#this ask is...years old in my inbox so forgive me for this but i HAD to express my love for sc + this song in a fun little AU

[pippytmi]

If you are possibly still doing song promts, not sure if you're into country music however, "Unforgettable" by Thomas Rhett is a very cute, romantic song that I believe will suit Supercorp very well, thank you.

It is a warm, sticky summer night, and the stars have never been clearer.

Kara watches them, wistful and maybe a little buzzed, stretched out in the back of her pickup while Alex flicks bottle caps below at the guys. James and Winn don’t even notice; they’re still arguing over whether they should take whiskey shots or shotgun beers, both staunchly on opposite sides of this dilemma.

“Hey,” a thought occurs to Kara suddenly, “where did Sam go?”

“To find Lena, I think,” Alex says, squinting at her next target with halfhearted commitment as she leans over the side of the truck. When she throws the next cap, it misses Winn entirely. “Damn. Open another beer, Kara, I need another shot.”

“Who’s Lena?” The name is somewhat familiar, but Kara can’t place it immediately.

“The Luthor girl. Sam’s friend, you know her.” Alex leans back to root through their cooler, and comes up with two more beers. “She’s the one who flaked when Sam tried to set up that double-date, remember?”

“Right, and I had to third-wheel you guys all night.” Kara sits up in order to scan the crowd curiously, one question at the forefront of her mind: “Is she related to Lex Luthor?”

“Yes, that’s why I said the Luthor girl,” Alex says like one might say keep up. “She’s his half-sister or something, I don’t know.” She uses the bottle opener on her keys to pop open one of the beers, handing it over to Kara and immediately moving on to her own.

Kara takes a distracted swig as she continues to look out into the crowd. The lights strung through the trees offer very little in terms of visibility, and it’s hard to make out faces. “I didn't know he had a sister,” she says.

“It's not something he exactly advertises.” Alex takes a re-do of her earlier shot now that she has a fresh bottle cap, and this time it nails Winn right on the side of the head. “Hey, losers! Quit fighting and come get a drink!”

“Not unless you have some beer cans we can shotgun!” Winn shouts back.

“No, no, he means we need some Jack Daniel’s,” James interjects, and they’re off again, shoving playfully at each other’s shoulders as if they are going to push each other into the bonfire.

Alex rolls her eyes. “Boys,” she says derisively. “Let’s get Nia instead, she deserves a drink far more than they do.” She reaches over to bang at the truck’s backseat window. “Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

“Whoa, watch it!” Kara almost spills her drink in her haste to bat Alex’s hand away. “Take it easy. I just got her all fixed up.”

“Oh sure, when Siobhan takes a baseball bat to the glass it’s all fine and dandy, but I can’t even give it a tap?”

Kara crinkles her nose. “She thought it was her ex’s car in the dark, come on. You can’t blame her for that.”

“You are also her ex,” Alex says impatiently.

“But not the ex she was trying to get revenge on,” Kara points out. “She even apologized to Brittney. I think you should, too.”

Alex gives her a dirty look. “For the last time, I will not call your car that.”

“Don’t be a hater, Alex.”

“Don’t be a fucking weirdo, then—”

Before Kara can even enact her own revenge for that comment, she is briefly blinded by one of two flashlights aimed at her face. Beside her, Alex yelps and covers her eyes.

“There you guys are,” Sam exclaims. “I got lost trying to remember where we were. Why did you park so far away?”

“To keep our drinks from the masses, mostly,” Alex says, and she hops up over the side of the truck to pull Sam into her arms. “And for privacy.”

“Ew,” Kara says, and Alex glares at her over her shoulder.

“For Nia, who is sleeping.”

“Still?” Sam grins, momentarily distracted, when Alex presses a kiss to her cheek. “I wanted to introduce her to Lena.”

Just like her name, Lena Luthor has something about her face that strikes Kara as vaguely familiar. Something in the shine of her eyes in the moonlight, in the way she bites on her bottom lip, in the slope of her nose and the cut of her jaw and the hint of a dimple in her cheek. Kara has never laid eyes on Lena Luthor before, but she finds herself unable to look away.

The only reason Kara even realizes she's been staring at Lena too long is when she hears her name:

“And this is Kara, she's Alex’s sister. She drove us here.”

Now it's Kara's turn to be stared at—or more accurately, scrutinized. “While drunk?” Lena says.

Kara snaps back to reality. “I'm not drunk,” she hastily denies, lest that somehow affect her chances with impressing Lena (coincidentally, something she had not been concerned with until this very second). “I've only had two beers, I'm practically sober.”

But when anyone else might be skeptical, Lena merely tilts her head curiously. “Okay, if you say so,” she says in a manner that’s almost…amused. Kara counts it as a win, either way.

“So are beers all we have around here?” Sam asks. “Clearly, Lena and I need to catch up to everyone.”

“We also have whiskey,” James chimes in, while Winn makes a show of gagging.

“Yeah, just beer and whiskey,” Alex affirms. “Kara did the shopping, so….”

Kara bends down to lift up their cooler as if it’s a treasure chest. “We also have Mang-O-Ritas,” she says magnanimously, passing it down to James to pop open.

“Just a regular beer for me, then,” Sam says. “Lena will have the Mang-O-Rita.”

“I’ve never had one before,” Lena says, crossing her arms and leaning against the side of the truck as Sam procures her drink. “Are they any good?”

Kara jumps off the truck in order to fully join their circle (and, okay, closer to Lena. Maybe). “They’re awesome. Don’t listen to whatever Alex tells you, she will 100% drink three of these in one sitting.” 

“Only when there’s no other option,” Alex protests.

Lena cracks open her can and takes a cautious sip. “Hm,” she says. “That’s…vile.”

“Poor little rich girl,” Sam coos. “Always such a snob about your liquor.”

“Excuse me for preferring a glass of red over this,” Lena says, but she takes a longer drink immediately afterwards, and Kara falls a little bit in love.

It's always been like that, really—Kara falls in love like breathing air. Eliza used to call her a hopeful romantic because she never liked the term hopeless romantic. (“There is nothing hopeless about finding beauty in everything,” Eliza would promise as she kissed Kara's head. Alex would always be nearby gagging, of course).

Eventually, as the fire begins to die down, they break out the whiskey bottle for shots. Lena, Kara can't help but notice, grimaces at the taste in a way that shouldn't be as cute as it is.

“I need a palate cleanser,” Winn gasps afterwards, ever the drama queen. “Stat.”

“I’ve got one right here for you, it's called Bud Light,” Alex quips.

“Blegh.”

And while Alex and Winn playfully tussle, Kara’s gaze drifts past them and back to Lena. Lena, surprisingly, is looking right back.

“You have grass stains on your jeans,” Lena tells her, and quickly looks away.

Kara glances down. “Oh,” she says, “yeah, it’s the hazard of working on a farm.” She actually got the stains from kneeling down to pet a puppy on the way here, but the farm thing sounds better. “So what do you—” 

She never manages to get the question out, because two cars down, someone screams bloody murder and Kara reflexively whips out the pocket knife in her boot. Everyone else is equally alert, until:

“It’s just fucking Mike Matthews again, falling off that eyesore he calls a truck,” Alex scoffs. 

“Again? They need to impound that thing,” James says.

Kara is about to chime in with her own horror story about Mike’s truck when she feels a tap at her shoulder; Lena waits until Kara whirls around, befuddled, before she asks,

“Can you pour me another shot?”

Kara blinks. Then blinks again. “Yeah,” she says, even though Winn is the one holding the whiskey bottle. “Yeah, of course.”

Winn gladly relinquishes the bottle when Kara asks, and he and James walk down to Mike’s group to “see if they can help” (i.e. gossip). Sam and Alex take advantage of the chaos to sneak away together (probably to make out somewhere). And Kara is left, terrifyingly enough, alone with Lena Luthor.

Lena coughs after downing the second shot, frowning down at her cup like it’s wronged her. “That is still…not good.”

Kara tries to hide her smile as she looks down, nudges an empty beer bottle away. “Why drink it, then?”

“I don’t know.” Lena pauses to chase the taste away with her Mang-O-Rita before musing, “To get out of my comfort zone, maybe. But then again, pretty much everything here is out of my comfort zone.”

“Oh, I get it,” Kara says. “Rich girl pretending to be normal. It’s very Maid in Manhattan. Or…whatever the opposite of that is.”

“You are…definitely drunk,” Lena says with the tone of someone two seconds from laughter.

Kara vehemently shakes her head. “Nope, no, absolutely not.”

“Mm, you kind of seem like you are,” Lena says.

“I am not, and I can prove it to you.” Kara cradles the whiskey bottle to her chest and prepares herself: “I can do the running man.”

“And that proves you’re not drunk how?”

“Because it's going to be the most flawless dance you've ever seen,” Kara says, immediately kicking her leg out in a shaky attempt, and Lena’s laughter explodes until she is actually hunched over with the force of it.

“Oh, God, please do that again.”

“I'm not sure I like your reaction,” Kara sniffs, taking a mock-defensive step back. “I don't want to do it now.”

“No, come on, I loved it. Really,” Lena says. Her Mang-O-Rita has spilled into the grass, and she has to stoop down to pick up the can, ruefully shaking it when she notices it's empty. “Maybe I need to slow down. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

“Yeah,” Kara says, waving the whiskey bottle to beckon Lena to follow, and she guides her to the back of the pickup. She shrugs off her jacket, laying it out for Lena to sit, and Lena gives her a small smile when she does; it feels like they’re in their own world, kept company only by the stars and the occasional crackle of the dying bonfire.

“So you work on a farm?” Lena has to lean slightly against Kara to get comfortable, and Kara holds her breath to keep from jumping.

“Yup, my parents’ farm,” Kara barely remembers to answer. “Nothing glamorous like you and your brother, I'm sure.”

“I didn't know you knew about…that,” Lena says.

Kara shrugs, feels her shoulder directly move against Lena’s. “Kind of hard not to,” she says apologetically. “I mean, the Luthor name is on just about every business in town.” She twists the whiskey bottle between her hands, listens to it slosh. “If it helps…none of us care about that.”

“Really,” Lena says, disbelievingly but still light enough to invite a follow-up, which Kara wastes zero time in grasping.

“One hundred percent,” Kara promises. “We never judge a book by its cover. Not even,” she pauses to whisper this next part, “people who stand up their dates on a dreaded double-date with their sister.”

Lena gasps. “That was not you.”

“It was,” Kara laughs, just self-conscious enough to slick her hair out of her eyes. “Didn’t Sam tell you?”

“No—all she said was you were fun,” Lena says. “And she promised to try and set me up again, another time.” She shifts, now fully shoulder-to-shoulder against Kara. “Oh my God. Is that what tonight is?”

“Alex didn’t tell me anything,” Kara wonders, “but it would make sense…”

Lena scoffs. “This would be a horrible date,” she says, almost to herself. Then, hurriedly, “Not because of you, but because of everything else. The drinks, the place, the…lack of indoor plumbing…” 

“So you’re too good for whiskey, tailgate parties, and porta potties,” Kara lists off. “Hm. I don’t know, Lena. This date is off to a rough start.”

“Oh, shut up.” Lena reaches across their bodies for the whiskey bottle, and her fingers tangle with Kara’s as she takes it. Lena uncaps it and takes a swig, coughing as soon as she lowers the bottle, and Kara smiles even if Lena can’t see it.

“What happened to slowing down?”

“That was before I realized this was a date,” Lena says without a lick of shame. “Sue me—I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be,” Kara says softly, and she shuts her eyes, inhales the smoke of the fire and the sweet, floral scent of Lena’s perfume. “We can just be friends, too. No pressure.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” Lena asks, her voice quiet but undoubtedly curious. “Am I not the kind of girl you want to date?”

Kara immediately straightens up. “Are you kidding? I would marry you, probably, if I could. In a good way,” she hastens to explain. “In a…general, you-seem-like-the-kind-of-nice-to-marry. Hypothetically.”

Lena exhales, and there’s a hint of a smile in her own voice when she says, “You’re coming on awful strong for a first date, Kara Danvers.”

“Sorry.” Kara slumps against the floor, sighing as the whiskey finally starts catching up to her, leaving her slightly dizzy and uncoordinated as she stares up at the night sky.

But then Lena is moving, twisting until she is half-hovering over Kara, beautifully framed by moonlight and the haze from the fire beside them. “I can’t promise marriage yet,” she says, “but I think I can do a second date.”

Kara blinks, slowly, and her grin forms before she can even try to hide it. “Really?”

“Only if I can choose the place,” Lena says. “And if you never make me drink that awful margarita again.”

“Deal,” Kara says, making room for Lena to squeeze in beside her, light-headed for a whole new reason as Lena rests her head on Kara’s arm. “But I really think you should give the Mang-O-Rita another try. Just, for the record.”

“Shhh, don’t ruin this,” Lena says, tapping Kara’s mouth with her finger, and Kara keeps on smiling.

(And later, when they’ve sobered up, Kara will kiss Lena goodnight; later still, Lena will deny that she tasted of that damned Mang-O-Rita, but only Kara will know the truth).

#this ask is...years old in my inbox so forgive me for this but i HAD to express my love for sc + this song in a fun little AU #supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #i love hearing new songs that i vibe with - this one is now on my 'country i will allow' playlist <3 #jaykr13 #i have countless old prompts still in my inbox but. would yall believe it if i say im trying to clear them lmfao

[viennakarma]

Wreck my plans (that's my man)

Part 2 of Say Something

Lewis Hamilton x Reader | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Juggling a new life as a divorced woman, a toddler and maybe a new (old) love.

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: Female reader, new love, a kinda asshole Lewis, co-parenting relationship, smut, oral sex (f receiving), a lot of spanish pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Fernando Alonso x Reader, Ex!Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Notes: I know some of you wanted forgiveness for Lewis, and another bunch of you wanted Toto Wolff but I blindly opened the doc and these 4 thousand words just happened. If you really want an alternate ending (forgiving Lewis), drop something in my inbox and I might write a lil something for you ;)

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“Look, mama!” Luna pointed the little finger at the big poster of George Russell, “Uncle Joje!”

“Yep, that’s uncle George, my love!”

“And Dada! Dada!” She pointed to the next big poster, a big picture of Lewis wearing the team gear.

It was the first time you went back to a Grand Prix, in a little more than two years. And it was Luna’s first time ever attending. You and Lewis had a great co-parenting relationship, the world knew about Luna, but the Silverstone GP was going to be the first time she’d be seen publicly. You knew Lewis had hired the best security team just for this, and he had called you with a confident pep talk the night before.

As soon as the car stopped, you pulled Luna closer.

“Baby, stay close to mama, yes? We’re going to see Dada and Papa Anthony too, ok?”

Your daughter nodded but you knew she didn’t really understand, so you just smiled at her and opened the door. You could feel the flashes popping around the two of you, and could imagine everyone wondering what Lewis’ ex wife was doing there.

The bodyguards walked you and Luna over to the Mercedes’ hospitality. You found Lewis in the privacy of his little driver’s room.

“Dada!” Luna squealed as soon as she saw him, casual jeans and the team shirt.

You smiled, setting your little girl down so she could run to her father’s arms. Lewis smiled big, that one smile he only directed to his daughter. Lewis picked her up, kissing her face and hugging her.

“Hi, Lewis!” You greeted him with a side hug, since Luna was still in his arms.

“Hi, Y/N! Are you two ok? Was the trip here alright?” He asked, attentive.

“Yes, thank you. How is your schedule? You wanna stay with her a little?” You asked.

“Yes, I want to be with her. My dad’s at the hospitality too, he’s dying to see Luna.”

You gave him your daughter’s bag, with nappies, toys, drinks and snacks. You told him to call if needed, anything. Kissing your baby’s cheek, you left Lewis’ room to give them a little space and privacy.

Walking around aimlessly, seeing the energy flowing was kind of fun. You walked by Ferrari and greeted both drivers, who you had known back when you were married to Lewis. A good part of the grid had changed, but the few from before still recognised you and talked to you.

You were going back to Mercedes to check on Luna when you hit someone chest to chest.

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry!” You whispered.

“Y/N” he greeted you. You met the gaze of beautiful brown eyes, in an almost green kind of shade.

“Fernando! Hi!” You finally recognized the spaniard.

You had met Fernando the same night you had met Lewis, introduced by Sebastian and his wife after you created the project for their family home.

“It’s good to see you,” Fernando said, still holding your shoulder.

“You too.”

“I’m sorry about the divorce.”

“Uh, don’t worry. It’s been a while, Lewis and I are friends now.”

Fernando nodded, his eyes on your face. You stared at his eyes, trying to find something to say, to fill in the awkward silence.

“You’re just as beautiful as ever,” he whispered almost in a daze. You felt the blush creeping up your face.

“Thank you, you look handsome too,” you said, and you phone started ringing, you checked to see it was Lewis calling, “sorry, I gotta go,”

“See you around?” Fernando asked.

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, Fernando.”

You started walking away feeling butterflies in your stomach, like a silly teenager. You were walking but as you looked back, Fernando was still there staring at your distancing figure.

Fernando never forgot your pretty smile. He had met you so long ago, in a party hosted by Sebastian and his wife. Fernando had been enchanted by you, by the way your presence lit up the room, by how smart you sounded, by how clever you were. The problem was Fernando had gotten to the party late, and when he arrived, you had already met Lewis, fully entranced by the British man's charisma.

Fernando still had a silly crush on you when you were dating Lewis and he saw you around, but after you got married, he had forced himself to move on.

Now it felt like some sort of miracle, bumping into you again.

He didn’t lose any time. As he went back to the Aston Martin garage, he called someone.

It was a couple of hours later and you were by the Mercedes garage chatting with Anthony and keeping an eye on Luna who was running around with George and Lewis, greeting engineers and mechanics, enchanting everyone with her charm.

Someone wearing green came into the garage and everyone stopped, looking at the intruder from the Aston Martin team. The Aston Martin lady handed you a big bouquet of lilies and excused herself.

Every single pair of eyes were set on you and the mysterious bouquet. With your face red, you pulled the card, opening.

“Glad to see you again, hermosa. - Fernando”

You smiled, covering your face. On the back of the card was a phone number.

“Who’s that from?” Lewis asked and suddenly everyone was silent, tension rising up.

“Lewis,” you said between gritted teeth, “you’re making a scene.” Lewis seemed to realize everyone had an eye on you two, so you just turned to Anthony and said, “can you keep an eye on Luna for a couple of minutes please?”

After confirmation, you walked inside, taking your bouquet with you, and putting the number on your phone.

“Who’s it from?” Lewis followed you inside.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Lewis.”

“It is because you’re the mother of my kid.”

“Which means the only topic concerning you is our kid!” You whispered angrily.

“You’re dating, now?”

“Fuck off, Lewis!” You exclaimed, a surge of anger coming through your chest, “Don’t come at me all high and mighty now. You cheated on me, and I still let you be close to my daughter, and I still treat you with respect! I kept the secret of why our marriage ended to save your reputation and we only have a good relationship for her sake!”

You knew the words struck a nerve because his chest was heaving. You had been respectful to Lewis ever since the pregnancy because you wanted your daughter to grow up in a safe and happy environment. But that was where you drew the line.

“My life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”

Leaving Lewis behind, you went to a room in the hospitality and managed to send a thank you text to Fernando.

You ended up accepting going on a date with Fernando after a few weeks of calling and texting. He ended up going to your place in Edinburgh for a cozy dinner, in a week Luna had gone traveling with Lewis for the summer break.

After the divorce you faced a lot of backlash from Lewis’ fans, even if they didn’t know any details, they still blamed you for breaking their idol’s heart. A few man had flirted with you here and there, but pregnant for nine months and then raising a baby after, you didn’t have the time or energy to find romance. Dealing with the aftermath of your divorce with a world superstar athlete had been something else.

So you had been living a low profile life, one that Fernando fully respected. He and you opted for cooking dinner yourselves, preparing a pasta dish with lots of pomodoro sauce and cheese.

He was easy to talk to. So openly into you, complimenting you, talking about how pretty and how interesting you are. The Spanish charm was so real and delightful, after years of feeling rejected. 

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, over a glass of wine while Fernando mixed a saucepan.

“Anything.”

“Why are you interested in me?” You sounded honestly confused. 

You were a divorced woman, with a toddler, still trying to figure out the relationship you had with your ex, and living under the radar after having your face plastered all over the media. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was really into you or if it was some sort of vendetta against Lewis. You knew that despite them being on good terms now, there’s history between them, and many layers of rivalry you weren’t privy to, since it happened long before they met you.

“Is this to get back at Lewis in some way? Because I’d like to manage my expectations if that’s the case.”

He understood why you would be guarded and suspicious of his intentions. Your last relationship had imploded in a way that he could only imagine left you devastated. It must look off, a known rival of your ex-husband sweeping in and showing romantic interest. But Fernando didn’t mind showing you his true intentions as long as you allowed him.

Fernando turned the stove off, and walked around the kitchen island, standing in front of you, so close he was almost between your legs.

“It has nothing to do with him because I have always been interested in you,” he whispered like a secret, seeing you confused frown, he kept talking, “remember the night we met? Lewis left early, we went to the garden, and sat down by the fountain. We shared a bottle of wine and a cigarette. Just me and you watching the sun rise.”

“Fernando…” you whispered back, remembering. Of course you knew about that, but for so long your life was entangled to Lewis, that the memory of that night was only attached to him in your brain.

But that had happened. You and Fernando had talked late into the night, chatting about life and the future, sitting barefoot on the grass, passing a wine bottle between you. Fernando didn’t flirt with you that day, he just chatted.

At the time you were so infatuated with Lewis already, that you didn’t see what was right under your nose.

“And for years after that,” Fernando gulped, looking a bit guilty, “I wondered if I had gone to the party earlier, if I had met you first, wouldn’t it be me by your side?”

“You’ve been into me all these years?” You asked, shocked.

“I have been in love all these years.”

You held his face, pulling him into you, kissing him. He was shocked at first, but as soon as it wore off, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush into him. With the other hand, he cradled your head by the nape, his lips leaving your mouth, to kiss down your neck and nip at your earlobe, which had you moaning softly, melting against him.

“I’m sorry, hermosa,” he apologized, taking a step back.

You were panting softly as he stared at you, red face and lips, hair a little disheveled from his hand.

“Fernando,” you stood up, holding his hand, “come back here.”

You pulled him back, pressing your lips into his. He held you close, flush against his chest, opening his lips and deepening the kiss. You felt hot all over.

“I have dreamed about this, diosa.” He moaned into your lips.

“Can we-” you muttered between kisses, “can we skip dinner?”

You turned around to go back to the living room, hearing Fernando hearty laugh, and he immediately hugged you from behind, kissing your shoulder and neck. Finally making it to the sofa, you sat down. Fernando just knelt in front of you, pushing your dress up.

“Dessert first, sí?”

Laughing, you nodded, kicking your panties after he pushed them down your legs. Fernando bit into your thighs, and you moaned at the feel of his beard on your skin. With his head between your thighs, he mouthed you, licking a stripe into your cunt. Using a hand to open you up, he lapped your pussy like a man starved, pressing face, nose and tongue into your wetness. You had gone so long without another person, that now you were mushy under his ministrations. He still couldn’t get enough, so he put one of your legs over his shoulder, diving deeper, tongue over your clit and finger entering your cunt.

“Fuck, Nando. Too good, too good,” you gripped his hair, grinding on his face. He curled his fingers up inside you, finding your g-spot, making you shake, “I’m so close, baby. So, so close.”

He latched on to your clit, and you came hard, shaking, hips pressing into his face as you tried to come down. You were panting, breathless, as you came down from your high. Fernando stood up, sitting by your side, kissing you. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he held you.

You cupped the bulge in his pants, and he kept kissing you face gently, holding you in his arms like he wanted to never let go.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” he whispered into your ear, making goosebumps arise in your skin.

You two stumbled to the bedroom, laughing as you pulled each piece of clothing off, tossing them to the floor. You were fully naked by the time the door closed behind you in the bedroom.

You didn’t actually lay in the bed, since Fernando made you keep one foot on the floor and pushed your other leg on the mattress, leaving you open for him.

“Dios, I want to keep you in this bed for days until I have tasted all of you, cariño,” he said, running a calloused hand up and down from your back all the way to your butt, pressing his fingers over your cheeks, making you moan.

“Nando, please fuck me, just- I need you, please,” you begged, feeling the way he lined his cock to tease your entrance but not actually putting in, just coating himself with your wetness.

Then finally, he pushed inside, slowly, your walls pulling him in a perfect tight grip. The two of you cursed as you adapted to the feel of him inside, of having someone fucking you for the first time in years.

Fernando started fucking you softly, and you let him manhandle you as he pulled you back to stand up, your back against his chest, one of his hands snaking around your middle to keep him pressed to your backside and the other hand cradled your face by the jaw, forcing you to look ahead.

“Mírate, cariño (look at you, dear)” he whispered, making you face ahead, finding the full length mirror on the other side of the room, you could see perfectly, Fernando fucking you from behind, his sweaty face above your shoulder, your tits bouncing with each snap of his hips and his hands claiming your body like you were a fucking masterpiece, “you look so pretty taking my cock.”

You looked at the mirror, his hand keeping you up like a toy and he started pounding into you, and you could only moan his name as you felt the orgasm buildup, you threw your hand back, holding his head and pulling his hair and your other hand down to your clit as his thrusts became harder and slower. You felt yourself clench around him, coming hard as he whispered in your ear.

“Oh, you feel so good, hermosa. I bet it feels so good coming around my cock does it not?” He talked you through your high.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me. Please, baby.” You moaned and that did it for him, and you had him cumming with a couple of sloppy thrusts.

You two fell on the bed, breathless.

“Goddamn, Nano, you’re going to ruin my life,” You whispered.

“I’m happy to be of service,” he joked and you ended up laughing out loud, him accompanying you with a few giggles.

You two showered, and then dressed in robes, ate dinner on the living room floor, sharing the wine straight from the bottle just like the first time you met. 

After talking for what felt like hours, he took you back to bed, feasting on your cunt until he pulled two more orgasms from you, and then fucking you slowly. Mouth on your nipples and a hand keeping your hips high as he fucked into you. You held onto him for dear life, fingers tangled on his soft hair and kissed him whenever he gave you the opportunity. He worshiped your body like you were the only woman to ever exist, intense eye contact and praising you every step of the way.

The next morning you woke up naked, spent and happy. You barely had the time to feel Nando’s absence in your bed when he entered the room, carrying a big tray with breakfast.

“¡Buenos días!” He greeted you with a peck and set the tray in front of you. There was coffee, juice, toast and cheese.

“Buenos días, baby” you said, lazily taking a sip of coffee, “this is nice. I’ve never been surprised with breakfast in bed before.”

“You deserve it, you took me so well last night, hermosa.” He kissed you quickly again, and you blushed because of his words.

You kept eating when he went to the opposite side of the room to take a phone call. You spoke intermediate Spanish because of work, but you didn’t pry in his conversation, instead focusing on recharging your energies.

“Duty calls?” You asked as he came back. He only nodded, which made you a little sad, “well, I was going to ask you to stay the weekend, but I understand you’re busy.”

“I’ll cancel my plans.” He shrugged.

“No, no, you don’t have to.” You said quickly, feeling guilty for messing with his schedule.

“Do you want me to spend the weekend?” He asked softly. And you just nodded, not wanting to be the cause of him getting in trouble with work. “Then I’ll spend the weekend.”

He immediately got into a phone call again, and from what you could gather, he was rescheduling his commitments for the next week.

“Why did you do that?” You reprimanded him, but deep down you were kinda giddy because he was going to stay the weekend.

“You’re a priority, not a second thought.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing ever. “Besides, I’ll never say no to spending more time with you, cariño.”

Throughout the next six months, you and Nando kept in touch and met here and there whenever Lewis had Luna over. He officially asked you to be his girlfriend when you spent a week with him in a secluded villa close to the beach in Spain. It’s not that you didn’t want Fernando to meet Luna, but you two were still figuring out your relationship and you didn’t want to introduce them and in case he ended up not sticking around for the long run.

“Are you sure?” You asked him suddenly one night when you two were cuddling on the balcony, staring at each other and at the sky.

“Sure of what?”

“Are you sure you wanna be with me, Fernando?” You asked absentmindedly, running your palm up and down his back.

“Yes, I am sure.”

“Why, though? I come with a kid and a lot of baggage?” As you said the words, Fernando pulled your hand and kissed your palm, putting it against his cheek, looking into your eyes.

“Because I want you.”

“Even with all the complications? Even if we never find a way to go public?”

“I don’t mind if I have to spend the rest of our lives reassuring you. I’m with you because I want you, simple as that” he said with his serious voice and thick accent, as a lump stuck on your throat, “I’m not with you because of what you look like by my side or what you can do for me. I’m with you because I love you.”

Your tears fell down and Fernando caught them with his lips, kissing your cheeks and tears away. It was so good and so safe, you never wanted to leave his side.

“The rest of our lives, eh?” You giggled, “I’m not gonna lie, I like the sound of that.”

“Bueno. I like the sound of that too.”

“Gracias, Nano. Yo te amo y te deseo también. (Thank you, Nano. I love you and I desire you too)”

“Wait-” he pushed himself up, “you speak Spanish?”

“Sí, lo hablo. (Yes, I do)” You laughed out loud at his dumbfounded face, and he held your wrists up above your head.

“Todo este tiempo hablaste español? (All this time you spoke spanish?)” He clicked his tongue, “eres tan mala y te voy a castigar. (You're so bad and I'm gonna punish you)”

You squealed as he carried you back inside, tossing you on the bed.

Eventually, you made up your mind about telling Lewis. Not because he had to know, but from a standpoint that he should know for the sake of Luna. So you stopped him one day when he came to drop off Luna.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked after greeting your baby, “Luna, why don’t you take your new toys inside while Mommy and Daddy chat a little?” You watched your girl run inside, “Careful! The porch is slippery!”

“What happened?” Lewis asked, putting both hands on his pockets.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Your words made his stomach drop. The dreaded day had come. Lewis had noticed how you looked happier and healthier than before, how you were wearing more makeup and pretty stylish clothes. The other day you had a mysterious tan on your body when he came to drop Luna off, way too strong tan for Scotland, anyway.

You are one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, he found it a miracle it took you so long to find someone. Maybe deep down Lewis thought you two could mend your relationship.

“Who?” Was all he said.

“Fernando.”

“Fernando?” He frowned, “who’s Fernando?”

“Alonso.” You bit your lip, waiting for an explosive reaction, but Lewis went silent, thinking.

“I can’t believe this. He’s just using you to target me, can’t you see?”

“So that’s all you see me as? An object? A ploy crafted to only be used for you or against you?” You asked, crossing your arms defensively.

“That’s not what I mean! He’s- he’s evil, you know that!” Lewis bared his teeth, getting angrier by the second.

“I don’t. That’s not how he is to me.” You shrugged.

“Do you have any idea how messy this will look when it comes out? Are you ready to face the consequences of this stupid adventure to get back at me?”

His words made you raise your walls, defensive, that sounded dangerously like a threat. You remained collected, because if Lewis wanted to go low, then you’d go lower.

“I’ll let this one slide, but it sounded dangerously close to a fucking threat,” you started, your voice so cold it sent shivers up his spine, “This had nothing to do with you. Nothing. But if this information leaks, I’ll know who did it. And if you do this to damage my image to the world or try and force my hand into leaving him, then everyone will finally know why we divorced, and how the other woman kept harassing me while I was pregnant!”

“What?” His expression dropped. 

He didn’t know because you didn’t tell him, because after a few months of mockery and threats through texts, you changed your number and it stopped. You still had the screenshots though.

“Luna will always be my greatest priority, and I love my baby girl. But my life has revolved around hers ever since I was pregnant, and before that my life revolved around you,” you felt a lump in your throat, eyes watering, “can I have this one thing for me? Is it selfish wanting to be loved?”

“I do. I love you.” He said, his voice wavering too.

“No, you don’t.” You shook your head, “you loved the idea of someone living solely for you. You loved that I was there during the good and the bad, picking up the pieces when you were down and popping the champagne when you were up. You loved that I loved you.”

You looked back, where Luna was calling you from the door.

“I am with Fernando now, and as Luna’s parents, I just didn't want you to be blindsided,” you turned around but looked at him over your shoulder, “don’t go ruining my future a second time.”

He flinched before your words. You knew it would cut deep, but you were tired of that conversation and his entitlement to your life and decisions.

A few weeks later, you introduced Luna to Fernando, and to your surprise, they got along so well. Probably because he bought her a lot of presents. She liked his presence most of the times, despite feeling jealous sometimes when he hugged you or kissed your cheeks.

