#i keep fighting for my life just to finish a piece but now i wanna finish stuff more ...

[favoure]

i drew ll!scar for a bday banner collab on twitter ! GO LOOK

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we do love Steve..."

🖤 An Ongoing Series, from Misha’s Masterlist Library. ☾⋆ OSWDLS Full Series Masterlist here.

VOLUME II • CHAPTERS 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

VOLUME II / CHAPTER 1-4 (WARNINGS/NOTES): t.w.'s - severe traumatic diagnosis for one of the main characters, heavy topics, language, sensitive mental health matters.

[These chapters are meant to be read directly after Part X, in chronological order.]

Tbh if you are not comfortable reading about traumatic situations that lead to trauma induced mental states, then this is jot the story for you. That said, this story has a very beautiful, warm ending and the light at the end of the tunnel is eternally bright. So in my humble opinion? It's worth every bit of the damn journey, if you wanna hold my hand and get there together (we can follow behind Steve & Bauman, as they hold each other tight through it all). 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Oh we are so back. And now? We're doing a time jump skip before we travel back in time, to figure out what all led up to this moment. Not gonna say much this time, because I really wanna let these next few chapters & my writing speak for themselves.

But I will say... I *did* make sure to include the first 4 chapters since I've been away for so long... ;)

Huge immense thank you to everyone who has not only been following this story religiously, but as also had an absurd amount of patience with me in picking this back up. Life's been keeping me occupied, but I can't complain. This platform is my escape, and I've nurtured it (along with this story) so that it's never a platform that doesn't provide me joy, release and peace of f*cking mind. You all do that for me and ily all the more for it. :)

Xx, Misha

Bonus: If you listen to this song cover, wayyyylllp then you are in for a treat. It heavily inspired this series volume, and it will be back...

***

CHAPTER ONE Systems Processing

Two months later . . .

The bedroom was dim and still. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful. Just stale, heavy with breath not being taken deep enough and seconds that dragged instead of passed. 

Outside, spring pushed up from the thawed ground like it had every year, resilient and blind to the war they’d all just finished losing pieces of themselves to. Inside, the Harrington house felt like a museum. Untouched plates on the dining table, old jackets on doorknobs, too many pairs of shoes by the door. Haunted by the living.

Steve didn’t move.

He lay on his side on top of the covers, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and sweatpants, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other hanging limp off the edge like it had forgotten it belonged to a body. He wasn’t asleep. Not really awake either. His eyes were open. Glazed over, red-rimmed, fixed somewhere past the wall, past reality, like he was watching something only he could see.

He hadn’t spoken in four days.

No one called it ‘catatonia’ out loud, not even Owens. Maybe because saying it would make it real. Maybe because nobody knew what the hell to do about it anyway. Even Robin, who normally refused to let anything rot in silence, had gone still around him now. Hopper kept pacing. Joyce kept cooking. Dustin cried exactly once in the garage and punched the wall when Steve didn’t flinch at the sound.

Everyone floated.

Steve sank.

Except when you were there.

The door creaked softly. No knock. Just you. 

Just Bauman.

Just his.

You slipped into the room with the slow ease of someone who’d already been here a hundred times. Which, to be fair, you had. First when Steve was an ass. Then when he was a friend, even though that took a solid four years in the making. And then it’d been whenever things shifted again, into something more. And again and again, as it kept being more. 

And then there was now.

Now, when he was… this.

You didn’t speak right away. Just eased the door shut behind you and made your way across the room with a quiet, practiced patience. You weren’t hurrying. You didn’t tiptoe either. You walked like it was any other Tuesday, like this was just another morning, like Steve wasn’t fractured behind his eyes and lost somewhere between what had happened and what he couldn’t stop reliving.

You climbed onto the bed.

Not over him, not around. Right in front. You lay on your side, facing him, tucking your forearm under your own head as you shifted until his vacant stare met your eyes. He was still looking right through you. You didn’t flinch.

“Morning, sunshine,” you said, voice low, dry, but warm like always. “You look like a man who got hit by a bus and is now haunted by the ghosts of every single wheel.”

Steve didn’t blink. But his jaw twitched. Just a little.

“I mean that in the sexiest way possible,” you added, deadpan. “Total roadkill vibe. My type. I’m into it.”

The corner of your mouth curved. You watched him with that unreadable, Bauman-brand expression you always wore, somewhere between ‘I might kiss you’ and ‘I might blackmail you with a secret I haven’t even discovered yet.’

He didn’t smile. Not yet.

You reached up, gently brushed your thumb under his eye. “You didn’t sleep again.”

He hadn’t.

I couldn’t, he thinks.

The nights were always worse. They always got started behind his eyelids. A twisted slideshow began the second he let them shut, VHS clicking into place and no remote in sight to keep it from pressing play all on its own, inside his own head.

Inside his own mind, the tape rolled. The images, the smells. Blood. Burnt hair. Electricity. Boots on tile. Your scream. Hopper’s fear. Dustin’s hands shaking as he pressed them against Steve’s chest, clinging, no longer play-fighting and begging him to not blame himself, no matter what. Max’s cries, raw and unfiltered, telling him she’s scared, she’s scared, “I’m so scared, Steve, please don’t leave me in there, I can’t go back there, please Steve, please.” It’s all so unfamiliar, hearing them all sound so broken, they’re not supposed to be broken like that. He doesn’t understand it. It’s foreign.

Just as foreign as his own voice had been, sobbing for you, shoving Jonathan’s chest whenever he’d stopped pumping yours, demanding him to fix you, “fix her, we have to fix her, Byers, she’s not breathing, no one stopped helping you find Will, she’s not fucking breathing—”

Steve blinked once. Just once. 

Slowly.

You leaned closer. Not to kiss him. Just to be there. In his line of sight. In the only patch of reality he seemed able to touch right now.

“I made coffee. It’s terrible. I thought about poisoning Hopper’s mug, just to keep the spark alive. But Joyce would probably revive him with a look and then shoot me in the foot.”

A breath huffed from Steve’s nose.

It wasn’t a laugh. But it was a reaction.

“Too soon?” you teased, voice of an angel, mind of the devil.

Your smile barely moved. But your eyes did. You looked at him, not through him, and didn’t treat him like glass. You never did.

“I know you’re in there,” you said gently. “Probably trapped in that stupid overachieving brain of yours, underneath that—” you inhaled, allowing yourself to sigh deeply, lackadaisical as the words finished your sentence and eyes shifted to his hair as you stroked it. “—stupid perfect head of hair that I swear has started styling itself. Because your brain just keeps overthinking that hard.” Your eyes soften slightly as you stroke his hair gently, your thumb against his temple. “Thinking about how you could’ve done it all better. How if you’d just gotten to us sooner, or stopped that Soviet with the gun faster, or stayed calmer, yelled louder, climbed faster, kicked harder…”

Steve’s lip quivered. 

You saw it.

So you leaned in a little closer, voice softer now. Letting truth find its way into the conversation without force, the way Owens had told you to do. Unforced, but not kept in an untouched vault. That’s what he’d said. Don’t mask it. Give it room to breathe.

“But I was dead, Harrington.”

His breath hitched.

“I mean, technically. Legally,” you clarified with ease, voice light, head tilting just slightly in the most subtle mock tease of the specifics. “Pulse-free and crispy. And you brought me back anyway.” Your brows lifted slightly. “You. Your hands. Your voice. Five minutes.”

Steve’s stare flickered. A slight twitch of his eyebrow. 

His throat moved as he swallowed, like it hurt. Burned.

The way that your lungs had when you…

“And before you start spiraling,” you added quickly, “Eddie kept time, so if you wanna blame anyone for the fact that my heart stopped for exactly five minutes and seven seconds, blame Munson. Pretty sure he got his CPR certification off the back of a Judas Priest album.”

Steve blinked. Once. Then again.

The silence pressed in again. He still didn’t speak. But his eyes weren’t glass anymore. They were there. Focused. Locked on you.

You held that gaze and didn’t move.

“It’s okay to rest now,” you said quietly. “As long as you want. You fought so hard, Steve. For everyone. For me. For Dustin.” Your eyes glittered, never leaving his face. His beautiful, sweet face. “You don’t have to carry it all anymore.”

His fingers moved. Just barely. A slight twitch against the edge of the comforter, like maybe they wanted to reach for yours but forgot how.

You noticed. Didn’t push it.

Instead, you let your fingers wiggle on top of the sheets. A little flutter, drumming the mattress, shifting just barely an inch towards his as you offered something lighter. “Also, I should let you know Dustin is trying to organize your VHS collection by genre and thematic arc. I told him you’d rise from the dead and end him if he even touched Die Hard, so now he’s avoiding eye contact with your bookshelf like it personally insulted him.”

Steve’s lips twitched. The faintest hint of a smile. 

You grinned gently.

Then softly, barely a whisper…

“...s’fine,” he rasped.

You froze.

Your eyes widened just a bit. “What?”

Steve swallowed hard, throat dry and tight. He blinked slowly, then looked at you, actually looked, and tried again.

“S’fine,” he finally repeated, voice hoarse. “Let him… alphabetize it.”

You exhaled through your nose like someone had just cracked a window in a smoke-filled room. Then blinked hard, as if not to cry.

Steve saw that, his hazy brown eyes never leaving yours. And for the first time in days, he moved on his own. One hand, his fingers slow and unsure, reached out. Touched your wrist. Like an anchor. 

A lighthouse in the vast sea, swelling in the storm.

You covered his hand with yours immediately.

Robin appeared in the doorway not long after. Dustin, too. Both of them froze when they saw you holding hands. Steve’s awake. Not smiling, but finally looking somewhat alive behind his eyes.

The sight of it makes Robin’s hand come up to her mouth. Dustin didn’t even hide the tears. He darted into the room and flung himself at the foot of the bed, landing belly-first on the mattress like a flying possum.

“DUDE,” he blurted. “You talked. That’s literally the hottest thing you’ve ever done. Well, second hottest. First is obviously the CPR thing, because you were like, ‘clear!’ and then—”

“Hey.” You extended your leg and lightly waved your foot at Dustin. “Hey. Volume.”

Steve’s eyes stayed on you. Watching your mouth move. Your eyes flicker, your smile fluttering upwards at the corner like you didn’t want it to, not wanting to risk overwhelming him, but couldn’t help it.

And the ghosts? They weren’t gone. But they were quieter. Just for a little while.

Because Steve didn’t see the bodies anymore. Dead and dying, bleeding and wilting. Gasping for air, pleading for help, croaking out one last breath before their eyes became lifeless… 

He only saw you. 

Dustin didn’t say anything. Not for a full minute. He just stayed right there, half-sprawled on the bed, arms curled under his chest, chin resting on the blanket like a kid watching Saturday morning cartoons. That ridiculous, familiar grin was stretched across his face. The one that used to hide the gap from the baby teeth he never lost on time. The one that now revealed a full row of permanent teeth, like time itself had forgotten how young they all still were.

He didn’t even try to stop smiling. Just beamed, at you and at Steve, even though Steve still hadn’t looked at him.

Steve’s gaze was fixed on you like it couldn’t be pried away without breaking something fragile. Like you were the only thing that could anchor him in a world that still felt too loud, too bright, too fast. His hand was still under yours, his fingers curled a little tighter now. Not gripping, just holding. Like it was something his body had finally caught up with and realized that he needed.

Robin hadn’t moved. She stood just inside the doorway, still braced against the frame like her knees had gone weak. Her hand was still over her mouth, covering the trembling edges of a sob that didn’t quite make it out. Her eyes were red. Brimming. Silent.

She hadn’t spoken since you went into the room.

You didn’t turn to look at either of them. Not yet. You kept your eyes on Steve, kept your breathing even. Your voice stayed low and calm, your expression steady, but not blank. There was feeling behind all of it. Deep feeling. But you kept it all tightly coiled behind your eyes, refusing to let it all spill out and drown the moment. 

Refusing to let it drown him.

Because you knew better than to flood a fragile circuit. And Steve Harrington, for all his strength, was cracked glass right now.

“Okay,” you murmured, just loud enough for the three of you to hear. “That’s enough excitement for one minute.”

Steve’s lip twitched again, brows furrowing. Barely. But it was there.

You smiled gently and looked past him, for the first time, at Dustin. You didn’t need to speak, just extended your free hand slightly, palm out, a soft gesture of welcome.

It’s okay.

Dustin understood immediately. He always did, with you. Always listeners, and trusted. He nodded once, moving forward slowly. Carefully, like the air in the room might shatter if he walked too hard. He knelt beside the bed, right by where you and Steve’s hands met and held onto each other. He didn’t reach for Steve, though. Didn’t talk, or ask questions, or try to make him speak. He just sat there, patiently, close enough to be seen but not felt. 

Letting Steve see him.

And Steve didn’t flinch. His eyes, still on you, subtly flicked toward the movement. Toward Dustin.

His brother. 

Steve’s doe eyes softened. It was a microscopic shift, but it was beautiful all the same. He didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t.

Owens had told you it would be like this.

“He might echo things you say,” he’d warned you all quietly, three nights ago. “That’s the easiest form of communication for someone in a post-catatonic fugue. He’ll sound lucid, but it’s muscle memory. Like the mind is bouncing off the walls of someone else’s words until it finds its own again.”

And that’s exactly what it had been. Four days of silence. Then, the faintest whisper of your own words sent back at you. Like an echo from underwater.

Until now.

Until “it’s fine.”

Those were his own words.

The weight of it still hadn’t settled. Because it was easier to hear about symptoms than to live with them. Easier to nod while Owens spoke in that tired, professional way of his, full of disclaimers and caveats, than to sit here and watch someone you loved disappear inch by inch. To see them breathe and blink and not be in the room.

But now? Now, Steve was here. Not all the way. Not completely.

But here.

You exhaled quietly and glanced at Dustin. His eyes were still shiny, but he was beaming. God, he was so bright when he smiled like that. Like he didn’t even know the room was still full of ghosts.

“Hey,” you murmured.

Steve’s eyes came back to you immediately. Locked. Like gravity.

“Think maybe,” you said, soft but sure, “you should try some water. Or, you know, attempt the wild and crazy act of swallowing something that isn’t your own feelings.”

Steve didn’t answer. Didn’t even nod. But the little flex in his jaw again, that little tick of muscle like his body remembered the shape of response, was enough.

You turned to Dustin. “Can you grab me that water glass from the dresser?”

Dustin scrambled with quiet eagerness. He brought the glass over, hand shaking just slightly. You winked at him as he handed it to you, not Steve, and backed off again. Still watching. Still smiling.

You took the glass and touched it to Steve’s lower lip gently. “Try,” you whispered.

He didn’t open his mouth right away. Didn’t pull away either.

You watched him patiently. Felt his fingers twitch again beneath yours.

Then, slow as thawing ice, he parted his lips.

You tilted the glass carefully as he lifted his head, which was progress. A little water slipped inside.

He swallowed. It wasn’t graceful. His throat bobbed like it hurt. But he didn’t choke. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact with you for a second.

“Good,” you said softly. Your thumb rubbed his knuckles once.

Steve let out a long, shaky breath. And then something happened. Something subtle. Not movement. Not sound.

Shift.

The air changed. Or maybe he did. Something behind his eyes. Like the light finally touched a corner it hadn’t in days.

He still didn’t speak. But he blinked, and this time, the blink felt real. Felt like his, not like the mind stalling and resetting.

Robin made a soft noise behind her hand.

You turned your head finally, just enough to glance at her. Her eyes met yours, wide and wet.

You gave the smallest nod. It’s gonna be okay.

Robin’s shoulders sank like the air had gone out of her lungs. She nodded, and didn't try to speak. Just stayed there, hand still over her mouth, a silent sentinel by the door.

You turned back to Steve.

He was still looking at you.

“Hey,” you murmured. “Still with me, baby?”

Another blink. This one slower, all for you...

You smiled, soft and sure, and squeezed his hand. “Good.”

It’s been maybe three minutes since you said that. Four, at most. Steve still hasn’t looked away from you. Not really. His gaze has drifted, sure, over your shoulder, to the steady weight of Dustin leaned up against the window. Just in his line of sight past you, propped up on your elbow beside him, smiling gently. And right behind you, Dustin was grinning quietly, that toothy smile full of unspoken loyalty. 

But every time that Steve’s glossy eyes flicker over to him, they come right back to yours.

You don’t say anything about it. You just keep holding his stare. Soft, calm, right there. Because you know better than to shatter this with too many words. You don’t want to break whatever delicate thread he’s holding onto. 

And Steve? He’s holding onto you. 

With everything he has left.

He keeps blinking slowly, like it helps keep the noise out. Like he’s sorting through the thoughts that aren’t plagued, trying to cling to the rare ones that aren’t rotten. The only ones that feel real anymore.

Like how beautiful your smile is. Even when it’s small. Even when it’s sad. Especially when it’s sad. And even now, when you’re not trying, it’s there. Still for him.

All for him.

He thinks about how it was the first real thing he could remember after they dragged you back into the light. 

That fragile smile, cracked at the edges, tender around the eyes, pulled from something ancient and bottomless inside of you, had been the first thing on your face when breath found your lungs again. After you’d been sucked underneath the current. The electric current that zapped you over to the other side. Not the literal other side, as in the wall. No, the other-other side. Not upside down. Not right-side up. Past the veil. Somewhere that you weren’t supposed to reach at only 20 years old. 

Somewhere that isn’t supposed to be reached into you’re old enough to become dust in the wind. Not jolted into it by a surge of shock that takes your life decades too soon.

And yet, here you are. His.

It makes his chest hurt. In a good way. In the only way that still feels good.

When he looks at Dustin, it’s different, but not by much. That same warmth, buried somewhere deep under all the sharp panic and muscle tension. The kind of love that doesn’t make a sound. The kind he never even got from blood family. The kind you only ever feel once, and if you’re lucky, you get to keep it.

His little brother. The one he didn’t get to protect. The one they took.

The image is still burned behind his eyes. The frantic, horrible shrieking of tires on the road above, the crash through the back fence, the screaming, the uniformed men, the guns, the gag. 

But worse than all of it was watching them drag Dustin out of that basement.

Drag you.

It hadn’t even been ten minutes. One blink. One breath. Steve had been gagged by then. Arms restrained so tight they bruised deep into his joints. Robin had been crying. Hopper was shouting. Joyce had been holding him, her own wrists tied, still finding a way to be there for him and shout through the fear in her throat. Mike and Max and Lucas had been frozen, pressed together against the wall like kids in a goddamn earthquake drill. Jonathan and Nancy had been shrieking, restrained and petrified, while Eddie had blood on his nose, the heel of a soldier’s boot dug deep into his back, between the shoulder blades. And Steve? Was useless.

