#i miss dr stone so heres a thought | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heyhoeudoin · 5 months

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Can I request a senku x fem reader where she goes with the group to the cave instead of magma and her and senku end up cuddling for warmth and senku is all flustered by it.

WARMTH

"Guess you can still be flustered, huh?"

pairing: senku ishigami x fem!reader

words: 2.9k

genre/s: fluff, comfort?

warning/s: she/her (sorry!), s1 ep 21-22, swearing, mention of tits

synopsis: senku never would have imagined that he'd get flustered over a simple hug (and like it a lot)

masterlist

a/n: i know it's been a year... i got busy, but better later than never! also, while rewatching this episode, i got so emotional like holy sht. the way senku got emotional in this episode just got me tearing up! i love senku so much and i miss dr stone a lot more than i thought i did (IT'S ONLY BEEN A YEAR SINCE IT ENDED LIKE?!?!)

as the group walked up to the edge of the cliff, the sun rises and the stone in suika's hand glowed bright blue shocking everyone around.

"it's blue... a gemstone," chrome says.

"why is it glowing?" suika asks looking at the rock she's holding.

"oh my god, it's scheelite!" you exclaimed as your eyes sparkled at the gem-like-stone in front of you.

senku smiled at you and exclaimed, "ten billion points for you, y/n!" he then walked forward pointing, and bending down at it. "it glows blue when exposed to ultraviolet light. reactions to ultraviolet light are especially visible right before the sun rises. in other words, only right now."

"a magic stone that glows just for this moment... " gen says with a small smile.

chrome went closer to the stone with a curious face. "i've never seen anything like it," he comments.

"me neither," senku says with sparkles in his eyes. "it's an ultra-rare gem. you guys did an incredibly good job, chrome, and suika. this stuff is used in modern filaments. atomic number seventy-four: tungsten!"

"it's the strongest metal in the universe!" you continued his thought as you kept hitting senku's shoulder in joy and excitement.

"ow~" he muttered holding his shoulder. you quickly wrapped your hands around the shoulder you kept hitting to try and soothe it while giving an apologetic look.

the next day, everyone gotten ready to make a cave expedition, and by everyone, it's just senku and chrome.

"this small chunk won't be enough, but it came down the stream in the cave. there must be tons further inside. tons of this heat-resistant treasure called tunsten," chrome says as he held up the stone.

"we only have one set of lights left," senku says holding up the said last pair of lights. "the last member of the exploration team will be... magma!" he called out making everyone shock, most especially you. "tungsten's tough as hell. we're going to need brute force to collect it. let's go cave diving. we're a trio of spelunking buddies. to the fun treasure dungeon!"

"buddies?!" magma exclaimed, shocked, and confused.

"senku, chrome, and magma?!" kohaku exclaimed.

"i've never heard of such a risky group," suika says.

"i-i-is that even safe?!" ginrou exclaimed. "he might be like, 'i'm the chief!', and attack you, or something, senku!"

"come on, let's get going—"

"objection!"

the group turned to where you stood firmly with a hand raised in the air. "what is this? a court?" gen commented.

you dropped your arm and stomped your way to senku with a pissed off expression. "you may be a genius, but you're still a dumbass." you looked down at him as you jabbed your finger into his shoulder. you spread your other arm to point at magma. "i do not trust him yet!" you exclaimed, bluntly. "which is why i'll be coming with."

senku deadpanned at you and sighs. "y/n, there's only three lights and we need magma to carry the scheelite," he stated.

you rose a brow and placed a hand on your hip. "oh? and you're saying that i can't do that," you retorted with a challenging tone.

senku's mouth snapped shut. how can he forget? you're a hundred percent the strongest here! he shakes his head. "well, it can't be helped," he says, shocking the rest. he turned to magma and told him, "you heard her. take those off."

"whaaat? that easily?!" chrome exclaimed.

senku shrugs, sticking a pinky in his ear. "i can't really stop y/n from doing what she wants. if she wants to come, let her."

"then who's going to carry the rocks?" gen asks.

"y/n will," senku answers.

"what?!" gen screamed. "i-isn't that a bit...? can y/n even handle it?" his arms waved around.

kohaku crossed her arms. "are you saying women are weak?" she looked at him pointedly.

gen furiously shook his head at her. "no no, of course not!"

"right, i never told you y/n's last name, haven't i?" senku comments as he turns over to you, who's walking over wearing the equipment.

"my full name is l/n y/n," you announced. "i am more than capable of carrying the scheelite." gen starts foaming at the mouth. however, those who aren't from the modern world, they don't understand.

"basically, y/n's family is famous for a lot of crazy things and she's stronger than anyone else here," senku explains. "now let's stop wasting time and go!"

you and senku followed chrome to the cave where he got the scheelite from where a small stream of water ended. senku dipped his fingers into it. "the water's lukewarm," he mentions with a chuckle. "we can definitely find some treasures."

the three of you ventured deeper into the caves. however, once they got to a certain part, senku immediately noticed something. "get back!" he screamed, extending his arm behind his back.

you and chrome stopped, tensing up. "what's wrong, senku?" chrome asks.

senku bent down, moving carefully, and cracked a piece of the floor. "it's mica. it's like baumkuchen." you let out an 'oooh', but chrome looked confused. "it's a rock that's brittle enough to break with your hands," he says as he tears a layer off of the one he's holding. he then looks up, shining the light in front of him. "look, they're natural pit traps."

the three of you look over to the abundance of pits. "damn," chrome lets out. "nature's traps are nasty."

"is it possible to get out of that once you fall in?" you then asked.

"yeesh, try to get back up with a rope or a ladder and it'll just cave in on ya," chrome grimance.

senku stood back up. a crack, you heard from under his foot. you leaped over and push him away. you tried to land as delicately as possible, but the ground couldn't handle it. a hole formed immediately beneath you, making you fall straight into it. you reached your hand up to try and grab the edge out of reflex. another hand reached out for yours and took hold of it. it was senku's hand... although he is having a hard time pulling you up.

"no, senku! let go! it's going to cave in under you!" you were able to scream out. true to your words, the ground beneath senku did cave in. you both fall into the pit.

"senku! y/n!"

you pulled senku closer to your body, putting an arm under his neck and legs. you quickly moved your body upright and looked down. your feet hit the ground with a thud and you bent down into a squat so that you don't crush your legs. you let out a sigh of relief as you stood back up and gently placed senku down.

"are you okay?" you asked him while removing the stuff behind your back.

senku stares at you dumbfounded. "no, no, are you okay?"

you chuckle. "i'm fine, senku. i continued the momentum, or whatever you call what i just did to prevent shattering my legs," you tell him reassuringly.

"go sit down while i try to think our way out," he says as he walks over to the wall in front of you. you did what he said and sat down, your eyes never leaving him as you didn't want to miss it in case it happens. senku sometimes lets out these cute noises whenever he thinks or tries something out. to your pleasure, he's making the noises! (a/n: bro he's so cute in this scene) you let out a giggle after he slides back down from trying to climb out.

senku turns to you with a raised brow. "what're you giggling about?"

"it's just... you're adorable," you bluntly answer him.

he blinks, then slightly smirks from the familiarity. "how long has it been since you've last called me that?"

"it's been a while that's what," you say with a smile. just then a stream of water flowed down into the cave. you and senku looked up to see chrome peering down, holding a glass bottle.

"chrome, what are you doing?" you ask with furrowed brows.

"if i keep pouring in water from the pond that's nearby, you might be able to swim back out," he explained.

that caught you off guard. you turned to senku and asked, "will that work?"

he starts cackling and from that alone, you already got your answer. "hang on, that's not bad," he says, then raised a finger in front of his face. you perked up, smiling with glee as you listened to senku's calculations tangent. you love it whenever he says his calculations out loud, and he does it with his pointer finger raised in front of him as well! it's adorable... and insanely attractive.

senku lowered his finger and lets out a laugh. he looked up at chrome and shouts out, "chrome, i'm going to tell you how to craft something. can you do it?"

"yeah, of course i can." chrome nods. "don't underestimate chrome the science user!"

after you tossed the bag with the big glass bottles, you waited patiently as you listened to senku instructing chrome on what to do. shortly after, pillars of water starts flowing down into the pit. "huh? how is the water going from low to high?" you and senku heard chrome ask out loud. you giggled as senku explained to chrome what a siphon is.

you looked to see the water slowly, but surely rising from the floor. your feet being already submerged into it. then your gaze went to senku, who's looking up. "are you sure you won't freeze before we could get up there?" you asked with a hand on your hip.

senku turned to you, still looking up. "i did the calculations. it should be fine before we get hypothermia," he says.

you rose a knowing brow. "that's for a normal person, senku, and you're not a normal person." by this time the water is already about half way at senku's body (you're taller than him so it's not really half way at your body yet).

senku stuck his pinky into his ear, shrugging. "it'll be fine," he says.

it was not fine.

the water's only at half way of the pit, but senku's already shaking and chattering from the cold. you slowly floated your way to senku and wrapped your hands around him. this shocked senku, jolting a bit from the sudden touch. "what are you doing?" he managed to ask.

"here, the tits will keep you warm."

senku gapped at you. why are you so goddamn blunt? because of his shock, he missed the part where you gently placed his head on your chest and guided his arms to wrap around your back. "well, aren't you red?" you say with a teasing smirk which brought him back to reality.

"huh?" senku felt flustered and embarrassed. he tried to push himself away from you, but with his strength versus yours... yeah it didn't work. "stop that!" you scolded him. "be glad that it isn't magma who's cuddling with you right now."

senku grimaced at the thought. "don't even mention that!" he exclaimed, looking up at you, making you chuckle. in the midst of your chuckle, he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer to his body.

"well aren't you bold?"

he looked away, avoiding eye contact and letting his head rest on your chest. "i am doing this for the sake of getting warmth so that we both don't die of hypothermia," he says.

you rolled your eyes. "oh please, just admit you're liking this much more than you thought you did," you teased him.

his ears tipped red as he stayed silent.

you watched senku and chrome fanboying at the treasure cove of rocks with a smirk. a chuckle left your mouth, but the mood quickly died down as you pressed your lips together. "are you guys done yet? the sun's going to set soon and we should go!"

"ohhh come on! just a little bit longer," chrome whined.

"yeah, after all, we found a mountain of treasure," senku added.

you hooked your hands on the back of the boys' shirt and lifted them up. "when i say let's go, let's go."

the three of you exited the cave and the sun's already setting. "hurry up," you say as you picked the bag senku's carrying and hugged it against your chest. senku looked at you with protest, but you merely rose a brow at him which caused him to back down.

"why are you suddenly in a hurry?" chrome asked, looking slightly confused.

"you'll see."

once the three of you drew closer to the village, you dropped the bag in front of you took and out your makeshift blindfold. "senku dear~ could you wear this for me real quick?" you asked as he turned around.

he rose a questioning brow at you. "and for what y/n?" he asked. but you ignored his question and covered senku's eyes. you picked him up and threw him over your shoulder like a sack. "y/n? y/n?!" you picked up the bag up from the floor and happily jogged back your way to the village while humming.

chrome blinked then ran after the two of you. "what are you doing, y/n?!"

senku now stood in a room, blindfolded and hands tied. he knows that that's your hand on the back of his neck which means you're standing directly behind him.

"hey, senku-chan~ welcome home," gen says in front of senku, but he doesn't know that.

"huh? what's going on?" senku asks with an unwavering tone.

"hah!" kohaku triumphantly laughs. "don't bother trying to call for help, senku. we're all working with gen," she announced.

senku chuckles. "so you bastards finally figured out the hack, huh?" he says. "all you need to do is hand science and my head over to tsukasa, and the village is safe. it's perfectly logical." you could feel him trembling with nervousness. "...leave y/n out of this," he muttered to which only you heard.

gen lets out a short snort. "well, i have no idea what you're talking about, but..." he gave you a nod. you untied his hands and slowly took off his blindfolds.

senku stared in front of him, eyes swirling with nostalgia. you stared at him with a fond smile. it's been a while since you've seen him that emotional. he stepped towards the telescope and peered into it. he took a step back in awe. "an astronomy telescope... or rather, an observatory..." his voice gotten softer by the end. you blinked, trying to get rid of the tears that threatened to fall.

kaseki lets out an excited laugh. "january forth; rock day!" he exclaimed.

kohaku stepped up with a wide smile. "y/n told us it's your birthday today, senku!" she said.

"we all got you a birthday gift!" suika happily announced. senku walked closer to the window to see mostly everyone from the village standing outside.

"y/n told us everything we needed in order to make the telescope, and the whole village worked hard to make the observatory. you're going to have to fine-tune it yourself, senku-chan," gen explained.

ginro approached senku with a smug look. "are senku~ are you moved for the first time in forever? you can cry, you know. you don't need to hold it in," he teased.

"you're so low, ginro," kinro commented.

senku turned to the group with a smirk. "good job, everyone! this is extremely practical. we can use it as our own watchtower against tsukasa," he mentions with a wide cheeky smile.

"y-yeah, that's true," kohaku replies, not sure what to make of his reaction.

"your feedback's as rational as ever," gen comments.

"a guy doesn't bother mentioning his own birthday, and yet..." senku glanced at you. you gave him a smirk and a smug wave. a chuckle escapes his mouth.

"actually, i found out on my own even before y/n said anything," gen corrected to which senku immediately understood and the two conversed on how gen found out.

a while later, it's only you and senku left in the observatory. "did you really think i'd let them hand over your head to tsukasa?" you rhetorically asked. "and also, i can't believe that's the first thing you thought of. do you not have faith in them? you healed their priestess."

senku didn't reply as he stayed silent, looking up at the stars. you sighed as you walked over and hugged him from behind. "are you mad at me for giving away your birthday?" you softly asked. "well, i wasn't planning on giving it away, but gen approached me for a birthday gift idea and... this happened."

