#it would eventually be very hard for him to tell whether he's in the real world or in a STEM environment or if he's dreaming

[ruvviks]

HIIIIIIIIIII for nathan obviously <3 what a guy <3 🩹🔶🐉❤️🤍💔💛

nathan asks!

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

when nathan was young, he was sent to some sort of a jdc after being accused of killing his younger sister rosie (he did not do this). here he was treated by an unreliable specialist who ended up diagnosing him with a bunch of things he didn't have, after which he was given medication which fucked him up pretty bad. in secret, all of this was just mobius experiments since the jdc in question was a secret mobius location, which meant they've been keeping an eye on nathan since he was around ten years old

if nathan were to get some proper diagnoses later in his life, he would be diagnosed with a variety of things (correctly this time); paranoid personality disorder, which mainly stems from his paranoia in combination with how he's been treated all his life; depersonalization-derealization disorder, which is mostly the result of both his horrible youth as well as the continuous jumping between real life and the STEM environment (which is essentially a dream environment made out of minds linked together); ocd, always been with him; and then later on also ptsd and even psychosis, both direct results of the STEM environment's influence on his psyche. he does get proper treatment eventually and manages to manage it all pretty well given the circumstances

as for physical disabilities, nathan injured his leg in a fight with the harbinger during the events of tew2. it has left some permanent damage (though he's not sure if it's in his leg or between his ears) causing him to get very annoying pain in it if he runs / walks for too long

🔶 LARGE ORANGE DIAMOND — does your oc know cpr? do they have any other medical expertise?

nathan's medical expertise does not go much further than what he was taught at mobius, which would mostly be basic wound tending etc. he would've had cpr classes with that as well, but he's never had to use his skills in a real situation before so if they're actually useful skills is up for debate

he can patch up most of his own wounds but not very neatly, so most of them leave pretty big and visible scars. he's not bothered by it though but because of this generally doesn't feel confident patching up others since he doesn't want to fuck something up for them

🐉 DRAGON — what is your oc's favorite mythical creature?

one thing about nathan is that he's a sceptic through and through so his interest in mythical creatures would be below the ground LMAO he would think werewolves are pretty cool but if anything he would think that in a horny way. and that's it

❤️ RED HEART — what are three of your oc's positive traits?

nathan is very efficient and practical. he has a varied skillset and is very thorough and focused on the task at hand, which makes him a very professional man to work with. he values quality and is always looking to learn and become better at things, which would've basically made him employee of the month at mobius every month

it's interesting that a lot of his positive traits are work-related, but for the longest time nathan's life entirely revolved around work and who he was within mobius. more of his positive traits for his personal life would be that he's witty, a lot more intelligent than he makes himself out to be, and overall a surprisingly nice person to talk to. he does have weird and off-putting vibes which make him a bit less approachable but if you get past that he is very pleasant in conversation

🤍 WHITE HEART — what are three of your oc's neutral/questionable traits?

nathan can be very objective which sometimes results in him being clear-headed and direct, but sometimes it translates to him being cold and distant. he is also extremely loyal; a good trait to have, as long as it's loyalty with the right kind of people, and he has definitely not always been on the right side of history considering he was part of mobius (albeit against his will; he did end up doing a lot of things for them that he did have control over)

on top of all that, nathan can be very selfless, giving his all to keep something or someone who means a lot to him safe. this makes him protective, but also very self-destructive, as he cares little about what happens to himself in the process

💔 BROKEN HEART — what are three of your oc's negative traits?

nathan is a very vengeful man and he holds serious grudges which he generally takes to his grave. he easily feels wronged by situations or other people and when someone hurts him it's very difficult for him to trust them again. he's also impulsive and stubborn, both of which can be observed in the way he can devote himself entirely to a cause or another person if he cares about them enough, and the self-destructive behavior that comes with it

💛 YELLOW HEART — how many languages does your oc speak? what language(s) are they learning, if any?

nathan is fluent in english and spanish, and he knows bits and pieces of japanese as well as sign language because of his history with mobius. he is actively teaching himself more sign language currently, and would love to know more languages than he does but it's very difficult for him to do so he would probably not be able to fully become fluent in a fourth language (counting asl as his (eventual) third)

[teamatsumu]

L&DS BOYS - LOVE LANGUAGES

content warnings: fem!reader, fluff, sfw headcanons

XAVIER - PHYSICAL TOUCH

Xavier knows he is smart, and witty enough. But when things get a little too real, he finds it hard to express himself.

And the feelings he has for you are the most genuine ones he has felt in his long, long life.

While he might not be someone who can wax poetic about his affection for you, he shows it in other ways, and physical touch in his favorite way to get his feelings across.

When you walk next to each other, he sticks close, arm brushing against yours. Occasionally, the back of his hand makes contact with your own. It's almost as if the tension builds and builds, until he finally connects your fingers, either intertwining your hands together or linking his pinkie with yours. No words leave his mouth. His touch says enough.

If the train is too crowded, he will pull you closer to him with a firm touch on the small of your back, making sure you don’t receive any unwanted bumps from strangers.

For a few weeks in your relationship, he developed a strange habit of pinching your cheeks and lightly pulling on them. You let him do it, knowing he would eventually move on and find some other part of you to focus on. Though the action did make your face heat up.

Another weird hyperfixation he has is nibbling at your fingertips absentmindedly. He plays with them often, but when he is distracted by a movie you two are watching, he will bite at them every so often. Sometimes, he is so focused on the screen that you doubt he even realizes what he is doing.

(He realizes. He just thinks every part of you deserves love. Don’t question it. It makes sense in his head.)

Cuddling with him is the perfect gift for your senses, stimulating you wonderfully.

Small nips on your skin, little lingering touches. He traces your skin with eager yet gentle hands, as if trying to memorize every curve and dip.

He buries his face in your neck and breathes in deep, and in that moment, bodies tangled with each other and the sheets, vulnerable and open, he will whisper, “I love you”.

It’s an affirmation more than a revelation, since his actions up until this point have all shown you that he really, truly does love you. So you whisper it back, trying to pour all your love into it, before slotting your lips together and using physical touch to convey your feelings right back.

RAFAYEL - WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

Rafayel is, in the simplest of terms, a yapper.

This man could talk for hours if you don’t stop him. About his art, about the meaning of life, about his experiences. He can express so much while also having an impeccable talent of being completely vague. Sometimes, you don’t even understand the things he says. And you’ve given up trying to decipher his every word.

But when Rafayel is talking about you, he makes himself abundantly clear. There’s no ambiguity about it; he loves you. And he will say it a million different times in a million different ways. Whether it be a bold declaration of how much his heart yearns for you, or endless teasing that is meant to rile you up and get a reaction out of you.

“I don’t think your talent lies in art, babe. It’s a good thing you’re a walking art piece yourself. No wonder I’m in love with you.”

“You’re leaving so soon? But I don’t think I’ve admired you enough for today. Don’t leave me!”

I’m impressed, Miss Bodyguard. You’re talented, and easy on the eyes. No wonder you captivated me from that very first day we met.”

Expect to wake up with a lot of voice notes on your phone. Minutes long. Sometimes rambling, sometimes actual ideas for new pieces that he wants to run by you. You better reply to all of them individually.

When you cuddle at night, you can talk for hours. No topic on earth is off limits with him. He will lay you down on a blanket on the beach, and as you watch the stars, he will tell you stories from olden times about star crossed lovers and tragic fairy tales. And he will turn to you, tell you how beautiful you are, how ardently he loves you, how he will never forget any moment he spends with you.

It’s almost like you can tell the exact moment he falls in love with you. Because he tells you. He never stops telling you. He voices his fears of you leaving him, he makes you promise you will never go away. He is clingy and he is whiny, and he is so endearing.

It’s hard to dismiss him when he is so loud about his love. And it’s hard to not fall for him just as he falls for you.

ZAYNE - ACTS OF SERVICE

This is an indisputable fact. Dr Zayne shows his love through acts of service.

He is intensely aware of your needs, and is miles ahead of you in determining what you require at any given moment.

It’s his way of showing you that he cares. He worries for you, and born from that worry is the urge to take care of you.

If you have had a long day, you will come home to a text from him saying he has ordered takeout and it will arrive at your house shortly, since he knows you are too exhausted to cook anything. It is always something different, but it is always food that he knows you enjoy. He will mix it with some healthy options too.

If you ever crash at his place, you will wake up to a tall glass of water and two aspirin on the side table, along with a note in his neat handwriting telling you that there is fresh cooked breakfast in the oven (he made it before he left for work).

Once you two are in a steady relationship, he keeps his house stocked with products you use. A spare shampoo and conditioner, toothbrush, a bathrobe of your size, a hair brush, you name it.

When you mumble something about the hand cream in your purse that is nearly running out, you will find a brand new tube next time you open the purse, and there is no need to even ask. You know Zayne put it there.

He is intensely observant. Even after knowing him for so long, it catches you off guard. He knows which of your clothes need to be dry cleaned and which ones are good for the washing machine. He knows which scents you use. Which products are harsher on your skin. He knows that contacts irritate your eyes after long hours of wearing them, so he keeps a small bottle of eye drops in your side table for that very purpose.

He scolds you for neglecting yourself, and he won’t hold back the harsh tone if he thinks your behavior is particularly destructive. To him, the best way to show love is to make sure your beloved is living the best life they can.

It is the littlest things, the tiniest details. And it shocks you, even after so long.