When you and Fernando made it to a one year anniversary, you two adopted a kitten who had been abandoned by the road. Luna fell immediately in love with the pet, which found home with you. For Christmas, Nando’s gift to Luna was to install a swing and a see-saw on the garden, which ultimately made her completely enchanted by him, asking him to play all the time whenever they were at your place at the same time.

You were sitting on his lap while Luna played with the cat, throwing toys around.

“How would you feel about a baby?” You asked him. He straightened up, searching your eyes.

“Are you pregnant?” He sounded shocked.

“Of course not, tonto! (silly)” You giggled, “I’m just- mulling over the idea, wanting your opinion, you know.”

“Yes, I want more kids if you want too,” he said honestly, his hand softly caressing the side of your hip.

“Mhm,” you nuzzled into his neck.

“Your question came with good timing, you know, I have been thinking,” he mumbled, thinking, “Do you want me to retire?”

“What? Are you insane? You love racing, it’s like- it’s in your blood! You know I do-”

“That’s not what I asked,” Fernando interrupted you, “I asked if you want me to retire? We could move in together, spend more time together, I could move here.”

“You’d drop your sunny and warm Spain for Scotland?” Your voice was laced with doubt.

“I’d drop anything for you, don’t you see?” He lowered his voice, closer to your ear, “besides, we could always go back and forth here and Spain. I’d do it if it means I get to make love to you every day, and wake up by your side every morning.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were deep red.

“You love it.”

“That I do.”

“That sounds tempting but I could never ask you to stop racing, it’s literally your favorite thing!”

“You are my favorite thing.”

“Fernando…” you whined and he laughed.

“Ok, let’s meet in the middle, sí?” He proposed, kissing your cheek, “if you get pregnant, I drop everything. Meanwhile, we let things run their course as it is, ok?”

“That’s perfect, mi amor” You laid back on his chest, watching Luna playing.

Headcanons | Another universe…

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #Spotify

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.

Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.

pairing - bucky barnes x female reader

warnings - none!! just tooth rottingly sweet fluff <3

word count - 1.7k

author's note - based on these two requests!! i'm also trying a new post format... what do we think?? I promised you i'd get a couple of xmas fics out before the 25th... I lied. apologies!! forgive me. title taken from the poem The Owl by Edward Thomas.

as always, if you enjoyed, please reblog!! reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics. thanks, angels <3

masterlist. inbox.

He whispers the words, timid and reserved, directly into your ear as if he's worried someone else will hear. It's only the two of you sat on the couch in your shared apartment, but Bucky's nervous.

Your head whips around in shock, trying to play it cool. Failed.

"Are you... are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

You grin, big and blinding, the beams of it radiating into Bucky's bones. It settles into his muscles, eases the tension from his shoulders.

You try not to make a big deal of it, try to keep your excitement under wraps. But you've been waiting for him to say those words for almost six years.

"I want to do Christmas this year."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

He hates the cold.

No, he's traumatised by the cold.

Years spent frozen, genetically modified and locked in a glorified freezer. Every gust of wind, every flake of snow reminds him of the darkest days with no light to be seen. His blood may run hot, but he feels like his heart is yet to thaw. He debates moving to the desert at least ten times a day.

Then he looks at you. How happy you are when winter comes around. The way your face lights up when it snows. And he figures that if it brings you this much joy... maybe he can tolerate it.

He bites back the chill, grits his teeth at the icy breeze, ignores the shudder of the cold all the way down to his bones. He grins and bears it, because you love it. He thinks you don't notice.

You do.

You've known ever since you met him. His demeanour changes when the winter comes around. He gets a little tentative around the autumn time, as if he's preparing himself for the worst. And then the first snow falls, and he's different. Guarded. Careful. Reluctant. He puts a fake smile on his face and pretends, but you're nothing if not completely in tune with everything Bucky Barnes.

You never asked, never pried. Just stood steadily by his side, regardless of the walls he'd placed around himself. Around his heart.

He broke down one night, wrapped up in bed with you. A chill had blown through your old apartments rickety windows and unearthed old memories, ice running into his veins. He was sure his tears were frozen as they dripped down his face.

You understood him better, since that day.

You've tried to suggest moving in subtle and not so subtle ways, but he won't have it. He knows this is your home. He knows you like it here. He knows he can stay, if he works a little harder on himself.

So, he tries. Every single day, he tries. And that's all that matters.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Okay, so... ground rules. Hit me, Buck. We do this on your terms."

He thinks for a moment before turning to face you.

"I want it to be just us. No one else."

"Done."

"And I don't wanna do the whole Christmas dinner thing. Feels like too much all at once."

You fight the urge to burst into tears at how easily he's communicating with you, how effortlessly he's enforcing his boundaries. You've come a long way.

"Done. Agreed, by the way. Fuck Christmas dinner. We'll do our own thing."

He grins at you, leaning in to kiss you slowly, tenderly, leisurely. Like you have all the time in the world.

"I want to get a tree. And lights. We don't have to do all the ornaments and stuff, but lights would be nice."

"I have an artificial tree in the back of the storage closet... is that okay?"

"Perfect. I don't want to stand on all the pine needles, anyway."

Laughing, you shift closer to him, tangling your legs together on the couch.

"And no gifts for me."

"But Buck-"

"Angel. I don't want anything. I have everything I need sat next to me."

You roll your eyes, but you can't wipe the smile off your face.

"This isn't fair, suddenly."

"It's plenty fair. You stress too much when you buy gifts, and this is going to be a stress free Christmas. Understood?"

He hooks his fingers under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Understood," you whisper, swinging your knee over so you're straddling him. "Stress free."

Bucky tilts his head up to kiss you, gentle at first, then firmer when you roll your hips into his. He's a little distracted, admittedly. He got you to promise not to get him anything, but made sure you wouldn't ask the same. His mind runs a mile a minute, trying to wrack his brain on what kind of gift to get for the love of his life, the person that saved him and continues to save him every single day.

He comes up empty, but lets you kiss the thoughts away for a little while.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"My mom taught me this specific way to hang lights on your tree. Look, grab this end and I'll show you."

You're both still in your pyjamas, fire roaring, a jazzy Christmas melody playing from the radio. You decided you wouldn't put up your tree until the day before, to save Bucky from feeling overwhelmed. It's worked, so far - he looks plenty relaxed as he chuckles and rises from the armchair.

"You're tall, so hold this above your head so they don't tangle."

You work diligently, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you concentrate. Bucky's happy to watch you, fighting the smile off his face every time you sigh in exasperation. Eventually, you step back and admire your masterpiece, satisfied and content.

"It's beautiful, baby," he whispers, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

He presses a kiss into your neck, then another, then another. Your eyes slip closed, and you sink into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you ever thought possible. You spend the evening by the fire, lying on the rug, room illuminated by the lights on the tree.

It's perfect in every way.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Merry Christmas, angel."

"Merry Christmas, Buck."

His hand finds yours under the duvet, pulling you in close. You tangle yourself around him like lights on a tree, all encompassed by his warmth.

"What's the plan for today, Sergeant?"

He presses a kiss into your temple, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see you properly.

"I say we make some breakfast, spend all day on the couch, and then maybe make some dinner? I know we said we wouldn't do a traditional Christmas dinner, but it'd still be nice to take the time to cook something."

"That sounds perfect."

In the kitchen, you make pancakes with copious amounts of maple syrup, strawberries and pieces of banana strewn across your plates.

"My Mom made us pancakes every Christmas morning, you know."

"You've never told me that."

"I know. I kind of refrained from ever talking about anything festive, because I didn't want you to feel guilty."

"For making you miss out for so many years?"

"I haven't missed out, baby. I chose not to do Christmas because I love you. And that love takes precedent over everything else."

Bucky kisses you then, across the kitchen table, full and golden and so full of love you almost fall off your chair. He tastes like blueberry jam and syrup and coffee, and you wish you could bottle it up and stick a little under your tongue when you get homesick.

"What changed?"

"Hmm?"

"Why now? I would have been content to never do Christmas again, if it made you happy."

"Because I realised something, a couple of months ago. We were sat in the park, and you were laughing at that dog chasing the boomerang. The sun was making you glow, like some sort of angel, and I just knew. I can do anything with you by my side. I can't put my future on hold because of my past."

You're fighting back tears as you look at him, so happy and content. You never thought this was possible, when you first met him.

And here you are.

Celebrating Christmas, showing him your childhood traditions, making pancakes like your Mama used to. You're sat at the kitchen table as the snow falls outside and the warmth that Bucky's love brings is keeping the chill at bay.

It doesn't get better than this.

"I got you something," he murmurs almost sheepishly.

"Bucky-"

"Don't yell at me! I know it makes me a hypocrite, I know I said no gifts, I know."

You roll your eyes, but watch his every move as he gets up and leaves the room. You finish your breakfast and put both of your plates in the sink, turning on the tap so they can soak. When you turn around, Bucky has returned.

He's on one knee.

There's a ring between his fingers, glinting in the winter sun. You're both still in your pyjamas, warm and full, not quite having shaken off the heavy embrace of sleep just yet.

It's perfect.

"Maybe it's cliche to propose on Christmas day, but... I want to replace all of my old memories with new ones. Memories like this."

You walk over to him, kneeling down in front of him so your eyes are level.

"You've taught me what love is, baby. And I can never repay you for that. But I can certainly try. Every day, I can try."

There are tears dripping down both of your cheeks, Bucky's grin matching yours. The two of you are overwhelmed in the best way, unsure of how to process the gravity of what you're feeling.

"Marry me, baby. Let's do this forever."

You lunge forward and smash your lips to his, laughing into his mouth.

"Yes," you breathe when you pull away. "God, yes. A million times yes, Buck."

His arms wrap around your middle as he picks you up, twirling you in circles around the kitchen, both of you shrieking with joy.

Bucky slips the ring onto your finger when he puts you down, both of you tilting your heads to admire it.

"I love you," you murmur, leaning up to press your foreheads together. "The cold can't touch you now, baby. This love will warm us forever."

The cold can't touch him now. Love will warm him forever.

@lizzystuffsthings <3

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel fluff #marvel fic #marvel x reader #marvel x reader fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #marvel fanfic #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #marvel smut #marvel x reader smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic

[lovebugism]

forgive me for what is likely a basic ass request but... steve has a crush on eddie's best friend? smut optional but encouraged :) (love, j.d. aka mypoisonedvine)

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (i)

part one | part two

summary: steve harrington took extra care to avoid the local freaks of hawkins. having shared custody of a fourteen-year-old forced him into a bitter friendship with one, he's steadfast in his refusal to befriend the other. that is, until you start working at the groove beside family video. steve claims he only fell for you because you tripped him. (17k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, protective eddie, canon divergence TW swearing, bullying, some smooching, talks of insecurities, reader is doubtful of steve's intentions because steve used to be a dick &lt;3

a/n: this request has been sitting in my inbox for ages. ages, i tell you! i wrote the outline the day it was sent in and ended up turning the blurb request into a full on 30k+ word fic. i'm sorry for the wait j.d. (and to everyone else who's been waiting patiently for me to put this out). i quite literally put my heart, soul, pussy, and so, so many hours into this. please enjoy! feedback is always appreciated! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Something happens and I'm head over heels.

It would be a total disservice to call you Eddie’s best friend.

It wouldn’t even feel right to call you his platonic soulmate or his sister from another dimension. Not when the two of you are essentially an extension of the same human being. It’s a twin flame on steroids — your mirrored souls make the rest of Hawkins believe in some sort of higher power. There’s no way it wasn’t destiny that placed the two of you together at exactly the right place, at exactly the right time.

Your entwined spirits could’ve been a beautiful thing.

It’s too bad you’re both total fucking freaks.

Unfortunately, being a couple of metalheads who spend their free time creating fantastical worlds in silly little board games hasn’t become cool yet — for some sad, strange reason. It leaves you and Eddie as the town’s token social pariahs. The kind of misfits you only spot when you care enough to look — laughing too loudly at the lunch table or sharing a cigarette in the alleyway between school buildings.

The kind of weirdos who get your attention without trying. The kind that people only look at when they need something to make fun of.

With that being said, everything Steve knew about you came from the people that hated you.

Tommy Hagan said that you and Eddie had been fucking since the seventh grade, that the two of you had gotten close between blowjobs and fingerbangs in the old chemistry classroom. No one’s quite sure where it came from, but they believed him without thinking twice. You and Eddie tried to squash the rumor for years before leaning into it full throttle.

“And these are the freaks,” Tommy announced when he approached your lunch table. He was giving Billy Hargrove a grand tour of the high school, or rather the shithole, and detoured like you and Eddie were some kind of sideshow attraction. Him and his goons ogled at you like zoo animals.

Steve idled some feet away, not as interested in the bit as the rest of them. He was even less interested in entertaining the new kid on the block thateveryone else seemed to be obsessed with.

“Hey, Tommy...” Eddie sing-songed through a mouthful of PB&J. You’d given him the other half of your sandwich, because you always give him the other half of your sandwich. “Hope you’re not comin’ back to ask for a handy again. I already turned you down, remember?”

A dumb grin took over the boy’s freckled face. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned over to the California boy. “I wouldn’t get too close to them. Don’t know where their hands have been, you know? If I had to guess, I think Punchy got Munson’s rocks off in the janitor’s closet before lunch period.”

Neither of you were particularly fazed by the laughter that erupted all at once and threatened to swallow you whole. Instead, you smiled with bits of grape jelly smeared on your chin. “I bet you think about it a lot, don’t you, Tommy?”

You really lived up to the nickname. Punchy. You weren’t entirely sure where it came from — your fierce temper, perhaps, or maybe your intense personality. Either way, it suited you.

Vicki Carmichael once said that you bit a guy on a date one time. Barry Jenkins, a tennis douchebag who thought the world revolved around him because his dad owned a string of local laundromats. He took you on a date in his mom’s Impala and assumed making out in the backseat gave him free rein to stick his hand up your skirt.

The asshole sported a red mark on his neck the next day.

When people asked you about it, you smiled with all your teeth in place of any real answer.

Carol Perkins loved to comment on the state of your wardrobe, telling anyone who would listen about the time she caught you rifling through the $1 bargain bins outside the thrift store. She liked to joke that you were stealing from them. “Because she can’t even afford a couple measly dollars. It’s kinda sad, honestly. I feel a little bad for her,” you overheard her saying once.

You were smoking a cigarette in the stall and watching through the crack of it while her and her friends touched up their lip gloss. 

“Wait, really?” Tina wondered, stopping mid-swipe of mascara through her long lashes to gape at the girl beside her. Because, god forbid, they don’t have someone to make fun of.

Carol snapped bright pink bubblegum between her teeth. She looked offended, almost — manicured brows furrowed and shiny lips snarled — like the idea of her taking pity on you was insulting. “No,” she snapped in response.

You’re pretty sure it’s the only rumor about you that’s got any bit of truth to it. Or any rumor of hers, really. The thrift store was great and all, but you firmly believe that your best pieces come remanufactured straight from Eddie Munson’s closet.

So it isn’t any wonder why the two of you seem to dress so similarly — all leather jackets and distressed jeans and hand-me-down t-shirts that are either too big or too small. The both of you take little care in your appearance, wearing only what you feel good in. And sometimes that means wild hair and baggy clothes that swallow you whole.

To make it worse, you and Eddie even talk the same. You’re both loud and brash and have very little awareness of personal space. You aren’t scared to make a scene or use your voice when you think it’s being stifled. And when you love someone, they know it, because you won’t leave them the hell alone.

These are all the things that Steve hated about Eddie. So he hasn’t quite figured out why he’s so damn in love with you. 

But he is. 

Quite dreadfully so. 

Head over heels and stumbling since the day he met you for a second time.

It was the spring of 1986 and The Groove had just opened up. Steve had heard murmurings of a record shop taking over the empty outlet adjacent to Family Video but had no idea it would nearly run them out of business. The shiny, new music store attracted all of their usual customers. People were more excited to buy new cassettes than rent movies they’d seen a thousand times already.

Steve didn’t mind, though. He liked it best when the store was empty. But all of his friends — a closeted lesbian, a basket case, and a couple of fourteen-year-olds — seemed to have the same affliction that was plaguing the rest of the town. 

He tried not to be offended when Robin said she was going to spend her break next door and not with him in the closet-sized break room. 

He failed.

Robin spent her half-hour and then some meeting you. She returned forty-five minutes later with a blushing face and a bleeding heart. Suddenly, there were two people in Steve’s life that couldn’t seem to shut up about you. As much as it annoyed him, he let her gush about you anyway, because that’s what best friends do, after all.

But Steve knew you once upon a time. Or he thought he did.

You were a loudmouthed metalhead who wore all black to blend in to Eddie’s shadow. You created fictional characters because it was easier than making friends with real people. You were strange and awkward and mean and gauche — the total opposite of this heavenly, mystical creature Robin was making you out to be.

But then it became this whole… thing.

With Robin and Eddie constantly talking over him about you, the rest of the kids were as confused as Steve was. And as they so often tend to do, the group decided to take matters into their own hands and make the short trek to meet you formally. Steve figured that their answer would be final. When those teenagers hate you, you know it. He learned that the hard way

They’re gone for a little over an hour and come back with a thousand stories and various tapes they say you gave to them for free.

Lucas has got a new Beastie Boys cassette and a proud smile on his face as he recounts the promise you’d made him about catching his next basketball game. “And she said she really liked my ranger,” he brags less than humbly, telling the older teens about how you’d heard stories about his track record in Hellfire campaigns. There’s a sudden suaveness to his voice as he bounces his brows up and down at them.

Max scrunches her face in disgust. She clutches a Kate Bush tape close to her chest, like it’s a prized possession she never wants to let go of. She rolls her eyes at her boyfriend (or maybe ex-boyfriend, but Steve can never keep up these days) and makes her own conversation with Robin. The two girls are the only ones with more than half a brain cell between them, or so they claim.

The redhead tells her that she plans on bringing her broken skateboard over to your store soon. She says the thing’s been wobbly for days, and Robin nods along like she knows all about it. “Well, apparently, she has some tools and knows how to fix it. Said the trucks just needed to be reinforced or some shit, I don’t know, I’m just glad it’s getting fixed.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asks her, confusion contorting his words along with his features. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “I could’ve fixed it.”

“You don’t know anything about skateboards,” Max monotones.

“Okay, but you don’t even know this girl! She’s a total stranger, Max. That’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s nice, Steve. Way nicer than you—”

That makes him scoff.

“—And you’d know that if you got to know her.”

It’s Dustin’s turn to gush about you next. His opinion, for a reason Steve has never been able to place, arguably means the most to him. And the kid is just absolutely fucking beaming about you. He holds a Star Wars orchestral vinyl in his hand —  the brand new one he’s been talking about for weeks but couldn’t afford. 

He talks of the collection of DnD figurines you were painting behind the counter and the promise you made to make one for his bard come the next campaign. 

Dustin gazes at Steve, wide-eyed and nodding like he’s as amazed by the revelation as Steve is.  “She’s cool, Steve. Like… really cool.” 

The boy thought that Robin just had a crush, that Eddie was just being Eddie and overdramatizing all of his stories about you. But you’re everything they said you’d be and then some. The kind of stranger you meet that takes your breath away, that makes you sad in the understanding that you’ll never see them again. Dustin is grateful you don’t have to be a stranger anymore.

You sounded… nice. More than nice. They painted you out to be a fucking angel, the way you took care of a bunch of kids you barely knew for the better part of an hour. You weren’t the freak everyone made you out to be all that time ago.

They talk a great deal about your looks, too. Dustin, mostly. Lucas had received a glare and a half-hearted punch on the arm from Max when he said how pretty you were — even though she ultimately agreed with him. The curly-headed boy uses too big words to describe the renaissance painting you are, all heavenly morose and beautifully strange.

“Hey,” Eddie scolds from the sidelines, mostly playful. “That’s my sister you’re talking about. Bring it down a few notches, ‘kay?”

Steve is silent for the rest of the day after that. He’s not pouting about it like Robin keeps saying he is, just reserved in his reminiscence. 

He can’t tell if he’s intrigued or annoyed. They talk about you the way people used to talk about King Steve — with a borderline obsession for someone they don’t really know. And deep down, he knows he’s just jealous. Jealous that no one talks about him that way anymore. Jealous that none of the kids have ever talked about him that way.

It leaves him skeptical and wanting to see the real thing for himself.

Steve opts to meet you on his lunch break the next day with a tight chest and sweaty palms, like a part of him knew it was going to change the trajectory of his life for the foreseeable future.

The door dings with his arrival. The record store smells like earth and nostalgia, a bit like flipping through the pages of an old book. Vinyls sit in rows and in towers that rise to the ceilings. Colorful cassettes, of which there are thousands, have nooks and crannies of their own. Posters decorate the walls along with various patterned records — there’s hardly a blank spot in the entire store.

And when Steve sees you for the first time, he only sees the back of you.

You’re in all black, just like he imagined you’d be. A sliver of skin at your midriff is showing from where your too small shirt has ridden up your torso. And your hair is as wild as ever, though a little longer than he remembers. You’ve haphazardly pinned back the ornery strings with a sparkly pin, but it doesn’t do much to tame them.

A breeze of warm wistfulness washes over him at the sight of you. A reminder of a life that used to be his, that you were a part of only passively.

It’s your smile that does him in. Maybe because you’ve never looked at him with it. As far as Steve’s concerned, no one’s ever smiled at him the way you do, and you barely even know him. You hadn’t seen him in over a year and if you shared any words in the past, it wasn’t anything more than snarky one-liners. But here you are, looking at him with sunshine anyway.

“Hi,” you beam with the warmest grin he’s ever seen, swiveling in your chair to face him. “Welcome in.”

He’s too stunned by the sight of you to respond. He just stands in the doorway, all wide-eyed and gaping, like he’s the first to see an angel on earth. And it’s strange because you’re far from perfect. 

You’re blousy and a little disheveled, like you’d been running late that morning. The lack of makeup allows your imperfections to shine through in a way that makes you somehow more alluring. And you’ve got paint splattered like freckles on your cheeks, the culprit being the figurines you’re painting behind the counter. If you know you’re dotted with shades of red, blue, and green, you don’t show it.

“Can I help you find anything?” you ask him, still kind even though he’s acting like a fucking weirdo. That’s supposed to be your thing, not his.

Steve grasps for something to say but comes up short. His lips part and then close again in an embarrassing pattern that resembles a fish out of water. It makes sense, though; it’s a bit how you’ve made him feel just now.

When he realizes he can’t make out anything intelligible, he shakes his head. “Uh… nope.”

He’s leaving before he even realizes he’s leaving. The door dings again and he’s on the other side of it, long legs carrying him the short distance to Family Video at record speed. 

He swings and slams the egress shut in quick succession, as though the ghost of you had been chasing him. He leans against the glass pane and exhales a heaving sigh, eyes squeezing shut as he recoils at what he’d just done.

He always knew that King Steve had died some time ago, but this was a new low.

Robin watches from the front counter with wide eyes. “…Did you forget something?”

Steve sighs a big, hopeless sigh, then peeks his eyes open. “My dignity.”

“She’s cute, right?” she asks, already knowing the answer. Her brows bounce in time with the smirk on her painted lips.

“Yeah, she’s cute,” he answers, all mad because it’s obvious. “She’s fucking— she’s beautiful.”

“Aw. Look at you,” she sing-songs and tilts her head to her shoulder. “I think your heart grew three sizes today, Stevie.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

I never find out 'til I'm head over heels.

Steve, all caught up in his boyish misery, has no idea that he’s enraptured you in a similar way.

You hadn’t cared very much for the guy in high school. You didn’t really know him then, and you didn’t particularly want to. King Steve was rich. King Steve was pretty — too pretty. King Steve got attention from pretty cheerleaders and overaggressive douchebags alike.

King Steve didn’t need any affection from the local freakshow.

But, by some strange turn of events, he’d managed to make nice with your best friend. 

The way Eddie talks about Steve, his words always dripping with a distant venom, it sounds like they still hate each other. Maybe they do. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit that they hang out far too often not to be friends.

If you were still in school, you probably would’ve judged him for it. Being friends with the boy whose buddies made your life hell certainly warranted some degree of ridicule. But now, having graduated and trying to move on from it all, you can’t find it in yourself to. 

High school might as well have been a lifetime now. There’s no use in holding onto old ghosts.

If Eddie could let that shit go, so could you.

He drops by after school to keep you company like he always does when he doesn’t have a campaign to prep for. It’s his favorite pastime, perhaps a close second to Dungeons and Dragons. He gets to hang out with his best friend and swim in an ocean of music while he does it. As far as freaks go, Eddie Munson considers himself the luckiest.

He likes to hear you talk about everything new you’ve gotten in while he rifles through the old stuff that isn’t selling as well. You happily let him take what he wants for free. And what he doesn’t take, he doesn’t pay for either, because you cheat the system with your employee discount and then wipe the record from inventory. Just to be safe.

“I love having a criminal for a best friend,” he jokes every time, without fail.

Eddie stays by your side until the sun sets. He parts only to flip the sign at the door to closingfor you, then plops himself back on the counter again. His legs hang off the side of it, sneakers occasionally thudding against the wood when he kicks them back and forth too hard. He scans the back of an old Lynyrd Skynyrd vinyl and bobs his head to the rhythmic bass as the song fills the empty store. He’ll take this one home, he decides.

You keep on painting like you have been all day, breaking only to assist customers or stretch your aching spine. The forest dragon had been far more work than you expected — made of pretty purple leaves instead of scales and blowing blush-colored flowers instead of fire. The little piece of clay has resulted in a day of back-breaking work. 

You’ll be damned if Eddie’s next campaign isn’t the most stellar looking one yet.

Focusing on that makes it easier not to bring up Steve. 

You want to. You just don’t know how. 

Eddie’s friends were Eddie’s, and you don’t get involved where it doesn’t concern you. Besides, you did sort of give him shit for hanging out with The Hair way back when. The last thing you want is him taking the piss out of you about it.  

You don’t want to sound like you care too much. Even more, you don’t want it to be obvious that you’ve been thinking about the boy all day — making yourself sick as you stew in what could’ve run him out like he did.

“Saw your friend today,” you remark, feigning a sort of absentmindedness, as you swipe your brush along the petals of your dragon. “King Steve.”

“Oh, you met him?” Eddie wonders, more intrigued by your words than you expected he’d be. He says it like you didn’t already know the guy — like this new Steve was a totally different person you needed to be reacquainted with to really know.

“I wouldn’t say met him exactly. He just, like, popped in for half a second and ran out.”

With your back facing him, you don’t see the shit-eating grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

Eddie was waiting for Steve to crack and finally see you. He knew he’d bite after the way the kids had talked about you — Dustin, especially. Because even though he claims he doesn’t have favorites, he’s got a very obvious soft spot for the boy. And he knew Steve would like you because everyone likes you. When they’re not clouded by judgment and high school hierarchies, at least. 

He’s still got no idea how a guy that trips all over himself at the sight of a pretty girl could’ve ruled Hawkins once upon a time.

“Fucking idiot,” Eddie laughs to himself, already gearing up for the shit he was going to give Steve the next time he saw him. 

But you see the boy before Eddie does. Steve comes back the next day, an hour or more after opening, less frazzled than the day before. The nearly twenty-four hours he had to prepare himself for the angel he was going to see allowed him not to make a total fool of himself when he stepped into the store again.

And you wouldn’t say it out loud — hell, it’s not even something you want to admit to yourself — but you’d been hoping he’d stop by again. 

You thought Robin would come by and drag him with her, or that Dustin and his friends would come around before Steve dropped them all home. Frankly, you didn’t really care what brought him back. You just wanted to see him again.

Steve’s different than the boy he used to be. Enough that it was obvious from a measly thirty-second interaction. He used to be a charmer who could talk his way out of anything. Not to you, of course, he wouldn’t have been caught dead talking to you. But then he stops by out of nowhere, in rare form, stumbling all over himself and looking like he didn’t recognize you at all.

You’re still trying to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He’s mystified you in a way he probably isn’t used to. Most girls like the hair and the arms — the super buff, super strong arms that fit so nicely in his uniform — or the fact that he’s got money and a reputation that precedes him. But you’ve never given a shit about any of that. 

You’re more enchanted by the way nothing could even begin to conceal the soft, shy boy that King Steve had apparently turned into.

The door chimes above his head when he enters. The scent of earthy nostalgia is already familiar to him — lavender, sage, and something deeper. Steve considers it progress when he plants himself a few feet away from the door this time. If he runs out again, he’ll have to make an embarrassingly longer escape.

You turn away from your nearly finished figurine to greet the new customer. The practiced smile unconsciously widens at the sight of him. “Hi!”

“Hey,” he smiles with a curt nod. He regrets the half-wave he gives you the second his hand shoots up.

“You gonna run off on me again?” you tease and swivel in your chair to face him completely.

You’re wearing a Hellfire shirt that’s just slightly too big for you. It probably belonged to Eddie before it belonged to you. And you wear a corset-looking thing over top of it, a sheer number with a lace embroidery and a ribbon that’s tied in a bow at your belly. It doesn’t cinch you in the slightest, though, more for decoration than practicality.

“No that was… I just—” Steve huffs out a laugh as he tries and fails to come up with an excuse. He figures anything is better than the truth — that he saw how pretty you were and his brain forgot how to work because he’s the lamest person on the planet. 

So he chucks a thumb over his shoulder and fibs. “I left something back at Family Video. Had to run back.”

“It’s okay. I was just teasing,” you assure. “Uh— Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No. Not really. Just… new records to add to my collection, you know?”

“Oh, you collect vinyls?”

He doesn’t realize that’s what he’s just said until you repeat the words back to him. 

He’s kind of just talking out of his ass and hoping something sticks. That line does, apparently, because you’re beaming at him instantly. He’s scared to say no because then you’ll stop smiling. And he can’t have that.

“Yep,” he answers with a nod. The stack of records collecting dust in his den has to count for something, right?

He can’t find it in himself to regret his little white lie when it has you lighting up like a christmas tree. 

You toss your paintbrush down when you rush from behind the counter to meet him. You seem to have forgotten that you’d just dipped the thing in purple paint. The thing splatters shades of lilac all over the limestone bench. And, in your haste, you nearly smack yourself with the leaden slab as you raise it to pass by.

Steve’s eyes widen when you narrowly dodge the weighty thing — then jumps, startled by the dense thwap that echoes through the small store when it slams back down again. He’s almost worried that it might’ve busted the hinge. 

You cower at the loud sound but move on with a commendable finesse, too focused on him to care about anything else.

“That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to collect, but records are so expensive, it’s crazy,” you ramble as you walk up to him, totally unthinking in the way you grab his forearm and usher him to the back of the store. 

Your sheer black skirt swishes at your ankles as you walk. The dainty fabric is patterned with sparkly stars and crescent moons. He notices you wear a pair of dark shorts underneath for modesty. Steve tries his best not to stare at your ass. He almost succeeds.

“We actually just got in a couple of Dio records — The Holy Diver, you know, the one that just came out. I’m pretty sure there’s only, like, a couple thousand of these things in the whole world — which is totally fucking bonkers if you think about it,” you explain in one breath, laughing, before stopping abruptly in your tracks. Steve nearly runs into you when you turn around to face him. 

You laugh again, a sadder one, this time at yourself, as you bring your palm to your forehead. “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t even know if you like Dio. I mean, of course, you don’t, right? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have… rambled like that.”

You’d just been so excited and Steve had just been so different that you forgot who you were talking to. Hawkins High Royalty, Prom King, Biggest Flirt and Life of the Party in the yearbook. 

As far as you’re concerned, Eddie Munson is your only friend. He’s the only person in the whole world you can be yourself around and never get self-conscious about any of it. 

But sometimes you have moments like this one with a total stranger. Moments where you lose yourself in the conversation and your own jumbled thoughts. Moments where you talk and talk and talk until something thumps you on the head and you realize how annoying you’re being. This time, it’s the musky smell of his cologne that knocks you back to Ms. Click’s history class. The crisp breeze of bitter nostalgia makes you shiver.

Steve can see the way you get so suddenly aware of yourself and how the cognizance of the moment makes you writhe. He tries to bat away the lingering insecurities with a smile. 

“Love ‘em,” he responds with a nod. He raises his brows and scoffs, grins and crosses his arms over his chest. “I mean, Dio? God, they’re like… top ten bands of all time, at least. Maybe even five.”

That isn’t totally true. He doesn’t know much about the band to have an opinion, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve said he hated them once. That was only because Eddie wouldn’t stop talking about them, though. Steve could learn to like them, if it means so much to you.

That’s exactly how he justifies spending $60 on four records. 

He tells himself that he’ll listen to them and think of you, that it’ll be a solid conversation starter the next time he sees you. 