He’d screamed so hard into the cloth they stuffed in his mouth that he’d torn the back of his throat. Spit and blood soaked the gag until it stuck to his tongue like glue. And all he could see were your legs disappearing through the doorway. Your voice screaming his name, telling them not to hurt him, not to hurt your uncle. Or Susie, or Dustin. 

Dustin trying to kick someone. His own wrists tearing against the tape they’d slapped onto him. Robin’s voice trying to scream for him. Trying to scream for you. And Steve.

“Steve, Steve, look at me—Steve, look at me!”

He can still hear Robin saying it. After they’d dragged you through the same door where Steve used to let you crash after movie nights, down the same hallway where Dustin always sneaks down for snacks in the middle of the night.

The man cave. His swanky, overcompensating bachelor pad turned game room turned war zone. And now it feels like a coffin. And yet somehow, you’re all still breathing in it.

“—gonna need at least three jars of peanut butter,” Dustin now mumbles beside you, voice low, conspiratorial, but bright. Like he’s trying not to wake Steve up from something.

You glance over your shoulder, raise an eyebrow. “Three? What’re you, eating it by the spoonful?”

“You know I do.”

Robin lets out a little puff of air through her fingers, still covering her mouth. A non-laugh. Her eyes are glassy. Twinkly. She hasn’t said a word since she sat down.

“You gonna back me up here?” Dustin asks, flicking his gaze to her as he steps up behind your back.

You nudge him lightly with your elbow. “She’s in mourning. The last of her protein bars got stolen by Murray.”

“I told her not to leave them in the glove compartment,” comes a voice from around the corner.

Your uncle.

Murray rounds it like a ghost. Barefoot, carrying a mug of black coffee and a clipboard, because of course he is. He doesn’t speak too loud. He doesn’t let the sarcasm spike above a dull rumble. It’s uncharacteristically softened, the way he only does it when he knows someone’s not okay and in genuine distress. He doesn’t comment on Steve’s distant, unblinking eyes.

You don’t either.

“I’m not saying the breakfast situation is dire,” Murray continues, perching on the edge of the low dresser without asking. He doesn’t need to. “But I am saying the last two eggs were questionably expired and Argyle made something that looked suspiciously like psychedelic oatmeal.”

You smirk. “He’s still on the kale kick?”

“Unfortunately. And he brought yogurt. Vegan. Unsweetened. Tastes like damp cement.”

“Ugh,” Robin croaks through her fingers.

You sniff a laugh. Even Dustin makes a face.

“I told him to pick up normal groceries with Hopper and Jonathan.” You flick your eyes back to Steve. He’s still watching you. Barely breathing. “Hopper’s definitely gonna ignore at least half of the list I made for it.”

He stares at you.

“Not if you guilt him hard enough,” Murray mutters. “You’re good at that.”

“She’s excellent at that,” Dustin adds.

You shoot both of them a look. “I use my powers responsibly.”

“Sure you do,” Murray says, sipping his coffee. “That’s why I’m out three Twinkies and half a carton of Pringles.”

You raise your hands. “That’s called preserving morale.”

Clutch.

There’s a flicker. A movement at the edge of your vision.

Steve’s hand.

It shoots out, sudden and sharp, and grabs you by the wrist. Not hard, but tight. Tight enough that it startles you. Tight enough that the others stop talking for a good solid handful of seconds, like the oxygen’s changed.

Steve’s eyes are wide now. Not as scared like they were before. Not as panicked. Just fierce. Pleading. The kind of look that says please don’t go without him ever making a sound.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not even close. But God, it still guts you.

“Hey…” Your voice is steady. “Hey. No one’s going anywhere. I’m right here.”

He doesn’t answer. You didn’t expect him to. So you squeeze his hand back. Gently. Letting him know you mean it. That you always will.

Then, very slowly, you bring his hand to your lips. Press a kiss to the base of his palm. Another one to the inside of his wrist. One more on his knuckles. All tender. All without words. Like muscle memory, like prayer.

Steve breathes a little better. A little more audibly. A bit shaky, jaw tightening and loosening… until finally, it settles. 

You don’t stop smiling all the way through it. 

“Okay,” you say, clearing your throat, and looking back at the group like you didn’t just feel your soul split in two. “We’re making a new list. Items Argyle and Jonathan are actually capable of acquiring.”

“Chips,” Dustin says immediately.

“Done.”

“Chocolate,” Robin murmurs.

“Double done.”

“Eggs,” Murray says. “Preferably not pre-rotted.”

You’re still holding Steve’s hand. Still smiling, still at ease.

He doesn’t speak, but you feel him shifting closer. Subtly. Timidly. He lets himself move inch by inch until his head is pressed against your chest plate, tucked in tight, safe underneath your chin. One strong arm stays curled close to his own ribs. His breathing is soft, still a little shaky, but it’s steady.

You rest your cheek against his hair, willing yourself not to say anything about the way his fingers clutch tighter into your shirt.

Dustin keeps adding items to the list. Murray keeps making dry remarks about produce. Robin chimes in once or twice with a cracked voice and grateful eyes. 

And you, still holding Steve, you just keep guiding the conversation. 

Because you’re the lighthouse.

Because Steve needs to hear the waves crashing on something steady. He needs to hear life continuing. He needs to feel love in the room without it asking anything from him in return. Just letting him exist in it.

Just letting him be.

And you’re not going anywhere.

Steve hasn’t moved from your chest, his breath still faintly damp against the soft fabric of your shirt. The black one he loves so much, the long sleeve that he says always makes him feel feral, ‘because you look like a badass that looks like she always wants to be told what to do but can hold her own in a fight.’ That’s how he’d described it once and it never left your brain. It lived up there, rent free.

Right now, his hand still clutches the hem of it, tucked in against his ribcage like it’s all that’s holding him together. You never stopped cradling him, never moved your cheek from the crown of his head, your arms circled around him like a ring of protection.

Murray sits back on the shallow bureau with a grumble, flipping through his clipboard notes, his pen still tucked behind his ear. “Alright, eggs, bread, three jars of peanut butter to appease the peanut gallery…”

“Rude,” Dustin mutters, no heat behind it.

“—those dinosaur nuggets that El’s now hooked on, that soup Steve likes… Jesus, what brand is it again?”

You answer quietly, not moving your cheek. “The one with the basil swirl in it. He always gets the tomato basil swirl. From that organic aisle.”

Murray clicks his tongue and scribbles. “Right. Pretentious soup aisle.”

“Hey, he likes it,” you murmur, just enough for Steve to hear, brushing your lips against his hairline before resting your cheek right back where it was. “That’s good enough for me.”

Your uncle hums, writing it down.

Dustin is seated cross-legged on the floor by the window now, nodding along as he tosses a grape from one hand to the other. “Mm, and those cinnamon rolls from that one place. The really soft ones he warms up with butter.”

“And peach Snapple,” Robin chimes in from the wall, next to the doorframe. She pushes herself off it now, moving closer. “He always picks the peach. Even when I tell him strawberry’s better.”

“He also buys it even when it’s not on sale,” you smile softly, letting your palm drift in slow circles across Steve’s back. “It’s like his small rebellion.”

Murray scoffs a laugh. Fond, no heat behind it. He sighs. “You people spend money like you’ve never been broke a day in your lives.” 

He pauses, shaking his head, glancing up at you from his clipboard. He pursed his lips, lightly tapping his pen against the paper for a couple of beats while just taking in the side of you holding him in the morning light, tucked here safely in his bed with him, over the covers. 

Murray finally sighs again. “So do you, by the way.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you hum, glancing over at him curiously. He just lifts an eyebrow, still writing down the grocery list.

“The Peach Snapple,” he clarifies easily, not looking up from his clipboard as he scribbles. “The one he always gets. So do you.”

That makes the little knit between your brows smooth over, and your cheeks begin to warm. It’s true, you think to yourself. You’d let that become a habit of yours, opting to start liking it since you’d always go to the store with him and he’d always grab one from the cooler before you both would even start shopping. Even whenever you guys would hit a 7-Eleven, or some really nice grocery market, he always looked for it. So now, you did the same thing. It grew on you. 

Just like he did. 

You smile to yourself. And then, muffled and still buried in your chest… you hear the words again. Echoed.

“…so do you.”

Steve.

Silence drops like a pin in church. Even your newly irregular heartbeat stutters in time against Steve’s forehead.

Murray’s head ticks up in surprise. Robin’s eyes go wide. Dustin stops chewing, mid-grape.

Your arms tighten just slightly around Steve, eyes flickering to your uncle. You’re stunned. Not just because Steve had spoken, but because it was that. A mirror of Murray’s own words, mouthed back with just the faintest hint of knowing. Not entirely his voice, but not not his either.

Oh my god, you think.

Oh my god, oh my god.

Murray blinks, and then, with the smooth recovery only he’s capable of, scratches his beard. “Well. At least someone’s paying attention.”

You grin, watery and full of love, kissing Steve’s hair again. “Yeah. He always does.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to.

The conversation moves on, gentle and easy. Robin makes another comment about almond milk, Dustin tries to convince your uncle to get one of those pre-marinated chickens. Murray pretends not to be listening, even though he is as he lists every single thing that they ask, like the secret softie that he is.

And all the while, Steve stays right there, clinging, hidden, breathing shallow but steady.

Eventually, Murray rises from his perch, brushing his hands off on his jeans. He claps them once, casually. “Alright, you guys ready?”

It’s meant for Robin and Dustin. A polite cue. A quiet way of giving you and Steve the room.

But Steve hears it, and before you can even blink, he makes a small, high sound. Barely a noise. 

A soft hitch in his throat, more breath than voice. Squeaked. 

Steve’s whole body jerks slightly, muscles snapping taut. His grip tightens on your shirt like a vice. And then he’s pressing harder into your chest, panic blooming in every stiff line of his frame. He starts shaking his head a bit. As if to say no.

Murray looks over sharply, brows pulling tight.

You freeze, but only for a second. Then you’re wrapping him tighter, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, no—Steve. Baby, no. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re safe. It’s just Jonathan and Hop going with Argyle, that’s all.”

Murray watches somberly, lips pressed into a hard line. Robin covers her mouth again, eyes widened with grief. Dustin looks like he wants to say something but he just swallows it, knowing better.

Your uncle waves them both down carefully, silently. As if to say don’t speak, let him do it.

You lock eyes with your uncle over Steve’s shoulder, and what passes between you in that look guts you. Because he’s never looked at anyone like this before. So carefully, so seriously, so heartbroken. Not even you, not even as a kid.

You know what that means.

He’s scared, too.

Steve’s breathing stutters through his nose a couple of times so Murray crosses the room slowly, movements deliberate. He crouches beside you both and keeps his voice low, gentle, like you didn’t know he could be.

“Kid, we’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re stuck with us. Me and her and Dustin. Robin, too. This house is on lockdown now. We’re practically self-quarantining just to annoy the government that no longer has us underneath their thumbs.”

No reaction from Steve. But no flinch either. 

That’s the win. That’s the progress.

Once he’s sure Steve can hear him, Murray reaches forward and firmly rubs his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. Long strokes. Solid pressure. He doesn’t speak anymore. Just lets the silence hold.

Steve doesn’t flinch. Instead… he relaxes. Just a fraction. Just enough for you to notice the tension start to bleed from his spine.

You look back at Murray again, lips parted. He meets your eyes. And this time, the worry is quieter. Still there. But with something steadier. The same thing you’re both clinging to.

Hope.

Murray finally nods once and gets up. “C’mon,” he mouths to Robin and Dustin after he’s already reached the doorway.

Robin leaves first, fast. She has to. You can see the tears building on her lashes. Dustin follows, biting his lip, head ducked.

Then it’s just you and Steve.

And still, he hasn’t said another word. Just breathing now. His face turned in, almost buried against your chest. Still clutching your shirt. Still so very quiet.

You stroke your fingers through his hair, thumb brushing over the back of his ear. Your voice is barely audible.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, Steve. I swear to God. You’re not alone.”

He doesn’t respond. But he breathes. So you keep going.

“You don’t have to talk yet, okay? Not if it hurts. But I’m here. And when you’re ready to talk to me? I’ll still be here.”

A long pause. Long enough for your own throat to tighten. You bite back the ache. You can’t cry. Not right now. He doesn’t need that. He needs you to be steady. Needs you soft, needs you strong, needs you period.

So you whisper it again, lips brushing his temple.

“I’m right here.”

More silence. And then, so quiet it’s almost like breath itself…

“So do you.”

The same words again. The ones Murray said. The ones Steve had echoed.

But this time?

This time it feels like Steve.

This time it’s his.

You pull back just a little, enough to see him. His eyes are open. Glazed and distant and tired… but looking at you. Really looking at you.

And you smile. Through the tears now freely falling down your cheeks, you smile. Press your forehead to his.

“Murray will make sure they get it,” you whisper, nodding. “The soup, the Snapple. The rolls. He’ll get all of it.”

You kiss the tip of his nose. 

Peck. Peck. Once, twice. 

Then the space between his eyebrows. Each of his closed eyelids. His cheekbones. Peck, peck, peck.

“I promise.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, nor does he need to. His eyes flutter. His body softens just slightly more against you. And his hand stays right where it is, curled in the fabric of your shirt, like an anchor.

And you hold him.

You just hold him.

***

CHAPTER TWO "Steve 'The Hair' Harrington"

Steve’s wristwatch sits discarded on the bathroom sink, the clock face reading 10:03 AM.

The familiar tile is warm beneath your feet, steam still ghosting along the mirrors behind the shower curtain, thick and slow. You’ve gotten used to this space, his full private bathroom, sharing it more than you’ve ever spent inside of it alone.

You can’t hear much over the steady patter of the water, but it doesn’t matter. You’re not listening for anything.

You already know what you’ll hear.

Nothing.

Not from him, at least.

Steve stands in front of you in the shower tub, his tall frame bowed just slightly at the shoulders, like he’s holding invisible weight. His limbs are more relaxed now, despite the stiff posture, his forearms loosely crossed one over the other in front of his toned, scarred abs. 

His pretty brown-eyed gaze, hazier than the steamy air, is locked on the drain.  The water is gentler today, not the full pressure he usually likes. Because when it’s loud, it startles him. And right now, Steve doesn’t need another reason to flinch.

You’ve gotten used to this. Showering with him. It wasn’t always like this, of course. You used to avoid being in the same house with him if you could help it. You used to flinch when you passed each other inside the Byers’ hall whenever you all would meet there, or whenever you’d exchange dry barbs sharp enough to draw blood. Four years ago, you would’ve rather set yourself on fire than bathe beside Steve Harrington. And he would’ve helped light the match in a fucking heartbeat. Hell, he would’ve sponsored the matchbox with his daddy’s credit card and been all too pleased about it.

Because back when he was seventeen and dating Nancy Wheeler. And back when you, stupidly, maybe, had encouraged her and Jonathan to snap out of it, when you drove the two of them that night inside your uncle’s living to get over themselves, stop lying to themselves. Ever since Steve caught wind of that, he’d looked at you as if you’d ruined him. Talked to you cruelly, discarded you with pride, just like King Steve would’ve done. Treated you like you were the monster in the woods. 

And you were the monster, for a while. In his eyes, anyway.

But that was years ago. And since then, the two of you have clawed your way through with grudging tolerance, reluctant teamwork, long silences, longer conversations, slow trust, soft nights, warm laughter, and then…

Well. And then you kissed.

Or really, he’d kissed you.

Out of nowhere. That night in this house. His house. The one you all ended up retreating to after everything blew sideways again, whenever Vecna vanished into thin air and Max slipped into a damn end 6-month long coma. After that night you’d all gotten a little drunk on Smirnoff (thanks to Murray), a little loud, laughing way too hard at things that shouldn’t have been funny. Hopper had been there. With Joyce. And Nancy and Jonathan. Robin. Eddie. You. Steve.

Just the adults and the younger adults, all breathing in that rare quiet, like maybe for once the world was going to give you a damn break.

Then the next morning, he’d let you read Max’s letter.  The failsafes. The one she wrote to him in case she didn’t make it. 

In case she didn’t wake up. 

He’d gone quiet whenever he handed it to you. Or let you pick it up. He pretends not to remember, anytime you two bring that up, just knowing that it bugs you. Because you remember everything. Every little detail. 

You remember he definitely didn’t read it himself, nor did he want to. He couldn’t. 

So you did. And you didn’t let yourself cry until later, whenever you were alone.

Neither did he.

Then later that night, while you were in your room after brushing your teeth and coming through your wet hair, ready to try and get some sleep, he’d knocked on the door. Steve didn’t say a word when you opened it. He’d just looked at you for a moment. Just looked at you like you were the question he couldn’t answer.

And then kissed you like his life depended on it.

Next thing you know, the two of you were pulling each other close, hands desperate and shaking, mouths open and aching, both sets of limbs tangled in one of his extra beds with the extra set of sheets. All tongue and teeth, and quiet gasps, naked and exploring. Hungrily seeking warmth, seeking answers, seeking common ground. Somewhere in the bend of your knee, or the cut of his v-line, a back and forth of moans and groans sighed and hummed into each other's lips and throats.

One night became two. Then a week. Then two months.

Two whole months.

And now it was this. This silence, this ache. This boy, beautiful and battered and not gone, but not here, either.

You’re careful as you rub the shampoo into your palms, lifting your hands to his head. You don’t speak right away. Not until your fingers are combing through his hair.

“You know how many of these we’ve taken?” you murmur softly, massaging near his temples.

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink, or lift his gaze.

“At least two dozen. Maybe more,” you continue, gently. You ponder over them as you let the body wash turn to suds beneath your hands, reflecting. Remembering. “Romantic ones… steamy ones…” You carefully washed over his scars along his torso, silver and healed. Marking a mere chapter of his nightmares. “That one when we were washing bat guts off each other, which was… sexy in a very specific trauma-bond way.”

Still nothing.

You glance at him and smile anyway. “But this one’s new. You’re not bossing me around about conditioner ratios. Not telling me that my rinsing technique is flawed,” you tease gently, mock-serious.

Still quiet. Until… 

“Flawed.”

Your fingers stutter in his hair for a moment. 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way it’s spoken from him. 

You blink. And then you grin. “Exactly. Terrible technique. You should probably report me. Hair crimes, maximum sentence.”

You catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Not yet. 

But you’ll take it. 

So you keep going, running the suds through your own hair while the water sheets down both of you. He’s so warm beside you. Not holding you, not quite touching. But not pulling away, either. And when your elbow bumps his side, he doesn’t shift.

That alone is worth more than gold.

You take turns on both of your behalf, just like that. Soaping your arms, then his. Your neck, then his. And whenever he looks like he might be trying to make sense of things, like he should probably be doing something, you don’t let him. You’re already on it. Steve’s always on it, so now it’s your turn to be. You don’t rush. And you also don’t stop kissing his shoulder every now and then. Or brushing the curve of his jaw with your mouth. Or pressing your lips to the soft, damp place just beneath his ear.

