#That song's name makes a bit more sense now

[ghouljams]

i woke up w more brain worms thanks for giving more w ur response <33

but yknow how Tabitha was kinda the new Master for the super mutants in the Mojave… yeah that but König. his ass would be a cult leader too ur so right. you’d hear the radio signal went down and got a bit too nosy and mosey your way up to him like hello need fix? and he’d snatch you and keep you around. like coming to fix his radio was basically a marriage confession!!! and like how are you gonna fight him anyways he’ll just keep bringing you gifts (and bones..) until you say yes :)

ghoul ghost either is running around w a mutated horse (maybe a dog too :3c) or is wandering and doing random bounties (that man would be side questing, no allegiance just vibes)(at the moment i don’t have anything on him but we’ll see after work)(i saw what you said.)

gaz could easily be a synth too i just saw that.. and yeah i was gonna say he could be a minuteman but like ncr ranger makes a lot more sense in my pea brain!! he’d follow his courier around to help w deliveries(his ass just wants to see them shoot things, ur so right about the deathclaw thing) and would try and convince them to come home to cali with him, where it’s safer and he has a home there (totally not trying to trap them, ), like why would you ever wanna go to the strip babes? that place is gross and nasty :( (he’s gambled there a few times, like i can see soap def having fame on the strip and they’re buddies)(also he definitely wants like a whole family and poor courier just wants to figure out where this gambling chip goes to for some money)

clawing at elder maxson’s face w malicious intent btw, but he’s giving price and i don’t like it. that man would be a brotherhood elder who has his own agenda or just a very well respected knight, bc tell me he wouldn’t kick major ass in power armor (that man would be in love when he goes into a town to retrieve a piece of tech and go nuts over the pretty lady who runs the repair shop and offers to fix up his gun)(or maybe he’s w a scribe! who knows ill def have more later though)(im thinking about the ghosts guys rn a lot though)

Best friend Tabitha!! I love her. Bad radio show queen. König gets mad that the radio sucks, kills Tabitha and takes over. You're free to go Raul, have fun, stay safe out there(Raul is immediately executed for helping Former Best Friend Tabitha).

Now König is leader of a tidy cult, he's got some big changes to make, namely: we are militarizing this bitch, and putting some decent programming on the radio. More music, less talking. Also let's make this place a little safer for the humans, start getting some trade going(and catching pets).

Now most humans know not to go investigate the radio signal but you're fresh out of the vault, and eager to see who it is that keeps the radio running. Especially when the in between programing sounds so nice! König's voice following you across the wasteland, promising freedom and shelter for humans and mutants alike. He needs a little help fixing up the radio, but luckily you've got some radio know-how under your belt. Maybe he'll give you a couple caps for fixing the thing!

Well. The programming certainly takes a turn after you fix up the radio. When songs aren't playing your soft moans and whimpers are filling the air waves. König fucking you live on the air so everyone can hear how wonderful and superior super mutants are. Listen to how much pleasure his pretty new pet is in, begging him to come and fill you with his potent mutant seed.

"Some of you may wonder where my pet is today," König lowers the microphone so that slurping and gagging noises can be heard, followed by a short whine of pain and period of heavy breathing before the slurping sounds resume and he sets the microphone back on the table, "aren't they talented? I told you, humans are good for something, and very easily trained."

#cod x reader #x reader #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #konig x reader #konig cod #konig mw2 #konig call of duty #konig smut #cod konig #fallout au

[loveinsprings]

seasons- part 1

pairing: enzo vogrincic x f!reader

warnings: none

genre: angst-ish

notes: (1) this is my first story ever, so it might not be that good, comments and opinions are welcomed (2) the story will have three parts, this works more as a intro (3) it was inspired by my favorite wave to earth song seasons

______________________________________________________________

I can’t be your love… Look it’s too trivial for you now 

She sits in the restaurant’s terrace eating her meal in silence, her eyes focused on her phone’s screen. She reads the article carefully time and time again and takes a couple of screenshots of the parts she finds interesting. She smiles and takes a sip of her beer, the response to the movie is great, she had suspected it would be good, the director and production behind it had made great films before, how could this one fail?

She opens X and searches his name again. She always feels slightly guilty while doing this, as if she’s stalking someone, but she still goes ahead and does it. People love him, and how could they not? For the eight years that she knows Enzo she knows that he’s one of a kind, someone special. He’s kind, intelligent, talented, and obviously, attractive, of course people would love him. Her friend had worked hard all these years, and while it makes sense that he gets the recognition he deserves, the way that the film-and his popularity-have exploded almost globally shocks her a little bit.

Her heart beats a little faster in an uneasy way. She takes another sip of her drink, trying to wash those feelings away. She’s happy for her friend, she’s proud. But this weird feeling keeps popping out of her heart and flooding her veins. Uneasiness, fear, confusion. She doesn’t know how things will work out. How their friendship will work out. How her feelings will work out.

She focuses on her food, it’s useless to overthink about things that haven’t happened yet, and after all, everything will turn out well for him; and she’s his friend, she will be happy for him, she’ll be by his side cheering him on his next big steps. How could she feel upset even for a bit? When everything is going so well?

Her phone’s screen lights up, it’s a message from him, he’s asking her what are her plans for next Monday, maybe she would like to go for coffee in the afternoon? After checking her calendar she quickly answers him, of course she can go for coffee, she doesn’t tell him that she’ll have to work late into Sunday evening to be able to meet a work deadline. He doesn’t need to know, it’s a trivial thing really, besides she really needs to take a break from work, and hanging out with one of best friends will help her relax.

She schedules their meeting in her calendar after she finishes her meal, and quickly writes a text to him asking him how everything’s going, he replies saying he’s super busy, but that everything’s well, he’s surprised that new appointments are being made, events are being programmed for the next couple of months at least. ‘It’s Netflix, what did you expect?’. He just laughs at her response.

While she walks back to her apartment she reminds herself that she’ll take a break from her phone, she hasn’t done much reading these days. She also reminds herself that she can’t keep going on like this, checking stuff related to him so frequently. It’s not good, she tells herself, ‘I’ve been here before, it’s no use to get hung up on him again’. She looks at her reflection on a shop’s window, ‘You made a choice all those years back-she tells herself-no one forced you, and now, for your own well being, you have to look after yourself and don’t get your feelings tangled’.

As cliche as it sounds she fell in love with her friend and of course she didn’t tell him. She won’t be telling him any time soon anyways. She finds it ridiculous, how could she end up in a situation like this? She often feels guilty, how could she call herself his friend when she has all these feelings inside of her? And that’s why she made a choice, she would be just his friend, never tell him her feelings, don’t take things too far, and don't play silly games around him.

She arrives at her place, takes off her boots and quickly takes a shower. While shampooing her hair she tells herself that it wasn’t a hard choice, it wasn’t hard at all. Years ago, when she told Silvia, her best friend, that she had, sort of, fallen in love with Enzo, and that she wouldn’t not tell him, her friend asked her if she was afraid that “it would ruin their friendship”. Her best friend wanted to argue that it was worth a shot, she had feelings for him, and if he rejected her, she could move on. She laughed, Silvia looked confused at her, she said ‘look, I did this for me, not him’. 

Contrary to the cliche “I’m afraid that it would ruin our friendship, that’s why I kept my feelings for myself”, Y/N had decided to not act on her feelings because she felt that there were many things in her life that she needed to work on. At the time she felt like she was an incomplete person, and she honestly couldn’t say that her lover would be ‘her other half’. She had to have her other parts together, she had to be able to assemble all her pieces, by herself. What good would come out if she confessed her feelings to him? She felt that her insecurities would be a burden, her short temper could be hurtful, her clinginess could be a bother. She had more problems than she could count. She could end up dragging him with her instead of finding a solution.

She doesn’t pity herself, and even though it can be hard sometimes she chose to be just his friend. But, she had learned to move on with her life. She had gone on dates, she had had brief relationships with other guys. She couldn’t deny her feelings existed, nestled in her heart, sometimes they were more present, like a wind chime on an open window, tingling softly whenever the breeze hit them. Sometimes it felt like they were hidden, and the only way she could reach them was on sleepless nights when she focused on their memories together. 

She had been going through the pages of her book slowly, she was actually enjoying it. Her wet hair making a damp patch on her back, the soft hum of the air con creating a soft relaxing sound, when another notification came on her phone. He had sent her a picture he took that day when he managed to go out for a bit. She jokingly told him that she was shocked that he could be a good photographer, ‘if by any chance you can’t find work as an actor, you could do this for real’ she wrote. He sent her a laughing emoji and asked her if she was busy, if she could talk for a bit.

She laid on her couch and dialed his number before he could beat her to it. It only took him a couple of seconds to answer ‘hi Y/N, how was today?’ She laughed, he sounded tired, he had never done promotions for such a big project, he was exhausted by all the things that were happening. ‘Hope you don’t forget to drink water and eat properly these days’, she told him, she didn’t think it was necessary to answer his question. She preferred to focus the conversation on him, whether she would tell herself that if she ignored her problems she wouldn’t need to deal with them, and that her friend had more important things going on. 

They fell into a conversation quickly, he was tired, he felt like he needed to prepare himself better for interviews, with the popularity of the film he got more and more requests for them and he kept doubting if he was doing well. At the same time he found it amusing how things had gone so far. He genuinely hadn’t predicted that people would be so hooked on the film, he felt like he was part of a boyband. Throughout the conversation she keeps making jokes about all of this, she knows he has lots of things in his mind and she’s trying to keep things light.

He sighs, she changes her phone from her left hand to her right one, and sees that they’ve been talking for more than forty minutes. At that moment he tells her ‘Everything is so easy with you, it’s not like I won’t stop thinking about these things, but whenever I talk with you, everything seems more simple, thanks, I know I’m lucky to have you as my friend’

‘Yeah, I know, we’re lucky to have each other’s back… to be friends’

#enzo vogrincic #lsdln x reader #enzo vogrincic x reader

[myname-isnia]

Sometimes I wish I wasn’t 12 when I came up with Suiren and Midori cause why the fuck do both of them have Japanese names

#no but seriously. neither of their parents have japanese names. none of their relatives have japanese names #they aren’t from the fire nation which would make a bit more sense #12 yo Nia why were you so dumb. why was there 0 thought put into their names #okay tbf I did take my time picking suiren’s. I googled flower names in different asian languages until I found one I liked #I knew I wanted her name to be water related so I mostly looked at lilies and lotuses #and suiren is a gorgeous name. don’t get me wrong #I don’t really have any qualms about it. I like it well enough and I think it suits her #my in-universe explanation is that her parents were 20 and 21 when they had her and handy grown out of teen rebellion just yet #so picked a name removed from their respective cultures #though if I had to pick a different name I’d choose Niloufer. it also means water lily but matches ghazan haya and afarin a bit better #I have no excuses for midori #every 2000s baby had an indie video game they were obsessed with in 2015-2019. mine was yandere simulator #so I named her after midori gurin #particularly because of that one fan song that I had playing on repeat that summer #the vibes of it matched my original midori concept so… here we are. #I regret it now bc 1) it’s incredibly lazy. holds no deep meaning nor is connected to her parents’ cultures #2) yanderedev is… yanderedev. would rather not have anything associated with him tbh #but I can’t really change it now because it’s been 5 years. I can’t imagine midori with any other name anymore #I don’t even know what I’d change it to. probably something chinese to match ming-hua #and even if I were to change it it would involve editing so much #posts. tags. fics. everything. it’s way too late now even if I had a good replacement name lined up #oh well. Midori it is I suppose. brb gonna go build a time machine to yell at my 12yo self to use her brain #sotrl suiren #sotrl midori #seeds of the red lotus

[abyssruler]

arguments and odd positions

lyney x gn!reader

you knew lyney was a magician, but opening your fridge only to see him inside instead of your recently bought groceries is taking it a little too far. or — you refuse to talk to lyney after an argument, which leads to lyney putting himself in various odd positions in order to get you to speak to him.

comedy-ish, just lyney being weird and lynette being his accomplice

Lyney’s not one to let you stew in your anger after an argument. He’s persistent in getting you to speak with him to try and resolve the issue, which leads to a few… ridiculous and frankly odd situations he puts himself in just so he can talk to you.

An hour after you rushed off after a heated argument, you open your door only to find a little note stamped on it with the words I’m sorry :( written in a loopy handwriting. A bit creepy that he sneaked into your bedroom without your notice, but while the note makes you soften a bit, you’re still angry with him.

Which then leads to more… drastic measures. The likes of which Lyney has to force Lynette to help him with.

Two hours after your argument, you’re opening your fridge, only to lurch away and bite back a scream of surprise when you see Lyney standing inside your fridge.

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but you’re quick to close the door on him.

It escalates after that.

Everywhere you go, Lyney is right there.

In the middle of watering the plants in your backyard, you shift a few leaves from a bush and come face to face with none other than Lyney. He smiles sheepishly at you, a few twigs stuck in his hair. You don’t know how he managed to hide himself in that bush, but instead of acknowledging him, you spray him with water and leave.

You’re in the middle of cooking when you open your cupboard and see Lyney crouched inside the small space (how did he even fit in there?) He gives you a little wave which you ignore as you close the cupboard on him.

It goes on like that for a while. You turning around and seeing Lyney in bizarre positions that make you question how he even managed to end up in the first place.

You check in on your aquarium to feed your fish, only to see Lyney inside the aquarium. You open a book to read, but Lyney’s face is printed on every page. You try reading the newspaper, but the headlines are filled with nothing but Lyney’s name and why you should forgive him. You play a song, but Lyney’s voice echoes instead of the opera singer’s. You open your closet to change clothes, and Lyney is inside the cramped space wearing your clothes.

He’s everywhere.

You shift the curtains open, and Lyney. Is. Right. There.

You swear the windows had been firmly shut, and there hadn’t even been the slightest outline to tell that a person was hiding behind the curtains.

“Darling, please—”

You swish the curtains close on him and stomp your way to the bedroom. You make sure to lock the door, double checking the windows to prevent any chances of Lyney sneaking in.

When you’re sure that not even the hydro archon can break into your room, you sink down on your bed, exhaustion settling in as you turn your head over this bizarre day.

Lyney was persistent, yes, but never to this degree. He showered you with all sorts of compliments and bent over backwards so you can always have your way. In hindsight, the fact that you’ve never once argued before should have been a hint that Lyney has always been careful to make sure you’re happy—too careful, at that. It makes sense, you think, that he’s so desperate to make peace with you now that you’ve had your first argument.

Still, despite how odd his actions were, it was a little touching to see how far he’d go just to apologize to you. Maybe tomorrow you’ll finally acknowledge his existence.

You shift, turning to the other side of your bed—

And Lyney is right there, laying on his side and watching you with a smile on his lips.

You feel your anger and resolve crumble in the face of that smile. And really, it’s been a long day. Staying angry isn’t going to do anyone any good.

He opens his mouth, but you interrupt him with an exasperated sigh, shuffling forward and snuggling your head in the crook of his neck.

“I forgive you,” you murmur.

You feel him circle his arms around you, letting out a happy little sigh of contentment as he buried his face on top of your head, pressing a kiss that sends a spark right down your spine. He’s dressed in a soft shirt and cotton shorts made for sleeping, clearly having expected to sleep here beside you. Sneaky. You’ll get him back for the near heart attacks today, but for now, you’ll settle for basking in the warmth he radiates, letting his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

And you think that’s the end of it, that the two of you will drift off to sleep in each others’ embrace, but then—

“Lynette, tell Freminet to cancel the fireworks show! Plan Y version two is no longer needed!”

#i love characterizing him as a silly little man #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #gn reader

[jazjelspen]

my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

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You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

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You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hellaverse #alastor #alastor platonic #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel spoilers #hazbin spoilers #radio demon #alastor x reader platonic #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel platonic #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel heaven

[luveline]

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you and miguel have different definitions of the same word. he finally gives in to temptation —featuring a cranky but lovesick miguel and a flirty, head-in-the-clouds spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader, 3k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

This has to be your favourite song in the whole world. 

You sit in the hall beside the entrance to Miguel's office (this week, you're thinking you might call it The Bedroom, on account of all the magic happening inside), headphones on, a bottle of lemonade beside you. 

Today has the makings of a great day. You're at the Spider Society headquarters and not at home, for starters, and one of the Peter Parkers you'd made friends with in the med-wing saw you this morning and recognised you, which is brilliant because he looked super similar to every other Peter Parker you've met. He offered to help you fix your rinky-dink headphones, and now they're working again and loud enough to cover the sound of Spider Chatter, even with your enhanced senses. 