You had a whole damn rack dedicated to all your favorite bands — “I put it together myself,” you’d bragged with a proud smile. S it’s a wonder Steve didn’t walk out with the entire damn store. Because you just kept on smiling and talking, so happy to have someone to care about what you had to say, and he ate up every second of it.

He’ll have to work overtime to keep his pockets from hurting, but it’ll be worth it. Because he’ll get to keep talking to you and indulging in all the things you seem to love more than life itself.

You’re still rambling as you ring him up. Steve notices you haven’t stopped yourself like you did before. His lack of dismissal has made you more comfortable, it seems. He likes that.

“I think we’re also gonna get a couple cases of Def Leppard cassettes tomorrow, which is super sick. I think I might have to start collecting, honestly. Tapes are whole lot cheaper than records, you know,” you tell him as you scan and bag all his vinyls. “And it’s also, like, a fucking stellar album. I don’t think I’ve stopped listening to Photograph since it came out.”

“Photograph. Right. Love that one,” Steve nods with a kind smile as he props his elbows on the counter. He doesn’t particularly care that he’s not entirely sure what you’re talking about, or that he’s never actually heard the song. He’s starting to realize you could talk for hours and he wouldn’t get bored.

“Oh, is that your favorite too? Eddie’s more of a Foolin’ kinda guy.”

Despite the fact that he’s never heard the song or this album in his life, he nods anyway. 

He sort of spent the first eighteen years of his life faking just about everything — it kind of came with being the King of Hawkins High. It’s a talent that hasn’t yet left him, it seems, lying through his teeth to impress people. It’s almost become a second nature to him.

“Foolin’s good, yeah, but I think Photograph is obviously better.”

“Obviously, right!” you exclaim with a sunshine-coated laugh. “That’s exactly what I told him! But he’s way too hard-headed to be wrong about anything, so…”

“Well, I’d like to put it on the record that I firmly agree with you,” Steve replies so smoothly that his tongue must be dripping with honey. It’s so easy for him to fall into King Steve mode — when he isn’t forgetting how to speak and running off, that is.

You’ve learned a lot Steve in the past half hour. He likes metal, but leans more toward rock. Particularly all the metal and rock that you like. He hasn’t once had a differing opinion than you, besides telling you he heard Eddie playing a Metallica song once that he didn’t particularly care for. The second you tell him it’s one of your favorites, he backtracks instantly, blaming the Munson boy for being too sloshed to play it properly.

And you don’t miss the way he’s looking at you just now either, with his chin toward his chest as he peers up at you with warm amber eyes. He’s the charmer that he always was. It makes you remember, again, just who you’re talking to.

“We have a lot in common, King Steve,” you lilt with a playful grin.

He deflates at the use of the old nickname. You see the light in his eyes flicker for a just moment before he’s ducking his gaze away from you completely. He tries to brush it off with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not— I’m not really King Steve anymore…”

“No?”

“Nope. Just… Just Steve these days.”

When he looks back at you, he finds you nodding at him, almost in approval. 

Most people are upset to find that he’s changed so much. They hate that he’s no longer the recklessly stupid dumbass they used to get drunk with. 

Not you, though.

“Cool,” you mumble, smiling softly, as you hand him his bag and receipt.

“Uh, I’d love to, you know, come take a look at those tapes when you get ‘em in,” he says as he walks backward towards the door, finally making the brash offer he’s been thinking about this whole time. “Maybe I can bring lunch and we can—”

“Well, Hellfire’s been doing campaigns during lunch recently. And Gareth’s out sick, so I’ve been subbing for him, you know, so…” you interject awkwardly, shifting your weight on your feet. You hate to turn him down, but Eddie might just kill you if he has to get a substitute for the substitute.

“Oh…” he nods, softly puckering his plump pink lips that you can’t seem to stop staring at.

“But I don’t think they’re coming in until late, anyway,” you add quickly. “So, you can stop by at closing, if you want?”

“No, yeah, that’s cool. So cool,” he replies, a little more flustered than he’d been just moments before. He’s just happy that your rejection wasn’t a total refusal.

You try to bite back the wide grin threatening to take over your mouth. “Okay… I’ll catch you later, then, Just Steve.”

“See you,” he waves right before startling himself when he backs into the basket of clearance tapes sitting just beside the door. He barely catches the thing before it tips over completely. He flashes you a shaking smile afterward and finds you covering your mouth with your hand while you try not to laugh too loudly. 

He wishes you’d just went ahead and laughed at him. He wouldn’t have even cared that you were laughing at him, if it meant he got to see you smile.

And even though he’d just gotten done making the biggest fool of himself, he walks back to work feeling like the coolest man alive. There’s a foreign strut in his step that hadn’t been there before he saw you. It doesn’t leave him when he realizes he’s gone slightly over his break and that Keith is manning the counter in his absence.

The man mumbles a monotoned goodbye to the customer he’d just checked out.

She turns around and Steve realizes he recognizes this girl — Mindy or Mandy or maybe Monica — from Mr. Kaminsky’s class way back when. She did all of his homework for him before and after letting him fuck her on her twin-sized bed in her all pink room.  That’s when Steve was conquering girls like they were Mount Everest, way before Nancy, when King was a title he wore with pride. 

But he’s still so stuck in his head with thoughts of you that he doesn’t even see Mindy-Mandy-Monica or the flirtatious wave she throws his way.

“You’re ten minutes late,” Keith scolds, with his dead tone and his deader eyes.

Steve only shrugs, uncaring if it came out of his paycheck because — “I just got a date with the hottest woman on the planet,” he boasts with a puffed out chest and too smug smile.

It doesn’t lessen Keith’s anger, just diverts it. Because he knows exactly who he’s talking about. And so does Robin, as she pops her head out from behind the man from where she sits at the computer. “No way,” they chorus in disbelief at his words.

Steve nods. “Yes way.”

“Eddie’s gonna kill you,” Robin remarks with the shake of her head. 

He knows she’s right. He just doesn’t care. 

Eddie’s always been protective of you. Everyone knows that. But the two of them were friends now — or somewhat good-natured acquaintances, at the very least. He would’ve been mad about a year or more ago, if King Steve had decided to suddenly woo his best friend. 

But it’s different now. He’s different now. Eddie knows how much everything’s changed, it’s just a question of if he’s willing to rehash old wounds.

It’s a good thing Steve knows how to take a punch.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Don't take my heart, don't break my heart.

Steve finds you again the next day less happy than he’s gotten used to.

The record store is dim and the red sign at the entrance has been flipped to closed, but the door is left unlocked — for him. The warm scent is a distinct contrast to the frigid spring night, a cozy high hemp and lavender, but your absence is noticeable and terribly heavy. 

Steve lingers in the doorway, his shadow looming like a giant before him from the moonlight streaming in from outside. 

He calls for you in the emptiness.

“Uh… Punchy?”

He’s relieved when you answer. The “back here!” you shout to him is muffled and far away. He follows the sound of your voice, filled suddenly with a childlike consolation. 

The yellow fairy lights dangling over his head guide him through the aisles of cassettes and closer to you. Through a cluttered backroom, Steve finds you standing just outside an opened door — left ajar, for him.

The smile you flash when you see him is as dim as the closed-down store. It lacks all the sunshine you usually look at him with, shades of stormy gray rather than the usual yellows. 

A look of concern flashes across his features — furrowed brows and inquisitive twinkling eyes — as you take a drag from the lit cigarette caught between your pointer and middle finger. You muster your best grin, but it flickers like a shoddy radio signal. 

“Punchy, huh?” you tease.

Steve’s brows pinch together as confusion floods his features. It takes him a moment to realize what he’d said and the nickname he’d used — and he doesn’t want to be dramatic or anything, but he kinda wants to die. It’s embarrassing, he thinks, to hold on to an old high school monicker. And, fuck, if you hate it half as bad as he hates being called king, he deserves a slap to the face right about now.

You laugh instead of ball your first. He’s able to smile meekly in relief. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, I… I don’t think I even realized it came out.”

“No, it’s okay,” you assure when you see him getting all apologetic. “Eddie still calls me that all the time, so… Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Steve tries to move on, but it’s hard to when you’re so obviously gloomy. He hates how reserved you’ve gone in your quiet, not talking up a storm like you had been the last time he saw you. Now you’re just… a storm. It’s a little like sitting next to a rumbling rain cloud.

The rumbling rain cloud beside him takes a drag of her cigarette.

“You okay?” he asks and sounds like he really cares.

You didn’t think King Steve was capable of caring about anything other than his hair, but he looks down at you like he can feel every blue bolt of your doom and gloom. He makes you feel seen in the void of your sadness despite all the years you spent being invisible to him.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just the tapes. They didn’t come in,” you answer with a shrug. Smokes leaves your mouth and lingers in white clouds in the air. “So I’m a little bummed.”

“Oh…” is all Steve says and his pink mouth forms a too pretty ‘o’ shape that you can’t draw your gaze from.

The following silence makes you momentarily cautious. Insecurity runs cold over you because no sane person gets this about upset over a broken promise of a couple cassettes. It’s stupid, you know it is, but you were really looking forward to them. It’s like promising a kid the most metal present ever and then snatching it out of their bare hands.

Now, over the course of a couple hours, you’ve managed to convince yourself you won’t remember happiness until you get those stupid tapes.

“Sorry,” you apologize to him for a reason he can’t place. You shift your weight on your feet and peer at him from beneath your lashes. “I know you were looking forward to them, too.”

You extend your hand and offer him the cigarette between your fingers like it’s an olive branch. He takes it from you with a distant smile, then opts to laze against the brick wall like you are. He stays a respectful distance on the other side of the entryway. 

“It’s okay. They’ll come. If I’m being honest, you know, I was kinda more excited to see you.”

His admission is brazen and a tad bit brash, even for a certified ex-douchebag. It lacks all of the usual honey-coated flirtation that usually tints his tone when he’s talking to a pretty girl. Because he wasn’t trying to make you swoon — though he certainly wouldn’t have minded if you had. This wasn’t some romantic advance, just a proclamation of his own personal truth.

A flash of shock contorts your features. “Really?”

“Of course,” he answers, breathing out a laugh that exits along with the smoke in his lungs. “I love talking to you. You’re… You’re cool, you know? S— Super cool.”

His face screws up at his stuttering, and he shakes his head at how the words sound leaving his mouth. His cheeks glow cherry red beneath an orange street lamp. 

“Super cool, huh?” you repeat with a giggle that’s bright enough to illuminate the velvet night. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

Steve scoffs when he passes the cigarette back to you. Because, lately, that’s all he’s been hearing about you. From Eddie, from Robin, from Dustin — every good thing a person could say about someone else, they all say about you. 

He’s starting to understand why.

Because you’re sweet. Like, pure sugar poured on the tip of his tongue kind of sweet. You’re bright like sunshine and soft like summer rain. You’re a shot of pure espresso for a boy who thought his life was at a dead end. He’s not entirely sure how he ever could’ve thought you were some deep, dark, devil-worshipping freak.

“I don’t believe that,” he dismisses with the shake of his head.

You breathe out a sharp exhale and a puff of nicotine-coated smoke. “I’ve been the town pariah since I was eleven, Steve. Everyone thinks I’m some kinda delinquent who’s in a cult because I play a dumb board game. So, no. No one’s ever thought I was cool before.”

“Still?” Steve wonders with a twisted face. “You graduated, like, a year ago. Are... Are people really still on your ass about that?”

“A little,” you answer with a shrug, trying your best not to look as affected by it all as you feel.

Steve feels his chest swell with the fiery urge to protect you. The same one he gets when Dustin tells him about the assholes at school that are bothering him. He wants to defend you from the same sort of assholes that he used to be. The impulse is borderline primal, rooted somewhere deep and far within himself, because god knows he’s got a terrible track record when it comes to winning fights.

“Shit, Punchy… I’m— I’m sorry.”

You sputter out a laugh at the apology, louder when you realize he’s using the nickname again.

He can’t relate to any of this. The trials and tribulations of being persona non grata everywhere you went were certainly lost on him. Steve might’ve lost his touch somewhere down the road, but he’ll always be crown royalty — the kind of guy you think fondly of when your wonderyears are long gone. But you? You’re lucky if people don’t cross to the other side of the street when they spot you coming.

Perhaps that’s why his words warm you so much. Because, despite all that, he’s trying to make you feel better anyway.

You give him a tender smile and a dwindling cigarette. 

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s whatever, you know? I think it’s because I still hang out with Eddie all the time. Like, people see us and remember what fucking freaks we used to be,” you say with a laugh, then start to ramble without thinking. “We saw Tommy Hagan at Melvald’s the other day, and he looked at us like we caused him severe PTSD or something, like, he looked terrified. I honestly felt a little bad.”

Steve smiles, wide-eyed, equal parts intrigued and unsettled by the reminiscent glimmer in your eye and the daunting giggle that spills from your lips.

“But I wouldn’t leave Eddie, you know?” you blurt, suddenly serious, like you’ve taken offense at the very thought. “Not even if it meant people stopped being so mean. ‘Cause I love him and everything… Even though he’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s a total pain in the ass,” Steve agrees and flicks the butt of the cig between his fingers. “He loves you too, though. I can tell. The asshole never shuts up about you.”

“He talks about me?” you ask, voice fragile and pitched higher than normal.

Steve doesn’t like the way you say it. He hates how you look at him even more, with a scrunched up face and eyes that flicker with embers of shock. Like you don’t believe it, like you think yourself unworthy of it.

“You’re all he talks about,” the boy assures, feeling so suddenly brave and wanting to make you feel brave too. He hands the cigarette back to you. “I don’t blame him. If I were him, I’d never shut up about you either.”

The contorted look of confusion on your face untwists itself, and your features fall flat with disbelief. A smile pulls slow at your mouth. Your eyes glitter an orange gold beneath the streetlight. They flit over to the boy beside you just long enough to take the stick from him.

“Steve Harrington…” you lilt, almost scoldingly so.

It makes him smile. “What?”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” he retorts playfully. “Who’s to say I was flirting?”

“So you weren’t then?”

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs with a knowing, practiced smirk. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t seem impressed by his not-so-subtle attempt at flirting, and he isn’t at all used to that. The bravado and the puppy dog eyes are his one-two punch — any other time, he’d have a phone number tucked safely in his pocket by now. But you’re not biting.

“I’m so not your type,” you dismiss with the shake of your head.

“Yeah?” he challenges, shoving himself off the brick wall with his shoulder and making the short trek over to you. He plants himself next to you, leans with one sneaker crossed over the other, and smiles with a playful twinkle in his eye. “And what’s my type?”

“Nancy Wheeler,” you answer without missing a beat. “Pretty girls.”

“Well, I think you’re very pretty—”

“Not like her,” you interject with a foreign firmness that Steve hasn’t seen from you until now. You’re still smiling at him, though, still kind but looking like you don’t believe him. Like you think this must be some kind of sick joke that he’s taking too far.

You can entertain Steve. You like Steve. Mostly because he’s totally different from the douchebag you remember him being — the douchebag you were expecting him to be. 

You find that he’s terribly clumsy and not overtly good with words. He says dumb jokes that don’t come out right and smiles in relief when they make you laugh anyway. He’s soft like peach fuzz or a fluffy cloud, mushy like warm chocolatey gooey goodness, and not at all like you remember him.

But then he does this. He morphs into something else, changes shape right in front of you. He smiles at you with little of his dumbassery behind it — all smirks and faux longing gazes with the intent of making you swoon at his feet. He grins down at you and all you see is the teenage boy who would’ve never looked at you that way four years ago. Hell, not even one. 

It reminds you of who he is, who he used to be, and who you are now. 

You haven’t changed so much since high school. You’ve matured a little, sure, but there was never an asshole exterior that you felt the need to outgrow. You’re still loud at times, unaware and ignorant of the world around you. You still play lightsabers outside Eddie’s trailer in between lengthy Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. You still pretend like the lingering glares from all the people you used to know don’t bother you. 

They do, though. They always have.

You look at Steve and you see this butterfly — someone made of rainbow colors and mostly mature. He’s growing, and you’re stuck in the same cocoon you’ve been wrapped in since freshman year, still fumbling around and trying to figure out where you fit.

He’ll always be the pretty butterfly he always was, with his pretty little iridescent wings that catch the light and all the attention. He’ll feed off the applause he gets while you’re sitting on the sidelines. The girl who’s destined to stay bundled in her cocoon forever only hears all of his praise — never watches, never receives.

“You and I are completely different people, Steve Harrington,” you declare with a grin that tells him you’ve already made up your mind.

The boy doesn’t get it, though, why you seem so upset by the idea. Him and Robin were completely different people. Him and Dustin were, too. The two people he adored — tolerated — most in the entire world weren’t a single thing like him, and it was better that way.

You don’t seem to share a similar philosophy, though. You take a drag from your mostly gone cigarette and mourn what could have been; if only he had been the town freak or you had been born the pretty girl next door.

“That doesn’t have to be such a bad thing—”

He’s abruptly cut off by the sound of muffled rock music and the bright yellow headlights of Eddie Munson’s van. The two of you shield your eyes when he whips into the desolate parking lot and parks in front of you. The sudden intrusion feels like being blinding like the sun after you’ve found such comfort within each other in the dead of night.

The stifled Def Leppard song — or maybe Poison, Steve can never quite tell the difference — is brought to a sharp halt when the engine shuts off. The headlights dim. The metallic slam of the driver’s side door sounds so much louder in the darkness.

Eddie rounds the front of his van and eyes the two of you rather suspiciously. The boy inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and splaying his hands on his hips. “…What’s going on here?” he squints at you.

You give him a terribly manufactured sunshine smile and bat your lashes his way, like you’re pretending to be un-innocent. “Nothing…” you sing-song.

Eddie rolls his eyes at you, then turns his attention to Steve. They’re not really strangers anymore, but he still feels the need to treat him like an outsider anyway.

“Harrington,” he says in the place of any real greeting. “Don’t you have other shit to do? Like, I don’t know, a shift as the mannequin at the GAP or something?”

Steve can’t find it in himself to get self-conscious about his fitted-sweatshirt, khaki-slack combo when the insult comes from a guy in a decade-old leather jacket, unwashed t-shirt, and ripped jeans.

“Very funny,” the brunette monotones. 

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” you ask when you turn and walk backwards towards Eddie, like there’s a gravitational pull dragging you to him.

You say it to be polite mostly, but you’re hoping for an affirmative — a promise that you’ll have another night like this one, where he sees you just to be seeing you. Hell, you’ll even take a nod if that’s all he’ll give you. And when he does, he gives you a tiny smile that almost makes you trip over yourself.

Fuck, you think to yourself, like your brain is talking to your heart. We just agreed not to do that.

Before you get in the van, you walk by Eddie and bring your cigarette up to his mouth. You coax the stick between his lips with your pointer and middle finger, opting to let him take the last couple of hits because he never turns down a free smoke.

The passenger door shuts once you’re tucked into the seat of it. The sound it makes punctuates your absence. Steve feels all of its emptiness.

He eyes Eddie from the distance, immediately noticing the darkened skepticism dancing in his dark eyes. 

The boy’s always felt the need to protect you. When the entire town got spooked about stories of some satanic panic and started treating you like monsters, he wanted to shield you from the boogeyman everyone turned into. 

Steve wasn’t one of them, the bad men. But Eddie loves you and it’s made him doubtful.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Steve feels the need to say, as though he’d been caught with his pants down and not just sharing an innocent cigarette with a friend.

Eddie takes the final few puffs of it and exhales rather dramatically, lips pursing to blow it in his direction though it’s too far away to hit him. The boy throws the filter to the concrete and extinguishes the ashes with the toe of his dirty sneakers. 

He waits until the white smoke has fully dissipated to speak.

“Damn right, it isn’t.”

That’s all he says. He doesn’t even look at Steve when he says it, or when he rounds the van and hops into the driver’s seat next to you. Steve squints when the too bright headlights come alive again in time with the roaring engine and dated rock music. His tires screech when he speeds out of the back parking lot. 

The tin can he drives nearly tips over when he turns too sharply onto Main Street.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to get a good look at you before you’re gone completely. It makes him all boyishly upset, knowing the hours without you will be most agonizing, but the empty feeling is eclipsed by the warm relief of not getting clock cleaned by Eddie Munson.

Damn right, it isn’t. Four words. That’s all he gets. But they’re daunting and coated with a lingering foreboding that feels almost like a threat.

So, by all accounts, Steve probably should’ve known there was no way Munson was ever going to back down that easily.

Eddie comes back the next day, a thundering storm cloud of the boy he usually is, head wild with curly hair and a million thoughts. 

The door dings far too gently for such an aggressive arrival. Metal bangs against metal as the handle collides with the window pane. He stomps to the counter in several quick strides, dark eyes darting around the half-empty store — obviously searching for something.

Robin, manning the front counter, is entirely unable to be threatened by him. The all black, chunky metal rings, and crazy hair stopped being so intimidating when she found out you called him Eddie Spaghetti. Now, it’s all she can think about when she sees him. 

Even as he stands ahead of her, obviously upset, all she sees is a very cartoonishly angry Eddie Spaghetti, and it takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Where’s Steve?” the boy finally wonders when he realizes the boy’s not in the front.

“Uh, he’s in the back, I think. Why?”

Eddie doesn’t humor her with an answer. He just storms past the counter and makes a b-line for the break room.

Robin watches him over her shoulder. “You’re not supposed to go back there!” she half-heartedly shouts, but makes no further effort to stop him from doing so.

He finds Steve working beneath the dim yellow light of the back room. There’s a warmed-up container of leftovers on the small round table on one side of the room and a stack of unorganized tapes on the counter on the other. Steve multitasks between both and hums something summery under his breath — The Beach Boys, maybe.

He’s too distracted to notice Eddie’s abrupt appearance. It’s the subtle click of the shut door that gets his attention.

Steve’s confused at first. His head snaps over his shoulder like a ghost must’ve closed the door on him. He realizes that it’s just Eddie, and he’s so innocently relieved that it’s almost humorous, then confused all over again. His brows pinch together and through the chicken tender jutting out his check, he mumbles: “You’re not supposed to be back here—”

“Yeah, I got that part,” Eddie interrupts in a monotone.

He swallows. It’s as thick as the tension that settles between the two of them, made heavier by the lengthy silence. He crosses his arms over his chest, stands up a little straighter, and bares his neck when he lifts his chin. “I want you to leave her alone.”

Steve scoffs and chews through his mouthful. “Leave who alone?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Eddie squints with an unusual sort of seriousness. “I don’t want you messing around with her anymore, man. I’m, fucking— I’m so fucking serious right now.”

The clarification makes Steve laugh. He shakes his head and goes back to piling the myriad of tapes into organized stacks on the counter. “We were just talking, Eddie. I don’t need the lecture, okay?”

“We both know it’s never just talking with you.”

“What? Are you in love with her or something?” he retorts, trying to make a joke of it.

Eddie, for the first time in his life, isn’t amused. “Oh, god, get over yourself, dude. I know what kinda guy you are, alright? I’m not gonna let you hurt her.”

His words hit Steve like a pot of boiling water. It prickles his skin, leaving blisters and burning red blotches in its wake. He’s all but on fire with his anger, less offended by the accusation than by the person it comes from.

Steve and Eddie aren’t friends by any means. They’re just two guys with shared custody of a bunch of teenagers, bonded in their want to keep them all safe. But through their lighthearted animosity, is a sort of understanding: neither of them are the assholes the entire town claims them to be. Eddie isn’t apart of some satanic cult. Steve isn’t a douchebag that uses women as accessories. And that’s just a silent agreement they’ve both come to on their own terms. 

But now here they are, talking like it’s 1984 all over again and they’re strangers who hate each other’s guts.

“No. I’m not gonna hurt her. Because we’re just friends, Eddie.”

The boy just shakes his head. He scrunches his nose like he’s wincing, then laughs — a big, dramatic laugh that fills the tiny break room. He begins to pace, waving an accusatory ringed finger Steve’s way. “No, see… That’s the thing. I don’t think King Steve is capable of being ‘just friends’ with a pretty girl.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a heavy huff. He comes to the conclusion that Eddie’s just projecting and that there’s no use in arguing his case. He shoves a black VHS tape into its designated sleeve and slots it in with the rest of them, muttering under his breath, “I’m not King Steve anymore…”

“What?”

“I said, I’m not King Steve anymore!” he yells, a bit louder than he intended to.

He drives a tape onto the pile with an unexpected aggression. It hits the wall with a resounding thud. His arms flail wildly at his sides when he turns to face Eddie again. “God, you guys act like people can’t change! I’m not the asshole I used to be, alright? Jeez…”

Eddie exhales sharply through his nose in the place of any real reply. Deep down, he knows all that. He knows it’s all true because he would’ve never befriended him otherwise. Steve Harrington — the king, the rich kid, the douchebag — turned out to be a pretty damn good guy. 

And maybe if Eddie didn’t love you so much, he’d be able to wrap his head around all that.

But does. So he can’t.

He saw you two together the night before, sharing a cigarette behind The Groove — albeit a little too close for his liking — and suddenly, it was junior year all over again.

You’re stressed out about the ACT and college acceptance rates, none of your clothes quite fit you, and you’re trying out bold things with your makeup that don’t quite fit you either. You grin wildly up at Eddie through the vibrant lipstick smeared on your lips, laughing at his half-hearted attempt to cheer you up. 

And Steve is a senior, standing on the other side of the hallway — with his pretty clothes and prettier hair — and he lets all of his friends laugh at you. They make fun of your un-styled hair and the way your shirt makes your boobs look, and Steve doesn’t find any of it particularly funny but he lets them mock you anyway.

Eddie sees you together and forgets about the man Steve is now. All he sees is a boy who never stuck up for you, for either of you, who let his best friends make your lives hell because his reputation mattered more.

And it wasn’t like it was his job to defend you, because it wasn’t. Not really. It’s just that you would’ve done it for him, if the roles were reversed. Eddie, too. Neither of you would’ve let a lamb be led to the slaughter quite like that. It was the Hellfire motto, after all — to protect the little sheep from the creeping wolves.

That’s where the difference lies. It’s where the mistrust settles deep and where the root of all of Eddie’s worries lingers.

But Steve has done more to prove himself than Eddie likes to give him credit for. 

He takes care of a bunch of kids like it’s his job. He runs Robin to and from school most days out of the week, on time each morning — which, for a guy who showed up late every day for four years, was definitely saying something. He even comes to Eddie’s shows when he’s not too busy working the graveyard shift, never minding that he sticks out in his collared shirt and slacks — a pretty boy amidst a crowd of freaks.

Fuck. Steve Harrington was a pretty alright dude.

But you’re better than alright. You’re better than good. Better than perfect. 

If you got your heart broken, Eddie thinks he’d feel all of it times a thousand.

Steve’s been through his own kind of heartbreak, though. He’s slapped a bandaid over his own bleeding heart, and it’s made him soft. The good kind of soft — the kind where he sees a bug on its back and has to flip it over because it hurts too much to let it suffer. Eddie knows he’ll be that kind to you. Kinder, even.

“Yeah, you better hope so, Harrington,” the boy concludes with a slow nod of his wild head. He steals a chicken tender from the styrofoam box it sits in, like it’s some kind of power move, and waves it at him like a condemnatory point. “I hear you do anything — anything — to her… And your ass is grass.”

Eddie takes a hearty bite from the strip, then tosses it back into the container again. He spins on the ragged heel of his sneaker and stalks out of the break room, punctuating his absence with the slam of the door. The ancient thing gets lodged and doesn’t quite shut all the way, so he has to double back and shut it fully.

Steve is left dumbfounded, in more ways than one.

“…He just ate my chicken,” he mumbles to himself with a frown settled deep between his brows. But there’s a lingering tension in Eddie’s storming out — a tangible fog within his words that settles something heavy in the Family Video breakroom that doubles as storage. 

It feels almost like a blessing.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Won't escape my attention...

The more time you spend with Steve, the more confident you get. 

You visit him at work more often, caring less and less about bothering anybody when you realize they all wanted you there. You let yourself ramble in front of him, too, not stopping yourself nearly as often as you used to. Steve guesses you started to believe him somewhere around the millionth time he promised he liked hearing you talk.

You turn to glitter in his presence, becoming more unapologetically yourself and glowing with it — with all the things that used to make you insecure, things that King Steve would’ve made fun of you for some time ago. Everything you were scared made you too different, is why he liked you in the first place.

And Steve gets to watch it all play out right before his eyes. You inch slowly out of the protective shell you’ve built around yourself and bloom like springtime flowers. He’s grateful he gets to witness it, even more that you feel comfortable enough to do it all in front of him.

You’re hardly as timid as you usually are when you saunter into Family Video. Rather than tiptoeing in and apologizing for intruding, you burst through the front door with a beam and a high-pitched squeal. You’re as bright as every star in the galaxy combined; even dressed head-to-toe in black, you’re more blinding than the sun. 

Eddie’s leather jacket, either stolen or unenthusiastically lent from the boy himself, swallows your upper half. You wear a piece of Metallica merchandise beneath it. The thing is cut up to your ribcage. The jagged edges in the fabric, likely from a dull pair of kitchen scissors, tells him the chop was intentional.

A leather skirt clings effortlessly onto you, revealing the pudge of your stomach and the curves of your hips. The thing is donned with two spiked belts and several chains hanging loosely at your waist.

Steve is dozing at the counter with his chin propped on his first when you walk in. He’s half-asleep until he sees you. The shot of espresso that walks in makes him instantly forget how tired he is.

“Guess what?” you ask with wide, sparkling eyes as you skip to the counter with your hands behind your back.

Steve always hated that question. Usually, it came from Dustin or Robin — or, god forbid, both of them — followed by a “No, seriously. Guess.” It left him with no choice but to humor them until they ultimately caved and told him something he couldn’t have guessed in a million years.

He isn’t so annoyed now, though. In fact, he smiles. “What?” he replies.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, as though in a futile attempt to conceal the wide grin on your face, and take your hands from behind your back. You flash him the cassette tape you hold in the palm of them, a blue and yellow thing with the angled Def Leppard logo printed on the cover.

“No way!” Steve finds himself exclaiming like he’s the number one fan of the rock and roll band. He isn’t; never has been, really. But he is a fan of you. All of his excitement, all of his bright and shining smiles — they’re all for you.

“They came in last night— when I was off, of course— and I opened this morning and there was a whole damn tower of these tapes! I’m the one who does the tape towers, okay? Plus, I’ve been doggin’ my manager for weeks about the things, so I can’t believe they came in and no one told me, you know?”

Steve gets lost in your rambling right along with you, nodding because he never wants you to stop talking. His twinkling gaze follows you back and forth as you pace in front of the counter. You gesticulate wildly with your hands, nearly elbowing a customer when they get too close to the line of fire.

“And she was all like ‘I can’t control when they come in,’ And I was like ‘well, you can’t control when I come in either, I’ll be taking a long lunch now, thank you’—” you recount, albeit at a slightly louder volume that shocks anyone who doesn’t know you. People shoot you lingering side eyes from over the aisles.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s even happier that you don’t seem to either. You feel comfortable enough with him now to stop caring about the rest. When you stop yourself, you do it because you’ve said everything you need to say, not because you feel like you’ve annoyed him in some way. 

“Anyway,” you conclude with a sigh. “I wanted to run it to you personally because, besides Eddie, you’re the only person I know who cares as much as I do.”

You smile sweetly at him, peering at him through your lashes, so suddenly timid — no longer the boisterous girl lighting up the whole room. Steve notices that you do that a lot, go from loud and sunny to shy and glimmering. Eddie does it too, sometimes, but it’s not nearly as cute.

“My wallet’s in my locker,” he tells you when you hand him the tape. He cocks his thumb over his shoulder with his free hand. “Let me go grab it. I’ll be, like, two seconds—”

You reach over the counter and take him by the arm, wrapping chipped maroon nails around the crook of his elbow to keep him from straying too far. Shock coats his features at the suddenness of your touch and the way it makes him buzz.

You scoff. “Are you serious? I’m not gonna make you pay, you weirdo.”

“No?”

“Of course not! It’s a gift.”

“Well, gee, Punchy. Considered me flattered,” he concedes with a faltering smile.

You laugh at his half-hearted attempt to be charming.

He rests his crossed arms on the counter and leans over the top of it in an effort to be the slightest bit closer to you. He gazes up at you with honey eyes and raised brows and a big, dumb smile. “And, you know, flattery... it goes a long way with me.”

You arch an un-manicured brow at him. “Does it, now?”

“Yep. So much so, I’m willing to break a few rules and let you pick out a couple of movies. On the house.”

It’s dumb and it’s sweet and so terribly innocent. He wants to give you so much than that but he’s got about eighteen dollars to his name, so all he can do is offer you a few measly VHS tapes. It has you beaming like he just offered you the world.

“Steve Harrington,” you scold playfully. “I didn’t know you were so naughty.”