[s6ngbird]

little doll — coriolanus snow ༘❀⋆

♡‧₊ warnings — coryo being possessive, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering (f. receiving), rough sex, lmk if i forget anything!

♡‧₊ pairing — coriolanus snow x fem!reader

♡‧₊ a/n — wrote this for @etfrin bc me and her were obsessing over coryo (like always <3)

masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

to coryo, you were an innocent little doll that he loved to play with and if anyone else tried to even lay a finger on you, he would make sure they were done for

you always took coryo to your house after school to help you with your homework or to study 

coryo let you take him, you were so stupid that he knew if he didn't help you in any way he could, you would fail and have to drop out the academy and he didn't want to lose his pretty little doll

being dumb was the exact reason you never realized coryo had an unspoken claim on you, always keeping a hand on you and staring down everyone who tried to make conversation with you

this led to people starting to stop talking to you and you still didn't understand why it happened, but everyone else pitied you for being so dumb

you had asked coryo about it and he just brushed it off, giving you a kiss after which left you shocked since you never knew coryo had a romantic interest in you

but whether you liked it or not, one thing led to another and you ended up in your bed, naked with coryo under you as your eyelids became heavy and coryo stroked your hair, shushing you everytime you were about to say something

you got used to this, having sex everytime after you two finished studying. if you were good and could answer all the questions correctly, he would fuck you nicely, being gentle and praising you, but if you didn't want to study and were giving him a hard time or weren't answering any of the question right, he would fuck you hard, not letting you come or he would fuck your throat, not giving you any pleasure and leaving your house right after that

on this particular night, you had understood the concept, so coryo was gentle with you and let you come and stopped once you started feeling overstimulated

“coryo?” you ask after a while 

“yeah doll?” he said, his eyes opening and continuing to stroke your hair

“why do people not talk to me? they always talk with you…what did i do?” you ask, your eyes looking filling with tears as a few threaten to spill

“oh sweetie shhh” coryo says, holding your head to his chest as you cried

you weren't used to people ignoring you since even though you were dumb, you were very social which made people love you

“it's nothing, they're not real friends…ok doll?” he said shushing you and you eventually find yourself asleep after coryo pulls the covers of you two and cuddles you, kissing your head from time to time

the next day, after you coryo go your separate ways, you go to clemensia to see why everyone was avoiding you

she gave you a hug, which confused you but you were grateful for

“it's because of coryo…he's threatened people if they get too close to you, he's really possessive over you, you know?” she replies after you two start walking to lunch together

this left you stunned, you would've never guessed that coryo had been pushing people away from you, but just as you were about to respond, coryo came out of nowhere and kissed you, putting an arm around you as he looked at you happily

“hi doll, hey clemmie” he said, giving clemensia a cold stare but that was all gone the minute you looked up

clemensia gave you a knowing look, saying goodbye to you and coryo as she left

“what was that about?” coryo said looking down at you

“nothing…let's go get lunch” you said not wanting to tell coryo what you found out but he could see it in your eyes

“hmmm i think we should go grab lunch and then go to an empty classroom and study…you have that test tomorrow anyway” coryo said grabbing his lunch, as you grabbed yours

“do we have to?” you asked, coryo knew how much you hated studying

“yes doll, you're never going to learn if you don't continue studying” he said, leading you to an empty classroom, letting you go in as he locks the door behind him

you sit down at the desk, starting to eat when coryo grabs you, pushing you on the table

“what the fuck did she tell you?” he hisses, his face close to your ear as he starts moving his hand up your skirt

“nothing coryo! why the fuck do you care?” you spat, trying to move

coryo didn't like that, you were being disobedient and one thing about coryo is that he only tolerates obedience and anything else gives him a reason to punish you

“why the fuck do i care? it's because your mine doll, no one is allowed to have you but me” he says, pulling off your skirt and ripping your panties

he laughs as you try to claw at his arms, your pussy is slick

“so pathetic doll, can't even tell me that you just want to get fucked hm?” he says, grabbing your arms and pinning them together to avoid you hitting him with your hands

you whimper, shaking your head as coryo shoves two finger in, finding your g-spot quite easily and repeatedly slamming his fingers in, leaving you a whimpering moaning mess

as he adds a third finger, which makes you moan loudly, he starts kissing you, sucking hickeys on your neck and shoulders

after coryo thinks you’re stretched out enough, he takes his fingers out, licking them clean before pulling down his pants, his cock painfully hard now at the thought of being in your warm cunt

without warning, he slams his cock into you, ramming the table into the wall as he fucks you hard, making sure that you got no pleasure from it

you kept whimpering, letting out broken moans and attempting to form coherent sentences but coryo just laughed at your attempts

“what’s wrong doll? too fucked out to even object?” he said, slamming into you with even more force and sucking hickeys all over your breasts 

you kept babbling about how good his cock felt and letting out moans and coryo knew he had fucked you dumb already if you weren’t already stupid

coryo enjoyed this because he just wanted control over someone, which is something he had been deprived of his whole life until you came along

finally you stopped babbling, going quiet and that’s how coryo knew you were going to come, quickly pulling out before you could which left you a mess

you had tears running down your cheeks and you were whining, coryo had other plans though

“doll open your mouth” coryo said, pumping his shaft a few times before cumming on your face, some of it landing in your mouth

you still felt like crying, you had a good build up but coryo pulled out before you got to finally have the knot snap

coryo notices and laughs, getting dressed again while you just lay there, catching your breath

“next time, don’t go asking people to tell you things that i’ve already told you ok?” he says, kissing your forehead and leaving the classroom

[solar-wing]

⚣ Submission 🗣️

⚣🗣️ A/N → Something I couldn't get out of my head after I saw this TikTok. You can't tell me this wouldn't be Jason in this situation. WARNINGS: none

⚣🗣️ Summary → Imagine being in a relationship with Jason Todd where you know Jason could easily beat you in a fight but it never stops you from talking shit as if you’ll fuck him up, and he just lets you…

⚣🗣️ Words → 851

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🗣️

It’s not something Jason admits he finds amusing and adorable about you, but the fact that he lets you do it without any real pushback is telling enough. Because imagine, this towering and colossal-sized man, definitely over 6 feet and huge mass with the muscles to show and is a trained fighter (no matter how informal), getting beaten in a fight between him and his shorter and/or smaller boyfriend.

And it’s not to say you could never beat him in a fight, oh no! Your Jaybirdie would never want you to believe he doubts your capability and skills like that. Actually, he’d very much like and would encourage you to be able to learn how to take him down. It would help with his anxiety and fear of you being out in the world without him there to protect you, feeling more at ease knowing you could defend yourself if need be.

He’s definitely planning to make that a reality, because if you two are going to continue to be in a relationship, Jason needs to know that you can protect yourself without him there. It’s something you both talked about and he made it clear when you first got into a serious relationship about him and his family’s side careers.

But, until then, Jason will happily and silently enjoy the trash-talking and play fights with you. It just gives him more of an excuse to have your body rubbing against his, the perv…

It always starts small and silly.

Whether you’re just feeling playful or want attention, it doesn’t matter. You and Jason will be cuddling on the couch or the bed and engaging in your usual harmless domestic banter. Or he’ll be minding his own business cooking, reading, or going over cases and reports, and you’ll just come up and start messing with him.

Messing up his hair, poking him in his face, slapping his butt, and shoving against his body. Despite popular belief, Jason has a somewhat good level of patience and will endure it, but then you start talking shit.

“Oh, was that important? Looks like you’ll need to start over,” You’ll say after purposely jerking his hand while he was writing notes down on a mission report.

“Oops, looks like you dropped something. You’re so freaking clumsy,” said with a jeering tone after knocking the book Jason was reading out of his hands.

“Aww, is the little baby getting upset? Don’t cry baby, it’ll be okay,” You’ll respond in the most insulting baby voice knowing how much Jason despises it and usually ends up being his last straw.

The vigilante will give a soft shove and a warning look to you and that’s all you need. You’ll start taunting him even more and pushing yourself against him, grabbing at his wrists and arms as he holds you back.

“You feeling tough all of sudden? Am I going to have to mess you up like last time?”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The next moment, Jason’s patience has officially run out and now, the two of you are rolling around on the bed, couch, and floor trying to pin the other. Well, you’re trying to pin him.

Jason’s just holding you off with ease and letting you slip out of his grabs now and then, letting you think you’ve got a chance. Of course, that leads to more shit-talking.

“Man, what kind of criminals are you fighting? You’re no match for me.”

Of course, as things will go when it comes to wrestling between two males, it eventually gets a little out of hand. You’ll shove Jason too hard, accidentally land a hit on his face or nether region, or you’ll even purposefully try to cheat to which your boyfriend responds by immediately putting you in a submission.

Never anything too rough or painful, just enough to immobilize you until you calm down and stop fighting back. But, even the non-painful ones are a bit much for you since you’re not used to fighting like Jason is, so you’ll typically give in within a few seconds, especially when he puts a little pressure on you and jerks you a bit as payback for all the trash talk.

It doesn’t stop you though, since as soon as you’re both done and back to whatever you were doing, you’ll continue to talk shit at your boyfriend like you had him in submission.

“Hopefully you learned your lesson.”

“We can clearly see who the big guy is in this relationship now. Don’t worry little man, maybe you’ll win again next time.”

“Light work. Maybe we should get you some classes small fry.”

