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avis-writeshq · 11 months

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04 — you are in love

summary: “you can hear it in the silence.”/”you can hear it on the way home.”/”you can see it with the lights out.” in other words; the four times spencer wants to kiss you, and the one time he wishes he did. pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: drug mention, alcohol (reader gets a little tipsy), vomit (not in detail) wc: 3.4k a/n: thank you again to the wonderful amazing @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH zara you're a real one <3 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Falling in love is something that Spencer thought he would never get the luxury of doing. It’s a fairytale. After all, his parents were supposed to be a perfect example of what love should be like and look how they ended up. Yet despite it all, he always seems to find himself going back to you. You, who makes it so easy to love but he doesn’t deserve it. He refuses to believe he deserves it. He feels so horribly broken that it doesn’t make sense why you would love him, or why he deserves to love you.

It takes Spencer another three months to actually properly come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. He’s spent most of his free time attending Narcotic Anonymous groups upon your insistence and he hates to admit that it helps. He didn’t think they would at first, despite the swirling statistics of their effectiveness but he figures that it wouldn’t hurt. The other times when he’s not doing something drug related, therapy related or work related, he’s with you. Your apartment is almost like a second home to him and you’d given him your spare key (he went home with a ridiculous grin on his face and had to chug several cups of water to calm himself down).

Since your leaving the BAU, he’s left a series of trinkets on his desk that remind him of you. A little ceramic blue bird beside the animal skull models. It’s no bigger than his pinky finger and when he asked you why you gifted it to him, you told him that it represents hope and renewal. He thinks he needs a lot of that.

In the first drawer of his desk is a framed picture of you and him at a Doctor Who convention with him dressed up as the Tenth Doctor and you in all blue in an attempt to dress up as TARDIS. It was a fun and silly day but it was enjoyable and that was what mattered. After a series of unfortunate events, Derek happened across the photo, claiming that there was no platonic explanation for it.

(“Care to explain this?” He had asked, holding the frame with a grin on his face. He was looking into Spencer’s desk for a specific file on the Benson murders, only to be met with a very familiar face.

Spencer immediately lunged for the photograph, grabbing it and securing it back in his desk with a heavy slam. “Don’t.”

Derek put his hands up in mock surrender, although his eyes were sympathetic. “There’s nothing platonic about that, kid.”

He huffed in response, rubbing at his eyes and taking a seat at his desk. “I know.”)

The first time he came to terms with the fact that he actually wanted to be with you was after a specific realisation. Some cases are harder than others. It’s a given; some cases are just more difficult to deal with and therefore harder to compartmentalise. Each person is different, especially when you factor in trauma. Derek struggles when pedophilia is involved, and JJ finds suicide cases the worst. Hotch can barely function properly when children are targeted, and Emily hides behind a mask so effortlessly that the most mundane things can get to her. After a period of thought, Spencer realises what he struggles to deal with: bullying.

“You should have– you should have heard what they were saying!” Spencer insists, pacing his living room floor while throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

He had just returned home from a case in West Bune, Texas, and it was probably one of the most difficult cases he had to go through. The UnSub was a teenager named Owen and after a very tense confrontation with him outside the police department, he was taken into custody. The entire nature of the case irked him. So many deaths could have been prevented if people just did something but now a boy is in custody with a body count nearing the double digits.

“They didn’t even try to deal with the bullying,” he continues, running his fingers through his now long hair. He can’t bring himself to get it cut; especially not after the incident with Hankel some moons ago.

You don’t say anything, sitting on his couch and sipping your tea, your eyes trained on the way he paces back and forth.

“People are dead because of them. I’m not saying that they didn’t deserve it because they did, but something should have changed.” His words are harsh as he continues to walk, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“You can’t change anything about it now,” You say gently, your gaze shifting from his hands to his arms to his face. “What’s done is done. All we can do is hope that the school board learns from their mistakes.”

“But they don’t!” He exclaims, turning to face you. He swallows thickly before sighing, slumping into the seat beside you and pressing himself into his side. “It’s just so… frustrating. They never learn.”

You nod, running your fingers through the knots in his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“That could have been me,” he says quietly, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He presses the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes, stars dotting his vision.

“But it’s not,” you say firmly. “You’re a good person, Spencer. You’re saving people and putting the bad guys away. That’s a far cry away from being an UnSub.”

You’re looking at him now and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. You’re so close to him and Spencer can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Kiss her.

The words that enter Spencer’s mind are enough to give him whiplash and he pulls away, pretending that he doesn’t see the hurt in your eyes when he does.

What?

“Are you okay?” You ask, frowning up at him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He offers a smile. “I’m okay.”

***

“Emily doesn’t blame you, you know.”

The words hang in the air as you sit on the floor of your bedroom, the thundering storm pounding against your windows. Spencer shrugs, sitting next to you. The power is out across Washington and the flickering of candles helps to light up the room. Spencer fiddles with the rug on the floor and your brows knit together.

“Walter.”

“I know.” He buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault. It just feels like it, you know? We knew that it was a cult but we didn’t know that it was… that bad. God, angel, you should have seen her. She was beat up and everything and it feels like I could have done something.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you chastise, brushing your shoulder against his for a moment. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

He doesn’t respond, simply moving so that he’s lying down on the rug in your room. It’s a soft tufted rug that goes from a dark purple in the middle to white around the edges. It’s one of his favourite rugs in the world. You’re sitting cross legged beside him, leaning against the bed. The soft glow of the candles illuminate your face and you truly look like an angel in this light.

He just came back from a case in La Plata County in Colorado and he was ordered to take a week off by Hotch to deal with the traumatics of the case. What started out as an undercover investigation in an underground cult led to a gun fight and a bombing, all while Spencer and Emily were inside the compound. The way Emily looked so in pain after the whole ordeal would haunt him forever; the black eye she suffered from, the bruising to her chest… he doesn’t even want to think about the rest of the things that could have happened.

“Stop.”

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts and he sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says meekly, playing with the rug underneath him.

“It’s not your fault.” You smile at him before hitting him lightly with one of your pillows. “Stop that.��

He laughs loudly, grunting a little from the impact of the pillow colliding with his face. “Hey!”

You grin teasingly and hit him again with the pillow. He retaliates quickly, gripping the pillow and trying to tug it out of your hands. Your grip is a lot stronger than he thought it was and his tug sends you flying towards him, a shriek leaving your lips as your forehead bounces off his.

A hiss of pain leaves your lips but you’re laughing as you clutch your forehead. “Spencer what the hell?!”

“I’m sorry!” He says, not really meaning it, and rubbing at his head. He’s laughing along, his cheeks warm as he smiles up at you. His hands move to your face, one to your cheek and the other to brush the hair on your forehead to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You laugh again, smiling a brilliantly beautiful toothy smile. The candlelight dances in your eyes with a warm orange light as you do. “Are you?”

His gaze meets yours, watching the way you brush a strand of hair behind your ear and the way your eyes crinkles when you smile. He watches the way you lean against the side of the bed, tilting your head back with your eyes closed. God. He swears you’re trying to kill him.

“Spencer?” You ask with a soft chuckle, and the sound is so pretty that he doesn’t mind the fact that you find amusement at his expense. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his throat dry and his cheeks hot. He blames the candles.

***

The couch is never comfortable. You are well aware that the couch feels strangely lumpy and you’re pretty sure one of the springs is broken but for some reason you keep insisting to take it whenever you stay at Spencer’s apartment. The blanket he lets you use is thick and cosy to make up for it and the pillow is always fluffed.

“Good morning.”

Spencer’s voice is raspy with early morning vocal fry and it makes your heart lurch in your throat.

“Morning,” you murmur, eyes still closed in an attempt to calm yourself down. Maybe if you don’t see him you won’t embarrass yourself.

“Still tired?” He asks, and you hear him start the coffee machine. There’s the sound of rustling in the background along with the flicking of a switch. Too many sounds for too early of a day.

“Mm.”

He chuckles, deep and rumbling, before sipping some water. “Yesterday was fun.”

Yesterday involved fourteen hours of watching Doctor Who and passing half way through the nineteenth episode after stuffing yourself full of junk food. Yesterday involved passing out on Spencer, forcing him to move you to the couch and into a position that wasn’t going to destroy your neck. Yesterday involved the most platonic and innocent activities known to Earth, despite the way his words insinuated something entirely differently.

“You fell asleep before the best part,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“You could have watched without me.”

He shakes his head as he stirs the sugar. “That wouldn’t have been right.”

A hum leaves your lips as you get up from the couch, stretching your arms and making your way over to him from behind the kitchen island. You’re wearing one of his old Doctor Who t-shirts that he let you keep, the sleeves reaching just past your elbows. Your hair is a mess and your eyes are half closed but you look so…

Cute. Seeing you in his shirt drives him wild. There’s something possessive about it and for a second he feels gross. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you but he’s obviously not; you’re the one who stole that shirt from him many moons ago and you’re the one who chose to wear it that day. Regardless, he can’t help but be transfixed as you walk around his kitchen like it’s your own home. Spencer’s eyes follow your figure as you pull open one of his cupboards and grab your mug (a really stupid avocado mug that’s bright green with a lid) before pouring some coffee into it.

“You’ve been going to your NA meetings, right?” You ask him, sipping your drink.

He nods immediately, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Once a week.”

“That’s good!” You tell him, the caffeine slowly beginning to wake you up. “That’s really good, Walter.”

He smiles at you, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

For a few moments, all he can think about is you. Your hair smells like your special vanilla shampoo that Penelope got you hooked on and your skin smells like lavender and orange blossom. He remembers JJ giving you a sample in the office and you went and ordered a whole bottle during your lunch break right after. The compliments you got that day were like no other, and he remembers the way your eyes would light up every single time someone commented on the perfume, as well as the way you would excitedly talk about the different notes. Now, whenever he smells lavender or oranges he thinks of you. He doesn’t think it’s a problem in the slightest.

You sip your coffee again, the sound of the toaster dinging in the background, accompanied by the thick smell of char. In an instant, Spencer jolts from his place and places two very burnt slices of toast onto the plate, his nose scrunching up in frustration.

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he tells you lamely. “I think we should get croissants.”

You laugh, dumping the pieces of toast into the bin and nod. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

***

The rare occasion when Spencer drives is when you’re not fit to. He picks you up at two in the morning at a bar and you’re sitting in his passenger seat. Your hair has a few tangles here and there and you’re wearing the prettiest purple dress.

“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” you tell him tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. “I could have gotten a taxi.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, leaning over the console to buckle in your seatbelt. “You called me, I’m here. I’m not going to let you get into a stranger’s car when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, your head leaning against the car door. “I had one drink.”

“Which can lead to a blood alcohol level of 0.01 to 0.03,” Spencer says, shooting you a smile. “I’d rather not risk it, angel.”

You groan and lean back on the chair. “I swear I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t your friends take you home?” He asks, starting the ignition. “Didn’t you say you were going to hitch a ride with them?”

A hum leaves your lips and you nod. “That was the plan. But one of the designated drivers couldn’t come last minute and the car wasn’t big enough.”

Spencer frowns, backing out of the driveway. “How long were you waiting outside of the bar?”

“Um…” your brows furrow as you think of the answer and you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. “Ten minutes?”

“(Y/N).”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would have been that long,” you huff, rubbing at your eyes. “I promise I was careful.”

Spencer shoots you a frustrated look, sipping at his lukewarm takeaway cup of filtered coffee but keeping his eyes on the road. “You should have called me sooner.”

“I felt bad,” you respond sheepishly, offering him a guilty smile.

Spencer hums, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t had the time to get it cut so for the time being it’s left slicked back and out of his eyes. He’s wearing his glasses now, too, because he didn’t have the time to put in his contacts. He looks a lot better than he did eight months ago, and he feels it, too. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is filled a little better now that he’s gained a little weight. Happy weight you had told him, pinching at his sides, it means you’re healing.

“Can you pull over?”

Your voice comes out small and Spencer snaps his head to look in your direction. “Yeah. Yeah, of course– hold on.”

He parks at a random McDonald’s on the side of the freeway and you immediately get out of the car and hurl in one of the bushes. He grimaces, getting out of the car to rub your back comfortingly.

“You okay?” He asks, continuing to rub circles on your back. He holds your hair away from your face, watches as your necklace dangles from your neck and catches the light from the 24/7 fast food place.

“... I might have had a little more than one drink.”

He can’t bring himself to get upset at you. Instead, Spencer just sighs and brandishes a bottle of water from the side pocket of his car. “Sip it slowly.”

You do as asked, taking small tentative sips of the cold water. He holds your hair in place, brushing a few strands away from your eyes and forehead.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you taking a taxi,” Spencer says with a hum, satisfied when you finish drinking half the bottle. “What if you threw up in their car?”

You groan, wiping a hand over your face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, angel,” he says sympathetically, lifting your chin with his index finger so that you’re looking at him. “I just worry. You should be able to rely on me, too, you know.”

“Okay,” you say through drunken stupor. “Didn’t mean to worry you, Walter.”

“I know,” he repeats softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Hey. Look up.”

You do, and you stare up at the sky. Stars dot and litter the navy sky, and if you squint you could see a faint blue star.

“That’s Venus,” he explains, gesturing to the little dot. He points to a smaller, redder light just below it. “That’s Mars.”

Even amidst the light pollution, the planets shine brightly. Your gaze is fixed upon the little planets and stars, enjoying the midsummer night’s breeze, the nausea you felt moments prior beginning to subside.

“Do you know what Venus represents?” Spencer asks softly, brushing his shoulder against yours, smiling when you shake your head. “Venus represents love and beauty in Roman mythology.”

You laugh, pressing your nose into his shoulder. “Do you believe that?”

“Scientifically? No,” he admits, “Venus is a planet. It doesn’t really represent anything but a giant ball of gas. But people place significance on insignificant things because it gives them meaning so I understand why they do it.”

It’s quiet for a little while, aside from the occasional sound of a car passing by and a cicada chirping. A cool breeze blows past but it’s more comforting than anything as the two of you sit on the hood of his car: an old 1965 Volvo Amazon in the colour blue horizon with paint chipping off at the inner fenders and bumper ends. He lets you sit on his jacket, your dress and legs protected from the dirty car bonnet. Your head is on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his and you’ve traded your heels for a pair of Spencer’s spare mis-matched socks.

“(Y/N),” he whispers, rubbing his hand on your arm. “We should get you home.”

You nod, wiggling your toes in the socks. “Yeah.”

Spencer pauses and looks at you, watching as you yawn and hop off the car. He says your name again, chuckling a little bit when you look up at him a little dazed. The words get caught in his chest as he takes a tentative step closer to you. You’re so close. Just one small move. That’s all it would take… he dismisses the thoughts when he can smell the liquor on your skin.

“You’re my best friend,” he says quietly after several moments of silence.

You smile at him. “You’re my best friend, too.”

He drives you home that day with more regret than necessary. He wishes he kissed you. It would have made his life so much easier.

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littleluvsie · 5 months

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in moments | spencer reid x reader

a/n: little thing i wrote today maybe intended for longer series, not super edited (sorry hehe). trying to get back into the habit of writing with this new side blog. send me any requests if you'd like <3

wc: 1.9k

warnings: fem reader, use of she/her pronouns (reader), shy!reader, early seasons shy spencer, just pure fluff (for now)

There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in anyone’s mind that the BAU changed when you and Spencer seemingly arrived at their doorstep out of nowhere – both of you young and bright-eyed, but an undeniable force together, a wealth of intelligence. But sometimes – especially in moments like this – the team wondered how either of you managed to function in society up until now. Everyone is watching curiously, trying and failing to hide their amused smiles behind their coffee cups.

You’re nervous. They see it in the way you fiddle with the hem of your sweater behind your back, the way you squeak out your words like you’re afraid of them. If anxiety were personified, it’d look incredibly reminiscent of you. Spencer isn’t any better. From the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, every inch of exposed skin is visibly tinted with a cherry-red hue, and his eyes continue to fixate on everything, everywhere except your face.

“How are they even getting anything done right now? They look like they’re both about to throw up,” Emily mutters.

Morgan nods, “My money is on both of them having nervous breakdowns in the next ten minutes.”

Penelope tries her very best to swallow her laugh, but her efforts prove to be futile as a giggle manages to escape from her lips anyway. She quickly coughs and covers her mouth with her fingertips in an attempt to stifle it, but to no avail. Both you and Spencer hear it and glance over with adorably similar facial expressions, brows tightly knitted together and a hint of a pout gracing your lips.

When you’re only met with silence, you tilt your head questioningly.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing! How is it going over there? Did you guys find anything?”

“Yeah, actually. Spencer thinks that the Unsub’s location can be narrowed down to these specific neighborhoods given the pattern of…” As you turn to look at Spencer, you realize you’ve made the greatest mistake in your life. It’s as if every possible nerve ending you have in your body surges with electrical current, and you swear you can feel your heart pumping from the middle of your throat. His eyes meet yours, and he’s closer to you than you remember. Was he here the whole time? You have the sudden urge to crawl under the desk and stay there for as long as you can get away with it.

Do his lips always look like this? Has his hair grown out since yesterday? Is he furrowing his brows?

You realize that you haven’t spoken in what must be at least thirty seconds. Spencer would know how long. You feel even worse.

“Given the patterns in where the victims were found.” you finish quietly.

Spencer swivels his chair to face the team and continues with his explanation, but you can barely hear him as all of your thoughts focus on the fact that his leg is now pressed up against yours. You’ve come to the natural conclusion that your brain is no longer functional anymore, your career is over. Maybe if you beg on your knees, Hotch will let you take a sick day?

“Alright, let’s send smaller teams out and cover all possible locations, see what we can find,” Hotch announces from behind you. As he begins assigning pairs, you breathe out a sigh of relief. Now, you’ll have at least a few hours before you have to face Spencer again, and hopefully, by that point, all of the residual awkwardness of your stumble will be completely obliterated from everyone’s memory.

“And (Y/N) and Reid, you’ll take the last of the locations. Let’s debrief here once we’re done.”

As you stare at Hotch in disbelief, you swear there’s a very, very faint hint of a smile on his face.

You’re going to kill him.

~*~*~

Spencer reads through the case file for the millionth time since getting in the car with you. There’s really no point to it; you and everyone else knows he has an eidetic memory, he only had to read it once. If you asked, he’d lie and tell you he does it to pass the time or to just fill the silence with the sound of pages turning. But he thinks he really does it so that he doesn’t have to hear himself stumble over his words trying to talk to you.

It’s torture, being around you. You’re pretty and smart and nice and so wonderful, and if he thinks about it for too long, it hurts his head. Spencer wants to be around you all of the time and simultaneously none of the time – it’s an unsolvable equation, and he hates it. It’s torturous.

Even so, he knows his best days are always spent with you.

Most of your shared time is inevitably spent dissecting the neverending influx of cases received by the BAU. But every once in a while, there are times scattered between the chaos. Sometimes it’s the early mornings before anyone else has arrived, and the both of you drink your coffees together in comfortable silence. Sometimes it’s the late nights spent sitting at your desks across from each other with hot takeout and tired eyes. In these moments, both of you can talk about the books you’ve been reading recently, the best classical music composers, or your favorite episodes of Doctor Who, without any hesitation or uncertainty. Perhaps the delirium of sleep deprivation gives you courage, or maybe it’s just that both of you feel safer in the quiet, when the world feels a lot less overwhelming and all of your focus can be devoted to one another. Regardless, it’s what Spencer looks forward to the most, above all else.

So, he tries.

He clears his throat, “D-Did you know that Carlo Lorenzini, the guy that wrote Pinocchio, was said to be obsessed with the human nose?”

“Really? Huh… I wonder what the origin of the obsession was, y’know where it came from.”

And for just an instant, the anxiety has subsided, quickly replaced by a much stronger, fluttering from the depths of his stomach.

“Not sure, but sources say that he frequently wrote about noses in his earlier stories, so whatever the cause was must’ve been prior to the 1880s, when Pinocchio was published.”

You hum in acknowledgement, “Have you heard about the Pinocchio Paradox before?”

“The one created by Peter Eldridge-Smith’s daughter?”

“Yeah, I think her name was Veronique. What do you think of the possible solutions?”

While he thinks of an answer to your question, he also thinks about how seamlessly you manage to fit into the fragments of his mind. He’s never felt more seen than when you glance over at him, when you think he can’t see you. You’re perfect in a way that feels whole and complete to him, as if there’s nothing else he could ever want or need. He thinks about all of this, and much, much more.

~*~*~

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Spencer asks. He begins to rise from his seat, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll come with you though, I think I need a break anyway.”

It’s late, everyone else has gone home. All of the fluorescent, overhead lights in the bullpen are off, both of you opting to turn on a few of the surrounding desk lamps instead.

You don’t particularly like the dark, especially when it’s this late into the night. The walk to the kitchen feels a lot longer this way, your path being guided only by the residual light coming from the streetlights outside.

There’s a sudden crash to your left, and you yelp, jumping towards Spencer.

“Sorry! Sorry, that was me. I accidentally kicked a box of files I guess someone left on the floor, it knocked into one of the desks.”

“No worries! It’s okay. I’m just,” you sigh, “I’m just a little bit afraid of the dark.”

As your adrenaline levels steadily return to baseline, you’re suddenly hyper aware of how your entire body is quite literally pressed up against Spencer’s side, your hands gripping onto his forearm for dear life. But just as you start to loosen your death grip, you feel Spencer’s fingers searching for you in the dim moonlight.

Every thought you’ve ever had, every bit of information you’ve ever learned escapes you in a single breath as he intertwines your fingers with his.

His voice is just barely above a whisper, “I’m a little bit afraid of the dark too.”

Both of you walk the rest of the way to the kitchen in complete silence and at an incredibly slow pace, as if even the sound of your soles against the linoleum floors would ruin this moment. You almost want to keep the abrasive lights of the kitchen off as you finally walk through the doorway with Spencer in tow; you know that the very second you flip the switch, you’ll have to let go of his hand. It’s not realistic for him to keep holding your hand, you chastise yourself. How would he even make his coffee if you’re holding his hand hostage?

You turn the light on. The alternative would be standing in the dark and you couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for doing so quickly enough.

A beat passes, your eyes adjust to the sudden change in brightness. You look down, and to your surprise, Spencer’s still holding onto your hand. Worse, he’s rubbing slow circles into the back of your hand with his thumb. I will never recover from this, you think.