What's more, Miguel has finally emerged from his dormitory, and he's walking toward you looking confused. That's a step up from unhappy. 

He asks you something. 

"What? I can't hear you." 

He says something else. You shake your head, music too loud to catch even a hint of what he's saying, and Miguel eventually crouches down to push your headphones around your neck. He's surprisingly gentle. 

"What are you doing?" he asks. 

"Waiting for you, what did you think I was doing?" 

"Why are you sitting on the ground?" He gestures backward to a red-lit control panel. "Chair right there." 

"I think that's someone's desk." 

"It's really not." 

Miguel stands up and doesn't hesitate to grab your arms and help you up too. It means more to you than it should, because it's not necessary and a few months ago he wouldn't have bothered. Which isn't to imply that Miguel is a mean guy, Lyla says he used to be a loser (code for sweetheart), and you get flashes of it every now and then in chivalry and kind smiles. 

He's not mean, he's cranky. 

"Don't sit on the floor," he says. "Just– just go inside if I'm not here." 

"Well, The Bedroom doesn't come when I call." 

Miguel's lips part in confusion for a second. Lyla appears at his shoulder, and says, "She can't get the platform to come down without you, genius." 

"Put her name on the command list," Miguel says. 

Your eyes widen. Lyla flashes to his other side, closer to you, and smiles playfully. "Done." 

"Stop sitting on the floor," Miguel says, turning around. He walks a few steps and pauses when he realises you're not following. "Are you coming with me?" 

You jog to catch up with him. Music plays against your collar, a slinking, indie sound that makes Miguel wrinkle his nose. You turn it up a little bit and smile when he glares at you. 

You enter the atrium that houses The Bedroom. Miguel hops up onto the platform because he's too tall to see sense while you struggle, but you're pleased when he takes your hand and pulls you up properly. All these familiar touches today, anyone might think Miguel liked you. 

He definitely does. 

You sit down in the spinning chair near what you've decided is your desk but certainly isn't, again pleased beyond words when you find your sketchbook from last time still there, cleaned away carefully, pencils in a pot and a brand new pencil sharpener by the side of it. It matches your spider suit. You look over your shoulder, your face lit up with thanks, and Miguel swiftly looks away from you. 

"It's electric. Tell me when the battery's dead, I'll charge it." 

"Thank you," you say, flipping your sketchbook open to the last entry. 

You aren't Picasso, but most members of the Spider Society are somewhat artistically inclined, considering the suit-making rite of passage they must all endure —if you don't know how to sew before you start, you will by the end. 

Or like Miguel, you could cheat and make the suit out of nanotechnology. 

You haven't really been designing any suits lately. Spidering is tiring, you need to relax, and your reluctant friends are the easiest subjects, though Miguel's face is painstakingly difficult to get right. He's very angular, high cheekbones with that divot that needs kissing stat, and his nose… He's really pretty, but you almost wish he wasn't so your sketches of him held a better likeness. 

He's the only one of the regular crew that stands still long enough to be drawn. Jessica doesn't like you (or maybe she does, it's hard to tell, but she hasn't forgiven you for asking if her baby was like a maraca bead when she fights) so she doesn't let you draw her. Lyla will stand very still if you request it, but after a few portraits she got bored and started changing her hair or glasses, and after a few more she gave up. Margo is hard to focus on because her blue light makes everything else seem super orange, though she does stand in one place usually. She takes up a lot of pages, but it's Miguel you've drawn most of all. 

You go around the Spider Society sometimes asking people if they'll sit for you, but again your skills aren't impressive, so it's awkward when they want to see how you've done. There are drawings of all kinds of Spiders, including yourself, between Miguel, and Miguel, and Miguel. 

His back, the side of his face, his hands ungloved. His pointy bottom teeth mid fight. The naked stretch of his arm and his Rapture injector positioned over it. He might not appreciate that one. You rip it out and toss it in the waste paper basket under your desk, where it incinerates, paper smoke curling up toward the extractor fan on the atrium ceiling. 

"What are you doing?" he asks without looking at you, his gaze on one of his marigold coloured monitors. 

"Drawing." You're not drawing so much as sitting there with a coloured pencil in hand, trying to think of conversation starters. "What are you upto?" 

"According to the program, there are no Canon events today at risk of disruption," Lyla chimes in, "so Miguel's doing chores." 

"What, not one bad thing is gonna happen today?" you ask. 

"Nothing we can predict," Miguel says. 

You swap your pencil for your drink, unscrewing the lid of your lemonade to sip at it leisurely. Today is your favourite kind of day. No fighting, lots of time with Miguel, and music to go with it. You're so happy you could melt. 

Miguel turns to you and sees your stickying smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to be here with you," you say.

"Don't say stuff like that," he says, turning back to his screen. 

"Scared you'll actually experience sincerity?" Lyla asks. 

"Lyla," he warns, as though Lyla might be afraid of any consequence he had the power to inflict. 

"Sorry," you say, not very sorry, but not wanting him to be uncomfortable, "it's just nice, being friends with you."

"We aren't friends." 

You're not quick to take offence with Miguel. He can be cruel. He's hurting, he's unhappy, he has a lot on his plate. Oftentimes he's so tense with apprehension his neck locks up and you hear it clicking as he turns one way or another, or if he isn't apprehensive he's disappointed, furious, upset. You give him the benefit of the doubt because you know him, but you don't know the tone of voice he uses now. It's like he's offended at the insinuation. Like he would never, ever be friends with you. 

You put your lemonade on the desk and don't know what to do. His insipid floating platform is too high now to leave without causing a scene. Maybe when he's busy you can web down and go home. All you know is that you desperately don't want to be near him. But home sucks, and the dormitories are worse. You're stuck. 

"You can be so mean," you say softly, turning back to your sketchbook and pencils. 

You're thinking you might draw him with a bunch of bee stings, or find a previous sketch and cross his eyes out.

"What?" he asks. 

Your hackles rise. "You're mean. Don't talk to me." 

"What?" Miguel stands very still. "Y/N, what?" 

"What do you mean, what? I said something nice and you said something cruel. I get it, okay, we aren't friends, so don't talk to me." 

"I've upset you." 

You stare at your blank page. "It doesn't matter." 

"No, I've said the wrong thing." 

"Miguel, don't bother. What else could you mean by that?" You laugh with little humour. Crestfallen doesn't begin to describe how you feel. "I'll be quiet. I just don't want to be at home." 

"What's wrong with home?" 

"Is there ever much right?" 

"Did something happen?"

"We aren't friends, so why ask me?" 

You bite the inside of your lip as Miguel approaches, his footfall hushed over the lightweight metal flooring. You turn to him in your chair, head tilted back to meet his eyes, arms crossed over your stomach defensively. 

"That's not what I meant when I said that." He speaks slowly, firmly, to avoid any misunderstanding. "What's wrong with home, mi cielo?" 

You tap his ankle with your shoe, looking away from his gaze. You don't want to tell him, and if he keeps looking at you like that, you will.

"¿Qué pasó?" He bends at the waist slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, dark hair falling into his eyes.

"I don't know what that means," you murmur.

"Did something happen?" he asks.

"Nothing happened, it's just– it's lonely there," you say, squirming under the weight of his gaze, his sudden caring. "What's with you? One minute you're not my friend, the next you're worrying about me? You're giving me whiplash." 

He stands up, and his face falls back into a more typical emotionlessness. He's clearly feeling something, but he's wiping the slate clean. 

"When I said we aren't friends, it didn't mean–" He grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought you were staying in the women's dormitory?" he asks, frustrated.  

"I am, but I'm useless, and they don't really respect me because I'm–" 

"Eccentric?" 

"–not as experienced," you finish, eyes flaring. 

"Oh, my god," Lyla says, appearing in front of him to make sure he sees her delight at his slip up. 

Miguel bats her hologram with an annoyed grunt. She disappears again, her tinkling laughter cut short.

"It's a good thing," Miguel says quickly.

You stand up. "It's not the point." 

"You should feel at home in the dormitory, and if you don't, I'll find you somewhere else to stay here, you don't have to be in there if you don't feel welcome."

"Miguel, you're sounding awfully friendly right now." 

"We aren't friends," he says again, stepping closer to you. "What's so hard to understand about that?" 

"But we spend time together. We have fun. You like me, Miguel, you do, you tell me jokes sometimes, you make me things for me. You… you do like me, right?" 

"You know that I do," he says, his eyebrows pinching together. 

"You like me, like, you want me," you say, just to make sure.

His fist clenches hard enough to make an audible sound. Miguel's voice is fraught, and through barely parted lips, "If you know that, what's the problem?" 

You don't know. Maybe it was silly to worry about how he sees you, because you do know that Miguel likes you, but you also know he hadn't wanted to like you. His attraction to you was reluctant, you're not stupid enough to miss that, and it was important to you that whatever tension sexual or otherwise lingering between you had bloomed into mutual affection. 

"I want us to be friends, too," you say. 

"I thought we were more than that." 

It's such a quiet admission. He isn't afraid to say it, and he isn't reluctant like you feared. 

"Miguel," you say. "I want you to like me. I know I can be off-putting, I know I tease too much, but I don't want you to like me despite those things, I just want you to like me. So, when you say we aren't friends…" 

"I've never heard you say three serious sentences in a row," Miguel says, reaching out for your hand. He pulls you toward him slowly, his fingertips gliding up the length of your arm. "Then again, it's the same nonsense as usual." 

"Miguel–" 

"Of course I like you. How else do you need me to say it? I like you and I want to kiss you, I like you and I like that you're irregular. You want us to be friends? Then let's be friends." Miguel's hand closes around your bicep. His thumb presses against soft fat and muscle alike. "But not just friends." 

Relieved, you sigh. "So you're saying we really weren't friends?" 

Miguel leans down until his face is the only thing you can see. His smooth skin, his dark eyes, their darker flush of too-long lashes; it's unfair how pretty his eyelashes are, how they curl, how they bunch in triangles you have to fight to resist touching. His eyebrows so often slightly set, giving him an unhappy expression even now. 

He brings the hand that isn't clasped at your bicep to the hill of your waist. It's hot as a brand, and it pulls you closer, your neck craning with every inch he steals from between you. 

"We can be friends," he says. 

His fingers twitch against your arm, and his hand begins to climb. It's not as slow as it feels, conquering the curve of your shoulder, your neck. His hand is big, his thumb pressing into the column of your throat gently.

He looks at you for a measured lapse of time, and you know, finally, that you're on the same page. 

"What you said before, 'mi cielo?'" You hold his elbow. "What does that mean?" 

"My sky," he says. "My… my heavens. It's saccharine. It's something teenagers say, when they're," —his voice dips, the hand at your waist squeezing tight like you might slip through his hold—  "infatuated." 

"Just teenagers say that?" you ask.

"No," he allows. "I always thought it was too much." 

"But you–" 

"Yeah. I did." 

The first kiss is surprisingly sweet. On the tail end of words, Miguel presses his lips half-parted to yours, slowly, softly, like the brush of a downy feather. He lingers, and it's your own movement that spurs him on —you shudder up into his lips and he loses control. 

The sound he makes is a shock. You try to pull back to check he isn't hurting, and he lets you until he realises why it is you're pulling away. "It's fine, it's okay," he says quickly. 

Assuaged of your concern, he pulls you back in and he kisses you, he kisses you, his hand squeezing too tight and his nose bridge sliding up against yours from the force of it all. Your chest feels like a pit and you need Miguel closer if you're ever going to fill it, your hands snapping up to his face like magnets. There's no need to pull him down to you, he's already wading in, not wading —crashing, kissing you so hard your lips burn. 

You make a sound that says, hopefully, This is really fun, but don't give me a bruise.

His tongue is a heat at the seam of your lips. Your weight bends, your chest leaning into his front. He doesn't hesitate to ease his hand behind your back and prop you up against him as things get heady, and the only thing you can feel is him. 

All those times he almost kissed you, all those times he couldn't cross the gap. He poked and prodded and provoked you into getting into his space and each time you called his bluff. You wanted Miguel to give in, and now he has, it's the meltiest, most stickying warmth you've ever felt. 

Voices sound far away, off the platform and down the hall. Jessica and someone else, approaching fast. 

Something sharp snags your bottom lip as Miguel pulls away. You press your finger to your sore lip. When you pull it away, blood spots your skin. 

Miguel takes your face into his hand and angles your face to a glowing screen carefully, in total juxtaposition of the grip he'd had on your waist. 

"Sorry," he mumbles, the tip of his fangs catching the light. His adrenaline must be high. 

"Excited?" you ask him breathily. 

He wipes your lip with his thumb. The other hand pet's your cheek. You feel suddenly and smotheringly adored, all his attention on your pinprick wound. 

"Everything okay up there?" Jessica calls. 

Miguel drops your face like he's remembered himself. You turn to your newfound company, Jessica Drew and an unhappy looking Gwen Stacy. This high up, there's no way they can see the state of either of you, mussed hair and Miguel's blushy cheeks, but they'll see you eventually. And Miguel might like you, might want you, might be your more-than-friend, but he's a stickler for appearances, and being found kissing your subordinate dizzy when you're supposed to be working would mortify him.

"I cut my lip on a lemonade bottle," you call cheerily, waving at grumpy Gwen. Her lips perk up. "Miguel's trying to tell me it's my fault. Is lemonade usually sharp?" 

His hand flattens subtly at the small of your pack. 

"Thanks," he murmurs. 

"Welcome, handsome. Is it bad?" you ask, turning back to hip with your lip pouted. 

His eyes visibly soften at the sight of you. "Not that bad." 

"Alright, good. You'll have to let the platform down, I need to go." 

"What? Where are you going?" he asks. 

"If we're friends now," you say, lilting, performing a half spin in front of him just to watch his eyes narrow, "I'm going to have to make us bracelets. Friendship bracelets." He clearly doesn't like the idea of being friends still, so you amend with a softer tone, "Friends and whatever that was. Come on, you'll love it. I'll make it match your suit." 

He rubs the space between his eyebrows. 

"Will you bring your stuff here?" he asks, the platform beginning to lower under your feet. 

"Duh. I need to take lots of measurements. I'll be in your hair all day, you'll hate it." 

He nods like he agrees. "I'll hate it," he says, deadpan. When he's sure Jessica and Gwen aren't looking, he gives you a smile you've never seen before. 

You and I have a secret, it says. 

Lyla appears by your shoulder to instantly tell him otherwise. It goes without saying that she's mildly disgusted and extremely smug. "Don't match it to his suit, Y/N. Mr. Heartthrob here needs something soft. How about some baby pinks, hm?" 

Miguel sighs, but you barely hear him over your excited gasp. "Yes! Pink and white, for sure, that would be so nice." 

"Great," Miguel says. "Perfect. Thanks for that, Lyla."

"You're so welcome!" 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :D please reblog if you have the time ♡

#miguel and spidergirl reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara scenario #miguel o’hara blurb #miguel o’hara oneshot #spider-man: across the spider-verse #spider-man: across the spider-verse spoilers #spider-man: across the spider-verse fanfiction #across the spider-verse spoilers #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse spoilers #spiderman across the spider-verse spoilers #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfic #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara drabble #miguel ohara scenario

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

Hellfire did in fact, have cookies to sell.

More than cookies, which Dustin practically preened over when Eddie dragged himself back to their table. 

The ornaments they had made were still there, but now the centerpiece was an array of baked goods. Spread out in a spiral, it started from the large cake in the center and spun out into miniature cookies held in tiny decorated bags, all while Harrington stood over them like a proud parent. 

It smelled mockingly delicious. 

Eddie glared at the display, resisting the urge to upend the whole thing onto the floor.

Cookies and cakes and (--was that frickin bread pudding?) whatever other treats Harrington had shown up with might look good, but Eddie didn’t trust it. 

Didn’t trust Harrington, even if the bastard had never really done anything himself--but then, he never had to, had he? 

That was the point of all that money, after all. So he could pay other people to do his dirty work while he kept his hands squeaky clean. 

“Inch a bit to the left--there, stop!” Harrington was saying, like the bossy asshole he was.

Like he thought he could just come in and expect everyone to follow his lead. 

“Perfect! Now don’t touch it.” 

God, Eddie had to nip this in the butt, now. Before King Horrorton harassed his sheep all day, and cemented the club's undeserved bad name in the minds of Hawkins.

“Dustin what did I just say--” 

Eddie stepped up to the front of their table, preparing himself for war. Looked over to his friends knowing they'd likely need a nod of reassurance. A show from him that said he had this handled.