He falters. His resolve slips and, for no more than half a second, his brain forgets how to work. 

He’s not quite sure how you manage to do that to him all the damn time. You make his brain shortcircuit and his belly quiver and his vision swim. He’s known you for a while now, long enough that the lovesickness should’ve well worn off.

Steve’s worried that there’s no cure for you, that he’s in it for the long haul now — upset stomachs, heart palpitations, and all.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” he shrugs and sways on his feet. “What’s your poison, Punchy? Molly Ringwald? Robert Downey Jr.? The John Hughes type?”

You can tell he’s joking. You squint over at him and rest your elbows on the counter top your face-to-face. 

The wintergreen mint on his breath makes your head swim. 

Your rouge-tined lips are so close he can taste them — he wants to, desperately so. 

You don’t miss the way his gaze flits to your mouth, lingering there for no longer than a blink.

“Try Night of the Living Dead,” you challenge. 

“That is so dreadfully on brand for you,” he manages to reply without much stuttering. He’s surprised he’s able to get any words out at all, with the way his heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest.

“I’m nothing if not predictable.”

Steve doesn’t respond as he leaves the counter to get what you asked for. Silence is easier than saying that you’re the most surprising thing he’s ever met in his life.

When he returns, he brings the entire film franchise with him. All three movies are stacked in his arms and he scans the backs of them, hoping Keith won’t notice that they’re being rented free of charge.

“Have you ever seen them?” you wonder.

He shakes his head. “No. I saw one of them at a drive-in a long time ago, but I wasn’t exactly paying attention, if you know what I mean—” he answers with a soft laugh, quick to cut himself off. It was supposed to be a dumb joke, but both of you know what he was insinuating and it makes everything awkward. 

Robin would’ve slapped him on the back of the head if she were around to hear it. 

He would’ve deserved it.

“Well, you missed out,” you scold, not quite meeting his gaze. “They’re actually pretty good.”

“I’ll try and watch ‘em sometime then.”

“Tonight?” you offer suddenly.

Steve furrows his brows. “…Huh?”

“I mean, like— I don’t know… I thought maybe we could watch them tonight,” you stammer with your eyes turned down toward the counter, where you draw invisible patterns onto the granite with the tip of your finger. “Like, together… if you want.”

Steve is momentarily speechless. He’s spent weeks plotting how he was going to ask you out. It would come to him in waves. He’d feel like he’d concocted the most perfect, foolproof plan right before realizing there was no way in hell he could ever go through with it — all in the same fleeting thought. 

But here you are, biting the bullet for the both of you. 

He’s grateful. He thinks he’s dreaming.

“That sounds…” Steve trails off with the mindless nod of his head. “Yeah. No. Totally. That sounds… really cool.”

A wide smile pulls at the edges of your lips. You purse your mouth to the side in attempts to conceal it. “Cool,” you murmur all cool-ly, like his affirmation isn’t heaven to your ears.

“Uh, not to sound like a total douchebag or whatever, but my dad— he’s got this theater room and everything, and my parents are almost never home,” Steve rambles as he puts all three movies into a paper bag. Then his eyes go wide and his face glows cherry red. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like— That sounded really weird… I’m sorry—”

You giggle at him, at the way he can pretend to be so suave, and then reveal all the marshmallow fluff he tries to keep hidden a moment later. “It’s okay, Steve. I got what you meant.”

He writes his address on a yellow sticky note with the Family Video logo printed in green at the very top. His handwriting is boyish and sloppy, the sign of a boy who never did care much about school. Some letters are connected, others far apart; some written too big, while others are too small. You find it endearing, but Steve knows it’s just because his hand was shaking something fierce.

He leaves his number written at the very bottom. Just for good measure.

“No funny business, alright, Harrington?” you joke, waving a ringed finger at him as you walk backward out of the store, heading back to your own job.

Steve bites back a smile. Once upon a time, he was all funny business. No girl was ever going to invite King Steve over and not expect some heavy petting. And he wants so badly to kiss you — fuck, he wants to kiss you all the time — but the want to spend innocent time with you eclipses all of those boyish feelings.

He yearns to be close to you. Like magnets. Or a moon and the ocean’s tide.

“No funny business,” he promises.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You keep your distance with a system of touch.

It isn’t until you arrive at the front gates of the Harrington home you realize you’ve never been in the suburbs of Hawkins before.

You grew up on the very outskirts of town, where there were more trees than people or houses. The block was half rundown already and horribly secluded. The only interesting thing about it was the winding trail through the woods that led to the anterior of Forest Hills trailer park.

That’s where you spent the bulk of your time, practically living with Eddie and Wayne in their one-bedroom trailer, until you felt guilty enough to go back home for a day or two. Your parents would inevitably remind you why you ran off in the first place, and then the cycle would start all over again.

It was all just far enough away from Hawkins that you could pretend like the town’s bullshit didn’t exist. The freak from the wrong side of the tracks didn’t belong on Maple Street or Fairview Road or Laurel Avenue. That was for people who could afford new shoes every school year, who could go clothes shopping and not feel guilty about cutting into their food money, who were set up with trust funds before they were even born.

But here you are now, on Fairview Road, seven o’clock sharp, and standing in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. 

You ring the doorbell and flinch when it’s louder than expected. The chime is light and jaunty. You wonder if it’s been programmed for the change in season.

Steve answers no more than a couple seconds later. He swings both French doors open, arms spreading wide like the smile on his face.

He’s traded in his slacks for comfier jeans and his vest for a form-fitting sweatshirt he’s bunched at the elbows. You realize, then, that you’ve never seen him without the forest green Family Video jacket. It makes him look naked, almost, like a totally different person — no longer the dork who works a measly nine-to-five with his best friend and visits the freak next door on the off chance his manager won’t dock his pay for it.

The vest had humbled him to a certain extent. Now he just looks cool. Like the boy people would either praise or avoid like the plague, for fear of getting in King Steve’s path — just a little bit more mature looking now, with his chiseled jaw and scruffy chin.

It makes you feel a little stupid from where you stand on the porch ahead of him, wearing the same thing he’d seen you in earlier that day. He’s got no idea you spent the past couple of hours agonizing over what to wear. For the sake of not seeming crazy overzealous, you opted not to dress up. Now you’re scared he thinks you just didn’t care enough to.

But you do care. So goddamn much that’s it scary. 

You never had to worry about what you wore or what you looked like before you left the house, about what you had too much of and what you lacked. Now, it’s all you can think about.

If Steve notices anything at all, he doesn’t show it. He just keeps on smiling at you, too happy to see you to care about what you’re wearing. He’s just glad that you showed up.

Truth be told, he had a six-pack and Robin’s number on speed dial on the off chance you canceled on him. He was preparing himself to wallow in self-pity and spend the rest of the night ranting to his best friend about the bleeding heart he had for you. Because, as far as he was concerned, you were far too good to be true. 

You were beautiful and funny and kind and perfect. You treat him like you’ve known him for years, like he didn’t spend so many of them avoiding you in attempts to keep some measly title that didn’t mean shit. You were too perfect. Sometimes, Steve gets scared that he just made you up.

But whether you’re a dream come true or the real thing, you’re standing on his front porch anyway, with a smile and a bottle of grocery store wine. 

He saves the beer in his fridge and the wallowing for another day. 

Steve escorts you through his lavish living room and to the downstairs area that’s got a movie screen hanging on the walls and a couple of leather couches sitting in front of it. The coffee table in front of them holds a myriad of glass bowls — popcorn, various candies, and more popcorn.

“You planning on throwin’ a party down here, Harrington?” you tease with a soft chuckle, trying to conceal how your heart’s about to burst at the mere sight of it all.

“Well, I just— I didn’t know what you liked, and I didn’t— I wanted to make sure you had something to eat, you know,” the boy stammers out. He brings the palm of his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “So I just… I got… everything.”

“It’s a good thing a like everything then, huh?” you smile at him as you pluck a Red Vine from its dedicated bowl. You rip off an inch or two with your teeth and then talk as you chew: “I hope you’re prepared for all of this shit get eaten, Harrington. I can get quite ravenous.”

Steve nods to himself and tries not to smile too big. “Sounds entertaining… Maybe I’ll just watch you instead of the movie.”

It was supposed to be a joke. 

But then you settled down next to him on the couch, keeping a respectful distance but sharing the same fuzzy blanket, and he has to physically force himself to drag his gaze away from you. 

He was right about what he said before, you were far more entertaining than the black and white film projected ahead of him — grabbing handfuls of popcorn at a time and quoting the movie through the mouthful. 

It’s a tad bit barbaric, the faintest bit off-putting, and otherworldly levels of endearing. It leaves him virtually unable to take his eyes off of you. 

He didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you keep on proving him wrong. 

He’s starting to realize he doesn’t know shit.

You’re slowly coming to the same understanding.

You’ve heard stories about Steve. Usually from gossiping cheerleaders standing in circles at their lockers or whispering in the back of a classroom. Doomed as the freak and all but banished from the inner society of Hawkins High, you became an observer. You were so invisible that people sometimes didn’t realize they were talking right over you, sharing secrets they wouldn’t want someone else to get a hold of. 

But apparently you were the exception. Because you weren’t a someone to them.

They talked about how kind he was, how well endowed, how they were meant to go on some stupid date but missed their reservation because Steve got a little too handsy beforehand, and how they spent the rest of the night with their hands shoved down each other’s pants at Lover’s Lake. 

You were seeing, firsthand, how much he’d changed. How he made his promise of no funny business and how he was sticking to it — no teasing you about the whole thing with a knowing smirk and flirtatious honey eyes, no urging to close this distance between you, no tiny touches on your arm or thigh in the hopes of heavier petting.

He spends the entirety of the first movie perfectly respectful. Just like you’d asked him to be. 

And it was nice, knowing that you weren’t wasting your evening with some asshole who was only spending time with you in the hopes of you putting out later. But it leaves you the faintest bit empty. Hungry. You long for his touch like a missed meal. Starving and feeling it all.

It’s not even heavy petting you want, you just want to feel him next to you — to press yourself into his side and to warm yourself with him like a blanket. 

But you weren’t a pretty cheerleader or a girl dripping in expensive clothes and daddy’s money. You were the weirdo, the freak, the loudmouth nerd, Punchy — all names you wore proudly, like lit-up signs or steel armor. 

Until now. 

Now you think if you weren’t Punchy, if were you someone different, then maybe he’d want to touch you more.

The first hour and thirty-seven minutes of your favorite movie are strangely agonizing. 

Your hands itch with the desire to touch the boy next to you, and they busy themselves with the bowls of candy and savory junk food splayed out on the table in front of you. It’s mindless more than it is anything. You’re absentminded binging does nothing more than half-distract you from the thoughts raging rivers in your skull.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until your hand falls into an empty bowl of popcorn and finds nothing but kernels at the bottom of it. 

It makes Steve laugh, thinking you were just too into the movie to notice — having no idea it was him taking up all your brain power. 

He leaves to fix more snacks for you while you slip the second VHS into the movie player. He returns with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and two beers after the wine bottle has been sufficiently emptied. When he plops down next to you again, it’s in the same spot he’d been sitting in all night — a couple of excruciating inches away.

Under the guise of sharing the popcorn in his lap, you make the too bold decision to slither in at his side. It’s innocent at first — your thighs just barely graze and your elbows bump when you dip your hands into the bowl. And it’s still innocent some thirty minutes later, when you find yourself resting your head on his shoulder with your legs curled up behind you.

Steve tenses when he feels your temple pressed against him, but only for a moment before he relaxes again. It makes him all suddenly warm and self-aware of every movement he makes. He tries not to breathe too heavy or shift too often, for fear it might jostle you too much. He doesn’t want to stop feeling you against him like this, even if it’s got his skin prickling with a searing form of anxiety.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep,” he jokes.

“Of course not. It’s way too riveting,” you scoff, even though he can feel you cuddling further into him. Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his sweatshirt when you look up at him. He turns his head to peer down at you and his nose nearly grazes your forehead. 

He finds you with a certain glint in your eye. It’s borderline playful, like it so often is, but coated with a sweetness that drips over him like honey. “You like it so far?” you wonder.

“Yeah,” the boy nods quickly. He couldn’t tell you what had happened the past two-and-a-half films, but he could tell you how your jaw tenses when you chew and how your smile curls just before you laugh out loud and how your eyes widen every time you quote the movie. “It’s really good. I like it.”

You beam at him before turning back to the projector again. You shift to get more comfortable against him. “Good.” 

By the third movie, you’re somehow even closer.

Truth be told, Day of the Dead wasn’t your favorite in the trilogy, so it left your mind wandering to far off places — namely, the pretty boy sitting beside you. He goes to put the tape into the projector, feeling immediately cold without pressing into his side, and when he returns he tries his best not to beg you to cuddle against him again.

“My shoulder’s gettin’ real cold over here,” he tries to joke. 

You see right through his beckoning, though. It makes you happy to know he wants it just as much as you do. 

“Just say you wanna be next to me, Harrington,” you tease like you aren’t happily obliging him. You snuggle into his shoulder and rest your head against him while your arms curl around his bicep.

“I wanna be next to you,” he repeats, a playful smile on his lips though his gaze softens with sincerity. “Is that so bad?”

You shake your head against him in reply. Suddenly as mushy as the boy beside you, you turn to look up at him. “Not unless it’s bad that I wanna be next to you, too…”

“Nah. It’s not bad,” he assures in something short of a whisper. “Guess I’m just glad I’m not the only one that’s so far gone.”

He doesn’t elaborate on what he means by that. He doesn’t have to.

Perhaps it’s the admission that this boy is so far gone for you that gives you a sudden burst of confidence. Maybe it’s the comforting feeling of being seen, of knowing you’re no longer alone in your similar far gone-ness. Each feels like rays of sunshine to your skin and has you pressing your lips to his wanting ones without much thought. 

The plump pink of his mouth are magnets for yours. They meet and lock together with little effort, almost destined to do it. It’s a soft, meager, and lingering little peck that sucks you both in a little too easily. It’s hard to pull away from him, but when you do, your lips click in protest.

Then there’s a look, then a deafening silence that says more words than either of you were capable of forming in that moment. His amber eyes dart between both of yours, asking a question without saying a goddamn thing. One that you answer with your own softening gaze. 

And it’s almost better than the kiss itself, the swirling feeling in the pits of your stomach, the knowing of what’s about to happen.

A silent plea and a blink later and his lips are on yours again. 

It’s an awkward mess of yearning mouths and tangled limbs as the both of you fight to find purchase on one another. Your fingers knot in the collar of his sweatshirt, pulling him impossibly closer, while his grip the bare skin of your waist from where your shirt had ridden up. His touch makes you buzz, like a static shock or a bolt of lightning.

Steve makes several observations when he feels you melt into him like honey on toast. He notices how you press yourself into him, like you won’t be satisfied until you’ve swallowed him whole, and how it has you kissing him like you’re scared he’ll pull away — like you’ll open your eyes and he won’t be real. 

You’re as domineering against his mouth as you are in real life, still as all-consuming and overpowering as the girl he’s gotten so familiar with.

He doesn’t realize how you’ve settled so intently on top of him until his back meets the pillowy cushion of the leather couch. You don’t either, until he exhales a sharp gasp against your cupid’s bow. Then you part from him, for the first time in several minutes, breathing in the oxygen your lungs had just begun to scream for. 

Steve finds you with kiss-bitten lips and glassy eyes that look upon him with a softness that he didn’t know existed until now. He smirks with his own swollen and pinker mouth like he isn’t glowing red beneath you. 

“I thought you said no funny business,” he manages to tease through bated breaths.

You don’t bother to make up excuses for yourself. You’re already on top of him, all over him — you’ve already kissed him like you would’ve died if you hadn’t. Now, you’re straddling him, caging him between your legs and under your torso. You’ve settled on top of him with a comforting weightiness, like you’re building a home in the familiarity you’ve sought in him.

“I lied,” you mutter with a lazy shrug. A sly smile pulls slowly at your lips until you’re all but beaming sunbeams down at him. He revels in your warmth. “’S not my fault you’re so damn cute.”

It’s easier to blame it on him for all the reasons you’re attached to him like a magnet to his metal, your moth to his flame. You part his lips with your mouth, rut your tongue against his own, reveling in the foreign familiarity of it all, and then blame him for the way you can’t seem to stop any of it.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, though. The way his hands find purchase on your hips, petting the warmed skin there and sometimes squeezing to pull you further down onto him, tells you that he has a similar yearning to melt with you. He lets you kiss him all slow, allows you to taste all of him, and doesn’t rush you in your process. It’s comforting, tender. Free.

He’s not used to being on his back like this. Usually, he’s the one taking control. It’s his mouth that does all the work. So, it’s strange to be under you and to have you above him. But it’s more pleasant in an even stranger way not to be rushed — not to have to do all the work. His mouth opens so obediently for you and finds an effortless rhythm with your lips and your tongue. 

It’s the easiest thing he’s ever done in his life, kissing you. 

He delights in every ounce of the warmth and unfamiliarity you press to his mouth, and tries to shove down feelings of unworthiness that simmer in his chest while you do so.

You don’t part until your mouths are numb and tingling with it. 

Your lips are more vibrant in their color, aflame and swollen from being so ardently kissed and sucked and bitten. Neither of you mind making out like a couple of teenagers. It’s comforting to know that things won’t go further than a couple soft touches on burning skin. It was never supposed to be anything more than that, anyway. It was just about being close to each other.

You’ve almost succeeded in your effort to melt into the boy beneath you, when you hear the distant sound of a door opening and closing again. Muffled voices follow — unknown to you but obviously familiar to him. 

You part from him without thinking, like you’re a couple of kids again who’ll get in trouble if your parents ever found out what you were doing down here. Steve groans at the loss of you and in annoyance at the sound of his parents. His heavy eyes fall shut and his head leans back to the couch cushions as he fights to swallow down all of his anger.

His parents never really come around these days. They’ve got a bigger home in the city, closer to his dad’s work, and they choose to stay there most days of the week — month. 

They used to make excuses for why they left their only son behind. It’s five minutes from your dad’s firm. There’s more opportunity for your mom’s real estate business. Oh, don’t be so selfish, Steven, you’ll finally have the place to yourself. It’s a win-win for all of us.

Steve didn’t want their excuses. It was actually easier with them gone. 

But they come around every now and again, whenever it’s most convenient for them, and treat their arrival like something that needs to be celebrated. Like they aren’t supposed to be with their child in the fucking first place. And they somehow manage to pick the most inconvenient times for him, like they know he’s in a bind and want to see him struggle to get out of it.

Usually, it’s when he’s in between paychecks — when they want to take him out to some fancy dinner he could barely afford anyway, but especially when he’s hardly making it until payday. Now, it’s when he’s got the prettiest girl he’s ever seen on top of him, and he’s all hot and half-hard. Steve doesn’t want to let them ruin the moment, as good as they are at it.

“It’s okay. They won’t come in here,” he assures when he feels you tense at the unexpected company. “My mom will go to the bedroom and my dad will go to his office. We’re good, I promise.”

You figure he’s right. The voices grow more and more distant. Heeled shoes click up and up the stairs while heavy stomps head the opposite way. But you’ve already been so woefully knocked out of your stupor that you’re scared it’s too late.

Your lips are numb and the credits are rolling and you’re on top of this beautiful boy and you have no idea how you got there.

It’s almost frightening, the way Steve had consumed you mind, body, and soul by just existing next to you. You become dreadfully hyperaware of the whole thing — of who you are, who he is, and what you’re doing. You lose all your softness and turn to ice, hardening and shrinking back into yourself.

“I should—” you start before clearing your throat when the words come out heavier than expected. “I should head out anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Steve can say. “Right.”

You stare down at him, chest still pressed against his, nose nearly touching the tip of his own. “I just— I have to open tomorrow and everything, so—”

“No. Yeah. Yeah, I— I get it.”

You make tricky work of untangling yourselves.

His legs twist with yours when you both try to rise from the couch at the same time. Then your ring gets stuck in the fabric of his shirt, but not before his belt buckle gets somehow caught in yours. It’s like fate is protesting the imminent parting, but neither of you are paying attention to the signs.

He walks you to your car and chuckles under his breath as you scurry to the front door. 

You’re not-so-distantly terrified of running into his parents. They probably wouldn’t mind that he’s sneaking around with a girl, surely that they’re used to, but you’re almost certain they’re not used to girls like you. Girls with wild hair and leather skirts and chunky boots and too bold makeup. 

You’re not the girl next door. You’re the girl parents warn their sons about. “Leave that girl alone,” they say. “She’s nothing but trouble.”

You tell him all of this on the short trek to your half-broken-down car when you catch him laughing at you about the whole thing. You say it in jest, lighthearted and trying to make a joke of it. But there’s an underlying melancholia to your tone that reveals every truth you’re trying to evade.

“They don’t care enough about me to give a shit about a girl I’m with, I promise,” he confesses with a laugh that sounds more like a sad scoff than anything else. His chocolate eyes turn gold beneath the yellow street light. He smirks at you. “Besides, I don’t know if I told you this or not, but my middle name is actually trouble, so… I think we might be a match made in heaven.”

You roll your eyes at his attempts to flirt with you, though his lack of finesse makes you smile. “You’re an idiot, Steve Actually Trouble Harrington.”

“You really know how to say goodbye, don’t ya?” he grins when you reach the curb where your tin can car sits. 

“Yeah, I’m pro,” you shrug with a teasing glint in your eye, then you beam. “I’ll see you around, ‘kay?”

“Totally,” he nods, suddenly forlorn at having to leave you like he hadn’t just spent the past four hours with you.

Themetallic click of your car door opening sounds much louder in the emptiness of the suburbs. You glance at the boy right before you sink into the driver’s seat, feeling your heart swell with something short of yearning — anticipation. 

You weren’t actually a professional at saying goodbye, you find, because you’re realizing how hard it is to leave him.

“Steve!” he hears you shout from across the lawn when he’s halfway up the drive. 

He turns around, expecting to hear you tease him some more or tell him you were having car troubles. Neither would’ve shocked him. You’ve got a smart mouth and a shittier car. But you keep on surprising him, all but launching yourself into him before kissing him harder than he’s ever been kissed before.

Steve tenses against you at first, then relaxes again in record time. He sighs in the comfort of having your body pressed so intently into his and your arms wrapped around his neck to pull him somehow closer. 

You feel the breath of his exhale fan against your cupid’s bow. It makes you smile, and he feels the expression contort against his lips. His hands rise to the widest part of your hips without thinking. It’s all muscle memory now.

And even though he’s spent the better part of an hour kissing you, this one is so obviously different. This wasn’t just to pass the time. This was more than just to feel him — it was to tell him something. He hears every word you don’t say, but rather press like a stamp to his mouth.

He’s breathless when you pull away. You meet his flushed face with a mischievous grin.

“What was that for?” he wonders breathlessly, but doesn’t waver with his hold on you. He quickly notices that yours doesn’t either.

You shrug in response. “‘Cause you’re pretty.”

“Yeah, well…” he tries to play off like he’s not blushing like crazy. “You’re pretty too.”

Your beam ebbs into a teasing, tightlipped smirk. “Stop flirting with me, Steve Harrington.”

You shove him away with a rougher hand than you realize before you walk away from him. Steve rubs at the ache in his chest with the palm of his hand.

Your playful teasing and your lingering kiss is the only thing Steve has to remember you by when you turn on your chunky heeled boot and head off down the driveway again. He’s frozen, mesmerized by the sight of you and reeling at how you manage to drive him crazy without trying.

Your eyes find him again just before you duck into your car, and you see him still looking at you — mouth agape and eyes wide like you’re some kind of rare find. You figure you must be, in some way. Girls like you aren’t supposed to like guys like him. Vice Versa. Tale as old as time.

The boy stays locked in his stupor until the sprinkles whir on. The spurts of freezing cold water spray all over him and his pretty hair and expensive sweatshirt and his vintage jeans. “Shit!” you hear him swear as he rushes for cover on his front porch. 

He’s quickly soaked and freezing cold, but he smiles anyway when he hears the sound of your giggling behind him. It’s as animated as your personality and spills from your mouth like so many rays of sunshine, just a little too loud for the quiet midnight suburbs. 

It’s perfect, he realizes. You’re perfect. 

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #st oneshots #stevie oneshot #punchy x steve

[ravensmadreads]

Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

#raven writes #i apologize for all of this #idk what came over me #i was possessed #and taylor refused to sedate me #javier pena x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javier gutierrez x reader #joel miller x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #pero tovar x reader #din djarin x reader #max phillips x reader #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels x reader

[nashiriel]

Just reading the Black and Greens’ reactions to baby Luke claiming the Cannibal…I honestly could read 100 chapters, because can you imagine how the Greens would panic when Rhaenyra turns up in King’s Landing like “please meet my most loyal supporter and his dragon?” It would be truly heartwarming stuff.

And I would love to see the Rhaenys/Luke bonding. I wonder if her visibly getting on with Luke more would help head off Vaemond’s challenge (though he’d have to be pretty bold to be challenge Luke’s claim in the hall, knowing the Cannibal is waiting outside).

I am once again asking you to please, please forgive me for taking so long to get back to you. I am trying to work my way through my inbox, I swear!

But in the festive spirit…it’s not 100 chapters, but I hope you enjoy the below snippet from that AU! A very merry Christmas to you (if you celebrate!)

It is Prince Daemon who greets them as they dismount, teeth flashing in the curve of that cocksure grin that Rhaenys remembers of old. There is still much of that boy left to him, she sees. No grey dulls the silver of his hair, and the lines on his face are softened now, smoothed by contentment as he stands amongst the smoke and skies of his new consort’s domain.  

Marriage to the Princess of Dragonstone suits him well, it seems. Fury burns Rhaenys’ throat, mingled as it is still with bitter grief. 

Three moons. Her children, her grandson, have been dead for three moons.

“My brave girl,” Daemon beams as soon as Baela’s feet have touched the ground, sweeping her into his arms with an exuberance that sends her laughter pealing through the air. “Your sister has missed you.”

“How is she?” Baela demands excitedly, wriggling like a pup in his embrace. “How are her burns? Has she flown-”

“She is resting,” her father laughs, pride clear on his face. Laena’s letters had not spoken of such when she wrote of he and Rhaena in that last, lingering year.

“The maesters say the burn is healing well, sweetling, and she asks me every day when the dragonkeepers will let her back down to the beach. She says that she can still thread her needle, and that a set of reins are nothing compared to that.” 

His eyes find Rhaenys’ then, amused. “You would be proud of how brave she has been, cousin.”

“I have always been proud of Rhaena,” Rhaenys says curtly. She has not come here to bandy pleasantries, not when Rhaenyra’s letters had made clear through their increasing urgent pleas that there was a matter that duty could not let her ignore. “As proud as I was of her mother. The day is short, Daemon. Where is the boy?”

The mirth falls away from Daemon’s face.

The valley that Caraxes and Meleys alight upon is not quite at the foot at the Dragonmont, but it is close enough that the restless murmurs of the volcano as it turns in its sleep rumble through the air. In comparison, the dragon whose coiled bulk blots out the sky and rocks from her sight is unsettlingly quiet, its scales a motionless dark sheen over the ground like oil laid over placid water. 

Rhaenys’ steps do not falter, even as Caraxes’ whistle shrieks in the air above her. Meleys had loomed larger in her girlhood’s eyes as she sang to her in the dark of the Dragonpit. She had seen Balerion’s wings blacken the sky, a majesty that even age could not rob from the greatest glory their blood had ever known. What is this shadow that she should fear it, no matter large it hulks with its butcher’s reek? 

Rhaenys might think it asleep were it not for the gleaming eye that watches her approach, gaze green and hungry as wildfire. With a sharp intake of breath, she sees the small form nestled against its black talons, not even half the size of those knife-like curves. As Rhaenys draws closer, he lifts his head from where it was bent over the long object clutched in his fist, dark eyes wide with astonishment. 

“Grandmother?”

“Lucerys,” Rhaenys says evenly, refusing to allow herself a flinch as a growl splits the air, loud enough to shake the stones from Dragonstone’s parapets. A black tail lashes the air in a brutal snap, heavy enough to cleave a castle wall in two, as the dragon coils itself closer still around Luke, teeth glittering in evident warning. It could crush him as easily as Rhaenys could an ant beneath her heel; Meleys bellows behind her as the whip uncoils in Rhaenys’ hand. 

“Cannibal!” a voice pipes up behind the ripple of the dragon’s wing, high-pitched and aggrieved rather than terror-stricken. “No! I said no!”

Ash lies thick as snow on the ground. Feet away, a cracked thigh bone protrudes from it, flesh brittled black and crumbling where it still clings. There had been guards watching over their play when the Cannibal’s shadow suddenly descended upon the sands, Rhaena had written in a wobbling sprawl so unlike her normal perfect lettering. With spears and trident, they had tried to draw him off. The precious seconds before they were charred to sprawls of greased meat might have meant the difference between life and death to her grandchildren, at least. 

“Easy,” Daemon calls down, his voice strong and stern as winter even as Caraxes’ wings beat the air. “It is your worry feeding his, Lucerys. Calm yourself.”

“I am calm!” comes the indignant squeal, shrill with a fury that Daemon’s words alone cannot have provoked. The Cannibal’s muscles go taut as a bowstring, the dark curve of his jaw shifting as a noise like a mountain cracking apart rumbles between his teeth. 

This one will not be brought to bay by a whip, nor soothed with the lullabies of Old Valyria. Rhaenys sees that clearly in this moment, that and the reason why Daemon has proved insufficient to manage this.

In all the history of Dragonstone, there is only one thing that has held any sway over the Cannibal, and - still to Rhaenys’ utter disbelief - it is the voice of the child who sits tear-stained and trembling in sullen rancour as the Cannibal looms above him, stretching up and up into the darkened sky. 

“The Conqueror himself never hatched a dragon,” she had overheard Laenor soothe Lucerys once in a shadowed corner of High Tide, cradling him close as they watched Vermax playfully char the meat Jace was throwing in the air.

“You’ll claim a mount one day. Like your aunt, like your grandmother. And I promise, it will be a dragon worthy of you.”

The Cannibal. How by all the seven hells had the boy ever managed to even attract his attention, never mind claim him?

“Lucerys,” she says again, sharp and swift as her whip.

He flinches at her tone, but Rhaenys does not care; the time for coddling him was before the gods in their folly put the Cannibal in the hands of a child.

“None are here to harm you or him, child, and you must make him know that. Remember all that the dragonkeepers have taught you. Breathe deep, and speak loud and clear. Lykiri-”

“I’m trying,” Lucerys says plaintively, one hand scrubbing at his dirtied face. She wonders how long he has been here, how often the Cannibal is pleased to let the human he has bonded with leave his sight. “He doesn’t know what they mean, he won’t listen-”

“Do you think any dragon is born knowing them? The words alone do not have meaning; they are there to clarify your intent, so that he does not blindly follow what you feel instead. You have claimed him, Lucerys. He will listen, but only if you are strong enough to ensure that he understands.”

There comes a choked sob, almost lost in the sulphurous blast of hot breath rolling across Rhaenys’ skin as the Cannibal turns its great head towards her. She does not break its gaze as she coaxes Lucerys to breathe deep, to gather himself together (a memory comes unbidden, of the song she sang to Laenor as a child to soothe his night terrors, and she bites down against another unexpected welt of grief).

Eventually, mercifully, the dragon settles, though covetousness still burns in those eyes like the distant stars as he watches Lucerys leave his shadow to come forth to her.

“Prince Daemon is right,” she says after the Rogue Prince has taken his leave at her sharp gesture.

“That dragon is a part of you now, child, and his rage is strong enough without you feeding it. If you cannot control yourself, what chance do you think you’ll have commanding him? If he tells you to calm yourself, listen.”

“Why? He’s not my father,” comes a furious sniffle, those dark eyes blinking ferociously in a bid to hold back tears. For the first time, she sees what it is he is holding so tightly; a broken spear, the snapped shaft still bearing the remnants of the crest of Dragonstone’s royal guards. 

“He is not,” Rhaenys says tightly; that much, at least, they can agree on. “but when it comes to dragons, you’d be a fool not to heed him, boy. And if you’re a fool with this beast, you won’t live long enough to know it. He is dangerous, Lucerys. You should never have gone to him.”

”But I didn’t,” the child says, lip quivering. “It was the Grey Ghost we went to the beach for, me and Rhaena. We brought fish-”

“Fish,” Rhaenys repeats coldly.

“From the kitchens, lots of them. Cook gave some to us every day; he’d thought we’d found some kittens. We had to hide behind the rocks the first few times; he only came out when he thought no one was there. We had to get him used to Rhaena’s smell. Aemond thought it’d work-”

He stops, small face suddenly stricken. 