“D-Do you still want coffee?”

“No, not really,” you respond. With how your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest, you really don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to consume any more caffeine.

“Me neither,” he trails off. His eyes are glued to the floor as if he’s afraid to meet your gaze, as if it’ll make you realize with sudden clarity that it’s his hand you’re holding and you’ll pull away.

“As you become drowsier, adenosine accumulates in the neuronal synapse and binds to the respective receptors located in the synapse of specific central nervous systems neurons causing further drowsiness,” you ramble.

“And caffeine is an adenosine receptor antagonist.”

“Exactly, and knockout mice studies reveal that it’s specifically the adenosine A2A receptor which is a member of the G-protein coupled receptor family.”

“Interesting. Even though you only have one PhD, having it in biology seems to be proving pretty useful,” he smiles.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s gotten me this far, wait what do you mean only one?”

“Dr. (Y/L/N), you realize I have three, right?”

“Dr. Reid, please shut up.”

You make him feel safe.

“Okay, sorry,” he giggles, “Can you please tell me more about caffeine?”

And because he asked so nicely, because he smiles at you the way he does, you tell him more. It’s nearly the middle of the night, but you’d still stay up and you would tell him everything you know, as long as he continued looking at you with his soft, brown eyes.

You both talk about everything and anything either of you think of, all while holding each other in the palm of your hands.

The next morning, he sits even closer to you. Luckily, it’s slowly getting easier to talk to him without losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, but it’s still hard sometimes. You still get nervous when he looks at you. You can still feel the butterflies flapping against the walls of your stomach, especially when he holds your hand underneath the desk.

Both of you think you’re being subtle, but everyone notices. They pretend they don’t.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds imagine #bau team

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habken · 8 days

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If you're willing to share can you give a few reasons why you think Bakudeku works so well as a ship? (I also ship them and love your art!)

okay...

I think they just naturally fall into each other’s orbit. Living in each other's minds rent free 24/7. Their entire lives are so intertwined. Even when things were bad between them, there's never been a point where they haven't been part of each other's life in some capacity.

They've influenced each other so much you can see little habits they share and behaviours they've picked up from one another. Izuku acting more like Katsuki when he wants to win is the obvious one, but even little things like the way they think out loud and pinch their lips and stuff are similar.

I don't think it's right to undermine Katsuki's bullying and the falling out between them, but coming from a place where there's a lot of animosity and hurt and then having that turn into a relationship where they both mutually care for each other and challenge each other to do better and be better is really interesting.

I think that's part of the reason it's such a compelling relationship in general, not just in a romantic way. They start off at the lowest point - we see them at their absolute worst and then we get to watch as they mend that fractured friendship and build up a genuine and healthy bond.

To me personally, the trajectory of their relationship was evident as soon as episode two, when Katsuki chased after Izuku after the sludge villain to let him know how much he "didn't need his help." That's the point that I decided I was interested to see how their characters developed as the story kept going, and I think it was such a huge payoff.

I think it also made for a lot of interesting fanworks. In the earlier days especially, you really had to work at it to make things good between them. Canonically, their relationship really is a slow burn lol, so if you wanted to write something that followed close to the actual story, there had to be tons of build up. I've read stuff where the beats felt so similar to what happened in the actual series which is crazy. It's a ship that lends itself to deep and lengthy analysis and a lot of people ended up being pretty spot on because of that.

I also think what's special about them is how intentional they work to make things right between each other again. They want to know each other's feelings, they want to be rivals and fight alongside each other, and be neck in neck and constantly chasing after each other. They want to be close again. Izuku offering Katsuki an olive branch and asking him about his fighting style after their bout at ground beta and Katsuki finally grabbing onto it is such a turning point for their relationship. It's a conscious choice on both their parts to work towards mending what was between them.

And I could go on and on about Katsuki's character arc, but that's a different post lol. For simplicity's sake, his arc is about recognizing for himself where his weaknesses lie, seeing how his actions hurt and shaped Deku, and working not only on himself, but on repairing the rift between them that he caused. He works with Izuku, shares and keeps his secret, trains with him, and eggs him on more and more lightheartedly as the series goes on.

His choice to care for Izuku, let him into his life again, and make up for what he's done is really important. Nobody is really forcing him to atone for his past and it's his desire to do so despite the lack of external pressure that makes that change feel genuine and meaningful. Training with Deku to master his quirks, sacrificing himself for Izuku during their fight with shigaraki, apologizing to him in front of the entire class and letting go of his pride, choosing to call him by his given name, dying with Izuku's name on his lips, fighting the big bad and continuously repeating that when Izuku can't handle it, he'll step in for him - all of these things are so telling of the kind of care he purposefully put into their relationship, and the way he grew and changed throughout the story.

And I think that in light of everything else, the fact that they remain important to each other right until the end is what makes it such a beautiful relationship, no matter what context you want to see it in. They love each other! They can't imagine a world in which the other isn't part of their life, and they actively and continuously work to make that a reality.

They're soulmates that intentionally chose to be so.

#ask #bkdk #dkbk #this is stupid and long lol and also doesn't even cover like half the things I feel about them

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spooky-holtz · 6 months

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Sicilian Scheming

Melissa Schemmenti x reader

Genre: pure fluff

Word Count: 3.4k

Prompt: "I seen you were looking for ideas for fics and was wondering if you’d write one where Mellisa’s Nona comes to visit her at Abbot during summer planning where she meets teacher Reader and essentially forces them to go on a date together even though they don’t get along well but they end up really hitting it off then a time skip to their wedding where Nona’s bragging about getting them together?"

I've diverted from the prompt a little but the core of it still stands. Strap in.

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Make no mistake, you absolutely love teaching the third grade but by the time summer comes around, you’re glad to see them go. Summer vacation gives you a chance to relax and enjoy your time away from the stuffy brick building that is Abbott Elementary, spending weeks at a time curled up on the window ledge of your apartment basking in the sun with a good novel and often a crisp glass of wine.

You rarely get chance to see your co-workers save for the coffee dates you have with Janine, often meeting the smaller woman around the corner from her home to sit and chat in the large glass windows as the rest of the world passes by. You spend hours at a time chatting about anything and everything your rather uneventful lives have thrown at you, fingers curled around a sweating glass of flavored iced tea. These breaks are always among the highlights of your year, giving you a chance to wind down and refresh ready for the next group of kids that you will take under your wing.

By the time the summer break winds down though, you’re eager to get back to school and see your dysfunctional work family. There’s nothing you love more than the first day after weeks apart, hearing all about Barbra’s annual cruise with Gerald, or Jacob’s latest mission to get himself “down with the kids” - it usually involves some god awful Tik Tok trend that he should NOT be doing, but you don’t have the heart to stop his rather spirited approach to engaging with his students.

You love these conversations but there is somebody else that you find yourself searching for the second you step foot through the green doors of Abbott; Mellisa Schemmenti. The older woman has become an infatuation for you, her rigid exterior always melting when you interact. She knows exactly how you take your coffee, always leaves a seat open for you during meetings, and takes every opportunity to compliment your appearance - whether it's a new pair of earrings, or a slightly different shade of hair dye, Melissa will always notice.

She makes you feel special in the smallest ways, always leaving you with the hope that she might actually like you back. It feels juvenile and you can’t help but imagine yourself as one of the kids you teach every day, sending heart eyes across the room at each other at any given chance, just waiting for her cheeks to flush and that small, suppressed smile to appear on her glossed lips.

Your crush is no secret, but you would never tell anyone - well, except Janine who had managed to guess exactly why you get so nervous around the older woman after a few glasses of wine at the last faculty holiday party. You didn’t have to say anything; your longing looks toward the redhead on the other side of the teachers’ lounge as you nursed a plastic cup full of cheap alcohol was enough to prompt your friend to ask. You could never lie to Janine’s puppy dog eyes, especially not with a buzz courtesy of the liquor store across the street.

You can’t help but let your thoughts drift toward thick Philly accents as you sit in the gym on the first day of school, squashed between Jacob and Janine and caught directly in the middle of their conversation about whatever new Netflix documentary series dropped last week. You’re really trying to listen, but your thoughts are consumed by bright red curls and glittery lip gloss, not true crime documentaries.

You find yourself scanning the room as the pair babble on and you notice that the seating arrangement is half empty as you wait for the rest of the faculty to arrive and for Ava to take the stage for yet another development week speech that will go down in infamy at Abbott. She’s already poked her head from behind the curtain on the stage twice, clearly impatient to make her grand entrance to a group of less than willing participants.

You begin to hear the telltale sound of heeled boots clicking against the linoleum floor and you feel yourself freezing into place just as Melissa waltzes into the hall, Barbara in tow. You don’t know if you’re impressed or terrified at her ability to constantly wear those shoes and the thought makes you realize that you’ve never actually seen Melissa at her normal height.

Just as you suck in a deep breath, her eyes scan the room and instantly land where you sit, sandwiched between two of your rather enthusiastic co-workers. As her green eyes meet yours you see them shrink at the smile she sends your way, her pearly white teeth cutting through the shiny pink lip gloss she’s always wearing. You send a similar smile back, overjoyed at the fact she merely noticed you. God help your heart rate when she decides to talk to you for the first time in two months.

Your attention is pulled away by Barbara, who waves enthusiastically from behind Melissa, making her way toward the empty seats directly in front of you. Your eyes dart back to Melissa as she follows the billowing of the older woman’s cardigan, heels still impossibly loud against the floor.

The dark button down she’s sporting is tight against her torso, the sleeves rolled up to reveal her deceptively toned forearms. You have to remind yourself to look away for a split second, the thought of getting caught ogling her by one of your co-workers forcing you to tear your eyes away. You look toward Janine who has trailed off her conversation with Jacob, the pair watching you and Melissa like a tennis match. You feel your shoulders slump at Jacob’s knowing look, the excitement practically making him vibrate.

“You’re kidding, you know too?” You sigh.

“Uh yeah, you don’t exactly hide the heart eyes,” he scoffs. He must see the deer-in-headlights expression on your face because he continues, “I wouldn’t worry, she was definitely just throwing them right back at you.”

You have no time to reply as the subject of the conversation reaches the row of seats in front of you, sitting in the hard plastic chair and turning her torso to see you, hand resting on the back of her seat. Her smile is wide again as she looks to you. The panic brews in your throat and your palms instantly become sweaty at the prospect of Melissa feeling the intensity of your feelings.

“Hey hun, it’s been a while,” she says, her eyes still crinkled from the smile she wears. Her focus is entirely on you, ignoring the duo that sits on either of your sides.

“Yeah, it has,” you manage to stammer out, “How’ve you been? You look good.”

You inwardly cringe at your words but you’re not lying. She’s obviously had her hair dyed ready for the new school year and it’s even brighter than usual, making her even easier for you to pick out of a crowd. She looks so full of life and at ease, the break clearly having done her well. Her smile grows impossibly wider at your compliment, putting you instantly at ease.

“It was great,” she replies. “Spent a lotta time at the beach with my family, so I’m not as pasty as you may have remembered.”

She throws a wink your way with the last statement, causing a pink blush to cover your cheeks within seconds. What you wouldn’t give to actually see Melissa at the beach, totally relaxed on a sun lounger with a drink in hand. The image turns your cheeks an even deeper shade of red and Mel clearly catches on, her smirk letting you know that she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.

Before you even have chance to reply, Ava makes her grand entrance from behind the curtain to a chorus of groans that echos throughout the room.

You can feel Janine’s elbow nudging into your side, your friend having had a front row seat to your entire interaction with the redhead. The action earns her a swift kick to the ankle under her seat, accompanied by a hissed “don’t you dare”.

The meeting is over almost as quickly as it begins, Ava rushing back to her office to catch the latest episode of Real Housewives - she didn’t explicitly say it but you all know that’s the only reason she would be running back down the hall. You won’t complain though because it means you can get started with your work to prepare your classroom for the year ahead. You stand from your seat alongside Jacob and Janine and have all intentions of getting back to work when Melissa turns around again. Her emerald eyes stop you in your tracks, mid-stretch, your arms flexed above your head.

“I never got the chance to tell you earlier, but I really like your dress,” she says, completely catching you off guard. Your hands fall, hanging limply by your side and brushing against the floral fabric of your clothing. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wear it specifically to catch her eye this morning. The soft smile she wears on her face makes your heart melt, the look on her face only reserved for you. “It's real pretty.”

You both stand there for a few seconds, blushing like lovesick teenagers and staring into each other's eyes when a throat clearing brings you back to reality. Janine claps her hands together, flustered by the interaction.

“Okay, I’m gonna get back to my classroom and, uh, get started on cleaning. Have a good day guys!” She calls as she walks away with Jacob in tow, enthusiastic as ever as he throws a thumbs up your way. You know that within five minutes of leaving the school gym she’ll be in your classroom waiting for the rundown on what the hell just happened between you and Melissa, as if she didn’t see it all happen from inches away. At this rate, you wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob shows up with a bag of popcorn to join in with the gossip session.

“Oh shit, yeah, I need to clean before Nonna shows up,” Melissa mumbles, “I don’t wanna even think about the earful I’ll get if my classroom is a mess.” She doesn’t even stop to think before she turns on her heel and practically runs out of the gym and down the hall toward her classroom. You don’t have time to process her words before her best friend speaks.

“Well, I guess that just leaves us,” Barbara says from her place next to where the redhead stood. She wears a gentle smile on her face that will always help you feel at ease. She reaches her arm out to you, linking your arm within hers as she turns to walk. “Come on honey, I’ll walk you to your room and tell you all about the cruise I had with my Gerald.”

After a rather lengthy conversation about ‘Sea Barbara’ and her less-than-christian antics, you’re back at your door for the first time in months and can’t help but feel like you’re home. Nobody particularly likes their job but that couldn’t be further from the truth for you. Already, you’ve planned out the next year and can’t wait to welcome your little Eagles back into the classroom.

It’s a full hour later by the time you actually hear another person’s voice - Janine chose to keep her distance but will no doubt grill you about Melissa at some point today. It’s just a matter of when.

You hear the signature clicking of her heels before you can see her, her footsteps considerably slower than usual. You can hear her talking as she walks, though you can’t make you exactly what she’s saying. The footsteps grow louder and slower before you hear a knock against your doorframe, the door propped open by a thick stack of textbooks that you’ve wedged in front of it in a desperate attempt to get some airflow in the stuffy room.

The sound makes you whip your head from where you stand on your stepladder, stapler and crepe paper in hand as you put together a display for the kids. You know exactly who will be standing there, already smiling as you turn and meet her eyes.

“Hey Hun,” she says, “I’ve got someone here who wanted to really meet you.”

For the first time you notice the presence beside her. You don’t need to take any guesses that this is Melissa’s infamous Nonna, the older woman clearly having stamped her grandchildren with her genes - she looks exactly how you imagine Melissa would in her old age, her hair silver and leaning gently on a cane.

“Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmenti!” she exclaims, making you jump and stand up straighter, terrified at the prospect of already being on her bad side. You climb down from the ladder as she stares at you, smoothing your hands down the front of your dress in an effort to get rid of any creases that may have formed during the morning. “You said she was pretty, but not this pretty!”

You feel your shoulders relax as you laugh at the older woman, taken aback, Melissa by the side of her groaning loudly with a “Nonna, really?” You move toward the pair holding your hand out to shake the wrinkled one of the grey-haired lady before you. Her fingers are adorned by the same kind of jewelry that Melissa wears, her Sicilian heritage extremely clear from the large signet rings that she wears across her hands.

“And there’s no mistaking that you must be Nonna,” you grin, introducing yourself. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re like a living legend around here.” She closes her hand around yours, the other still gripping her cane.

“Pretty and complimentary?” She remarks, turning to look at her granddaughter whose face has managed to turn the same colour as her hair. “Well, you kept a lot quiet about this one.”

You can’t help but look at Melissa at this statement, catching her eye and smiling even wider, Nonna’s remarks already making your grin impossibly wide. Her brow relaxes itself slightly, the hard lines around her eyes softening when she sees the pure joy on your face at finally getting to meet the woman you’ve heard so much about over the last few years.

“I’m not sure if I want to hear exactly what you know about me,” you joke to her, catching Melissa’s eye yet again. The poor woman looks unbelievably flustered but it's a welcome change in your dynamic. She usually gets to revel in the fact that you turn into a puddle in her presence, but now you can only hope to add to the quickly darkening hue of her cheeks.

“Trust me, you do. This one doesn’t shut up about you,” she says, smiling slightly and cocking her head toward Melissa who is actively wishing that a sinkhole would open up beneath her feet. She lets go of your hand and moves further into the classroom, leaning ever so slightly on her stick but still moving with all the confidence of your favourite Schemmenti woman - at least you know where Melissa gets it from now.

Your eyes dart to Melissa, the older woman already looking back at you with a silent apology in her eyes her teeth worrying her bottom lip. You reach out and rub the top of her arm over her shirt in a small act of comfort, letting her know that this entire situation is doing nothing but working in her favour.

“Ya know, it’s nice seeing something other than my Melissa’s classroom or the reception desk at this school for once,” Nonna says, almost speaking to herself. She looks around the room almost in awe, taking in the displays in various degrees of completion around the room.

You follow her further in, Melissa hot on your tail behind you. She’s so close that you feel her almost walk straight into your back as you stop closer to the older woman, her once intimidating heels stuttering slightly on the wooden floor.

“So, tell me,” Nonna begins, turning in place to face you, “What brought a girl like you to Philly? I know you’re not a local.” Her eyes twinkle as she asks, and you have a sneaking suspicion that she already knows the answer to her question from the tales her granddaughter has seemingly told her about you.

“I just wanted a change,” you answer honestly. “I only thought I’d be here a couple years, but it’s been five and I can’t see myself leaving any time soon.”

At your statement you hear Melissa sigh by your side. As your head turns to meet her gaze you see just how much it softened at your words. She knows just how much you love your job and the dedication you’re willing to put into making sure these kids make it. Year after year she’s been the one to help you draft lesson plans and mark countless piles of work over a mug of coffee in the teachers’ lounge, helping you when you feel slightly out of your depth in more ways than she could imagine.

It’s only when she’s this close to your face that you can see the glittering of her lip gloss as she smiles slightly, her lips pulled together in a look that conveys so much softness.

“Do you like Italian food?” Nonna asks, breaking the tense silence that has fallen between you. You feel the redhead beside you jump, both of you completely forgetting that her grandmother is just meters away from your little moment. You can’t answer quick enough, crying out for her approval and hoping that you can focus back from the incredible green eyes that are currently burning into the side of your head.

“Oh yeah, I absolutely love an Italian,” you stutter out, “Can’t get enough.”

You inwardly cringe at your words as you hear Melissa snicker by your side, Nonna’s eyes twinkling with amusement again. You hear a quiet “Bedda Matri” from Melissa through the giggles that shake her body.

“I bet ya do,” Nonna says, her grin revealing her impossibly pearly white teeth. You can feel yourself getting warmer and you’re not sure if it’s from the stuffiness of your classroom and its broken windows or from the pure embarrassment radiating through your system. “You know, I taught Melissa everything she knows about Italian food. Maybe if you’re nice she’ll cook for you sometime.”

Nonna’s eyebrows are raised as you turn to meet Melissa’s eyes, the older woman shrugging in your direction. It's nice to know you aren’t the only person completely lost in this conversation.

“Oh, I know!” Nonna exclaims, making the pair of you jump yet again, “Melissa, how about you cook this nice girl the family baked ziti tonight? Say, 7 o’clock?”

“Uh sure, if you don’t have anything on?” Melissa says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion once again.

“No no, I’m totally free,” you stammer, your cheeks matching the deep red of your co-worker's hair. “I’ve got your address too.”

“Wonderful!” Nonna almost shouts, her shrill voice echoing off the semi-bare walls of your classroom. “You’re going to love it, trust me.” She says, throwing a wink your way.

You don’t particularly want to admit that the smaller woman is, but you do love it. So much so that two years later you’re twirling around a dance floor in a lacy white dress, Melissa in a matching getup and shiny new diamond rings on your left hands. As Billy Joel croons the chorus of ‘Just the Way You Are’ from the speakers set up around the room, you hear a familiar voice chirp up from a table just out of reach of the dance floor.

“You know, they would never have gotten together if I hadn’t practically knocked their heads together,” Nonna says, her voice carrying over the song as she explains her matchmaking services to Melissa’s Uncle Tony. You feel Melissa grin where her cheek rests against yours, your expression matching hers as you hear the older woman carry on. “I’m telling you now Anthony, this wedding wouldn’t even be happening if it wasn’t for me.”

You feel Melissa begin to giggle where she stands, her hands resting against the lace at the small of your back, thumbs rubbing gently against the surface as you sway together. You hear Nonna carry on, adamant that the life you’ve built wouldn’t be possible if not for her, and as much as you don’t want to give her satisfaction, you both know she’s right.

#wlw #self insert #reader fanfic #reader fic #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #writing #fluff #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fic #melissa schemmenti fanfic #lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter fic #melissa schemmenti x y/n

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songmingisthighs · 3 months

Text

Let Go

group : ateez

pairing : ex boyfriend!idoll!yunho × reader

genre : angst

wc : 4.3 k

tw : break up, angst, accident , dark theme (do not read if you're susceptible to dark thoughts)

a/n : i got this idea from reading @nonclassyparty's series, the 'subtle variations of heartbreak' particularly the yunho one and I'm not in a mentally good place so ofc i thought about this lmao

buy me coffee ?

Yunho was never one to loom in the past. His motto had always been 'just keep swimming' so he made sure that whatever happened in his life, he would go with it and just face it like a man. That was why people thought Yunho was so perfect, he had no regrets. But they would be wrong. Out of all the things in the world, there was one thing he regretted the most and being back at the place where it all began stirred something in Yunho. Maybe it was a mix of nostalgia and guilt, but whatever it is, the pain was a bit addicting as it allowed him to indulge in the memory of you.

It was around the time he graduated from high school. Everyone was excited to go forward, most of his friends had passed the college entrance exam while some had decided to continue their family business. That was what people expected from his town which was why when Yunho announced that he was going to focus on being an idol and move to the heart of the country, people were thrilled.

One of those people was you.

