#Have this wonderful lil guy as a result

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

frolicking

[makiwife]

F the big 3 CL16!

Driver’s Soft Launch Series

Charles Leclerc x Redbull Driver! Verstappen!Reader

Author’s notes: hihi!! back from my year long slump😭 all pics are from Pinterest. It’s a long one so hope you enjoy!! it gets vv messy😈.

Warnings: cursing, sexual themes.

next part

Y/nverstappen

Liked by maxverstappen1, Lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and 2.5 million others

Y/nverstappen with love xoxo

View comments…

maxverstappen1: Where is your shirt in the first pic🤨🤨

charles_leclerc liked this comment

↳ Y/nverstappen: fym… it’s right there😅

francisca.cgomes: YOURE SO BEAUTIFUL BABY🥰

Y/nverstappen liked this comment

Lilymhe: bae is looking so FINEE

↳ Y/nverstappen: my wife I love you🥹

F1xY/n: HOW IS SHE SO PRETTY IM JEALOUS

Ferraricharles4: SHE REALLY CAME SHIRTLESS IN THE FIRST PIC

Landonorris: bro is posing before a GP😭

↳ Y/nverstappen: bro hasn’t given anyone vip paddock passes since he got broken up with😭

↳ danielriccardo: LMAOO🤣🤣

redbullY/nfan: SHE GAGGED HIM

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Y/nverstappen

Liked by alexandrasaintmleux, gerihalliwellhorner, carlossainz55, and 3 million others

Y/nverstappen date before race ❤️‍🔥

View comments…

Redbullluv: DATE NIGHT W WHOM?!???

McLarengirl11: UM HELLO WHO IS THAT MAN?

Lilymhe: STUNNING☺️☺️

↳ Y/nverstappen: I love you lil🥰

danielriccardo: the people want to know who you’re soft launching

↳ maxverstappen1: what the fuck is soft launching🤨

↳ Y/nverstappen: 🤫🤫

Y/nloveerr: SHES TEASING US OH MY GOF

gerihalliwellhorner: very beautiful Y/n💕

Y/nverstappen liked this comment

pierregasly: I wonder who it is😁😁

↳ carlossainz55: hmm I also wonder😏

↳ Carlosleclerc6: bro knows who it is😭🧌

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During qualifying day interviews:

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Y/nverstappen

Liked by charles_lerclerc, maxverstappen1, lewishamilton, and 4.3 million others

Y/nverstappen fuck the big 3, it's just big ME.

View comments...

maxverstappen1: congrats baby sis!! P1 looks good on you

↳ Y/nverstappen: thank you maxie🙏 i love you.

y/nf1fan: THE CAPTION??? WHY DID SHE GAG OCON SO HARD

Redbullgirly3: THE VERSTAPPEN SIBLINGS HAVING BEEF WITH OCON IS SO FUNNY TO ME

lewishamilton: congratulations Y/n!! very proud of you.

↳ Y/nverstappen: THANK YOU LEW🥹 you're so sweet

charles_leclerc: P1 BABYY

↳ Y/nvestappen: my haters got me to where I am☺️

redbullracing: simply simply lovey!! amazing results y/n🙌 keep up the wonderful work. (nice caption)

landonorris: that caption is so messy, i love it

↳ alexalbon: SO VEERY MESSI

↳ Y/nvestappen: “I don’t really have a lot to comment on that, except that he was being a pussy”

↳ maxverstappen1 liked this comment

↳danielriccardo: bro wanted all the smoke

Lilymhe: PERFECT WAY TO END A GP FOR SOMEONE AS PERFECT AS YOU ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

↳ Y/nverstappen: lily do you want head or sum 😛

↳ alexalbon: google, how to dislike a comment??🤨better yet, how to report someone??😃

georgerussell: CONGRATS!! AMAZING RACE FROM YOU!!

josief1: THE WAY SHE QUOTED MAX WHEN HE DISSED OCON IN AN INTERVIEW 🤣 MOTHER IS MOTHERING FR

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Y/nverstappen posted on their story

alexandrasaintmleux, Lilymhe, charles_leclerc, and others liked your story

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story: princess treatment only for the best 💕

Y/nverstappen: I literally love you alex baby🥹🥹

landonorris replied to your story: this is so booktok of charles

Y/nverstappen: LMAOO SO TRUEE

charles_leclerc replied to your story: you deserve everything and more. I'm so very proud mon amour ❤️.

Y/nverstappen: cha baby I’m actually so in love with you❤️❤️

A/n: Guys i literally had so much fun writing this!! I def want to make a pt2 because there wasn't really any soft launching/ flirting happening. I lowk wanted to show you guys a little bit of her personality, but I also wanted to ease into the romance yk. sorry for the yap sesh but I hope you enjoyed!!

[stevie-petey]

episode eight: the battle of starcourt

He fights with it, tries desperately not to let it fall, all while his resume hangs from his mouth. “Shit! Oh, Fast Times! Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” Robin laughs and Steve turns the cardboard cutout to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Own any red bikinis?” You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.” “I can sleep right now and find out–” “I will flick you again.” “A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

Summary: jonathan becomes a certified surgeon, hopper returns and is oddly sentimental (wonder what that could mean !), you and dustin show off your musical theater talents, the mind flayer becomes a track star, fireworks become weapons, and really a lot just happens so suddenly it gives you whiplash. dont worry though, the rest of your summer involves painful goodbyes and the scary realization that youre growing up. absolutely disgusting. but at least steve gets to kiss you whenever now, so hooray for that ! side note: you keep making promises to people, surely there wont be narrative foreshadowing as a result !

Rating: general, violence and swearing

Warnings: blood, swearing, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, fem!reader, use of y/n

Words: 21.2k (ouch)

Before you swing in: this was my magnum opus. truly. so so so much happens in this chapter, this episode is INSANE. it took me a while, the scenes were hard and complex, but im happy with the final results :) ive been waiting a long time to write this ending, to set up the strings for later in season 4 <3 i sincerely hope this chapter is all yall have wanted. if theres any glaring typos, pls ignore because its 21.2k words and im weak from rereading it. anyways, i have a sneaky lil link right here that will make sense at the end of the chapter (spoiler alert: it's a mixtape jonathan makes for bug). enjoy !

-

El’s screams tear out of her body. She writhes in pain, sobs claw out of her throat. It’s unbearable to watch, the sight of her in immeasurable pain. It breaks your heart. 

No one knows what to do. 

Mike thrashes in your arms still. He tries to escape your hold so that he can cover his body with El’s. Take away her pain somehow. But you won’t let him. You know that it hurts him to see her this way, but his panic will only drive El’s panic further.

“What is that?” Disgust litters Erica’s face as she stares at the moving creature within El’s leg. Gently you push the girl away, not wanting to crowd El too much. She needs space to breathe. 

“There’s something in her leg,” Mike sneers into your face as he fights against you again. He’s furious, he’s overwhelmed, he just wants to help. “Let go!”

Your arms tighten around the boy. He isn’t in the right state of mind. Frantic, you look to your left and start forming a plan. “Jonathan, my switchblade is in my left back pocket. Grab it.” He stares at you, unsure what to do, and you raise your voice into a yell. “Grab it.”

Jonathan jumps at the command and his hand disappears behind you. You feel him find the weapon and pull it out. He holds it in front of you, offering it, but you don’t accept it. “Go and disinfect it. There’s a gas stove where you found us. Heat up the blades so that we can–” you swallow as nausea fills you. “We–we have to cut it out of her leg.”

The moment Jonathan is gone, you turn your attention to Mike and Steve. You try to keep your voice leveled, try to contain the blinding panic that screams in your head. El needs you right now. Swallowing again, you start to speak to them. “I need you guys to talk to El. Keep her awake.”

“Right, okay.” Mike nods, and you finally release him. He hovers over El, his voice is gentle as he tries to calm her. “Hey, stay awake, okay?”

You tug Steve towards El’s legs so that he can help you move her into a better position. “Get her onto her side. Mike, put her head in your lap.”

Both boys do as they’re told. Everyone watches, and Robin tries to make light of the situation. She rambles about a girl from her soccer team who once broke her leg. How the bone had ripped clean through her skin. The story makes you shiver, and Steve sees the discomfort. “Robin, hey. You’re not helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jonathan returns, out of breath. “Okay. Alright, El?” He looks down at the girl. Tries to steady his breathing. “This is gonna hurt like hell, okay?”

El whimpers out that she understands, and you take hold of her hand. “Sweetheart, you need to brace yourself. I promise it will be over soon.”

“I’ll be fast, but I need you to stay real still. Here,” Jonathan hands a wooden spoon to Mike. “You’re gonna want to bite down on this, okay?”

Teeth bared, El clenches her teeth around the spoon. Her body braces for what’s about to come. Kneeling next to her, you angle your body over hers and pin her arms down with your hands. You look at Mike, ordering him to do the same. “Hold her shoulders. Don’t let her go, no matter what.”

He pales, but swallows deeply and nods. When Mike is in position, you signal to Jonathan to start cutting. “Do it.”

“Okay,” Jonathan inhales. The knife you’ve given him shakes as he holds it over El’s wound. He’s fucking terrified, but he knows it’s the only way. Exhaling, he cuts into her flesh. Blood pours from the wound and El’s screams tear from her chest. 

Everyone makes a sound of disgust and horror. Your own stomach lurches at the sight of Jonathan cutting into the leg. The image, the way El’s body convulses, the screams she releases, it’s all too much. You don’t feel yourself shaking until Steve guides your head into the nook of his shoulder, shielding you. 

“Thank you,” your breathing is shaky. You aren’t even sure if he’s heard you, but Steve nods and his hand rubs up and down your back. He’s doing whatever he can to help, being the solid surface you need to lean upon. Lending you the strength you need to hold El down and save her. 

You hear your knife glance against the ground, followed by El’s scream becoming deafening. Unable to stop yourself, you pull away from Steve to look at what’s happening. When you do, you almost gag. Jonathan’s fingers are now in El’s leg, digging underneath the flesh and muscle to find whatever the hell is in there. A horrible squelching sound fills the air. Faintly you think you can hear Will crying behind you. 

Jonathan struggles, digs deeper into the leg, but it only seems to be making everything worse. El twists and contorts beneath you, in agonizing pain. Her screams only intensify. A tear from your eye lands on her shirt, and you force yourself to hold her down despite how desperately you want to end it.

“Goddamn it!” Jonathan can’t find it. He can’t find whatever the hell is in El’s leg. It keeps moving the moment he thinks he has it. Everything is slick from blood. 

“No!” El spits out the wooden spoon, her voice raw from screaming. “Stop it!” 

You can’t stomach her pain any longer. The moment she pleads for it to stop, you move off of El and push Jonathan away from her. Nancy helps, touches his shoulder to alert him as well. The moment she has the room to, El sits herself up. “I can do it.

“Do what, El?” You ask, though you think you know anyways.

She breathes heavily. Tears flow freely down her face. She’s sitting down, one of her knees is pressed against her chest. The injured leg remains flat on the ground, her hand outstretched above it. Static, the one you always feel when El uses her powers, surrounds you. There’s a low hum, she grunts and screams, and yet her hand remains steady. You rub her back, offering her all the strength you can give her, in awe despite the poor timing of it. 

To have the strength to expel a foreign object from your body. You can’t imagine it. 

El releases one final long, harrowing scream. The lights flicker, the windows behind you rattle violently. You only just barely manage to cover Dustin and the kids from the shards of glass before they explode. At the same time, a small, writhing creature shoots from El’s leg. It stalls in the air, hovering in front of her face as she continues to scream. The creature is no bigger than the size Dart had been when Dustin first found him. The idea that it had been buried in El’s leg makes you feel ill. 

With the last of her energy, El flings the creature across the room. It lands with a sickening thud on the floor, before it starts to move. You watch in horror as it scurries away, releasing its own screech, until Hopper’s boot crashes down upon it, killing it. 

You’ve never been happier to see that cranky son of a bitch. 

Joyce stands behind him and you whimper pathetically when you see her. You miss your own mother. It’s been days since you’ve last seen her. You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been before. 

Alongside Joyce and Hopper is a man you’ve never seen before. He has glasses and a beard. As you study him, Jonathan makes a surprised sound. “Murray?”

“You know him?” 

Jonathan nods at you. “He’s the detective Nance and I visited last year.” 

“He’s insane.” Nancy says, though there’s a nostalgic smile on her face. 

Hopper steps forward, investigating the scene. Glass crunches beneath his boots. He stops in front of you and El. He looks down at you. “Always at the scene of the crime, huh?”

“Yeah,” you blow hair out of your face. “Can’t seem to ever stop myself.” Then, finally noticing his aggressively bright and floral shirt that he’s wearing, you tilt your head to the side. “Nice shirt, by the way. I like the color on you. You’ve been direly needing some color in your life.”

Dustin snorts and El manages a tired smile. Hopper rolls his eyes at you, though you can tell it’s more from fondness rather than annoyance like it usually is. You watch as his eyes drift towards Joyce, uncharacteristically shy. “Thanks, kid.”

“Anytime, old man.” 

– 

“The Mind Flayer, it built this monster in Hawkins, to stop El, to kill her and pave a way into our world.” 

You sit on the fountain’s edge. Dustin is next to you, Steve leans against you on the other side. Mike’s words surround you. 

He explains what he and the others have been dealing with while you’ve been gone. Innocent people have been getting possessed and turned into chemicalized substances. Their bodies melting together, conjoining to create a monster meant to kill El. With every detail Mike remembers, your stomach twists uncomfortably. It doesn’t sound real. It sounds like a thing from nightmares.

And somehow Billy has become the face of it. 

The last time you saw him, he had been a shell of who he used to be. He had been in pain. Obvious pain. Sweat had run down his flushed skin and his eyes had a frost in them unlike anything you had ever seen before. Instead of helping him, instead of telling anyone about this, you had abandoned Billy. 

“How big is this thing?” Hopper asks, shifting so that El can rest more comfortably against him. 

Jonathan sighs. “It’s… It’s big. Real big. Thirty feet, at least.”

“You’ve seen it?” Your eyes draw to the bruise on his forehead. The pained noise he made when you hugged him still rings in your ears. 

“We’ve had a rough night.” Nancy whispers, eyes downcast. 

“It sorta destroyed Hopper’s cabin.” Lucas looks up at the chief, a poorly feigned apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry.”

Steve interjects now. He asks questions, tries to make sure he understands. As he speaks with the group, your head falls onto his shoulder. Your head spins. Only hours ago you were dealing with Russians and national emergencies. Now, you and Steve try to wrap your heads around the idea of a giant human goo creature wreaking havoc on Hawkins.  

Which, according to Max, is still very much alive. 

But that doesn’t stop Will from trying to help. “But if we close the gate again–” 

“We cut the brain off from the body.”

“And kill it.” Lucas finishes for Max. “Theoretically.”

It sounds so simple, but you’ve been here before.

You’ve heard this conversation already; you were standing in the Byers’ dining room. Steve had been next to you, just like he is now, and Jonathan had been on your other side. The people surrounding you were the same, only now Robin and Will join. That November, the conversation had terrified you. Closing the gate. Killing the Mind Flayer and destroying its army. 

It had been the exact same conversation. And it terrifies you still, now. Only this time the fear is accompanied by an emptiness.

You’ve been here before. It hadn’t been enough. 

“How many more times are we going to kill it?” Your head remains pressed against Steve. Your eyes don’t lift from the ground. Exhaustion sags your body. “We thought we already killed the Mind Flayer. We went through hell and back to close the gate, only for it to be opened again not even a year later. By another country. I mean,” laughter crawls out of your throat. “Who’s to say that they won’t just open the gate again? They’ve already done it once–”

“Loverboy over here,” The bearded man from earlier, Murray, suddenly appears and slaps the back of Jonathan’s head. The man has a mad smile on his face, the kind that tells you he’s an insane genius. After Jonathan shoves him away, Murray stops in front of you. He looks down, a curious glint in his eyes. “He told me you were a ray of sunshine. Gotta be honest. I’m not really getting a real sunshine vibe from you.”

Steve subtly shifts your body so that he’s in front of you. His eyes are narrowed, body tense. “What’s that in your hands?”

Murray seems to now remember what he interrupted the group for. He clutches the pieces of paper in his hands, waves them in the air. “Ah. These, my perfectly coiffed haired friend, are blueprints.” 

“That’s just a poorly done drawing of squares and lines.” You squint at the papers. They’re no better than the map Mike had scribbled to navigate the tunnels last year.

“Seriously,” Murray turns back to Jonathan again. “I thought she was supposed to be the nice one.”

You open your mouth to argue, not at all liking whatever this random man is insinuating, but Hopper steps forward first. “Just start talking.”

He sighs, but agrees. Motioning everyone to follow, Murray guides the group to a nearby table so that he can lay his drawings out for everyone to see. “Okay, this is what Alexei called ‘the hub’.” Murray points to the center of the first drawing. “Now, the hub takes us to the vault room.”

“Okay, where’s the gate?” Hopper hovers over him, attentive. 

“Right here.” Murray now points to a random box, far from where you know the gate actually is. You bite your lip, unsure if you should speak up just yet. “I don’t know the scale on this, but I think it’s fairly close to the vault room. Maybe fifty feet or so.”

You snort obnoxiously loud, getting everyone’s attention. “You’re so wrong that it physically pains me.”

“I’m sorry?” Murray gives you an odd look. When Jonathan and Nancy showed up on his doorstep last year, the two of them had nothing but great things to say about you. Jonathan had waxed poetry about you while Nancy had sat at the dinner table, resentful. Now, meeting you, Murray is really struggling to understand where that all came from. 

“It’s more like five hundred feet.” Erica says. When she sees Murray’s exasperated expression, she can’t help but laugh at the old man. “What, you’re just gonna waltz in there like it’s commie Disneyland or something?” 

“And who are you?” 

“Erica Sinclair. And who are you?”

“Murray… Bauman.”

“Listen, Mr. Bunman.” You have to stifle a laugh into Steve’s shoulder. You love Erica, you really do. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do things, but I’ve been down in that shithole for twenty-four hours. And with all due respect, you do what this man tells you, you’re all gonna die.”

“I’m sorry, why is this four year old speaking to me?”

You slide off the fountain’s edge and stand. Whoever this guy is, you don’t like his snippy attitude. “She’s ten, actually, and she’s right.”

“Yeah, you bald bastard!” Lucas reprimands her, but she doubles down. “Just the facts!”

While you enjoy her quips, you gently grab Erica’s shoulders and place her behind you. There isn’t time for her to make a grown man cry. “We went through hell down there. It won’t be as easy as walking fifty feet. The place is huge.”

“They’re right.” Dustin speaks up. “You’re all gonna die, but you don’t have to. Excuse me, may I?” Even before Murray has consented, your brother is already grabbing the blueprints. He sits down and starts explaining. “See this room here? This is a storage facility. There’s a hatch in here that feeds into their underground ventilation system.”

“It’s how we accidentally got in.” You add, figuring any extra information could help.

“Wait, you accidentally broke into a secret Russian lair?” Mike tries to hide it, but you can see that he’s impressed. You know that once this is all over, he’ll grill you for details later.

“No, we thought it’d be fun to get tortured by commies on the fourth of July.” Steve points to his swollen eye. “Yes, Wheeler. It was an accident.”

“Guys!” Dustin shouts. When he has everyone’s attention again, he sighs. “Jesus. Anyways, these vents will lead you to the base of the weapon. It’s a bit of a maze down there, but between me, Y/N, and Erica, we can show you the way.” 

Hopper stares down at the three of you, unamused. “You can show us the way?”

Dustin is about to agree, but you cover his mouth with your hand. “Yes, I can show you the way. The kids can stay here, but I remember everything from when we were down there. If you want all the hero glory, then fine. Fight some Russians. But I can be your navigator.”

“No.” Hopper, Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan say at the same time. 

You roll your eyes at all of them. “Okay, I was only talking to Hopper. The rest of you,” you glare at your brother and the two teens next to him. “Aren’t a part of this conversation.”

“There isn’t a conversation to be had, kid.” Hopper scoffs at you. He doesn’t want to hear whatever you’re about to say. He won’t let you back down there again. From the state Steve is in, Hopper doesn’t even want Joyce coming with him. “You’re not going. End of discussion.”

“You don’t seriously expect me to let you walk into a death trap, right? I mean, I know we argue a lot, but you can’t be that dumb.” Hopper has started to walk away now, trying to put an end to the conversation, but you follow him anyways. “Listen to me!” He ignores you, doesn’t turn around. Instead, Hopper starts gathering bullets as he picks up a shotgun from one of the guards on the ground. Groaning, you continue to chase him. 

You don’t care how annoying you’re being. You’ll nag him until your last dying breath. If he doesn’t want you getting hurt, then he has to understand that you don’t want him getting hurt either. “Hopper, I’m serious. El…” You look at the girl, who is far behind the two of you now as she rests near the fountain. Your voice grows thick. A wave of emotions rush over you, seeing her. She’s so small. She’s still just a kid, despite the power that lies within her. “She needs you. You–you can’t get hurt.”

“And I won’t.” 

“You don’t know that,” you grab the man’s shirt, but he tries to walk anyways. You plant your feet on the ground and grit your teeth. He’s frustratingly strong. “Please, just–you’re her father. You–you can’t leave her–” You stumble over your words, try to think of how to convince him. There has to be a way, a middle ground. Isn’t he the one who taught El what compromise means? 

In your nagging midst, you overhear Dustin and the party all catch up. Talk about how they missed one another. It’s a sweet reunion, seeing them come together again after being separated for so long; your boys are together again. It feels like a lifetime ago where they were all together on Weathertop hill. Seeing them together again, it hits you. 

The walkies. Cerebro.

“What if I could still communicate with you from above?” You shout, frantic. Hopper stops walking. He still doesn’t look at you, but he indicates that you have his attention. Taking a deep breath, you don’t waste any time. “We have walkies. Dustin, all the kids. It’s how they communicate with one another. Always have. What if… what if I give you directions using them? That way, you’ll fulfill your annoying need to be a hero while I fulfill my annoying need to protect everyone.”