There was no cowering. 

No pleading, helpless, 'What do we do Eddie!?' gazes aimed his direction.

Hellfire wasn’t even looking at him, and not because they were all avoiding Harrington's line of sight.

No, the fucking traiters were flanking the King. Like they were buddies with the bastard instead of mortal enemies. 

“Hey, Ed’s, Harrington brought pies. Cakes too!” Gareth said around a mouthful of said cookie when he noticed Eddie standing before him. 

It came out a garbled mess, but years of experience had Eddie understanding him anyway. 

Jeff was busy playing what sounded like twenty fucking questions regarding the setup, and even Grant appeared comfortable, happily letting Harrington order him around as they finished setting up. 

Like this was some kind of cutesy Disney movie where they all held hands and sang songs instead of a hostile takeover situation. 

Eddie’s eye twitched.

Sensing a disturbance in the force, Jeff looked up and immediately interrupted himself to point to a series of red and green cookies placed dead center, delighted. 

“Check it out man, Steve made some shaped like dice!” 

(And he did say ‘Steve.’ 

Not Harrington, or This Asshole, or The Invading Evil Forces of Darkness.

Just Steve, like Steve was someone Jeff hung out with everyday.

Jeff’s cleric was a dead elf walking.) 

Eddie took note of what was in fact, dice cookies. 

He hated how good they looked.

“There’s four flavors.” Steve told him, cocky little grin on his face as he observed his work.  “Chocolate chip, peanut butter, snickerdoodle--and the dice ones are sugar cookies.” 

He licked his lips before finally turning to look at Eddie, hair curling over his face and making him wave a hand to brush them out of his eyes. 

Eddie hated how good he looked too. 

‘Hate, hate, hate, absolutely loathe-’ 

“Great, sure, wonderful.” Eddie managed, though given the look Grant and Jeff both shot him it might have come out as more of a growl. 

Dustin rolled his eyes, and Eddie couldn’t help but notice that Hellfire’s other two youngest hadn’t dared to show their faces yet. 

Likely they knew Eddie was having an absolute meltdown over Steve’s presence and were waiting for his reaction to blow over. 

(Their characters were dead too.) 

“I have two full cakes--one chocolate, on vanilla--and a few individual slices we can sell.” Steve was continuing, as if Eddie wasn’t glaring a hole in his forehead. “Those did really well last year when I made them for the basketball team.” 

Insults fought for space on Eddie’s tongue, but he managed to roll a 20 to pick the best one, opening his mouth to let it fly.

"Harr-" is as far as he got before he was rudely interrupted.

“Steve? Is that you?” A woman Eddie didn’t recognize but was clearly someone's mom came up cautiously to the table, side eyeing the Hellfire banner like a nervous horse. “That can’t be your famous tiramisu, is it?”

Steve beamed at her. “Well hi Miss Carpenter. It is!” 

Eddie was bumped aside by a massive purse, the woman not even glancing in his direction as she stepped up to the table. 

With a sneer, he finally slumped to the back of their little spot as Miss Carpenter looked over all Steve’s (not Hellfire’s and absolutely not Eddie’s) offerings. 

Didn’t care to wipe it off right then, even if he knew he needed to if he wanted to make sales. 

Jeff sent him a look.

The same one he usually aimed Eddie’s way when he thought Eddie’s antics were going to cause problems. 

He ignored it, on grounds that traitors don’t get to be judgy. 

“Oh,” Miss Caprtender tittered, the draw of Harrington’s baked goods clearly overcoming whatever fear she had about Hellfire. “Well I just can’t pass that up. The swim team meets aren’t the same without you!”

Eddie pretended to gag.  

Waited for her to comment on Hellfire--their clothes, their music, hell even the length of Eddie’s hair--and found he was almost disappointed when there wasn't even a single question about Hawkins precious golden child was slumming it with the weirdos. 

Instead, Miss Carpenter's hand went fishing in her purse for her wallet as she loudly called out over her shoulder, to presumably another annoying woman; 

“Terry, Steve’s here! He’s been baking!” 

For two terrifying seconds, there was a notable dip in the conversations around them. 

Grant’s eyes went wide as several women responded to the announcement like dogs hearing food hit the floor, and within seconds their table was absolutely swarmed by the mothers of Hawkins.

Even Eddie’s eyes went wide at the sheer number of them. 

“Hold, men, hold.” Dustin cautioned as Jeff and Grant both took a step back. “Come on, we need to get our gold!” 

“They’re scary though.” Gareth whispered in horror as four women tried to talk at once, jostling each other so hard they shook the table menacingly. 

“Ladies, ladies there’s enough here for everyone!” Steve laughed, showing off his disgustingly cute dimples as he did, getting several of the mom’s to blush at their own behavior in the process. 

The sheer amount of attention of course, drew in even more people, and Dustin quickly took up directing, planting Jeff and Grant at either end of their table while he and Steve fended off the hoard from the front. 

(Given the way he and Steve were equally ordering Hellfire around, Eddie finally knew where the little shit had picked that attitude up from. He was going to have to cure Dustin of it, ASAP.  ) 

“Here you go Miss Harper.” Steve said sweetly, handing over yet another stack of baked goods.

Without turning his head, and in the tone of voice one used to warn a misbehaving dog, he added; “Gareth don’t think I can’t fucking see you, get back up here.” 

Caught trying to sink under the table with another cookie in his mouth, Gareth found himself hauled back to his feet by his collar, putting a snarl on Eddie’s face immediately. 

“Hey--” He started, defensive and more than ready to intercede, except Gareth wasn’t flinching or cursing or doing that thing he did with his mouth when he was desperately trying to hold in his temper. 

Instead he was giving a sheepish grin and a half-assed apology while he hung in Harrington’s grasp, before doing what the guy told him to do. 

(It did not help that Steve patted him on the shoulder when he released him, before handing Gareth a third fucking cookie.)

Eddie’s eye twitched a second time.

(He told it to knock it off.

It didn’t listen.) 

No one acknowledged Eddie or his outburst, which meant he was just skulking behind the boys while they all worked. 

Arms crossed, rings tapping a rhythm on his forearm, far too keyed up to do anything other than glare at the back of Harrington's skull.

The King seemed perfectly happy to ignore him.

Likewise, Gareth and Grant knew better than to bother him when he was in a snit. 

Henderson made the occasional snappy little comment, but the brat had mostly left him alone now that they were well into the swing of selling, chortling over the increasing stack of cash Steve kept trying to get him to put into a “safe place.” 

Eddie was seconds away from walking up and snatching the cash himself when Jeff decided it was on him to attempt the impossible. 

Get him to help Harrington. 

“More hands would be nice, Eddie!” Jeff called, looking more than a little harassed as the mom he was helping changed her order a second time, snaking out the last single slice of chocolate cake from another mom who was eyeing it. “Steve and I could really use your assistance over here!” 

Eddie’s glare, which had been doing its level best to try and vaporize the King’s brain, switched targets instantly. 

“I’m supervising.” 

Jeff made a face like he was about to argue, but the King beat him to it. 

“It must be tough,” Harrington said, tilting his head to look back towards Eddie, “to supervise people who are working so much harder than you.” 

Which promptly set the mood for the next full hour. 

xXx 

Harrington was matching him tit for tat.

Every shitty, sneered word out of Eddie’s mouth was met with an equally mean toned barb, though given the repeated looks everyone kept shooting him, Eddie was very much considered the aggressor here.

A fact he cannot believe is coming from his own friends.

What happened to comradery? To Eddie stepping in and protecting them, from the likes of people just like Harrington? 

But no, Eddie makes one fucking comment about how the cookies are probably half hair-spray and suddenly he’s the bad guy.

(Nevermind that Steve had fired right back, telling Eddie that any hair-spray taste was probably from all the drugs he did.)

Was somewhat, halfway--okay maybe amazing, Eddie might have snuck a cookie himself--food really all it took to get them all to turn on him like this?

Erase the years of Eddie being their shield in high school? 

Act like Harrington wasn’t just as bitchy and awful as he had been in high school (even if he was, admittedly, being nicer about it all right now? Almost--aloof, like he couldn’t figure out why Eddie hated him so much, but likewise wasn’t going to take even one eye roll sitting down--and no, no, Eddie wasn't derailing this by thinking about his stupid eyes, he wasn't!) 

Frankly he would have flipped them all the bird and stormed off, if it weren’t for the increasingly weird little comments people were making. 

‘Oh Steve, it's a shock to see you here.’ 

‘Are you doing someone a favor?’ 

‘You know Pastor Jim said something about this game…’

The last one had put Eddie’s teeth on edge, even if Dustin had brushed it off. It hadn’t been aimed at Steve directly but the women saying it had absolutely been looking at the King, as if waiting for his reaction.

Not that Harrington would take the bait this soon, though. 

There were too many people buying fricken…cupcakes and shit, while the King enjoyed the attention of the masses. 

Eventually this tiny crowd would die down though, and that’s when Harrington would change his tune. Start answering some of the questions he seemed to be dodging as more and more people got braver about coming up to the table.

This whole thing was a ticking time bomb, and Eddie would be ready when it inevitably blew. 

To defend his table, his club, his friends. 

Even Henderson, who absolutely didn’t deserve it just then. 

“Dude perk up would you? You look like you’re going to stab somebody.” Jeff hissed at him ten minutes later, when there was finally a break in the flood. 

Eddie ignored him in place of taking stock of the table. (And maybe, sneaking another cookie.)

“Hope you brought more than this, Harrington.” He said, knowing he sounded like a stuck up ass and not feeling an iota of guilt about it. “Unless you plan to run home and bake more like a good little housewife.”  

“Dude.” Grant said, casting him a look like King Dick might leave and take the cookies with him.

“Oh I brought more.” Harrington dismissed, with a small flick of his fingers. “And I’ll have you know you’d never find a housewife more perfect than I am, Munson.” 

Then he turned to nail Eddie with the most shit eating grin he’d ever seen the King wear. 

Facing flaming a brilliant red, Eddie sputtered for a second before finally getting ahold of himself and spitting; 

“How delightful. I--” 

“Okay.” Jeff cut in, forever the mediator. “Gary, Dustin can you help Steve pull the extra stuff out from under the tables? While I go talk to Eddie?” 

“Can I try the tiramisu?” Gareth asked, inching hopefully towards the treat while keeping an eye on Harrington’s hands, lest he get smacked again. 

“Only if you’re a good boy.” Harrington told him sarcastically and goddammit why did that make Eddie blush harder!? 

Jeff sighed, before grabbing his arm and hauling Eddie back, away from the table, right as a younger man in some stupid sport’s jacket asked questions about one of the dice cookies.

“Look I get it man, I do,” Jeff started, voice talking on the sort of wheelding, pleading tone it did when he really wanted something and knew Eddie was opposed. “but Steve’s actually been super cool. We might actually make money off this, and he’s giving us all of it. Can you just… not antagonize him for five minutes?” 

Eddie stared at his best friend in abject horror. 

“You couldn’t have talked to him for more than twenty minutes total. Half of which he spent bitching that you were bagging a cake wrong! At what point was Harrington "being cool!?"

The asterisks were made by his fingers, which Eddie mockingly framed his face with. 

He got a flat, unimpressed stare in return. 

“It was a very informative twenty minutes and he was right about the cake. Now are you going to help or are you going to glower in the corner?” 

Eddie gaped. 

“I cannot believe you right now--”

Jeff didn’t even wait to hear him out.

 “You’ve chosen to glower. I can’t help you man, but we’d all have a much better day if you weren’t at Harrington’s throat every five seconds.” Jeff turned smoothly on his heel.

Over his shoulder he added; “Seriously, don’t come back until you’ve worked your way out of your snit.” 

Shocked, Eddie watched Jeff float back to the front, inserting himself easily between Grant and Steve and immediately striking up a conversation.

With the enemy. 

“I didn’t know you baked.” Jeff told Steve loudly (and very obviously, for Eddie to see.) 

Steve gave a bashful little smile, then shrugged. “It’s a hobby. Got into it back when the basketball team needed to fundraise a few years ago and Tommy’s mom got it in her head we should sell home baked goods. Turns out its kinda fun.” 

“Please never get out of it.” Gareth insisted, a piece of God knows what crammed in his mouth.

“Dude, how many of those have you gotten into!? Stop eating the merchandise!” Dustin commanded, smacking at Gareth’s shoulder. 

“I physically cannot stop man.” Gareth dodged, reaching out for another cookie. “I’m not sorry.” 

Steve just laughed. All charming and buddy-buddy, like it was natural for him to be here. 

Wearing a Hellfire shirt. Making jokes and teasing the guys. 

In Eddie’s fucking place. 

He seethed, fingers twitching, and envisioned the very unsexy murder of one Steve Harrington.  

Cartoon X’s for eyes and all. 

xXx

Trouble didn't hit the table.

It in fact, seemed to stay away as if on purpose, to shove in Eddie's face that he was the one in the wrong here.

Even the questions toned done, as the second wave of moms showed up, this round prompted by some former teammate of Steve’s Eddie didn’t recognize yelling about his apple pie.

Instead, Eddie’s wayward sheep finally made their appearance Mike and Lucas trying to sneak in as if Eddie wouldn’t notice during the new rush.

(Eddie himself almost caused trouble when he realized Lucas was wearing a Not-A-Hellfire shirt, which solved the mystery of where Harrington had gotten his.

He was inching his way towards them, a snarky word on his tongue when he saw Sinclair said something about how he was “already on Eddie’s shitlist for joining the basketball team,” in relation to what must have been a question about his Hellfire shirt, that caused Eddie to freeze.

With the air of a sad, wet kitten, Lucas followed it with; “I’m sure it won’t be long before he kicks me out of Hellfire anyway.” 

Like he'd been punched in the gut, all the air left Eddie’s lungs.

Because before Lucas had said that, Eddie had been thinking it. 

Not really--he’d never kick anyone out of Hellfire.

It was more that he'd thought about it in the way one does when you know you're right, and are having to resort to underhanded tactics to force the other party to come to their senses.

Like a sort of shitty, angry “I should kick you out, let you see what happens when you don’t have us!” kind of innervation.

The same kind he had heard the jocks sling before, when they were mad at each other and--God he wasn’t--he couldn’t be, like them...could he?

Like fucking Harrington, who oh fuck, was patting Lucas sympathetically on the shoulder and giving him some kind of whispered advice. 

Sonovabitch. 

“I’m going for a smoke.” Eddie bit out, vision tunneling.

He knew he needed to go sit down somewhere, before he fucking lost it in front of Hawkin, Harrington and everyone. 

And wouldn’t that just be a treat for King Steve?

To watch Eddie realize he had turned into the very thing he hated, preached against, even? 

That Steve was, maybe, possibly, doing a better job of following Eddie’s own Munson Doctrine than he was?

Eddie barely saw the room anymore--waived off whatever Grant was trying to say to him as flew past, shaking hands fishing for a desperately needed cigarette.

Maybe a hope and a prayer too, because apparently he needed it.

How long had he been like this? 

Been a douchebag asshole? 

Was it the whole year? More than? Or was it just now, with stupid Steve involved? Could he trace this back to that stupidly cute--no, no, annoying, asshole?

Was this some fucked up way of coping with his growing crush!?

Lost in thought and growing self hatred he nearly careened right into Robin Buckley.

Her slightly bent paper reindeer ears marking her as a member of the band kids who had been absolutely butchering ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ a few minutes earlier. 

Vaguely heard her yell Steve’s name as he ran off (because that’s what he was doing. What he always did.

Run--from himself and his own fucking feelings, like a total cliche.)

--but didn’t take in that she was doing more than saying hi to, oh fuck him sideways--her friend.

Because she and Steve were friends.

Good ones, if the freshmen were to be believed.

Rather than go outside and catastrophize in the cold, Eddie threw himself threw the doors at the end of the hall, then up the stairwell, to the second floor.

Tucked himself right into a corner, right there by the stairs.

Sank down into a crouch, hands scrubbing up his face before tangling in his hair, head dropping between his knees, cigarette shoved into his mouth.

Somehow, Eddie decided, this was Steve’s fault. 

He'd have come up with a reason for that, he was sure. A good one even, except he forgot one of the key features of his life.

He was a Munson, and as a general rule of life, nice neat things did not happen to Munson's--but they did get kicked while they were down.

“Okay, what happened?” Steve fucking Harrington asked, voice loudly echoing up the stairwell from down below, and Eddie threw his head back, nearly slamming it against the wall. 