You had been Yunho's rock ever since you both started dating in the 9th grade, sticking together through thick and thin, you with your studies and Yunho with his training. It was hard but you both made it work and you both became the school's power couple, the couple who will end up together no matter what. In fact, you had been the one encouraging Yunho to pursue training no matter the distance while you helped as best as you could. So you both really had gone through everything including fights because you both were tired, had doubts over the future, and bad exam results from your hakwon and his monthly evaluation. You both wet through all that and still stuck together.

So it made sense that even after you got accepted to a prestigious university in KAIST, you still made plans to be in Yunho's life. Little did you know, he wasn't planning the same.

It was one afternoon and you were scrolling through your course catalogue with your mom while discussing how to move your things to the dorm in two weeks time when there was a knock on the front door, surprising you and your mom. But it wasn't a surprise to see Yunho on the other side with a small smile on his face. You noticed that he had been rather gloomy this past couple of weeks and you thought that it was because he was sad that he was going to be separated from you. Well, in a sense he was.

"Hi Mrs. (y/l/n), can I borrow (y/n) for a while?" Yunho politely asked for permission which had become some sort of redundant request since your mom would actually be the one to encourage you two to spend more time together. Even though you lived on the same street, your mom knew that as youngsters in love, no amount of time is enough time, especially with what's just up ahead. So it didn't really surprise you when your mom practically pushed you out the door and told you to not worry about coming home late, she had even given you and Yunho some money to spend.

So you both found yourselves walking side-by-side with ice cream in your hands. You both got an ice cream cone of your favourite flavours. But not even the sweetness of the treat managed to melt the sourness off of Yunho's face. You had even tried to hold Yunho's hand as you both walked slowly from the convenience store but he was too deep in his thought to even notice. Heck, he was too deep in his thought to utter a single word.

Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, Yunho abruptly halted his steps and turned to look at you.

"We need to break up," he stated.

For a moment you thought you heard wrong so you tried chuckling it off, "Um, what?" you asked awkwardly, feeling your heartbeat rising. Yunho sighed and stood firm, "We need to break up," he repeated, the same intonation and cadence making him seem so robotic and detached. But even then you recognize the seriousness which caused your eyebrows to furrow, "Wait, what the hell? Why? Where is this coming from?" Without wavering, Yunho looked directly into your eyes determinedly, "We are about to journey our own paths. Let's not hold each other back," and you couldn't help but get more confused, "Hold each other back? What- Where- How-," it was obvious that the logic alludes you because you had planned the perfect strategy to still maintain your relationship with Yunho while he was preparing for his debut and you for your education.

Then an idea hit you.

"Did the company ask you to break up with me?" Now it was Yunho who furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Did you tell them before we could make a plan on how to tell them?" you added.

You both were well aware that once Yunho's debut date got nearer you two would have to press pause on the relationship in a way. You both knew that it was unrealistic for an idol to be dating not because he was trying to put his fans first but more because you didn't want his dedication to stray. You knew how a relationship can cause someone to lose sight of their goal and Yunho would be sharing his goal with apparently seven other people, one whom you've grown to like as he was just like the gentle giant of a boyfriend you had. So you both were planning on telling the company together, trusting them to protect Yunho and should it come down to it, you as well.

"No, they don't even know I'm dating anyone. But you made a good point, I don't feel comfortable going through a commitment with my agency with this big of a secret weighing me down."

The words Yunho used hurt you because first, he insinuated that he WANTED the breakup not because you two should and then he was basically saying that you were in the way.

So you scoffed and crossed your arms on your chest, standing up to him, "So I'm a burden now?" Even during your previous fights with Yunho, he'd know when he'd struck a nerve and he would either take it back or explain what he actually meant. But the sigh he let out before answering you gave you the chills and not the good ones. "If you're going to act this way then yes, I think you're a burden now." You didn't know how Yunho was able to say such things to you so easily because you know for a fact that had it been you in his position, no matter the situation, you wouldn't have been able to say something with such gravity towards someone you know you live with what you can only discern as nonchalance.

If Yunho felt bad at the way you reacted to his harsh words, shoulders slumped and eyes glassy, he was doing a particularly great job at hiding it. Even as you sniffled and wiped some stray tears away, the look on Yunho's face didn't change. It wasn't like you were expecting for him to change his mind or take back his words just because you were looking so pathetic, but you didn't expect him to seem so detached either.

"Look, this was bound to happen anyways, (y/n), you know it. We had agreed that we would pause our relationship when-" "PAUSE, Yunho, not BREAK UP!" you cut him off, this time unable to hold your emotion at bay. "Well, why wait? Why do we have to wait to take a pause when I FINALLY debuted? Even then, why should we hang onto each other, hovering in uncertainties for God knows how long? I don't want to live like that, (y/n), not when I'm leaving tonight!"

As if things weren't already so abrupt and surprising for you, you were thrown with the newest revelation. The plan was for you two to leave home on the same day, preventing the other to remain in loneliness in the place you both shared so many memories with. But truly, this was a betrayal on top of more betrayal.

Considering the situation Yunho had put you in, it was hard to not believe that Yunho didn't care at all about you. In the past 10 minutes, he had hurt you more than anyone else ever did in your life and you just want to get away.

So you did.

You took a step back and sighed in defeat, looking at him for what you thought would be the last time ever, "Well then, I wish you the luck you deserve, Yunho. Truly, I hope your decision stays with you longer than you allowed me to." With that, you turned around and walked back home alone, crying the whole way, leaving Yunho in his spot to let the reality of what happened sink in. He never expected you to react well, he was breaking up with you or goodness sake, but he never expected the situation to taste so bitter in his mouth. All he could do was hope that it was truly for the best. Regret be damned.

"So how are the boys, Yunho?" his mom asked, smiling at her eldest as he slurped down his noodles. Yunho took a moment to chew his food properly before answering, "They're great. We've been so busy with work, we don't even have time to argue properly," he joked, making his parents laugh, "How's Gunho? How's the house?" The question made his mom roll her eyes, "You wouldn't have to ask if you come home! We've moved to the new neighbourhood for two years already and you barely spent two weeks in total!" because home is not home when (y/n) is not around, "Sorry mom, my schedule is very unpredictable so I can't really do anything about it." Thankfully, his dad chimed in, nodding along, "He's right honey, you know Yoo Seunghwan's son, the one working at that corporation thing, he's worked so hard that he couldn't even stay back during that school reunion! You remember that, right Yunho?" of course Yunho remembered. It was the first high school reunion and Yunho had to reject the invitation, saying that he was expected to go abroad around that time when in fact, he didn't want to face you. Not since the last time he saw you. And it wasn't even that time he broke up with you in front of the convenience store.

In all honesty, Yunho had been thinking about you nonstop these past couple of months. It had been years since Yunho saw, talked, or even heard about you. He became irrational, actively avoiding people just so he wouldn't know how much you thrived without him while he remembered the night of his debut when he cried himself to sleep and had to be consoled by San, Mingi, and Wooyoung who thought he was emotional over the achievement when in fact he was crying because he had worked so hard for the debut and that he wouldn't have been ab;e to go that far had it not been for your support but now that the moment arrived, he couldn't share it with you. It was then that he realized how badly he fucked up by breaking things off with you so coldly. You meant so much to him but he let stress get the best of him so much so that he took it out on you. He could still remember the way you looked at him and no, it wasn't that time he broke up with you in front of the convenience store.

"Do you guys know what happened to (y/n)?"

Yunho froze when he realized he had accidentally blurted out the question. He had wondered internally, of course but he didn't mean to ask it out loud. He was about to take it back when he saw the way his parents looked at each other weirdly.

"What?" He asked, curious, "Do you guys know something?" he pressed, now curious. While his dad avoided his gaze, his mom was looking at him with pity in her eyes.

"Oh my God, she got married didn't she?" Yunho choked, feeling his heart clench so painfully, thinking that he had lost you to another man. Not that it should have meant anything to Yunho considering he was the one who tossed you aside so easily.

His mom frantically tried to calm him down, disliking the distressed look on her son's face. "No, no, no, no, no, honey, no! It's nothing like that, believe me! It's just..." she trailed off, slapping his dad on the arm to make him look at her. One stern look and he sighed, relenting and nodding, "I guess he should know. It's about time," he said. Yunho stared at his parents with furrowed eyebrows, "Know about what?" he asked, but his mom only smiled sadly, "We'll take you there after this." The way they were acting and speaking made Yunho worry and he started internally blaming himself for not trying to get an update about you sooner. It would have probably been a better idea for him to still keep in touch but again, the pain of remembering that it was his fault that the whole thing even happened in the first place was more than he could bear. He was being so pathetic.

The rest of the lunch was concluded rather quickly after that and soon enough Yunho found himself in the backseat of his parents' car.

Another wave of nostalgia washed over him as he watched over the road, remembering the last time he had passed the same street which was the same day he broke up with you. The very last time he had seen you with his own two eyes, shrouded in the darkness of the night but still very much visible to his eyes.

Yunho decided not to dilly-dally, shoved everything he needed to bring into the trunk of his parent's car, and slammed the door shut. At the same time, he turned around to get back inside the house to call for his parents, he saw you slamming the door of your house and speed-walking to the other side of the road as if trying to get away in a rush. Had it been any other time, Yunho would've rushed to your side and done whatever he had to do to make you smile again. But his convictions solidified his decision and hardened his heart so instead of rushing to you, he simply turned and went on with his plan.

Yunho thought that it would be hard to decide to pretend to not care about you. Well, he was correct on that because his mind was plagued by the distraught look on your face. sure he only saw it for less than 5 seconds, but the impact was greater than he could imagine. It didn't help that the car drove in the exact same path you took and Yunho kept wondering what you might be thinking about. Pathetic.

The constant questions of you in his head halted the moment he saw a familiar figure in a familiar spot. His eyes had been so used to your figure that it just immediately recognized you sitting in the spot you both had claimed. Yunho immediately got reminded of the time you both ducked there to shield yourselves from the scorching summer sun, the time the two of you were joking around too much that you accidentally pushed each other into the deep pond, causing you both to be fished out and scolded by the authorities, and although it was a bad idea, the time you two found shelter during a harsh rain with thunders that terrified you but you told him that you felt safer because he was with you. The memories didn't help Yunho. In fact, it made him feel nauseated, almost vomiting in the car from the mixed feelings. He didn't want to admit it then but the guilt was gnawing at his insides so ruthlessly, he thought it was simply him finally experiencing a break-up and that the feeling was normal.

Almost comically, as the car's headlights illuminated your figure, you turned around and your eyes stared straight into Yunho's. Not that you knew because you were practically blinded. On the other hand, Yunho could see the redness on your face and the tears streaming down your cheeks so clearly that the pain that was already plaguing his heart increased tenfold.

"Yunho, dear, isn't that (y/n)?" His mom asked.

Time moved slowly for him and in that duration, he was able to carve the brokenhearted look on your face in his mind. But even then, Yunho only averted his gaze and softly muttered a reply to his mom, "Yeah, that's her." Sensing that he didn't want to talk about it, his parents kept quiet and drove on, allowing Yunho to his own thoughts.

"What are we doing here?" Yunho asked as he got out of the car, nervously looking around the park where he last saw you. The parking space they took was not far from your spot. Heck, he could see the tree from where he was standing.

"You remember the last time you saw (y/n)?" His mom linked her arm around Yunho's and she slowly started to lead him forward, obviously going towards the spot while his dad walked alongside him on his other side.

The night I ignored her crying at our spot. "Yeah, I broke up with her in front of the convenience store," he lied. His mom shook her head, "No, sweetie. We were driving you to move into your dorm when we passed by her, right in this park, over there by the tree," she pointed, not realizing that Yunho knew damn well what she was talking about. "Oh..." Yunho couldn't help but duck his head in shame, the closer the spot got, the harder it was for him to keep his emotions in check and it was almost impossible when his dad placed a hand on his shoulder. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I only suggested it because I think you deserve to know," his dad said.

Anxiety bubbled in Yunho's chest, he didn't like the way his parents were talking as if something had happened to you.

"You guys are freaking me out, what-"

His voice died in his throat the moment they arrived at the spot. What was usually a clear spot with grass under the big tree now had a small spot seemingly dedicated to something, trinkets littered the spot; small ones like beaded bracelets and bigger ones like some very familiar plushies, But on top of them all, the picture of you stood out the most to Yunho.

"What's this?" Yunho asked, voice wavering slightly as his eyes continuously scanned the area. Deep down he already knew what happened, but he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it.

His mom was already tearing up the moment they got there, reliving her memories when she had heard about you. Seeing this, his father stepped up.

"I'm sorry to say this, son. (y/n)... She's gone. She died," he stated with a voice so emotional and so soft, that Yunho almost thought that he was hallucinating.

"Wh- when- How? How long ago was this?" he asked, glassy eyes finally lifted from the trinkets to look at his dad, seeking answers and hope. Though reluctant, his dad decided that he couldn't let another minute go by without letting Yunho know as he had been kept away from the information long enough.

"That day we drove you to your dorm. (y/n) had an accident."

There it was, the loud crack of his world-shattering.

You had been crying yourself since you came back from the convenience store. Heart broken, hopes shattered, it didn't help that your mom had attempted to console you. Her kind words and caring treatment only made you feel worse which was why you felt the need to escape reality, you wanted to wallow to yourself for just a while before you were told that everything was going to be okay because it wasn't. It was absolutely not okay for you and you needed to not be okay first before you could be okay again.

Despite fearing running into Yunho, you pushed past the fear and ran straight out, going to the first place you could think of where you could be safe with your feelings. You had cried so much that you couldn't even cry properly anymore, only silent tears as pain engulfed you whole. It was hard to breathe and it felt like it was hard to go on living. It wasn't just the fact that you were broken up with, it was the fact that it was Yunho who had broken up with you in such a ruthless way. As much as you hated to admit it, you couldn't help but feel like it was as if he had used you. For what, you didn't know, you no longer knew what to think because first, you thought that you and Yunho were solid but apparently that was utter bullshit, then you thought that you and Yunho had a plan but apparently, he had one of his own that he preferred, and lastly, you thought that you and Yunho could go through anything but apparently, the fact that each of you had different paths planned was enough to break everything.

As if life wasn't making such a joke out of you enough, you saw Yunho's car coming your way. The headlights blinded you and you weren't sure what was going on inside. But for some odd reason, the blinding lights were enough to numb you completely from all the senses there is. For a moment, you couldn't see anything and all you could hear was the ringing in your ear but it felt comforting.

Without you realizing it, you head moved too close to the edge of the grass and slipped into the pond. The cold rendered you inanimate and the water engulfed you completely. At first splash, reality hit that you had fallen into the pond but soon the cold water provided some pressure that felt like a hug to you. The darkness and the way the water blocked sounds other than the comforting sloshes of water pulled you into a realm of otherworldly tranquillity and in that moment you made a decision that would alter your life forever.

You decided to let go.

This time, at the same spot you mourned over your heart, Yunho found himself mourning over his love. His love that was lost. His love that HE let loose.

"They found her body in the morning, her parents thought she had gone to one of her friend's houses considering the state she was in when she left, they didn't think to worry until the police found her right here," his dad explained, he too was crying at the memory of finding out what had happened to you.

Yunho's knees buckled and he staggered to find support on the tree that held a lot of the memories you both shared. "W-why didn't I know this? She was g-gone for so long, how- how did I not know?" Yunho was stuttering, his mind working doubles trying to make sense of things. His mom crouched down next to him and grabbed his hand, "You were starting your journey, sweetie, we didn't want you to stray because of this. Also," his mom paused to look up at his dad who could only nod at her slowly, "(y/n)'s parents asked us to not tell you that early. They told us that (y/n) had did her best supporting you throughout everything, wanting nothing more than you to succeed in your own path so they don't want to jeopardize her dedication. They want to make sure her efforts paid off."

It wasn't as if Yunho had hoped to hear something that would make him feel better because he knew nothing in the world would. He had been so horrible to you that last day and he had been so horrible after that by actively not trying to get to know how you were. His pride should not have mattered to him so much so he settled with just not knowing how you were. That was not something he was supposed to do. More and more, he regretted the way he treated you that final day and how he had been so unfair to you. No amount of tears and no matter how loud he cried would make up for what he had done and he believed that your demise was his fault. Had he stopped the car that night to acknowledge you even for just a moment, maybe the situation would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have lost you.

Lost you.

That was ironic since he was the one who pushed you away. He broke you in your final moments.

And now, Yunho was left unable to properly apologize to you for what he had done. Unable to tell you how much he hated himself for what he did. Unable to tell you how you deserved way better than him. Unable to tell you how he wanted to work, no matter how hard you would make it, just so you would accept his apology.

But now all he could accept was the bitter reality that there was nothing he could do to make things right.

All he could accept was that he had let go first.

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maxknightley · 7 months

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Which Touhou Girls Can You Plausibly Read As Butch? A Comprehensive Overview

Earlier on Tumblr I saw a post complaining that someone called Hecatia Lapislazuli from Touhou Project butch. This is Hecatia Lapislazuli:

Obviously, like most Touhou characters, she is in fact quite feminine - she just shops at Hell Hot Topic. But it got me thinking: In a series like Touhou, with a cast overwhelmingly defined by feminine (if rowdy) ladies, how many characters could you say are 'butch' without sounding like a complete doofus or significantly redesigning them to fit your headcanon?

CRITERIA

I'll be using four main criteria to judge characters' butchness. In real life, of course, butchness is a multivalent and extremely personal thing, but I'm talking about funny cartoon women from a video game here, so I'm willing to be a little reductive.

These criteria, in order of descending importance, are:

FASHION. In a series where goddamn near everyone is in either a dress or a skirt, the mere act of Wearing A Dress Shirt can be enough to make a powerful statement. Hats may also play a role here, given how many Touhou characters have gay little hats.

HAIRSTYLE. Short hair is not the be-all and end-all of butchness. I, myself, am Decidedly Butch even though I've been growing out my hair since college. But the length and styling of the hair are still a valuable indicator of how someone thinks of themself and wants to be seen.

'TUDE. Could this character be accurately described as "kind of a frat boy?" How do they speak to others? Do they just kind of seem like a character who ought to be butch, regardless of their looks? Do they even lift?

COMEDY FACTOR. Self-explanatory. This will probably only come into play if I run into a weird edge case.

I'll also emphasize that we're grading on a curve here - butchness is being assessed relative to the characters who do not appear on this list. Nobody in this series has a buzzcut, you know what I mean?

THE TIER LIST

AS CLOSE TO CANON AS WE'LL GET

Fujiwara no Mokou. The girl wears a dress shirt, fucking suspenders, and trousers. Not shorts, actual full-length pants. She's also in a perpetual love-hate mutual-murder situationship with Princess Kaguya, who is femme as all fuck. Obviously you don't have to be butch to date a femme - I'm just saying it feels Fitting given their whole deal.

Yuugi Hoshiguma. Most of the time, her fashion sense is actually quite feminine - but her look in the most recent chapter of Cheating Detective Satori, with the one exposed shoulder and the sarashi and all that, significantly alters the balance. Her hair actually reads as more masc to me when she keeps it long and unruly - when she puts it up in a ponytail, she ends up looking very kempt, even elegant. The deciding factor here is 'Tude: Her sheer levels of butch swag are off the fucking charts. (Still, I wouldn't blame someone for arguing she should be knocked down a tier - especially since I'd argue the Comedy Factor works in reverse here. She's way funnier if she doesn't think of herself as butch in the slightest.)

Minamitsu Murasa. In his original appearance I'd argue that Murasa is in "Reasonable" tier - maybe even as low as "Kind of a Stretch." But her big gay Jotaro jacket in Sunken Fossil World, combined with the emphasis on the weightiness and solidity of his trademark anchor, put her over the top. One of the only Touhou girls I consider worthy of being He/Himmed.

Shinmyoumaru Sukuna. The other He/Him-worthy Touhou girl. Very short, slightly messy hair; wears a kimono, not a dress; inheritor of Issun-Boshi's legacy; wears fucking dinnerware as a hat. Why do you want to be Big so badly, huh? So you can pick up women more easily? So you can carry your awful wife through the upside-down threshold of your upside-down bedroom?

Raiko Horikawa. For the longest time I thought her skirt was a pair of shorts because I straight up could not parse it as anything else. Even now I'm like "that can't possibly be a skirt, ZUN just drew it weird. She has to be wearing a full two-piece suit." Skirt aside, her jacket/dress shirt/necktie are still undeniable, as is her short hair. Also, she is a taiko drum given life, and I feel like taiko and timpanis are naturally butch. Maybe if she was a tambourine or a set of bongos I'd rank her lower?

Momoyo Himemushi. Rough-talking miner. Wears a dress shirt, leaves the top button(?) undone. Tromps around a big weird cave with no shoes or socks on. Wears bows and bangles basically everywhere but in her messy, tangled hair. Also, maybe I'm stereotyping here, but I just can't picture a centipede as being femme.

REASONABLE

Wriggle Nightbug. The dress shirt, cape, and puffy shorts all paint a vivid picture, but I just feel like I don't have a strong enough opinion on Wriggle as a character to put her in the top tier. In other words, she's got plenty of points for Fashion and quite a few for Hairstyle, but I just don't think the 'Tude is sufficient for me.

Reisen Udongein Inaba. The skirts are a strike against her, but her whole "dress shirt + necktie + sometimes suit jacket" thing makes a big difference, especially given that we're grading on a curve. Her rumpled ears and (particularly in Inaba of the Moon, Inaba of the Earth) pathetic demeanor go a long way towards giving her a vibe somewhere between "overworked salaryman" and "Detective Columbo."

Aya Shameimaru. All you need to know about Aya is that her "human reporter" disguise looks like This:

Mononobe no Futo. Butch, but in a really weird, circuitous way, imo. Like. She's sort of wearing a dress, but it's sort of a robe - the contrast of the hemline with her big flowy sleeves makes it hard to pin down - and her outfit quite notably has tassels rather than any kind of frills. I don't know what the hell is up with her hat but it's definitely not femme by any stretch of the imagination. Then thou hast the wayes in which she speaketh all "faux-olde-timey," even though nobody else in the setting does that... she transferred her soul into a plate, but she also throws plates around as weapons... It's like she's constantly putting on a performance that only she truly understands. It's like she reverse-engineered "masculine womanhood" by hanging out with a bunch of queens and doing kind of the same thing but kind of the inverse. The more I think about Futo the more I think she's entirely on her own wavelength, but I think "Reasonable" tier is a... uh, reasonable... approximation for the sake of this post.