"i'm not mad at you, y/n." he rolled his eyes. "it's just..."

your hold on him tightened. "it's fine. i know. you don't have to say anything," you tell him.

senku turned around and wrapped his arms around you, laying his head on your chest. you felt yourself warm up a bit and held him closer. "so i am right." senku lifted his head up to look at you with confusion. "that you're liking this much more than you thought you did," you explained with a smug smirk.

he turned his head away, avoiding eye contact as he stayed silent and his ears tipped red.

masterlist a/n: this turned out way better than i thought it would.

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deadboyfriendd · 8 months

Text

Stains in the Granite

Summary: Throughout the years, Steve has undergone multiple head traumas. You knew this much when you were together. The migraines, the forgetfulness, moderate hearing loss in one ear, vertigo. The list was expansive. When you were together. It’s been over a year since you had last spoken to him, but an unexpected call from Hawkins Regional sends you reeling back to him. A forgotten emergency contact, he probably just never bothered to update it. You would let Robin know and be back to your regularly scheduled activities, sans Steve. A dead line turns the spigot, worry plugs the drain, and your inability to let him go drowns you in the tub. When he wakes up, he falls in love with you again. And again the next day. And again the day after that. They say he’ll regain his long-term memory storage eventually. They say the amnesia will wear off soon, but, for now, this is who he would have to be. He may only have to live through losing you once, but you’re not sure if you could handle losing him again every day until he regains his memory. You wouldn’t have the heart to tell him.

Content Warning: My content is 18+, Minors DNI, head trauma, mentions of hospitals and the things that go in them, smut, fluff, angst, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, alcohol

Word Count: 14.2k

Author’s Note: This is dedicated completely to @dr-aculaaa I have had this piece in the works for months before getting it to the version that you are getting. Drac has tirelessly loomed over my docs like God beta reading, helping out with dialogue, and brainstorming these characters with me. This is as much her baby as it is mine, and I love her very very much.

Drac, I love you.

Find the Playlist Here!

Granite, noun, gran·ite ˈgra-nət

: a very hard natural igneous rock formation of visibly crystalline texture formed essentially of quartz and orthoclase or microcline and used especially for building and for monuments

: unyielding firmness or endurance

the cold granite of Puritan formalism.

the cold granite of your heart.

You were sullen, eyes unable to focus on any one speckle of the countertop in front of you. You ran your hands over it in a grounding motion, forcing tired eyes upon skin instead of stone. You blinked and it settled. The warmth of your palm could feel the slight unevenness of the surface, where the natural stone had been polished down just slightly too much. You watched it catch the light, glitter beneath your fingers snuffed out by the shadows of your touch. You watched the way the light cast a glowing square onto the ground in its early-morning iridescence. You had not slept, only watched the sunrise before you went to sleep.

You missed the nonchalance of high school, when being sad was not an inconvenience, in the same way you missed the grandeur of college, where being sad was an art. Now, though you took comfort in the blanket of sadness, it was more obnoxious than anything. Your sighs held a certain bitchiness to them now, less sad than they were unimpressed.

But you couldn’t help the way the hogs-hair bristles from your years-old, overused brushes stuck in the too-thick paint. You couldn't help the frustration that bubbled through when the linseed oil seeped through too thick and thinned the pigment of your paint so thin the underpainting shone through. It was hard enough to paint your heartbreak, without the added interruption of frustration and all of its woes. You wanted to pick at the scabs of old wounds, reopen them and let the blood drip down onto self-stretched canvases with ragged edges. You wanted your art to feel as raw as your heart did.

Sometimes you wish you could go back, study something practical like education, be something stupid like an art teacher and talk about fulfillment with dead eyes, but you were too ceremoniously tortured for that. You thought about easy, but you didn’t want it. You craved goddamned difficult. You were goddamned difficult.

But people bought it. Commissioned it to hang in their ugly suburban sprawls. Ugly art in ugly homes. Maybe people liked the subjectivity, felt like they could see their own heartbreak in it. You weren't so pretentious that you felt like the only person in the world to experience it. You certainly weren’t. Maybe there were people that were introspective, that wanted to feel the heartbreak when they dissociated into the white walls of their cookie-cutter homes. Maybe heartbreak was the only emotion they could force themselves to feel.

Maybe they took comfort in it, too.

You didn’t exactly know who you were anymore. Yes, at whatever bullshit ice breaker you could define yourself as an artist. An even more bullshit mediocre descriptor that served as a face to the sacrifice of self you went through for the sake of it all. That was usual, it just came with the territory. It was your only redeeming personality trait. You traded your sense of self for an established style that put cans in your cupboard and secondhand clothes on your back.

Everything was covered in a wax sheen, the desensitization taking over your personage and casting a vignette across everything you saw. Not even sex was good anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. It had reduced itself to nothing more than another school of art— another subject of heartbreak. Another thought process and another complication. Your entire sense of self came from academic validation. You were a bachelor of fine art, consistently praised by professors and featured in student exhibitions, graduated magna cum laude from your university. But now? You were lost in a vapid attempt to redefine yourself outside of the college community. This was the real world now, and sucked even worse than college had.

Your studio apartment overlooked the heart of the historic downtown district of Hawkins, Indiana. It was gray this time of year, rain a near-constant promise over the thick smattering of clouds overhead. You paid entirely too much to live in eight-hundred square feet, but you could justify the cost with the stone hearth and floor-to-ceiling windows, even if that meant sleeping in a twin-sized mattress sprawled on the floor in the corner of the room. Your clothes hung messily on mismatched hangers over a laundry rack beside it. Your few enamel dishes cast drip-drying across the countertops in their own choreography. The rest of the place was barren, save for paint splatters over tarps, stacked canvases, and easels. Maybe it was too indulgent to live in-studio, but poverty would argue and win nearly every time.

The tortured artist persona was trendy while you were in college, but you were just plain insufferable now. You didn’t even want to associate with yourself. You guessed that’s why you had Robin. She was just as insufferable as you were.

She was the embodiment of everything you hated, a humbling experience in a flesh box wrapped with a short bob and a beret and adorned with a nose ring. You had met her in an Art: History of the French Renaissance class. She was a linguistics major with all of the subtlety of a clapped-out Honda Civic. She heavily romanticized the greater works of Van Gogh and made her brief year in a study-abroad program in Paris a personality trait. Though, you supposed, her redeemable feature was that she was loyal to a fault, albeit mean. Like a small, white dog that haunted your home instead of offering companionship and happiness.

Though you, for the most part, kept it to yourself, you had made it known in the past that the Italian Renaissance was far superior to the French. You didn’t understand how she could so heavily romanticize the ritzy portraits of those aristocratic jerk-offs when she had the Arnolfini Wedding Portrait directly in front of her. Maybe you just didn’t think Van Gogh was all that great. Maybe you hated him altogether. Maybe you hated yourself and you were just projecting– or you were jealous that he could be a tortured artist and people left and right seemed to romanticize his work but when you did it, you were just annoying. You knew, for a fact, that you hated yellow. And she sure liked to wear a lot of it.

The weathered oak was hard and uneven against the curvature of your spine, but you refused to move, the numbness in your fingers happening were the beginnings of the best high you had gotten in ages. There was a resonant patriarchal tenor shrill in your ears as you attempted to focus on the beams and exposed plumbing on the ceiling above you. She spoke it again, louder this time,

“What are you gonna do with an art degree? Be a tortured artist forever?” You could hear her arm slap coldly against the ground next to yours and echo throughout the emptiness of your apartment.

You groaned, though it was only proving her point, “I don't know, what are you gonna do with a linguistics degree? Be super fucking annoying?”

“At least I have a job.”

And she did. She was a translator who rotated on call-circuit to Indianapolis for international business meetings, sometimes they even paid her fare to other countries, in essence getting to vacation on some company’s dime between meetings. The grandeur of it all was sickening.

The ring from your land-line was shrill and echoing, shattering the silence of your own discontent like tempered glass, fragmenting and exploding into millions of little pieces. No one called here ever, and the suddenness of the tone made both Robin and yourself jump. You gave her a shove to the shoulder, a wordless gesture meaning, go get that.

Her Hello was tepid, in the same meek demeanor she twirled the line around her finger. Her face registered from confusion to concern, a quick contortion that took place over the course of seconds, “Is he okay? What do you mean you can’t disclose that?”

You sat up, propping your arms underneath you like the kickstands on a bike, brows knit together in question. She looks to you, holding the receiver out towards you,

“For you.” She says, then silently and exaggeratingly mouths, About Steve.

What? You mouthed back.

Just– Pick. It. Up. She insisted in silent accuse, shaking the receiver towards you once again,

You took the plastic receiver from her, fingers drawing the skin of your temples back and rubbing your eyes, “Hello?”

You don’t recognize the voice on the phone. A woman you know is older than yourself by the way she sounds, officiating and knowledgeable, but carrying a certain morosity with her. She held the kind of tone you know brought bad news.

It feels like a fog, hearing his name again. Hearing that he is a person who is alive and living a life separate from you. It wasn’t right, and that unease turned itself in your stomach as you repeated back her medical jargon to yourself in layman’s terms. Steve fell off a ladder and hit his head. Again. He was unconscious but stable. The neighbor found him and brought him in and gave them your name and phone number

“And why are you calling me?” You finally asked, followed by a long pause. You cursed yourself mentally, realizing the harshness of the statement after you had said it.

The nurse sounded displeased, “You’re his wife, aren’t you? You were listed as the primary emergency contact.”

You hadn’t spoken to Steve in over a year, not since you broke it off with him. You trailed your thumb over the webbing between your middle and ring finger, still feeling the phantom sensation of the ring that sat there just a year prior. The dissidence churned in your stomach, and you couldn’t help the worry that filled you.

Steve was the embodiment of everything you loved. He was smooth like linseed and fell into all of your texture. He didn’t understand it, but he agreed on the superiority of the Italian renaissance. If you hated the romanticization of Van Gogh, then so did he. Steve was agreeable. Steve was easy in all of the places you weren’t.

Steve cared about people in the way that you didn’t.

When you broke it off, your families, both found and biological, were shocked. Robin especially. You’d felt bad for her, caught in the crossfire between two of her best friends. You and Steve had both agreed not to make her choose. She was the sentient being of pure neutrality. It was as if she was a separate entity on two different timelines. If she was present in your reality, Steve did not exist. You assumed the same of her relationship with Steve. Though, a part of you still hoped he’d ask sometimes.

Your brain is a flurry of Steve. His migraine medication, his medical history, his eyewear prescription, fuck his shoe size. You card through the rolodex of head traumas he had undergone through the years, recounting them between relationship markers. You don’t allow yourself the time to think, slamming the phone back down on the stand with a quick, I’ll be there.

The drive to the hospital is sombering, though, you selfishly are less worried about him being okay than you are about what he would think of you showing up after they thought you were his wife.

The smell of the hospital is pungent. Horrendously human and unnaturally sterile wrapped up into one fragrant demise. There are people buzzing, both physically and metaphorically, yet despite the controlled chaos the women at the front desk seem unnaturally calm. Uninterested, even. You tell them your name and who you are here to see, and yet, despite the fact that they had just reached out to you over the phone, they still attempt to validate your marriage.

You knew it was nasty when, “If you don’t think I’m his wife, then why did you call asking if I was his wife?” rolled off your tongue, but you knew Robin would smooth the turmoil with an apology on your behalf. Frankly, you didn’t care. They buzzed you in without another word.

There was an older man in a white coat standing in front of the room, flipping through a chart with Harrington across the top. The embroidery on it read neurology. You figured he would have to undergo a few whirring uncomfortable scans with any head trauma, but his face remained stoic. You couldn’t read him, and, personally, it was terrifying.

“Mrs. Harrington?” He asked, holding a hand out.

You took it as an appeasement, tried to let his old man charm seep into your bones and put you at ease. If he was old, that means he’s done this before. “Yes.” You knew it was a lie, but who else was going to claim him? Not his parents. There was no one else remaining in Hawkins but you and Robin, and she wasn’t family. Technically, you weren’t either, but you weren’t cruel.

“I wanted to formally speak to you before you saw him. There’s a few things we need to discuss.” This sent a panicked chill through your bones. You expected to step into the room and they would ask you for permission to pull the plug or something.

“Is he..?” Your face must have registered as panicked, because the neurologist quickly backpedaled with a grounding hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, no. He’s fine ma’am, we weren’t seeing any bleeds or swelling that he can't recover from.”

That he can’t recover from. Meaning that there is, in fact, something wrong with his brain. You figured that much, with maybe six concussions within the last ten years, but you wouldn’t dwell on that fact too much for now, “But?”

“There is a small amount of swelling in the temporal lobe, which is responsible for short-term memory storage. Your husband is suffering from a form of fixation amnesia that is pretty uncommon…”

You zone out listening to him talk, trying to piece everything together. Steve is okay. He lost his short-term memory for a while. Words like retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global are thrown around and bouncing back with a resounding tenor in your phonetic loop. Steve has forgotten the last year, he cannot store new memories for the time being. He forgot your breakup. He still believes you are together. He needs around the clock care.

Steve was awake when they opened the door and pulled back the curtain to the room he had already been admitted to. At least someone in this administration was competent enough to get him into a room instead of keeping him in the ER.

“Baby.” A large, flat palm reaches itself towards you. You stood in the corner in silence, waiting for someone that wasn’t you to speak. But, it just so happened that you were the only person in the room. You don’t realize he’s talking to you, so he says it again, a little more firmly, and you walk up and sit at the chair next to his bed, avoiding the hand outstretched towards you.

Though, in all of his firmness, where the weight of your elbow finds a dip in the bed, his hands finds your arm. It searches for your hands and finds them with a firm grip. They’re warm like you remember. Steve was always warm.

“Hi, Steve.” You keep your voice quiet, remembering the days of migraine management. Barely-there decibels creating resounding, echoing pain around his skull.

“What happened?” He asks you, “ –-head hurts.” He manages, burying his face into the polyfilament of the pillow below him.

You tried to make your explanation concise, only giving him the cause and not the prognosis. You’d deal with that at a later time. “You fell off a ladder, hit your head pretty hard. Cullen brought you in.” You explained.

