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accirax · 21 days

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What is your opinion on the DRDT time loop theory? If you do have any thoughts on it, what do you think Mai, the Teacher & the past kg/(assumption) the altdrdt kg have to do with it? (Mai and Teacher often exist in proxy to evidence for this theory & the 'past killing game' & the teacher are clearly closely connected.)

Alright, so this one is going to be a bit more of a challenge than usual because, as I confirmed, the “DRDT Time Loop Theory” doesn’t exactly… exist. I mean, it definitely does, because you know what it means, and I know what it means, and I’m willing to bet that many other people who will encounter this post also know what it means. But, everyone’s understanding of it is pretty vague and scattered because no one has ever written it out before. Other than kind of this 3 minute segment of a video by Ocean Unknown (which never even says the words “time loop” directly, it just discusses a major piece of evidence for the theory), as well as this work-around by @/1moreff-creator, there isn’t any document I can read or video I can watch to base my opinion off of.

Therefore, this leaves me in the position of having to establish the original scripture for what the DRDT Time Loop Theory is, and then give my thoughts on how plausible it might be. Naturally, this may result in my answers having some obvious bias to them in one way or another– either that I will misrepresent some evidence because I don’t think the idea is plausible, or that I will become convinced of the theory because it’s tailored to exactly what I think makes the most sense– but, no matter! Somebody had to establish this someday, and I’m honored that you regard my opinion highly enough to task me as the one to do it. Here we go!

I usually like to establish a sort of premise to each of my theories near the beginning, because I think it provides a good structure through which people can pace themselves and know what to expect. For this theory, I think it will make the most sense to create sections based on the basic questions: who, what, when, where, why, and how. Although, not necessarily in that order. Or rather, definitely not in that order, because I know where I’m going to start.

What?

‘Cause, like, what? What is the time loop theory? That’s where we should start.

As far as I’m aware, the time loop theory is mainly based on the combination of two different pieces of evidence. The first hails from DRDT’s About Page. In the same fashion that people found each character’s hidden quotes on their profiles, you can find a long monologue in the code of the text. I’ll copy it here for convenience:

“You don’t understand, do you? I used to be like you. I barely remember, but I used to be like you. I cared so much about people, I cried everytime someone was hurt. I suffered for a long time stuck in here caring about people. I know what you’re going through. You’re going to hold on as long as you have, with hope that you can make it out of here with everyone. Then you’re going to despair. That lasts a while, too. Then you’ll get bored. Like me. And you’ll wish you were still suffering. Anything else is better than boredom. I wish I could feel something, anything else, other than being bored. I’m stuck in here for eternity, and I know everything that could possibly happen. I know how everyone reacts to a murder, what makes people turn to despair, what fills people with hope and make them survive until we all run out of food and starve to death. I wish I could feel terrified, or afraid, or angry. But I can’t anymore. I don’t feel anything at all except boredom. Do you understand, Teacher? This is why I’m letting you suffer as long as possible. Because it’s better than the alternative. I’m sorry. I don’t envy you. You’ll understand eventually.”

Because this quote is found on the About page, we can’t tie it to any one character in particular like we can for the secret quotes. Many people suspect this quote may have come from DRDT’s mastermind, but we obviously don’t know who that is, either. To help us establish the speaker’s character, let’s see what we can infer about them from what they’ve said.

Firstly, we know that this character has been through a lot. They started off caring, then turned to cruelty, yet wound up feeling nothing but boredom in the end. Notably, however, this is only the way that this character sees themself– how kind or how cruel they were is subject to their own perspective. Personally, I don’t think that the speaker is as dead inside as they claim to be. The fact that they wind up relating themselves to “Teacher” and taking actions to minimize Teacher’s suffering proves that they haven’t fully given up on humanity or caring for others.

The speaker also seems to think pretty highly of themself. They begin the passage by assuming that Teacher couldn’t possibly understand what they’ve gone through, and see themself as a tortured Atlas bearing the weight of all knowledge on their shoulder (“I know everything that could possibly happen”). The whole “this is for your own good” mentality also shows them as somewhat patronizing and commandeering.

As for some of the more physical details, while it’s not 100% confirmed, it seems pretty clear that the speaker is or was in a killing game. A murder can occur pretty much anywhere that there are two people, but “how everyone reacts to a murder” really makes it seem like the speaker is in a place where murder is expected. And then, there are the obvious references to hope and despair, which we all know are super killing-game-coded words.

The phrase that I find most interesting in the About Page quote (APQ) is “until we all run out of food and starve to death.” The speaker including themselves in a “we” means that they do identify as part of the group that is stuck in a killing game. Therefore, we can learn that 1) the speaker does not have a secret way to exit the killing game facility and/or time loop, and 2) the speaker is in a physical space, not a metaphysical one. They’re just as vulnerable to starvation (and possibly being killed?) as anyone else. This could be important when it comes to establishing how the time loop came to be and what kind of time loop it is.

And then, of course, there’s Teacher.

Due to the “wants to become the perfect teacher” tagline, many people have come to assume that the Teacher that the APQ refers to is a member of the unnamed fangan (which I call altDRDT) cast. Specifically, that brown-and-red-haired gentleman in the middle. This theory was basically confirmed by the second of the three Christmas 2023 comics DRDTdev posted.

Furthermore, one of the few images we have of him is with a piece of chalk and chalkboard.

We know from the altDRDT FAQ page that Teacher uses he/him pronouns (along with “Soundwave,” “XF,” “Dandelion,” “Scale,” “Bullet,” and “Ice”), which is important in potentially connecting him to the scholarly “him” that Min mentioned in A History of Hope’s Peak.

Therefore, the “Teacher” that the speaker is talking to is very likely to be altDRDT’s Teacher. However, I do want to take a moment to provide a bit of a counterargument. I don’t doubt that our close-eyed compatriot is the Ultimate Teacher. However, I also don’t want to assume that the person who’s trying to become the perfect teacher has to be the same as the Ultimate Teacher, despite the obvious throughline. For example, couldn’t the speaker of the APQ be trying to teach their beliefs to Teacher, searching for the perfect way to get him to understand what needs to be done? I still think that the Teacher that the speaker refers to is probably the altDRDT character, but I wanted us all to reach that conclusion while considering what’s outside the box.

Regardless, there’s clearly a lot to consider here. The people who first discovered this quote thought so as well, and started looking for answers by connecting it to things we’ve already seen in DRDT. The most popular connection comes from the prologue, Veronika’s introduction in particular. Remember when she rants to Teruko and Xander about the (fictional) book Forever Dead? It goes by pretty quick, but her summary is quite interesting:

And thus, the exact phrasing of the “time loop” began. Forever Dead touches upon a lot of the same plot points that the speaker brings up in the APQ. People die, the main character transforms from invested to bored, and straddles the border between relatable and sinister.

We also learn a bit more about the speaker and what happened/will happen to him. He identifies as a boy (who uses he/him pronouns), he’s impaled by metal spikes and left to die at some point, and he manages to apologize for “everything he did,” though apparently only through some level of force. “Everything he did” is interestingly vague– is that implying that the boy was the cause of the time loop, or just that he was apologizing for the terrible things he did as a result of his bored insanity? What forced him into the apology if he was “left alone?” These characteristics may apply to the APQ speaker as well, under the assumption that the boy and the speaker are allegories for the same character.

So, those are the two main pieces of information that I’m aware of that lead people to devise the time loop theory. In case it’s important, I’ve also compiled some of the instances I could remember offhand of DRDT characters bringing up the cyclical nature of humanity and how things never change.

Any of these characters’ ideas about what “always has to happen” could be supported and/or challenged in the future by a time loop.

I also know that some people like to bring up the comments section portion of Literature Girl Insane (conveniently written over the words “the world won’t change!”) as evidence of DRDT being stuck in a time loop. I could explain why I don’t think that’s the case, but FF already did that as part of their giant LGI analysis video (which I will continue to recommend). I don’t think I can really put it any better than they did, so I encourage you to watch that section of the video at least if you’re curious as to why I won’t be including this as evidence.

And now, for a summary of what we’ve learned so far, the basics of the Time Loop Theory. Due to the About Page Quote, the summary of Forever Dead, and references to cyclical behavior, some believe that the characters in the DRDT killing game are experiencing a time loop. The speaker of the APQ, who is possibly the mastermind, is likely the only one of the sixteen students who is aware of this. When the loop began, they put their all into trying to achieve the best ending. However, over time, they became more bitter, first turning to wreaking havoc before succumbing to apathy. They have somehow captured “Teacher,” the protagonist of altDRDT, in an inescapable state of suffering, in order to teach him a lesson about how foolish it is to continue to care about others. They’re a bit of a cynical know-it-all, but their dedication to correcting Teacher’s behavior proves that they haven’t fully given up on humanity.

Basic facts, established! However, this is still pretty vague, and there are plenty more details to sort through. How about we start with…

How?

Because even among people who believe there is a time loop, there are many definitions of what a time loop can mean. In this section, I’ll aim to figure out which I think is the most likely in two broad categorization systems.

Is the time loop meta or non-meta?

A meta time loop would be one that is directly caused by the player/viewer interacting with the property, breaking the fourth wall. For DRDT, this would mean something along the lines of “every time you rewatch an episode of Despair Time, the characters are forced to relive the events of the day in an eternal loop, and they’ve started to wise up about it.” Conversely, a non-meta time loop would exist in the plot regardless of what its audience is doing, and be caused by a force that exists within the story. “After Teruko accidentally broke Eden’s favorite grandfather clock, Teruko was cursed to repeat her worst day over and over again.”

DRDT has made some fourth wall-breaking jokes before, such as when MonoTV directly references YouTube or the narrator tells the viewer to like the video and subscribe to give Teruko power. Because of this, it’s really tempting to think that DRDT is going for a meta time loop. However, given the actual text we have to work with, I think it’s more likely that we’re looking at a non-meta time loop. Remember how we learned that the APQ speaker exists in a physical space and not a metaphysical one? Focusing on the physical space of their environment and living conditions is drawing attention to how the world is real to them, not just a collection of pixels flattened into a video file. The Forever Dead boy also had to “apologize for what he did,” which might imply that the character was responsible for the time loop, not the audience.

Most of all, though, it’s the concept of “surviv[ing] until we all run out of food and starve to death” that makes me think that the time loop is not meta. Why? Because it makes it sound like there are different possible endings out there. If the time loop was caused by me going back and repeatedly rewatching the CharWhit FTE, there’s only one way that that FTE can start, and one way it can end. No matter how many times I make the characters loop that interaction, there’s only one version of that episode posted to YouTube. The APQ speaker makes it clear that they, as a character, attempted multiple things and achieved different results with them until they exhausted all viable possibilities and grew bored. I can only make the characters do one thing, but the characters within the story can, in theory, do whatever they want.

Really, a lot of it boils down to the medium in which DRDT is told. A lot of what I “know” about time loops comes from watching theory videos about Undertale and Deltarune. I won’t spoil either of those games for those who haven’t played them, but in Undertale, the player’s input is directly related to the time travel elements that the characters experience. This connection works really well because Undertale is a video game. Video games are a fantastic medium for meta commentary because player input is required for the game to function. The player can make choices of where to go or who to trust that have an impact on the story, which then makes it easy for the story to turn back towards the player and question the choices they made. DRDT, however, is a video series, not a game like the original Danganronpa. Its formatting would make calling the viewer’s impact into question, because we’ve hardly done anything other than want to watch the show. We have no impact on the direction of the plot.

Of course, I’m not trying to say that it’s impossible for anything other than a video game to tackle meta subjects. DRDTdev should be allowed to tell a meta fangan story without being forced into the life of a programmer. However, with all these elements combined, I think it’s more likely that DRDT’s time loop would be a canonical, non-meta one. Because of this, our follow up questions will be based around how the time loop could have formed in canon.

Is the time loop magical or scientific in origin?

A magical time loop could be something that appears as some sort of spell, legend, or artifact, such as the example with Teruko and the grandfather clock that I provided above. I would also count time loops that just appear out of nowhere in the “magical” category. One of the most famous time loop stories in modern Western cinema, Groundhog Day, could be thought of as a magical time loop, because the main character entered a time loop as a repercussion for his rotten personality seemingly out of nowhere. A scientific time loop would be the consequence of pushing the boundaries of science, whether purposefully (“Veronika, after researching the fourth dimension, put the killing game in a time loop so that she could experience its thrills forever”) or accidentally (“Trying to bring Ellie back to life, Charles’ time machine malfunctioned and trapped him in a time loop”).

Honestly, I’m really torn on this one. That may come as a surprise to some of you– how on earth could DRDT’s time loop be magical? The answer is our lovely protagonist herself, Teruko Tawaki. If Teruko’s luck, a supernatural force, created the time loop, then it’s magical in origin. It’s already been hinted that this could be the case through Teruko’s “you all have the misfortune of being ‘characters’” speech. Does Teruko know how stories like this work out because she’s looped through them before? If Mai is a lucky student, the time loop being a result of her luck or the combination of her and Teruko’s luck would also be magical. Assuming that luck was something that they were born with, that is.

However, it would also be very easy for DRDT’s time loop to be scientific in origin. The mysterious company XF-Ture Tech is clearly being set up for some kind of relevance down the road, which could be a science experiment gone wrong that resulted in a time loop. This could even be the thing that ��Unnamed Student” (Mai) asked Xander to dig into.

That might seem like a bit of a leap, given that Mai is asking Xander to look into Hope’s Peak, not XF-Ture Tech. However, we already know that XF Tech had a vested interest in Hope’s Peak through their sponsorship of Min.

Personally, I don’t think that the XF Tech CEO would have had much personal interest in Min outside of her skill/potential, based on how Min describes him as a stranger. That means that the CEO’s goals must have been to sponsor the future Ultimate Student. The entire Ultimate Contest may have existed just because XF Tech wanted to get an insider within the Hope’s Peak system. There’s evidence to show that Hope’s Peak and XF Tech may have been collaborating– Mai asks why Hope’s Peak would even announce an Ultimate Contest, and Min answers from the perspective of the prospective student. But, why would Hope’s Peak want an Ultimate Student obtained through that method/at that time? If Min really did poison the competition to win, the entire Contest may have been rigged from the beginning to get an XF representative into the East Class.

Because of all this, I’m inclined to say that DRDT’s time loop is both magical and scientific in origin. Here’s what I’m thinking: 13-27 years ago, XF-Ture Tech signed some sort of deal with the new Hope’s Peak Academy that would allow them to look into students and their talents, much like how the original Hope’s Peak Academy was studying the origins of luck. HPA agreed for the money, while XF Tech believed that the partnership would help them sell better products/services, either through getting the first scoop on up-and-comers in the field or by scientifically developing talent rather than allowing it to occur naturally. That might sound really similar to what already happened in DRDT’s canon universe with the Kamukura project, but, hey, maybe part of the whole “time loop” motif would be history repeating and man not being able to shake the desire to play God.

Anyways, when they made this deal (or potentially a little while after it), they also decided that it would be good if XF Tech could be directly represented by one of the students in a future class. I can’t say exactly why they wanted this to be the case, but maybe HPA and XF Tech were either looking for a good excuse to go public with their relationship, or they knew that something or someone relevant would come to pass through the school in ~13 years, and wanted a man on the inside. Therefore, HPA put out a pre-rigged Contest searching for the Ultimate Student, which was destined to be won by whoever the XF Tech CEO determined was the best candidate. The CEO chose Min, and spent 13 years coaxing her into the perfect grateful, insecure, and study-focused representative out there.

Whether it was their goal from the start or a new development that caught their eye, XF Tech took particular note of Teruko and her strange luck, and wanted to research it. Teruko, who was desperate for support, let them study her, and eventually came to trust that they had her best interests at heart. But, over time, they pushed it too far. As some sort of reaction to their scientific prodding, Teruko’s luck magically created a time loop in an attempt to prevent XF Tech from bothering her any further.

Cool fanfic, right? While I’m aware that there are a lot of holes and leaps in logic– and we’ll get to those– I do think there’s reason to believe that Teruko is at the epicenter of the time loop for one reason or another. As we were all made aware of at the very beginning of the series…

… ending the killing game is correlated to killing Teruko Tawaki. Therefore, this person at least believes that the end of the killing game is related to the end of Teruko’s life. So, if the time loop is also related to the killing game– which it is, as established by the APQ– then the end of Teruko’s life would also possibly cause the end of the time loop. To quote a wise wizard, it’s maaaagic. The theory that Teruko’s secret is “the killing game is all your fault” also fits here perfectly.

So, it’s not as big of a leap in logic as it might seem like on the surface, even if it’s still basically my audition for being the Ultimate Jumper. However, now that the basics of the theory were mostly established in the “What?” section, I think I have a bit more room to inject my own thoughts and theories in here. I can’t draw any conclusions without making some guesses, and I can’t assess what the hell is going on without any conclusions. Call what follows specifically “Accirax’s Time Loop Theory” if you think I’m starting to veer too far off track from what’s plausible. I promise I’m still going to try to use actual, textual evidence whenever I can, though.

At any rate, there are still a lot of holes. Most notably, why would a time loop that Teruko’s luck created contain a killing game in it? Was she already in a killing game when the time loop began, or did her luck create the killing game? We’ll talk about that a bit more in the next section, along with some other stuff.

When?

Before getting back to the question of why a killing game would happen in this time loop, I think it’s important to establish some of the basic facts that the “When?” section might imply. Such as, “what events occurred before the time loop started?,” and, “what events occurred after the time loop started?” That’s a funny question to ask with regards to time loops specifically, but there are still things we can piece together.

Firstly, we can be pretty confident that the canonical properties Trigger Happy Havoc, Goodbye Despair, Ultra Despair Girls, and End of Hope’s Peak happened before DRDT. (V3 is, as usual, so weird that I have no clue if DRDT will attempt to explain it as part of the canonical timeline or not.) The Tragedy was confirmed as canon to the DRDT universe by Veronika in Chapter 2 Episode 2, and Min/Mai in A History of Hope’s Peak.

If the Tragedy and Hope’s Peak Academy are canon, then I see no reason why those four games, which all relate to the Tragedy, wouldn’t be as well. There’s also the mysterious “Ms. Naegi” that’s listed in the credits of Literature Girl Insane, and Teruko’s reference to “a past killing game.”

Although the event Teruko mentions could be any killing game with Monokuma as its mascot, I would suspect that she is specifically mentioning the Hope’s Peak Academy Killing Game of THH here, as it was the first and the one that was widely broadcast. Notably, although Veronika knows a lot about the Tragedy and by all accounts should be super into the killing games, she doesn’t remember another killing game happening before. That leaves us with two basic options. 1) Teruko had access to secret knowledge about the killing games that the general public didn’t, or, 2) something about the creation of this killing game caused Veronika (and likely the other non-Terukos as well) to forget about the HPA killing game. I would lean towards the second, given that the broadcast of the HPA killing game and Junko’s involvement in it were such major historical events that I would really expect that society wouldn’t forget about them so easily.

Another huge piece of information comes from the Chapter 2 Part 1 Q&A.

From this question, we know that a person who is 80-ish years old was old enough to be alive during the Tragedy itself. In THH, Makoto’s orientation letter is dated to the release year of the game, 2010 (2014 for the English release), which means that the Tragedy probably started in 2011. We can approximate, then, that DRDT takes place sometime around 2090, give or take a few decades depending on how long the Tragedy lasted and at what point with regards to it Duke was born. Not super important to this theory, but it is interesting.

So, the Tragedy probably happened around 80 years before the time loop began. We also know that the school that Min, Mai, and Xander attend, which hosts the East Class, was probably founded ~27 years before the time loop began, because that trio is part of East Class 27. Interestingly, this means that the new American Hope’s Peak was founded ~50 years after the Tragedy. That’s a fairly long amount of time.

As for events that more directly preceded the time loop, I think that both Bonus Episodes would have happened before the killing game, as well as Teruko’s flashback about Mai in Chapter 1. Xander, Min, and Mai attended HPA before encountering the killing game/time loop, despite no one in DRDT remembering ever going to HPA. Rose says in the prologue that it’s been a year or two since the HPA entrance ceremony should have happened, which means that the students probably attended HPA for at least a year before the killing game started. The chalkboard in the classroom that Min and Mai sit in also advertises Spring Break, which, in American schools, is pretty close to the end of the typical school year. That’s more evidence that they spent a considerable amount of time attending HPA.

Now, for events that happened after the inception of the time loop. The only thing I think we know of for sure is the events of the DRDT killing game. That would be part of the time loop, infinitely recurring after the point at which the loop began. I’m also hesitantly going to call altDRDT a sequel instead of a prequel… but, uh, we’ll get more into my overall theories on that later.

Okay, now back to why a loop Teruko’s luck created would have had a killing game in it. I’ve come up with three theories, all of which are… dubious, at best.

Theory #1: The killing game came from Teruko’s subconscious. Teruko’s luck is a part of who she is, and therefore, any effects it may have are based on what Teruko knows and how she feels. Perhaps, just before the time loop began, Teruko learned about the Hope’s Peak Academy Killing Game, whether in class or through shadier sources. When her “magic” snapped and the time loop began, because the killing game was on her mind, it manifested before her. Basically, the time loop would operate much like a dream, where the things you learn in real life come back in surreal ways. I don’t like this one because it leans in really hard to the magic aspect. Although Danganronpa has always been science fiction, letting Teruko’s emotions create an entirely new magical realm seems like jumping the shark.

Theory #2: XF-Ture Tech wanted to test Teruko with a killing game. Their research into her and her luck is quite similar to that of Nagito or the Kamukura project, so why not test their findings in the same ways that Nagito and Hajime were tested? Things amidst this theory that make sense are XF-Ture Tech, a tech company, possibly creating MonoTV, and the prospect of Teruko’s friends dying in a killing game adding an extra kick to why her luck would step in and create a time loop out of desperation. Things that don’t make sense include how the hell XF-Ture Tech would manage to pull this off (especially if constrained by legality/friendship with HPA) and where the hell they would be now. That second question could be answered by, “it was Min,” I suppose, but the first is still off.

Theory #3: The killing game was introduced to contain Teruko. I’m not entirely sure how this would work, but, basically, something else would have triggered Teruko’s luck to start the loop, and then someone (Hope’s Peak, Mai, the Spurlings, who knows) would have introduced a killing game in there in hopes of having something happen. This idea was sort of spurred on by the note that Xander had to kill Teruko Tawaki. Let’s say that Teruko is a huge, powerful problem, much like Junko or Izuru. If you can find a way to breach the time loop she’s created to introduce a killing game, she has to die eventually, right? Victim after victim, blackened after blackened– if Teruko is trapped in an eternal killing game, it seems like at least one of them would have to randomly stumble into her dying. However, I then have to ask how and why the other DRDT characters wound up in this killing game. Them all agreeing to volunteer for this potentially kamikaze plan seems unrealistic given their personalities. So, were they just collateral damage of the original time loop, roped into this last-ditch effort plan? How would a seemingly closed off loop be “breached” to such a drastic extent, anyways?

I once again feel like I’m missing something here, but I also don’t think any of my previous assumptions were wrong. I just can’t understand why the killing game would have come to exist within this time loop. Maybe it has to do with the person who started the killing game?

Who?

Oh yeah, it’s time to talk about the mastermind again, baby. But, obviously, filtering it through the assumption that there is a time loop will change my overall assessments. Now, we have to look for someone with the means, motives, and thematic… fittingness(?) to be involved with Looping the class.

Let’s start with some options that seem so obviously incorrect that I don’t have anything to say. Why would Ace, Hu, Levi, or Nico be the one to have started a killing game within this time loop? Ace’s cowardice already made him seem unlikely, and making the danger zone neverending makes the premise all the more bizarre. You would have to reach pretty far to characterize Hu as the APQ speaker who claims to be incredibly bored and apathetic. Levi wants to change as a person, so inflicting a stagnant time loop seems counter to his goals. Nico… just doesn’t seem to have any aspect of their character line up with the premise of a time loop? Like, if Nico were the character you created to be the mastermind of a time loop killing game, what aspects of how they turned out would reflect that? In my opinion, there are no connections, which makes Nico not it.

Some more less likely options… Arei has some dialogue about people’s behaviors not changing, but especially given her (likely) death, I don’t think it’s enough to call her the mastermind. Given that David is alive, he fares better than Arei under the same scrutiny, but I still feel like the mastermind’s power in this context is more than the desperate, run-ragged David we’ve seen in the second Class Trial. He cares too much, in his own David way. I feel like Rose should be doing better given how highly I ranked her in my main mastermind post, but I’ve been trying to fit the Spurlings into this time loop thing, and I haven’t been able to manage anything. J is much the same, although the whole “TV show” argument still gives her some traction. Although Arturo is generally a smart, scientific kind of guy, being a plastic surgeon doesn’t seem to mesh with whatever science would be needed to make a scientific time loop.

And then there’s Whit. Look. I’m as tired of airing my grievances with Whit mastermind theory as you probably are of reading me air them. However, Whit definitely merits his own section due to one of the main pieces of Whit mastermind scripture (to my knowledge) directly tying the APQ to his candidacy. While I definitely respect and appreciate that aspect of this theory, I don’t buy it myself. By demodraws’ word, this theory is more of a “list of evidence.” The only items on that list that I see directly relate to the APQ are that 1) the Forever Dead character, who may be linked to the speaker, identifies as a boy, and that 2) the speaker expresses grief. Although, that second point is also linked to the belief that the mysterious quote at the beginning of Chapter 1 is said by the same person who said the APQ, which isn’t necessarily the case.

I certainly agree that Whit’s character is the most tied to the concepts of grief and idolizing the dead. However, there are many other characters who do the same. Charles mourns Elliot after remembering his existence, Arturo mourns Felicity whenever he’s confronted with the truth, Xander mourns his family and how he couldn’t do more. (Why do so many DRDT characters have dead family members?) Eden has mourned Min and Arei since their deaths. You can also make the argument that the APQ speaker is more so mourning who they became and how things used to be more than mourning or idolizing any dead compatriots. Rose mourns being shackled to the Spurlings, David mourns the loss of his career once his secret is out, Levi mourns never knowing the right thing to say around Ace. With so many griefheads running around, I don’t find Whit’s connection to the subject compelling enough to label him mastermind.

Then there’s the “boy” aspect. Obviously, Whit isn’t the only boy in DRDT either– as far as we know, Xander, Charles, Ace, Levi, Arturo, and David also identify as boys. However, I also don’t think that the Forever Dead character being a boy is a majorly important piece of evidence. Assuming that Forever Dead is autobiography-flavored fiction as opposed to a genuine biography, the gender of the character it’s describing feels like a detail that DRDTdev could have easily changed to make the parallel less obvious. Although, then you might ask, “why bother including the character’s gender at all, then?” In my opinion, Veronika talks for long enough that it would have been really hard to get through the entire monologue without ever establishing a set of pronouns for the protagonist. “It’s about a _____'' is also a pretty natural way to introduce a story to someone for the first time. Choosing the fairly inconsequential “boy” is a lot less revealing than if Veronika said something more targeted; such as, “it’s about a marriage counselor.” I can’t deny that Veronika talking about a boy could be an important clue, but hopefully I’ve explained why I’m not hinging my entire theory off of it.

Alright, now we’re on to people who I think could genuinely make sense as a time loop mastermind. I think it’s probably most fitting to start with Eden. Because, you know… clocks… time… making time… you can’t go back no matter how hard you try… it’s not a hard conclusion to draw. DRDT has many underlying mysteries, but as compared to something as mysterious as, say, Mai, the concept of a time loop is even further obscured. Making your mastermind the Ultimate Clockmaker is something that would seem totally harmless on the surface, but be a great twist when the truth of the time loop is revealed. The issue is… other than her talent, I don’t think Eden has much going for her here. I guess you could argue that, if the killing game time loop is meant to help Teruko in some way, Eden has been very dedicated to her goal of supporting others. However, whether that’s the case or not, it’s hard to make an argument that Eden doesn’t care about anything anymore.

Maybe if the APQ quote is said in the future, and this is evidence of Eden undergoing the change that the APQ speaker described…? Eden is a definite possibility, but given all this in addition to my other theories as to where her character is headed, I think it’s an unlikely one.

Next, Veronika. As the one who introduced us to Forever Dead, she definitely has some connection to this time loop nonsense. The question is, how strong can that connection get? The main thing that I like about Veronika being the time loop mastermind is how well her character seems to fit with the APQ speaker’s personality. Both of them face boredom as their greatest enemy, and the APQ listing terror and fear as the top two emotions they wish they could still feel would match really well with a Horror Fanatic. My biggest problem is my main issue with Veronika being the mastermind in general: it just feels too obvious. Having Veronika directly state, “I can’t stand boring things,” and having the APQ speaker directly state, “anything else is better than boredom” is a really, really clear connection between the two. Would DRDTdev really want to drop such a decisive clue so early into the story? I can’t be sure. But my gut leans “no.”

It’s kind of impossible to talk about the possibility of Xander or Min being the time loop mastermind separately, because they share so many of the same points. Under the assumption that XF-Ture Tech is behind the time loop somehow, both of them may have connections to it. Min’s is undeniable– she’s clearly told us that they’ve sponsored her, and she wears their paraphernalia– while Xander may have been interrogating their actions as part of Mai’s scheme and/or in the first scene with the bloody hands over the documents. Both of them would serve similar narrative roles as someone who Teruko once wanted to trust who then betrayed her. And, obviously, both of them would be characters who appeared to die in Chapter 1 who would then return to serve as the mastermind, which could be an out-of-universe parallel or an in-universe reference to how Junko portrayed herself in the Hope’s Peak Academy killing game. Using a time loop to bring your thought-to-be-dead mastermind back for Chapter 6 would be pretty sick, I have to say.

Similarly, both of their greatest flaws lie within the realm of characterization. Neither of them strike me as the particularly apathetic type– Xander still seems to care ferociously about doing what’s right, and Min sounded genuinely desperate as she pleaded for her life. It’s possible that they could have been acting, or some time-loop induced amnesia made them forget their true feelings, but either case would still be a major shift in character. If I had to pick one of them to be more likely, I’d probably go with Min? The speaker’s insistence that they know what’s up could match with Min’s scholarly attitude, and I like her increased connection to XF Tech as well as Teacher. However, I still feel that Xander would have the greater impact upon being brought back– Teruko grew closer to him than she did to Min, and other characters, such as David (if he’s still alive) would also likely have a greater reaction to Xander’s return– so for that reason, I kind of prefer him as well.

Despite the pros and cons of all fifteen other options, this theory is clearly the most straightforward if Teruko is the mastermind. You remove all elements of how someone would have to spring either the killing game or the time loop on Teruko, and allow her to make all of the plans herself. Whether it was fully intentional or not, “the killing game is all your fault” (italicization mine) would make the most sense in this scenario. Furthermore, Teruko definitely fits the attitude of the APQ. I don’t know when she would have said it– between loops, possibly?-- but I can totally imagine her outlining how she used to care, but constant suffering and betrayal caused her to corrode.

The real question here is just why she would have put herself in the killing game to begin with. My first thought was “go through a killing game an infinite number of times and somehow something will finally result in getting Teruko to die,” if Teruko wants to die. But, that sort of contradicts what probably-Xander had to say about “end the killing game or at least kill Teruko.” Because, if the killing game is intended to kill Teruko, then ending the killing game could mean Teruko doesn't die, not satisfying what's framed as the more important of the two goals. Maybe if he was just mistaken as to what the purpose of the game was…? Or, if the time loop leaned more on the magical side, maybe the loop itself is keeping Teruko in the killing game until she can learn to trust others, no matter how dire the consequences. These other Ultimates were looped in for… accuracy to Junko’s original, I suppose? Or, maybe Teruko threw them in as a form of punishment for their misdeeds.

Anyone who isn’t a part of a killing game, such as Elliot or Ryan, raises some questions about how the speaker could be “stuck in here” and communicating with those who are part of the time loop. The most obvious option in this category is Mai, simply due to being the most relevant to the plot. She’s heavily involved with the secrets hidden in the website’s code, just like the APQ, and we know from Teruko’s own quote that “some years ago, [Mai] was searching for someone named ‘Teruko Tawaki.’” We also don’t technically know what her Ultimate talent is (although I think it’s very likely to be Lucky Student), which leaves the door open for her talent to be something useful with regards to setting the time loop up. Even a second Lucky Student could create some sort of weird clash of the titans that resulted in a time loop.

A common argument against Mai being the mastermind is that she is, in all likelihood, dead. However, with a time loop in play, there’s the possibility of resurrection. It could even be the reason why Teruko (or whoever) created the time loop in the first place. However, even if it’s pretty likely that Mai could be involved in the conception of the time loop, I’m not sure if it would be in a way that made her the APQ speaker and/or the mastermind. For the former, it’s that same issue of not being in the killing game, and for the latter, I more so see someone else creating the killing game for her than her making it herself. Probably. I dunno, Mai is a mystery.

Given the criteria of “in a killing game,” it’s also possible that the APQ speaker could be one of the characters in the altDRDT cast, though presumably not Teacher. They would have the easiest path to talk to Teacher, as opposed to the regular DRDT cast, who may have more trouble accessing him. However, there’s basically no shot at anyone in the altDRDT cast being DRDT’s mastermind, other than maybe Teacher. None of those characters have appeared on DRDT’s main hub, its YouTube channel, at all. Suddenly unveiling one of those characters– who even the hardcore fans know very little about– as the mastermind would be pretty out of nowhere. So, to the extent that the mastermind was the one who set up the time loop, I don’t think that any of the altDRDT characters created the time loop.

I think that’s pretty much every viable time loop mastermind option. I don’t know if we really determined anything all too specific, but it’s nice to sort out where all our pieces lie. As I said, I think that Teruko is by far the most logical option under the assumption that the killing game and the time loop are connected in a way where they must have been created by the same person. However, there are definitely other possibilities if you allow yourself to think outside that box.

Why?

On to arguably the most important of the categories: why? It doesn’t matter how much logical sense a time loop would make in DRDT’s world if there’s no narrative reason for it to exist in the first place. How would adding a time loop to DRDT’s story improve its themes and messages?

Well, as I already discussed in the What? and Who? sections, many characters grapple with themes of an unchanging world. What better device to reflect that mentality than one that literally shows the same sequence repeating over and over again? The fantastical concept of a time loop could emphasize and heighten the mistrust that Teruko feels. Using the time loop in that way would assign a concrete obstacle to an internal struggle, much like how the killing game itself is a physical manifestation of the helplessness of despair. Writers often enjoy employing devices like these to have a more tangible end goal for the protagonist to notably vanquish. Knowing exactly what’s going on in Teruko’s mind at any given moment might be difficult, especially given DRDT’s format. But, if Teruko sends the time loop created by her own tragic expectations shattering to pieces, we’ll know she made progress.

Additionally, Danganronpa itself posed the question of why we as fans continue to be interested in the killing game formula after seeing it play out so many times. In v3, they framed the killing game as the 53rd in a series to further emphasize the repetitive nature of this ritual sacrifice. Putting DRDT in a time loop could accomplish a very similar goal. As Veronika theorized in Chapter 2 Episode 7, the killing game will only continue for as long as audiences are entertained by it. In a never ending time loop killing game, will fans always be able to find entertainment? What does that say about them…?

Having a killing game within a time loop is a unique premise, as far as I’m aware. I’ve never before seen a fangan that decided to incorporate that into its plot. (Although, that may be a symptom of fangans tending to fizzle out before the finish line.) Making a fangan stand out can be tricky, and although DRDT already has the advantage of being fully illustrated, partially voice acted, and shown in a video format, having a unique gimmick can be a point of inspiration and a sales pitch. Similarly, Ultimate Lucky Student is a talent often tackled, both by the canon games (twice) and by other fangans. If the time loop is related to Teruko’s luck, that would also be a memorable and creative interpretation of a commonplace talent.

As for how a time loop would actually impact the story as it is, the obstacle it creates would definitely raise the stakes high for a Chapter 6 Trial. Like, how the hell are they supposed to beat that? Reiterating what I said earlier, a time loop could also be a clever way to revive a character (or characters) who previously died. If one of the starting premises of DRDT was “what if I had a mastermind that appeared to die in ch1, only to strikingly return in the finale?”, a time loop could have been the method invented to make that happen.

So, in summary, yes, I think there is sufficient narrative support to justify the inclusion of a time loop in DRDT. Maybe I should’ve cleared this section out of the way earlier in the theory. Oh well, too late now. But, if I had the chance to start it all over again, maybe I could do things differently next time…! Or, maybe I’d wind up writing the same thing every time regardless…

Where?

It’s a little silly of me to co-opt the “Where?” section as basically a summary of how I think the time loop theory would best play out, but I have my reasons. “Where?” seeks to answer where the time loop originated, and who was in it when it started. Thus, with so much focus on how the time loop began, talking about the cause and result alongside that made sense to me. The full Accirax Time Loop Theory will be in blue below, with more discussion afterward to answer whether I believe in it or not. Closing Argument starts… now!

