the music, so it’s no surprise that he has to take his shirt off after the first song. He always drapes it around Steve’s shoulders and pinches his cheeks in between his fingers so Steve’s lips pucker and he can kiss him. Steve blushes bright red but goes straight into the opening of the next song.

Steve and Eddie like to tease one another. Everything they do on stage is to entice each other. Steve being on the drums means he’s at the back of the stage but the band knows the fans are obsessed with him and make sure to have a camera on him at all times that feeds into a livestream that hangs over the stage. Sometimes Eddie will get distracted between songs when he’s supposed to be bantering with Chrissy because Steve’s getting too hot and just poured a whole bottle of water over his head to cool him down, and all he can think about is licking up every droplet of water dripping from his hair onto the slope of his neck.

They like to change up the set list a lot so the fans are always surprised by what they get to hear. It’s the best part of touring when they hear the screams when a favourite is played.

There’s one song that Eddie and Steve wrote together that’s only played once a tour. Those shows get an adult content warning. Because they can’t help themselves. They wrote it in bed after spending all day wrapped up in one another, taking turns to write notes or lyrics on each others skin. When they finish, Eddie gently places his guitar on a stand and climbs up the dais the drums are on so he can straddle Steve’s legs, wait for him to open his mouth so he can spit in it then lick it up from his tongue, and filthily make out with him to the sounds of their fans screaming. It’s all caught on Steve Cam.

At all times, Steve and Eddie, and Robin and Chrissy are seconds away from fucking on stage. All the endorphins and energy just get to them.

They’ve had multiple articles published about them being vulgar, degenerate etc etc by religious groups. There was even a short time where a petition for them to be banned from performing went around. But that only seemed to get more people to check them out.

They put out a Rumours style record and the fans get so worried that their favourite band is breaking up, but actually no they were all arguing about stupid stuff and channeling their feelings into music. They’ll never break up, they’ve been through too much together.

They take a break after their fourth album in as many years. They’re still making music, always making music, but they need some time just for them. Robin and Chrissy road trip around Europe so Robin can flex her language skills and Chrissy can take Robin to every cool historical monument she’s ever wanted to see. They try new foods and every local beer they can get their hands on, document it all on their instagrams. Chrissy’s pictures are super artful and captioned with really deep thoughts, how grateful she is to be alive and thriving. (Their good friend and journalist Nancy Wheeler wrote an interview where Chrissy was able to speak candidly about her mental health troubles, eating disorder and how finding music and love helped her, continues to help her get through it). Robin’s pictures are always of Chrissy, complete candid, laughing or pointing at something with a caption in the local language saying how in love she is or how beautiful Chrissy is.

Eddie and Steve spend all their time in the fishing cabin Eddie got for Wayne with their first big paycheque. They don’t need to see anywhere else, they just want the quiet. They spend their mornings cooking together and their afternoons writing songs or reading books. In the evening they’ll dress up fancy and have candlelit dates inside the house, speak softly and tell each other how much they love each other.

Fans speculate what Eddie and Steve are doing. They haven’t been seen since the last show, haven’t posted anything on Instagram, and there are rumours that Eddie’s been checked into rehab (his drug use is wildly over reported. He smokes a joint after a show and nothing else. He’d seen what meth did to his parents and he wants no part of it, no matter how “rock ‘n’ roll” it may be.)

It’s not until Chrissy and Robin get back to the states that Eddie and Steve come out of hiding. Robin posts a video of them doing karaoke together, clearly a well practice routine where they do ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’ by Elton John and Kiki Dee. And after the freak out by the fans over Eddie knowing a song like that, how in love they are, and how glad everyone is to know that Steve and Eddie are alive and apparently thriving, the fans notice something.

Steve’s wearing a ring, which is strange because Steve never wears rings. The only piece of jewellery Steve has ever worn is a gold chain with a guitar pick hanging off it that matches a silver chain around Eddie’s neck.