“The dentist? With the labs?” He asked you, and it made you laugh. Steve always remembered people by their cars or their dogs.

You agreed with him nodding your head despite his closed eyes, “Yes, the dentist with the labs.”

“He’s a really nice guy.”

“He sure is.”

The discharge process was long and rigorous the next morning, swarms of insurance and neurologists and shrinks and case managers. All faces to a crowd that apparently had never communicated with the other department a day in their sad, corporate lives.

Steve had no car, no means of getting home, and, quite frankly, no recollection of the year leading up to the accident. So, you loaded him into your car, pulling out as slowly as possible and driving at least ten under the speed limit the entire way. He seemed chipper as his hand found yours resting over the shifter, hands meeting your movements as your gears moved up and down with the rhythm of traffic– almost as if he was driving the car himself. You silently thanked him for the movement, already distracted by the constant fear of rattling his already tenderized brain any more than it had been.

The street looked like it had frozen in time as you slipped past its residents unscathed. The dentist, surrounded by the flurry of yellow labs, waved as you drove by. The house sat in a caul de sac, the one you used to call yours, the third one in from the end between a vacation home and a stalled fixer-upper. It was a smaller Victorian built at the turn of the century. Your selling point was the turret at the front end of the house, sporting floor-to-ceiling windows and housed by oak buttresses.

You pictured Steve carrying you through the threshold of your home the night of your wedding as you half-dragged him from the driveway to the bedroom. Some of your spring daylilies were coming out of dormancy, the pertinent blooms bulbous and waiting to open. You remembered picking the pink ones, to match the pink peonies and coneflowers that you had planted alongside it.

This house was a dream. Actually, this house was his dream. Encased in dark oak and copper plumbing. You just wanted a place to paint – and, for this, he had spared no expense either.

You remembered the day he’d surprised you with the keys:

You had felt soggy, the stale coffee and milk drying into the stomach of your apron and hardening into a sugary breast plate. You knew you’d never be able to get the smell out, instead understanding that was just a part of life when you were a barista. Along with the burns and odds-and-ends scrapes and bruises.

Steve had been waiting for you on a barstool in front of the door, looking like he had something to say. You knew he had most likely been pacing back and forth from the couch to the barstool as he had waited for you to get home. You weren’t a stranger to his mannerisms. Living with him had been a front-row ticket to The Steve Harrington Show. Sometimes you joked that David Attenborough should join you for dinner, narrating Steve in his natural habitat.

He had greeted you with a kiss, saccharine sweet like everyone before it, grip on your waist like a vice and a smile that he couldn’t help on his lips.

“I picked something up today,” He mumbled against your lips, “for the house.”

The incomplete set sat freshly unwrapped in its paper casings. The Blue Willow china was beautiful nonetheless. Steve had taken a liking to it almost more than you had. You didn’t mean to get annoyed, you had just had a long day. Though Steve knew it, your defensiveness caught him off-guard.

He would never admit it, but he took after his mother in his eyes and in his shopping addiction. You knew you were moving, house-hunting on weekends and late evenings. You didn’t want to begin your life together in this apartment, which had been filling quickly with heirlooms and antique pieces collected from both shops and family members, “for the house” and, “as an engagement gift”.

“Steve, what happened to saving money?” You had asked him, reaching behind you to untie your apron to throw into the basket that needed to be dragged downstairs to the wash. “We’ll never get a house if you keep spending the money as soon as we get it.”

“Actually,” He said to you, pretty lips turning into a smile as he dug around in his pockets, “We already have a house.”

He watched the cogs turn in your head, your face exchanging confusion for shock as your eyes widened and you brought your hands up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t help the small years that spill from your eyes and you jump on Steve, laughing along with him as he spun you in a circle.

You remembered buzzing the entire way there, only remembering to pull your apron off once you tried to buckle your seatbelt. It was dark out, and the streetlights in the historic neighborhood were sparse, if present at all.

The house was a great cathedral in front of you, rickety and crumbling in nature.

“The bones are good.” He reminded you, “We can take care of the rest.”

“I love it!” You squealed to him, throwing your arms around his neck. It caught him off guard, your enthusiasm.

That night, he refused to carry you through the threshold of the house. He said he wanted to save it for the wedding night. Only do it once so it stays special.

You sat alone at the dining table, cigarette in hand. You rarely smoked anymore, but you figured this ordeal permissed one. He kept the binders of your wedding planning, all of the stuff you bought, the cause of your cold feet. They were tucked away next to the dining table in the built-in for easy access. They looked like they had been untouched save for a finger print along the spine of the binder that remained bare of any dust or particles– like he had gone to take them out, but hesitated. You looked up and around at the main living space.

He was going to build you a new life and it didn’t look like he had touched it for a year.

The first day is just playing the game. You were aware he would have temporary, moderate-to-severe memory loss. You attempted to recall the words that swirled around your phonetic loop. Words from neurologists and trauma doctors and nurses alike.

Steve knows he was in the hospital and knows desperately how horrible this migraine was. He spent it in the dark, on his regular dose of sumatriptan, supplemented wonderfully in a vicodin-induced haze. You did not expect him to remember today, nor did you expect him to care. You know he is alive from barely-spoken words between exchanges of water and his prescription, which, thank God, hadn’t changed in the last year.

You sleep on the couch.

The second day, you are up before him, sifting through the pots and pans you’d let him keep to try and feed both him and yourself. You are surprised when he gets out of bed before 9:00, and even more surprised when he asks,

“So, what are you going to paint today?” Through squinted eyes, lean arm braced against the counter to support the weight of his body. He sips idly from the orange juice glass he used to take the sumatriptan, but not the vicodin.

It’s not like it was a question that strayed away from the mundane, however, it had been almost a year since you’d heard it last. You’d tried not to let the surprise register on your face as you’d continued to stir the eggs around in the pan. You let the corner of the wooden spoon scrape some of the dried remnants of soft egg from the sides of the pan where the butter hadn’t reached. You shrugged with a soft, I don’t know, unsure of how to answer.

As Steve retreats back to the master bedroom, you hear the kick of the plumbing and the steady stream of water rattling through the house. You thanked him silently for buying an old place, the plumbing was loud enough to drown out your own thoughts.

The knock on the window sends you reeling back like the crack of a gun. Your ménage-a-trois with a nose ring and encased the ugliest yellow beret like some gay French Alp paratrooper stood guard outside the bay seating of your kitchen window. You hated yellow, but, for today, you would keep it to yourself. She came bearing gifts. The only suitcase you owned was filled with the only clothes you owned, and as many art supplies as she could carry with the promise of more. Today, she bore her yellow beret as a barrel full of brandy around her neck– a drooly Saint Bernard to your avalanche. You propped the window open on its stakes, cinnamon color mixed with dirt crumbling from its unused hinges.

She looked around in secrecy, “How is he?”

“Better today. He just got in the shower.” You shrugged, looking back over your shoulder.

“How’s the…” She circled her splayed hands over her head, signaling amnesia. You wish she would just say it instead of tiptoeing around the subject.

You shrugged again, running a hand over your head, “I’m not sure yet. He knows who I am, but, ugh, I don’t know.” You sighed, sitting down at the bench and burying your face in your hands.

Robin leaned against the windowsill, reaching a hand through to push your hair back out of your face, “What’s wrong? Why is that bad?”

“He still thinks we’re together. Like– doesn’t remember that we’re not together.” You said through your palms, knowing that her linguistics degree also covered your dramatics and mumbling.

“Oh God,” She gasped to you, not quite able to contain herself, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m just gonna have to roll with it, I guess.” You slurred past your arms, willing back the onslaught of stress-tears beginning to pool against your tightline. You couldn't abandon him now, not when he was like this.

Your former studio, nestled at the base of the turret within the house, surrounded by windows encased in stained-glass embellishments and flying buttresses, remained the only room in the house that was finished. You sat on your spinning stool, ignoring the creak from the way you pushed yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your eyes fixated on the piece in front of you. It had been sitting on this easel for a year– the only one too heavy for you to move on your own, however, you were past asking for Steve’s help. So here it sat, holding your work once again, arms open in waiting.

“Woah, you work fast.” Steve’s voice startled you, the stool squeaked again as you jumped.

He walked up behind you, hands smoothing over your shoulders in apology– his skin still shower-warm and tacky from the water, “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was much softer than you initially intended it to come out as. It resonated under the guise of a smile rather than the initial annoyance you turned to as a defense mechanism.

“Didn’t you start that painting last week?” He asked, smoothing a broad hand down the exposed expanse of your upper arm, turning his face to look at the painting, “It’s done now.”

You tried not to let the confusion register on your face. You had finished the painting well over a year ago. The oil had long-since cured. You thanked the universe softly for Steve’s untrained eye.

“I guess I just got really into it.” You shrugged, feigning your own insufferability for his well being– just this once.

You had forgotten what it was like to be held by Steve. He lingered around your proximity in a near-shroud of constance. You had forgotten the soft feeling of nimble fingers as they grazed across any exposed skin you had. You had forgotten about warm hands cupping your cheek or twirling the ends of your hair. You had forgotten what the warmth of his felt like, in the same way that you moved away from the slow-creeping sun square that beamed from the windowsills. You didn’t realize how long you had been fighting any warmth after him.

That night, his broad hands lured you to bed with the promise of warmth. You try to remember the way it felt a year ago, if it resounded in the same way. His hands were still a comfort as they encased you in a tight embrace. His breath still felt the same coming from his nose and traveling across your shoulder, dotted intermittently by haste staccato kisses.

You tried to hold on to that feeling after he had long been asleep, and held on to it again as you peeled his hands from your waist. You let it slip from your fingers as you slid from the bed and let your feet pad across the hardwood flooring. You laid it to rest next to you on the couch, let it fold into itself and hibernate once more.

By the next morning, Steve’s brain had pistoned back into his regular routine, which consisted of a god-awful early morning jog. It was almost obnoxious how perfect he was for this neighborhood, golden skin glowing against the rays of morning, efflorescence in nature and ugly, heinous perfection. By the time he gets back, it’s still ungodly early. The sun only casts a blue haze into the atmosphere in its feigning presence.

You could guess by the way he tried to control his heavy breaths as he walked through the door that he was dewy, shirt tucked into his jogging shorts and hair raked back with sweaty fingers. You would not force your eyes open to look at him, leaving any feelings of adverse adoration back in the white quilt you had abandoned over a year ago. He walked up to you, feat unabashedly heavy against the hollowness of the floor despite the carpet muffling them. His hand was warm and heavy against the exposed expanse of your hip, riding your shirt up further.

“What are you doing out here? You know this couch kills your bac-” He started, pausing abruptly in surprise, “Where did that come from?”

“What?” You mumbled through closed eyes, still only barely awake.

He traces the tattoo on your back, rough fingers tracing over the thickened lines of ink, “This.”

You didn’t bother to crack an eye open, instead folding your arms in further on yourself and readjusting against the couch cushions, “Gee, Steve, you must've hit your head really hard.”

“What?”

“What?” You asked him, finally waking up enough. You pushed your arms underneath you, squinting at him as best you could through the haze of the morning light.

“I hit my head?” He asked, confusion– then terror– registering on his face.

You sat up fully, realizing then that, in your daze, you had effectively put your foot in your mouth. The look on your face, supplemented by the look on his face tells you that there is no way that you could backtrack now.

“... Yeah-”

“When?”

“Three days ago.” You started, and he let out a deep exhale, almost in relief that it hadn’t been longer.

He turned to look at you, and you reached out to grab his hand. He took it, gripping yours like a vice, but never enough to hurt, “What did I do?”

“You were up on a ladder, doing something with the electrical. You fell and hit your head pretty good. Cullen brought you in.” You shrugged, trying to play it off.

“Where were you?” He asked, it wasn’t accusing. He just tried to piece everything together. Still, you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that pooled in your chest after he said it.

You weren’t going to break his heart, not now. Not while he was already fragile like this. You hated lying, but anything was better than a category five meltdown. He shook now, acting too tough to hide it. Steve was strong for everyone, too strong for too long.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah, Steve. You’re okay.” You reassured him, no matter what.

That night, you put a band-aid over your neck, despite the itching, burning sensation from the adhesive, it would live there for now. You said it was to save yourself the trouble. You didn’t know why you’d thought to care so much. You also don’t know why you felt so guilty. Maybe it’s because you weren’t there. Maybe it’s because you were here now and you shouldn’t have been. All you know is that you can’t break Steve’s fragile psyche now, not again.

Steve’s routine was stone-set and rigorous, you’d remembered that much. He was the kind of person that thrived off of routine and egg-whites alone. You’d envied him for his discipline.

He started out of bed every morning at the heinous, ungodly hour of five. Every morning, without fail, he rose silently, rubbed his hands over his face, fought the urge to disturb you and lost every time. He would smooth a tender hand over your hair and slip out the door with a soft, waking kiss, and proceed with a jog. Every morning, he would run his 3.1 miles, 5,000 kilometers, and every morning, he would slip back through the front door.

Every morning, you woke to the smell of a better-than-cheap cup of coffee with a sweet kiss, and he would whisper to you that he achieved the run in thirty minutes– a personal best, and you wondered if one day it would slip below that number. Without missing a beat, he would place the coffee on a coaster placed there for that specific purpose on your antique bedside table, and your body would roll into the dip in the mattress where his body sat, his warm hand circling waking patterns across your bare back while you sifted through the prevalent swarm of too-little sleep.

Because, every afternoon, Steve would take his Saturday (which was actually a Tuesday) and paint that heinous yellow wall in the guest bedroom over with an earthy green tone– one that, without fail, would remind him of you enough to where he would seek you out to tell you.

And every night, without fail, you would slip from the bed in silence, pull the heinous yellow paint bucket delivered thankfully by Robin out of the bushes from the window that was set just slightly too high to be comfortable reaching over, and paint that lovely green wall back to that awful, ugly yellow.