Well. Rhaenys had never imagined that the queen’s and Rhaenyra’s dragonless children might once have felt close enough to venture ideas of luring a mount between them. It matters not now, she supposes. If ever there was ever friendship between the two, it died that night on Driftmark. Rhaenys had not needed to see the poisonous glare levelled at Luke from Prince Aemond’s remaining eye as she thrust him safely beyond Queen Alicent’s reach behind her to know that. 

“I didn’t mean for the Cannibal to come,” Luke insists, and an odd look comes across his face, almost hopeful as he looks back over his shoulder to where the dragon watches him with that unblinking, terrible gaze.

“But he must’ve been meant to find us. He’d never come to that beach before, the dragonkeepers said. It was Father, it must’ve been. He heard my prayers and sent him to me.”

No, Rhaenys thinks, and does not know if it is cruelty or kindness that keeps the words from her tongue. If my son could have sent you a dragon, he would have brought you his own Seasmoke.

“So he fell upon the Grey Ghost,” she says instead. “How did that lead you to claiming him? You could have been killed. Rhaena could have been killed. What were you thinking, boy, to get so close?”

“Meraxes,” Luke mumbles, so low Rhaenys thinks she misheard him. She bends closer, acutely aware of the shadow rumbling in warning before her.

”What did you say?”

“Jace told me,” Luke says, fidgeting; behind him, the Cannibal’s tail ripples black, spikes flexing with the motion.

“The only way a man can stop a dragon. Grey Ghost was trying to crawl away, but he couldn’t…he couldn’t move, and Rhaena was screaming, and…the Cannibal had to drag him back with his teeth with his head bent down like that, and I thought if I threw it-” 

The spearhead gleams sharp as dragon teeth. Luke looks up at her, pleading, his confession coming in a quavering whisper.

“I tried to get his eye.”

#house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon #cannibal the dragon #carrion #lucemond #asks #I really need to come up with a name for this AU #rhaenys targaryen #The Cannibal and Grey Ghost have been shoved into a ‘This is Our Get Along Shirt’ for the holidays #Luckily once they arrive at King’s Landing they discover the true meaning of Christmas is teaming up together to bully Sunfyre

[latibvles]

So Sad, Beautiful, Tragic has turned a year old today — which is absolutely insane to think about for a plethora of reasons. And I tried to think of things to do, before eventually settling on this celebratory inbox game, and a very simple thank you.

Contrary to its title, this story has brought me… great joy, in the past year. I started it at a considerable low point in my life, mentally. It started as an escape — to think about someone so starkly distant from myself, to make mistakes and have them be forgiven. I wanted a story about forgiveness, about friendship, about resilience.

What I got was a very kind community around me and some very lovely friends who pick me up even unknowingly. Which is honestly more than a girl could ask for.

The last longfic I ever wrote was in 2019, and to this day it remains unfinished on its little corner of the internet. Just twelve chapters of unfinished fanfiction. If you told me a year ago that a story that was never supposed to leave my drafts would end up fifty chapters long, with people who comment regularly on it, who share the same enthusiasm for it that I do? I’d call you insane. But here we are. And I’m happy to be here :)

I do want to thank some specific people though, because where would I be without this community?

@softguarnere , @brassknucklespeirs , @liebgotts-lovergirl and @mercurygray : be it once or like five times, whether it’s a deciding pivotal plot detail , beta-reading, or just trying to name a chapter title , I’ve messaged all of you at one point and you’ve lended me your ear to spitball and find the next turn for the story to take. You’re all lovely friends to have, and when I think of the people who’ve helped this story along the way, you’re the first people that come to mind.

@galaxialuz , @mads-weasley , and @the-cinnamontography-is-amazing : my serial rebloggers / commenters , everytime you all comment on the story or reblog I gain ten years of life. Your reactions are some of the ones I look forward to the most. Seriously, eternally grateful to know how much you love the story, and to those of you who may comment on AO3 who’s users I simply don’t have : this is an acknowledgment for you too! Comments and RBs make the world go around and I’m so thankful for all of mine <3

@almost-a-class-act , @cody-helix02 , @wexhappyxfew , @derry-rain , @shoshiwrites , and @we-band-of-brothers : For letting me bang my pot and my pan, senselessly and loudly, about anything and everything that has to do with this fic of mine. I come strolling into messages going “GUYS BUT DAISY!!!!” and to be met with the same enthusiasm is a really lovely thing. Seriously, for someone who’s been told to, ahem, be quiet about their OCs several times, knowing that I have people who will listen whether it’s an AU I had in mind, a chapter I finished, or mindless rambling is such a gift.

And I am thanking you, person reading this post, for making it this far! Whether you’re a passive reader or one commenting on every chapter or just someone who happened upon this particular post, thanks for giving my words the time of day!

All of this to say: thank you for the support, thank you for the community you’ve let me into, thank you for every bookmark, and like, and reblog, and message. thank you to my anonymous pals and known ones alike — thank you for showing this story the support and love that you have. SBT isn’t perfect, but it is mine, and I’m proud of it, and it means the world to know that something I have created and put into the world is very very loved.

#poet’s gallery #. sbt gallery #poe’s pals #. sbt’s one year #band of brothers

[chimcess]

Birdie Shoppe || pjm (I)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Werewolf!Jimin, Witch!Reader, Shifter!Reader, Shifter!Jimin, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Jimin Genre: Supernatural!AU, Werewolf!AU, Angst, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Smut, Word Count: 11k+ Synopsis: Within the four realms of Lustra lay the Bangtan forest home to the Foxglove pack of the north and known as the “land of magic.” It is also home to the Birdie, a powerful witch from a cursed bloodline who is one of the sacred guardians of the forest. Y/N is the 123rd Birdie, a young girl who was given her position too early and asked by the goddess herself to fulfil a task none had ever done before, become the Grand Witch of the Foxglove pack. Now a woman, Y/N is revered as the most loved and powerful Birdie of all time, but hiding under the surface is a woman who has to battle between her duty and her heart. Warnings: Long-hair Jimin (yes, this is a warning), Cursing, Violence, Mentions of blood, Descriptions of blood, Descriptions of gore, Main Character Near Death, Main Character Badly Injured, Slow burn romance, Talks Mating Ritual, Talks of Heats and Heat Suppressants, Did I say long-hair Jimin? (think The Witcher), Penetration, Oral (f receiving), Marking, Knotting, Spiting, Cuddling, Big Dick Jimin, Face licking, nuzzling, Soft sex, Soft Jimin, Impregnation kink, Breeding kink A/N: Hi there! So this was originally meant to be a one-shot but it was beginning to get far too long, so I’m splitting it up into parts. I’m not sure just how many there will be but so far there’s at least another part coming. This is my first time writing a/b/o so please forgive any mistakes there might be. I tried to add in lore and foreshadowing but more will come later. There’s no smut in this part, but it will come, so the warnings above are for future chapters. I decided to put them upfront for anyone who’s interested in reading further. I really hope you like it and my inbox and asks are always open.

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Another howl echoed through the forest. Just a few more minutes. I felt the familiar itch at my ankle and quickly scratched at it before beginning to pace once more. I had to make it. They said they would wait for me. They had to. I was the only person who could bless the children of the moon. It was my sworn duty to Lilith. I nibbled on my nails and checked the windows again. Pulling back the curtains, I could see the sun was almost completely gone. I began pacing once more. The others would have to meet me at the clearing.

For the last thousand years, my family had given their allegiance to the moon goddess, Lilith. Though it had started as a peace treaty for them to live in the Bangtan forest, home to the wolf pack of the Foxgrove, it had slowly evolved to what it is now. Each generation had to pick a sacrifice, a child who would replace the old, and the next member would come along when the time was right. We were called Birdie’s, the forest witch of the grove who kept the pack healthy. I was the chosen one for my family and Lilith had bestowed upon me the highest honor one could imagine.

After the grand witch of Foxgrove passed the pack had been left with no one to initiate the change within their young. It was a ceremonial occasion where they partied and danced after a long, tiring incantation process where the boys would become men. The pack was lost, and Lilith came to me. Auntie had only been dead for six months. I was 13 when she appointed me, 3 years too soon, and I had blessed the wolves every year since. It was the only time I was allowed out of my cottage as a human.

Tonight, was the celebration of Kim Taehyung’s birthday and the marking of his change. It took 18 years for a wolf to present confidently. I had a strong feeling the Kim child would be the youngest alpha in the pack. Yoongi, the kitchen witch who lived in a lifted home on the pond, thought he was a beta. However, I had far more contact with the pack than he did or any other witch in the forest. I was the only outsider permitted on pack land. I continued to pace. I could not be late.

Finally, I felt it. The thin, indestructible chain that kept me inside during my day began to chime. A faint, iridescent glow began to encase the silver and I felt a wave of pleasure flow through me. It was a cool sensation, and my ankle was caressed by an invisible hand. The chain broke and I stepped out. It stayed open and would until I made my return at dawn. I snatched my lantern off the hook beside the door, put on my pack of magical items, slipped on my shoes, and whispered a spell to make my cottage stop doing magic. It was too draining to keep the house going while I was far away, and I would need all my mana to get through the night. It was why I had decided against a summoning spell and opted for Meteor Powder.

I heard the birds in the trees talk with one another. My friend Patto, a yellow-crowned night heron, was perched on the bird bath the pack had gifted me when I was appointed. I knew he would know if I blew him off and did not want to upset my friend. I would keep it brief and then use the powder to get to the pack quickly. I missed my wings. Patto sang a little song when he noticed me approaching.

“Human tonight?” He asked, jumping.

“It’s a man’s coming of age ceremony,” I clarified, wrapping my shawl around my head.

The winter air was crisp and nipped at my ears.

“I won’t keep you then, Y/N,” Patto took flight.

He quickly came closer, nuzzled into my cheek, and flew off into the night. He was on the hunt for prey no doubt. Patto was a spunky fellow and a wonderful hunting partner though we were often after different things. He was quite good at finding my favorite bugs.

Remembering time was of the essence, I pulled out my bag of Meteor Powder. It was a chalky, lavender-colored powder that was used for teleportation. While it was less effective than an incantation or door charm, it was my best option for pack duties. I had to draw a detailed picture of where I wanted to go, something I had been working on all day in preparation along with my magic bag, and then throw the powder onto the sheet. I took out the paper with the ritual site drawn on it and placed it on the ground, took five steps back, and threw a large handful of the powder on it. Instantly, the page was light up into a bright purple flame. I said, clearly and with conviction, the name of the place I wanted to go for good measure and hopped onto the flame.

When I opened my eyes, I was in the middle of the ritual cave. I thanked Lilith for allowing my magic to work and started to set up the cave for the ceremony. Men and women were very similar as far as what candles were needed as well as the items I needed to collect on my nightly adventures, but there were key differences. This also changed once their wolf began to speak to me. Most in the pack presented beta. For this rank, the process was straightforward except for the colors of paint I had to mark them with. If they presented omega, a traditionally feminine wolf would require the witch to finely grind pearls and mix them with the paints. Male omegas needed sage to burn while I painted them. I knew that when I helped the only male omega in the last 100 years, Jeon Jungkook. Then there were alphas.

In the Foxgrove pack, there were currently 3 alphas. Kim Namjoon was the voice of the people and kept their village prosperous. Jung Hoseok was the pack member I spoke with the most. He was a kind, gentle spirit who kept up with trading and pack affairs. Picking up all the pack’s goods was a part of that. And finally, there was Park Jimin. He was the alpha I had the least amount of contact with. I knew he oversaw war and treaties as well as pack runs, but other than that he was a mystery to me. He was the prettiest pack member and the only unmated alpha left. Hoseok had told me he was shocked he had not found his mate yet. As was I, Lilith was known to be the most loving towards her alphas and often gifted them a mate. The thought put a sour taste in my mouth

I had sworn in all three of the alphas and was honored to do so even if the supplies needed for them are much harder to find. Unlike the other two, alphas not only required special paint but incantation as well. The Birdie and the pack alphas were the most connected as our spirits were the closest to the moon goddess herself. The only woman who outranked me was the Luna, Cho Sol. During the ceremony, it would begin the same, but I would know very quickly if the wolf was an alpha as we would become spiritually connected as the ceremony continued. The spell changed dramatically as I needed to ensure that the connection was severed once the change was complete. I needed to ensure my safety as a wolf can get confused and mistake me for its mate. It would be catastrophic. The paint needed to be mixed with both my blood and the blood of the alpha for the shift to complete. Alphas and omegas always fully shifted during their ceremonies.

After finishing my alter, I pricked my finger with my bone knife and began to draw a circle. A wolf was made to stand in the middle before I sealed it off with salt and peonies. It was a trap and stopped them from escaping. The old grand witch used to chain them to the rocks, but I found that to be cruel. Once I was satisfied with the circle, I knew it was time for me to paint myself. As the pack’s grand witch, I was made to follow the same customs as they did. Women were to crop their hair short if they were not human and wore specific ceremonial fabrics and colors. Sol always left a fresh bralette and skirt, the same their warrior women wore, and I slipped them on easily.

Using magic, I chopped my hair into a short pixie cut. I could grow it back tomorrow and I never wanted to disrespect the elders. Then it was time for the paints. The women who could shift all wore similar face paints, however, each family had different colors and symbols that represented their house. Similarly, I adopted my version of the face painting. My colors were blue, red, and black representing the raven, but it changed with every Birdie. I painted my entire face navy blue before fading the black color down my forehead. After drawing the thick black mask around my eyes and a long white line down my neck, I began to fill in my chain with red.

I hummed while I did this, imitating my bird calls, and swaying my body. I needed to begin the relaxation processes and think like my bird. Getting in tune with my animal side helped the ceremony move along much quicker than it had in the past. I placed ruby red and orange jewels strategically across my face. I formed Aquila over my entire face. After putting on my ceremonial jewels, I started to cleanse the cave with herbs and spells I mumbled under my breath.

I heard people approaching the cave and quickly blew out the herbs I had been burning. I had to wait for Taehyung to be sealed in the circle before I could light the candles, so I let the cave stay shrouded in darkness. None of the wolves would mind and humans were forbidden from watching the coming-of-age ceremony. It was pack law. Luna Sol was the first person to enter the cage and I kneeled on my hands and knees where I sat. I could faintly smell wolf scents since I was connected to the forest in many ways, however, they were not strong since I was not in the pack. I just knew they were wolves. I always chose to stay bowed until asked to stand. It was better this way.

More and more wolves flooded the cave polluting the air with their scent. My prey instincts wanted me to run, my hands lightly shaking from the spikes of fear that rippled through me, but I stood my ground. For Lilith, I could do anything, and nothing scared me. Not even predators. Finally, it had gone silent. It was starting now.

“Bless this child, Birdie,” I recognized the voice as Elder An.

He was a great, big white wolf when he could still shift, but now he was a small, frail-looking man with a large beard and fluffy eyebrows.

I stood slowly, careful to not make eye contact with Taehyung. He was breathing heavily with anticipation. He was going to be an alpha. I could feel it. I made quick work of sealing off the circle before finally lifting my head and lighting all the candles with a simple lift of my hand. An orange glow illuminated everyone, and Taehyung was on his knees in the circle. At the coming-of-age ceremony, the men and women were to strip naked so painting the symbols would be easier. I did not pay attention to his genitals and instead focused on his eyes. I began the chant.

Being a forest witch was one thing but being the Birdie was another. I had never met my birth parents and was raised by my grandmother’s sister who never met her family either. The gift could skip a generation or two if the spirits did not see what they were after. All of us were born with the mark, a blue jewel in our forehead that would fall out once we were appointed. That would become the chain that tied us to the cottage and stripped us of our real name. Only the birds and animals were allowed to use it as it was seen as dishonorable to refer to us as anything but Birdie. We also chanted differently than other witches. We did not speak. We sang.

Taehyung’s wolf stirred, and I knew I would know soon. I was aware of the anxiety in the room. Everyone was hopeful that he would be the fourth alpha for the pack. It would place them at the top of the hierarchy in the area. A surplus of alphas or omegas meant status in the wolf world. Even I was hopeful for his present. Then it came all at once.

The husky, woodsy scent of an alpha hit me like a truck. Though I had done this three times already it never got easier. However, Jungkook had been the last wolf I guided through the change, and the sickeningly sweet omega pheromones he admitted made Taehyung’s feel like a gentle breeze. I could hear small celebrations happening around us. The real party would be when this was over. The incantation changed flawlessly.

I grabbed the bowl of white paint I had prepared and the bone knife. Silver was strictly forbidden to enter the village under any circumstance. I continued to sing and sliced the palm of my hand and dripped my blood into the bowl. I walked over to Taehyung and bravely snatched his hand. This was why I used the circle. I was able to get his hand out of the circle and when he went to attack me, he was unable to break the seal. I sliced his hand and placed the bowl under his wound. Taehyung howled in anger. He was in too high of a state to be in pain. His wolf snarled at me, and my bird chastised him while I began to bless the paint.

I got a new paint bush and made my way back to Taehyung. I used magic to force him on all fours. It did not break my concentration. I drew the pack’s symbol on his back, two large trapezoids that ran parallel to one another, and then created the Aquila constellation on the back of his neck. I felt my hands heating up and chanted for Lilith to bless the wolf through me before touching him. Taehyung screamed in pain while his wolf growled at me. I was branding him with the symbols forever. They became black instantaneously and the ceremony was coming to an end. I removed my hands and lifted my hands to blow out the yellow candles and lit up the blue ones. I walked back to the altar and kneeled before it. Raising my arms side to side, I chanted and felt my back begin to burn. My chanting did not waver even as the black wings ripped through my back, and I was in unimaginable pain. I could not stop singing.

Two large, metallic black wings sprouted around me as blood pooled around my calf. I reached, with shaking hands, and plucked a single black feather from them. Placing it on the alter, I cupped the feather with my hands and continued to chant. It began to lift itself from the alter and spin. I moved my hands and lifted my arms straight up. The feather followed and began to glow the same way my chain did. My head felt like I was splitting in half as a blue jewel grew from my forehead and fell. I did not allow it to hit the ground and lifted it onto the altar where it joined the feather. As I said the final words of the incantation the jewel disappeared. I felt my wings start to retreat into my back and the feather floated down. Then it was over and silent.

It only took seconds before the cave erupted in cheers. I felt a tired smile tug at my lips, and I leaned onto the rock in front of me. I was exhausted but I still had one more thing I had to do before I was permitted to leave. I used the rocks to support myself and stood up before grabbing the feather. It was tradition for the wolf to keep the feather of the sacrifice. It used to be a bird that was killed at the alter but I used my own body as the sacrifice. Slowly I walked towards the circle where Taehyung lay in his wolf form. He was massive and a rust color. He was proud of himself. He had made his pack proud. I forced myself to stand up straighter and walk over completely ignoring the aching in my back and the blood that spilled from my wounds

“Kim Taehyung,” I spoke, “The goddess has blessed you with this gift.”

I kneeled and used magic to blow the salt away. I placed the feather out in front of me and Taehyung hesitantly reached forward. To be given a gift from Lilith herself was a big deal. I had been given many gifts, something that I never took for granted, and I knew this would not be Taehyung’s final gift. He was true-hearted and courageous, two traits the goddess looked upon fondly. He finally took the feather in his teeth and I smiled at him. Waving my hand, I made quick work of changing him back into a human and clothed the young man with the robes Sol had laid out beside mine. The elders would award him his alpha sash. Taehyung smiled at me, and I marveled at the innocent, boxy grin he had.

“Thank you,” He was sincere.

“Thank Lilith do not thank me,” I replied, nodding at him, and going to stand up.

“Are you staying for the ceremony?” Taehyung stood up much quicker than I could presently.

I would be lucky if I could clean the cave and go home let alone celebrate with wolves.

I shook my head, “Sadly, my time is limited, and I must be going. Congratulations Alpha Taehyung.”

I finally stood up and bowed to the alpha before using magic to make quick work of the alter and tools. Wolves, like witches, were not embarrassed by nakedness so I did not feel uncomfortable undressing. The bloody clothes stuck to me uncomfortably and I was thankful to be out of the blood-stained outfit. Unlike wolves, I got cold very easily and usually never left my cottage in the winter except for ceremonies. I used the last of my mana to change myself quickly. After calling out to Luna Sol if it was alright that I packed my candles and getting the okay, I packed those as well. I was ready to go and prepared more Meteor Powder and another drawing. This time it was of my home.

The few wolves left in the cave were the other three alphas. I paid them no mind. It was best to stay out of wolf affairs when possible. Even as a close and trusted ally, I was still an outsider and not welcome without permission. I stayed updated through the forest. I could find out everything about everyone on my trips and I enjoyed staying informed. Morla, a tortoise who lives just outside of the village, was a great source of information. She knew just about everything. I looked away from the alphas and untied my bag of powder.

“Excuse me, Birdie?” I would know Hoseok from anywhere.

I stopped what I was doing and look back at the alphas. I had all their attention. I fought with myself not to steal glances at Jimin. He was so rarely seen that it felt wrong not to. However, I had self-control and would not disrespect Hoseok. You are always required to maintain eye contact with any alpha who addresses you directly. Hoseok was smiling at me.

“Alpha Hoseok, “I greeted, bowing, “Can I help you with something?”

“Both Namjoon and Jimin have lists of potions they require.” He clarified.

Now that he brought the other alphas up, I was to meet both of their gazes and bow. I started with Namjoon since he was far more inviting. He had a mono-lid, which usually made a wolf more intimidating, but he held a gentle warmth in his gaze that calmed me.

“Alpha Namjoon,” I bowed.

I rose again and finally looked at Jimin’s. His eyes had a feline quality to them and were sharp. I knew his eyes were a warm brown in the sun but within the darkness of the cave, they were pitch black. Despite the moon being the only thing illuminating the cave his skin glowed. He was the palest member of his village, and his silver wolf matched his hair which was waist-length and perfectly straight. He, like all the other warriors, kept their hair long to show their place in society. My heart danced at the sight of him and I forced my eyes away.

“Alpha Jimin.”

Hoseok clapped.

“So,” He began again, “Here are the lists. I’m picking up the usual.”

“Would you like extra heat suppressants again? As far as I am aware your mate is still in her homeland visiting family.” I briefly glanced at the lists.

“You are all seeing,” He joked. “Yes, I will need some again this month. I have already factored that into the number written down.”

I nodded and placed the papers into my sack.

“I will need at least four days to prepare everything. I will be useless tomorrow and possibly the day after.”

“Of course, Birdie.” He replied.

Namjoon hummed and chimed in.

“Our pack is forever indebted to you and your servitude. Please rest.”

“Thank you, alpha, I will rest easy now.”

After bowing again and saying my farewells, I went back to my drawing and again got my powder. I said that I wanted to go to my cottage for extra measure again and threw the powder. I hopped into the flames and ended up across the clearing from my cottage. Groaning, I threw the powder into my bag and said a small spell to get me to my front door. I glanced at the sky and realized still had two hours of freedom and decided to use it.

Going inside, I took off my shoes and put all my ceremonial gear on the small shelf by the book. I realized I left my lantern inside of the cave and quickly penned a letter to the pack to ask Hoseok to return it upon his next pick-up. I called out to Shiloh to send the letter off. She was a barn owl who lived in the tree next to my kitchen window and had become my familiar. She delivered in exchange for treats and if I told her where mice burrows were. Normally, a nice bowl of crickets sufficed. I quickly put the kettle on before going to change into something more comfortable and wash off. This was the only time I was able to change without magic and I savored the feeling every time.

As I tugged my shirt down, the kettle began to whistle, and I made my way back to the kitchen. I took it off the flame and fetched a cup from my cupboard. It was not often that I had this much time left after a ceremony. Taehyung’s wolf did not resist me at all aside from the uncomfortable parts. That was a normal reaction, however, all three of the alphas took until dusk was just on the horizon. Lilith had allowed me to finish the ceremony, but my wings never went back in, and I felt my skin ripping open from feathers pushing their way through. That was my blessing.

All shifters had been blessed by the goddess. While to many we were seen as slaves, I knew they were the gifts bestowed upon us. The wolves were cursed to change into the beasts of the forest, sworn to protect the land from all who dared enter it, and in return, Lilith kept their village plentiful, and their people blessed. This included extended life spans. Similarly, the role of the Birdie was a sacred gift. We were hand-picked by the Goddess herself, much like a pack’s Luna, and would be at her service for all our days. In return, she gave us the gift of flight and the ability to speak with animals. Lilith kept me well fed and feared as the most powerful witch in all the realms. The cottage would be here long after I was gone and the generations after me would still be here. I would be transformed into a bird and live forever as a spirit of the forest. This was my purpose.

I placed dandelions and a large tea bag into my cup before going outside to enjoy the air. I was never allowed outside during the day. The chain kept me from leaving my small home at all. When I was a child, I could remember frolicking in the clearing and playing with the rabbits in their burrows. Those were the years I was still Y/N and the forest was my home away from home. Auntie allowed me to play more than any other Birdie had before, but she knew my love for magic was strong. I remember her telling me that I was special and that my deep connection would serve me greatly in the future. Lilith would bless me for my love. She was right. I had done something no Birdie had done in the centuries we served the forest. I had been appointed as the pack’s grand witch and allowed freedom as a human. It kept me hopeful for my future student though I was unaware of how long it would take for them to arrive.

The forest came alive at night, and I submerged myself in all its glory. The sounds of crickets chirping relaxed me and I took a deep breath. It felt nice to get all the blood and paint off my body. I realized that Hoseok and the Luna had been the only members of the pack to see me without the ceremonial gear on. No one else ever came by and the inability to wonder the forest outside of my bird form made it nearly impossible for anyone else to see my true form. This was the life of the Birdie. A quiet one filled with solitude and being one of the forest guardians. A lonely honor only the best received. I took a large gulp of tea and sighed at the warmth it provided.

A rustle in the bushes pulled me out of my thoughts. It had come from my left and I saw two large white dots glowing in the darkness. I smiled and placed my cup down. It was a wolf, probably a younger pup who was curious about me. Many of the children were and Hoseok often spoke about the wonderous ways they described me in the town. I slowly stood up and reached my hand out.

The wolf hesitated before stepping into the light. It was hard to tell its coloring in the dark but I knew it was light-colored. In its mouth was my lantern. I gasped before making my way toward the large animal. This was an older wolf, it was far too large to be a child, but it was not possible to know who it was for sure. I did not see the wolves often enough to tell them apart; they all smelled the same after the change. Its fur glowed in the moonlight.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the lantern.

The wolf touched its nose to my hand. It meant that they understood and were most welcome for the good deed. I pat its nose gently and laughed when it nuzzled further into my touch. I recognized the patch of missing fur on its side and realized that this was not the first time we had seen one another. The wolf had been injured and I healed it. They had refused to shift.

“I’m surprised they allowed you to leave during such a joyous occasion.”

The wolf looked at the grass and I laughed in disbelief.

“You snuck away, didn’t you? Bad wolf. What would your alphas think?” I joked.

The wolf made a chirp-like sound and I realized it was laughing. Shocked, my jaw dropped, and I simply stared at the wolf. This made it laugh harder, flop onto the ground, and roll onto its back.

“Alpha Jimin would be very displeased with you, pup,” I mocked, bending down to rub at the fur on its chest.

The wolf hummed in satisfaction.

“That’s not very fair of me,” I mumbled, “I hardly know the man. He’s just intimidating is all.”

The wolf was staring at me, and I snapped out of my trance. Wanting to forget about my outburst, I let another large grin take over my face and began scratching the wolf’s chest. The wolf wiggled happily, and its large tongue flapped out of its mouth. When I scratched at its ribs, its leg began to kick.

“Aren’t you the cutest thing?” I laughed. “I hope you’re feeling better now. That’s a nasty scar.”

I heard Shiloh call out to me from the tree. The sun was going to be up soon. I sighed unhappily before looking at the wolf. They seemed upset that I had stopped giving them attention. I gently scratched behind their ear and smiled softly.

“I have to go inside now,” I said.

The wolf whimpered and quickly paced its head into my lap.

“It is a part of my duty, little wolf,” I stressed.

It finally moved. Wolves knew the importance of duty. Their entire village ran off the duty of the pack, its members, and their devotion to Lilith. I gave the wolf another pat before standing up and making my way back to my cottage. The wolf followed and we walked in silence as the door was only a few yards away. The wolf stood a good six inches above me when it stood on all fours. I picked up my teacup and used magic to open my door. I put the lantern on its hook and charmed my cup to go to the sink on its own. The little thing began to hop in the air.

“It’s time for you to go, friend,” I said, placing my hands on my hips.

The wolf came close and nuzzled its large head into my chest. I rubbed its neck and scratched behind his ear. An indescribable sadness overtook me at the thought of it leaving. I felt myself tearing up and laughed at my melodramatics. This wolf was not my friend, was a stranger, and only came here to bring me my lantern in return for me saving its life all those months ago. I should not allow myself to grow fond of it or cry about it leaving. I was not that lonely, I told myself.

“Go on now,” I pushed its head away lightly. “Before the pack realizes you’re gone. Alpha Jimin begins his rounds soon.”

The wolf nosed my hand once more before running off. As I closed the door, the chain on the floor began to move towards me. I walked towards it, and it wrapped itself around my ankle once more. The cooling sensation went through my body again. I quickly did my alter ritual before heading to my room to sleep. I knew I would not be available until tomorrow and gave Shiloh the go-ahead to set my sign to closed. Sleep came easy and filled with dreams of brown eyes and fur glowing under the stars.

My shop was filled with bottles, sacks, and labels. When Hoseok said that they needed more than normal he had never said it would be this much. I was unsure if I would be able to fit much more in the room let alone if he was going to be able to carry this back to the village alone. I quickly labeled all the male heat suppressants and move on to the female ones. Omegas had their supplies just as alphas did but that would not take long to complete. There were only 4 alphas and 7 omegas in Foxglove and the colors were striking for each respective wolf. It was the painstaking process of making enough suppressants for all 187 betas for the month that made orders time-consuming. Shiloh had flown to Yoongi’s house to gather extra supplies for me as I was running low.

Namjoon needed new medicines for the children and elderly. They had finally gone through their three-month supply I had sent off many moons ago and I was having to restock their entire inventory. I enjoyed mixing medicine since it was so easy. It was what Jimin had asked for that I needed to seek help for. I wrote to Hyun-Jin, a young witch who lived with his mother in the swamps to the south. They would have the toads I needed. With Shiloh being out I relied on another friend of mine, Delinah. She was a doe who used me for protection from mountain lions.

What made Jimin’s order so difficult to complete was the fact that many of the supplies necessary to make it were not in my domain. He was looking for a healing potion that wolves could take without needing to shift, portable heat suppressants, and a camouflaging potion. The only healing potion that would work without a witch being there was one of the most difficult and time-consuming recipes a witch could make, and I had all my resources searching every nook and cranny of Bangtan. The heat suppressants would have to be in tablet form, something else that would take a while for all 15 wolves in Jimin’s party, and the camouflage was something I had never made before. For the first time in years, I was having to reference Auntie’s Grimoire and adjust it accordingly for my purposes.

Shiloh sang and I rushed to her window to take the sack of supplies Yoongi had sent back. Yoongi wrote me a letter as well to explain why some things were missing. The sea witch coven had been taking a lot of his supplies for their month of ceremonial rituals. Shiloh would have to get the rest from someone else.

“Alright girl,” I started, running my hand through my hair.

“What now?” She deadpanned.

“You need to make a trip to Seokjin’s for the remaining supplies on the list.”

“The solar witch?”

“Yes, Shiloh.”

I began preparing another sack along with a new list. Yoongi had given me plenty, but Jimin’s order was still incomplete. Delinah was due back any minute with the toads and I could begin the fifteenth, and hopefully last, trial of the camouflage potion.

“Why must you send me there?” She whined, flapping her wings in agitation.

“Because he always has a surplus of herbs and flowers and I need them to make my order for the pack,” I replied, securing the pouch around her neck.

“He’s going to demand I sun-bathe with him or better yet, he’s going to insist his bees play with me and I’ll have to deal with the most insufferable creatures in the. Or maybe the mangey mutt this time? I swear, his animals are the only ones I know who are just as pig-headed as their owner.”

“Shiloh,” I scolded, putting the letter inside the bag. “Seokjin is one of the most brilliant witches in the world and is a master at shadow work. So yes, you will go to him and play with his bees if he asks. If not, you can forget about the mice I was going to give you.”

The owl did not respond before flying away. I went back to the kitchen and started up the flame to my cauldron again. Using magic, I charmed all the potions I had completed and packaged to sort themselves and get into their bags before beginning to brew the camouflaging potion. The toads would be the last to go in this time, so I was not worried. I knew Delinah was close as the forest around me let me know. After adding only half of the amount of worm wort as I had been, the deer let herself inside through the open door and placed the jar on my countertop.

“Stir this, please,” I asked.