(Maybe he’d pissed off a witch. His life would make a lot more sense if someone had cursed it.)

“She gave me her number!”

That was Buckley, the shrill timber identifiable even as she whispered the words. 

Eddie can’t really see them without giving himself away--could probably make his escape if he got down and army-crawled past the railing he’s huddled by, but figured this is their fault anyway. 

Not his problem if he overhears a private conversation if they’re both too stupid to check to see if someone was seated literally right up above them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" Steve was saying. "That’s what we wanted!” 

“Is it!? What if she’s just, you know, giving it to me?” 

“...I’m not following.” 

“Like in a friend way. Not a--”

“Romantic way?”

Harrington has the smarts to say the words quietly.  So quietly in fact, that had Eddie not been in the exact right position he wouldn’t have heard--but he almost swallowed his unlit (he should have lit it, maybe they'd have smelled the smoke and fucked off) cigarette anyway. 

“Sssshh!” Robin hissed, and Eddie can’t see either of them but he imagined her jamming her hand over Harrington’s big fat mouth. 

“Not so loud, Steve!” 

“Sorry, God.” Sure enough, Harrington’s voice is muffled. “How did she give it to you? Did she say anything?” 

“She asked if I want to hang out after band, but because I have that stupid family thing, I told her I couldn’t today, but I can literally any other day, and she said she’d call me, and I said--” 

“Robs, breathe.” 

“Don’t interrupt me, Dingus!” Robin said, voice shrill again, before she clearly listened to Harrington and took a breath. 

 It was big, and deep, and she blasted it back out loud enough for the fucking birds on the roof to hear. 

In a calmer voice, Robin continued; “I said we never traded phone numbers so I didn’t have hers. She grabbed my arm and wrote her number on it. Look, she added a heart!” 

“Okay, here you go! A hearts a good sign!"  

And Harrington sounded--sounds happy for her, practically ecstatic, which doesn’t make much sense given Robin is talking about a ‘her’ and-

And-and-and--

Eddie’s always been quick to connect the dots. 

It’s something he inherited from his old man. A Munson trait he’s tried to make his own through being an excellent DM (and not by robbing people blind or boosting cars.) 

Here, the dots clearly screamed that Robin Buckley was trying to ask a woman out. 

You know, in a gay way. 

Which Harrington not only knew, but was supportive of. 

Steve Harrington, who famously called Jonathan Byers' a queer before smashing the guy's beloved camera into the ground. 

Eddie’s head exploded. 

Or was in the process of exploding--he’s not entirely sure given the tunnel vision was back and his soul felt like it had exited his body entirely. 

Just knew that his world was being remade for a second time in five minutes, and that he was dealing with it pretty damn poorly.

(Maybe God would be nice for once, and just give him the aneurism he clearly deserved.)

Which was of course, when trouble finally did decide to show face, in the form of Dustin Henderson barging through the doors and into Steve and Robin's little meeting.

Eddie knew, because Eddie could hear him.

“Steve! Steve we have a problem!” 

“I’m busy Dustin--”

“Be busy later, we have an emergency on our hands!” 

“And what, pray tell, do you think is an emergency?” 

Eddie, who had instantly latched onto the conversation by the sheer need to have something distract him from his own thoughts, wondered the very same.

“Jason Carver showed up at the table, with a priest. They’re trying to do some whole kind of crazy sermon--is that a good enough emergency for you!?” 

“Oh shit. ” Steve spat, at the same time Eddie yelled it from up high. 

He sprang up, all thoughts of Robin and Steve knowing he’d eavesdropped vanishing entirely from his head as he lunged for the stairs.

Flew down them, because the thing he'd been waiting all fucking day for had finally happened.

He nearly crashed into Robin once again as he blew through the barely closed doors, Steve and Dustin already far ahead of him.

“Eddie?” Robin asked, voice noticeably nervous. "Were you--"

"Not now Starbuck, but we can talk later." Eddie told her, flying right past.

After he saved Hellfire. 

#Its my birthday have a thing! #sighs in why can’t I ever make things into two parts #THREE IT IS #yes ill do tags #you do have to comment though bc I will miss it if its just in the tags #this will be only three parts so help me #pre steddie #hellfire #steven harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #The Party #Robin Buckley #Steve is a Good Friend #Chaotic Gremlin Eddie #and Bitchy Mean Girl Steve #I will die on the “bitchy mean girl” Steve is VERY different from “rich kid asshole” Steve hill #Eddie loves it even if he hates that he loves it rn lol #Eddie does some grade A tier catastrophizing here #things are not nearly as bad as he spirals himself into thinking lol #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #hellfire club

[yxami]

happy nut or not November day 8!!!

description: Yandere popstar x gn manager reader, yandere themes, possessiveness, slight angst, love sick pop-star, obsession, this idea is deep from my drafts that I decided to use for nnn, he’s so dramatic I love him

When you went into the music industry, you expected to be managing a rock star, someone with your music taste and style. It would make perfect sense to be paired up with someone that was exactly like you right? Apparently not, not to him anyways.

You managed to sign someone after months of trying, you had no real connections to anyone and it was hard to find someone that would place their trust into a nobody with no history in the industry.

It stung for a bit, until you found him, Lynx was his name, and originally you thought that was a stage name, but he introduced himself and even showed his license to prove it to you, proudly beaming at your studio doorstep after seeing an ad of yours.

He was bright, and happy, a complete contrast to the dark look in the recording room behind you but you shook off the surprise and introduced yourself as well. He seemed excited to start and was quick to write lines down for his first song.

It honestly shocked you how good the numbers were when you looked at how fast his first song went in the charts, hitting ranks you’ve only dreamed to happen far into your career.

Everything went smoothly after that, he busted his ass and made more songs while you managed everything on the sidelines that would bore him almost immediately. He left you with all the things that he would hate to do, even his taxes.

It’s not like he was letting you do everything unappreciated. He’d cling onto you and cover you in every little affection you’d allow him to do before you’d make him sit on the opposite side of the couch for 10 minutes so you could have space for yourself before he was stuck to you again.

And now this was almost your everyday life as your manager for him, maybe a little too close to your now employer but he was the one who initiated everything so you couldn’t say much, you didn’t care either way.

“Are you happy! I got on the top chart again, 10th place! 10th!” Lynx cheers, happily jumping into your arms on the couch and he awaits your praise, batting his brown lashes at you, brown from the tinted mascara he uses.

“Good job Lyn” You ruffle up his hair, patting him as you let him sit comfortably on top of your thighs, he’s exactly like those microwaveable stuffed animals meant for your lap and stomach, but he was ten times bigger and way clingier than a normal person should be.

He practically purrs at your praise that he already expected, putting your arms to wrap around his lower stomach like he usually preferred, if not that then at his waist.

“What should I try hitting next? 5th place? Maybe even 1st? I think I’ll hit 1st place once I do my live concert” He stares at the TV playing some boring news until it pops up, talking about him.

You tell him to be more humble and try to be grateful about hitting 10th place before worrying about what he’d get next.

And soon comes the day for his live concert, he’s jumping up and down, a bit with anxiety and a lot with pure joy that he gets to see his fans in real life and not just as an online number.

He’s getting ready, finding it easier to do his own makeup instead of hiring makeup artists. You can see his vanity is already decorated in his favorite things to make him feel at home. With a few pictures you don’t even recognize showing him of yourself.

“Manager! Manager! Look, don’t I look nice?” Lynx gets up to hug you, only to be blocked with your hand, so he’s left with furrowed eyebrows and his arms out with nothing to grab on.

“Did I.. do something wrong?” His eyes soften, nose already turning a shade of pink as his bottom lip quivers, he already seemed to be on the brink of crying.

“We’re in public remember? Even backstage there’s people to worry about. I told you a week ago, Lynx” You hope he doesn’t take it to heart but you don’t want anything to ruin his career.

What would happen if his lovesick fans found out that he was so close to his manager? They would tear you and his career down just for assuming that the two of you had something, and their idea of having a chance with him would be ruined. Thus leading to his downfall because of the way his fans are.

“So? I don’t care if they see me with you” He insists, feeling his heart burn at your rejection to him wanting affection, something he’s never experienced and he hates it already.

“I’m not going to sit here and explain about what could happen again” You sigh, rubbing your temple at his stubbornness but understand it since you’ve spoiled him a little too much.

You decide that it’s best if you just talk to him after the show, then he’ll probably be more willing to understand.

“Let’s just relax until this is all over, okay?”

Okay. He thinks. Maybe when he’s done singing and enters backstage then you’ll be so proud you’ll hug him, that would be seem like a regular celebration right?

Then you’d be able to do it without worrying about others thinking differently.

And then you’d love him like he loves you, right?

Lynx step up on the stage, a bit anxious since his mind is still focused on you, you’re going to be watching him, he doesn’t care anymore about the rest of the fans lined up in rows cheering, just about you.

As he greets the crowd there’s just a gnawing thought that maybe you didn’t want to show him affection anymore, maybe it wasn’t just about the people and what they might think.

His heart hurts, it hurts so bad at these stupid thoughts plaguing his mind and he tries blinking away his tears. He’s on stage for gods sake! He can’t just start tearing up.

He manages to cool off and start preforming, but the second he finishes he sings his goodbyes and rushes backstage into his dressing room. Sobbing off his makeup as he puts his head down on his vanity. He’s so embarrassed, he knows that you probably saw him looking conflicted on stage.

Did he do okay? Did he impress you? Damn he hates this.

“Lyn, you did so—“ You pause as you step into the room, looking at the back of his head since he was still crying with his forehead pressed onto his folded arms. “You okay?” You quickly close the door and go up to him, brushing the hair out of his face after he looks up.

His makeup is running down his face, and somehow he still looks pretty, even when he’s crying, he’s still never fails to impress you.

“N-no, you’r— you’re” He stutters out between sobs, getting embarrassed that he can’t speak because of his loud sniffles that demand for air, so much so that he stops trying and puts his head back down.

“It’s okay, look im listening, what’s wrong?” You coo, extremely worried to what caused this reaction, he did so well on stage that it’s left you puzzled, what could’ve gone wrong?

“You s—still like me right?” He tries wiping the tears off his face but his palm just glides off his cheeks from how wet they were, he continued this useless movement until you grab a tissue and start wiping his face.

“Of course I do, what makes you think I don’t?” You purse your lips as you still try thinking about what invoked these worries out of him.

“You didn’t wanna hug me” He mumbles, embarrassed at how stupid it sounds but how can help it when he’s so in love with you? He’s always had this obsession.

“I was just worried about people getting the wrong idea, I still like you, we’re always going to be friends” You hug him as he stands up, he takes in deep breaths, inhaling your comforting scent that he’s always loved.

“Mm sorry, i was just really worried” He sulks, looking like a kicked puppy as he tightly embraces you. He’s so self conscious about his useless worries but so happy that you still liked him.

It did sting when you said friends but maybe you’ll see him as more if he proved himself. This just means he would have to try ten times harder to earn your love and he was prepared to do so.

#yxami’s yam #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #pls request #yandere singer #yandere idol #obsessive yandere #yandere obsession #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere preformer #yandere pretty #yandere clinger #clingy yandere

[forlix]

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞・l.f.

— five times you want to tell your best friend you love him and the time you finally do.

words・7.7k

pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader

genres・fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn w/a happy ending, 5 + 1 trope, idiots in love who are also afraid of love, you do the math

warnings・alcohol consumption, discussions of anxiety, lots of emotional vulnerability, like a surprising amount of crying icl

playlist・jazz bar by dreamcatcher・spring day by bts・through the night by iu・eight by iu ft. suga・house song by searows・not mine by day6

a/n・i borrowed the title of this beautiful day6 song for this fic; give it a listen if you can (especially while reading part four). happy late birthday, lix <333 thank you for being you

One. The door to the café opens with a soft jingle, bringing a chilly draft into the room and causing you to draw your scarf tighter around your shoulders.

Theoretically, you come here to study—but people-watching has become a simultaneous pastime. There was that couple with a pair of samoyeds, so fluffy that they looked like walking clouds; a mother and son, hunched over their croissants, arguing in a classic “don’t cause a scene in public” tone; an elderly woman in bicycle shorts asking for extra shots of espresso in the menu’s most caffeinated item.

And now, there is him.

“Hello,” the ashy-haired stranger says to the barista with a quick, polite bow. “May I have a medium caramel latte? Hot, with sweetener, please. Thank you.”

His voice reminds you of the notes of a cello, of the feeling of running your fingers through tufted velvet. When he turns away from the counter, he’s slipping a card back into his wallet, and you catch a glimpse of long lashes and a scattering of freckles. You cannot see his face, as it’s covered by a black mask, but that only propels the question further: who are you?

And perhaps it is destiny herself who hooks a gentle finger beneath the stranger’s chin and tilts his head upwards, because when he inadvertently steps into a patch of sunlight, his brown irises illuminate like molten amber, and they are fixed upon you.

You feel your lips part, your stomach turn. You don’t know if your cheeks are so warm because of your piping hot tea (your third one today) or because of the newfound eye contact with someone so ethereal.

But you are sure that the corners of the stranger’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly, as if his lips have just curved into a smile beneath his mask.

“Felix,” the barista calls, and you turn the name silently on your tongue.

Maybe you are exhausted from work and not thinking straight. Maybe you are more starved for change than you’ve ever been. Or maybe you’re just prophetic. But you think you sense forever in this man, with his freckled cheeks and pretty eyes.

That is the first time you want to tell Lee Felix you love him.

Two. The second Felix comes into your line of vision, you sense that something is wrong.

You hold up a hand in greeting, and the smile he returns is sincere but muted, as if it pains him to move, to breathe. He sounded weary on the phone earlier—can I see you tonight? Just for a bit—but only now that he’s in front of you do you see the extent of his fatigue, seeping into his sunken shoulders and lightless eyes.

“Hi,” he says once he’s close enough.

“Hey, you,” you answer, rising out of your seat. Instinctively, he extends his arms toward you, and you draw him into a hug that is fleeting and familiar. He smells faintly of laundry detergent and vanilla, and it makes something within you ache, like an oyster searching for its absent pearl.

When you pull away, your hands move to your best friend’s cheeks, cocooning his face so you can get a better look at him. Even under the sparse streetlights, you see that his eyes are slightly bloodshot, the shadows beneath them deep and sullen. Has he been crying? 

“Bad day?” You ask, your hands falling back to your sides.

“The worst,” he returns with a weak smile. 

“Wanna take a walk?”

“Yes, please. How long do I have you for?”

This is what you do when your schedules are too packed for you to make real plans: take strolls wherever is most convenient, for however long either of you can spare. Sometimes that’s five minutes, sometimes five hours. But you know that you need to be here for him tonight.

“As long as you need me,” you say.

You turn around to pick up your drinks (a decaf caramel latte for Felix and a black milk tea for yourself), and you don't see the way his smile comes back a little bigger the second time, the way his cheeks warm slightly under the moonlight.

There’s a small park a few blocks behind your apartment. Granted, it's not a very good park, with only a tiny, sad playground and very little foliage, but it is an excellent stargazing spot, due to it being so dark and desolate. You and Felix decide to head there now, your arms touching as you walk through the quiet residential area.

Ten minutes later, blades of grass are poking the back of your head, and directly above you is a sea of scattered stars, flickering like millions of faulty flashlights. Felix’s voice is leaden when he starts to speak, breaking the park’s fragile silence. He tells you about his fears, about how earlier today they overwhelmed him so much that he wanted to lock himself away from the world and throw away the key. He tells you about his dreams, about how even in his relentless pursuit of them they sometimes still feel as amorphous and unattainable as fragments of mist.

The way he always does when he’s around you, Felix spills parts of himself that he never thought he could entrust to anyone. And you don’t say a word, your knee leaning against his, listening, understanding. (But you wish you could tell him a lot of things: that you care for him more than you ever believed yourself capable; that you hope for his happiness more than your own; that you don’t have the words to heal him, but you would give anything to find them.)

By the time the two of you leave the park, it’s almost midnight, and the streets have fallen silent save for the occasional whoosh of car wheels on cement and the distant lamentations of cricket choirs. You’re making small talk now, and Felix is smiling a little easier. It seems your conversation worked in cheering him up; a temporary fix, you’re sure, like a bandaid where stitches should be, but seeing his eyes crinkle and hearing his laugh again is enough to soothe your worry for the rest of the night, at the very least.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay going back yourself?” You ask once the two of you reach the entrance to your apartment building.