Your words come rushing out, messy and jumbled, but Hopper seems to understand. He’s quiet, mulls what you’ve said over and over again in his head. He inhales, closes his eyes, and then exhales agonizingly slow. When he opens his eyes to look at you, he’s resolved. “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

A relieved smile graces your face. Knowing you’ve gotten through to Hopper, you finally release his shirt. You straighten it back out, wipe some dirt off of it. It really is a good shirt, one you know was almost definitely purchased for a woman named Joyce Byers. “It adds to my charm.”

Hopper chuckles, shakes his head, before walking over to where your brother stands with the others. He fishes a walkie from his back pocket, tosses a spare one to Dustin. “Hey, heads up. Your sister came up with a shockingly genius compromise. You guys can navigate, just from someplace safe.”

Dustin sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“The signal won’t reach.” Erica clarifies for him. 

You motion at them to explain faster. “But…”

“But,” Dustin quickly explains your idea. “We’d need something with a high enough frequency band to relay with the Russians’ radio tower. But for that to work, you need someone who has both seen their comms room and has access to a super-powered handcrafted radio–”

“Dustin,” you hit his shoulder, urging him to get to the point already. “Just tell him about Cerebro.”

“I was getting there! Look, we have one already situated at the highest point in Hawkins.” Your brother shakes his head. “If you need us to navigate, we got you. But we need a head start… and a car.”

“Hey, chief.” You stand beside Hopper now, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you have a car?”

He stares past you, and the rage in his eyes amuses you immensely. It’s taking everything within him not to start yelling, which only causes your shit eating grin to grow. You extend your arm, hold your hand out palm-facing upwards. This is the best day of your life. “Come on, give me the car keys, Hopper.” 

Sucking his teeth, Hopper drops the car keys into your hand. “I hate you.”

Hopper stands in front of you, annoyance and irritability in his eyes as he stares at you, but you don’t care. A surge of warmth cascades through you instead. He listened. It means more to you than the man could ever know. Your arms find their way around him, surprising both you and Hopper, as you pull him into a hug. “Thank you for listening to me.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret it.” Hopper says, his voice rough. He clears his throat, allows his hand to pat your shoulder. He may not know what you’ve gone through, but he thinks he can understand the weight the history has left you. It’s the same weight that he carries every day. The guilt, the anger that follows it. He clears his throat again and pulls you off of him, keeping you at arm’s length. “Do me a favor, will you? Make sure El and the others are safe.”

You sniff, wipe away tears. You’re not sure why you’re crying. “I will, I promise. Good luck, old man.”

“Good luck, kid.” He hesitates, still holding your shoulders. His breath hitches and his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s something in them, almost a certain kindness that once reflected in your father’s eyes when you were younger. The gaze burns you at first, but you stare back at Hopper through it. After he seems to find what he’s looking for, Hopper swallows. He says what Joyce has always said about you; from his conversation with the woman back at Melvald’s. “You’re the best of them.”

More tears well in your eyes, but you wipe them away before he can tease you. Hopper releases you, shoves you in a playful manner, and you can’t help but laugh. It’s a warm moment. His words simmer on your skin. You’ve heard them before, you know what people say about you, but the words are different coming from Hopper. 

Praise doesn’t come naturally to him. Words have always plagued him; the ones he has just told you hold a weight that’s even heavier than the guilt the two of you carry within yourselves. You’ve known Jim Hopper for three years now, but as you watch him walk over to El, soft smile still on his face from his conversation with you, you finally understand him. 

–

Steve is waiting for you at the fountain, whispering quietly with Robin. The two of them stand off to the side, away from the others. He’s nervous, uncomfortable. He stands with his back away from Jonathan and Nancy, who are a few feet away talking to Murray. His arms are crossed over his chest and his fingers tap together in an anxious tick you’ve become familiar with. 

The moment he sees you approaching, all the tension in Steve’s body melts away. 

He grabs your hand the second you’re within reach. Pulling you into his chest, he kisses the top of your head. “Any updates, angel?”

You hum against him, allowing yourself a moment to bask in his warmth. It’s been a long day. It’ll be an even longer night. “You know Weathertop hill?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Good.” You place Hopper’s keys into Steve’s hand. “You’re driving us, then.”

Robin points at Jonathan, who sneaks glances at the three of you. “Define ‘us’. Because, no offense, he seems nice and all, but he keeps looking over at you like a lost puppy and it’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Be nice, he’s still my best friend.” Flicking her forehead, you silently scold Robin. “And it’s just going to be the three of us with Dustin and Erica. Jonathan and Nancy are taking the rest of the kids to Murray’s bunker. He’s just… He’s worried. Probably wants to make sure he says goodbye to me before we leave.”

Robin makes a confused face, reminding you that she’s new to all of this. That she hasn’t had to say goodbye to her loved ones every year with the fear of them not returning. You sigh. “It’s… Kinda a tradition, at this point. A final goodbye before all hell breaks loose.”

“How many times do you guys almost die on a weekly basis?”

Steve snorts. “Depends on the month. November seems to be our worst one, though.”

“Astounding…”

You leave Steve to deal with Robin’s amazement on his own, though you laugh as you walk away. Ever since the events of Will’s disappearance, you’ve done everything you can to not think about what you’ve all been through. However, seeing the bewildered amazement on Robin’s face the more you reveal to her, you can’t help but laugh. 

Jonathan sees you approaching him and Nancy and steps aside to make room for you. They’re still talking to Murray, although the man is more lecturing them than anything. He holds up a bunch of keys, explaining in great detail which one goes into specific locks. It’s dizzying trying to keep track of it all. 

Secretly, you’re grateful that you’re going with Steve and the others. Easier key instructions. 

“This one is for the second to last bottom lock–”

“Murray, can I cut in real quick?” You try to be polite about it, but truly you don’t care whether or not you have the man’s permission. 

He glares at you. “Aren’t you already?”

“Good point!” You grab Nancy’s and Jonathan’s arms and pull them away with a wicked smile on your face. When you’ve dragged them far enough away from Murray, you wrap your arms around them both. Jonathan sinks into the unexpected embrace. Nancy stiffens. You try to ignore it. “Get to that old man’s bunker safely, please?”

“Of course, bug.” Jonathan has wrapped an arm around you. He closes his eyes, his fingers span across your back. “Stay at Weathertop, get to safety. Maybe even get some rest while you can.”

“I’ll try, bee.” Your laugh is wet. This will never get any easier. 

Nancy shifts in your embrace, and for a moment you’re afraid she’ll pull away entirely, but instead she surprises you by wrapping an arm around you as well. Her chin is tucked against your neck, she still hasn’t melted into the embrace like Jonathan has, but she’s trying. Lips close to your ear, she whispers, “I’ll keep him safe.”

You suck in a breath. You hadn’t known how desperately you needed to hear Nancy’s reassurance, to hear her silent apology. Pulling away from them, you look at Jonathan and Nancy. “I love you. I love you both.”

Jonathan smiles, the same way he did the night you met him on the Wheeler’s porch. Nancy ducks her head down shyly, the same way she did the night she opened the door to let you into her home. 

You squeeze their hands one last time before leaving to say goodbye to the others. 

Lucas wishes you luck, Will hugs you as tight as ever, and El offers you a partial smile. She’s still recovering from whatever the monster did to her leg, so you brush some hair out of her face and kiss her head.

“Sucks you were down in hell this whole time. Could really go for a brownie right now.” Mike says, a light in his eyes as El’s head rests in his lap.

You stick your tongue out at him. “Sorry, couldn’t find a way to bake while getting chased by Russians with guns.”

“Lame.”

“Goodbye, Wheeler.”

Then you turn to Max, who has been silent this entire time. She hugs you tightly when she sees you. “He’ll be okay, right?”

Your body goes stiff. Somehow, in the midst of Hopper and the others, you had forgotten about Billy. How he’s infected. Flayed. It hasn’t escaped your notice that no one seems to want to bring the matter up, either. When it had been Will, everyone had wanted to make sure he wouldn’t die if the gate closed. 

But no one has asked the same question for Billy. 

Swallowing, you slowly reciprocate Max’s embrace. “We’ll… We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Though the words aren’t meant to be a lie, you can’t help but feel that you’re breaking an oath when you say them. 

– 

Steve hadn’t noticed what brand of car the keys belonged to at first. However, the moment his brain recognizes the iconic Cadillac logo on its keychain, he practically starts to drool. A fucking Cadillac.

It doesn’t take him long to round everyone up and drag you outside.

“I was saying goodbye to Joyce,” you grumble, struggling to keep up with Steve’s quick footsteps.

“It’s a Cadillac, Y/N!” Steve can almost feel the foam pooling around his mouth. His footsteps increase even more, his body vibrating at the knowledge that he gets to drive his dream car. His dad hadn’t wanted to buy him one, said that the BMW was more practical. Reliable. When Steve pushes the mall’s front door open and sees the beautiful, timeless car parked perfectly in front of him, he almost collapses. “Oh, man, now this…This is what I’m talkin’ about!”

“‘Toddfather’?” Robin points out the license plate and its horrible name.

You make a face, but Steve doesn’t let her ruin his moment. He’s ecstatic. This is arguably the best thing that has happened to him all day (besides maybe kissing you). For fuck’s sake, it’s a goddamn Cadillac. “Oh, screw Todd! Steve’s her daddy now.”

Steve hops into the car’s front seat like a little kid with a toy car. Meanwhile you, Robin, Dustin, and Erica retract your heads in disgust at what he’s just said. Robin looks at you, repulsed. “Did he just talk about himself in the third person?”

Erica follows up with her own creeped out question. “Did he just call himself daddy?” 

“I’m choosing to ignore him right now.” You say to both of the girls, pressing a hand to your forehead as you walk to the car. There’s so much you don’t want to unpack with what Steve has said. 

“You can’t ignore me, Y/N.” Steve leans over the center counsel and opens the passenger door for you. “We already established that I’m really annoying.” 

“Just take us to Weathertop, please.” You buckle yourself in and make sure the kids have their seatbelts on as well. When you see that Robin has found herself in the middle seat, you snicker at her. She’s squished between Dustin and Erica, her knees are pressed uncomfortably to her chest.

“Why did I get stuck in the middle?” She complains.

Steve fixes one of the mirrors before revving the engine. As he pulls out of the mall’s parking lot, he offhandedly responds, “Passenger seat is reserved for girls I’m dating.”

Everyone in the backseat gags, and you blush furiously. You and Steve haven’t had the time to talk about your relationship. Or if there even is a relationship. But he’s just referred to you as the girl he’s dating. He kissed you yesterday, or was it today?

Time has blurred together, but Steve’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives and you’re his girl. 

There will be time to talk about all of it later. You’ll make sure of it this time. 

Steve’s foot presses on the gas, speeding through Hawkins. Neither of you were given an exact time frame from Hopper, but he presses down harder on the pedal and sends the car flying. There’s music on the radio, doing its best to distract everyone, but your hands are still antsy. You’re nervous, there’s still so much left unspecified within the plan. Steve notices your fidgeting fingers and removes his hand from your thigh to play with them; he’s trying to soothe you. 

You intertwine your fingers through his and smile at him. Steve winks back at you, and you admire how lovely he looks as he drives. The moment is broken when Robin shoves her head between the two of you. “What the hell is a Cerebro?”

“It’s basically a radio tower that Dustin built for his girlfriend, Suzie.” You explain to her, voice raised to be heard over the music and wind. “She lives in Utah.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, intrigued. She leans back in her seat and pokes Dustin’s shoulder. “Suzie must be really special, huh? I mean, if you built this thing and lugged it all the way to the middle of nowhere just to talk to her.” 

Your brother preens at this, pleased someone has recognized his romantic efforts. “I mean, nobody’s scientifically perfect, but Suzie’s about as close to being perfect as any human could possibly be.”

“She sounds made up to me.” Erica snarks from the backseat. She looks over at Steve, tries to get his opinion. “She sound made up to you?”

Steve hesitates for just a fraction of a second too long, and you sigh. Dustin notices it, too. “Why are you hesitating, Steve?”

“I–I’m not!” He looks to you for help, but you only shake your head at him. All he had to do was respond promptly. This is his own fault. “I’m not hesitating! I–I think she sounds real. You know, totally, absolutely real.”

“Not really loving your uncertain tone, Steve.” You say, and Dustin nods in agreement. “Suzie is real. I mean, I’m almost positive that she is.”

Dustin does a double take at your use of the word “almost”. He’s about to say something, demand to know why you’re not certain Suzie is real, before he notices that Steve is about to miss the Weathertop turn. “Left, turn left!”

“There’s not a road here?” Steve argues, squinting his eyes in the dark to see whatever the hell the kid is seeing.

Dustin screams at him again to turn, and you only have a second to brace yourself before Steve jerks the wheel. The car’s tires screech on the asphalt as your body gets thrown forward. You scream, getting war flashbacks to when you’d been in the back of Billy’s car as Max had very recklessly driven you and Steve to the tunnels. Somehow, this is so much worse. 

The car breaks through a fence and your screaming only intensifies. “What the fuck?”

“Hendersons, where are we going?” Steve screams to you and your brother. He’s desperately trying to keep hold of the steering wheel as the car struggles against the hillside’s grass. 

“Up!” You and Dustin exclaim. One hand clutches the door, the other clutches the seat. The entire car is practically at a ninety degree angle as Steve continues to drive up the hill. It’s bumpy, your head hits the back of the seat more times than you would like, and your heart races. 

The car makes a concerning amount of strange noises the further up the hill you drive. Robin clutches her stomach. “We’re not going to make it!” 

“Yes we are!” Steve does everything he can. His foot never leaves the gas. “C’mon, baby. C’mon!” 

“Sweet talking the car won’t help!” You shriek after a particularly rough bump leaves you nauseous. The poor car strains against the giant hill. The tires, not at all made for off-roading, get caught in the grass. 

Steve hits the wheel and curses. “C’mon! Please!” He presses harder on the gas, but the car comes to a stop. The tires move uselessly against the slick mud underneath.

Ill and desperately wanting to get out of the car, you unbuckle your seatbelt. “We can walk the rest of the way, Steve.” He gives you a despaired look, pleading with you to let him continue playing with his new car, but you roll your eyes at him. You’re five seconds away from vomiting, he can deal with abandoning the car. “The Toddfather is dead. We can mourn her later.”

Steve groans but turns the car off as everyone gets out, preparing for the walk ahead. The hill is just as steep as it had been earlier this week when you were with the party. While you’re annoyed you have to walk it again, at least this time it’s night and the heat isn’t as suffocating. 

When you reach the crest of the hill, Dustin immediately runs to Cerebro. He crouches next to the radio and turns it on. “Bald Eagle, do you copy? Bald Eagle, I repeat, this is Scoops Troop, do you copy?”

Bald Eagle had been your idea. 

“Scoops Troop?” You ask your brother.

He nods, proud. “Thought of it myself.”

“Not bad, buddy.”

Murray’s voice crackles over the walkie. “Yes, I copy.”

Everyone lets out a breath of relief when you hear him. So far, the first phase of the plan seems to be working. Cerebro can reach all the way down to the lair; you can communicate with Hopper and Joyce. So far, so good.

Dustin starts to give Murray the directions he’ll need for the vents. You and Steve roam the perimeter of the hill, weary and needing something to do. While you’re far from the Russians below you, you still don’t necessarily feel like you’re out of harm’s reach. Robin stays with the kids, figuring it’s best to give the two of you some time alone. 

You stare out into the view of Hawkins from so high above. Weathertop has always been your favorite spot in the small town. Your first summer in Hawkins, Jonathan had introduced you to the hill; you used to spend all your time up here with him. You’d spend hours running up and down the length of it, giggling and sunkissed. If you stand still enough, you can still hear the laughter in the breeze. You miss Jonathan and being kids with him. 

“I haven’t been up here in years.” Steve stands next to you, voice soft. He stares out into the field as well, admires its beauty the way you are, though really he just wants the excuse to look at you. “Forgot how peaceful it was.”

“I love it here,” you tell him. “Late in the summer, dandelions appear. They scatter the entire hilltop. I like running through them.”

“Well, when they start to bloom,” Steve wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you back into his chest. He presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lingers. He hasn’t held you in so long, his body aches with the weight of yours against it. “We can run through them together.”

You smile into the embrace, lean into the kiss, tremble into the words. He will always make you weak. It’s an exhilarating feeling, knowing someone can dismantle every bone in your body with less than six words. “I think I’d like that–”

From the corner of your eye, you see lights flickering in the distance. They catch your attention, standing out against the black backdrop of the night sky. You shrug Steve off, feeling a tug in your chest to walk closer to the hill’s edge. You need to figure out what you’re seeing. With every step you take, the more your vision focuses in on the lights, the more dread fills your body.

It’s the mall. The lights are coming from the mall. 

You freeze. 

The lights are going haywire, flickering wildly. It’s supposed to be deserted. Jonathan and the others were supposed to have left already, but still your stomach sinks. Something isn’t right. 

Steve stumbles after you, confused as to why you pulled away, but when he sees the mall as well, he stills. “What the…?”

“They left. They said they would be gone by now.” You try to calm yourself down, try to focus on the reasoning. The mall is empty. It’s supposed to be empty. Jonathan promised you he would make it to Murray’s safely. He wouldn’t lie, he would never lie to you. 

Robin, Dustin, and Erica come up behind you and Steve. You all stand there at the crest. No one moves, transfixed by what they see. The lights continue to flicker, miles below, impossibly too far away from help.

Someone has to help.

Your feet move, twisting your body to run back to the radio. You need answers. You need to know what the hell is going on, if everyone is safe, and Dustin is right behind you. He falls to the grass in front of the radio and frantically brings it to his lips. “Griswold Family, this is Scoops Troop. Do you copy? Over!”

He repeats the call over and over, but no one responds. With each passing moment of silence, your panic turns into blind fear. “I repeat, do you copy–” A sudden, horrifyingly familiar screech, one that has haunted your nightmares for years now, rips through the radio’s speaker. It’s loud and gruesome and sends ice into your body. Your brother’s concern rivals your own. “Griswold Family, please confirm your safety. Are you enroute to Bald Eagle’s nest?”

Dustin is screaming into the radio at this point, demanding answers, but there’s only snarling on the other side. Your breathing quickens, the edges of your vision blur. Sweat trickles down your neck. You can’t breathe. Jonathan is still at the mall. Mike and Will. Nancy, Max and Lucas. 

El.

The Mind Flayer has them. 

Steve tries to grab your hand, but you’re blind to it all. In raw desperation, you tear the radio out of Dustin’s hands and bring it to your own lips. “Jonathan! Nancy! Mike, anyone.”

Your pleads fill the void of a response in the night air. Steve sits next to you, all he can do is watch as your pleading turns into begging. Your voice cracks, the words scratch your throat. Seeing your white-knuckled grip on the radio, Steve can’t take it anymore. 

“C’mon,” he takes your hand and pulls you up. Numb with fear, your body is limp. You try to fight him, you don’t know why he’s pulling you away from the radio when your friends need help, but Steve has made up his mind. He takes the device out of your hands and makes you look at him. “They need our help.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Y/N, look at me.” Steve motions to the car, and finally you understand. “We’re going.”

Relief threatens to make your knees weak. Too wired from the debilitating combination of fear and helplessness, all you can do is nod at Steve and allow him to guide you down the hill. Dustin and Erica see that you’re leaving and try to stop you. “Where are you going?”

“To get them the hell outta there!” Steve calls over his shoulder, fumbling through his pocket to retrieve the keys. “Stay here, contact the others!”

Dustin calls out your name, anxious. He doesn’t want you to leave, and you hate that you have to leave him. But right now, he and Erica are as far from danger as physically possible. Weathertop hill is miles away from Starcourt. Right now, Jonathan needs you, and so do the others. Breaking out of Steve’s grasp, you run back to your brother and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

You run back to the car where Steve awaits, and Robin is quick to follow. She runs after the two of you and catches the walkie that Dustin tosses her. “Stay in touch,” he orders the three of you, still entirely against the whole thing. 

“We will!” You shout back at him, already crawling into the car. “Stay safe, don’t do anything stupid, and stay here.”

The backdoor closes, Robin’s seatbelt clicks into place, then the Cadillac’s engine roars to life.

–

Your hands won't stop shaking as Steve drives. Nothing he says can reassure you. The car hasn’t gone below seventy miles an hour despite the narrow road, and still it doesn’t feel like it will be enough. 

“I’m sure they’re okay.” Steve tries again to sound convincing, like his hands also don’t shake as he grips the steering wheel. “I mean, they have El. She’s a superhero.”

“Total superhero.” Robin unhelpfully chimes in. Her own nervousness is on display as she twists her fingers together. 

You draw your knees into your chest, trying desperately to make yourself smaller. You’re terrified for your friends, you should’ve never split up. The party always does better when it’s together. Forcing air into your lungs, you stare out the windshield. “How much farther?”

“A minute, maybe even less.” Steve promises, pressing down even harder on the gas pedal. The engine’s roar deafens your ears, and you welcome the distraction. 

In the distance you see Starcourt’s blinding neon lights. They grow bigger and bigger with every passing second, and you release the breath you had been holding when you see that you’re close. The moment of relief is short lived, however, when you hear gunshots pierce through the night. The sound rings in your eyes and the sight of Nancy firing the gun chokes you. 

“There!” You point towards where she stands and Steve changes the direction of the car. The tires screech and your body thuds against the door but you don’t care. All you can focus on is Nancy standing in front of Jonathan’s car, unmoving as she fires bullet after bullet. Something seems to be wrong with his car, you can hear the engine fail each time he turns the key.

You squint your eyes. At first, you can’t see what Nancy is firing at, but within seconds you see the third car barreling straight towards her at a terrifying speed. In the driver’s seat is Billy. “Steve!”

“I see him!” He floors it. 

The impact knocks all the air out of your body. It all happens so fast. Glass shatters. Metal hits metal. Your body gets thrown, your head roughly hits Steve’s shoulder as the car spins out. Your eyes squeeze shut at the momentum. You can’t remember if you scream. 