The doe nodded, walked over, and began to stir the wooden spoon with her teeth. I quickly put on a pair of gardening gloves and braced myself for the task to come. While there were many substitutions, for this potion, I was required to use three whole toads. I had tried to get around it with other alternatives however it had ended up not working, wearing off in seconds, or I needed to physically use a spell to make their form come back. I was hopeful that using the correct ingredient would help stabilize the recipe.

I quickly placed the frogs to sleep with a short spell and took three out of the jar. They were all fat, angry-looking things but their coloring was perfect. Hyun-Jin followed my instructions perfectly. After making a small prayer to Lilith and thanking the forest for its sacrifice, I threw the three frogs into the potion. Delinah and I traded places and I saw the potion turn grass green. I began to chant and soon enough, as was intended, the potion turned clear like water. I cheered, jumping up and down in excitement, and threw my arms around the deer beside me. She nuzzled into my neck and gave me a good lick.

“Good job, Y/N,” She said.

“Thank you, Dee,” I went to my cupboard and got out a large sack filled with cabbage heads. “I’ll have apples next time.”

Delinah happily took the sack and made her way outside. I started to bottle the potion. I knew I had gotten it right this time since it had done everything it was supposed to do in the cauldron, unlike all my other trails. I did not want to put my familiar through another potion crisis again. Shiloh loathed testing potions for me. I went to the already packaged boxes of heat suppressants and curled the ribbons with my favorite bone knife. Like many forest witches, I collected both bones and knives. During my nights I foraged and brought back things I thought were useful. My favorite thing to do was make sure my packages looked neat and professional.

Auntie did not care so much for these things but when I began to decorate boxes and bring home skulls and bones, she never stopped me. It had gotten to a point where I would sit for hours and make packaging boxes and pretty bows and stickers. However, now that I oversaw it all, I only made cardboard packing boxes lined with thin tissues of varying colors and charmed the objects to do all the work for me. I normally matched the potions within and placed a card explaining what it was for and how to use them. Then, I would toss in a magical card that would take anyone to my shop immediately in case of emergency except for the hours I was unavailable, and then it would automatically send them to Yoongi’s instead. On the outside, a stamper would stamp the box with a large bird, a brush would paint the Aquila constellation along both sides of it, and a matching-colored ribbon would wrap itself around the entire thing. However, I knew I would opt out of the decorations for Jimin’s packages. They would need to be as discreet as possible as requested but I would still place the constellation on the sides.

As I continued to place the finishing touches on all the completed orders, I heard the bell above my door ring and large, booming footsteps right after. That would be Hoseok and he had someone else here if the second pair of footsteps was anything to go by. I quickly abandoned my ribbons and dusted off my apron before going to greet the alpha.

“Good afternoon, Alpha,” I greeted, not paying much attention to him in favor of charming the camouflage potion to begin packing.

“My apologies for the orders not being ready. The things Alpha Jimin was requesting are very time-consuming and challenging to make. However, once my familiar returns with some herbs I need then it’ll all be ready to go.”

I was a whirlwind in my cottage. One second, I was curling ribbons and in another, I was writing out cards for boxes. Hoseok was used to the informal way I addressed him while in my home and I was certain whomever he brought along with him was well informed of my rudeness. I was far too busy to care if some wolf believed I was not a good host.

“I apologize for the strain I have caused you,” A sweet, melodic voice spoke up.

My body froze for a moment, as did everything else in the room before it started up again. I quickly turned to the two men and bowed deeply. My heart was racing like a hummingbird’s wings.

“I am so, deeply sorry for disrespecting you, alpha,” My voice shook. “I had not realized it was you.”

Hoseok laughed and clapped his hands together. He always enjoyed seeing me get flustered and would have a field day talking to Namjoon about this later. It seemed like Jimin was the only pack alpha who paid me little to no mind. I forced myself to look up at the man.

He was dressed casually, more casually than I had ever seen, and his silver hair was tied back into a ponytail. His small frame still towered over me and that menacing aura that always seemed to surround him was intact. Even in the daylight, Park Jimin was untouchable. And yet, a familiar longing found its way into my heart, and I knew I needed to distract myself again.

“How much longer will your owl be, Birdie?” Hoseok asked, completely unbothered.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I mumbled before closing my eyes.

All Birdies have been blessed with gifts, the first of us was the spirit responsible for selecting what the ability would be, and the Goddess making sure our powers could grow and stretch with our talents. Auntie was unable to speak with other animals aside from other owls but was gifted with such skilled defensive magic she was considered the phoenix of the north. Normally, Birdies do not need to learn defensive magic but her affinity for it made it hard for her to stop the craft and we dueled often. That is how I learned I was unable to perform any high-ranking spells since it depleted too much of my energy. However, my gift was much more in line with what I needed.

Animal scrying is the ability to see any animal’s point of view. Of course, depending on the animal the senses that they use are vastly different and it can limit my ability to see. I relaxed my entire body and slowly felt myself floating off the ground. My body was at its most fragile right now, but I trusted both men to not harm me. The same could not be said for others. Slowly, the room began to fade, and I could hear birds chirping all around me. Opening my eyes, I could see the tops of the trees and in the far-off distance was my cottage. Shiloh could not smell but her sense of hearing was impeccable. I was certain she would be here in a few moments and left her little mind by closing my eyes once more.

When I opened them, I was back on my feet and inside the cottage. Both Hoseok and Jimin were staring at me as if I had grown a third head and I stifled a laugh. Oh, I loved when that happened. Scrying was a strange gift and not many were used to seeing it.

“Shiloh will only be two minutes,” I finally replied.

“That was freaky,” Hoseok commented, walking around, and touching every single box of herbs I owned.

The cottage had not always looked the way it was. Auntie had kept it neat and organized. She never had too much or too little and kept it cozy enough for the both of us to lay by the fire together in the winter. However, not that I was alone I found it impossible to keep the same structure. Where we used to lay was now a large table with herbs and flowers of all kinds, huge crystals, and jars upon jars of specimens that were needed for potions. Beside it was the bookshelf filled with Auntie’s spell books. The rest of the Birdie Grimoires were in the cellar as there were too many to keep in the main room. My little kitchen and potion mixing station were overrun by bottles, boxes, and decorations including more magical items. My bone collection sat in a display case beside the front door and my knives hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

“And that was rude,” Jimin scolded Hoseok.

I had to force myself to keep moving as though nothing had happened. However, the ruse did not stop my body from lighting on fire at the implication. Park Jimin defending me? I was unsure how much of that I could take.

“It’s alright,” I whispered, “I left my physical being so I’m sure it looked very odd. Though I can’t say I’ve seen it myself.”

“What happened anyway?” Hoseok got to the bookshelf of grimoires, grimaced, and then went back to digging through the boxes.

“Scrying,” Jimin answered before I could.

Shiloh returned then, angrily shouting about the “stupid dog” and his “even dumber owner.” I quickly went to tend to my familiar. She looked disheveled and scowled when she saw me. The center of her face, normally a perfect cream, was caked in dirt. I gasped and rushed towards her, scooping her up in my arms just the way she liked it, and put on the most pitiful voice I could.

“Oh, darling,” I wailed, “Whatever happened to you?”

And just like any other time this happened, Shiloh dramatically went limp in my arms and closed her eyes in mock fatigue. She was on fire with anger and wanted to rip out the eyes of whoever harmed her. For me, though, she was just trying to get extra mice.

“The witch, Jean-” She began.

“Jin,” I corrected, softly.

“Jin. Oh, that monster!” She placed her wing across her forehead. “He let his godforsaken, loudmouth, drooling like a bumbling idiot mutt out on me!”

“Max?” I gasped, placing a hand over my heart.

“Indeed,” She cried, “He told him to play with me while he got your things ready, and the dog decided to use me as a toy!”

“Oh, Shiloh, I am so very sorry,” I faked, bringing her closer to me.

“The horror! The shame!”

I took the pouch off her neck and placed it on the counter before carrying her into my bedroom. The owl continued her fake crying all the way there. I had to give it to her, she was an excellent actress. However, she was also an owl and my familiar so running off to the theatre was not an option she had.

“And then the bees, I was forced into a position to ask them for them. Me! Shiloh, the Birdie’s one and only familiar, asking those mongrels for help. Never send me back there again, Y/N I beg of you!”

I rolled my eyes and helped her squeeze her way into the small opening of her nesting box. While she usually slept in her large, cone-shaped nest outside, when she stayed awake during the day to help me, I allowed her to sleep in my room. I had built it as a child. I gathered the wood and my auntie helped with cutting, screwing, and dangerous things that a four-year-old could not do herself. It was a nice size, 4x4, and solid wood with a hole large enough for her to squeeze through in the upper right-hand corner. The inside was filled with dirt and sticks just as the owl liked as well as a stuffed animal, I had given her when we became connected. I heard the owl sigh and she rushed to the dark side of the nest.

Chuckling, I went back into the kitchen and called out to Delinah from the window. She was still eating the cabbage I had given her. The fawn looked at me.

“Whenever you’re finished would you mind asking Irene, she’s one of the sea witches, if she could spare a vole or two? Shiloh is being dramatic again.”

Delinah laughed. All animals do it but not many are easily detected. I had known the deer since she was a small fawn, so I knew the sounds from anywhere. Behind me, I heard Hoseok’s loud footsteps and remembered who I had in my house.

“Of course,” She responded.

“Great!”

I quickly spun back around and began to fix my hair. I had yet to grow it back, but the nervous tick was still in full force. Hoseok was still looking around completely unbothered while Jimin was rooted in the same spot he had been in since coming inside. I was worried had angered him with my antics. While Hoseok was both used to and fond of the shenanigans that went on in my home the other alpha was not. He was known to be quick-tempered and easily annoyed by any sort of nonsense, but his stoic expression gave nothing away. I twirled a strand around my finger.

“Sorry, again,” I awkwardly laughed. “My familiar is a bit of a drama queen.”

“How is Shiloh?” Hoseok wondered, finally breaking himself away from the hundreds of items around him.

I returned to the counter and started pulling out the items Jin had spared me. Just as I thought, there was what I had asked for and more within the back including a note.

Birdie, How splendid of you to drop by. Of course, I am aware that Shiloh had come in your absence, but I will be expecting you over tonight in return. I’ll brew your favorite tea. I’ll have the ingredients below but feel free to write any revisions you may find. I have packed everything you asked for: 2 sunflower stems 12 sunflower seeds 3 baby’s breath bundles A small comb of honey 10 sprigs of vervain I have also added some other goodies in return for all of the wonderful gardening tools you made me this year. I know you use a lot of mint and sage so expect plenty of it. I’ve also started to grow lavender to balance out the sea coven’s needs for Yoongi. Tea: 2-3 cups honeysuckle flowers (whole) 2 cups water Wild honey to taste Much love, Seokjin

I quickly put my cauldron on the flame and began to write back the witch. Unlike Yoongi, Jin was a great pen pal and wonder to have tea with. He, like myself, could speak with animals so we were able to talk while I was a bird. However, he was usually asleep when the sun went down as it was his prime energy source. Without the sun, Jin was just a man.

Jin, Thank you very much for the supplies. The mint is lovely and so glad to hear about the lavender. Remember full-sun and well-drained soil are best for it. If you need any other pointers Yoongi would be the better man to ask. Everything I know from him and my inability to go out in the sun does not bode well for my gardening career. Also, neutral to alkaline soil. I’m positive they will be lovely. You’re too kind to me. The tools were a gift for being such a wonderful person and a greater friend to me over the years. Pass my thanks on to Max. Shiloh came home with her dramatics again. Haven’t I told you to stop picking on her? The dog aspect already bothers her, and the bees, but cuddling is far from her preferred activity. Tea sounds lovely but I prefer the honeysuckle crushed. May Lilith bring you joy, Birdie

“As dramatic as always,” I finally responded, folding the paper, and stamping it with a wax seal. “Auferetur,” I commanded, and the paper incinerated into a fire and was gone.

“Sometimes I forget she’s not a person,” He joked, coming to the counter to watch me work.

The alpha enjoyed seeing the process of potion making even if he did not pay much attention to the details. I used to attempt to explain what I was doing until I realized he just thought the cauldron was cool. I used to be the same when as a child, but things change very quickly in this life.

“Well, she’s technically a spirit, but yes she is an owl,” I threw in the vervain sprigs.

Tablet heat suppressants were difficult to make due to timing. As soon as they were done, they were to be taken off the heat and placed into mold immediately. They solidified within 3 minutes and were ready to go in 10 once the moisture was gone.  Next was the baby’s breath.

“Is everything in your world a spirit?” Hoseok cocked an eyebrow.

“Hyung,” Jimin warned.

He did it again. Of course, I did not need Jimin to save me from the other alpha. They were both at my mercy while inside and it was impossible to imagine Hoseok ever attempting to harm me. He reminded me more of Max than any wolf and his heart-shaped smile and dimples only added to his puppy-like nature. Still, I was touched by the gesture. I was reminded of the poor way I had spoken of him last night and felt ashamed of myself. I did hardly know the silver-haired man.

“Just about,” I used my magic to make the molds appear on the counter and enchanted them to line up in a single file line all around the cottage.

“Isn’t it hard to do all of that at once?”

“Hoseok,” I slipped, forgetting my manners, “I’m the Birdie. Do you truly believe that little of me?”

“Well, no,” He laughed, “I’ve just never seen any other witch do it before.”

“Do you see other witches often?” I enjoyed the small talk.

He was wonderful at it. Jung Hoseok was a master charmer and one of the politest gentlemen in Lustra. His mate, a woman I did not know very well and only saw in passing, was a beta. It was a rarity for any alpha to mate with any other preset besides omega, however, they had grown up together and fell in love young. Their wolves had always gravitated toward one another, but the feelings were not known until after they had both gone through the change. I was proud to have been the one to bring them together and help them through the bonding process thereafter. She would have come to help Hoseok today, but I knew she was taking care of her ill mother back in her hometown Viridi Gramine. They both were kind and Hoseok was a joy to have around.

“Only the grumpy man who lives close to the pond.” I snorted.

“Yoongi the kitchen witch?” I confirmed, amused.

Min Yoongi was another close friend of mine. While not as personable as Seokjin or the sea witch coven, he was reliable and ready to help at the drop of a dime. Of course, he complained more than anyone else I knew and loathed uninvited guests, but I knew it was because he had not had proper time to make them a meal. He became reserved so he would not let on how much he enjoyed company since it was so rare on his edge of the forest. It made me happy to know that Hoseok’s visits were not limited to me and the kitchen witch would feed off his great energy.

“He’s a kitchen witch? Could’ve fooled me.”

“He’s unorthodox, that’s for sure,” The potion was finally complete, and I quickly began lifting portions and filling the molds. “However, he is not a very sought-after host so he can be clueless about manners or formalities. I’m afraid you’ll have to pardon him on my behalf.”

The molds would fly off and onto the counter once I filled them. The entire house smelled of vervain and I knew I would never hear the end of it. Shiloh was very particular, but I had grown used to her babbling. She hardly ever listened to any of my warnings until I reminded her that her reincarnation as a moral relied on her being a good familiar. And yet, she would always find a way to make my life harder. Still, I could not deny that the owl was my best friend. Or that I would be devastated if she did not get her to wish granted. I wanted more than anything for her to become the beautiful blonde she had always dreamed of. Even if she liked to fly in like a bat out of hell and moan about bees attempting to make friends with her.

“What makes him a kitchen witch?” It was Jimin who asked the question this time.

It was a common question for non-magical people. While I would never consider a pack member a mortal, I knew better than to lump them in with us. Guardians but all of their mysticism came from their shifting abilities, and since most wolves thought that they were untouchable, they never did learn about magic regarding others. Witches, however, were expected to know everything there was to know about it. At least, that was my job.

“Well, all witches have the same base knowledge, but we can also have specialties,” I explained.

“And his is cooking?” Jimin’s eyebrows knitted together.

I shook my head.

“Something like that. It’s how he goes about cooking. Yoongi keeps a small altar in his kitchen, cooks with special herbs, and even stirs his food in a particular way depending on the magic he is attempting to pull from it. He keeps a special cookbook that is completely different from his book of shadows. There’s a fine art to kitchen witchery.”

Jimin hummed in acknowledgment This was the longest we had ever spoken, and I found it much easier when I did not have to look at him. I could not remember when these feelings began but it had to have been years ago at this point. I could recall the warmth surrounding me during his presenting ceremony and how his wolf went frantic to get close to me. Of course, that was normal, and I paid it no mind, but I still allowed myself to wonder. My infatuation has only grown since then, a fact he had to be aware of, and I was grateful he never commented on it. Even the custos of Bangtan was a gentleman. Another wave of shame overcame me.

“What kind of witch are you?”

“I’m a Lunar witch,” I replied curtly, making sure to keep my eyes away from Jimin.

“Can you explain that one as well?”

Once all the molds were filled and, on the counter, I made a large gust of wind come inside to speed up the curing process. While I may be enjoying this, I knew they were busy men and I had already taken a large portion of their day. Hoseok, I knew would not care but Jimin had important duties to always attend to.

“Well,” I started, “Lunar witchcraft is just the opposite of solar. We get our power from the moon, prey to it, and perform all our rituals and ceremonies based on the phases. I’m strongest during the night which is why I’m able to help with the shifts the same way your grand witch had.”

“Are all Birdies moon witches?” It was Hoseok who asked.

While I was pleasantly surprised he had been listening, I did not let it show. He would most likely close his ears the second he grew bored.

“No, usually they’re forest or green witches. I’m the first lunar witch.”

“Why?” Jimin asked.

Just as I had thought, Hoseok was back to touching things and wondering out loud. I never minded. He was unusually quiet today and I guessed that Jimin had something to do with that. He always said the younger man was far too serious and concerned about unimportant things. However, now talking to him, I found that hard to believe. If he were so strict, he would have demanded I move quickly and would not be asking me pointless questions about the magic he would never have to worry about.

“After the previous Birdie’s death, things were strange for me for a time. I was not ready and began to prey tirelessly for Lilith to bring her back. Once I began to do moon ceremonies in her honor is when she approached me to become a grand witch and to be a true grand witch I had to convert to lunar witchery. It’s not that complicated.”

The suppressants were set and powdery. For good luck, I took one out of its mold and smashed it between my fingers. The tablet gave away quickly and turned to sand. I checked the color of my fingertips. If I was successful, the tips would be clean. If something had gone wrong, it would be stained purple as it would be impossible for it to dry properly. They were clean and I began to package the tablets.

The enchanted items made quick work of the boxing and I took my time to write the note card. Since these suppressants worked differently than the liquid version I needed to be highly detailed in my instructions. Unlike liquid suppressants that acted immediately and for long hours, the tablets had to be taken two days in advance every four hours. Once the heat was on, the blood should have enough of the medicine in it to be able to take them twice a day without any worries. Even if I had made them before the young wolves always found a way to mess the schedule up.

“Alpha Jimin,” I called out feeling uncomfortable.

“Yes?”

“I made plenty just in case,” I shuffled back and forth, “But Luna informed me that all alphas who are unmated get an omega of their choosing to spend their heat with.”

A lull happened and I felt my breath picking up. My blinking became far more rapid, and I knew I was sending out waves of anxiety. As a shifter, I had my scent though I was nose blind to it, and no one had ever commented on it besides my auntie. She had said it was like vanilla and lavender, but that was long ago. I could only imagine the signals I was sending out to the two men and when Hoseok froze up, I unintentionally sent out a huge gush of my scent.

Jimin’s eyes were almost black when I looked up at him and it sent terror through me. The prey within me trembled and it caused the shaking to overcome me as well. I shrank away from him, my fight or flight response on high alert, and I knew Shiloh would wake up soon if I did not calm down. I became smaller, closing in on myself, and pulling my head back. My hearing was sharper and the colors around me began to warp. Instead of seeing 3 colors, my vision changed, and the UV waves became visible to me. Jimin flinched and in my current state, I began to shake my neck and a loud, menacing hiss came out of my throat.

That snapped me out of my panic. I had never done that before, and it seemed to have frightened the two men. When I looked this time, Jimin’s eyes were normal. I collected myself before relaxing. The waves were gone, and my ears stopped ringing. Neither one of the werewolves made a move.

“I’m out of it today,” I finally said, breathless.

“Are you alright?” Hoseok asked, his face showing his concern.

I nodded and took another deep breath.

“Anxiety is not good for a prey animal,” I explained.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Jimin spoke, and I turned my attention to him.

I nodded and closed my eyes. In the other room, I heard Shiloh asking if I was alright. I quickly let her know that I was fine. I had not had a response that violent in a long time. His eyes… Fear shot through me once more, but I forced myself to calm down. This was Jimin, not the black wolf from my nightmares. Another deep breath.

“No, no,” I slurred my speech. I was so tired. “Your eyes...”

I faintly hear Delinah come inside but I felt like I was underwater. Everything became hazy and my knees buckled. I hit the ground, but I hardly felt the impact. My breath slowed and the voices in the room were far away. Shiloh’s voice began to fill the room, but no one could understand her. Briefly, I felt a warmth envelop my hand and I moved closer to it. I felt cold, so cold, and soon was unable to move. The warmth spread to my face, and I let out a breath at the contact. My eyes closed and even though the voice beside me asked me not to, I fell asleep.

© chimcess, 2022. Do not copy or repost without permission

#park jimin #jimin fanfiction #bts park jimin #jimin #jimin imagine #bts #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fics #bts ff #werewolf jimin #abo #alpha jimin #bts werewolf au #bts supernatural au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts smut #jimin angst #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #park jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin supernatural au #jimin scenarios #jimin smut #birdieshoppe

[broflovski-brah]

hi hello i am a server at a restaurant by day and a kyle fan by night so i am more than happy to supply you with some waiter!kyle headcanons! warning: very VERY long and this isn’t even all of them

he would be one of the strongest servers in the restaurant. i can see him being really organized and having a system for everything. he’d be good with the hospitality part, dude never forgets to bring your side of ranch and water glasses never go empty. it takes a lot to overwhelm him.

however…on the rare occasions he is in the weeds…he’d sass the other staff and grumble under his breath. i don’t see his tables suffering because of this, he screams in the walk in before interacting with them. if he’s got a real bitchass customer, the sass comes out again. and then he screams in the walk in and complains to all his friends about it for the next week. that being said. he has had to be held back from confronting a guest by his coworkers once or twice after being stiffed.

i was a hostess for years so many thoughts here. if he gets triple sat or triple skipped he would be so nice and forgiving to the hostesses to their FACES, but be thinking in his head “how are you this fucking dumb”. if it keeps happening though he will say something, he wouldn’t yell and be a total dick about it but he would be a little condescending. for really good hosts and bussers he likes though, he tips them out extra because he’s just that generous. he would watch out for the young hostesses and make sure the creepy old men don’t bother them. he’d see that shit and immediately direct the old fart away from the underaged girl. and we love him for that.

never lets anyone borrow his fancy pilot g2 pens (same)

always looking dapper! he gels his hair for work cus it needs to be out of the way. and that apron has been washed, steamed, and pressed by mama broflovski herself baby

has beef with the bartender because one very busy saturday night he super sassed them for taking too long to make a drink only to realize he never actually rang it in…oops. bartender never forgave that one

took forever to learn how to pull a beer from the tap and honestly is still not very good at it (me)

refuses to clean any bodily fluids in any part of the restaurant, he’d quit his job first. don’t get paid enough for that (also me and you’d be surprised how often this is a problem)

master silverwear roller like he flys through that shit. mf always leaves exactly when he’s cut bc all his sidework is done already

if the line cooks give him shit he speaks to them in jersey and they’re like oh we didn’t know you were chill like that nvm

he’d have regulars that he just loves and adores and some regulars that he hates so much that he has forbade the hosts from ever putting them in his section

oh he’s a weekend shift hog, he thinks he deserves the busy shifts because he’s simply just a better server than the others so logically why wouldn’t he? smh

he usually likes it when the guys come to eat while he’s working and they goof off a little, but if those mfs show up on a busy weekend he’s like no god please no because they are like the biggest distractions ever. i would go on about how stan, kenny, and cartman would act while kyle’s working but i fear i’ve made this ask long enough as is

the dumbass smile in my face as i saw this in my inbox, i was SO looking forward to answering this one

i fucking love these ohmygosh-he’s such a bitch but in the best ways?? like he genuinely gets me sometimes-

he gets so damn sassy when things don’t go the way he intended-he’s never really snapped at people, he just makes small bites to the neck like ‘oh i didn’t realize that you were doing my job now for me’ and he would let out the most sarcastic ass laugh istg-i feel like he would be the kind of ‘busy bee’ worker where he absolutely loses track of time and is like ‘oh my break was a half hour ago fuck’

he probably tries to take all the night shifts because that’s just how he is. he’s a night owl and likes sleeping in ‘til noon.

but YES PLEASE-I would LOVE to read more of your headcanons like this!! i really don’t mind how long it gets-the more the better imo! i love reading stuff like this!! don’t feel nervous, i would LOVE to read some more!!

(he also sneaks leftovers out for kenny. i like to think those two get closer in their teens because kyle realizes how much kenny means to them all)

one i personally have is that cartman knows kyle’s schedule like the back of his hand and follows a routine in which he knows when all kyle’s breaks are. cartman will subtly fuck with kyle and make him miss all his breaks, usually including his lunch break. (if he’s working the morning, which he usually ends up doing, unlucky) he comes back later to laugh in kyle’s face because poor boy’s hungry and tired. makes some snide ass comment about how ‘oH kYlE tHaTs So ImProFeSsIoNaL oF yOu To YaWn MiDsEnTeNcE’ or he laughs because ‘aren’t you a waiter? your job is to bring out the food, not to want it, kahl’ dunno how the rest would play out. that’s just one i have-if you wanna add on tho i’d love to hear it!! :)

anyway. i’d love to hear any other headcanons you (or anyone else for that matter) may have! ^^

#istg i’m obsessed #south park #skipper speaks #kyle broflovski #anon #south park headcanons #answered #asks

[vampsquerade]

Can I ask for a oneshot of Doc with a reader who's been infected by the Chimera virus?

But here's the thing, the reader still has a little bit of counciouness in them so they're not fully a monster , so REACT keep them in a containment room to study them (basically using them as a lab rat)? Make it angsty please!

hi anon! of course you can, i’m so happy to have some angst in my inbox…it’s been a bit and i’m still very rusty, so hopefully you forgive me! i’m more used to writing fluff and smut, but thank you so much!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Doc x GN!Reader: Woes of the Infected

Trigger Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT, angst with a bad ending, graphic depictions of: experimentation, body horror, violence, gore; restraint, morally questionable behavior (in the name of humanity), false sense of security

Everything happened so quickly all those years ago when the Chimera outbreak first occurred; an old Soviet spacecraft crashed back down in the earth’s atmosphere, specifically in Truth and Consequences, New Mexico. All of you luckily managed to have survived the first wave it seems, however none of you seem to be lucky now, years later. The year was now 2022, and the Chimera came back way worse than before. They were still able to infect and take over humans despite having newer, more evolved forms, and their method of symbiosis with their earthly hosts was still pretty much the same.

Around the time the parasite had come back, you had been all alone in your apartment. Seeing as how you were off-duty, you were almost certain nothing bad would happen. And then suddenly, a giant, oozing yet sharp pike crashed through your floor and ceiling. You jolt back, falling off your couch as the strange pike continues to force itself through your apartment complex. To your left, you can hear another one coming through and you move out of the way the moment it smashes through. A small, black ooze rides up it and all you could do is stare at it, scrambling away.

Panting heavily, your eyes go wide once you see the black ooze begin to turn into a tall, slim, and alien-like creature. “I thought we destroyed you…” you say softly, standing to your feet slowly. The new form of Chimera then suddenly shifts its gaze to you and howls loudly. More rumbling happens in the complex and it makes you nearly fall over. “Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit!” You exclaim repeatedly, trying to run out of your apartment. The moment you’re out the door, the unidentifiable new creature launches projectiles at you, one of them lodging into your calf and the other grazing your face.

With a loud yell of pain, you fall to the floor and nearly onto another pike. Reaching for your service pistol, you’re quickly stopped as another projectile lodged into your arm. Another scream of pain rips through you as you struggle to crawl away now. You couldn’t die just yet, not to the Chimera that stood before you as it traveled through whatever it was on the ground. It didn’t look like a Roach, so you put two and two together and figured the parasite had evolved all these years. Quickly, you press a button while continuing to drag yourself using your now injured arm and uninjured leg to do so. It stings like hell, but it’s all you’ve got.

You’ve sent out a distress signal to the rest of Team Rainbow, hoping that it will actually be received. The first to see it is Gustave, and after seeing the breaking news footage from within the Hereford base, he knows you’re shit out of luck. Gustave’s warm eyes exchange a look between Olivier and Lera, looking at the distraught and disheartened looks in their expressions. The duo had bonded with you the most during your career with Team Rainbow due to you being within the CBRN Threat Unit. “I’m so sorry, you two…” He apologizes, feeling hopeless about this whole thing.

And if anything, Gustave feels even worse knowing he has no way of helping you just yet. You were someone just as passionate about him when it came to saving the lives of the innocent. He’d worked with you for so long, and was there when the initial outbreak occurred. Gustave’s heart was just as broken in this moment but one day, some way, you’d be back with him and the rest of the team. Within hours up to a few days, Team Rainbow has swiftly become REACT, led by Eliza and Elena respectively. In this time, far worse things were happening to you. You’d lost far too much blood to remain conscious, but eventually came to a few minutes later.

Vision blurry, you saw that you were in the lobby of the complex you lived in. Everything was covered in black ooze, and there was what appeared to be a nest in the far right corner across from you. Dozens of voices in a language you didn’t understand whispered and clicked in your ear, soft screeching and the squelch of something also coming into earshot. You’d tried to move, but something firmly gripped you and held you back. Tilting your head up slightly, you saw what appeared to be yellow, almost human in appearance, arms and hands gripping you tightly and keeping you in place. “Oh yeah, the parasite’s definitely evolved…but how? Did it…breed underground?”

You think to yourself, only to stop your thoughts to wince loudly as a piercing pain engulfs your injured arm and leg. Whatever it was that was holding you in, seemed to be healing you. But not for the reasons you would think if you hadn’t dealt with the Chimera Parasite before, no. This was…so much different and so much worse than before. With the added voices and clicking in your head, you weren’t being healed for the sole purpose of living—you were being healed to assimilate and become one with the damned thing. The more and more you’d resist, the more the strange arms would grip you tighter, pulling you into the spongey, soft walls of the new Chimera. Steady breathing eventually became ragged and enraged, as your mind began to resist the screeching voices within.

“No…I…won’t become you…! Let…let go of me!” You resist, only to be pulled in further. It’s harder to breathe now as you’re forced into the alien mass, eyesight eventually becoming thermal. It was already too late—in fusing itself with you via your opened wounds, the parasite was managing to get you to assimilate much faster. Your mind relented however, and as you reach out one last bit, you watch several more arms come to restrain you. The same black ooze you’d hated for years finally had its hold on you, and you would never be the same again. Their hands wrap around your face, and one of them even links its fingers to yours. It’s almost…comforting, but you don’t fall for it at all. You were in a living nightmare, and soon enough, about to become the very thing.

Eventually, you’re completely enveloped…but not taken over.

Once your “assimilation” is finished, you’re then taken out of the giant black mass. The voices have stopped, but when you try to speak, a low growl quakes in your chest. Everything looks so…different for some reason, and you realize you could manipulate thermal and “normal” vision; everything was much less saturated. In an attempt to look down at your new body, a whine comes out instead. Your hands are not human anymore. Trembling, weak knees buckle and cause you to fall over. You have no mouth, and yet you still scream loudly in your own throat. It seems your assimilation truly wasn’t complete as you had thought.

While down on the floor, what should be tears begin to fall from your eyes as you tremble. This shouldn’t be happening at all; you’d fought so hard and nearly lost your life entirely. What the fuck was going to happen now? You couldn’t just waltz back in and engage with your previous comrades like nothing happened to you. Thousands of thoughts flood your mind, overwhelming each and every sense that you possess. After a few moments, you just get up and start to walk around, straying pretty far. For a few days, you’d just wander through the abandoned streets aimlessly. There was no motive to do anything anymore.

What could you even do?

In the air, you could hear the sounds of what appear to be helicopter propellers. Looking to the sky, you cover your eyes with your arms to shield from the sun. Recognizing it as Rainbow, just rebranded, you raise your arms in the air before beginning to sprint off for shelter the moment bullets start to rain on you. A much different adrenaline rush goes through you, giving you time to run and hide from whomever it was that was attacking you. Gustave, Olivier, and Julien rappel from the helicopter safely with weapons raised and ready to open fire. Through your hiding spot, you simply stare at the trio as they slowly scan the area for you.