He never leans in. But he never leans out. 

And sometimes, he echoes something. Not a response. Just a mirror. A parroted echo, your uncle had once referred to it as. A faint repeat of your words, like maybe they mean something if he says them too. Which is why you treat it just like regular conversation. Like nothing’s wrong. Like this is your usual morning routine.

You talk about Dustin’s hair gel, how it still smells like pineapple and about how he needs to chill on it before his hair becomes uncooked ramen. About Robin’s meltdown over almond milk yesterday and how you’re pretty sure she’s going to end up getting arrested for smuggling raw milk by the time she’s thirty. About how Murray keeps writing oregano on the grocery list, even though there’s literally 5 bottles of it in the damn spice cabinet. About how Joyce and Hopper need to just get hitched already, how Jonathan and Nancy aren doing better. How they’re talking again. You even go on about how Mike and Lucas and Max have all actually started learning how to play instruments with Eddie, which is helping shape him out to be a great dad one day. Or maybe just the crazy uncle that he was born to be for those kids.

Steve listens, even when he’s not looking at you. He hums sometimes, looks at you sometimes like he wants to speak but can’t. He watches the bloodless water make sweet scented bubbles at his feet, where your toes kiss the top of his.

And finally, when it’s time to rinse, you ease him under the spray, guiding his head down so you can tilt it back. You’re on your toes a little, reaching, palms steady on either side of his head.  You chuckle softly, deep in your chest. The sound of it bubbles out before you can stop it.

“God, you really are happiest when someone’s doing your hair,” you whisper, smiling as the conditioner starts to rinse. “I swear, if I ever wanted to propose to you, I’d probably have to do it while rinsing your bangs.”

That’s when it happens. So fast and soft you almost miss it.

A smile. 

Steve Harrington smiles.

Not big. Not ultra wide. But it’s there, it’s right there and it looks just like him. Like one of those signature smiles of his, all charming and cocky and proud of himself. The one that you used to wanna smack right off his face with a bitch slap, only to end up chasing after it with your lips every goddamn day.

His lips just now had curved up into a flicker of that. Just barely. But enough to wreck you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. “There he is. The King of Hair. The Crown Prince of Conditioner. My one and only shampoo deity.” You nuzzle your nose to his gently, teasingly, all featherlight and fond. Your hands keep working through the strands, rinsing the last of it out. “I should be charging for this. This is high-value spa work.”

He doesn’t say anything. But he lets you nuzzle him with hooded eyes that swim with love and don’t look completely lost as you do...

And that? That feels like a miracle.

After carefully flipping the water off, you go to reach for the towel hanging on the rack, one hand still in his, fingers loose. It’s right behind him, where he stands underneath the nozzle where the waterfall has ceased. It’s right within arms reach where you can still see him, still hold onto you as you do it.

But right before you move, Steve catches you.

Not fast. Not suddenly, not with a desperate grip on your wrist like he’d done this morning. Just a slow, deliberate lean forward.

…and then his nose presses into yours.

Just once. Gingerly, sweetly. 

Just Steve’s turn, to nuzzle your nose right back, albeit delayed. Just a few steps behind you.

You stop breathing. But only for a second. Then you smile again, steady and warm and careful not to show how badly you want to fucking cry.

Because he nuzzled back.

You nod like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal. Like it’s just another Sunday morning, another moment in the life you’ve built together. Even though it’s not. Even though it’s everything.

Because Steve might not be talking. But right now, at just past 10AM, in the quiet hush of a half-steamed shower, with conditioner still dripping from your fingers, and hot water is clinging to both your skin instead of blood and grime… 

Steve Harrington is saying something.

And you’re here to listen to every single word of it.

***

CHAPTER THREE "Girlfriend"

It’s not long after the shower. Maybe twenty minutes, tops. The sun has risen higher in the sky now—barely peeking through the heavy curtains of Steve’s room, just enough to cast warm little streaks of light across the bedspread and rug. The room smells faintly of his shampoo, the one you use on both of you now. Cedarwood and citrus, clean and bright.

Steve is sitting at the edge of his bed, dressed in the off-white Henley you love most on him. The sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, loose and rumpled just enough, and he’s wearing those goddamn black joggers that cling perfectly to his hips, hanging just right off his thighs. The Henley and joggers combo? Criminal. It should be illegal how good he looks like this—towel-dried hair falling soft and boyish across his forehead, skin warm and pink from the shower, eyes somewhere far away but still… somehow home.

He looks like a dream. Your dream. Even hollowed out and lost inside himself, he’s still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

And he’s letting you choose what he wears now.

That part, morbidly, makes you a little happy. You’re the one dressing him lately—picking out what’ll make him feel safest, softest, most like himself again. And selfishly, you get to choose all your favorite things on him. Because now you can. Because he lets you. Because you’re his. And he’s yours.

You’re still in your towel. Haven’t even gotten around to dressing yourself yet. You’re standing at his dresser, rifling through the drawers like you live here. Like you belong here. Because you do.

“Okay,” you mutter aloud, holding up one of his old Hawkins gym t-shirts and smirking to yourself, “I’m not even gonna pretend I’m not stealing all of these. I’m just—these are mine now. Sorry. That’s just the girlfriend tax.” You glance back over your shoulder. “You understand.”

He’s looking at you. Not in that faraway, glassy kind of way. Not completely. There’s something behind it now. A flicker. Something dancing in the honey-brown of his eyes like maybe he’s listening. Maybe not all of him, but enough. Enough to know you’re talking. Enough to be caught staring.

You flash him that grin of yours. The one he used to hate. That cocky, sunbeam grin he once swore made him want to walk into traffic. Back when you were seventeen and he’d still been with Nancy. Back before everything changed. Before the two of you grew up and broke down and clawed your way to this strange, undisturbed place. 

That’s the precise grin you wear for him right now, the only thing you’re wearing right now except one of the plushy towels that hangs around your frame. You tilt your head.

“Girlfriend,” you say again, real sing-song and light. “You like that word, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but you see it. The way his shoulders shift, the way his mouth twitches. The way his eyes trail you as you take one slow step closer.

You say it again, quieter this time, eyes dancing. “Girlfriend.”

Another step.

And again. “Girlfriend.”

You’re barely a foot away from him now, towel still wrapped around you, your hair still dripping a little. Little beads of hot water are still clinging to your bare skin. You’re warm and damp and buzzing all over. And you’ve got this graceful saunter in your step. It’s lithe and teasing and slow, like a lioness, like something delicate and dangerous all at once. You watch him drink you in, even if he doesn’t mean to. Even if he doesn’t realize it.

You don’t reach out right away. You just kneel in front of him, slow and smooth, until you’re eye-level with where he’s sitting on the edge of bed. You’re smiling like you’re the happiest woman on the planet.

Because you are.

Because Steve makes you that.

You reach up, gently, and cradle his face in your hands.

He leans into it.

Oh, God, he leans into it.

Your thumbs press into the hollow of his cheeks, and you feel his skin… It’s still warm from the shower, still baby-soft and damp in the way that only Steve Harrington ever gets. His pretty eyelashes flutter for a second, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look at you. But he does. He keeps looking. And it hits you all over again, just how much you love him.

How much you love him in the way that makes you ache and burn and swear to yourself you’ll never let anyone hurt him again. That nobody, nobody, is going to take you from him. Or take him from you. Not after everything. Not after what he’s survived.

And then, barely above a whisper… 

“…girlfriend,” Steve says.

Just that. Mild. Hesitant. Like he’s testing the sound of it.

You nod through the rush of heat in your throat, through the sting in your eyes. You smile wide and wicked, all fondness and joy, and you tease him like it’s no big deal, like yeah, you knew he liked it. Of course he likes it. You’re his fucking girlfriend.

Then Steve reaches up. Slowly, a larghetto movement. His fingers wrap around your wrists, right where your delicate hands still cradle his face. His touch is feather-light, but it’s real. He’s grounding himself. Holding on.

He says it again.

“Girlfriend.”

This time it’s stronger. Not loud, but his. It sounds like the way he says your name whenever he’s teasing you. The way that he says it when he’s kissing you and shutting you up. Like he’s not just saying the word, he’s claiming it.

Your chest tightens. Your hands tighten just a little around his jaw, and your eyes glisten even as your smile spreads wider. You lean in, just a fraction, and your nose brushes his.

“Yeah,” you breathe, so quietly. “Yours.”

His sad eyes twinkle, piercing into yours despite the trauma that hazes over them and tries to kill the light inside of them.

"All yours," you breathe against him with a gentle smile, eskimo kissing him the way that the two of you always do.

And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, Steve’s eyes don’t look lost. They look like they’re finding their way back.

One patient, soft second at a time.

***

CHAPTER FOUR "Frozen Exstinction"

It was exactly 12:31 PM when the front door burst open like someone had just returned from war. Not the type of war that this crew was used to dealing with, though. 

Instead? They’d conquered a war waged in the fluorescent battlefield of supermarket aisles.

“Operation: Grocery Heist complete,” Argyle declared grandly, arms overloaded with a precariously teetering stack of brown paper bags. “We bring you tribute, o mighty household.”

Jonathan followed right behind him, far less theatrical, sunglasses still pushed up on his head and a bag of apples hooked onto his wrist like a purse. “He means we spent an embarrassing amount of money on exactly what everyone demanded, down to the five separate coffee listings.”

Hopper was already at the kitchen counter and halfway through pouring himself what had to be his third or fourth mug of coffee. He grunted like he had every intention of making it to five. “Six. That list said coffee six times.”

Murray didn’t even look up from the bag he was already rifling through. “That’s because we knew you’d think four was too low and five was some kind of trap. Six is your psychological sweet spot. You’re welcome.”

“You people are insane,” Joyce muttered, already reaching to help you unload the loot, her voice thick with amusement. “Who needs six kinds of coffee in one day?”

“You, apparently,” Murray quipped without missing a beat. “You’ve got Hopper’s taste in men, why not his taste in caffeine dependency?”

“Ouch,” you chimed in, stifling a laugh as you moved alongside Jonathan, digging through the mountain of groceries now overtaking Steve’s kitchen. “I felt that one from across the room.”

“I liked that one,” Jonathan grinned, elbowing you lightly. “We should start writing these down. Volume One: The Strangest Things That Piss Off Hopper and Murray: A Sibling Guide to Survival.”

“We are not siblings,” Murray snapped, already tossing a rogue orange back into the fruit bowl like it had personally offended him.

“Yeah,” you smirked beside him, “you wish you were in this bloodline.”

That earned a bark of laughter from Jonathan as you and your uncle high-fived. 

“See? Dangerous combo,” he warned the room, nudging Hopper’s shoulder in passing as he walked past. “You let two people like us exist in the same kitchen? Mistake.”

“I’ve made worse,” Hopper muttered into his coffee. “I’ve married worse.”

Joyce rolled her eyes, laughing. “Oh, please, spare me your sob st—”

“Ayyyye,” you and Murray both said in harmonic unison, your Cheshire-grinned faces both alight with wide eyes. 

You both snapped your fingers at Joyce, who buried her head in her hands, immediately catching onto what she’d just done. Hopper gaped at her.

“It’s sticking,” Murray sing-songs. 

“Exhibit A, Hop,” Jonathan gestured to his mother while looking at him. He gestured wildly between all three of you now. “Exhibit fuckin’ A.”

“Language,” Joyce feebly attempted, muffled into her hands.

In the middle of the chaos, Steve just sat there. Perched on one of the kitchen island stools, still wearing that off-white Henley and those loose black joggers you’d laid out for him earlier, his hair still slightly damp and towel-dried, like he hadn’t moved since you’d pulled it back from his face with your fingers and whispered how stupid hot he looked. Because he did. Even like this. Despite being this quiet, depleted, soft-edged and shell-like, Steve Harrington looked like a goddamn dream.

He wasn’t talking. Not contributing to the mayhem unfolding around him. But he was watching. You could tell, just from the way his eyes flicked from person to person. He tracked the lackadaisical way Argyle dumped a bunch of boxes labeled ‘snack cakes’ onto the counter with a proud “for morale” falling out of his mouth, to the way that you giggled beside Jonathan while Murray muttered “morale’s a scam.”

Steve didn’t smile. Not yet. But he was watching.

That was new. First time he’d actively done it like this in a group setting, for the last four days.

It was progress. And it mattered.

You kept sliding things out of bags, laughing with your uncle as you discovered the outrageous number of hot sauce bottles he’d sneakily requested, when Jonathan suddenly dropped a cold six-pack of peach Snapple right in front of you on the counter with a light thud.

“For the Harrington,” he said with a casual sort of grandiose, handing off another pack to Argyle to put in the fridge.

You blinked, then looked at the label, and instantly smiled. 

Without missing a beat in the flow of conversation, you plucked one cold bottle from the pack and wiggled your eyebrows at Steve, flashing him a tiny grin. Then, you set it down gently in front of him. He blinked at it, then looked up at you, eyes soft and slow and warm in a way that told you yes, he sees you. 

And the truth is, he always did, even when his catatonic state was at a level 2.

He watches as you pick up a second bottle, thinking that the first one had been for him, but then he watches as you silently pop the seal off this one. Not loud, not startling.  And then, you place it down in front of him — exchanging it with the first. And all the while, you kept talking to Murray and Jonathan about who was going to organize the pantry this time.

“Not it,” you said. “Not it,” Jonathan echoed, barely squeezing it in. “Absolutely not,” said Argyle like he had ten minutes to spare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Steve finally reaching for the bottle. His fingers curled around it like it was made of porcelain. 

His blank expression flickers with glimpses of thoughts. Oh. 

You’d let the first one, kept sealed, register with him… 

…and then you actually opened a second one for him, and let him drink it…

…since he wouldn’t open his own.

Steve warily brought the opened peach Snapple into his lap, looking at it for a moment. And then slowly, so gently, he leaned sideways, his shoulder brushing against yours, the full weight of him subtle and seeking.

You didn’t stop talking. Didn’t react like it was precious, didn’t patronize or praise him. You just kept socializing and let him press into you, gradually and wordlessly, as you reached across the island for a box of granola bars and launched right back into teasing Hopper for having labeled beef jerky as “emergency rations.”

Steve just kept sipping. 

Just kept sitting there, watching and absorbing.

Letting himself be included.

And then, right on cue, like a sitcom entrance with stage lights behind him: Eddie Munson rounded the corner, freshly showered, black hair wild and damp, sporting jeans and a band tee that somehow made him look like he’d just wandered off a stage in 1987.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and traumatized royalty,” he sang, making a grand sweep of his arms as he entered the kitchen. “I bring peace, hydration, and the lingering smell of herbal shampoo.”

“Good god,” Joyce muttered with a fond smile.

Murray didn’t look up. “You’re worse than Argyle.”

Argyle gave him a thumbs up. “I taught him.”

Eddie leaned dramatically against the fridge, letting it hold him up like he was the star of his own soap opera. “So what’s for lunch, huh? What do you feed a recovering hero with a six-pack and the sad eyes of a wounded golden retriever?”

There was a pause as you hummed, pretending to consider that. Murray actually sniffed out a laugh, head still down, while Jonathan drummed the table and squinted as if he actually was searching for a witty answer. 

Joyce pursed her lips from the bread basket, starting to answer as she stocked it. “Well…” 

But then a tiny sound escaped and entered into the mix.

…from where Steve sat quietly nestled beside you, still leaning.

Not a word. Not a sentence. 

Just a soft, breathy puff of tinkered laughter. 

Like surprise had pushed the air out of him without asking.

Every head turned.

Eddie was frozen mid-lean, eyebrows raised high.

Joyce looked like someone had just handed her a puppy. Hopper went still, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth, mouth hung open behind the rim, while Murray flicked his eyes up towards the sound. 

Jonathan’s fingers drumming the counter ceased immediately. And you? Your heart just cracked open like a sunbeam through a stormcloud. You turned to look down at him, your eyes wide, seeing now that Steve’s expression had shifted just the smallest amount. It had the wholesome, innocent appearance of someone who had just caught onto the joke.

His mouth was tilted in a quiet, barely-there, subtly open-mouthed smile. And his eyes were on Eddie, having just processed the lighthearted joke that he’d tossed into the ring a good five or so seconds before he’d reacted. Delayed, larghetto, and wholesome.

It felt like watching a flower patiently turn toward the sun.

You moved before you even realized it, circling behind him and wrapping your arms around him from behind, arms looped around his chest with your hands dangling against his sternum. You leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then again, before moving to kiss his temple. Balmy, light presses of your lips like promises.

“Oh you heard that, huh,” you murmured against him fondly. Kiss kiss, promise promise. “Of course you liked that.”

“You sly dog,” Hopper murmured, shaking his head and finally sipped his coffee while grinning at Steve from behind it. Joyce was right beside him, eyes round and hazed over with emotion, watching Steve with motherly hope.

“Don’t let it go to his head,” Jonathan mumbled, but he was smiling so warmly, looking right at you and Steve.

You couldn’t even help the twittery, breathy laugh that caught in your throat but managed to escape anyway. “Oh yeah, you’re okay,” you murmured, quiet and gentle and just for him. “You’re so okay. And I love you so much.”

Steve still didn’t speak. But he did lean into you. And then, with one hand still holding onto that peach Snapple in his lap, the other reached up. 

Found your wrists. 

Held them there.

And when you murmured, “You’re safe,” against his ear, barely audible… 

He echoed it back.

“Safe.”

Soft, faint.

But there.

Joyce closed her eyes like she’d been praying for that exact moment.

And Eddie just stood there, jaw slack, blinking slowly as his eyes misted. “Holy shit,” he whispered to her. “Steve Harrington just laughed at my joke. I’ve peaked.”

Hopper spun it into something witty and roast-worthy towards him, to help “deflate his ego” but also keep the conversation flowing so that Steve wouldn’t retreat again. And also to keep from letting whatever thickness was crawling up his throat and made him have to keep clearing it every ten damn seconds.

They all resumed chattering. But you didn’t look at anyone else except Steve right now as you leaned closer, pressing your nose against his hair while he leaned against your chest, silent and sipping peach Snapple, surrounded by found-family absurdity, love, warmth, dry wit and everyone who mattered to him.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

And alive.

Jonathan has also learned how to immediately clock the hesitation in Steve’s eyes before it ever even forms in his body. It’s why he doesn’t hesitate, just like you and Murray, before drawing the reins of the conversation back into his own hands like it’s second nature.

“So what I’m hearing is,” he says, plopping a stool over for himself and resting on it with his hip, a half-empty bag of dried mangoes in one hand. “None of you trust me and Argyle to buy groceries unsupervised.”

“That’s what you’re hearing?” Hopper asks dryly as he settles into the bench near Joyce, arms crossed, legs kicked out. “Because I’m pretty dog-gone sure what I said was: ‘next time, I’m writing the list in crayon and attaching it to Eleven’s bike handles.’”