The Tragedy ended nearly 80 years ago, and the new American Hope’s Peak Academy was founded about 50 years after that. Some time between HPA’s founding and 13 years ago, an up-and-coming tech company– XF-Ture Tech– partnered with Hope’s Peak Academy to take a more scientific look at the origins of talent in young students, much like what happened in pre-Tragedy days. XF-Ture Tech already had their eyes on one promising youth, “XF,” who they prepared to send to the West Academy. To place a representative into the East Class, XF Tech encouraged Hope’s Peak Academy to host the Ultimate Contest, with the intention of rigging the exam to get their applicant of choice into the school. This wound up being Min Jeung, who was placed in East Class 27.

Whether because of XF Tech’s request or simply due to respect for the history of the Academy, Hope’s Peak also once again began admitting Ultimate Lucky Students into their program. Their two candidates for Class 27 were Teruko Tawaki, who was sent to the West Academy, and Mai Akasaki, who was sent to the East Academy. XF Tech was quite interested in both of the students, but particularly Teruko. The way that her bad luck affected not only herself, but others as well, was very reminiscent of Nagito Komaeda, a major historical figure in both the start and the end of the Tragedy. XF Tech told both Min and “XF” to look out for Teruko as best they could, making sure nothing would come to harm their new test subject, and prepared to begin experimenting on Teruko’s luck.

Meanwhile, in the East Class, Mai fit in swimmingly. She grew really close with all of her classmates, but particularly with Min and Xander. Mai had already begun searching for Teruko several years before they wound up being recruited at opposite Hope’s Peaks– possibly because of their shared connection to good and/or bad luck– so when she heard a bit more about Teruko from Min, her interest was piqued. Recruiting her favorite Rebel to the cause, Mai asked Xander to sneak around in Hope’s Peak Academy to learn more about what the connection between the Academy, XF-Ture Tech, and Teruko was.

What they learned in the documents was the reality of what was happening in the West Class: XF-Tech was intermittently running physical and mental tests on Teruko to determine exactly what the range and power of her curse-like abilities was. Could her raw Ultimate power rival that of someone like Nagito, or perhaps even Junko Enoshima? Throwing a few mediocre lives at that question would be well worth the answer, wouldn’t it…?

Using their social connections and financial power, XF-Ture Tech arranged for West Class 27 to be taken to a self-contained abandoned mall to begin their most dramatic test yet: seeing if Teruko’s luck would carry her through a killing game against other Ultimates, just as it could have for Nagito or Junko or as it did for Izuru Kamukura. The killing game commenced, and while Teruko might not have been a target from Day 1, at some point in the story, someone attempted to kill her. And… It worked.

What a disappointment. Was Teruko’s luck really so weak when push came to shove?

But then, something truly unexpected happened: the killing game began again. Unable to accept her death, Teruko’s luck engulfed the entire mall into a time loop, running the killing game over and over again until the results were satisfactory. The rest of the world moved forward in linear time as usual, but the mall was stuck in an infinite killing game. XF Tech, amazed and delighted, diverged all of their resources into the study of this phenomenon, protecting it closely.

Mai and Xander were horrified upon learning this, and knew that they had to do something to save West Class 27. Mai, Xander, and potentially some others ran over to the site of the test to see if they could break in, get further intel, change someone’s mind, or anything to get the killing game to stop. However, as they did, they were attacked by XF Tech’s security, resulting in Xander losing an eye… and Mai losing her life. At that moment, Xander vowed that, no matter what it took, he would end the killing game and save the rest of West 27… or, at the very least, kill Teruko to avenge Mai’s life.

Meanwhile, within the time loop, the deja vu (and possibly some comments from the XF Tech-controlled mascot?) began to make Teruko wise up to what was happening. While her original plan was to get along with everyone in the killing game, trusting them and being their hero, she found that every one of those routes led to death and personal tragedy/betrayal. Teruko learned that, if she stopped caring about others, she could at least cut down on the personal tragedy aspect.

Teacher, as a perceptive and intelligent soul, was the next to piece together that something about the killing game was unnatural based on Teruko’s behavior. In one loop, Teruko winds up saying the APQ to him, revealing her new attitude. Either Teruko or Teacher could fit the description of the Forever Dead boy with how their minds began to fracture.

Outside of the time loop, Xander formulated his new plan. When his village was eradicated, it was a case of the rich and powerful obliterating the little guy with their unmatched resources. To fight back, you have to become as big as your attackers. You can only defeat a time loop with a time loop. You can only save Ultimates by putting more Ultimates’ lives at risk.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too hard to motivate the rest of East Class 27 to join Xander in his crusade. Although he himself may have been a love-or-hate figure amidst his classmates, everyone loved Mai, and wanted to help fulfill her dying wish. Plus, in theory, the plan shouldn’t risk any of their lives. Weaponizing the time loop killing game’s unending nature against it, the goal was to repeat the killing game as many times as it takes until Teruko dies as the first victim. Her luck has to fail her at some point– it’s a corrupt system; it can be broken, argues Xander– and at that point, they’ll simply end the killing game with no other casualties. To make it easier on everyone else, Xander even promised to be the one to make the first move against Teruko, every time. He left a note on him when the time loop started to always remind him.

Anyways, using some combination of Xander’s determination, Charles’ science, J and/or David’s money, Whit and/or David’s connections, and remaining vestiges of Mai’s luck (LGI “original” Color Theory pulling through???), East Class 27 managed to break the abandoned mall time loop. They pulled Teruko into their own killing game, “masterminded” by Xander, in which her luck would hopefully be less of an obstacle. The DRDT killing game we’ve seen thus far could be their first attempt or their thousandth, but whatever the case, the plan to get Teruko to die as the first victim hasn’t succeeded thus far. It’s especially hard to get it to work when Teruko has the lingering thought in the back of her mind that she can’t be killed… and when Min still has a vague memory that she’s supposed to keep Teruko out of danger.

Even though the altDRDT cast, West Class 27, escaped the time loop, they aren’t out of the killing game woods just yet. The East Class managed to catch them mid-killing game, after two Trials passed. But, due to the confusion of the time loop, none of them can remember what happened in that particular iteration of the game, or Teruko’s disappearance, which leaves them at only 11 participants. Quite the mysterious circumstance, indeed…

That’s the best I could come up with. Got some points of concern? Me too! Here are the ones I’m thinking of right now:

Would HPA (presumably headed by “Ms. Naegi”) really allow XF-Tech to do anything remotely close to what I described to Teruko?

How would XF-Ture Tech have known enough about Teruko’s luck when Teruko was 5 to recruit Min (and “XF”) to be in the correct classes at the correct time?

Is XF-Ture Tech really that important to the story?

Is Mai actually that close to Min and Xander specifically, or are we just biased because those are the two Bonus Episodes we’ve seen thus far?

Didn't Mai and Teruko have a more extensive connection than what was described? (Matching tattoos, phone charms)

Why would Teruko’s luck create a time loop specifically? Why wouldn't it come up with some other way to save her?

Why would the time loop only be constrained to the mall?

Would Xander ever be willing to come that close to sacrificing innocents’ lives for the plan?

Would the entire DRDT cast really be willing to risk their time, if nothing else, to enter a killing game just to "avenge" Mai?

What could they have actually done against Teruko’s luck to break the mall time loop?

How could they have guaranteed that another time loop would begin if they managed to steal Teruko?

Where did MonoTV come from?

Why would the students have themed the killing game around TV?

Why would they throw the embarrassing secrets motive into their killing game if it was only meant to kill Teruko/that “round” theoretically shouldn’t even happen?

Why would Xander not have written the kill Teruko Tawaki note to himself? (He probably didn’t based on the handwriting)

If not Teruko’s death, what marker would signal the loop point of the DRDT killing game? Whenever the killing game seems to end?

What motive would XF-Ture Tech have to (presumably) continue the altDRDT killing game after the time loop is broken and Teruko is gone?

Why does altDRDT have NG code bracelets?

I could probably come up with more, but these are all the major questions I could think of at the moment. While not a “question,” per se, another point of contention for some would be that this would make Xander the mastermind of DRDT. It’s not a huge point of contention for me, both because 1) an off-the-wall situation like this is exactly what I think Xander would need to properly capitalize off of any narrative setup he may have for being the mastermind, and 2) @/sentinel-kinjo made a really good point in the replies of my DRDT mastermind post that definitely had me questioning whether I should’ve put Xander (and Charles) higher.

Anyways, despite all this effort– or maybe because of it– I think I personally don’t really believe in the theory that DRDT is part of a time loop. Somewhat like the Arei dress-up theory, I feel like there are too many oddities currently left unanswered for the theory to be actually viable. Unlike the Arei dress-up theory, though, I think that this one has far more potential to become correct via us receiving more information that either fills in some of our plot holes or reroutes the plot to avoid some of the biggest grievances.

The only thing I really like from this theory is that the altDRDT cast is West Class 27, AKA Teruko’s class. That’s gonna be my new personal headcanon until proven otherwise.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed that the DRDT fandom has been feeling a little sleepy (Min reference) lately, so thank you, anon, for helping to keep me cooking on the series during this semi-down period. …Even if it took me, like, two months to actually finish. Thank you for your patience, as well.

And thank you to everyone for reading this far! I think my mastermind theory still wound up being longer than this (although it’s hard to tell with the pictures), but this one is still a doozy. Also, if you have anything to add on or argue against, please share your thoughts in the comments or a reblog! I’d love to hear others’ thoughts, especially given how loosely defined the time loop theory was. Whether you do or don’t, I hope you enjoyed. See you at the next inexplicably long analysis!

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disabledunitypunk · 5 months

Text

I want to revisit exactly why we founded this blog in the first place.

I was viscerally reminded of it while scrolling an entirely different liberation tag. I found a post that I liked and went to the blog to see if I might like to follow them. The second recent post on their blog was this, which as I was reading I found myself relating to.

Warning for uncensored references to slurs. This is done for readability in the context of talking about them, and the slurs are neither being aimed at anyone nor reclaimed in this context, even where reclaimable.

You know how you look back at past shitty connections, friends, family dynamics, and relationships and you're like "I can't believe I let them treat me that way"? I think it hits differently with disability because when you're disabled you don't always even know that you're being mistreated and/ or abused in regards to it.

I know statistically disabled people are more likely to be abused but sometimes there's an additional type of abuse that's hard to identify even in hindsight because no one tells you how abusive it is.

But ableist abuse relating to your disability can look like:

Pushing you to do things beyond your limitations despite their awareness of them.

Blaming you for the "inconveniences" brought on by things beyond your control (ex: missing a movie because you had to wait for your pain meds to kick in).

Not allowing you to take breaks or antagonizing you when you do.

Bullying or making fun of things you can't help like gait, a lisp, an embarrassing symptom.

Trying to "cure" or "fix" you, often framing it as "helping" you. Sometimes they look similar and you might be able to tell by their reaction towards lack of improvement.

Holding over you the things they have to do for you (cooking, cleaning, driving, working, etc).

Giving ultimatums that demand things of you that you can't do (getting a job, keeping up with multiple chores).

Using insulting terms, language, and/or slurs that you have not permitted them to or in a context where there is intent to harm you.

Interrogating you about your disability or trying to find discrepancies between your experiences and what they've heard/read/seen about it.

Implying or saying anything along the lines of you faking, being lazy, or exaggerating.

Reducing you to a hypochondriac, saying you enjoy being disabled because you seem to like having things done for you, or that you're lazy or abusing them by depending on them for things.

Asking you about it not to learn more, but to use it against you in some way.

Having a martyr complex, acting as if they're a hero for giving you the support you deserve.

Calling you a burden, implying you to be one, or treating you like one.

Acting like you owe them a debt, sometimes even demanding some kind of repayment. Keeping track of money they spend on you that you won't be able to pay back, feeling entitled to things like control, sex, a portion of government benefits, etc.

Self victimizing. They act like you being disabled causes more suffering to themselves than you.

Accusing you of being addicted to your medication. If you genuinely develop an addiction a normal response is concern not rage, finger pointing, etc. if you don't have one baseless claims are very harmful

Trying to force you to stop "depending" on things you need like medication and disability aids

Comparing you to others that are doing "better" than you. Maybe showing you inspiration porn of someone with no legs for example doing incredible things- which is great for them but the "I don't let my disability stop me so you can do anything" shit is harmful. Some of us will get very unwell if we try, and some just can't.

Trying to make others also see you as dramatic, faking, or lazy. Often embarrassing and mocking you as well.

Withholding things you need like medication or disability aids as a punishment

Saying your disability is karma or something inflicted by a divine entity/religious figure. Maybe as punishment for not praying, being queer, or something else they disagree with.

Saying that it's a result of being "promiscuous"/ LGBT. For instance if you have HIV or ME/ CFS that was a result of something like mononucleosis ("kissing disease")

Shaming you for things related to your disability beyond your control or expressing embarrassment over these things. including but not limited to: appearance (general but also things like say a lupus butterfly rash or weight gain/loss), having to lay down in public (ex: with POTS), inability to keep up with hygiene, etc.

Lacking boundaries and acting as if they are entitled to information or intrusion of your space/belongings due to the power they hold over you and assistance they may provide.

Implying/saying you're living an extended vacation. Maybe one they say they wish they had because they have to do x y z while you "sit around"

Abandoning you solely for your disability (ex: because you can't hang out, they don't want a disabled partner, think you're faking, etc)

Note that someone doing one or two of these things a few times doesn't always mean they're abusing you (also depends on which). It's about the patterns and frequency of this behavior as well as refusal to improve once aware that they're hurting you. People who care about you don't want to hurt you and the normal response is to do their best not to repeat the action that negatively affected you

There are more examples and you can feel free to list some

Except it was then, at the very bottom, followed by:

✨This is about physical illnesses and disabilities, please don't derail✨

So let's go point by point, shall we?

Pushing you to do things beyond your limitations despite their awareness of them.

This is universal to all forms of disability, and in fact neurodisabled people are often pushed beyond their limitations by people aware of them precisely because those people think neurodivergence can't be profoundly disabling, rather than thinking a specific individual's physical disability isn't so in their specific case or based on their specific diagnosis.

Blaming you for the "inconveniences" brought on by things beyond your control (ex: missing a movie because you had to wait for your pain meds to kick in).

While this one is universal to abuse in general, I have no problem with a post about ableism focusing on ableist abuse. There is in fact a unique manifestation of this kind of abuse with ableism, where the things that are beyond your control specifically are also causing significant distress to you, as opposed to another aspect of your life like a physical feature or care breaking down or something that is either neutral or external.

However, it is in fact not only not exclusive to physical disability, but in fact one of the primary ways neuroableism manifests, because neuroableism relies on blaming individuals for things beyond their control by pushing the narrative that it would be in our control if we just "tried harder". This is not unique to neuroableism, either; corpoableism very much does this too, precisely because it relies on the sanist ideology that physically disabled folks are not intellectually capable of knowing our own disabilities and limits.

Erasing either type from the narrative would be wrong and lead to a reductive and facile understanding of ableism.

Not allowing you to take breaks or antagonizing you when you do.

Once again universal. Not being allowed to take breaks for neurodisabled people can lead to burnout, PTSD, self-injury, brain damage, traumagenically triggered development of chronic pain disorders and chronic illness, and more.

Bullying or making fun of things you can't help like gait, a lisp, an embarrassing symptom.

Once again universal, and I'd like to point out that gait can be and lisps usually are neurological in nature. They are very much physical manifestations of what are often or even primarily neurological conditions, and are in those cases considered forms of neurodivergence.

Trying to "cure" or "fix" you, often framing it as "helping" you. Sometimes they look similar and you might be able to tell by their reaction towards lack of improvement.

Autism S/peaks exists for this exact reason. "Curing" divergences in functional neurology is the entire basis of sanism and therefore fighting it is a fundamental part of the very foundation of mad liberation. This is actually a form of ableism more prevalent against neurodivergence, especially unpalatable neurodivergence, than physical disability. It is even present against nondisabling neurodivergence (that which causes neither distress nor dysfunction), which is an important facet to consider in understanding how ableism functions - even solely against people who ARE disabled.

Holding over you the things they have to do for you (cooking, cleaning, driving, working, etc).

Yet again universal. Somehow I wonder if this person thinks neurodisabilities aren't actually, well, disabling. Neurodisabilities can make you unable to cook, clean, drive, work, make appointments and access care, do paperwork required to receive the "benefits" you need to survive, and more, just as physical disabilities can.

Giving ultimatums that demand things of you that you can't do (getting a job, keeping up with multiple chores).

Again, neurodisabilities are disabling.

Using insulting terms, language, and/or slurs that you have not permitted them to or in a context where there is intent to harm you.

Retard. Stupid. Crazy. Idiot. Insane. Dumb. Sociopath. Bipolar. Narcissist. Psychopath. Schizo. Antisocial.

Just because you refuse to recognize many of these as slurs doesn't make them not slurs, and they are certainly "insulting terms and language". The ones mentioned are specifically often weaponized against neurodisabled people based on various aspects of their neurodisabilities, and not always based on the exact definitional meaning or common usage of the slur. For example, a person with ADHD might be called "insane" for finding their ADHD profoundly disabling, despite ADHD not typically being considered under the umbrella of disorders/neurodivergencies most impacted by sanism.

Interrogating you about your disability or trying to find discrepancies between your experiences and what they've heard/read/seen about it.

Refusing to recognize autism outside of "Rain Man" stereotypes. Refusing to recognize inattentive and mixed subtypes of ADHD. Refusing to recognize cluster B disorders if a person seems "nice". Refusing to recognize OCD outside of excessive cleaning. Refusing to recognize complex dissociative disorders outside of a very narrow definition that excludes medically recorded and accepted presentations of CDDs. Refusing to recognize psychosis and schizospec disorders in anyone who is able to express themselves.

Those are just some of the many extremes that we have personal experience with - never mind the more subtle and insidious forms of this kind of abuse that don't involve outright fakeclaiming and barred access from treatment/support.

Implying or saying anything along the lines of you faking, being lazy, or exaggerating.

Not only is this a primary manifestation of neuroableism, but it is in fact the one that is most prevalent in disabled community infighting and discourse, most typically weaponized against neurodisabled people. This one is particularly ironic for that reason - physically disabled neurodisabled people are called abled or told we are pretending or want to be more disabled than we actually are the instant we dare to talk about how our disabling neurodivergence profoundly disables us; let alone that we AND "physically abled" neurodisabled people do not in fact gain access to abled privilege.

Reducing you to a hypochondriac, saying you enjoy being disabled because you seem to like having things done for you, or that you're lazy or abusing them by depending on them for things.

*Stares directly at pretend camera like I'm on The Office*.

Another one at least as equally prevalent against neurodisabled people, though for this one I hesitate to claim more so. I've found that our experiences with chronic pain and executive dysfunction are near-identical in this respect.

Asking you about it not to learn more, but to use it against you in some way.

Having a martyr complex, acting as if they're a hero for giving you the support you deserve.

Calling you a burden, implying you to be one, or treating you like one.

Self victimizing. They act like you being disabled causes more suffering to themselves than you.

Doing these all together because they're all related.

Autism warrior moms are the most visible example of this, but people who act in any sort of caretaker role to disabled people, related or not, do this all the time. They do this regardless of specific disability. Parents of disabled children and partners of disabled people (and friends and other relations) are all "heroes" in societies eyes, and often not only don't challenge that, but wield it against their children/partners/friend/etc.

Also, the entire concept of "narcissistic abuse" is just this.

Trying to force you to stop "depending" on things you need like medication and disability aids

Withholding things you need like medication or disability aids as a punishment

Grouping these together a bit out of order because they're also related. The addiction narrative is especially common with antidepressants, anti anxiety meds, and especially ADHD meds. My own abusive parent tried to get me off my meds for this reason.

This is also the reason meds like ADHD meds are systemically refused and withheld - the anti-addict narratives, fear of "dependence" and withholding meds as a "punishment" for challenging the narrative that disabled people can't know their own disabilities or that a psychiatric professional might know less or be wrong about them.

Accessibility aids that are necessary for preventing meltdowns and/or shutdowns such as stim toys, light-sensitivity glasses, noise-canceling headphones, and such, are also often withheld because they don't want you to "depend" on them or as punishment.

Yes, and Albert Einstein was autistic. Vincent Van Gogh was suicidally depressed and schizophrenic - and the fact he did some of his best art while actively being treated for these is erased. Edgar Allen Poe, among other things, likely had a seizure disorder - which is a form of neurodivergence as much as a physical disability. There's dozens of examples of this for just about any given neurodisability, whether with someone famous or simply another family member with the same diagnosis, just as there is for a given physical disability.

Saying your disability is karma or something inflicted by a divine entity/religious figure. Maybe as punishment for not praying, being queer, or something else they disagree with.

Another universal one, but especially applies to depression, self-harm, and suicidal ideation.

Saying that it's a result of being "promiscuous"/ LGBT. For instance if you have HIV or ME/ CFS that was a result of something like mononucleosis ("kissing disease")

This is so far, the first one I've seen that primarily affects people who are physically chronically ill (though ME/CFS actually specifically causes neurodivergence in the form of profound cognitive disability - an example of how systemic physical conditions are often partially neurodivergent in nature due to the simple physical organ responsible for consciousness being affected).

While there are outliers, such as trauma disorders resulting from abuse occurring in a queer relationship that you have less recourse and resources for in a queermisic society, I think it's at least possible to have a conversation about this one centered on physical disabilities without excluding a group just as severely and commonly effected.

However, it is neither distracting from a conversation nor decentering the most effected to simply acknowledge that even this is not wholly exclusive to physical disability, and it in fact enriches the conversation and makes measures which fight it more effective to analyze the totality of how this form of ableist abuse is used against people.

That's... kinda the whole basis of the theory of intersectionality.

I'm not sure if this is just a more specific repeat of the second point or a similar but different manifestation of it, but as someone with physical disabilities that come with flushing and rashes, with POTS, and whose inability to keep up with hygiene is as related to their neurodivergence as their physical disabilities: this I would say is more common in terms of appearance with physical disabilities but equally as common in terms of hygiene with neurodisabilities.

Some exceptions include Down Syndrome, FASD, and even some disabling intersex variations in specific contexts for appearance; and it's worth noting that hygiene is slightly more commonly weaponized against those with invisible disabilities than those with very visible ones in either case, though cases of significant acne and other skin conditions are a large exception to this as well.

Lacking boundaries and acting as if they are entitled to information or intrusion of your space/belongings due to the power they hold over you and assistance they may provide.

Once again a very basic form of abuse, but made worse by the inherent hierarchical power imbalance of being abled while you are disabled (or in some cases, being disabled but a parent or disabled but having financial power over you in any relationship). This is actually one of the single most prevalent types of child abuse specifically, but especially against both neurodisabled and physically disabled children.

Implying/saying you're living an extended vacation. Maybe one they say they wish they had because they have to do x y z while you "sit around"

Hm, I wonder if neurodisabled people ever have the distressing and disabling aspects of their neurodisabilities erased while people act like they are on vacation while being profoundly disabled by their brain to the point of being unable to work. /sarcasm

Abandoning you solely for your disability (ex: because you can't hang out, they don't want a disabled partner, think you're faking, etc)

Is your disability disabling? Then this in fact likely applies to you! I don't know a single neurodivergent or physically disabled person who hasn't experienced this, even amongst neurodivergent people that are in their own words not very disabled by their neurodivergence.

So out of 27 examples, exactly one is primarily experienced by physically disabled people.

Somehow I fail to see how it is "derailing" to acknowledge forms of ableism as experienced equally by neurodisabled people, but I do find conversations of ableism actually derailed by insisting on not letting a significant portion of the disabled community (including what is a significant portion if not a majority of the physically disabled community) talk about the full extent of their experiences with ableism.

Or, to put it more simply, it is derailing discussions of ableism to insist that they are exclusive to physically disabled people when they are not, and especially to accuse other physically disabled people of derailing if they talk about how their experiences with ableism are intersectional with and even inseparable from their neurodivergence.

I have an example to add to this list after all: DARVO, an acronym which stands for Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and offender. When you deny that neurodisabled people face this ableism (or that they face it at similar rates, to the same extent, etc), attack them for bringing that up, and act like they are being ableist while you erase disabled people's experiences with ableism, you are guilty of this.

This is the whole reason we coined unitypunk and made this account - to address lateral ableism within the community and erasure of both corpoableism from neurodisabled folks and neuroableism from physically disabled folks. The community has been more successfully fractured by this discourse than any fed psy-op could ever have done or even hoped for, and part of fighting that is refusing to tolerate ableism in our spaces and reminding people that we have a common goal - total liberation for ALL disabled people.

When you perpetuate ableism against one part of the community, you reaffirm the structures that oppress us all.

There are in fact conversations to be had about variances in oppression that cause unique forms of abuse towards physically disabled people - such as how the slightest of slopes or uneven surfaces can make a "walkable" city utterly inaccessible to mobility aid users, or even the microaggression of the term for a city that is supposed to be more accessible specifically focusing on those who can walk, a language choice which often shapes the inattention towards accessibility needs when planning these spaces. Another fundamentally interrelated example of this is lack of masking and social distancing during the ongoing pandemic - in another way effectively shutting disabled people out of public spaces.

There's also conversations to be had about the unique forms of ableism that affect neurodisabled people - such as the carceral institutionalization of neurodivergent people for anything from refusing to medicate psychosis whether or not it is causing distress or dysfunction, to being plural, to being suicidal, to being autistic and a hacker, and all the forms of violence and especially suppression of neurodivergent identity that come with that.

I want it to be clear: I chose two examples I am directly affected by that I consider equally serious precisely to illustrate how important both of those conversations are. The utter erasure and apathy towards making even the most tiny of steps that are inconsequential for abled people towards accessibility in public spaces that make them completely inaccessible for us as physically disabled people, and the incarceration of neurodisabled people and forced "correction" of our neurodivergence are massive forms of structural ableism that massively impact us as disabled people on a daily level.

The narratives used to justify these forms of oppression often rely on one another to function, and that's a really important part of the conversation! Disabled people are "crazy" for demanding we be taken into consideration when planning accessibility because either "we already are" (except it's ramps that are utterly unusable or similar that is just an elaborate display allowing abled people to get away with patting themselves on the back for doing less than nothing) or because "the pandemic is over" or similar.

Disabled people need to be locked up "for our own good" to cure us of the sickness ravaging our brains until we are compliant - and mental illness diagnoses are weaponized against physically disabled people and we are enforced to endure CBT for chronic pain and illness as a form of medical gaslighting because really, our disabilities and the ableism we face are just "thought distortions".

This is again, basic intersectional theory. Conversations about transphobia are enriched by discussing where transandromisia, transmisogyny, and exorsexism overlap and interact, as well as how these all rely heavily on and perpetuate intersexism. Conversations about the unique ways pluralmisia manifests based on perceived and actual origin and disordered status and how much of pluralmisia relies on sanism and oppression of mad and especially psychotic people benefit from acknowledging all of that, while also acknowledging that aspects of pluralmisia exist independently of sanism and manifest uniquely for nondisordered and endogenic plurals, as well as for plural non-systems.

At the same time, there are conversations to be had centered on the unique forms of oppression within a marginalized group. In my experience, conversations about exorsexism and ceteromisia in particular need a space to focus on the marginalization of those who aren't binary or binary-adjacent, despite exorsexism overlapping significantly with binary forms of transphobia and gender essentialism and bioessentialism based in those false binaries.

Another example that I can speak less to, but want to acknowledge, is the variations in anti-black, anti-indigenous, anti-AAPI, and other forms of racism. Racism as a rule doesn't map in a lot of ways to other forms of oppression and so comparing them as such is often clumsy at best and actively racist at worst.

Given how much eugenics and white supremacism and colonialism rely on and inform ableism in turn, though, I think it's important to bring up. Examples such as schizophrenia being recategorized to diagnose black civil rights activists as violent crazy people so their imprisonment and experimentation on could be "justified" to white society - where it was previously considered a disorder of white housewives; black asylum prisoners being the primary victims of lobotomies and other experimentation; the overdiagnosis of oppositional defiant disorder and other conduct disorders in (typically autistic) black children are some of the ones I'm most aware of.

I am aware however that my knowledge on the subject is sorely lacking and welcome all people of color to add to this part of the conversation.

All this to say - I started this blog to try and open these conversations up. I have definitely been guilty of being reactive myself (and speaking for other headmates as well) in response to ableism and cruelty. I don't mean to tone-police myself or anyone else, but I do want to acknowledge that we personally want to move away from that and feel that doing so will make us specifically more effective as facilitators in this conversation.

Every time we add a related perspective to a conversation and someone says "oh, yes, and also this", it reminds us that the goal of unitypunk in addressing ableism as it affects all disabled people and rejecting ableism within our communities is possible. Every time someone has the courage to add a perspective we did not consider to our posts, we are grateful that they took the time and effort to foster solidarity and educate us and others on it.

We always wanted to create a supportive community and movement that welcomes diverse experiences and perspectives, and allows the valuable insight of different people to enrich our conversations about and activism against ableism. We've been far from perfect in doing so, but even where we've disagreed on matters that specifically affect us and our specific disability, we have no end of appreciation for every participant who has recognized our humanity and disability.

If you agree that at the end of the day, organizing with the ultimate goal of liberation matters most, and that fighting ableism wherever it occurs is the most important thing, you are embodying unitypunk. It's a movement that refuses to handwave ableism as "disagreements", but also refuses to let true disagreements stand in the way of standinf unified against ableism.

We hope that going forward, we can continue to create a safe and accepting space where all disabled people can have both these focused and general conversations about ableism, while specifically making sure to include everyone affected by said ableism.

#unitypunk #ableism #sanism #neuroableism #corpoableism #neurodivergence #physical disability #cw brief mention of suicidality #cw brief mention of self-harm #cw psych abuse #cw psych hospitalization #cw brief mention of 'narc abuse' (in context of it being ableist)#racism #transphobia #intersectionality

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kagoutiss · 1 year

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Actually I'm not done talking about your Ganondorf yet, he's so blorbo/pos, this man wants power but has to put up with so much shit that he makes everyone else put up with his shit too. 10/10 also I would like to kiss him please

FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU AGAIN AAA, SECOND OF ALL you’re so right about this that i ended up…writing many paragraphs of character analysis about him in this regard because this activated something in my brain. like about him inflicting shit on other people because of the shit that’s inflicted on him, and how much i’ve thought about that. i have so many feelings about his shitty personality, i think a fundamental part of why i love him is that he is…literally an asshole and he’s kind of impulsive and often terrible to people for no reason and he’s probably genuinely unbearable to be around even if you are close to him, but i think he is that way by virtue of the COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE REALITY that he lives in?? like.

ok so. i feel like OoT ganondorf is AS unpredictable & unreasonable & unpleasant as the circumstances that he lives with. we’re talking about someone who was not only born into the role of king of a nation that’s been generationally abused by Hyrule since the start of a centuries-long war predating OoT, but he’s also become accustomed to fighting against the Sheikah of that time period, who notably still had an immense technological advantage, and apparently inherit divine knowledge from the gods, and are capable of making evidence of their crimes against humanity just sort of…DISAPPEAR from the sight of most average people??? and also they. fucking invented time travel apparently

one of my favorite bits of really underrated OoT lore is how the Composer Brothers (who you can speak to as ghosts in the Kakariko Graveyard) were hired at some point by the royal family to study the powers of the royal bloodline, and they invented the Sun’s Song, which accelerates time, turns night to day, etc. a form of time travel, in essence. and. canonically. the Composer Brothers committed suicide when they found out ganondorf was going to try to steal their completed research. maybe to prevent him from torturing the the information out of them even if they destroyed it? which is a completely fucking batshit piece of lore that i still cannot believe exists

but imo it also gives a bit more context as to how desperate ganondorf probably was at the heel end of the civil war, or whenever this happened. he was literally having to contend with people who can fucking time travel, and to some extent, alter reality at will, superficially or otherwise. i’m not at all surprised that he has a tendency to 1) hold grudges forever and remember everything that’s ever been done to him, and 2) obsess over stealing the full Triforce, the one chance that any regular mortal has at changing their reality in a fundamental way. i think it’s probably difficult to make real personal connections when you’ve always been constantly at risk of losing anything & everything that you care about, in a way that may or may not affect whether those things had ever existed in the first place

i also feel like he PREFERS to be demonized/label himself really hyperbolic things like the King of All Evil and stuff because it’s…the opposite of what Hyrule does. Hyrule makes itself out to be this Supremely Benevolent Institution That Is Chosen By The Gods And Can Do No Wrong, while simultaneously disappearing its naysayers underground and torturing them and killing them and committing genocide against any territories that refuse to be absorbed under the Hyrulean banner. i don’t think Ganondorf cares whether his actions are necessarily good or evil, but i think that to him, the most abhorrent thing in existence is a thing that claims to be good when it isn’t.

so. he presumably spent his entire early life having to fend off the ever-looming bootheel of Hyrule’s royal family, while their army and their secret police were actively destroying the Gerudo and then gaslighting them all about it on an Existential Level. like. yeah no i think him having immense issues and…projecting the lack of control that he feels onto people around him, and being fully defined by his ambitions to take the triforce, and wanting people to despise him/see him as fundamentally evil, and him being sort of incapable of forming genuine connections with people, is…kinda par for the course with that agdkahkfjagajfhs

#ask #txt #ganondorf #SORRY FOR WRITING ALL THIS I DONT KNOW WHY I DID. IT JUST REMINDED ME OF ALL THESE FEELINGS I HAVE #OoT ganondorf is a great character i think he needs to be appreciated more. it’s his origin story and you can draw so much from it #thank you again anon. i would also kiss him #suicide mention #suicide cw #brief mention but just in case

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dancefloor-afterhours · 4 months

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My Thoughts on Virginia Woolf's 'A Room of One's Own'

I had a lot of thoughts so it only seemed fitting to write them all out here. I want to start out by saying that I am not here to discuss if this was a "good book" or a book that's "worth reading" as I believe that there is something worth reading in most books (those that aren't know who they are).

Additionally, Woolf is worth reading in a way that can be different depending on who you are. There's an offering of the thought process of a woman from almost 100 years ago, there's statements and thoughts on the role of women both in and out of writing and how it can be expressed, there's some thoughts on capitalism that I will be getting more into later on for several reasons. There are also quotes if you are one of those people who love slapping some words on an "aesthetic" background without checking if it was actually said or not. All of this to say, Woolf is a strong speaker with a very clear voice that is delightful to read, regardless of how much I am agreeing with whatever she is saying at any given moment. Now, with that out of the way we can get into the actual contents of this book (essay really, but as I don't have a recorded version given as it was made in 1928 this will have to do). I will be discussing each of the six sections seperately before concluding with my final thoughts at the end.

We open up with Woolf's background thoughts in order to get us into her mind as she ponders over how to answer the question of "women and fiction". Woolf promises to take us through the memorable days along her journey to find an answer and she does shortly after, setting the scene around us with her October stroll at Oxford. I find that some of the bits that I liked most throughout this happened when she went through her day as she possesses a great ability to place everyone into the moment as her, showing us what she was thinking or feeling at any given moment even if it's based upon recollection. There's the start of a discussion on the Great War having affected the very nature of writing and love, something that she circles back to later on. This is an interesting thing to note as I do believe that the war had a hand in the way modern humanity thinks given how we would likely all be very different people if there had never been any sort of conflict on this scale in the public's eye. She goes on to mention that she believes modern poets have it harder, given how they have to describe things as they are without any nostalgia as a backbone of sorts. This is an interesting thought, and one I wish she would have continued when mentioning and critiquing modern women's writing to writing that had been done in the past.

It is this chapter that lays the foundation for Woolf's talk of money, specifically money as a necessity for writing. Woolf starts out in an agreeable manner, discussing how having had access to funds in order to build establishments furthering of women's education there would have been more educated women (a shocker, I know). This grows to be warped into an ugly statement declaring the poor and working class as incapable of being geniuses or of writing great works. This is not only incorrect for multiple reasons, but feels inherently reprehensable with it's decree that people who have had to work in their lives cannot go on to be a genius as they are somehow "tainted" by having had to face this particular hardship. This is exceptionally fascinating given how until 1928 Woolf herself had been working odd jobs in order to have enough money. It is worth mentioning that Woolf herself was at this point she was living comfortably due to receiving 500 pounds a year for life due to the passing of her aunt. Funny how insignificant others' problems seem when you no longer have to face them. While there are some intersting things brought to light about women's limited abilities to do things without men during the 1920's, I cannot help but remain clouded by the beliefs on class that linger here and persist throughout her essay. Regardless, I read on.

Section two brings us to the British Museum and a look at how men perceive the minds of women. It's noted how much men tend to write on women, as they're perceived as interesting for one reason or another. There are differing thoughts on women as written by different male authors, but there is always a hint (or more) of hostility, at least in the examples shown to us by Woolf. After a period of time Woolf is overcome and creates a charicature of all of the writers and their thoughts on women that she names "Professor von X". She creates a picture of him, a picture of all that she finds hideous and disgraceful. He has personal trouble with women, she decides, and decides to take it out in his writing. She notes that anger fueled her but is briefly puzzled as to where anger would have emerged from. She realizes that her anger is fueled from feeling inferior, from having Professor von X declare women as lesser than men in all aspects.