And so much more trash-talking and playful jabs until the next round. But, Jason doesn’t mind. As long as he’s the one getting to put you in a submission at the end, he’ll let you trash-talk him all day, every day.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[missuswalker]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 || 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𐙚 summary: donnie asks you on a date, (to his room) and, of course, you can’t resist those eyes

𐙚 warnings: pointless fluff + brief smut because i love him, donnie being too cute, maybe too long + not proofread (aged up, obviously, let’s say seniors in hs) not proofread oops

𐙚 notes: i’m obsessed with him can somebody talk with me about this subject matter

Donnie, while not shy, wasn’t the most courageous boy out there. At least, when it came to you. His brain stopped working when you were near and he’d overshare until there was nothing else to say. You stuck around, though. You liked his stories. You liked spending time with him. He liked spending time with you, too. He’d pass you a note in class, pretending to stretch so he could drop the folded paper on the desk behind him. He loved to hear the crinkle of the paper as you unfolded it, your quiet giggles following. Every time you would write back, he’d pocket the paper and take it home.

The teacher loved your little ‘budding relationship’ quite a bit less than the two of you did, though. In fact, Donnie had gotten detention twice now for his constant whispers and laughs he shared with you. He didn’t care. As long as he kept you hooked on him, he’d take any punishment. Besides, Ms. Dulwich was exactly what her name described her as. A dull witch. She was a miserable, lonely woman who had nothing better to do than move Donnie as far away from you as possible. He always managed to get a note back to your desk, despite the newfound circumstances of having a desk at the very front of the room.

It was today, though, that he decided he needed to finally step up to the plate. He couldn’t just wait around forever. You’d lose interest or someone else would get to you first. The thought plagued his mind more than Frank, it was a constant bother.

It was 11:05, his, and your, lunch period. After debating on whether or not he go through the lunch line, he ultimately decides he was too nervous to eat, so instead, he begins to search for you. He eventually spotted you at the end of a table full of girls, the lot of you laughing and gossiping, as one does. He rubs his sweaty palms on his pants, and begins his journey towards the crowded table. He didn’t believe you fit in with those girls. They were loud, obnoxious and so… plastic. You were real. They didn’t deserve you, but Donnie definitely did. At least that was what he believed.

“Y/n,” he interrupts, ignoring the girl who he’d just cut off, rubbing his hands on his pants once again. As soon as you look up at him with that smile, he thought he might as well just marry you. He just couldn’t seem to get his words out, his mouth falling open and closing, over and over. The girls around you began to quietly snickers, giving glances and eye rolls. “Do you wanna eat lunch with me?” He finally spit it out, finally asked. Now the hard part was over. The girls began to giggle, but you nodded, standing from your seat. “Okay,” you said, your voice so calm. Immediately your friend’s laughter stops, the snobby girls looking on in disbelief. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with Donnie, the group just thought he was kind of a freak, to say the least.

You had never thought of Donnie as a freak. You saw him as the smart guy he was, which was a boost to his ego, considering he found you rather intelligent as well, though your smarts didn’t always show through a test. Maybe he just thought so highly of you because he liked you, but either way, he knew he enjoyed talking to you. “I hate them, I’m sorry. They’re just brats. They weren’t laughing at you, they were laughing at me,” you tell Donnie, sitting across from him at an empty table. Donnie furrows his brows, watching you pick at your lunch. “Why would they laugh at you,” he snorts, his eyes trailing back to the girls who were staring right back, poking each other and whispering. “I talk about you a lot,” you say vaguely.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Donnie decided he couldn’t take it anymore. If he didn’t ask what had been driving him crazy for so long, he’d never be able to sleep at night. “Do you wanna go with me? Like, do you wanna, like, I don’t know. Never mind, shut up. Not you, me,” he rambles, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut in disbelief. You stare at him, seeming so bewildered for a moment, before you simply begin to laugh. “Yeah, I wanna go with you.” Donnie nodded in response, biting his lip. “I like you,” he says, eyes flickering all over your face. “I know,” you snort.

“Will you come over after school? We can just hang out, or I can read you this book, it’s… I think you’d like it,” he blurts, his heart pounding. He could hardly process everything happening right now, his mind going haywire. “Yeah, okay, that’d be cool,” you nod, leg bouncing under the table. “Okay. Cool,” Donnie sighs. The rest of lunch wasn’t so bad. The two of you just talked like you normally did and the awkward tension went away completely. It was like nothing changed, though both of you knew something did, indeed, change.

𐙚

As the two of you stepped into his bedroom, successfully having gotten passed his mother’s questions and his fathers jokes, you dropped your book bag on the floor. “You can sit on the bed, I’m gonna grab that book,” Donnie tells you, kicking off his shoes. When he joins you on the bed, he hesitantly wraps his arm around your shoulder, opening the book. You look up at him, giving a grin. “What are you doing,” you ask, putting your hand on his elbow. “I’m not doing anything,” he says, looking down at you as he bites back his smile. After a moment of silence, he looks down at your lips. “You know, you’re my first girl,” he says, his voice quiet. “Oh, so I’m your girl?” You rest your head on his shoulder, Donnie giggling. You loved his laugh. It was so airy and silly. “I meannn,” he trails off, looking away for a moment.

“I think I like being your girl,” you hum, raising a brow. “That makes one of us,” he jokes, causing the both of you to laugh. Then, again, there was silence. He slowly moved down, his lips dangerously close to yours. “Donnie,” you snort, grabbing his face and pushing him away. He gently pulls your hand away, sticking out his bottom lip in a dramatic pout. “What?” You think for a moment, giving a shrug. “I dunno.” He scans your face for a moment, brows furrowing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have tried anything. I’m not expecting anything from you, I just, I was thinking… I don’t know, I thought maybe you wanted to kiss me, so,” she begins, only to be cut off by your lips on his.

It didn’t take long for the kiss to get a little too passionate, your shirt on his floor and his hand hovering over your bra. You move his hand onto your tit to give him the extra push, and then he’s all over you. “I really didn’t plan this or anything, I swear. I really like you,” he rambles on, sliding his fingers under the white fabric of your bra, his inexperienced fingers playing with your nipple. “Stop talking,” you say softly, hand fiddling with the button on his pants. “Gotcha,” he mumbles, reconnecting your lips until your hand meets his hard cock, covered by his boxers. “I’ve imagined this before, actually not to long ago, but this is better,” he tells, not able to stay quiet because he just always had to say whatever was on his mind. You almost laugh against his lips. “Donnie, you’re really cute, but shut up.”

He nods, grunting at the feeling of your fingers grazing the skin of his stomach. “Sorry. You’re so pretty, can’t help it,” he huffs, pushing his nose into your hair. He pushes your hand away, pulling his dick out of his boxers, because he just couldn’t wait any longer. “You don’t have to do anything, I-” He’s cut off with a moan as your head ducks down to take him into your mouth, tongue flat against the head of his cock. “Oh, shit, you’re gonna make me cum,” he tells you. You look up at him, one hand moving to make a ring around the base of his dick, slowing moving it up and down, the other finding his balls, squeezing gently. His fingers fly to your hair, gripping at the roots. He rewards you with heavenly moans, twitching in your mouth. You slowly drag your tongue around his tip before moving down. As soon he dick his the back of your throat and you hollowed your cheeks, he cums down your throat, tossing his head back as if his soul left his body.

You make sure he’s looking at you as you swallow, pulling away to let him take a moment. “You never had your dick sucked?” You question, running your fingers through his hair. She shakes his head, putting his thumb in between your teeth, pulling your mouth open. Letting his finger trail back down to your lip, letting it bounce back, he places a sweeter kiss to your lips. “I think I just came into next year,” he breathes, hands finding your tits again. “You’re so romantic,” you say sarcastically, Donnie giving you a dopey smile. “What, you didn’t like it?” He moves his lips to your neck, testing the waters. “No, I liked it.”

“You wanna do it again?”

𐙚 he’s such a virgin, idc, he’d be so awkward and chatty the very first time he did something slightly sexual and it would be so cute and annoying at the same time i want to kiss him

im so tired why’d i stay up so late writing smut about this man

[mythicmanuscripts]

Hi! 🫶🏻 It's me again! A have another ask, if you are not tired of me already 😂

How would Jace deal with his sensitive, pretty cock being sucked for the first time? And what are his thoughts on the act itself? I imagine he would think it is too degrading for his lady wife, love of his life, future queen of the seven kingdoms to perform such an act? Maybe she can prove him wrong?

ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT QUESTION!! I am so glad to see how we all are obsessed with sensitive!Jace and how he absolutely adores his pretty wife.

NSFW sub!Jace below the cut!!

Okay I'm gonna go sort of off topic for a second before getting to the point of the ask because I think we must establish this. I thought of it and it is demanding to be freed. So firstly, I think I love the concept of inexperienced!Jace as much as I love sensitive!Jace and I think they go hand in hand? Cause obviously we know he's very very sensitive and gets super overwhelmed and obviously is a virgin when you marry him.

But it's more than just that. He's just... so noble and so proper? A real gentlemen. He's never touched another before you, but he's also very much all about duty and would never be caught dead doing anything anyone could consider to be debauchery.

As a result of both of these things, he gets flustered SO easily. And I don't just mean he blushes. He blushes bright red from his cheeks to his ears and he stumbles over his words and has absolutely no idea what to do with himself. Even the smallest things can turn him utterly useless.

Of course you notice thing long before the wedding, and of course you can't just ignore it. You see how blushy he gets when your hand brushes is, and so you just have to push it a little to see how flustered he can really get. Poor Jace is in heaven and hell when you do this, because it feels so good but it's so improper. He's supposed to wait until marriage! He's not even supposed to touch you before that and now you're kissing his cheek!!