“Are you guys okay?” Steve asks, panting, as soon as he car comes to a stop. His head is spinning yet the first thing he does is look to see if you’re hurt. There’s some glass in your hair, but for the most part there isn’t a scratch on you, which he’s thankful for. 

“Ask me tomorrow?” Robin stares blankly ahead, still trying to process what’s just happened. 

It takes a few moments for you to come to. Your ears are ringing. Your neck aches from being thrown so suddenly to the left. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed…” Robin swallows, but quickly her mouth goes dry. “Oh, shit.”

You follow her line of sight and nearly throw up. The Mind Flayer crawls over the mall and releases a thundering screech, and the size of it alone makes you want to cry. It’s huge, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen before. 

A car honks behind you, breaking you from your terror. Your head whips around, finding Nancy in the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car. “Get in!”

Quickly the three of you scramble out of the wrecked car. There isn’t room in any of the passenger seats, so you yank the trunk door open and scream at Robin and Steve to crawl in. It’s a tight fit, you have to press your back against Steve’s chest, but it’ll have to do. 

As soon as the trunk is closed, Jonathan steps on the gas. You’re thrown further into Steve’s chest and Robin, who sits in front of you, lets out a quiet yelp when she sees the Mind Flayer chasing after the car, not far behind. Seeing this as well, Jonathan takes a rough turn and everyone in the car tries to brace for the rest of the ride. 

“Are you okay, bug?” Jonathan shouts over his shoulder, eyes still on the road.

“Fine and dandy,” you pick a piece of glass out of your hair. Steve helps, carefully combing through your hair as well. The Mind Flayer screams, tries to lunge at the car, and your heart skips a beat. You try to distract yourself. “I crash cars every day. How about you guys, what brought y’all out here tonight?”

“Billy.” Everyone in the car says in unison.

You wince. “It’s always him, isn’t it?”

No one answers. Your quips don’t land. Robin hasn’t looked away from the Mind Flayer yet, Steve doesn’t want to look at it. Jonathan stares at the road ahead of him and Nancy flinches every time the Mind Flayer’s body thuds against the earth. The rest of the kids are silent, the echoes of its footfalls pounding against their eardrums. 

It’s grim in the car. Really fucking grim. 

“Dusty-bun, you copy?” A girl’s voice comes through over the radio. It’s not a voice you recognize; never in your life have you heard anyone besides your own mother refer to your brother as Dusty-bun.

Steve’s bewildered expression matches your own. Then Dustin’s voice crackles through the radio, and your bewilderment turns into relief. At least your brother is far away from whatever the hell is chasing you right now. “I copy, Suzie-poo. It sounds much better now, thanks.” 

“Suzie,” Steve and Robin breathe out at the same time. You smile at them, smug. They had their doubts, but you were almost certain she had been real. Serves them right. 

The nickname Dustin has for his girlfriend, however, is awful. “‘Suzie-poo’? That’s the best nickname he could’ve come up with?”

“I like bee, better.” Jonathan agrees.

Steve scoffs. “Honey has a nicer ring to it.”

“Both of you shut up!” You don’t have time for their weird ‘my horse is bigger than yours’ competition. Dustin’s started speaking over the radio again and you’re trying to listen in case it’s important. He’s asking Suzie whether she knows what Planck’s constant is, and you have no idea how any of this is relevant to the situation at hand. 

“Okay, so I know it starts with two sixes, and then a…” Dustin’s voice trails off. Apparently this Planck thing is a number, one he can’t seem to remember. “W-What is it?”

“Okay, let me just be clear on this.” The tone of Suzie’s voice makes you pity your brother. It’s an angry tone, annoyed and fed up. Whatever she’s about to say, it won’t be pretty. “I haven’t heard from you in a week, and now you want a mathematical equation that you should know so you can… save the world?”

You whistle, commending the girl’s sense of self worth. “She’s got a point.” 

Dustin pleads with her, promising that he’ll make it up to Suzie as soon as he can. You feel a bit bad for him, honestly. He really had been trying to contact her ever since he got home from camp. How was he supposed to know his week would end up being dominated by Russians?

“You can make it up to me now.” Suzie’s voice lowers a frightening octave. You have no idea what she’s about to say, and a large part of you wants to throw the radio out the window before you’re forced to find out. 

“What?” Dustin sounds frightened as well, which doesn’t make you feel any better. 

“I want to hear it.”

Horror fills you. It’s worse. So much worse than you ever could’ve imagined. You know exactly what Suzie wants from Dustin. “Oh, no… He told her.”

“Told her what?” Steve asks you, confused by this entire ordeal. Dustin and Suzie argue in the background. She’s insistent and your brother tries his best to convince her otherwise. 

Jonathan’s eyes meet Steve’s in the rearview mirror, mischief in them. “Theater camp.”

“Jonathan Byers, I will hurt you!” You hiss at him, utterly mortified. Sometimes you despise the fact that he’s your closest friend. He knows far too much about you. 

Steve has so many questions, but he forgets all of them when Dustin starts to sing. “Turn around, look at what you see.”

His voice is clear and beautiful, a testament to the countless hours the two of you were forced to endure in vocal lessons. When you were younger and still living in Virginia, your mother made you and your brother attend a musical theater camp every summer. She loved having you guys perform little shows for her around the house. Said your voices were like angels to listen to. 

The day you and Dustin moved to Hawkins, you both swore to never tell anyone about the camp. The secret would die with you. 

Jonathan only knows about it because your mom had him video tape Christmas carols a few years ago (like the traitor that he is). It had taken several batches of cookies, numerous pleas, and a handful of threats to ensure he wouldn’t tell anyone what he saw. 

“In her face, the mirror of your dreams.” Dustin’s melodic voice floats through the car. The song had been one the two of you sang frequently at camp, its verses simple yet fun to sing together. 

Steve and Robin share a look of disbelief. They’ve completely forgotten about the Mind Flayer still chasing after the car. Suzie, a surprisingly good singer as well, now joins Dustin. They sing together, in a sweet, childish way. You can’t help but sing along, harmonizing with them. 

Everyone in the car looks at you as if you’re insane, but you’re too tired and exhausted to care. You’ve had the weirdest two days of your goddamn life. Sue you for singing along. It’s a good song. 

That, or maybe you’re just delirious from dehydration.

After a minute or so, the song comes to a close, and you’re almost saddened by that. You’ve missed singing with your brother. You make a mental note to bug him about it later. “Planck’s constant is 6.62607004.”

Dustin laughs into the radio, happy that Suzie finally revealed the number. “You just saved the world!”

“Gosh, I miss you, Dusty-bun.”

The two continue to go back and forth with their baby talk, which you cringe at. It’s disgusting to overhear, although you guess you understand now why Dustin hates being around you and Steve. You’ll apologize to him later. 

Dustin’s voice cuts off unexpectedly, which you assume is Erica’s doing. You’ll also thank her later. The car goes quiet again. No one knows what to follow Dustin’s impromptu performance with. 

“So, theater camp, huh?” Steve finally breaks the silence, squeezing you gently in his arms as he teases. 

“Tell anyone and I swear I’ll–” The Mind Flayer suddenly turns around, catching your attention. It runs away, back towards the mall. It doesn’t make any sense. Everyone is here, in the car. It only wants El. Unease twists your stomach. You lean forward and look at who is in the car. When you see Will and Lucas in the seat in front of you, you panic. “Where are the others?”

You’re practically crawling over the seat to try and get to Jonathan and Nancy. “Where’s Max and El? Where the hell is Mike?”

Nancy tries to distance herself from your anger. “We got separated, but they’re–they’re fine. We had to guide the Mind Flayer away from the mall–”

“So you left them?”

“We didn’t really have much of a choice, Y/N!” Nancy screams back at you now, insulted that you truly believe she would ever leave her brother behind willingly. She wouldn’t do that. She knows that you know this. 

“It’s going back for them! It fucking turned around, can’t you see that? We need to follow it, now!” 

“Y/N–”

“Turn. Around.”

“Steve, sit Y/N back down!” Jonathan’s yell cuts in between you and Nancy. You’re about to start spewing curses at him, but Steve’s arms are strong and force you back into his lap. You’re livid. “Hold on!” 

Jonathan knows you’re right. He tightens his hold on the steering wheel and stomps on the brakes. The car spins, he twists the wheel, controls it as best as he can, before he steadies the vehicle and accelerates back towards the mall. 

– 

When you get to the mall, Lucas announces that he has a plan. 

“Fireworks have an insane amount of gunpowder in them.” He explains to the group, waving around a handful of fireworks he left in the trunk. You’re all carrying some as you run through the mall’s parking lot. “If we tie them together, we can mimic the damage of dynamite.”

“Think it’ll be enough to kill the Mind Flayer?” Nancy asks, hesitant.

“If we throw them from above, yeah!”

You kiss Lucas’ cheek, only barely managing not to trip over your feet as you run. “I think you’re a genius, Sinclair.”

Inside the mall, everyone quickly sets the fireworks up. Faintly you can hear the Mind Flayer lurking somewhere, its roars echoing throughout the building, but it hasn’t found you guys yet. Lighters get passed around, fireworks get messily taped together, groups are divided in an attempt to cover the most ground. Jonathan with Nancy. Will with Lucas. You and Steve with Robin.

You’re taping together the last of your fireworks when you look down over the railing. You almost drop the fireworks in your hand when you see Billy hovering over El. He’s so much bigger than she is. She’s hardly even visible beneath him. Your stomach churns. “He’s here.”

Thuds shake the ground. The Mind Flayer descends from the rooftop and crawls over to where Billy has placed El. Its mouth opens, preparing for the kill, and Lucas throws the first firework. “Flay this, you ugly piece of shit!”

Bursts of light collide into the monster. It hisses, turns to face the direction the firework was thrown, and Lucas throws another into its mouth. 

Smoke begins to fill the air. The whistle of the rockets sting your ears. The light blinds you. It’s loud and messy and fireworks rain down upon the monster. Everyone throws the bundles they have, and yet still you hesitate. Billy’s eyes flash through your mind. How the red in them overtook the icy blue. The sweat that poured from his face. The cruelty that seeped through his skin. 

It’s horrible what’s happened to him. He didn’t deserve to become a pawn in this maddening game. 

But someone has to end it. You breathe in, relax your body, and bring your lighter to the first firework. Its heat licks at your skin as you release it into the air. You hit the side of its body, sending the Mind Flayer stumbling back. 

“Hey, asshole. Over here!” Steve throws a firework and its blasts almost scorches the two of you. It’s dangerous, stray fireworks threaten to crash into everyone, but the plan seems to be working. WIth every hit the Mind Flayer takes, the more he weakens. 

Your thumb burns as you light fireworks over and over again. The motion is repetitive, just enough to keep the fear in you at bay. It’s deafening within the mall. It’s exhilarating. It’s dizzying. Reds, blues, yellows, greens all light up the sky. 

Distantly, through the haze of smoke, you watch as the fireworks affect Billy as well. He cowers each time the Mind Flayer gets hit, but it also seems to enrage him as well. He grabs El’s wounded leg and drags her closer to the monster.

Helplessly you wish you were down there with El, helping her. However, all you can do is continue throwing fireworks in a crazed attempt to save the ones you love. You scream with every throw, exerting all your strength to throw them as far as you physically can. But you’re quickly running out of ammunition. 

“Dustin, we’re out of time!” Steve screams into the walkie, breath heaving with soot on his face. 

Your brother screams back, pleading with Hopper to close the gate. No one answers him, and you hold back exhausted sobs as you throw the remaining fireworks. They won’t be enough. Someone has to close the gate, sever any connection the Upside Down has to your world. It’s the only way any of you are making it out alive. 

Yet it remains open, and Billy has now crawled back on top of El. 

She seems to be saying something to him, but in the cloud of smoke and explosions you can’t be sure. Robin helps you light the last firework, Steve aims it, and you’re numb to it all. He throws it, it explodes into a shower of purple. Its ashes scatter around Billy, singes his back, and you see now that he’s stopped moving. 

“That was the last one!” Robin shouts over the screams of the fireworks. Steve runs a hand through hair and curses. There isn’t anything else the three of you can do.

You run to the railing and look around, feverish to find any way to help. Jonathan catches your eye from across the plaza. He looks just as distraught as you are. Your palm hits against the metal of the railing in frustration. There has to be something. Then you see Max and Mike below, standing on the outskirts of where Billy and El are, all alone. 

“I’m going down!” You scream to Robin and Steve. You have to get down there. Someone has to be with them. They’re too close to the fire and explosions and monsters. 

“Y/N, wait–” Steve tries to stop you, but you plead with him. 

“Steve, I need you to trust me.” There’s a raw, overwhelming feeling within you that something bad is about to happen. You can’t shake it, the feeling of loss being inevitable frightens you. For three years now you’ve saved everyone, done everything right. For three years, you’ve gotten lucky. You don’t know how to explain all of this to Steve, the fear that has followed you ever since you first intercepted the Russian code. “Please.”

Maybe it’s the way you say it. Maybe it’s the tears that stream down your face as you look at him. Whatever the reason may be, Steve reluctantly lets go of you. Endlessly thankful for him, your hands cradle his face as you kiss him. He makes a cute, surprised noise, and you wish more than anything that you can bask in the warmth of his lips, but you can’t. 

You force yourself to pull away. “I’ll be back, take care of the others.”

And then you’re gone. 

Footsteps echoing against the walls of the mall, you run down the stairs and straight towards Max and Mike. They hear you approach and suddenly they’re both in your arms. They hold onto you tightly, none of you can tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you. Billy slowly stands up and away from El. His movements are labored as he walks in front of the Mind Flayer, blocking its path to her. 

They stand, face to face, unmoving. Predator against prey. Your heart pounds in your throat as you watch, too scared to move. In an almost imperceptible velocity, the Mind Flayer extends its claws. 

Billy raises his arms, stopping the monster from piercing through El, protecting her. “No!” A guttural, animalistic scream tears apart his vocal chords. He screams, over and over again, as the Mind Flayer struggles against him. 

Max freezes in your arms, you feel her choke on her gasp. 

Everything happens slowly after that. 

The first claw that penetrates Billy’s side. 

The second one that cuts through his other side. 

Then the third one, the fourth and the fifth and the sixth. They pierce through his skin, sink into the flesh. His body goes limp as he’s suspended into the air. The Mind Flayer hisses down at him, its teeth bared, and Billy, who has never been afraid, screams in the face of death as the monster fatally punctures his chest. 

Everything stops.

“Billy!” You will never forget the pain in Max’s scream. It will become yet another sound that haunts your nightmares. 

As you stand there with a paralyzed Max in your arms, the Mind Flayer drops Billy’s body onto the ground. He lands with a sickening thud. The Mind Flayer’s body crashes into the walls, it convulses, spasms, leaving destruction in its wake. Then, all together, it stills and falls to the ground.

The gate has been closed. 

Mike tears himself from your arms and runs over to El. He pulls her into a hug and she begins to sob. You and Max walk numbly over to them, neither of your eyes leave Billy’s bleeding body. He shudders weakly where he lays, a pool of blood encasing his body. 

“Billy?” Max knees next to him. She’s crying, she doesn’t know what to do. There’s so much blood. “Billy, get up. Please, Billy. Get up, please.”

You kneel next to her, at her side through it all. 

Blood pours from Billy’s mouth. He coughs and the wet sound only makes Max cry harder. He looks up at you, his eyes are finally blue again. “Talking to you… sweetheart.”

But if you need anyone to talk to, about anything, come find me, okay?

Those had been your last words to him. 

“Billy…” He had tried to find you. He had been lost and scared and alone. He didn’t know what had been happening to him, why his anger became venom. A sob is wrenched from your mouth. He had been all alone, and he had tried to find you.

Billy coughs again, more blood leaks from his wounds. With the last of his strength, he turns his head to Max. “I’m sorry…” His chest heaves in pain, he labors two final breaths, before his chest falls entirely. It doesn’t rise again. 

Max shakes his shoulders, uncaring for the wounds there. She shakes him, begs and pleads with him to wake up, but his body remains lifeless. She lets out one final, anguished sob. “Billy.” 

She buries her face in your chest and sobs. You hold her, El joins. The girl tries to soothe Max, she tries to keep you together, but you break as well. 

You cry for the boy Billy had once been. Max had told you stories from before. How he would drive her to the skate park, scare off any older boy who tried to taunt her. She told you about how he used to love surfing in California, before his mom had left them and his dad became violent. 

Max told you about how kind Billy had once been, she knows he used to be kind. How she could see it in him still, hiding the bruises from his father to not scare her. To make her feel safe in their own home even if he intimidated her as well; it was the violence in him that was created by a monster far more vile than the Mind Flayer. 

You cry for Max, too young to lose such a complicated loved one. You know the pain better than anyone else. How it hurts to grieve them, how it makes you feel pathetic to miss someone who has only hurt you, but the tenderness of knowing them tethers you to it all. Billy had been her brother. There is no greater tether than that. 

You cry because you loved and have lost. You will blame yourself for having not said anything about Billy’s off behavior. You had seen the first signs of what the Mind Flayer did to him. He had been stranded on the side of the road, bloodied and bruised, blue eyes darker than normal, and you had done nothing except tell him to come find you. 

And then you had left him. 

Billy Hargrove died alone.

You and Max will share the burden of this guilt. 

– 

Jonathan finds you first, then Steve. You’re on the floor, kneeling with Max in your arms, two broken pieces finding solace in the other. Billy’s body lies next to you, neither you nor Max can bear to look at it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they’re the only words you can say to the girl. 

Max clutches your arms around her and her tears soak your shirt. El and Steve try to coax her out of your arms, but she doesn’t move. She refuses to let go of you, though she allows Jonathan to drape his arms over you and hold you as your own sobs echo within the mall. 

Nancy and the others join. They leave a wide berth around the dead body before them. Nancy sees that you’re in no condition to guide, so she takes over for you. She instructs Steve and Lucas to take Max from your arms so that they can stand the two of you up. The fire from the wreckage is quickly spreading and you’ll need to evacuate soon.

“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.” Jonathan whispers in your ear, one hand delicate on your arm. Steve’s hands rest upon your other arm, and together the two of them are able to get you onto your feet. 

Your body shakes, grief sits heavily upon your chest. Steve’s eyes never leave your weak frame. 

It’s all a blur after that. 

Firefighters break through the mall and evacuate the building. Nancy and Jonathan do all the talking. Someone, you think it’s Steve, carefully guides you through the maze of burning rubble and bodies. It’s raining outside and the soft thunder almost drowns out the drone of the helicopters that swarm the building. 

There are ambulances amongst the military trucks and you’re shoved into one by a concerned medic. The woman explains to you that you’re in shock, that your body is in a state of perpetual flight. She allows Steve to sit and stay with you only after she’s finished patching up his split lip and bruised eye. 

“It’s going to take some time to heal,” the medic explains to you. She’s soft spoken, maternal, and in your numb state she reminds you of your mother. “You kids went through a lot tonight.”

Time. 

It always goes back to time. 

Steve rubs your back and kisses the top of your head every few minutes. You rest your head against his shoulder, body pressed against his, a blanket draped around both of your shoulders’. Neither of you say anything. His hand on your back is warm, it unthaws the ice that the shock has left behind. His touch grounds you, keeps you afloat. 

A car pulls up in the distance and its doors slam. Your eyes drift up, finding Joyce’s as she stumbles through the crowd of armed soldiers and firefighters. She stumbles around, lost in some haze that clouds her once shining face. Joyce looks around in concern, trying to find her sons, and somehow you know, even before her face crumbles when she sees you, that something terrible has happened.

Her eyes meet yours. 

Hopper isn’t with her.

Will rushes towards his mother and almost knocks her down with how hard he hugs her. Joyce clings onto him and breaks into heartwrenching, bone crushing, sobs. You can hear her from where you sit with Steve, you can feel the weight of her loss like thickened water in your lungs. 

In the other ambulance next to you, El, who had been resting in Mike’s lap, stands up when she sees Joyce. She walks towards the woman as she embraces her son. Though El faces away from you, standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, the way her shoulders shake as she begins to fall apart indicates the remnants of her childhood have died tonight.

“Hopper’s dead.” They’re the first words you’ve spoken all night. Your voice is hoarse from disuse and the words echo, taunting you. 

Steve doesn’t say anything, only a heavy sigh leaves his body. 

There were three deaths tonight. Billy, Hopper, and El’s childhood. One for every year you got lucky. The fear that had been creeping through the back of your mind finally presents itself to you. It manifests in the humid July air and it laughs at you. Saving Will, closing the gate, destroying the Mind Flayer. They were debts needed to be fulfilled, and they were paid for tonight.

You see Max and Robin sitting on a stretcher across from you. Max also hasn’t said anything all night, lost in her own grief and remorse. Joyce still sobs in Will’s arms. El grieves alone, mourning the closest thing she’s ever had to a father. 

You see Jonathan and Nancy whispering quietly to one another in another ambulance. They share a blanket like you do with Steve, but Nancy’s eyes are sunken in and Jonathan’s face is pale. Lucas and Mike sit together, too exhausted to say anything. 

You’re all bleeding or burned or bruised and you’re tired. 

“Sometimes…” Your voice cracks, tears threaten to silence you, and you force yourself to breathe in. Force yourself to focus, to get the words out. They’re important, somehow, even if you don’t know why. “Sometimes it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.”

Steve draws small circles into your ribcage. His fingers catch on the raised skin, the scar from when you saved his life last year. “Luck?”

“When Will went missing… It was pure luck that I found him. Brought him back home.” You weren’t supposed to have been with the kids when they found El. You were lucky that night, it was luck that threw you into the middle of it all. “It was luck that saved Will last year, too. Those tunnels…” Your body shivers at the memory. It had been so cold down there, the smell of the damp earth is a scent you will never forget. “And now I–”

Your words catch in your throat. Steve’s body presses against yours, he waits for you, patient. When your voice returns, you try again. “And now I… I’m not sure how I feel.”

“Why’s that, angel?” Steve listens, he tries to understand. “I mean, the Mind Flayer is gone. We won.”

You saved Hawkins. You saved El. You know this, and it should be enough, but it isn’t. “All the deaths that took place tonight stain everything.”