She continues on by stating that the reason that all of these men are writing about women as they are is due to their anger from feeling as though women could eventually become superior to men, or, at the very least, equal. It's not so much the fear of inferiority that Woolf believes is the root of this in men, but rather the need for superiority. A drive to uphold and conform to the patriarchy due to the benefits that it holds for man. In picking up the paper she is hit with just how much of society is based upon the man. There may be women present in the actions, but they always remain in comparison to the men and due to the men. Woolf looks into a possible world where there had not been the patriarchy, noting both the goods and bads that would have happened through the changes. This does make sense, as most of the things that we have now would have been impacted by this change, causing us to not have Superman (an example used by Woolf) but also to not have had Fascist leaders such as Mussolini. She then further ponders a future with women doing the same jobs that men do leading, humorously, to a passing thought that women will be dying so young that they will be as rare as seeing an airplane pass overhead. Overall, this is by far my favorite bit. I think we get to see some of the best analysis from Woolf and it feels the most memorable for the right reasons. I have some responsibility to note that this high favoritism is in part due to it not containing any of her discouraging thoughts on the working class, something that stuck with me as much if not more than some of the other thoughts present.

Section three brings us into a look as to just why it was that women were not writing in the Elizibethan age, not even less frequently than men were. This topic gets covered more in part four, as we depart to look into how there are no records of the common woman from this time or before. It's true, historians were men and chose to focus on themselves, including women as minor notes when they seemed absolutely neccessary to the records (with the first mention being the accepted practice of "wife-beating"). It's noted, however, that women in fiction seem full of life, of personality. This draws us an interesting comparison. In fiction women were goddesses, connivers, and adventurers. In real life they were presented as nothing more than property, as something you could hit if it disobeyed. Women did not have enough rights at this point to have BEEN able to write. It wouldn't have just been difficult, but impossible, for a middle class woman to have penned sonnets at this time. They had no time to do it, and there would have been no reception short of physical violence and shunning.

It also here that we are introduced to Shakespeare's sister, Judith, a woman created by Woolf in order to illustrate how genius would have been squandered during the Elizabethan era. She was, of course, well off (how ever could she have been a creative genius otherwise) but was unable to receive an education due to being a woman. So while her brother was off studying, learning, and reading, she would have been forbidden from doing such. She remained at home until her father told her to marry, whereafter she complained and was beat. She continues on living a life of tragedy until eventually, pregnant with child, she kills herself with none of her work ever being published, dying a failed writer and an undiscovered genius buried at a cross-roads.

Judith is an interesting figure, but there is something that I believe is worth mentioning about her, that being that she is, quite obviously, a character of historic fiction. We very clearly have no way to know what Shakespeare's sister would have been like or what she would have been like had she existed after all. This is a fair theory, if not a touch melodramatic. Judith is additionally another figure from wealth, which again works for Woolf's theory about genius in comparison to class. However, Judith is not real and analyzing the choice as a figure of wealth would be pointless given as how her wealth is as theoretical as she is. Judith remains as a thought, a possible glimpse into what could have been with Shakespeare's forgotten sister.

Section four gives us a look into some writing by women of the past, both examples by women from immense wealth as those were the only ones who had their work stand through the test of time. We are first shown Lady Winchilsea, a woman who's very soul cries with her anguish over what is expected for women, of what she knows she can never truly excell in. Here we learn another view of Woolf's about who cannot write, something almost ironic for an essay with the ending message encouraging all women (granted they aren't poor, I suppose) to write; you cannot be full of rage and a genius of a writer. A good writer must have their mind "freed". Woolf writes that Winchilsea could be a poet, or that she has the makings for it but her anger is holding her back. I'm sure I don't need to remind you all that some of the greatest and most expressive poetry comes from wells of deep emotion. We are later shown Margaret of Newcastle, a woman who is also too angry in the eyes of Woolf. Indeed, whenever she praises a woman for writing exclusively it is with the notion that that woman has a clear head and is not clouded with anger or feelings due to her hatred for where her place in the patriarchy has left her. Is the role of the woman then to be docile? To only write in a way indicitive of a clear mind, a mind that doesn't wish for a better existance? Had Woolf not mentioned that men wrote angry earlier? Is it then that men had their right to be angry under the patriarchy but women were expected to not feel, a belief upheld by Woolf herself? An intersting train of thought to follow, but I am unsure if this is one that was intended upon. To her credit, Woolf does note that she believes Shakespeare wrote with a completely clear head, and that he was much better for this. He is the only male writer that she notes as doing this though.

We depart from this examination and move on to the more broad fact that women had had to hide their writing for fear of what people would have done had they been found out. Jane Austen's name is brought up frequently throughout this essay, nonesomuch as it is right now where there's a brief bit of thinking into how Pride and Prejudice may have been if it did not have to remain hidden, written a page at a time. From there we go into another thing that happens frequently in this latter half of her essay, that being the critique and comparison of women against women. Woolf goes back and forth between seeing this writing as an evolution chain and being frustrated when the writing doesn't appear to "hold up" to a previous novel (especially anything by Jane Austen). This is especially true through her discussion and thoughts on Charlotte Brontë, wherein she writes that she'd have been a better writer if she received more money throughout the year as well as shame her for selling copyright of her novels for money. We pivot from that, though, and discuss how women's writing may have been affected had they been allowed to explore life more freely and how men's may have been affected had they not. This leads into a discussion of how in getting distracted by life happening outside Charlotte Brontë allowed anger to sneak in and mess up her work. This leads into a discussion that carries forward about how sex affects the written style of novels as well as how and why they are written.

Woolf argues that if throughout anything written by a woman it is clear that she holds an anger towards men, it will come across and make the work seem lesser and distracted. This leads back to what she believes about emotion in writing but also leads you to wonder how she expects women to feel about their treatment. Woolf believes that it's harder for women to write because they have no guidelines to follow. Most of who are considered "the great writers" are men, and Woolf believes that in order for women to succeed as writers they have to write as women, meaning that they can't immitate what they have learned from their readings. Woolf believes that Charlotte Brontë was held back by her insistance on using a men's prose that wasn't befitting of her whereas Jane Austen invented a new sentence structure that was fitting of women. This does lead one to wonder what exactly it is about a sentence that makes it "clumsy" for a woman to use it but perfectly natural for a man. Is it the word choice? The quality? Or is there something beyond that that Woolf believes in? This allows to go into her discussion on current (for her time) woman writers and how they are reinventing writing to be in the style of women.

As mentioned before, section five is about books written by women about women, which leads us to Woolf's analysis of Life's Adventure by Mary Carmichael. Woolf begins her reading by expecting it to contain the same level of quality that she views from Austen as a means of proving that there has been improvement and influence from writers then and writers now. She is, of course, disappointed when she finds it to be different from Austen's writing. Woolf mentions tonal inconcistancies and a feeling of being jostled around. This all changes when we get to a line that stops her.

The line in question reads "Chloe liked Olivia". This is something shocking about this to her (possibly because later she informs us that she believes all women inherently dislike other women). The reason she happens upon is that this is the first time she has read a story in which two women didn't dislike and distrust each other. There is comfort in this, in that fiction can move in a direction where two women can like each other, can share a lab. We then lean into how fiction could look if men existed only as lovers to women, to fufil the role that women had been made to have for several years. She theorizes that several works of Shakespeare would cease to be had this been the case. Unfortunately, after this Woolf ceases to have praise for Carmichael and goes back to her belief in the inferiority of her writing as compared to others. For she believes that Carmichael could go on to be a great writer but not only would it require more money but also a lot more time. Woolf adresses that her comparisons of Carmichael to Austen are pretty unfair given how they write different things but I suppose not enough to take any of it back. It's noted that she's not a genius, she does not have a gift. She is just a writer with "certain advantages that greater women did not". This, of course, has to finish out with the statement that Carmichael would be a poet, just in another hundred years. There is a large issue of bashing other writers based on the one you happen to prefer in this chapter, and one that sours the taste of the writing in my eyes. How can you sit and encourage people to write when you inform them that they will never be geniuses, or never even good? True, for some this will push them to be better but will they ever be good enough in the eyes of Woolf? This is something for me to sit on as we reach the ending.

At last we reach section six. Here will be my shortest actual section summary as I will instead be focusing on tying it together with what else has been read throughout this essay. The one important thing that I have to bring up throughout this is Woolf's concept of the "androgynous mind".

The Androgynous Mind is a belief that in order to be a truly great writer one has to be aware of both the male and female aspects of themselves. This is interesting to note because earlier Woolf had discussed the concept of gendered sentances in writing. Luckily for the sake of her argument, she goes on to make amends about what it is that this means. It's not about fully being aware of both, but rather of being able to forget your own sex and just wright.

We close out with her message informing the class she is speaking at (for that's what this entire thing was for) that they need to write. Both so she has something to read but also for the future of women writers. To write anything they can think of no matter how long it's revered for and who pushes against them. Which is a really inspiring message but one that leaves me wondering which essay Woolf thought she was writing. Throughout the entirety of this we see very little but comparisons and allusions to a question of whether women that she deems "bad at writing" should be able to write in the first place.

Not to mention the final topic that I've been putting off delving fully into. This, of course, is the role of class in Woolf's views on the value of a writer. It's threaded so deeply in her essay that I cannot look at her writing without it, which is unfortunate as it heavily taints what could have been some very strong points. I mentioned that we close the book with a positive message to a future generation of women. I must confess, however, that this is not actually what happens right after the discussion of androgynous minds. No, before that we must discuss the role of possessions in wealth in her topic that she herself brings up. Woolf mentions that no matter how metaphorical one can deem them, there is always money at the heart of her essay with it being one half of her solution for women becoming great writers (the other half being a room of their own, hence the title). Not only this, but we are informed of the money left to Woolf being her saving grace several points throughout, with her viewing it as more important than women's sufferage. She continues this paragraph with reciting an entire paragraph about how there actually are not as many poor writers as you may think there are and the one there was died young. In this paragraph contains a statement that there is as much of a chance of a poor person being a great poet then there is a dog being one. Already, this is facetious as they just listed a singular great poor poet but I will suspend this for the sake of the discussion. Not only can there be poor poets more easily then there can be dog poets but in putting this statement before an empowering message about ANYONE writing poetry you have to wonder who exactly is everyone. Woolf's beliefs not only about writing but about the poor lend into a narrative wherein all poor people cannot ever hope to be good writers because they are struggling, struggle makes you miserable and discontent, and unsatisfied writers cannot write. I should hope i do not have to explain why this is incorrect.

With that, I have shared the large majority of my thoughts on this essay that has already taken up quite a deal of my time for being a short read (a little over 100 pages). While there are some very good statements on the patriarchy and how it's influence leads to a lesser development of the ability to persue creative passions in women the rampant capitalism and discrediting of the working class' work is something that you cannot sidestep just for the good points she makes periodically. Again, I still believe this essay is worth reading, but I have to come away from it disagree with the central theme. It doesn't take money for genius, it takes a talent, a craft. The rich just get more of a chance to be discovered and improve due to their abilities. Ignoring creations by poor women is not getting you any closer to women and fiction, as those struggling more than you are also women. All in all, a book I will most likely not reread

#cw: brief suicide mentions #cw: brief child abuse #book discussion #long post #book review #virginia woolf

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trashlie · 1 year

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hey it's lil anon again! wah thank you for always writing such elaborate responses, i really appreciate you taking the time and always giving me a lot to think about 💕💕

i especially want to thank you for going into so much detail on alyssa. tbh she's probably the only ily character i'm just not very good at reading, so your analysis really helps me understand her better. i can put myself in her shoes, but so many of her choices contradict my moral compass, i struggle to emphasize... and honestly, if alyssa knows that yui is awful and/or that something happened between nol and yui (it's hard to believe she never noticed how nol reacts to yui - it took shinae 2 seconds to figure out something's off - at the very least she must know he's not particularly fond of her), then those "i want to be just like her"/"i'm jealous i wish she was my mother" comments to his face are even worse. like if her microaggressions towards him are unintentional, that's one thing, but if she's purposefully pouring salt into his wounds, even if she doesn't know the extent of those wounds, that's evil :/ sigh. anyways alyssa being aware of yui's true nature at least to some extent and possibly wanting to escape the trap (even if not yet, then possibly in the future) is a really interesting thought! the 7-10 year contracts as well, thanks for pointing that out. i'll keep that in mind.

very briefly re: dieter. i joked about it to cope but yeah i do feel horrible for him :( "the winner takes it all" and "of course i'll let you break my heart again" 💔💔💔 thank you for elaborating on his feelings, it's important to acknowledge what he's going through. i think this will be a strong undertone in the story for a while…

on nol and pushing people away to protect them: you've touched on the emotional aspect in your recent post beautifully, and i would like to add that even rationally, teaming up is the best strategy going forward. like i would love his fear of losing her to kick him in the ass, but if he can't bring himself to accept his feelings wants and needs, if he still wants to insist he doesn't deserve any of this, then the rational approach will work too. if he's smart LOL (i have hope!) he will understand that driving a wedge between them is the last thing he should do if he wants to a) make sure she's okay (not that she needs to be protected but ykwim) b) actually help her escape yui, and c) make up for dragging her into all this (even if unintentionally) instead of running away like a coward. it probably hasn't clicked yet because he's stubborn as hell and still deep in this pool of guilt and regret, but this might be an angle shinae can use to get through to him. that it's, rationally, best to deal with the danger together. and if being a team then comes with those moments of calm and peace, even better. she's not alyssa 2.0 and he knows this. the trust, the bond, the commitment is there, they just need to communicate gdi!!! aaargh. actually, writing this a mental image of shinae doing like a powerpoint presentation for him popped into my head LMAO something like "how to deal with the hag 101: ditching me -> bad strategy 👎🏼🚫🙅🏻‍♀️ ; teaming up -> good strategy 👍🏼💯🙌🏼" fgdhsjdkd hey maybe he's a visual learner who knows.

actually… i've been wondering if nol will remain closed off until the article comes out, and that's how shinae and friends will learn more about his past… and everything else, obviously. it's not ideal to have your past "exposed" like that, but hey, yu jing is unstoppable and the article is coming out anyways. the article isn't centered on nol, but it covers enough to give shinae & co enough insight. and i can actually see it alleviating some of nol's pressure, because a) someone else "tells it for him" and b) the article is a catalyst of change; a silver lining that things are turning around for him. i think it'd also help shinae and friends understand nol better in the sense that, oof, it's A Lot, everything is worse than they could've expected, so it's understandable why it's extremely difficult for nol to talk about all this, that he doesn't want anyone to be dragged into this mess. i can imagine it being much easier to talk about everything afterwards, when his friends have dealt with the initial shock and have a basic understanding of the events from an unbiased source. maybe even help him process the article bc a lot of it will not align with his own perception of the past. it's actually extremely important that the article is an ✨objective✨ retelling of the events, because nol is an extremely unreliable narrator. from a storytelling perspective, it feels a little too convoluted to let shinae hear nol's warped, skewed version, and then let her learn the truth from the article, no? i think that for the sake of driving the plot forward, it's enough that she understands that it's something very serious and that he blames himself for everything. idk what do you think?

related to that, i've been thinking a bit about how the article would impact nol himself. it's just… a lot to process, isn't it. to realize that you were punished again and again for nothing, that they've villainized you and messed with your head to the point that your entire perception of yourself and reality is inaccurate. all those years of self-loathing and anguish and guilt and grief. while the actual perpetrator is revelling in the sick satisfaction of breaking and tormenting an innocent kid. gosh. i don't see nol as a vengeful person, but who knows how all this is going to affect him… a while ago i saw a post that was like "sun-coded character but not in the typical sunshine way, but in the sense that they're bright and powerful and burning hot like a raging fire of anger and passion and fury to the point of self-destruction" and ohmygod. this is complete speculation, but i couldn't help but think of nol and his future development. of course i don't hope he would reach a point of self-destruction, that would be really tragic, but the potential is just 🤌🏼

anyhoo back to the present <3 the three days make me soooo hopeful OH GOD i'm trying so hard to keep my expectations low… like you, i think an apology/honest conversation would be ideal, but even if nana can give shinae some encouragement and ease her heart, that would already help so much. also, if the guy wants to be a wall then can he at least find a way to be a wall without hurting her?? like my boy you're not a bad guy because of whatever you think you did in the past, you're a bad guy because you keep hurting shinae!!! stop being consumed by the darkness for a second and deal with the situation at hand, please. 152 was strike one, this was strike two. don't make me teleport into the comic and bonk you like nana did 😾 and fgdshfkjthepossiblekissdontevengetmestartedaaahhhhhhhhh ahem not to be like that but walk with me for a moment ok. walk with me ashlie. remember that "will this make it all better?" drawing quim posted on patreon a couple of weeks ago? not saying anything so i don't jinx it but 👀 shinae's not wearing her bandana in that drawing btw 👀 anything can happen in three days right. teehee 🤸🏼🤸🏼🤸🏼

alright. take care 💗 -lil anon 😼

LIL ANON!!!!!!!!!!!!! LIL!!!!!!!!! ANON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMS GOD god you just GET ME YOU GET ME YOU GET ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lmao (I, too, would like to bonk Nol Nana-style)

PLEASE I NEED a little spin off sketch doodle of Shinae giving Nol that powerpoint presentation where he starts off with his usual grumpy face and maybe even starts to roll his eyes but can't help but start laughing because I SURE DID LMAO PLEASE I WANNA SEE IT SO BAD?! Sprinkle in some tips from Nana's How to Banish Witches LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Let me try to go in order, though! I get so tangled up in my own words so... so easily lmao

I do feel you on Alyssa - and I get why she's so hard for most people to digest. I think she is one of the most intentionally hard to read characters we've met - we know just enough about her to make us think, but not enough that we can say anything is for certain. That's one of the reasons I feel like there must be something being held over her head, because I guess I do tend to have a rather naively hopeful view of her, and like to imagine that it's not that Alyssa is this terrible person as much as, like everyone else, she's caught up in some kind of terrible trap. Of course, it could be that she knows what a horrible person Yui is and what she admires still is the raw power. Maybe she doesn't want to wield power the way that Yui does, but rather just possess it? We've seen a glimpse of her mother and father's relation and can get a sense for why she wants to be a part of a power couple where the partners are independent, separate entities who, most importantly, don't control the other. (But we know that's NOT actually the case of Rand and Yui at all.) So one thought could be that she likes the IDEA of it, just perhaps not the execution?

But yes, true, the way she speaks about Yui feels so much like it's rubbing salt in Nol's wound. Another thought I've had though regards the timeline. Where was Nol living when he was hanging around with Alyssa? Was Yui around enough for Alyssa to have picked up on the nature of their relationship? Was she possibly so blinded by her idolatry that she DIDN'T noticed how Nol feels about Yui? But on the other hand, Nol specifically used the line that she knows he's invisible to his family and friends. I feel like Nol has possibly opened up to Alyssa more than he has to Shinae and their other friends. Maybe early in their relationship, when he was trying to make it real (when he had a crush? if he had a crush? when he wanted to make it benefit him in a pleasant way?) he opened up a little, and it didn't go over the way he wanted?

I don't want to paint Alyssa in a bad light because I feel like she's intentionally set up to be a misunderstood character for the reasons you've mentioned. She doesn't fit most peoples' moral compasses, she makes choices most people like to think they wouldn't. But just as I said in the last ask response, characters are shaped by their own experiences and traumas, right? Just like how Nol is so lost in his rightful fear and pain and cannot see the possibility that he's not the monster he thinks he is, perhaps Alyssa is so trapped in her own feelings that it was hard for her to acknowledge (or to correctly interpret) Nol's reactions? I get the feeling that in the past he covered it up more, but if he was trying to talk Alyssa down from her Yui fascination.... how direct was he? Did he have to dance around it without opening up too much? I feel like he HAS to have withheld a lot of information, otherwise you're right, it makes Alyssa seem far worse than she already does. And because perception is important per character, it goes back to that point of perhaps favoring certain ASPECTS of Yui and what they could mean for her, if not the way she uses them?

I always wonder when we'll get to know more about Alyssa. A part of me hopes to see her and Shinae reconcile (but she has to actually apologize for their past or else I don't want it lol) which I think could be possible if/when Alyssa has her public fall from grace. I still feel like that will eventually happen lol, and maybe THAT'S when we'll get more insight into her? I feel like she will remain intentionally withheld from us to continue to keep us guessing. But yes, I do always want to know more and more about her relationship with Nol, and how much she really knows about him, if she's been disregarding his feelings, if she's just blinded by her own needs, or if she really is just a kind of selfish, terrible person LMAO. I think we've seen that most characters seem to be redeemable - or at the very least, we can empathize with their situations and understand why they've made their choices - barring Yui and lol Sangchul (the whole of the Kims?) so it's a question of where does Alyssa really fit in? I continue hoping we'll find that she, too, has circumstances we will eventually understand.

this might be an angle shinae can use to get through to him. that it's, rationally, best to deal with the danger together. and if being a team then comes with those moments of calm and peace, even better.

YEAH YEAH exactly! Like, all romance aside, strategy and story-wise, I think it's really important for Nol to find the importance of being able to be a team with people. It just feels better to have that established at this point of this story, rather than to wait until years and years pass? But yeah, I definitely think Yujing's story might play into it, if at this point Nol is unable to make the (right lol) choice to team up with Shinae, I think, yes, having the pressure of not needing to actually be the one to open up would help. I think that expose is incredibly important to Nol, even if it's not directly about him. I think I've previously mentioned it, but I really do worry that Nol's feeling that he's a monster and that he's responsible for the loss of his mother came from his stint in the mental facility. Therapy and medication are fantastic for those who need it - but that doesn't mean it can't be used against them, either. For instance, think of conversion camps/therapy and what it can do to a queer person. I feel like that's why it's such an adamant belief of his, and why it's impossible for anyone to change his mind. It's more than just teenage angst and stuff.

Shinae is starting to see that bigger picture - that someone like Yui gets to get away with messing with and hurting other people while never having to face responsibility for it. She's already watched Nol take the fall for Sangchul. Sure he's the one who pleaded guilty against his lawyer's advice, but look at how the media was already turning against him, ready to believe that he was a monstrous rapist. So for Nol to be able to get to see that bigger picture, too - that Yui DOES make those choices, that it's not just about him, but about her own amusement at other peoples' expenses, be able to better see that she targeted him and hopefully be able to comprehend that it wasn't a thing he did or didn't do. People are responsible for their choices.

And yes, he, too, is responsible for his own choices, therefore he, too, is responsible for always hurting her. Again, I know I am SO naively hopeful sometimes, but I just have to HOPE this three-day extension is for exactly that - for him realizing that hurting Shinae doesn't protect her, hurting her doesn't help her.

like my boy you're not a bad guy because of whatever you think you did in the past, you're a bad guy because you keep hurting shinae!!! stop being consumed by the darkness for a second and deal with the situation at hand

THIS IS EXACTLY IT LOL!!!!!! I just have to hope that seeing the kind of regret he's wearing, the likely disappointment he was met when he took off that bandana and she was gone, means that he is rethinking. Or, if not rethinking, that he will have a moment of weakness as Shinae spoke of lol and that he'll make the choice to stop hurting her (yknow. intentionally lol). It just feels so strongly to me that Nol stands on the precipice, that he's going to make a choice he hasn't before? When he left Shinae in the rain, he was resigned to his choice (though was shaken up so much he ended up retching...) and this time, his regret seems to be shaking him a little, making him waver. It would be one thing if she decided to wipe her hands and go home, but if Nana gets to her and gives her that encouragement and reassurance... It's easier for him to accept her leaving as making the choice for hm. But if he has to keep pushing himself to make the "right choice", it's going to eventually wear him down, right?

I JUST WANT HIM TO ACCEPT THAT HE CAN'T MAKE CHOICES FOR PEOPLE. TO ACCEPT THAT IT'S BETTER TO BE HONEST THAN BOTTLE THINGS UP!!!!!!! I'm not begging him to tell her his past I'm just begging him TO REASSURE HER I'm begging him to FEEL DESPERATE in a healthier way lmao desperate in a way that makes him feel safer and secure, that makes her feel reassured, that makes them feel like a team!!!!!!!!!

I think you put it really well when you essentially said he needs to, to some degree, that responsibility for unintentionally dragging her into this - because no matter what he does, she's still going to be a part of it, and they might as well have each other's backs. He owes her that much lol. I know even if he explained it, she wouldn't hold him responsible for her involvement, anyway, but it's just the thought that counts lol. It's the way he keeps acting like abandoning her is the safest choice INSTEAD OF JUST! TEAMING UP WITH HER!!!! MY GUY PLEASE I AM JUST BEGGING YOU treat my girl better okay? I know you can. I KNOW YOU WANT TO. THAT'S THE THING!!!!!!

Again, I reiterate. HE LITERALLY WAS SO STRESSED AND UPSET BY THAT ALTERCATION WITH SHINAE HE WAS RETCHING. And NOW he's actually aware he has feelings, AWARE of the effect she's got on him, aware of what he wants. Before she even mentioned him leaving and got him crying (LMAO god when you think about it that way lmaoooooo) he was already asking her to dance in the most intense possible way lol CHANNEL THOSE FEELINGS BUDDY just ;~; Treat her right! Cos you are right lmao he's already got 2 strikes! And while I think Shinae will be more lenient than us SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO BEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Anyway lmao just to repeat myself: this three-day extension feels significant, I'm hoping it's significant in the Nol making the decision to change his mind way and not the Nol making yet another choice that only hurts Shinae and further hurts them by leaving them vulnerable to Yui and her power when they could instead be stronger together. afljakfajkfjkf

ALSO LISTEN. /LIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTEN/ I have been DYING to talk about that post? It just lives rent-free in my brain, 24/7. I think about it so much WHAT WAS THE POINT OF DRAWING THAT, QUIMBERLY ANNE CHEE?! WHAT WAS THE POINT?! Like!!!!! afjafjafkjjf it sounds like she's been really busy, right? She's had her assistants off for different leaves has been occasionally having to take care of a lot of the work on her own. But she had some time to make a silly little sketch to torture us with?

(I mean, okay to be fair, she also did the April Fool's one, too......... LMFAO)

BUT LISTEN LIL ANON I JUST!!!!!!!!!! SCREAMS i feel so taunted I feel like she looked right into my stupid little soul and went "I'm gonna mess with your head SO HARD"

ALSO I HAD TO GO RUNNING BACK TO CHECK THAT POST AND YOU'RE RIGHT?! SHE'S /NOT/ SHRIEKS fljafafafjafljafjaflkjafkjafjk and you know what's even funnier? I DID THINK ABOUT THIS AT THE TIME! I remembered double-checking her outfits to see if it was the same day and going "okay this can't be real because that time passed" BUT NOW YOU HAVE ME GOING WHAT IF WHAT IF WHAT IF LMAO heck.

FLKAFJLKFJKAF NO YOU KNOW WHAT'S WORSE?! WHEN I WENT TO SEARCH I STUMBLED INTO THINGS THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN 2, WHICH I HAD FORGOTTEN /ALL/ ABOUT probably to protect my fragile, tender little soul FLJAFKJAFJK LMAOOOO SCREAMS i'm about to start swinging from the rafters and it's your fault LMAO AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY DOES QUIMCHEE DOOOOOOOOOOOO THIS LMAO

Now i'm just. Gonna. Sit here and stare at a wall and think about these things lmaooooooooo

Wait NO I got sidetracked!!!!!!!!!!

You raise a really important point about how Nol is likely to be affected by what he learns from Yujing's scoop - especially if it's so that yes, his time in the mental facility was far more like conversion therapy as far as turning him on himself and seeing something horrible where it didn't exist and, to some degree?, brainwashing him? Because how does he reconcile the truth with what he believes? (Hey, that sounds familiar... any advice, Kousuke?) How does he contend with the grief of learning WHAT possibly really happened to his mother? Because listen, I stress this point again. I lost a friend to suicide and it's been almost five years and it still hurts me to think about. But part of my making peace was understanding that he was in so much continual pain, so much misery, that it was the only option he saw for himself. That's SO difficult to accept, because especially as friends, especially as someone who cares about him, you want to believe that things would have gotten better, that it wasn't always going to be that kind of misery. In Nol's mind, he has probably made "peace" (used loosely because BOY it's not peace) with the idea that in some way, he drove his mother to it (or that his existence did it). Especially if they argued, if he said something hurtful as children sometimes do. So how do you contend with the reality that it wasn't a choice at all? Death is a terrible, painful thing to grieve in whatever way, but sometimes I think you can kind of understand WHY someone made that choice, even if you don't agree with it, even if you wish they never had. But murder? Murder feels far more senseless. Murder is someone ELSE making a choice to take someone's life.

And whether or not Yui got her hands dirty, if she slipped Nessa something, if she was on a medication that pushed her into it, if it was something staged, the point still stands that IF it was not Nessa's choice, that means someone ELSE made the choice, and that is just senseless and cold and right I don't know what it would do to him? As much as fandom wants to see anti-hero Nol go on a quest for revenge to destroy those who destroyed him, I do get scared of the idea that he might go too far, and in his quest for revenge he could become the very monsters that tore him up, and god I don't want that. That feels SO BLEAK and, frankly? heartbreaking? lol I think that IS the kind of thing that could possibly ruin ILY for me, because I guess I'm so invested in the idea of Nol being able to heal and move on from the past and, idk, create a new journey for himself? lol I mean, I've definitely had the thought of Nol starting to go too far and Shinae being able to be that tether to his humanity, of reminder of the good in a world a dark and maybe that could stop him from succumbing to that kind of darkness?

But yeah.... thinking about it, I can see how it would start a quest for revenge. I like to hope that it would be more something that can piggyback off of Yujing's article, because we've talked before about how it's likely that this will only be the tip of the iceberg, it won't completely dethrone Yui, it won't completely take her down. But maybe, yeah, it could piggyback off it in terms of them fighting to make her and the Kims pay for their dirty deeds, to get the deserved retribution, without going down a path too dark to return from???

I think that quote is absolutely GORGEOUSLY Nol-centric, but my GOD I hope he's not a dying star. The mental image of him a burning star is SO tragically incredible BUT MAN more than ANYTHING I want him to retain the parts of him that we saw in Nessa, that we see in Yeonggi. I want him to maintain that humanity aaahhhhhhhh oh man this really tapped into some strong feelings!

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #ILY Ask #ILY FP #ILY Spoilers #Lil Anon #Shinae Yoo #Nol #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Stalkyoo #Aegi #not really discussing the shippy stuff this time entirely but it's a continuation of my last post #so it applies to some degree lol #Alyssa Cho #Yui Hirahara #Nessa Hirahara #suicide cw #like not just MENTIONING or talking about a character's suicide but also talking about my own grief about a friend's suicide #just in case anyone needs a heads up about that kind of thing #i kept it brief though!!!!!!!!!#this response is so funny lmao lil anon just knows how to get me worked up LMAO i always love your asks #literally gonna picture a lil chibi strip of shinae and her powerpoint presentation all day lmao #'divided? bad! we get hurt!'#'teaming up? good! strength! you big man! me smol person. hard carry!'#lafjkajfjkafkjafjkafkjafj someone draw this for me PLS i just have this specific image in my head? shinae is wearing the bandana her face i #stern. she is PRESENTING LIKE HER LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. nol is edgy boy refuses to be swayed except he can't help it #'TOGETHER WE CAN DEFEAT THE HAG'#also did you know that hags are apparently featured in Irish mythology? as in like that's a specific point?#i don't think that's actually tied to this story at all lmao i was just trying to look into some specific lore #like witches being melted by water lmao

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vagueiish · 2 months

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no, ha ha, dont kill yourself, you're a valued member of society!

we don't actually care enough to learn about you and become more than polite acquaintances nor do we actually want to interact with you beyond empty platitudes and the requisite amount of small talk to seem polite, so we don't actually know your real value or what you might actually have to offer or anything about you really. and your obvious emotional pain is making us feel bad, so if you could find some other way to relieve it that doesn't involve exposing us to it in any way shape or form, that would be preferable....

oh, but don't kill yourself, ha ha, that'd be bad! because you definitely have worth! and people definitely care about you!

#cw suicide mention #depression posting #i made the mistake of telling one of my favorite not quite managers i was two steps away from killing myself #and he was nice about it and said all the things one is supposed to say in that situation #but im thinking here now like. why would i do that? not like he actually meant it right?#people *have* to be like 'dont do the thing' because to be otherwise would be uh....jerkish. i think #people being like 'you have folks who care. it gets better' when you admit something like that is fucking meaningless because #it almost feels like youre trapping them. yknow?#they have to say im not worthless or a burden or any of that shit #but if i were to actually go ahead and...not even do it. but even just stop showing up one day #nobody would actually notice. nobody at work would notice my absence certainly #which... i dont even mind that on one hand. i dont do much to make myself noticeable #i aint got much going on lmao nor do i put myself out there #but what cheeses me off about this kind of sentiment. about my not-quite-manager and other people saying this shit to me is...#what do you value in me? you dont lnow me well enough to value me #how can you even pretend like you want me to stick around if you dont care enough to get to know me?#oh? you want me to live??? name one fact about me that cant be gleaned from my myriad band and novelty tees #you think i have worth but not enough to invite me to participate in the intricate rituals of human connection. cool #it's not meaningless to me. there's a brief almost reflexive feeling of relief but then i think about it and like #people spouting that kind of participation trophy style platitude at me says nothing about me. it's impersonal #'you shouldnt kill yourself because i like your jokes and i like your writing and all these things about you specifically because i know you #because i care about *you*'#why cant i ever have that? why am i not worth enough for people to want to get to know???#fuck.#to the void with love

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helenanell · 25 days

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Contempt of Court || Challengers

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

Art Donaldson X Fem!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI. Alcoholism / substance abuse. Suicidal ideation. Mentions of car crash/ injury, infidelity (technically - Art is still married to Tashi, but they’re separated) Angst. Smut. A little toxic.

Wordcount: 10.8K

Notes: No use of y/n. Set after the events of the film. Reader is a Tashi stan (There’s too much Tashi Duncan erasure happening and I won’t stand for it.)

Summary: Still recovering from an injury that put your tennis career on pause, your publicist has landed you a deal to be an ambassador for Nike. What she doesn’t tell you, is that so is Art Donaldson: the player who bad-mouthed you in a live, post match interview two years ago. You only find out once it’s too late.

(This story was inspired by the dynamic between Billy and Daisy in Daisy Jones and The Six. But…make it tennis.)

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

For eight agonising weeks, your wrist has been encased in a cast, but now that it’s finally off, you feel far from relieved.

As the doctor had sawn into the plaster, producing a cloud of white dust like he was breaking into a bone instead of revealing a healed one, you had actually felt panicked.

After the car crash, you had spiralled into a pit dug with your own self-pity and pain. And once you’d reached the bottom, you’d staved off the encroaching darkness with alcohol and too many painkillers.

You’d taken drugs before at parties and drunk until you wiped your own memory, the consequence being waking up with your skull practically splitting open from pain. But there was something profoundly different about becoming intoxicated in the hopes of rendering yourself numb:

You hated yourself whilst you were doing it, and once the harmful buzz wore off, you hated yourself a little bit more.

You had become fast friends with shame in the past few months.

You have been desperate to play again, screaming, crying and practically tearing off your own skin with the need to get back to work- to not let yourself fall behind or your ranking suffer.

But, amongst the amalgamation of negatives there had been a sort of relief, too. Relief, because the choice had been taken away from you.

The accident hadn't been your fault and nor could you force your bone to heal faster, so for a brief period of time, you had convinced yourself nothing was your fault. For once, you couldn’t be blamed for your own fall from grace.

But now your bone had healed and if you didn’t give recovery your all, it would be your fault. If there was no triumphant comeback, it would be on you.

Another thing to fail at.

Another thing to lose.

All of which only added to your bafflement over your publicist’s insistence on coming over this morning, in order to discuss ‘a major opportunity’ that wasn’t related to a competition.

You had originally tried to worm out of it, but your coach had found out and given you the third degree.

You’re already tired at the thought of it and you don’t even know what it is yet. You don’t want to think about anything but tennis. You don’t have the energy for it.

In all honesty…you’re hanging on by a thread.

‘Drinking too much’ is a far too casual phrase for how you’ve been living: it has connotations of casualness- a glaring lack of stakes. For you, the stakes are unbelievably high.

You know you can’t afford to become alcohol dependent because even being a functioning alcoholic isn’t an option for you. The only way to function as an athlete—to maintain your career trajectory and the attain the US Open title—is to be at one hundred percent.

Mixing your painkillers with straight vodka isn’t one hundred percent: it’s a cry for fucking help. Except you can’t let anyone hear the cry, you need to stifle it.

It’s bad enough that pictures of you being rolled away from your totalled car in a gurney had been plastered over the internet for weeks after the accident. The alcoholic, pill popping tennis pro was a story that would never go away.

It would morph into an ugly sort of infamy: you’d been in the exclusive club of American sweethearts and heartthrobs who had been hounded so much by the ‘devoted’, that it had driven them to substance abuse to drown out the noise and fortify against the flashing lights.

So, no one could know. No one.

Which is why, as your publicist pulls into your driveway, you’re rushing to hide a half full bottle of vodka inside a hideously expensive—and also just hideous—vase that had been given to you as an engagement gift.

Two years ago, when your fiancé–and fellow tennis player–had been caught in 4k, kissing a barely legal actress from a HBO teen drama, you’d almost smashed the vase. But, something about destroying a gift from Serena Williams felt like spitting out the ambrosia a god had fed you from their very own hand.