There were no discrepancies to his routine. He was an unfortunate creature of habit, and it was so dreadfully painful that you indulged him in this routine. Because, every day, he would pull those old wedding binders out– no longer covered in dust and forgotten memories– and pick the same three options for wedding china that you never saw the point of anyways. Every day, he would try to cheekily pull you in for a shower, and you would make up the same excuse over the same dishes from the same meal that you had eaten to the point where you were just choking it down.

And you would do it all over again.

Because, if that same meal and awful yellow paint and ungodly six o’clock wake time would be enough to stop him from feeling like that again, you would keep doing it.

Your nightly decompression was your saving grace. The only way you felt like a human again. Because every night, Steve would sit and read the same chapter out of the same book, and you would get in some still-life practice.

Steve was pretty always, even in his blissful unawareness. Even in his ignorance. Even in the fact that he was no longer yours. Steve was pretty by fact. Pretty by nature. You had gotten good at drawing him, you knew where to block the square of his head and the triangle of his nose. You knew where his glasses rested against his face and exactly where to place every mole. You knew where the bone beneath would ebb and flow and where the warm light from that stained glass bowl-lamp would accentuate and valley against them like rivers. Steve was a topographical map and you had explored every inch in these moments of blissful dissonance. You did not need to waste your time getting the likeness correct by now, only getting in the fine details.

Every night, your wonderful moment away from the catatonic nature of this ordeal would end when Steve would finish his chapter. You would act like you didn’t notice, like you weren’t staring at him. He would act like he didn’t know you were. He would press a tender kiss to your shoulder, smile at the work in your hands, tell you how talented you were, and finalize the ritual with a kiss to your cheek– an invite to bed.

You know there will come a time when there will be a deviation from this routine, and you try to prepare yourself for this by running every possibility through your head. Calming tactics in the event that he has a category four meltdown, the words you would say and the explanations you would give him, but nothing prepared you for this deviation. Not in the slightest.

You are unsuspecting as you wipe down the kitchen counters, melancholy with your towel in hand. Your hair is still wet and dripping uncomfortably down your back. You breathe deeply, enjoying the smell of kitchen lemon multi-surface cleaner. Steve approaches you. You feel his presence before you see him or feel his arms around your waist. You indulge in his warmth before he even touches you, before he reaches for your hand. You bask in his radiance before you feel the cold smoothness of gold scrape across your ring finger.

“You forgot this after your shower.” He whispers through a kiss against the tender skin beneath your ear. He does not understand the devastation his words have caused you, not in his innocence.

You reconstructed the scene in fragments of memories:

They were lawn seats, and you had no idea how he scored them. This concert had been sold out for weeks. The Tragic Kingdom tour was potentially the greatest album to ever grace this earth, and Steve agreed– potentially more than you did.

When your eyes turned to get a good look at his face, it was hard to tell where that light sheen of sweat ended and the glitter that wafted in the air began. He was so fucking beautiful. You could look at him forever, put him in a jar on a shelf to admire for a lifetime. He was more blonde than brunette at this time of year, gold-skinned and eager. The July rays had set minutes ago, yet seemed to settle their clinging remnants in his eyes.

His eyes that shone when they met yours, the eyes that gripped on to your hands, met your mouth, and settled within your gaze.

You came in with the breeze, on Sunday morning…

You almost missed his words over the ambient concert sounds around you, louder now as Gwen started the beginnings of the song. Had you not been staring at him, you figured with your mouth open like a trout, you would have missed the two quiet words he mustered.

“Marry me?”

You didn’t say anything back, you didn't need to. You remember the feeling of your knees sinking into the grass beneath you, wet against your skin. You remember how his body was too-warm in the staleness of the July air and the hardness of his body pressed tight against yours. Any qualms he had about saying more than those words disappeared in an instant, your hand willingly accepting the modest diamond encased in a gold band the only answer he ever needed.

You thought back on that time, on the I love you’s and the please hold me’s.

You remembered the I can’t do this anymore.

The problem was never committing to Steve. He had you. He had all of you. He could take you whole or in pieces in any slice or interval or fracture that he could have ever dreamed up. Though, that was the problem. You had committed yourself to him fully, never to the idea of committing yourself to anyone else, never thought of having to share him or change what you had. You lived in comfort, willful bliss. You’d never wanted anything more.

But you saw that hopeful glimmer in his pretty eyes. The ones that looked like chunky baby legs and bubbly giggles. The distant memories that sounded like mimed laughs and raspberries against new skin. You were not maternal, not by nature nor by instinct. You felt broken, not wanting that.

And knowing how well Steve was made for it.

How he mapped rooms in the house with oak cribs and baby-pastel paint colors. How he pointed out names he liked and stared for just a little too long at happy families in passing.

That night, long after Steve had fallen asleep, those dusty old wedding binders called out to you, screamed your name in birdsongs and infant wails. You clung to them, still covered in that awful yellow paint on the floor of that awful yellow room, and you cried awful tears that stained the pages of the awful thing that could have been.

Except that could have started to feel less awful. It felt more like a should have now.

You kept the wedding band on, convincing yourself it was more for him than yourself.

“Hello?”

The shrillness of the landline still rings in your ears despite picking up the sound of a voice on the other end. Instinctively, you twirl your fingers into the cord.

“Hey.” Her voice is scratchy on the other line. You know who it is, yet you still ask.

“Who is this?”

“Bill fucking Clinton.” You can hear the way her eyes roll in her voice. You almost find it endearing.

You roll your eyes back, knowing that she can’t see it. You hope the sentiment is the same. “Hi, Robin.”

Silence on the line. You know what she will ask. She asks almost every other day or in the in-betweens where you can catch each other and she doesn’t have to fake a conversation on the phone with Steve.

“How is he?”

You feel like she knows the answer by now, she knows every part of his routine and exactly where you fit into it, “He’s fine. He just got into the shower.”

There was a silence again, this time slightly more deafening. It felt like she was thinking, pondering the exact thing she was going to say and how exactly she planned on saying it.

“How are you?” You hated it, despised it. It almost made your blood run cold. You didn’t do feelings, you were just a pawn in this big, fucked up game. It was your obligation to live in this lie. You had already hurt Steve once, the least you could do was keep him safe now.

“Fine, Robin. I’m good.” You willed, regurgitated it like a curse.

She sighed, hoping she wouldn’t have to pry but knowing she was going to, “Ha-ha. But really?”

“Really what?”

“How are you?”

You fell silent, the static basso of the line between you buzzing like a flatline as the tears welled up and over your lash line. The first sob you choke out is louder than you expect, and draw your knees up to your chest in the bay as you cry over the phone, unable to find words and unable to speak if you had then anyways.

For once robin shuts the fuck up. For once she doesn’t have anything to say. Somehow you wish she would. Instead, she lets you cry for a few minutes in silence. She lets you let it out.

“Do you need me to come over?” She asks, voice a welcome comfort not that you can breathe through the snot and tears running down your face.

“No.” You sniffle, wiping the stream of facial fluids across your sleeve like you didn’t disgust yourself when you did it.

“Do you need a professional?”

“No.”

There was a sigh, followed by another moment of silence. She didn’t know how to help you, though, she didn’t really think you needed help.

“Hey, Robin?” You finally spoke up, eyes finally dry and your throat finally clear enough to be coherent.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Monica Lewinsky I said hi.”

You have a headache, simply put. That you could supplement. The ache and the pressure behind your eyes could be solved with acetaminophen and a glass of water and a bath. The ache in your chest was less tangible, and would have to wait until the ache in your head was fixed to even be evaluated.

You’d managed to slip past Steve getting dressed in the convex opening of your walk-in closet, light spilling yellow against the dark floors in the dim lighting of the master bedroom. The one thing you’d greatly missed about this house that your apartment did not have the luxury of was the cast-iron tub, in its claw-footed, wing-backed glory. The water spilled steam from the mouth of the faucet as it spilled down the white porcelain glaze, hot enough to turn your skin red and draw the overage of blood from between your temples. You dimmed the lights, shoulders lax as you slumped your arms sideways over the edge of the tub, water tinged green from both the reflection of the seafoam walls and the capful of eucalyptus epsom salts dissolving in the water around you.

You close your eyes, focusing more on the crisp smell of the water instead of the pounding of your head. You rest one arm beneath your head as a barrier between your temple and the porcelain, allowing the other to hang off the side.

You don’t miss the way Steve slips in, nearly silently. The change of air pressure that came with his presence was what gave him away– that and the soft click of the chair legs against the hexagonal tile as he rotated it to face you.

His touch is so gentle. His touch feels like the only inherent good in the world around you. His touch is soft enough to bring you to tears. And it does.

You cannot help but let two roll down your face, not upset enough for it to scrunch up in the ugly sobs that you heaved on the kitchen floor to Robin. They splat quietly on the tile beneath you, and you sigh like an exasperated hound. One deep, shuddering breath beneath Steve’s hand.

You cannot confide in him, even if he asks. You wonder if that fact hurts worse than understanding that he is going to wake up eventually.

Steve does not pry. He’s really good at that. Instead, he rakes his fingers across the grain of your hair, thrown upwards with reckless abandon– fingers both a consolation and a devastation. He wishes desperately to know. Wishes desperately that he could fix it, but he knows this sadness. Knows the pain of forcing you to talk. The only thing that hurts worse than not knowing is the pain of seeing you cry.

But he’s so tender, and he’s so endearing. You can’t help but want him.

“Can I get you anything?” He says to you, just above a whisper. He even dips his head down closer to yours so you can hear, but you’re already clawing at the collar of his shirt.

“Wanna be close.” You mutter, words muffled against your arm. He understands it anyway.

His skin is hot. Hot enough to still be felt under your hands despite the temperature of the water. You missed the texture of it, smooth, interrupted by soft constellations of moles and bone. Quickly, and with grace, he stands– pulling your hands from his body for a mere few, painful seconds. He strips his clothes quickly, and you watch the muscles of his shoulders ripple as he maneuvers to pull his shirt over them.

Silken skin glides across your back, the hot water squelching between your bodies as he slides into the tub behind you, arms encircling your waist in an iron-clad grip. Caring and grounding all at once.

His lips are soft as they press a hot path against your neck and you sigh, tilting your head further away to allow him the affection you so desperately need.

“That’s it, honey. Let me give you what you need.” It’s a low growl, not quite a whisper. His voice keeps that resonant patriarchal basso that vibrates against your neck and settles in your coccyx. His kisses turn to soft nips, as he takes the suppleness of your flesh between his teeth– never enough to hurt.

His hands reach up to cup your breasts, squeezing tenderly as he runs a thumb over a pert nipple. He leaves one hand on your chest, gently pinching and rolling the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, another hand sliding over the hills and valleys of your body to find a home between your legs.

Despite the water surrounding you, there is a much more distinct slickness that has gathered there in decadent anticipation of him. When his thick fingers finally breach the threshold of you, it is both a devastation and a need. Slowly, he finds the bud of your clit, circling it slowly.

You suck in a breath, accompanied by a soft whine. When you arch your back, you feel him press against your back, hard and heavy against your flesh.

“Come on, honey,” He urges, a heeding groan fans across your shoulder disguised as a breath, “I’m gonna get you there. Just gotta let me do it.”

His middle and ring finger circle your core, easing their way in. You relinquish the new, subtle stretch. His other hand leaves its place on your breast, coming down to hold the soft flesh of your lower belly, creating a soft pressure that soothed the ache in your core as he held you there, relentlessly pumping in and out of you with his fingers. The other hand crept lower, the other two fingers continuing the rhythmic circling of your throbbing clit.

You cried out, the coil in your core hitting that vapid crescendo and tumbling over the edge with shaky legs and breaths. Steve continued working his fingers within you, easing you through the climax of your orgasm and slowing when you whined. His arms remained around you like a vice, holding you in your place against him.

He nibbled at your ear softly as you came down from that wonderful, floaty place, and whispered softly, “You did so good.” against your neck. His hands rubbed the insides of your thighs in slow, soothing circles. You felt the water from the tub rush over his arms and create whirlpools over the valleys of your skin.

It was then that you turned, your arms locking around his neck and your lips crashing into his. Your body fell against his with enough force to push a wave across the edge of the tub, but the wet floor was an issue for another time. Your own carnal desire to have him seated within you was far worse than your desire to maintain the grout in the bathroom floors. This much you knew.

The stretch was welcome and familiar, albeit foreign to you, now. You cried out, as you slid down to the hilt and seated yourself firmly atop his thighs, either one of your thighs bracketing around his. You felt the scrape of hair from his thighs scratch against your skin, broad hands planted firmly on the plush of your waist, and deep, guttural groan fan out across the crevice of your neck where he buried his head.

Your hand clutched the nape of his neck for purchase, fingers burying themselves in the damp locks there and tugging softly. It draws a gasp from pretty pouted lips as his head tilts back in reverie. He looks at you through dreamy, half-closed lids, reminding himself to draw himself back and forth again, now that you have adjusted to the sensation of him filling you.

“Oh, baby. Honey.” He cried, pistoning his hips upward, more rhythmically now. It was more of a cry now than it was a plea, and a rosy blush crept its way across the bridge of his nose, spread over his cheeks, and kissed the tips of his ears. He was ethereal as it spread across his chest and he heaved whines into your mouth like he needed to feel himself inside you to survive. You caught the way his dark lashes kissed the apples of his cheeks, and the way the space between his brows scrunched as he huffed breaths towards your face.

There is a realization in the impending vapid crescendo where Steve attempts to push you over the edge a second time. Your body is on fire as he rubs fast, sloppy circles around your already sensitive clit. He falls from the edge first.

“O-oh, fuck.” He cried out in pleasure as a tear rolled from beautifully crinkled eyelids. Though, he desperately urges you to continue bouncing with fingers buried into the plush that accumulates where your hips fold. His thumb is still relentless over your sensitive bud until he pushes your already teetering form over the edge as well.

He holds you close, strong arms around your shaking frame and wet hands smoothing back your flyaway hairs. He presses a kiss to your forehead, guiding your head between his palms and trailing them down your nose. He lands his final kiss, longer this time, against your lips and fans his palms across the expanse of your cheeks and neck.