Sagume Kishin. She dresses like if Bill Nye were a woman, and I think that cuts to the heart of it - she reminds me of a professor who you're not ever sure is gay, but you kind of pick up on a vibe, and near the end of the semester she offhandedly refers to "her partner" and you're like HOLY SHIT I KNEW IT. I went back and forth between putting her in "Reasonable" and "Kind of a Stretch"; ultimately, the Comedy Factor decided it because I couldn't stop thinking about a scenario where she says she's a woman, accidentally upends her whole understanding of gender in the process, and ends up taking testosterone while still ID'ing as a lesbian. I don't actually know if her powers would work that way and I don't care.

KIND OF A STRETCH

Eiki Shiki. I don't have a lot to go on, here, because she hasn't had many official appearances and seems to spend most of her time lecturing people or tormenting sinners. Her uniform(?)/apothecary outfit(??) is pretty snazzy; combined with the hat, it gives her a vaguely "military officer" look to me. We'll call her "butch pending further investigation," which I think she would agree is the correct course of action.

Sekibanki. She's here partially because of the cape, and partially because being sandwiched between Wakasagihime and Kagerou makes her look way more masc by contrast. I know what I said.

Ringo. It's pretty much just the hat and the pants, though - as a butch woman who Loves Eating - I am also inclined to project my own experiences onto her.

Aunn Komano. She reads as more "tomboyish" than outright "butch" to me, what with her whole puppy-dog vibe, but at the same time... she's very much wearing shorts and the kind of goofy-looking button-up shirt that is central to my own wardrobe and the wardrobe of other butches in my life. I'm willing to count her.

Takane Yamashiro. A living testament to the power of small character design choices. I would never in a million years call Nitori butch, even with her gay little hat and all the pouches on her outfit - she just looks like a girl scout. Takane, though? Takane, with her little hair swoopy, and the fucking suitcase slung over her back, and her camo-print dress? I mean - ultimately it is still a dress, which is why I can't justify scoring her higher, but she's definitely chewing tobacco and riding around on an ATV on weekends.

Chiyari Tenkaijin. If she's butch, it's not really because she's trying to be butch, it's just because being femme seems too expensive and time-consuming. She's got better things to do (drink blood all day). Still, I think an argument could be made.

DEFINITELY A STRETCH, BUT I RESPECT IT

Renko Usami. ZUN is kind of inconsistent with how he draws her hat - sometimes it's more of a porkpie/fedora type thing, other times it's round-topped and looks a bit like Koishi's hat. To me, this is a crucial distinction. In a more general sense, I feel like Renko's outfit gets a little less plausibly-masc with each passing album, which says a lot about our society. Or her society, anyway, since she lives in the future. Still, the capelets and bowties...

Rinnosuke Morichika. I think it would be really funny if the only significant male character in Touhou wasn't actually even a dude. I'm not aware of any real textual support for this interpretation, though.

Shou Toramaru. Pretty much only on here because of the hair and because I think there's a certain je ne sais quoi to her whole deal of "she's not a real tiger, she's the idea of a tiger that pre-Meiji Japanese people came up with from secondhand accounts."

Seija Kijin. Not even remotely butch by any stretch of the imagination... But if she did consider herself butch, isn't that exactly what she'd want you to think?

POTENTIALLY NOTEWORTHY EXCLUSIONS

Cirno. "Tomboyish" is not the same thing as "butch," to me, especially if you exclusively wear dresses. Also, I'm not sure Cirno even knows what a lesbian is.

Saki Kurokoma. Not actually butch, just a horse girl. (And a horsegirl.)

Mike Goutokuji. Can't tell if she's wearing a skirt or shorts. She's got short hair, sure, but the whole "matching bell collar and wristbands that also have bells attached" thing makes her look more like a Very Online Trans Woman who just figured herself out and hasn't started hormones or bought any new clothes yet.

#touhou #touhou project #crossposted from cohost after i spent like an hour on it.

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jiminrings · 6 months

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fail-safe; intermission 02.

wordcount: 2k

glimpse: you leave for the night, but hopefully for good in the future.

alternatively, jungkook offers you reprieve.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

You’ve come to loathe your childhood home.

You’ve come to loathe your room and most especially your bed. You’ve come to hate the people who inhabit it in one way or another, whether it is to guard the door to it or sleep on it.

You detest the floor space that makes everyone who enters it regard it as cozy as if it’s an embrace that’s waiting solely for them. You despise the way it smells, the mix of what lived-in comes off as a scent seeming like an invitation for just about everyone.

The start and end to everything that has caused you immense pain in your life had something to do with your home. From the evident patriarch that’s missing in all your family photos, to how the outside doesn’t seem lavish compared to the facades of your classmates’ houses, to even the visitor that has been hellbent since day one to treat it as his very own — everything that has given you grief comes from the same place you’ve sworn up and down gave you nothing but comfort.

You don’t know where to place all your rage; you can’t even start unpacking everything you hold inside because there’s no space in a house so little to even tolerate you. It houses everything from a past (you’re not so sure of the tense) lover to offspring of said lover, but what your home can’t do is bear you–

Which is why you find yourself driving up to the big city, crashing into a room you know the most outside of your own space in your own house, just to stay for the night. It’s maintained to the state of when you’ve last been in it, the sight of the city below you reminding you that even for just a second, you could pretend that it’s your own home.

It’s your own space in the big city where there isn’t a brother whose loyalties don’t lie with you. It’s your own home wherein you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s intruding on everyone else in there because out of all of them, you’re the one who’s the least-adjusted when it comes to family. You’re above everyone, even if it’s just pretend, and in your few moments of peace, it comes. The click on the door comes, and you freeze up instantly.

What you didn’t expect is for the owner of it to actually come home.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, immediately straightening up your form on his couch. You didn’t even dare to put up your feet on his coffee table but with the way you react, he’d almost think you defiled it in ways he can’t even imagine. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t find any vacant hotels that could take me in such a short notice.”

There’s no confusion in Jungkook’s face. Surprise, sure, because he’s not used to anyone else having his key except for you, and when his eyes did settle to the light, his shock immediately dissipated. There’s no hostility. No arrogance, and no hint on his face telling you that you were unwelcome.

If anything, he looks warm.

“Oh come on, Y/N. You can crash anytime you’d like,” he laughs loudly once he figures that your startled expression looks amusing, the sound of his keys hitting the bowl snapping you out of your daze. “God knows you’ve saved my ass and let me crash in your house far too many times.”

Jungkook takes off his coat and hands you his own house slippers, sliding them from underneath your feet that you’re adamant to not put up anywhere else besides the floor.

You’re relieved for the most part, the guilt that you feel in your stomach creeping into your chest because Jungkook looks relaxed. Nonchalant, even, to know that you dropped into his home without even asking. It’s the total opposite of what you’ve felt seeing Yoongi do the same to you, the lone difference being Jungkook actually wanting you to be here.

“That’s because I’m your manager. That’s literally my work,” you sigh breathlessly, accepting the meal that he gives you sheepishly. You’d have to share with him because he wasn’t expecting anyone, but oddly enough, Jungkook’s more apologetic than you are because he didn’t check on you during your break. Your talent’s sorry because he didn’t anticipate you coming to him, and it’s a situation you’re completely unused to.

You’re not used to being on the receiving end of apologies.

“No, that’s beyond your work. A friend would do that. A manager would rat me out to the CEO and give me an ultimatum,” Jungkook corrects you, flipping his hair that’s grown out since his last project. The break the both of you are in on is literally the first throughout your whole careers, and the sudden reunion reminds you of the fact that he is correct.

Jungkook sees the knot in between your eyebrows, the same one that always appeared whenever you had to chew someone out for messing up something on his agenda, the chuckle that leaves him making you look up attentively.

“You could use a drink. You look like you need it,” he stands up to pour you a glass of his favorite liquor in his favorite glass, the worn-out milk cup freebie of his cereal being the perfect container whenever he wanted to get tipsy but not drunk. “How was going home?”

“It felt bad,” you admit with no shame. It’s Jungkook, and even if he has more stuff going on in his life success-wise than you do, you don’t feel a need to prove yourself. “I had to leave early.”

“And how was seeing Yoongi?” he raises a brow, still adept to the stories about him whenever you both took a load off busy schedules with drinking.

“Even worse,” you grumble, shuddering at the remembrance of a memory that’s still fresh in your mind. “I had to leave early because he was on my bed again, but this time, sleeping with his ex-wife and his son.”

Jungkook gasps softly, lips parting open in shock. “The same guy who fucked his high school sweetheart in your room?”

“Get this,” you chuckle with no real humor to it, looking down on your cup with a hatred that he could recognize. He doesn’t see it everyday, most especially not from you either, but Jungkook knows that look — that anger that could only come from someone who had to endure so much. “High school sweetheart and mother of his child and ex-wife? Just the same person.”

You’re not sure if it’s pity you should expect from Jungkook. You don’t expect any grand reaction because he should be desensitized to points like these (he’s done his fair share of dramas, both melodramatic and straight-up cheesy), but what you certainly don’t expect is for him to launch himself at you. To comfort you.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles to your shoulder, large hand cupping repeatedly against your back.

“What are you sorry for?” you whisper, pulling away to wipe at the tears at the corners of your eyes before they get on Jungkook. You turn your head away, pretending that the city you look down on is Yoongi, and that the tears that pool onto your cheeks aren’t there at all. “It must be Yoongi’s birthright to go sleep in my room like he owns it.”

Your sarcasm can’t carry over not because you sniffled, but because Jungkook is perhaps the most observant person in the world after you. “But that’s not the worst, Jungkook.”

He’s nervous for a second before it turns into annoyance, the look of genuine concern filling his face. He has his hand on your forearm, trying to get you to look at him so when you do lie, he could catch it. “Do you need me to rough him up for you?”

“I have no right,” you mutter to yourself more than you do for him, kissing your teeth at the frustration that whatever it is to do, you can’t seem to pick yourself up now. “I can get angry at him for sleeping on my bed with no permission. I can even get angry at him for lots of things. For giving me this, this false hope that we’ll ever amount to something,” you shakily exhale, looking down on your hands that are far from Hyewon’s that have held him and their child. “But the one thing — the one thing I can’t get angry at Yoongi for is him sleeping with his family.”

You have no right. Absolutely no semblance, no fraction of anything that could ever lead you to the conclusion that you have a say on how Yoongi loves his family, even if he’s divorced Hyewon whom he’ll forever keep the porch light on for.

He can leave town and take his share, but Hyewon can always come home — that’ll never change because she was once someone whom he loved the most (probably still), and the mother to Haneul. The porch light is on and the windows are cracked open in the event that she wants to come home to them, be it their home in New York or Los Angeles, be it the home you grew up in.

“What can I do about that, Jungkook? I can’t fault him for that. That’s his family. I don’t play any part in it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Y/N,” he soothes you, fingertips lightly scratching at your scalp. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Stop lying,” you cry to your hands even if Jungkook’s chest is right in front of you, the best he could do (the best that you allow because you’re not used to anyone going out of their way for you) only letting you cry the way you know how.

“I’m saying the truth,” he hums, unconsciously swaying you back in forth as you sit on the floor together. “People take so much from you, do you know that? Weren’t you the one that had to hustle and get a practical job because your brother was gambling on passion alone?” he tilts his head, wiping at your tears. “Weren’t you the one who had to carry all the hurt when it came to Yoongi?”

Jungkook even comes to a conclusion.

“I’m guilty of it too. I give you such a hard time.”

“Stop it,” you nudge him, effectively snapping out of your crying state when you hear Jungkook going into a train he shouldn’t even board in the first place. “That’s different. It’s literally my job to go through a hard time so you don’t.”

“But still. I feel like I don’t pay you enough for it,” he frowns, the immediate laugh that bursts from your lips making him smile.

“The agency does, but okay,” you roll your eyes. “Besides, the bonus you gave me enabled me to buy a new car.”

“Eh,” he shrugs exaggeratedly in faux arrogance, the smile on his face cheeky enough that it makes you throw your head back in amusement. “It is a nice car, isn’t it?”

Jungkook does it so quick, it being your reprieve, you don’t even notice that it’s the first long stretch of silence you’re under without thinking about anything but yourself; how you breathe, how you feel your fingers move, and even how steady your heart feels.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you smile softly, turning to him as he does the same. “For letting me crash and making things a little lighter for me. Even if it isn’t your job.”

“We’ve known each other for years,” he reasons. “You’re there and I’m there, even we’re not on the clock.”

There’s weight behind his smile, the inkling that pops up into your brain making you chuckle to yourself as you straighten up once again.

“I’ll get out of your hair in a few hours. I need to beat the traffic on the way back.”

“You’re still going back? This has got to be torture.”

You shrug carelessly, sighing heavily. “Three more days. My mom’s been blowing up my phone telling me she wants the family complete so she wouldn’t look stupid in front of everyone for this big family reunion,” you nod to yourself, building up whatever dignity and resolve you have left. “I think I can endure that much for her.”

Jungkook’s mind is as set as yours is to go home.

“You don’t have to endure it alone,” he offers, eyes wide and honest.

“What?”

“I’m an actor. Award-winning,” he adds, the smile that lingers on his face giving you more than just reprieve. “Even better than that, I’m also a good friend and an excellent debt-payer.”

“Jungkook,” you say his name as warning, partly in disbelief, and partly to convince yourself that he’s not thinking what you’re thinking.

“You’re a decent actress too. Just follow my lead,” he shrugs, shoving you lightly.

“You’re ridiculous,” you gasp, shaking your head adamantly. “Seriously, you don’t want to play any part in this chaos-…”

“I’ve been in worse settings,” he counters. “Stop taking shit, Y/N. Pretty woman like you doesn’t deserve anything of the sort.”

“Jungkook.”

He knows he already has you partly convinced when you let him get another word in.

“You and me, dating, driving back home. You can pretend you’re alright and unaffected with everything,” Jungkook grins. “We act it out enough, it’ll eventually come true.”

#second lead truthers n yoongi believers HOW R WE FEELINGGGGG #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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howdoesagrapewrites · 9 months

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𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐰𝐬: 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐲𝐫𝐞

Plot: You, the legitimized bastard of Daemon Targaryen grew up with a very devoted extended family. But after the dance of dragons begins, you know exactly on what side you belong

Cw: incest/targcest, yandere/lovesick behavior, unhealthy relationships, platonic and romantic yanderes, not everyone is romantically involved with reader, yandere EVERYONE x reader, sexual content, no actual smut, mentions of noncon, Aegon being... Him

Notes: I didn't love to make such a long post for the last ending, so this will be a series as well (and I also find it more convenient as people tend to be less likely to read long posts)

You will understand this better if you read this ending

>The night of king Viserys' last supper, you were the victim of a mysterious illness, and were forced to stay in King's Landing as your family returned to Dragonstone

>Since then, you had to be a witness of Aegon's usurpation, and were forced to marry prince Aemond, becoming a prisoner in the strong walls of the red keep in all but name

>You decided very early on that you will return home to your family, you will not be accomplice to this insult to the rightful heir, Rhaenyra

>You loved Alicent, you did, but what she did to you, to your family, was a betrayal. She married you to Aemond, even though she knew of your affection for Daeron, she marries you without your permission or even announcement, she marries you to Aemond, as if it was her call, as if she was in her right to betroth you to anyone

>And the one who you thought of as a brave knight, was silent to the whole thing, not a word to say to you

>In a span of mere days, your affection for them had virtually vanished

>It was hard, and it hurt to feel like all your life you had trusted people who would treat you like this

>Especially for Daeron and Alicent

>But you will have time to mourn later

>You tell yourself you can't let your feelings stale you

>It was the night after Aegon's coronation, Aemond, should be asleep next to you, but he is too busy on the council, fooling himself acting as hand of the king

>Which it's perfect for you, since you want to do anything you can to avoid consummating your marriage

>Your father had taught you everything about the secret passages in the Red Keep, he knew them as well as king Maegor himself, and though you could not memorize it as well, it was enough to know how to get out

>But you had a mission first

>"He wears the conqueror's crown, wields the conqueror's sword and has the conqueror's name" said Alicent

>It was too soon to take away his crown, you not take away his name, but you certainly could take away his sword. It's not like he'd use it anyway

>You looked in the mirror and fixed yourself before going out through the passages, you felt a little disgusted with yourself

>It took you some time to get to Aegon's chambers, (to your surprise) Aegon was there instead of a rat infested brothel

>Still, he was much too drunk to notice you, and he was alone. It had been years since he and Helaena had shared a bed. You pitied her, but at least she was lucky, she had given not one but two male heirs, and she had no reason to keep "trying" with Aegon

>You walked on your tiptoes, the sword was hanging in the wall next to his bed, you feared the sound of metal would wake him up

>But it didn't, he instead was (somehow) was sober enough to know you were there, and most importantly, to know it was you

>"Y/N, you are here..." His voice was as drowsy as it was whiny "Came to congratulate the king?" You could see his repugnant smirk aimed at you

>"Indeed, your grace" you lied

>"Come here, here" he sat on the pillows and patted on the mattress to invite you

>"I don't think that would be appropriate, your grace" you were tense, and scared. You avoided him, you don't remember well when it happened, but he changed, he scared you, you feared he might do something to you, and you could do nothing to retaliate, now it was worse, he was the king

>"Pleaaseeeee, pleaseee, just a bit, just for now, I won't do anything" he promised

>"I truly do not think it would be fitting for your grace to be in that position... Even in innocently" you really hoped for the "innocently" part to be true

>But Aegon did the face a child does once they remember something important, like a candle lighting on their head "But I'm your grace, I'm the king, I demand you come here"

>You could do nothing to those words, so you obeyed

>You sat down at the edge of his bed, but he signaled you to be closer, next to him

>"I like when you say your grace, when you say it to me" he smiled

>"It is how one must address you now, just that"

>Aegon pouted

>"Do you love me?"

>You were speechless, and struggled to come up with a polite response to that, you finally just said every subject must love the king, you just prayed for safety being so close, so late, so alone with him

>"But do you love me? Me? Do you love me now?"

>"I- I beg your pardon?"

>"I wanted you to love me, Y/N, do you love me now? I'm king, do you love me now?" He was drunk, slurring his words and repeating them

>You blushed and you felt your heart pound, you were scared, you knew that. But you were also even a little sad for him, you wanted to look at him the way you did when you both were young, you could, and at the same time, it was impossible

>You don't remember how he ended up in front of you, facing you with sad eyes, and unmistakable stink of wine, that reminded you of who he was now

>"I think I'll always love you, Aegon" you wanted to believe it was a lie you told yourself it was

>A tear or two ran through his pale cheeks and he threw himself to your arms, almost knocking you beneath him in bed

>But instead of the lecherous predatory behavior you expected, he just kissed your cheeks and tried to kiss you in the mouth, it was gross, wet, he was drunk so he was salivating

>You grabbed his face with your hands and placed a kiss on his forehead, he asked for more, but he instantly decided he was tired, and grabbed you like a ragdoll, pushing you to the pillows and beneath the blankets with him, you're still fully clothed so it feels heavy. Aegon hugs you like a Teddy bear until he quickly falls asleep, when you try to leave, he complains in his sleep and grabs the fabric of your clothes. But you manage to slip a pillow in between his arms to replace you

>You look at him for the last time before stealing Blackfyre, and think of how different things could have been.

>Once you have the sword with you, you stay in between the walls for some time. Your dragon is not in the dragonpit, how do you find him?

>You can't go to the city, you can't risk having the sword stolen from you

>This might be a suicide, this probably is a suicide, but is all you got

>You decide to go to the dragonpit, you'll ride a dragon to find a dragon. The rule has always been: one rider, one dragon, one dragon, one ride. But you are desperate

>When you get to the pit, you wonder who could be the best dragon to ride for the search, Tessarion is here, but only ever rode alongside her, same for Sunfyre and Dreamfyre. Trying to tame an unclaimed dragon is dangerous, and even if you could, Dagahrion may kill them

>But there's one that knows you very well: Vhagar

>You rode on her back when she was Laena's, you were a little lass still, but she remembers you. And you rode her with Aemond last night

>It is better than nothing, and if she ate you, you know she's so big it'd be a quick death

>You pet her, and she gives into your touch

>You keep calming and buttering her up before you get on top. You're used to riding a large dragon, but she's different, every dragon is, you suppose

>You feel sorry for the ruckus caused when you and Vhagar ascended, poor dragonkeepers

>Your running was obviously not silent

>And so the search for Dagahrion begins. You have to find him before Vhagar decides to kick you off her back

>And before any other dragon comes looking for you

#yandere hotd #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere targaryens #hotd x reader #Targaryens x reader #yandere aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen x reader #yandere aemond targaryen

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sheisjoeschateau · 5 months

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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | Part X

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

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

CHAPTER X WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, more angst, mention of dr*g abuse during childhood trauma, mentions of death and injuries, Max in a coma, fearful tears, shared sadness, major end-of-the-world terror talk. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As we dive deeper into just how in love Steve and Bauman continue to fall...we also dive deeper into darkness.

We get a glimpse into the childhood past of Bauman Squared.

Steve finally gets to laugh again with his kids -- and with the girl he wants to have his own kids with one day.

Dr. Owens comes back, but it's not why they expected. Erica is given the hardest burden of all. Robin & Eddie are the whacky aunt and uncle that everyone needed and basically get shit back on track while being thrown hard news. Argyle is actually just a kind dude. Nancy is pulling away, while Jonathan finally feels the gut-punching gravity of what he is losing. Jopper is still carrying the weight of both worlds.

And surprise, b*tches: DIMITRI IS BACK AND BOY IS HE SOOO BACK.

Lastly: chicken nuggets. That is all.

WHILE THIS IS A FANFICTION STORY: IT IS STILL MY WRITING. PLEASE RIGHTFULLY CREDIT ME WHEN REPOSTING OR SHARING. I DO NOT GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO POST MY WRITING AS YOUR OWN. - MISHA @sheisjoeschateau PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

OH SO WE DO LOVE STEVE | Chapter X

“Why do I feel like this is some sort of twisted intervention?”

Erica Sinclair stood in the kitchen next to Murray as he cooked up something to share with a table of adults and teens — plus her.

“In a way, it is,” Murray responded to her as he stirred his ingredients.

“...okayyyy,” Erica sassed, suspiciously. “...then why do you want me here but not my brother or my other friends?”