He keeps on saying that he doesn't want to ruin your reputation. He knows you're supposed to be a virgin and he would never do anything that could have people doubting your purity before marriage (this is irrelevant of whether you're actually a virgin or not, that doesn't matter, it's all about what people think).

He's never jerked off so much in his life. Usually he avoids masturbation as much as he can because he gets far too sensitive afterwards and the comedown when the adrenaline drops leaves him feeling terrible. He can't keep that up now though, because you're driving him insane every day and for the first time he's getting hard ons that just won't go away no matter how much he tries to ignore them and so he has to deal with it. He does what he has to so that he hopefully won't lose control around you.

But damn being a gentleman like that gets more and more impossible with each passing day. He eventually tries to avoid you before the wedding but that only makes things worse because inevitably he'll get so desperate that he ends up outside of your door begging for something, anything.

This is the first time you offer to suck his dick. You'd ask if you could fuck him right then and there but considering how flustered and nervous he is you think he genuinely might run away if you ask that, so you settle for wanting to give him head. He's so cute and desperate and flustered and you just have to know what he sounds like when he cums.

But when you ask, he says no. You respect that of course, but you also ask why not because he's very clearly rock hard in his breeches and even bucking his hips up every now and then. He tells you that he could never ask you to do such a thing, and so you end up just kissing a bit until Jace is like 2 seconds away from cumming in his breeches which is when he runs off back to his own room.

You think that once you're married he'll want that, but then you are married and he doesn't? You can't figure out why. He lets you fuck him and give him handjobs and begs so prettily for you to couch him but for some reason he won't let you suck his cock.

Eventually he admits he thinks it's far too degrading. Jace sees you as an angel from heaven and he would never ever ask you to do the job of a whore. You respect this of course, but you're also confused and a little disappointed because you would love to see him lose his little mind when you wrap your lips around his cock.

I think maybe the way you show him hat the act isn't below you when you're doing it to your husband is to ask Jace to eat you out? Okay here me out, here's how it happens:

It's in the first week of your marriage and Jace cums too soon. Which is expected at this point and you honestly don't even mind because the way he cries and whines and moans your name is positively sinful and you always want to see it. You can get yourself off if you need to, but first you want to enjoy watching him.

Afterwards, he collapses against you and says he's sorry because he knows he wasnt good that time. Before you can reassure him, he carries on and asks what he can do to help. You consider telling him to just relax and enjoy the show, but you end up not saying that because you love experimenting with Jace and seeing what he likes.

So you tell him that he can eat you out if he'd like. It takes a few tries to be able to explain what you mean, and immediately he's down for it. He is down for anything that would make you feel good. From the moment he tastes you he's utterly obsessed. It honestly feels even better than sex to be between your thighs and hear you call out his name.

Once you're both recovered and laying in bed that night, you bring up how he gave you head. At first the darling thinks he did something wrong and it takes three kisses before he relaxes and just listens to what you have to say.

You ask him if he thought that eating you out was beneath him and unbecoming to a prince and heir to the thrown. Immediately he's scrambling to express how much he loved it and how it is not beneath him even slightly.

When you hear this, you smirk and tell him how you feel the same about giving him head. It's not beneath you. He is your husband.

He considers this and a few days later he says he wants to try. And holy fuck nothing could have prepared you for the way he whimpers your name. He loves every second of it, and of course he cums so so hard that all he can do afterwards it curl up in your chest and mumble his thanks over and over again.

He can never last long when you're blowing him, but he loves every single second and the moment he's recovered he's immediately moving down to between your thighs to return the favour.

[thewritingmagician2022]

You Refuse to be Submissive - Brothers and Dateables

Lucifer: Oh boy, talk about challenging because Lucifer is 100% going to take that as a challenge at first. He’s going to assume that not only will you not be submissive (which is a no go in his book) but that you also expect him to be the submissive one instead (absolutely not). There is going to be a lot of heated discussion there, I think. It’s not that Lucifer doesn’t want to respect your boundaries, it’s just that his entire personality is built on being respected and feared and obeyed so this is really throwing him off. The more you talk about it, the more willing he is to listen. He’ll never concede to being submissive but he will settle for equal partnership. You’ll probably have to regularly remind him of this because he’s going to unconsciously act in a very dominant manner sometimes but eventually he’ll learn and you guys will find a balance that works well for you both. 

Mammon: For the most part, Mammon is only going to argue on principle. He’s got to remind you that he’s the second most powerful demon in this family and he’s your first man; you should do what he says! However, this is definitely more for the sake of telling himself that he tried to be in control and assert himself. In reality, Mammon absolutely loves letting you take control. He’s used to his more submissive role in relationships and feels most comfortable when you’re putting him in his place. There’s something incredibly addicting to him about the idea of belonging to you, the sweet, loving human that wandered into his life and treats him better than his family ever did. So aside from that first perfunctory argument and maybe some sporadic little comments about how he’s “not gonna sub for a puny human if you think that’s what’s gonna happen” when he’s feeling particularly insecure, you have a perfectly happy sub of your own. 

Levi: That’s more than fine with Levi! In fact, it’s a relief. In most situations, Levi absolutely hates being charge; it’s too much pressure for an Otaku like him. This translates to your relationship as well. Levi is much happier worshiping you and falling apart under your words and ministrations than he would be ordering you around or calling the shots. Levi is quite the blushing but eager sub and he never fights you on the roles you’ve created for yourselves. 

Satan: At first, this is a tough blow for Satan. Not necessarily because he wants you to be submissive but because he doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t be for him. A part of him is going to wonder whether you would do it for Lucifer or if you didn’t respect him as much or a myriad of other things; this means he may blow up a little at first as he gets his bearings. However, Satan is also very logical so once you sit him down and explain that it’s nothing to do with him and just a preference on your end, he’s much more agreeable about it. You’d probably end up in a detailed conversation about kinks and boundaries so that way he can make sure you’re both totally happy with the sex and your roles in your relationship. I don’t see Satan full on subbing for you, more like an equal partnership both in and out of the bedroom. 

Asmo: You don’t wanna sub? That’s totally fine with Asmo! He’s the Avatar of Lust, he can roll with just about any and every preference you may have. You just tell him what you want him, how you want it, and when and he will do everything in his power to make all of your fantasies come true! He may tease you a little bit about it, in the sense that he likes to think he would be able to make you actually enjoy being submissive - especially if your reluctance is due to bad past experiences. He would want to show you what a real dominant could be like and how good submitting can feel. If it’s a hard stop though, he’s more than willing to take on that submissive role instead and won’t push the issue. 

Beel: Beel has never thought much one way or another about you being submissive. It was never anything he was going to ask you to do though, admittedly, he’s probably always seen you in a more submissive view simply because you’re so much smaller and weaker than him. It just seems like the de facto setting in that situation. Once you tell him you’re not interested in being submissive, he’s totally okay with it and will ask you what you do want. Beel is a pleaser by nature and he would be happy to take on the role, if you’d prefer for him to be the submissive one. However, I did think the sub/dom thing would very rarely come up for Beel so it’s simply not something you two need to worry about. 

Belphie: It’s a toss up for Belphie. He hates being told no and he doesn’t like the idea of being “forced” into the submissive role; there’s still a part of him that believes he should be in total control and that you’re just a little human that should cater to his every whim. (It really doesn’t help that he’s so spoiled by everyone and is used to getting what he wants) This can work in a positive way though because Belphie is undeniably lazy, which means he doesn’t mind if you’re the one putting in all of the work sexually. So, sure, he can lay back and be a little pillow princess for you. Or, if he has some energy and/or big feelings, he’ll be a very bratty sub and take great joy in harassing the hell out of you until he lets you put him back in his place. Basically, you not subbing is fine as long as you show Belphie all of the ways that he benefits from you taking on the dominant role. 

Barbatos: Barbatos was literally born to serve. He is a pleasure and service sub, through and through. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a little sadistic sometimes and he will happily “act out” if that’s something you enjoy him doing but, for the most part, he is incredibly happy in his submissive role. He lives to make you happy and feel good; in fact, being the perfect sub is one of his greatest achievements. He wants you to not only not feel bad about your decision to not be submissive but actually feel good about it. He enjoys being submissive and he wants you to use that to your advantage as much as possible and feel good about doing so. 

Diavolo: He is more than a little thrown off by your refusal to sub for him. He’s the Demon Overlord, King of the Devildom. No one would dare say no to him. Most people would give up everything they have just to be able to say they subbed for him. All that to say, he’s thrilled. It gives Diavolo such a rush to know you’re so willing to set your boundaries with him and that you trust him. And now he gets to explore an entirely new side of himself! The side where he listens to someone else for once and has to do as he’s bidden. It’s terrifying and exhilarating and there’s no one else he would trust to explore that with. I do think the novelty would wear off for him after a while and, yes, he’d still sub when you’re both in the mood for that but it would be an equal relationship the majority of the time. Diavolo likes to let go of control every so often, especially when he’s stressed, but it’s not something he can long term commit to. 