“Oh come on, man,” Argyle chimes dreamily from the fridge, holding a Tupperware of watermelon like it’s sacred. “You said you needed snacks, we got snacks.”

Hopper chews his doughnut hole very slowly.

Jonathan gestures at the kitchen like it's the Wheel of Fortune board. “We hath delivered!”

“Touched by an angel,” Hopper deadpans, mouthful of sugary dough.

“Um,” Murray lifts his head without even looking away from the receipt he’s been silently combing through for the last two minutes. “Did you or did you not purchase a novelty bottle of glow-in-the-dark pancake syrup?”

Jonathan doesn’t even flinch. “It was on sale.”

“You bought two.”

“Two-for-one.”

“I rest my case.”

“No one asked you to be the attorney general of the snack aisle,” you mutter, biting down on a smirk, one hand still draped gently across Steve’s chest as he stays leaned back into you, Snapple halfway to his lips. 

He hasn’t said another word yet, nor has he engaged or reacted, but he hasn’t checked out either. He’s looking at Jonathan. Then at Murray. Then back again. Following. Listening. His lips are slack but not grim. His eyes…they’re a little less glossed over now. A little brighter. They keep shifting from one speaker to the next, not unlike a lazy volley at a ping-pong table.

Joyce is already nodding toward the pile of grocery bags. “Please tell me you didn’t get the edible glitter sprinkles again.”

“No comment,” Jonathan mumbles.

“Jesus Christ,” Murray sighs, while Argyle tosses a grape into his own mouth without even blinking.

“Know what, I say let ‘em buy what they want,” you say breezily, leaning in to rest your chin a little more comfortably on top of Steve’s head, your voice like silk just for him. “Let them spend their money on stuff they’re clearly emotionally attached to.”

“Oh, like the inflatable margarita pool float,” Murray fires.

Jonathan lifts a finger. “That? Is for crowd surfing.”

“You live in Indiana.”

“And it was five dollars.”

Eddie whirls on him, grinning. “Whose five dollars?”

Hopper’s shoulders had started to shake, quietly at first. But then his chest joins in as you all keep jabbering, and the gruff, growling sound of him trying not to laugh just makes everything worse. You and Jonathan exchange a glance that only adds gasoline to the fire.

“I mean, let’s be real,” you grin at your uncle. “You’re just pressed you didn’t get the pool float first.”

“Oh please,” Murray snaps. “Sp—”

“Spaaaaare meeee,” Joyce says it for him, cupping her hands over her lips for emphasis, and not helping Hopper’s failed attempt at keeping his laughter in check.

Murray glares. “I wouldn’t be caught dead inside that avocado-shaped monstrosity. It has sunglasses.”

“And a cup holder,” Argyle points out like he’s reading the back of the damn box. 

You gasp lightly at that and tilt your head towards him, all while looking at Murray with the most robotic doll-like smile. As if you’re on a Truman show infomercial. “For your good ole buddy Smirnoff.”

“Oh, don’t encourage him,” Hopper groans, covering his face with both hands now.

“Smirnoff doesn’t help me float,” Murray your uncle quipped at you. “It helps me sink.”

“Poetic and emo,” you murmur into your Snapple.

“Don’t knock it till ya’ve floated in it,” Eddie sings, pleading your case.

Hopper wheezes miserably, like a dying animal behind his hands while Murray keeps failing miserably at holding his own and Jonathan bobs his head along with literally no music playing. Steve just stares at them, and you just snicker warmly next to his ear and let yourself sway with him a little bit. He honestly looks adorable right now, despite the fact that his expression is pretty blank. But the poor baby looks so focused right now, it makes your heart swell.

But it’s too late. The floodgates are open.

Eddie’s now cracking up from the freezer, tossing something into it without looking. “Hey Hopper, who’s responsible for this?”

“Responsible for what?” Hopper says on an exhale, not even looking up yet. Already dreading it.

“Three boxes of frozen dinosaur nuggets.” Eddie turns, holding one aloft in triumph. “Three. That’s a cry for help.”

Hopper drops his hands and just stares at Jonathan and Argyle. “Why.”

“They were on the list,” Jonathan says automatically.

“They were not on the list,” Murray deflects.

“Oh but they were,” you counter, already snickering.

“Well I didn’t jot it down,” he scoffs.

You clicked your tongue. “Marie Antoinette, why you lyin’ like dat?”

Eddie snorts hard, looking up from the box of frozen extinction. “Did you just call him—?”

“Really?” Your uncle literally gapes at you. 

You lift your eyebrows once, grinning like Satan’s spawn as a little sksksksk escapes from Jonathan.

Hopper, meanwhile, sighs so deeply it could trigger a weather system. 

“Let me guess,” he says in full-blown dad mode. “Ten plus one?”

Everyone knows exactly who they’re for, and that’s Eleven. No one says it, but the fat grin on Joyce’s face and the way Argyle nods solemnly confirms it before anyone has to verbalize it.

“Jesus, she’s obsessed.” Hopper huffs. “First it was Eggos, now it’s fucking prehistoric poultry.”

“She’s your kid,” Jonathan says.

“Your future sister,” you chime in, sipping your Snapple.

“Your daughter,” Joyce echoes, pointing a wooden spoon at him like a gavel, then at herself. “My future daughter.”

Hopper points at them both, then you, then them again. “Enablers.”

“Welp,” Eddie chirps. He’s now crouched like he’s proposing to the freezer. “I’ll eat the evidence if it helps.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hopper mutters, but he’s grinning now, and not just with his mouth. His eyes are soft. There’s no question who El is to him anymore. Not in the way he talks about her, not in the way he sighs, not in the way he pretends to be exasperated while looking at three goddamn boxes of chicken-shaped love.

Jonathan is all sksksksk again, when you absolutely deadpan at Hopper.  “C’mon, Jimothy, let our six little nuggets enjoy their Jurassic Park nuggets in peace, like goddamn.”

It’s the timing.

It’s the phrasing.

It’s the fact that you say it so completely straight-faced, while Eddie starts wheezing and Joyce just shakes her head like she regrets every life choice that led to this moment.

Hopper barks a laugh. It escapes him loud and fast, bouncing out like it was ripped from his chest before he could stop it. And then he schools his face immediately, glaring at you with narrowed eyes like that didn’t just happen.

Jonathan nearly collapses behind the counter trying not to fall over. Eddie is now bracing himself on the freezer door, head ducked into the ice box. And you’re grinning like you know you just won.

Hopper points at you as he walks by, heading toward the remaining bags. “You’re on thin ice.”

You just blink at him. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Send you back to college.”

“It’s trade school.”

“I’ll send you back to trade school.”

“I’m on break.”

“Then I’ll revoke it.”

Argyle hands him a cantaloupe slice without breaking rhythm. “Eat something, Hopper.”

“Yes,” Murray says with a sarcastically wry smile, looking like a fucked up informercial. “Please. Eat. You’re not you when you’re hungry.”

And somehow through it all, the back-and-forth, the rhythm, the pacing, the hum of warmth and memory and familiarity… you feel Steve move again.

Not flinching.

Just leaning.

Tilting his head back, so that he’s looking up at you now. His pupils are steady, glassy in a way that’s soft, not quite so distant. There’s something underneath that stare, something warmer than before, something quiet but whole.

“Oh hi,” you whisper, blinking down at him, cracking a smile.

He doesn’t smile back, at least not with his mouth. But his eyes… They dance. Right there in the middle of the chaos, they dance as they look up at you.

And then, barely above a breath, he murmurs, “six little nuggets.”

Your heart stops. Then flutters. Then folds in on itself, slow and radiant.

Because it’s not a joke, not to him.

It’s the dream he once told you Nancy about, but now shares with you. The one where you’ll both hit the road one day in a busted-up Winnebago, long after the world came crashing down again. Where the two of you will pull over wherever you want, whenever you want. Six kids. Loud. Happy. Messy. Yours. His. 

Both of your shared six little nuggets.

You lean down to him without hesitation, brushing the tip of your nose to his, nuzzling his tenderly.

“Yeah,” you whisper, smiling into him. “Our little nuggets.”

And this time, when he nuzzles back, it’s slower. Not quite in sync with you. Not as easy as it used to be. But also not as delayed as it was this morning. But it’s real. It’s movement, it’s progress... 

It’s Steve. 

Your Steve.

You stay right there, cheek to his temple, arms still around his middle.

And none of the others see it, except Murray. He watches from across the kitchen, arms crossed now, leaning against the fridge with a soft, unreadable smile.

Then he clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. Harrington?”

Steve turns his head almost immediately, his reaction so instinctive it’s almost childlike. Like he thinks he’s in trouble. But when he looks up, all he sees is Murray wagging that little tub of butter in the air, smug as hell.

“They found this hiding in the dairy,” Murray says, all too proud. “You’re welcome.”

Steve’s eyes catch the label. His go-to butter. The bougie kind. You all talked about it this morning, with him curled up in bed facing you, Dustin pressed against the wall, Robin leaning on the doorframe, Murray perched like a crow on the dresser.

His eyes flicker. There’s something shy and sad and grateful that curls its way into his eyes, piercing through his blank expression.

“Psssshhh,” Eddie puffs out a laugh through his lips. “Knew you were a bougie butter bitch.”

Everyone laughs. 

“My bougie butter bitch,” you purr affectionately, rubbing your hand up and down one of his arms with your free hand. The one that he’s not still holding onto with one of his hands.

Murray winks at Steve, while Hopper walks by and squeezes Steve’s shoulder. And the conversation starts right back up again, full throttle, ridiculous and warm. But Steve puts the Snapple down. And instead, he wraps both of your wrists tighter against his chest, like holding onto you is the only liferaft keeping him from floating straight up into the ceiling. His face folds in a little, not enough for tears, but enough for you to feel that sting behind his silence.

You just kiss the crown of his head and keep joking about nonsense with the rest of your friends.

You don’t need him to say anything else.

He’s here. You’re here. He’s yours, and you’re his.

And that’s enough.

***************************************************************

TAGLIST

@xprloki @erastourvip @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst bookkeeperlove notlilyyyy @xblueriddlex madaboutjoe ucannotcompare @goosy-goose nevillescomslut

[howiswhatawhy]

come out and play - Bucky Barnes x reader

pairing: congressman! thunderbolts! bucky x civilian! reader Warnings: Spoilers of thunderbolts, I tweak the way the void works in thunderbolts, a little angst, mention of death, violence, the ending was a lil rushed bcs i realized my deadline is in 2 days but i need to first finish this fic before i can focus on anything else. Summary: Bucky deals with the stress of being a congressman and events of thunderbolts* with you by his side. Word count: 1.9k

A/N: wrote a fic for the 1st song added into my bucky playlist lets go!!! I have been daydreaming about congressman bucky for a while and finally got a chance to play around with the idea for a bit. As always I'd love to hear your feedbacks.

Wake up and smell the coffee

Is your cup half full or empty?

When we talk, you say it softly

But I love it when you're awfully quiet

Morning seeps through the blinds of your window. You open your eyes and feel the empty space beside you. Bucky always has a habit of waking up before you. It’s not like you want to complain, though. Not when the smell of coffee is filling up your senses. Perfect. You go out of your bedroom and find Bucky holding two fresh cups of coffee. He hands you one and takes a sip from his cup. “Thanks, Buck.” Bucky grunts in response. He doesn’t talk much in the morning, but it’s fine for you. The serenity of the morning sun and the unspoken comfort of the quiet ritual that you and Bucky had made are enough to fill in the silence. ———

You see the piece of paper

Could be a little greater

Show me what you could make her

You'll never know until you try it

Being a congressman is not an easy job, and it’s taking a toll on Bucky. You can see it in the way his shoulders sag just a little more each evening, the exhaustion settling into the corners of his eyes. His hands, once steady and sure, now linger over decisions with the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. But you know he wants to make a change. Though Bucky is not that great at the public stuff, his dedication is unwavering. And with Valentina’s impeachment trial looming, the pressure has only grown. Bucky is good at most things, but if there’s one skill he has perfected, it’s carrying the weight of the world in silence. He doesn’t talk about his struggles. After all, he’s spent a lifetime convincing himself that bearing them alone is the only option. But that’s not true. Not back then, when he had Steve to help him carry it. Not during the whole John Walker fiasco, when Sam was there to take control. And certainly not now, with you in the picture.

He just needs a little reminder every now and then. A reminder that he’s not alone. So that’s what you do: you remind him. You remind him that he wasn’t alone and never will be. Not until you're gone, at least. Because even if the world turned against Bucky Barnes, you'd still be by his side.

“Wanna tell me what’s on your mind, congressman?” At the sound of your voice, Bucky softens. A slow exhale, barely audible, escapes him. He doesn’t look at you right away, still caught in the weight of his own thoughts. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, finally meeting your gaze. His voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. “I don’t know if any of this matters. If I’m actually doing something worth a damn, or if I’m just—” He stops, momentarily. 

He huffs a tired laugh, devoid of amusement. “I wanted to help. Thought maybe this was the way. But now… I don’t even know if I’m making a difference.”

You shift slightly, watching the way exhaustion lingers in his expression, the doubt settling deep.

“You never know until you try it,” you say gently, but firmly. “That’s all any of us can do: try. Keep pushing, keep showing up, even when it feels impossible.”

His eyes flicker toward you, but he doesn’t speak.

“You wanted to help,” you continue, voice steady. “And maybe it doesn’t feel like enough right now, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. You’ve spent your whole life fighting battles you weren’t sure you could win. This is just another one.”

“Let’s get you some rest, yeah? I miss you.” It’s not a lie. You do miss him. It’s been a long day, and longer still for him. His lips twitch, just barely, like he wants to argue, to deny himself that kind of comfort. But exhaustion presses down on him, heavier than his doubts.

He exhales slowly, then shifts his gaze to you, searching for something in your expression. Reassurance. Steadiness. A reason to accept what you’re offering.

“…Yeah,” he mutters, voice lower now, wearier. “Yeah, okay.”

———

Yeah, I know it makes you nervous

But I promise you, it's worth it

To show 'em everything you kept inside

Don't hide, don't hide

Too shy to say but I hope you stay

Don't hide away

Come out and play

What was supposed to be a simple impeachment trial twisted into something darker, something that turned half the city into prisoners of their own minds. You weren’t directly affected by the void, but you saw Bucky on the news. Dived head first into the deep end to save his friends. You can never stop yourself from worrying about him. But you’ve learned that it’s part of the Bucky Barnes package. Thank god that Bucky came home to you in one piece. When he steps through the door, exhaustion clings to him like a second skin. There’s dried blood on his knuckles, a rip in his jacket, but he’s here. Standing in front of you. Breathing.

“You’re hurt,” you say, because it’s the first thing you can process.

He huffs, shaking his head like it’s nothing. “Not bad.”

But you know better. He looks at you then, really looks, and something in his posture eases, just a fraction. Like the fight is finally over. Like coming home is the only thing keeping him grounded.

Without thinking, you step forward, pressing your palms against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your fingertips. All of a sudden, he pulls you into his arms, crushing you against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His grip is desperate, stronger than it’s ever been, fingers pressing into your back as if grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. You murmur his name, hands sliding up to cup his face, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “S’alright Buck. I’m here. I got you,” His breath shudders slightly, just enough for you to notice. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, he just looks at you, as if memorizing the way your voice grounds him, the way your hands steady him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he leans forward, forehead pressing against yours, his grip still firm on your waist like he’s making sure you won’t slip away. And he holds you like that for some time, while you murmur a string of I got you, I’m not going anywhere to him. When he finally calms down, his grip loosens, just a bit. Wordlessly, you guide him backward, toward the couch, keeping your hand against his arm, a silent reassurance. He doesn’t resist. Doesn’t let go. Just follows your lead, like gravity itself is pulling him down. You both sink into the cushions, his body heavy beside yours, his hand still wrapped around yours like he’s afraid to sever the contact completely. “Wanna tell me what happened?” You pry. 

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His grip tightens around yours, just for a second, like he’s bracing himself. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, but it doesn’t do much to settle him.

“When I was stuck in the void… it took me back.” he murmurs, voice rough, like he’s still clawing his way out of it. “First, it was to the Winter Soldier days. Back to that life. It kept repeating. Over and over again. And I didn’t know how to stop it. So.. I just watched.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. The past sits heavy in his eyes when he speaks again.

“But then it changed. I don’t know what I did, but—”

His voice falters. His breath tightens.

“The scene shifted. No more orders, no more cold rooms. Suddenly, I wasn’t watching myself anymore. Suddenly, I was watching you.”

His grip tightens around your hand, knuckles whitening. “At first, I didn’t understand. Thought maybe the void was done torturing me. Thought maybe it let me out. But then I saw him.”

His jaw clenches, hard.

“One of them—one of the handlers. One of the men who used to give the orders, who used to hold the leash.” His breath shudders, and the raw panic creeping into his voice makes your stomach tighten. “He was coming for you.” The words scrape out of him like they hurt to say.

“I tried to stop him—I did stop him. But the damn cage kept pulling me back, kept twisting it, kept replaying. And every time I reached for you, every time I thought I’d gotten between you and him, I was too late.”

His eyes flick to yours, darker now.

“He stabbed you.” A sharp inhale. His fingers twitch against yours, like he’s reliving it even now.

“And I couldn’t—I wasn’t there to stop it. Not the first time. Not the second. Not the hundredth.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it hurts.

“That was the worst part. Not the past, not the old missions, not even what they made me do.” His voice drops, a whisper now, something broken. “The worst part was watching you slip away, knowing it was because of me.”

Your fingers tighten around his, firm but gentle, grounding him in the present. “But it wasn’t real,” you say softly. “It wasn’t this.”

His breath is uneven. His grip doesn’t loosen.

“But it felt real,” he mutters. His voice is hoarse, like the nightmare is still clawing at the edges of his mind, refusing to let go. “You—God, I saw you die, and I couldn’t—”

You don’t let him finish. You shift, sitting on his lap facing him. Your hands reach for his face, cradling it. “I’m here Buck,” you say. “I’m not going anywhere, not unless you want me to.” Bucky’s hands are on your waist, searching for comfort. “Can we please just stay like this for a while?” He wraps his arms around you. He closes his eyes and lets his face rest against your neck, his breath warm against your skin, as if drawn to the quiet comfort of your presence. You take his hand and rest it against your heartbeat. “Feel that? That’s me.” Bucky’s fingers twitch slightly against your chest, as if he’s anchoring himself to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. He takes a slow, uneven breath, the tension in his shoulders melting under your touch.

“I keep losing you in my head,” he finally whispers, voice barely above a breath. “Over and over.” You run your fingers through his hair, “Then let’s stay right here. No nightmares, no ghosts. Just us.”