“Yeah, of course.” Felix touches the back of his neck apologetically. “I’m sorry I kept you out so late.”

“Nonsense, Lix. I’m always here for you.”

Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, and you’re caught off guard by his facial expression: exhausted but contemplative, and possessing a sense of tenderness. It is a look that you don’t think you’ve seen before, and you feel your heartstrings pull at its unfamiliarity, its strange softness.

You say your goodbyes, but your "let me know when you get home safe" is cut short when you feel a hand catch your wrist, just as you’re entering the building.

How Felix doesn’t notice your frantic pulse beneath his touch is beyond you, but instead he parts his lips, and his next words resound in your mind as you try and fail to fall asleep that night.

“I can’t explain why, or how—but I feel braver when I’m with you, Y/N. I meant to tell you that earlier.”

And those three words rush to your mind fleetingly, like saltwater crashing against the shores of your mind. Even when the tide has subsided, they remain on the sand, waiting to be read aloud.

“Thank you,” Felix mumbles, “for everything.”

You don’t read out those words, of course. Instead, you reach up to squish Felix’s face and call him a sentimental dork, to which he rolls his eyes affectionately and bats you away, and the moment is over. But when you turn to go, your heart is pounding so loudly that your reply may as well have been a confession.

Three. You sink into your mattress, careful to keep your tea within your mug’s rim, and let out a hybrid of a groan and a sigh that is strikingly reminiscent of an old man lowering himself into a worn armchair.

You can’t remember the last time you had a cold this terrible. It feels as if your lungs took a plunge in a vat of wet cement and then rolled around in gravel immediately afterward. And it’s got you in the mood to do nothing but listen to the heavy drops of rain knocking against your window, curl up with a good show and a hot drink, and bask in your own congestion.

But then your phone, which you left in the bathroom, emits four deafening notification sounds, and you haul yourself back out of bed with a groan-sigh that’s twice as anguished as the last.

When you reach the hellish device, your best friend’s name greets you, and your ire dissipates momentarily.

From: Lix 🐣 Hey hey From: Lix 🐣 We still on for dinner tonight? From: Lix 🐣 Just gonna be me, Minho, Seungmin. Jeongin has a vocal lesson From: Lix 🐣 Please don’t play the “if Jeongin doesn’t go neither do I” card again I’ve had enough of it!!! ENOUGH

You let out a throaty laugh that sounds like one of Minho’s cats battling a hairball, heading back to bed.

From: Y/N 🌙 ahhhh i meant to text you earlier, but i have the worst cold From: Y/N 🌙 no clue how or why i caught it but i feel like fucking shit. it’d be a bad idea for me to come over right now From: Y/N 🌙 sorry :( can we raincheck in a few days? From: Y/N 🌙 (that way jeongin can come too!!!)

Felix dislikes this last text, and you snort into your tea.

From: Lix 🐣 Yeah, of course. Don’t apologize From: Lix 🐣 Do you need anything? You’re eating and sleeping well, yeah? From: Y/N 🌙 sleeping, YES.  From: Y/N 🌙 eating, not really 😅 but i don’t have much of an appetite anyways From: Y/N 🌙 don’t worry about me. i’ll be raring to go in a day or two

Felix starts to type a response, but the gray dots disappear after a bit, and you set your phone face-down on your nightstand. He probably has to get back to work, and you have to get back to your episode.

Slowly, the soporific fragrance of chamomile and the lull of relentless rain start to weigh on your eyelids, and you slump unconsciously into your makeshift fortress of blankets, your show playing to nobody.

Night has fallen by the time the door of your apartment clicks open, and Felix pokes a head into your dark kitchen, cautiously calling out your name. When you don’t respond, he slips inside and moves to your kitchen counter, where he unloads the bags in his arms. A spare key to your place dangles from the opening of his hoodie pocket. 

There’s a quiet knock on your bedroom door, another call of your name—infinitely softer this time, like how one would speak to a dove. But Felix finds you out like a light, even when he closes your laptop and puts it on your desk, checks your temperature with a gentle hand to your forehead. It feels normal enough to let you sleep, but warm enough that he brings a glass of water and two pills of ibuprofen to your nightstand, placed within your reach, should you wake up in the middle of the night needing them.

Using only the slivers of light coming in from the hallway, Felix allows himself to look at your sleeping form. Your breathing is callous but steady; your face pallid but peaceful. And if only you'd seen see the tiny, helpless smile that pulls at his lips; if only you'd heard the pulse protesting against his skin, yelling at him “do something about this, you fucking idiot, and do it soon."

But you don’t see or hear anything; you just speak, instead.

“Stay with me,” you whisper, and Felix’s hand freezes on your doorknob, his eyes widening in the darkness. “Please?”

There is a lengthy period of nothing, during which neither of you makes another noise; there is only the sound of your clock ticking, raindrops rushing against the windows, and Felix’s heart in his ears.

And then he moves.

“C'mere,” Felix murmurs once he’s lying down next to you, and you nestle into his embrace as easily as if you've always belonged there, your face burrowing into the crook of his neck, your arms winding around his waist, searching for him, asking for him.

Felix has always expressed his affection for people through touch, and you’ve gotten used to his constant hand on your shoulder, his leg resting against yours. But he thinks this is the first time you’ve initiated physicality outright, and he feels a concerned pang in his chest at your unexpected vulnerability. He lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair.

“Gonna get you sick,” you say with a wet sniffle, your voice muffled against him. And Felix presses a kiss to the top of your head, perhaps without thinking as much as he should have; but who can blame him for forgetting to think when he’s holding you the way he is?

“Don’t care,” he answers readily. “I'm not going anywhere.”

At some point before you fall back asleep, you think your mouth actually forms the words I love you, subtly and silently and into the fabric of his hoodie. But you resume your slumber before you can think more of it. (Felix waits until your breathing is steady again, checks your temperature one more time; and only afterward does he allow his eyes to close.)

The next morning, you wake to an empty bed and a Post-It note explaining that Felix had to run to a recording session: Check your kitchen! See u soon x. Accompanied by a small, messy doodle of a baby chick popping out of its egg.

Your face melts into a smile when you see that the fridge is chock-full of fresh groceries and the pantry has been restocked with your favorite snacks, including a batch of Felix’s world-famous sea salt brownies—accompanied by another note with another doodle, this time a crescent moon wearing your sneakers. Sugar is prolly bad for you rn. Pls have in moderation!

When you pull out your phone to thank him for everything, you see his remaining texts from yesterday—and you feel momentarily empty, as if only then noticing that you've been missing a fraction of your soul your whole life.

From: Lix 🐣 I’ll drop by tonight to check on you From: Lix 🐣 Wait for me, okay?

And he is right in front of you, just out of reach.

Four. “This isn’t a bad idea, right?” Chan asks under his breath.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” Minho replies, clapping a hand on the leader’s shoulder. “Y/N will take care of him.”

A loud yelp comes from up ahead, and the men whip around quickly enough to crack a joint—only to realize that the noise was the opening note of DAY6’s “Not Mine,” and you and Felix have just launched into song so terribly and so loudly that it’s probably awoken the entirety of Seoul.

“And who’s gonna take care of Y/N?”

The two men look at each other for a moment before deciding they’re not interested in talking the two of you out of a disorderly intoxication charge. 

“Let me know when you get back!” Chan hollers after you, and they reenter the karaoke bar in a hurry.

The members decided to go out for karaoke after finishing promotions earlier that week, and Felix invited you to come along. And you might've gone a little overboard with the mango sake, but your level of tipsy is nothing compared to that of the blue-haired boy draped over you.

Felix is rather prone to hangovers, you’ve discovered from past experiences, so the moment he started speaking in some kind of nonsensical Korean-English mutation that not even Chan could understand, the members tasked you with taking him home early. Now, Felix has his arm around your neck, less out of affection and more out of a genuine requirement for support, doing his best to walk in a straight line. He hasn't stopped grinning for the last hour, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to run out of energy anytime soon, not as long as there’s more of DAY6’s discography to butcher.

In spite of your foggy mind, you're well aware that your best friend has never been prettier. He sets the bar high as it is, but then you throw in the flushed lips and cheeks, the lopsided, ditzy grin, the wine-kissed complexion, and life becomes terribly difficult for you. It doesn’t help that alcohol amplifies his proclivity for physical contact—he's been attached to your hip all night, holding your waist, pulling you into incidental hugs.

Needless to say, your current situation is a bit precarious; but you don't know that. Not yet.

The two of you finish your disrespectful rendition of “Not Mine” just as you pass the apartment’s front desk, and it is only when you see the deadly look that the receptionist gives you over the brim of his glasses that you finally feel sober again. You have the sense to incline your head in apology. Felix, however, launches into “You Were Beautiful” without a care in the world.

You dig a pointed elbow into his ribs as you hit the up button, and his singing abruptly falters with a pained huff. "Ow."

“Take an intermission, superstar,” you say. “The receptionist looks like he’s ready to throttle us.”

“Ah, he would never. We’re tight,” he returns, and before you can stop him he’s lifting his head, raising his voice. “Have a good night, Mr. Seo!”

Your nose scrunches into an apprehensive wince—but instead, you think you hear a hint of a smile in the man's cool reply.

“You too, Mr. Lee. Keep your voices down, please.”

“Yes, sir!” You and Felix reply in unison. Felix gives you a smile that says I told you so before he nestles his cheek against your shoulder, and you shake your head. Nobody is immune to the boy’s brightness.

Entering the building seemed to be effective in calming Felix down. The elevator ride up is silent save for a bit of quiet humming, and you finally see a bit of sleep on his face when you open the door of his dorm and turn on the living room lights. He lets you escort him to his bathroom without a word.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” you say, reaching to pat his cheeks a couple times. “Be careful in there.”

“M’kay. Thank you," he says with a drowsy smile, and closes the door.

You pull out your phone and open up your messages with Chan, remembering his parting request.

To: Chan 🐺 we got back safe!! To: Chan 🐺 lix is gonna be okay. i'll take care of him

A few minutes later, a notification appears at the top of your screen; Chan left hearts on both of your messages and sent two in response.

From: Chan 🐺 Thanks, good to hear :) you get some rest too, okay? From: Chan 🐺 Bro tore that sake UP

You begin to type back a retort—give me a break it was basically JUICE—when you hear Felix call your name, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

“What's up?” You answer.

“I think I’m...stuck.”

Now what the hell does that mean?

“Can I come in?”

“Mhm.”

You open the door, and your attempt to suppress your laughter fails with flying colors. Felix is well and truly stuck in his crewneck, the gray material swathed around his head, his arms positioned in some kind of advanced pretzel formation.

“You are a hot mess, Lee Yongbok," you sing, moving toward him, and he whines from inside his cotton prison.

“Please don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Grinning, you bring your fingers to the hem of his top and attempt to lift it over his head. He’s managed to tangle himself quite impressively, and the next few minutes are spent with you trying to extract him, like he’s that one nose hair that your tweezers have never been able to reach, all while he's moaning and groaning about the fabric catching on his earrings, about his joints not being able to handle this kind of pressure anymore.

He emerges from the crewneck a while later looking positively disgruntled. You toss the gray mass onto the counter, proud of your handiwork.

“So maybe I‘m a hot mess,” he concedes. “A little bit.”

“That's alright. We all have our moments,” you giggle. “Come on, let me help you with your jewelry.”

For a second, he looks like he’s about to protest—but the look you give him reminds him that his motor functions are currently on strike.

“Okay,” he mumbles adorably.

You position yourself a little closer to Felix and lift your hands to the nape of his neck, where the clasp of his chain lies. It takes you a few tries to undo it, and you end up having to use the mirror above the sink for guidance. Soon, there is a soft click. You set the chain down next to the crewneck before your hands return to the sides of his face, this time to tuck long, light blue strands behind the cuffs of his ears. Your fingers run over the curves of his silver earrings.

“Are these bothering you at all?” You ask nonchalantly. “I forgot you had so many piercings.”

In your peripheral vision, you see Felix’s lips move, but no sound comes out. Puzzled, you move your eyes to meet his, and it takes you one blink’s worth of time to understand the source of his speechlessness.

Somewhere between your reaching up to touch his necklace and the present moment, you’ve come incredibly, dangerously close to him. Close enough that you can count the freckles that speckle his skin like fallen stars, that you can feel the heat of his body against your own, that Felix’s eyes are nearly crossed trying to maintain eye contact with you.

Your heartbeat lodges itself firmly in your throat, and your thoughts evaporate into complete and utter disarray. There are three differently-worded apologies on the tip of your tongue within seconds. You immediately start to pray that he won’t remember this tomorrow morning. And your strongest impulse is to move; to get as far away from him as possible, before either of you does anything you'll regret.

But there is something that overwhelms your every instinct, and stops you from budging an inch. And that is the way Felix is looking at you, unblinking brown eyes filled with something that doesn’t have a name. It is the same tender expression that’d surprised you the first time you saw it, and it is with a spiraling stomach that you finally realize what that expression is.

You reach your conclusion a second after he does.

Felix’s hand lifts to cradle your jaw, his face moving closer to yours. Your foreheads touch, wisps of his hair falling over the bridge of your nose, your senses engulfed by the vanilla of his cologne and the touch of sweet wine on his breath. The scene is as delicate as a dragonfly’s tail dipping into a pond’s surface; even a minuscule disturbance would shatter this limbo instantaneously.

A part of you wishes that it would, but nothing does. There is only his pulse, perceptible through the thin cloth of his tank top, vehement beneath your fingertips—and your heart, naked and frail, sitting upon the palm of his hand.

Felix doesn’t push you away; he doesn’t kiss you. He does something far worse.

“I love you,” he whispers.

A few seconds. That is how long you stand there for, with every word of every language you know inaccessible, every qualm and doubt and source of anxiety that plagued your mind moments before now distant memories, every ounce of your energy channeled into keeping yourself upright.

But the few seconds feel like forever. The same way he has always felt like forever to you. The same way you imagined you would spend forever loving him, close enough for him to love you back, but far enough that he’ll never know the true nature of your affection: greater and truer than anything anyone would ever call friendship.

An urgent question suddenly surfaces in your mind: is he still drunk? He was falling up, down, and sideways minutes ago. Surely this was an intoxicated slip of the tongue. But you discern the slight tremble to Felix’s breathing and the intensity in his heavy-lidded gaze, all far too intentional, far too conscious to be wine-induced—leaving behind one impossible possibility.

You should be having your happy tears kissed from your face right now. You should be over the moon, relishing in the sensation of two stars aligning at long fucking last, the way you’ve dreamed of since the very first time you laid eyes on Felix.

But instead, you just feel inexplicably and profusely afraid.

You won’t remember the specifics of the next few minutes. You think you stumble away from him and whisper I’m sorry through watering eyes, though you don’t really know what for. He sputters something in return, his tone so desperate and confused that you feel your heart break to pieces on the spot. You apologize again, leave the bathroom, and move towards the apartment door as if your life depends on it. In your peripheral vision, you notice the crease of concern on Mr. Seo’s face when you stalk past him, tears now flying freely down your cheeks. You run into Minho and Jeongin when you step out of the building, and you see the worry that creases their faces, hear their voices calling your name. Jeongin's hand closes around your wrist—are you okay?! What the fuck happened?—but you do not, can not say anything, not right now.

And then you are alone again, and you briskly walk the two miles back to your apartment. Your mind and heart are every bit as foggy as the somber night sky that hangs over your head.

Five. When the two of you step out of the restaurant and into the evening, Felix turns around to face you, launching into his best tour guide walk.

“And, with that,” he says with a glowing smile, “we are nearing the end of our tour of Sydney.”

“Noooo,” you lament, reaching your arm out. Felix falls back into step beside you and links it with his, the movement like clockwork. Your jackets scrunch up together where your elbows bend. “Already?”

“Okay, the tour’s been going on for two days and you haven’t paid a cent for my toil. Don’t push your luck.”

Your laughter spills into the otherwise quiet avenue, the setting sun throwing shadows across the cement, but it always feels like midday when you have the brightest man in the world by your side.

When the two of you discovered you had a free weekend on the same days, Felix conjured up the idea of going home—and suggested that you go with him. You’d freaked out for a bit, but then Felix reminded you that his mom texts you on your birthday and that you’re on multiple different subscription plans with his sisters, and you collected yourself quite quickly. There was a lot of cheering over the phone when Felix informed his family that they’d finally get to meet you in person.