El’s father is dead. Joyce had come so close to loving again. Max no longer has someone to call a brother. Billy, who endured so much hurt when he was a child, never got the chance to experience kindness when he grew up. 

Billy never got the chance to become good, not like you did. You were lucky to have even become kind again in the first place. It had taken years to turn the hurt from your childhood into empathy. You had a mother who called you her sweet girl even when you screamed horrible insults at her. You had a brother who held your hand through the anger that your father left behind. You had a best friend who taught you that not everyone leaves. There had been people who loved you, who were gentle, who showed you that anger can be turned into something soft. 

But all Billy ever knew in his life was violence and cruelty. It isn’t fair. 

“My entire life I’ve been lucky,” your chest constricts as you confess everything to Steve. All your fear, the doubt, the insecurity. “Now it–it feels like I’ve used up all my luck.” Your fingers find Steve’s, a mind of their own as your body seeks the solace only he can bring. He doesn’t know that he’s the reason you believe you’ve had more luck than anyone else in their life. “I… I was lucky to have met you, to become your friend, someone you trust. How could I possibly have any luck left over after everything we’ve been through together?”

Everything burns in Steve. He understands what you’re trying to say, he does, but he doesn’t agree. Steve hooks the pad of his fingertip underneath your chin and coaxes your head up, he wants you to look at him as he speaks. He needs you to hear him. To understand. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

You wipe your eyes, uncomfortable under Steve’s open and earnest gaze. “I’m wrong?”

He hums, strokes a finger from the dip of your cheek up to the crest of your brow. He admires you, memorizes the skin beneath his. “You’ve taught me a lot of things, but you’re wrong about that luck theory of yours. See, I have my own theory that you can never run out of luck if you love, and you taught me that to love and be loved is the luckiest thing a person can give and receive.”

Steve remembers the first day he ever saw you. He’d been thirteen, you had been twelve. He remembers how small you looked to him, yet lovely nonetheless, even back then. You had always been so lovely to Steve, kind, delicate, admirable. 

Your eyes stare into Steve’s and he remembers the first day he spoke to you. The squeal of your bike tires as you almost crashed into his car. The way the setting sun cast you in a golden glow in the ditch you landed in as Steve offered you his hand. How, the moment you laughed at what he said, he felt breathless. 

You smile at Steve now, the same smile all those years ago, the smile he saw when he was thirteen and believed in knights and dragons. Now, at eighteen, you smile at Steve and he believes in fates that attach people to one another and mold them into one being. 

“And I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, angel.” 

Steve’s words cut through you. They’re the good that remind you of the light of the sun that follows the dark of the night. It’s almost like an awakening, a slow remembering, how can someone run out of luck if they love with everything within them?

You see Mike now consoling El. She’s in pain, but Mike bears the hurt with her. You see Jonathan and Nancy sleep soundly against each other, safe in the other’s arms. Lucas holds Max’s hand as Robin cracks a joke that gets the young girl to laugh. Will strokes his fingers through his mother’s hair, offering her love that only a son can. 

Even while there is so much grief and pain within this world, the love that follows overwhelms it.

Steve stares down at you, eyes soft with contentedness. There isn’t a pressure behind them, he doesn’t need you to say anything to him. He’s simply happy to have you in his arms, to have you with him now, to remind him of how lucky he is, and you’re so full of love for him. 

“I’m lucky enough to be able to love you, too, sweet honey.”

Steve Harrington smiles the boyish smile that you fell for long before you knew what love even was, and he kisses you. He breathes you in, he has you right where he wants you. 

You finally, finally, have come home. 

– 

Time passes slowly afterwards; you take it one day at a time. 

After the mall burns down, your job is practically all but saved. It’s a small, bittersweet thing. Mrs. Waters had told you the news with her own bittersweet smile, mourning her dear friend Mrs. Driscoll who died in the fire. She will never know the truth, that the woman had become part of an army created by a monster. 

“But at least Doris would be happy that I still have my store,” the woman said as she stacked books with you at the counter. It had only taken you two days before finding yourself falling back into old habits. Your mother had wanted you to stay home for the rest of the summer, but Bookstrordinary has always been a second home to you, and you couldn’t bear the silence in the house. Mrs. Waters sighed sadly, looking down. “I miss her.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Waters.” You squeezed her hand, mourned with her.

Hopper’s funeral took place a week after Starcourt burned down. The entire town showed up, something that you know the old man would’ve hated, and he was crowned Hawkins’ hero. You spent the ceremony in the very back, holding El’s hand, so that the two of you wouldn’t be seen.

Billy’s funeral was a few days after Hopper’s. Max sat alone at the front of the church, Billy’s father had been too drunk to attend and her mother couldn’t get the time off of work. After the ceremony, the girl silently followed you into your car and spent the rest of the day at Bookstrordinary with you. She hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty house, and you understood the feeling. 

Max spends most of her summer with you at the store after that. Some days she helps restock the shelves, singing along to your set of tapes, bright and cheery. But some days she’s quiet, sits in a corner and pretends to read whatever you hand her. El stops by the store sometimes, too. You read comics to her, bake her the oatmeal raisin cookies she loves so much, and gossip about Mike and Lucas if Max is having one of her good days. 

During the first week you bake Joyce’s favorite muffins, the second week you bake her brownies. You offer her a shoulder to cry on every time you stop by the Byers home, you reminisce over Hopper and his disdain for you; she appreciates everything you do. 

Steve spends every single day with you, it doesn’t matter where you are. Without a job, he follows you everywhere. Whether you’re at work, at home, even at Jonathan’s or Nancy’s, he’s always able to find you with Robin right behind him. Nancy thinks the newfound trio is bizarre, but Jonathan can’t help but laugh whenever he sees Robin talking your ear off while Steve follows you around like a moth to a flame.

Together, you all try to heal.

Two weeks pass and you’re woken up by the ringing of your phone. 

“Hello?” Annoyance seeps through your greeting. You’ve only just managed to fall asleep, the nightmares at bay for once. 

“Come outside, angel.”

His voice wakes you up, the annoyance now replaced with confusion. “Steve?”

“Wear something warm, okay?”

“What–?” He hangs up, the line disconnects, and you’re completely taken aback by the phone call. You didn’t make any plans with Steve tonight, at least not any that you can recall. He had spent the day with you at work, ate dinner with you and your family, before watching a movie with Dustin and going home. 

You’re not entirely sure why he’s called you at nearly two in the morning to come outside, but you listen anyways. On your desk chair lays the cardigan Steve bought you for Christmas, his initials stitched into the sleeve. Sliding it over your shoulders, you quickly put it on before climbing through your window.

Steve’s car is parked two houses from yours, headlights off. There’s music faintly playing that can be heard through the window, and a familiar melody has you running to get inside. “The Beatles?”

They were the band that you and your dad used to listen to. His fingers would strum their songs on his guitar as the two of you sat side by side on the front porch of your childhood home. He would hum the words to you. Told you that you should know about real music. 

When your dad left, he took the music with him.

Jonathan had tried to get you into his favorite artists. The Smiths, David Bowie, the Clash. He would sit you down in his room and play their songs over his record player and watch your reactions. While the music was good, and you’ve come to love them because the artists reminded you of Jonathan, it was never the same as listening to the Beatles with your dad during early July mornings. 

Then one night, when you and Steve had been driving around Hawkins, a Beatles song began to play over the radio. Unknowing of your history with the band, Steve started to hum along the same way your dad would do, and it was finally then that music was brought back into your life.

“What, I don’t get a hello?” Steve is smiling ear to ear, seeing the flushed joy on your face and the cardigan you wear. 

You throw your body over the center console and hug him. “Hi, honey.”

As he drives, Steve is unusually quiet. His initial smug greeting upon your arrival is quickly overshadowed by a shy demeanor. Steve’s fingers fidget on the steering wheel, his foot taps against the car’s floor. The Beatles play softly within the car and somewhere along the route you find that the wooded scenery starts to look familiar.

He’s driving you to Lover’s Lake.

“Why are we heading towards the lake?” You ask Steve, but he pretends not to hear you. Instead, he turns the radio up and sings along to Paul McCartney. Your eyes wander to the backseat and notice a small box nestled against the leather. 

A few minutes later Steve parks the car and wordlessly the two of you get out. It’s dark, the moon reflects off the lake’s water. Crickets sing in the air and the waves lap at the shore. It’s a beautiful night, the July heat is masked by the night’s breeze; your cardigan keeps you warm. 

Lost in admiring the view, you don’t notice that Steve has left your side until he returns with a picnic basket. The box you saw earlier is tucked underneath his arm. You tilt your head at him, quizzically. “What are you planning, Harrington?”

Steve grabs your hand. “You’ll see.”

He leads you down to the lake’s edge where the water meets the sand. There’s a trail that Steve once found when he was nine. It had been during the last fishing trip he had ever taken with his dad. The man commanded him to hook the worm and Steve cried. Embarrassed and ashamed, Steve had run towards where the sand met the woods and found a meadow hidden within it. 

There are flowers in full bloom within the meadow, and you gasp when you see their vibrant pinks and blues. The flowers are delicate yet their stems are long. Steve sets the picnic basket down and pulls a blanket out from it. He sets it onto the grass and lays down, motioning you to join him. 

The stars are clear tonight, shining bright above the two of you. They almost seem to wink at you as you lay side by side with Steve. His hand is in yours, as it always is these days, and with only the stars as his witness, Steve whispers into your ear, “Thank you for staying.”

His breath warms your neck, and you know, without having to ask, what he’s thanking you for. Your promise to him last year, that you’d wait for him. He hadn’t been ready. The timing of it all wouldn’t have been right, but you knew, even back then, that you’d wait forever for Steve Harrington if it meant you’d receive even half of his love. 

Take your time, I’ll be here. 

“It was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” The words come easily to you, raw with truth and vulnerability. 

A soft sigh escapes Steve. He turns his head to you, eyes finding yours, and you’ve never seen such tenderness within him. He opens his mouth, sighs out the words you’ve longed to hear again since that night at Starcourt. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You don’t think you’ll ever tire of saying those three words to him. There’s so much love within you, so much you’ve ached to give out ever since you were a little girl, and now you finally can. 

Steve kisses you with a softness that releases a sigh from your own lips, and you know he’s wholly, truly, yours now. With a swift motion, Steve places himself on top of you as you kiss. His weight presses down on you, one hand cups your cheek and the other steadies him. His hair tickles your face, his cologne clouds your brain, and the sweet taste of July honey coats your tongue. 

Minutes, maybe even hours, pass as you kiss Steve. It’s lazy, no sense of urgency as your lips move against his. It’s warm, it’s soft. Eventually he manages to pull himself away from you, he’s brought you here for other reasons tonight. 

“Hold on, I got you something.” Steve fixes his hair, clears his throat, and pulls out a container from the basket. He reveals a freshly baked loaf of banana bread on a beautiful glass plate. There’s a small, lopsided candle on top of it.

“You came prepared tonight,” you tease him, still breathless from the kisses and love.

“My mom did, actually. She’s the one who made this.” You sit up and look at Steve, wide eyed. He laughs at you, finding your stunned reaction endearing. “Relax, angel. She really wanted to bake you something, and I had to make up for allowing Russians to ruin your seventeenth birthday, didn’t I?” 

Words escape you. Steve’s mom made you banana bread, a woman you have still yet to meet, though you’ve only heard fond stories about. She had insisted on doing this kind thing for you. 

Steve lights the candle and holds the plate up for you. “C’mon, make a wish, Y/N.”

You close your eyes, smiling, and the wish comes easily to you.

For time to stay like this, forever.

You blow the candle out, Steve cuts the banana bread, and you take turns feeding it to one another. The dessert is delicious, freshly baked and still warm. It’s sweet and nostalgic and everything you could ever ask for. 

When you’ve finished eating, Steve claps his hands. “Alright, now onto the real event of the night!” 

You raise an eyebrow. “What, the kissing wasn’t enough?” Steve makes a panicked noise and you laugh at him. “I was teasing, honey.”

“You terrify me,” he huffs, before revealing a box from behind him, the very same one you’ve been curious about all night. 

“I aspire to be terrifying,” you stick your tongue out at Steve before turning the box over in your hands. It’s light, lighter than you expected. “Is this my gift you’ve been bragging about?” For months leading up to your birthday, Steve had been boasting about this amazing gift he had thought of, how he had convinced the party to help him. 

“Open it and find out.” There’s a glint in Steve’s eyes, yet you also see the shyness return as well. He’s nervous to see your reaction, he wants more than anything to have gotten this right. 

You roll your eyes at him but open the box. It isn’t wrapped like your other gifts from Steve have been. Instead the box is made of a dark oak, and its lid opens with a soft click. The silver catches your attention first. It’s a small chain with two silver ovals on opposite sides. In between the two ovals is a collection of charms. 

“Is this…?” The charms are all roughly the same size, but each vastly different from the other. 

Steve nods at you, rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a charm bracelet.” 

Moonlight reflects off of one of the charms, revealing it to be a frog, another one to be a cookie, and slowly you piece it together. There’s six charms, one for each member of the party. “Steve.”

“Have you figured it out–oomph!” He lands with a thud on his back as you attack him with a hug. Slightly out of breath, he laughs and wraps his arms around you. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

“How did you get the kids to do this?” You lay on top of him, blinking back tears as you hold the  bracelet delicately in your hands to admire it. 

Steve sighs in exasperation. “Money and a lot of begging. They were all for picking out charms for you, I just had to pay them to spend more than five minutes with me at the jewelry store.”

You laugh, that sounds exactly like them, and you love those kids with everything within you. Holding up the frog pendant, you know which kid picked it out for you. “Mike?”

“Yup. Said something about Kermit the frog?”

“He’s such a little shit,” you say with fondness. Last year, when Billy had nearly choked you to death, your voice had been lost and Mike wouldn’t stop referring to you as Kermit. Your fingers skim over the pendant next to it, a simple blue one, and you smile. “Dustin?”

“He told me about your code blues.” Steve rubs your back, content to have you resting against him. You hum, touched that your brother trusted Steve enough to confide this to. No one else knows about your code blues, it’d been a special thing just between the two of you. 

With your ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, Steve explains the rest of the charms to you. His voice is lazy, slow, lilting with fondness, and his hand a firm weight against your back. Max chose a knife charm to remind you of how badass you are. Will chose a bee, because he’ll always be your little bee. Lucas was able to find a small, white flower that resembles a dogwood, knowing that it’s your favorite. As for El, she chose a cookie based solely on her love for the ones you bake for her. 

“What about the ovals?” You ask Steve after he’s done explaining what the kids chose for you. The ovals are slightly larger than the charms, almost serving as a divider between them. The metal is smooth underneath your fingers. 

He brushes hair out of your face and winks. “Turn them over.”

With slight confusion, you do, and discover that they’re engraved. Etched onto the back of one oval is honey, and, on the other, angel is written. They’re your names for one another, nestled between charms from the kids you love so dearly in your life; this is a gift made from pure, unadulterated love. 

“Oh my god,” it’s perfect, absolutely perfect. Your lips are all over Steve’s face before he even has time to blink. You scatter millions of kisses upon his face, drown him in them, With every kiss that you press upon his pretty skin, you shower him with praise. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

Steve laughs and tries to move his face away, but really he leans into the onslaught of love. His cheeks burn from smiling so hard and from the heat you always make him feel. He grabs your waist and enjoys the skin he holds. “You like it?”

“I love it, Steve!” 

“Does this make up for the whole Russian fiasco?” He asks, only joking a little bit. He still feels awful for dragging you into everything, but with time he’s learning to forgive himself. Before he overthinks it, Steve adds, “Am I now the best boyfriend in the world?”

His words make you blush, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to Steve being yours. You’ve waited so long to be his, to hold him and kiss him like you do now. You cherish the feeling, the sensation of knowing a boy loves you the way that Steve does. “You’ve definitely redeemed yourself for getting me trapped in a Russian lair on my birthday. And you’re definitely the best boyfriend in the world.”

Steve, despite being underneath you, does a victory dance and whoops into the night. He’s elated, his face shines when you look down at him, and you’ve never been so in love before. You once thought you knew what love was, what the burn of it could feel like. But now, with Steve lying beneath you as his arms keep you from falling, you know that love is airless, light, cool to the touch and warm on the skin. Love isn’t supposed to hurt, it’s supposed to feel like coming home after a long day of being out in the cold. 

After Steve helps you put on the charm bracelet, you lay together in the meadow. The lake’s waves can be heard in the distance. Crickets chirp their greeting, the stars wink hello above you. Their noises serve as a lullaby to you, soothing you to an almost sleep-like state. You nestle your head into the crook of Steve’s neck and let out a sleepy exhale. 

Feeling this, Steve strokes the back of your hair. “You fallin’ asleep on me, Henderson?”

“I’m resting my eyes.” 

“Very convincing,” he chuckles, tightening his embrace to try and stave off the cold that creeps in. He lets out his own tired sigh, your weight upon him has always put him at ease. He inhales, smells your perfume, and he can’t believe that he’s here right now with you. After everything he’s been through, he can’t believe that somehow he’s come out of it with you next to him. Last year he thought he had lost you forever. This year he can see forever with you. “I think I like this July a whole lot better than the last one.”

It’s meant to be a joke, a gentle tease. More of a reflection of how far the two of you have come in such a short amount of time, but still Steve’s words remind you of something. You’ve never told him the real reason why you left last summer. Why you ran away from him. 

“I was scared, last summer.” 

Steve tilts his head at you. “Scared of what?”

“I was scared of falling in love with you,” the confession lifts from your chest. It hangs over you both, the weight of it tangible. Steve’s eyes soften, he lets out a soft oh, and you duck your head shyly. “Last July, you were… Everything. You were everything to me, and it terrified me. I was still figuring my feelings out for Jonathan back then, you had Nancy, but you were so lovely and I just–I couldn’t do it. It wouldn’t have been fair, not to anyone, but I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…” Steve hadn’t known. All this time, he thought he had done something wrong. But really you had been trying to protect yourself, protect him, and he understands now why you had to leave him for a while. He sees the distress on your face and he shushes you, kisses your forehead. “Don’t apologize, okay? I honestly would’ve run away too, if I were you. I’m just… You came back to me, in the end. That’s all I care about.”

He’s too good for you. “I still hurt you.”

“You’re human,” Steve brushes more hair out of your face. “We all make mistakes. You ditched me for a few months and I almost got you killed by crazy Russians. I think we’re pretty even now.”

Despite the guilt in your throat, Steve manages to draw a smile from you. It’s what he’s always done best. Even on the day Will had gone missing, he had been the one to ease the loss by pretending not to have known your name. He had made you laugh when you thought you could never laugh again. Steve would do anything to get you to smile, and you cannot imagine where you’d be without him. “We always even our debts, huh?”

“It’s tradition at this point.”

And you laugh, full-bellied and loud and recklessly. It echoes into the night, Steve’s reverberates into your ears, and you’re happy. 

– 

A month passes, and in the mid-August heat, Jonathan knocks on your window late one night. 

His knuckles rap against the glass and it’s a sound reminiscent of before, when you were little kids who didn’t know how yet to hurt each other. You crawl out of your bed, curious, though happy nonetheless to let him in. 

You go to open your curtain, ready to tell the boy all about what Dustin had done today, unaware that when you open the curtain, everything will change. 

Jonathan is crying. 

“Bee, oh my God.” You quickly open the window and he manages to crawl through, though sobs wrack his body. He’s shaking, and for a terrifying moment you think that something has happened to Will. “Is everything okay?”

He stands before you, chest heaving and eyes red, and with two words your world comes crashing down. “We’re moving.”

Time stands still. You’re seventeen and your childhood is coming to a close.

Somehow you’re holding onto Jonathan as he explains everything through his tears. He’s moving in early September, going all the way to California. He and his family are leaving Hawkins, leaving you. 

Your legs give out, or maybe it’s Jonathan’s, but you hold each other on the floor, intertwined, mourning the loss of growing up together. Your tears mix with his, his breathing becomes yours. The two of you cling onto each other, scared that one day soon you’ll never be able to do this again. 

“We need to–” Your breathing is shaky, your eyes sting. You feel a desperate franticness claw out of you, you grasp at what little sanity you have left. “We need to promise each other that–that we’ll see each other every day before you leave, in some capacity. It–it doesn’t matter how but–”

“I’ve already talked to Nancy about it, bug.” Jonathan wipes your tears, lets his own fall freely. He knew you’d say this, and he loves you all the more for it. “It’s been agreed.”

You nod, relieved. It isn’t much, it still doesn’t change the fact that Jonathan will leave you in the end, but at least you’ll make every last second with him count. You’ll move into the Byers home if you have to, they’re your family. He’s your person. He’s embedded into your skin, he’s nestled between your bones. 

Last year you and Jonathan promised you would never let go of each other. 

The year prior to that you promised each other that nothing would change between you two. 

Now, holding onto each other as the world you’ve been building together for five years comes crumbling down, you have to believe that the promises will be enough.

–

Steve and Robin rope you into helping them find a new job.

You innocently pointed out that Family Video was hiring, figuring it was an easy enough place to work at, and suddenly the two of them had shoved you into Steve’s car with resumes in their hands. Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming. 

“You put your mom down as a reference?” Robin questions Steve as you all get out of the car. She had agreed to proofread it after you politely declined, stating that if you proofread anything Steve wrote, it might ruin your relationship. 

“Yeah, why not?” Steve slams his door, straightens his shirt, and grabs your hand as you walk inside. “She’s like, super well respected.”

You share a look with Robin. “Rich kids,” you both groan at the same time. As much as you love Steve, you’ll neve quite get over how well connected he is. It’s bizarre and slightly terrifying how much the Harrington name can get you in this town.

“Whatever, call me a rich kid, but it’s my car you guys get free rides in.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dingus.”

“I didn’t ask to be here,” you remind Steve, though you thank him when he holds the store’s door open for you and Robin. “I think this could count as kidnapping.”

Robin bumps her hips against yours. “Not technically. Besides, I thought we agreed to leave our kidnapping days behind us after Erica?”