You whine when he pulls himself from you, suddenly empty. Steve soothes you with a, “Shh. It’s okay honey, ‘ve got you.” as he pushes water up from the tub and over your cold, drying shoulders.

You cannot tell if you feel better or worse, having him in this way again. You think of the way he slid the ring back over your finger, and relived all of the gilded moments of your past. You’d always felt like a ghost in this house, haunting the remnants of what the life that should have been. But this did not feel like the life that you walked out on. This felt like the life that you chose.

Steve felt like your husband when he kissed the skin of your shoulder in the early mornings after his runs. He felt like your husband when he sprinkled the feta into your spinach omelet in the morning, and when he sat behind you to watch you paint like you couldn’t sense him behind you, and when he gave you that goofy smile and wave when you caught you peering at him from the bay curtains while he tended to the lawn,

And he certainly felt like your husband when he helped you from the tub on shaky legs, while he dried your legs with fresh towels and planted sweet kisses against your ankles and knees as he did so. He felt like your husband as he held your hand and guided you with soft hands to bed. He felt like your husband when he pulled your head to his chest beneath the sheets, sneaking a not-so-secret sniff to the crown of your head and smiling a not-entirely-concealed smile.

Steve may not have been yours anymore, but he was yours for tonight.

The morning light is dappled when you wake, and the way it sparkles hurts your eyes. You half expect to see Steve, feel his lips against your shoulder and relinquish the warmth that radiates from his skin like the sun as he invades your waking space. Instead, you find him sleeping, golden and beautiful under the dappled light, white linens draped over the oiled ellipses of his hips and legs tangled in the sheets. You bury your nose into the valley of his spine and he jolts awake. You can’t help but to giggle.

“Jesus, what the fuck?” He starts, pushing himself up on his elbows, stomach pressed to the bed.

“Oh, good morning, Steve.” His brow furrows as he looks at you. Steve does not look happy to see you. Steve looks confused.

“What are you even doing here?” He asked, more towards the sheets than you. He buried his face in his hands, groan echoing in his palms before he asked, “Oh, God, how drunk did I get?”

Your heart sinks. He is awake. There is no retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global to worry about anymore. It is just you, and him, and your new sense of impending doom. Though, how impending could the doom really be if it was staring you in the face this very moment? Impending should have been reserved for when you decided to move back into the house you tried to build. Impending was reserved for the phone call from the hospital. No, this was doomed from the start, and now, it was blowing up in your face.

You can tell he doesn’t know what happened, and that he has a throbbing headache.

“Here– let me–” You start, turning over to grab his prescription from the drawer in your– Steve’s bedside table. He stood, suddenly.

“No– ugh,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to apply some pressure there, “I think you need to go.”

“No, Steve, let me explain–”

“Just, go. Please.” He pleaded.

You would not argue. You especially would not cry in front of him, not now. Instead, you scrambled the bathroom floor for your clothes that were shed before your bath, pulling them on, scrambling for your purse and car keys on the counter, and promptly leaving with those items to your name. It was foolish for you to build another home there, to leave remnants of yourself and reminders to him of just how fucked you were around his house. You don’t remember breathing on the drive back to your apartment. The air in this place is stale and, if you owned more things, you figured they’d be shrouded in a fine layer of dust from your negligence.

When Robin answers the phone, you are incoherent. At first, she figures it is the shoddy signal from her company-issued brick phone, though she eventually realizes that it is not the faulty technology. You are in fact, choking on words and hot tears. Robin has a nagging feeling that she knows what happened, and your few words, “Steve” and, “fucked up” both confirm her suspicions and are reminiscent of a time where she was caught in the crossfire over a year ago.

Robin’s car zig-zags in and out of the morning traffic, shaving both minutes off of her commute time to your apartment and her life. Her entrance to your apartment is dramatic, tired screeching and door hitting the wall so hard you can almost feel the security deposit solidifying in you landlord’s bank account. She greets you with a hug that you don’t ask for– you don’t need to. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

Instead, she stands there, in the nearly empty room where your studio once stood, and she holds you. And you cry. And you want to scream and want to throw things and want to curse the universe and ask why me? But you know why you stand here. You know that you are shitty. So instead, you sit here, and feel sorry for yourself, and let Robin hold you. Because, no matter how shitty you are, she won’t say anything about it.

This ugly nostalgia rears its even uglier head when the phone rings shrill, deafening against the brick walls that encase you in this place worse than they had when there were paintings occupying this space. She slides across the concrete on the floor just slightly so she can grab her phone.

“Hey– you busy?” Steve asks, and she can tell he’s been crying.

You look at her, eyes red and confused.

“No,” Robin lied to him, it was small and white, “What’s going on?”

Who is it? You mouth.

Robin is inherently a bad liar. She could say it was her boss, or her mom, or a telemarketer. Instead, she stares back, contemplating the lie and the inevitable conversation she would have to make up on the spot. She decides it is not worth the effort, and mouths back,

Steve.

You sit up, looking at her with wide eyes. You will not ask to eavesdrop, though, there’s a small, shitty part of you that wants to.

“Something happened.” He started, and she knows exactly what happened, “but I don’t exactly know what.”

What’s he saying? You mouth back at her, though, she holds a pointed finger up at you in waiting.

“Are you in trouble?” She asks, “Do you need help?”

“Look, I don’t know. Can you just come over? I’ll explain everything.” He asks, voice small. He sounds like he is on the precipice of a breakdown. She hangs up the phone, knowing you know what she is going to ask next.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay? I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You can go.” You tell her, pointedly, though, she doesn’t fully believe it. However, your nosiness outweighs your ability to be this hurt for this long, “Look, can you just give this back to him? It doesn’t feel right.” and it's not right, it never was right.

You slide the ring from your finger, closing Robin’s palm around it. She opens her palm once again, twirling the diamond between her fingers. She slides it over her middle finger, diamond side in to protect it.

“Yeah, I can.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

“Call me.” She says to you, and It is both a threat and a consolation.

“Okay.”

There is an aura that has overtaken the house since this morning. It was threatening. Robin had sensed the shift from her car, clear up the avenue. There was something frighteningly wrong here.

Her knock on the door was poignant, scared almost, and she held her breath as Steve turned the knob. He looked tired. He looked spent. He looked like he wanted to cry, and yell, and throw things, and curse the universe, but was too morose to perform any action but stare blankly at Robin.

“What happened?” She asked, taking the invited, but welcome, step through the threshold of the front door. She knew what had happened already, there were remnants of you strung about this place like shrapnel. Steve avoided them like landmines, even though the explosion had already happened.

“She– she,” She meaning you, he started, but didn’t know where to begin. He sat on the couch, bouncing back with the weight and force of his body thrown against the cushions.

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Robin finally asked.

Steve looked up at her, red eyes slick with freshly fallen tears, “What?”

“Steve, you hit your head. You fell off a ladder and knocked something loose.” Robin explained to him, voice soft as she said it, “You couldn’t remember anything that happened in the last year.”

Robin wished you were here to help her explain. She wished she could remember the big words you remembered to describe what was wrong with him– maybe it would help him understand better. Maybe you should have come. She could have been able to act as a buffer between the anger–

“You fucking knew about this?” Steve interrupted her thoughts, he had stared for a few seconds while he figured out his thoughts.

Robin went quiet, more quiet than she already had been, “Yeah. I did.” It was a statement riddled with shame, though she didn’t quite know for what.

“Steve, you were sick fo–”

He stood, rage apparent in his eyes as he poked his finger into Robin’s shoulder, “No, Rob, I wouldn’t put it past her to lie to me like that but you?” Robin didn’t say anything to him. Instead she just looked up at him, “Whose side are you even on?”

“Steve, you know goddamned well I’m not picking a side.” She was angry, standing now to match his posture, “You brooded for months fucking haunting this house like a ghost, Steve. You. Were. Miserable– and you were making me miserable too! All you did was talk about how you were gonna get her back, and now that you had her, you decide you don’t want her?” Robin started. It was Steve’s turn to stare, now.

“I get that you’re mad, and I get that you’re confused, and I’m sorry that this happened to you, but this isn’t my fault.” She continued. She was a republic of voices tonight, and unfortunately, that republic was Italy.

“Oh, and here’s your stupid ring back. It’s ugly, anyways.” She finishes, shoving the ring back into his chest. He holds it in his hands, stunned.

There is an immediate regret that fills him up and drowns him in it. Robin was right, it was not her fault. “Ugh, Robin. I’m–”

She turns at the beginning of his apology, scooping her back from the doorway, “Don’t. I’m not the one you should even be apologizing to.”

“Rob–”

“Bye, Steve.”

He is alone now. The house is quiet and stale, the walls sing in silence, speak their truths, tell him how awful he was. He was so quick to anger, wore his father’s anger like a hand-me-down coat. It hung loose in the wrong places, did not cling to him like his father and looked silly while he was wearing it. He twirls the ring in his hands, watching the light refract white off the brilliant-cut diamond.

He should call Robin, should. He knows that, even after this, that she will forgive him. You, however, would not be so easy, though, he can’t exactly fathom how badly he wants your forgiveness when he has not quite forgiven you himself.

He twirls it in his hands as he gets into his car, runs his thumb over the cluster of diamonds in his pocket as he drives down the road, in search of your apartment. It burns a hole in his pocket as he parks, burning hotter and hotter until he swears it scorches his skin the closer he gets to your door.

When you answer, door swinging open in reprieve and eyes holding the morosity of several generations, he feels a pang of guilt begin to choke him, though it is not big enough to not be swallowed. Something else burns there, still hot and still angry and still confused. It takes over the forefront of his mind. He should not have come here. It was not right to come here.

“Seriously? This? You still had it?” It is an ugly statement, it's the first thing that he can think of. The angry coat was still tied tight around his waist, the anger was still bubbling in the forefront of his temporal lobe. He holds the ring up in your face, the sparkle hurts your eyes.

You furrowed your brows, confused by both the fact that we was standing at your apartment door and also that you opened your door to him yelling at you, “You gave it back to me Steve–”

“No, the version of me that forgot what you did gave it back to you. And you took advantage of that. You–”

“Steve, I couldn’t–”

“Couldn’t what?” He wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, he took a step forward and crowded your space. It wasn’t entirely fair, but you hadn’t been entirely fair either. There was no winning this battle.

You stared back at him in silence, willing fresh tears from breaking over the edges of your lash line. His eyes seethed with anger. You had never seen Steve this angry before.

“Couldn’t what?” He asked again, taking another step closer. He stood over you now, towering and angry.

You were shaking now, seeping with your own anger and frustration, “Anterograde Amnesia!”

“What?” He stops sudden;y, realizing his closeness to your figure, taking a step back.

“That’s what you had. Every morning you woke up and it was the same day. Every morning you woke up and you– you–” You were crying now, hot tears running down your face at an embarrassing, unrelenting pace. You could not tell if they were of anger or sadness. Probably both, “You woke up and did the same thing, and then every night you went back to sleep and we started all over again.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?” He asked, turning and bracing himself on your counter, hand on his hip as he stared you down.

“I-I I just couldn’t, okay?”

“Why not?” He had a way of backing you into a corner, making you feel small in this confrontation. Steve was rarely angry with you, and never like this.

“Because the one day you did find out, before all this shit,” Before he felt like yours again, “–you begged me to tell you that you were okay. You fucking begged me to.” Your arms were flailing now, it was your turn to back him into a corner. You hadn’t meant to be this defensive, hadn’t meant for this to end in a screaming match, but no one ever intended that, you supposed, “How the fuck was I supposed to leave after that, huh? Let them institutionalize you? Saddle Robin with you? How the fuck was that supposed to be the better option?”

His hands were up now too, defenses in a war against yourselves, “Oh so you just did this so you could be a hero? So you could prove to yourself that you aren’t shitty? Prove to yourself that you weren’t gonna fucking leave again?”

You found silence, suddenly, more hurt and more angry than before. You stare at each other. He knows he’s crossed a line. Several lines actually. You aren’t as forgiving as Robin.

“Just go, Steve.”

“I–”

“Just fucking go.”

This felt like the remnants of a hurricane. You could hear the wind ringing heavy and violent in your ears like screams. You could feel the rain hot and heavy as it rolled across your cheeks still. Yet the air was still, entirely too still. The shrapnel of your reality built back up and torn back down again, and now you were here. Alone. In silence.

Robin’s pointed knuckle is quiet against your door, yet it crashes and booms a resonant patriarchal tenor across the echoing walls of your solitude. You groan at her, something akin to its open. You hadn’t managed to lock it again after she left this morning.

“Are you still being insufferable?” She asks you, as if it isn’t clear by the way you seem to enter a state of active decay, melting into the corner piece of your sectional.

Though you are insufferable, you are not so insufferable that you cannot bite back, “Are you still being annoying?”

She does not answer, instead, the clinking of glass on glass and heavier glass against granite serves as an answer for her.

“Do you want a glass?”

The ruffling of a paper bag wills your head up, and she exhumes the bottle from it. You see that it is red, but don’t say anything about it. You recognize the bottle as Beaujolais Nouveau, from the same region in France in which it is aptly named– the same region in which Robin did her semester abroad. You could have said something about how it is not winter, or how there are better italian wines or better whites or literally anything else from Trader Joe’s, but alcohol seems nice, and you are never one to complain about free alcohol.

“Yeah.” you say instead.

“Okay.”

She serves you a too-full glass on the couch. She had half a mind to bring some snacks over, but did not feel like putting forth the effort into making a snack board. Instead, she pulls a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a candy bar open with her teeth, pointing the mouth of the bag towards you in a peace offering. You oblige, stuffing a handful of them into your mouth as a chaser for this awful, dry red.

“What a jerk.” She says, and you know who she is speaking about.

“What an ass.” You say back to her, and she knows who you are speaking about,

Your body rolls into the dip where hers sits on the couch, and you let the natural flow bring your head to her shoulder. You do not wrestle with the qualms of physical affection, and, if she is surprised by your sudden affectionate nature, she doesn’t say anything.