So, while your ring had been thrown into a ravine (best not to dwell on that.) the vase had remained.

The doorbell rings much sooner than you’re prepared for. Who knew a five-foot-two woman in heels could move so quickly?

You run over to the door, chewing down on two pieces of gum you’d hastily shoved into your mouth to cover up the scent of alcohol. When you pull it open, you’re met with the stern face of your Publicist, Rebecca. She’s tiny but terrifying, her sharp features framed by a pitch black bob.

Sometimes, it does feel a bit like you’re talking to Edna Mode, but you’d never dare say that.

“Rebecca, hi!” You’re aware the greeting is too happy, and try not to grimace.

When you step back to allow her to enter, Rebecca frowns at you as she passes.

“Why are you fake smiling?” she questions. “Your cast is off, you should be actually happy.”

You drop the toothy grin, wincing with embarrassment as you follow her into the kitchen.

“I am happy about that, obviously.” You clear your throat, overly aware of how disingenuous you still seem. “What I’m not exactly overjoyed about, is whatever this ‘opportunity’ is.”

You watch as Rebecca grabs bottle of water from the fridge and then pulls out a stool to sit at the kitchen island. You follow suit, dropping down beside her.

“Well, you should be. I practically had to sell my soul to get them to pick you.”

You level her with an unimpressed look. “Wow, Rebecca, way to raise me up from rock bottom.”

She waves you away. “Oh, please! You hate when I coddle you.”

You huff, dropping your chin into hand and propping your elbow on the counter. “Okay, out with it then. What is it?”

Rebecca’s cheeks split with a blinding grin. “Nike.” She declares gleefully.

“Nike.”

Her smile dampens, disappointed you haven’t burst into happy tears. “Yes, Nike. You know…Just Do It.”

“Yes, I do. I’d just prefer not, you know…do it.”

Your publicist looks just about ready to slap you. “You’re kidding. It’s Nike.”

“Oh, is it? You haven’t mentioned that.”

Rebecca’s frown becomes a scowl and you think about ducking when she angrily snatches up her water bottle. But she doesn’t throw it, just waves it around as she begins to rant at you:

“Do you know how hard it was to get this?! They wanted Naomi Osaka but I convinced them to go for you instead. And christ knows they were hesitant after the US Open meltdown-”

“We agreed not to refer to it as a meltdown.” You cut in. “My therapist says it has negative connotations that, ‘make me feel a harmful degree of shame.’”

Rebecca scoffs. “You went to one session with that therapist and then fired her because you didn’t like that she drew you a diagram.”

“It was condescending: I’m not five, I don’t need visual aids.”

“Okay, just shut up!” Rebecca barks, smoothing down her still immaculate hair and taking a deep breath. “This isn’t actually up for discussion. You’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing it.”

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Weeks Later… )

‘Just Do It.’

It’s the first thing you see when you walk into the Nike office for the photoshoot.

The poster from a past campaign with Andy Murray has been blown up to ridiculous proportions and framed, hanging in on the first wall that greets anyone who enters.

“If they make mine that big I won’t be able to look at it. I’ll actually vomit. ”

When Rebecca–who is the epitome of a chatterbox–remains silent, you turn you head to look down at her. She’s already peering up at you, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “What have you done?”

Rebecca lets out a laugh laced with unadulterated fear. “Okay…so, any minute now you’re going to be super fucking pissed at me and you have every right to be, but remember that as you’ve already signed the contract, you don’t have a right to walk out of here.”

You stare her down, knowing it doesn’t take much intimidation for her to crack.

You don’t end up needing her to blabber, however, because not even five seconds later, the door you’d just come through swings open and a lone figure enters.

As you turn, you feel your publicist actually take a step away from you.

“Rebecca, I’m going to kill you.”

You’re not looking at her as you spit out the threat, your eyes are already boring into the man who’s noted your presence and is lingering just beyond the doorway.

Your history with Art Donaldson is far from extensive. In fact, while the trajectory of your careers have practically run parallel, the two of you have spoken maybe twice.

But then, almost two years ago, the U.S Open had happened.

Still dealing with the fall out of your fiance’s cheating scandal, you’d been in potentially the worst mental space of your life. And yet, you had still made it to the final.

But, during the match…well you’d sort of lost your shit. And then you’d just lost. It had been dramatic and mortifying.

Then, with the dust not even close to settling, things had gotten even worse.

Having just clinched the men’s singles trophy for himself, Art Donaldson had sat down for his live post-match interview and one of the first questions he’d been asked, was about your ‘comportment’ during the final.

You would never forget his answer:

'Well, obviously it’s a massive disappointment. In so many ways the match between those two women today was legendary. But it always stings when you see someone get in their own way. Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court: it’s infantile and disrespectful to staff and to the fans. It threatens to overshadow what was otherwise a phenomenal game of tennis for both of them.'

When he had then been pressed for his thoughts on what should be done in regards to sanctions, Art had simply said: ‘I think whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’

In a few minutes, Art had made you a subject of scorn as well as unwanted sympathy. He’d made you sound simultaneously contemptible and pitiable.

He was right, but he hadn’t needed to sound so sanctimonious when he’d said it. And telling the world your own mental anguish was probably torment enough, was just salt in the wound.

In your own defence, you had gone into the final right off the back of the announcement that your ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend was pregnant. And the dates had made it blindingly clear, that conception had happened whilst you were still with him.

You’d never felt so worthless or dehumanised. And then, after you’d practically killed yourself playing the match of your life, only to lose, Art fucking Donaldson had felt the need to call out your behaviour.

‘Anger like that doesn’t belong on the court.’

Anger ‘like that’ wasn’t something you’d brought to the competition in your overhead luggage, it was a parasite that had been poisoning your blood.

You’d thought that sort of self-cannibalising rage was in your past, bust as Art starts walking over to you, it rears its ugly head once more.

And he has the gall to smile at you. It’s an amicable, almost anticipatory smile.

You barely even register when Rebecca ducks away, muttering something about finding the photographer.

Art calls out your name as he stops before you, the corners of his eyes creasing as his smile intensifies. “It’s good to see you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” You intone harshly.

Art’s smile doesn’t drop, it just becomes tighter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Ah- so you are still upset about what I said at the Open.”

You glare at him, forcing yourself to stop gritting your teeth lest they shatter. “What could possibly make you think that I wouldn't be?”

Art laughs softly, running a hand through his short blonde hair. “Well, because your coach and your publicist both assured me that you weren’t.”

Those fucking traitors.

It looks like you’ll be going into tomorrow with only your nutritionist and your physio left on your team.

“They lied.” You reply sharply.

Art tilts his head, his gaze becoming brazen in the way it assesses your face. “Clearly.”

“Well, obviously this isn’t happening.” You gesture between the two of you. “I’m not doing a photoshoot, let alone an entire campaign, with you.”

“I don’t see why it can’t go ahead.” Art declares casually, his lips tugging upward as he observes your indignation.

You take a step back, not trusting yourself not to lunge for him.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have little regard for your opinion then, isn’t it?”

Art's brows draw together, some irritation beginning to pollute his easy going demeanour. “You do care.”

“Excuse me?”

“You do care about my opinion, because f you didn’t, you wouldn’t still be this pissed over something I said years ago.

“Pissed?” You almost choke on the word. “You made me sound pathetic. Weak. You insulted my entire career!”

“I seem to recall saying that your match was ‘legendary.’ Phenomenal, is another word I used.”

If there wasn’t so much anger writhing in your gut, you might have rubbed it in his face that for something he’s outwardly dismissing, he seems to remember what he said about you very well.

You step up to him, closing the distance in two strides.

“‘Whatever she’s feeling that made her act that way, is probably punishment enough.’ You said that about me in front of peers and fans in a live interview that was watched by thousands!”

“You’re telling me you don’t think you were out of line?” Art challenges, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in.

You know he’s not wrong: it hadn’t been your finest hour. In fact, the morning after, with your behaviour laid bare in the cold light and already being picked over by commentators and tabloids, you had been able to acknowledge it may very well have been one of the worst hours you would ever have.

But you’d rather die than acknowledge that to Art.

“Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you!” You hit back disparagingly.

Art’s fingers dig into his arms. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a hypocrite, Art. I watched your match against Patrick Zweig at the…what was it- Phil’s Tire Town Challenger? Someone recorded it from the stands. Tell me, what emotion were you bringing to the court when you yelled ‘fuck you’ at him across the net?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not proposing a thesis, Art. This isn’t up for debate. I’m just telling you what I saw. And it seems to me, that you have some fucking anger issues of your own, so quit chewing me out over mine.”

“Chewing you out–” He splutters, his cheeks flushing with outrage. “Wow, you really do have a victim complex, huh?”

“Fuck you!” You seethe.

Your exclamation doesn’t dissuade Art, instead he gathers momentum:

“You’re acting like I should fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness over an entirely reasonable answer I gave to a question about your piss-poor behaviour. But I didn’t make you launch your racket across the court or cuss out the line judge. You’re not a tragic woman, or some wronged heroine, you’re a grown woman throwing a tantrum because I wasn’t very nice about her in an interview, two goddamn years ago!”

“Well, I’m a bitch and you’re a hypocrite, looks like neither of us should be tennis’ poster child.” You snap, pushing past him and heading for the door.

There was absolutely no chance you were doing this photoshoot. Nike could give Naomi Osaka another call.

Just as you’ve got past him, Art is following you, snagging your wrist with his hand. “Hey! I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell anyone. Badmouthing people in public forums is your move.”

You yank yourself out of his hold and with his eyes burning into the back of your head, you leave Art Donaldson alone in the lobby.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Weeks Later… )

In the intervening weeks since your confrontation with Art, you have discovered just how airtight employment contracts can be.

Nike should really give their lawyers a raise, because you have been assured that there is more chance of you sprouting wings, than being able to get out of the ad campaign.

You’d been forced back to the studio a week later with your tail between your legs, but while you’d felt genuinely apologetic over the inconvenience caused to Nike’s team, your fury at Art had only compounded.

Thankfully, the feeling had been mutual and the two of you had passed the entire shoot in utter silence. Neither of you had offered up so much as a hello or goodbye to the other, and while it had clearly been painfully awkward for everyone around you, it had worked out quite well.

Unfortunately, you and Art had been called back for a day of what they were calling ‘action shots.’

Which is why you’re currently at a country club, dressed in all of Nike’s new gear, being forced to actually play tennis against Art.

If it was anyone else, you would already have drawn attention to the fact that your wrist is in excruciating pain, but you refuse to falter in front of him.

Besides, as much as you’re loathe to admit it, playing against Art is exhilarating.

The team have just called for a break and somehow, despite the innumerable people that have been buzzing around you for the entire day, you and Art suddenly find yourselves alone at the side of the court.

You’ve done well at remaining civil with each other, but that’s only because you only said ‘hello’ and ‘ready’ before you’d started playing.

Unfortunately for you, Art seems to be in the mood to antagonise.

“I don’t get why this is making you so miserable.” Art says, dropping down onto the bench beside you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You hold up the can in your hand, fingers biting into the condensation slick metal.

“I specifically asked for Tangerine La Croix and they’ve given me Pure.” You mock. You couldn't care less about what you’re drinking.

“Funny.” Art deadpans.

“And here was me thinking you’d jump at the chance to call me a diva.” You answer, donning a smirk of your own.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Some genuine anger colours Art’s tone and it only feeds the fires of your own.

“What?”

Art grabs the can from your hand and maintains eye contact as he steals as a sip.

“You refuse to let go of a few critical, but very valid sentences I said about you in that interview and you’ve used them to construct a narrative about my dislike for you. I don’t dislike you.”

“Oh, you don’t? That’s good, because this amicable exchange is really making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Art groans, slumping back on the bench. He manspreads so wide that his knee knocks into yours.

“Can you not just enjoy yourself? It’s a beautiful day and we’re being paid to do what we’re great at.”

You wrinkle your nose and try to snatch back the can, but Art tightens his grip and the metal crumples as you both tighten your hold.

“Yeah, well, not everyone gets off on having their face on a billboard.” You sneer, almost falling back when Art suddenly lets go of the can.

It’s practically empty and completely deformed, so you slam it down onto the empty space beside you.

“How do you know that I do?”

“What?”

“How do you know that I get off on it?” He repeats glibly.

“Because, you’ve clearly wanted to retire for years and now that you have, you can monopolise on the popularity that your wife built up for you and live off clothing lines and ads for the rest of your life.”

“Being great at tennis built up my popularity.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually believe that, Art? So many phenomenal players go widely unknown for their entire careers. You are only The Art Donaldson instead of just plain old Art, because Tashi Duncan made you a brand. She’s responsible for your legacy.”

“She didn’t make me.”

“Maybe not, but she did mould you into what you are. You would have been just another generic Stanford whiteboy if she hadn’t decided to give you fucking form.”

“You talk about her like she’s God.”

“Are you telling me that’s not what it feels like when her attention is solely on you?” You challenge, but you don’t wait for an answer. “You know, I actually played her quite a lot when we were teenagers– we always ended up being us against each other in finals– and even then…it was like trying to play against an elemental force. Every time, without fail, there was a tiny part of me that just wanted to fall to my fucking knees in front of her. But I never did, instead it made my game better. She made my game better. Tashi put all she had into you after her injury, the least you could do is acknowledge what she’s done for you.

“You don’t have to tell me what I owe my wife.”

You scoff, rising to your feet. “I’m telling you what you owe your coach.”

You don’t actually know where you’re going as you walk away, only that you need it to be far from him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Two Months Later… )

At the launch event for Nike’s new line, you’re standing in front of the massive poster that’s at the forefront of the campaign and swallowing down bile.

It’s a great picture, you’ll give them that: Your feet are practically lifting off the ground as you throw up the ball for a serve, your expression is contorted with a ruinous passion that portends some sort of violence. And across the net, there’s Art: he’s dropped into a crouch, ready to pounce once you send the ball his way. In the face of your fury, his anticipation comes fitted out with his signature smirk.

It’s not just a great photo, it’s phenomenal.

You want to tear it off the wall.

You’re on the verge of asking anyone if they have a pen so you can scribble over Art’s face, when the man himself appears beside you. In your peripheral vision you catch a glimpse of his sleek, all black suit, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m not sure you’d get away with defacing it in front of so many people.”

Trying to suppress your eye roll would be a fruitless endeavour, so you turn to face Art, forcing him to bear witness to your indignation.

“You should know by now that I have little regard for decorum. You certainly like commenting on my lack of it.”

“I thought you’d still be hung up on that.”

“Yeah, well, some of us have follow through.” You give him a venomous smile. “How is retirement treating you?”

“Ah, I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“You see retirement is quitting. So, you’ll force yourself to continue well past the point you should, your game will get shittier and shittier, so by the time you’re forced to quit, people will be pitying you instead of remembering how phenomenal you were.”

There’s a compliment in there, but you’re not feeling generous of spirit enough to pluck it out of the insult.

“I know when to stop, Art. It’s just not now.” You answer coldly.

“Okay, when? Like- give me your timeline. You must have thought about it.”

“Not yet.”

This answer seems to really frustrate him and he just stares at you, a muscle in his jaw feathering as he grips his champagne flute.

“Do you think I didn’t notice how much your wrist was killing you when we played each other? Are you really going to wreck your body out of stubbornness?”

“You know, Art, what you did wasn’t bowing out at the perfect time, it was cowardice. You skipped right to the curtain call when you still had a last act left to perform. You never got that US Open trophy, did you?”

Art sighs, his gaze moving back to the photo of the two of you. "Yeah well, something tells me you won't either. Have a good night."

Then he's backing away, his stare lingering on you even as he lets the crowd reabsorb him.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( One Month Later… )

Had Tashi Duncan not been one of the people in your life that you most respected and admired, you wouldn’t even have considered attending the fundraising gala for her and Art’s foundation.

But you were, quite frankly, obsessed with her, so of course you had come.

Sitting in an uncomfortably tight dress at a table of people you don’t know and with a fair amount of alcohol circulating through your system, is quite possibly the most painstaking thing you’ve ever gone through.

Apart from the car crash. That had been pretty bad.

But you’re adamant you won’t think about the car crash tonight, or the fact that, somehow, your wrist seems to be getting worse; devolving to a state more dire than when the cast had first come off.

The meal—which you hadn’t been able to stomach—had come and gone and now the auction is beginning. Tashi is up on the stage, dazzling in the way that only she can and Art is standing at the bottom of the set of stairs that lead up to the platform.

Unfortunately, your table is very close to the front and you’re positioned right in his eyeline.

Art keeps stealing glances at you with an emotion you can’t place. You had tried to switch seats with the man across from you, but the asshole turned out to be a real stickler for assigned seating.

If only to distract yourself, you whip out your phone, resting it in your lap beneath the table.

The moment you open up Instagram, your heart drops into your stomach.

You thought you had expunged any remnants of your ex from your life, but it seems you’ve missed a mutual friend on Instagram, one who has just reposted his engagement announcement with his girlfriend and mother of his now one year old daughter.

That bastard has broken your heart and wrecked your head, but while your life just keeps getting worse, the universe has seen fit to bless him with everything he’s ever wanted.

The auction is already in full swing when you rise clumsily from your seat and weave through the tables, heading for the closest exit.

It’s only as you push open the door and begin to sway, that you realise you’re actually quite tipsy. You might have drunk a little too much before you’d left the house.

It’s freezing outside, but you can’t face going back for your coat, so, unsteady on your feet, you flee into the extensive gardens that surround the estate that’s acting as the gala’s venue.

You walk well past the point where the lawn lighting disappears and clamber over a fence that has ‘restricted area’ prominently posted in front of it.

You don’t know where you’re going, but as you stagger down the hill, your sadness is alleviated very slightly by the sight of a massive pond that you’re sure is beckoning to you.

You kick off your heels and drop down onto the bank, quick to put your feet into the water. Once you’re settled, you retrieve your hip flask from your clutch and begin to guzzle vodka in earnest.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

You turn and you find an incensed Art striding towards you. You’re more than a little delighted by the sight of mud splattered over the polished surface of his shoes.

“I was having some time to myself.”

“You needed to walk all the way down here to get it?”

You laugh caustically, gesturing at him. “Well…no. Obviously I should have walked even further away.”

Art huffs, entirely unimpressed. He takes a few steps further down the bank and holds out a hand beckoning you over.

“Come on, you need to come back inside.”

“Why is that?”

“Because, you offered tennis lessons with yourself as an auction item and you’re up soon. You need to be on stage.”

Ah. You’d forgotten about that.

“Why do I need to be seen? It’s not like they’re buying me.”

“You still can’t stay in there. Get out.”

“I’m not in it, Art. I’m just dangling my feet in the water.”

“Well, you can’t ‘dangle’ your feet in there, it’s a pond not a swimming pool.”

“I can’t?” You feign a bafflement as you look at your feet, submerged in the murky water. “I sort of already am?”

Art moves even closer but falters, his bright eyes becoming an invading force: his gaze takes hold of your edges and peels them back.

He can see inside.

“What’s wrong?” He probes, the harsher edges of his previous words now nowhere to be found.

“At the moment, it’s you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not actually, but I’m getting there.”

Art’s eyes flick to the metal object glinting in your hand. “Is that a hip flask?”

“What a keen eye you have.” You mutter sardonically.

“Okay, I'm serious now, get out.”

“Oh, he’s being serious!” You mock, rising to your feet.

But you don’t move away from the pond. Instead, you turn and start walking backwards into the water you wobble when your bare feet sink into the mud, icy liquid seeping into the thin fabric of your silk dress.

Art lunges forward, closing the distance until he’s standing at the edge of the water. His hand darts out and he grabs your forearm.

“You’re too close to drunk to be near a body of water, let alone in one. You’ll drown yourself.”

Art plucks the hip flask from your fingers with his free hand and tosses it into the grass behind him, all without taking his eyes off you.

Then he seems to actually register where his hand is. He’s still gazing into your eyes as his thumb brushes over the scar above your wrist.

“Compound fracture.” You say on a bitter breath. “The bone went right through. Fucking drunk driver. Funny that, isn’t it? He crashed into me, fucked my career probably permanently and then I became a drunk to cope.”

Some of the hardness in Art’s expression melts away, but it pools into the bags beneath his eyes and the shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look almost distraught. Once you realise it’s sadness--no, pity--for you, you wrench your wrist out of his grasp and wade further back into the pond.

You gasp, shocked as the frigid water wraps around your legs in an eager embrace. It’s like it’s clinging on, wanting to keep you forever.

You find the thought of it quite peaceful.

You think on Art’s words from months ago: he’s right, about you being too stubborn to know when to stop. You won’t retire until you’re physically falling apart.

But what if you just sink down into the water right now? You’d disappear and the memories would be of a great player gone too soon.

God, you didn’t realise you had such a large ego that you’d consider letting yourself drown just to save face.

Art is beyond unimpressed now. He’s furious.

“Get out.” You just smile at him, stepping further back. The water reaches your navel and you let your fingertips skim over the water. “I’m not kidding, get the fuck out. Now.”

“Will you just back off!” You erupt. “We’ve done the campaign, we’re not friends, there’s no reason for us to be involved.”

“None of that gives me a reason to leave you alone out here.”

“Why not?!” You protest desperately. “It’s not the ocean, I can’t be swept out to sea!”

“Get out of the water.”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“Get fucked.” You hit back, letting yourself sink back into the water.

As you move to float on your back, another frantic laugh bubbles up as you're enveloped by its icy grip. Your dress becomes heavier, a five thousand dollar weight around your body, urging you to sink lower.

You turn your head to the side so that you can see the surface of the water:

This far out of the city, the stars are no longer choked by smog and so are able to tear through the darkness. The water perfectly mirrors the sky, so much so that it’s like you’re swimming in the cosmos. If you open your mouth, you could take some of it into yourself.

You had struggled to get out of bed this morning, but now, in the quiet night, you have the chance to swallow a thousand stars–

Impudent splashing disrupts your peace.

Your head shoots up, water running in eager rivulets off your hair as you watch wide eyed, as Art drops into the water. His jacket and shoes have been discarded on the edge of the bank.

“What are you doing?”

Art doesn’t answer, instead he drives through the water towards you, his strides producing ripples that disturb the reflected constellations. Shooting stars.

You’re not very far out, so just as Art closes in on you, you plant your feet on the muddy bottom of the pond and stand up.

The fabric of your dress is dark and slick against your body like an oil spill. The breeze blows a tentative breath against you, causing your skin to pebble and your nipples to harden.

Art reaches for you but your hand flies out and you swat him away.

You push yourself further out, giggling at his expression as the water comes up to your chin.

Then Art’s diving after you, the white material of his shirt submerged in the water.

“Art, this is a pond, not a swimming pool.” You tease, amusement blooming.

In fact, you’re relishing the sight of his arms pushing through the water so much, that you forget to make another escape attempt.

Before you know it, Art is right up in front of you, his breath coasting over your face as he wraps an arm around your middle beneath the water.

You drive your feet into the mud, your smile growing as he looks exasperatedly up at sky. His fingers press into your side.

“This is so beyond funny.” He grouses, trying and failing to tug you closer.

Seeing as you’re not actually drunk, you’re not sure what comes over you, but you’re seized by a giddy, childlike urge.

You decide to give into it.

Art’s eyes widen slightly as you rush forward, pressing your chest right up against his. Then, you place one hand on each of his shoulders and push.

There’s a brief moment, where your face rises above Art and he gazes up at you, droplets of water rolling off your face and onto him. He’s looking at you in the same way you had been gazing up at the stars. Perhaps you’ve become one of them. Wouldn’t that be something?

Art realises too late what you’re going to do.

“Don’t you dare–”

You push all of your weight onto his shoulders and dunk him into the pond. His head goes under, short blonde locks floating up in the water.

You immediately let him go and when he comes up, spluttering for air, the hand not on your waist winds around the back of your neck, threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls you flush against him again.

When he speaks, it is a whisper you feel against your cheek. “You’re such an asshole.”

Your hands fall onto his waist beneath the water. “I know.”

You shriek as Art tips you back, his hand still cradling the back of your neck as he dunks your head into the water in retaliation. It feels like a baptism.

When you come back up, he's chuckling as you gasp for air.

“I had to do that.” Art defends.

He notices you scrambling to push soaked strands of hair out of your eyes and proceeds to help you, his hand brushing over your cheeks and forehead before returning your sight to you.

“I feel like you didn’t have to.” You splutter, fighting back a laugh of your own.

You’re suddenly glad for his grip on you- you’re far too flustered to stand firmly on your own two feet.

Art’s cheek’s dimple as he smiles, shaking his head at you. Your breath hitches.

When he’s unencumbered by negative emotion…Art shines.

He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of your ear:

“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, sweetheart.” Your breathing becomes even more laboured as he draws away, his nose briefly dragging against your cheek. “Now…get out of the goddamn pond.”

And then he’s pulling away, leaving you gaping after him as he moves back towards the bank.

His touch is an absence you really wish didn’t feel so profound

“Spoilsport.” You grumble. But you’re already moving after him.

The alcohol you did have in you has disappeared; shocked out of your system by the frigid water and the feel of Art’s hands.

You wade back towards the bank, your hip flask is nestled in the grass and glinting seductively in the moonlight.

With Art’s back to you, you let yourself stare as he drags himself out of the water. His shirt is stuck to his body and entirely see through, settling into the ridges of his muscled chest. The moon’s light shines through the fabric hanging from his sleeves, making it look like the membrane of wings.

As Art kneels on the grass, you blink rapidly as if he’s a vision you can dispel from your sight.

You can acknowledge he’s attractive- you’re not blind– but you can’t abide the yearning arising within you. You don’t have room for that in your life, for anyone, but especially not for him.

You finally reach the edge of the bank and then Art is kneeling at the edge, holding a hand out for you to take.

You consider him for a moment and process the newfound ease on his face. He seems almost serene.

You fight off a shiver that you blame on the cold and ignore his outstretched hand, pulling yourself out of the water unaided.

“Really?” Art bites out irritatedly, watching as you wander over to your hip flask and sit down right beside it. You take it into your hand and unscrew the cap.

When you bring it to your lips you look right into his eyes. “Really.”

You throw your head back, the path the vodka burns down your throat is a welcome discomfort. You had felt far too peace just now, floating in a sea of stars with Art.

But those weren’t stars, just a reflection of them. It was a trick. Nothing that could ever be real.

When you drop the now empty flask into your lap, there are tears in your eyes.

When was the last time you’d felt even close to the happiness you’d found in that water?

It wasn’t real.

A traitorous tear is already rolling down your cheek as you drop your eyes to your hands.

“Hey.” Art says softly. He kneels down beside you, one hand on your soaked back as the other plucks the flask out your lap. “What’s wrong?”

You make a noise that’s half sob, half laugh. “I already answered that question.”

“Yeah, except I know you’re full of shit.” When you look up at him, Art’s frown becomes something gentler. “I know I’m not your problem.”

You scoff, shoving his chest. He sways backwards, but drops down onto his knees, planting himself on the ground beside you. His hand is still on your back.

“Yes, you are actually.” You answer nastily. “You really are.”

“Just tell me.” Art whispers, ducking his head into your field of vision so you’re forced to look at him. His free hand settles on your cheek. “Tell me what’s wrong because this…is sort of scary.”

You lift your hands and clasp his cheeks, digging your fingers in. You’re overcome by a violent impulse to tear into his skin.

It would be far easier to draw blood than confront how you’re beginning to feel about him.

“Aww.” You croon. “Did I scare the poor little baby?”

“Stop it.” He scolds. His hands move to grasp your wrists but he doesn't pull you away, not even as you press your nails further in.

But you won’t stop- can’t stop. Your feelings have become spiteful and unruly, running away from you at a pace which you can’t hope to match.

You can’t take the strain. And because Art is the contributor to that is closest to you, it’s him you’re going to lash out at.

“No, really, I didn’t think you’d be such a pussy.” You forge on, spewing venom. “I scared you by getting in a pond? Grow the fuck up, Art.”

But Art doesn’t rise to it. His jaw doesn’t clench and his grip on you doesn’t tighten.

“This isn’t okay.” He says, tentative but assured. “You’re not okay.”

“No, I'm not!” You snap wrenching your wrists free. “But it’s got absolutely nothing to do with you.”

You try to rise to your feet, but Art doesn’t let you. He moves so he’s kneeling either side of you, his legs pressing into your thighs as his hands fall onto your shoulders. You can feel in the way his fingers press into you that he’s fighting the urge to shake sense into you.

You look up at him, slightly startled by his forcefulness. His back is facing the moon now and his drenched body is limned in silver.

Before you can berate yourself for even thinking about it, you’re winding your hand around his tie and dragging him down, smashing your lips against his.

You shouldn't be doing this, a large part of you doesn’t want to, but it feels like the only way to purge yourself of him. And what kills a bacteria faster than blazing heat?

Art lets out a warning groan, but your teeth nipping his bottom lip is all it takes to have him leaning in. Even your kiss feels like a fight, battling each other for control, pressing with bruising force.

Art crowds over you, guiding your back against the grass.

You let yourself fall.

As your back presses into the earth, one of his hands settles on the side of your neck as he drags the other up your leg. When he peels up the sodden material of your dress, his hand exploring your thigh, the cold air bites tauntingly against your rapidly heating skin.

Your hard nipples brush against his soaked t-shirt and the feeling is so tantalising, that you find your back arching, pressing yourself into him and chasing the sensation.

When you let out a moan into his mouth, Art draws back as if some unseen hand has pulled on him.

He’s still agonisingly close, his lips a hair's breadth away as he gazes down at you through heavy eyelids, water droplets running down his face from his hair. His breathing is ragged.

Art’s eyes close and with his sight lost to him, his lips drift closer to you again and his teeth nip at your chin. After placing a ghost of kiss over where he’s bitten, he takes a deep breath.

Then his eyes open, and his expression is blank. It makes you feel sick.

You’re burning up with want, but you can already see the realisation of your transgression settling into the very bones of Art. He’s about to spurn you, disdain no doubt working its way to the surface. So you have to get there first.

“Poor, sensitive Art, scared by a kiss.” You goad. The words are forced out and they feel malformed on your tongue. “Don’t worry your little head over it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Art drops his eyes from you, shaking his hand as he pushes himself off up.

“Nice try, but I know what you’re doing.”

He mumbles it and doesn't give you a chance to acknowledge it befores he’s on his feet and walking away.

Tears prick insistently at the back of your eyes but you force them back, pressing the heels of your thumbs into them until it hurts.

You sit up, feeling leaves and blades of grass sticking to your exposed skin.

You feel the air shift behind you, and are startled when you peer over your shoulder and find Art standing at your back. He has his shoes back on and is gripping his dry jacket far too tightly.

You find your voice, but it’s weak: “What am I doing Art?”

He doesn’t meet your eye, instead he opens up the jacket in his hands and settles it over your shoulders. You sit there, stunned as he tugs it around your body. Then he leans down and over your shoulders, his breath on the side of your face as he deftly buttons the jacket up.

Art encloses you in the dry garment that carries the scent of him.

“You’re doing the same thing as me.” He says quietly. It sounds almost painful for him to talk. “Running away. I guess we’re both cowards.”

And then he’s gone, marching back up the bank without another word.

You’re left sitting there, wrapped in his jacket and staring out at the pond.

Not the night sky.

Just a pond.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

( Three Months Later… )

After your cast had first come off, Wimbledon had felt like an intimidating but still far off thing; a dark shape on the horizon, but one you had to squint to see. But then it moved closer, barreling towards you like a bat out of hell.

You’ve made great progress in your recovery, you really have…but all your extensive physiotherapy hasn’t been able to heal the nerve-damage you’d turned out to have- at least not in a timespan that’s workable for a professional athlete.

You’re done. Tennis career over.

And your worst fear has come true: it hadn’t been your choice. Injury has forced you out and the public discourse is rife with commiseration and useless, positive platitudes.

Art has been proved right. Everything would be so much better had you known when to quit. You had preferred ridicule to this.

But until you’d come to Wimbledon, it hadn’t really sunk in yet: you hadn’t had the moment of finality.

What closure has ended up feeling like, is the final nail in your coffin.

As you had watched the first matches of Wimbledon from the stands, Rebecca glancing at you constantly–presumably to check you weren’t about to burst into tears–you had felt as though you were being buried: each serve and volley another hand tossing dirt on top of the coffin, sealing you beneath the ground for good.

At least one part of your day has been successful. You have completed the challenge you’d set for yourself that morning, which was to not drink any alcohol until the evening.

It has been excruciating.

Evidence of your victory lays in your trembling hands as you fit your keycard into the door of your hotel room. You’re desperate for what you know sits waiting for you on the other side.

But then, just as the lock mechanism chirps to let you know you’ve been granted entry, someone calls your name.

Your keycard is left in the door as your fingers fall away from the handle and you turn to face Art. He’s stopped himself a safe distance from you and is gazing at you with what looks like…relief?

Of course you knew he was at Wimbledon–you’d narrowly avoided crossing paths with him a number of times already today–but to hear his voice and having his probing stare directed solely on you, is as debilitating as you remember.

You haven’t seen each other, or even spoken, since the night by–or rather in–the pond.

The only place the two of you are still together in any capacity, is on the Nike billboards that are still occupying space throughout the world.

And as if Art’s thoughts align with your own, he says:

“You pull an impressive disappearing act.” He steps closer.

“That suggests you went looking for me.” You counter, pleased with how detached you sound. “We both know you didn’t.”

“No. I didn’t.” Art replies frankly.

“So I didn’t disappear, did I? You just couldn’t see me.”

Art moves towards you some more, stopping an arms length away.

“It felt the same.” He utters lowly. “You were gone.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “So were you.”

Then you press your back into the door, fingers seeking out the handle, shaking now for a reason other than alcohol withdrawal.

You really don’t know if you’re running away or urging him on, but when you push open the door and duck inside, you do know that you’re not angry when he follows.

You put your back to the hallway door, expecting Art to move past you and head into the suite, but he doesn’t. At least not right away. Instead, he stops right in front of you, looking down at you as the door swings shut.

You would barely have to lift your hand and you’d be touching him.

You hate that he looks so good. He’s in simple navy dress pants, a white shirt sitting snugly on his chest, the top few buttons undone.

The two of you stand like that for a minute or so, and just as you realise that your breaths have practically synchronised, Art is moving away from you and wandering inside.

It’s only then, as he ventures deeper, that you remember what you’ve been so eager to get back into the room for. You curse yourself, letting your head fall back against the wall behind you.

Even if he hadn’t already seen them, it would be too late for you to hide the line of alcohol minis that you’d gathered from the bar cart.

You’d set them out earlier, the process almost meditative. It had been a promise to yourself: get through the day without drinking and you can have all of these once you’re alone.

But now they’re standing out in the open, displayed on the nearby desk like pieces knocked off a board in a game that you’ve been playing against yourself.

You watch helplessly as Art walks right over to them, his hands in his pockets. Your face flushes with shame.

Art cranes his neck back to look at you. You’re still pressed against the wall, afraid that if you take one step closer, you won’t be able to stop yourself from taking ten more. And you don’t want to be close to him when his face shifts into pity or revilement.

“You planning on drinking all of these?” Art asks, turning back to the bottles as if he knows his gaze is steadily undoing you and wants to grant a reprieve.

Eased slightly by the remarkable placidity of his tone, you’re able to answer calmly. But you still don’t move.

“That was the plan.”

Art lets out a non-committal hum. “Why?”

You laugh awkwardly, wringing your hands together. “I don’t know, why does anyone drink?”

“I don’t care about anyone, I'm asking about you.” His voice is firm, but the foundation of it is something less solid. His words shake on the way out.

You’re overcome with the urge to be honest. It’s actually a lot easier when he’s not looking at you.

“I drink because at some point in my life, every tiny thing became really difficult- like, embarrassingly difficult, to the point where I feel like a child again. And it turns out that ineptitude is easier to bear when you feel like you’ve imposed it on yourself. I drink because it makes me feel helpless…but, helpless by choice.”

The confession hangs suspended in the air, a horrifying, complicated marvel- like a beautiful butterfly now dead and pinned by its wings to a board.

Art speaks into the silence, his back still turned to you. “Do you want to forget? Is that part of it?”

“Forget what?” You’re struggling for breath now, his presence drawing all of the oxygen from the room.

He half-turns his head, blue eyes settling over you once more. “All of it.”

“There’s not enough alcohol in the world for that.” You say morosely.

You have learnt that getting drunk doesn’t rid you of all the thoughts that torment you in sobriety, it just pushes them further to the back. Even if you drink so much you can barely walk, the thoughts remain, banging on the barrier and demanding to be let back in.

Art doesn’t respond to that. He turns back to the little bottles and you watch as he reaches out a hand and knocks over the one closest to him. He pushes it forward, sending them all toppling one after the other like dominos. His eyes are set on them as they roll around on the table, a couple falling onto the plush carpet. And your eyes are set on him.

Then, he finally turns to properly face you, knocking the fallen bottles with his feet as he leans back against the table and crosses his arms against his chest.

He’s waiting, you realise. Waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to make the first move. Wanting you to come to him.

You push off the wall and start walking towards him. “Why did you follow me in here, Art?”