You shove the teen and follow her into the store. You look around at all the movies, slightly impressed. You’ve never really visited Family Video before, only really stopping by if you were picking up Dustin from the arcade next door. The store is nice, albeit small, but you can see Steve and Robin enjoying themselves. There’s good music, few customers, and the uniformed vest is less mortifying than Scoop’s small shorts and sailor hats. “It’s not so bad in here.”

“Why thank you, pretty lady.” A greasy looking man at the register smiles at you, leaning over it in a very unappealing manner. His name tag informs you that his name is Keith.

Steve immediately steps in front of you and stares the guy down. “She doesn’t need you thanking her, buddy.”

You can tell that he wants to say more, but you see the “general manager” on Keith’s name tag and quickly try to deescalate the situation. If your idiot boyfriend wants the job, he can’t piss off the guy hiring. “Steve, why don’t we take a look around while Robin does all the talking?”

“What–” He doesn’t have a chance to argue, you’re already pulling him down a random aisle, throwing a quick “good luck!” to Robin as you leave. 

She talks with Keith, and it seems to be going well. She shows him their resumes, smiles at him kindly. before she shouts across the store to Steve. “Dingus, what are your three favorite movies?”

Steve nearly drops the movie he had been looking at. “Uh, Animal House?” You can practically hear Robin’s disappointed sigh from where you stand, and Keith looks unimpressed. Panicked, Steve whispers to you, “What are my favorite movies?”

“I don’t know!” You hiss, frantically trying to get this poor man a job. “Just, name two other movies. Animal House can’t be too bad, right?”

“Star Wars,” Steve manages to get out, now walking back to the register. You stand next to him, looking nervously at Robin, who makes a pained noise at his responses. 

The manager stares blankly at him. “A New Hope?”

“A new what now?”

You drop your head into your hands and sigh. He’s hopeless. Already knowing it’s a lost cause, you mumble to him, “It’s a Star Wars movie, Steve.”

He snaps his fingers. “Right! Yeah, it’s the one with the teddy bears, isn’t it?” Steve makes what you think is supposed to be an Ewok sound, which only makes you sigh again. Sensing he’s fucked up, Steve tries to backtrack. “No? Uh… Oh! The one that just came out, the movie. The one with DeLorean and Alex P. Keaton and he’s trying to bang his mom.”

“Oh, dear.” It’s a trainwreck, one you can’t look away from, and Robin can only shake her head at you. “Steve?”

“Yeah?” 

“Stop talking.”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve clears his throat, he knows he’s rambling. Had he known he would have a goddamn pop quiz about movies, he wouldn’t have dragged you here for the interview. “Those are my top three. Classics.”

Keith looks between you, Steve, and Robin. He points to Robin first, “You start Monday.” He points to Steve, “You start never.” And then he points to you, “You can start whenever.”

“Okay, I get why you’re telling me no,” Steve waves a hand in front of you, “but she didn’t even apply!” 

You’re also confused by how this day is turning out, and you look at Robin, wide eyed and pleading. She’s good with people, Keith seems to like her. When she sees you silently begging her to fix this, Robin sighs and steps in front of Steve. “Will you just, um… Will you guys give us a minute?” 

“Why?” Steve doesn’t move, and you want to throw a shoe at him. 

“Let’s go, pretty boy.” You grab the back of his shirt and yank him back to the aisle of movies. He doesn’t fight you, he simply accepts his fate and allows you to drag him away. Before turning the corner, you nod at Keith. “Thanks for the job offer, but you should really give it to the guy I’m currently dragging.”

Robin snickers at Steve’s offended huff as the two of you leave, before she starts trying to convince the manager to let Steve work there. From where you stand, it seems like a heated discussion. You try to lean closer, nosey, and while you’re distracted, Steve runs into a life-sized cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates wearing a red bikini. 

He fights with it, tries desperately not to let it fall, all while his resume hangs from his mouth. “Shit! Oh, Fast Times! Ever heard of it? Top three for me, Keith.” Robin laughs and Steve turns the cardboard cutout to you, wiggling his eyebrows. “Own any red bikinis?”

You flick his forehead, though you laugh as well. “In your dreams.”

“I can sleep right now and find out–”

“I will flick you again.”

“A kiss is preferred, but whatever.”

– 

When the Byers move, you spend the entire day fighting back tears as you help them pack. 

You spent the night in Jonathan’s room, both of you dreading the morning to come. Neither of you had slept, instead spending the entire night taking turns sharing your favorite memories together. The day you met. The time a dog chased you. When Jonathan mistook your sweater for his and wore it to school. Late night drives. Movie nights with your brothers. You relive it all that night. 

As the morning sunlight began to stream into Jonathan’s room, the warmth the memories brought started to fade away. Slowly, as the sun rose, you and Jonathan packed his room. You helped him organize his vinyls, sort through his mixtapes. When he isn’t looking, you steal a few t-shirts and flannels from his closet. He won’t notice they’re gone until he’s halfway to California. 

When it gets too much, seeing all of Jonathan’s life dwindling down to only a few boxes, you wander into the living room and help Joyce pack as well. She sees the tears in your eyes and gives you things to do, but eventually you can’t take it anymore. You go into Will’s room, and it’s the same. You cry, he cries with you, and it’s bittersweet. The rooms empty, the boxes grow.

El’s room is the hardest to pack, she has so few items to call her own, and you’re both silent as you move through the room together. 

With each box that you tape full of things you grew up with, you feel a piece of your childhood being packed away as well. The plates you used to eat off of, the books you used to bring from your job, the toys you passed down to Will. It’s all there, pieces of you frozen in time.

As you tape a box labeled “games” in Jonathan’s messy handwriting, you hear Max and Lucas singing in the living room. The sound makes you smile. It’s one of Max’s better days, she’s teasing Dustin for singing with Suzie, and she’s in a good mood. The rest of the party keeps her occupied. The kids all arrived as early as Joyce allowed them to, Nancy and Mike were the first to knock on the door. 

You place the box next to the others and walk towards Jonathan’s room. He’s leaning against its door frame with Nancy beside him, and you join them. You stare at the empty room, the one you’ve called your second home ever since you were twelve. It hurts, seeing it stripped of everything. 

All of Jonathan’s boxes are in the living room, filled with the things that make him who he is. There’s a drawer in your room of things Jonathan has left over the years, and you’re never giving them back. They’re all you have left of him. 

You and Jonathan take in his barren room, and you sigh against the door frame. “It’s so… empty.”

Nancy crosses her arms. “Is that everything?”

“I guess so,” Jonathan stuffs his hands in his pockets. His room feels cold somehow, its emptiness devoids it of the warmth it once had. He can still hear your laughs echoing in the floorboards, he can still smell your perfume that clings onto the walls. There’s scuff on the closet door from the time the two of you thought it’d be a good idea to play blind-folded baseball in the small room. 

Jonathan steps into his room, taking it all one last time. The sunlight from his window illuminates his silhouette, making him appear even smaller within the room. “Seventeen years of my life… packed up in one day.”

His voice is melancholic, his body is sad. You nudge Nancy, nod your head in Jonathan’s direction, urging her to go after him. She nods, understands that you’re telling her to say goodbye, giving them the space to do so. She smiles at you appreciatively.

You do it because they love each other, but selfishly a part of you leaves because you can’t say goodbye just yet. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, following after Jonathan. 

You find El as she’s leaving Joyce’s room. She’s holding a piece of paper, clutched closely to her chest. There are tears in her eyes, though you know better than to ask why. It’s a sad day for everyone, you’ll let her grieve on her own. However, that doesn’t stop you from pulling the girl into a fierce hug. 

“I’ll miss you so much, sweetheart.” You mumble, kissing the top of her head. “I don’t know who’s going to paint my nails now.”

El laughs through her tears and holds you tight. “I can ask Mike to.”

You kiss her head again, close your eyes, and pray to whoever is above that this girl will stay who she is forever. That she will never change. Her kindness is genuine, her joy is admirable. All her life she only knew cruelty, and yet she still came out of it so full of love. “I’d love to hear how that goes.”

“I will write you,” El promises, and you nod eagerly at her. She pulls you in for one last hug before finally releasing you to go see Joyce. 

The woman greets you with a tired smile when you walk into her room. She’s kneeling on the floor, folding clothes. They’re baggier than what she normally wears, darker, and you finally realize that they’re Hopper’s. 

A lump forms in your throat. She shouldn’t be doing this alone, packing away the remnants of his life. “Here, let me help.”

Joyce accepts, and together you sit in comfortable silence as you go through the clothes Hopper left behind. They still smell like him, old cigarettes and whiskey. It’s a nostalgic scene, a part of you wishes you could keep one of his shirts. He had been dear to you, regardless of the constant bickering you faced with him. 

“I don’t blame you, you know.” Joyce speaks softly next to you, catching your attention. “At all.”

You look up at her, sucking in a breath. “I don’t… I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Byers.”

“The guilt, honey.” She places a hand on your arm, gentle as she always is with you. “I know you blame yourself for what happened to Will, but you shouldn’t. You have to let go of it. I want…” Joyce pauses, looks into your eyes the way a mother does to her daughter. “I want you to promise me that you’ll live the life that you deserve, because you’ve spent half of your life making sure my boys lived the lives that they deserved. Can you do that for me?”

“I…” You’re crying, you don’t know what to say. For years you’ve carried the guilt of Will’s disappearance, and for even longer you’ve done everything you could to ensure that he was loved. That Jonathan was loved. Never once had it felt like a burden to you, but Joyce’s words undoes something in you. “I promise.”

Joyce pulls you into her arms and hugs you, tears in her own eyes. She strokes your hair, hugs you as she’s always done since you were a little girl. She echoes the final words that Hopper told you. “You’re the best of them.”

You’re not sure how long you cry in Joyce’s arms, but when she soothes you and wipes your tears away, she tells you to go find Will. They’re leaving soon, he’ll want to see you, and you wish the woman one final goodbye before going to find her son. 

Will ends up being in the hallway, you find him just after he’s said goodbye to Mike. You note the longing in his eyes, the uncertainty in his posture as his friend leaves. There’s a wistful look on his face, one that you once had on your own when Jonathan was around. Even if Will may not know yet, you do. 

“Hey, little bee.”

He turns around, the softness in his eyes when he sees you makes you homesick. “Y/N!”

Will buries his face in your chest, and you hug him just as tightly back. He’s grown so much since you first met him. He’s no longer the shy little boy who had been afraid of his own shadow, and you can���t believe you won’t get to finish watching him grow up. “I swear, you’re going to be taller than me next time I see you. Won’t be able to call you little bee anymore.”

“I’ll always be your little bee,” Will squeezes you tighter, afraid to let go of you. 

“Good,” you ruffle his hair, making him to laugh. “I’ll miss you, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Will’s voice is wet, more tears come. He pulls away from you, he looks as if he wants to say something, but he stops himself. As if he’s afraid of something.

You frown. “Hey, what is it?”

“I’m scared,” The words rush from his mouth. “What if… What if I don’t make any friends?” He lowers his voice, looks around nervously, before trusting to say the words out loud to you. “I–I’m different, Y/N.”

Will’s fear hurts you to see, you wish you could do more, promise him that it will all be okay, but you can’t. Instead, all you can do is kiss his cheek and hope he can feel all the love you have for him within it. All you can do is remind him that you will love him through it all. “You’re the bravest kid I know. I have no doubt that you’ll be fine. I mean, you’ll have Jonathan and El with you, but if you ever need me, I’m just a phone call away. I love you, and that will never change.”

You stroke the boy’s cheek with your finger, and he leans into the gentle touch. “I’m rooting for you, always.”

Will squeezes you tight when he hugs you for the last time. He thanks you, his body relaxes into yours, and you know that in the end he’ll be okay. He’s a brilliant kid, he’s been through more than anyone else his age ever has. He’s resilient, his kindness is his strength, you just hope that he can recognize that himself one day. 

As you pull away from the hug, Will’s eyes catch on someone, you turn around. It’s Jonathan, standing by the front door, waiting for you. 

It’s time to say goodbye. 

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards him, and Jonathan takes your hand and guides you to the porch outside. Everyone else is still inside, packing. You sit side by side in silence, absorbing the final remaining moments alone with each other. Saying goodbye to your childhood best friend leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

A ladybug crawls on a leaf next to you, a bee flies past you and lands on a sunflower nearby, and a bird chirps in the blue sky above. You rest your head on Jonathan’s shoulder, he presses a kiss to your temple. Your fingers interlock and the cool September air surrounds you.

“I made you something,” Jonathan breathes out, clears his throat. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a mixtape, its front covered with a piece of paper listing all the songs on it. “I, uh, used the money I won from the betting pool to make it. Dustin was pretty annoyed with me for winning.”

You snort at the image of your brother berating your friend for winning a betting pool about how long it’d take Steve to ask you out. Taking the mixtape from Jonathan, you read the songs. There’s eight songs on it, the first one being a Beatles song from your childhood; you don’t know how Jonathan knew that. Though most of them are familiar, the writing on the paper is old, faded with age. “How long have you been making this, bee?”

Jonathan looks away from you and swallows. “A while, I guess. Listen to it after I leave, okay? That way, if you hate it, I’ll never have to know.” His demeanor is odd, there’s something he’s not telling you, but it’s your last day with him. You leave it alone for now, not wanting to ruin it. 

“You’re not allowed to find a new best friend.” You tell him instead, the silence becoming too much to bear. It’s a joke, though truthfully you don’t want Jonathan to find another best friend. He’s supposed to be yours, only yours, and you’re supposed to be his. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jonathan lets out a soft laugh, and you’re going to miss feeling the way his body moves as he does so. He sucks in a breath, releases it slowly, and shakes his head. “I mean, we were kids together, bug.”

You start to cry, and he does as well. You’ve never had to say goodbye to each other before. Not like this. The two of you sit on the porch of Jonathan’s childhood home and cry. You cry into his neck, he buries his face into your hair, and it’s all so unfair. 

Jonathan touches his forehead to yours. You look into his eyes and know that your childhood will always live within him, and his within you. Jonathan brings his finger up to your bee necklace, his ladybug ring knocks against the pendant. The jewelry glistens in the sunlight. 

“Bee, we were more than just kids together.”

And it’s true. You were everything together. Now, you have to figure out how to be everything while apart. 

– 

The last of the boxes are placed in the moving van. Everyone is crying, you’re all gathered around one another, hugging and saying goodbye. 

You hold El tight and whisper good luck to her. You remind Will that everything will be okay, knowing how scared he’s been of high school and remorseful that he has to do it all alone. The kids all cry as they share the final hugs, Jonathan and Nancy cry as they hold one another. Everyone says goodbye, and you watch them with tears in your eyes. You turn to Joyce to kiss her cheek, but she grabs your arm instead. 

“Remember what you promised me, okay?” She catches your eye, makes sure you hear what she’s telling you. “Live the life that you deserve.”

“I will,” you exhale, and she seems content with that. Joyce hugs you, kisses your cheek, and you tell her to drive safe as she gets into the van. 

Jonathan stands by his car, waiting for you, and you pull the boy into your arms. He crashes against you, clutches you to his chest, and you breathe him in one final time. “I’ll always love you the most, bee.”

“And I’ll always love you the most, bug.” 

Joyce drives away first, El in the van with her, before Jonathan and Will follow. The car pulls out of its driveway one final time, and you hold Nancy’s hand as you both cry. Slowly, their cars fade into the distance, and one by one the kids hop on their bikes and pedal away. No one wants to stay, the empty house feels too permanent, solemn. Eventually Nancy gets into her own car, wishing you a quiet goodbye, until it’s just you and your brother standing in front of the house. 

Dustin stays beside you, as he always does, and you take a deep breath. Nothing will ever be the same again. 

You take one last look at the Byers home, the house you grew up in and discovered pure love and joy and naivety in, and inhale the final scent of your childhood. Dandelions are in bloom, its yellow surrounds the home, soon they will wilt and its seeds will litter the sky

Joyce’s words ring in your head.

It’s time to live the life that you deserve. You’re on your own now, though you know that really you aren’t. Dustin is next to you, Steve and Robin are waiting at your house with movies stolen from work because they knew how hard today would be. Your mother has your favorite cookies ready and waiting for you. Mike and the others have already planned their first letter to Will. 

The charm bracelet from the party and Steve is cool against your wrist. 

You’re no longer the scared, angry twelve year old you had been when you first moved to Hawkins. You’re loved, you have so many incredible people in your life who now get to watch you grow up into someone new. 

Slowly, you exhale your childhood, with a single promise of keeping it within you forever. To live the life that Joyce has told you that you deserve.

And you believe her. 

[END OF SEASON THREE]

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[turtletaubwrites]

TurtleTaub Fic Recs ~ Part 3

I think it's so fucking cool that we can hop onto this silly site, and swim around in all these amazing One Piece stories together. There's so much talent, creativity, and all around awesomeness in this community, and I'm so grateful that I get to enjoy it with you. Please check out these wonderful fics, and show the writers some love!! 🖤🖤🖤 | NSFW ~ 🔥| ANGST ~ 😭| FLUFF ~ 🥰| DARK CONTENT 🌑| | SERIES ~ 📚| HEADCANONS/DRABBLES/IMAGINES ~ ✍🏼| | Other Fic Rec Lists ~ | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 |

Ace

fading flames (😭✍🏼) ~ by @lowkeycasanova  ~ Ace x Reader ~ I love this premise so much, and it's short but sweet (by sweet I mean ANGSTY painful ouchy!) It has a high likelihood of making you cry, and I love it 😭🖤

No time for playing games (🔥) ~ by @oxymorayuri ~ Ace x Reader ~ This so captures what a charming lil ass he can be. Reader (like me) can't help but swoon over this guy, and the end result is so satisfying 🥰🥵

Buggy

A Line from Me to You (🥰📚 + eventual 🔥) ~ by @hey-august  ~ Buggy x afab!Reader ~ I adore this story! It's so cute, a secret book club with Buggy who wears reading glasses, and has FEELINGS. It's so sweet, and I can't wait for more!

Untitled (but bittersweet) (🔥😭✍🏼) ~ by @hey-august ~ Buggy x GN!Reader ~ Beautiful, hot, and painful, ooh it hurts! Ugh, this one really got to me, such good, smutty angst 🙏🏼🙏🏼

Crushing On The Captain (✍🏼) ~ by @soft-mafia ~ Halp, we've gotta make sure this sweet, pathetic clown knows that he's loveable!! 😭🤡 So stinkin' cute!

Crocodile

Cleaning Up (🔥) ~ by @discordantwritings  ~ Crocodile x Fem!afab!Reader ~ This had me squealing 😭🥵 I loooove Crocodile in this. So fucking hot, and I need to live there now, please and thank you 🙏🏼

Law

Sweet Dreams (🔥) ~ by @strawheart-pirate  ~ Law x afab!Reader ~ The best part of waking up is not Folger's in your cup. It's Law watching you have a sex dream, and making it come true 🥰🥵 This one'll be stuck in my brain for awhile

Imagine refusing to wear a boiler suit while travelling with Law… (✍🏼) ~ by @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction ~ Law x Reader ~ Flustered Law is so fucking adorable, I wanna squeeze him 😠 This one is super cute and silly, and I love it

So Pretty (🔥🥰) ~ @maddddstuff ~ Law x afab!reader ~ soft law soft law SOFT LAW!!! This is so fucking sweet & hot. Warning: It might make you catch MORE feelings about this guy, ugh!! Had me twirling my hair, and spinning in my desk chair 😭

Multi and/or Character x Character

Take What You're Given (🔥🔥🔥) ~ by @indydonuts  ~ Sanji x Straw Hats ~ Holy fucking smut 😳🥵🥵🥵 Insanely hot SMUTSMUTSMUT with Sanji, and the Straw Hats taking turns with him. Go have fun 😊

Somewhere Inbetween (🔥) ~ by @discordantwritings ~ Nami x gn!afab!reader x Robin ~ My absolute dream come true, holy shit. Seriously, it's like this was pulled from my lil desperate bisexual brain, and I will forever be grateful for this glorious smut with our perfect Straw Hat ladies 🥰🙏🏼

The Long Con (📚🥰😭 + eventual smut 🔥) ~ by @emptystove ~ Nami x Law ~ This series is so much fun! I binged the first 5 chapters in one sitting, and I'm loving the plot, and the way Law and Nami are written. I can't wait to get to more of the drama/action, and of course the smutty smut 🥰

Sanji

Cup of Coffee, and a Tall Glass of You (🥰 )~ by @decorativetrashbag  ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ Fluffy, adorable workplace crush 😍😍 I would be a mess if I had to work with this guy everyday, lol.

Entirely at your service (🔥🥰📚) ~ by @vespidphoenix ~ Sanji x Fem!Chubby!OC ~ This is so DECADENT! I adore Sanji and the OC's (Amy) banter, chemistry, and the lovely consent and extra sexy, sexy times. So good, I'm excited to see more of these two!

Through Shadow (🥰😭📚) ~ by @gingernut1314 ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ I adore the reader's backstory and struggles, and Sanji is so fucking precious! Falling for the cook again 🥰

Smoker

Pet Name - Love (🔥✍🏼) ~ by @honeyshiddendesire  ~ Smoker x Fem!Reader ~ Oof, this old man can get it. (Lol, just looked up his age, and the white hair deceived me. He's 34, only one year older than me pre timeskip 😅) But seriously, this is soo fucking hot 🥵🥵🥵 I've been avoiding Smoker fics because I knew I'd get obsessed, and this fic did it. I need him so bad 😭

Zoro

Forgive Me if I break You (📚😭🌑 + light 🔥) ~ by @shewrites02  ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader ~ This story is soooo goood!! I'm falling in love with Zoro all over again 😭💚 The reader's angst and struggles are written so beautifully, and I can't wait for the next chapter!!