Murray rolled his eyes. Erica’s attitude was truly the one thing that could bring Murray’s entire mental empire crumbling down like a tower of cards being blown over by a gust of wind. He pointed his spatula in her direction.

“Think of it this way, kiddo,” he said through a wry, condescending smirk. “It’s like getting invited to sit at the adults’ table instead of the kids’ table for thanksgiving. And you’re the only one we’re inviting before you get to go up there and hang out with your little friends. Alright?”

Erica narrowed her eyes. “What do I need to know that they don’t?”

Sauce dripped from the spatula as he stared at her. Christ, she was relentless. Then again…at least she seemed somewhat perturbed by the idea of knowing things before her brother and their friends. That was pretty damn selfless for Erica Sinclair. She cocked an eyebrow at Murray — who squinted back at her.

“Okay, why are you not as willing about this as I thought you’d be…”

“Look,” Erica said, crossing her arms. “If I’m going to be made to keep a secret? I need to know all the facts first. Especially if I have to keep it from my brother. And Steve. And Bauman.”

Murray sighed through his nose. She was right. Mature, and right.

“I don’t want you to keep it a secret for good,” Murray clarified, speaking slowly. “I just — we just need you to be made aware of some things before we bring it to everyone else’s attention. And truth be told? Harrington needs a break. So does my niece. And your friends? They need some time with mom and dad. You do, too. But right now? You’re the party member in charge of taking on some big information before we spread it to the rest of them. And quite frankly? I’m counting on you to help me — and the rest of us — help break it to them. Got it?”

Erica let all of that land, her guarded expression softening into one of civil understanding. She pursed her lips, considering this. Finally, she nodded.

“Alright. Deal.”

Murray shot her a thumbs up, resuming his cooking.

“That’s really lumpy,” Erica pointed to his saucepan with a soured expression.

“Ohforheaven'ssake —”

__________________________

Robin had taken on laundry duty on Steve’s behalf, knowing that Jonathan intended to talk with him. Which is why she’d asked Nancy to help her with it, and it has turned out to be a good thing.

Nancy was clearly fraying at the seams. There was a lot going through her mind, and it was all spiraling fast. She needed someone to talk to, but none of her options seemed safe.

She had no idea how or when to break everything she had been feeling to Steve.

Her relationship with Jonathan was so tense and strained, any conversation shared with him had just blown up.

And her mom would need to know everything about the upside down, in order to give her proper advice…and at this rate, that option seemed to have no place in this world.

She couldn’t go to Joyce, because that’s Jonathan’s mom.

Hopper and Murray were out of the question.

She wasn’t close enough with Eddie to even consider it.

And Argyle? Well, he’d said about as much as he could say. Far more than what she’d expected, if she was being honest.

Nancy’s only other option was Robin Buckley.

“God, I swear — the air’s a disease at this point.”

Robin had sat next to Nancy on the porch, carrying the laundry basket. Nancy quickly wiped a few stray tears, which Robin pretended not to notice – even when Nancy shot her a very forced, tight-lipped grin.

“Yeah,” Nancy chuckled wetly. “It’s uhh, yeah. Plagued at this point. Thanks, Vecna.”

Robin nodded with a smirk. “Yeah. Thanks a lot, Vecna. Fuck you, man.”

That made Nancy giggle, which Robin was grateful to see. She decided to start off slow, not wanting to force anything. After all, clearly Nancy was clearly going through it. And the way she and Robin had started off? Not great. Buckley was definitely not trying to push her luck. Sure, the two of them had gotten along super well as time passed, truly becoming friends while living in Steve’s house. But they weren’t exactly best friends. Friends for sure. But not like Nancy and Barb had been. Not even close.

“You know,” Robin mused. “Sometimes, I think back to high school and how…I never really had a best friend while I was there. Not like you did.”

That made Nancy turn to look at her, curiosity radiating for her bright blue eyes.

“You and Barb,” Robin explained. “You two were thick as thieves. She always made sure to take extra notes in Click’s class for you.”

Nancy’s eyes shone with melancholy fondness. “She did…?”

“Yeah,” Robin smiled. “Always. Saved them on little flashcards and everything. She was always like, ‘I gotta make sure I get this for Nance.’ Or whenever something crazy went down in the classroom, I could tell she was just itching to tell you about during lunch or after school.”

Nancy beamed at that. She shook her head, grinning widely. “God, I swear… Barb was like — like that little old lady who couldn’t help but wanna gossip. Even though she hated drama, she loved it at the same time. As long as it wasn’t hers or ours.”

“That totally tracks,” Robin snorted. “What an icon, really.”

“Schyeah,” Nancy giggled wholeheartedly. “Yeah, she…she was the best.”

Robin watched as Nancy gnawed at her lip, feeling the wave of sadness wash over her.

“I just wish…” Nancy murmured, voice shaky. “Just wish that I could…talk to her sometimes, you know? Not just to tell her how sorry I am. For everything that happened before she…”

Nancy’s voice trailed off. Robin dared to reach over and touch her shoulder, relieved when Nancy didn’t push her away or tense underneath her touch.

“I just wanna ask her questions,” Nancy’s voice shook. “So many questions, like…like the way we used to. As best friends. About — everything. Life, family, love…friends…the end of the fucking world…”

Robin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Because Robin did know. Whenever she had become best friends with Steve, it had made her world significantly brighter. Her heart was full, and her soul had been lifted out of its constant anxiety-ridden state. Robin had been so closed off to bonding with anyone, especially the likes of Steve Harrington. Little did she know, that guy would end up being her truest best friend and confidant. The one she could lean on, tell anything to and count on for the rest of her life. However short that might be, given the end of the world… But she had Steve by her side, trusting him with every secret she had and her literal life in his hands.

Barb had been that for Nancy. But she was gone.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nancy’s voice cracked. She looked over at Robin with tear rimmed eyes, fighting them from falling as she bit down on her trembling lip. “About…anything.”

Robin kept listening, wanting so badly to go on a rant but willing herself not to. Because right now, it’s Nancy who needs to rant. She needed to ramble until she couldn’t anymore.

“I’ve been so…God, I’ve been so in love with Jonathan since we met and…got through all of this together. It just…just...worked. Clicked, made sense. Way more sense than Steve, but — but Steve and I, we…what we had was…it was real. Really real. Even Barb saw it, she just — just didn’t want me getting hurt, or…losing myself for a guy. But I didn’t really. Steve never pushed me to do anything that I didn’t wanna do, or…wasn’t ready for. Ever. Not once. He was kind to me, and…and I feel like…like I just… I think I’m the one who did wrong by him. Not the other way around. All because I just felt so…lost, and conflicted, and scared, and unsure, and…and…”

Nancy curled in on herself, tears falling down her cheeks as she ducked her face out of sight. But Robin scooched closer to her, enveloping her into a comforting embrace as she wept. And Nancy let her, allowing herself to lean against her.

“I told him what we had was bullshit and it wasn’t,” Nancy cried bitterly. “It wasn’t, he's not -- I was just…so fucking mad that Barb was gone. And it was easier to blame Steve, all because he wasn’t hurting the way that I was. The way that I still am. But that’s — that’s n-not — b-because he d-doesn’t…c-care…”

Nancy’s shoulders convulsed, and Robin’s heart broke for her as she held her tighter.

“B-but Jonathan had lost Will, so h-he…he got it. H-he knew wh-what I was…going through… And I-I j-just felt...so r-right with him. Because l-looking at him didn’t remind me of…of…”

Nancy choked on a sob.

Robin knew she meant Barb. She didn’t have to say it.

“I’m angry. For me, for Barb, for Steve, for Jonathan…my mom, dad, Mike…everyone. All the time. And I just d-don’t know what to do, because…Jonathan shut me o-out, and w-wanted to b-break up with m-me all because he felt like…he was…holding me back, and wouldn’t just t-talk…to me…and then S-Steve… Steve, h-he wanted me back b-but now…h-he…he loves…he loves…”

Nancy ugly cried into her palms, muffling the noise so that it wouldn’t be heard from anyone inside. Robin clung to her, rocking them back and forth with some gentle, soothing shushes.

“He loves her, Robin,” Nancy cried, heartbreak and anguish lacing her voice. “He loves her, and s-she loves him back. S-so much…b-better than I d-did…and I…I should be…so h-happy for him. And h-her, but I just…I just…wonder if I…did I…did I m-mess up…? Did I lose the p-person I was s-supposed to b-be with? I just didn’t…think he’d…move on…and that’s so…fucking SELFISH of me…”

Robin squeezed her. “It’s not selfish. It’s human. Steve is amazing. But Nancy…it’s okay that you didn’t go back to him.”

“But you thought I should,” Nancy leaned back now. She looked at Robin dead in the eye with bloodshot, red rimmed eyes. They swam in regrets, sorrows and bitterness.

“You and Eddie both thought that we should,” she said, voice croaked and upset. “Y-you both…thought that we…shouldn’t have…broken up, or…”

“You’re right,” Robin admitted, feeling bad but deciding it was best to just own up to it. “You’re right, I did. We did. Me and Eddie. But Nancy…sometimes we’re just so distracted by what seems right…that we can’t see what’s actually right in front of us.”

Nancy looked at her quizzically. Robin sighed.

“Look, when you left Steve,” Robin explained, taking her hand into both of hers. “Back in senior year, and you got with Jonathan…you two had your own journey. You had each other. Steve? Steve had no one during his — except for the kids…and Bauman. Because back then, he didn’t know yet. He didn’t know about her and Murray intervening —”

“Yeah, I know,” Nancy said bitterly. “We all know that now.”

“Just hear me out,” Robin pleaded with her softly. “I promise, I’m with you, alright?”

Nancy stared at her for a moment, finally softening her tense jaw and nodding once. Robin picked back up, on cue.

“Steve still had a lot of growing up to do. On his own. Dustin was the first to reach out to him. Well, he basically forced himself on Steve. And Steve needed that. He’s an only child. He needed a little brother to give him grief, and boss him around and pick on him. You have Mike. Steve didn’t have that until Dustin wormed his way into his life." Robin added with a smile, " ...and his heart.”

Nany thought about that, expression pensive with realization.

“Then Bauman came along,” Robin continued. “She was Steve’s age… You and Jonathan were off with the adults. He got left behind to watch the kids with her. They went through…a lot of shit that night. You did, too. But so did they. They fought off Billy Hargrove. They protected the kids, fought off the demodogs in the tunnels. They survived the night together. You know what that feels like. You and Jonathan bonded that way. Right?”

Nancy hesitates but looks back at her, sniffing. Eventually, she nods again.

“Right," Robin exhales deeply, proceeding. "So Steve… Steve had someone his age to be around, along with the kids. And that was great. Because she’s independent and badass, but also really chill and down to earth. Like, some sort of femme tomboy. Which Steve lowkey kind of needed, she really was exactly what --"

“Robin, I get it,” Nancy snapped, not wanting to hear about you in a complimentary way. At least not at this moment.

“No, hear me out,” Robin insisted, giving her hands another squeeze. “You need to hear this, Nancy, alright? You know you’re beautiful. You know Steve has been helplessly in love with you for years. That’s not even a question.”

Robin paused, shifting gears again as she refused to let Nancy look away from her.

“...but Steve had to move on. Or…find ways to convince himself that he could. And Bauman? She was there for that. She was around, during all his growth. And trust me – it was ugly. You have nothing to envy there. God, the way that they argued? The way Steve talked to her, honestly? Honestly. You would’ve slapped him. I sure as hell did a few times. Mostly verbal slapping. But I hit him a few times, not gonna lie. You’ve seen the highlights of Steve’s growth. You have seen the best parts of him, but…but Bauman was there for all of it. She got to see it all happen in real time, from the second you and Jonathan met back up with them to right now. And she owned up to her shit, too. It wasn’t her fault, by no means was it her fault. But hey, she took the hits. Many times. And she still ended up falling in love with Steve, who she swore was the last person who would ever win her over. Those two knuckleheads were relentless whenever I came into the picture. Fighting like lovers in a quarrel with absolutely zero history of affection to show for it. But still, they got through shit together. They put their differences aside for the kids, and when it came to fighting off the Russians? She and Steve honestly kept me so sane. And they kept us safe, too. Me, Dustin and Erica. They didn’t get along in the real world, but in the upside down world? They did. They didn’t even think twice. Steve grew into a way better person because of her. And she opened up a lot more because of him, and the kids. She didn’t grow up with siblings either. That’s another thing they have in common.”

Nancy took all of that in with a solemn expression. Robin let that sink in before continuing.

“I know this is…a lot. But really, Nancy…so much happened while you were gone. Those two fell in love over time without even knowing it. Shit, we didn’t know it either. That was a plot twist for all of us — including Murray. Despite what he says, that guy does not know everything.”

Nancy scoffed. “I know that.”

“Of course you do. We all do. He does, too. Especially now. Now that his niece and Steve are clearly so head over heels in love with one another.”

Nancy’s heart sank at that. She knew that it was true.

“I’m not…” Nancy mumbled, eyes downcast. “I’m not mad at her for falling in love with him. Or him. I just…can’t help but wonder if I messed up. Missed out on someone that I loved more than I allowed myself to when we were together.”

“You couldn’t have loved him more back then, Nancy,” Robin corrected her. “Because who he was then, is not who he is now. And who he is now is someone that Bauman has played a huge role in him becoming.”

Nancy sniffed a few times, bringing her knees to her chest and lost in thought.

“Do you still love Jonathan?”

Nancy looked at her, surprised. “What?”

“Tell me what you’re feeling there,” Robin pressed gently. “Why is that going wrong again?”

Nancy got defensive. “Um, what’s wrong is that he clearly planned on leaving me while I was back here being loyal to him.”

“Right,” Robin mused. “But…what about after he got back? What happened then?”

Nancy opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. She thought about that for a while.

“We just…” she started. “...we just…moved past it. We let it go.”

Robin nodded slowly. “After all you two have been through…knowing damn well that things need to be talked about…you both really thought that was best?”

“He doesn’t ever tell me how he actually feels,” Nancy snapped. “I’m so sick of it. I always have to push him to tell me things. He just — shuts me out. Clams up, retreats. He won’t even tell me when he’s upset about something unless I make him.”

“Well then,” Robin nods. “That’s definitely on him. But what about you?”

Nancy scrunches her face in confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell him how you felt either?” Robin asks, unblinking.

Nancy stares at her, not knowing how to answer that.

“I told him that I love him,” Nancy whispers. “And that I…that we’re fine.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Do you wanna be?”

Nancy’s face crumbles. “I…I want…”

Robin waits, not knowing what to expect but knowing that it’s getting somewhere.

“I want him to love me again,” Nancy cries in despair. “I want him to fight for me, and — and love me the way that I thought that he did. That he would. That he always would —”

Robin holds Nancy again as she convulses with sobs in her arms. They stay that way for a little while, allowing the dust to settle. Nancy has said enough for now. It would all unravel itself more over time.

Meanwhile, Eddie had told Jonathan to make his way upstairs and talk with Steve.

“You’re on, buddy boy,” Eddie told him with a hard pat on the back.

So while Jonathan made peace with Steve, Nancy had finally released some of her emotions and confided in Robin.

And now, all the adults were in the kitchen as Murray made some food for the older teens and Erica. They’d asked Robin and Eddie to make sure that Argyle, Jonathan and Nancy were all going to be present for it, along with Erica before she could go upstairs and join the kids.

So here they all were now: sitting at the dinner table while Murray and Erica served them up plates and bowls of random foods.

Jonathan had watched Nancy make her way into the kitchen with Robin, newly fresh faced and eyes puffy from crying. She wore her pajamas now, having taken a quick shower and washing off the anguish from her meltdown earlier. Jonathan’s heart cracked in two, and it did even more as Nancy went to sit next to Robin. He stood up, unable to help himself.

“I got you a seat here,” he said, voice shaky.

Nancy had looked over at him, eyes cold and expression blank.

“That’s alright,” she said, voice level and cool. “We share a room.”

Nancy sat next to Robin, demeanor cool and calm and collected. She was stiff, but there was a chilling resilience to her that Jonathan had not seen in a while. It terrified him, making his anxiety spike. Had he lost her? Was he too late?

He swallowed hard, accepting it — given everyone else at the table. Hopper had awkwardly reached for some pepper as this was happening, working in slow motion as he felt really uncomfortable. So Jonathan just nodded, and Joyce gave him a sympathetic look as she placed glasses of water and tea in front of everyone.

Eddie made concerned eye contact with Robin as he poured himself some water. Yikes.

“I’ll sit next to you, my dude,” Argyle said warmly, knowing he needed to step in. Jonathan was grateful for that, but still dying inside as he kept stealing glances at Nancy — who looked anywhere except his way.

Murray clicked his tongue loudly. “Alrighty then. Shall we?”

With a thud, he set down his plate. Joyce clenched her jaw but took a deep breath.

“Lay it on us,” Eddie said with a deep exhale, sitting down on the other side of Argyle.

“Yeah, what’s this pow-wow and why is it just this group who's on it?” Erica questioned as she stationed herself on the other side of Robin.

“Right,” Hopper sighed before shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and leaning back to chew, readying himself. Everyone waited patiently.

“Here’s the deal,” he began, leaning forward and eyeing everyone individually as he spoke. “No one here is being made to keep a secret. That’s not what’s going on.”

“So then why is it private?” Robin asked curiously.

“Because right now…we need to set some things straight. Set in stone. Before we dive into our group meeting tomorrow. Consider this…a board meeting of sorts.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “Don’t we want Bauman and Steve for that?”

Hopper sighed deeply, rubbing at his beard. “This affects them. And the kids.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows at that, feeling nervous. He looked over at Robin, who looked just as worried.

Erica scrunched her face up. “Then why am I here?…”

“Because I need one of you kids to be level headed and vouch for me,” Hopper explained. “And for Joyce and Murray. We’ve spent a lot of time figuring this out. Weighed out our options, talked to El about it.”

“Does she know?” Nancy asked.

“Some,” Hopper nodded. “Most… Not all.”

Erica leaned forward, truly listening and accepting that she was clearly going to need to stick with some sort of plan that her friends were not going to be keen on…

Hopper contemplated his next words carefully.

“Look. Tonight, I need those kids to rest. To laugh, play some card games. Eat too much candy, and just have a good night. Soak up all the fun they can get before this mandate goes into effect soon. And before we have to go forward with a plan.”

Hopper made sure that everyone was with him on that. Off their nods, he continued.

“There’s two groups. One that’ll stay here, in hiding. Down in the basement, where we’ve already started making up basecamp. They’ll have to stay hidden. Out of sight. Quiet. On high alert. It’s a gamble. Just because they’ll be home…it doesn’t guarantee them any safety.”

Hopper took a deep breath, eyes filled with dread. He rubbed at the gap between his pinched brows.

“…the other group will have to risk getting back out there. And we won’t be anywhere that’s not swarmed and completely surrounded by the government and — god-knows-who-else, before we can get ourselves back near the largest gate that’s torn itself open and is ready to swallow Hawkins.”

Everyone’s blood ran cold.

No one was safe. They weren’t before, but now? Nothing was off the table. Everything was high risk, no matter where anyone was stationed.

“If you’re sitting here,” Hopper continued slowly, voice grave, “at this table, listening to this conversation…minus Erica and Murray...you’re in Group 2. ”

Nancy and Jonathan both felt their chests constrict, but they understood. It didn’t surprise them per se. And at this point, nothing should scare them. But it did.

Joyce looked at her eldest son, torn but knowing it had to be done.

Erica looked over at Murray, who gave her a soft nod.

Robin and Eddie looked at each other, along with Argyle, shuddering.

“Dimitri is going with us,” Hopper added.

“Who’s he?” Jonathan asked.

“Russian soldier,” Joyce told him, holding up a hand to clarify. “He’s on our side.”

Jonathan hesitated but eventually gave her a small nod. He looked over at Nancy, who was staring down at the table with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

“He’s got insight,” Hopper continued. “Knows what we’re dealing with, and how to handle what we’re all up against. We’ll need as many of us as we can get out there. Those of us who know the risks, and know how to navigate this world.”

Robin processed that, thinking. “So that…where does that leave Steve and Bauman?”

Hopper was quiet. The way he gnawed his cheek made it clear that this was where it got messy.

“Steve is on the frontlines with us,” Hopper explained carefully. “…and Bauman is stationed back here with Murray and the kids, along with Dr. Owens.”

Robin’s heart sank, and so did Eddie’s. They both shared a sad, all-knowing look. They knew this wasn’t going to go well. At all. They knew that Steve was going to flip his shit at just the idea of leaving you out of his sight.

“Won’t Dr. Owens have a target on his back?” Eddie asked, concerned. “Won’t that — won’t that draw more danger here…?”

That made Robin look at Hopper, wide-eyed. The retired cop looked pale, eyes full of dread.

“He has to be here in case anything happens to Bauman or Max,” he explains solemnly. “Because if shit goes south here…they’ll need to run.”

Jonathan felt sick. This also meant leaving Will behind. “But…how? How can they run?”

“That’s where I come in,” Murray chimes in. “Between me and Erica and Dustin, we’ll be able to keep a close eye out for a signal — which Will can help us navigate.”

“Because he’s still connected to it all,” Joyce explains sadly. “He still…feels it. He senses when it’s near.”

“Which is why he’ll be able to give us a warning,” Murray nods, adding to Joyce’s input. “Since El has to be out there with you guys, we’ll still have a connected source that's here with us.”

“The kids can’t do this,” Hopper adds, tone firm. “Not this time. El doesn’t count, as much as I want her to stay back. She can’t. I know that.” He looks at Erica with parental eyes. “But as far as the rest of you kids go? No more. It’s already bad enough having to risk you all staying here. But if this is how it’s gotta go down? You’re staying where there’s a controlled space, with 2-3 solid abort mission plans — which Murray knows from top to bottom.”

Erica hangs her head, but she nods. She knows this makes sense.

“As for Bauman,” Hopper continues, eyes sad. “She’s not able to get back out there. Between her heart issues and her bad shoulder and ribs…she has to stay put.”

“No, I agree with that,” Robin says, voice full of gravel before she clears it. “But, umm…I’m just…really worried that…well it’s just — Steve, he’s um, he’s —”

“He’s going to have to do this,” Hopper interjects, but not unkindly. In fact, it’s full of empathy and remorse. “He knows the ways. You’ll all need him. His stamina, his strength. He’s strong, good with a bat and can outrun shit. He also knows what to keep an eye out for, whatever comes our way.”