“I’d like that.”

You press a kiss to his temple. “I love you so much. I’m never gonna leave you. It’d take much more than a knife to get rid of me,” you say softly. Bucky lets out a small laugh and hugs you tighter. “I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

—— 

[xxstylefntsyxx]

Daisuke Darling, You're My Bestfriend

A/N: Part 2, Yall a lot has been going on Jesus if I had a close friends I'd tell yall but just know I'm back for good and I'm sorry to stray! Now yall been clawing up the doors for this one so... TADAAAAAA!!!

Themes: NSFW, Fluff and Admitting feelings *sorry it took so long*

Bestfriend!Daisuke

Who's been pondering his feelings after that day and has been super awkward. You took notice and wondered if you did something that made him this way. Lots of are you okays and are you sures'; you just couldn't put your finger on it, and he was just being a major blocker about it. So you dropped it for some weeks, still worried about him, though.

Meanwhile, this boy was fighting the demons of hell. Your touch is too good for him now, and he felt so unworthy of your smile. He wanted to crumble and sob to you about how he got off with just the smell of you and that he was just wanting to hold you and touch you and! And!

"Daisuke! Pay attention!" Swansea yelled. He slipped up and fell off the small ladder, hitting his ass. "Ow!" He yelped. Swansea rolled his eyes, "Keep your head out yer' ass and keep going! You're not done!" He said, pointing back to a piece of the air shaft he told him to fix.

"Ah shit sorry! It just- like, have you ever been in love like super hard?" He asked. He wiped his knees and checked his ass for any dust. Swansea huffed, "Kid, I have a wife. Of course I've been in fuckin' love before! What do ya' want!?"

Daisuke set down the flame tool and leveled himself with Swansea, "I fell in love with my best friend. Look I'm not asking for a coach, I'm asking for a...dad."

Swansea stopped in his tracks. His face once was angry, and now was sullen and stern. He walked towards him, with his fist clenched around a singular wrench, "Look... I- what do you want to know? I'll tell you, but then you're back to work! Got it?"

Daisuke nodded happily, "Girls are complicated, and I recently found myself liking her. But like I don't know how to tell her."

Swansea grunted, "Son, you're grown. Other girls like her are a flirt away."

"But not like her! She's so nice to me and kind and comforting, and I love her smile. She makes me giggle, and I don't mind getting in trouble with her if it means that I can be with her every single day." He said, thinking about you and sighing in love. Swansea could almost see the hearts in his eyes as he thought about you.

Swansea let a little chuckle out, "Alright son, I see it, I see it. You're in love like I was. I asked my pops for the same advice and he told me the same thing. Guess I thought it would be okay to tell you too. I see you need Swansea Advice, not my dads..."

"Look, I'll be honest. Women are complex creatures that work on scales a bit higher than ours. Course being in love comes easier to them than to us. We wanna bawl up or just flirt it off our shoulders. But then she gives you those eyes of love, that touch that makes you feel alright. She gives you feelings that - yeah, I'd follow her. If that's the one, then you go to her and you tell her. Don't just wait. Never wait cause when you don't see her again, you'll wish you did."

Bestfriend?Daisuke

He pondered about what to do for weeks. He decided he'd own up and tell you! Fuck how everyone else feels. He was sick of the constant running and hiding! You're that girl who can only come once in a life! Its only a matter of time before their back off this dump, and he never sees you again.

"Hell yeah! Fuck it! Time to find her and-"

"RUN!" He heard you yell from down the hall. He squinted hard to see what was behind you. As you got closer, so did the figure.

"What the-"

before he finished, you grabbed him. Then he realized, "Holy shit! Is that Jimmy!?"

He didn't have time before you were whisking him along with you. "Y/N! What did you do!?" He yelled. You laughed loudly, "Fuck that bitch! He yelled at me, so I tipped his coffee, and it fell on his feet! It burned him, and now he wants to kill me... and you because I involved you."

(Insert that meme of the dog with its eyes closed, poor daisuke)

You two ran around a corner before stopping and sliding into a small room. You hushed him until you couldn't hear jimmy. "It was a good prank! I fucking got em'" You were giggling and laughing quietly under the darkness of the room and not noticing just how close you and daisuke was.

Bestfriend?Daisuke

Freak out? Now? Yes.

Shit! This isn't how he wanted to admit his feelings to you. Not in a- what the fuck is this!?

The space was too close, and he only had enough room to slightly move away, but you were pressed against him like a sandwich. He didn't understand what this room was for, but whatever it was for, it wasn't - He felt around, and then he sucked his teeth, sighing. It's a closet for the brooms... why the fucking closet room for the brooms of all places!?

When you were done, you turned somewhat around to face him. "What's wrong, Dai? Are you okay? We can find another hiding space!"

You were almost if it wasn't for the little bit of space granted from moving the brooms close to his chest. He breathed out a, "No! No, please, I'm just... really close to you, don't you think?"

He was flushed out. You were so sexy right there. So cute. He has to tell you, has to tell you how he feels. Before, he never sees this sexy beiw ever again, unless in his dreams. Or his horny flustered events in his room.

You pondered, "What's up with you? Afraid I'll give you cooties? Dick."

Your face turned sour, but he shook his head. "NO! please, no, that's not it! I swear!" He was stammering. You pressed closer, chest entirely too close to his, "Then what is it!?"

"I- I-!"

Bestfriend?Daisuke

"Y/N! Fuck man I've been holding this for weeks okay! I like you! When you're close, you make me feel flustered and very confused, and I don't know if it's cause I like you or if I like you! I've even taken asking Swansea! I'm crazy! I know, but i-"

He stopped. Fuck, he just spilled like a can of beans to you. Poor daisuke, never could keep to himself. You were happy he did it first. Cause now you could tease him for being the loud mouth. Since he likes to call you one.

His face was a deep shade of red. He let go of your hands and wiped them off on his shirt. You did the same because he sweated so bad. "Well, now we know who the real loud mouth is." You tempted, still processing everything.

Even though you felt the same for the past weeks, his offness and blushing got to you. It made you slightly frustrated because of how cute he looked. Made you mad someone so handsome could look so cute when he was in love. But you weren't gonna admit it first. You just couldn't wait anymore.

"Dude, I like you. What's up?" He whispered. You jolted from thought, "Uh! I- I mean, yeah, me too!"

"That sounds so unconvincing!" He half yelled.

You scrunched your nose, "At least I don't sound like a fucking baby! Oh! Y/NN! I likeee youuu! Mwah mwah mwah!" You made fun of him. He scrunched his nose back at you.

He pinched your leg, which made you yelp and hit him. You and him caused a bit of noise, fussing and yelling. You hit his shoulder, and he pushed back against the broom, which scuffed against the floor.

"Ow! You pinch me one more time Daisuke! And I'll-!"

*Eeerrrrrrkkk!*

"You two are in... SO much fucking trouble."

Shit...

"Jimmy." You two said in unison.

UPGRADE LVL.1

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two went to work, scrubbing and cleaning the walls of the tulper until Curly felt tired. That's what Jimmy said-

"I don't want you two to stop until curly walks down these halls to his room to sleep! Even then, you will clean behind him before you even think of escaping. Shitty brat, I should end your fucking life! And you! Daisuke!" He pointed at poor daisuke on his knees, shirt wrapped around his waist, crying and sniffling.

One thing you know about daisuke is that he hates cleaning even when Swansea makes him. Cries like a little bitch. Spoiled kid indeed. You've occasionally heard him whine and cry while Swansea yelled at him to clean his tools until they shine. Poor thing shaking and crying over tools, snot and drool I mean the whole diva works.

Looked like he went through the worst heartbreak ever when, it's just a snobby boy who never cleaned a dish a day in his life, but will climb in a capsule and fix whatever an old fart tells him to.

Choosy snobby fuck.

"I'm sorryyyy!" Here he was again. Poor daisuke, apologizing for something he didn't even fucking do and crying at the fact that he had to clean. Jimmy berated him, causing him to bend down and wipe his tears off the metal floor, sloppily and half-assed.

You were wiping some of the windows, looking out at the galaxy. You felt a hand around your neck, two quick squeezes, "I'll end you. Don't ever fuck with me!"

You winced but mustered a bastard smile, "Polle says-"

Jimmy growled, "Shut up!" His face was red.

Earning a sniffled snort from daisuke. Jimmy turned around and daisuke went back to sniffling and wiping the same spot.

"YOURE NOT EVEN CLEANING SHIT!" He yelled.

"Polle says-"

"Y/N!"

After doing Jimmy's dauntless task, you two were tired. Yes, but now you two had each other.

Boyfriend!Daisuke

You two were now sitting in his room, cuddled up, talking the day away. He asked you questions about your life at home, and you told him more than he already knew. That comfort you once felt was now filled. His laughter, his sadness, and loving nature showed straight. Why didn't you think of dating your best friend anytime sooner?

Boyfriend!Daisuke

(Alright, I'm tired of the slow jams. We've established it... let's get dirty bitches.)

He turns the music high enough to drown you guys out. You two had fallen into kissing long into your 'Hangout.' He just wanted to make sure their was ambiance so that it could cover up what he was gonna do to you.

"You sure? You can tell me to stop anytime, you know?" He asked you in a low voice. You were breathless, jumpsuit opened, and shirt pulled up. He trailed hickeys down your neck and your collar. You were breathing heavily and nodding, pulling him closer for another heated kiss. He unzipped the rest of your suit to slip his hand underneath it.

Trailing over your cold thighs, he found the lace of your panties, groaning into the kiss. You gasped, swallowed by his tongue and mouth. Lightly his fingers danced over the fabric, warm with your slick and cunt. "Fuck you're hot." He moaned.

He pulled back, and you could see the hardon growing desperately hard in his shorts. "You wanna take it off for me? Give me a show?" He asked with a smirk. You were a bit dizzy from the kissing. Surprisingly, he was good at what he did.

You slowly started stripping, giving him a run for his money. You rubbed your clothed ass, shaking it slightly.

"You're so beautiful~ I never thought I'd see this view ever." He whipsered. Your face felt hot from his words. You turned around now in a shirt and underwear. Straddling his legs, he bounced them slightly., "You're really fucking pretty." Kissing the middle of your collar bone, making his way up with kisses to your neck.

You were moaning, rolling your hips in his firm hands. You gripped his hair when his teeth fond a peice of your neck to bite. He flipped you over on your back, kissing you cheek before winking, "Be back!"

You didn't know what that meant. Like, was he leaving the room? His face slowly disappeared, along with the feeling of your panties sliding down.

"See if I remember what I'm doing... tap me if you need to breathe♡"

Oh

Boyfriend!Daisuke

Oh lord, that's what he meant. Shaking and moaning, he was working your cunt skillfully. Licking long prideful wet stripes up your folds. He circled your clit, sucking it slowly, earning whines from your jolting body. His hands found purchase in your thighs. Crescent moons left angry marks as he held you down with your legs on either side of his head.

"Dai- It's too! Much, fuck! Please!" You whined, trying to remove him. The tufts of his soft hair were delicious. Almost made you cum again, this would be the fifth or sixth? Who cared, it felt so good. Too good. Like crying good, stars in the eyes, you were overstimulated.

You tapped his veiny hand, and with that, he released you. He was panting, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

No shirt on, body glistening, eyes low with lust and plush lips wet with your juices. He looked so damn good. "I... want you. In me, okay?" You said breathless.

PART THREE IMMEDIATELY I RAN OUT OF WRDS!?

[kristallioness]

…Cause I don't wanna lose you now. I'm lookin' right at the other half of me. The vacancy that sat in my heart is a space that now you hold. 💚 Show me how to fight for now and I'll tell you, baby, it was easy comin' back here to you once I figured it out. You were right here all along. It's like you're my mirror, my mirror staring back at me. 🪞 I couldn't get any bigger with anyone else beside of me…

Tfw you have the power to illustrate your own fanfics (cause no one else will *lol*). (Thanks for pointing it out in one of your old tags, @kataracy! I never thought about it as a strength before from this POV and, whenever I'm feeling down, I come back to that reblog of yours just to read it again.)

Jokes aside, there's a bit of a story behind this post. Namely, I went to the first ever Justin Timberlake concert in Tallinn this Monday. I'd come down with a sore throat at the weekend and was pondering whether to go or not since we knew it'd be raining the whole day. 🌧️ I was prepared to dress up warmly, pull my rain poncho on and so, ultimately, as I felt better in the evening I decided to go. I'm so glad I did because now I know I would've regretted missing it.

And of course the show started with "Mirrors", which was one of the biggest hits back in 2013. I've been feeling so nostalgic ever since because I listened to this song AT LEAST once every day while I was working on this old "masterpiece" of mine (it was one of my best works back then). I associate that time - that particular summer break - in my life with this song.

A day or two later back home, I decided to reread my old fanfic titled "Rainy day" (which the drawing was based on). I remembered it being really awkward and I thought I'd feel embarrassed going back to it, but like.. *clutches chest*.. I didn't remember it being so sweet.. and intimate, and well-written. So I wanted to pour my feels out into new illustrations of this story, including a redraw of the original piece from a slightly different angle. 🥰

It's been a dozen years and I can't get over how proud I am of myself - zero references used, huge progress made (especially with the anatomy). Finished after drawing for 24 hours straight. *lmao* It looks like it turned out to be drawing practice with Aang (I just love seeing him in those ceremonial air nomad robes). And Momo? Well… Momo's always important.

I'll also post them below one by one, so you could see them up close (along with the corresponding excerpts from my fic):

…"I had better land before I get hit with lightning," he pondered to himself before changing his course down to the street. In a couple of seconds he was safely on land again. Luckily he wasn't too far from his house so it was no trouble walking the rest of the way. While walking in the Upper Ring, the Avatar noticed how some blue jays flew past him and the ones sitting on tree branches took off the same way. Pretty soon he could feel raindrops on his bald head. Seconds later, a heavy downpour fell upon him and the city. Using his cleverness and remembering what another master waterbender had once done, Aang waterbended a round shield of water above his head to keep himself from getting wet. He cheerfully continued his walk back home, the angry looks of fellow passers-by, who didn't have umbrellas, almost making him want to laugh…

…Aang opened the front door, stepped into a very dark living room and closed the door behind him. He put his glider next to the front door, took off his shoes and put on a pair of warm yellow woollen socks that Katara had knit for him last winter. He immediately spotted Momo sleeping on one of the lime green pillows around the table which was located in the center of the room…

…"Katara, is that you?" he asked worriedly. "Yeah." "Well, where are you?" "I'm right here, on the couch." Aang started walking towards the lounge, the part of the living room higher from the main floor. To his relief, he could see Katara's brown locks resting on the dark green pillows of the couch. She had pulled a blanket of the same colour almost all over her face. "Katara, are you okay?" Aang carefully asked when kneeling beside the couch in front of her. He lifted the blanket from her face only to have a slight shock. "Oh no! You look terrible!" "I know." "When did you get sick?" "Right after you left home this morning. I started feeling really weak, hot and cold at the same time. Soon my nose became stuffy and my eyes began watering." Aang put his right hand on her forehead. "You're burning up! Hold on, I'll fetch the thermometer. I'll make some tea and get some water for you to drink."…

…"Since when are you afraid of lightning?" Katara lifted her head to look up at Aang. "Since the time you got shot with it." There was a long pause in between. Aang didn't know what to say, so Katara opened her mouth first. "I believe it's time I admit something. I've been having nightmares. Nightmares about that time when we were fighting Zuko and Azula in the Crystal Catacombs of Old Ba Sing Se. I keep seeing the moment when she shot you with lightning, you falling. I always catch you and bring you out of there, but each time we escape on Appa, everything doesn't end the way it actually did. I have never been able to revive you." At this point her eyes began to tear up. "I would use the water from the Spirit Oasis to heal you, but it never has any effect. Before I manage to try anything else, I always wake up. I feel so useless!.." her voice was cracking, she was starting to cry out loud. "Shh-shh!" Aang stroked her head, hushing her sobs with his robes. "But you did revive me. I wouldn't be sitting on this couch if it weren't for you. You saved me."…

…Katara enjoyed this. His constant stroking made her feel like nobody could sneak up from behind nor attack her. She adored the idea that he was listening to her heart beating because she considered it to be a way of telling how much she loves him. The waterbender liked that the airbender would let her lean on him as a sign of trust. Not to mention that she was still a bit turned on by his touch near her breasts. She was beginning to sweat and Aang noticed that. It was definite proof that her fever had fallen…

Twitter | my art / sketches

[the-wine-bottle]

True suffering is realizing that my friend never finished the svsss extras and never got to Shen Jiu's chapter so she doesn't know all his lore and based majority of it off of what she knew of from the previous novels and spoilers and now I CANT EVEN ARGUE PEOPERLY BC IF I NEVER FINISHED THE EXTRAS I WOULDNT LIKE HIM EITHER! IM NOT EVEN SURE IF I LIKE HIM NOW! His character is so complex, complicated, and sad. She thought he was a predator. SHEN JIU???? A PREDATOR???? NEVER IN MY LIFE!!!!! The man who's afraid of men. The greatest misandrist of them all. The most misunderstood, convoluted, horrible yet endearing at the same time, went through a shit ton of trauma but continued the trauma cycle instead of breaking out, my dear Shen Jiu, they could never make me form a proper opinion on you 🙃.

(She made me think I was tripping for a second when I said he was the greatest women defender of all time, bc she responded incredulous and asked if maybe I was confusing his character with fanfiction-)

(Shes gonna read this and think I'm being over dramatic

This was my argument:

"Wait I still wanna clear things up about Shen Jiu even if you hate him

1- He never liked children, like EVER, he just hated everyone but women

2-he had a LOT of respect for women, especially those that worked within the brothel since he knew how hard it could be, he goes there to be comforted by his Shijie's since its the one place he feels safe and he uses it to gather info

3- he never killed Liu Qingge everyone just assumed he did and he didn't fight back since he thought there was no way they would belive him

4- he has major league trust issues, he never tries to stop any of the rumors about him since he thinks no one would listen to him bc the one person he trusted (yqy) left him

5-Yqy never got the chance to tell him why he didn't come back so Shen Jiu just assumes he abandoned him

6-him and Yqy were confirmed soulmates that could never get together 😑

7- He hated Luo Binghe because he has everything he didn't, a mother, a good foundation, potential and all that, what really did it is Qiu Jiunluo's nickname, A-Luo. What did Ning Yingying call Binghe? A-Luo. Keep in mind Qiu Jiuluo was Shen Jiu's sexual and physical abuser, so Shen Jiu got MAJOR ptsd, which does not excuse his actions mind you but it makes him more like reasonable??? Yk what I mean"

"Bc he DID continue the cycle of abuse but when you know what he went through its easier to sympathize, the thing about him is HE doesn't consider it abuse, since the worst part of abuse for him was the sexual part, so he feels like he's not truely punishing Binghe as long as he doesn't do that"

Ignore how incoherent it is. Some of it was said in the heat of the moment so don't be surprised by typos or anything. This is not important but it matters to me... a LOT. Also I do apologize if some information is false, as I said some things were said in the heat of the moments and I can get confused between fiction and different versions of that piece of fiction, especially when I'm in an argument and I'm typing in rapid fire bursts 🙏🏻.