Steve waits three weeks after that video to post on Instagram (which he never does) to tell everyone that he and Eddie got married the day Robin took that video. It was a small ceremony, just their friends and family in attendance. Claudia Henderson (a surrogate mother to both of them) officiated. He posts a picture of his and Eddie’s hands entwined, Eddie still has rings on every finger but the single band on his left ring finger matches the one on Steve’s exactly. Steve has an extra ring under his wedding band, something simple and almost cheap looking. It’s not until years later that it’s revealed that Eddie bought the ring three months after he and Steve started dating; way before they had internationally famous band money to spend.

The other pictures that come out were all taken by Jonathan, another close family friend who is usually seen doing pictures for art houses in New York, or occasionally photo reporting for his wife because no one else is able to capture her vision the way he does.

Steve and Robin are pictured crying as they slow dance, captioned ‘father-son dance’. Eddie is captured crying at what looks like a speech from Chrissy. Robin stands up for Steve and Chrissy stands up for Eddie, but Eddie also has his old band mates with him (who still fly the corroded coffin flag and let him record the guitar on their albums) and Steve has a group of 20-somethings stand up for him that someone points out are all people who are making waves in various scientific endeavours, and how the hell does Steve know them?

They come back for their fifth album bigger and better than ever, and their fans don’t even know why they worried. There’s clearly nothing in this world that the four of them would rather do.

[hausofmamadas]

FRENCHIE | Queer!Mode, Detected

The Boys, Season 1, Ep 2 - Cherry | Season 2, Ep 3 - Over The Hill With the Swords of A 1000 Men, 6 - The Bloody Door’s Off, 8 - What I Know | Season 3, Ep 3 - Barbary Coast

∴

I’ve seen a lotta chatter in The Boys fandom (mostly on Reddit but also TikTok. Appropriately this take wasn’t on Tumblr much) that ppl were mad at Kripke and Co for taking an unforeseen “gay turn” with Frenchie’s character in S4 ..? And I’m over here with my Sherlock Holmes cap and pipe and tiny detective notebook just

trying to understand how these ppl didn’t pick up on the bipan vibes from this beautiful, majestic, so-French-he-can't-help-it butterfly.

(Also all this hand wringing about Frenchie "turning gay," te lo juro me esta eloqueciendo alaverga. Like canwenot with the bi-erasure, it’s giving Ashley telling Maeve she’s a lesbian bc is more “clear-cut” and easier to sell than bi. It’s just as insulting to call a bipan person gay as it is to call them straight. And I don’t mean like the use of gay as a catch all that a lotta us queers use sometimes interchangeably for queer, I talkin ppl acting as tho bipan isn't real and/or thinking Frenchie jumped out the closet as a gay man 3/4 of the way thru the show.)

And their confusion over this has got me confused. Like I didn’t even realize it was such a plot twist until I got on Reddit and a lotta ppl were screaming like Ned Stark's head just got cut off, or like it's some wild-ass writer's room shenanigans where the character is suddenly a diff person for no discernible reason. Like have you seen this man? Do you know where you are? Bc they’ve been dropping hints throughout the show. Case in point:

a) Little Nina and all that talk about her Sergei ahem it's Serge and his overwhelming enthusiasm for butt stuff and Vincent Cassel try to convince me Sr. Cassel wasn’t a childhood crush of Frenchie’s or someth and that’s why it’s his safe word. You can’t

b) this time he planted a fat smooch on Hughie’s face after finding out he leaked the compound V tip to the press (bonus points for his attempt to make out with mm before getting a no-homo hard pass)

c) this deep, abiding love of The Golden Girls this is unequivocally the gayest thing on the list

d) how he turned tricks in mad NYC before Little Nina locked that mf in a chastity belt and held him hostage by his penis he went to ‘work’ for Nina. -> Disclaimer: this is not to imply that queer ppl’s participation in sex work is bc they’re hypersexual. This is here to point out queer coding, as lgbtqia+ ppl are more at-risk for mental health issues stemming from severe trauma, food and housing insecurity, and addiction, often without access to the care they need to recover. So sex work becomes a viable vocation to survive bc unlike a regular 9-5, it’s more conducive to untreated mental health issues and substance use also it’s an easier market to get into than arms dealing or contract killing

e) this throuple arrangement btwn him, Cherie and Justin

f) His attempts to…er broaden mm’s horizons ?