He sighs, the corner of his lip pulling up with a melancholy smile. “Because you make me feel helpless.”

That almost stops you in your tracks, but you recover quickly, barely a footstep faltering as you advance on him. Your heartbeat is a warning drum in your ears.

Once you reach him, Art widens his legs, allowing you to step between them.

As you settle your hands on his thighs, his duck beneath your dress and come to rest on the bare flesh of the back of your legs. He draws you closer, making you fingers dig into his trousers to steady yourself.

You sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as he leans forward, brushing his lips against your exposed sternum.

You’re still flushed and sweating from the uncharacteristically blazing English sun and you shudder as Art’s tongue darts out lapping at the moisture there.

You rock forward, placing your chin on the top of his head, inadvertently pressing his mouth further into your skin. His lapping tongue turns into kisses, kisses that travel down onto the swell of your breasts and into the valley between them.

Even when he reaches the fabric of your dress, he doesnt let it stop him: Art’s lips close around your clothed nipple, wetting the thin fabric with his saliva. You let out a breathy moan into his hair as he moves onto the next one.

As Art works his mouth against you, you push your hands higher, letting your fingers brush the bulge in his pants before they’re settling on his belt buckle.

He says your name, each movement of his lips searing into your flesh.

“Do I make you feel helpless?” He asks, his hands moving up to curl in the sides of your underwear.

“No, Art. You don’t.”

As you undo his fly, he begins to pull your underwear down.

“Why?” He closes his mouth around your breast and bites down just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

You remove one of your hands from his crotch and use it to grab the back of his neck, you pull him away from your chest, forcing him to look up at you as your other hand disappears into his trousers, palming his hardness.

Even as you step out of your underwear and kick it away, you’re starting to stroke him. His mouth falls open, sucking in a breath as gazes up at you as if you hung the moon.

“How could I feel helpless?” You goad, leaning in and resting your mouth beside his ear to whisper. “When I have so much power over you?”

Art’s initial answer is to buck up into your hand, chasing the friction you’re moving too slowly to give him, but when you laugh at his desperation, he’s surging up, wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you.

In a flash, you’ve taken up his position: ass resting on the edge of the desk.

Before you can catch your breath, Art has his hands on your knees and is spreading your legs, exposing your bareness to him.

But apparently he still hasn’t got you where he wants, because his fingers then wrap around the back of your legs and he lifts you, placing you further back onto the wooden surface. More bottles roll off the edge and drop into the carpet.

Then, finally, Art’s eyes meet yours. His smirk makes a return.

“So…” He begins, his hands gathering up your dress and leaving it to bunch up at your waist. “I have absolutely no effect on you? None at all?”

“No-” You can’t even finish your thought let alone the word before his fingers are running through the wetness between your legs. Your instinct is to shut them, but his hips are in the way, so you only succeed in holding him firmly in place.

You are left to stare as he lifts his hand up, evidence of your arousal glistening on his fingers. Then, slowly enough that he can watch the realisation of what he’s doing dawn on your face, Art takes his fingers into his own mouth.

His eyes meet yours and do not shift away for even a second as he licks your wetness from his skin.

The tightness in your belly becomes almost too extreme to bear, and a throbbing begins between your legs.

“I want you to ask.” Art says, his fingers–now wet with his own saliva–drawing circles on your inner thigh. “I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

“I thought you were here because I make you feel helpless?” You try to sound taunting, but your voice is ragged with want. “Now you want to be in control?”

Art leans down and you expect an abrupt, bruising joining of your lips, but instead he kisses you slowly, tenderness in every gentle movement. His mouth is is still aligned with yours as he answers:

“It’s not about control, sweetheart. I just want to hear that you want me as much as I want you.”

You begin to kiss along his jaw, your sentence formed with words cushioned between the press of your lips:

“I want you to fuck me, Art.”

Art's fingers curl around your jaw, bringing your lips back to his as he frees himself from his pants with his other hand. Your kiss is languid but rapidly growing with force, passion driving pleasure ever closer to point of pain.

“Condom?” Art questions into your open mouth.

With his fingers digging into your chin, you can't shake your head so you’re forced to gather enough of your wits to speak again:

“Birth control.”

“Okay.” Art pecks your lips before lifting a hand and spitting onto it. Then he’s fisting himself in his hand and pressing inside of you.

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist, hooking together to pull him in even further.

Art lets out a shuddered breath, his head dropping to your shoulder as he settles himself inside of you.

He kisses and licks across your collarbone, only stopping when he comes across the thin strap of your dress. With a little growl, he takes it between his teeth, tugging it back and then letting it ping back into your skin.

You laugh, still adjusting to the feel of him inside of you as you move to pull down the top of your dress. But Art has other ideas. He stops you with a slow thrust, rolling his hips just enough to have your hands wrapping around his neck instead.

“Let me do it.” He’s giving a command and yet it sounds like a grovel.

Then, in unison, his fingers find the straps of your dress and he’s pulling them away, tugging the bodice down and exposing your breasts to him completely. His hands fall onto them immediately, palming the supple flesh and lifting them up higher so that he can kiss them even as he begins to rock into you.

Just as your heartbeat begins to find some sort of rhythm again, Art pulls out of you almost completely before driving back in. Your breath is knocked out of you and as he begins to thrust with controlled rapidity.

Your hands fall to his still covered ass and dissatisfied with the lack of contact, you push your fingers past the waistband and dig your nails into his naked flesh.

Art moans into your neck, clamping down with his teeth as he picks up his pace yet again.

“Art-” You call out, lost in the press of him inside you.

The table begins to shake so much that it’s slamming against the wall, the noise perfectly aligning with the sound of your hips slapping together.

“Tell me this doesn’t make you feel out of control.” Art pleads, his movements growing frenzied.

By this point you can hardly think straight, so you give in, his statement going unanswered as your head is thrown back in pleasure. Art chuckles, licking up the column of your neck.

“I think I got my answer.”

“Shut up.”

When Art laughs at you again, you remove your hands from his ass and grip his face instead, drawing his lips back up to yours. He opens wide, panting into your mouth before your tongues start to move together.

You stay like that, mouths joined and breaths shared as his thrusts become messier, his hands on your back beginning to tremble.

But you’re not close yet and he knows it. He reaches between you and presses his thumb into your sensitive bud, applying enough pressure that, combined with him driving into you, has you quickly coming undone.

You break the kiss, crying out as your body is wracked with convulsions.

Art smiles, his eyes drooping closed as he chases his own release. And it doesn’t take long. You’re still coming back to yourself when his hips stutter and his fingers dig into you. He lets go, spilling inside you.

You both go still. You press your face into his chest–his shirt now dappled with spots of sweat–as he places a kiss on the top of your head.

You’re both breathing heavily, reeling in the wake of your joining when your phone–tucked into your purse that you had dropped by the door–begins to ring

Still inside you, Art shifts, pressing closer as his lips begin to kiss a path down your cheek. “Don’t answer it.”

You lean back just enough to meet his eye and smile. “I’m not going to answer it.”

Art matches your grin as he leans down and gives your lips a peck. “Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #challengers movie #art donaldson smut #mike faist #tashi duncan

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entiish · 2 years

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what do you think about deceased fcs (if you don't mind me asking)? especially the actors/actresses that have died more than a decade ago, i think it's a shame that we can't use them in threads or create resources in case it upsets someone. not that i'm looking to do as much and i understand if in your rules it states you won't rp against a deceased fc, then that's fine but there has to be a line drawn somewhere else i should think?

hi, it's skye. (related/inspired by these posts x x ig!) not at all, ask away!! so i'm someone who originally felt it very hard to used deceased actors or to be okay with it particularly when i was younger, because there were and are younger actors who passed unexpectedly and seeing their faces often brought up a lot of sadness and grief as they were gone far before their time. however, i've developed a more thorough opinion on this topic.

as with my post about underage fcs where i explained the npc deal/masterlist/graphics pov (i wont restate here but if u need a refresh go have a peek; main point: most of my opinions are formed on my experience navigating these issues as an admin), i feel the same way with deceased actors but with a more finessed personal code. i don't use anyone who has passed recently, they deserve time and peace and the acknowledgement that they are a human being outside of their career. regardless of how integral they are to a universe, such as robbie as hagrid, we and they and everyone deserves time and respect. in the past, as npcs within a world, i have used sir christopher lee, who passed in 2015, and john hurt, who passed in 2017. so im clearly operating on a 'actors who passed of old age' point of view. i feel like in some cases, it is more disrespectful to recast them rather than honour their body of work as that character. some actors are a certain character, as sir christopher lee is saruman in LOTR. and if i decided to portray him as a canon indie character, or perhaps in a canon LOTR roleplay, i would (with permission of admins) use lee as a first and foremost preference.

this is where i have a few clear rules when it comes to honouring a deceased fc but incorporating them in your world via. graphics, family fc casting, npc roles in the world of ocs (or even as a canon character):

if you are not an admin, ask permission first. admins have the right to have final say in the world they create.

if you are an admin and you decide to incorporate them, i highly suggest positing the idea to your muns and seeing their opinions as i did. if you have used them from the outset, make sure that you've made that clear in your rules page, or somewhere.

if you are an indie, just tag appropriately.

do not use people who have passed in tragic circumstances, which includes passing from health conditions also. there are so many beloved actors that we have lost to these circumstances and, while it is sad to not use them, it's sadder still that their life was stolen and i don't think it's very fair to use their faces. that's just my preference though.

do not use people who have passed recently!!

i absolutely agree that it is a shame, but i feel it's more of a shame that they are no longer here. i know many actors who were young and in their prime who passed, i would adore using them, but i think that it comes down to moral comfortability overall. for example, i remember a lot of back and forth around chadwick boseman, and i've always been of the firm opinion that someone who lost their life to a disease so suddenly... it's just awful. it's sad for him, for his family, friends, community, for everyone. i don't believe we should use people, especially young people, who have passed unexpectedly and sadly. the loss of their life is SO much bigger than our need and desire to create and write, and i personally find it very had to look at some faces because their passing reminds me of person trauma and experience. i'm sure a lot of people find that too. honestly, sometimes i just hurt looking at certain people's faces bc it sucks so much they are gone.

in conclusion, there is a middle ground and there is a way to use and honour actors who are gone, but it shouldn't be focussed on those who were taken in their prime. most people, from what i have seen, have wanted to use people who have died from cancer, ODs, s--cide, m-rder, and other tragically horrid experiences... please don't, let their souls rest and let them be. i believe that it's bigger than us in those cases.

#brief cws tagged -#cancer cw #murder cw #overdose cw #suicide tw #death tw #death mention tw #high skye reply*

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eiightysixbaby · 7 months

Text

i love it loud

word count: 6.5k+

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you get invited to corroded coffin’s halloween party with your best friend chrissy. you don’t anticipate on having much fun, but that changes when you meet eddie…

cw: 18+ ONLY - SMUT. alcohol consumption, a rogue billy tries to hit on reader, use of petnames, use of y/n (like maybe a few times), oral (f receiving), fingering (f), unprotected p in v - he pulls out tho!, brief description of reader’s costume but no mention of body type/etc.

You didn’t want to go to this party. Not really. Your best friend had insisted you come with her, because arriving alone would, in her words, be social suicide. Being invited to Corroded Coffin’s Halloween party was a big deal, she’d said, even though you know she was only invited because she’s been going out with the drummer. Of course he’s going to invite his girlfriend.

You hadn’t even had a plan for a costume, and with only a couple day’s notice you didn’t have the time to prepare something good. The stores were all picked over as far as Halloween costumes go, and so you went with the most basic, half-assed option you could’ve possibly selected.

You’re dressed as a cat.

It feels silly, it feels low-effort and stupid and basic, but here you are with your fluffy tail and soft felt ears, black high heels and whiskers painted on your face. A pink nose to top it all off. You did think you looked good, you had to admit, but it definitely wasn’t the costume you would’ve preferred. You awkwardly adjust your stockings as you step up to the front door of the large house, feeling horrendously out of place.

You glance at Chrissy beside you, her hippie costume bright and colorful - an extreme contrast to your all black attire.

“Okay, just texted Gareth that we’re here,” she says, slipping her phone into her bag. “Don’t look so thrilled,” she says sarcastically, pouting at you.

“Sorry I’m not exactly excited to be at a party where I know no one,” you say.

“You know me and Gareth,” she replies, looking at you like she’s confused.

“I barely know Gareth. And don’t act like the two of you won’t be running off to bang the second you get a chance,” you smile at her, knocking shoulders playfully.

“Listen… his friend Eddie, the lead singer, is super hot. Maybe you’ll get more than you bargained for tonight.”

“I don’t know, Chris. There’s going to be a million girls at this party, do I really want to be another notch on some rockstar’s belt?” you ponder.

She doesn’t get the chance to respond before the front door is swinging open in front of you. The figure on the other side is… Peter Criss. More like, Gareth dressed as Peter Criss. Fully outfitted in leather and silver studs, hair spray painted black with white and black cat makeup on his face. You laugh a little as you take him in, and he shoots you a teasing glare.

“Hey ladies,” he greets, pulling Chrissy in for a quick kiss. “Y/N, I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“You know Chris always gets what she wants,” you reply with a laugh, and he laughs with you, agreeing.

He steps to the side, ushering you both into the large foyer of the house. It’s decked out in Halloween decor; bats on the walls, fake cobwebs, hairy toy spiders with light-up red eyes. There’s orange and purple string lights hung about, and you’re honestly impressed with the detail. The house is clean, aside from the stray cup or plate left behind from the current party guests, and the decorations are carefully placed.

“Holy shit, you guys really did it up for the party,” you say, eyes wandering to every corner.

“Oh yeah, that’s all Eddie. He loves Halloween. It was his idea for us to dress like KISS,” Gareth says with a playful eye roll.

“Don’t complain, you look so good in that outfit…” Chrissy says, trailing a finger down his chest.

“I’ll have to give you the official house tour,” he says to your friend. “You coming too?” he asks you, but you shake your head.

“Think I’ll get myself a drink,” you say, sticking out your thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“Sounds good. There’s stuff on the counter and a bar out back by the pool, you can go wherever you’d like,” Gareth says with a smile, and it’s genuine. “Make yourself at home, say hey if you see the other guys around! You can’t miss ‘em, they’ll be dressed like me,” he adds, and you laugh, waving them off as Chrissy tells you to text her if you need anything at all.

You wander into the open kitchen, pleased with the selection of liquor that awaits you. If you’re going to be spending the night alone, you might as well get pleasantly drunk, you think to yourself. People are scattered throughout the room, talking with their circles of friends and acquaintances. There’s a couple different punch bowls filled with various concoctions, each one labeled with the contents. You take your pick of the poison, scooping the liquid up with a ladle and filling your cup.

You scrunch your face as you take the first sip, lips pursing as you adjust to the bite of the alcohol. You glance around the kitchen, taking note of even more decorations as you slink into a corner alone. They seem to fill the whole house, seeping into the living room and the dining room, any area that you can see. Gareth had said it was all Eddie’s doing, and you find yourself growing more curious about the man in question. You really didn’t know anything about Corroded Coffin, didn’t care much to do any research, you only knew what Chrissy told you.

You know that Grant, the rhythm guitarist, has rich parents, and that his dad bought the house for the band to live in while they’re recording their album. Chrissy always says Grant’s the nerdiest of the bunch, insanely smart and very friendly. You know that Jeff, the bassist, is apparently a sweetheart, a bit shy but would give you the shirt off of his back, and you know that Eddie…. well, you know that he’s supposedly “super hot”. Other than that, you’re drawing a blank. Chrissy hasn’t said much about him at all, now that you really consider it. Maybe he’s an introvert and doesn’t come around often, or maybe he’s a complete dick. He is a rockstar, after all. And there’s plenty of pretty women in his house right now, so… you can gather a few assumptions, to say the least.

You don’t get much more time to ponder the subject before you hear loud, raucous laughter coming in through the sliding doors to the backyard. Two figures stumble in, but in the dim light you can’t get a good look right away.

“I was made for lovin’ you baaaabyyyyyy!” a voice booms, and you don’t need more confirmation that it comes from another member of the band.

“How many times are you gonna sing that tonight?” the other voice counters, and you finally see two unfamiliar men walking towards the kitchen, dressed like other members of KISS.

The annoyed voice comes from the stand-in Gene Simmons of the evening, a frizzy black wig on his head and the signature makeup on his face, making him stand out. He sticks his tongue out obnoxiously at the other man, eliciting a laugh from him. Your eyes flit over, then, to the taller figure. Your attention is immediately grabbed — he’s intriguing right away and you aren’t quite sure why. Tall, slim, with a head of shaggy hair that diminishes his need for a wig for the costume. He’s dressed like Paul Stanley, a black star around his eye, surrounded by a face otherwise full of white makeup. He’s not wearing a shirt, at all, just a thick black studded collar around his neck and leather pants. Chunky heeled boots are on his feet, making him appear taller than just about everyone else in the room.

And if he’s dressed like the singer of KISS, then you can only assume this is Eddie. The singer of Corroded Coffin.

“Oh fuck off, Jeff. Have a little fun! It’s Hallo-fucking-ween, dude,” presumably-Eddie says, leaning into Jeff’s space.

“Sorry my idea of fun isn’t listening to your drunk ass sing KISS songs, Ed,” Jeff says, and the nickname gives you confirmation that this is, in fact, your guy.

Eddie just so happens to look up in that moment, his eyes falling upon yours unintentionally. He smiles at you, genuinely smiles at you, all while playfully rolling his eyes at Jeff’s comment. You giggle into your plastic cup, feeling like the two of you are the only people in the room for a moment. He gives you a teeny little wave, the slightest wiggle of his fingers, and you feel your heart rate increase as you return it. What is wrong with you? You were going to blame the alcohol, for the time being.

The moment is gone as soon as it came, Eddie’s attention getting redirected. You watch in fascination as they pour drinks for themselves, easily greeting the other partygoers who come up to them, eager to talk to the hosts. There’s a swarm of girls around Eddie in thirty seconds flat, and your heart deflates, much to your own dismay. Why should it bother you? He doesn’t even know you, and you don’t know him. Chrissy’s implication that you might hit it off with Eddie tonight is letting you get too in your own head, you decide, trying to shake it off.

You scoff, watching as a girl dressed like a devil leans on the counter into Eddie’s space, pressing her breasts together as much as she can. Her fake fangs are exposed as she laughs too loud at something he says, her bright red lipstick accentuating her mouth. You want to internally criticize her and her basic costume, before you’re reminded of your imitation of the most basic furry friend to ever grace Halloween.

As if on cue, someone comes up behind you and yanks on your tail, making you jump. Your drink sloshes over the rim of the cup at the sudden motion, splashing against the front of your outfit. You spin on your heel, met with the face of an unfamiliar man, which really isn’t saying much since almost every face here is unfamiliar.

“Can I help you?” you snark, flattening your lips in a straight line.

“Woah, calm down, pussy cat. Don’t have to bring the claws out,” the man says, smirking at you as if he has genuinely no clue why you’re bothered.

He reaches one arm out, flattening his palm against the wall behind you and leaning his weight on it, towering over you. He smells like cigarettes and booze, and you watch as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips.

“If you don’t mind,” you snap. “I really need to go wash the liquor out of my costume. Asshole,” you mutter the last part, ready to make your exit when the stranger grabs your arm.

“Going so soon? I thought we’d make friends,” he smiles at you, blue eyes piercing down at you as you grow wildly more uncomfortable.

“I’ll pass,” you emphasize, stomping the heel of your boot down onto his foot.

He yelps in pain, releasing your arm and allowing you to speed-walk out of the crowded kitchen. You can see various pairs of eyes on you as you scurry out, and you can hear your victim cursing you out through the bass coming through the stereo.

You high-tail it out the back door, heels clicking aggressively on pavement as you push through more people surrounding the pool. You finally stop to calm yourself down when you find a lull in the crowds, a spot where you can be relatively alone. You silently thank yourself that the stranger didn’t follow you, but what you didn’t realize is that someone else had.

You exhale, bringing your drink to your lips and taking a swig. Your now-wet top clings to your skin, aggravating you, but the last thing you want to do is wander back into the house in search of the bathroom.

“H-hey, um, are you alright?” a voice rings out directly behind you.

You jolt just slightly, not expecting company. Turning to face the other person, your eyes first land on those big, black platform boots. Eddie had followed you. Your gaze trails up his figure, leather pants and studded belt and bare torso, until you meet his eyes for the second time this evening.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I saw what happened in there and, uh, to be honest I don’t even know why we keep inviting Hargrove to these things—” Eddie rambles, as if Hargrove is a familiar name to you, as if he’s nervous to be around you — like he isn’t the star-studded host of this party.

“I’m okay,” you reply, cutting off his sentence, smirking a little. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I know these parties can get crazy, but… I always want to make sure everyone’s safe,” he says, his gaze softening as he says the last part. “I’m Eddie, by the way,” he introduces, holding out a hand for you to shake.

You immediately notice the big, silver rings adorning many of his fingers, your eyes lingering on them for maybe a second too long before you remember he’s waiting for you. You extend a hand, grasping his and shaking it.

“Y/N,” you reply. “I, uh, I’m here with Chrissy.”

“Oh, you’re Cunningham’s friend!?” he asks, lighting up at that. Excited as he says it as if you’re the celebrity here, not him.

You nod, smiling at him now.

“Damn, and she already ditched you to go screw Gareth, I’m assuming?” he jokes, and you laugh, feeling lighter by the second. Forgetting your less-than-pleasant encounter from moments ago.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” you say sarcastically, smiling wider when he snorts.

There’s a pause, you can feel him staring at you as you take another sip of alcohol. “Well, I’m a little offended she didn’t tell me that she had such a beautiful friend,” he says, and you feel your cheeks grow warm at his forwardness.

You duck your head, avoiding his eyes as your face scrunches in a shy smile. “Ah, there’s the rockstar charm,” you say, loving the sound of his laugh that comes in response.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he playfully asks, cocking his head as he leans forward to meet your gaze.

“How many other girls have you used that line on tonight?” you counter, playful but keeping a safe distance.

“Ouch, sweetheart. You really take me for that much of a player?” he stumbles back, clutching his chest as if he’s been wounded. Your eyes linger maybe too long on the tattoos littering his torso, the slight smattering of hair on his pale skin.

“Well, you are parading around your own party shirtless. Seems like a tool move to me,” you smirk, finishing off your drink with one last sip.

“Darling, you’re dressed like a cat. I don’t think you can come for my costume right now,” he flashes his perfect teeth at you, unable to contain his smile at your banter.

There’s a moment of silence, you staring out across the yard at the bright lights of the city down below, stretching vast and far. Then he speaks up again.

“I mean it. I think you’re really beautiful.”

“Thank you. You’re very pretty,” you say honestly, letting yourself give in to his flirtations.

“Is it the makeup? Am I gonna have to wear this every time I see you now?”

You giggle. “Every time? Are there going to be more times, mister rockstar?”

“I mean, I’d love to take the time to get to know you outside of a party setting, if that’s okay with you,” he smiles bashfully, and you can only assume he’s blushing under all of that makeup.

“Yeah. I think that’s okay with me,” you reply.

Conversation flows easily with Eddie, the less-than- pleasant encounter with the stranger and the spilled alcohol on your shirt long forgotten. He tells you about his life before the band started to make it big, how he always dreamed of being a rockstar. He shyly told you about how he used to parade around his home as a kid, playing his little guitar and singing songs he made up until his uncle was begging him to quiet down and go to bed.

You confess that you really didn’t know much about the band, other than things Chrissy had told you, and you apologize although he tells you it’s absolutely not necessary.

You both end up sitting in the grass side-by-side, talking so much you don’t even remember making the choice to sit, it just happened. There’s a lull in the conversation, his eyes searching yours before glancing down to your lips. He moves just slightly closer, his breath hitting your face with each exhale. You feel yours catch in your throat, anticipating his next move.

You don’t get the chance to see what that move is before the girl in the devil costume from the kitchen approaches. She instantly has her hands on Eddie, grabbing his arm with a red-gloved hand and pulling him to stand. “Eddieeee, come on! You have to come play spin the bottle with us!” she pleads, her voice too whiny to not be part of an act.

“I- uh,” he stumbles, looking at you with an emotion you can’t place.

The girl moves to stand in front of him, putting her hands on his chest now, starting to push him backwards. “Come on, it’s no fun if you don’t play,” she continues, her shrill voice grating in your ears.

You don’t like how close she’s getting, how unafraid she is to be touchy with him. Who even is she? Are they friends? Are they more than friends? She’s pushing him further away from you by the second, not once acknowledging your presence. You scoff, looking to the side, avoiding Eddie’s gaze.

Before Eddie can really do anything, he’s being shoved fully away from you. You don’t see the way he desperately looks to you for an out, simply bothered by the fact that this girl won’t leave him alone.

You wonder if you were right, if he called you beautiful just like he calls every other girl beautiful. You didn’t want to believe it, but, he’s about to go play a game with a bunch of drunk people where the whole point is to kiss each other, so. It’s not looking great for you.

You’d be lying, though, if you said your curiosity wasn’t peaked. You find yourself bored watching partygoers splash around in the pool, and you can’t shove down your internal need to find out what mister rockstar and the devil girl are up to inside. Your feet are carrying you before you can decide against it, leading you back inside, back through the kitchen where you pour yourself another drink, and then to the living room where you find a large group sat in a circle.

You hang back, just slightly, not wanting to make it too obvious that you’re watching the game, even though you aren’t the only one who came to spectate. To be completely honest, the first few spins you witness aren’t very exciting. You don’t know any of these people, so what should it matter to you if they kiss? You’re about to step away when the circle erupts with various ‘Ooooh’s and whistles.

“Come on, Eddie! You gotta do it!” a now very drunk Jeff screams.

To your absolute horror, Eddie had spun the bottle, only for it to land on the little bitch whose name you still don’t know in the devil costume. Eddie looks at the girl, who is very clearly eagerly awaiting a kiss from the singer of Corroded Coffin, but then he looks up at you.

You didn’t think he’d realized you were there, didn’t think he saw you lurking, but he looked at you too pointedly for it to have been an accident.

You swallow, suddenly feeling awkward amongst the silence of the room. Everyone’s watching Eddie, expecting him to get his kiss over with and move on. He stands finally, stepping forward. You almost want to look away, not interested in watching him lock lips with someone that isn’t you. But you can’t look away, not when he bypasses the anonymous girl and heads right for you.

“Um, I’m right here!” she says, her tone snarky and honestly annoying enough to make you want to slap her.

“Yeah, well I’m not kissing you, Tina,” Eddie says. “Spin the bottle. What are we, fourteen?” he asks, eyes still locked on you as he stands merely a step away now.

Your heart thumps in your chest, every bit of your nervous system attuned to him. Your mouth hangs slightly open, not knowing what to do or what to say.

He steps even closer, closing the distance between you. “I want to kiss you, that okay?” he murmurs, letting one hand rest so gently on your waist.

You want to laugh in Tina’s face. You want to point and laugh and rub it in, but that wouldn’t be the appropriate response here. You need to kiss Eddie, sooner rather than later.

You just nod, a smile playing on your lips. He leans his face closer to yours, hovering by your ear to whisper, “I’m sorry, about her. She’s… a friend of a friend who always ends up at our parties. Trust me, I have no interest there.”

The reassurance really isn’t necessary, you barely know Eddie after all, but it’s extremely appreciated. You feel your heart flutter a little, smug and satisfied all in one. And then his lips are on yours, not giving a damn who’s watching, not a care in the world for what anyone might say.

His lips are soft, warm against yours and the way he cradles the back of your head in his hands makes you weak at the knees. Your noses brush before you pull away, and the two of you giggle in unison like you just shared some exciting secret with each other.

Tina is dumbfounded where she sits on the carpet, watching you. You swear steam would be coming out of her ears if this was a cartoon. You give her a little wave and an all-too-fake smile before Eddie grabs your hand to lead you away.

Not a single word is spoken as he pulls you out of the living room, you’re silent until you reach the stairs to go up to the second floor.

“So you really don’t have history with Tina?” you playfully ask, pressing the issue just to be a pain, and he groans.

“Ugh, god, no. Like I said, she always ends up at these things and she’s all over me. But the funny part is, we went to high school together. She bullied the crap outta me,” he explains, and you can’t help but laugh. “Spread some nasty rumors on social media…” he shakes his head, smirking at the thought now.

“Of course,” you roll your eyes, “Now where are you taking me, rockstar?” you grab his waist once you’ve reached the top of the stairs, pulling him closer to you.

“To my room, because there’s no way I can handle any more interruptions tonight,” he says, his hands finding your hips, pressing his forehead to yours for a moment.

Another kiss is ghosted over your lips, open-mouthed and teasing, leaving you chasing after him when he pulls away and starts to walk down the hallway. He opens the dark wood door, gesturing for you to enter first.

The second he’s inside with you, his mouth is on yours, your back pressed to the wall as his hands grip your waist. He fumbles with the light switch behind you, providing a dim glow throughout the room. He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, licking inside of your mouth and groaning when your tongue meets his. Your noses brush and you’re sure his makeup is getting smeared on your face, or vice-versa, and the thought makes you smile into the kiss. His lips work their way down to your jaw, nipping and mouthing at the skin before residing on your neck, sucking till it stings.

You hiss, arching your back into him, hands grabbing at his bare shoulders as your nails dig into the skin.

“Shit, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, hands grabbing your face as he brings you in for another heated kiss.

He starts to walk backwards, guiding you with him towards his bed. His boots are kicked off of his feet carelessly, and you toe off your heels in tandem. He reaches the mattress, falling back onto it and scooting backwards until he’s fully on the bed. You follow his lead, straddling his lap and letting your hands roam his bare chest. He watches you like you’re an ethereal being, eyes big and round and completely full of desire. His hands wrap around to grab your ass beneath the fabric of your skirt, filling his open palms with the soft flesh and squeezing.

Your hands waste no time in finding their way to the zipper of his pants, tugging it down after undoing the button.

“Need these off, Ed,” you say, sounding more whiny than you’d wanted. Your face gets hot at the smirk he gives you in return.

“Oh, so we’re desperate now, huh?” he says, the cocky rockstar demeanor coming out in full-swing. It makes you embarrassingly flustered, your cunt throbbing for him.

All you can do is nod, your hand trailing over the bulge that waits for you beneath fabric.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, starting to shimmy his pants down his thighs.

You remove yourself from his lap, letting him undress — your mouth practically watering when his cock springs free and smacks against his stomach. He’s fully naked for you now, given that he already wasn’t wearing a shirt. All that’s left is the studded choker around his neck, and it makes you drool.

“Like what you see, baby?” he asks, a smug little grin on his face as he watches the way you take in his entire body.

You already noticed the tattoos on his chest and arms, but now you’re noticing the ones on his thighs. He’s unreal, so unfairly gorgeous and captivating. He’s perfectly sculpted, a sharp V carved into his pelvis that simply leads your eyes down a path to his perfect cock. It’s big — long and not too thick, veiny with a pink, leaking tip. He must catch your intrigued expression, because he laughs, a devious little sound that tells you he can’t have any pure intentions.

“Why don’t you lay down so I can get you ready to take this cock?” he purrs, slender fingers stroking up and down one side of your body.

You shudder at his touch, moving to lay down on his bed. You pull your shirt off before you do, leaving your black, lacy bra on display for the man beside you. Your tits rest perfectly in it, and Eddie’s sure to get an eyeful. His hands gently hold your hips once you’re situated comfortably, partially laying down with your back propped against his many fluffy pillows. He leans down, letting his lips graze over your jaw, your cheek, your nose, before finally pressing to your mouth. He brings one hand up, pulling your cat-ear headband off of your head, deciding it can’t be very comfortable to have on for hours at a time. It makes you breathe a little laugh into the kiss, remembering how silly you must look with your painted on whiskers and nose.

He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it, his mouth pulling off of yours and starting to travel down your neck. He kisses your shoulders, your collarbone, sucking on the most sensitive bits of skin and making you whine as you wriggle beneath him. He finds his way down to your breasts, hands sliding your bra straps down your shoulders as you arch your back for him, giving him room to unhook the clasp that sits at your spine. His lips immediately attach to one of your pert nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around the small bud. One of his large hands cups your other breast, the cold silver of the rings on his fingers a sharp contrast to your searing skin.

He switches after a moment, sucking the opposite nipple into his warm, wet mouth. Something akin to a growl leaves his mouth when your fingers tangle in his hair and tug, and it spurs you on to keep going. His lips unlatch themselves from your breast, his mouth moving down down down, trailing kisses everywhere it goes. Your cunt throbs when his mouth approaches the waistband of your tight little skirt, his eager hands hooking beneath the fabric and beginning to yank it down, along with your underwear.

He peppers kisses lower and lower on your body, his mouth following close behind the clothes that he pulls off of you, covering every inch of skin as it’s exposed to him. He discards everything onto the floor, definitely tearing your stockings in the process of ripping them off of you. Your mind is a blur as he hastily attaches his lips to your clit, slipping one finger inside of you with complete ease. You weren’t expecting all of the stimulation so suddenly, your body writhing on the mattress as he sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth.

“More, Eddie, need more,” you pant, knowing you’re probably being greedy but knowing all the same that he won’t deny you what you want.

He hums against your cunt, immediately adding a second finger inside of you. He curls the digits, collecting your sticky wetness and groaning at the filthy noises that his movements make. Your hands tug harder on his hair as you throw your head back onto the pillows, cursing at how good he feels. Going in, you had no idea how tonight would play out, but you certainly didn’t expect to be hooking up with the frontman of Corroded Coffin. Your head spins at the thought of how many other people would probably die to be in your position right now, and it only makes you more turned on.

“Want one more, baby? Need to make sure you can take my fingers before you take my cock,” he purrs, smirking up at you.

“Yeah, please, I can take it,” you reassure him, and he slips a third finger in.

His fingers are thick, no doubt about it, and they stretch you so deliciously you feel like you could cry. The silk sheets beneath you feel cold against your skin, easing the heat that floods your entire body. You grip them with one hand, the other still in Eddie’s hair as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit in the perfect rhythm. He doesn’t dare change his pace, not with the way you’re moaning his name like a siren song, drawing him more and more into you.

You’re rapidly approaching your release, that much he knows, and he wants to send you free-falling over that edge. The way you suck his fingers right in practically makes him drool, he can’t get enough. Loud, shrill moans of his name leave your mouth as he curls his fingers into that perfect soft spot inside of you, and Eddie couldn’t care less if the whole damn house can hear you.

“Gonna cum, Eddie, ohmygod—” you’re cut off mid-sentence, the air stolen from your lungs as you come undone for him.

You squeeze around his fingers, soaking him as your body trembles. He pulls them out of you, slowly bringing them to his lips, making sure your eyes are on him. He sucks the digits clean of your juices, humming contently around them. You ache for him, your body desperate to have him even though it’s only been seconds since he’d been pleasuring you.

He moves to hover over you, reattaching his lips to yours in a heated kiss. It’s somehow gentle and rough at the same time, a weird but enticing juxtaposition. He tastes like you and it drives you crazy as your mouths clash together, all teeth and tongues.

“Fuck, baby, hold on. Let me get a condom,” Eddie says, nearly breathless as he pulls away.

“No— want you to fuck me raw,” you mewl, reaching out to stop him as he goes to stand.

“Baby…” he says, looking at you with uncertainty. He never goes without a condom, and certainly doesn’t want you to feel pressured to forgo one.

“Please, Eddie. Just pull out,” you plead with him, and you honestly can’t believe your nerve right now. Begging the famous rockstar you just met to fuck you raw, as if you have all of this power over him. What you don’t know is that Eddie already wants to give you anything you ask for.

“Okay, alright, sweetheart. Whatever you want,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead before positioning himself on top of you.

He lines his cock up with your entrance, and you can feel the way you throb for him. You know you’re even more soaked than before, and you hardly worry about whether or not he’ll fit.

“You ready?” he asks sincerely. Big brown eyes searching yours for your approval.

“Mhm,” you hum, letting your eyes flutter closed when you feel him start to press in.

Moans leave each of your mouths in unison as he sinks inside inch by inch. Your nails dig in to the skin on his back, dragging down when he bottoms out inside of you. He hisses, breathing heavy as he tries to gain some composure. You feel so good around him, too good, and it takes all of his focus to not bust immediately.

“Please move, need you to move,” you whine, looking up at him with your big, pleading eyes.

He nods, “Okay, baby. Gonna give it to you so good, yeah?”

He starts thrusting, slowly at first, dragging his cock almost fully out of you before rutting back in. The air is forced from your lungs, your mouth open in a silent moan. His movements stay slow like that for a little while, giving you the friction you need but still teasing. Moans leave your lips as he slowly pushes himself all the way in, letting you fully feel the way he stretches your walls to fit him.

He starts to speed up then, setting a steady pace as he fucks into you harder. He does it so well, filling you to the brim and making you clench around him. You can feel every vein and ridge on his cock, the pleasure making your body erupt in goosebumps.

“Shit, feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” Eddie pants, his hips smacking against yours roughly. “Wanna try something different?” he asks, waiting for your approval which comes without hesitation.