“I spilled some wine on your counter.” She said to you, but you’ll clean it up later.

You have half a mind to let it stain.

You beg Robin to get your stuff from his house. Your heartbreak is scabbed over enough for you to pick at, and you have a desperate urge to smear some goo all over a canvas in an Oliver De Sagazan-esque pity party, but alas, your studio resides in the place of your demise– Steve’s house.

Robin is more forgiving than you are, and also more willing to brave the walls of Fort Steve for your stuff. Robin is also a saint, and you have let her know ten times over.

“She wants her shit back. Have it ready on the porch when I get there.” She says to him on the phone, the line aptly going dead seconds later.

His hands on your things feel foreign when they touch them, like they might blow up. He had been avoiding them like landmines as he haunted the remnants of this home. Nothing had been touched since that morning. The house would not change.

There is a fine layer of dust that has accumulated over the confines of your studio, and it makes his eyes water as he agitates it enough to send particles swirling through the air. He stacks your canvases in piles according to their sizes and fills your water cups with brushes. He takes extra care to separate the current painting you abandoned midway through, the one where the linseed-to-oil ratio wasn’t quite right and, in turn, the layers of paint would not cure properly.

When he moves to the last stack, one of a modest collection of books and sketchpads, he loses his bearings, and the top sketchpad slides out with loose pages all over the floor. He sighs in exasperation, and bends down to scoop them into a pile. He recognizes the figure drawn on one page, and then another, and then another. A mirror image of himself, ruched hair at the end of the day, glasses perched on the end of his nose, elbow on the arm chair. In some he can see the tops of his folded knee. In some he is smiling and looking directly back at him.

Every one of them is dated one a day for eighty-six days in chronological order, yet every paper he is holding has the same headline.

The final page in the stack is a doodle page, he almost misses it. A series of boxes and riddles. Number two down, number three across. You were creating crossword puzzles, a new one every day, and yet none of the answers vaguely familiar to him. His blood runs cold. He was the ass.

In a panic, he scoops the drawings up, sliding them as quickly as possible into the sleeve from which they fell and clutching them to his chest like previous gems. To him, this was a lifeline, and he did not have time to wait for Robin, though she is sitting outside waiting for him when he runs out the front door, leaving it open in a panic.

She is colder when she greets him, colder than he’s ever seen. It's an odd juxtaposition, seeing her be so cold. She adorns black jeans with a black turtleneck. She does not look like herself, she looks like you.

“And where are you going?” She asks him, watching hum fumble with his car keys and with the drawings in his hands.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, wraps her in a hug, and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

“Robin, I love you, and I know you came here for her stuff, but I’m going to talk to her.”

She is stunned, staring at him with wide eyes at both the kiss and the sudden change in demeanor. She does not have time to ask him what drugs he possibly could have been on or make a back-handed remark about how hard he hit his head. Because, instead, she is standing in his driveway while his car takes off down the road.

Your ground floor apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows. It was charming, really. It was one of the reasons you chose this place despite its ridiculous cost. Well, that, and the fact that it was the least suburban place you could think of. You are sitting on the kitchen island, scrubbing now at that wine stain on the counter with a rag and granite polish at the forefront of this battle when the first thud sounds off clear against your winder. You thought it had been an unsuspecting bird, but the shadow of a man behind your sheer white curtains startles you. You unfold yourself quickly, going over to pull them back and investigate.

Steve stands with his feet in shrubs, hands with papers pressed flat against the glass. He pulls more from his chest, switching them out every so often, and then ends the spectacle with a crossword puzzle placed flat to the glass. He looks ridiculous like this, hands splayed across glass, hair disheveled and out of breath from running. He left his glasses on in the shuffle, and they slid down his nose in the commotion. Your confusion registers clear across your face, and he says something adjacent to, “Can I come in?” against the glass.

You nod, and he shuffles the drawings back into a cohesive, carryable pile. You meet him at the front door, letting him run in and dump them on the counter you were currently cleaning. He spreads them out in front of you, breathless and disheveled. They are in order, chronologically. All of your drawings of him. You are both mortified and embarrassed.

“That one.” He points to it, moving to stand next to you on the counter to look at it.

“The first one.” You say, looking at the date.

“Was that the first day?” He asked, “Of being home from the hospital?” he specified, staring down at you with intent eyes.

You nod, looking back up to meet him, “Yes, that was the first day. I knew you had amnesia, I knew you thought we were still engaged. Though, I didn’t know the extent of your condition yet.”

You go through all eighty-six drawings, the things he said to you, the things you did. A lot of them are repetitive, some of them caught you off guard and you are able to laugh about it now. You talk about the day he gives you the ring back, and the day you realized he was in the same infinite time loop, you talk about the dastardly yellow paint and the vellum crossword puzzles so he wouldn’t get bored even though you knew he wouldn’t remember, and the binders. You talked a lot about Robin and her place in it all. You talked about the dentist up the street, and how Steve, even in his delirium, still knew him as the guy with the labs.

There is one day where the drawing is missing.

“Is this the day,” He asks, “The day that I–”

“Yeah, it is.” You answer.

“What exactly happened then? On that day?”

You struggle to recall every detail, so you start by giving him the gist, “Well… you saw the tattoo on my back,” You reach up to touch it, running your fingers over the raised lines of ink beneath your fingers. Steve tilts his head back to get a glimpse of it as well, his own fingers calloused as they chase yours across it.

“Looks nice.” He says, without thinking.

“Thank you.” You reply back, “And then you got really confused. I was still sleeping on the couch then. We were still figuring it out, and I was still clumsy. I asked you how hard you hit your head, and you didn’t even remember doing it. You panicked so quickly, I– I had a hard time calming you down.”

The guilt still ate you alive, the guilt at your own clumsiness for letting it slip, and the guilt that you lived in the lie for that long. The guilt mostly for leaving in the first place.

“You asked me where I was, and I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t there because I was trying so hard to live my life separately from you. We hadn’t been together in a year, but I couldn’t tell you that.” You said, words becoming frantic as you fought off tears.

His hand is both a consolation as it is a devastation as it rests across your shoulder, broad and warm and grounding.

“What did you say to me, then?” He asked.

“You asked me if you were okay. You were so confused.”

“And?”

“I told you that you were.” Hot tears broke the threshold of your lash line, and spilled in streams down your face. It cut through the dryness there, and you choked on a sob. “I didn’t even know if you were or how to take care of you or what I was doing and, and I’m sorry.” You cried ugly tears now, wet into your own hands.

He grips your shoulders, pulling you into a familiar hug as your words grow frantic and your breaths become shallow and stuttered. He holds you close to his warm chest, encased in soft arms. He cradles the back of your head like you are encased in glass, and he plants a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair, now rocking your back and forth as you calm down. A wet drop falls on your shoulder, and you cannot tell if it belongs to yourself or him. You would forgive Steve in every life.

He pulls back from you, hands still planted firmly on your shoulders as he stares at you, amber eyes both piercing and comforting.

“Listen, you don’t have to take this, not yet. But it would make me so fucking happy if you would.” He pulls the ring, sparkling and brilliant from his pocket, and presents it to you. You oblige happily, sliding it back on to your hands before tackling him into an embrace. His kiss is as soft as it had always been.

You would do this again, and again, and again if it meant you could have him, because the same day with Steve was better than any of the days you had ever spent without him.

#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve stranger things #Spotify

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finitepeace · 8 months

Text

3 months since I finished Hannibal tv show. Not moving on at all from hannigram.

and here are the fics that i read to soothe the pain and pretend that the mess that is hannigram relationship has been tidied up.

Personal favorites are marked with 🦌 <this is supposed to be a stag but then it turns out to be a goat???>

arranged by time setting.

11 season1 fics, 11 season2 fics , 2 season 3fics, 14 post/before canon fics, 5 fics AU, 2 missing scene fics, 2 collections.

Season 1 divergence

Kissable by FragileTeacup |2,5k words | A Season 1 AU ficlet which explores a simple premise: what would have happened if, after Will had gone to Hannibal's house and confessed to kissing Alana Bloom, he had ended up kissing Hannibal?

Consenting to Dream by emungere | E, 38k words | A seduction through physical objects. It starts with a scarf loaned to Will on a cold day, but Hannibal, as usual, isn't satisfied with anything small.

🦌 Marriage of Inconvenience by FragileTeacup | 3,5k words E | When Will Graham hears that Hannibal Lecter has been threatened with deportation, he's far more dismayed than he ever thought he would be. But a flippant suggestion from Brian Zeller gives him an idea...

Beau Ideal by Gweezle | E, 21k words | will used to be a model -who might be attracted murder-

🦌 Dancing with the Beast by proser | E, 86k words | In order to catch a mediocre serial killer, Will must pose as Hannibal's date for a series of pretentious social events.

La Maison Rouge by Randstad | 2k words, Hannibal starts to show up at Will's house at the crack of dawn to make him breakfast, killing two birds with one stone: cooking is one of his many passions, and, honestly, Will Graham is climbing up the list.

Hyacinth House by bluesyturtle for Azremodehar | 80k, E, It all starts with an injury Will sustains while sleepwalking. [Podfic] read by justbreathe

Kindling by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe) | 10k words, e | When Franklyn's advances of friendship become too much for even Hannibal to politely ignore, he enlists Will's help.

🦌 Separately to a Wood by emungere | 13k words, T, canon-divergence in which hannibal proposed to will on their 2nd day meeting.

Demolition Lovers by thefangirlingdead | 76k words, E, hannibal got found out early, kidnapped will to run with him and will struggled with the usual ‘i love him but he is a murder’..

🦌 Small Repairs by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 20k words, divergence season 1, hannigram keeps finding reason to meet each other

Season 2 divergence

🦌 The Fox's Wedding by thehoyden | E, 11k, post S2 finale fix-it, hannibal took will to japan

Amourette by Petronia | 3k words, E, divergence on season 2

I shouldn't feel lonely when you're gone by Angelic_Disaster | 28k words, E, amnesiac Dr. Lecter,

Slip the Veil by ThisBeautifulDrowning 21,844 Post-Mizumono, Will heals, and thinks, and follows his heart.

🦌 each according to its kind by chaparral_crown | 192k words | Season 2 divergence | instead of taking revenge and planning to expose hannibal, will drop everything and run away

Where All Ladders Start by emungere | E, 43k, season 2 divergence, hannibal regrets and releases will from prison

Pattern Break by ThisBeautifulDrowning | e, 72k | No, Will was going to deal with Hannibal Lecter on his own terms. The man deserved to reap what he'd so carefully sowed, didn't he? After his release from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Will doesn't return to work for the FBI.

🦌🦌🦌 if you will come all the way down with me by coloredink | 7k words, M, they left together with abigail, but at what cost???

Season 3 divergence

🦌 their beaks not yet turned red by chaparral_crown | M, 130K words, magical realism, baby lecter!! post 1st half of season 3, hannibal went to trial but his conjugal tryst with will brought a stork delivered gift | After Hannibal is arrested and the trial dates are set, the stork visits Will Graham. With it, it brings a baby, a legally binding birth certificate, and a hope chest full of gifts for her. Nobody except Will thinks this is weird.

A Postcard and a Knife by Canis_cosmos | E, 37k words, divergence from season 3 when chiyoh threw will out of the train to the past and met young hannibal

post S3 / before S1

God and Glasses by purefoysgirl | 1,1k, G, domestic life of married hannigram

Lean On Me by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles | 2k words | Written for the airport-related AU prompt: "I fell asleep on your shoulder and you were too polite to move or wake me up AU" with a Hannigram twist.

We Killed a Dragon Last Night and Sounders of Three by inameitlater | time travel/loop/groundhog day

🦌 Hear My Soul Speak by DarkmoonSigel | 130k words. WIP. Last updated early 2022. | An AU about how Will might of met Hannibal differently since they both knew Alana. A dinner party gone wrong or terribly right. You decide. Not Beta Read.

🦌 When the Devil Smiles Back byGoldenUsagi | 26k words | A remix of Silence of the Lambs, where Clarice finds herself occupied not only with catching Buffalo Bill, but with unraveling the mystery of what exactly happened to Will Graham. And Hannibal knows more than he’s letting on about both.

🦌🦌🦌Bigger than a Breadbox by KatherineKrawl | 4k words, E | Every day at work, Will's lunchbox is filled with decadent creations, prompting questions from curious coworkers. Hoping to solve the matter, he asks Hannibal for a 'simple' sandwich, but quickly learns Hannibal doesn't quite grasp the meaning of this. Or does his boyfriend have an ulterior motive for his lavish lunches?

TKO by sidnihoudini | 16k words Molly deals with the aftermath.

The Shape of Me Will Always be You by MissDisoriental | 279k words, 1st person POV, | post-fall, hannibal left will so will could return to his old life

A Discreet Madness by emungere | 4,4k words, M, post-fall |

A Damn Slippery Life by Magical_Destiny | 2k words, T, post-fall, molly reacts

Something Else by HotMolasses | 2,1k, T, hannigram talking about that gutting scene...

🦌🦌🦌 Say Cheese! by Devereauxs_Disease | 6k, M, murder husband’s vacations keep appearing in freddie lound’s tattle crime

Cold Beds and Warm Cannibals by Devereauxs_Disease | E, 4,4k, smut and overcoming distrusts

🦌Fruitful by Everett_Harte An AU remix of 'Hannibal'. Where they both meet several years before the show, start dating, and get married. And bang, a lot.

AUs

🦌 the true kingkiller by ORiley42 | 41k words, M, there’s even a very well made podfic for it!, hannibal is a mummy and will accidentally freed him. consequence: will fell in love with him.

Ethics & Aesthetics by FragileTeacup | 106330 words, a Regency A/B/O romance | pride and prejudice au

🦌🦌🦌 Remember (that you are) to die by 13empress | 230k words, WIP last updated 2017 | ABO au, amnesiac will woke up with 13 years past experience including being a parent, a one half of murder husband, and a wrongly incarcerated FBI agent

Oddbodies by toffeecape | E, 72k words | Will is an off-brand sentinel. Hannibal is a reputable guide. What could go wrong?