Oi, you wanna die? (✍🏼) ~ by @zorosbeau33 ~Zoro x gn!Reader ~ I love the vibes! Gala setting, the Straw Hat's on a secret mission, and Zoro being absolutely obsessed with the reader 🥰💚

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[riskyraiker]

So I saw your requests were open and that you do both x men and tfp, leading to me wondering how would the team prime and the cons react to a mutant reader? And could readers mutant ability be like Johny Storm from Fantastic 4? (Keep up the good work 👍)

LOVE IT! ALSO YOU GET EXTRA POINTS FOR MIXING UP TFP AND X-MEN. I wrote this as platonic. Let me know if you want any romantic version

------------------------------------

How did you end up like this? No one knows, but they don't even know you're like this. Ecxept Miko, Raf and Jack, since you know that they're friends with huge fraggin robots. When you met the bots it wasn't the best situation, because you were enraged about the events that happened at home that day. Almost engulfed in flames you calm down when you spot Miko talk to a bit bulky bot behind an abandonded building. You saw the bots which resulted in you being brought to the base. You were amazed that you could forget the sorrow you have for being different. You grew close with the team really quick, even Ratchet took a liking to you. The moment the team sees your ability for the first time was when they were cornered by cons in a energon mine. Since there was no backup at the moment you ran out and light yourself up. At first the autobots thought you were an alien or something, but when they realize it's you they didn't believe it at first. The vehicons weren't so lucky since you almost melted some of their limbs. Once the fight was done they just stared at you. "Uhh..guys? Does anyone have some spare clothes?"

Optimus Prime

He would be confused. Like literally confused which is rare, but still you managed to achieve it.

You're human and fire should hurt you. How do you light yourself on fire?!

The moment you tell them that you're a mutant and your not the only one they start to do some research on these so called "mutants"

He would ask you what you can do and what your abilities are.

Doesn't like the idea of having you on the battlefield even if it means that the autobots have the upperhand

You're now his child. No objections.

The team needs help? You're there to melt them down and that earns you a big lecture from Optimus about how they can't risk human lives.

If he's wounded you would melt the metal gently and repair it.

Since he's made of metal some of his plating might be cold. So he absolutely loves how you work like an furnace.

Ratchet

Almost freaked out by your abilities.

"Y/N IS ON FIRE BY THE ALL SPARK WHY IS NO ONE DOING ANYTHING"

The moment he gets to know about your so called mutation he turns into a fragging scientist. Blood samples, dna samples and etc.

Anytime there's any need for repairs he just picks you up and points where repair is needed.

"Fix it, you're smaller, steadier and you're hot"

He wouldn't realize his mistake until you laugh straight into his face "what's so funny? Wha- NO NOT LIKE THAT"

He would love your help in the medbay since you can mold wounds.

Your now his favorite assistant in medbay and in the lab

Bumblebee

He thinks you're so awesome! A human who can light themselves on fire with no harm?!

He would ask you to fly or use any other abilities out or nowhere because he wants to see you as your true self

If you could understand him he would straight up just rant how cool you are. He also gave you a nickname which is Firefly

He loves giving you hugs since you're so warm.

He's in trouble? They're melted before he can even ask for backup

He's your big bro now and Raf your lil bro. You're the best sibling duo there is.

On cold nights he would just keep you on his shoulder so he could feel your warmth close to his face so he can relax

Arcee

Oh she would be speechless. You can melt vehicons, fly somehow and just in general use your abilities

You're now her favorite human (BYE JACK)

She would love to watch you make fireshows

Your warmth would comfort her since she's lonely sometimes

She would call you as backup anytime the team is struggling

✨The sassy team✨

Oh you two would be unstoppable. Cybertronian femme whose sassy and a mutant who is also sassy.

Bulkhead

Oh he would take you for a drive to ask you all kind of questions

First he thought the cons lit you on fire and panicked

After that he wants to see your abilities. That includes you having clothes on (of course🤨)

He would be so interested, but terrified about your ability to melt cybertronians

He's a wrecker! Of course your abilities will be useful.

He wouldn't like the idea of you in the battlefield, but still is amazed how well you handle it.

The big chunky guy is usually warm but won't mind some extra warmth from your body in the colder days.

He's bored? Be ready to fire up.

Wheeljack

Oh oh oh! You'll never hear the end of it. He's around every corner begging you to light up.

He's more chaotic than bulkhead so of course he's after you all the time and asking you to set things on fire.

Wouldn't actually mind going on patrol with you since you're so awesome

He would secretly carry you around on missions to have you melt the cons. I bet he would stare sadisticly.

But don't worry he wouldn't risk your life! If you want to stay safe he won't bother you anymore. (Maybe)

Any old enemy of his he managed to meet on earth would most likely be melted by his request to bring you along.

Ultra Magnus

He would not be happy about you breaking protocol and not staying in the base.

But he would be grateful about you saving the team

"Aaww you're worried about me" No teasing! Now you're in for a 1 hour long lecture

He would find your mutation interesting, but would let it be since he's a robot himself

He's always cold. Mentally. And! Physically so he wouldn't admit it but does love your body warmth.

Smokescreen

"YOU'RE ON FIRE?! COOL!" Wouldn't understand that isn't normal until he's back in his senses. "YOU'RE ON FIRE! AHH PRIMUS WHY ARE YOU ON FIRE!?"

Would absolutely love your abilities even if you would be insecure about being 'different'

If you ever would kick decepticon aft he's your 1# fan in the background

He finds beauty in fire so he thinks you and your abilities are absolutely stunning

If he's scared about succeeding or about the future you would be there on his shoulder warm like an oven which calms him down

-----------------------------

The team were in trouble. Why? There was a surprise attack by Megatron himself. You flew through the groundbridge so you could help the team. You were almost too late as Megatron had his servo/sword up and about to strike Optimus. Hurrying you catch on to his servo and start to heat up, melting his servo in the process. "GAHH! WHAT ARE YOU!?" Megatrons sword and blaster were both out of the game since you melted most of his servo. Having the upperhand, the cons give up and leave. There was one con left. Megatron. "This isn't over, Optimus. Not with you and your firey PET!" Oh oh, he was pissed!

Megatron

That little mutant dare to melt his servo!

He didn't even know you're a human with a mutation until soundwave found footage and info about you.

Would try to get revenge on you, but doesn't want to risk losing his servo again.

For once the warlord was worried about his opponent.

If you could melt his servo, could you melt your way through his whole frame?

He didn't show it, but the thought actually made him shudder.

He couldn't lose to a pathetic human who is 10 times smaller than him.

In short, he hates your guts but loves your abilities.

Soundwave

The moment Megatron asked to find information about you, a switch flipped in his processor.

Finally he found a human interesting. A extraordinary human to be specific

If he had time he would try to see you on cameras so he could catch you for Megatron

He wasn't scared or anything, but would be slightly worried could you melt his screen off?

He did almost catch you, but you lit up inside him so he had to drop you out before he would fall down from the sky.

Knew that you're stronger than anybot thinks. Wouldn't mess with you unless he has something to overpower you for example: some relics

Knockout

If he ever I MEAN EVER sees you in action he would definitely run away and protect his paintjob.

Fire + his beautiful plating/paint job did NOT go together.

If you would try to attack him, you won't see him after a while. He's AFRAID of you.

Would always seem busy when he heard lord Megatron talk about a mission where you could be involved.

"Knockout!" The cherry red medic saluted. "You have a mission to go an retrieve a relic. Y/N could be there, so be quick." "My Liege I'm in the middle of a medical check up I don't have t-time. Send breakdown. He's willing to do it."

If you're on the nemesis he would run away like from the bot zombies in season 3 of tfp xD

Shockwave

You're mutation was...illogical

A human shouldn't be able to light themselves on fire

Would ask permission from Megatron to take you as a test subject.

Be careful not to be caught by him! It would be worse than having others afraid of you and your freaky abilities.

He wanted to see how you could work with your abilities. How could he make them..Logical

Wouldn't be afraid of you. Oh no no no. He would be so so so interested about your abilities he wouldn't care if he would get melted at the same time.

Predaking

He would love your abilities to be on flames, but! Since he's a decepticon and a predacon ofcourse he has to attack you.

Would speak to you someway or another in his bipedal mode during a mission

If he need fire styled company, he would try to contact you. He doesn't care if you're part of the autobots. You're his friend

Frag Megatron and Shockwave. You're warm like him! You're now his grandchild!

You would joke around that he's your actual king! Since you both are fire themed basically.

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain. 

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside. 

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him. 

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already. 

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to. 

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound. 

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you. 

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness. 

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him. 

…And Sam had.

_

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

[bones4thecats]

How Did They Meet Their Genie! S/O?

Type of Writing: #10 - Poll Result Characters: Rollo Flamme and Baul Zigvolt Name: How Did They Meet Their Genie! S/O? Original Poll Link: Here

A/N: I have rarely, if ever, written for these characters, so they may end up being slightly OOC. Sadly, I had no ideas for Fellow Honest- the guy is hard to write something like this for without it being severely OOC. I also could come up with no ideas for Kifaji, since I couldn't find much information on him, I'm sorry for that. But, do hope you enjoy this my lil bubbles🫧

P.S: The Reader is inspired by a mixture of the original story Genie, Aladdin's Genie, the Live-Action Genie and Jafar's Genie form

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⛪ Rollo was not amused when he learned some students from Night Raven were arriving at Noble Bell College for the yearly festival. And he was far from happy when he gained knowledge that their two strongest students were coming as well

⛪ That being the Prince, and future heir to the thrown, of Briar Valley, Malleus Draconia, and one of the most powerful fae magicians in the world, one considered to be a genie, Y/N L/N

⛪ He stood alongside his secretary and right-hand as the group of magic-users approached, and he caught sight of the supposed genie flying around and messing with a spikey green-haired boy

⛪ Grabbing his handkerchief, he pushed the piece of purple cloth in front of his frowning face, making the two faes cock eyebrows at his actions

⛪ But, it seemed the Prince brushed it off faster than the other fae, as they kept a close eye on him throughout their small tour of the grounds. They also seemed to stay close to a black-haired boy, which he later learned was named Jamil Viper

⛪ Now, normally Rollo did not go out of his way for these magic-users whenever they came by at his school, but for some reason he felt drawn to you more than anything

⛪ He had began to actually speak to you before he realized it. He had asked you about your time at NRC and what your relationship was with the magicless human, despite your fairly obvious hostility to him

" Y/N, I am not quite sure I understand why you are so tense around Sir Flamme. Could you explain the reasoning behind it? "

⛪ Looking at Malleus, you sighed and played with a small blue figurine that you had been gifted by your guardians long ago, and you just handed him a red one as he looked at you with questioning eyes

" I have been told this story for many years, Mal. And it goes like this; Long ago, a young boy fell for a beautiful princess. But, due to their differences in rankings, they could not be together, and seeing the opportunity to gain some better status and power, her father's helper had seen complete red when the man began using a special power to seduce the princess. " " What was this power? " " A magic user. Back then, they were very rare. And very sought-out by men and women alike. Now, once he had gotten a hold of the magic-user, he had begun to trick the princess that he was a prince, in order to win her heart. "

⛪ Rollo stood behind the pillar, wondering on what in Twisted Wonderland you were speaking about? Was this some story from the Scaling Sands that he had not read about?

" What did the King's helper do about the swindler's treachery? " " The only thing he knew how to do; report it once found out. And, once he notified the Sultan, the man was found and handed about, though nobody knows for certain what happened to him. Most likely death. But, for his accomplishment in saving the princess, he was granted a magical lamp, and he used the powers to become Sultan. " " How impressive. Are these figures them? " " They're a form of the story. In there, the Sultan's helper was the enemy and had thrown the princess and Sultan into servitude like he was stuck in. And this blue one that I am holding was the 'good genie' who had been helping the swindler out. "

⛪ Gripping his handkerchief tighter inside his pocket, Rollo began to stroll away, not sparing any thought of you and the Prince of Briar Valley being outside past hours in the field speaking of nonsense

⛪ Once he reached his room, Rollo slammed the door shut as softly as he possibly could before looking around his room in a frenzy. Why did he want to pull that Dragon Fae away from you and escourt you to your room at that moment?

⛪ No matter, he needed to focus on his plan. And nothing, not even someone like you, would be able to change his mind...

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🐊 Ever since the war began, there have been many fae and humans alike falling to their shared enemy. Unfortunately, as of late, the humans have been gaining the upper-hand

🐊 This action was leading the Draconia family to improvise by sending in some fae from outside of Briar Valley, and there was a new group of them being added this week

🐊 And these fae were all from the Scaling Sands, a land inhabited by humans, though they chose no side during the war, due to being farther away and thriving on their own without any greed of land catching their minds

🐊 You had dressed in your get-go, that being a dragon's, and set your sights on collaborating your battalion's style of fighting with General Lilia's

🐊 Baul wasn't able to take a simple rest when he heard that you were going to be alone with their leader

🐊 He wanted to trust you, really he did, but you lived somewhere full of humans, you may end up betraying them if you caught sight of someone that you possibly knew

🐊 So, grabbing his mask and uniform, he slapped it on quickly before heading out and hiding behind a tree, concealing his presence from both you and Lilia

🐊 Once he reached where you both resided, he watched with a stink-eye similar to that of a sniper trying to take down one of the most dangerous people in history with one bullet left

" Commander Y/N, if I may ask, how have you lived alongside those humans, those mortals, for so long without an issue? " " It's quite simple, General Vanrouge. I have had many connections to the higher-ups in their society. One being a being from a long time ago, maybe hundreds of years? Huh, my memory of time seemingly has gone down, I apologize. "

🐊 Speaking so formally yet freely was something that Baul had never heard about happening with the General of the Fae army before, how remarkable

🐊 Wait- what was he thinking?! You were a possible enemy! He has to stay focused!

" Do you perhaps remember this being by any chance? " " Ah yes I do. Quite well, actually. I may not remember just how long ago it has been, but I do remember the man with precision. " " Would you mind telling me about this mystery man? " " Of course not. "

🐊 Taking a breath, Baul watched as your hand sputtered out some blue flickers, which forms into smokes and into small figures, one being teal, another being white, then red, blue, orange, purple, and a final resting light tan

" This one, is a woman, a princess from hundreds of years ago. And the small white one was her father, the Sultana and the Sultan. This blue character is a magic-user from way-back-when, our light tan in a swindler, and our red is our main character of this beloved legend and story mashup. Now, the young swindler had come across this magic-user, and he asked if they could put themselves to good use and help him try to sway the princess into a relationship. And, due to magic being a more rarity back then, nobody had suspected anything tricky taking place. Until the red one here, a man now known as the Sorcerer of the Sands, found out about the plot. "

🐊 Sitting up slightly as his shoulders sank down in a relaxed position, Baul found himself listening to the story with just as much attention as he gave to glaring at you from behind

" The Sorcerer of the Sands had eventually gotten enough information and turned the swindler in, leading in the arrest of the young man and eventual fate, one in which nobody knows, though, many believe he was executed for the crime of seducing the princess and plotting both overthrowing the Sultan, basically usurping the thrown, and treason. Now, while the swindler got punished for his actions, the respected-Sorcerer had stood proudly against the Sultan and was granted the object known as a 'magic lamp'. With this lamp, he made the wish to become Sultan. Now, while this story's final ending is shrouded in mystery, some suspect that the swindler broke out and stopped the Vizier from attempting to kill the royal family, while in some the Vizier married the princess and lived happily ever after, and in some others the Vizier had just ruled the land and kept it balanced until his death years later. "

🐊 Baul listened as Lilia sighed deeply, seemingly releasing some stress at hearing the story end fairly happily for the seemingly good-natured Vizier and the ill-intentioned swindler

🐊 Lilia turned to you and patted you on the shoulder as he stood up, shocking one of his right-hands with his words

" You are a good person, Y/N. I expect good things from you, yes? " " You shouldn't expect any less than that, General. " " Have a nice rest, Commander. Good night. " " I wish you the same, sir! "

🐊 Okay, you didn't seem so bad now. But just because you got Lilia to somewhat show trust in you, a Zigvolt is far harder to please, well, that's what he now tells your grand-children, but you get the point

[lostquinn]

Lipgloss

Connor (dbh) x gn!reader

Fluff

Hank comes into work and notices Connor has lipgloss on, Connors left blushing

It's been a while, too long but here's a lil something for you guys. Thanks for all the support <333

Word count - 409

You smiled at Connor as you entered the bullpen. No kne had known the two of you were dating and you were hoping to keep it that way for a short while longer.

Thoughts of this morning filled your mind. He had 'left early' for work and come to see you. The two of you had spent the morning on your couch making out and cuddling until he had to leave.

You put your bag down on your desk and retrieved your lipgloss from your bag, quickly reapplying it before setting your bag down on the floor and starting your work.

A faint smile graced your lips as you worked, Connor at his desk in the corner of your eye. He was so beautiful and you didn't mind that his desk was close by.

Eventually, Hank entered. He threw his jacket over the back of his chair and stared at Connor for a moment.

"Connor, why do you have lipstick on?"

Hanks question drew your attention to the two and you turned to face them better.

Connor touched two fingers to his lips and looked at them for a moment before licking them. God, it always got you when he licked his fingers, and he knew that.

"Actually, lieutenent, it's lipgloss. Lipsticks tend to have bolder pigmentation, resulting in more striking hues. Lip gloss is less pigmented, prioritizing shine and sparkle over vibrant shades." Connor responded without missing a beat. "It's from [name],"

"[Name] why is Connor putting your lipgloss on?"

"He hasn't? We havent even spoken yet."

"Then how is it on his lips?" Hank grumbled.

Your eyes darted to Connor, to his lips, and a smirk spread across your face. You knew how exactly. Normally, the two of you were more careful, how had both of you missed it?

"I sure do wonder how it's on his lips, Connor do you have any idea?" You said, sarcasm hanging off your words.

He looked taken aback for a moment, as both you and Hank turned to face him. You watched as he tried to figure out why there was lipgloss on him. Eventually, he realised and touched his lips, looking at you with his eyes wide.

"Kisses," he muttered, tripping over the word as a blue blush crossed his face.

Hank raised his eyebrows as he looked between the two of you. "Kisses?" He swore. "Couldn't you guys have told us all earlier? Now I owe Wilson $20,"

[arcanegifs]

On Gifmaking:

So season 2's coming soon, and I wanna reflect on making gifs ever since I came back to Tumblr. I can't believe it's been 2 years of making gifs for this show!!!!! Look at how large my folder is lmao

And those are JUST gifs lol

Anyways, over time, my style has changed, especially how I color edit Arcane gifs. I kind of strayed away from a stylized filter color into just something that looks a lot more "natural" and works with the original scene.

Initially, I thought I'd save time, but I ended up not using my old arcane preset PSDs and resulted to coloring almost every scene manually. So in the end, it takes even longer to make them HAHAHA. It takes around an hour and a half for me to make a 10 gif set, basically. It also helps that I have a photography background, so coloring/editing is a lot simpler for me.

Here's a lil before and after of a dark scene (hiiiii viiiiiii <3)

Arcane is a REALLY dark show, but it goes for most of TV shows. Many of them are darker and harder to bring up the lights to make stuff look nice as gifs. Some people don't like to color their gifs, and that's okay. I personally just like color edited gifs more.

I've started learning how to upscale scenes myself, so that I have a better resolution and leeway to make things look "HD" more.

If you're wondering why my stuff look so "crisp", it's a combination of the scene's lighting, my sharpening settings on Photoshop and knowing how to upscale everything into 4k resolution. Of course, doing this needs an extremely beefy pc, which I am very lucky to own one.

Here's another before and after of a nicely lit scene. These are much, MUCH easier to do than all the darkly lit scenes because of shadows and lighting (caitlyn kiramman truly the rizzler <3)

I've been very lucky to be able to essentially take a nice, long break for like a month doing nothing after being so damn busy for the last year and a half, so it's nice that I was able to make a ton of gifs and be chronically online for a short while LMAO.

It's been so fun! But it's time to go back to reality lmao. I closed reqs for a bit because I was just so swamped with them the last few days, and I wanted to gif scenes that I like this time. I've done like 2 weeks worth of gifs. And you will see Vi a lot bc she's on my mind a lot heehee 🥰what can I say, she's such a babe <3

Here's a lil sneak peek, just look at herrrrrrr 🥰🥰🥰 and yeah, 4k upscaled resolution really helps making these tight crops, it's why i never went back to 1080p lol. It's how I’m able to make zoomed in gifs look decent (like the kirammountains gifset lol)

Thank you so much for all the support, likes, reblogs, and the nice tags you guys give. Yes, I can see and read all of them (both the nice and nasty ones lmao). If you have nothing good to say about the characters or my editing style, or anything related to the edit, please I beg you, just write a separate text post about it <3 If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it in my edits.

Lastly, thank you to the people who share my stuff outside the site and credit the blog and link them back here. I see you and appreciate you <3 You guys don't know how much I appreciate shoutouts and link backs, because people stealing my gifs is something that I've dealt with after making them for like a decade.

Tumblr is sadly not what it used to be in the 2013-2015 era. There’s definitely less activity as time goes by, so I appreciate all the people who credit and link back to this sideblog. Unfortunately, there’s more people who just repost them and it gets wayyy much more traction in other soc med sites. Yeah, ofc I get a lil jealous, but eh what can you do 😞 can’t really stop em.

I also don’t like putting watermarks because it personally looks tacky to me, but I understand why other people do it.

Anyways, if you reached at the end of this lil rambling of mine, thank you! I sadly might be busy during November because that's usually busy season, but I'll try to make time for making gifs of Season 2! Thank you and enjoy your stay on this lil sideblog :)

[askhermesgrian]

Welcome to CAMP HERMITCRAFT! (Text Adventure Event) 04

(STARTING POST , PREVIOUS POST , POLL AT THE END!)

Art by @ahllohehn Writing by @askhermesgrian (asst. @ahllohehn)

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

LAST POLL RESULTS

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Nothing good will come out of putting more attention to yourself, you thought. Grian would probably prefer that you didn't put attention to yourself either.

You were on alert about the presence inside the house and quickly ducked under the window as you made your way to your bickering companions, panickedly waving your arms around to signal them to stop yelling at each other.

"There's people inside the house!" you whisper-yelled, causing both Grian and Scar to pause and hold in their breaths.