Simeon: This poor baby is going to be confused as heck when you tell him don’t want to sub. He doesn’t even know what that means and at first he thinks you mean subservient in a very old school biblical sense and he rushed to assure you he’s not looking for you to follow his every whim. Once you explain what you mean, he’s a little mortified but also turned on by the idea of being submissive for you? He’s always been in a submissive position, thinking about his father and all of that, and he enjoys pushing the limits so I think Simeon would be a lowkey bratty sub. He’s not nearly as malicious or tough to tame as Belphie but he does enjoy riling you by purposefully misunderstanding rules or using gray areas to his advantage. Mostly though he’s just happy to give you whatever you ask for because all he wants is to make you happy and prove just how good it can be to have an angel like him at your service. (The blasphemy of serving and worshiping a human rather than his father is also a huge turn on for him)

Solomon: Solomon is a happy switch so if you’re totally against subbing, he’ll take up the task. I think he would be the third “pushiest” after Lucifer and Asmo, in the sense that he really thinks he could get you to enjoy being submissive. I think he would try plenty of suggestions and wheedling, using his sway as the most powerful sorcerer, but if it’s truly not something you want to pursue then he’ll let it go. Solomon enjoys being submissive to you because, just like with Diavolo, it’s such a juxtaposition to his day to day life. He has fun with it and is regularly supplying you with new ideas or items that you can implement with him. He also loves being subby in front of people in subtle ways, just enough to throw them off because who would expect him to listen to a mere mortal human?

[cityofmeliora]

notes / thoughts on the Papas' (lack of) involvement in the songwriting process and their connections to the concepts / themes of their albums

thanks for the kind words and thanks for the ask! these were great questions and really enjoyed writing this response. your questions really made me think! (and when i start thinking i always think too hard and take forever to answer– sorry this took so long!)

i'm putting these questions together because i feel they are closely related. this is a topic i've recently been thinking about a lot, actually.

A Ghoul Writer was first mentioned in that 2010 interview with Primo. the Ghoul Writer is Special Ghoul, the Nameless Ghoul character who gave interviews in Eras 2 and 3. in interviews with him, either he himself or the interviewers would usually mention he's the Writer. i'm not linking anything specific here because you can find this happening in pretty much any Era 2 / 3 interview. (though there's one Era 2 Nameless Ghoul interview that refers to the Writer as a separate character.)

the only Papa who wrote his own music was Nihil. the music video for The Future Is A Foreign Land shows that he and his Nameless Ghouls wrote the song together, and he's credited as a writer on Seven Inches Of Satanic Panic. (pic: back of the SIOSP record)

after Nihil, none of the Papas were involved in the songwriting process. everything after Nihil was written by A Ghoul Writer.

PITCHFORK: On the new album, the songs/lyrics are credited to "A Ghoul Writer." Are you this "Ghoul Writer"? If so, what inspired the words? PAPA EMERITUS: I am not the Ghoul Writer. Pitchfork (April 2013)

Does Papa contribute to the composing process? NAMELESS GHOUL: No, Papa doesn’t contribute to the song-writing. Metal Paths (August 2015)

so the later Papas were interpreters of the music, not writers.

as for the question of whether the Papas embody the sins of society or criticize the sins of society by parodying them, i think it's a bit of both– and i think it depends on which perspective we're looking from.

obviously from a real-world perspective, Ghost as a whole is meant to criticize and parody the issues the music is about, and the personality and characterization of each Papa is closely tied to the themes of his album.

from an in-universe lore perspective, as interpreters of the music, each Papa has his own relationship with the themes of his album. i think the Ghoul Writer writes each album for / about the Papa who's going to perform it. however, this is not necessarily a positive gesture.

here are my notes / thoughts on how each Papa relates to the themes of his album:

(trigger warning for mentions of misogynistic violence / rape / forced pregnancy)

Opus Eponymous and Primo: Primo refuses to comment on his interpretation of Opus Eponymous, but it's pretty clear what he thinks. Primo is a misanthrope who believes humans are “vermin” that have doomed themselves due to their “intellectual decline”. in his eyes, humanity is unworthy of life and will eventually be destroyed. Opus Eponymous has been described as an "orthodox devil-worshipping" album, and it is a very violent album, which is great for Primo because he's an orthodox devil worshiper and he loves violence and murder and wants everyone to die. 'Elizabeth' celebrates an alleged serial killer who is said to have killed hundreds of women / girls. 'Stand By Him' is about a woman being raped by a priest, who then accuses her of witchcraft and has her burned at the stake in order to cover up the assault. and the overall narrative of Opus Eponymous is about a woman being raped and forced to carry + birth the Antichrist, which will eventually kill her. this is something Primo thinks is good and anticipates happening because he believes in the cult very literally and agrees with its message / mission of human extinction. Primo is definitely a villain.

Infestissumam and Secondo: interestingly, there is actually an instance of Papa telling us about his interpretation of this album. in Secondo's own words, "the new album is about the presence of the Devil. The title, Infestissumam, means 'the biggest threat' and refers literally to the arrival of the Antichrist, but what it is also is about is what man has traditionally regarded as diabolical presence– namely female form and swagger." Infestissumam is about how humanity can connect to the presence of the Devil, both physically and spiritually. i think this theme really shows through Secondo. to him, all the things traditionally regarded as sin –especially sexuality– are good things. to him, Satan is the way to freedom and enlightenment. on the flipside, all the things promoted by christianity –holiness and virtue and repression– are stupid and stifling. Secondo is a jerk and he loves to have sex and party and he just doesn't care. Secondo, more than any other Papa, is dedicated to indulging in sin and saying "fuck you" to christianity.

Meliora and Terzo: it's complicated. i don't want to give a detailed explanation right now because i already have a separate post in my drafts about my analysis of Terzo's relationship with the themes of Meliora (it will be long). for now, this is what i'll say: Meliora is about the absence of god, and it's described as futuristic and "pre-apocalyptic." the title "Meliora" means "for the pursuit of better", but it's meant to be ironic. it's about the mistakes people make / the bad things people do in pursuit of better. so as your ask states, it criticizes ambition, greed, and abuse of power. i think Terzo wants to criticize those sins. but i think that he also embodies them, to a certain extent, and i think Meliora is also criticizing him.

Prequelle and Cardinal Copia: we don't really have any canon material that indicates Cardi's personal opinions on the album, but there is certainly a connection between the character and the concept / themes of the album. Prequelle is described as a "positive" album about the plague. it's an album about society falling apart during the apocalypse. it's also an album about celebration and survival in spite of being faced with the inevitability of death. i think Cardi certainly embodies this. Cardi is surrounded by death. Prequelle Era begins with Papas I, II, and III being murdered in order to promote Cardi's success, and it ends with Papa Nihil dying, which allows Cardi to ascend and become Papa IV. in a way, Cardi is both a plague rat and a survivor. it's not his fault they died. he didn't ask for them to be killed, and he was not their killer. but he is the herald and the carrier of the true killer, the actual driving force behind everything (Sister Imperator). through all this, Cardi is having a good time! he's dancing the night away! he's glad everyone standing in his way has dropped dead! he is a rising star and he feels invincible! and he is certain he will survive this.

IMPERA and Papa Emeritus IV: the main themes of IMPERA are "spiritual annihilation", reactionary sentiment, and regression. it's about how people who fear progress are afraid of losing their sense of meaning / purpose and their place in the world, so they turn to misogyny, violence, religious dogma, and fascism. they cling to the idea of having a cause to fight for. i think Cardi is certainly criticizing these issues. he doesn't agree with any of this at all. however, there's still a connection between the narrative of IMPERA and Cardi's character arc in this Era. narratively, IMPERA is a concentrated / condensed version of the apocalyptic narrative that plays out through the first 4 albums. it's about the cyclical nature of the rise and fall of empires. IMPERA Era begins with Cardi ascending to the title of Papa. but after the feeling of triumph wore off, Cardi became very aware of and very fearful of his own inevitable end. he knew that no matter how great his achievements were, he would be forced to step down so his successor could take his place, just like his predecessors had for him. Rite Here Rite Now is about Cardi struggling to make peace with this idea. as a side note: i really like the irony of the fact that Cardi was never actually the leader of his own empire– he was a puppet emperor who got his marching orders from his mother. it connects to IMPERA's theme of political manipulation.

[omegalomania]

face in my hands. listen to me. no just. just listen. like. i think on the whole fandom tends to heavily mythologize what certain songs are "about" despite this never being solidly confirmed to be the case and fob (pete in particular) generally try not to say without question What Songs Are About because they want people to take whatever meaning they can from it. but from now on we are enemies is one of the exceptions to this rule to a very limited extent and by that i mean that on two separate occasions, during the hiatus, patrick and pete shared a little bit of what the song was about on twitter, independent of one another.

if you haven't seen the film amadeus it's about a rivalry between two historical composers, wolfgang amadeus mozart and antonio salieri. salieri loathes mozart and finds him supremely childish and annoying...but also irritatingly brilliant beyond words. salieri obsesses over wanting to see mozart fail and even plans on killing him, but they do eventually form a friendship. then mozart gets sick and dies. salieri essentially breaks and loses his mind and years down the line will claim that he murdered him.

the name of the song, "from now on we are enemies," is a direct quote from the film. but it's not talking about mozart. it's a furious diatribe that salieri flings at god himself. he's so wildly and deliriously envious of mozart that he feels like this is divine punishment and so he declares god his mortal enemy for bestowing mozart with such brilliance. from now on we are enemies, you and i.

this is, i should note, one of the last songs fall out boy wrote before the hiatus. this and "alpha dog" were considered "new" for the believers never die greatest hits compendium, but alpha dog was technically debuted before folie released, on the welcome to the new administration mixtape. then fall out boy went on hiatus and there was no guarantee of return.