[kayewrite]

Like I Do

(i just wanna love you)

genre:; fluff, best friends to lovers. word count: 1864

jeongin x reader. college jeongin!. architect student Jeongin! (writing for him cause university jeongin is what i always dream of *sobs*0

wherein: you tried to stop you feelings for your best friend especially he has a girl.

College is something—

Something you don’t want to do but have to do.

Something hard to do, but you need to do it anyway because your future is in there.

You sigh for the third time as you look at the problem you need to solve for your hydraulics subject. You feel overwhelmed, so you decide to close your book and stand up. "This won’t do. I need caffeine."

You walk to the cafeteria, buy what you need, and sit at the nearest table when someone places a piece of bread in front of you.

"Hello. Miss me?" You sigh, then look at the man who sits across from you.

"I’d rather swim than see you," you joke because you hate swimming.

"Aww, I missed you too." He smiles, then takes your coffee and sips, leaving the cup half empty.

Jeongin has been your best friend since high school. Now in college, where you take different courses, you rarely see each other. He’s studying architecture, and you’re in civil engineering. Neither of you is in your dream course, but you took it anyway.

"How’s life?" he asks after you both rant about that one instructor you share—the one who doesn’t teach well but gives hard quizzes anyway.

"Better until I saw you."

He squints his eyes and rolls them. "I think you’ll see me more often. My girlfriend is in your department."

You stop sipping your drink at his words but then pretend it doesn’t affect you.

You’ve had a long-time crush on this best friend of yours. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s handsome and cute at the same time. He knows you better than anyone else in this world and is always there for you in hard times. Tell me, who wouldn’t?

But you tried to suppress it when you realized he’s a gentleman to everyone, not just you. He’s like that to anybody, and you’re not that special. Well, you are his best friend, but that doesn’t differ from how he treats his other female friends. He’s just that kind of potato to everybody.

"Who? Why didn’t you tell me?" You put on an upset face.

"Well, you’re busy. Every time I go there, I see you spacing out, so I can’t tell you."

"Well, that explains it." You try to act calm, but honestly, you’re just as hurt as if you were pricked by a tiny splinter that goes deeper into your skin until it swells. It hurts like hell, but you’re afraid to tell anyone—they might say you’re overreacting. It’s just a small wound.

"Are you angry?" Jeongin suddenly feels uneasy. He knows you well.

"Nothing. I’m just tired, but you drank my coffee, you prick."

He laughs in relief. "Don’t worry, I’ll buy you another." Then he stands up. You’re about to say it’s okay, but you feel too weak to do so and let him do what he wants.

He comes back with the same coffee and two cupcakes—your favorites: strawberry and chocolate.

"Here, our future engineer. Keep fighting!" He places them in front of you, cheering you up. You can’t help but smile. You seek comfort from him. You stay there until who knows when, talking and catching up until you run out of things to say.

You return to your study area, feeling like the burden you were carrying is now gone. You pick up your pen and answer your problems quietly.

-

You step out of your classroom, feeling happy. Your long quiz is finally finished. You’re not sure about your answers, but at least it’s done, and now you can rest!

"Ohoy there!"

You look toward the end of the hallway you’re walking down and see Jeongin with a tube slung over his back (probably his plates).

You smiled. "What are you doing here? Aren't you busy?"

"I was busy, but I need to look for my inspiration. Have you seen her?" Jeongin's eyes twinkled as he teased, but you knew he meant his girlfriend. The words made your heart sink, but you played along.

"She's inside taking the exam. You should be quiet and let her take it in peace," you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

Jeongin chuckled, leaning against the wall next to you. "How's the quiz? Did you ace it?"

"Finished, at least. Whether I aced it is a different story," you said with a small laugh. "But I'm just glad it's over."

"That's the spirit!" Jeongin gave you a gentle nudge with his elbow. "How about we celebrate? Let's go to that ramen shop we used to visit in high school. My treat."

The suggestion brought a rush of memories—late-night study sessions, bowls of steaming ramen, and laughter that echoed through the small, cozy shop. It was your place, your little refuge from the world. But now, the idea of going there with him, with her, made you hesitate.

You forced a smile and nodded. "Sure, sounds good."

Later that evening, the three of you sat around a familiar table at the ramen shop. The comforting aroma of broth filled the air, but the atmosphere was different, heavier.

Jeongin's girlfriend sat close to him, her arm looped through his as she leaned in, talking softly. You tried to focus on your ramen, stirring the noodles absentmindedly. Jeongin noticed and, without a word, pushed a small bowl toward you.

"I asked them to leave out the vegetables and tone down the spice," he said, his voice warm with familiarity. "Just how you like it."

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to ignore the way his girlfriend's eyes narrowed at the gesture.

Throughout the meal, she grew increasingly clingy, touching his arm, laughing louder at his jokes, as if marking her territory. You felt smaller with each passing second, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you.

"I need to go to the restroom," you suddenly announced, standing up before either of them could react. You needed air, needed space away from the suffocating tension.

In the restroom, you stared at your reflection, trying to compose yourself. But the tears came anyway, hot and uncontrollable. It was too much—pretending you were okay, pretending you could just be his friend when every moment with him reminded you of what you couldn't have.

You cried until you couldn't anymore, until the mirror showed a person you barely recognized, someone worn out from hiding too much. Wiping your eyes, you took a deep breath and made a decision. You needed to set boundaries, for your own sake. Jeongin had a girlfriend, and you had to let go of the feelings that were tearing you apart.

The next few days were hard. You avoided Jeongin, making excuses whenever he tried to hang out. You buried yourself in your studies, in anything that could distract you from the ache in your chest. But Jeongin noticed. Of course, he did.

One day, he cornered you outside your classroom, his expression serious. "You've been avoiding me."

You sighed, unable to meet his eyes. "I’ve just been busy, Jeongin. You know how it is."

"Bullshit," he said, his voice unusually sharp. "You’re not just busy. Something’s wrong, and you’re not telling me."

"Why does it matter?" you snapped, finally looking at him. "You have a girlfriend now. Go focus on her."

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your sudden outburst. "Is that what this is about? You think I don’t care about you just because I’m dating someone?"

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill again. "No, it’s not that. It’s just… I need space, okay? I need to figure things out."

"Figure what out?" His voice softened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to you.

You stepped back, shaking your head again. "I can’t do this, Jeongin. I can’t keep pretending that I’m fine when I’m not."

The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you, his brows furrowed in confusion, and maybe something else. You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, alone and confused.

Days turned into weeks, and the distance between you and Jeongin grew. You tried to move on, focusing on your studies and pushing your feelings aside. But every time you saw him, your heart ached, a constant reminder of what you’d lost—not just the chance to be with him, but the friendship you had cherished.

Jeongin, on the other hand, became more and more withdrawn. His girlfriend noticed, of course, and their relationship began to strain under the weight of his unresolved feelings. He missed you, more than he thought possible, and the longer he went without seeing you, the more he realized something that terrified him.

He liked you. He always had, but he had been too blind to see it, too caught up in the idea of finding the perfect girl that he overlooked the one who had been there all along. The one who knew him better than anyone, who made him laugh, who made him feel at home.

And now, he was losing you.

It was a rainy afternoon when Jeongin finally found you in the library, your nose buried in a textbook. You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in your reading. But when he sat down across from you, you looked up, surprised.

"Jeongin, what are you—"

"I broke up with her," he blurted out, cutting you off. His eyes were intense, filled with a determination that you hadn’t seen before.

You blinked, taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Because she’s not you," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Because I’ve been looking for something, someone, who was right in front of me the whole time. And I was too stupid to see it."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of hope and fear swirling inside you. "Jeongin, you don’t know what you’re saying…"

"I do," he insisted, leaning forward. "I know exactly what I’m saying. I like you. I like you so much that it hurts, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you because I was too scared to admit it."

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time, they were tears of relief, of joy. You had been holding onto this hope for so long, and now, it was finally happening.

"I like you too," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Jeongin smiled, that familiar, boyish smile that you had fallen for all those years ago. "So, what do you say? Should we give this a shot?"

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He reached out, taking your hand in his, and just like that, the distance that had grown between you disappeared. It wasn’t going to be easy, but for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

[emmawithtwoms]

Board Games

@moonwater-microfic day 17 -543 words

c.w. sexual reference at the end

The air was electric in the room. People were scared, the two boys were staring into each other's eyes so intensely that Sirius swore he could see lighting pass from hazel to grey. Remus was hunched over the coffee table, elbows on his knees, hands intertwined over his mouth to conceal it, brows furrowed. Regulus was reciprocating the look, but his back was straight, poker face unmovable, while he moved his piece on the board. Remus glanced down, just for a second, but his expression did not slip, his competitiveness had a hold on him, he could not let Regulus read him, he could not lose. 

“What, Lupin, are you taken aback by my move?” 

Regulus was cold as ice, Remus could not read his expression, could not break into his mind. It was driving him crazy. He could not give him the satisfaction, he had to keep fighting. 

“I’m just surprised by how obvious it is. You’re becoming predictable, Black,”

Remus made his move, this game was gonna end soon, everybody knew it. 

It was Board Games night, and, as usual, it was ending with a chess tournament, and the Black-Lupin match was always the most anticipate.Those two were phenomenal at chess, their competitiveness, not a bit mulled by their relationship (rather increased, actually), always made the game extremely interesting to watch, and the new entries, who were not used to this kind of interest over a game of chess, were always taken aback by the dynamic of the match. 

It was the case for Dorcas: even though she was a very close friend of Regulus’, she never came to board game night. Not until she got together with Marlene, at least, and she was now totally enraptured (read, weirded out) by this particular event. 

“You might wanna think about this move, Lupin” 

Regulus was saying from the table

“Don’t wanna get too reckless.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like reckless, Black” 

Remus was responding to every provocation given by his boyfriend, without ever letting the fire in him die down. 

“Ok, what exactly am I watching?”

Asked Dorcas, confused by the scene in front of her. 

“Shhh, this is their foreplaying, let them do their thing” 

Sirius answered, never letting the game out of his sight

“Huh, you seem pretty okay with your brother's sexual life, then, didn’t expect that.”

Sirius dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not interested in his sexual life, I just wanna know if I'll be able to sleep in my bed tonight” 

“What does that have to do with…” 

But as Dorcas was finishing his sentenced, Remus smirked and exclaimed 

“Checkmate, Black” 

“Fuck off, Lupin” 

Regulus grumbled 

“Oh Fuck off! Come on Prongs, Wormy, get ready to sleep in the common room tonight” 

Dorcas was more confused than before

“What? Why would they sleep down here?” 

Marlene laughed at Sirius’ despair

“You see, those games are not only a fun way to end the night and rile each other up, for those two, it also settles in wich bed they’re gonna shag for the night” 

Dorcas hummed in understanding, as she saw Remus taking a grumbling Regulus by hand and dragging him up the stairs, while waving goodnight at their friends.

a.n: the moonwater brainrot is getting stronger everyday, soldiers

[sturn-baby05]

💋Brothers Best Friend💋

Part 3!

Summary: Nathan is still being a stuck up jealous brother, and best friend. Matt tried talking him out of his jealousy… but did it work?

If you guys haven’t read part 1 or 2 yet I highly recommend! (💋Brothers Best Friend💋)

Matt and Nathan came inside, Matt was calm and Nathan was anything but calm… me and Chris were still sitting on the floor, my head leaning on his shoulder.

“Okay, we’re gonna work this out! Because I can’t keep doing the bickering between you two…” Matt said calmly. I looked up at him, not caring that I was leaning on Chris, with my brother staring daggers at me.

“Nate, your sister is clearly happy! And there’s NOTHING wrong with that! Chris… are you happy with Em?” He looked at me and Chris. I looked up at him with soft eyes, waiting for his response.

“Of course I am…” he trailed off looking down at me. “Never been not scared of a relationship till I met her…” I smiled softly at Chris as he admitted.

“Emery… are you happy with Chris?” Matt asked.

“Of course… he makes me feel included. He taught me how to play Fortnite…” I was looking at Chris like a lovesick puppy.

“See!” Matt said, throwing his hands up dramatically. "There's not even a little piece of you that wants to be happy for them Nate? Come on... I haven't seen a smile on Chris's face that big in a WHILE! And I don't think i've ever seen Em smile that big..." Matt was trying... it's like he was trying to drfuse a bomb that was about to go off at any second.

"Okay... Nate, what's really your issue with this whole thing? Wanna tell the class?" Matt's sarcastic words made me giggle. SIlence fell over the room, everyone wanted to know what he was gonna say. Or if he'd even respond...

"I don't want my best friend to forget of my exitance all because he likes my little sister..." Nate finally spoke. But he spoke calmly, shocking us all.

"Nate... I'm not gonna forget about your existence! That would be fucking stupid, we all gre up together and you're basically my forth brother." Chris looked down at me to make sure I was okay, I gave him a gentle nod and he went to sit by my brother on the couch.

"If you ask me...? Me falling for your sister Is for the better. I've known her pretty much my while life! I know she wouldn't fuck me over like... well, you know who. And that should give you the reassurance that i'm not gonna fuck her over either. You will always be my best friend Nate, nothing will change that..." Silence fell over the room again as Chris finished speaking. Did he just light the last fuse to the ticking time bomd?

"Thanks Chris..." Nate said softly, giving Chris a side hug. "But seriously... You fuck her over, I bust your shit in!" He said, making the whole room bust out into laughter.

.

As the day went on, things went back to normal. We were all hanging out as a group again, laughing and having a good time. I decided I needed to pull Matt aside though.

"Matt?" I got his attention and gestures for him to follow me. We walked outside for a moment, away from the laughter and chaos. "Thanks for making Nate see everything wasn't so bad after all... I appreciate it!" I gave him a giant hug.

"Of course Em! I hate seeing you two fight like that... I'm glad I could help fix things." We talked for a bit, and went back inside. The house was full of chaotic laughter and goot times. After a while, Nate approached me.

"Em? Listen... I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. It was wrong of me, you deserve to be happy. And for the record... I am proud of you for being social and actually hanging out with us." I looked at him kinda surprised, I wasn't expecting an apology.

"It's okay! We all have shit going on... I forgive you Nate. But also... thank you! Because I do understand you just want to protect me, that's kinda your job... But I'm not 10 anymore, I can handle my decisions on my own now. I'm confident this is a good decision! But if anything goes wrong, you'll be the first to know." I kept my voice soft.

"You're right... Sometimes I forget you're 20 now. You better! Cause I swear to God... if he fucking hurts you he will never see the light of day agsin!" We looked at each other and bursted out laughing.

"Thanks for looking out for me big brother... it means more then you know." I said giving him a side hug.

"Alwyas, little sister!" He returned the side hug with a smile.

"So... can I have him?" I looked up at Nate with a shit eating grin.

"Goooood! I guess." He said sarcastically, with a fake eyeroll. I laughed at his ridiculousness.

We continued our night having a blast! As the night wore on, everyone started slowly going to bed. Leaving me and Chris the only two awake. I was sitting on the couch watching TV, Chris came and sat by me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.

"That hoodie looks good on you Em!" He had a giant grin on his face.

"Thanks! my favorite person gave it to me..." I looked over at him, with a soft smile. I leaned my head on his shoulder, enjoying his closeness, and he rested his head on top of mine. We sat there for a while, watching TV and enjoying each others closeness.

"So... I was thinking tomorrow, I could take eyou out... show you around LA?" He spoke soft, the glow of the TV light captured his featues perfrctlly.

"I'd love that Chris!" I looked at him with a sweet smile on my face. I loved that he wanted to show me around LA! He knows it a place i've always wanted to see, and visit. We sat watching each other for a bit, he was truly the most handsome man i've ever seen.

He closed the distance between us, capturing my lips in a gentle kiss. Then a voice broke our kiss...

"Oh god! Did I just whitness the first kiss?!" Nates voice rang from the kitchen. We bursted out into laughter at his words.

"Second... actually." Chris said, fighting back laughter.

"Even worse!" Nate was being dramatic, but thats just how he was.

We eventually made our way down to his room. We laid in bed talking for hours.

"Can I be nosey?" I looked over at him with curious eyes.

"Of course!" I hesitated asking my question, I didn't wanna cross a line... but I wanted to know.

"When you were talking to Nate earlier... You mentioned you'd been fucked over. Who fucked you over...?" I paused for a moment then quicky added... "You don't have to tell me! I'm just curious..." I assured. He pondered for a moment.

"You remember Maddison in high school?" My brows furrowed gently, as I remembered who he was talking about.

"Yeah, of course I do. She hung out with us for a while then just... stopped." Was she really the one who fucked him over?

"She led me on... She made me think she wnated to be with me, but she didn't. I've been scared of love ever since..." His voice grew emotional as he spoke. My heart broke for him.

"Oh, Chris... I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that, not then , not now, not ever..." I brushed his hair out of his face gently.

"It is what it is... You know? Shit happens. I'm just glad I found you Em." A small smile appeared on his face after he said my name. Like it triggered a happiness in him.

"Me too..." I said in a soft tone, shoeing my emotional side.

I had let my guard down, that was unusal for me. I've always been do guarded... especially of my feelings. He made it easy... I wnated to be rw and myself with him, because it wasn't scary. He made me feel seen in every way possible. And I loved it...

"Em...?" He spoke softly, sleep tinging his voice.

"Yeah?" I asked softly, resting my hand on his cheek.

"Do you wanna sleep down here tonight? I-i don't wanna be alone. I wanna hold you, be clsoe to you..." He seemed to turn shy. A look i've never, ever seen on him before. I melted at his simple question and confession.

"I'd love to Chris... I'll gladly stay with you." He shot me a sleepy smile, and pulled me into his chest.

.

We fell asleep together in his bed, curled up in his blankets. I'd never felt so comfortable, he was warm. And his touch was gentle but possessive. I fell asleep on my back, he fess asleep on my chest with his arm wrapped lazily, yet secure around my waist. Our legs intertwined under the soft blanket. When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining in his window, making the room warm and cozy feeling. When I stired awake, he was still passed out on my chest, sleeping peacefully. I placed a gentle kiss on his head, such a weird thing for Mr=e to feel so comfortable doing. I grew up with this boy! And now were sharing kisses, his blanket, his bed, he's giving me his hoodies... and i'm falling more and more in love with him every second I spend with him...