g) the evident lack of knowledge or interest or acumen for this mysterious sportsball of which mm speaks of but he’ll still go on that dumb golf bachelor trip bc he loves his fraaand

h) this fondness for Eurotrash raves and dancing

And look, I might get it if they sprung it on us. But this shit has been since the beginning. The earliest indicator being ep 2 of S1 — THE FIRST EP HE’S IN. Hughie asks what it’s like to kill someone and Frenchie waxes poetic about his first hit (just before ominously dropping, "I carry them all with me" buried the lead on that one to Hughie's horror but to the delight of bbygirllovers like myself everywhere) and well, I think the evidence here speaks for itself

Like the dichot— nay, Bichotomy of talking about how mindblowingly hot this chick is whilst, in the same breath, gushing over her outfit. Okay I’m sure there’s a token straightmale who can id high-end designer brands on sight. I’m sure that unicorn exists somewhere, right, cuz humans contain multitudes. But this man? He just a bipan butterfly. So those who felt blindsided by Frenchie gettin’ dicked down, oh you beautiful, naive, sophisticated newborn babies. If not spelled out, it was so heavily implied, I saw the fling with whatshisname with the murdered fam whose name I’m too lazy to Goog and was like, “hm yes, the math is indeed mathing, these calculayshuns are correct”

Like u thot a mf dressed like this??? was straight ?

Mans is in a scoopneck bunny crop top that looks straighr from the juniors section of Forever21 with plaid pants and fuckingsjs suspenders iconic so to think he'd nary tarried in sausage-central before, well ... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

═

taglist: @drabbles-mc, @complete-nonsequitur, @rerorero-my-cherry, @ladygoatee, @tofuwildcard, @tinylittleobsessions

[moonbeamwritings]

the friendship bracelet bombshell

wc: 4.5k

enjoy the playlist while you read

no warnings! just some good ol’ idiots to lovers, mutual pining, and the bakusquad being good friends

It all started with a friendship bracelet. This takeout-fueled, video game-interrupting downward spiral has all been caused by weaved bits of string in Denki’s favorite colors. Every time he looks at it, stewing about its implications, he wants to hurl.

He’s had a crush on you for months now, friendship gradually morphing into something more until suddenly his recently played on Spotify is filled with friends to lovers playlists and every meme on his for you page is about being in love with your best friend. And Denki can’t help it, really he can’t. You’re so warm, so kind, that he felt drawn to you from the very beginning. Now he stares at the bracelet on his wrist, a flurry of unanswered questions and what-ifs swirling through his mind. He’s doomed.

“Sero,” Denki whines, head tipped back against the couch and body slumped into the cushions. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

As Denki’s (other) best friend, Sero has heard it all, has been with Denki through every phase of his crush on you. In the mushy stage, Denki couldn’t go two seconds without fixing you with this disgusting, starry-eyed, lovesick look (He still can’t, and Sero doesn’t hesitate to remind him of this fact), complimenting you any chance he got. The pining stage quickly followed. A non-stop thrill ride of yearning and late-night phone calls where Sero endured waxed poetic about how badly Denki wanted to date you or how you’d brushed hands on your walk to the café down the street from your apartment. The final, and most miserable, phase of them all is something Sero lovingly calls the insecurity phase. Any confidence that Sero thought Denki had has disappeared in the wake of the uncertainty and unresolved feelings that crushes often bring. The result has been catastrophic, with Denki second-guessing every smile and every text. Sero firmly believes that this damn friendship bracelet is the beginning of the end. A bomb is about to go off, and he’s sitting at the point of impact, a PlayStation controller in one hand and his phone in the other.

Denki’s in love with you, that much is nauseatingly clear, and if he knew even half the gossip that Mina has so graciously supplied over the last month, he’d know you feel the same. It’s amazing, Sero thinks as he steels his nerves to deal with more of Denki’s whining, how two people can be so utterly clueless.

“What am I supposed to do now? This is the last straw, the final nail in the coffin! I think I might just die.”

Sero stares longingly at the looping menu screen on the TV, desperately wishing they could go back to the game. How did he even end up here? “You know this doesn’t mean they don’t like you, right?”