🦌🦌🦌 Overcoming by purefoysgirl | 547k words, E, A/B/O victorian AU, MY VERY FIRST HANNIGRAM FIC! brought me here and now i'm stuck

Howling Outside Your Door by nobetterlove | 14k words | Content to spend his days on the surgery floor, Hannibal is tasked to present emergency room policy to a Cognitive Science class. He's somewhat reticent, but a single whiff of air changes everything. The professor, Will Graham, is an enigma. A dark bruise covers his right eye and the ripe burnt-sugary sweetness is tainted by a tang of suppressants. How much can finding his true mate really change Hannibal? And when it comes to darkness, where does acceptance lie? 14k words

missing scenes

My Husband by VictoriaAGrey | G, 3,5k words, hannigram being sweet married couple

Mise en Place by WrathoftheStag for Devereauxs_Disease | G, 1,8k, outsider POV -one of the kitchen staff in hannibal’s dinner party-

collections i'm checking out

In Which Loverboy Lecter Prostrates Himself at the Altar of Will Graham

Fresh Meat Friday

Hannigram Extended Universe

Trope: From Sex To Love (Valhalla Enchanted) by TigerPrawn | 14k words | the omega prince Charmont is in need of an alpha to see him through heat until his betrothed arrives from a distant kingdom. The recently freed slave one-eyed mute is just hideous enough to be the perfect temporary alpha to service the prince.

Forgemaster by Llewcie | 11k words | Charmont, the newest Dionysus, loses a bet to his roommate Aphrodite, and is required by her to go on three dates with a god of her choosing. Before he even gets out the door, he scathingly insults the gentle, mute Hephaestus, and then must scramble to make amends.

Blood on Steel by MonstrousRegiment | Ella Enchanted/Valhalla Rising crossover, series of 24k words work

#fic rec #hannigram fic #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham

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loud-sound · 4 months

Text

(part 1 of part 2!!)

for shits n giggles, i tried my hand at redesigning dr stone characters (read: three)

i have too many emotions when it comes to this show's character design lmao. a vicious hate-love of the century

a couple of my process notes if anyone's interested: (vague spoilers up to season 3 of the anime)

there's a criminal lack of skin tones that i immediately wanted to take advantage of; and before Certain People start saying race-swapping; none is happening here, it's all just taking account of tanning and sunburns. sunscreen is a thing of the past here and a lot of time is spent outdoors in order to gather food

dramatic shifts in skin tones from what's given at birth happen pretty frequently in real life even with A/C and sunscreen; a huge missed opportunity to play with this in the color department methinks, but here we are (don't even get me started on the massive range of skin tones in east asian genetics alone)

so i played around a bit with contrast, nothing outlandish aside from giving Kohaku noticeable sunburns and freckles from (1) having caucasian blood in her to begin with and (2) not having access to any of the skin products our moderners would have

that being said, realism in the clothing color department was just about entirely thrown out the window. the blue dyes we know about are nowhere (naturally) near Japan, and here Ishigami village is in canon with deep navy on every villager; Inagaki and Boichi decided realism specifically here wasn't as important as color symbolism (which i personally think was a good creative decision), so cut me some slack-

so for colors it was just my personal taste on streamlining the palettes-

Gen in particular i thought would benefit from exposed shoulders without taking away how he needs bigger sleeves to hide shit up there. a lot of the guys have plain shirts and sleeves or just go shirtless entirely and i felt like it'd be fun to have him wear something in between to really push the magician/entertainer vibe

hairstyles were changed mostly to be easier to draw and to make their silhouettes just a bit easier to distinguish from each other. (hair colors were untouched except for Kohaku, purely because i have a personal preference for the more natural blonde color than any actual design significance lmao)

partial exception for Kohaku, cuz it annoyed me that the other characters say she has super thick, unruly hair...but then her hair is drawn no differently from everyone else's 💀

didn't wanna play into the stereotype of naturally curly hair being seen as something to be fixed (especially within the context of a makeover-), so i tried to imply chronically unbrushed hairdsjfsdf

can you tell from how many bullets are here about Kohaku how i feel about her design? last thing: body types.

Gen is supposed to be significantly tall, Kohaku is one of the strongest characters while being one of the shortest; it is very hard to tell that from their designs alone. it's mostly just the limitations of Boichi's art style,,,proportions that's i'm aware is nitpicky, but i wanted to show it here anyway 💀💀💀

smth smth disclaimer about subjectivitydsfsdfsd-

uhhhh, congrats for reading all that, have some silhouettes!

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kiddbegins · 5 months

Text

Did you really love me? - Connor Rhodes

Requested: yes

Word count: 1,318

Warnings: angst, no happy ending

A/n: if someone said ‘they brought me back to life’ over someone they left me for that’d be it for me

Masterlist

“Did you ever really love me?”

Breakups suck. Like, really suck. Seriously, who the hell wants to be sat in their room, watching disney movies in the hopes of cheering themselves up with ice cream in one hand and left over pizza in front of them?

It didn’t help that you saw a future with him. Connor Rhodes, found his way into your heart then decided to rip it out with his bare hands. He said he found someone else, someone that brought him back to life. Some great feelings that stirred up. (That was pure sarcasm by the way.)

No, in reality it felt like he’d taken both your heart and your soul and crumbled it to pieces. Years down the drain. That first year of pining over the slightly older surgeon that you worked closely with followed by the next two years.

Sure you should have seen it coming. Less time spent together and half the time you were together, there were fights speckled in. Over stupid shit. Leaving things around, forgetting to do something, missing a date. It was already being written in stone that you two weren’t going to last but you couldn’t take the signs at face value.

You just loved him so much. Every argument you thought maybe it was just a step to things working out. But it wasn’t. Now you’d spent the week in your apartment, using paid time off to wallow in your own pity.

And tomorrow was going to be your first day back at work. Your first day seeing him since everything happened. You had no idea what the hell you were going to do. Natalie and Will sort of had a plan in place, one they could only do so much about.

“We see him coming and we’ll make sure he asks one of us for help, or if you need a consult we’ll take over when he’s there, easy.” Natalie was proud of her plan, her boyfriend just nodding along knowing that was not how any of that was going to work.

You guys were doctors. It wasn’t like they’d always have time to be a personal block between you and the surgeon. Which was proven true the literal first patient you had. Will and Natalie were actually treated the sibling of the boy you had under your care who needed surgery.

And of course the surgeon in question was none other than Dr. Rhodes. Sure you could be professional but that was also when you completely avoided looking in the dark haired man’s direction. Something that was picked up by and brought up by the boy’s mother.

“Do the two of you have an issue with one another? Because I’d like for my doctors to be able to communicate so that I know my baby is getting the best care there is.” Her arms folded tightly across her chest as your mouth gaped.

Were you supposed to lie? Tell her that you and the man next to you were fine? You could handle him. But as much as you believed that, you couldn’t stop the tears pricking at your eyes when you so much as glanced at the back of his head.

Slightly you cleared your throat. “We’re okay, but uh, if it’ll make you feel better, I can have Dr. Halstead, who’s with your other son, take over here.” You spoke with a faint smile, the mother nodding tightly.

It was obvious she didn’t believe you just as much as you didn’t believe yourself and you didn’t want to make this day any worse for her. “Will, uh, could we switch? Mom’s asking for a different doctor.” She bit at her cheek, the look on her face giving away that that wasn’t the entire story but there was no time to question it.

“Yeah sure, we’re just finishing up his labs here.” Natalie gave you a soft smile as the rest of the shift continued, this time without any hiccups. And crossovers were smoother than that one. And once it was over, you were right back where you were that morning.

Crying on your couch.

Except, about halfway through your rewatch of Dirty Dancing, there was a knock on the front door. You weren’t expecting anybody and when you pulled open the front door, you were staring back at the last person you ever expected to grace your entrance way again.

“Connor?”

He gave a tight smile, sucking in a breath, “Can I come in?” You had to fight to hold back the scoff that nearly came out, raising your eyebrows. Who did he think he was just showing up, a week after you two broke up.

Annoyed, you went to shut the door with a roll of the eye, only stopping when the man grabbed the edge of it. “Y/n, please. Look, I just want to talk okay? We work together for god sakes, you have to learn to at least look me in the eye. Especially if we’re taking care of the same patient.”

As much as you wanted to pretend he was wrong, he wasn’t. Begrudgingly, you stepped aside, letting him come in. It was silent for a couple moments, the man taking in the mess that had fallen upon your apartment.

In all honesty, he wasn’t that aware that the breakup had affected you this much. Obviously he knew you were upset, the lack of your appearance at work was enough proof of that. But seeing the messed up couch, the take out containers and half empty tissue box just put things into perspective.

“Alright, are you going to say something or just judge the state of my house? Because I seriously-”

“Just tell me whatever you’ve been dying to tell me, y/n.” He cut you off, turning his attention back to you fully. “I can tell from the look on your face that you want to say something but you’re not letting yourself, and I know how much stuff like that eats at you.”

You nostrils flared as you looked up at him, “You don’t get to say that you know anything about me anymore Connor. You don’t. Not with all the shit that’s happened.” Your words came out harsher than you meant to and for a second you realized that maybe you did have some choice words for him.

“I’m sorry. I just, I want you to be able to get on with things. Move on, not have to worry about me when you’re at work.”

“I’m always going to Connor! I love you.” Your voice cracked along with the dam that was keeping your tears at bay. “With my entire heart, and you left. So I’m sorry if I can’t just get past that in seven days.” You tightly crossed your arms over your chest, sniffling.

If anything was embarrassing it was crying in front of someone that was the source of the tears streaming down your face. And you hated it. You absolutely despised how he was capable of all these emotions spilling from you and that you couldn’t even keep yourself from showing it.

“You know what. I do have something.” You cleared your throat, the anger fading and bringing back the heaviness in your chest. Connor nodded, gesturing for you to continue, his gaze on you entirely. “Did you ever even love me?”

The softness of the question made Connor’s heart drop, his eyes flicking over your face. The lack of response made you scoff, nodding tightly. “Alright. That’s enough of an answer for me. You can go now.”

“Wait no, I did-”

“Go.” You practically yelled, squeezing your eyes shut and pointing at the door to your left. “And don’t try to talk to me again unless it’s work related.” The sound of the door opening and shutting was all you heard before you let yourself crumple onto the couch, crying until you couldn’t cry anymore.

JOIN CONNORS TAGLIST HERE!

Tags: @winchesterszvonecek @everything-fandom @thebejeweledwatercat @mrspeacem1nusone @wnbweasley @alexxavicry @halsteadbrasil, @natashamea18 @katieemazz @firetruckstuckley

#connor rhodes one shot #connor Rhodes #connor rhodes fic #connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #connor Rhodes and reader #chicago med #one chicago oneshot #one chicago x reader #one chicago #chicago med one shot #chicagomed #connorrhodes #teddy writes #teddy writes connor rhodes #teddy writes chicago med #teddy writes one chicago

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vcidgalpin · 1 year

Note

hi! i'd like to ask a one shot on tyler galpin in which y/n is an addams who's a nevermore student. she's the same as wednesday but shy and more insecure. one day after her therapy session she goes to the weathervane where she meets tyler. that soon becomes a routine, the two grow really close and become more than just friends. he's one of the few people she lets her guard down and feels comfortable with.

i'd like it to be with fluff and him making her feel appreciated and loved, reassuring her.

thank you <3

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Pairing: Tyler Galpin x Reader

Summary: As the Request says. Title inspired by the Taylor Swift song ‘It’s nice to have a friend’.

Wednesday and Y/N Addams are two sides of the same dark coin. Growing up, the twins were constantly compared, their differences only being acknowledged as the two came into their own. While Wednesday is more sure of herself, full of confident dry wit and a sense of being one not to mess with, Y/N is more closed off. And yes, some may look at her sister and not think that anyone could be more reserved than her, but that’s just how she is.

Y/N struggles to put up a front of not showing emotions, her heart is on her sleeve, but she gets flustered easily, falls in love too fast and runs away from her problems. In the Addams family, all of these have been labeled as signs of weakness, so that’s just how Y/N sees herself. It’s inevitable that people compare themselves to others, and it’s especially hard when your sister is the family’s ‘perfect little death trap’ etc. Y/N also carried the same dark hobbies, a love for the macabre, but most of that came out in fits of rage, in her lonesome, trying not to burden others with her over-emotionalness’

It was quite a punch to the gut upon arriving at Nevermore Academy, when the custom uniforms just further highlighted that Wednesday was one to stand out, in stark contrast shades of black and, and Y/N blends into the towering stone walls, in a dull mix of grays. She couldn’t be too mad about it either, because it did reflect her usual desaturated wardrobe, but Y/N couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like to just fit in with the other students, don herself in the blue uniform, but that’s not the Addams family way.

Hearing the information during the tour that there was a local town, only a 25 minute walk away, to escape to, was music to Y/N’s ears. It was also the location of her therapist’s office.

After her first session with Dr. Kinbott, Y/N steps out into the cool air, she spots a coffee shop across the road. The ‘Weathervane’. Needing a pick me up, she saunters over and enters in, the scent of coffee and hot chocolate hitting her nose instantly. She walks over to the front bar area, noticing a curly haired boy phasing out, looking out the window onto the dull scape of Jericho.

“Hi,”

“Oh shit, didn’t see you there sorry,” The young guy says with a dazed voice, clutching his heart.

“I get that a lot, don't worry,” A small, polite smile meets her face.

“Shit no, I didn’t mean that in a rude way or anything sorry, I just- right lean this way and look out that window,” He says, pointing in the direction of something outside, “You see that?” Leaning in and following where his finger is going, she sees her classmate Enid trying to save a cat out of a tree, hopping up and down frantically but she’s a fraction too short. “I wish I had her patience,” He chuckles, “She’s been there for about 10 minutes,”

‘I don’t know how I missed her while walking over here’ She thought to herself before looking over to the barista again, suddenly noticing just how close his face is to hers. Stammering while leaning back away from him, her face turns beet-red. “I- Sorry,”

“Sorry? For what?” He looks puzzled, still smiling warmly, tilting his head to the side slightly. Y/N tends to apologize without reason and can’t come up with a lie to cover it up, so he decides this time to just shrug and fiddle with her hands.