Heres part 3 guys!!! I hope you guys are loving this! I was not expecting to get so much love on this story,,, it makes me so happy! Also, don't worry... part 4 Is in the works as we speak! I love you guys! Also sorry this part is shorter then the other two... I promsie the short chapter will be worth it when part 4 comes out!🧡

.

Also there's a line in this story that makes me think of one of my favorite songs! Yall should go listen to it, It's very Chris and Emery coded!

-Rose🧡

Tag List: @courta13 @sydlexi44 @wesj11 @vall67

[loviingpedri]

where was i? - trent a.a

prompt: where trent redeems himself as a father.

warnings: cursing, some angst (fluff at end), grammar issues

Part 2 -> Part 1 here

my secret

you couldn’t have asked for a better best friend. she broke into tears finding out your pregnancy. she cried harder knowing she was gonna help you with your little angel.

evelyn, your best friend, the one who could do it all even held your hand while in labor. its been a year since the birth of your baby, Aria Alexander-Arnold. you adored her. practically, everyone adored her.

it was still a question who her father was. but that was your secret. you lied to everyone about aria’s last name. everyone was fooled about her name, but only you knew she was a proud alexander-arnold. people speculated trent being the father with your public relationship, he made it easier by revealing your breakup by going out with a couple friends the next night, then getting caught making out with another girl.

you never cared on what trent did. it only mattered that he just stayed out of your life. you were living your best life.

“y/n, when are you ever going to tell trent?” evelyn spoke softly as aria was still sleeping.

“i don’t know. life has been so much better with just aria and i. i’m just afraid.” you sighed in distress.

“afraid of what? i know he broke your heart, but i still would think he would want to be apart of his child’s life.”

fidgeting with your fingers, “i just don’t want to get hurt again. what if he doesn’t wanna be apart of her life. or if he takes her away from me.”

“trent is probably the sweetest guy you’ve ever dated even if the breakup was messy. i say he’s the only one evelyn-approved.”

“i’ll think about it,” finishing your sentence, a cry was heard. you both nodded at each other before getting up to comfort her. opening aria’s room door, she was already standing in her crib. her tears stopped falling and the brightest smile appeared on her face. she is the most precious thing you’ll ever need in life. “hi angel. how was your sleep?” covering her face with kisses.

evelyn walked into the room. “y/n, it’s pretty cool today. i think you should take her out. i have a meeting at work, so please enjoy the weather for me.”

“good luck, you’re gonna need it.” evelyn kissed aria on the cheek before leaving. “let’s get you dressed.” it was a mystery where you were going. yet, you needed time out of the house.

soon, both you and aria had your fall outfits on ready to fight against the cold. putting her in the stroller and locking the door, you were prepared to just go anywhere. holy shit were you freezing. walking to the cafe a few miles away, hot chocolate was much needed. placing your order and sitting down, you paid no attention to the customers walking in. mid way feeding aria a piece of a chocolate croissant,

“y/n?” you knew that voice. looking up you saw a familiar face.

“hello jude.”

“oh my god, it’s really you. bloody hell.” jude attempted to hug you, but realized the stroller. “babysitting?” he looked so confused but was trying to process where you’ve been for the past 2 years.

“no, this is my daughter. her name is aria.” you put on a smile on your face trying to play it off like it wasn’t his good friend’s child.

“daughter? y/n, you had a baby? who’s the father?” jude was no stranger to you. he had one curious mind, especially in a state of panic. “wait, sorry. that’s none of my business. i’m just happy you’re doing well. it’s been awhile since i’ve seen you.”

you nodded at him. although jude never did anything, you were just afraid of trent finding out. you needed to prepare yourself, because word is gonna get out through the national team within a few hours. “it has been awhile. how have you been? playing for madrid, yeah?”

“my blood runs is madrid now. of course, it still has some part of england in it. i’ve gotta go to practice now. i’ll keep in touch, please don’t block me on instagram.” you laughed off the joke. trent must’ve tried to see what you were doing, only to be blocked on all social media platforms.

——————————————

trent’s reveal

“man, i need to clean out this closet.” trent spoke to marcus.

“shit looks mad trent. what even happened.” marcus picked up a shirt off the ground and threw it on the other side of the closet trying to avoid the millions of piles of clothes.

“went crazy, lost of organization. i could name a lot of things.”

“went crazy after losing the love of your life. has she ever unblocked you yet?” trent was doing worse than you after the breakup. he turned into a mess after learning he couldn’t reach you anymore.

“i don’t wanna talk about it. maybe i should clean this corner, i’ve never worn clothes from this section in forever.” taking clothes from the hangers and throwing it in a bag for donation. a box was revealed. “what the hell is that?” trent picked up as marcus appeared in curiosity. trent had 0 recollection of the box being there. opening it, he almost dropped it after seeing the words, “baby alexander-arnold coming on -/—/—“ and the pregnancy test right next to it.

“what the fuck.” rashford’s mouth immediately fell.

“is this a joke? who put this here? marcus are you trying to fuck with me.”

“no man. that’s a sick joke to put on you.

trent’s mind started to fill with idea of fatherhood. he didn’t dislike the idea, but the mystery behind the box was still trying to piece together. he set the box aside. stress filled his mind. “let’s go. we’ve got practice to be at.” rashford seemed more shocked then anything. pulling his hair at the fact trent just left the topic alone like nothing.

-

arriving at practice, just a bit of warmups. kicking the ball back and forth. trent tried to take his mind off who put that box there. marcus taking concerned glances at him, knowing he was out of it.

suddenly, jude ran into the field.

“TRENT YOU’LL NEVER BELIEVE WHO I JUST SAW.” caught off guard, trent had no time to process what jude just said.

“what?” almost falling over since jude’s rough push of excitement and shock.

“Y/N. I SAW Y/N.” everyone’s face dropped at the sound of your name. you were loved by the national team. not to mention, the shit show behind the breakup and the reason why trent had to be at therapy for most of the season. “and you’ll never gonna believe it, but she had a baby.” the word baby rung around in his head. the news just got shocking each time.

“a baby? what?” jude nodded his head.

“she said her name is aria. she looked about one years old. mate, she kind of looked like you if i’m being honest.” the reaction of the last sentence was mixed. he wanted to be the father, but what if he wasn’t. he didn’t want it to be all in his head.

“hold on, you said 1?” harry kane joined into the conversation. seeming like he wanted to make a point. jude nodded at his question, still curious what was about to be said. “trent, when did you break up with y/n?”

“i don’t know. maybe two years ago.” it was impossible to trent that he was the father, but it was still likely.

“you broke up with her around late february. 9 months later, it would be november. mate, it’s december already. i mean, it’s very likely it’s yours.” trent wanted to pass out at that moment.

“i’ve still got access to y/n’s instagram.” saka said. pulling it up, a birthday post to aria was made. “posted on november -“

almost falling to the ground. “that was close to the date i broke up with her, just 9 months after. jude, where did you see her?”

“at ‘place’. what are you doing?” if trent kept up the same speed during the world cup, fifa would’ve upgraded his stats. he grabbed his bag and ran quicker than ever. it’s been 2 hours since jude saw you, but you couldn’t walk that far with just a stroller. trent was praying you’ll be around there.

——

parking his car and running around. he saw a face. someone who he’ll never forget.

“evelyn. where is y/n?” evelyn’s eyes widened. fuck. she wasn’t prepared for trent to know today. she saw your text saying how you saw jude. news must travel fast around here. “please, answer me. you can yell at me again, but please tell me where she is.” it was bold of him to show up in front of evelyn. he got a loud yelling session trying to use her to talk to y/n again. she could see he was desperate in his eyes. she was confused on what to do.

“excuse me while i take this call.” she patted his shoulder before walking a distance away to safely call you. trying to whisper, “y/n help. trent is looking for you. i think jude told him.”

“oh my fucking god. what am i going to do?” you tried to remain calm as possible so your baby doesn’t think of anything.

“get dressed, it’s time for aria to meet her father.”

“what?” with no questions allowed, the call ended. you grabbed aria to get ready quickly since there was no time for fighting.

evelyn walked back to trent. clearing her throat, “i don’t know what you’ve heard. i’m going to answer your question now. yes, that is your child.” the word child was ringing in his ears. he didn’t know how to react. did he want to cry or did he want to run away? “do you want to meet her.”

“of course.” he nodded quickly. he followed evelyn like a stray dog. she knocked on the door to signify that he was there. you took a deep breath. opening the door, you saw the two people who you’ve spent your entire life with. evelyn walked in, trying to give you two space. “y/n,” he wanted to hug you. you only had one arm available as aria was resting on your shoulder. aria heard the unfamiliar voice and turned to look at him. it was true, she looked just like him.

“hi trent. very nice of you to show up.” you patted your skirt to reduce wrinkles and ease the awkwardness. “this is aria.” for the first time, aria flashed a big smile at him. she was never good with strangers, but this might be different. you moved out of the doorway and urged him to come inside.

“can i hold her?” you nodded at him. easily, aria was all over him. “does she have my last name? i mean it’s totally fine if-“

“yeah, she does.” aria alexander-arnold is the only thing running through his mind. probably the only thing he’ll ever need to think about.

“y/n, i’ve been trying to get into contact with you. i mean where have you been.”

“where was i? taking care of my daughter. sorry, i didn’t wanna seem like a distraction.” the both of you knew very well what you meant by the word distraction. you could see regret running through his veins. “i just wanted to ask you, where were you? you said you wanted to get into contact, but you didn’t try harder.”

“i understand my mistakes. i’ve missed the prime of my child. nonetheless, i missed your entire pregnancy. i promise to be devoted to both of you. can we start over?”

“it’ll be hard to not say no. you are the father of my child and high school sweetheart. i think it’s better if we do start over. the three of us, as a family.”

“we’ll always be together, forever.”

from now on, there would be no secrets.

——————————————————

author’s note: check out my poll! thanks for all the support everyone.

[theallianceofcelestials]

HAIII :D

Yap time cuz I don’t want to wait until tomorrow to do this >:P (tbh, I meant to be more online both on here and on discord but Easter was so much more busy than I thought it would be lmao). Speaking of the holiday, how was it for you two? I heard you celebrated, I think

(this is Vinnie btw)

Hi Sugarplum! You don't have to wait weeks between Yap time if you don't wanna, it's okay! We love doing Yap Time! ^^

We're having Easter today and tomorrow, and food is especially delicious.

But because of it, relatives are over, and one of them wanted to watch a movie during the afternoon, so we rewatched the Wild Robot (lovely movie), and after watching that Moongleam with all of her brilliance suggested watching The Velocipastor, a movie about a priest dude who, after his parents die goes on a little soul-searching traveling to China, where he gets a weird power that allows him to turn into a, uh... dinosaur. And a prostitute girl convinces him to fight crime and ninjas. Yeahhh... my expectations were low, then got raised by seeing it be rated 5,1/10 in IMDb, and then started watching the actual movie and... Holy f u c k. It was nothing what I expected and I don't know if in a good or a bad way. Already the first 2 minutes of the movie were an experience.

Between the "amazing" acting, the movie having only like 10 actors total, the dinosaur, and shaky camera, I have experienced all stages of grief, while howling from laughter so hard it hurt, and I'm pretty sure my body took a screenshot. I'm still trying to process the first 2 scenes, let alone the whole movie. I feel numb. I feel the same way Sun must feel after playing BanBan. The Velocipastor is the only movie ever. Best movie of 2018, and all the budget went to the gosh dang poster and fake blood. But mostly the poster.

It is said to be a horror-parody, and it sure is. I haven't felt this much fear for my own mental health after a movie since suffering through Dinocroc with Moongleam last summer. I'm still trying to find words to describe the emotions I'm feeling after watching that piece of trash.

This is a proof we aren't real. Nothing is real, it is all an illusion.

I would love to hear about whatever happened to you during the week, but I'm gonna pass the mic to Moongleam, and interrupt her questioning her own existance, while I return to mine. ₍^. .^₎⟆

I've never been left feeling so numb after a movie. I dunno if Sunray said it already, but I feel like Sun in all those Garten of Banban videos where he's like "The only game" "Garten of Banban is the best game ever"

It's like there was something missing from my life, and now I wish it stayed that way.

But if you want to laught yourself shitless, I do recommend watching it. You're going to die, you're going to questioning whether what you saw was actually real or not, you are going to be left staring afterwards, but you sure as hell gonna laugh

Aside from that, not much is going on. Me and my team are gonna start the BIG project we have only have 10 days left for finally, hopefully we'll be able to put together something cool.

I'm also just feelin kinda shitty cuz I still haven't finished Sunray's birthday gift, but right now I kinda have no motivation for anything. I'm just existing.

Also, we celebrated Easter today (Sunray and myself ain't really religious, but family is still Christian so have to keep up fronts with them, can't exactly bust out pagan knowledge during stuff like holiday dinner, even if I also don't really practice that either), and the ham was great! Had bean soup made from its cooking water with fresh bread, which is the best thing ever! It has the hamlike taste and saltiness, especially because bean soup requires a meat base

Hopefully it's better for you Sugarcube! It's time for you to yap at us!

[marvel-lous3000]

Complex Love

CHRISTMAS SPECIAL !

Merry Christmas everyone! So I thought to give a Christmas gift to everyone who sees my post. And this is my fanfic, actually series on Gabenath. And again I wanna say

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO EVERYONE !

OMG I'm screaming!

Summary: Gabriel has stopped being Hawkmoth and is slowly falling for Nathalie. He is trying to be more close to her while at the same time she is trying to be more away from Gabriel.

But why?

What is stopping her from being closer to him?

Didn't she want a happy life with Gabriel as her husband?

Warnings: Blood (maybe), grammatical errors

Pairing: Gabriel X Nathalie

A/N- This is my first time posting a fanfiction on Tumblr so there maybe many mistakes but please don't mind 😁.

You don't have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work.

-•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•--•°•-

Nathalie told Gabriel that Adrien is Cat Noir- Is where it all started.

And now if we come to the present then Gabriel has stopped being Hawkmoth and trying to be better father. And......... ( keep reading you will know )

---------------•°•---------------

It was a normal day at the Agreste Mansion in the morning. Gabriel and Nathalie was in the office doing business work. And Adrien was in his school.

It was 11am. Gabriel was deep into his work yet sometimes looking at Nathalie and Nathalie was also deep into her work when suddenly something round like a ball hit the glass window, towards Nathalie. But Nathalie caught the ball (for now just say it "ball") in maybe a nano-second and thew it again back outside. The ball went through the same hole, no other piece of glass broke, not even a little bit. It happened in just a second.

When Gabriel heard the noise of the window breaking he quickly looked up. But his "quickly looking up" was also not as fast as what Nathalie did. He just saw the glass window broken. Nathalie looked at Gabriel and said "umm let me just check what happened". And as she said she went out of the office not letting Gabriel to say anything. He let out a sign and went out of the office to see what happened outside. And the same thing as always...... another villian.

Then he heard someone saying or I would say shout as she was actually far "Get inside it's not safe outside!". He knew this voice, the voice of the person he loves so much other than Nathalie.

He went inside and called Nathalie from his mobilephone. She picked up, "Umm actually I'm kinda stuck in this umm super-villian and super-hero fight" he heard shouting in the background. "Are you safe? Did you get hurt? Where are you?" He said worriedly. "I can't answer you this many questions at this point of time so I am just saying she took us to a safe place" she answered and end the call.

"sh*t" he said. This has actually happened many times that she is stuck in the super-villian and super-hero fight. In the first time, Gabriel ran to Nathalie and then he was himself stuck. After sometime when the fight was finished, Nathalie was able to get out. She then herself took Gabriel out. When they reached the mansion Nathalie scolded him for getting out of the house like she is his mother.

So back to the present, after some minutes the fight ended. Everybody thanked god as they were safe. They also thanked the saviour of all these. She was saving the whole world alone after Ladybug and Chat Noir. She worked tirelessly and fought against the super-villians day and night.

And back to Nathalie, she went to the mansion. "Seriously who told you to run outside" Gabriel said as she entered. "I didn't ran outside, the super-villian caught me and thew me outside but thankfully she was there to save me" "And another thank you to you for not sticking yourself in danger" She added.

After a bit of argument (caring type of), Gabriel helped Nathalie in cleaning her wounds. After that they were again cold as usual, working.

Now time skip to the dinner table. Gabriel, Adrien and Nathalie eat together. Nathalie was the one who told them to do so 'eat dinner together (father and son)'. They agreed and also they didn't need to worry about the miraculous as they both had given it to Master Fu. They were happy that all these miraculous things have ended. She was trying her best to bond the broken hearts of the father and son. After sometime they also requested Nathalie to eat with them. They had maybe told it thousand times but Nathalie denied all time. But how could she say no to her precious emerald-green eyes (Adrien). So now they are eating together as a family.

Gabriel and Adrien observed that Nathalie was in her own world thinking about something. She didn't ate a single food, she was only thinking for the past five minutes. Then Adrien started "Nathalie why aren't you eating something, you are just thinking for the past five minutes." But he didn't get any reply. "Nathalie" he again called her but still no reply. "NATHALIE!" he now shouted. "W-what?" she now replyed, getting her head down to earth. "What were you thinking Nathalie? I was calling you for the past three minutes" The blond boy asked. "Umm nothing" she said and quickly are everything in maybe 2 minutes. After washing her hands she went to the office to complete rest of her work. "Father, do you know what has happened to Nathalie? She is acting different." the son asked. "Actually I also observed Nathalie. She is acting different from the past weeks." Gabriel answered. "I think we should check her if she is-" before he could complete his sentence, they heard the wall behind them broke.

A large pink ugly moster came, breking the mansion. But before the moster or you can say the villian could hurt any of the boys. Again their saviour came. She took both of them to a safe place. While saving them she got a deep scar in her arm.

"But Nathalie" Gabriel said "she is still in the mansion." Adrien completed, they both were worried. "She is safe" the saviour said and went back to the battle ground.

After some minutes, the fight was still going on. The monster pushed a train to the wrong track which lead to a ............ . Then... (watch these two video)

These videos do not belong to me.

(So just think spider man as the saviour and this is what happened)

The saviour was scared that is they would tell everyone her identity. But thankfully they theirself said that they would not tell anyone her identity. She was feeling utterly dizzy after it.

After that though it was difficult from the others villians, she won. Everyone didn't had that much hope in this but yes they won.

Everyone was safe in their houses now. The Agrestes also went back to their mansion. The first thing they did when they went inside their mansion was to find Nathalie. She was already in her room. When they found her they gave her a big hug.

"Your'e safe!" The three said at the same time and laughed.

Nathalie ordered Adrien to go to bed and then went downstairs to the office. Gabriel followed her. By that time she was sitting on her chair. "What are you doing?" suddenly a voice came. Nathalie looked up to see who was he. "Umm working" she replyed as she recognised the face. "At 11pm?" Gabriel said, "just completing the schedule" he heard her answer. "Go to bed" he told her. "I"ll complete the the schedule and go" she answered. Gabriel signed and said "It's an order". Nathalie ignored him and continued working.