He pulls out of you, making you wince slightly. He stands at the side of the bed, coaxing you to move towards him. You oblige, scooting right to the edge of the mattress. Strong hands grip your legs, hoisting your feet up onto his shoulders, exposing you perfectly to him. You feel more vulnerable like this, and it makes you antsy as you wait for him to slide back in. When he does, you see stars. The angle is perfect, his cock hitting spots it couldn’t before. You watch as he throws his head back, the muscles in his neck prominent as he clenches his jaw, a guttural groan escaping him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, so fucking gorgeous,” he says, looking back down at you with sincere eyes. “How’d I get the most perfect girl on the planet?”

And then he bends down, your legs still hooked over his shoulders, your body practically folded in half now. You nearly scream out his name, the lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your skin filling the space. He leans down to kiss you, his lips and firm against yours, muffling your pretty noises. He pulls away, letting out a smug little chuckle at the way you instantly moan for him, noticing the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes.

“Gonna cry for me, baby? My cock feels so good you’re gonna cry about it?” he teases, watching your brow furrow in concentration as you get closer and closer to release.

“You’re very — fuck — very fucking modest,” you choke out, trying and failing to bite back your whimpers.

He laughs again, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You know you fucking love it,” he murmurs, teeth biting at your earlobe before he pulls away. “I can tell you love it, cause you’re suckin’ me in like you were made for me.”

You let out a whine at his words, pinching your eyes shut in pure ecstasy as he continues to split you open. “Fuck, Eddie, don’t stop,” you plead, your body jolting with every harsh thrust he gives you.

He grunts as he fucks you faster, watching in awe as your tits bounce on your chest. He can feel how soaked you are for him, can see your cream pooling around the base of him when he sheathes himself fully inside.

“You gonna cum for me again, sweetheart?” he rasps, leaning down to kiss along your jawline.

All you can get out is a wobbly “Uh-huh,” nodding your head to the best of your ability. His fingers dig in to the meat of your thighs, a dull ache from his harsh grip barely noticeable in the back of your mind. One hand moves from its spot on your leg to reach down and play with your clit, the pad of his thumb rubbing quick circles over it.

Your back arches off the mattress, your legs shaking as you cry out his name. A few more deep thrusts and you’re plummeting over the edge for the second time tonight, your cunt tensing up around him over and over. The way your walls flutter around his cock brings him dangerously close to release, and he pulls his cock out quickly before he’s pumping it in his fist. All it takes is a few strokes before ropes of his cum are covering your body, splattering over your bare chest and stomach.

You let your legs drop from his shoulders, aching as you stretch them out. You feel like you’re made of rubber, limbs wobbly as your feet drop to the floor.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say, staring up at his ceiling as he chuckles at you from the side of the bed.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he says, shaking his head with a sweet little smile. He stretches, muscles flexing as he raises his arms to the ceiling, cocking an eyebrow at you when he catches you staring.

“Says you…” you reply, pulling the sheets up to hide your face, suddenly shy.

“Let me get you cleaned up, yeah?” he asks, holding out his arm for you, pulling you up when you take his hand.

When you step out of the shower with him, after your body has been cleaned and every inch of your skin has been kissed by his soft mouth, he gives you his big clothes to put on. You change and brush your hair, letting his hands hold your waist as he tries to invade your space to kiss you even more. You can’t help but admire his face, even more gorgeous now that his Halloween makeup is washed down the drain.

You both shuffle out of the bedroom carefully afterwards, trying to gauge how much the party has died down, only to be met with a laugh from the opposite end of the hallway.

Your head shoots up, seeing Gareth and Chrissy stepping out of his room, looking wildly similar to you and Eddie; costumes off, makeup off, a few extra hickeys on Gareth’s neck. Chrissy’s mouth hangs open, her eyes flitting from you to Eddie and back again.

“I told you!!” she shouts, giggling before Gareth takes her hand, pulling her down the stairs with him.

You try to bite back a smile, heat creeping up to your face.

“What exactly did she tell you, sweetheart?” Eddie smirks down at you, pulling your body to his. His cocky expression gives you the hint that he already has an idea.

“Shut up, rockstar.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic

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moonit3 · 14 days

Note

Yandere boss x male reader husband, I imagine Leonard would force you to marry him and his sexual advances would be more aggressive on the honeymoon.

You refuse to sleep with him and Leonard decides to remind you of your nuptial duties.

He drugs you and decides to force himself on you

HONEYMOON OF NIGHTMARES

⟡ cw: male yandere, heavy themes!, amab! reader, nsfw, noncon, virginity lose (from reader’s), sub! reader, top! yandere, blowjob (brief), a.nal, s3x, reader is not having a good time, mention of suicide but nothing happens, forced marriage, bondage(?), handcuffs, drugs and unrealistic expectations of it (i never used it, so i am relying heavily on what Ive learned by reading/ other people experiences and also inventing how long does it take to get under the effect of if, don’t do drugs), please don’t read this if you are weak and tell me if i am forgetting something.

⟡ word count: 2.6 k

⟡ yandere! boss x amab! reader

⟡ notes: sooooo, I being another attempt of writing mlm context in the blog for my dear amab!/male readers that probably feel excluded of the yandere community. please keep in mind that today’s work has heavy elements that might be hurtful to some people and can not be tolerated in real life! remember that, guys. I don’t want anyone to come here and tell me that I should die, so if you feel uncomfortable with the topics added in the content warning, don’t read this. Beware of my spelling mistake here.

the old fairytale of of true love never failed to make you smile. it’s magical the old times when grandma would recite stories of her memories about two individuals who despite everything they always ended together, a simple but beautiful tale.

your always dreamed of marrying a prince when growing up and it slightly shocked when grandma heard that for the first time. a man marrying another one? that is new for me, but it is fine. the tailor will sell two suits in one session, so it’s even better for them… now go get me a cigarette before my soup opera starts, kid. her words comforted you when no one knew about your interest in men when you were younger. initially, you believed she would hate you like the rest of the family did when learning about that part of you, but she stayed at your side regardless of what other people said about you. she was your number supporter til her last breath, always saying that you should marry anyone if you truly loved them.

her words were sweet, consistently making you smile when the world was against you. so you can easily imagined grandma would be devastated if she was alive, hearing about your engagement with a man who you don’t love. a man who took everything away from you, the main responsible for taking your freedom away.

it was dreadful that you were coerced into saying yes in front of the people he invited to the wedding, unfamiliar faces as you refused to invite your family (to avoid them seeing you so ridiculously depressed) and forced to place a fake smile on the lips.

leonard made you write wedding vows, which you hadn’t much option than lying about your true feelings towards him.

my love towards him is like a star, burning me inside and always there even though it can’t be seen nor touched.

you hate him, you despise him! the many fantasies you have of killing leonard with your hands are more common than you want to admit. and by marrying him, this dream won’t stop anytime soon.

like a charming prince, he helped me go through many difficult moments in my life and always is around to save me when i am in trouble.

he is the problem. leonard gives you more trouble since you were forced to step down from the company, making you work from the from his own mansion as a way to keep an eye on you.

every time you touch me, i feel butterflies inside my stomach. it’s make me nervous to be able to hug and kiss you as you are real, not an imagination.

you feel nauseous when his hands touched your skin, it’s never fails to make you tremble when leonard just approaches you and spend minutes holding you in his arms. he never took things further, a blessing, but only because he believes it’s wrong to have his way with you prior the honeymoon.

he made the day you always dreamed of a nightmare, one that you won’t wake up anytime soon. the little boy who often daydreamed of marrying a prince who would be your hero, your hero in shining armor never came, instead, leonard stole away from any possibility of you meeting your hero. you are trapped in the deepest part of the dungeon with him being the warden.

after saying yes to the priest, the rest of ceremony was a success for leonard, who couldn’t leave you alone for one second, like someone has glued him to you. it’s irritating that people seen him as a hopeless romantic when holding your hand to cut the cake for the guests, it’s offense when they began thinking you are just shy to show off affection to him when public when you hate his presence in general. when will this party ended? you want nothing more than drown in those expensive drinks to forget about today, perhaps to never wake up and stay forever dreaming that you married the prince not him. but that never happened.

leonard didn’t allow any alcoholic beverages in the wedding nor during the after party and don’t even think there was a single drop of those expensive champagne there, there was nothing to take your mind away from him. you will have to endure him during the first night as a couple, but hey, the luxury room he rent for a week in another country has a great view of the city.

“i can’t— i don’t think i’m going to—“ a loud moan interrupted yours words, making you feel like an idiot to not be able to hold it back. it’s disgusting that leonard is enjoying touching you even you plead him to stop. “please, please, please stop!”

the tears coming out of your eyes aren’t stopping, not when he keeps stroking your cock without pausing. the sounds coming from your lips are beautiful, perfectly matching the lewd sound that your pretty cock is making after an orgasm. it’s adorable how you fail to move away from his hands, trapped by those tightly handcuffs preventing you from escape the headboard, how humiliating is you for not putting more of a fight.

his left hand going up and down at your member, not moving away his glance away from the tears coming out of your pretty eyes, it remind him of those choker pearl he plans to gift you after this special night. and the crimson coming out of your skin from his bites is a great reminder that he needs to get you that long red coat to match his dark suit, it will make both of you look a perfect couple during the next conference.

he can already imagine the many opportunities to show off to the world as his darling husband. would the media be shocked that he is dating a man? probably not, tabloids already had rumors of him dating someone of his gender during his teenager. however, he can already imagine the public’s reactions when hearing that he turned his employer into his husband.

they would see it as a fairy tale coming true. a rich man who has fallen in love with his own worker, the same who came from a struggling background after being kicked out for his sexuality, only to be saved by him. he will gain more popularity and power over the public, making the two of you prominent figures in the public eyes. but before that happens, he needs to make you submit to him.

he takes his hand away from your leaking cock, already proud of himself for making you come a few times to his touch. beautiful to see that you’ve dirty yourself with your own fluids, it would be perfect to just take a photo and frame it at his home office, but he decided to go to a different approach.

“please, stay still. my love.” his hands prevent you from move away, not having option than feeling his tongue licking your own fluids away from your pelvic area. “you taste delicious, [name].”

his eyes stare at you face, seeing how you are holding back your moans to prevent leonard from hear the sweet melody coming out your lips. you would expect him to be angry at your stupid act of rebellion, probably gaining a slap or two from him to make you stop acting like this, but instead he just smiles.

you watch his hands approach your face, holding it like a you are nothing more than a fragile piece of glass that can easily break at any moment. his thumb fondle your lower lips, opening your mouth to force you swallow dry something you don’t know what, yet by feeling the weird sensation around your throat going down your stomach is probably a pill. and by how your mind began distorting the room, you can guess that he drugged you.

the walls began twisting themselves when your eyes try to focus on the many pieces of art placed on them. your breathing gets more intense than before, taking more seconds to force your lungs to take action to keep yourself calm and your body is getting hotter by every second goes by. it’s a struggle to keep calm when realizing that leonard did it to make you weaker to his touch, preventing you from putting a fight. you wish that your mind would stop thinking of what he is going to do next.

knowing that you won’t try again to escape, he spread your legs apart to make him finally see the view he was dreaming of. and by how it looks, leonard knows that you are complete untouched, meaning that he will be your first one.

he grabs a bottle of lubricant at the nightstand and applies it to your entrance, finding it cute that your already began shaking on it own by the coldness of it. gently, leonard puts one finger inside your tiny gap to let him feel your inner walls. a blood-curdling scream of yours took over the room when his finger started moving in and out, making your body mess around the bed as a futile effort to get away.

“h-hah—!“ you have become more sensitive to the drug. feeling leonard’s finger touching your walls and trying to get as deeper as possible is driving your mind insane. “plea— please…stop!”

of course, your pleadings went unheard. instead of having mercy on you, leonard pressed another finger inside your hole and hold your hips to prevent you from squirm your hips away. he is having fun by seeing the pain on your face, you know that, and feeling his fingers’ speed increases is not something you are going to handle well.

you can’t form any coherent words to speak up, the pain coming from your entrance is the only think you can focus on. it’s too much,you have a feeling that you might die during the next part of tonight’s plan if leonard doesn’t get some senses that your body is going to break down if he continues like this.

another load came out of your cock shortly after, resulting in leonard takes his fingers out of your entrance and to make a small distance between you and him. he stares down at you, admiring what you’ve become because of him, a completely mess with full of tears, greenish bruises all over your skin and fluids on your stomach.

“i think you are ready to take me.” leonard said. “you are probably nervous for me being your first, but don’t worry, i will be gently for this one.”

you couldn’t move your body anymore, not with the drugs finally taking control over your entire body, but your teary eyes can catch the glimpse of leonard’s cock. it’s thick and already hard, ready to penetrate you at any moment from now.

“w-wait…” between sobbing, you managed to form a proper word. “i n-not— don’t want t-this.”

leonard ignored your words once again, this time your heart is beating faster than before, fully aware that after tonight, you will be his forever.

he spreads you wider to see that your hole is filled with the lubricant from before and now it’s a little more relaxed, but are you relaxed? your body who seems to be more than ready to take leonard’s full strength, but the tears and pleading of yours are showing that you aren’t ready for it, yet you know leonard isn’t going to care about your words. at least, not tonight.

positioning himself in the middle of your legs, leonard carefully sank his cock into you deeply. a slow process that made you stay still as you feared that moving would only make things worse.

you tried to hold back from drooling as leonard began thrusting in and out of your entrance. quite humiliating that your body is acting this way, so dumb and unable to hold it back. as much you wish to space out of this situation, pretending that you could be somewhere else with someone that isn’t your husband, your mind can only focus on the man above you.

hands on your waist, with zero chance to remove them away from you as he fears you would simply vanish from existence. eyes on your expression, loving how desperate and precious you look with tears and drool over you face. his cock inside you, not daring to stop rocking his hips into you to hear the moans coming from you.

he continues to move inside you, a little bit more fast and harder than before, as he remembers that you are probably sensitive from coming two times. leonard knows that you are getting closer to a third release and that one would send you to sleep, so he needs to take things extra hard to not let you lose the fun part.

“t-too fast!” your hips are going to be bruised by the harsh thrusts and how strongly leonard is handling you. throwing a leg of your above his shoulder isn’t going to end well, you know that. “l-leo—leonard!”

your cock began twitching and leaking cum again over your stomach, dirtying yourself even more as your pleadings continues to be unheard by him. it’s making you dizzy feeling another orgasm coming up and the drugs make the effect worse for your mind, who is begging for this to endure just a little longer to avoid any more punishment from leonard.

it didn’t took much time for the final climax to arrive. your entire body feels so full after leonard came inside your entrance, too much to handle as some of his fluids ooze out of you, slowly ooze from your entrance.

“you did a good job, [name].” his voice. you mind barely registered that he is speaking, the entire rooms only gets more and more entangled when the handcuffs are finally removed. despite not seeing your wrists, you can feel the bruises around it from being tied up so tightly by him during hours and hours.

he lays next to you, bringing you closer to his body to cuddle you. his large arms wrapping around you, an extra layer of prevention to keep you from escaping and to feel your body’s warmth. leonard would never admit out loud, but he loves seeing you like this, so tiredly that he could do anything with you regardless of your approval. but he wouldn’t do this, at least, not in a special night like this one.

“next time, you will ride me. doesn’t that sound good?” he knows you won’t answer him, not when you are struggling to keep your eyes open, yet he still wants to see for how long you keep fighting your body’s desire to fall asleep, so why not playing with it? “or we could go for another round, you know, to build some extra stamina for future times like this. maybe you could just sleep and i keep going.”

between your quietly sobbing, you manage to voice a ‘no’, trying to keep you from getting hurt again by leonard. he could use your body for his pleasure alone another time, but tonight, you can feel all of your muscles and mind worn out by him.

you don’t want more of him, you want to fall asleep and dream about being saved by a knight in a shining armor who will tell you that everything was just a nightmare, that you are going to be alright in someone’s arms. but you know what to expect when waking up tomorrow in the arms of the monster that owns you.

“sleep well, my love.” he planted a kiss right behind your ear. “tomorrow, we will spend more time together as a newly married couple.”

@moonit3 . don’t repost it, don’t modify it, don’t plagiarize, translate it without my permission.

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sweatervest-obsessed · 3 months

Text

Touch Me Baby

pairing: modern!steve harrington x modern!fem!reader

wc: 21.7k

cw: mad flirting, swearing, use of the f slur once, shattering glass, alcohol, drinking, weed, smoking, brief mentions of suicide, mentions of cheating, men being weird and implications of harassment, smut, 18+ mdni, fingering, p in v, oral (f recieving), minor praise kink, edging, teasing, multiple orgasms, wrap it before you tap it kids

a/n: set in modern times with phones and everything! i've never written anything this long before, and I really hope you guys like it!!

“You literally look so fucking hot oh my god.”

You rolled your eyes and checked yourself out in the mirror, smirking slightly. “I can feel you objectifying me Birdy.”

Robin rolled her eyes and collapsed on to your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I just think it’s unfair that you aren’t so emotionally and deeply in love with me.”

“Hey.” You peered over your shoulder, “I told you that I’d be your lesbian lover the second you needed one.”

She sighed and sat up on her elbows. “Yeah, but I don’t want you to do me out of pity. I want you to love me.”

You walked over and kissed her head. “ I do love you.”

“Yeah Yeah. As a friend.” She teased as you laughed and moved over to your vanity.

“Just because you’re not my type doesn't mean I don’t think you’re showstoppingly gorgeous.”

“Are you trying to get into my pants Y/l/n?” Robin teased.

“You wish Buckley.”

Robin let out the most over-dramatic sigh and collapsed on your bed again, giggling after a moment.

You laughed at her antics and checked out your makeup, your earrings, and your rings in the mirror next to your door. “Is this cute enough?”

“Did I not just say how hot—”

You and Robin had lived together for about three years now. You had become fast friends freshman year and then roommates for the last three years of your college experience. The apartment you shared was perfect because it had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and the price didn’t rise once in your entire time living in NYC. The best perk of them all was having a home phone. It was reminiscent of your childhood and you both handed out your home phone number to everyone, enjoying the messages you received from anyone and everyone.

It rang and immediately went to voicemail, as Robin had set it on vacation mode the second you moved in meaning every single phone call went directly to voicemail so you could both hear who it was. A man’s voice rang out through your shared apartment.

“Hey it’s Steve, I just landed and I’m on my way to your place, I think it’s only a twenty-minute drive but I wanted to alert the household I was on my way.”

You looked over at Robin, slightly uneasy. “I can’t believe I’m finally meeting him.”

Robin shrugged and her smile was a bit brighter. Her two best friends were about to meet, and maybe even hit it off and they could be a friend group—but Robin was getting ahead of herself.

“You’re going to like him. The same level of snark, but definitely a softie under it all. And he’s my best friend, so I wouldn’t be friends with him if he sucked.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just call him your best friend in front of me and say that, I know he’s one of your best friends, which is why I’m worried. What if he thinks I’m a huge bitch or something, or like…I don’t know.”

“He’ll love you.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Well. We have twenty minutes to fix up the house so that he doesn’t think we’re complete and total slobs or anything.”

The two of you spent the next seventeen minutes unfolding your futon couch bed, frantically shoving trash in trash bins, and stuffing the dishwasher with dishes. You definitely weren’t slobs by any means, but sometimes it was easier to leave wine glasses or bottles on the coffee table, or just toss your bra onto the chair since you didn’t want to wear one anymore or…

“Which candle?”

You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the extra pillows from your room. “Does it matter?” You yelled back to Robin.

“I don’t know!”

“Well, he’s your home best friend. So whatever you think would suit the straight man you’re friends with.” You walked out and placed the two pillows on the pull-out bed.

“Okay, I’m going with Midnight Citrus because it’s my favorite and he can suck it up.”

“Whatever you say, girl….”

Both of your heads turned when you heard the knock on the door. Robin literally shrieked as she barreled towards the door and you swear you could hear Steve laugh through it.

Robin definitely knocked something over on her way over and you spent the next thirty seconds picking up the bowl and its contents from off the floor.

You had seen pictures of Steve before. There were plenty around the house of the two of them by themselves or with other friends from their hometown, so you knew Steve was an attractive man, but something about seeing him in person was a whole different beast.

And there were no pictures in the apartment to prep you for the fact that he had these thin wire-framed glasses. You could have sworn he sucked the literal breath out of you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” Steve smiled that same lopsided smile you had seen on the walls and you probably would have dragged him back to your bedroom right then and there if Robin wasn’t standing right there and staring at you with the most hopeful look on her face you had seen since her breakup during sophomore year.

“It’s uh, it’s so good to finally meet you too. Heard so much about you.” You smiled at him and kept your hands awkwardly in your back pockets.

Steve nodded. “Same here. She actually doesn’t shut up about you.”

“I could say the same thing.”

“Okay, no need to be rude.” Robin huffed and haphazardly tossed Steve’s bags onto the couch.

You and Steve shared a quick look, both of you trying not to laugh.

“Ready to go Stevie boy? I know you just landed but it’s a Friday and I want to go out.”

He nodded. “I remember the text you sent me like last week as a reminder Robs. I just have to change.”

“The bathroom is the second door on the right.” You smiled at him and watched as he grabbed things.

You looked over at Robin. “Where exactly do you want to go out?”

Steve passed by you and you caught a hint of the cologne he had put on this morning. He closed the door and you had to blink a few times. “Sorry, where did you say?”

“I was thinking we could just go to the Cubbyhole…”

“Robin, we are not taking him to Cubbyhole and ruining our reputation there.”

“It’s literally not that big of a deal.”

“Babe, we are not bringing your straight man friend to a lesbian bar.”

“Fine then—”

“And definitely not Henrietta’s either.” You cut her off.

Robin crossed her arms. “ Well, then where do YOU want to take him? Because I’m not going to—”

“Girl, please. It’s like you have no faith in me. Who showed you both of those bars in the first place?”

“Fine then.”

You smiled at your victory and watched as Robin walked over to the little whiteboard you had in the hallway. Robin erased the bottom half of the words but kept the tally up top. “So where are we going tonight?”

“Are you okay with more of a just ‘sitting and drinking’ bar instead of clubbing tonight? Or at least we start at a bar and then move on to clubs?”

Robin’s face twisted, but then she conceded. “Ugh, fine.”

“Why don’t we start at Nothing Really Matters?”

“Which one is that?”

Steve popped out of the bathroom right as Robin asked that question, causing you to stutter a bit in your answer.

Steve was wearing these blue jeans that fit his thighs his ass him so well, and some clearly well-loved white Nike sneakers. But what got you was the shirt combo he was wearing. A tight black tee, covered by a short-sleeved patterned button-up, that was unbuttoned and just tight enough to fuck you up.

Plus, you were sure you saw a silver chain around his neck, which made you wonder what it would look like when if he was above you.

“I-I…um. It’s the one in.” You bit the inside of your cheek and looked back at Robin. “The one in the 50th Street subway station.”

Robin raised her eyebrow at you, but you just shook your head, deciding to ignore what just happened and barrel through.

“A bar in a subway station?”

You smiled over at Steve. “It’s not as gross as it sounds. I swear. It’s one of my favorite little spots that not a lot of people know about so there’s almost always seating and they have really good drinks there too. Besides, it’s in the station so if Robin wants to abandon us for some clubbing then the train is right there.”

He nodded and put his stuff away, while you looked back over at Robin who was making a face at you.

“What?”

She huffed and went into the kitchen.

When you just stared at her, confused, she aggressively made a small wave for you to follow her. You sighed and obliged, managing to walk directly into Steve’s chest because you weren’t paying attention.

“Shit! Sorry.” Your hands were against his chest while he had one of his hands on your waist.

“N-no it’s fine.” He gave you a sheepish smile and quickly pulled his hand off your waist, but your skin was covered in goosebumps from how close you two were.

You quickly hurried into the kitchen where Robin was impatient tapping her foot. “Seriously?”

“W-what?” you smoothed down the front of your top, trying not to look up at her.

“You know what.”

“Birdy I–”

“No, save it. I don’t want to fight. I just want to know why you’re so against going clubbing tonight when that was the original plan.”

If you were to tell Robin the truth, it would be because you weren’t sure you wouldn’t end the night with her best friend in your bed, kissing him like the world was ending, doing things that would have her kicking you out of the apartment and her life.

Or maybe it’s because you want to spend the entire night just talking to Steve and listening to his voice and learning every single thing about him. After all, you were utterly entranced.

“I just, I worked all day, and now that we’re actually going out…I don’t know if I have the energy to go all out.” This wasn’t a lie, it just wasn’t the full truth. You had worked twelve hours today, and even before Steve had arrived, you had been dreading going out anyway.

Robin’s face twisted a little bit. “It’s Steve's first time visiting me in the city and I wanted to show him around and show him all the places that I get to have fun.”

“And for him to have a friend for when you inevitably win the bartender’s number tonight and go back with her to her place….”

Robin’s cheeks turned bright red and she huffed again. “What–no–okay so maybe a bit but–”

“Look, babe, if you want to go to the Cubbyhole, I am more than supportive of that, it’s just that it’s not what I’m in the mood for. You could always ask Steve to go with you. Or ask him what he wants. And if he’s okay with going out, we can all start at the bar, and then we can split up based on how we are all feeling. Steve literally just got off of a plane not even an hour ago.”

The two of you agreed on a plan and walked back into the living room, where Steve had been shifting his bags around, and had his phone open.

“Are we ready?” He stood up and smiled at the both of you.

You both nodded and smiled at one another. One of you was excited to start the night. And the other was dreading what would happen when Robin inevitably left you alone with her hot best friend from home.

_________________________________________________________________________

The three of you had managed to snag one of the tables up against the wall of the bar. Steve sat on one side, and you sat on the other, with Robin between you. It was the perfect setup for everyone since Robin was in between her two favorite people on the planet, and you got to look at Steve frequently because he was in your direct line of sight.

It was most definitely the alcohol, or maybe it wasn’t, but Steve was getting more attractive by the minute.

“I’ll go get us another round!” Robin excitedly grabbed all three glasses and ran back off to the bar to get more drinks. While you were so grateful that it was going so well, you couldn’t help but Steve was feeling the same way you were.

Were you such a bad friend if you were actually excited for Robin to leave the two of you alone together?

“So how did you meet Robin?”

You blinked a few times before looking over at Steve. It was dimly lit, but you were seated next to the lamp on the wall, so he was bathed in a red glow. He must have been some sort of Greek god or something because no one can look that good in any lighting at all times.

“She didn’t tell you already?”

Steve shook his head, smiling slightly.

You bit your cheek again and smiled. “Okay so. We met in our first year here, and I wanted to beat the shit out of her, oh my god, she like, never shut up. And while I love her for it now, it was causing some strained tensions between the two of us. So we were in the same class and got partnered for a project about Women’s history, specifically, authors who we deemed as important. And so I offered up Toni Morrison, who is probably my favorite author of all time, and Miss Indiana over there told me that her books were mediocre at best and wanted to do a project about Virginia Woolf. Then I called her gay, and she freaked out. Not in the aggressive way you’re thinking, but simply because I knew she was a queer woman, and it freaked her out that someone could tell. Like only a gay woman picks Virginia Woolf.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed a little bit, and you could tell he was unsure about the path this story was taking, but you continued on.

“She ended up letting me win the argument and we put together the most beautiful slideshow on god’s green earth. I mean, seriously to this day, I think about the transitions. A good PowerPoint can make or break a class—anyway. After that, Robin didn’t speak to me for the rest of the week.”

“Which is valid because I thought she was going to fucking hate crime me since my experience with people knowing I’m gay is either Steve or getting called a fag so…” Robin placed the drinks down in front of the respective people and sat down on her stool.

“Until…” You took a sip of your drink, cutting her off so you could finish the story.”We attended the same party that Friday night at Vickie’s house—I’m assuming you know all about Vickie and the mess that was—anyway. We were at Vickie's place and I went into the kitchen where some girls were making fun of Birdy and calling her some really awful shit because she was from Cowland, and so I called them all a bunch of cunts and then defended my homegirl because women support women, especially queer women. Then she kissed me, and—she’s actually not that bad of a kisser if I’m being so honest with you—and then we’ve been best friends since.”

“I’m a phenomenal kisser, excuse you.”

You smiled and nudged her with your elbow. “Sure thing Birdie. You’re nowhere near the bottom of my list though. I think Malcolm is—remember him?”

Robin burst into laughter. Steve looked between the two of you, extremely confused by the entire situation—it was written all over his face.

“He used to—” You couldn’t breathe because of how hard you were laughing. The sentence was virtually unfinishable. “He-He would…” You tried to take a few breaths. “He would, uh, spray cologne in his mouth instead of using a mint because he thought that’s what it was for—”

You and Robin collapsed against one another, back into your fits of laughter. This had Steve cracking up, not just at the fact that this man was stupid, but because you and Robin’s laughs were contagious.

“She didn’t figure it out until the fourth date.” Robin blurts out, causing you to wipe away the tears in your eyes and shove her slightly.

“Shut UP. I only kissed him like twice before then and it was just pecks.”

You caught a glance of Steve out of the corner of your eye, and he was looking right at you. Your breath caught in your throat for a moment and the two of you stopped time for a moment. The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up into a smile before he broke eye contact and looked back at Robin.

“Wood in the mouth takes a whole new meaning—”

“Oh please. Don’t even start with that—”

“I’m just saying your choices in partners–”

“At least I didn’t date a married woman–”

“WHAT.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Steve. “She didn’t tell you?”

Robin started hitting your arm. “No. I. did. Not!”

You laughed and used one of your hands to shove hers away from you. “It was like a three-month relationship but she realized–”

Robin shifted tactics and clamped a hand over your mouth so you couldn’t finish the sentence. After a moment she made a gagging sound and quickly pulled her hand away. “Did you just fucking lick my hand?”

You winked at her and looked back at Steve. “She knew this woman’s wife too. A month into dating Robs found out. Rough semester.”

“Oh my god. Robin. Who are you? What else have you done that I don’t know about?”

“That’s it. If you’re going to tell him all of my wrongdoings, I’m out.” Robin downed her drink and stood up. She kissed your cheek and grabbed her purse off of the chair she was sitting on.

“Remember to wear protection there kid.”

She rolled her eyes at you and turned towards Steve. “I know I—”

“Robs, seriously, it’s okay. Go have fun. I have been traveling all day. And I don’t mind talking to Y/n—”

“Unlike someone here, I’m not going to abandon you, Steve, don’t worry.”

Steve’s hand rested over his heart. “You’re too kind.”

Robin scoffed but was smiling the whole time. “Don’t wait up. Mom, Dad, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, she left you and Steve sitting in the bar.

“So Steve, what else do you want to know about our girl??”

The two of you spent the next three hours sitting at the bar, ordering drink after drink. Eventually, you and Steve were knee to knee, your head on his shoulder when you laughed too hard, trading stories about Robin. Nice didn’t even begin to describe the way his cologne smells when you would rest your head on his shoulder, giggling about something he said. Or the way his hand felt when it rested on your thigh as the two of you talked and talked and talked.

Or when the two of you couldn’t stop giggling on the subway as you told him about the time Robin threw up on someone on the subway after you both had been drinking all day during last year’s Saint Patrick’s Day.

Or when you stumbled slightly on the street, clinging to Steve as he clung to you. Enjoying the sound of his voice as he whispered things into your ear.

Or as your back was up against the wall next to your door, you watched Steve’s hands use the key and unlock your door, except both of you forgot the fact that the bolt was also locked, meaning Steve slammed his face right into the door since it wasn’t moving. You clamped your hand over your mouth, dying of laughter, watching as Steve tried not to laugh at the door himself, instead smiling brightly at you, with his head against the door.

Or when you both stood in the hallway of your apartment, neither one of you wanting the night to end, toeing the line. Eyes pretending they weren’t staring at lips. Hands fluttering around, almost grabbing one another. An inch away from more than just friends.

______________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, you awoke to an empty apartment and a text from Robin saying that the two of them decided to “hit the town”.

You took your time. Decidedly talking yourself out of everything that had happened last night, especially when Robin had left you and Steve alone. It was dumb of you to even think about potentially betraying Robin’s trust like that. She didn’t bring Steve here to add him to your collection of failed lovers—and even if she did, you had a sinking feeling that Robin would choose Steve.

It’s not to say that she didn’t love you, adore you, and wish nothing but the best for you, but you wish to never even put her in that position.

So instead, you decided to take your mind off of everything by spending the afternoon in one of your favorite little hole-in-the-wall coffee shops that was only a few minutes walk away from your place.

You had managed to snag your favorite seat: a comfortable chair next to the window, and a plug. The plug was the best part since it meant you rarely had to get up and could just charge your devices without having to leave the spot you were in for potentially hours. And today was one of those days. The collection of mugs on the table grew as the hours of the day went on. By the time hour four had rolled around, there were about five mugs and two plates.

That’s when the world did that thing again, when it decided to start ruining your day. First, your laptop was overheating more than usual, which was just plain irritating. Then, they had run out of the panini you were going to get for lunch. The final straw, however, was when one of your exes came waltzing up to the table.

“Y/n, it’s been so long. How are ya?”

You tried not to let a full resting bitch face take over, but to any observer, you were not happy to see the man in front of you. “Malcolm. Hey. I’m good.”

“I’m doing great too. Mind if I sit? I just can’t believe I ran into you here.”

Your breath hitched and that little voice in your head screamed panic!

“Um—actually, well, I come here all the time and you know that…Second, this seat's taken.”

“Well I’ve been here for about five minutes now and no one has taken that seat–”

“You’ve been watching me for five minutes? That’s fucking creepy Malcolm.” You tapped your finger against your keyboard nervously, eyes darting around, hoping someone would catch on to how uncomfortable this was for you.

“Please. That chair isn’t for anyone now is it?”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

It’s still unsure if you audibly let out a sigh of relief seeing Steve approach the table, and take the seat next to you.

Malcolm crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Look bud, I don’t know if you’re trying to play the hero card here by swooping in to try and save some damsel in distress you don’t know just to get her number, but you can right fuck off.”

Steve turned and looked at you. “Is he bugging you, Y/n? Because I’ll fucking kick his ass…”

You smiled and placed your hand on top of Steve’s thigh under the table, where Malcolm couldn’t see. You gave it a squeeze, hoping to god he understood how grateful you were at the moment for him. “Steve, this is Malcolm…you remember…from the other night.”

“Shut the fuck up—this is cologne guy?”

You nodded. Throughout the rollercoaster of being approached by an ex who was kind of threatening you, inside your favorite coffee shop, while you were alone, your heart rate shot up. Your heart was pounding. But when Steve put his hand on top of yours, you thought your heart rate would skyrocket.

And then the weirdest thing happened, it didn’t. Steve started rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, and your heart rate went down. If this was on purpose, you might never know, but this simple gesture from someone you have known for mere hours had your breathing even out and your heart rate slide back down to within reason.

Wasn’t it written somewhere that love makes your heart beat out of your chest?

That love makes your soul bleed and your eyes weep. Love is supposed to make you crazy and worship the other person till the ends of the earth. It’s supposed to be overwhelming and make you feel like you could burst just from how much love you hold within yourself. It was a disease, unable to be cured—a madness. It’s all-consuming, unforgiving, a fire that cannot be tamed. Something you willingly killed yourself for. Ended it all because the idea of losing it was a fate worse than death

What you’re feeling couldn’t be love then. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t going batshit crazy over the idea of risking your life for him or losing your mind over the thought that he might not love you back. It was just a plain and simple joy: sitting next to him, his hands on yours.

Your heartbeat had found its way back to normal, and your mind began to refocus on the confrontation in front of you.

By the time your vision refocused after the thirty seconds you managed to blackout, Malcolm was glaring at Steve but starting to walk away. Whatever Steve said, worked, and you looked over at him, confused. " I think I must have blacked out or something because how the hell did you get him to..."

Steve shrugged. "If you missed it, you missed it."

"You're joking right?"

Steve shrugged and smiled. His hand was still on yours, but you completely forgot about it—

"What are you working on?"

—Til now.

You begrudgingly took your hand away from his and brought it up to the keyboard of your laptop, clicking it awake so he could see what you had been working on. The two of you spent the next hour sitting and talking about your courses, which were all a bunch of nonsense anyway since you were a second-semester senior with barely anything to do.

"You're taking a metal-welding class for credit?"

You smirked and nodded. "When I tell you college is a joke, I truly mean it. I kind of love it though. Robin, however, dislikes being outlesbianed by someone who is not a lesbian. But I think I'm getting pretty good at it too."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Two hours later, you and Steve found yourselves as the last two in the coffee shop, still talking about anything and everything you possibly could—wherever the conversation led you.

When it was time to get kicked out, Steve helped pack up your things, and you both started the short walk back to the apartment where you ended up raiding the "delinquent Cabinet" as it had been affectionately named and properly labeled.

By the time Robin got home from her shift, you and Steve had demolished a joint, several shooters, half a bottle of prosecco, and half a bottle of vodka. The conversation had never stopped, with the two of you always finding some way to stay touching to one another. You couldn't deny that the feeling of Steve calmed you down immensely, and the courage you were feeling from the past few hours helped with the want to have your hands on him.

But when Robin walked into your apartment, you and Steve sobered up a tiny bit, deciding to leave some space between you both. You missed the way his hand felt on your calf, absentmindedly massaging it as the two of you talked about the difference between weed from Indiana and weed from a major city.