But such a fast trip to the other side of the world proved to be no easy feat. Felix took on the task of piecing together a travel plan that would cover most of his favorite spots in forty-eight hours. The last two weeks were filled with him fretting over the details and you fretting over him, asking time and time again if you could help with anything, only for him to shoo you away with a single hand and a pointed “you are my guest. Now leave me.”

With assistance from every other resource at his disposal, though, he pulled it off, and the weekend has been wonderful thus far.

“I think that was some of the best food I’ve ever had, seriously,” you hum. “I’ll be dreaming about those appetizers for the rest of my life.”

“I'm glad. It took a Socratic seminar to choose the place, after all."

(The Socratic seminar in question: a two-hour FaceTime call and an intense match of rock-paper-scissors between him and his siblings, aimed to decide on where Felix would take you for dinner the second night. Only for his mom to ignore all of their efforts and insist upon her own choice of restaurant instead—no ifs, ands, or buts.)

“We have to try your sisters’ recommendations the next time I visit, don’t we?”

“Yes," he returns, shuddering. "I think my family is done for if we don’t."

He has one place left to take you, and the two of you head there now, shoulder to shoulder, arm in arm.

A month has passed since that night.

You’ve tried with every fiber of your being to put the whole thing from your mind, of course to no avail. You see Felix’s flushed lips and gentle gaze every time you blink; you hear his “I love you” every time you’re alone, the words whispered in the wind and dragged over the earth, in tandem with your footsteps.

You wanted to fucking die of awkwardness in the few days following, but it was never an option for you to avoid Felix for long. The two of you still went on convenience store runs together; still met up for coffee before work; still continued your business as usual, against all odds. And you owed it all to Felix and how he knows you better than you know yourself. He didn’t try to talk to you when he sensed that you had nothing to say; nor did he try to bring you back when you felt miles away. He would just silently slip a pack of your favorite cookies into your grocery basket or order your drink on your behalf.

Felix had questions and wanted answers; there was no doubt about that. But he held his tongue, granted you as much space as you needed to come back to him. And you did, in your gradual, meticulous way.

You’re finally going to bring it up tonight. You’ve planned to since the day you confirmed the trip, and you hope that the final stop of the tour will be the perfect place to bite the bullet.

“We’re here,” Felix says.

The two of you have arrived at the bank of a wide river, and you’re at a temporary loss for words. To your right is a bridge that spans the distance of the water, and to your left is a stunning, panoramic view of the city of Sydney. Twilight has turned the buildings into dark silhouettes against the autumn sunset, and the water reminds you of a palette of oil paints with how it reflects the pinks and oranges in the sky.

Felix feels you tighten your hold around his arm, and he smiles when he sees the wonder in your eyes. He wishes he could see this place for the first time again.

“Not bad, huh?”

“No,” you murmur. “Not at all.”

“C’mon.”

Felix leads you to the center of the bridge, where he props his elbows atop the metal railing and looks over the water. You join him and pull out your phone, but no settings or adjustments render your camera capable of capturing the landscape's beauty.

(Until Felix throws up a peace sign and pokes his head into the corner of your frame. Then it stands a fighting chance.)

“What is this place?” You ask, your shoulder touching his when you also lean over the railing. “Why are we the only ones here?”

“Crazy, right?” Felix says proudly. “I dunno. I think it might be private property, or something. But it’s only a few blocks away from my house and on the way I used to take to school, so I used to come here all the time, always around this time of day.”

Felix’s gaze moves over the sky, oblivious to the fact that his eyes hold whole rainbows of their own.

“There was never anyone around, but I could still hear the birds chirping and the wind in the leaves. It felt like a corner of the world had been sealed off just for me. I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed.”

Some time passes, and Felix tells you more stories about this peculiar bridge: how he asked someone to formal and got rejected and came here to reflect on his actions; how he had to take two different buses every day because his school was so far away from his house, but he always stopped here to feed the families of mallards that came out to swim in the mornings, even if it meant he’d be late; how this was the last place he went to before moving to South Korea, because he knew he’d miss this nook of Sydney most.

Of all the places you've visited, you think this one will remain with you longest. As time elapses, the colors of the sunset augment and deepen, dyeing the world in ways that remind you of the aurora. And then there is the man, wearing a gentle smile to match his softened features, his voice to your ears what honey is to a sore throat, telling you about his past, letting you into yet another chamber of his soul.

You are in no way prepared to butcher the sanctity of this moment, but you know that you can only run for so long and so far. You owe it to him. You owe it to yourself.

When the sun’s final rays are clinging the faraway mountaintops, Felix lifts himself off the railing and stands up straight. “Ready to go home?"

And your hand finds his, the pads of your fingers cold against his skin. Felix is surprised at first, but then he sees the hint of sadness in your eyes and the tension in your shoulders, and he understands what’s coming.

“I want to talk to you about that night,” you say.

Felix doesn’t respond for a few seconds. But when he does, his voice is so soft and so infuriatingly kind that hearing it makes you want to sob.

“...you don’t have to, Y/N.”

“No. I do,” you return, startling even yourself with the firmness in your voice, "I don’t want to keep dancing around the topic, not when you’ve been waiting for as long as you have.”

You feel Felix’s gaze on your face, as if he’s trying to read between your lines, and then he yields with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay.” And the stage is yours.

You don't start talking right away, your mind reeling with the effort to organize everything you feel and verbalize everything you want to tell him. It isn’t until Felix gives your hand a gentle squeeze—you’ve forgotten that you’re still holding his—that you feel rooted in the moment again.

It’s Felix you’re talking to; your soulmate, your sunlight. Nothing you are about to say will ever change that. This, you believe with every fiber of your being. 

So you take a deep breath.

“When you said those words,” you begin, and the words sound alien in your voice, despite how many times you’ve rehearsed this conversation in your head, “I couldn’t process a thing. I was so happy, but I was so, so scared. I’ve spent the last month trying to figure out why I was so scared, and I can’t say that I know for sure yet, but I have a much better idea now, and—it’s a lot of things.

“For as long as I can remember, I have only ever been able to love profoundly and deeply, with everything in me. And over time, I led myself to believe that nobody would ever be able to understand or reciprocate my love, not in the manner I want most.”

You feel yourself starting to waver, but you find strength in his touch.

“But you changed that, Felix. You walked into that café that afternoon with your voice and your smile, and suddenly I’d found you—someone who experiences life the way I do, who loves the way I love. And every day since, I’ve been surrounded by you and your effortless warmth and your beautiful soul. It was only a matter of time before I started hoping, constantly and stupidly, that you would one day love me, the same way that I—”

Your voice catches in your throat like a heel slamming into car brakes, “love you” hanging so dangerously from the tip of your tongue that you’re stunned it doesn’t fall out right away.

“But that’s why I’m fucking terrified,” you go on. “When you told me you loved me, I felt like I could fly. But I also felt like I was falling—and maybe this is because I was still tipsy, I'm not really sure—but in that moment I saw a world where we weren't there to catch each other, where something had gone horribly wrong and I'd wake up one morning and you’d—you’d just be a distant memory.

“And that was the thought that shook me so badly: losing you. Leaving you.” You’re crying now, tears paving golden trails against your cheeks. “For whatever reason, that was the first thing that came to mind, and it broke me.”

You need to wrap it up, and fast, if your faltering voice and racing heart are any indication.

“I meant it when I apologized to you that night. I’m sorry, Lix. I’m sorry I made everything so fucking complicated. I’m sorry that I ran away. I’m sorry that I hurt you, or worried you. But I want you to know that I feel more for you than you will ever understand; I just need a little more time to put it into words. So, wait for me—”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you finally cave, your last word coming out in a shattered rasp.

“—please.”

And the syllable has barely left your mouth when Felix lets go of your hand, only to bring his arms around you and pull you to his chest with such urgency that the breath momentarily leaves your lungs.

When you fall against him, you fall entirely apart. You have no idea where all the feelings are coming from, only that they’re suddenly overwhelming your every sense. And you start to cry, really cry, your fingers seeking refuge in his jacket, in his hair. 

The sun departs at last, and night starts to fall. You lose track of how long you remain in this position, shaking with hushed sobs, fighting to regain control of your emotions. But Felix stays with you through it all, muted tears of his own intermingling with yours in the material of his scarf. He holds you carefully yet fiercely, like you really will crumble if he lets go.

And he waits, because of course he does. He would wait lifetimes for you.

One. The way you thaw is like melting snow.

It happens under your nose for the most part, but it is slow, sure, and irreversible, and you open your eyes one morning only to realize that the world outside has changed—and so have you.

You roll over and pick up your phone. There are unread messages from Felix sitting in your notifications, probably confirming the plans you made to get coffee before work today, but you put them on hold for now. Instead, you open up your camera roll and find an album, labeled with a sun emoji and yellow heart.

You made this a few months after you met Felix, and you’ve doted on it since, in the sense that you update it almost every day. Funnily enough, though, you’ve never looked through the album just to look through it. Maybe because you’ve never had the time or felt the impulse, but more likely because you know that the album is a visual time capsule of your relationship with the most important person in your life—which has never been purely platonic for you, despite how hard you’ve tried to change your heart.

Looking through it would mean acknowledging your true emotions, something you’ve never felt ready for.

Now, you open the album without a second thought, a preemptive smile on your lips. And you find yourself swept out of your bed and thrown back inside each of the pictures you see, reliving the moments as vividly as if you’re watching them on film.

This is one of your favorites, taken during a late-night tteokbokki run to a small restaurant behind Felix's company building. Felix was laughing so hard at one of your stories that he could only take bites of his meal every five minutes. His face had broken into a dazzling grin, his figure blurring as he lurched forward in his seat, trying to pull his hood over his face in secondhand embarrassment. Snap. He is always handsome, extraordinarily so, but you think you love the way he looks here most of all: every guard of his lowered, carefree, happy.

Another is from the first time you met Chan. Nowadays, your interactions with the boys consist mostly of running into them at Felix's dorm and making friendly small talk. But it's always been different with the oldest member. The first time Felix introduced the two of you, you clicked straightaway, and you had to have spent four hours after dinner just talking, scouring the city for something cold to eat. By the end of the sweltering summer night, the three of you were perched atop a short stone barrier in a secluded corner of Seoul, right outside the best bingsu place in all of South Korea. Felix had leaned over to steal the last cube of mango from Chan’s bowl, to Chan's dramatic protest. Snap. And Chan is like a brother to you now; you will never be able to fathom how much light Felix has brought to your life, be it through him or the people he loves.

A computer screen displaying a League of Legends scoreboard, in which Felix has died more times than there were minutes of the game. Snap. You (not sober) in the center of Felix's living room, your body poised in what is supposed to be the chorus of “Queencard," Felix and Bin completely losing their shit on the couch. Snap. His head bowed in anguish over a bowl of brownie batter after he mistakes salt for sugar. Snap. A low-quality, tiny Felix on stage, the brightest grin on his face when he finally manages to spot you in the nosebleeds. Snap. Your dining table creaking under the weight of all the gifts he got you for your last birthday. Snap. Him and one of your best friends from home, arms around each other, peace signs thrown up, beaming. Snap.

There are countless more, and they are all so incredibly near and dear to you, all thanks to the freckled boy in each. 

You respond to Felix's messages (“be there soon!”), and then move to get dressed. There is a new sense of certainty in your gait when you emerge from your building and into the quiet morning.

The weather is lovely, the fresh sunlight cream-colored against a cloudless sky, the light breeze shuffling the new leaves about. A hound’s ears twitch when you hurry past its home; it is too drowsy to investigate your presence further. The only sounds in the air are the chattering of sparrows in the branches above you and the soles of your shoes, moving quickly across the sidewalk. The wonder in the world is more palpable to you today than it’s ever been.

Soon, the chalk-written menu and hand-carved wooden sign of your favorite café come into view, and you open the door. There are only a few customers inside, and you spot your person right away: his long, dark hair partially pinned back, his figure flattered by a black long sleeve and jeans. He has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, as well as two drinks on the table before him: one caramel latte and one black milk tea.

When he hears the door jingle, he looks up, and the smile that melts across his face is so fond that you can’t believe there was ever a time when you doubted his feelings for you.

The way his loving smile mirrors onto your face is as inevitable and involuntary as destiny herself.

“Hi,” Felix says, rising from his seat.

“Hey, you,” you answer. “Wanna take a walk?”

And so you do.

You link arms, as always; you try each other’s drinks, as always; you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once, as always. But when his company building comes into view, your footsteps come to a halt, and your hand fastens around the cuff of his sleeve.

“Hey, Lix—"

When his eyes meet yours, the sun hits them just right, and you have not known anything as clearly and certainly as you do right then.

“—I love you.”

Felix can only stare, his eyes so wide that you can see the whites of them all around, his straw falling from his parted lips.

Then, a smile starts to creep across his face like spilt syrup.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Lee Yongbok.”

He sets his bag and drink down on the pavement. “Again, please.”

“I love you,” you repeat, starting to laugh. “I love you, I love you, god, I love you, Felix, so fucking much—”

Felix brings his hands to either side of your face, leaning his forehead against your own. And this time, there is no hesitation, no fear—only starlight when he tilts your chin up and finally, finally presses his lips to yours.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, hordes of them flapping so fervently you feel as though you might take off into the air, but you seek out his elbows, then his shoulders, and then the back of his neck, anchoring yourself to the earth, to him. Felix kisses you like he will never be able to again, and it is all you can do to savor how the curve of his smile feels against your own; how he murmurs the words “I love you, too” in between breaths. He tastes like sugar and smells like shampoo. He feels like forever.

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee felix #felix #stray kids #skz #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix imagines #felix fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #felix scenarios #*oneshot #*writing #IT'S DONEEEE IT IS FINALLY DONEE #i hope you like reading as much as i loved writing it! #i'm ngl i'm quite nervous because this is the first full-length fic i've posted on this blog so #any and all feedback would be so so appreciated! much love <3

[oncomingnight]

Yandere! Artist

Lorenzo was an incredibly well-groomed man. Only ever wearing the best tailored suits, minimalistic patterned ties and perfectly polished loafers. His mindset and obsessive tendencies completely contradict his organized persona.

A vast array of his works are just murals and life-sized portraits of you. Never in his life has he seen such an undeniable beauty like you, the closest anyone else other than him will get to admiring you is on the canvas. The two of you will be at the opening of one of his exhibitions watching everyone stand and stare at his works of you, it's an odd feeling but it's nice to witness how extensive his love for you is.

It's not that rare of an occurrence for someone to approach the both of you in public and start the conversation off with:

"So, the man and woman of the hour!"

Lorenzo has several works of his that he'll never allow anyone see, he keeps them a secret from the public eye. These private crafts consist of ceramic forms of your naked body, he never creates them for sexual pleasure but more so to admire every little crease and mark on your body when you're not there with him. He's also not known for ceramics but rather paintings in the style of impressionism and realism.

He has a friend group filled with people that are involved in the art scene, like, poets, architects, film directors, song artists and other well known painters. His presence in the art scene is pretty prominent as he's had books and articles written about his work and the supposed meanings behind them. When other artists are being interviewed and the topic of inspirations is brought up, his name is dropped all of the time.

Lorenzo grew up on a farm in a little agricultural town. He got used to churning butter, helping his father determine which produce was ripe, cutting homegrown vegetables on a creaky wooden table. He enjoyed this upbringing as it prepared him to make his own meals with what he had and how to grow food the correct way. Now, as he moved away from the countryside and into an immensely populated city, he always drives downtown to the farmers' market to not only get a sense of home but to get his groceries in a reliable space.

His love languages are all five of them; quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts and physical touch. During the most unexpected moments, he will place a framed portrait of you that he painted with the upmost attention in your hands. He will take you on a day-long trip to an area that you mindlessly mentioned of wanting to visit, taking you on a shopping spree to purchase anything you want and maybe he'll purchase an Italian leather jacket for himself.

Lorenzo really enjoys reading books but the genres he favors the most are philosophy, auto-biographies and (art) history.

He is an incredibly classy and proper man so when it comes to confronting somebody, he uses knowledge and soft insults to shoot them down. The two of you were at an opera that Lorenzo had dragged you to, and when a singer that was previously flirting with you walked on stage, he couldn't hide his disdain for the man. Lorenzo began critiquing their shrilling voice and off-key notes

"Isn't he supposed to be an alto? He's practically yelling as if it's spring break and he's a school boy." "Rossini didn't compose it that way, why did they alter it?" "My goodness, we should've never came, come, let's leave."

He can be a bit petty but there's no limits to the things he'd do for you.

#yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oneshot #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #male yandere #male oc x you #male oc x y/n #male oc x reader #male oc #yandere x female reader #yandere x willing reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yan x reader #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #male artist #writing #yandere male #tw yandere #soft yandere #oc x reader #yandere imagines

[81folklore]

dress - SV5

pairings: sebastian vettel x famous!reader (fc: taylor swift)

summary: its known that seb has been married for a few years now despite the public never seeing is wife, its also known that yn is in a committed relationship and has been since she disappeared from public eye. maybe they are more connected than people realise

authors note: i have had this idea on my mind for SO LONG so im very pleased to finally be writing it. essentially in this, yn is taylor and seb is joe but no one has ever seen him nor know his name, if that makes sense? honestly i have no clue how this will turn out but i needed to write it

authors note 2: this is set in the midnights era however i switched the songs a bit so ‘dress’ is on midnights instead of ‘sweet nothing’ and vice versa!! also ‘dress’ is going to be a single. i also apologize for how all over the place this is, especially the tweets

authors note 3: just pretend whatever says taylor swift says your name and the photos with her hands have a wedding ring!! i also got so confused when trying to screenshot the twitter stuff so the timeline ones are backwards

authors note 4??: haha didnt realise there was a 30 pic limit... pt 2 here :)

masterlist

ynupdates

liked by user3, user18 and 10,628 others

yn on her story today, possibly posting song lyrics! thoughts?

view comments

user3: NEW ERA INCOMING

user18: OH I AM SO READY FOR THIS

user13: NEW MUSIC NEW MUSIC

user66: is this hinting at her reputation era?

user13: i was just thinking this, more specifically the time just before reputation

user72: MUSIC ABOUT LOVER?? OH I AM SO HERE FOR IT

user55: if it is about lover and the time before reputation this will BREAK ME like,, HE SAW THE BEST IN HER EVEN IN HER WORST TIMES😭😭

yourusername

liked by gracieabrams, ynupdates, olliebearman and 7,277,739 others

everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about…

this album has been such a rewarding piece to create and im so glad that soon enough you will all be able to listen and enjoy it with me! one thing i love in particular about this album is the song ‘dress’

dress was originally a piece i started to write when making reputation however i felt it was right to keep it to myself, to keep it between my partner and i for a little while longer. however recently our lives have been changing for the better, and while that lid of privacy will still be on, i want to share more with you guys

you have all been on this journey with me and you have treated my partner and i with the upmost respect and for that i thank you. for me dress is a letter, its statement, its a declaration of my love for him and im very grateful to be able to give this to you all

this song is one im very proud of, i really enjoyed writing this the first time, and getting to revist and polish it up felt very special to do.

dress out now on all platforms🖤

comments on this post have been limited

sebupdates

liked by user34, user5, user88 and 23,683 others

seb in suzuka with the grid at his turn 2 bee (insect) hotels,, we've missed seeing him at the track :(

view comments

user3: of course the grid come together for him :’)

user5: im not crying!! just hay fever!!

user5: oh i have missed him SO MUCH

user7: NO BECAUSE YOU DONT GET IT HES BACK

user88: DID YOU GUYS SEE THE VIDEO OF HIM HUGGING CHARLES😭😭

user34: the way he was like a teacher throughout the whole thing😭

user18: does anyone know if hes staying the whole weekend or is it like monaco??

sebupdates: we believe hes staying the whole weekend but unsure if hes with a team or not!

user18: ok thank you :)

user77: the way the first thing lewis asked him was if his wife was okay, oh what if i cry😭😭

user66: im kind of new here, have the grid met sebs wife?

user77: i know they all at least know about her and know who she is, i dont think everyone has met her but i know lewis has met her quite a bit!!

part 2!

#f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #social media au #formula 1 insta au #formula 1 social media au #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel #famous!swift!yn

[teenytinyjimin]

i miss you, i’m sorry (j. jungkook)

nothing happened in the way i wanted

every corner of this house is haunted

and i know you said that we’re not talking

but i miss you, i’m sorry.

summary: the first time seeing each other after the breakup is always the hardest. but seeing each other when you're still in love? an absolute nightmare

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2k

tags: angst, smoker!jk, brokenhearted!jk, equally as brokenhearted!reader, why did they even break up in the first place?, featuring reader’s bestfriend!jimin, also jimin is sexually ambiguous let's keep it that way please

warnings: none, alcohol/nic use but nothing too intense, kinda sad but it's a happy ending i promise

author’s note: idk why i keep making my fic names and stuff inspired by songs, i guess it just helps me beat writers block.

also i wrote this in second person, lmk if you guys prefer that over third. i personally find third person fics easier to write, but i'm sure second person is easier to read for some of you. enjoy my angels!

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

Bars weren't really your thing.

If you were going to be honest, they were miles better than nightclubs, but still not your thing. It was something about the air that just rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps it was all the creepy old men that turned you off of them, or just the fact that there's not much to do besides sit, drink, sit some more, maybe play some pool and... sit.

Jimin, on the other hand, loved bars. He loved being able to sit there, look pretty, and watch as absolutely anyone and everyone flocked over to him to start a conversation. It admittedly fueled his ego, and he loved the feeling of being the center of attention. However, he didn't love being at bars alone. Being so drop-dead gorgeous meant that about twenty times the amount of creeps bothered him than the average bar patron. Many of them figured that a pretty boy like him was sitting there waiting to be swooped up by a sugar daddy. Let's get one thing straight – that wasn't him. He had plenty of money. He just wanted to have a little conversation, give a little kiss here and there maybe, and dip at the end of the night with his bar companion by his side.

Unfortunately for you, that bar companion was usually you. It was certainly a compliment for Jimin to want to bring you along with him instead of any of his other gazillions of friends and other social connections, but it was quite exhausting for you to be in a bar pretty much every day of every weekend. He liked the attention, but you didn't. If it were an empty room with nothing but you and a bottle of rum, you'd have a blast. But what bar in Itaewon was going to be like that?

Alas, here you were, sat at the end of a bar with your friend sitting next to you. Something about the light in the building made him look extra beautiful tonight, his skin shimmering like the most precious of diamonds and his eyes deep and full of allure. At the moment he was making small talk with a lady on the other side of him, one who was definitely at least twenty years his senior but didn't look a day past thirty. Sighing, you drop your head down to look at your drink, a half-full martini glass that held a rather disappointing cosmopolitan (you weren't a vodka fan anyway, it wasn't the bartender's fault).

You wanted to be home. That was the only place you ever wanted to be these days. At home, cuddling your darling kitty in bed, and sleeping your days away. Maybe a year ago you would have loved being out and about, but now it feels more like a burden than a fun activity. And you know that Jimin doesn't mean any harm in doing what he does, but seeing him talk with so many people over the course of the night and being so happy is almost a bit gut-wrenching for you because you can't be as happy as him.

You began to feel the blood rush to your ears and your face get warm. Something was wrong, you could sense it. Everyone has those gut instincts when something isn't quite right, and this wasn't just an instinct, it was like a neon sign. A neon sign that read DANGER. Perhaps it was just you feeling rather anxious and overwhelmed, but either way you were craving the comfort of your home.

"Hey, 'Minnie, can we-" Just as you turned to Jimin to softly ask him if you could go home or at the very least switch bars, you felt a presence behind you. It wasn't just an I'm here to order a drink presence, but rather an I'm here for you one. Realizing that Jimin wasn't even listening anyway, you froze, waiting to see what would happen. And that's when you heard a familiar voice that you thought you'd never hear again.

"Hey."

You didn't want to turn around. You tried to stay as still as a statuette for as long as possible, however the more you thought about the man behind you the more you felt the urge to turn around and take a bite of the forbidden fruit. Taking a deep breath, you slowly turned until you were face-to-face with your ex, Jungkook.

"Want to talk outside?" Not yet looking at him directly, you hesitantly nodded before quickly looking back to Jimin and then standing up. You left your purse there, figuring that your friend would grab it if he changed locations, and began trailing after the tall tattooed figure that navigated his way toward the door.

As the two of you stepped out into the cool autumn air, you crossed your arms and leaned against the building. Your heart was between your ears at this point, buzzing at what felt like 200 beats a minute. It was stupid for you to have even left Jimin's side, you thought, because now you were alone with your ex of all people and God knows what this boy has up his sleeve.

"You look good," Jungkook said gently as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and placed one between his lips. "And I know what you're going to say, you're so full of it Kook, but I mean it."

"Since when have you started smoking?" You asked, ignoring his previous two statements and gesturing toward the pack in his hand. He shrugged. "Couple weeks after I last saw you maybe? Not a big deal."

"You know that stuff's bad for you."

"I don't think sitting here third-wheeling with Jimin and his beau of the night is any better."

"You don't know Jimin, don't act like you do," You said, completely taken aback and offended by the words coming out of his mouth. "And I'm having a good time, thank you very much."

"Doesn't seem like it. Weren't you about to ask him if you guys could leave?"

"I was having- What?- Is there a reason you asked to talk to me out here?" You were struggling to form a complete sentence. This man always knew how to leave you speechless, but now it was just irritating. You watched as Jungkook leaned back onto the building with you and shook his head, giving you a toothy grin before lighting the cigarette in his mouth. "Nah. Just figured you'd have more fun out here talking to me and getting a break from it all."

"You know he's waiting for me, right? I should go back inside." You stand back up straight and begin walking back into the bar, however you feel a warm hand wrap gently around your wrist and tug you back. "Hey hey hey," Jungkook called. "He'll survive a few minutes without you. Just chill with me. I'm not asking you for anything, just a second of your time."

You turned to face your ex-lover, your eyes finally meeting his for the first time that night. Even after all this time of being apart, those beautiful doe eyes still yearned for you, and yours for him. With a shaky sigh, you brush his hand away and return to where you were standing. "Exes don't hang out like this, Jungkook."

"Woah, you're pulling out the full government name on me now?" The boy teased, puffing a cloud of smoke from his mouth. "Should I be offended?"

"I'm setting boundaries," You crossed your arms and kicked at the ground beneath you. "Nicknames are for friends or more than friends, which we aren't."

"We aren't strangers either though."

"That doesn't matter. Not friends."

"Alright, fine," Giving up, Jungkook looked down at his hand and flexed it awkwardly. "Just trying to be friendly."

"Friendly?!" You said frantically, finally having enough of his antics. "You don't need to be friendly. We broke up and that's the end of it. Exes aren't friends. They go their separate ways and when they see each other again – if they see each other – they ignore each other. I don't get why you're doing this psychological warfare bullshit on me."

"Exes can be friends," He breathed out in protest. "Can you even tell me why we broke up in the first place?"

You remained silent. The truth was that you didn't know why you broke up either. It had been almost a year since the whole ordeal went down, and you were still confused more than anything else, even more than you were hurt. All you can remember is that you guys went through some bullshit ‘mutual breakup’ that apparently neither of you wanted in the first place. The only reason you even agreed to it is because somewhere within you, you felt like perhaps you weren’t deserving of such a wonderful relationship. And the only reason Jungkook agreed to it is because he thought that it’s what you wanted.

"No, seriously. What went wrong? What did I do? I just want some closure..." His voice became increasingly softer as he kept speaking, which only meant one thing. You stared at the ground intensely, refusing to look up and see his teary eyes.

You felt his hand gently wrap around yours and tug on it as a plea for your attention. Jungkook was your weakness, the only person you'd willingly do anything for, and he really loved to take advantage of that without even realizing he was.

You peered up at him hesitantly, worried that you'd find yourself in tears the second you saw the ones pouring from his eyes. Sure enough, when the eye contact began, you were driving yourself forward into his strong arms and dampening his shirt with your tears.

Jungkook's embrace felt the same as it did the last time you felt it. It was still so warm, so inviting, so loving. Never once did you feel unsafe in his arms and this moment was not an exception. As you sobbed into his shirt you felt his hand move from around your waist to the top of your head, stroking your hair gently.

The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, simply letting all emotion out while enjoying the company of one another. While Jungkook has been exceptionally transparent in expressing the fact that he's heartbroken about the situation between the two of you, it's safe to say that you feel equally as devastated. This man was once the love of your life and the only one you ever needed, but now everything about him except for his embrace feels foreign. This was someone you once saw yourself building a life with, but now it's shattering to think that he has a life after you.

You pulled away after a while, refusing to make eye contact as you wiped the tears from your eyes. This all felt entirely pointless. It was obvious that nothing went wrong in the relationship yet here you were, no longer in one. You couldn't begin to imagine what Jungkook had been going through since you guys broke up considering the fact that for you, your entire world turned upside down.

"I'm sorry," You managed to choke out before you felt Jungkook's hand gently guide your face up to look at his. You watched him stare at you for a moment, taking in your features, before his lips began to curl into a soft smile. "Mmm. Yeah. You're way too pretty to let slip through my fingers."

Feeling your face turn hot as a blush crept to your cheeks, you let out a soft giggle before you were cut off by a familiar pair of lips meeting yours.

"JUNGKOOK?" You heard a voice call out. The two of you pulled apart, eyes wide. Shit. You forgot about Jimin.

#teenytinyjimin #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts fic #angst #bts jungkook #bts jk #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jungkook angst #jk angst #jungkook x reader #jk x reader #fanfic #jk fanfic

[daisynik7]

I blinked and suddenly I had a Valentine

Author's Note: modern setting, no curses, high school setting. ~1.3k words. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune. Title from the song “Valentine” by Laufey. Rice bear bathing in Japanese curry looks something like this (reddit link). Part of the past lives vignettes series. Thank you for reading!

It’s almost the end of January and you’ve spent the past three weeks at your new school eating alone, either in the classroom or in the cafeteria. You’re too shy to socialize with your peers, who are already well-established in their own social circles. This is what happens when you transfer in with less than three months left of the schoolyear. No one wants to be friends with the new girl, right? 

Well, two people prove this theory wrong. 

Yu Haibara is the first to approach you in the cafeteria during lunchtime. “Hi there!” he greets, taking a seat across from you, a cheerful smile on his face. You can tell from his aura alone that this is someone easy to get along with. Jovial, optimistic, kind-hearted. You’d normally feel nervous interacting with someone you’ve never met before, but his welcoming presence immediately puts you at ease. 

He’s followed by a blonde boy, slightly taller, a bit lanky, and sulking behind him. His name is Kento Nanami. You recognize him from your homeroom, though you’ve never spoken before. Occasionally, he eats his meals there, usually in the back with his headphones in, listening to music, while you’re in the front, indulging in whatever homemade bento box you decide to make for yourself that day. It’s crossed your mind more than once to join him so that neither of you are alone, though you’ve chickened out each time, convinced that he’d rather remain that way than be bothered by a nobody. Unlike Haibara, his lips are pressed together in a natural frown. You don’t sense unhappiness or animosity from him; rather, it’s indifference, apathy. When he sits down next to his pal, he gives you a nod, acknowledging you. 

Haibara does the courtesy of introductions. You hold your hand out to him, doing the same. He takes it enthusiastically, beaming at you. “I know who you are. I’m a first-year too!”

It doesn’t strike you as odd that he’s already somewhat familiar with you. Instead, you’re relieved to finally be making friends in this cutthroat environment called high school. After this first meeting, the three of you are inseparable. You get on well with Haibara, who’s an expert at keeping the conversation flowing. Nanami doesn’t say much, though you notice his subtle mannerisms that speak volumes more than what his actual words do. You can tell he admires your homemade lunches each time you uncover them at the table. His eyes light up, marveling at whatever creation you’ve concocted the night before: yakisoba, onigiri, chicken stir-fry. He doesn’t say anything, relying on Haibara to do the complimenting. You appreciate how intently he listens to you, even if he doesn’t have much to contribute. In homeroom, you sneak glances at him when your teacher says something particularly ridiculous, to which you spot the faintest hint of a smile flitting on his lips. And you realize that every time you’re walking beside each other, he makes sure to switch his bag to his arm away from you. Part of you hopes the real reason behind this is to be closer to you, but you try to keep those lovelorn thoughts buried in the back of your mind, being certain that’s not the case.  

You eventually find out that Haibara has severe allergies, especially during the seasons of Winter and Spring. He explains how he has to take at least a few days off once a month, sometimes an entire week. Today, he dons a face mask, already anticipating it. “Don��t miss me too much,” he jokes, his bright smile noticeable even behind the mask. It’s February now; the three of you sit together at your regular spot in the cafeteria. Nanami eats his rice bowl in silence while you say to Haibara, “You’re going to miss Valentine’s Day.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “I guess the two of you will have to be each other’s Valentines.”