Eddie gulps, partially because he’s terrified about facing the underworld again…but also because he knows that Steve will be a wreck the entire time he’s gone with them and not with you. And if Eddie’s being honest, the idea of leaving you and the kids behind is killing him too. He’s especially grown to love you and Dustin over the last year.

“This isn’t open for discussion,” Hopper says, voice firmer and tone low. “Tomorrow, when we have our living room meeting, I’ll be conveying this to everyone…along with Murray and Joyce. And I need to know I have each and every one of you on our side. Those kids are going to raise hell. All of them are. And this plan is not changing. It’s either this…or we all stay hunkered down until we rot. Am I making myself clear?”

Nancy and Jonathan nodded first, quickly followed by Robin and Eddie.

“Yes sir,” Argyle spoke first, and for the first time he genuinely looked aware of just how heavy all of this stuff really is. Jonathan gave his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Erica,” Hopper was looking directly at the youngest person sitting across the table. “I’m counting on you. I know that’s not fair, but I am. You’re tough as nails. You’re gonna have to be that way with your brother, and his friends. Your friends. You'll have to be hard...but gentle enough to get it through to him. I don’t care what you gotta do, you do it. Whatever you have to say? Say it. And if anybody gives you shit for knowing this before they did…send them to me. Understood?”

Erica looked back at Hopper with the most somber expression. But she nodded.

“Understood,” she said, voice low.

Hopper gave her a curt nod before looking over at the older teens.

“As for you guys,” he said. “We all know the shit that just went down yesterday at the fence. Bauman’s always been at the frontlines with us. She can’t be now. And Steve cannot hang back. He’s got too much strength that we can’t afford to not have on our side of this battle. And I don’t care if Bauman insists she can do it. She can’t, and she won’t.”

“And if she gets stubborn,” Murray interjects, voice fierce. “Tell me. If she tries pulling a fast one? You tell me. Capiche?”

Eddie and Robin quickly nod up and down.

“I’ll talk to him if it gets bad,” Jonathan says in a weak voice.

Nancy narrows her eyes at him. Since when do he and Steve talk?

“Good,” Joyce says with a sad, tight-lipped grin and nod at her son. “He’ll need it.”

"I'll be there for him, too," Robin nodded at Jonathan.

“Will we be able to stay in contact with them at least?” Eddie asks pathetically. “Via the walkies?”

“When necessary...yes,” Hopper confirms. “We’ll have to be scarce about it. Selective. Nowhere is safe. It’ll have to be reserved for vital communication only.”

Eddie frowned, but nodded in understanding. Robin was currently biting her palm, consumed with dread and sickening anxiety. Leaving you behind? The kids? Even Murray, who everyone had come to appreciate in their own weird sort of way — mostly because of how much they all loved you. He was an extension of you. The whole situation just felt…fucked.

But wasn’t everything fucked? Wasn’t this entire world so catostrophically fucked in every single which way, seemingly irreparable?

Was there actually an end to this nightmare? A world in which the upside down would cease to exist…monsters would go back to their storybooks and dark, twisted fairy tales…the moon would only ever symbolize light within forgotten darkness...and the sun would never hide behind the ashy debris that currently clung to the air, just outside their windows?

Despite how everything looked grim, with seemingly no end in sight…you all persisted in choosing to believe. Yes. Yes, this was going to end.

The end of the world was nearing. It was inevitable.

But it wouldn’t be your world.

***

You never really put much thought into what having a family would feel like one day.

You’d wondered. Every little girl does. In young girlhood, there’s the beauty of innocence that protectively surrounds all grown-up dreams that fuel your wildest imagination. The dreams of never having to go to school, and being in charge of everything you want. The dreams of being able to eat whatever you want, whenever you want. The dreams of meeting your future husband, and getting to wear a big white, sparkly ballgown as you walk down the aisle to your happily ever after. The dreams of being a princess in a big castle, ruling the land and having cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and tea parties everyday with your friends.

Sure, you’d had those dreams as a little girl. How could you not? It was inevitable.

But as you grew older, you didn’t really have a chance to fantasize about much. You’d been made to grow up from a very young age. Your grandmother had been there for you enough. She kept a roof over your head. Food on the table. A very generous allowance, even though you never asked for one and you’d gotten yourself a job by the age of 13 painting peoples’ houses and doing yard work. You’d even gotten hired by your uncle to do data entry for him, along with a couple of his contacts who did intense investigative research and needed someone to work remotely. You earned your own living, and you did upkeep on your grandmother’s house — despite her never asking you to do so. She was gone a lot. She wasn’t very old. Just a smoker who liked casinos and taking trips with her “friend” from time to time. A woman, who she only ever referred to as her "assistant." You knew better than to believe that, but you never said anything about it. She was a closeted lesbian — which is why Robin coming out of the closet for you had been the easiest news to take, let alone support. Your grandmother was a tough, long-acrylic-nails-donning boss bitch who did whatever the hell she wanted. You’d gone with her many times to some casino resorts, mostly staying in the hotel room or just walking around the city. It felt like living with a Mafia Mobwife. It was cool, for the most part. But it definitely meant being able to hold your own. She’d raised herself when she was a kid — and in most ways, you did too.

It’s why you’d spent so much time with your uncle, who didn’t live very far. He was home a lot. Given his line of work, he didn’t go out much. He became even more of a hermit as the years went on, and you liked that. It meant consistency. His spare room basically became your room. It couldn’t exactly be considered a “guest room” when he never had guests over. You’re the only person he invited over for company, and he loved it. The two of you got along effortlessly. His dark humor rubbed off on you early on, which your grandmother shared in but she wasn’t nearly as quick-witted as Murray. That’s where you got it from. But your dry, snarky wit was much more selectively timed than his. He was all over the place. You had solid social cues, given that you went to school and were around people often. Your uncle was definitely an oddball. But you loved him to death, and you got him better than anyone else did.

You weren’t babied. You weren’t coddled, or sheltered, or given false hope about the world. It’s why you held your own, and it’s also why you never victimized yourself. It was to a fault, but you believed it was for the best.

So when Clark broke your heart into a million pieces, you told yourself it had been a risk from the start. A gamble, just like the poker tables at those casinos that your grandmother frequented all the time. Love was a dangerous game, and it spared no one. There were winners and losers — and you’d lost this one.

But right now, in this moment, you felt as though you had just won every single jackpot that there was to win.

Because right now, you were sitting in Steve’s lap on the floor of Max’s room in his big house, holding cards closely to your chest as Lucas screeched GO FISH at Dustin. Steve’s hand was in plain sight, and if you were a cheater you’d have him beat in seconds. But you didn’t need to win a stupid card game…because you had won the greatest game of all: life.

El and Mike were cuddled up close to each other, giggling and being young teens in love. In a normal world, you would assume it to be puppy love between them. But this world wasn’t normal, and the shit that they’d been through together wasn’t any different than what you and Steve had been through together. It was real love, and you let them be that way.

Lucas was seated next to Max in her bed, holding her hand and laughing like a kid again. Dustin was hoarding all of the candy from his backpack (so much for sharing) and laughing like a buffoon. He bickered with Steve and the kids as usual, but something about it was just so…bright. Hearty laughter bounced off the walls, and there were so many times that Steve had belly laughed — along with you and the other kids — that you’d all lost count.

Sometimes, you swore that you saw Max’s lips twitch. As if she could hear you all in her coma, wanting to laugh along with everybody. Lucas would talk to her as if she could hear you all just fine, squeezing her hand and kissing her forehead while showing her his hand in cards. Dustin even gave her a sleeve of her favorite candy — just for her. He might not have basic manners with the rest of you, but Max? Always.

Will was keeping score, seated next to you and Steve with the biggest smile you had ever seen him wear. He laughed hysterically the entire night, even going as far as verbally expressing adoration for you and Steve. Dustin would pretend to gag, but Will would just tell him he knew better than to think that the curly-haired smart alec wasn’t completely in love with the two of you being together. Dustin had grinned all dopey and wide, rolling his eyes but not arguing with him any further.

At some point, Mike suggested all swapping ghost stories.

Lucas had barked the loudest laugh. “How about the one we’re currently living??”

“Hey, hey,” Steve interjected. “I got a better idea. Tell your most embarrassing story. One you’re scared shitless to tell.”

You'd grinned in his arms, snickering. “Oh I got plenty of those.”

“I mean hey,” Dustin shrugged with a mouthful of candy. “If we’re gonna die, we might as well get real.”

“Okay chill, we’re not going to die,” Steve scoffed, hiding his internal worry.

“It’s possible,” Mike shrugged, grabbing another bag of M&M’s.

Steve huffed. “Dammit, Wheeler —”

Mike’s devilish grin was infuriating yet endearing at the same time.

“I wish Max could hear all of this,” El said with a tinkering laugh.

You gave her the warmest of smiles and a wink. “Trust me. She does.”

“Hell yeah,” Lucas smiled wide, squeezing Max’s hand. “I’ll even tell one of her stories, for her.”

“...dude, she’s gonna kill you,” Dustin warned him, but there was a smirk lifting at the corner of his lips.

“I’ll go first,” Will announced, laying on his stomach as he ate some popcorn. “One time? I was asleep in bed but I woke up because I heard Jonathan moaning so loudly — like, disturbingly loud —”

“Okay, maybe I needed to lay down some ground rules here —” Steve starts with a very tight voice as you snorted into your palm.

“Just hear me out,” Will laughs, holding a hand. “I thought it was with a girl —”

“William,” Steve scolded.

“But he was in the bathroom,” Will talked over him. “Shitting his brains out.”

Dustin cackled while Mike audibly expressed disgust while laughing at the same time. El looked shocked, giggling hysterically into her hand.

“Damn, that bad?!” Lucas roared.

“He lit every candle in the house,” Will cackled. “Mom went to use it shortly after him and came barreling into our rooms to ask us in a panic what had died up one of our butts!”

Steve collapsed into you laughing, and you couldn’t even breathe from laughing so hard. It was that sort of deep laughter that’s so painful because it’s quiet before you’re able to finally erupt with loud laughs that help you come down from a high. All the kids were a fit of cackles and giggles, too. Erica made her way into the room finally, jumping right into things and bringing cookies with milk. All of you exchanged stories, allowing yourselves to only cry tears of joy. It was exactly what you all needed, long overdue.

And for the first time in ages — none of you thought about the upside down, or the impending doom that awaited you just outside of the Harrington house throughout all of Hawkins.

That night, you and Steve tucked every single of your kids into their assigned sleeping bags and cots. Lucas stayed with Max in her bed, asking you sheepishly if that was alright. You’d nodded, along with Steve — more than approving. And given you both would be chaperoning that night in the same shared room, you also let Mike and El cuddle up together in a sleeping bag.

“Hands outside of the covers, Wheeler,” Steve warned him, but he gave him a wink — adding please at the end. Even Mike gave him a smile and nod, like a little kid who felt called out but also didn’t have any intention of disobeying.

Dustin and Will joked in high pitched voices about being bunkmates with their sleeping bags next to each other, given they were the two singles of the group. Technically, Erica was too. But even if she wasn’t, she would still demand her own space. She had situated herself on the floor beside Lucas’s side of the bed, not planning to give him a hard time for a good while given what was in store for everyone tomorrow.

As for you and Steve — the two of you had stationed yourselves in the center of the room, closest to the door. That way, you could see all your kids at any point during the night and also be the first to fight off any harm coming your way, should danger lurk on the other side of the locked bedroom door.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair as he dozed off, earning a sleepy little “hmph” from him. After he made sure all of them were comfortably settled in for the night, he crawled over to you. His nail bat was propped somewhere nearby — ready to be swung into action if need be. But the need for it that night never came.

You curled into Steve’s chest, breathing in his clean, masculine scent and allowing it to fill all of your senses. Sighing contentedly, you felt a rush of warmth wash over you as his lips pressed into the top of your head.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you more,” you murmured in the softest of whispers.

You felt him chuckle against you. “Impossible,” he breathed into your hair, pulling you so close to him you might as well be the same body.

And had you not been so completely relaxed in his arms, you might have fought him on it. The whole "I love you more" thing. In fact you definitely would have. But you just hummed, dozing off in his strong arms and allowing sleep to find you.

***

Waking up had been beautiful. The sun was even more hidden than usual, plagued by the new world coming into fruition. But despite the lack of sunshine outdoors, you felt as though it shone through the entire room as all the kids woke up and whispered to each other. You pretended not to hear them when they talked about you and Steve. Because if you were being honest? You’d been dying to hear their uncensored thoughts. If they thought that you weren’t listening, they wouldn’t hold back from saying what was actually on their mind.

Turns out? All of them wanted this. The two of you together. They laughed about how some of them thought that Steve was going to end up with Robin at first.

“No way,” Lucas shook his head in a confident whisper. “Those two? They’re like brother and sister.”

“Yeah, but Bauman’s so out of his league,” Mike whispered back.

“She is not,” Will added in a defensive whisper.

“She so is,” Mike whispered indignantly.

“No way, Steve’s awesome,” Dustin defended in a whisper.

“Yeah but like,” Mike whispered, pondering with a sigh. “I mean yeah. He is. I like him. He’s cool. Way cooler than I thought he was at first. But Bauman’s literally a badass. She doesn't care what people think.”

“Steve doesn’t care anymore,” Erica chimes in, speaking softly. She’s actually pleading Steve’s case and it’s adorable. “He used to. But when we were down there with the Russians? And he had to wear that stupid sailor outfit for work?…”

“Oh my god,” Dustin snickered. “That shit was so funny.”

“He looked like Shirley Temple from the Good Ship Lollipop,” Lucas snickered back, and Will had to shush them so that they wouldn’t wake you up.

“My point is,” Erica continued with sass. “Steve doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of him now. I mean…he gave her hell the whole time I was around ‘em.”

“I still don’t get that,” Mike whispered.

“Me either,” El added quietly.

“What do you mean?” Dustin whispered in confusion. “I told you guys the whole story. That once upon a time ramble I had to sit through when Murray basically went on to give us an entire rundown on the two of them?”

“Well duh,” Mike whispered in annoyance. “I know that. But dude…she’s…like, she's...”

“Hot.”

Everyone went quiet, and you stiffened as you held back laughter. Because the person who had called you hot? It was El.

“Bauman is hot,” El repeated.

Eventually someone snorted. Then, they all did. You bit back laughter, blushing into Steve’s chest with your face kept hidden.

“You’re hot,” Mike added to her in a coy whisper.

“No, you are,” she whispered back sweetly.

“Enough,” Erica whispered definitively.

“Max thinks that Steve is hot,” Lucas scoffed.

“He is,” Erica and El said at the same time.

“Hey,” Mike whined, and they all shushed him.

“Face it, dude,” Dustin whispered flatly. “He is. I wish I looked like him.”

“You look great, man,” Will assured him. “You got a girl like Suzy. You gotta be a stud to catch someone like her.”

Dustin had blushed at that with a wide, dopey grin. “Think so?”

After listening to them chat some more, eventually Steve started to stir. He’d told them good morning, to which Dustin all too happily responded with a very loud good morning back —- making Steve audibly groan and bite back curse words. The kids all snickered.

Will started handing out drawings out to everyone. You all had been sketching and drawing together in your assigned room earlier the day before, while Steve had been getting Max’s room ready. Will had told you all to draw a picture of someone else in the party. He’d even chosen who was drawing who.

Will and Lucas drew each other.

Mike and Erica drew each other.

El and Dustin drew each other.

And you drew Steve, before he joined you all and eventually drew his original art piece of you while you all played a round of the Game of Life.

Here you were now: holding your drawing close to your chest, and wiggling your eyebrows at Steve. He gave you the most adorable smirk, his cocoa brown eyes still a bit sleepy and his perfect hair the sexiest case of bed head. He stretched, toned arms flexing and his white t-shirt clinging to his muscles in all the right places while being loose enough to wanna rip it off of him…

Not the time, Bauman, you mentally scolded yourself.

Steve had reached underneath his pillow to fetch his drawing of you, holding it to his chest and sitting across from you — crossed-legged and shooting you a wink. All the kids mirrored you both, sitting opposite their assigned art piece subject with throaty giggles and snorts.

Will looked at everyone excitedly, like a proud art professor, ready for his classroom to partake in show-and-tell.

“Alright,” he smiled. “Everyone ready?”

“Yeah, you go first, Byers,” Steve nodded at him with an encouraging grin.

Will blushed. “Oh…well…I mean…I should go last. You guys first. On the count of 3, everyone turn your photos around to your partner.”

Mike snorted as he stared down Erica. “Howdy, partner,” he drawled in a fake accent. El giggled, and so did Lucas.

Erica shot Mike a wry smirk. “Easy now, cowboy.”

“Bet you made me look like a total loser,” Mike snickered.

“I don’t have to draw you to make you look like that,” Eric’s said in the most sugary sweet, sarcastic voice.

“Okay snarkbutts, settle down,” Steve scolded lightly in a groggy voice, no heat behind it. “Will has the floor. William: proceed.”

Will saluted him. “Alright. Count of 3.”

“Please tell me you gave me teeth,” Dustin mumbled lowly to El.

“One…”

El shrugged. “I dunno.”

Dustin narrowed his eyes.

“Two…”

Steve gave you a coy look, asking in the lowest of mumbles, “How big’s my hair?”

You grinned like a devil, your voice lower. “Not as big as your other best trait.”

Steve lifted a very cocky eyebrow with a deepening grin.

“Three!”

Everyone turned their papers around, and a soft silence fell over you all minus a few little reactive intakes of breath.

Dustin had drawn El with a million eggo waffles in the sky around her. She looked like the most adorable cartoon character, with anime eyes and full cheeks. Her hair was shorter, the way she’d looked back in ‘83 whenever she’d returned. But it wasn’t slicked back. It was free, curly and a little wild. Her smile was innocent and childlike, and there was a policeman in the back waving. Hopper.

El had drawn Dustin with his signature cap and his big toothy grin — which made him beam, because she did give him teeth in the drawing after all. And in this drawing, there were bubble boxes above him that read all the quotes she associated with him, like Steve! and She’s our friend and she’s crazy! and Shit shit shit shit shit!

Mike had drawn Erica into a comic strip. He showed her as just a wee tike, then at Scoops Ahoy with an ice cream cone, then playing DND. The last image of the strip showed her with her arms crossed and a triumphant smile, with a banner behind her that read Welcome to the Party. (…as Erica looked at it, she felt the most unfamiliar warmth seep into her bones and the joyful sting behind her eyes sent her into pure shock.)

Erica had drawn Mike on his bike, riding through the neighbor with his backpack and a flashlight. His dark hair blew in the wind, and there was a thought bubble above him with little heads that resembled all of his best friends. Above him and the thought was a quote: “Mike Wheeler: nerd, snark machine and superhero to all.” (…Mike felt so emo, he didn’t know what to do with it.)

You had drawn Steve in a very chic sort of hot anime-like way. It honestly looked like an actual character that existed in an anime universe. In the drawing, Steve held his nail bat in one hand and a McDonald’s happy meal in the other. He didn’t quite understand that part at first — until he spotted behind him, there was a Winnebago. Six familiar faces, very stick-figure-esque, stood there waving. You also stood there, with a quote above your head: “six-piece nuggets, coming right up.” Steve breathed the fondest of chuckles as he took it all in, wanting to laugh and smile and cry and tackle you with his kids all at the same time.

Steve’s drawing of you was more adorable than you ever thought him capable of drawing. You were the cutest little cartoon, backpack over your shoulder with combat boots — but you were wearing the most beautiful dress. It was yellow, which complimented the happy blue sky behind you. Yours and Steve's favorite colors combined. There was a big house behind you, with seven other stick figures that looked an awful lot like Steve and your six nuggets. And right next to you, there was a dictionary-esque definition of you:

BAUMAN (Pronounced bow•men)

A professional love-life ruiner; cute but psycho; hardcore but soft; too smart for her own good; humor darker than the dark espresso she drinks straight, because she’s a sociopath; also hotter than said cup of coffee; terrifyingly beautiful from the inside out; my mortal enemy turned favorite person; the girl who makes everything make sense; someone I can’t fathom living without, and can’t believe I ever thought I could; the love of my life, in this one and the next and so on, so long as she’ll have me.

You had never felt so full in your entire life, and neither had Steve. The two of you just stared at each other’s drawings. Grinning, glassy-eyed, chuckling, aching, filled with every ounce of joy and every ounce dread — all at once. Neither of you could speak, but neither of you had to. Your eyes, along with his, spoke volumes. They said everything there was to say, just as much as your sketches did.

Lucas had drawn Will in a wizard’s outfit. He held a tall, majestic scepter — with a large hat on top of his head. Surrounding him was a large swirl of colors, whimsical and light, painting a galaxy of sorts. And in this galaxy, there were little floating stick figures with all his friends’ names above them. Will was smiling in the drawing, with his hands in the air and on top of the world. Literally, because in the picture he was standing on top of a globe.

As for Will...he had drawn Lucas at a basketball game. He was scoring the winning basket, and an entire crowd cheered behind him. All of you were there. Will was there, next to all his friends. You and Steve were next to each other, along with his mom, Jonathan, Nancy, Argyle, Eddie, Robin and Hopper. Even your Uncle Murray.

And Max…that’s where Will’s drawing got unique.

She was piggybacking Lucas, as he jumped and shot the winning score of the game, her laugh radiating through all the pens and crayons and markers that Will had used to sketch her. She was alive, as were the rest of you. Very much alive.

Just as you all were right now, inside one of Steve Harrington’s many bedrooms in his big house with no parents.

No matter what doom was swiftly approaching — no matter what monsters were looming underneath the surface, and already roaming the real world — you all were together. You had each other.

You always will.

***

Late morning upstairs has been kind to you. It's been light. Hopeful.

There’s something about walking downstairs that makes the energy shift. It sends an odd sort of chill up your spine, despite Steve’s arm draped securely over your shoulders as you wear one of his large gray hoodies with your bad arm in a sling. You feel a certain pang in your chest as the kids follow you all down into the kitchen…but this time, it’s not because of your heart arrhythmia.