“Hey you two…”

“Birdy!” You exclaimed. Your eyes were fading away from the red of smoking, but your smile was lazy and your body felt heavy, but not in a bad way.

“Ah, I see we broke into your stash?”

You smirked slightly, and nodded. “Well if Mr. Harrington is going to smoke good weed, no offense to your friend back home, then he needs the best.”

“Eddie sells good weed.” Steve defended his friend from home but it just made you giggle.

“Steve, that joint you gave me tasted like the equivalent of watered down vodka. It’s good, but it’s not the best. You can’t deny that mine was waaaaayyyyyyy better. Besides, it came from a pretty girl so it’s automatically better than Eddie’s.”

Steve’s cheeks blushed slightly as he looked over at Robin. “How was work?”

Robin’s eyes shifted between the two of you on the couch, but then settled on Steve. “How much did she have?”

“Don’t wanna know Birdy!” Your voice sang out across the room.

Steve shrugged. “Work?”

She huffed and hung up her coat, admitting defeat on getting information out of a crossed-you. Robin kicked off her shoes and grabbed one of the bottles off of the counter–the one that was still half full–and joined the two of you on the couch. Robin managed to fit herself perfectly between you and Steve, causing you to frown slightly, but say nothing.

“I almost punched an old lady but nothing new.” Robin took a long swing from the bottle of wine.

“Was it that cunt Mrs. Defejeki?”

“Woah, language.”

“What are you five?” You rolled your eyes at Steve’s comment and picked up the remainder of the joint out of the ashtray, trading the weed for the rest of the bottle of wine. You and Robin shared basically everything. There were always a few exceptions, but still. If you started a bowl, Robin would finish it. If Robin did a shot, you did a shot. And while you were both built differently, the mix of shit the two of you ingested managed to get the both of you to about the same place.

Robin just relit the joint in her mouth, nodding at you. “You’d think she’d go somewhere else to buy eggs if she always has something fucking stupid to say about our eggs. Ma’am, no offense, but you’re in a fucking city. If you want fresh eggs, get a friend with a coop on a roof or some weird shit.” She took a long drag, eyes rolling back and her eyelids closing.

You nodded. “Or just…leave the fucking city.”

This caused both you and Robin to burst into a fit of giggles, causing the latter to cough a little bit since she was still inhaling.

You felt Steve’s eyes on you the whole time, but it only made you warm and fuzzy inside…or maybe that the combination of shit you put in your body. But either way, his eyes were gorgeous. You couldn’t help looking back at him, trying to locate every single color that reflected off of his eyes in the dim lighting. It didn’t help that his eyes were redder than yours, but he was still just as stunning to you.

Robin leaned in front of you, blocking your view of the gorgeous specimen across from you on the couch, and placed the filter back in the ashtray. “Now what kiddos.” She placed a hand on your thigh and looked over at you, a smile on her face.

“Did you wanna go out? Because I’m a little decapitated at the moment.”

This caused Steve and Robin to burst at the seams. You furrowed your eyebrows as Steve and Robin kept laughing at you. Everytime they managed to calm down a bit, they would look at one another and burst out laughing again.

“What!” You grumbled, shoving your foot against Robin’s thigh, trying to get her to pay attention to you again. “Whattttttt.”

“It’s—” She giggled. “Not decapitated–HA–Incapt—” She couldn’t speak, she giggled so much. “Fucxk Steve.” She heaved out. “How the fuck do you say it?”

Steve, who was not much better than Robin at the moment, was wiping literal tears from his eyes.

“Incoorperat—fuck—wait.” He giggled again, and you were sure a flame just washed over your body, leaving you with goosebumps. “In—Cah—Pass–ih–tay–ted.”

He slowly sounded out the word like he was in the middle of an eighth grade spelling bee.

You slapped Robin's arm. “I literally said that!!”

Robin and Steve burst into another fit of laughter.

The group of you continued to giggle, and talk over one another. All of you filled to the brim with smiles and laughter and stories to tell.

At some point you had changed into your pajamas, most likely when Robin had decided to call her night and go to bed. You, on the other hand, had changed into your pajamas, and gone back out into the kitchen to clean up the mess you had made during the night’s festivities. Steve, who was still awake, offered to help you, like the gentlemen you were learning he was.

The two of you cleaned the kitchen, talking about your childhoods, comparing the worlds you grew up in–their likeness, their differences.

And somehow 11 pm turned into Midnight. And then Midnight became 2 am. And then 2 am had become 6 in the morning.

You had spent the entire night, sitting on your couch, talking to Steve Harrington.

Since it was early enough in the morning, you invited Steve to come and sit on the fire escape with you, and watch the sunrise.

It really sucked visually when there was no sun to watch rise since the sky was overcast and gray, but that didn’t stop you from enjoying Steve’s company.

The two of you sat in silence with one another. You and Robin had always joked about how much you hated domesticity, the thought of just existing with someone else for the rest of your life was definitely a thought that scared you. Especially doing things as simple as laundry or the dishes, eating your meals together, or sitting on the fire escape and watching the sunrise together. But this moment, with Steve, made your heart ache. You never wanted this moment to end. It was a new drug you didn’t know you needed. And now that you had it, how were you supposed to give it up?

“I really appreciated last night–tonight—the past several hours.”

You looked away from the street, and over at Steve. “I-...I really enjoyed it too.”

He smiled softly at you, and you have no idea what came over you, maybe it was bravery. But you reached over and brushed some of the hair in his face, behind his ear. It was intimate, maybe too intimate for people who were supposed to be friends by proxy of Robin Buckley and nothing else.

You could feel Steve’s breath hitch and for a singular moment you regretted everything. You regretted staring at him in the bar. You regretted getting coffee with him. You regretted telling him about your thesis. You regretted sitting next to him during your movie night. You regretted the movie night. You regretted staying up and talking to him for hours on end, wasting away the night until he knew almost every single thing about you. You regretted suggesting coffee on your fire escape when you realized it was six in the morning. You regretted brushing his hair out of the way.

But most importantly, you regretted not putting your coffee cup down when you did because the hot liquid spilled all over your lap when you quickly retracted your hand and stood up.

“Shit–Fuck. Sorry.” You watched as the liquid covered your bare legs and as the mug clattered across the fire escape, and off the edge, shattering on the ground below.

“Shit–are you okay?”

You were shaking your head. The coffee was fucking hot, that was for sure. And that was at least your excuse for the tears that sprang to your eyes. Especially since you really liked that mug too. Steve put his mug down and crawled through your window. “Where are your towels??”

Your hands covered your face as you vaguely mumbled something adjacent to ‘the closet’. Steve had no idea which closet you meant, so he grabbed the dish rag hanging off of the stovetop and made his way back across the living room and through the window.

“Are you okay?” He handed you the towel and you wiped off the burning hot liquid. Luckily, you barely had enough coffee to kill you, so your legs were just a bit red from the quick extreme change in temperature.

Robin, who had heard the commotion ran out of her room in a tired stupor and looked around, panicking. “Is everything okay?”

Steve looked back into the apartment at Robin. “She–uh, she spilled her coffee and the mug went over the railing and she’s not burnt or anything but—yeah.”

Robin furrowed her brows and made her way over to the window. “Sweetheart, why are you up this early? It’s not even seven am.”

You shook your head, and that’s when the thunder started. You aggressively sighed and made your way back through the window into the apartment, following Steve who had done just that moments prior.

“I'm going to go take a shower.” You quickly made your way to your room before Steve or Robin could say anything.

You grabbed your lotion and a hair towel from your closet, alongside your robe, and headed into the bathroom. Once you closed and locked the door, you looked down at your legs. The red was starting to fade away, thank God, and there was no sign of bubbling so at least your embarrassing blunder wasn’t going to give you physical injury—only emotional.

Steve and Robin’s hushed whispers carried down the hall but you had no idea what the two of them were talking about, only that it was probably about you. You decided to ignore it and splash some water on your face.

God, how fucking embarrassing was that? You weren’t one to get flustered by men, or women, or really anyone, but this? What the fuck was that? Spilling hot coffee all over your lap?

And Steve had sprung right into action, could he be any more perfect? My god you were fucked.

It was at that moment that you realized you left your phone on the kitchen counter. It’s not that you couldn’t shower without music, but you preferred not to. So now you have to contemplate the dilemma of going out and facing your best friend and her best friend who were definitely talking about you, while you were only in a robe, or do you just suffer in silence.

When you heard the front door slam shut, you had your answer. Assuming that both of them had decided to go out to breakfast and give you some space, you shoved your clothes into the hamper in the closet in the bathroom and opened the door.

And there was Steve, with his hand up, as if he was about to knock. “Hey—sorry.”

“Oh–” You took a step back, and only looked at his face for a moment, a little too embarrassed to really make eye contact with him.

“Sorry, it’s just—I–uh, Robin went to get us some breakfast from this place…She wanted me to let you know, and you had been in there a while without the water running so I–uh–wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

You looked up at him and almost swooned at the sincerity in his eyes. Could this man be any more perfect? Did he want to talk to you? You had only been in the bathroom for like, five minutes without turning on the water?

“I’m fine Steve, thank you for asking. I wanted to…um…apologize for earlier when I–”

Steve shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize, seriously–”

“No I so do, I literally made a move on my best friend’s best friend, and almost completely unwarranted too–”

You were cut off by the feeling of Steve’s lips on yours.

It was like heaven was on earth, and every single one of those thoughts came back to your mind. Steve’s lips—having coffee in the mornings with him. His eyes—getting dressed up and going out to lunch and running errands with him. His smile—making dinner with him and doing the dishes afterward. His hair—the sight of his head between your legs—

He pulled away the second he realized you weren’t kissing back and started to follow down the same path of panic you had just been on. “Shit—I read that so wrong–fuck, I didn’t—”

You pulled yourself out of whatever stupor you were in, grabbed Steve Harrington by the back of his neck and shoved his face into yours—lips crashing against the others. His hand flew around your waist and pulled you up against his body.

He tasted like mint chapstick, something you weren’t sure you were expecting, but it just added to how attractive he was.

Steve slowly walked you backwards, until the back of your thighs hit the counter. Steve all but picked you up while you hopped backward onto the counter. He was once again your knight in shining armor when he held you in place, saving you from toppling over into the sink. You laughed against his lips, causing him to smile and pull away for a moment. “You’re clumsy aren’t you.”

You watched as his chest rose and fell, just as quickly as yours. You pulled him into another first kiss, wanting to feel his lips again. “You have no idea.” You mumbled, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Steve moved his lips away, starting to kiss up your jaw, preening at every little gasp and inhale and sound you made. He squeezed your hips and moved your waist slightly, giving you the hint you needed to start grinding on him. His teeth grazed your ear and you let out a moan, rolling your body up against his.

Steve let out a breath against your neck making your skin break out into goosebumps. Your right hand was clutching the kitchen countertop, while your left hand had made its way up his chest and on the back of his neck. Your fingers wove into his hair, yanking on it slightly as he continued to kiss lightly down your neck.

Something you never thought would happen today was hearing Steve Harrington moan. It was one of the hottest sounds you had ever heard in your life, causing you to pull on his hair again just so you could hear it again.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” He groaned against your neck and pulled you directly against him.

“So do something about it.” You sighed out gripping the counter tightly.

You felt him smirk against your skin and pull away from you, much to your dismay, which you made known by your groan. "Steve please."

"Say it again Princess."

Your eyes met his as you bit your lips. "Please."

A wave of something came over your entire body at the look Steve gave you when spoke.

"Anything you want, pretty girl."

Something else you had never thought would happen today was the sight of Steve Harrington kneeling before you on your bathroom floor between your legs.

You had basically prepped for this moment since you were completely naked under the robe you were wearing, but the thought of a shower was now far from your mind. Steve kissed your thigh, causing you to suck in a breath, and grip the countertop impossibly harder.

He slowly kissed up your thigh, moving your legs so that they were over his shoulders.

You moaned out his name, causing him to falter for only a moment. He groaned against your skin and squeezed your thigh with his hand. “Fuck me gorgeous.”

You licked your lips, unable to lift your head from the way it was resting on the mirror.

"Sweetheart, eyes on me."

You moaned and inhaled, looking down at the man between your legs. His eyes were already on yours, as he slid both of his hands up, pulling you directly against his mouth.

The feeling of his lips against your cunt made you let out the most strangled sound, trying your best to contain anything above a whisper.

You could have cummed at the way he was looking at you, but just rocked your hips against his mouth, hoping for a bit more of the feeling of him.

“Come on pretty girl.” He licked up your cunt, causing your body to involuntarily jolt a little bit. “I know you can make prettier sounds than that. I wanna hear them. I want the neighbors to know who’s fucking you like this–”

There was a knock on the front door, slightly frantic, but not panicked.

“Hey, guys? I accidentally locked the door, can you come get it for me?”

You let out a little gasp, your breath stuttering as you teetered on the edge of the counter and on an orgasm. Steve pulled away and kissed your thigh quickly. You leaned your head back against the mirror and just gripped the counter, coming to terms with the fact that your best friend just cock blocked you, and that Steve was no longer between your legs, eating you out like a starved man.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He cooed, standing up and kissing you quickly. “I know I know.”

You whined when he pulled away, the taste of you on his lips was not one that either of you would forget for at least the rest of the day, probably your lives.

“I’m gonna turn on the shower and then go let her in—.”

Your phone pinged with a text from Robin as Steve turned the shower on for you. You squeezed your legs together, trying to get any sort of release from the pent-up orgasm just sitting in your gut.

“You wouldn’t do anything without me, pretty girl, would you.”

“I could hurt you, Steve Harrington.” You muttered but nodded to his statement.

He smirked slightly but then closed the door behind him and you heard him make his way to the door, to let Robin into the apartment.

It wasn’t even 8 am and you hadn’t slept and the day was getting longer by the minute.

_____________________________________________________________________

After that morning, you had somehow managed to miss Steve at every turn, causing your frustration to build throughout the day, especially since he was leaving the next night.

And then, because of your classes, you managed to not see Steve at all for the rest of the trip, except for the few minutes where the two of you crossed paths, with Robin.

The last time you were face to face with Steve Harrington alone for more than a few seconds was when he was tongue-fucking you on your bathroom counter. And it was pissing you off.

But one day, a few days after Steve had flown home, your phone pinged. And when you saw that one Steve Harrington had started following you on instagram, you followed him back embarrassingly fast.

The only thing that was more embarrassing then that was how quickly he dmed you after.

And suddenly you were attached to your phone: Constantly checking it to see if he texted you, smiling at your screen whenever his photo popped up, giggling at his cheesy jokes out loud. Your demeanor had completely changed. Instead of the consistent snark and attitude, you had a more pleasant and approachable demeanor. You would wake up early in the mornings and make breakfast for Robin before she was even out of bed. At the clubs, you would dance and drink with people, but never danced with them for more than one song, and didn’t take anyone home either. Sometimes you would even opt to sit there on your phone, texting Steve.

But after three weeks of being on the outside of whoever was making you feel this way, Robin had enough. She was going to find out who this mystery person was, and how the hell they managed to make you act like this.

“Who the fuck have you been texting?”

You looked up from your phone, immediately clicking it off. “What are you talking about?”

Robin scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’ve been on your phone nonstop for the past two weeks, smiling at it like some sort of lovestruck idiot, so who is it? Who are you smitten for?”

“Pshh–I’m not—I think you’re losing it, or something.”

“Is it a girl?”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“So what’s his name then huh?”

You looked away from her, staying silent.

“You can’t pretend like you haven’t been smiling at your phone, or that you haven’t been drifting off into space…You’re literally doing it right now?”

You blinked the images of Steve out of your mind and shook your head.

“You’re delusional—” Just as you looked over at Robin, she was on top of you, having launched herself across the room in an attempt to get your phone from your hands. Unfortunately, Robin launched herself at you with such force that the two of you toppled over and she managed to grab your phone, snatching it from your hands.

Right before she could slither out of your grasp, you grabbed her ankle and yanked her back towards your body. “Robin give me my PHONE.”

This was an unfortunate situation for many reasons. The first was that Robin escaped your grasp and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The second was that your phone unlocked with her face so it was relatively easy for her to snoop. The third reason happened so painfully slowly. You heard her laughter die off and silence take over. She had discovered who you had been texting.

And you just stood across from the bathroom door, leaning against the wall and bouncing your leg, eyes wide, heart beating loudly, as you could feel Robin looking through everything you had been saying to Steve.

She had been your best friend for years so she knew how you texted when you flirted, and to make matters worse, she knew how her other best friend texted when he was flirting too.

Suddenly the door opened quickly and Robin handed you your phone back.

“Birdy—”

She shook her head. “I’m going to go for a walk.” Her voice shook a little bit and all you could do was stand there, knowing better than to try and prod her. “I’m not—I just need to think and then we can talk about it.” She muttered.

You watched as Robin grabbed her coat, her purse, and her airpods before you watched the door slam shut.

The next thirty-seven minutes were filled with silence and a lot of panic cleaning. Suddenly your bed had new sheets in it, you had taken out the trash, the dishes had been done, you swept the kitchen—and even lit that midnight citrus candle Robin loved so much.

Ever since becoming friends, you and Robin simply didn’t fight. The two of you got along so well that it felt like you were made for each other sometimes. But right now? Now was not one of those times. Instead, you paced around in literal circles because the guilt of non stop texting Steve was eating you alive.

But it’s not like you did anything wrong either. The two of you had only been texting and nothing more. Sure it was almost every second you possibly could and he did take up all available space in your head, especially since the two of you never got around to round two of your bathroom scene—let alone finishing the first session.

You were not dating Steve Harrington. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t do anything else without Robin’s knowledge and consent of the issue in the first place.

You looked up when the door closed, making eye contact with your girl. In her hand, she had a brown paper bag and a drink carrier carrying her favorite drink in it, alongside yours. You smiled at her, hesitantly because she really could have thrown the drink in your face and you would have accepted it. But instead, Robin gestured towards the balcony and you nodded, grabbing some napkins and opening the window so she could step out onto the fire escape.

Once you both were through, you each sat in your respective spots, delegating the drinks and the pastries she had picked up on her way home from whatever path she had taken herself on. The two of you did this in complete silence. At first, it was nerve-wracking, but the peaceful knowledge of the fact that you both could move in sync with one another felt good.

You both sat and watched the people pass by, taking sips of your drinks, and taking small bites out of each of the pastries. You weren’t going to speak first—that much was obvious.

After a moment, Robin sighed and looked at you. “You like him a lot.”

Not a question, just a fact.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“Hmm.” Robin’s mouth twisted, but not into anything malicious. She looked down at her hands. “I wish you told me you liked him sooner, because he clearly—uh, he clearly likes you back.”

Your cheeks tinged with pink, and your hands rubbed at your cheeks, trying to hide the fact that there was a blush on your face.

“I wasn’t going to do anything about it unless I talked to you first Birdy—”

“I know.”

“And neither was he—”

“I know.”

“And honestly Robin, I really do like him, and I was pretty sure he liked me back. I mean we spent an entire night out here talking and talking—I’ve never talked to anyone this much in my entire life. And he thinks I’m funny and actually answers my texts and I—I just….”

“I know.”

You looked over at her. Your mind swimming with thoughts of Steve and Robin. It was bringing you to the verge of tears since no matter how big a crush on someone was, you would never let it come between you and Robin’s friendship.

Robin took your hand in hers and shook her head. “It’s okay. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yeah–I mean. I had to think about it and at first, I was really mad, like pissed, because I thought you two had been seeing each other behind my back—which obviously I know you weren’t—and then I realized how fucking smitten you’ve been since he was here. I mean your attention was basically in Indiana.” The two giggled a little bit, a tear breaking free from your eye as Robin continued. “But you weren’t. You were still my best friend and you didn’t even do anything because you cared about me? And I’m not exactly thrilled that Dingus has won your heart over me, but I also wouldn’t not recommend him, if that makes any sense.”

You nodded. “Birdy I–”

She squeezed your hand. “Really. It’s okay. I’m honestly just mad about the fact that he’s answering your texts. He’s the fucking worst at texting everyone else so it must mean he really likes you. I’m extremely jealous…”

You laughed again, just enjoying Robin’s goodness.

“Besides, I feel like it gives me the upper hand for a question I’ve been wanting to ask. Wanna go to Cowland with me in a few weeks? The kids have been dying to meet you and they’re graduating from high school and I was going to go back anyways but since I know you probably want to see Steve again–”

“Robin. I’ve been bugging you to take me to Cowland for literal years. I’d be so down to go, not just because Harrington is there.”

The two of you shared a hug, arms wrapped lovingly around the other, squeezing almost all the air out of each other’s lungs.

_____________________________________________________________________

Finally, the semester had ended, and it was time for Robin to go home and visit her kids. You and Robin had both walked across the stage, receiving your diplomas in your respective fields, both of you with Magna Cum Laude cords around your necks, plus a few others. Steve couldn’t make it up to the city that weekend, which was a little upsetting to Robin at first, but all was understood.

The two of you had signed a lease for another two years, deciding that you both wanted to stay in New York City, and you both wanted to live with each other. This was really exciting for both of you, but was causing a serious amount of guilt for your best friend.

"Robin, it's not bad news. I know I'm biased, but it's incredible news that you have a job, and you have a place to live. and Yes—-don't cut me off—Yes, it's sad because it's officially going to be your permanent home, but that's, like, that's what growing up is."

"When the fuck did you get so...so....wise?"

You shrugged and looked over at her with a smile.

Since Robin didn't have a license, the two of you patiently waited at the airport for Steve to arrive. He had no idea you were suddenly in the great state of Indiana. You had never been before, and Robin had told you not to get your hopes up—but part of you was excited to see where your best friend grew up, where she was before this chapter of your lives.

You hadn't told Steve that you were in state, at the request of Robin, since she had some sort of plan in her mind. You knew that the first step was gauging Steve's reaction to seeing you at the airport with her, which made no sense to you, but you kept your mouth shut since this was her home turf.

A maroon BMW pulled up in front of the two of you, and you could say you were surprised by Steve's car of choice, but you would be lying. It's not that he read as a rich person, but Robin had one time told you his parents were loaded and you had laughed her off. Seeing how nice this car was, you wish you could take it back.

Steve pulled up to the two of you and rolled the window down. "Do you actually need help with the luggage or can you—" The second he saw you, he lost track of his sentence. Eyes roaming over your face, your body. Why did it feel good to be looked at like that?

"You're here."

You gave him a nervous smile. "That is true, yes."

The corner of Steve's mouth tugged up into a smile, and the two of you continued to look at one another, enjoying the fact that you were finally in each other's company again for the first time in over a month.

Robin snapped a finger in front of your face. "Good grief you two, let's get moving. I'm not standing out here in the sun all day because we stunned Steve into silence with your presence—-and to be fair, if you surprised me, I would be shocked into silence too by how excited I would be— pop the trunk Steven— to see you, but this is not the time. I want to get on the road as quickly as possible."

Steve snapped out of the trance between you both and popped the trunk of the car. He quickly got out of the car and moved around it to grab the luggage from you, and Robin, to put into the trunk.

"You suck ass, Harrington. You'll get out of the car for her, but was gonna make me put my bags in the back myself."

Steve rolled his eyes and put his hands on his hips, almost like an exasperated mother. "Robs, seriously. You know I would have gotten out to help you."

"I'm sure you would have Steve. I'm sure."

"You're not even in Hawkins and you're being a pain in my ass."

The two of them continued to squabble, making their way into the front of the car while you slid into the back. It was the sort of friendly banter that you could get used to.

And you did because, after about ten minutes into the drive, you had completely zoned out and watched as the roads turned into fields. You had never seen such flat land before, it was... bizarre. The world felt like it was supposed to have things reaching towards the sky—trees, skyscrapers, mountains—but not here. It was tall grass and nothingness. But it wasn't a bad feeling, just different—something almost serene about the vastness of it all.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to be grounded, but you couldn't speak to that since you had literally run away to the city to live in the sky and aim for the stars.

Your introspection about the human condition of reaching for the stars was interrupted by Robin.

"Right Y/n?"

"Mhm."

"Were you even listening?" Steve huffed.

"To be so honest, I have no fucking idea what you said birdy. Not one clue."

Robin groaned and turned around in her seat to look at you. "How long have you been tuned out; I don't know how much of this I can restate."

"Basically since we left the city."

Robin groaned again: way louder, and with a lot more dramatics. "I'm not explaining this again. You agreed with me regardless, so it's the truth."

Steve looked at you through the rearview mirror and smiled at you. It was one of those smiles that could make a girl trip over her own feet, and it was directed at you, making your insides melt. Steve had clearly been out in the sun since he was a little tanner than you last remember, and he had a small swatch of freckles across his nose and cheeks. It was adorable.

"Oh! Oh! We're almost there!" Robin exclaimed, and you broke your eyes away from Steve's to look at the old sign she was pointing to.

Hawkins - 5 Miles

"Five minutes til you enter a literal hellscape."

Robin swatted Steve's arm and smiled back at you. "It's not that bad I swear. Like sure, it's a bit of a Cowland, that much is true, but—-"

"You don't have to justify Cowland to me Birdy. The only thing you have to justify is the fact that we have been on the road for almost an hour and I have yet to see a single cow. Now that's just ridiculous."

Robin smiled at you and turned back around, facing the front again. She reached over and snatched Steve's phone (something you realized was a habit with everyone) and opened his Spotify, scrolling until she found the right song. She cranked the volume up and rolled the windows down, screaming along the words to Everybody Wants to Rule the World. How fitting.

You rolled your window down and enjoyed the feeling of the wind on your face. While you had never been to Indiana before, or most of the middle of the country, something you definitely loved was how fresh the air was. No buildings or mass amounts of cars were polluting the air—just the grass and trees.

Steve looked in the rearview mirror at you again, and you looked up, feeling his gaze on you. You could see the glimmer in his eyes as he looked at you. The pure joy that you were here. And you knew it was going to be a good two weeks here in Hawkins.

That was until it rained for three days straight, and you and Robin were basically stuck inside her room with nowhere to go. Robin's parents were kind enough to lend you their cars when they got home from work since Robin didn't drive and you didn't have a car, but that meant that if either of you wanted to go anywhere during the day, you had to bike or walk and neither of which, in the rain, was really ideal. You could always wait for Steve to get off of work, but by then you'd have Robin's parent's car so you were stuck.

But on the fourth day, you woke up to the smell of petrichor and a shining sun peering through the curtains. This was perfect because of you and Robin's strict itinerary.

Friday Day: Exploring the town/Lovers Lake

Friday Evening: Graduation

Friday Night: Grad Party

When Robin told you that you were spending your day at Lover's Lake, you thought she was actually going to murder you since there were no real places named that, but when the two of you were picked up by Steve to head to the lake, you found out it was, in fact, a real place.

It was actually kind of pretty, considering it was surrounded by woods. You were calmed by the sense of height within the area from the trees, but the actual visage of the lake was beautiful, and the sun reflecting off of that made it feel a bit more magical.

You were decked out in that same hoodie from the other day, as well as your favorite pair of shorts, both of which were covering up your favorite bathing suit. Swimming was enjoyable, but you weren't sure if today was a swimming type of day or a lounging in the sun type of day.

Either way, it was a 'try-not-to-stare-at-Steve-Harrington' day.

Your chauffeur started to help two other guys around his age, set up a picnic blanket, secure an umbrella into the sand, and set up the speaker for the music.

Nancy, the girl you had yet to be properly introduced to, got out of the car she drove here in with one of the boys, and walked over to you, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi! I'm Nancy, it's so nice to finally meet you. Robin hasn't shut up about you since you first met at college."

Your face lit up and you tried to cover up the smirk on your face. "Since we first met? Damn Birdy, I had no idea..."

"Thanks, Nance, now she's not going to shut up about it for fucking weeks," Robin mumbled, slinking off to go grab more things from Steve's car.

"It's really nice to meet you, Nancy. I've heard a lot about you too." You smiled and shook her hand—it felt a little serious for a meeting, but you got the sense that was just how Nancy was.

"Did Robin add your songs to the playlist? It gets really varied at times, but it's the only way we figured out to let each person be happy with the music if we all put fifteen songs on there, and then hit shuffle."

You shook your head, really confused about what this girl was saying to you. Nancy handed you her phone and scrolled through the playlist, showing you everyone's music picks, and explaining it in further detail. When you finally understood, you paused. "So can I add anything? No questions asked?"

Nancy nodded, smirking at the slight twinkle in your eyes. You added yourself to the playlist and handed her back her phone. "I'll add them before we start the playlist so that way they're in there fair and square."

Nancy nodded and then looked over at the boys. "So! You've met Robin, and obviously Steve, has Robin introduced you to anyone else yet?"

You shook your head 'No' and Nancy took your hand and dragged you off into the sand towards the gaggle of boys all staring at the umbrella since it was not as sturdy as they thought it would be.

After a single gust of wind, it had knocked right over.

"Nance there's no need to man-handle y/n—-"

Nancy rolled her eyes and stopped short of the group. "Go get some rocks Steve, and pile it around the base, I'm pretty sure we went over this last summer..."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure it ended up not working in the long run there Wheeler." The long-haired guy crossed his arms with a raised eyebrow.

"Do they always give you this much lip even when they're wrong?" You half-whispered to Nancy, causing the two of you to try and cover your laughs.

"Y/n! You're supposed to be on my side here." Steve threw his hands up in the air before they landed on his hips.

"You look like a mom." You blurted out, causing yourself and the rest of the young adults to laugh together. Except for Steve, who was fake fuming, but really just at a loss. He really didn't think he looked like a mother but if a girl he had hung out with for no more than three days thinks so, then he might as well be fucked.

"Where did Robin find you?"

You looked across the group to the guy with longer hair, a tight tee with some sort of skull on it, and black bathing suit shorts. He was attractive, that was sure enough, but he definitely wasn't the pretty boy Harrington wanted to take a bite out of. Your voice dripped with sarcasm. "Take a wild guess."

"Touché. So. More importantly, what are you adding to the playlist."

You shrugged. "You'll find out. I'm guessing you're Eddie."

"In the flesh." He did one of those bows that was reminiscent of a movie from your childhood—it was really fucking nerdy.

"And so you must be Jonathan." Your tone shifted, slightly nicer, less of a bite to it. It stumped Steve, watching you clearly figure out and adapt yourself to the person you were talking to, but never being one to actually hurt the other person, just tease lightly.

Jonathan nodded, his arm was already around Nancy's shoulder, and he gave you a small 'Hey".

Robin shouted over at the group for help with all three of the coolers, and you watched Jonathan and Nancy go over to help her with them. You helped Eddie and Steve set the umbrella again (this time properly), and moved on to setting up your towel and bag.

Steve placed his towel on the other side of yours and sat down on the ground next to you. Eddie had moved on to setting up his area around the picnic table, reorganizing coolers, and setting up the various snacks for the group throughout the day.

"So..."

You turned and looked over at Steve, who was looking right at you, a brightness in his eyes that the sun couldn't match. It looked right, like it was supposed to always be there.

"So..." You responded, smiling back at him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

You sighed and leaned back on your hands, looking out over the water. "Robin thought that it would be a good...test of character, I think is how she put it. She, uh, got a hold of my phone a few weeks ago, and made the connection about why I had been so..."

Steve bit his lip. "So...?"

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not gonna tell you if you're going to be a jerk about it."

Steve held his hands up, "I swear I won't be."

"Fine." You huffed and looked down at your legs. "Why I was so...attached to my phone, and blushing all the time, and why I kept smiling when I would get a text....and yeah."

You saw as Steve's face flashed with a wave of emotions, all of which managed to stay just below the surface. One of these days you would have to just stare at his face all day so you could learn very little mannerism, every little quick about this man.

"You, uh, smile every time I text you?"

You pursed your lips but then nodded. "Yeah. I—uh, I do."

"Hm." Steve nodded and looked out over the lake.

"Yeah."

You looked over at Steve just as he looked at you, causing both of you to smile again. Just as Steve was about to say something, you heard Robin call across the beach.

"Babe!"

You huffed slightly, the smile on your face becoming a little fake before turning and looking over at your best friend. "Yeah, babe?"

"Add your fucking music so I can hit shuffle."

"Aye Aye Captain." You gave her a mock salute and pulled out your phone, turning back towards Steve.

"Am I seriously going to get judged for what I put on?"

"We actually have a no complaints rule, since a certain someone would always bitch when his music never came on."

Your face lit up with amusement and nodded, before looking down at the playlist and scrolling through the songs already on there to see what had been added already.

"You really like the seventies and eighties, huh Harrington."

He shrugged and smiled. "I think I could have easily been an eighties heartthrob."

You rolled your eyes and shoved his arm slightly. "Yeah okay, sure."

Steve feigned a gasp. "You don't think I could've been!"

This caused you to laugh but continued to sort through your music, choosing the fifteen songs you felt like you wanted to hear most today.

"I'm sure you could have Steve. I'm sure."

Steve clutched his heart and fell backward. "You're killin' me here princess!"

You hit his thigh, not hard, but just enough to get your point across. "Don't call me that, unless you're going to commit to finishing the job because you owe me...big time." Your eyebrows were raised expectantly, but your voice was low so only Steve could hear you.

Steve smirked, and his eyes went a little dark for a moment before the sun returned them to their caramel color. "Trust me, now that you're here..."

"Good." You smiled and laid back on your towel, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your face and thighs, and enjoying the company of the smirking man next to you.

And you both stayed like this for the next hour, only getting up when food was offered. Steve eventually left your side, deciding to go for a swim. You opted out but enjoyed the view.

“He’s something else…”

You turned and looked at Robin sitting next to you, nodding in agreement.

“He really likes you.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “You’ve been talking about me behind my back?” Teasing her.

Robin shook her head and smiled. “I don’t have to. I mean, I've known him for years, but he’s never been like this about any girl, not even Nance.”

“Steve and Nancy dated?”

“They were the couple in high school. Did not end well, but the two of them are still good friends, surprisingly.”

You mouthed a soft ‘oh’.

“But…I’m being dead serious Y/n, he’s never been so…chill, peaceful…I don't know—”

“Sure.” Nancy chimed in and sat down on the opposite side of you.

“What?”

“He’s just so…sure about you. Like yeah, he can be a cocky asswipe, but he’s always freaking out about whether or not something is right, or going the way he thinks it’s supposed to.”

Robin nodded along while you tried to breathe evenly again. Not that you didn’t get those feelings from Steve, you absolutely did, but hearing about it from both Nancy and Robin at the same time was a bit overwhelming.

“He just, He’s so calm.”

“We’re not even dating.” You sighed, crossing your arms and looking out at the man in the water. He caught you looking at him, and winked at you, sending you a smile along with it. You waved slightly at him, returning the smile.

“He hasn’t asked you yet?”

“Nancy, it’s the twenty-first century, girls can ask guys out too.”

You rolled your eyes at Robin and shook your head. “No, not yet. We’ve only actually spent about fifteen hours in each other’s presence, with one of those being the hour drive down from Indianapolis…”

“Holy shit, and he’s that….wow.” Nancy leaned back on her hands, looking out over the water.

Plus we didn’t want to start dating behind Robin’s backs and have her hate us forever and ever. But you kept that thought to yourself.

The man in question decided that he had enough of the staring from the group of girls sitting on the beach, and waded his way over to you three, before walking out of the lake. “Can I help you three?”

Steve was literally dripping hotness off of his body. The sun backlit him, creating this holy look about him, and the water droplets slowly made their way down his chest and abs and down towards—You snapped your eyes back up to his face, where he was watching every single movement of your eyes, smirking slightly. It was fairly pornographic and would have you dragging Steve over to the car and fucking him senseless, but you’d settle for eye-fucking him instead since Robin was directly next to you, and so was Nancy.

“Just questioning Robin’s girl here.”

Steve’s eyes stayed trained on you and he raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, then why were all of you staring out at me huh?”

“Well, Harrington if you must know...”

“–I must Robin.”

“I’m just learning things. That’s all.” You tilted your head slightly, almost teasing him slightly. Your gaze was already enough to make anyone blush, but Steve Harrington wasn’t anybody. However, he immediately lost the shine of confidence at the thought of you, Robin, and Nancy talking about him.

“Learning what…exactly?”

You, alongside the other two girls, just shrugged, causing Steve to eye all three of you up and down, and head over to where Eddie was cooking up some lunch for you.

Sighing, you fully laid all the way down again and closed your eyes. “I think I’m just going to lie in the sun for a while and internalize every little thing the two of you just said to me.”

You didn’t hear as the two girls got up and left you alone. You also didn’t hear as someone else took his place next to you. You just drifted off into a light sleep, enjoying the warmth the sun was providing you so that you could just breathe for a moment and figure out everything that was going on inside your head.

First off, you liked Steve. And Steve liked you back. This was obvious before the girls told you, but the confirmation was a plus.

Second, Steve hadn’t mentioned ever going on another date, ever. You hadn’t even gone on a first one if you remembered correctly.

Third, You were unsure if Steve Harrington wanted to actually date you, or even kiss you. Sure, you rode his face like you were in one of those bull games in the rodeo bar, and he clearly seemed to enjoy it. But the only time he actually mentioned getting physical with you was either while it was happening, or if you brought it up first. Was he actually interested in you, or just being a gentleman?