At this, Nanami almost chokes on his food, face turning scarlet. He reaches for his water bottle, which is empty, still clearing his throat as he excuses himself to refill it. When you’re alone, you glare at Haibara, scolding him. “Why would you say that?!”

He shrugs innocently. “What’s the big deal? He likes you.”

Your jaw drops at his surprising statement. You’ve always thought that Nanami tolerates you, but you never truly believed he could ever like you. “What do you mean?”

Haibara blinks at you, as if the answer is so obvious. “He told me about you. Said how you always had the most amazing bento boxes for lunch. How cute your smile was whenever you’d take a bite. He was too shy to talk to you first, so he had me do it. You…didn’t know that?”

You stare at him, shaking your head slowly, stunned by this revelation. 

He laughs nervously, scratching his head. “Oops.”

Nanami returns, back to his normal self now, remaining quiet. There’s still the faint blush on his cheeks; you pretend not to notice it. Nothing else is mentioned about Valentine’s the rest of the day, though it lingers on your mind the remainder of the week.

Haibara is out sick February 13th, leaving you and Nanami alone together for the first time since you befriended them. You’re curious to see if the dynamic would change, if Nanami would actually speak up now that his buddy isn’t around to fill the void with his amicable chatter. But lunch ends up being a quiet affair. You do your best to ask questions, start conversation, but he’s even more tense than he usually is. When you mention Valentine’s Day tomorrow, the familiar rosy tint spreads across his face. You drop it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, though you can’t help thinking how sweet he is for reacting that way.

He likes you. The words have been replaying in your head since you heard them. And the truth is: you like Nanami too.  Based on what Haibara said, he might be too shy to tell you. 

So, you take matters into your own hands. 

The next day, February 14th, you come to school carrying a box wrapped in red ribbon. Inside homeroom. You greet Nanami politely, catching the way his gaze drifts to your hands. You smile wider to yourself, excited to present it to him later. At your seat, you can smell the decadent scent of homemade chocolates and heart-shaped candies from the other girls in your class. You get increasingly nervous about the gift, wondering if he’ll receive it well. Still, it’s worth a shot.

When class is over and it’s time for lunch, Nanami waits for you near the door to walk to the cafeteria together. Ready to leave, you stop him, clearing your throat before you announce, “I have something for you.”

His eyes widen, his jaw clenches. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting this. 

You don’t hand it to him, afraid he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Instead, you untie the ribbon yourself, uncovering it. Inside is the bento box you prepared special for him. “I made this for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Nanami.”

He reaches inside, holding the bento in his hands like found treasure. He snaps the cover off slowly, revealing rice balls formed into a cute bear, bathing in Japanese curry. A sheet of seaweed cut into a heart is placed directly in the center. 

You watch him for his response, heart racing against your chest. He inspects it carefully, his expression softening to one of adoration. When he looks at you, he smiles, and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful than Nanami Kento smiling. 

“Do you like it?” you ask, needing to hear it in his own words. 

He nods, still smiling. “I love it.”

You spend your lunch in the classroom, eating your matching bento boxes together while listening to his music on shared headphones. 

For the first time in his life, Nanami has a special Valentine.

#nanami kento fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #Nanami Kento #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami fluff #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk fluff #past lives vignette series

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Fate, maybe? || Tom Blyth x actress!reader

Summary: after being each other’s celebrity crush and ending up dating, you both find out that you get the roles you have been auditioning for, as each other’s love interest. Sort’ve a part 2 to ‘And they meet’ go read it!!

Warnings: fem!reader

Wc: 1,192

A/n: yk I had to jump on to this when I found out that Olivia Cooke is gonna be the lead female actor for the new movie Tom is starring in (idk if it’s fully confirmed)

Tangled in each other’s embrace, the movie tangled playing in your living room as you both u mugs of coffee, the sudden ringing of your phone interrupted the moment.

Turning over your phone screen, your agent Lisa's name illuminates the display. Tom looks down at you, concern etched on his face. "Everything okay?" he inquires, and you hum in response, "Just my agent. I'll be back," you say, lifting the phone and rising, already yearning for the comfort of Tom's embrace left behind.

“Hello?” You say, closing the door behind you for some privacy. “Y/n I have great news!” You held your breathe, wondering what it could be. “You got the lead female for that movie you auditioned for a couple months back!” She excitedly squeals.

You lightly furrow your eyebrows, a brief pause betraying the effort to recall the specific movie amidst several recent auditions. Sensing your momentary confusion, Lisa interjects, "Sorry, I should've been more specific," and her chuckle follows, "A Farewell to Arms, remember?"

Your eyes sparkled with delight at the mere mention of the movie. "Oh my god, really?" you exclaimed, your hands instinctively covering your mouth in sheer excitement. "Yes! Congratulations, Y/n! You're going to do amazing in it! I'll email you more details," Lisa conveyed, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

“Thank you! I’ll wait for it,” You stare at yourself in the mirror with a huge smile. When you hand up the phone you start silently squealing, jumping up and down in excitement. You had read the novel and absolutely loved it so when you found out they were making a film adaptation of it, you jumped at the opportunity.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the living room, Tom also received a call from his agent. “Hello?” Tom places the phone to his ear. “Tom! Good morning!” Amanda’s voice rings through the phone. A smile makes it to his lips, “Morning Amanda,” He chuckles.

“I have some news for you! Are you alone right now?” She asks as Tom looks over his shoulder and to the stairs you had just gone up. “Yeah, yeah I’m alone” He says, turning back around.

“You know that audition you did a couple months ago for the movie, a farewell to arms?” Amanda’s voice was one of excitement, “Yeah?” He gulped, “Tom, you did it! You got the lead male role!” The words hung in the air, sinking into Tom’s consciousness.

A grin stretched across his face. Trying to contain his excitement, he thanked his agent and ended the call just as you walk down the stairs, a smile on your face.

"You seem happy," Tom offered his signature smile, and you chuckled in response. "Very," you chimed in a sing-song voice, approaching Tom, who remained seated on the couch. Your arms gracefully wrapped around his neck, and you showered kisses along the side of his face.

You wanted to tell Tom about the role you just got but knew you weren’t allowed to until they officially released the news. So for now, you had to keep a secret from your boyfriend. Same went for Tom, he was dying to tell you about the role he just landed but, he had to wait.

~

You scrambled around the house in search of your scarf. “Babe! Have you seen my scarf?” You call out as Tom rushes to find his shoes. “The black one?” He calls back, tying his shoes. “Yeah!” “They’re on the counter here!” He picks up your scarf just as you come down the stairs.

You gratefully smile at him as he wraps it around your neck, “There, gorgeous,” His hands rest on your shoulder for a bit as he studies you. You lean in to press a gentle kiss on his lips.

“I gotta go, my drivers here,” You sigh as you sling your bag across your shoulder. “I think my driver will be here soon, have a good day today,” He grins, tucking his keys in his pockets.

The two of you were going to be out for the whole day. You were off to do a chemistry test with whoever the lead male was, and Tom was doing the exact same, but for whoever the lead female was. Little did the two of you know that you’d be seeing each other very soon.

You give him a final peck as you go on your tippy toes before leaving the house, getting into the car and driving off. The whole car ride there you were slightly nervous. Your head was swimming with thoughts about who would the male lead be.

Would we get along? Will we have chemistry? What if we don’t? Your thoughts came to a stop when the car came to a halt infront of a building. “Have a good day, Y/n. Hope everything goes well!” Trevor, your driver smiles at you. “Thanks Trevor, I hope so too,” You chuckle opening the car door and stepping out.

You were a couple minutes early but they let you wait inside. Your leg was slightly bouncing as you watch the clock on the wall. The male lead would be here any minute now.

Suddenly, the door opened where a young woman peeked her head out of, “Y/n Y/l/n?” “Yes?” You stand up, grabbing your things. The woman’s eyes look around the room, “Oh, he hasn’t arrived yet. That’s okay, you can start getting ready for chemistry test,” She smiles sweetly at you as you nod, following her.

She hands you a piece of paper with lines from a scene for the movie. As you scanned the words, a voice resonates from outside, "I'm so sorry I'm late! Traffic was horrible," a masculine voice apologizes, prompting you to lift your head toward the door.

It began to open and you swore your heart nearly stopped beating. “Tom?” Your jaw drops open as he freezes. “Y/n?” “What are you doing here?” You both say in sync as you burst out into laughter. Your eyes then move to the young woman who was grinning from to ear.

"I'm here for a chemistry test..." you trail off, and he responds, "Me too." The realization dawns on both of you, and smiles effortlessly spread across your faces. "So, this was the new project you're working on?" Tom chuckles, moving closer as you nod. "Oh my god, what a coincidence," you shake your head in disbelief.

"Who knew we'd be starring in the same movie together as lovers," he chuckled. "Crazy, right?" You smiled at him, and he kissed your cheek. The chemistry test kicked off seamlessly, a testament to the natural connection between you two. Being together made it a breeze, and the rapport you shared translated effortlessly into the scene, setting the tone for an easy journey while fillings

"The casting directors had already chosen you well before they found out that you two were dating," the young woman chuckled, skillfully removing the camera from its stand. A shared smile passed between you and Tom, a subtle acknowledgment of the serendipity that brought you together on and off the screen.

#fanfiction #tom blyth #a farewell to arms #tom blyth x actress!reader #social media au #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x gf!reader #tom blyth fanfiction #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth imagine #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #boyfriend!tom blyth #tom blyth angst #olivia cooke #alicent hightower #alicent hotd #house of the dragon

[plasticferal]

hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)

damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.

i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.

the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.

all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.

“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.

you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.

you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.

all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.

the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.

chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.

every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.

"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.

"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.

“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.

"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.

"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.

"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.

"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.

"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.

looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.

"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.

"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.

you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.

"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.

"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.

you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.

feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.

when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.

"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.

chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.

turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.

"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.

"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.

"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.

the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.

"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.

"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.

"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.

"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.

you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.

"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.

you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.

"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.

"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.

you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.

"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.

chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.

"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.

there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.

you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.

the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.

he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.

before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.

chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.

the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.

you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.

in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.

he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.

you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.

you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.

appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.

they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.

nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.

your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.

chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.

you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.

"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.

walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.

the room is filled with tension.

matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.

"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.

"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.

"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.

"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.

matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.

"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.

you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.

you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.

“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.

he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.

“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.

“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.

"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

"chris," you start. he keeps talking.

“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.

“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.

“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.

"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.

"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.

"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.

"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.

"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.

"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.

"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.

you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.

"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.

you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.

"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."

"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.

"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"

"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.

"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"

"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.

"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.

your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.

in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.

chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.

the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.

you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.

"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.

he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.

"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.

tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.

turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.

you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.

"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.

"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.

with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.

"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.

his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.

"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.

chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.

"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.

he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.

"i mean it, y/n."

"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.

"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.

he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.

"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.

"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."

"i know, chris."

"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."

"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.

"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.

"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.

"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.

you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.

"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."

"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.

"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.

chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.

"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.

you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.

"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.

his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.

"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.

chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.

"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."

this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo blurb #sturniolo triplets #damsel in distress

[byers-bowlcut]

I've seen people say El likes the IDEA of having a boyfriend more than she actually likes her own boyfriend, and jfc it's so true 😭 Like it's all over the show:

Season 1

She's initially attached to Mike because he's the first person to give her shelter, food, genuine human care and just,, not calling CPS immediately. Her feelings for him was born from trauma and dependency in season 1. And throughout the rest of the 3 seasons, we don't see it grow past that.

Also I think it's noticeable in S1 that:

She was uninterested when Mike tried to share his hobbies with her

She also did not seem to mind AT ALL when she questioned if Mike could be her brother. He voice is neutral and curious here, not the least bit repulsed by the thought of being siblings with Mike, like girl does not care 😭

Season 2

This season has zero onscreen moments of Mike and El actually getting to know each other further. They were separated nearly the whole season.

What we DO see:

El's attachment and dependency on Mike that was developed from S1

We also find out how El spent a year of her life watching melodramatic romance films. Many other middle schoolers might identify that relationships in real life don't work like those films. But El is fresh out of lab life, she's literally learning the world through this TV, and has now become obsessed with the IDEA of having a boyfriend/relationship just like that.

Season 3

Again, no onscreen moments of El showing interest in who Mike is as a person.

The very first scene we see of them, she's trying to get him to stop singing along to the song they're listening to. She seems to like kissing Mike. But isn't shown enjoying anything actually characteristic about him, like sharing interests with him such as music.

Hopper indicates that they don't do anything meaningful together either. We see here that before hanging out with Max, El had little sense of her own style, her hobbies, her interests- meaning spending time with Mike for months probably didn't involve many talking points did it?

Also in season 3, El dumps Mike with ZERO hesitation. Then she has the time of her life with Max. The most acknowledgment we get that she's oh so heartbroken is a small frown to Max that her and Mike aren't on best terms. And even that doesn't seem so paramount cause 1 episode later she totally dismisses Mike after he explains how Hopper threatened him. She just tells him maybe Hopper was right 😭😭

It's literally ONLY once she starts becoming in danger that she starts clinging onto him again. I feel like we've seen this film before hm.

Like where are any signs that she likes Mike as an individual, and is falling for who he really is, rather than simply being attached due to trauma, and liking the concept of doing romantic things (ie: kissing, dancing at the ball, etc.)

Season 4

This is the season it becomes the MOST OBVIOUS: El loves the concept of a happy relationship and being loved, but not really loving Mike for who he is. And bringing in Will's feelings just emphasizes this point.

To start, El continues doing all these relationship-y things that she did in the start of S3. She has Mike's name and pictures plastered all over her room. She makes a "Mike box" with his pictures decorated all over it. But the thing is: this is all sort of a façade at this point. We know she's BEEN unhappy with him for months ("From Mike! From Mike! From Mike!"). But with all these items, she's basically trying to convince herself that she's in this happy, fantasy, movie-like relationship, like she probably watched in hopper's cabin in season 2.

And then, there's the sheer difference between her and WILL in their feelings for Mike. We see it right off the bat when Mike comes to the airport: Will and El both have plans to give Mike something.

Will plans to give him a painting he worked extremely hard on. The painting is a connection of what they BOTH love: DnD, and it includes their friends who also play the game. It's very personal and immediately touches Mike. What's more is, the painting illustrates the exact qualities about Mike that Will loves: his leadership, his bravery, his guidance. This painting literally spells out to us that Will truly loves Mike for WHO HE IS.

Meanwhile, El plans on giving Mike a fun reunion date. She has the whole day planned out. And immediately: we see that what she wants to do doesn't actually takes Mike's interests and personality into consideration. You can see and hear the strain in his voice when he talks about "burritos for breakfast" 😬

You can see how he's not that relaxed at rinkomania, and nervous about skating, saying he's clumsy. He probably would've much preferred movies and playing a board game, over skating. But El has her own ideas. When she brings Mike to rinkomania, she tries to act really cool about it. She wants to impress him, wants to seem like she fits in and belongs.

Her present was never actually ABOUT Mike, and about loving Mike that she would plan this huge date for him. Her present was about her desperately wanting to have this cool date like every other normal teen girl might, with a normal boyfriend, and make it seem like they have a happy perfect relationship.

And then finally we reach their S4 fight. I find it extremely interesting how Hopper's cabin is framed in the background during their whole fight. It's almost like an indication that her desperate need to be loved by Mike stems from her trying to cope with losing Hopper and the hole left by him, that clearly did not exist when she happily dumped Mike in S3.

In their fight, when the topic of bullying comes up, Mike says he understands her, but El is quick to say he doesn't. She thinks Mike doesn't understand her, but this is just as much her not understanding HIM as well.

She doesn't get the extent of Mike's insecurities (definitely partially a result of bullying), something that Mike later divulges to WILL and not her. If the writers wanted to show us how much El understands Mike and loves him for who he is, her and Mike would work through his insecurities in their rs together, NOT through a middle man.

Overall it's pretty striking that we've never once heard El actually compliment Mike, or articulate, or even show what exactly she loves about him through four whole seasons. I mean...

Attachment to him due to trauma or grief =/= loving him for who he is.

Wanting to BE loved =/= loving him for who he is.

So really in terms of a relationship, what El ACTUALLY wants is the concept/idea of a regular boyfriend, and a happy easy relationship, all in an attempt to feel normal. And that's why we see them fall apart the way they do in season 4, and why Will is currently so involved. Because Will DOES see and love Mike for exactly who he is.

#eleven hopper #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #analysis on el's character and her feelings for mike #anti mileven #stranger things