Denki’s head snaps up from the back of the couch, betrayal setting firmly across his face. “It’s a friendship bracelet, Hanta. It’s in the name!” He emphasizes the word friendship with a flourish of the offending bracelet, waggling it in Sero’s direction.

Despite the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface, Sero knows he needs to approach this situation with the utmost delicacy, lest Denki start to spiral even further. “Denki,” he says calmly, though he can’t stop a sigh from escaping his lips. “Dude, relax. I’ve told you a million times that I think they like you back.”

Sero’s phone buzzes in his hand, and he spares a glance to check the notification.

< mina: these two are idiots 🙄 >

< sero: you’re telling me >

“Well, did they tell you that?”

The question pulls Sero away from his phone. “Huh?” Well, you told Mina and Mina told him, so…. Kind of? Sero can’t tell Denki that, though. “I mean no, but their crush on you is about as obvious as yours is on them.”

“If I mess this up by telling them when I don’t know for sure,” There’s a serious edge to Denki’s tone that makes the other man shudder, “then I can kiss our friendship goodbye.” A beat of silence, and then, “And I’m not willing to do that. I just- I’m just not.”

A train ride away, your night is going much the same way, lamenting over the grave mistake you call a friendship bracelet. The incident with the bracelet has loomed over every conversation Mina has had with you over the last week. She’s heard it all — the worries about punting Denki directly into the friend zone, the plan to give everyone a bracelet to make things less awkward (She shut that down almost as quickly as the words left your mouth). She has one of your hands in her own, trying and failing to paint your nails. You talk with your hands, especially when you’re stressed, and it’s making her job that much harder. 

“Mina, what if I just completely friendzoned him? I mean, it’s in the name.”

“Then tell him how you feel! Clear the air, ya know?”

You huff, almost offended. “Well, I can’t do that!”

When your hand comes to rest on the table, much like a tiger awaiting its prey, Mina pounces. She locks your hand in her own, nail polish brush poised in the other. She refuses to tell you the obvious, refuses to just spit out that the poor blonde is disgustingly, embarrassingly down bad for you; that’s for you to find out on your own, but this back and forth game is getting exhausting. What more coaxing could she and Sero possibly do? She wonders, briefly, if you and Denki are simply doomed to be clueless, lovesick morons for the rest of your days, pining after one another until one of you dies (or gets over it, whichever comes first). But, being the hopeless romantic she is, Mina can't resign herself to the fact that maybe it won’t work out after all. She’ll coax and prod until her throat runs dry if she has to. And, if the situation gets truly desperate, she’ll just tell you Denki’s in love with you. Plain and simple. She’d like for that to come from him, though, so for now, she’ll bite her tongue.

Mina swipes the color (a shade of yellow that looks suspiciously like a certain electrified hero’s hair) along your nail. “Why not?”

“I-, I don’t wanna fuck it up, ya know?” 

The pink-haired girl nods, listening intently.

“If I tell him, and it goes poorly, then he won’t want to be my friend anymore, and that’s, like, the worst possible outcome.”

Mina blinks at you like she’s in disbelief that someone could be so dumb. “You and Denki are friends, right? Like, good friends?”

You nod hesitantly. The two of you are good friends, best friends even, though the radio silence you’ve endured over the last few days thanks to that bracelet don’t exactly reflect that sentiment. Denki makes you feel heard, seen in ways you’re convinced you’ve never experienced before. He’s a shoulder to cry on, someone to confide in. You think about the late nights spent giggling at your phones in the darkness of your bedroom, about the photos throughout your camera roll of the two of you, smiling or pulling goofy poses or being close, emotionally and physically. Yes, you think as an ache settles in your joints. Good friends.

She stops what she’s doing to pin you beneath her signature judgmental gaze, one you’ve only seen directed at Kirishima for his taste in shoes or Denki for his impulsive decisions. The sight of it fixed on you for once sends a shiver down your spine. “So explain to me why something like this would ever make him not want to be your friend.”

“What if he thinks I’m weird? What if it makes things more awkward than they already are?”

A comment slips past her lips about Denki being the last person allowed to judge anyone else for being weird before her expression softens. “Baby, you know I love you, and I’m only saying this because I do, okay?” She waits for you to nod before adding, “But you’re dense if you think Denki would treat you any differently for that.”