This shit was fucking hard, that’s for sure.

“Hey.”

You hummed, letting Steve know you heard him.

“They’re going on a walk through the woods, wanna join?”

You shook your head, not wanting to get up from your spot on the towel.

Steve was silent for the next few moments. You assumed that he was staying on the beach with you since the others grabbed a couple things and started walking off into the woods.

“You’re not going?”

“Nope.”

You opened one eye and looked over at the boy next to you. He was looking right at you–a small smile flashed across his face. He was nervous. “I-I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah…Steve, it is.”

“Good.” He hummed and smiled at you.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Hawkins decided on having a Friday Night Graduation, and while at first, you were hesitant, you realized you’d rather have a graduation at sunset than have to wake up at the crack of dawn to watch kids you didn’t know walk across a stage.

You had gotten slightly dressed up, wearing a summery dress that didn’t leave you overheating, but was one step above casual. Sitting in between Steve and Robin was definitely something to behold considering they wouldn’t stop whispering to you, pointing out their kids.

The Salutatorian was one of theirs—a Will Byers, Jonathan’s brother, as you found out. His speech was beautiful and even made you tear up a bit, which meant nothing since the group you were sitting with was all crying alongside you.

Eventually, the graduates walked, and you watched your friends stand up and down, screaming and cheering for their kids each time one of them walked across the stage. You had learned all of them using a Quizlet, trying to make sure you didn’t mess up any names. So far, you had learned that Dustin Henderson was Steve’s favorite, with Max Mayfield being a close second. (from what you had heard, Max could easily be your favorite). Max was dating Lucas Sinclair, who was on the basketball team, which you found out Steve had been coaching for the past few years. Then, there was Will Byers, Jonathan’s brother, and Mike Wheeler, Nancy’s brother. Mike was dating Elle Hopper, who was best friends with Max. But Elle’s Dad was getting married to Will’s Mom…

You repeated this little thing over and over in your head, trying to wrap your brain around what could have possibly connected all of these older teens to Robin since she and Steve didn’t even talk until high school, and Steve only dated Nancy in junior year and—Honestly, it was weird, considering you really couldn’t imagine twenty-three-year-olds hanging out with eighteen-year-olds, but you lost all your doubt when you saw how connected this group was—whatever had happened between them, bonded them for life.

Eventually, the caps got tossed, the principal said a few words, and they were all dismissed. The small group of you waited off to the side, knowing that they were going to all talk to their parents first. Steve stood next to you, and placed a hand on your waist, leaning down to whisper something in your ear. “Tired yet?”

You laughed softly and shook your head, keeping your head straight ahead because if you turned, you were going to kiss him right on his stupid lips.

“No, but I am ready to start drinking again.”

This caused Steve to laugh slightly and straighten up, but his hand stayed on the small of your back until a gaggle of kids in green and white grad robes came running at you all.

You took a step back watching as hugs and congratulations were thrown out at all of them. It was heartwarming, truly, to see such a family in action. You swore you saw, out of the corner of your eye, Steve and Dustin having a lightsaber battle at one point.

Robin took your hand and dragged you over to the curly-headed one. “Y/n, this is Dustin, Dustin, Y/n. The Roommate.”

All hell broke loose when Robin announced your title. The children’s heads all snapped towards you and they started to crowd you, which wouldn’t have been as intimidating if you had met them all before, or if they were shorter than you, which a bunch of them were not.

“You’re her Roommate?” “We’ve heard so much about you.” “Oh my god, we finally got to meet you?” “You’re a lot prettier in person.” “Where did you get that dress, it’s stunning.” “You came to watch us walk across a stage? That’s definitely a choice…” “I wouldn’t go to Indiana if I lived in a cool place like the city ” “It’s literally so nice to finally meet you.” “You’re like really pretty.” “How did you meet Robin?”

“Alright Alright! Let the woman breathe my god.” Steve yelled out to the group, as he took notice of your wide eyes. It’s not that you were nervous about meeting them, it’s just that the wave of questions was a tad bit overwhelming and unexpected.

“Alright.” Steve sighed and looked at you. “Ready?”

You furrowed your brows. “For?”

“Well.” Steve started to point to each child as if he was giving you a speedrun introduction. “That’s Dustin, That’s Max and Lucas. Will, Mike, And that’s Elle. Am I missing anyone?”

The group managed to give Steve a full unison moment of attitude.

“You still look like such a mom Harrington.” You laughed a bit when he put his hands back on his hips.

“God I knew I’d like you,” Max spoke up, causing you to smile at her.

“It’s really nice to meet all of you!”

They all responded back, at the same time, and then scattered. Whatever initial excitement was there had finally dispersed, meaning you weren’t the center of attention, and you could breathe again. Well, except for one kid, that came up to you.

“It’s nice to finally meet you. Robin doesn’t shut up about you when she’s home.”

“Good things I hope?”

Dustin nodded, and suspiciously eyed how close you and Steve were standing. “All good things. But I’m surprised at the fact that you came to Indiana.”

You shrugged. “Robin asked, so I came. Pretty easy decision. Best friends and all that.”

“So, are you going to be at Steve’s later?”

“What’s with the interrogation Henderson.” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“I’m just asking her questions! She’s new! I can’t just..let her into the group—”

Steve scoffed, “As if you are the final decision maker in that?”

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

“Sorry Dipshit. The older half really like her, so she’s in.”

“The rest of us have to vet her and you know it. Sure, Robin wouldn’t be friends with her if she sucked, but the rest of us don’t know her—”

Dustin eyed you up and down again. “I’ll allow it, but I still need further proof.”

“Don’t be a dick, Dustin.” Max cut in. “She’s pretty, she clearly can put up with Steve’s shit since she’s willing to stand next to him this long. Why can’t there be another girl in the group?”

Dustin’s mouth floundered for a moment before he settled on his answer. “It’s not that I don’t like her. I just….”

“Dustin.” You smiled at him. “I’m not asking to infiltrate. I get it. This is clearly a tightly bonded family, and I’m not trying to just waltz in here and take a spot. But let me give you my qualifications and you can mull it over, yeah?”

This amused Steve. Somehow, you had managed to entertain Dustin, and still manage to deescalate whatever the kid was thinking about. Dustin agreed to your terms and waited to hear what you had to say.

“First off, unlike Robin, I have a license. I don’t own a car but I live in like the major city of major cities, so I don’t exactly need one. But I can drive. Second. I am not a current permanent addition to the group, at least presence-wise. I am like a fun aunt who will let you stay in the city with her when you want to get out of Hawkins, and I only show up at family functions to spice it up a bit. Third, I have traveled to several different countries in the past two years, which means I can and will bring you back goodies from other countries. Fourth, I know how to party correctly, which means I am at a good time, and I will provide references if you need them. Fifth, and finally. I am over twenty-one, which means, I can and will buy you things that you can’t buy yet. This includes weed from a major city where it is in fact better than the stuff you get here.”

Dustin was taking all of this in, slightly bewildered by the fact that you literally just listed out your qualifications.

“Oh. And a sixth one, thrown in for free, I can commit to a bit Henderson.” You winked at him before walking over to where Robin had been talking to Will about something.

You felt Steve’s eyes on you but didn’t turn around, instead basking in the glory of dropping your over qualifications to win Dustin Henderson’s approval. You integrated yourself into her conversation with Will, enjoying the setting sun in the background. Tonight was going to be a good one, especially since you had decided that tonight was the night you wanted to talk to Steve about whatever was going on between the two of you, especially after everything that happened this morning.

______________________________________________________________________________

The kids managed to convince Steve to let them throw a graduation party at his apartment. Now this usually wouldn’t be such a big deal, but considering that they all could drink and party now, the space almost felt a bit too small. Especially since they invited some of their other friends that you had not yet met. Which is how you ended up sitting on the arm of the couch, watching all of the kids interact with each other.

“Hey.”

You looked over and smiled once you realized who it was. “Hey.”

“Wanna, uh–go into the kitchen with me for a second?”

You nodded and got up, following him past the decently sized group of people, and into the kitchen. It was not a spacious kitchen by any means, but there was a noticeably smaller amount of people, so it felt a million times better. You could breathe.

Luckily for you, you had been drinking since before noon, and it was well on its way to being one am. The true sign of a lady is how well she day drinks. You were on the balance of buzzed and tipsy, toeing the line with perfect grace. This gave you the confidence to feel a bit better about the fact that you were someone who was extremely touchy, which Steve clearly didn’t mind. Your hand had made its way to his chest, and you were gently tracing shapes.

“What’s up, Steve.”

“I–uh.”

You watched as his eyes flitted up to where the rest of the group was in his living room. He was silent for a few moments, which gave you time to really look over his face, and enjoy just how gorgeous he was. The curve of his lips. The slightly blush he always carried on his cheeks. The hazelnut color of his eyes. All while you were patiently waiting for him to sort through the words in his head.

“I’m really glad you came to Hawkins.”

“Me too.” You smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes once or twice for a bit of flirtatious emphasis.

“Because I had a really really good time in the city with you.”

You nodded, prompting him to continue talking.

This caused Steve’s smile to grow, with what you were sure were tints of blush across his cheeks.

“And I—well, I don’t exactly know what to do beyond this because you live in the city and I live here. And Robin might actually kill me if I ask you out, or if she found out the other things we started to get up to.” Steve was talking as quietly as he could, not keen on Robin finding out the compromising positions you had been in when Steve was in New York. “I know she has probably already said something to you but…I don't know. How do you feel about it because–”

For the first time in over a month, you were able to actually kiss him, instead of just dreaming about his lips, his mint chapstick, the way his hands felt around your waist. You had placed your beverage down on the counter and cupped his cheeks with your hands, basically pulling his lips to yours.

That warmth from before came crawling up your spine and filled your body with light. Fuck, you wanted to feel this for as long as you possibly could. Enjoying Steve.

But eventually, your proverbial luck would run out, since Robin cleared her throat from the doorway. She wasn’t exactly staring at either of you, but you couldn’t see her face since you covered your mouth with one of your hands, and wrapped the other arm around your stomach, looking away from her, losing all contact with Steve. Steve had quickly pulled one of his hands away, the other one still on your waist. You weren’t sure if Robin could see that one since your body was blocking it. Steve’s thumb ran up and down your hip, trying to calm you down.

He could feel your heartbeat racing. How embarrassing was that?

Even the calming sensation of Steve’s thumb rubbing up and down on your hip simply could not bring your heart rate down to a nice even 120/80. You’re pretty sure your Apple watch just pinged you about an increased heart rate.

The only worse thing was that Robin had just walked in on you kissing her best friend.

Her two supposed best friends kissed each other.

“I–uh–I was going to ask you where Y/n went…but um, I can see you’re both a bit busy…” The sound of your name made you wince.

Robin’s voice was strained, and she was trying to keep whatever emotions she was feeling at bay. Technically she had said this was fine, but she had never had to witness it or deal with it, in person before.

“Robin–”

“No, guys, seriously stop.” Robin took a breath. You could tell this was a bit weird for her, but she managed a brave face for the moment. “We talked about it. I’m okay with it. It’s just…It’s going to take me a second to get used to actually seeing it. Honestly, I just—I really wasn’t expecting to find you guys making out in the kitchen

“Are you sure?” You finally turned your head and looked at her, more nervous about how she would react to this than anything else in your life.

Robin smiled at you and nodded. “Really, actually, I’m fine. I am. I just, I’m going to go, um…I’ll be out back with Eddie if you need me.” She quickly left the room, leaving you and Steve alone again, to let out the breath both of you were holding.

“I thought that was going to head in a way worse direction if I’m being so honest with you.” You muttered, squeezing Steve’s arm.

“You’re telling me. I almost fucking melted when she first came in.”

This caused you to let out a brief laugh.

Steve sighed and rubbed his thumb up and down on your hip again. “I think she needs time getting used to it. We all do.”

After another moment of staring at one another, the feeling of contentment made your heart swell, shoving some bravery forward and out your mouth.

“I like you a lot, Steve.”

He smiled. “M-Me too.”

“Oh, so you agree? You like you a lot? That’s just what a girl wants to hear, damn.”

Steve’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No no, I meant I Like you a lot, not that I like me a lot—actually—”

“Steve.” You cut him off, smiling at him. “I was teasing. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Steve couldn’t fight the smile growing on his face harder if he tried. You watched it slowly reach across his eyes and he shook his head. “I mean it though–a lot. I don’t think that even covers it.”

You placed your hand on his arm and squeezed it. “Don’t flatter me too much or my ego will inflate like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters—”

“WHO JUST SAID GHOSTBUSTERS.”

Dustin popped into the kitchen, looking around for the culprit. His eyes landed on you two and his eyebrows raised. “Robin’s friend Steve? Really? That’s the girl you’ve been–”

“Dustin. Enough.” Steve tensed up, cutting off the younger kid.

“No no no.” You moved out of Steve’s arms and towards Dustin. “Please, Dustin. Tell me more, the girl Steve, what exactly.”

“Dustin I swear to god—”

You looked over your shoulder at Steve and winked at him, before placing a hand on Dustin’s arm in a very similar way to how you had just touched Steve’s arm. Now, you weren’t a manipulative person by any means. But men were easy to get information out of if you just knew how.

You felt Steve’s eyes burning into you, watching your every move.

“Dustin, do you have a girlfriend?”

He looked at you weirdly but nodded. “Yeah. What does Suzie have to do with this?”

“How do you feel about her?”

Dustin’s shoulders detensed, and he tilted his head slightly. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me about her.”

Dustin, who basically never talked about Suzie anymore since he didn’t want to annoy the group, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. “Well! She’s the perfect woman. Smart, kind, snarky, bossy, gorgeous—hotter than anyone ever—sorry. But she means the world to me—.”

You nodded along, listening to everything he had to say about Suzie, even popping in with clarifying questions, or asking how they met.

“Wow, that’s a long time to be dating someone so young.”

Dustin nodded and shrugged. “When you know you know.”

Steve was just watching you, completely fascinated. There were things Dustin was telling you that he had never even heard before. But he knew you were up to something, he just couldn’t figure out what you were doing.

You nodded and cast a quick glance back to Steve, who met your eyes. “That’s true.”

Steve almost blushed at the way you looked at him when you said that, making your eyes soften for a moment. When you know you know.

“Why did you want to know about Suzie?”

“I saw you texting her earlier. I’m sorry she couldn’t be here for your graduation…”

Dustin shrugged. “She’s coming up next week for about a month so I’d rather have her for a whole month than just a weekend. Besides, we’re both going to the same college so…I’d rather focus on what we do have than not, you know.”

“You are very wise for a high school graduate Dustin.”

Dustin shrugged. “Well, I’ve been saying that for years but now I have the degree to back it up….Alright, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’ve accepted your application into the group here.”

“Oh thank you, I was a bit worried there.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Please, you passed the second I heard the word Ghostbusters come outta your mouth.”

This made you smile. “Dustin, one last question, and then I’ll let you go back to your friends—”

“Actually, I’d much rather be in here since you seem a lot cooler than half of the people in there.”

“I appreciate that Dustin thank you. But, my question is. Does Steve look at his phone like that? The way you were describing Suzie…”

Dustin scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen him so glued to a screen before–”

“Dustin...”

You shushed Steve. “Let the man continue Harington, God.”

Dustin preened up a little bit at the sound of being called a man, making him continue. “He’s like…I’ve actually never seen him like this before. He’s always checking his phone but he’s smiling at it and laughing at things…oh…You’re good.”

You squeezed his arm before letting go. “Dustin, I need you to know that I am actually very interested in your relationship with this girl and I do hope I get to hear more about Suzie, I really do. I also appreciated the information you just gave me.”

“You’re the phone huh.”

“You’re a Genius Henderson.” Steve glared at him, definitely trying to conceal the embarrassment he was feeling.

“So Dustin, tell me more about the way he’s been acting.”

“Henderson if you don’t leave the kitchen right now–”

Dustin took a step away from you. “I like you, a lot, y/n. But I think I’ve done enough damage for Stevie over there, so I’ll leave you alone.”

You nodded and gave him a little wave as he took off back into the living room. You turned around on the spot, facing Harrington, who was all but embarrassed at Dustin exposing him.

“You smile at your phone when I text you huh?”

“Oh shut up, you knew that already.”

“It’s nice to get confirmation.” Your hands clasped behind your back, and Steve took the opportunity to walk over to you and place a hand under your chin.

Your breath? Left the fucking building, maybe even the whole state of Indiana.

“Confirmation that I liked you?”

He was lifting your chin up with just one knuckle, just enough that your head tilted up to look at him.

“I feel like what we did in the bathroom was confirmation enough.” He whispered, his lips ghosting over yours. “And if not, then kissing you a few minutes ago should’ve been.”

You hummed, eyes closing, expecting his lips over yours.

“You just like to tease me, huh.”

“Steve.” You whined softly, leaning forward a bit, trying to capture his lips in yours. But he just shifted back slightly, not letting your lips do anything more than ghost over yours.

“I like to tease too, ya know.” He muttered, his other hand sliding back onto your waist, pulling your body against his.

You hummed, waiting for him to make his move, giving up the little control you had moments before since the prize was a kiss.

But no kiss came. Steve Harrington dropped his hands from your waist and chin, and stepped back, grabbing his beer off of the counter and winking at you. “If it’s a game you want sweetheart, I can play it too.”

You groaned and watched as he backed out of the room, leaving you once again up against a counter and completely wound up.

A few hours later, you had found yourself rolling a joint for the older group, basically giving Eddie a masterclass in the art. He was extremely doubtful about the fact that your weed would be better than his, but when he took his first hit, Eddie Munson coughed.

The small group of you—Jonathan, Robin, Eddie, and Steve—all stared at him with wide eyes. You gently took the joint from his hand took a hit from it, and offered it to your right to Steve, who took a smaller hit than you. Since he had smoked with you before, he didn’t cough, much to Eddie’s dismay.

Jonathan gratefully took it next, muttering something about Cali Weed, which you didn’t fully catch. Eddie turned to you, eyes extremely red. “Jesus Christ Y/n. What the fuck is that?”

You exhaled slowly, impressing everyone, but Robin, with the amount of smoke in your lungs. “I say this with so much love in my heart Eddie—It’s good weed.”

Eddie went to scoff but started coughing again, causing you to smile a bit. You felt the first hit in your face, always. No matter how many times, your face was always the first. It felt slightly buzzy, like a current was pulsing through your cheeks, your chin, your forehead. You leaned against Steve, watching as the joint made its rounds.

“Nancy, not a big smoker?”

Jonathan shook his head, exhaling the smoke over his shoulder to not blow it all in your face. “Can hold her liquor better than any of us though.”

“I buy it.” You smiled, resting your head against Steve’s shoulder.

Robin stuck her tongue out at you from across the circle before taking the joint and taking her own hit.

“So Y/n.”

You hummed and darted your eyes towards Eddie.

“You told Henderson that you’ve been to many different countries, like where?”

“I don't think that would make sense even if I wasn’t slightly high and slightly intoxicated.” You laughed and shook your head. ”But, uh, I don’t know. I’ve been a lot of places. Do you want me to just start listing them until you find one you like? Like those little Rolodex things old ladies have?”

Eddie nodded, taking the joint from Robin and taking another hit, this time not coughing.

You sighed and yawned a little bit, taking the joint when it was offered to you. Instead of taking a puff, you passed it on.

“Alright so, uh, let's see. I’ve been to about twenty states, and that includes Alaska. I’ve been to Canada a bunch. I have been to the Caribbean, so a bunch of those bad boys. Where else…”

“Serbia.” Robin listed for you, causing you to nod against Steve’s shoulder.

“Serbia, Croatia, Montenegro, all three of which are gorgeous by the way. Which then takes me to Europe so uh those countries, plus obviously England, and Ireland, both Republic of and Northern. Then, let's see, France…”

“France was a good one for you.”

You nodded. “Paris was good for me in many ways.” You made suggestive eyebrows at Robin who then burst into laughter.

“Then tell us about it.”

For some reason, you were starting to feel as if Eddie wasn’t your biggest fan. Now normally, if a man didn’t like you, you couldn’t find even a singular fuck to give, but this was bugging you. Maybe because he was so close with Robin.

“Well.” your gaze hardened a bit as you looked at him. “I think I managed to spend a total of sixteen hours in the Louvre during my entire week in Paris. I spent another day seeing the rest of the Musees that I wanted to see, and then I did the rest of the touristy things the rest of the time.”

“What about the Nightlife?”

“What about it?”

“Tell us about it.”

“Eddie…” Steve warned, feeling you tense up as Eddie continued to poke and prod at you. His words weren’t sharp, they weren’t knives. But they felt like tiny little shoves across your chest.

“Steve, it’s fine.” You muttered.

“If you must know, France has good nightlife, but if you want to party, you go to Spain. If you want exclusive yet fun clubs, you go to Berlin. Anyone who’s traveled outside the continental US could tell you that.” Your jaw set, but the smile on your face was a bit devilish. “But Eddie, dear, what I get up to in foreign cities in terms of my sexuality is between me, my phone, Robin Buckley, and the whiteboard in our apartment.”

Steve gasped. “That’s what those tally marks are.”

Robin shook her head but then paused. “Well no, not...kinda I guess. But not exactly what you're thinking.”

“I slept on your couch. You dirty dirty women.” He grumbled, removing his hand from your thigh, except it was just to lean back a bit, not to move you away from him.

“We’re both extremely competitive when it comes down to the basics. Besides, Robin was the one who started it, she said that she used to tally how many swings and misses you would take at your old job.”

Steve hung his head and laughed, causing the rest of the group to laugh alongside him. “Did she tell you what that job even was?”

“Oh Scoops? Absolutely. We cut up that stupid fucking costume one year for her Halloween costume.”

“That was you!?!”

You nodded and took a sip out of the drink you had brought out. “I’m also a costume designer.” You hummed. “Multi-hyphenate.”

That joke was meant for Jonathan since it caused him to cough on the air in his lungs. “Resume building 101.”

You mock cheers’d to that and rested back against Steve’s side, his hand moving back to your thigh.

Eventually, it was just you, Robin, Eddie, and Steve left, sitting on the porch, enjoying the view of the stars. You had forgotten how stunning they could be since you had basically lived within the city for the past few years, not really going out to places where you could see the sky. It was just marvelous to you.

Robin and Eddie stood up to go, meaning you also had to go. But Robin just kissed your head and whispered in your ear before you could stand. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, smiling at her and taking her hand in yours. “I love you, Robin Buckley. Marry me.”

This caused Robin to burst out in laughter, and she nodded at you. “It’s a date babe.” She said her goodbyes to Steve and left with Eddie who was your ride home.

The two of you sat together, with you listening as Steve told you about someone, the constellations that he knew, with you lying on his lap, while he pointed out the stars.

“And that one is Orion’s belt. It’s probably the easiest to spot since it’s literally just three stars in a row.” He whispered, not wanting to break the silence the two of you had created.

You hummed. “That’s the hunter right?”

Steve shrugged. “You probably know better than I do.”

You managed to sit up and face him, lips seconds away from him. “And what would make you say that?”

He shrugged again, no longer looking up at the stars in the sky, but rather at the stars in your eyes.

Your eyes flitted to his lips quickly, silently asking for permission, which he answered by placing them against yours. Your body exploded like the sun, radiating the peace you had felt all those months ago at the cafe, and then again in the kitchen. Neither of you moved, just sitting together like two lovers would, slowly kissing one another under the universe.

Steve took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently pulled away, enjoying the sound you let out as he did so. You tilted your head slightly, leaning forward to capture his lips again in yours, but he dodged your lips and kissed your neck instead. His lips found under your ear and kissed there. “Wanna head inside.” He muttered.

You hummed a positive response, unsure of how the two of you managed to make it inside and towards his bedroom. All you could focus on was the feeling on his lips, on yours, on your neck. His hands were everywhere, squeezing your hips, brushing up your thighs, tugging on your hair.

But you found yourself backed up against his bedroom door. His body pressed into yours, kissing your neck. “Fuck me, pretty girl.”

If that’s what he wanted you to do then who were you to deny him that much? Your head lulled to the side, giving him more access to your neck as you just moaned in response. Your legs were on the ground, but the only thing really keeping you up against the door was Steve’s knee, which had made its place between your thighs.

Steve’s lips quickly found that sweet spot right above your collarbone and he gently sucked on it, causing your hips to roll forwards and your eyes to roll backward. You inhaled and arched your back the more he sucked on it, nipping it to add some color to his mark.

Steve felt as your hand snaked its way around his waist, your fingers cool against his skin. You tugged on his shirt, making him pull away slightly and rip his shirt off of his body.

Both of your hands went to his chest, so you could run your fingers across it, feeling as much of him as you could.

“Steve?” You muttered as he continued to kiss across your neck.

He paused and looked up at you.

“If you don’t do something in the next minute I’m locking you out of your room and fucking myself.”

He chuckled, pupils dilating at the thought of you touching yourself. But he shook the thoughts away and pulled you in for a kiss. “As you wish, Pretty girl.”

You hummed at his words, removing your shirt when he tapped on your back and pulled away from you for a moment.

For some power beyond man, you wore a really cute bra today. It wasn’t lingerie, but it made Steve drool all the same, causing him to groan at the sight. He didn’t stop there though, slowly pulling off your shorts and underwear causing him to kneel down in front of you. You sucked in a breath.

The sight of Steve Harrington kneeling before you to eat you out was becoming your new favorite view.

He took one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, kissing up your thigh, slowly, looking up at you the whole time.

He was looking for any kind of hesitation but instead, all he received was a “Fuck, Steve, please.”

Steve smirked at you before licking up your thigh and gently nipping at it, causing your head to tilt against his bedroom door.

Steve took his time eating you out. He teased you relentlessly, eliciting every single sound from you he could possibly discover, muttering how much of a “pretty girl” you were into your “pretty little pussy”.

His lips wrapped around your clit and he sucked over so gently. Your hips shifted forward, back on the edge of an orgasm, waiting not-so-patiently for him to make you cum all over his face.

“Come on baby girl let me taste you. I bet you taste so fucking sweet.”

“P-Please Steve.” Your eyes were squeezed shut, one had in his hair, the other shoved against the door frame for support.

The heat in your gut was winding up tighter and tighter, causing you to roll your hips, riding his face. Every time your body shuddered, you’d hit Steve’s nose just right against your clit, making you gasp a little bit.

You moaned his name out, finding yourself closer and closer to the edge as he became more and more relentless fucking you with his tongue and with his words.

He curled his tongue in the right spot, causing your body to snap.

Not a single sound left your mouth as you cum on his tongue, back arching against the door, leg shaking as Steve held you up as you came. You felt his tongue working you through, and you could have sworn he moaned at the first taste of you.

Eventually, Steve slowly pulled away, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumbs. Your high was slowly coming back down and you muttered out a ‘holy fuck’, which caused Steve to nip at your thigh. Still sensitive, you let out a moan in response before yanking on Steve’s hair gently.

He chuckled, the breath from his lips causing you to squirm a bit. What a sight you must have been: almost completely naked, covered in hickeys and marks, with a man wrapped in between your legs, up against his bedroom door.

Steve slowly let your leg down, before kissing his way back up, enjoying every little sharp intake of breath, and every little moan that got caught in your throat. He made his way to your lips and it was dirty how much you enjoyed kissing him while he still had you all over his lips. It was obscene.

“How ya doing pretty girl.” He muttered, arms wrapped around your waist, lips on yours.

You were blissed out. Every time you thought about what you just experienced, your hips twitched a little bit, and all you could do was use your hands to shove Steve’s lips further into yours. His tongue ran across your bottom lip, and you happily obliged, opening up a bit more so he could taste all of you.

When he pulled away so you could breathe, he went back to kissing your neck. “I’ve been dreaming about your taste for fucking months.”

You swore you could orgasm a second time at that sentence alone.

Steve’s fingers melted into your skin, and you were sure that there were permanent sun spots where his hand was, forever indicating where his hands should always be.

You gently pulled on his hair once again, gaining his attention. “Steve.” You muttered, rubbing your thumb up and down on his neck.

He nodded and reached over, opening the door to his room.

The two of you slowly made your way to his bed, lips on lips, hands grabbing for skin, wanting more contact than what you had.

By the time you were on the bed, your skin had become a canvas and Steve was the artist, his lips leaving little marks scattered across your skin like constellations.

Steve pulled away for a moment, sitting back on his heels, causing you to sit up. You took over his task, slowly unbuckling his belt, looking up at him the entire time. Steve licked his lips and bit his bottom one at the sight of you.

You slowly pulled it out of the belt loops and then threw it somewhere in the room. Your fingers made their way up his thighs before they popped open the button of his jeans. You could see the strain on the jeans from how hard Steve was, pushing against the fabric.

He groaned as you unzipped them before leaning back on your hands, watching him take them off. You could have sworn you started to drool when you saw his cock.

His hands almost started you as he placed one beside your head, leaning down to kiss you.

You didn’t realize that he had been wearing his silver chain this entire time, until it brushed against your collarbone when his lips connected with yours. You felt as Steve slid his knee between your legs, and his other hand cupped your cheek.

“Steve I–” You muttered against his lips, but he cut you off by kissing you again.

After a moment, he pulled away, hovering above you. “What gorgeous.”

“Please.” You whispered, feeling antsy at the fact that you hadn’t felt him yet, that he was barely touching you.

He smiled slightly. “You have somewhere to be?” He joked, kissing the corner of your mouth.

You rolled your eyes. “What if I did.”

He kissed your collarbone. “By all means.”

The top of your chest, above the bra. “Leave then.”

You let out a shuddered breath at the feeling of his mouth above your chest and closed your eyes.

“No?” He licked up your neck and nipped at the bottom of your ear. “Come on baby girl, nothing more to say.”

“F-fuck.”

He chuckled and slid his hand down to the front of your bra, undoing it with one hand. “Opens from the front…someone was prepping.”

Your cheeks turned red and you shook your head. “N-no.”

He shrugged and took it off of you. “Doesn’t seem that way, sweetheart.”

Your nipples hardened at the cool air surrounding you both, and Steve put his hand on your waist, slowly sliding up your side until he could cup your tit in his hand, giving it a squeeze.

You moaned at the contact but kept your eyes on the scene in front of you. It would be criminal to not watch Steve take his sweet time with you.

He shifted again, making it so he was able to rest on top of you, and trace designs across your chest with his tongue. It flicked against one of your nipples which made your body jump up against his.

“Sensitive?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You muttered, one of your hands making its way to his shoulder and squeezing it tightly.

He rubbed his thumb over the other nipple, flicking it. His tongue went to work, finding out everything that made you feel good, that made you moan. Once Steve had worked you up, he switched his attention to your other tit, his lips kissing across the valley of your chest.

He was teasing you, watching every single movement of your body and while you wanted to shove him back down to clean up his mess, you couldn’t help it. You had never seen a sight so intoxicatingly hot. His chain dragged around with him, adding to the sensation of his mouth on your skin.

Somehow from barely moving, you felt like your body was on fire, it was too hot. You felt too good.

“Gonna take my sweet time with you, pretty girl.” He muttered, kissing back up your collarbone. “Gonna hear every single one of those pretty sounds come out of that pretty mouth of yours. Yeah?”

All you could do was nod and close your eyes, trying not to orgasm right then and there.

He tsked and squeezed your waist. “I wanna hear it, baby. I want to hear you.”

“Yes–yes–please god yes.” Your answer poured out of you before you could even think about it. The only thing in your head was Steve Harrington. Steve’s hips, his ass, his arms, his chest, his lips, his hair, his chain, his stupid fucking smirk.

You felt him pull away for a moment, and you opened your eyes. He had gotten up and grabbed a condom, ripping it open with his teeth and tossing the wrapper somewhere. You watched as he slid it over his cock, which was already glistening with pre-cum, causing him to smirk.

“I make you excited or something, Harrington?”

He laughed as he made his way back over to the bed. “Something like that yeah.”

You leaned up slightly and captured his lips on your own, enjoying the moment of just his lips on yours.

He hummed and you felt him slowly guide himself to your entrance.

You’d never spent the whole night fucking someone, until now, and even then, you weren’t sure what you were doing was just fucking one another. Sure it started out like that, but it evolved into something more the second Steve Harrington took your hand in his and pushed into you for the first time, whispering everything he adored about you into your ear.

A sigh that could be categorized as relief left your mouth when he bottomed out, just letting the both of you get used to the feeling of one another.

He kissed your jaw before slowly pulling his hips back out.

You moaned into his ear as he started moving, your bodies moving in sync just like those cheesy books you had read told you.

Feeling good has never come so easy to you. The way Steve Harrington was kissing you, so tender, with sure care made you want to freeze the world so you could stay here forever, with him. Your moans match up to each thrust, each inhale from when he kisses the sensitive skin right above your collarbone.

The stars outside shined brighter for you, that’s what you would swear when telling your friends, that the universe quieted and the stars multiplied so you could see all of them as Steve made love to you, whispered how much he adored you, how he couldn’t wait to kiss you the moment he saw you at the airport. How he wanted to see what you tasted like the moment he first met you.

It was overwhelming, only breathing in Steve, bodies picking up the pace as you simultaneously leaned over the line, ready to snap.

You begged him, you needed him. His name falling from your lips with every single movement he made.

His hand slid down your body and slowly started toying with your clit. “Come on pretty, let me feel you. I want to feel you. You’ve been so good for me, so fucking hot baby, let me feel you.”

It snapped. The coil in your stomach snapped and you came, walls clenching down on him. Your mind went blank and your vision was filled with millions of stars that had floated in through the window and hung in Steve Harrington’s eyes.

The feeling of you caused him to quickly follow you, hips thrusting into you, making you both ride one another’s orgasms. The sound of his breath, his moans, caused another wave to crash down on you. Your back arched, jaw quivering as your chest lost all of its air. The weight of his body kept you grounded but your mind was in the clouds.

That calmness you had experienced before settled into your chest. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. There was no insatiable hunger, no need to go again (at the moment), nothing of the sort. Just a need to become inseparable, to become one whole again from two halves.

And you could tell Steve felt the same from the way he kissed your cheek and lifted his head to look at you. You both felt it. The feeling as if this was right as if you were supposed to be here with one another, as if it was written in the stars, or read through some tea leaves—you were supposed to be falling in love with Steve Harrington.

You leaned up ever so slightly, saying everything you possibly could with your lips against his, with no words being spoken. There was no need for them anyway because you just knew Steve felt the same.

______________________________________________________________________________

You spent the next week, doing your best to split your time between your best friend, and your something new. Robin was actually doing quite well adjusting to the two of you since it felt like this had always been normal.

The night before you and Robin were set to leave, Steve had taken you out by Lover’s Lake again, remembering how much you loved hearing about the stars. It was breathtaking. Truly the sky felt so vast and so big and you were standing underneath all of that with someone you truly cared about.

The night didn’t end there.

The two of you melted into one another in the backseat of Steve’s car. Skin on Skin. Stars collide in your eyes. Hands digging deeper than skin into souls.

Yet after all of that, you were still too terrified to ask the question that had been on your mind since last Friday.

What Now?

“I had been, uh, thinking.”

Steve’s thumb was rubbing against your hip, bringing your focus back to him.

“And, uh, we have to…”

You nodded.

“Steve I–”

Steve shook his head. “Let me get through this, yeah?” He whispered, almost like he was scared to even hear his own voice.

“I-I have been searching for a way out of Hawkins for a while now. I love my friends, but now that the kids have graduated and-and are moving away, I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

You brushed your hand against his cheek as a sign of comfort, not saying anything.

“I don’t want you to think I’m latching onto you because you could get me out of here. I need you to know that’s not—I have never felt more sure about anything—anyone in my entire life than I feel about you. It sounds fucking crazy to say out loud, but I swear your touch literally brings my heart rate down. Hearing your laugh is like a fucking drug and, and, I want to spend as long as I can staring into your eyes, memorizing every single centimeter of your body, watching you as you stare up at the stars. I w-want that. I want it so badly. It sounds delusional since we’ve barely spent a full week's worth of time together. But speaking it out into the universe has fucked me over so much in the past. Anytime I’d utter any true want out loud, it’d, uh, it’d disappear. But I can’t—I think I’d go batshit if I couldn’t kiss you every day. What–what I’m trying to say is that—”

You gently placed your lips on his lips, not having the words in the English language to describe the field of flowers blooming in your chest under the sunshine that was Steve Harrington.

Steve smiled and pulled away after a moment.

“You were gonna launch into the sky with the way your mouth was running.”

Steve nervously laughed and nodded, closing his eyes.

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m into you because you could be a way out of Hawkins. I need you to know that I’m seriously falling for you and I-I couldn’t be more in awe of you every time I look at you.”

Your eyes started to water and you shoved his chest. “Fuck Steve. That was…That was one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.” You muttered, burying your face in his neck, to hide the fact that this man just made you so emotional using minimal words.

The two of you sat there, enjoying the company of one another, whispering sweet everythings in each other’s ears. It was everything to you. His hands on your body, his eyes locked onto yours. The thought of having to leave the next morning had you terrified since neither of you really had any idea how you were going to make this work, but you’d be fucking damned if you weren’t going to try. Steve was worth it to you. He was worth everything.

And suddenly, because of Steve Harrington, you started to believe that you were worth everything too.

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