like i dont know what to say about this song that hasnt already been said. its fucking deranged as all get out ill tell you that much. its fucking unhinged that this song, this song with this central thesis statement, is one of the last songs you wrote together as a band before going your separate ways without any guarantee that you would reform again. and it's THIS. IT'S THIS SONG. a song that laments about whether anyone will remember you when you're gone (reminds me of flu game, reminds me of so much (for) stardust the title track, reminds me of .... so many of the themes inherent to their eighth studio album. actually.), and a song that practically lays out its inspiration for all to see. for a band that seldom if ever discloses with actual intent the Meaning behind their songs, this is a song that discusses a HIGHLY FRAUGHT ARTISTIC RELATIONSHIP and it's hard, it's real damn hard, to see anything but what is clearly all on display. composer but never composed (patrick has always considered himself a composer first and foremost). singing the symphonies of the overdosed (pete played a song that was named after the drug he tried to overdose on with his band mere nights earlier). i'm just a man on a balcony singing no one will ever remember me (again there's the fear and dread about the legacy you leave behind just before the band goes their separate ways).

can't fucking lay out the sheer psychological damage this does to my soul just thinking about this. they played MISS MISSING YOU the night before. just, you know, one of the other Songs that's so hard to disentangle from the hiatus because of the way it was written (patrick wrote the music while making soul punk, felt like it wasn't for him, and set it aside...despite there being, again, NO guarantee that the band would ever reform at this point, and then the song was only completed once fall out boy decided to come back, with joe and andy adding instrumentation and pete adding the lyrics) and whose music video features patrick and pete literally KILLING EACH OTHER. from now on we are enemies. i need to walk into the ocean. i need to lie down. im inconsolable.

[severus-snaps]

not me just making myself sad about snape on the hogwarts staff

1980-ish, voldemort's sent him to apply for DADA; he failed in this first attempt, but brought back the prophecy. fast forward to september 1981 and sev has turned, is working for dumbledore, is perhaps already having to use occlumency to prevent voldemort from working out his true motives and the fact he went to Dumbledore for a reason other than "spinning a tale of deepest remorse" for the sake of spying

he's 21ish. he's teaching little kids all the way to students barely younger than him. secondary school students can be unbelievably cruel and rowdy (source: our year, famous for being one of the most tame in the yeargroup and forever bitter that the actually wild year above us got all of our privileges like going into town at lunch revoked for shoplifting, made at least one teacher cry; other source: the marauders).

he's having a constant low-level crisis about whether he's doing everything right. he's second-guessing himself because school guidelines are so vague. he gets told he's a harsh marker and to allow for the fact his students are kids. he's just sticking to the guidelines. he'd never have made these mistakes.

students whisper about him behind his back for all the same reasons harry and the marauders did (he's too ugly, too greasy, too sour). he's teaching lockhart. lockhart is in a year where he'd have heard what happened in SWM. i don't think Lockhart is intentionally cruel but he will say anything for attention; he starts the rumour again after giving a dramatic performance with real and gossip-added details of SWM and other encounters. severus battles for classroom discipline; he has to rule with an iron fist. the next time he loses classroom control is after lupin's lesson with the boggart

he potentially has no close peers. the closest people in age to him are the students, but he can't socialise with them. his colleagues were his teachers only a few years ago; they either know outright that he'd spent time as a death eater or heard rumours that he was very likely to have been one. the war is ongoing. they treat him with politeness and respect because this was dumbledore's doing, not because they like or trust him. he's on their side now, but they don't know that

the war ends a few weeks into his first term. voldemort is gone. lily is dead. snape is sobbing in dumbledore's office, but he won't tell anyone else he's upset; he never tells anyone the depth of his feelings for lily, his guilt and remorse. his temper shortens; he's even less popular with the students, and more reclusive with the staff. i imagine it takes a while for his friendly rivalry with minerva to develop.

he still feels like a child. he doesn't have the experience for this job. he doesn't have the desire. he was never a leader, and now he's head of house, potions master, unofficial dark arts expert amidst the ongoing cycle of DADA teachers. he spends the first few months or years feeling constantly out of his depth, isolated, grieving, depressed. his house is still the odd one out. he's still the odd one out.

eventually he grows into the role. he's comfortable with his reputation and his teaching style. he's on good terms with dumbledore and minerva, the others rally behind him when they hate a DADA teacher. but he's never certain whether the other teachers accept him as one of their own or whether they're all just polite on dumbledore's word

eventually he finds out the hard way. he's isolated and hated and terrified and grieving alone. whenever he makes an appearance as headmaster he fleetingly thinks it would've been easier if he were someone else; if someone like pomona or filius or minerva had killed dumbledore, people would be outraged, but they'd think something else was going on. they'd trust them enough to know that there were other factors at play. his peers, his colleagues, wouldn't be looking at him that way. hadn't he spent over a decade with them, sharing the staffroom, sharing meals, making jokes about quidditch, bitching about umbridge, sighing about lockhart, groaning about exams and the board of governors and the twin weasleys' pranks?

he knows their trust stemmed from dumbledore, and it died with him. he knows it has to be this way. he knows he actively made it this way. he had to, for his cover, for his role, for everyone's safety

but sometimes he allows himself to imagine how nice it would feel if he wasn't completely alone

[earthtooz]

𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥-𝗖𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦

in which: rin is a lot cuddlier asleep than you expected... or so you think.

warnings: 1k+ words, bed sharing!!!, fluff, ooc!rin but u can't fault me for this bc it's christmas, gn!reader, clingy!rin,

a/n: fourth day of xmas! don't think too hard abt how realistic this is. hope u enjoy :p

˗ˏˋ XMAS MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗

Your reflection is unforgiving and self-scrutiny bares into your soul. Trying to will yourself into not existing was proving very difficult because as you stare at your reflection in the fogged-up hotel bathroom, you fear your impending fate.

You were sharing a bed with Itoshi Rin. Is crying an appropriate reaction to the news? 

It started the moment when you and Rin arrived at the (luxurious) hotel where the Blue Lock players were staying. As their manager, you normally have a room to yourself, as well as the coach. Upon arrival, you find that at this hotel, that is not the case. 

Apparently Karasu had caught a cold and didn’t want to run the risk of spreading it, so he would be alone in a hotel room and taking appropriate health measures. Somehow, with the logistics being figured out by the members who arrived first, you ended up rooming with Itoshi Rin.

The second that you put the pieces together in your head, you felt your stomach drop. The bright, pretty, Christmas decorations that donned the hotel, or its welcoming warmth that defrosted your icy skin, were all not enough to distract you from this catastrophic feeling. Your insides turn with anxiety and it’s hard to look Rin in the eye.

To be fair, it was always hard to look him in the eye. He was too damn beautiful.

Was it appropriate? Sure. Was it good for your health? Absolutely not. 

You were going to have heart contractions in the middle of the night from how it races when around the star player. 

Fuck, how were you going to last this rooming situation.

Even being in his presence is intimidating. You feel as though you don’t belong there and need to tiptoe around him like a ghost, invisible and untroublesome. So, after your shower, you stare at yourself in defeat before brushing your teeth and doing your night routine as quietly as possible. You hold your breath when putting down your skincare products, place your towel on the rack with gentle hands, and put on your clothes whilst grabbing onto the counter for dear life.

Lest you disturb him.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Rin is already out cold, his figure buried under the sheets on his side of the bed whilst the only light that illuminated the room was yours. 

A mixture of relief and insecurity dwells within you. You couldn’t tell whether to be glad that he was at least asleep so this encounter could be less awkward, or to be offended that he just didn’t want to be conscious beside you.

Fair enough.

Soon enough, you slip under the covers and turn off the lights, with as little noise as possible as to not disturb his sleep.

The night has been smoother than you thought it would go, but morning would have to be the real test- what time does Itoshi Rin even wake up? 6? You’d be able to avoid him then. Besides, you could just cling to Bachira for backup, and hide behind Kunigami, which he probably would allow you to do without any question. 

The rampant running of your mind eventually pins you down with drowsiness and fatigue. You’re just about to doze off when a firm arm locks around your waist.

Nevermind, you were wide awake again.

The heat of Rin’s body seeps into your back and your heart rate might wake the footballer because of how loud it is. He’s holding you a little too tightly for comfort, his grip strong and unmovable- you’re struggling to breathe, just a little bit.

“Rin?” You whisper, not daring to turn around. “Are you awake?”

No response.

A huff escapes your lips and you find yourself carefully lifting his arm and placing it back at his own side. Then, you shift a little away from him in the tiny space you have, moving onto your back whilst being considerate that the dark-haired might not enjoy waking up with his face pressed into you.

This was doable- you’re about to fall of the bed, but this was doable.

More tranquil moments pass by and once again, you’re about to drift off into dreamland when another heavy arm flops around your middle again. This time, Rin curls himself into you, pulling you into his larger frame as his chin comes to rest on your shoulder. As you gaze down at him, you realise that your faces are dangerously close, so close that his breath fans gently over your lips. 

With the aid of the moonlight slipping through the crack in the curtains, you can somewhat see his peaceful expression. His lashes gently kiss his cheeks and his lips are slightly parted, creating an image of innocence around him. 

Impulsively, you run a hand through his hair, noting its softness and how it shines when light bounces on it. 

You swear you hear his breath hitch.

“Rin? Are you okay?” You question into the quiet of the dark but not a peek of noise escapes him, no indication that he’s alive apart from his steady breaths, warmth, and the grip he has around your waist.

You shift awkwardly on the bed, once again plucking his arm off of you and putting it back by his side. Sitting up slowly, you gaze over at the other end of the bed and gawk at how much space rin has for himself. This little not really motherfucker. 