Suddenly she felt that someone picked her up in the bridal style. "Put me down Gabriel!" she said shocked. "Not until I reach your bed" he smirked. Nathalie knew there's no point on arguing so stayed quite. Gabriel out her gently on her bed. "Thank you" he heard her say. "It's my job" Gabriel said. They both giggled.

"Good Night" Nathalie said. "Good night" he heard him reply back as he left her room.

But she didn't heard the whole thing he said, he said "Good night my dear".

But one thing they both didn't saw was 'Adrien was seeing all these'

To be continued ->

TRY NEW!

Try new is an activity where if you want to you can participate. In here you just (if you want) need to complete the work which will be told every time at the end of the story. This will be then kept in this story and with obviously the name of the artist.

So today's 'try new!' is to make a fanart on "Gabriel, Adrien and Nathalie hugging eachother, smiling".

But keep in mind it should not be copied or anything else like that. If you have done one then send it to me through message. It should be send before the next part comes, I will sent a reminder one day before.

[seraphicsage]

can we get a chat noir fic where he tells you about his dad and you need to comfort him because he just doesn’t feel loved anymore

A/N I didn’t really know how to finish it but hope you enjoy it!! Please let me know your thoughts!

Chat has been a close friend of mine for about a year but he doesn’t talk to me about his personal life. Of course, I know why, secret identity and all that, but it means that I don’t feel that it’s much of an equal relationship. And on top of it, it always feels like there’s something he does want to say, there’s always this feeling of sadness about him, and I want to comfort him but how can I when I don’t know what it’s about?

I’m just thinking about all that when I head a knock on my window. It’s pouring with rain so I rush to open it and let him in. When I open the window he stays there looking at me. He looks like he’s been crying, and it’s not just the rain. I pull him in and close the window, rushing to grab a towel from my cupboard, wrapping it around him, helping him dry his hair while he avoids looking at me.

When i’m satisfied he’s dry enough I pull him into a tight hug. It takes him a second and I almost pull away when he hugs me back even tighter, I feel him nuzzle his face into the side of my neck and I can feel him shaking. I think he’s crying again.

After a little while I feel him pull away, he apologises and I wave him off. I can feel how cold he is so I wrap him in one of my blankets and sit him down on my bed. We both lie down and he quickly curls into me.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, trying not to pressure but desperately wanting to be able to help.

“It’s my dad. We had a fight, again.”

“That’s hard, I hate fighting with my dad. What happened?”

“I’m not good enough for him. No matter what I do it’s never enough, ever since my mum died he just ignores me. The only time we talk is when he’s telling me what a disappointment I am.” That’s a lot of new information at once. I think he’s telling me too much but before I can stop him he keeps talking. “I only managed to convince him to let me go to school in the last year, and he keeps threatening to take me out at any opportunity.”

That’s when it clicks. I know him. I freeze. I completely stop breathing. I could be wrong but… it’s like the final piece of the puzzle and suddenly everything makes sense.

He sits up, “um sorry, you look freaked out, I didn’t meant to dump it on you.” He starts to get up to leave so I grab his arm.

I sit up to get close to eye level with him. I grab his face and look at him, properly look at him for the first time ever. I know that face. “Adrien?” I whisper. He looks shocked, his mouth hanging open, “it is you, isn’t it? You’re Adrien. From my class.” He slowly nods, still looking shocked. “Oh my god.” I whisper again, pulling him into another hug. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Y-you- you figured it out. You know. And you’re not disappointed?”

“I’m glad it’s you! It’s amazing!” I’m grinning so wide now, my two best friends are the same person.

He starts laughing and grinning wider than i’ve ever seen anyone grin before. “Oh my god. You know. Someone knows. I-I can talk to you about it. I don’t have to hide!

[the4rcanist]

Oooooh I wanna hear about Eagle-singer please!

Thank you for the ask! (And for the tag!)

Is a Davrin x my Rook Rowan Mercar, Assan and her eagle Revas. I don't have an exact place in the timeline to place this (as I've written it as a way to conceive a bit of my character's backstory and also for a bit of self indulgence what I can say I love Davrin sm lmao only that it's after Weisshaupt and that my two pookies have already talked through their differences.) Since in my headcannon I have two "Rooks" at the same time, I refer to Rowan as the "Knight".

"Eventually" Rowan unpacked the fried bread and cheese; The Dalish Heart Cake Davrin made when Adryn sequestered Lucanis for the evening; A warm forest fruit cobbler; The fried fish; A good handful of spiced jerky from the storage that both hunters made sure to keep well supplied; Ingredients for her mother's lentil soup recipe; Seasoned cabbages stuffed with meat and the Gurgut roast served with mushroom sauce. "I got tired of doing nothing and I ran away. If I had a second chance, why couldn't they?"

"How old were you?" Davrin asked, half laughing while finishing to light up the campfire. He offered her a hand, and she just noticed he had sit in a fallen tree log.

"Thirteen," She said, giggling, a bit embarrassed, and took his hand. "Can you imagine? A kid showing up at a Shadow Dragon fence shop asking 'Hey, can I kill some slavers for you? I can hold a sword, an axe even'"

The Warden couldn't hold his smile, feeling his heart warm a little. It was a bit silly, yes, but still…"Your heart was always in the right place". He was still holding her hand.

"I guess" She felt the intensity of his stare and focused on handing over the ingredients for the soup. "Cause they took me in"

Rowan heard a ruffle of feathers and turned her head to see Assan and Revas landing at the lake shore, playing catch. "Don't go far!" The woman barely managed to shout before the eagle launched herself into the air again and Assan followed her into the water.

Davrin squeezed her hand gently. Encouraging her to continue. "And then" she sighed "From administrative to courier, from courier to scout, from scout to the brawler. I had, as you said to me once, a "purpose", to make sense of all the hardships I faced, to make sense of all the days and nights I spent training, sharpening myself" the Knight moved, taking a bite on a few pieces of spiced jerky and offering a bit more to him before both of them started making the soup. "No warehouse was small enough to bust. No wound was terrible enough, not for me, not for War."

"The spirit."

"Yes" She uncorked their source of clear water and poured on the pot while catching a glimpse of the two birds playfully diving on one of the upside-down waterfalls. Davrin bumped her shoulder softly to call her attention back. "Sorry, I'm…hum…They started coming and going whenever I got myself into a fight, but I didn't knew it was them. I know you are weary of this, especially of Spite, but as someone who had been dealing with it for half of her life, I can at least say that Lucanis has better self-control than anyone else I've ever seen"

"I understand better now. After...after everything" He looked down, shaking his head, half laughing again "Damn. Now I'm just worried for him too"

"Aren't you for everyone, Hero?" she teased with the nickname her sister had given him and the Warden returned a smile so sweet that made yet another dent in her heart.

"How have you ended up with the Avvar?" Changing subject. She thought. He does this every time.

"Well, once..." Davrin added the rest of the ingredients and she started stirring the pot "They sent me to burst a warehouse at the frontier with Nevarra. Then, I was to cross the Silent Plains and bring the people to a large commercial outpost named Ashen Mammoth Hold where a contact in the Free Marches would take them in and find where they had been taken from or find them a new home."

"Doesn't ring a bell"

"Right?" Rowan pointed with her spoon. "It was a new settlement formed ten years ago when Inquisitor Lavellan exiled a Thane from Ferelden, armed and supplied his tribe. The place then flourished" she looked again and breathed in relief seeing both their children still playing in the water. "I did the job, but the slavers persecuted me through the sand. I was one of the few guards since this was supposed to be a covert operation"

"Was it bad?" The elf felt a hand on the back of her shoulder. By the Lady of the Skies, he was so effortlessly sweet.

"Enough that War took me over" She savored the warmth and let gaze wander far on the horizon, watching Revas dive into the water, grab a fish and throw it at Assan. "I woke up a few days later with the Augur fussing over me"

"the Augur?" He asked.

"The Hahren of their tribe. He was curious by the interest the spirit took in me"

"So you decided to stay with them? Had enough of the city?"

"Over the course of my recovery? Yes. It was easy, you know, having friends, a community, much like…much like now" She tasted the soup, and the face she made must have been terrible because the man immediately handed over the salt bag. "In the city, I had the other Dragons, I had Ash, but still it was so…lonely, stressful. Out in the plains, even when I was just out by myself scouting, with my toes freezing blue, I was so at peace..."

"I know the feeling" He smiled gently at her, again. Would it be so bad? To say yes and make him smile everyday? A thought passed. Somewhere. "Still want to know how this happened"

She shook her head "I… don't know? Mogran was the one that rescued me in the entrance amidst a pile of bodies, then he started dragging me into their dinners, then their celebrations, then their tests. The Augur asked me to accompany them to some rituals made to learn to control myself when under possession and, when I realized, I was asking for stories on the gods."

"He adopted you too" He pulled their bowls and spoons out when the water started boiling.

"I suppose. When I recovered, I didn't want to leave as much, so I asked to keep my job escorting the freed ones to the Free Marches"

"And how does her" Davrin pointed with his head to Revas, now back on the shore again, trying to pull a loose feather out of Assan's left wing while the gryphon stared at the floating water "Comes to picture?"

"It was another job, another that was angry enough to cross the desert" The Knight stirred the soup absent-mindedly "The "lord" came with them, surprisingly, with the ugliest set of clothing, carriage, everything, ugh.." She frowned "He also brought his favorite 'pets' with him. Among them an Arlathan Forest Eagle, still a fledgling"

"Revas" There was an edge of barely contained anger in his voice.

She nodded and smiled "I… I'll admit that I loved her at first sight" glancing back, she caught her eyes, and the eagle then called her back cheerfully "So I did my best to raise, teach and love her, like you're doing now with Assan"

"I…"

"You are, I won't let you fight me on this, Davrin" She heard a fluttering of wings again and noticed both of them coming back over the smell of the soup "For the other half of my life, she listened to me, was my eyes, my scout. When the Huntmaster got the ear of it, Movran gave me my first legend-mark, Rowan Eagle-singer" She filled one bowl and handed it over to him.

"Thank you" He held her raised hand and the woman hitched her breath. Gods. it would truly be so bad? "So that's where it comes from. You've led a pretty busy life, Rowan"

It would. It was easier, to keep distance, to try to not lose the few pieces she had left of her weary, terrified heart. Even thinking of losing him now made her eyes water and her skin crawl.

"Says the Halla Keeper, Monster Hunter and Grey Warden" Rowan blurted, blinking a few times, awfully aware of each one of his movements and trying to forget the fluster creeping into her cheeks. "But all of my adventures were nothing compared to what we're doing now, trust me. When Varric told me we're going after an elven god, I choked on my drink" she laughed bitterly "I still don't have any idea how he expects me to pull that off"

"Rowan I…" The Knight turned her head to him, expectantly "I don't think I've ever said that to you but I'm sorry, really, for what happened to him" he laid a comforting hand on her arm.

The woman went immediately to the side, going completely stiff "It's alright. I'm alright" she said, eyes dark and voice bleak, while giving him the most unnatural smile he'd ever seen. And the Warden thought he might had gone crazy for all of his instincts that recoiled from her in the strangest sense of danger he had never felt before, but she hadn't moved an inch from the log.

Rowan looked down to her feet, made a bowl for herself, and suddenly raised her head again "What were we talking about? Ah yes the soup"

[iiryebreadii]

EoW thoughts!! I wrote them as I was playing :)

It is Long so it's under a cut!

OKAY these bullet points I made as I was playing, but I stopped writing things down after a while just to focus on the game. and then I got distracted and finished the entire zora section

My first surprise, I went "YOU PLAY AS LINK??" which is an utterly deranged thing to be surprised about in literally any other zelda game

Return of dedicated jump button!! parkouring time

Ganon laughing after being murderized is probably not a great sign I'll be honest

Zelda breaking out!! RUNNING FROM THE CRACKS IN REALITY!! and little golden light to guide us!! Intriguing

She's been gone a week and there have been rifts in that time already? So what link fell into wasn't a new phenomenon

Some of these villager voice lines are very very reminiscent of botw/totk, i wonder if they reused some of the sounds??

okay so the rifts are Really not new, if they been appearing for 'a long time' according to the king, stealing specifically children? and now adults, too, for whatever reason

DAD NOOOOOOO

WRIGHT AND LEFTE TOO?? WE CANT HAVE ANYTHING NICE

ooo this is clever, I was wondering why Zelda was wearing Link's cloak in the trailer, but if the people all think she's the one causing the rifts then it makes sense! She's gonna have to hide her identity (to avoid EXECUTION?? ok nintendo. good heavens). Also, generic King of Hyrule sacrificing his life to save his beloved daughter, king rhoam bosphoramus hyrule could never

TRI!! It's nice to meet you :) you are very casual about this whole execution thing, friend. They feel very inhuman, but in the fun way, like they don't quite understand human limits. like what do you mean you can't phase through these bars? i mean, that's weird, but you can have this magic stick I guess

I really enjoyed the stealth bit getting out of the dungeons! And Impa!!! IMPA!!! I love you badass old lady :') thank you for coming my escape and giving me a musty old dress. maybe taking off the crown would've helped the disguise. whatever. zelda's going through the wringer, she deserves to keep her crown if she wants

This game is very pretty :) also I just got my first piece of heart! Had to do some clever stacking on various objects to reach it, but I managed!! I really like the problem solving so far

second heart piece acquired

LINK'S HOUSE. WAAAAAAAAA I NEED TO SAVE HIM

As soon as I gained access to monster echos I started saying "go my scarab" every time I make one to fight other monsters for me

OK so after all that, I started just playing without writing things down, but I still wanna keep track of my thoughts!! I found a bunch of other heart pieces, and I REALLY like the puzzle solving in this game. The switches to more 2D platformer sections are SO fun and such a great idea, since it has way more of that classic, tightly designed puzzle stuff that zelda is so known for. At the same time, you have so many options for other ways to solve problems and think creatively, im having so much fun with it!

The wealth of options kind of makes me overthink things lol, like the first heart piece I found would have been incredibly easy to access via the water, but for some reason I didn't think that was an option, and instead spent a solid 5 minutes figuring out the right combination to stack items and get on top of something two blocks high, so I could climb the surrounding cliffs to reach the heart piece. But also, I felt so dang accomplished by the end, I wasn't even mad that there was an easier way! Plus, I used the knowledge I gained there in the future, to help me access various parts of the terrain :D

The dungeons!! I've finished the first one, and also the zora questline :) im really enjoying the return to more classic dungeon design, but like I said before, it's still open to plenty of options in solving the puzzles. The still world is very cool, I like the vibes. The fact that a ton of children have been taken there and never returned? Spooky. I'm gonna give my early-game theory now, and guess that Tri's friends come from the lost children that fell into the rifts. Idk those are the vibes rn.

The combat is fun! mostly in the way I'll send out a monster and stand back to watch them rip each other apart. the peahat is my favorite I love that thing

Also!!! Link!! Falling into the rift, but escaping with a few others? Losing his ability to speak from it? The way you meet so many other characters around the world that have met him and been touched by his life??? He's had his own whole adventure before zelda!! That's reflected in his abilities and hearts and stuff in the beginning, but still!! It's cool to see glimpses of what he was up to before saving zelda.

I'm working on the gerudo questline right now, just started the dungeon, and link(?) is here! It might be another shadow like the one from the first temple, but it would be neat to think that he's been working to help from the still world while we help in the original one :)

ANYWAY I'll make another post when I've got more to say but so far im really loving echos of wisdom!! Zelda's characterization in this is so fun, I love her :')

[gojonanami]

Also, I just saw your new "Other Lives Fic" idea for Gojo! I'm super excited for that in the future! That got me thinking! Haha i get hugeee brainrot sometimes > "and you are together in every life — one way or another — but in this life, you part, as you watch him fall to Sukuna."

Imagine if Kenjaku ends up taking Gojo's body, and as Yuta is busy holding off Sukuna, you (the only other Special grade sorcerer still alive) are now the only one who can fight Kenjaku and stop him, the imposter parading around your husband's body like a puppet. You swallow, biting back tears as you stood in front of the love of your life. Your heart had split in half as he did during his fight with Sukuna. And now, the universe is set to grind those pieces of your heart into dust, as you're forced to be the one to end your husband the second time.

And shortly after you step onto the battlefield to challenge him, Kenjaku's attacks start to go off aim. Kenjaku is confused. How is this body defying him? Then, Kenjaku thinks back to how his body had defied him once before, back when he was still Suguru Geto. And then he hears a little voice inside his head.

"This is my wife. You will not hurt her."

And a moment later, your hands land on Satoru's beautiful face, almost as if in a caress. And the next moment, you had decapitated him. You sensed it. Your cursed technique had finished Kenjaku for good now. All that's left is Satoru, as he grew colder and colder in your hands. Your eyes find your husband's beautiful blue ones, glazing over as they started to close. He smiles at you, and you see his lips move for the final time. "See you in the next life." Ok ok and then imagine if they're reborn as university students right after.

Rich boi Satoru had a couple gfs before, but broke up with all of them (he sighs to his best friend Suguru! "Maybe i'm not meant to settle down!"). And then when he sees you for the first time in university, he thinks you're beautiful. but why does he feel like he has met you before, when he has never even seen you before??? 

(sometimes memories of past lives slip into his dreams, but his dreams are just that, right? dreams. not reality. but they really do seem quite vivid sometimes. how strange.) You get assigned to be his partner in a course that you're taking together, and you meet him too. and you think, why is there a tightness in your chest? why do you feel sad when you look at him, like you miss him?

You're so confused! You're gonna avoid him from now on! You don't understand why he makes your insides feel all squiggly and a little sad!

because you were forced to kill him in your previous life

but Satoru wants to get to know you better! he's super impressed by your intelligence and you're so pretty! he keeps trying to approach you and ask you out!

Suguru is surprised! Satoru has never approached a girl himself before. all Satoru's previous gfs were the ones who confessed to him and asked him out. Suguru thinks it's refreshing to see the great gojo being the one doing the chasing now heh. ANYWAYS! SORRY FOR THE LONG MESSAGE! I JUST GET INSANE BRAINROT SOMETIMES, AND YOUR OTHER LIVES FIC IDEA SOUNDS SOOOOO CUTE AND ANGSTY AND SWEET I COULDN'T HELP IT!

omg i love the idea!! i may not use the kenny thing only because i hate the idea of him violating gojo's body along with geto's, but i would love to maybe have reader help collect gojo's body with ui ui and stand with shoko while they deal with what happens next (

but i love the university idea - i love it!!! i def wanna use it omg - it would be so cute to show gojo having those dreams from a young age and not sure if it was true or not and subconsciously he's been searching for you this entire time--