As Hopper and Joyce smile at you all in the kitchen, greeting you warmly and having prepared a table full of pancakes that had smiley faces decorated with whipped cream and chocolate chips and strawberries on top — something about the scene frowns at you. A deep frown that you’ve seen on everyone’s faces whenever there is bad news waiting to be shared.

Your uncle is coming over to hand you a hot cup of decaf coffee, winking at you and Steve as he gives him a tight shoulder squeeze. He’s moving past you both towards the man named Dimitri, who is walking in from the living room. Murray brings him over to introduce you.

“Dimitri, this is my niece,” Murray grins.

You shake his hand firmly with your good arm, smiling gratefully. “Heard a lot about you.”

“You as well,” the man says with a genuine smile, kind vibrant eyes and a thick Russian accent. He’s definitely seen some shit.

“And this is Steve,” Murray gestures, a bit of a coy glint in his eye. “Her boyfriend.”

Steve blushes, a soft smile gracing his features and shining through his eyes. He wholeheartedly adores being called that out loud for the very first time: your boyfriend.

Your uneven heart skips several more beats, which typically would raise a lot of concern — but at the moment, you’re too fucking happy to care or pay it any mind. You watch Steve flash his signature charming smile and reach out to firmly shake hands with Dimitri, who is looking back at your handsome boy with the widest grin. The masculine exchange of lighthearted friendly words between the two men makes your stomach dance for some reason, especially as your uncle chuckles along with them.

This is completely uncharted territory for you. Nothing about this moment is familiar. But you could really get used to it. It’s new. And you adore it.

Dimitri meets the kids, who all take to him very well. Especially El, who seems to already be familiar with him. Likely because of Hopper. Jonathan and Argyle are being introduced to him by Joyce, while Eddie is rounding the corner with a big stretch and yawn. Steve shoots him a smirk as the metalhead makes his way over for a big ole bro hug, whispering something to him that makes Steve snort while Eddie grins like a devil. Steve swats at him playfully, successfully smacking him as Robin walks in with Nancy close behind. Steve’s quirky platonic soulmate makes her way over to you with a warm smile, swinging an arm over your shoulders so that she’s nearly headlocking you in a hug. She’s a bit taller than you, by just a couple inches, so it gives her some upper hand. You’re chuckling lightly, nose scrunched and tightly winding your good arm around Robin’s waist as you smile back at Nancy. Her eyes are still sad, a bit lost. But there’s no animosity there, at least not that you see. She looks at you shyly, timidly…but with utter kindness.

Unbeknownst to you — Robin had suggested to Nancy that she stay with her last night in Steve’s room. For Nancy, that had been…hard. Necessary, but hard. For multiple reasons. For one thing — the last time she’d slept in Steve’s room, she had been his girlfriend. Being asleep in there 2 years later without him, now as his ex, brought back a flood of memories — bittersweet and haunting. Being in his bed, twisted up in his sheets, felt wrong. But she just couldn’t bring herself to sleep next to Jonathan that night. Not yet. Not after everything that had unfolded. So Robin had stayed up talking with her, having a heavy heart to heart. But it turned out to be exactly what Nancy needed. Just what the doctor ordered. Robin Buckley had unintentionally become a nurse of sorts over the last several months, and maybe even somewhat of a therapist. Although — Argyle sort of had her beat in that department earlier that afternoon. But he was the much simpler kind. Whereas Robin got deep, given her innate gift at rambling until you were given no choice but to cut her off because your most honest thoughts were yanked out of you as you were made to listen to her ranting. Nancy had cried some more, but she’d also laughed. A comforting mixture of both smiles and frowns were shared between the two unlikely friends. Robin wasn’t Barb, nor would any other girl be that kind of friend to Nancy. Robin was very different from Barb. However, her heart was just as loving. She loved hard, and it showed. She let Nancy pour her heart out, pouring some of her own out in return. And somehow…somehow…it brought Nancy some newfound peace and understanding.

So as she looked at you now, having seen you come downstairs with Steve and the kids — now introducing yourselves to the new Russian house guest, and sharing a special connection with Eddie and Robin in a way that only settled couples so effortlessly did — Nancy could see something in the two of you that she’d not known Steve capable of being while she in a relationship with him. And while she selfishly ached for her younger self who’d missed out on having that with him (and sometimes still found herself pining after), she selflessly began to feel happy for Steve. And she even began to feel some happiness for you. Not completely. Not yet. She couldn’t quite commit to making full peace with it all, given that healing takes time. A very long time. But as time continued to pass, which Nancy hoped you all would still be granted given the circumstances of the crumbling world, she knew that she would eventually get there.

Murray and Dimitri were saying something funny, making Hopper and Joyce share a hearty laugh with the two of them while the kids were asking the new gentleman a million questions. Steve made his way over to you and Robin, hugging you both — and Eddie threw his arms around all of you, resulting in fond groans and grunts from you all along with big smiles.

Nancy and Jonathan made unintentional eye contact as this happened, but Dustin shouting GROUP HUG! snapped their focus away again. The boys all bear hugged you guys while El and Erica were already pouring syrup onto their pancakes.

Eventually, you all sat down to enjoy a feast. And while it tasted so deliciously sweet…the bitter aftertaste stemmed from looming doom that creeped just beneath the surface of your feet. The energy shift was still felt, and despite the warmth of homemade pancakes and Steve’s hand on your thigh…your blood ran cold.

***

It was the early afternoon that finally unveiled the darker energy shift you had all been sensing since that morning, after you left the comforting quarters of your little family sleepover.

Everyone was now seated in the living room now — the way you always were, when it was time for you all to have a group meeting and listen to Hopper go over a plan of sorts or give a rundown to the household. Except this time, Dimitri was here along with Dr. Owens. It wasn’t like all the other times. This was different. Very different.

This one scared you.

Maybe they all should’ve. All these talks that centered around the end of the world. All these household meetings about the impending doom that came with said end-of-the-world. But somehow, you’d grown accustomed to them. Comfortable. It meant you were all still alive and that you all had something worth fighting for. And it had always meant there would be another meeting.

But there was an unsettling sort of feeling of finality to this meeting that set it apart from all the others. And as Hopper stood with both Joyce and your uncle Murray…you felt goosebumps scatter up and down your arms and legs, regardless of Steve’s warm oversized hoodie and your leggings and socks. Their faces were somber, a bit grim. Murray kept his arms tightly crossed while Joyce fiddled nervously with her hands. Even Hopper, ever the strong and firm type, looked nervous. Maybe even afraid.

They spoke all slowly, taking their time with why everyone was there — why Dimitri was now in the picture along with Dr. Owens — and what all needed to be discussed. And the longer they spoke, the thicker the air got. Tension spread around the room. It was especially evident as none of the kids were making a sound. They hadn’t uttered a single word. Not one of them. The adults had the floor, and when they asked Dimitri to stand with them, you all knew this was going to go in a bad direction.

So when they all told you the plan, looping Dr. Owens into the picture and why he not only was here for this talk — but here to stay — the gravity of the current situation landed.

You all felt your souls plummet to the deepest depths of your stomachs with a hard thud, as Hopper revealed two large whiteboards. They both had entirely different detailed layouts…and beside each one, there were two separate lists of names.

One list of names would be at the frontlines. The people who would be diving head first into the upside down and all of its perils.

One list of names would be hiding out here. The people who would maintain home base, helping operate things from the other side in the real world, while risking the chance of being found, caught and killed.

Both sides were at risk. Both teams could die. Both groups might not ever live to see another day, or each other, ever again.

As Steve stares at your name, along with the names of all of his kids aside from El, on the opposite whiteboard from his own name…he feels bile rising in his throat. His stomach twists into knots, deeply tangled with unbearable anxiety and anguish. His mind races, but his lips don’t move. Fear paralyzes him, rendering him speechless as the adults keep talking and gesturing to the boards. The castle on a cloud that his dreams have just began to build for the two of you, walls high and protecting you both along with his kids — his family — was drifting away from him. And all he could do was watch it drifting further and further away, into the void, as he stared into space.

You felt his grasp on you instinctively tighten as his muscles stiffened. Steve was rigid against your back, and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your face right now. You were sitting between his legs on the longest part of his couch, facing the same direction as you took in the whiteboards while absorbing all the information that was being relayed to the group. With a harsh swallow, you risked peeking at everyone else’s reactions — quickly scanning the room with your eyes.

Mike’s usually sour expression looked far more sad than it usually did. He only ever looked like that when El was in danger, or things were spiraling out of control. He sat on top of the coffee table with his elbows in his lap, crouched forward and staring a hole into one of the whiteboards. Dustin’s mouth was agape, and his unusual silence was loud. He hadn’t said a word from where he sat on the couch next to Erica. Will sat on the other side of Jonathan, brow furrowed and heart blue. He knew the risks being taken, and it hurt his soul seeing that he would be apart from his mom and brother. He felt as though he always had been, ever since this all began, and it seemed to be a never ending circumstance. Lucas was taking it all in from his seat on the leg of the couch, hands wrung and expression reserved — but defeated. He’d really grown into a young man this past year, and he’d been taking so much in stride. But even so, he looked conflicted. Really conflicted.

After taking in the kids’ reactions, your eyes swept over to Robin and Eddie. She was seated in the giant loveseat, per usual, with Eddie perched on the arm of it. You narrowed your eyes as you caught sight of Robin fiddling her thumbs, eyes darting up and down from her fingers to the adults with the whiteboards. Eddie was bouncing his knee anxiously, nibbling at his fingernails — which were already bitten to stubs. While the two of them looked to be taking this hard, the way that the rest of you were…they also seemed to be absorbing it a bit differently. As if maybe they had a hunch about it already…

It wasn’t until Erica stood up to sit by Lucas with zero prompt that you felt slightly suspicious. Because as she did, Robin shot a very quick tight-lipped smile in Erica’s direction with eyes that radiated sympathy. Did they know this was coming? Is that why Erica had come upstairs with the cookies and milk later than the rest of the kids?

You sighed through your nose, focusing back on Hopper as he gestured for Dr. Owens to stand up with them. The older man made his way to the center of the tense room, hands dug deeply into his pockets and wearing a very sympathetic smile.

“I’m really grateful you all have put a lot of faith in me, despite everything,” he said humbly. “Truthfully, it’s not owed. I know that. Still…I promise you’re in good hands with me. Not those guys out there. Hence why I’m here. And I know you’d have already figured out by now if I was still working for that side of things. Between El and Will, and all of you crazy smart folks, I’m outnumbered.”

He added a light chuckle at the end that nobody returned. Dr. Owens sighed, taking no offense. He knew this was not going to be taken well.

“I’m in this fight with you,” he said, stronger than how he spoke before. There was conviction in his tone that he never really used, and it only heightened just how severe things currently were. “If it were up to me? None of you would be out there. I’d be out there on the frontlines. But…given Max’s comatose state, and Bauman’s heart condition, I know I’m needed here. Which is just as big a risk that’s being taken out on the battlefield, because we’re staying in Hawkins as the evacuation notice and mandate goes into effect. The city will be swarmed with government officials who are all behind this. We’ll be surrounded from all angles. No one is safe.”

You’re pretty sure that Steve had stopped breathing at this point, and the veins that prominently stuck out from his arms tightly wound around you made your throat close up.

“I’ll be here to monitor Max, along with Bauman. I’ve got plenty of medication to help steady the heart arrhythmia, and anything vital needed for a medical emergency — on anyone’s behalf, not just Bauman’s and Mayfield’s.”

“But…what happens if…”

A tight voice made everyone’s heads whip in its direction. It was Dustin speaking, eyes wide with fear. He wasn't being his usual cocky, overly confident self. He looked and sounded genuinely fearful.

“…what happens if we’re caught? What do we do? Where do we go?”

Murray sighs, stepping forward. “We’ve thought about that. Right now, there’s only 2 options. But they’re solid. The best we’ve got right now. One more than the other. See, look —”

Murray went into detail about an abort-mission plan, but it sounded distorted in your ears as the gravity of the situation weighed down on top of your shoulders: you were all splitting up. And this time might be the last time.

At some point, Mike had started to finally come to life. His snark was returning, but even he wavered and the fear in his voice wasn’t concealed. Hopper and El had to level with him, which only flustered Mike and caused him to stutter. They had him beat, and he knew it. He wanted to storm off, but Erica had told him to sit his ass down and listen. It was so unexpected that he did as she said. But your own brain was playing it all in slow motion. As Will began asking questions with Dustin, you could see how Lucas had looked like he wanted to ask Erica if she might have already known something — but he didn’t. Dr. Owens was saying something about Will being tied to the other side of things and being the assigned “El” of their group opposite of her, which fired up Mike as he demanded to know why the hell that required him to be out of the group heading to the frontlines alongside his girlfriend. Before Hopper could even respond, Eddie was jumping into action along with Jonathan — coming to the retired cop’s defense. That only bewildered Mike more, which fueled Dustin’s confusion into high gear as he made arguments alongside Mike. Lucas had thrown his voice into the mix, but when Erica’s was louder — telling them all to listen, for the love of god listen, and Lucas stared at her in silent bemusement. Will was weakly pleading with them all to please calm down, along with Joyce, who shot Argyle (of all people) a desperate look, and he made his way over to sit down next to Will and tell him it was going to be alright.

“NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS ALRIGHT,” Mike cried, angry and sad and scared in the way a child made to grow up too soon has every right to be.

“Mike, please,” Nancy’s voice trembled, her blue eyes glassy.

“Nancy, this isn’t okay!!!” Mike wailed.

“M-Mike,” Nancy stammered, her own emotions giving her a shake she couldn’t stop. “Just l-listen to me…”

“No, you never listen to me!!!” Mike bawled. “Never!!!”

“Hey hey, Wheeler, hey.”

Steve finally found his voice as he reluctantly made his way to stand up away from you and approach his kid that was having an absolute breakdown. Mike was still wailing, but as Steve approached with an unwavering look in his eye — baby Wheeler allowed for the group's assigned babysitter to actually place his hands on his shoulders and try to level with him. Mike’s face crumbled, his words not making any sense the more he stumbled over them. All that could be made out was something he was trying to say towards El — something about why and how could you and tell them I’m coming — which made Steve get a firm grip on his shoulders as he told him not to blame her for this. After all, Steve had all the experience in the world as far as wrongfully placing blame on someone else was concerned…and it made your entire body ache as you watched him soothe Mike, who just bawled and mumbled nonsense in his hold.

El began to cry, too, leaning into Hopper — whose bottom lip trembled. He bit down on it hard and willed it to stop, his eyes overwhelmed with everything that was unraveling before his eyes.

Dustin was going back and forth with Erica, but he sounded so pitiful it made your uneven heart crack. He kept looking over at Steve, begging him to understand. Please Steve, please, let me go with you. Eddie moved to immediately hold him, crushing him in more of a death grip than a hug. The metalhead mumbled into his curly hair — not this time, kiddo, not this time. Robin had a hand clamped over her mouth, emotions taking over as she barely managed to bite them back.

You stood up instantly, moving to hold Buckley. She didn’t hesitate to make room for you on the seat, letting you take her in your arms as she shook like a leaf. You gently swayed her side to side with you, murmuring quiet little words that were meant to be comforting — knowing they weren’t, but offering them anyway.

Your eyes met Jonathan’s across the room as he swayed with Will as well. His pupils were blown, consumed with dread and drowning in pure misery, and you knew that yours weren’t much different.

Mike had buried his face into Steve’s chest at this point, and it made Nancy cry into her own palms as she curled in on herself.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, voice cracking at the end. She looked at Hopper and your uncle, eyes guilty and full of shame. “I - I’m sorry.”

Before you could even process what just happened, Nancy was barreling up the stairs. Jonathan watched her go, panicking. He looked at Will, then at you — eyes pleading. You didn’t even let a second pass before you’d squeezed Robin to signal her, standing up to bring her over to where Will was seated. You took Jonathan’s place as he went after Nancy, holding him tight as Robin leaned against you on your opposite side. Argyle kept a kind hand on Will’s shoulder, still sitting to the other of him.

“Steve, please, you die I die, remember?”

Dustin’s whimpered words had to have been the saddest plea you’d ever heard in your life. Steve almost broke but before he could he flung an arm to sweep Dustin into his hold, as baby Wheeler kept bawling into his chest. He held them both steady, letting them fall apart in his protective arms and doing everything in his power not to break down with them. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d failed them. But to Steve’s dismay…he did anyway. He ducked his head down, shaking against the two of his kids, letting himself silently weep with them. For them.

Lucas looked utterly heartbroken, which Erica noticed. The youngest Sinclair cast aside all her pride, looking at her older brother with the most sympathy and love she could have towards anyone in this world, and she threw her arms around him. He only let it shock him for a second before he held her back, a grateful silence falling over them both.

You felt tears of your own begin to brim your eyes, but before letting them fall you looked up towards the adults…seeing your uncle first. Murray looked back at you with every ounce of empathy and solace that could be found inside his dark soul.

You gave him a soft nod, silently communicating with him. I understand. I’m sorry you had to deliver this news, but I’m here and I understand.

And he returned the soft nod, lips pressed into a thin line but communicating back through eye contact and body language. I love you and I hate this. But I’ve got you.

Dimitri stood next to him, eyes somber and downcast. He was new to the picture, but having seen the other side of things and just how bad a toll this has clearly taken on you all — he mourned for everyone’s pain.

Dr. Owens had to sit down, unable to speak and wringing his hands.

Hopper and Joyce held each other, along with El. They looked at each other, devastated but steadfast.

This plan was not open for discussion.

This plan was not open for debate.

This plan was final.

And so you let the tears crawl over the edges of your eyes, feeling them skate down your cheeks as you clung to Will and Robin and felt the world sit on top of your shoulders.

***

-- so as you can see, shit's getting intense. the gut-wrenching angst approaching has me overwhelmed but I'm so sickeningly happy about it. suffice it to say, Steve & Bauman are my Roman Empire and they are endgame. so if that gives you any sort of hope, given the inevitable doom that is in store for them and everyone else involved...then yay.

<3 this story forever lives on. forever and ever amen. - misha

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myownwholewildworld · 11 days

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chapter 9 | main masterlist | ao3 | series masterlist | chapter 11 (soon)

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now) summary: recovery, if at all possible, is hard work ― but you're not alone. joel is there to hold your hand, through thick and thin. until death do you part. a/n: hello there! c: i hope this chapter puts some of you out of your misery, because it did me lol i'm sorry for the emotional damage you have endured so far, i'm giving you all a hug and forehead kisses 🫶 hope you enjoy this one! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you all so much for the warm welcome this series has gotten so far! love y'all 💖 p.s. there's a second a/n at the end of the chapter 👀 warnings: 18+, mdni. angst. being sick. references to suicide and navigating grief. mentions of blood and murder. description of wounds. joel takes care of you. a bit of fluff. reader talks briefly about her past with her family. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov. dividers by @saradika-graphics w/c: ~5.8k. taglist aka the drama wagon at the end of the chapter (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!)

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t do this to me, not yet, please―”, Joel’s voice faltered as the lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him.

Panic was running so high, he couldn’t even hear his own racing thoughts. His shaking hands hovered over your cheek before cupping your chin. Your eyes were shut, your lips slightly parted, your hand still resting across his chest. To unknowing eyes, you just looked asleep, but your skin was burning so hot that Joel could only touch your forehead for a few seconds at a time.

“No, c’mon, wake up”, he whispered as he sat back up on the bed, holding your frame between his arms.

Fear froze him in place, his muscles cramped. Joel knew what was about to happen, but he had had no time to digest it yet, to wrap his head around the fact that you were going to die. He couldn’t lose you ― not you too. His heart shrunk painfully in his chest, oppressing his lungs to the point where it was difficult to breathe. The panic he had managed to keep at bay was overtaking his senses, setting in quickly.

Joel forced himself to breathe. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale ― until his heartrate dropped to somewhat normal levels. He could still feel his blood rushing through his veins in waves, but at least his chest had stopped hurting a little.

He looked down at you, burning in his arms. A fleeting thought crossed his mind ― why were you having a fever so severe? He had not seen anyone come down with a temperature when bitten, although he never stayed around for long enough to find out, so what did he know?

But it didn’t really matter how it was happening, but that it was happening. Joel was not ready to let you go, even though he promised he would murder you when the end was near. You had taken it back, but once he accepted, there was no turning back.

Joel Miller was many things, but he was not a quitter nor a liar. He would be true to his word.

He caressed your cheek as you shivered so hard that your teeth chattered together, brushing his mouth against your forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m here”, he mumbled, although he was not sure if you were listening.

His heart flipped again at the realisation that he needed to make a decision about the when. Letting you suffer like this, when the end was inalterable, was cruel of him. Extremely cruel, especially because you were not able to stop your own suffering as you had wanted.

One hour, one hour and then I’ll let you go, he pledged to himself as he enveloped you in his arms.

This time you trembled so hard, you ran your elbow into his ribs. Joel mouthed an exclamation as he held you in place. He might be cruel, but not so insensitive to let you hurt like this. So he laid you down on bed and got up to run to the en-suite bathroom.

He almost sighed with relief when he saw a big bathtub. Praying for running water, he opened the tap and almost thanked God for the miracle. Joel let the water run for a few minutes until it came out clear. He tested the temperature, and it was so cold that the hairs on his forearm stood up.

Joel returned to the bedroom and sank a knee on the mattress to pick you up. You whimpered something, but your words were so slurred he couldn’t understand what you had said.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you”, he reassured you, his lips gently pressing against your temple.

Lifting you off the bed, Joel walked towards the bathroom with you curled up in his arms. Your bottom lip was quivering because of the effort your body was making to generate heat. But you didn’t need your core temperature to rise up but to come down and Joel knew that.

Sucking in his breath, he stepped in the bathtub, the cold water a shock to his body. But he was not going to leave you alone, not when you needed him the most. He would crawl through living hell on a path full of broken glass for you, so a bit of cold was not going to kill him. He slowly sat down, keeping the balance, and set you down between his legs, your back resting against his torso.

“Fuck”, he whispered while his body acclimatised to the cold water.

You suddenly groaned and Joel’s alertness went through the roof. He held you in his arms as you stirred, trying to get away in your haziness.

“Cold, so cold”, you mumbled, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second, your trembling hands looking for something to hold on to.

Joel captured both of your hands in one of his so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“I know, I know, baby, but I need to cool you off. You have a fever”, he reasoned with you, but your neurons were firing up so much with pain that your brain could not really register his words.