"Ah, well, suppose we shouldn't expect Keralis and X to be anywhere else," Scar whispered back with a giggle, "Good call." (+1 rep)

You all glance over at the Big House one more time before Grian holds on the handles of Scar's wheelchair and starts scurrying away from the building, "Yeah, let's not... do this little game anymore. The sooner we get to the infirmary the better."

You nodded in shame and follow after them with an equally hasty pace.

(!) Missed Keralis' and Xisuma's 1st Connection Branch.

With the mishap surrounding your powers and the short-lived game Grian set upon you, your group find their way to the infirmary. A building that looked wider than it is taller. It was a mix between broken and comfy looking, especially with the arrows stuck all over the roof and the one that was barely holding up the sign.

Judging with the way that neither Scar nor Grian commented or reacted to it, you assume that the arrows were purposefully put there for decoration... You hope.

"Welcome to my second home!" Scar joked as he was pushed up the ramp to enter.

Scar and Grian looked more at ease when further away from the Big House, but as soon as you entered inside the actual infirmary, your relaxed states were cut short by a cough.

All you slowly turn your heads to look at where the noise came from with dread on your expressions, especially evident on Grian's and Scar's face while you were mostly left confused at the sight of another person.

"Well, if it ain't our two little troublemakers!"

"And.. oh! Another victim of yours?"

You were met with the sight of a tall and fairly muscular man. By first impression, you thought he was a rockstar from the 90s, but maybe that was because of how he styled himself with the addition of the long hair.

You could've sworn he was physically glowing. You had to rub your eyes to make sure you weren't imagining it, but the three continued to converse amidst your personal confusion.

Scar was sheepishly trying to excuse Grian and himself, "We haven't done anything wrong!" he defended, "I mean, I haven't done anything wrong. Grian howeve--" he was willing to add more, but one glare from his partner in crime had him shutting up with a sheepish smile.

It was then Grian's turn to defend himself, "I haven't done anything! Skizz, if I were to have done anything, wouldn't there be more patients by now?"

'Skizz' tried to look serious, but the guy still couldn't help but break out into giggles, "Sure, but it's more concerning to see that there even is one in the first place," he gestured to you, making you wonder just how many times Grian and Scar had escorted their 'victims', "And you just about missed Doc too."

(!) Missed Doc's 1st Connection Branch.

Scar kept quiet in fear for his safety as Grian grumbled under his breath for even more excuses. Seeing as neither of the two were willing to actually go ahead and explain anything, Skizz turned to you.

"So, what's up, lil' fella? What'cha in for?"

You thought that phrase was something to be used in another context, but you didn't speak up to correct him.

"I got... a bump on my head," you explained vaguely, wondering just how much you could reveal without getting Grian in trouble. Skizz seemed to sense that there's more to that statement and pressed further.

"Uh huh, anything else?"

You glanced at Grian, who seemed to silently beg you to come up with an excuse, but he had already faced away from you before you could confirm. Whatever you did, he doesn't seem to trust that you'd actually make up an excuse to save him so he was hunched over like he was preparing to be scolded.

"No, nothing else."

When you answered that, Skizz and Grian looked over to scrutinize your expression, looking for a secret or reason you're hiding, with Grian mostly looking over at you weirdly yet gratefully. When you kept a steady expression and didn't speak any more than that, you breathed a sigh of relief as Skizz decided to not ask further.

"Well, I'm no good at checking the medical stuff to see if you do have anything else other than a bump on the head," he said while beckoning you over to one of the infirmary beds behind a curtain, urging you to sit down, "So I'll do some basic healing and we'll see if I can call Doc back over to check on the rest."

"You troublemakers, on the other hand, will have to wait outside. Don't forget how you confetti bombed the infirmary last time," Grian seemed alarmed at that and he immediately tried to follow after you, only to be stopped by Skizz.

The boy in the red cardigan forced a cheery smile, "They need me for emotional support!"

"You already gave them a bump on the head, what other support would they need from you?" Skizz said lightheartedly, but it didn't ease up Grian's expression.

You were alerted at how eager Grian was to cling onto you now. But then again, you'd probably want to stick to your problem too after you possibly lost a supposed important magic thing from dropping it on their head. Who knows if there's actual side effects other than a bump on the head? If this camp had actual good doctors, Grian probably wouldn't be the only one in trouble.

There was still the amnesia and the weird powers. Is that information something you should be protective of?

You fidgeted on the spot as stubborn Grian had to be whisked away by an equally stubborn Skizz. Scar looked back at you and at the pair in hesitation before approaching you, taking your hand and quickly forcing a bird whistle into your hands.

You looked up at him inquiringly, silently wondering if this was a silent threat or some sort of metaphor. Scar gave you a sheepish smile, "I'm gonna be honest. That magic of yours isn't normal."

You blinked confusingly. So was he just acting amazed by you to make you panic less? "But... you said nothing is exactly normal here?"

"By mortal standards, nothing is normal here," Scar sounded much more serious than he had been for the past few minutes, "By the normal standards here, you're the.. abnork-- mm.. abnomnality," well, there goes the serious talk.

"What I mean to say is- whatever wrong happens, you'll have to prepare for it! Seeing as whatever was in the box had seeped into little mortal you," he tapped on the bird whistle you had in your hands, "This quest only remained in Grian's and Xisuma's hands so they know the most about it. But since me and lil' birdie over there have ac- accumerlated distrust with the infirmary volunteers, Grian can't control anything that'll happen here from now on."

Scar mimicked a bird's call horribly, "Use the whistle if something goes wrong. Grian usually answers to it. I do too. Mumbo would as well, but...." he trailed off and went quiet when he realized you wouldn't exactly know who he was talking about. (+1 Grian Connection, +1 Scar Connection)

"Well, just know that it's a thing we have as friends to alert for danger. You gotta whistle immediately so we could control the problem if your.. 'magic' goes wrong."

You examined the bird whistle nervously, "Is something meant to go wrong?"

"Well, it was called Pandora's box for a reason!"

Scar said that so joyfully you wondered if he realized just how terrifying that statement is. Not that either of you get to speak on it as Grian's squawking was getting louder outside.

"We'll be around, no worries!" Scar patted you on the shoulder one last time before wheeling himself away, leaving you to yourself for once ever since you woke up.

... But even so, it felt as if you're truly not alone.

Keeping Scar's comments in mind, you feel the urge to.. move. Do something. Something.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

PLAYER STATUS Watchers' notes: This is where you can all check your status as one collective player. Please pay attention.

General Status: Possible amnesia. Numbness. (!) The feeling of being watched is stronger.

Reputation Status: 9/10 (+1 from Scar) - You can only currently call; Scar and Grian.

Current Run Notes: - (!) You unlocked Scar and Grian's connection branches. Calling for help may be useful sometime, so don't lose the bird whistle. - (!) Skizz seems to have no faith in your companions. Just how often do other people end up in the infirmary because of them? - ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ||'∷ᒷ ꖎᔑ⚍⊣⍑╎リ⊣

[princemick]

GOOD EVENING (for european standard time) EVERYONE AND WELCOME TO!!

the results of the f1blr survey (if you dont care about the graphic or the most mentioned blogs here's a direct link to the form results!

if u want to leave now all I wanna do is to encourage you to take 10 minutes of ur time rn to send a kind lil message to ur fav blogs to keep the vibes going n I hope ur day is wonderful! <3

now for the most mentioned blogs which also counts as a short blog rec post according to the 73 people who answered this form!

(for clarity, I choose to remove myself from all these replies because I think it's incredibly biased and so not relevant or interesting to mention myself)

NOW ONTO THE MOST MENTIONED!!

ARTISTS!

@penaltyboxboxbox with give or take 23 mentions!

@storm3326 with give or take 13 mentions!

@ilikecarsandlike4people with give or take 13 mentions!

GIFMAKERS!

@yesloulou with give or take 12 mentions!

@argentinagp with give or take 9 mentions!

@userhamilton and @arturleclerc who both got give or take 7 mentions!

GRAPHIC DESIGNERS!

@argentinagp with give or take 18 mentions!

and then there were a lot of different people mentioned most of which about 2/3 times so here's all of those:

@queerbenched @alpinelogy @livetogether--diealone @formulaonedirection

WRITERS!

there were...lets say the most answers came form this category, most of the people mentioned were in there 2 times so here's a bunch of blogs that were all mentioned around 5-3 times!

@officialmood @bejwled @toastandvegemite @yekoc @effervescentdragon @hourcat @hungriestheidi @veryspecificfantasies

COMMENTARY!

@vegasgrandprix with give or take 7 mentions!

@karlmarxverstappen with give or take 6 mentions!

@raceweek and @race-weekwith give or take 4 mentions I think but I wouldn't be surprised if people forgot the dah so here they are together <3

and lastly, here are some replies to the share with the class question that I personally really liked!

"I love F1 even if it’s “boring”! Watching cars go 300km and hour is always fun even if the winner is always the same . For me, there’s always been Seb winning, and then Lewis winning and now Max, so it’s fun! Plus there’s always so much tea and all drivers are hilarious and I’m so fond of them! And the history is so cool!!!! And I count all the wdc champions before sleeping instead of sheeps! All I need are ferrari bedsheets, and I’m done I’m 22 how did I get to this point?"

"I've been so thankful for the support f1blr has extended to me, and it's a fandom I really feel at home in, so I'm so happy to get a chance to shout out some of the wonderful and talented people in this fandom with me! Such a fantastic idea."

"I am legit so grateful we have so many creative and brilliant people in f1blr, it makes my enjoyment of the sport I've loved for so many years that much better"

"i’ve only been on f1blr since the summer but i’ve felt soooo welcomed and made so many nice friends <333 love u guys"

"I’m so bad at remembering names but all of you have made my first year on f1blr a lovely experience!"

"Keep doing what you love! Stay safe, enjoy life, and be happy. I love you all!!! 🫶🏻"

"Looking forward to spending the '24 season with this amazing community!!"

and so so many more kind responses! thank you to everyone who participated it was really nice to see this and watch us come together for a lil pls do keep spreading the love and send out some asks to your fav blogs!!

and thats all for now, goodnight and until next time!

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2024 Megaman Summer Fanart Contest - Category 1 Results!

Sorry for the delay, but without further ado, here come this year's wonderful creations and our winners. Thank you all for your patience! Due to both the number of entries and the amount of reference images I'll be attaching here, I will have to make a separate post for the humor (Cat. 2) results. Please check that out here as well, after I post this! All winners will be contacted shortly.

Take a walk through the newly opened wing of the Kattleox Art Museum to see all this year's fabulous entries after the break...

CATEGORY 1 (Talent): Pallette Pastiche

The talent category this year focused on creating a parody or imitation of a famous work of art by using Mega Man characters in the place of what was originally drawn. Didn't have to be a well-known famous piece, but still had to reference some piece of art, regardless. And you all certainly made both Ms. Museum Curator and myself proud! It was very hard to choose placement, let alone who would make the Top 3. Plenty of fantastic character choices to match the vibe of the original pieces. For the full gallery of pics, click here. Links to each individual full size image is after each entrant's name as well. 1.) @sylviidaee [Pic] (*175 USD Prize Winner!)

Sylviidaee's reference was Michelangelo's Renaissance piece, "The Creation of Adam."

The shading and detail in your painting efforts for this piece are remarkable! Flawlessly fitting in each Robot Master, along with Blues and Roll, to represent the angels, worked out great. This pic deserves to be a featured museum piece, with replicas hanging in the homes of every Megaman fan!

2.) @purplerubyred [Pic] (*$100 USD Prize Winner!)

Ruby's reference was the cover of the Capcom Design Works artbook, by Kinu Nishimura.

Just even attempting to replicate the sheer amount of characters in this piece had to be an enormous undertaking, and I commend you for spending part of your August month of Elec Man love crafting this! There is so much to take in with this piece, with all the various versions of Elec Man and his related family. From background locations like MaHa Ichiban to the super great white angel/devil chip artwork on the railcar window, there are tons of little cameos to catch as you look across this art. Wonderful job!

3.) @DWN-059 [Pic] (*$75 USD Prize Winner!)

Beebs' reference was Rococo artist Jean-Honoré Fragonard's "The Swing."

While the lush forested background draws my attention for it's whimsical beauty, and huge amount of detail, I loved the little touches you brought to make this have a Mega Man feel. Such as the Guts Man and Anko statues to replace the angels, and adding the cute 'lil Friender. While Planty can't kick off his boots, the Plant Barrier petals were a perfect replacement for the shoe. Beautifully and accurately painted! _____________________________

And the rest of our amazing entrants, in alphabetical order by alias:

ArtisIan [Pic]

ArtisIan's reference was Grant Wood's "American Gothic."

Nothing more 'gothic' than a guy obsessed with skulls, building dark, brooding, black-clad robots, owning a homely Skull Castle with tall walls and large windows, am I right? Bass with the daughter's glare is actually rather fitting here, as well! XD Now, if Wily always carried around that pitchfork, wouldn't he be able to defeat Mega Man a lot easier, on account of sharp points?

@aw-colorcat [Pic]

AW-Colorcat's reference was a piece by seafh that was used as a popular Youtube BG image back in the 2010s for the Nightcore (sped up version/remix) version of the song "Angel with a Shotgun."

The bullet holes through the single wing sure makes it look like Mega Man has gone *pew pew pew* through it. But I think an angel with an all-powerful Metal Blade could be a little more deadly accurate.

@digitallyfanged [Pic]

Tabby's reference was Auguste Rodin's sculpture, "The Thinker." (To which, somewhere out there, Sigma Posting is ready to dub it "The Sig-ker.")

Contemplating his status as the most advanced Reploid of his time, his next strategic action against the Maverick Hunters, or how to change/destroy the world? Sigma certainly could be looked at as someone who could be rather philosophical and get deep in thought. And wouldn't be afraid to show off artwork of himself in his fortress. Hatching detail is nice, and helps give that statuesque, worn and chiseled feel.

Ivo [Pic]

Ivo's reference was Impressionist Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida's, "Italian Girl with Flowers."

Fantastic job at replicating the paint on canvas look, I truly can't tell if this is just a digital filter or if you physically painted it! Extending the green curls of hair outside of his helmet helped mimic the girl's original hairstyle even more. Really pretty, and his color pops nicely against the smaller flowers he's enjoying!

JazzmanZ [Pic]

JazzmanZ's reference was Roy Lichtenstein's Pop art painting, "Stepping Out."

Steppin' out to fight Doc Wily tonight! Honestly amused at how just a few little line alterations were needed to easily transform this couple into Rock and Roll. Like the little nose bridge line above his eye easily morphing into the peak of Mega Man's helmet. Excellent eye for parody in choosing this. No Roll, I didn't mean anything by that...

@nightopianfoxgirl [Pic]

NightopianFoxGirl's reference was "Circe Invidiosa," from Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood artist John William Waterhouse.

Another brilliant choice in characters having Iris represent Circe, who was known for turning her enemies into animals. And having the Cybeast duo of Greiga and Faltzer as the sea monster beneath her connects to the allegory of her role in the Beast anime with the Synchronizer, Trill. She too probably wants to poison/destroy the beasts, and can be seen as a bit of a tragic figure herself.

@puyonlilah [Pic]

Puyonlilah's reference was the Romanticism era painting "Ophelia," by Sir John Everett Millais.

Yet another tragic take, with the X version of Iris filling the role of Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet, who is seen singing before she drowns herself in the river. Forgive her Zero, she just wanted to live in a world where only Reploids exist! You certainly portrayed the grief and emotional stress on Iris' face nicely, as well as the effect of her barely keeping afloat, with the water ripples.

@vogler-art [Pic]

Ryan's reference was Romanticist artist Caspar David Friedrich's painting, "Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog."

In a world covered by endless water, there's bound to be days of endless fog affecting your sightline, aren't there? Very nice contrast of light and dark in your colors. There's something that just feels so fitting for Mega Man to be looking out from on high, to give a sense of adventure, venturing into the unknown, or even alluding to X looking off the cliff during X1's ending. How long will he keep on fighting? Maybe only the buster on his hand knows for sure...

Tori Campan [Pic]

Tori's reference was Leonardo Da Vinci's famous Renaissance painting, "The Mona Lisa."

Miss Tori got the most important thing right in her parody by making sure The Rolla Lisa had no eyebrows, because those have disappeared from the painting over time. Roll's green bow stands out in her hair even more with the beautiful green forest in the background. Wonderful job getting her pose and that slight, mischievous smile on her face to match the original!

Thank you to everyone again who participated this year! Each artwork was fantastic!

[jeonride]

would you dance with me?

SUMMARY; in the middle of a party, you are the one hansol is looking for.

FEATURING; chwe hansol x fem!reader

GENRE; fluff, comfort, a lil' bit angst, non-idol au, meet cute, strangers to lovers, and this fic also feels like hmm, modern royalty (?) basically just like how high-class people throw a party and yeah includes waltz dancing ! <3

WORD COUNT; 3.3 K

WARNINGS; mentions of insecurities, flaws, anxiety, and the reader isn't confident with herself, suggestive

NOTES FROM KALA; just imagine this fine man asks you to dance with him..

jeonride's masterlist / join the taglist here !

Your eyes stare straight into the brilliant mirror, clean of any stains and dust. Your body stands rigid, feeling every strap of the dress you're wearing being pulled by your maids- meant to tighten, to make your waist look slim. Your chest is tight because your mother told you to wear a special corset for the dress- she said it would make your breasts look better. Yet you don't feel any difference.

Tonight is your grandmother's 70th birthday. You even wonder at the prospect of living such a long life with endless wealth. It's not that you wish for her to die soon, no. But it's tiring to come to your grandmother's birthday party that is celebrated every year. It's not that your grandmother is bad or that she likes to talk bad about you with her friends, it's not.

It's because you know that whether or not you're at the party doesn't affect your grandmother's happiness.

You realize you're not beautiful.

You're not as pretty as your cousins and that's what makes you insecure. Even though your mom says you're beautiful as long as you take care of yourself, it's hard to accept that kind of opinion- or even praise, as it turns out. You're the one who feels that you're not pretty enough, even though other people say you are, you don't believe it. Back to you again, deep down inside you feel less beautiful and not worthy to come to a lively party filled with prestigious people, conglomerates, with their gorgeous faces. As a result, you are always alone in the corner of the ballroom. There is never, ever a gentleman to ask you to dance with him.

You don't feel that you're pathetic, though. You enjoy watching people dance with their respective partners. Embracing each other, stepping together, dancing the waltz gracefully with their eyes fixed on each other. Though you have to admit, sometimes you get lonely watching it all. How exciting it would be if there was a guy who would waste his precious time just to dance with you.

Your grandmother also prefers to talk about tea parties, new dresses by famous designers, and the most expensive wine to sip on the night of her birthday party with your other cousins. Your grandmother always said that she loved all her grandchildren equally. But it's you who feels it. And well, what you feel is different from her perspective. She laughs with your other cousins, stroking their chins and complimenting them on how pretty they are, while with you, she laughs at your stupid antics, calling you her most different grandchild. Her odd grandchild.

Like the dimmest star in the night sky.

"Please do not move too much, Miss." said one of your maids when you're squirming too much because the way she fastens the straps of your dress around your waist is too tight as if you are forbidden to run away from the party and you are sure if you insist on running away from the party, your breath would be taken away because your dress seems to be strangling the wearer's body.

Your mother, on the other hand, folds her arms across her chest, smiling with satisfaction as she sees her daughter looking beautiful with her makeup done. "You look beautiful, darling." she praises.

You exhale roughly, blowing the air upwards so that the stray hair covering your face is blown away, moving gently. "It's because of the make-up, mother."

"Well you're still beautiful, y/n. As long as you're confident."

"The problem is I don't feel confident."

Your mother waves her hand as if to say, 'enough, cut the crap I don't want to argue tonight.'

"Mother, can I not come-"

"Talk one more time and I'll make sure you don't get your evening snack again, y/n."

"Oh come on," you complain. Rolling your eyes in aversion. Your mom isn't too concerned about you being alone again tonight, just like at the previous parties.

One of the maids who has been adjusting the lace of your dress starts to put the 5cm heels on your feet. Her movements are gentle, that maid is indeed a trusted one, having served you since childhood. "Does it hurt, miss?" she asks. "Because I know your shoe size differs by one centimeter depending on the shoe brand. Does this one feel tight?"

You smile, returning the gaze of your maid who now looks up to gaze at you. "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't feel uncomfortably tight. Thank you for always looking out for my comfort."

The 40-year-old maid chuckles. "It's my job, miss. I'll be sad if you feel your feet hurting at the party. Because today your grandmother's birthday party is more festive than ever, she is entering her seventh decade! Can you imagine that?! She is blessed with a long life." Your maid sets the shoe on your bare left foot, slowly. "Therefore, I want you to be able to comfortably dance with a gentleman at this party, miss."

You are stunned. Swallowing your saliva, you are not sure if there is a gentleman who wants to dance with you even though your loved ones say you look as beautiful and perfect as a royal princess wearing a baby blue ball gown with white lace at the bottom and glittering white high heels.

Your maid strokes your shoulder gently, smiling in a way that you don't know how to define. But it's a warm smile.

"Trust me, miss. Tonight, there will be a man that will ask you to dance."

Arriving at the hotel where your grandmother's birthday is being celebrated, you are amazed by all the decorations. That's right, this time the party is more festive. Even at the parking lot, you can see many limousines lined up, neat and shiny like they have just been delivered from the car showroom.

Your mother gets out of the car first, handing the guard an invitation printed in gold as a sign of vvip member which means, part of your grandmother's family. You follow your mother behind, awkward enough as you are in the middle of the crowd now.

"Head up, darling. Don't keep your head down. Look around, try to greet whoever it is. And oh, don't forget to keep smiling!"

"Yes, mother. You said it so many times that I memorized it."

"Already memorized but not doing as I told you."

You remain silent, replying to your mother's words with a heavy sigh. Then you slowly walk the red velvet carpeted stairs that lead to the ballroom. Once inside, you are amazed again. There are glittering chandeliers, and cakes as tall as five meters, or even more. Gilded tables full of people eating cake and drinking wine, chocolate fondue, sweets, and of course, your grandmother's 70th birthday photo shoot displayed near the golden chair she's sitting on now. Your grandmother looks like she's on a throne. Her bleached hair is pulled up into a high bun, with a crown of pearls holding her long hair back. She wore a bright red dress, successfully capturing the attention of the man who seemed to be the same age as her, older to be more precise.