They stick together instead of splitting off, almost as if acutely aware of how much different things are since the first outbreak. You move a little to remain out of their sights once they get too close. At the same time as your movements, Olivier had activated an updated version of his EE-ONE-D and their sights zeroed in on you. With your arms still in the air, Olivier and his fellow Frenchmen then look down at his screen. “No way…C'est impossible…” Gustave says, lowering his MP4 slightly. Julien then looks up at you, “Are you…conscious?” The younger GIGN operator is absolutely stunned to see the state you’re in. Lowering your arms slightly, you step out into the light.

A loud purr seems to rumble in your chest this time around, and it’s accompanied by the nod of your head. “Mon Dieu,” Olivier says as he makes the sign of the cross on himself, “you…what did it do to you?” Feeling ashamed for reasons far beyond your ability to prevent, you just gesture to yourself. The way you are now is what the Chimera Parasite did—there was no going back. Gustave then pulls the others to the side and he begins to whisper, “Did you bring the prototype netting with you?” he asks Julien. “Oui, should we use it on them? Are you sure we should be taking them back?” Julien asks, concerned about the hazards capturing you brings.

“We have to—it’s our only chance to get more samples of the Archæans and test our weaponry,” Olivier says, firm about what they should do with you. “What? But…but that’s your own teammate, Lion,” Gustave also protests, flicking his eyes to look at you before looking at Olivier again. “Don’t you realize what we could learn, Doc? We can catch up with this resurgence and fight them off before they spread further to the world,” Olivier argues. “That’s dangerous though—what the hell happens if we kill them, eh? We lose everything,” Julien also argues. Something in Gustave’s mind suddenly clicks, and for once, he seems to agree with something that Olivier’s suggested when it came to situations like these.

“You know what? You’re right…the scientific and medicinal aspect that could come from this is rather tempting,” Gustave says, nodding his head. Julien just sighs and grabs the small capsule that has an electric sort of netting inside that’s triggered via motion sensor. Handing it to Gustave carefully so as to not accidentally trigger it on each other, Julien just looks a little distraught. Your eyes are focused on Gustave, and you hear him whisper “I’m sorry” before throwing the capsule at you. Due to the motion, it activates and you’re forcibly captured then simultaneously electrocuted. A loud screech escapes you as you’re practically forced to be conscious while this happens.

Almost immediately, your body succumbs to shock due to the voltage and once he’s sure you’re passed out, Julien presses a button on his uniform to stop the current. Growling, clicking, and screeching begins to resound in the area, signaling for the trio to get out soon now that I’ve unintentionally alerted nearby Archæans. You’re then lifted up and carried towards the helicopter, swiftly extracted then transported to the REACT Headquarters, now located in the United States instead of the United Kingdom. The moment you woke up, you were tied up and had several DNA samples taken from you. You make a gentle purr, alerting the scientists with you and making them jump.

Refusing to appear as a threat, you don’t struggle against the restraints they put you in. “Gustave? What should we do now?” One of the scientists asks. Looking forward you can see a rather stern look in Gustave’s eyes at this moment; knowing that if he shows any weakness to what he’s doing to you, he won’t be able to continue his work as the head of Archæan Testing. “Take the samples you have so far and get out of the room—we’re going to test their new limits,” Gustave orders rather coldly. The scientists nod and step out of the room, taking the samples they have and distributing them to other researchers. The restraints on you are then released, and you have free roam to move.

This would only prove to be a mistake, as you’d take a sudden marksman round to the shoulder. Clearly in pain and taken aback, you screech so loudly in your throat that more of your “blood” spurts out of your open wound. You’re able to remain standing, only stumbling slightly. Timur’s the one to have made the shot on you, and through the scope of his OTs-14, you can see him glaring hard at you. He didn’t even consider you a comrade anymore—just a target dummy he had to shoot at. This seemed to be a durability test, testing your new body out. Looking down at your shoulder, you watch yourself regenerate slowly.

“Hit a more lethal area this time, Timur,” Gustave orders. Giving a nod, Timur steadies his aim towards your abdomen and fires another round into you. You’d wished he’d at least have the decency to let you hear his beloved Marksman rifle as it fired at you, but Timur had a suppressor on it to keep you from that satisfaction. You didn’t deserve that, and yet you couldn’t understand what’s caused him to turn on you so harshly. You fall over this time from the force, putting your hands on your abdomen to stop the bleeding. This shouldn’t be happening at all—this is so much worse than you thought you’d have it.

Days would then eventually turn to months, and you were forced to feed on other Archæans to replenish your energy due to no longer being near the Archæan source and having to take their nutrients for yourself. Everything felt so wrong. Your life turned upside down in an instant, and you’d become a little labrat and training dummy for the “greater good of the team” due to your regenerative capabilities. Greater good your fucking ass this was. As you remain there in a corner, slowly regenerating yourself in the darkened room, the sound of the door opening and someone walking in rings out.

You’ve stopped raising your head to look up at this point, already expecting a researcher, or someone else you’d once known. It was Gustave, and he knelt down next to you. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” He asks you softly, giving you a gentle smile behind his quarantine mask. You keep yourself away from looking at him, feeling tears prick at your eyes. Gustave would do this every single night after tests for the day would be over, showing you affection and giving you whatever you could’ve needed. And at first, you’d actually respond by pressing on a little button whenever he’d present it to you.

Nowadays, you just ignored Gustave’s presence. You thought you’d be able to trust your team with anyone that had the misfortune of becoming a Roach years back, but now that they have someone they can use? Many turned a blind eye, meanwhile others protested against what was happening to you. You’d been stabbed, shot, blown up, trapped, electrocuted—anything that was able to be used against an Archæan was first used against you. “Please stop ignoring me…” Gustave suddenly mumbled, breaking you from your thoughts. You simply growl at him, the vibrations so deep that he could feel them in the linoleum flooring.

“Please…you know I don’t like doing this to you. I didn’t think they’d end up putting me in charge of this unit,” Gustave says, gently reaching out and putting a hand on your shoulder. You just flinch away, looking up down at him with angry eyes filled with just as furious tears. He stays there on the floor, looking up at you with an apologetic gaze. It’s as if Gustave can understand what you’re trying to say—you never deserved any of this and if he was really sorry, he’d stop. But he’s too far in to stop, and the Archæans just keep coming and coming the more people they take to their trees. “Mon ami, I can’t just stop…you and I have the same ideals!” Gustave exclaims.

He looks exhausted now, almost like he’s had his own break despite the calm demeanor he usually masks himself with. You just growl even lower at him, keeping your distance desperately the more Gustave inches closer. He comes to his senses at some point, ”I…I’m so sorry…I should have never even agreed to do any of this months ago,” He begins, running a hand through his graying hair, “I don’t know what’s come over me…but I fear I’ve lost myself and hurt the one person I’d cared for the most.” The look in his eyes remains exhausted and apologetic. And yet…you can’t find yourself to sympathize with him at this moment.

If he didn’t want this…then why did he glare at you all the time? Not reacting this time, you simply turn away. Gustave’s talking to a brick wall at this point, and he sighs. “I’ll be back tomorrow with more nutrients for you…bonne nuit,” he says. You then watch him watch out, and the tears that have been teetering on whether or not to call finally spill down your face. If only you’d managed to get out of your apartment in time…if only you’d done something differently, then maybe things would have been better for you. Maybe you’d be out there, fighting Archæans instead of being one yourself.

You have no mouth, and you must scream.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6e #rainbow six extraction #r6s doc #r6e doc #gustave doc kateb #gustave kateb #doc x reader #x reader #angst #angst with a sad ending #slight fluff? #r6s gign

[rocknrollbabe14]

Blinded Me with Science (Eddie x Reader) REQUEST

Request….

Warnings: All fluff for this one! I just love a fluffy Eddie sometimes. 

Request: theimaginationgotmegood:  So, i got this idea where Henderson|Sister helps Eddie study for something cuz Dustin begged her to and she a pretty has tensed neck/shoulders and he massages it for her. After that they become friends and he keeps on easing her pain, like whenever they are together (cuz she‘s the kid‘s ride) and it‘s just become normal for everyone. But she understands a joke from him the wrong way and becomes insecure, keeps pushing him away because of it until he confronts her one day and then just fluff maybe? This would be so so so amazing!

Author’s Note: This took me a little while to write and I hope I did it justice! I did proof read, but if I missed anything, please forgive me. This is quite a long one but I think it turned out well. Let me know. My inbox is open for requests for Eddie x reader and Joseph x reader. I will be working on one for Joseph since I finished this one up. Be on the look out for that! Enjoy. 

The final bell rang dismissing you from your final class of the day. You were thankful. It had been a long week and all  you wanted to do was go home and relax. Maybe go to the mall with one of your friends. You opened your locker, digging through your books when you heard a familiar voice. 

“Hey sis.”, your brother, Dustin smiled.

You eyed him easily. “What’s up? Ready to go home?”

You continued to wade through your locker, organizing your binders with your books.

“I have my club after school remember? Hellfire Club?”

You rolled your eyes as you shut your locker. “The one that plays that silly game Dragons and Dungeons?”

Dustin looked offended. He had played D&D for years with his friends, Mike, Will, and Lucas. He thought you at least knew the proper order of the title. 

“Dungeons and Dragons.”, he corrected.

You chuckled easily. “Yeah that. With that Munson guy.”

“Eddie.”, he clarified. 

You nodded, pretending to take in the information he was spewing at you. Your little brother was smart and matter-of-fact. He always had been. You were very protective of your little brother. He may be a dork, but he was your dork and you would put anyone in their place who tried to pick on him. You remembered when Will Byers vanished and the town was so up in arms. Your mom and you were panicked with the possibility the same could happen your little brother. 

“Okay. How long is this club gonna meet?”, you asked, brushing you hair behind you ear.

“A couple of hours. Will you wait for me?”, he asked as you both walked down the hallway.

“Well, I’m gonna go grab a bite and I’ll be back around 6. Sound good?”

Your little brother nodded as you all neared the drama room. You noticed a few teenagers piling in, dressed in baseball shirts that read Hellfire Club. Wow, this was really serious to them. Dustin waved to you as he went into the room. Your classmate with long brown hair, doe brown eyes, and a wide smile greeted him. That had to be Munson. You hadn’t really talked to him but you knew a little bit about him. He had repeated the 12th grade twice before now. This was his third senior year. He was twenty years old while the rest of your class was seventeen and eighteen. 

After greeting Dustin, his eyes shot up to you and you instantly felt awkward and turned your glance away, quickly beginning to walk down the hallway towards the exit that would lead you to the parking lot. Hurrying down the small flight of stairs, you pushed the double doors open and the wind hit you in the face, refreshing you. You had never met his eyes for that long and it was something about it that shook you to your core. 

_____________________________________________________________

A couple hours passed as you parked your car in the front of the school as there was no staff here this time of night other than custodians. You locked the door, preparing to go inside to get your brother. You were ready to go home and finally see some peace in your room, listening to your new Whitney Houston record. You hoped this Hellfire Club was done with their meeting. The hall was quiet as you neared the drama room once again. A few of the members came out, signifying their meeting was complete. 

Dustin looked at you, waving enthusiastically. You gave him a small wave, letting him know you were ready for him to leave. Eddie once again caught your glance as he saw what Dustin was putting so much energy into. Dustin waved you inside. You gave him an odd glance. You didn’t have to go in there. What was he thinking? You had only agreed to pick him up after his club was finished. Dustin waved you inside again, this time more emphasis on coming inside. You were confused but you opened the door gently, coming inside. Dustin was the only one left besides their leader. 

“Hey sis.”, Dustin smiled.

Eddie had been packing stuff up before Dustin spoke. His eyes immediately shot up to you and he paused what he was doing as if he was frozen in time. 

“Hey.”, you smiled gently. 

“Sister? Henderson, it’s rude to not introduce us.”, Eddie said coyly. 

Dustin laughed before speaking. “This is my sister Y/N. Y/N, this is the Dungeon Master himself, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie hopped over a chair, immediately placing himself in front of you. You were a bit taken aback. You were sure your face symbolized that.  He reached his hand out, waiting for you to reciprocate. It took you a moment to process his actions, but you soon gained your footing. You reached your hand out to his, both of you making contact with a handshake. It felt like electricity shot through your body and you hated to admit it. How could you feel this way about a man you barely knew? It felt like uncharted territory. 

He smiled up at you and did the same. It was as if time had stopped around you and nothing else mattered. You never noticed how normal Eddie actually appeared. I mean, sure he was an outcast but he didn’t appear to be much different than anyone else. 

“Nice to meet you. Welcome to Hellfire.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

“Ready Dusty?”, you asked your little brother, turning to him.

“Yeah just a sec.”

You turned to go, making your way to the door and you could hear indistinct talking between Eddie and your little brother. All of a sudden, you heard them loudly exchange goodbyes. Dustin caught up with you, almost immediately. He seemed like he was in a really good mood since his meeting. You all neared the car, settling inside. You both buckled up as you started the car. 

Dustin looked down at his lap, before turning to look out the window. Sometimes it was a buzzkill to have to chauffeur your little brother around, but you and your mom agreed it was not safe for Dustin to be riding his bike around town everywhere. At least not to school and away from school. You could tell Dustin had something on his mind.

“Is everything okay?”, you started.

“Yeah.”,  Dustin answered, dryly.

You gave him a confused look. “Dustin, did someone say something to you? I swear to God I’ll—”

He interrupted you. “No, no. Nothing like that.”, he laughed nervously. 

You narrowed your eyes before looking over to him. “Then what is it?”

He sighed, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

“Spit it out Dusty.”, your voice became serious and flat. 

“Well, um, Eddie needs some help.”

Your face crinkled in confusion. “What kind of help?”

Why was your brother telling you Eddie Munson needed your help? Eddie gave no indication he needed anything from you or sought any of your “help”. Maybe that was why Eddie was being so nice to you. Maybe this was all a set up to get your help. You were always paranoid of things like that. Most of the time you came off confident and sure of yourself, but it was little seeds of doubt that knocked the wind out of your sails. 

“Well, you know Eddie has had some trouble graduating,”, Dustin began nervously.

“Uh-huh.”, you nodded.

“He’s uh really struggling Y/N. He needs help passing his chemistry exam. Can you help him?”, Dustin pleaded.

You thought for a moment. You weighed your options. What was it to you if Eddie Munson didn’t graduate with the class of 1986?  That wasn’t your concern. You were trying to get into the college you had been wanting to get into since you could remember. However, the sympathetic side of you was fighting with your logical side. You were great at Chemistry. Making an A average. Eddie had been trying twice to graduate from high school already. This was his third try.

“Dustin,”, you sighed. “I have my own exams.”

Dustin looked defeated but quickly was fired up again, ready to convince you to help his friend.

“Please Y/N. Eddie needs to pass this exam to graduate. It’s his third senior year.”

You closed your eyes quickly, sighing before opening them again. You did offer tutoring before certain tests. Mrs.Stern was always recommending you for help before chemistry tests, calling you one of her brightest students. Your mind was in a flashback. You could remember before a test, Mrs.Stern was up in front of the chalkboard and periodic table of elements. You also remembered Eddie sitting in the corner, eyeing his latest grade. He looked like he had lost his best friend but then quickly changed his face, fearing anyone would see. 

He crumpled his test up into a ball, acting as if this class didn’t matter. Your heart instantly felt a ping of sadness. Could you really say no? You had thought about offering tutoring help to Eddie secretly but you didn’t know him all that well and he may take it wrong. Even Mrs.Stern’s words rang through your head that you heard her say to Eddie as you slipped out of the class room in front of him. “Edward, if you want to graduate this year, I highly suggest you talk to Ms.Henderson. She can help tutor you. Your grades are very borderline, most failing. She can give you that push you need to pass.” 

You tried to shake it from your mind. You had waited at your locker, seeing if he would take her up on the opportunity but he passed your locker quickly, defeated. Dustin didn’t know any of that. 

“Dustin.”, you groaned, your head spinning from remembering that painful day for him.

“Please sis.”, he was practically begging. 

“So why couldn’t the big bad Dungeon Master ask me himself? He seems very charismatic.”, you spat off, thinking about how you had almost wished he had asked you for help that day.

Dustin sighed. “I don’t know. He asked me to ask you.”

You all pulled into your driveway. You shut the car off, getting out. Your brother appeared to be confused as to why you hadn’t gave him a straight answer. You felt him chase behind you as you grabbed your backpack, hurrying into your all’s house. 

“Hey Y/N. Dustin.”, your mom greeted as you threw your backpack down on the couch. 

“Please.”, Dustin pleaded again, ignoring your mom’s greeting.

“I don’t know Dustin. I have a lot of stuff to do of my own.”

Your mom looked confused as she was finishing up dinner. “What’s going on?”

You eyed your mom. “Nothing.”

Dustin looked at you before opening his mouth. “Y/N won’t help tutor one of my friends.”

There was your annoying baby brother. He was practically tattling on you for not tutoring Eddie. But I mean Mrs.Stern herself told Eddie how important it was that he sought tutoring. Plus, you all interacted at school and he had a chance to mention it to you if he was so concerned and worried about passing. Why didn’t he?

“Y/N, is this true?”

“Yes mom.”, you answered, glaring at your little brother who was smiling unapologetically. 

“What is wrong with this boy?”, she continued as she turned her attention back to dinner.

You went into the kitchen, feeling your little brother’s presence behind you. You leaned up against the dining room table. 

“Nothing other than he’s on his third senior year.”, you rolled your eyes, grabbing a cup of water.

“He’s trying.”, Dustin countered. 

Your mom was continuing to attempt to finish dinner. She was dishing out helpings to your and your brother’s plates before her own. She had made grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and macaroni and cheese. She was taking in this information, attempting to process it before she gave her motherly advice. Your mom walked past you all to the dinner table where she set the table. 

“Well honey, I think it’s a compliment. You are very smart. This boy needs your help to graduate.”, your mom smiled as she brushed her apron.

Dustin made his way to his usual chair, immediately beginning to scarf dinner down. You sat down in your chair, slowly. You didn’t make eye contact with your mom or Dustin as you began swirling your fork in your food, stewing on what your mom said. You could feel their eyes scanning over you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’ll think about it.”, was all you offered.

Dinner ended and you began your nightly routine of finishing homework, taking a shower, brushing your teeth, and preparing to lay down. You had a big day tomorrow and you were so exhausted from waiting on Dustin’s new found club. You were jotting down something in a notebook, listening to your new Whitney Houston record when you heard a knock on your door. 

Your eyes shot up to your door as your brother’s head popped in. “Hey sis.”

“Dustin.”, you sighed, putting your notebook down.

“So uh,”, he began as he tapped the frame of your door nervously. “Have you decided?”

You eyed him, raising an eyebrow. “About?”

You knew what this was about but you just wanted to hear Dustin say it. 

“Helping Eddie.”, he said quietly. 

You sighed, getting up to pause you record player. It appeared as if Dustin was debating whether he should enter your room or not. You had a rule that he was to not enter your room without your permission. You closed your eyes before opening them back up to Dustin. He inched himself in the door way more, his shoulders and head appearing. It was time to make a decision. Your mom’s words echoed in your head. “Well honey, I think it’s a compliment. You are very smart. This boy needs your help to graduate.” You thought back to that fateful day in chemistry class. Eddie looking so defeated. Mrs.Stern encouraging him to seek tutoring. “Edward, if you want to graduate this year, I highly suggest you talk to Ms.Henderson. She can help tutor you. Your grades are very borderline, most failing. She can give you that push you need to pass.” 

Then you considered the fact that Dustin was absolutely enamored with Eddie Munson. You even were beginning to think Dustin looked up to him. Sure, you were his big sister but he really loved Dungeons and Dragons. He always had. Eddie had an entire club dedicated to it. Eddie was a male figure in his life and appeared to be a big brother to him. Eddie deserved a diploma as much as anyone else did. The only way you could regret helping him is if he didn’t put any effort in or was a complete jerk. 

“Fine.”, you sighed, crossing your arms. “I’ll help Eddie.”

Dustin’s eyes lit up as he shoved your door completely open, practically busting it down. He ran over to you, smiling and laughing. He tackled you. 

“Thank you Y/N! Thank you!”,

You rolled your eyes before laughing yourself and ending with a smile. “However, I’m only doing this because you really like Eddie and he did let you in his Hellfire Club.”

Dustin nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you sis. I’ll tell Eddie tomorrow! Goodnight!”

Dustin gave you huge bear hug before running out of your room, the happiest you had seen him in a long time. He and his friends had been through a lot together, including you, Nancy Wheeler, Steve Harrington, and Jonathan Byers. You all shared a common interest: Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will, El, and Max. You all had their best interest at heart and would do anything to keep them safe and secure. 

“Night Dusty.”, you laughed as you turned your lamp off, climbing into bed. 

What had you just got yourself into?

______________________________________________________________

The weekend passed more quickly than you had hoped. The beginning of the school week had approached. Dustin had never really confirmed how Eddie felt when you accepted to tutor him. You wondered if Eddie had decided to back out or change his mind. 

“Y/N! Telephone!”, your mom yelled from downstairs.

Confusion swept across your face as you laid down your magazine, turning the corner at the top of the staircase. Dustin’s door was closed. Nothing unusual. You took the steps two at a time, feeling anxious of who could be on the other side of the telephone. Your mom held out the cream colored landline in anticipation. 

“Who is it?”, you whispered. 

Your mom just smiled. “Eddie ring a bell?”

Your face still wore an expression of surprise as you hesitantly reached to grab the phone away from your mother. You sat down on the couch instinctively before your mom rushed back into the kitchen, attempting to give you some privacy. Your hand was slightly shaking as you pulled the phone up to your ear. 

“This is Y/N.”

“Hey it’s Eddie.”

“I gathered,” you began laughing. “So what’s up?”

You heard Eddie sigh on the other end of the phone, some static picking up. Static made you nervous as that usually signaled something from the Upside Down. Something of which, your all’s parents were oblivious to.

“Uh Dustin told me you agreed to help me study. Just wondering when we could.”

His voice shook slightly, indicating he was nervous. You were mentally chalking it up to the fact he probably wasn’t used to asking someone for help. Well, technically this time he hadn’t asked either but he at least communicated it to Dustin. 

“Let me see,”, you reached for your backpack, pulling your planner out. 

Eddie was silent on the other end of line, waiting for you to continue the conversation. 

“When do you have Hellfire?”, you asked seriously, grabbing a pen to jot down when his club was meeting. 

Organization was something you loved to do. It made you feel in control of your life. It was something you could control versus the other things that went on in the world. 

“Uh usually Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

“Okay. How about we study on Tuesdays and Thursdays from four to eight”, you offered.

You could hear hesitation on the other end of the line. You hoped Eddie would realize he needed this in order to graduate. 

“Okay, where should we meet?”, he finally asked.

Relief washed over you as he said this. 

“Uh we can come to my house if you want.”, you offered, assuming he wouldn’t want to be seen with a “nerd”. 

Eddie agreed to this and you all exchanged goodbyes as you hung up the phone. Dustin bounced down the stairs, looking happier than ever. You smirked at him before sitting yourself up on the couch. He smiled at you and waved as he turned to go in the kitchen. You jumped up and followed him, grabbing his shoulder before he made it to his destination. 

“What the hell?”, Dustin asked, scoffing. 

“Did you tell Eddie to call me?”, you asked abruptly. 

“Um yeah?”

You nodded. “Tuesday is our first study session.”

Dustin smiled before you both went into the kitchen. 

_________________________________________________________

It was Tuesday. The bell rang, signaling the school day was over. Students rushed past you as you grabbed your Chemistry book and binder from your locker. You shut your locker and began waiting for your baby brother to appear. He always met you at your locker. A few minutes passed before he finally showed up. Minimal conversation was exchanged as you prepared mentally for your study session with Eddie.

“So what all are you going to teach Eddie?”, Dustin asked.

“A little bit of everything. He needs to do well on these tests and he needs to understand the information for his final exam.”

Dustin accepted this with a nod.

“Okay, so we should lay down some ground rules.”, you put your hands on your hips.

Dustin stared at you. “Huh?”

“Really Dusty?”, you laughed before continuing. 

“I know Eddie is your “Dungeon Master”,” you made air quotations. “However, no interruptions.”

Dustin eyed you, not offering a response. 

“No talk of Dungeons and Dragons.”, you narrowed your eyes. 

“But Eddie just started a new campaign---”, Dustin protested.

“Absolutely not, Dustin. Tuesdays and Thursdays are MY days to help Eddie study. Do not even think about coming in my room.”

Dustin allowed his head to fall and he nodded like a pitiful puppy, thinking this would sway your decision. Sometimes his puppy dog eyes worked. Other times, they didn’t. This was one of those occasions. You bit your lip, turning your attention away from your baby brother and to see if Eddie was coming. He just had to. You eyed your watch and then back to the hallway, repeating this several times. Dustin was hardly paying attention.

All of a sudden, when you were the least focused, you felt a presence. You looked up quickly to see Eddie Munson in front of you. He gave you a small smile. Most everyone had filed out of the school by now and you guessed Eddie didn’t want to be seen with a “nerd”. 

“Sorry I’m late.”, he brushed through his dark brown hair. 

“It’s fine. Ready to follow me and Dustin to our house and we can get started?”, you asked, forgetting he was late.

He nodded and he and Dustin began immediately talking about D&D. There were things mentioned that you hardly could keep up with. You let them have this moment. But when you all crossed the threshold of the Henderson home, D&D would not be mentioned further. And you were sticking to your guns. 

The ride home was uneventful, however, you reminded Dustin once again of the rules. You pulled into your driveway and Eddie’s van pulled in behind your car.  Dustin grabbed his backpack, waiting to see Eddie. You gave him another glare. He felt it. You grabbed your bag and closed the door of your vehicle. All Eddie had was his Chemistry book and a tattered notebook. You did your best to try to avoid staring. 

Dustin welcomed Eddie into your all’s home. Your mom was at work but would be home soon and would probably make dinner. 

“Eddie, come see my room.”, Dustin laughed.

“Uh absolutely not, Dusty. Eddie and I are going to study.”, you reminded your little brother.

A frown immediately crossed his face. “But sis-“

“NO.”, you raised your voice.

Dustin knew you meant business and decided dropping the idea would be in his best interest. Eddie couldn’t help but to smirk at you before turning his attention back to Dustin.

“You can show me your room before I head home Henderson.”, he smirked.

You rolled your eyes as Eddie followed behind you upstairs. You sighed as you opened the door to your room. It was a normal girls room. You threw your bag down on your bed and began taking your Chemistry book, binder, notebook, and pencil out. Your desk was at the bottom of your bed. You had a spare decorative chair in your room and offered Eddie his choice of which he preferred. 

“So….Dusty?”, he smirked.

“I’ve always called him that.”, you said emotionless, almost like a robot. 

You could feel a slight tension in the air. Both of your all’s worlds and social circles were colliding. It was slightly overwhelming for you. But you were doing this because of Dusty. Because Eddie Munson was someone your little brother looked up to and thought a lot of. It was more than a lot of people felt about him. Dustin was the reason you were giving this a chance. If Dustin was kicked out of his Hellfire Club, he would absolutely be crushed and then you’d want to kill Eddie. This was a much better option.

“Dusty.”, he repeated. “Has a nice ring to it.”

You tried your best to refrain from rolling your eyes in front of him. You sat down and opened your book, starting at the very beginning. If Eddie could go back and gain information, this would immensely help him. Eddie noticed you were going to begin this study session so he followed suit and slowly sat down beside of you. You eyed him as you opened your drawer, pulling out another pencil and holding it out for him.

“You might need this.”

He looked at you with his doe brown eyes and then down at the pencil before he took it from you, his rings touching your skin, sending a slight chill down your spine. You fought against your self, dismissing any further thoughts from your brain. This was for Dustin. You flipped open your binder and started at the beginning. Eddie noticed your binder and how you had everything just so-so. 

“Organization could help too.”, you smirked easily. 

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I’ve never been great at this school thing.”, he brushed through his curls nervously.

You pretended not to notice his nervousness as you were sure he didn’t want you to. 

“That’s why I’m going to help you. Let’s start from the beginning. An atom is known as the most basic building block of chemistry. It’s the smallest form of matter.”

Eddie nodded, scribbling this down in his hand writing in his tattered notebook. 

“There are three types of particles atoms can consist of. There are protons. They have a positive charge. Neutrons which are neutrally charged. And lastly, electrons which are negative.”, you breathed as you scribbled three circles, one with a plus sign, one no sign, and the last with a minus sign. 

Eddie nodded once again, processing this information. He seemed to really be listening to you. Sure, he was the all-knowing Dungeon Master when it came to D&D but he had much to learn when it came to Chemistry. The evening passed fairly quickly with you all taking a few breaks. Eddie seemed to be catching on as he re-explained the information you had given him. You all reviewed the Periodic Table of Elements, which was last on your list for the day. 

You sighed, finally closing your book. “That’s all I had planned for this session.”

Eddie stood up easily, stretching. You rubbed your neck, taking a deep sigh. 

“Tense?”, Eddie smirked easily as he came back over to your desk. 

You eyed him, confused for a moment. Your brain was trying to process the question that just rolled off his tongue. What did this have to do with Chemistry?

“Uh, we’ve been sitting here for four hours. Kinda.”, you said easily. 

Eddie smirked, coming behind your chair and his ring-clad hands instantly going for your shoulders. This took you by surprise and a hot, deep feeling entered the pit of your stomach. 

“Mind if I help? I mean you were nice enough to help me after all.”

You nodded, your brain turning to mush almost instantly. His fingers pinched your shoulders up, releasing them and to be honest, it felt amazing. You hadn’t realized exactly how tense and stressed out you had been up until now. Now that Eddie Munson was helping release the tension. 

“Wow, you were tense, Henderson.”, he mumbled as he continued working on your shoulders. 

“Yeah I guess so.”, you hummed, feeling relief.

You could sense Eddie’s smirk spread across his lips as he kneaded your shoulders for a few more minutes. You held back any sounds of relief as they mimicked other sounds. And you definitely did not want your brother coming through your door right now. Once Eddie felt satisfied that he had removed the tension and kinks from your shoulders, his rings brushed the skin leading to your neck. 

Where had he learned to do this? And why was he so good at it? Your brain could wander and run with the possible explanations, but you decided to only focus on him massaging your neck. You closed your eyes, feeling relaxed, even sinking slightly in your chair. Eddie, in fact, noticed this too, causing him to smile even more. You could feel his rough, calloused hands against your skin.

Eddie let out a sigh as he worked to remove the tension and kinks from your neck. It took him a few minutes but he finally had succeeded and was satisfied especially when it took you a minute to stand up and gather yourself. 

“Thanks, Munson.”, you smirked as you rubbed your neck, no longer feeling tense. 

“Welcome, Henderson.”, he smirked back and before another word could be spoken, Dustin burst through your door. 

“Hey are you guys done? It’s like eight twenty.”, he complained. 

You both eyed each other before turning your attention to your little brother and nodding. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Eddie kept his promise and went and saw your brother’s room. Your mom made a late dinner and invited Eddie to stay, which he agreed to. You and Eddie kept stealing glances across the dining room table. Dustin seemed oblivious to this. Maybe helping Eddie wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

____________________________________________________________

A few weeks had passed and you and Eddie had kept up your all’s study sessions regularly, working around his Hellfire Club meetings. Eddie’s grades were improving in Chemistry. His latest test was a B minus which he brought to your house and displayed to you proudly. You all were becoming closer than just study partners. In fact, Eddie invited you to the Hideaway to watch his band, Corroded Coffin play. You had to bring Dustin too, but Eddie was happy to see you both in the audience. It was a step up from the four drunks he usually played for. 

Today, he requested you sit in on a Hellfire Club meeting to see what it was truly all about. You agreed which your little brother was ecstatic about. You were a bit nervous when everyone’s eyes were on you as you entered the drama room. Lucas gave you a confused look before turning to Dustin and asking him why you were here. Eddie had a lone chair near his “throne” and patted it as he seen you enter the room. 

“Come on Y/N we’re just getting started.”

You came in and smiled a shy smile to everyone in the room. You sat down easily. Eddie began to get very theatrical as the Hellfire Club got deeper into their campaign. You smiled as you attempted to understand what was going on. The meeting went by quickly. Eddie reached a spot where he felt comfortable halting the campaign. Everyone was packing up their things as Eddie turned his attention to you. 

“Nice work out there.”, you smirked. 

He smirked. “Thanks. Did you enjoy it?”

You nodded. “I definitely got a deeper understanding of D&D.”

You both shared a laugh. Dustin and Lucas just watched on. You and Eddie began talking about the next study session. You looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of your neck again. Eddie could sense once again you seemed tense and without hesitation, you allowed him to help ease your tension the way he had been. A massage.