With a huff, you lift the covers off you, placing it properly back on the bed, before rounding around to relax on the larger side of the bed. It’s cold, unwarmed because of how Rin has opted to violate your personal space instead, but there’s enough room for you to breathe and dream of a situation that’s not your own.

Not so fast - you wince a little when you feel a hand blindly searching for you, patting the mattress with an annunciated thud every time before landing on your arm. 

This man. There’s no way he’s still asleep. His small snores and heavy breathes say otherwise. 

Before you can even think about what to do next, the hand curls around your bicep and pulls Rin to you and you to Rin. His muscular body is pressed against your own once more. Seriously, who is this man? Does Rin do this with every bed mate he has? Is he actually sleeping through all this too? Just how powerful is this man’s subconscious?

Unexpectedly, he then throws his leg around yours and binds you even tighter to his chest. You feel like you’re going to faint- then you might actually catch some shut eye. 

All consideration you had for Rin’s sake and your dignity evaporated when you realise just how warm he is and how comfortable it is to be in his embrace. Funny how those who don’t like hugs happen to be the ones who give the best. 

So, muting the protests of your brain, you sink into your heart desires and melt into him, wrapping an arm around his torso, but not without punching him lightly.

That was your way of telling him he was a jerk. You hope he got the message in whatever dream he was conjuring. 

What you don’t know is that he indeed, did get the message, just wide awake and smiling to himself in triumph when you finally relented.

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[glowinggator]

Any ideas of what a first date would look like with Rocky? 👀

(Side note, I adore your writing style so much!! ^^)

A/N: Awe, thank you so much!🧡 Sorry for the late reply, school has officially started back up again, but I'm glad I was able to get this out! I remember in one of the livestreams Tracy said that he'd see nothing wrong with taking you to 7/11 for a date, which let's be real, is my ideal man. Enjoy! 

Extravagant; Theatrical; Moonstruck. These are but three of the most common words to describe Rocky. Despite his handpicked friend group -- or more bluntly, his small group of people willing to stick around -- Rocky tends to draw quite a bit of attention. Very little of it is good, but still: words like that are thrown around with ease. As such, one might assume that Rocky's perfect date would be to some extravagant place where the music never stops and the night never ends. 

But… they would be wrong. 

Because despite his tales of grandeur, Rocky's life has taught him to enjoy the simpler things. Car rides down the streets of Saint Louis, hopping through abandoned streetcars, pocketing snacks from the big convenience store down the lane… that's what Rocky really looks forward to. 

And let's face it: Rocky would love to take you out to a fancy dinner and a movie, but this cat just doesn't have the funds for it. Closest he could get would be the Little Daisy during daylight -- Miss M's always makes sure he's at least somewhat fed -- but he knows all too well that Ivy would leap at the chance to get him back for all the times he's teased her about Freckle. 

(He's sent her off on a few wild goose chases before to grab a bite with you, though. Pancakes can't be beat,  you know.) 

But loving Rocky, you know that money isn't everything. Every moment spent with him is memorable. Many of your date nights are just the two of you hanging out together, whether it be driving around or completing a run for the Lackadaisy -- any moment spent together is so damn good that it's hard to call it anything but a date. Your friends don't quite get it, but that's alright. 

For your first ever date though… he tried pretty damn hard. 

He hopped the fence of some richman (it was Sedgewick, although he'll never admit to it) to steal some flowers for you, tying them together in orange and blue ribbons. You still have their petals saved, pressed into books and stored in mahogany boxes along with all of the letters he's ever written to you. 

The rest of the day is spent in each other's company, driving, talking, and occasionally stopping to dance in the streets of Saint Louis. You can't say you were much of a dancer before meeting him, but he has an infectious energy about him. 

He eventually convinces you to let him sneak you into a movie -- he refuses to let you spend a dime on him, even if you're well-off. You can't tell if he likes the thrill of sneaking in, or if it's out of some chivalrous obligation. Likely both. 

All in all, the night is one of the most magical you've ever had. No price tags for rose colored glasses, or awkward lapses in silence. Just the two of you, taking every moment as it comes by. 

He insists on driving you home that night, just to make sure you get in safe, still thrumming with excitement. Neither of you really want the night to end, but alas. 

(It's not like the two of you don't see each other daily.) 

(He short-circuits when you press a kiss to his cheek before darting out of the car. His voice cracks a little when he says he'll see you tomorrow, hands slipping off the center console when he leans out to shout. You can't wait to see him again.) 

[dr-duckie]

soooo has anyone thought of a mdzs x svsss transmigration au with shen jiu and meng yao?

i’m not going into detail over their similarities but most people get the idea— brothels, yqy/lxc, spite, villainous antagonists that didn’t deserve what they were put through as a child, late start in cultivation, cunning personality, etc etc

yea.

let me start: shen jiu, one day, is gifted a high quality book set from one of his brothel jiejies when visiting them. at first, shen jiu had no plans to legitimately read them (mostly due to a lack of leisure time), but he eventually got to reading it when he was on a qian cao-mandated break after a qi deviation.

he gets hooked. when SJ is nearing the end of the novel, his thoughts are as followed: JGS deserved to get castrated and his limbs thrown to the endless abyss— WWX, although he was absolutely shameless, he was at least competent— LWJ was a fool for being so in love, but he was moral and loyal— and lan xichen…

an ache forms in shen jiu’s heart whenever he thinks about him. lxc, a man with a gentle, pacifistic, amiable personality who believed in what was right all the way until the end. he wholeheartedly supported and trusted his sworn brother, jin guangyao, until he couldn’t anymore.

shen jiu was touched. lan xichen, that man, had wasted all his efforts on an irredeemable monster. in a similar fashion, yue qingyuan was doing the same.

as for meng yao… shen jiu resented him. he had a loving mother, one who worked so hard for his happiness, only to squander all her efforts. meng yao… had what shen jiu envied the most in the newest disciple he just brought in. luo binghe. imo, it would be a clear sign of shen jiu’s self hatred projected onto meng yao. he sees the two of them as the hopeless scum of society, too broken to be loved. they were “charity cases” that couldn’t be fixed, no matter what.

soon after shen jiu finishes the novel, he falls into a qi deviation (the very same one that shen yuan transmigrated into) and dies. through some time space dimension jumping, shen jiu lands into the body of one 14 yo meng yao. and that’s just the beginning of his story.

shen jiu starts out by practicing cultivation in secret. meng yao’s body, although he is no prodigy, would definitely benefit from practicing from a younger age. then he gets to planning. with how shen jiu is, he would not step a foot in the karp tower, with a system or not. like, just no. i believe he’d set JGS on fire if he ever had to see the guy. the only plot point shen jiu intends on fulfilling is saving lan xichen, and then living a comfortable life away from the jianghu.

but within a year of living with meng shi in the brothel, shen jiu grows attached to her. he *wants* to make her proud, even if he wasn’t her real son. he was a total impostor. but even so, he didn’t want her legacy to be tainted by the actions of jin guangyao— who was now still meng yao, who is now shen jiu. but he doesn’t want to go to the jin sect. after an arduous process of actual communication with someone for a long time, meng shi realizes that the jin sect wouldn’t be good for her son, and jin guangshan wouldn’t help her *or* meng yao. the night before meng shi dies, she tells shen jiu that she loves him, regardless of whether he may fulfill her dreams.

aaaand, after that, shen jiu buries meng shi. he makes enough money as an artist (in secret, with his skillset from qing jing) to give her the proper burial rites. after that, he runs away. shen jiu finds a job as an assistant to an artist who sold fans and paintings in caiyi town. through his job, he meets NHS first, when he’s on his first year of being st the cloud recesses. surprisingly, shen jiu and nie huaisang have a friendship that… isn’t too bad. shen jiu is amiable, shows off the different fans he’s painted, and nie huaisang eagerly buys all of them. nie huaisang also buys out shen jiu’s other works, like his poetry and short stories. that day, with shen jiu’s qiankun pouch full, he treats himself to tanghulu.

the second encounter with nie huaisang brought along jiang cheng and wei wuxian. at that point in time, they were investigating the waterborne abyss problem. shen jiu, a year older now, shows nie huaisang his “new” invention: the war fan. wei wuxian is absolutely delighted at the new invention, and jiang cheng, although less excited that WWX, is considerably impressed as well. as for NHS, well, words can’t describe his happiness. shen jiu, on a whim, gifts it to him for free— mockingly thanking NHS for being such a generous patron. nie huaisang, unable to contain his excitement anymore, jumps on shen jiu and embraces him dramatically. this causes such a commotion, lan wangji comes over. with his brother.

(okay, i’m done writing for today.)

[narumi-gens]

Triptych | "You left me alone."

Chisaki Kai x f!Reader

summary: Your life is nothing more than a triptych, a work of art in three parts with each panel depicting a distinct period — a beginning, a middle, an end. And in the triptych that is your life, the central figure has always been Chisaki Kai.

chapter warnings: 18+ minors/blank/ageless blogs dni, yandere, angst, imprisonment, emotional manipulation, emotional/psychological abuse, depression, reader stops eating, codependency, abandonment issues

notes: this is from a non-chronological series so the parts can be read in any order (or on their own). shoutout to the anon who asked me a very long time ago when their "husband" (triptych) was "coming home from war" (unofficial hiatus). he's back, bb!

words: 1.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

The End

It’s hard to gauge time in the darkness. With no window to keep track of whether it’s day or night, the only way to track the passage of time is by the three daily meals that are left for you by a masked and silent guard. When you were first locked away, it was easy to count the meals and thus the days.