Your friend watches you think over her words, like you’re examining and picking them apart in your brain. You sigh, hand going limp in her hold. “I know.” The apartment stills, silence only filled with the playlist Mina has on shuffle. You refuse to meet her gaze when you tell her, “I’m just... scared.”

Mina frowns. “It’s okay to be scared. Love is kinda scary, but I think you owe it to yourself, and Denki, to do something about it.” She rubs a thumb over your knuckles, and you feel lucky to have such supportive friends. “I hate seeing you upset.”

“Let’s just,” you deflate, focusing on the bottles of nail polish lined up in front of you, “forget about it for tonight, okay?”

She nods, and goes back to painting. When she’s done, and with your nails now dry enough that you can use your hands again, the two of you have a true, veg out sleepover night, watching videos and eating snacks to your hearts’ content. That night, you fall asleep with your head on Mina’s shoulder, some shitty comedy playing out on the TV in front of you.

< mina: we need to do something about this >

Sero’s response is immediate, a text with a photo attached of Denki morosely fiddling with the strings on his guitar.

< sero: agreed. >

“We could…” Mina taps her foot, chin resting in her hand as she thinks over a potential course of action. “lock them in a closet?”

“That’s too close to kidnapping for my taste.” Sero fires back, dunking a fry in some ketchup.

“Ooo,” Kirishima lights up, “we could set up a mistletoe!”

“Mmm, that’s good!”

“It’s not even December.” Sero adds, tone deadpan.

An annoyed groan brings the conversation to a grinding halt. “What does it matter anyway? Let the two idiots pine.”

“But Bakugou,” Mina complains petulantly, “they’re so in love it hurts.”

“That shit’s none of my business.”

“But they’re our friends, remember?”

Kirishima smirks, knowing just how to push the blond’s buttons to get him in on the action. “And if we help them get together, they won’t be annoying about the pining anymore.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Then they’ll just be an annoying couple.”

“Which is worse?”

A hush falls over the table as Bakugou considers his options. The two of you have been so goddamn annoying the past few months, stewing over your crushes and making it everyone else’s problem. But he knows if you get together, the pining will just turn to... mush, and then he’ll have to watch your honeymoon phase in full technicolor. At least, he thinks, the two of you would be happy then.

He throws his hands up, fork clattering across the table with the force of it, a scowl pulling his brows together. “Damn it. Fine, the pining is worse.”

“Okay,” Sero interjects, “so what’s the plan?”

The plan is a simple, and stupid, one. One only a group of desperate friends could come up with.

On Thursday night, the four of them light up the group chat with frantic texts about movie night and pizzas (and brownies, Kirishima adds excitedly) on Saturday. And then they wait. They wait for the two of you to agree, for Denki to offer up his apartment as the hangout spot — he’s the one with the best TV (and the comfiest couch), after all. They wait for the pieces to fall into place, for the two of you to back yourselves into hanging out with the promise of your entire friend group there as a buffer.

And then, as conspiring friends do, they each perfectly craft their excuses to back out.

< sero: oh no i totally forgot i have patrol on saturday >

That afternoon, another text comes in. 

< mina: you guyysss i told kyoka and ochako i’d see that new movie with them... i committed weeks ago 😓 >

Then on Saturday, another.

< kirishima: stuck at the agency doing paperwork 😩 >

And Bakugou, ever the wordsmith, puts the final nail in the coffin

< bakugou: I can’t make it. >

You deflate with each text as it comes in, dread seeping in and tainting the excitement that had been buzzing beneath your skin over the last few days. You text Mina, suspecting that this was her doing, that she’d pulled strings and got everyone in on the scheme to make a fool out of you. She assures you, half-heartedly, that she had nothing to do with it. It was all coincidence.

And on Saturday night as you stand in your kitchen, eyeing the freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies cooling on the counter top, you sigh.

< hey! i know everyone bailed, but do you still wanna hang? >

You so desperately want Denki to say no, so you stare at the chat until the three little dots signifying that he’s typing pop up — as if staring will force his refusal into existence. But Denki, poor, sweet, innocent Denki, can never say no to you.