“Dude, do you see this?”, you heard Lucas whisper to your brother. 

“Yeah they always seem to be doing this nowadays.”, Dustin rolled his eyes. 

“Are you sure there’s not more going on? I mean—.”

Dustin interrupted. “Nope. They’re just becoming good friends so they say.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Henderson, Sinclair. I can hear you.”

Lucas got an embarrassed look before waving goodbye to everyone and jetting out of the drama room quickly. You and Eddie shared another laugh as Dustin eyed you both, sitting down, waiting for you all to finish. Everyone else in the Hellfire Club never batted an eye at this as you both had been doing it for a few weeks now. You scratched Eddie’s back, helping him pass Chemistry and well, he massaged yours. 

_____________________________________________________________

Another week passed and Eddie was now passing Chemistry. He was on track to graduate with the class of 1986. You work almost seemed to be done. Eddie had asked for another couple of study sessions for the final exam. Which you agreed to. Prom was coming up and you didn’t have a date yet. You debated asking Eddie but wondered if it was even his scene. He probably wouldn’t want to go. One minute, you had yourself talked into it. The next, you had talked yourself out. 

Eddie came up to your locker. “One more tests stands between me and that diploma.”

You smirked, organizing your books and binders to your liking before meeting his eyes. “Yeah and I am so proud of you, Eddie.”

He smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Who knew? The freak of Hawkins High could pass thanks to a nerd.”

There was some humor laced in his words but the last word caused a ping in your heart and a lump in your throat. He was smiling but your smile quickly panned into a slight frown.

“Yeah who knew?”, you fake laughed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. “Uh gotta go get Dustin home. He wants to rent a new movie tonight and order in pizza.”

Eddie looked surprised you were leaving so quickly. “Okay. I’ll see ya Tuesday.”

You nodded, rushing off before the lone tear slid out of your eye. You were turned away, walking away from Eddie thankfully so he couldn’t see. Nerd. That word replayed in your head as you hurried to your car, unlocking it and starting it before your brother got there. You held back the sobs that threatened to rack through your chest. Grabbing a Kleenex, you dabbed your eyes and quickly dried up the tears as Dustin waved for you to unlock the door. 

_____________________________________________________________

The next week came and it was Tuesday, the day you were supposed to study with Eddie since the “nerd” comment. You had avoided him all day Monday, even waiting in the car for Dustin after Hellfire. You even went as far as to stay home from school Tuesday. You didn’t know if the anxiety made you sick to your stomach or you were actually sick. You gave Dustin a message to tell Eddie you were sick and couldn’t help him study this evening.

Even when Dustin came home, you never asked for Eddie’s reaction. You never even went to see Dustin. You laid on your bed, thinking about how much of a nerd you could be. You turned to view your desk, instantly remembering the countless study sessions you and Eddie had shared, making you feel instantly sad. Why had you let yourself get this close? It seemed as though there was not that much more than a study buddy in this for Eddie.

Night fell upon the Henderson household. Your mom had came and told you goodnight and asked if everything was okay. You lied and said yes. She asked why you had been held up in your room all evening. You just told her you were sick. She accepted this answer. Dustin knew something was wrong with you but he gave you space. You continued to overthink as you drifted off to sleep, dreading tomorrow.

Dustin was waiting downstairs when you grabbed your keys from the coffee table. You all grabbed your lunches from the kitchen and went off to school. There was a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach as you started the car and backed out of the driveway. Dustin made small talk with you, but nothing more as he could still sense you were on edge. You were going to first period which was English. Third was Chemistry and you absolutely dreaded it. You hoped Eddie would not even look your way.

Third period came and you sat down at a table all by yourself. Today was an actual lab day and you would have a partner. People filed in the class, taking seats beside one another. You opened your book, not looking for Eddie to come in the door. You were silently hoping he wouldn’t. You were the only one not partnered up and suddenly, Eddie came through the door just as the tardy bell rang. 

Eddie hurried his way over to your table, taking the stool beside of you. You silently cursed in your head but there was nothing more you could do right now but grin and bear it. You looked down at your book, not meeting his glance. You could feel his eyes on you as if he was praying you would say something—anything. 

“So feeling better?”, he spoke up, clearing his throat. 

Mrs. Stern was writing on the board, not paying any attention to the small amount of chatter going on in the lab. 

“Yeah.”, was all you offered. 

Eddie looked at you, stunned. Your response was cold and dry, no emotion evident. You didn’t look at him, hoping this would deter him from talking to you further. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong? What have I done?”

You eyed him before turning your attention back to the board. “Eddie, look, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Eddie scooted closer, whispering. “So when can we? I obviously have done something.”

“No, just please drop it.”, you hushed. 

Mrs. Stern eyed you both as if in a silent way to tell you all to cease your conversation before having to call you down in front of the entire class. You could still feel Eddie’s eyes on you but they eventually turned to the board as Mrs. Stern explained the experiment and gave directions. She instructed Eddie to throw his hair up in a loose ponytail to prevent it from being a fire hazard. Part of you wanted to look, but you were still upset and hurt. 

You and Eddie were successful with the experiment, being the first group to finish. There was ten minutes left in third period so you all began washing beakers, pipettes, test tubes, and an Erlenmeyer flask with proper PPE of course. Eddie still had his goggles on as did you with his hair pulled back. 

“Y/N can we please talk about this?”, Eddie asked as glass clanked together. 

“Eddie, there’s nothing to talk about.”, you persisted.

“Henderson.”, his voice became sharp causing you to stop what you were doing and eye him.

“What?”, you bit back, matching his tone.

“What did I do?”

“I don’t know, freak.”, you said with venom evident in the last word of your sentence. 

Eddie didn’t speak and instantly stopped in his tracks, realizing his mistake. 

“Doesn’t feel so good does it? Sorry the nerd is a total buzzkill to be seen with. All I’m good for is helping you pass your senior year.”, you snapped as you went back to washing the lab equipment. 

Eddie eyed you, narrowing his eyes, becoming exasperated. “This is because I called you a nerd?”

You nodded. “All I am to you, isn’t it Munson?”

You didn’t meet his eyes once again, not straying from your task at hand. He took a deep sigh before becoming much less frustrated. 

“No, never. I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a joke. You mean a lot to me Y/N.”, Eddie looked at you so serious, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“Funny way of showing it.”, you sighed, feeling sadness instead of anger. 

Eddie sighed again. “I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest to God. I just thought it would make you laugh. Is this why you’ve been canceling on me? You didn’t even come to Hellfire to get Dustin.”

You looked down, feeling that lump in your throat again and just nodded in response, afraid your voice would crack. 

Eddie put his hand over yours and you allowed it. “Can you look at me?”, he pleaded.

You finally turned to look at him, his doe brown eyes filled with concern. Yours filled with tears. You sniffled easily, feeling like such a loser for letting your emotions show.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I know I’m a freak, a loser. You’re the only one who’s really taken a chance on me.”

A tear slipped out of your eye and you laughed a little before growing serious again. “You’re not a loser or a freak, Eddie. You’re really smart when you apply yourself. I mean I was amazed by you in more ways than one. I just was worried you were embarrassed of me because I know we come from different social circles.”

Eddie smirked before wiping your tear. “Y/N I’d never be embarrassed of you. I’m out of your league clearly.”

You let out a small smile before running your thumb over his hand. “No I was actually gonna ask you to prom. How stupid right?”

You sounded nervous and your voice shook as another tear fell from your eyes. Eddie looked surprised as a small strand of his hair had fallen out of his ponytail. 

“You mean Dustin wouldn’t kill me?”, he laughed, breaking the tension.

You shoved Eddie playfully, causing him to laugh in turn. You met his eyes and bit your lip. 

“I was gonna ask you after our study session yesterday.”, he smirked.

Your expression was one of surprise. Now, you felt a ping of regret that you didn’t keep your study session yesterday. The bell rang, dismissing third period. You and Eddie were smiling as you both grabbed your stuff off the table and went out into the hallway. You stopped with him at his locker. 

“I don’t have to wear a suit, do I?”, he asked as he put the items in his locker. 

“Nope.”, you smiled.

You both stared into each other’s eyes, his hair still up. 

“Shit.”, he muttered, still noticing his hair was up.

You grabbed his hand pulling it back down before you smiled at him, leaning and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s do one better, Henderson.”, he smirked as he held your hands, you both leaning in for a kiss in front of everyone, defying the social circles of high school. 

#eddie munson #eddie imagines #eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #stranger things

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Can I get a whiskey with Steve Rogers as a married couple please one where it’s not quite marvel universe?

New Perspective.

set in a universe where steve doesn't leave, but instead stays to live out the rest of his life in happiness. this is just tooth rotting fluff. <3

warnings - the tiiiiiniest bit of angst at the start. mainly just sweethearts in love.

word count on this is 1k <3

3k masterlist here.

masterlist. inbox.

It's panic, first.

Then horror.

Sadness comes next.

And then... complete and utter relief.

You'd begged him not to go. Pleaded and bargained, promised him anything and everything. But he insisted.

You knew the risks. You also knew you'd never forgive yourself if you let him go while you were arguing.

So, you accepted it. He was leaving to go on a mission through space and time, and you were fine with it. Completely and totally fine with it.

You kissed him goodbye on the platform, whispering gentle love against his lips.

"You come back to me in one piece, Steve Rogers. You understand?"

He nodded gently, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Yes, ma'am. Understood."

He'd told you he loved you at least forty times before he went. It didn't do anything to quell the unease in your heart.

And then, it was time. And he was gone. And you held your breath. And the minutes went by. And he hadn't returned.

"Where is he, Bruce?" you questioned softly, trying not to let on how scared you were.

"Yeah, where is he, Bruce?" Sam had said, firmer, laced with more fear.

"I, I - I don't... I'm trying, okay?"

"Trying?" Bucky asked in disbelief, scoffing. "Trying?"

All four of you began to panic. Chests heaving, bones vibrating, lips chewed between teeth.

Finally, there was a noise. A clattering whoosh, a signal of return. You watched the platform, waiting for him to appear.

And he didn't.

"Where is he, Bruce? Where the fuck is he?"

It was the most upset you'd ever seen Sam. You didn't like it. You'd scanned the horizon, and saw broad shoulders and blond hair in the distance.

"I think he's back."

You were whispering, afraid to ruin the tension of the science. You slowly walk over to the bench, and there he is. In all his golden glory.

"Steve?"

"Baby?"

He looked a little dazed, a little confused. Suppose that happens, when you travel between dimensions.

"You okay?"

"I did it. Everything's back where it should be."

"Proud of you," you smiled, sitting down next to him and linking your hands together. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Saw some old faces. They just made me want to get home to you."

You had grinned at him, then, all bright and blinding. You surged forward and captured his lips with yours, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Never leave me again," you'd laughed. "My heart can't handle it."

"Never again," he'd promised into your mouth. "Never again."

That was years ago.

You'd both vowed to live a simple life, from that moment on.

You got married a couple of months later, in a quaint little courthouse in downtown New York. Sam and Bucky were your witnesses, both of them standing with tears in their eyes as you and Steve promised to love each other forever. The four of you grabbed dinner afterwards, at a small family run place that Sam recommended. It was perfect.

You bought a house on the outskirts of New York, out of the city. You wanted greenery and nature, and Steve vowed he'd give you anything you ever asked for.

It's a three bedroom cottage, plenty big enough for the both of you. There's a white picket fence and a rustic stone wall, pathway paved with lawn on either side. The front door is forest green, painted by your husband at your request. You'd suggested Captain America Blue first, but he'd protested. You'd laughed and compromised, picking out paint colours hand in hand at the hardware store.

You've planted fruit trees in the garden, watering them carefully every evening. Apples, pears, cherries, plums for Bucky. You're hoping it'll be warm enough to plant an orange tree or two next year. Steve helps, more than happy to muddy his jeans and get his hands dirty, on his knees in the soil with you. He's hung fairy lights and lanterns among the trees, illuminating the backyard. It's the perfect atmosphere for a dinner party, your friends and family laughing and chatting around a carefully prepared table, food and wine scattered across the cloth. You live for nights like those. Both of you do.

One of your favourite places is your sun room. Big glass panes, sunlight beaming in at all hours of the day. It's prettiest at sunrise and sunset, pinks and oranges cast across the space. You and Steve curl up on one of the love seats, limbs and heartstrings tangled together. You watch the sun come up, excited at the possibilities the day holds. Then, you watch it set, content and warmed by the fullness of your love. You drink coffee there in the morning, and tea there at night. Whiskey, sometimes. You'd be happy to sit there forever, never leaving your husband's side.

Steve installed a vintage claw foot tub in the bathroom. It has ornate gold feet, shiny and intricate. You light candles, close the blinds, and fill it up with warm water and bubbles. Both you and Steve slip into it, your back against his chest, strong arms keeping you steady. He washes your hair carefully, taking his time, slow and gentle. He presses kisses to your wet skin as he works, memorising every inch of you. As if he doesn't already know it by heart.

The most frequented room in the house is the kitchen. You and Steve spend hours cooking, baking, making cocktails. You'll perfect a recipe while Steve sits on the counter, stealing kisses as you work. The sunlight glints off your wedding bands, illuminating the big, open room. It's light and it's spacious and it's a haven filled with love and laughter. And cake. Lots of cake.

He keeps his promise right until the very end. He never left you again.

#murphy's 3k celebration #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #marvel x reader fluff #marvel x reader #marvel fluff #marvel imagine #captain america fluff #captain america x reader #marvel smut #marvel x reader smut #captain america smut #captain america imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader

[ignify-caligo]

Hussar 4,5,10, 13

Toska 2,13,14

Florian 8,9,4

This is real embarrassing for me but hey, I finally managed to answer this ask!! Surprise for ya all (even for me lol) I’m sure - also I’m so so sorry for how long this ask been sitting in my inbox Ranger, hope ya forgive me hah 😅😅

Before you go and open the keep reading section, I want to warn that the total number of this thing is like 2012 words so be ready for a big reading lol

muse development questions here

CHARACTER: HUSSAR

4) what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character? 

One of those kinds of memories comes in the form of how his daughter ran to him all teary-eyed and pale as a ghost. It was the first thing he witnessed after coming home near midnight once again. He truly thought that something horrible had happened, dropping his leather briefcase in haste, and swooping his little girl into an embrace without hesitation. From the sound of it, his 5-year-old was the only one still waiting for him, his wife nowhere to be seen from the quick mental survey he did through the cramped living space. Before he could utter any kind of question to his daughter, she opened her mouth to show a blank space between her front teeth, while simultaneously showing off the tiny milk tooth lying on top of her small palm. Luckily for Hussar, his blood pressure did not skyrocket to a dangerous degree, it would have been quite an embarrassment if he had to explain the reason why he was having an almost heart attack. Unluckily for him, this memory of a daughter-father-only situation would be one of the last ones before the divorce. 

Another instance relates to his time in training before he became the Hussar himself. His training squad was sent for tactical training in the Bieszczady Mountains for a whole week. The training was based on solo survival tactics and navigating the wilderness without contact with HQ. Being there was an experience, sleeping under an open sky, feeling how nature enveloped everything with its majestic beauty - the views especially had been ingrained in Hussar’s mind. More so than even the training he was in the first place for. However, the first time he saw a bear wasn’t one of his fondest moments in Hussar’s humble opinion (especially when it tried to go for his MRE). 

5) does your character work so they can support their hobbies or use their hobbies as a way of filling up the time they aren’t working? 

The easiest answer for this is both. Hussar’s hobbies like bike riding or hiking for example consume a lot of the free time he miraculously doesn’t fill with work-related matters, especially when he ultimately gets told by either his close family or coworkers that he “haruje jak dziki osioł” (works like a wild mule). Forcing this man to take a mandatory leave, is like sending him to the literal gallows in his honest opinion. When it comes to the matter of supporting his off-time activities, he takes a meticulous amount of time to have his needed equipment in top-notch condition compared to some (looking at Gromsko being the type to see a flat tyre on a bike and going “nah, its fine”) people he drags with him to those small adventurous. 

Another thing that he uses his high salary for is to get materials needed for… crocheting. That’s right, Hussar sits down in his lounge chair with a ball of yarn and crotchets or at least tries to. Compared to his other hobbies, this one is a newer skill he is trying to develop, apparently, his therapist says it’s a great way for him to work around his feelings as well as his anxieties related to work life and all the side effects of working in a “you can be killed any day” environment he frequents. Plus, he can save some money by making gifts for his close friend circle rather than spending money on expensive items all the time (his cats get also nice and cosy blankets for their own as well). 

10) what would your character make a scene in public about? 

Hussar is the most non-confrontational type of person you will ever encounter when it comes to the civilian public scene. It is not without any reason he was promoted to being a general, his public image is of the calmest person alive, and the Tibetan monks would be jealous of his cold-headedness. The duality of his public persona and what happens behind soundproof and closed doors is mind-blowing to the average person, especially when the person in question manages to spill over Hussar’s composure. Because there is always a limit to someone’s patience and in the case of Hussar it’s when you manage to create a fuck up on a nuclear scale. It usually happens in the workplace, whenever he manages to squeeze some time between report writing, meetings and such, he will overview manoeuvres on the training grounds. Suppose you manage to break one of the safety protocols such as incorrectly handling firearms. In that case, he will rip you a new one without any hesitation. People around you will part like the Red Sea to let a foaming Hussar right to where you stand (if you look around you will find some of your fellow comrades doing the sign of the cross, already sensing a funeral coming) because they are not going to catch a stray bullet. 

The longest monologue of fury that Hussar has given so far was for straight 45 minutes (time recorded by an extremely tired Rysiek wishing for a straight double vodka shot already at noon), where the general managed to drag in the poor soul’s family several generations backwards into the lecture because there had to be something genetically wrong with the private if he thinks “playing darts with rifles equipped with bayonets” was a brilliant idea. 

13) what does your character pretend or try to care about? 

When it comes to pretending, he will tell whichever higher-up in question that he only cares about “the mission’s success”. In reality, he will not regret and hesitate to pull out when the situation down below gets too hot, the safety of his people or god forbid, any civilians accompanying the mission, is much greater than any winning streak. As much as the stress of a new position and responsibilities weighs him down, he doesn’t think of his subordinates as numbers or statistics as many of his peers do; he still feels and keeps his connection to the unit and its members alive rather than succumbing to the pressure of a new rank. 

Of course, he also juggles his relationship with the Polonaise squad between friendly and professional because if he turns too cold he will lose his chosen family and if he shows too much attachment the higher-ups will chew him out. Keeping this balance is similar to the Sisyphus myth, where Hussar is stuck in a “między młotem a kowadłem” (between a rock and a hard place) situation almost constantly. He, of course, pretends that it does not affect him at all. 

In reality, he does not give a damn about his new status, but he needs to pretend so he doesn’t come out as “insolent” in the eyes of his superiors. The thing he cares most about is keeping his subordinates from getting killed or killing themselves by performing ridiculous stunts. 

CHARACTER: TOSKA 

2) what was the best thing in your character’s life? 

From what he knows, the best thing that happened to him recently is being “adopted” (read: being picked up from the mess in Las Almas by TF141 after everything, with a gushing wound in his side and hands cuffed behind his back for “everyone’s” safety) by his current commanding officer, Captain Jonathan Price. As much as he is sceptical of the motives and schemes of these new people around him, he has all he needs and wishes to have: bed, food and new targets. What else is there to wish for? 

However, something is lingering behind closed doors, in the shadows, whispering of the time he had someone who wasn’t exactly a CO but something more… motherly? A soft-spoken voice, almost of an angel’s quality, speaking to a little child in a weird and foreign language… similar in sound to the words spoken by Nikolai when his helicopter malfunctions but of a different nature... It drives Toska to his wits end because he can’t- won’t remember what all this means. 

13) what does your character pretend or try to care about? 

Toska is a simple thing, or that is what his previous COs said, he only needs to care about succeeding when it comes to his missions. Failure is not acceptable, it always was like that. Until this new CO of his, the people Toska is surrounded by, with their hawk-like stares whenever he moves a simple inch, they try to crumble his devotion. They say; “Take it easy, kid”, “Do something else, mate” or “You don’t have to take care of everyone’s equipment”, but if he isn’t needed… what is he supposed to do? He pretends that he understands and that he cares about the “no’s” and “take a rest’s” they spew at him each time he tries to be of service. 

14) how does the image your character tries to project differ from the image they actually project?

He’s a dutiful weapon, there’s no “different” image or portrayal for him. If you need a soldier, he is a soldier, if you need an attack dog, he will be an attack dog. Whatever it may be that his COs want, he will deliver because; he is what they made him nothing more nothing less. 

Under that image though? There is a seed that wants to bloom out, but so far, the darkness all around won’t allow it. It may change, with time and by Toska accepting the new status quo he has been put in the middle of. 

CHARACTER: FLORIAN

4) what seemingly insignificant memories stuck with your character? 

Florian remembers the first time he saw an insect that wasn’t either a mutated killing machine or the local “wildlife” of the underground bunker. It was a grasshopper of all things, rubbing its’ long legs together and creating a sound that Florian had never heard before. He didn’t know what it was or how it got inside, but his curiosity was and still is never-ending and with that, he caught it by putting it in a glass jar. The ten-year-old at the time boy, ran to his mother with glee, being of course careful of his little prisoner, having in mind to show the critter to her. Instead, he bumped into his father, who when he saw the creature, ripped the jar from Florian’s hands reprimanding him about all the “radiation” and “danger” that the older man was known for labelling everything with those exact words. 

8) how many friends does your character have? 

Without counting his future camaraderie with certain Russian rangers’, he had quite a small group of colleagues growing up in Berlin. Most of those colleagues were in reality only for show, because of course having the son of one of the New Berlin’s heroes as a friend boosts someone’s social status immensely. Especially when it had its’ benefits within the new world’s school with its’ favouritism towards high-placed individuals and in turn, guaranteeing the person with better jobs, supplies, resources and equipment.  

Nonetheless, Florian had a close friend who didn’t take advantage of his heritage and legacy but saw him as a living and breathing individual. They would be the one person to aid him in the future when he would take the great leap and venture into the world’s ruins in search of his father. 

9) how many friends does your character want?

Having an early experience with friendships solely based on his status or whatever else he could offer, Florian has a hard time wanting any new “colleagues”. His determination to stay independent and to not be someone’s boost into their own agendas makes him hesitant to form any new relationship of his own accord. That mindset gets challenged quickly when he gets himself stuck in an inescapable situation amongst people he does not understand a lick of what they are saying, where the only option is to follow a mysterious man who doesn’t utter any words towards him (which is better in his opinion, because he would not understand them anyways). 

#call of duty #metro 2033 #hussar oc #toska oc #florian oc #captain john price #caligo answers q. #caligo's writing #caligo's oc #this is for whoever got through my shitshow of thoughts: 🍪❤️ #watch me losing coherent thought the deeper in text you go lmao #but fr I had a blast writing this even tho it’s like 3:30 am and I should sleep #please if ya read this - I wanna talk about these critters with someone so much it’s borderline insanity 😭😂

[anxiouswritingbitch]

heyyy!! it would mean a lot if you could write some hcs on how nick furcillo would be during halloween 😭😭 tysm again i love ur blog ❤️

Hi ! Of course ! I hope you like it ! I wrote some stuff about Americans and Halloween but I'm European, so forgive me if I got things wrong lmaoo

Remember, requests are open in my inbox <3

ɴɪᴄᴋ ꜰᴜʀᴄɪʟʟᴏ ᴀᴛ ʜᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴇɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ (ft. Jacob and the counselors)

First of all, Nick is Australian. He probably grew up there, so even if every country know what is Halloween and some people celebrate, nobody does it like America.

So yeah, when he got to the states, he was a bit confused. He felt like Halloween was like a religion there. Sure, he got trick or treating with a few of his friends when they asked, but he never lived the full experience.

Enters Number #1 Himbo : Jacob Custos. He is DETERMINED to make Nick love Halloween as much as he does. It's his life goal since summer.

Nick won't admit it, because he feels like saying "I want to go trick or treating" makes him sound like a child, but he's really excited.

Jacob has this idea to throw a party at his house and to invite all the counselors, Laura and Max included. We all know how the last party went, so it took a lot of convincing they're still traumatized lmao but they all say yes.

Nick stayed closest to Jacob after the events of the summer. They kept in touch and texted frequently, hence how Jacob learned that he had never had a proper Halloween.

SO. Party at Jacob's ! As we know, Nick was the cook at camp, so of course he was the one who baked all the sweets and made the candies. It's insane how much work he put to make them scary. He looked at recipes for orange food and even asked Abi for scary cupcake icing ideas. He stays the day at Jacob's, who spent it decorating the house.

He even makes punch Jacob adds most of the alcohol, because he saw American teens drink it at parties.

The costumes. Oh boy the costumes. That's probably what he is the most excited about. He chose to go with Dracula. He isn't white but who cares, not all vampires are pale. The clothes look very classy on him.

Speaking of costume, everyone got a vibe check by Jacob when entering the house.

Abi is dressed as a witch, Emma as cat-woman. Jacob went full nasty and dressed as a Hot Nurse. Laura came as Frankenstein and Max as Shaggy from Scooby Doo it fits his vibe sm, fight me. Kaitlyn is a gremlin, Dylan is Mr. Spock and Ryan is a zombie. Before you ask, yes they are all hot.

Dylan wanted Nick to be Crocodile Dundee, Jacob wanted him to be a kangaroo. Nick said they were being racist. Jokingly ofc.

Whenever the door rings, Emma or Abi go to open the door. Nick always takes a sneak peek at the kids' reactions to his candies. They love it. He's very happy.

Finally, it's trick or treat time. Of course, Jacob, Dylan, Kaitlyn, Laura and Nick go. The other are either too happy or afraid to go. Max stays mostly to watch over them. He has that mom energy.

Jacob is ON FIRE. He drags Nick everywhere with him, and Nick is living. his. best. life. It's definitely way funnier than when he was a kid.

Then something happens. They ring a house's bell, and an old lady gives them fucking Peanut Butter Butterpops. One bag. Kaitlyn and Dylan burst out laughing, Laura is lost.

The contest is ON. Whoever has the fullest candy bag gets to keep the treasure.

They stay out until way too late. And maybe are too drunk.

Nick ends up again winning the contest. But because he's a kind boy and that the whole thing was Jacob's idea, they share the bag.

Pretends that his bag is so full of candies because he wanted to give them to Abi. It's a lie it was for the butterpops, but a man gotta keep a face.

Nick really enjoyed the night, his tummy will probably burst from the candies and the expired butterpops (pop pop pop 'em in your mouth !) and he can't wait for next year to do it all again.

#the quarry #the quarry game #nick furcillo #jacob custos #the quarry nick headcanons #the quarry headcanons #dylan lenivy #ryan erzahler #emma mountebank #abigail blyg #nick x jacob #laura kearney #max brinly #kaitlyn ka #headcanons

[impishtubist]

Remus believing Sirius was the traitor for 12 years is still annoying me so I’m going to rant in your inbox. Presumably, Sirius’s relationship with his relatives didn’t deteriorate as badly as it did until Hogwarts since he doesn’t really have a lot of chances to go out and be a blood-traitor until Hogwarts when he befriends James and everything, so Remus pretty much had a front row seat to Sirius turning his back on what his family believed. He’s friends with Sirius when Sirius leaves Grimmauld and gets disowned, since that happens when Sirius is 16 so 5th/6th year, Remus is very aware that Sirius rejected blood-purity. Sirius explicitly links his leaving to their beliefs by saying something along the lines of “I hated the whole lot of them—my parents with their pureblood mania and their belief that to be a Black made you practically royalty” (I don’t have the book in front of me and I don’t have the line memorized), so either Sirius just never spoke about his home life and his friends got the shock of a lifetime when he ran away or Remus was completely aware that at least part of Sirius leaving stemmed from his hatred of their beliefs. This is relevant to the First War since those same beliefs were the basis of the Death Eater movement, the entire ideology of the Death Eaters is that purebloods are better than everyone and non-purebloods are filthy, so Remus really did see Sirius turn his back on everything the Death Eaters believed in and still believed that Sirius was really the spy the entire time. I can maybe buy believing Sirius killed Peter and the 12 muggles, the entire sequence of events there was fairly damning and Sirius did not come out of it looking good, but betraying James and being a spy the entire time? Really? Remus never once thought about how Sirius had left his home at least partly because of how much he despised blood purity and it made no sense for him to work for the Death Eaters? Nobody asked anything about that? The other Order members that knew Sirius at school also would’ve been aware he was disowned and I find it hard to believe that his hatred of his family’s beliefs would’ve been a secret, since odds are the junior Death Eaters at the very least would’ve been insulting him over it. Did they all think Sirius had been lying the entire time they knew him or something? The more I think about this, the more annoyed I get

All Remus-related rants are always welcome in my inbox <3

Yeah, it's incredibly frustrating! Like you, I completely understand Remus and everyone else believing Sirius killed Peter and the 12 bystanders. You're right that he did not come out of that looking good! But Remus believing that he could have betrayed James? Believing that Sirius has been running a long con like that since he was 11 years old? Yeah, that's super frustrating!

And not just Remus, but EVERYBODY believing it. I know fandom likes to cast McGonagall as Sirius's mother figure and I've seen fics written where she takes him under her wing after POA, but really? You want him to have a mother figure who believed without a doubt that he betrayed James Potter? You think Sirius would forgive that? Or that he would reconcile with Andromeda so easily, after she also believed him to be a traitor?

Honestly, the only person post-POA who has Sirius's best interests at heart and who actually cares about him is Harry 🥺

#imp speaks #chaos night #sirius black supremacy

[oblivions-dawn]

Hi Senufriend <3

Excuse me marching in here unannounced. I decided to send some asks, and well, I thought that perhaps you might also like these questions. (Feel free to answer in your own time or ignore as your spoons allow. <3)

I know we love to talk about breaking the rules in writing and obviously, that not every piece of advice is one-size-fits all, but there is a lot to say about being able to speak with each other about what we have learned during our journey. I was wondering if you wouldn't share. (I also plan on poking some of the others to see what more we can shake out. The more the merrier, no?)

What is the most useful/helpful pieces of advice you ever received during your formal education in relation to writing?

Once you started to write, what was the most important thing that you learned about writing or its process?

Has your real life had any influence on your writing? If so, how?

What advice would you give to aspiring writers (be it fanfiction or original)?

Awwww hello Winter!! It's always a pleasure to see you in my inbox uwu These are all very good questions to ask and you'll have to forgive me if they're not very thorough--or not quite the answers you were expecting.

I think I've mentioned this before, but the best piece of advice I ever learned in college was, really, one I learned from myself, and that was essentially that I was good enough. I'm not going to please everyone and that's okay. I can also pick and choose what critiques actually help me and which ones are . . . more of a suggestion than anything else. I built confidence in my writing while in college after watching students struggle to give me solid advice and was often told that they couldn't find anything to say--that it was good enough. Believe it or not, that's a very, very hard lesson to learn, and sometimes I still struggle with my writing. But I'm all about dismantling this obsession with perfectionism and striving for an actual mountain I can reach, and that really has helped me immensely.

Oh boy. I think my first story I ever wrote . . . I was nine-years-old, and wrote a story about my friends and I unravelling the secrets of a ghost house. And I remember having so much fun. I didn't get into the realm of fanfiction until I was about twelve, I think? Now I can almost say that I've been writing for half of my life, which is wild to think about. I think the most important thing I have learned all this time--and why I still write to this day--is learning to have fun! It's my passion and I would rather die than give up writing. It's a lot more work than people believe it to be, but the reward is so worth it. Writing worlds and characters that come to life on a page or screen just from WORDS ALONE . . . To me, that was always magic. And I wanted to be a part of that magic, too. So loving my craft and having immense passion for it was the most important thing to learn about writing--at least to me.

OH ABSOLUTELY. From something as small as a nervous habit to something as large as a major life event has significant impact/influence in lots of different ways! I also have a habit of studying people and myself so yeah there's. Bound to be influence from my life in my stories perhaps more than I'd like to admit. My interests of course also influence what KIND of stories I write! I tend to stay in the same tropes/genres because I never get tired of them and I never will uwu

Hmmm! This may sound silly, but just keep writing! Don't give up! Writing is ART and you will only continue to improve if you keep at it!! Also write whatever you fucking want!!!! There is someone out there who wants to read and love your story, I promise!! There are never enough stories in this world and there's no harm in adding your own! The more the merrier I say!! Write as many as you like as often as you want! Your writing is fucking AWESOME and I know you can do it!! I believe in you!!!!

#Senu Responds #thequeenofthewinter #How's that skgjkldjfglk #I got a little silly there at the end. Oh well #Those be my Words of WidsomTM. If you can call them that-- #I hope it's coherent too aha