Your mother approaches your grandmother, carrying a large silver gift box with a black ribbon on it. They talked for a while, then when your grandmother finally turned to you, her face lit up.

"Hello, darling!" she greets you. "You look stunning tonight. I almost didn't even recognize you."

"Grandma, you're overreacting. It's all just because I'm wearing makeup."

"What's wrong with wearing makeup? As long as it makes you more beautiful then there's nothing wrong with it, right?"

You just shrugged your shoulders. Then your hand picks up a glass of wine brought by the waiter who is going back and forth while carrying a tray with many glasses on it.

"Grandma, happy 70th birthday. I hope you become more beautiful and always be healthy. Now, can I go home?"

Your mother glares, pinching your arm unseen by your grandmother which successfully makes you scowl.

"So you think I'm going to let you go home after that insincere birthday wish?" your grandmother shakes her head in disagreement. "Unfortunately, you can't go home as soon as usual. My friend's grandson wants to meet you tonight."

Huh?

You blink, your brows furrowed. Astonished by your grandmother's words. "Who?"

And your grandmother just flashed a smirk. "Ah, you'll find out later."

Then your grandmother claps her hands, drawing everyone's attention to her figure. She opens her birthday party with a short speech, ending with a toast. Everyone raises their glasses high, so you just do what they do even though it's awkward because there are more adult people at this party, mostly 35 years old and above. Well, they're all your grandmother's colleagues who come just because they don't want their relationship with her to suffer just because they didn't come to wish her a happy birthday and insincere wishes like your grandmother said just now. Their faces flash smiles with fake friendliness and somehow, you're sick of this kind of atmosphere. It's boring, full of two-faced people with tricks up their sleeves.

You quietly walk to the corner of the ballroom. Can't stand the pain of wearing heels. You aren't used to wearing them. You aren't used to wearing dresses, using makeup, or acting like a civilized princess, you just can't do it. You also feel dizzy because of how tight your bun is.

So when you reach the corner of the ballroom even though can't hide your 'had enough' expression because the entire ballroom is lit by chandeliers light, you take off your heels. Lifting your dress unconcernedly, you gently massage your calves that are starting to ache while your left-hand carries your pair of white heels. You've only been standing for a few minutes, but the soreness in your feet when wearing heels is more powerful than usual.

"Excuse me, miss. You shouldn't have lifted your dress like that," a man from nowhere, with gelled black hair, comes up to you and kneels in front of you to take down your dress that has been lifted to your knees.

You are surprised, of course. Especially because he kneeling in front of you like that. He could have managed to get a view of your panties- damn, this must be just one of those jerks pretending to be a gentleman.

"Stay away from me!" you say harshly, your foot moving to kick his wrist. "Don't pretend to be nice. I know you have devious intentions of peeking inside-"

"Wait, wait, pardon? Peek at what? I can't even see what's in there because your dress is covered in layers of lace skirts, miss." the man finally looked up, staring at you. Smiling, not looking angry even though you just kicked his wrist. You can stupidly feel your cheeks heating up just from looking at his handsome face and captivating brown eyes. "Does your leg hurt that bad, miss? Your face is flushed. Want me to help?"

Dumbass. You should control your heart beat now, that is unfortunately becoming faster and more noisy. You are worried he will be able to hear your heart racing.

Calm yourself down.

Do not fall for the beauty of a someone's face.

"I don't need your help, sir. Just mind your own business."

"Sir?" he laughs. "Just call me Hansol, y/n."

How does he know your name?

"I'm sorry but have we met before?"

He shakes his head. "This is the first time I have approached you just because, a young lady like you lifted her dress up to her knees without thinking further about her action."

You wave your hand, a habit that you got from your mother whenever you feel like you do not want to hear more about the topic you don't like to be involved with, "Okay? I said, just mind your own business, Hansol." maybe he knows your name from your grandmother or perhaps, this man is the grandson of your grandmother's friend?

His smile grows even wider as if he likes the way your tongue pronounces his name. "But you are the business itself. Came here because of you, miss."

Your head tilts to the side a little, "What do you mean?"

"You don't have a partner to dance?"

You shrugged. "Is that even important?"

"So it's a no?" he guessed it right. You never had a partner to dance. Not even just for one night.

"Yes, I don't have a partner to dance and why is that?"

"Then would you dance with me?"

Your eyebrows immediately furrowed. But your stomach certainly feels tingly, like a butterfly's wings are fluttering. Your heart beats faster. This is the first time you've heard such a request. The first time a man has asked you to dance with him.

"Wait. But why?"

This time, it is Hansol who looks confused. "Does there have to be a reason to dance with you? If so, then I would say, because I don't have a dance partner."

Oh.

So he's just an ordinary guy who doesn't have a dance partner, so he asked you to dance? Okay, you don't have to feel special then. But, is it possible? How come there's no one asks a good-looking and educated man like Hansol to dance?

"There are other women you can dance with, Hansol. You don't deserve a dance partner like me."

"Why are you talking like that? Why are you judging yourself when others can see the potential in you?"

You chuckle. "What potential? Hansol, I don't even look attractive. Like you said earlier, I don't think much before I do something. I even go barefoot now because I'm uncomfortable wearing heels."

"Then? I fail to see any problems with your appearance now." Hansol then smiles again. It is such a beautiful smile that you can see the wrinkles at the end of his eyes. Wow, he is the definition of a gorgeous man, looks to have a lot of money, an influential position, and is well-educated. Dangerous. At this moment, you think you will fall in love at first meeting.

"You look like a dream come true in my eyes."

Your face turns red. It's hot. You can feel your cheeks heating up to your ears. Who exactly is this guy? Hey, he caught you off-guard!

"What are you talking about, Hansol?"

"The waltz is about to start, you'd better agree to my offer."

"If I don't?"

Hansol chuckled. "Well, I've asked you anyway. I think I'm just going to pull you into the center of the ballroom."

"What? Wait-!"

Before you realize that Hansol's hand is gently tugging on your wrist, he has already led you to the middle of the ballroom. To the dance floor, to be more precise. "Hansol, but I'm not good at dancing!" you protest to him.

"That's okay, you can follow my footsteps, then."

"Hansol, I-" your gaze meets your grandmother's. And she just smiles at the sight of her odd and most different granddaughter finally being seen with a man to dance at her birthday party.

Then, the waltz music started. Your other cousins are already around you with their respective partners. They smile at you, happy that you are finally participating in the dance after all the parties your grandmother has organized.

"Hansol-"

"It's already started, y/n." he says. "Hold my hand, and put your other hand on my arm."

You finally obey Hansol's words as the waltz has started. Your body is a little stiff because you are nervous about the attention of the people around you. But Hansol succeeded in calming you down with his smile. His other hand is on your back while your right hand intertwines with his. You can feel how smooth and warm his hand is.

"Watch my steps carefully," he whispers. You start with a basic waltz box step, and you slowly follow his footsteps, unconsciously keeping your face down.

"Keep your head up, y/n. Follow my footsteps without actually looking at my feet."

You look up at him. Feeling a strange feeling as your gazes met. Your heart is beating fast now as if your chest could rip apart because of it. Your eyes glance around so you don't meet his eyes because you feel nervous.

"Eyes on me, young lady." Hansol reprimands.

You nervously return his gaze. But Hansol's gaze slowly lowers from staring at your eyes to your lips, certainly making you think of something else that manages to make your cheeks feel even hotter.

"You're doing great. Follow my count, okay? One, two, three... one, two, three. That's right," he compliments. You follow the count and Hansol's footsteps, matching the music.

"You're flushed." Hansol chuckles softly, lowering his voice as much as possible to not be heard by others because the ballroom situation is now really solemn. Everyone is dancing gracefully with their partners and if there are people who aren't dancing, they're watching with genuine smiles on their faces.

"Oh, shut up, Hansol."

The man notices the look on your face change. "Why? Is there something wrong?"

"I- I just feel... I don't deserve to dance with you, Hansol. There are many more beautiful women-"

"But I just want to dance with you," Hansol answers back with a definite intonation. His gaze implies sincerity in his words. "Stop talking like that, y/n. You are beautiful. You're beautiful inside and out and I like that."

"How can you say that? You sound like you've known me for a long time, Hansol." You laugh, finally revealing your genuine smile to him. And that makes Hansol stunned because god, to him your smile is so lovely and charming.

"Because I... have liked you for a long time but didn't have the courage to say it. I've only been watching you from afar, y/n."

You remain silent. Feeling surprised. Your eyes widen, looking at Hansol to see if he meant what he just said. But seeing Hansol's attitude who immediately looks away with reddened ears, it seems like he meant what he said to you.

"I... I like you, y/n. So stop judging yourself because really, you are enough. I'm sad if you feel less beautiful than other women. You have no idea how beautiful you are in my eyes."

With his gentle attitude and words that sound so sincere,

Oh, y/n.

You fall in love with him.

Falling for the man you just met because of his sincerity towards you. Falling for the first man who asked you to dance.

It makes you remember what your grandmother told you when you were little, "Keep dancing even if you're alone, darling. Keep dancing until you find your partner to dance with,"

And you found him.

© jeonride 2023. All rights reserved. Please do not copy, translate, plagiarize, or repost any of my writing anywhere!

[sjywrites]

Hii can I request Sophia x reader academic rivals? 🥺 u can do whatever u want w the plot pretty much please and thank u so much <3 :)

༊*·˚ ACADEMIC RIVALS LOVERS?

𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza x 𝓖n!reader. (no pronouns used). 𝓖enre. fluff, angst if you squint 𝓢ypnosis. our two favourite academic rivals have a lil fight, but the situation turns bad, and people realize their feelings. 𝓦𝓒 . 824 𝓒𝓦 . mentions of being hospitalised (sophia), a little angsty!

𝓝ote! this is a little messy since I wrote it during one of my breaks, but please lmk if you want like a part two cuz I really liked this plot!

---

This is purely fiction and is not meant to interpret how the idols act in real life!

,, not proofread + english is not my first language ! ೃ⁀➷

At this point it didn’t even matter if you were better than everyone, you just had to be better than her. It started off very simple, both of you wanted to be better than everyone, academically that is. Eagerly waiting to get tests back and see who got a higher score, a smug grin on one's face when they got a better result than the other. No harm in that right? Wrong, that’s what started all of this.

Sophia walked towards me with her head held high, her uniform as neat as ever and her hair styled in a way making her look almost angelic. Wait, what? “What were your results?” She said, slamming her paper on top of my desk, I shook out of my daydreaming to answer her. “96.” I said while looking down in my maths book, trying to solve an equation but still focusing on what she would respond. She looks away and a teasing smirk spreads on her lips, and moves the finger that covered her results, 97. “Guess I’m just better than you huh?” She said proudly, staring down at me “Just because you got one point more than me doesn’t mean you’re better than me.” I said, pouting a little at her accusation.

Lately I’ve been feeling kind of… weird? Even if Sophia gets a higher score than me, I can’t find it in me to give a fuck. “Well, you’ve been slacking off a lot lately, I’ve gotten higher scores than you on the last four tests. So, I think that makes it obvious who's smarter!” Sophia states like it was the most obvious answer to what I said. Staring at her for a moment, I reply. “I've been busy okay, not everyone has that much free time to spend on studying, and you're talented in general, no wonder you get high scores” She looks shocked at my statement, then she smirks a little, “Did you just admit that I'm smart?” She looked proud in some way or another, “Not what I meant Sophia, but whatever floats your boat.” I grab my things from the desk and walk outside the classroom to my locker, a little frustrated at the whole situation. I did miss her response,

“I study that much so you won't think I'm stupid.”

A week goes by, no Sophia in sight. She missed two assignments, she's usually here every day. Even if she's sick, which I don't get why she does, but still. Did something happen to her? Was it something I did?

“You've been zoning out for the past like, three periods, what is going on with you today?” Lara, my best friend asks. “Do you know where Sophia is?” I ask, not really thinking before I ask. “Why do you want to know, don't you guys like, hate each other?” She looks at me with a very questionable look, suspecting something I cannot grasp, “Yes? No? I don't know Lara, but do you know where she is?” I say, a little confused and concerned. She looks at me with sad eyes before replying, “Y/N, Sophia got really sick out of nowhere, I heard she's at the hospital.” My eyes blew wide at the shocking news, why didn't she tell me? No, why would she do that? We're not even friends.

—

Am I really doing this? I think to myself as I open the hospital doors and stumble up to the kind-looking man in the lobby. I strike up a casual conversation with him as he guides me to a room, I thank him quickly before he scurries away.

There in the little window on the door I see her, Sophia's sitting down on the bed. Her hair is a mess and her clothes look ridiculous, it looks like she hasn't slept for a few days too. I gently open the door and her gaze falls upon me, it's easier to see her face now. She looks tired, really tired. “Hey…” I say, she looks away from me and cuddles up in her sitting position. “What are you doing here?” she tries to sound annoyed, but it just comes out in a tired huff. “I heard what happened, I… was worried about you. I brought some notes from the classes you missed.” She looks shocked at my confession, she relaxes her posture and her gaze becomes soft. “Thank you… I really appreciate it.” She smiles a little as she grabs the papers I handed her, our hands touching softly.

I look at her, really look at her. For the first time actually having time to admire how pretty she looks, how perfect her flaws are. “I just came to give you that… so if you don't need anything else, I'll go.” I turn around to walk away, grabbing the door knob and turning it around, “Wait! Will you… please stay with me a little longer, I need it.

I need you.”

this is so messy I'm sorrrrryyyy!! I wanted to post something today at least :((

[turndecassette2]

aah after seeing the title page for your newest comic announcement (congrats by the way it looks FABULOUS :> ) I have to ask what your approach to lettering is? your writing is really cool and each title ive seen is so unique!! I love how you can still read it while it also not looking out of place and just looking like apart of the piece :)

hope you're doing well!! have a wonderful day :-)

hey thanks! you too! never learned graphic design in any organised sense, my mom has been working as a freelancing graphic designer, design teacher etc for most of my life so I've absorbed some basic knowledge from her through osmosis, lamarckian evolution maybe? and also gotten a sense of how much I don't know ha ha. doing everything by hand & letting the result be not perfect is sort of a way to acknowledge I'm an amateur (trying and failing is more embarrassing than, uh, not trying, and failing because duh, you weren't trying) but I also think it has an advantage of harmonising with the drawn images. I try to match materials so graphite lettering for graphite pages, digital for digital etc.

inspo for the latest cover – fancy lettering on album covers? but less perfect because, see above –

+ 'japanese characters all over the place' type manga cover/splash page design, something like

(has hirako's short stories gotten any sort of translation? or I think the cover to the left is for a short story collection. actually I should google this myself)

the process itself is just sketching out the letters then filling them in like they're a drawing (thinking of them as drawings makes it easier since drawing is something I'm actually good at). the egg shape was traced from an egg shape that I found by googling 'egg shape' & warping it in ps until it fit inside the sketched outline. the lil guy inside was copy-pasted from a page later in the comic. this was all done on a train stuck somewhere between linköping & västerås.

OK this is very 'draw the rest of the owl' type advice but I hope someone finds it helpful.

[taegularities]

Riiiiiiid can i have a teeny tiny request when/if you can answer this. When oc was missing, what was going through jk’s head? Like did he thought she left him, got kidnapped by her parents, got into an accident, etc? Just wondering what’s fuelling his fear. Amazing lovely chapter! Srsly chefs kiss 🙌🏻

genre: est. rel. 🥺 fluff, angst wc: 1.3k 🤭 a/n: this turned into a legit drabble LMAO i'd be over the moon if you guys lmk what you think of this lil mess and whether i did a good job? :] not proofread <3

–

if jungkook had the power to undo this, what would he do differently?

hours ago, when you left the apartment.

perhaps he'd handle you with caution. realise that his fret means nothing, and that nobody else defines your relationship but him and you.

maybe he would let you know that he's stuck to you like superglue, no matter what. that he goes insane when you don't show signs of life. and that you're stitched into all crevices of his heart, permanently.

perhaps reacting in such a way could've changed the chain of events today. whatever happened, maybe you could've reached out, rushed to him. instead, you were hidden in a bathroom minutes ago, door locked and a barrier between the two of you.

even now, your mind roams in far distance. waiting for a line to appear or not; and the approaching result fills him with fear. not because he in particular dreads it – but because you do. sniffling, drying your tears, shaking.

jungkook isn't stupid, so he won't tell you how you affect him. how your pain becomes his burden, too, and how he wants the moment to pass, so your tremble stops.

life didn't pain you enough, it seems. something or someone in the skies above is being unfair.

it hurts. it hurts. it fucking hurts.

and on top of everything, jungkook's own ache, courtesy of his overthinking, still lingers. how he wondered if you'd left him. or hoping you weren't hurt. praying that you were unscathed, not a victim of the world's carelessness.

he can't tell you, though. and he doesn't.

not when the minutes pass and jokes are exchanged. not when you explain why you never came home. and not when only one line appears, pushing you into another sobfest that only his arms heal, slowly and carefully. bit by bit.

you're so warm against him. so innocent and relieved, seeking a cure in him to diminish the former pain. you hold onto him so tight, quivering more than ever, crying tear after tear after tear.

jungkook doesn't think he's ever felt such a firm, solid crack splitting his heart. because you don't deserve this.

you're his gentle, enthusiastic girl, aren't you? thrilled about countryside weddings and glued-on stars. you do not deserve this.

your transparent emotions punch him in the guts even when you've bid eun goodbye. and the very next moment, as he comes to a stand in front of the entrance, stalling the drive back home, he feels something stir in him, too.

the same as before when you opened the bathroom door. the same intense yearning clogging up his throat. because when he looks at you now…

tear-stained cheeks. red eyes. yet, a soft smile assuring him that you're okay again…

he knows now. he knows.

"angel..." he voices, and you lift your falling eyelids, endless tenderness in your gaze.

his heart combusts. nervous fear fills his entire being, so worried you might walk away or cry again or be scared off or… or…

tell her.

she might know anyway.

the voice keeps urging him. wants to bare his thoughts, pull them out of his mind.

tell her.

but he doesn't. instead, he calms the brittle organ beneath his chest, eyes blinking his secrets away before he says, "nothing. let's go home."

and he admits now. barely half an hour later, he admits that his choices aren't always well thought out. because how did he manage to pain you again?

crying in front of him, in the middle of the living room, much like… what? a mere month ago. asking him what's wrong; getting back a confused nothing.

he covers his face when you inquire whether he's sure, rubbing it before he responds, "yeah. tired, is all. worn out from the stress."

"i'm sorry."

god. no.

there's no fault in anyone right now. there's no misery, just… realisations. revelations.

"no," he starts, "it's okay."

you swallow, and then argue, "i don't think it is. tell me what you're thinking about."

but how does he tell you? because his words wouldn't suffice. and he doesn't quite know whether the moment's right. how does he unveil something to you that'll never do justice to what he truly feels?

"nothing, baby," he answers; he's being so stupid, "please go to sleep."

but you don't falter. "is it because of the pregnancy scare? or because i didn't call you. i scared you."

"no. it's nothing like that."

he waits.

fuck… he could throw up. you're here, so close, waiting for a response, and he's panicking, nervous, insecure, and… and…

so in fucking love.

"just go change into something comfortable, angel," jungkook gently orders, fuelling the craze in his jumbled mind, "or do you want to eat first? i can get you some food to the bedroom, too."

you shake your head, digging, "i want– you to tell me what's wrong."

but it's not easy. wording feelings has never been easy.

he groans quietly, keeping his foot from tapping the ground. if he told you now… would you react in kind? would you walk away? if he told you now, would you push him away or pull him closer?

shit, shit, shit.

his head falls between his shoulders, fingers grazing his wrinkled forehead, heaviness behind it, "what do i tell you?"

"just. was it… is it seokjin? i won't talk to him if you don't want me to."

god, if you knew…

that seokjin long took a backseat in his head. he would've barely been able to remember his name right now, because his mind is so painfully filled with the same damn things revolving around you.

with the same word, over and over again, repeating in a circle and as a plea.

"that's not it," he promises.

"it's not…?"

"babe… i don't care about him. i stopped caring ten minutes later."

he explains the agitation this morning; explains the far graver evening, how it overshadowed each word uttered in that stupid argument. how you drove him crazy today.

fearing, craving, pining.

wondering if you'd be coming back, if he'd ever get the chance to tell you that you carry his heart with you wherever you go.

and maybe that's exactly what he should do.

right.

enough of this idiocy.

he stands, stepping closer. his voice is unsteady when he calls your name, shaking fingers carding through his hair. he sighs, and then inhales a breath to give his lungs something. to lift the burn.

jungkook prepares his mind for the best and the worst for only a moment before everything goes blank. and then, finally, he realises that, first and foremost, he doesn't need an immediate reaction.

he just needs you to know.

"what is it then?" you still question, tears falling freely, "fuck, just. just say it, please."

your hand curls into a fist, and he rushes to grab your wrist; tugs you into him, a palm on your back. pushing you closer, trying to press his affection into you, and all misery out of you.

he holds your head, holds you right there, lets you cry into his shirt.

and then, he admits, "i'm not good with words, baby. and i don't know how to ever properly verbalise something like this."

"what? verbalise wh–"

then again, does he not know?

no. he does. he just doesn't think it'll ever suffice. ever.

because what he feels doesn't belong to this mundane world. it isn't ordinary; transcends normalcy. no, to him, it appears like something out of a fairytale.

this is what songs are written about; what love stories and novels and movies speak of. the exact rhymes present in poetry. jungkook doesn't have the vocabulary that poets possess.

can't truly explain what you elicit, and what you mean to him, and how insane you make him, and how he wants to hold you and freeze this moment forever, and…

and how he's never been as certain about anything as about–

"i love you."

no… he doesn't need you to answer immediately.

he just needs you to finally know.

–

:'''))))) i have nothing to say except. thank you for this lil request. i am in tears and will go hide in the bathroom now. <3