< denki: i’m still down if you are! i’ve got pizza waiting on the counter :-) >

So with a sigh, you allow the cookies to cool before you plop them all in a container and make your way down to the train.

You’ve made the trek to Denki’s apartment so many times that the familiar path sends you into autopilot, allowing you to shut your brain off, if only for a moment. You walk down the street five blocks, take the train three stops, then head up a few blocks from the station and you’re there. Snapping back into reality only when your fist raises to rap against his door, you barely have time to breathe before you see him.

The moment the door opens you’re met with Denki — his hair tousled and eyes a little sleepy. It’s disarmingly cute, and you have to stop yourself from admitting as much. You notice, much to your amusement, that one pant leg sits higher than the other, exposing his mismatched socks. The sleeves of his sweatshirt hang over his fingers. God, you’re fucked.

Unbeknownst to you, Denki is thinking much the same thing. Seeing you, all cuddled up in your comfy clothes, a container of cookies in hand, unlocks something deep in the back of his brain. Something he’s been trying so hard to just ignore. Your cheeks are pink from the cold, hair a little messy from the breeze outside, and when you smile, Denki’s heart stutters in his chest. God, he’s so screwed.

It takes a second for him to find his footing, but when he does, he spits out, “C’mon in! The pizza’s getting cold.” As you toe off your shoes and shrug out of your jacket, he lingers by the door, weight shifting nervously. “It’s um- it’s nice to see you. I feel like we haven’t hung out just the two of us in forever!”

The comment disarms you, and you’re thankful your back is to him. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’ve been avoiding him, and he’s noticed. Sending that text was a mistake. Your voice is bright, airy, as you reply, “I know right!”

As you move into the kitchen, stealing a slice of pizza before collapsing on his couch, he adds, “I was honestly a little surprised you texted. I thought the whole thing was gonna be off.” He chuckles awkwardly when he sinks into the cushions beside you.

You shrug, a smile lifting your lips at the corners without thinking. “Well, I couldn’t miss an opportunity to see you.” You risk a glance in Denki’s direction to find he’s smiling too, his cheeks a pretty pink color. “And besides, who can say no to pizza?”

Around a mouthful of the food in question, he replies, “You know I can’t.”

Conversation flows easily, harmlessly, between you as you eat, and for a moment you trick yourself into thinking everything is normal, that you don’t have an annoyingly big crush on your best friend. That is, until he gingerly takes the plate from your grasp and throws it away for you. He flicks off the kitchen light and the living room falls into darkness.

“Hold on, I’ll-” he turns on the string lights that sit behind the couch. “How’s that?”

The incessant thumping of your heart travels into your ears and your face feels warm as he joins you on the couch again. You’re making it awkward, you know you are. You can feel it in the way your body stiffens when his fingers just barely brush against the outside of your thigh. You’ve been in this exact situation a million times before — on the couch in close proximity to Denki, the room bathed in the soft glow of the lights he’d so meticulously strung up — so why, now, does it all have to be so hard? So overwhelming? In a way, you wish things were different. You don’t want to tell Denki, not really, but the pressure of your unspoken feelings is starting to crush you.

“You okay?”

“Oh yeah!” You force a smile, “All good.”

Denki’s unimpressed. “You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”

You sigh, defeated. “Yeah.”

“Sooo,” he prompts, bumping his knee into yours. “What’s on your mind?”

“Have you ever liked someone so much you feel like you can’t be normal about it? Like, at all?”

Yes. Fuck yes. About you, Denki thinks. “Yeah,” he responds casually, slinging an arm across the back of the couch. “I think I know what you mean.”

“There’s this guy…” Denki’s heart sinks, but he says nothing. “... and I feel like I really messed up, ya know?”

He hangs onto your every word, nodding along as if he’s hearing a sacred secret. In a way, to him, he is.

“Like, we’re really good friends, and I like him so much, but I just-” Your hand flops helplessly into your lap. “I don’t know what to do.”

Denki speaks before he can tell himself to zip it. “Any guy would be lucky to have you! I mean-” A hand comes up to nervously rub at the nape of his neck. His cheeks flush scarlet. “You’re just… you’re great. And he’d be an idiot if he couldn’t see that.” After a beat of silence and despite the ache in his chest, Denki smiles and forces out, “You should tell him!”