But as the days and the darkness and the isolation stretch on, your grasp on reality begins to slip. It’s difficult in the blackness to tell if your eyes are open or closed — if you’re sleeping or if you’re awake. Is this meal the first of the day or the second? Maybe it’s the third. 

The longer you spend in this room, in this cell, the more you can feel the life slowly draining from you. Eventually, you stop eating, your appetite fading altogether along with your will to keep fighting. 

Your faceless, nameless guard brings you a meal, only to take away an untouched one. You don’t know how long this goes on for. All you know is it doesn’t take long for your body to feel as fragile as your mind. 

Until one day, when the door to your prison opens and the figure holding a tray and standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the hallway — the only light you ever see anymore — isn’t your usual guard. 

Despite the way your heart races at the sight of someone new, someone familiar, you remain still, too tired and weak to move even if you wanted to. All you can do is look at him with eyes squinting from the sudden brightness. 

“You’re not eating,” Kurono points out needlessly from the doorway. You can’t help but wonder if you’re dreaming. How long has it been since you’ve heard a voice other than the one in your head?

You watch in a daze as he walks toward you and sets the tray down on the table beside the twin-sized bed that you’ve been curled up in since you were first put here. The scent of your lunch, or maybe it’s dinner, reaches your nose and while your stomach reacts with a deep pang of hunger, you still feel no real appetite to actually eat what Kurono has brought you. 

You glance at the tray and see a shallow bowl on top. It must be a broth, something easy to digest after days — has it been days? — of eating nothing. When you look back at Kurono, you find that his head is tilted down in your direction. With his mask covering the entirety of his face, you can only assume that he’s turned his attention fully to you. 

There’s an unfamiliar sense of longing deep down inside of you. You wish he would take off the stupid mask. You’re desperate to see another person’s face.

“How-” you’re cut off by a small cough, your throat dry and scratchy, unused to speaking after so long spent alone in the dark. “How long have I been here?”

Kurono stays silent, refusing to answer your question. Against your will, tears begin to blur your vision from how much it hurts to be ignored by someone you know so well after having been locked away by yourself for so long. You must look pitiful because he softly sighs.

“You need to eat,” he says and even through your haze, you can hear his weariness. 

You wonder if he’s truly concerned or if he’s just tired of the irritable mood that Kai has surely been in since he put you here. But as you continue to stare up at him, you decide that it isn’t a fair assumption. For as long as you’ve known Kurono, whatever’s important to Kai is important to him. 

And apparently, there’s nothing of greater importance to him than you. Except for one thing…

“E-Eri,” you breathe out, a new type of desperation taking hold. “How’s Eri? Is she safe? Is she okay?”

They’re all stupid questions. Of course she isn’t safe. Of course she isn’t okay. She won’t be safe until you can take her far, far away from the Hassaikai and Kai. 

“If you don’t eat, Eri will be the one to pay.” The words are Kai’s even if they’re coming from Kurono, and they cut just the same.

Your next question escapes you before you’re even able to fully process it.

“Where’s Kai?” you rasp and you should feel embarrassed. You should feel ashamed for asking after the man who’s torturing a little girl, who incapacitated your father, who locked you away in the dark for what must have been weeks by this point. 

You should feel ashamed for asking after the man who’s been quietly controlling you and isolating you and manipulating you for your whole life. 

But you’re just so lonely. You would give anything to be free of the darkness.

Right now, you want nothing more than to see Kai, and the realization has a single tear finally escaping your eye and rolling across the bridge of your nose

“Kurono,” you weakly plead with a pathetic sniffle when he doesn’t answer you. “Hari…Where’s Kai?”

The use of his given name seems to soften his stony demeanor because he gives another quiet sigh.

“Eat,” he says, gentler this time, but you’re already beginning to spiral. The small hint of kindness he’s shown you, even when it’s dripping with pity, is too much for you to handle when you’ve been isolated and alone for so long.

“Please, tell him I don’t want to be here anymore,” you cry. You squeeze your eyes shut in a futile attempt to hold back your tears as the pillow beneath you quickly turns wet. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

The feeling of a warm hand on the side of your head has you opening your eyes back up to find Kurono now kneeling down at your bedside. His mask is held in his other hand, allowing you to see the slight frown on his lips as he watches you cry.

“You’ll feel better if you eat something,” he assures you and you want to protest, to continue to waste away into nothingness, but you remember Eri. 

Eri, who’s suffering, who’s being tortured, who will pay the price should you keep refusing to eat, who will truly have no one on her side if you disappear.

And so, after looking up at Kurono for a long moment, you weakly nod. It’s his steady hand that helps you sit up, holding you carefully but firmly when you feel lightheaded. Once he seems to think you’re no longer at risk of collapsing back onto the bed, he releases you to bring the tray to your side. 

Then, as if you’re nothing more than a child, he raises the bowl and brings a small spoonful of the broth to your chapped lips for you to sip. Anger bubbles in your stomach and you feel the urge to shove away the spoon, the bowl, and Kurono for the infantilizing behavior. 

The anger is almost a relief, letting you know that you’re capable of feeling something, anything, other than despair. But again, you think of Eri and swallow the broth without complaint. Just as you do when he gives you another spoonful and then another, eating what you’re given until you’re full, which admittedly doesn’t take too long. 

He gives you a soft smile before putting his mask back on, picking up the tray, and leaving you alone in the darkness once more. He doesn’t visit again, but the meals continue to show up on their usual schedule, three times a day, evolving from broths to more nutritious food once your stomach can handle something more. 

But one day — you’re not sure how many days later — instead of waking up to a meal, you open your eyes to find Kai sitting on the edge of your bed, patiently watching you. 

There’s a part of you that thinks you’re imagining his presence, or that maybe it’s a dream, until he places a glove-free hand on your cheek. His touch is achingly familiar and you’re overcome with self-loathing at how much comfort it provides you.

“Kai?” you breathe, tears of relief blurring your vision. His thumb gently brushes away the first one that escapes. Your own hand comes up to cover his where it cups your cheek, desperately and pathetically clinging onto him in a wordless plea for him not to let you go. 

“You said you’d never leave me alone, but you did,” you start to cry. “You left me alone.”

He lets you weep, his thumb continuing to swipe away the tears that he can catch with a touch that both burns and soothes. He offers no explanation or words of consolation, silently and calmly watching as you fall apart before him. 

It’s only when your sobs have started to die down that he encourages you to look back up at him with his touch.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he finally asks.

All you can do is move closer to him so you can bury your face in his lap as a fresh wave of tears comes over you. 

[sxcret-garden]

Sub!P1Harmony Headcanons [M]

ღ P1Harmony Keeho, Theo, Jiung, Intak x gn!reader ღ genre: smut ღ warnings: mentions of degradation

Keeho: 

soooo whiny

a brat but if you press all the right buttons he’ll become very obedient

will fight you for dominance at first 

however, once you wrap your hand around his dick it’s over for him

actually loves being edged until he’s a whining, begging mess

WILL blush if you tease him or degrade him a bit - but also make sure to tell him how well he did for you once you’re done with him

I feel like he’s pretty kinky so he’ll go crazy if you become a bit rougher with him

will beg you to keep going even after cumming once

multiple orgasms and overstimulation will make him lose his mind in the best way possible

will definitely be down to try whatever you suggest and loves having toys or other stuff like handcuffs or blindfolds involved

Theo:

now, it will be very hard to even get him to submit to you, cause he really needs to trust his partner a lot for that

but it WILL pay off

prefers it if you go slow and soft

anything you do will make him blush and let out tiny whines because of the position he’s in

doesn’t want to admit that he likes this at first, but the more you touch him, the more he’ll start to enjoy himself

actually letting you be in charge isn’t so bad when you know just how to handle him

secretly loves the way you worship his body

will be impatient and whine even more if you test his patience by going too slow or edging him

in this state it's easy to make him go crazy for you if you start acting boldly

would love for you ride him and make him cum over and over again

in the end he certainly prefers having some more control over the situation, but just sometimes he will let himself submit to you

Jiung:

feels pretty comfortable submitting to you

he needs a lot of trust for it, but he wouldn’t sleep with someone he doesn’t trust a lot in the first place anyway

not very vocal or proactive at first, but the more you tease him, the more reactions you will get

prefers it if you go slow, so he can really enjoy every last bit of it

will eventually start whispering your name and utter curses, the closer you bring him to the edge

the need to hold onto you becomes stronger, and from the way he grips onto your body it becomes clear how much he needs you

will start begging if you decide to mess with him and suddenly stop touching him altogether, but it will be very small whines only

but that doesn’t mean he isn’t enjoying himself, he’s just not very loud about it to begin with

he also strikes me as the type to need to hold onto you tight, the closer he’s coming to his high

Intak:

will easily submit to you with just a little push

literally - like if you push him down on the bed, getting on top of him

however, he isn’t the biggest sub ever, it’s more that he will simply give in to your touch once it becomes clear that you’re taking control of the situation

he’s the type to just let himself drown in the pleasure, so he’ll let you do anything so long as it feels good 

doesn’t think too much and just responds to whatever you do, whether that’s vocally or by returning your touches

loves having you on top of him while you pin him down

another sucker for overstimulation

isn’t going to hold back when you’re making him feel real good and will make sure to let you know by moaning your name or running his nails down your skin

overall a big switch so he’s down for pretty much any dynamic between you two