“Joel, it― it hurts, please make it stop”, you begged, more unconscious than awake.

The lump in his throat grew bigger at your plea. He knew he had to do it but couldn’t find the strength. Was he a coward? Was he so afraid of solitude that he would put you through such hellish torment?

“I will, darlin’, I will. Just gimme a minute, please”, Joel murmured against your temple, holding you tight, his breath shaking with anticipated sorrow.

He did not want to say goodbye. Joel was fucking scared of bidding you farewell ― his heart racing so fast, the pain in his chest returned worse than before.

Joel remained still in that bathtub with you in his arms for half an hour, until his skin was desensitised. Your shivering calmed down to the point it was almost non-existent now and you had stayed quiet for the last five minutes, your chest rising and falling in a steady pace.

His movements were slow and smooth, not wanting to wake you up as he stood up still holding you. Stepping out of the bathtub, Joel grabbed a towel nearby, walked you to the bed again and carefully laid you down on the bedsheets. With light touches, he dried off your damp skin, ensuring he did not wake you up at any moment. You looked so peaceful, so painless now, he didn’t want to disrupt you too much.

With pursed lips, Joel gently removed the wet bandage protecting the bite and concernedly inspected the gnarly wound on your forearm. The teeth marks were so clear, he could count a full set of adult teeth. The lesion was still festering, blood and pus oozing out from time to time. But, weirdly enough, it seemed to be better than a few hours ago. It was less reddened, less swollen and, overall, less hideous looking.

You had to be a trooper if your body was really trying to heal that, because, from what he knew, there was no coming back from being bit by a clicker. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as Joel feebly patted the wound with the clean towel and replaced the bandage with a fresh one.

He then clothed you and as he was putting on your foot the last sock, your eyes opened for one second, full consciousness still evading you. You were in and out, catching brief moments of lucidity.

“Joel? I love you”, you managed to whisper before dosing off again.

“Me too, darlin’”, but you were too far gone again to hear him say it.

One hour turned into fifteen. Joel had gone through all five stages of grief in that time, and now was back to square one.

Denial.

This could not be happening to you ― you did not deserve to die like this. You were a very bright light on the shore, the lighthouse who guided him home when he thought everything was senseless, pointless. You had managed to teach him how to weather the worst tempests, how to keep the boat afloat even though the waves were bigger than him. Joel had been able to touch the sand for the first time in what felt like a lifetime of loss, all thanks to you. You were a beacon of hope, of positivity, and you deserved so much better than this.

Why you? Of the thousands of people walking this damn earth, why you? Destiny was laughing at him, snatching you away when he had just let himself feel the love you had so sweetly offered.

Anger.

He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose while the fingers of his free hand nervously played a melody on the arm of the chair he was sat on. Joel was pissed off at himself, for allowing himself to feel, to doom you the way he always did the people he loved.

One look at you, curled up on bed, was enough to make him hate himself for what he did to you. He might not have been the one who bit you, but he was the one who put you in harm’s way first. Had he been more attentive, less in his head, he could have prevented it from happening.

A shimmering but fading rage consumed what remained of his broken soul. Like a city burnt down to its foundations, only a barren wasteland prevailed inside his empty carcass.

Bargaining.

He got up from his resting to aimlessly walk around the bedroom, his sight never leaving you, worry distorting his features.

If he could, he would trade places with you in a heartbeat. Damn him, he would sacrifice countless people in your name if that meant you could remain by his side. You were worth more than a thousand lives in his eyes. Joel would kill for you, would commit atrocities for you if that meant you could be with him.

He probably was a selfish motherfucker for thinking that way, but his pain was blinding his judgement. And you would hate him for it ― he could hear your voice in his head saying, “I’m not worth that much, Joel.” But you were, yes, you fucking were.

The thought of not having you by his side brought overwhelming anxiety upon him, one he thought long forgotten.

Depression.

His demons caught up with him in the end.

With a heavy, trembling sigh, he sat down on the bed. Tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, his gentle touch lingered on your neck. Your heartbeat was strong, and Joel wondered how long it would take for it to slowly die out. And at that moment, his would wither away too.

He just didn’t have it in him anymore ― Joel felt defeated, purposeless. Life would eventually become meaningless, and he would destroy himself, just like Tommy had predicted. His brother would be better off without him too, so there was no point in looking for him and his new-found group. It still pained him how quickly Tommy had ditched them, as if he could not wait to get rid of them, of him.

When he lost his precious Sarah, Joel deemed the world an inhabitable place. Darkness became his most trusted companion at the most dreadful hours of his existence. Until you shone a light which scattered the gloom away.

Acceptance.

It is what it is, Joel thought, conquered by the dreary circumstances.

He was no god, so couldn’t change the past. Your fate had been attached to his the moment you two met. And like a moth attracted to light, Joel could not stop but fall for you. You had showed him what true romantic love was and he should be grateful for the time he had with you. And he was but was greedy too ― he had wanted more. So much more, even in this post-apocalyptic world.

Joel bent down to kiss your forehead, realising your fever had subsided when his lips didn’t burn like before. At least he had done one good thing for you. Joel laid down beside you, wrapping you in his arms one last time before he would become, once again, the ghoul. Your ghoul.

Just one more minute to pretend, he told himself. Joel had finally come to terms with what was expected of him.

And then, as promised, he stood up and stilled in front of the nightside table where the gun had been resting for hours now. Two bullets were all he had left, but it was more than enough for what he intended. This time round, you would not be there to stop him ― it was almost poetic that his goodbye to you was a mirror image of how you two met.

Surprisingly, when Joel reached for it, his hand was steady, his finger wrapping around the trigger with a determination he did not really feel. His mind had gone blank the moment his palm caressed the grip.

The faster, the better, he coaxed himself as he checked the magazine one last time.

As if his soul had left his body, Joel watched himself from afar turn around to face you. The barrel of the gun delicately kissed your forehead. He wouldn’t look away ― if he was strong enough to kill you, he should be too to watch you die at his own mercy.

A blur of memories impregnated your brain, so vague you could not differentiate them. Or were they just a product of your imagination? You were not sure. You were a baby, but you were also a teen at the same time ― the chronology was so mixed up you could not tell the different versions of you apart.

You felt like your brain had melted inside your skull and were not able to produce logical thoughts. It really felt like mush after all the hurt you had endured. You barely remembered anything except for the searing pain that had consumed you, overwhelming all the nerve endings in your body to a maddening point. But after being surrounded by a blanket of coldness, you felt substantially better.

As time went on, your thoughts had become clearer, but a crushing sense of tiredness rendered you bedbound. Your limbs felt like jelly, your eyelids were glued to your globes, and your throat felt so dry that if you tried to pronounce a word, the effort would tear at your vocal cords. So you let yourself be swayed by the gentle waves of your imagination, drifting away into a realm of soothing possibilities. A place where nothing bad could ever happen ― a place where you had your happily ever after with Joel.

The passing of time escaped you ― for all you knew, it could have been days when you started to feel better. Your body had almost fought off the ailment that plotted your demise, although it still had a few battles ahead. Even if you had begun to come back to your senses, you were lucid enough to understand you could not push yourself into normalcy just yet.

Suddenly you felt a cold touch on your forehead and slowly wrinkled your eyebrows. Joel’s lips were usually warm when they brushed your skin, not icicles numbing your feeling. It took you a few attempts, but you were finally able to flutter your eyelashes enough to see.

And what you first saw once you regained consciousness was the barrel of a gun pointing at your forehead. Holding the firearm was Joel’s hand, gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. You had to blink again to clear your sight, cloudiness still fogging the edges.

“Joel?”, you called out, focusing your eyes on his for the first time in what it felt like ages.

He did not respond. The silence was so dense, so filling, you could listen to both of your hearts pounding hard against your chests, as if they were trying to escape and reunite, soothe one another until they calmed down.

“Joel”, you repeated, your voice raspy and hoarse.

You saw the doubt, the fear, dancing freely in his pupils. They were so dilated you could barely see the beautiful brown of his irises. Joel’s eyes were slightly widened, his breathing so agitated his chest moved up and down quickly. But the gun never left your forehead, his hand balanced.

“Fuck me, now I’m seeing things too”, he whispered so low you almost didn’t catch his words.

As the hefty mist dissipated in your brain, you understood what was happening.

You had asked, he had committed. Joel was about to put an end to your suffering, just as you requested. But there was no more suffering within you, not to the point where you wished yourself dead. Now it was… manageable.

He really was going to do it, even if it meant killing the last remnant of humanity within himself. Such act of selfless love brought tears to your eyes. You truly had to love someone to be able to let them go. To be the executioner’s hand ― the sacrifice was even bigger. Joel willing to forego his own being for you meant so many things, it was difficult to put them into words.

“Joel, look at me. Look at me”, you mumbled controlling your wavering tone as you gently pushed down the barrel by caressing his hand, your thumb gently rubbing his skin.

Even though he had been watching you, he was not really seeing you. But your request seemed to finally pervade, because you saw the change in his eyes ― a spark lightened, the brown gaining ground to the black. They broadened while focusing on you for the first time.

“Baby?”, his voice broke on the second syllable, the gun falling on top of the mattress.

You nodded, teary-eyed, as you tried to sit back up on bed. But you were still weak, dizziness overtaking your sense of balance, making the room go round you in a dangerous spiral.

Joel felt your light-headedness as his own, because he quickly sat down beside you, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders to keep you close to his torso.

“What― How― How are you feeling?”, Joel stammered for a second, not letting his hope win against dooming reality.

“I― I feel better.” You looked up at him, his gorgeous eyes pulling you in so fast. Your surprise was reflected on his pupils, none of you really understanding how it was even possible. “I don’t know, but I do?”

“Promise me.” He requested, not demanded, while his fingers traced the outline of your jaw, subtly caressing the skin behind your ear.

You turned your head to kiss the palm of his hand before glancing up at him again.

“I promise, Joel.”

He sighed so hard, you felt his relief pouring out. And so did yours, although you didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case this was the crash before the falling. You had not had an experience close to death before, but it surely wouldn’t feel like this. The agony your body had gone through, although still lingering, was not even half of what it had been some time ago.

The pain had receded, but the overall ill feeling still remained. Your immune system was up in arms, and you could literally feel it fighting off the infection. Your forearm, where you had been bitten, itched like hell. Unaware, your fingers tugged at the bandage, looking for some relief to the uncomfortable feeling.

Joel’s fingers laced with yours to prevent you from scratching yourself.

“You’re gonna make it worse, sweetheart”, he mumbled before a big, heavy pause. “I don’t know if this is supposed to happen, if this the calm before the storm or― I don’t know, but I’m honestly grateful that you’re awake.”

You felt the uncertainty smearing his words. But you did know this wasn’t normal.

“It’s not like this. People start fading away, becoming unresponsive, twitching, you can see their souls leaving their bodies. And you try to talk to them, reason with them as they get closer to you, you ask them to keep their distance and… and they just can’t control themselves, even if you beg them. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes days, but they only get worse, never better…” You explained, memories of a far-away life flooding back. You kept the tears at bay.

Joel cupped your chin, forcing your head up so he could examine your expression. His lips formed a flat line, his jaw clenched, because he felt the affliction in your explanation.

“Who?”, he simply asked.

“My brother. He… he got infected first. Mom and dad, they… had to snatch him off me. They both got bit in their trying to save me.” You choked on your own words, that moment was too painful.

But it was the pain what reminded you of your love for them.

It was the pain what, for now, kept their memory alive.

“My dad had to… you know, shoot him so he would stop coming for me.” Not being able to contain it anymore, your eyes welled up with thick tears. And Joel wiped away each one of them with his thumb as they ran down your cheeks. “Then mom went first. It took her like ten hours to completely lose herself. And then dad… he endured it for a day and a half. Towards the end, the agony was so great, he just couldn’t take it anymore.” Your voice became a whisper as you buried your nose in Joel’s chest, his hand gently running up and down your spine.

As you closed your eyes to keep the tears away, the loud noise of your father’s rifle ricocheted in your imagination. You couldn’t save him. He had asked you to go outside, to leave your family’s home, but you couldn’t just quit on him, on the man who shaped you into who you were today. So as the bullet fired and a thudding noise broke you, your knees gave way as your fingers tightly wrapped around the doorknob.

Joel kissed your temple, a comfort you had learnt to crave. “I’m sorry I asked.”

You shook your head no, not wanting him to apologise. And as you tried to reply, the back and forth of your head brought upon you a sudden feeling of vertigo.

The room spun around, the walls closing in, crumbling on top of you. And then you felt it ― acid rushing up your throat, the bile burning as it went up. Bending over yourself, you missed the mattress by an inch and threw up on the floor.

“Shit”, you heard Joel mutter as he held your hair back in a ponytail, his free hand rubbing the small of your back. “It’s okay, darlin’, it’s fine”, he reassured you, keeping close to you, his mere presence comforting you.

Luckily you had not had much to eat, so you emptied your stomach rather quickly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you straightened your back and Joel immediately hugged you tight.

“I’m sorry”, you apologised, mildly embarrassed although there wasn’t much you could have done to prevent it.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” He dismissed your apology while wiping the pearly sweet off your forehead. “The fever has not returned, but you should rest, you’re still weak.” Joel scooted over to the edge of the bed so you would have plenty of room to lie down.

You smirked at his concern but happily obliged. You were indeed very tired, albeit you had perked up since this morning. This morning. You had just realised it was dusking again, the twilight colours pouring in and painting the walls in its beautiful warm hues.

“I’ll go see if I can find a bucket and something to clean up.” He kissed your forehead before exiting the room.

The quiet peace in the room were so calming, you involuntarily shut your eyes. All your muscles ached, product of fending off a very high fever, as if you had spent a full day working out. You might not have lifted a finger in hours, but it truly felt like you just had had a marathon session in the gym.

Suddenly you heard a noise and startled awake. Joel had left a glass of water on the nightstand, and was down on his knees cleaning the sick off the floor.

“I was just resting my eyelids, I swear I wasn’t sleeping”, you said jokingly, a soft smile on your lips, as you reached for the glass and downed it to quench your sudden thirst and rinse your mouth.

Joel chuckled ― the first sign of laughter you had heard from him in what it felt like forever. Your heart made a little backflip in your chest.

“Sure thing. I think you should keep on resting your eyelids, you do need it.”

“But I just woke up”, you pouted, not wanting to fall asleep again. Not wanting to leave him alone.

He put the bucket with water and the cloth aside, his hands resting on his knees, and gifted you with one of his perfectly raised eyebrows.

“I ain’t going nowhere and I need you rested, so go to sleep now. Don’t drive me mad already, you just woke up”, his tone was somewhat serious, only softened by the grin transforming his mouth.

“I like you a little mad”, you confessed a universally known truth.

“I bet you do.”

Joel leaned over and tenderly kissed your lips. The faint, loving caress of his mouth was all medicine you needed, you longed for. So you scrunched the neck of his shirt in your fist, holding him in place, as you deepened in his mouth. Just a tiny taste, you thought to yourself.

The dancing that ensued was soft, undemanding. But then it gradually changed, the stroking of your tongue against his growing in intensity, your quick breaths becoming one as if you were sharing lungs.

Joel groaned and broke contact.

“No, sleep. You won’t distract me”, he rasped, clearing his throat.

Pursing your lips, you huffed, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“Sleep, I said.” This time it did sound like an order.

Was he afraid you wouldn’t wake up? Fucking yes, he was. From time to time, Joel would check on your pulse ― his lips subtly ghosting your artery to ensure it was still rushing under your cool, velvety skin. The fever had completely subsided too, which was a fucking relief. With light fingertips, he lifted your bandage just one inch ― the wound had stopped festering and, in fact, seemed to be healing.

He still couldn’t understand how you were recovering instead of succumbing to the bite. Were you immune? Because if so, a whole new world of danger would be lying in wait if someone discovered your secret. Most people would fear the unknown, would label you a freak ― a monster. Joel had gotten to understand human nature far too well in the last year, so he was already anticipating the worst-case scenario.

He could be mistaken though. Albeit the possibility was slim, very slim.

An uncomfortable groan slipped out of his mouth, trying to adjust his posture. With his arm under you, your nose nudging the center of his chest, Joel felt a tingling sensation running up his forearm. In his attempt to awaken his dead limb, you perked up at him, all sleepy and groggy.

“Sorry, can’t feel my arm anymore”, he apologised as you stirred against him, giving him the opportunity to free his arm from your weight. “Should go have a look outside, see how the bridges are holding up.”

You squeaked and pulled a face in your languor. “Mhmm, okay. But come back soon, I rest better knowing you’re here.” Your sincerity caressed the rough edges of his healing heart.

“You won’t even notice that I’m gone”, he vowed in a sough.

The silken linen draped around your waist, so satiny you thought you were surrounded by the soft pillows of a cloud. You felt rested, although still achy.

Pins and needles in all your muscles, every time you moved your flesh would protest. But despite the exertion every inch of your body had sustained, you felt infinitely better than a few hours ago.

With your train of thought coherent again, questions invaded your mind. So many, a cacophony of inner voices echoed in your brain. You grunted heavily, just wanting another moment of peace.

“Just shup up”, you told yourself, in the hopes that your internal narrator would heed the warning.

The heel of your hands buried in your eye sockets, forcing yourself awake. With care to not feel dizzy again, you sat back up on bed, your back against the cushy headboard. The room was silent ― so well isolated from the outside world you couldn’t hear how the city of Chicago was roaring.

What a rollercoaster the last two days had been. So much had happened you barely had time to take everything in. Your own calamity had eclipsed the tragedy of losing the people you allowed yourself to love.

But maybe it was better this way ― less emotionally draining. Maybe your heart couldn’t assimilate any more misfortune. Maybe you just should be grateful for being alive, even if it pained you ― even if survivor’s guilt chipped at you.

Feeling a knot in your throat, nothing to do with being sick this time, you slowly got up, testing your equilibrium. Once you felt safe standing, you walked towards the dresser in the room. You had sweated so much battling the fever, your clothes were patchy with perspiration. After rummaging through the belongings of the kind donor of the flat, you found a pair of jeans, a tee shirt. Your heart stopped at the sight of a measly Christmas jumper.

Then it hit you. You had spent Christmas Eve curled up in a bathtub with Joel, fighting for your life, and there were only a couple of hours remaining until Christmas Day was over.

Tears sprouting, the jumper wrinkled between your shaking fingers. If life was to be as expected, you would now be in Joyce’s living room, exchanging presents. You had traded some food stamps to get Joel an acoustic guitar.

Upon your arrival to Chicago, which now seemed to be an eternity away, he had told you how much he liked music, how soothing he found it to be, how his old man taught him when he was just a kid. You had asked him what his favourite song to play was, snuggled in his arms, and he had undoubtedly replied: Helplessly Hoping by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Joel had said, ghosting your lips with his, how much that song reminded him of you, but specially of himself.

That had tickled your curiosity. You had never heard it before so did some research into it ― but couldn’t find the lyrics nor the melody. By gifting him the guitar, you were hoping to listen to it from his fingers for the first time.

Now it would never happen, not unless you found another guitar, which was an almost impossible task. You had spent weeks looking for someone with a guitar they were willing to part with.

With a heavy sigh, you changed clothes and shuffled around the room, looking for bits and bobs that might be useful.

The sound of someone bursting in woke you up ― you had nodded off unintentionally on the couch. Your heart jumped out of your chest, racing so fast you almost threw up again. Joel turned the corner of the corridor, and you gasped.

His white tee shirt was soaked in thick red, green and black. It was obvious he had run into trouble and had to fight his way out. You got up, heart on your tongue, and closed the distance to reach him as he lunged himself forward towards you.

“What’s happened?”, you asked breathlessly. “Are you hurt?”

“Shit is coming down real fast. We need to leave the city. Now”, Joel whispered as he approached, but stopped before hugging you, realising all the dirt, blood and guts on his tee shirt.

You didn’t care. You wrapped your arms around his waist, your ear flat against his chest. The rhythmic pumping of his heart appeased you. Just a bit.

“Joel, are you hurt?”, you insisted, worried sick, as you looked up at him.

He shook his head no, cradling your face.

“I’m okay, but we gotta go, sweetheart. We can’t stay. The bridges have been overrun; the clickers are this side of the river now. If we stay, we die.” His words were infused with a sense of urgency.

“I’ve packed some bits while you were gone, in case we had to leave”, you remembered, pointing at the two backpacks on the sofa.

“What would I do without you?”, Joel praised you, pressing a faint kiss on your mouth. “I know you’re still not feeling great, but we don’t really have any other options.”

“I’m fine enough, let’s go.” No, you didn’t feel one hundred percent, but you would have to.

In less than a minute, you both were out the door and running down the stairs.

“I’ve got a car in the garage in the basement, running won’t get us far”, he said, tugging at your wrist to guide you down another flight of stairs.

“A car? How?”

“Don’t worry about it”, he answered quickly. Too quickly.

You all had to do what you must to survive. How he had obtained that car ― it didn’t matter.

Running towards the Jeep, you jumped in and so did Joel. The wheels screeched as Joel reversed and then pressed on the gas pedal. The doors to the garage burst open as the front of the car hit them. You held on to the handle as well as Joel’s forearm as he focused on dodging any obstacle in the way ― living or dead.

Looking through the window, you saw herds of people running. The screams filled the air, impregnating it with death and mayhem. It was dark, but if you had paid enough attention, you would have seen the devastation, the destruction.

Buy you didn’t want to see. You had already been witness to the end of the world. You didn’t need the reminder.

So you looked away, Joel’s rugged face being your focal point. You scrutinised his expression, the lines forming between his eyebrows and on his cheeks. How his lips pursed with worry, how he clenched his jaw. He hadn’t said it, but you read his body language too well. He was doing a great job managing his anxiety, but you knew it was there, flaring under the calm surface.

You glanced at the road ahead. A sign reading “Rockford” told you Joel was taking you west.

Whatever cardinal point he chose, it would be alright. As long as you had Joel by your side, you both would be just fine.

a/n (again): AHHHHH 🚨 the cat is out of the bag 😫 soo yea, reader is immune, been dying to tell you for ages now, THE RELIEF lmao but there's a reason to it (and it's hiding somewhere in the chapters!)! is anyone of you able to guess why? 🧐

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

@harriedandharassed @thepalaceofmelanie @eternallyvenus

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