You fiddle with the friendship bracelet on your own wrist, and Denki realizes that the pattern matches his own. He feels like he’s running a marathon with the way his heart thunders against his ribcage, with how much adrenaline pumps through his veins.

“I kind of already did.”

You’re adorably sheepish, and Denki’s mind struggles to catch up. He searches your face for an answer, and when he doesn’t find one, you supply, “Denki, it’s you.”

“Oh. Oh?” His brows furrow in disbelief, and his head tilts to one side. He whispers, “Me?” A finger points at his own chest.

“You.” You tell him resolutely. “It’s been driving me crazy.”

With the sweet, sweet confirmation that Sero has been right all along (Denki does not want to hear him say I told you so), Denki splits into a grin. Firing your own words back at you, he replies, “I haven’t been normal about you in months.”

“Months?”

“The friendship bracelet did me in.” He admits. “I felt like I was making one of those detective boards with all the red strings. I’d liked you for months and then you tied the bracelet on me and all I could think was, ‘Damn, I really hope they didn’t just friend zone me.’”

You open your mouth, both to speak and to gape at him like a fish fighting for air, but he cuts you off.

“Not that being friend zoned is bad or anything. I love being your friend, like, a lot, but like-”

You facepalm. “Denki, I was so thoroughly convinced that you thought that I’d friend zoned you. You should’ve heard my rants to Mina. I thought making everyone a bracelet would’ve made it better.”

Denki shakes his head. “I think that would’ve actually killed me.”

You look at him, really look at him and despite the embarrassment of how long, how drawn out, all of this was, you can’t help but giggle. “We really are the group idiots, huh?”

He sighs, a chuckle of his own ringing through the air to match yours. “I think this proves it.”

Fiddling with the fabric of the cuff of your hoodie, Denki can’t seem to force out the one question that lingers on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” You ask affectionately, your hand closing over his. “You look so… pensive all of a sudden.”

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, testing the water. His tone is so unlike him, so quiet and unsure like he’s afraid, after everything, you’ll pull the rug from under him. Like you’ll deny him, even now. “Please?”

And despite the mounting nerves that settle in your lungs and the tingling feeling in the tips of your fingers, you nod. “Yeah.”

Denki’s hands are soft, tentative where they curl around your hip and settle on your jaw. Silence swirls in the air for a heartbeat, and then two, before he’s leaning in. You’re so shocked, so wrapped up in how much has changed in only a few minutes' time, that when his lips finally press to yours, it takes you a moment to react. It’s chaste, a featherlight touch of skin against skin, and when you manage to finally scramble enough brain cells together to kiss back, Denki’s head tilts, he presses closer. He smiles against your lips as the hands on your skin curl tighter, pulling you in. You’re chest to chest, your hands fisted into the plush material of his hoodie, when a moan, light and airy, unceremoniously leaves your mouth. In an instant, embarrassment floods each of your senses, and you’re left with your eyes wide and face feeling too hot. Your lungs heave as you fight the urge to hide your face in your hands.

“Oh my god.” Your heart is hammering as you look at him. “Don’t- I didn’t-” You can’t explain the sound away; you know you can’t. A sound like that can never truly be unheard. God, you want to die. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. Oh my god.”

Denki’s cheeks are pink as his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips. “I can’t. I won’t. It’s in my brain forever.”

“Well, take it out!”

“I can’t!” He smirks, one hand mindlessly playing with the hair at the nape of your neck, as if to soothe your bruised ego. It’s not working. “Not when I’ve been practically dying to hear a sound like that from you for, like, ever now.”

Your face burns even more at the admission and you groan, shoving your face into the crook of his neck. “Just, please, stop talking. For the sake of my mental health.”

“I didn’t even really do anything,” Denki muses, facial expression dipping into something more pensive as he replays the moment in his brain. Yup, definitely never letting that sound go.

“Denki,” you plead, “cut it out.”

A hand runs down the expanse of your back and up again. Up and down. Up and down. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop.”

You can feel his lips curl against the crown of your head. You know you won’t live this down for a long time, if ever. Your eyes clench shut as you inwardly cringe at the thought. Great. A kiss to your hair distracts you enough to pull your head from his neck, forcing you to look at him fully.

Denki’s grin is boyish, like the cat that got the cream, as he examines you carefully, eyes flickering to each of your features before finally, resolutely, he kisses the tip of your nose. “Is it too early to tell you I love you? Too cheesy?”

You hum, eyes closing as his palm rests against the apple of your cheek. “We’ve been saying we love each other for years.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. Those I love you’s had been laden with unspoken confessions and platonic affection as of late, morphing their meanings into something different, something with more weight.

“Fine,” he relents, kissing your other cheek. “Then can I tell you I’m in love with you? Is that okay?”

You think for a moment. You think about the tender way he holds you, the way he’s always held you. You reflect on the times he’d dried your tears or led you home to safety after a night of drinking, his hand in yours. You think about the sweet, delicate way he says your name, how he looks at you as if you’re the only person in any room.

You think about Denki, everything that he is and everything he will be, and you decide, voice resolute and eyes blinking open to take in the full vision of his face. “Yes,” Your hand comes to rest over his and you squeeze his fingers, “but only if I can say it, too.”

Denki attacks your face in kisses with big, exaggerated smacking sounds, leaving wet kiss marks all over the skin of your forehead, across each of your cheeks. Your giggles fill the room, and they only seem to spur him on, smooching you even more fervently. He guides you back onto the cushions of the couch and when he pulls away, your ribs ache from how much you’ve been laughing. Your cheeks hurt from your splitting grin.

He presses one final kiss to that grin, one of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s barely moved an inch when, for the first time, he mumbles, “I’m in love with you.”

You don’t hesitate to say it back.

And as you finally tuck into the couch, cuddled close together as a couple this time, Denki’s arm curls around your shoulders. When you reach up to hold his hand, you stop to inspect the friendship bracelet that started this whole mess. You trace the pad of your finger over its tiny ridges before you lace your fingers together.

“Should we tell the others?” Denki asks as the movie’s title pops on screen.

“Nah,” you tell him, squishing your cheek into his shoulder. “We can tell ‘em in the morning.”

The next morning, when you venture to the breakfast place down the street, you send a selfie in the group chat. Denki is crowding your space, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. You’re giggling. It’s clear the air between you has changed. Something has shifted.

< denki: i beat the friend zone allegations once and for all!!!!! >:) >

And with a chorus of finally’s sounding off in the chat, Denki kisses you again, ready to devour some pancakes with his best friend.

[bringthekaos]

Who do you think fell first and when? Or rather recognized it?

Recognized it? Definitely Viktor. Generally I find him to be a bit more of a self-aware person than Jayce.

Not to blame Jayce at all, he was likely experiencing a whirlwind of emotions at the time, and I can’t really blame him for perhaps mistaking his attraction for appreciation, gratitude, or just plain relief.

For Viktor, I think it started the moment he laid eyes on Jayce’s work on that chalk board in his blown-up apartment. A brain crush, as they say; he was impressed and intrigued by Jayce’s work, and could immediately see the benefit in it. And then during Jayce’s trial, when Jayce was waxing poetic about Hextech…

Like look at him, he’s got the butterflies good, and he knows it.

Overall I think Viktor recognized attraction immediately, but it took him a little longer to completely fall for him—seeing that Jayce wasn’t just ambition, he was altruism and kindness. Seeing that, while Jayce could have been in this venture solely for profit or status, those things meant diddly squat to him. He genuinely wanted to help people, to bring magic to the masses in a safe and controlled manner.

And I think by the time Viktor came to the realization that oh no, this is more than a crush, Jayce was starting to catch onto his own feelings—catching himself staring, losing himself in the sound of Viktor’s voice and missing everything he was saying.

But they’re both idiots when it comes to matters of the heart, so Viktor let it stretch out waaaay too long, with thoughts of we’re partners, I have to be professional. We can’t complicate this. And Jayce was too terrified that he was misreading Viktor, that he was just imagining the sparks between them. So they pined for much longer than was necessary, but hey… they got around to it eventually 💕