“Well, what can I get you- uh… Sorry, what’s your name?”

“Oh. I’m Y/N,” She squints to see his name tag, “Nice to meet you, Tyler,”

“Nice to meet you too. What can I get you, Y/N?”

“Could I get three shots of espresso, please?”

“Wow, that’s not what I was expecting,” He laughs breathily.

“And what were you expecting?” Y/N subconsciously grows a bit of confidence through this witty back and forth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He teases back, before walking off to tap her order into the espresso machine. It whirs away, and Y/N admires the boy from her spot, tapping her card onto the card machine, hearing the familiar ding of an approved payment.

“Here you go, Y/N. So, can I expect to see you around her again sometime? I can tell by that uniform that you’re a Nevermore student right? Lots of them come in here with their friends over the weekend,”

“Yeah, I don’t really think anyone will bring me here. I think most of them didn’t even acknowledge me joining the school so… You can probably tell by this gray uniform I don’t exactly stand out,”

“I think the gray compliments you well, like a layer of smoke covering something deeper down. You really are mysterious,” She flushes once again, no one has ever given such a compliment to her.

“Mysterious?”

“Yeah, I can tell you are good at hiding things, you probably have a lot of dirt on people, ready to use when necessary. It’s kind of spooky actually,” Okay, yeah, Y/N is definitely getting hot under her collar from the array of compliments. All she ever secretly wanted was to be seen as intimidating or spooky.

“Well, thank you. Anyways, I’ll be off. I’ll be back soon,”

“You promise?” He smirks.

“I never promise,”

By now, Y/N and Tyler have spent time drinking about 20 coffees together, and have gotten to learn more about each other than anyone else in their lives.

“You know, underneath that smoke screen is an amazing person. I don’t understand how I haven’t seen you with any friends around here, you are a catch,”

“Haha, I really don’t think so… I’d prefer to just wait for someone else to approach me,” She stops and sips her coffee.

“Yeah, that would work if you didn't suffer from resting murder face. Besides, you approached me, and look, you didn’t combust, nothing bad will happen,” He reassures the girl, placing his palm over her hand that rests on the table across from him.

“Well, you do understand how the hospitality industry works right? And you remember that we met because you work here, yeah?” Her eyebrows wiggle teasingly, letting herself laugh.

“See, that laugh is contagious as hell. Anyone would be blessed to know you. Hey, since you don’t make ‘promises’, what’s your thoughts on bets?”

“Sure, I don’t back down from bets. If they involve danger or risk of death that’s just a cherry on top,” Her dead gaze bores into Tyler, and she finds humor in his worried adjustment of posture.

“Right well. This one doesn’t unfortunately… But I wanna place a bet that if you go over and talk to that table, and show them your true self, then you’ll make some new friends,”

“And if they don’t engage? What are our respective prizes?”

“If you don’t make friends, then I will pay for all of your coffees for a month,”

“What do you get if I do?”

“I get to see you happy, I mean, either way I guess I win,” He smiles, winking playfully.

“God, you are the master of cheese. The only way this could get worse is if you added a stupid pun or something,” Her eyes roll dramatically before getting up from her seat, Tyler goes to (Y/N assumes) make a ‘stupid pun’, before she stops him in his tracks “I will make sure you never speak again if you continue with that, coffee boy,”

Y/N then walks off, sending a wink over her shoulder before all that confidence drains again, and she feels how she normally does without Tyler’s company. She sees the familiar faces of Enid, Yoko and Bianca sitting in the booth Tyler had gestured to.

“Um- Hi guys, sorry if this is weird, I just was wondering if I could sit with you guys? It’s okay if not I just-“

“Sure! You’re Y/N right? I have been meaning to check in on you since you moved here. My followers have been very intrigued in getting to know anything about you,” Enid talks at a million miles a minute, and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so well intended and endearing.

“Well, I guess you all know I’m Wednesday’s sister-“

“Hey, I thought I said I wanted to know about you, not who you’re related to. What are you interested in? What’s your power? What-“

“Sorry. Enid can be a bit overbearing,” The vampire speaks over the werewolf’s ranting.

“No, no it’s okay. The more she talks, the less I have to. I’d call that a win,” That earns a laugh from Yoko and Bianca. It makes her feel nice to have made other people smile. After chatting away for what could have been minutes or could have been hours, Y/N looks around the Weathervane, meeting the watching eyes of Tyler. He smiles, giving a look of victory, before getting up, pulling his coat on. Before he can reach the door, she says her goodbyes to her classmates, and chases after Tyler.

“I don’t know about you, but I think you definitely made some friends over there. Seems like you don’t need me anymore,” His voice holds a light hearted tone but Y/N can tell he is slightly overthinking on this.

“Hey. Even if I do make some friends, you’ll always be my favorite… Drive me back?”

“Of course,” He takes her hand in his and they walk out, the bell on the door jingling as they exit.

They arrive at the gates of Nevermore, and just sit together in the car for a moment. This has become a bit of a routine, neither of them really wanting the day to end.

“I really want to thank you, I never would’ve done that back there if it wasn't for you,”

“Well you’ve helped me a lot too. You help me when I’ve had a bad day, and you never let my dad get away with his passive aggression towards me, like you’re my scary guard dog,” His laugh always makes Y/N smile.

“You make me feel safe too, even safer than my pocket dagger makes me,” Y/N unconsciously leans closer to Tyler in the driver’s seat. He moves closer too.

“I really like you Y/N. More than a friend,”

“I mean, you know how new I am to this whole friendship thing, but this definitely feels different to how I feel around Enid or Yoko,”

“Oh yeah? How’s it different?” Y/N can feel his warm breath on her face now.

“I mean, I definitely don’t have the urge to kiss either of those two,” She musters up as much confidence as she’s capable of, and presses a small kiss to his soft lips. He looks taken aback as she pulls away, but his face lightens, and he cups her jaw, kissing her. He tastes like fresh coffee, and smells like an autumnal scented candle. He moves away to make a quick remark,

“Just a word of wisdom, this is not a typical friend thing to do,” She pushes him playfully, and he retaliates by gripping the front of her shirt and kissing her more passionately than before. Today was certainly eventful, somehow the previously friendless, insecure girl was plus 3 friends and plus 1 boyfriend. Showing her true self that she’d hidden for so long actually turned out to be something for better than for worse.

She decides for the first time in her life, she’ll make a promise. A promise to herself that she won’t hide away behind the gray of her clothes, and actually put herself out there to other people.

#tyler galpin #tyler wednesday #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin fanfic #tyler galpin imagine #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin fluff #wednesday netflix

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itskattkm · 10 months

Text

New York New Rules Pt. 4

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Sorry for bad writing. I'm using a translator and hope you guys can enjoy it. Also, this is going to be a slow burn

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

I'm 11 minutes away and I have missed you all day

I'm 11 minutes away, so why aren't you here?

I think I missed you callin' on the other line

I'm just thinkin' all these thoughts up in my mind

Talkin' love but I can't even read the signs

I would sell my soul for a bit more time

You stain all on my body like you're red wine

You're the fuckin' acid to my alkaline

Stupid. Frail. Perplexed. Fearful. Offensive. Sharp and Hurt

„Y/N you rather feel nothing again" I said to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my room. I've probably been lying here for 15 minutes because 11 minutes ran at least three times in a row. In fact, this was one of my favorite songs. But why actually? I know that I have a feeling for the darkness. But why were pain and suffering so self-evident for me? No matter which movie I watched or which series. My darling was always the villain.

There are really people who just hate them because they have the title of villain. But why are they trying not to understand? What about Katherinen Pierce from the Vampire Diaries? This woman suffered and that only because she wanted to be loved and loved? She lost her family. Her child and was hunted for centuries. The man she loved hated her and didn't believe that the love between them was real. Maleficent... rejected and hunted because she was different? Kylo Ren, Star Wars... who let a big wait on his shoulders... not to forget that Luke wanted to kill him. Wanda Maximof... one of my favorites. What was wrong with creating your own world in which you could be happy? Especially if you had lost everything you had left.

Was I the evil one? Did I want to be the bad one? Sometimes I'm not sure but the feeling I felt when Tara looked at me and asked where I was during the attack... I won't forget this so quickly because at that moment I felt like one of the bad guys. But I also felt misunderstood.

Did Tara hate me? How did Tara think about me in general? Since I've been friends with Mindy, I've met her maybe five times. And we didn't talk much to each other. Most of the time our conversations were about the university. I tried to get closer to her. However, I always had the feeling that I was always failing with her. One second I thought I had full self-confidence but then a look into Tara's eyes and my brain shuts down. I had really never felt something like that before. Especially not towards a woman.

I always stayed away from relationships or physical contacts. As soon as it went in this direction, I always pulled back and hid in my bubble. However, there were days when I would have liked to go to the next bar with my dirty thoughts and have been looking for someone for a hot night.

But as I had analyzed myself so far and with the help of Dr. Stone, I knew what my problem was.

The music in my headphones stopped. I looked at my cell phone and saw that my alarm clock that I had set after talking to Sam was now active.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

"Fuck it," I said to myself and made my way to the Blackmoore. I would prove to them all that I am not Ghostface and if they do not meet me then I will also permanently delete these people from my life.

Slowly I played with the ring on my finger. It wasn't special. I didn't like fancy jewelry either. But this ring carried good memories with it and that's why I always wore it with me. When I saw the carpenters and their friends in front of the Blackmoore, I hesitated slightly. Everyone was sitting on the benches of the university and Mindy seemed to be holding a monologue. She was the only one standing in front of them and gestured around like crazy with her hands.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" I asked myself desperately and approached the group. Drier than I thought, I said "hi" when I entered the inner circle and drew all attention to me. There was a free place next to Quinn, so I sat down with her just as she opened her mouth but Tara was faster and said "you came?" I avoided her gaze and looked coolly at Mindy who looked at me with pinched eyes " Y/N Perfect timing..."

Mindy went to explain the rules and that we were in a franchise. I really famous myself to listen to her, but the voice in my head was too loud.

Don't look at Tara. You must never look her in the eyes again. Is she looking at you? Are the others watching you? Do the others know what happened at the police station? Do they know about my state of health? Did they thought I was Ghostface?

"Am I gonna die a virgin?"

Wait a minute? My full attention was back. I looked at Ethan and then at Mindy.

"Weird overshare but that brings us to our current suspects. Ethan! A shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky"

So I wasn't the only suspect? I felt a slight feeling of relief.

" Quinn! The sexy sluty roommate"

Quinn looked at Mindy slightly irritated

"Sex positive but thanks?"

"How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" She asked but Sam answers "we put an anonymous ad online"

And Tara replied "and her dad is a cop"

Mindy took a step towards Tara and said in an aggressive tone "and that makes it more likely that she is the killer because having a cop that is a great cover! Do you not remember how this movies work Tara?!"

Now Mindy gave everything. That reminded me too well of the many discussions we had about movies. Then Mindy even suspected her own girlfriend. Like wow… this whole thing was really serious.

"Never Trust the Love interest..." she said coolly and her look was serious. Suddenly there was a tension in the group. That sounded pretty deep... I mean in the first stab film it was also the love interest, among other things.

"Y/N!" Mindy called and smiled at me dirty. I sighed, pinched my eyes briefly and looked away from the group but Mindy came one step closer to me. "my dear friend Y/N... you are also new to our group," she began.

Did she say group? What did she mean by that? Was I part of the group?

"As your best friend, I know that you are going to therapy"

Oh no Mindy, please don't. Not again. Not again. Why me? Why?

"But you never told me why you are going to therapy... would you share the reason with us?" I avoided her eyes and looked nervously at the floor. My heart was beating so fast that I felt the pulse pounding in my ears. Again I played with the ring in my finger "Mindy she doesn't have to tell us anything..." said Tara after a short silent, low-key.

Surprised, I looked at her and our eyes met.

Relief. Relief? RELIEF!!! The first word that went through my head. Did Tara just defend me? Why had she done that? And there she was again. This gentle darkness, and the little white lights, like a light at the end of the tunnel that rested me to tell me here you are safe.

Stop it. I tore my eyes off her and stared at my ring. "okay then tell us at least where you were during the attack..." I looked at Mindy "home... and you are welcome to ask Maria when I entered the building and when I left it last. As I know her, she can even tell you the exact time" Mindy nodded in agreement to me, she knew Maria "okay. Good alibi. Nevertheless, you are suspicious. You don't like to socialize and maintain the good girl, reading books and sitting at home image"

Confused, I looked at Anika, was that something good or bad?

Anika said "that's not fair, if then we are all suspects, including you"

Mindy agreed with her and said to Sam "especially Sam" confused I looked to Sam, I had the feeling of not knowing something and because of the looks of the others I could see that I was right.

After that, I turned on the conversations of the others and tried to look at everyone unobtrusively. I started with Quinn. Quinn's emotions were neutral in order not to be completely present. Anika seemed very calm and attentive. Sam seemed tense. Chad hmmm I don't have to worry about him, he was fully focused on taking notes. I wanted to skip Tara and see Ethan directly, but our eyes met. Had she been watching me? After not even a second, I broke off the look of contact again by looking at my ring. Suddenly Quinn got up, then Anika moved to Mindy. The group disbanded.

"We have to stay together, that's the only way we are safe and can rule out who the killer is," said Mindy, "you could all come to us" said Sam and now also stood up.

Did she mean me with everyone, too? How exactly did they think of all this here now?

Confused, I asked her as if I hadn't even been present at Mindys Monologue "I don't… wait, I don't look through. What's the plan now?"

Chad replied when he got up "we're going to Sam and Tara... stay together... and try not to be killed" he didn't give me more information when he left. Chad, were you serious? Confused, I looked after the others when they were almost gone.

And then I suddenly noticed a person next to me. Before I could turn around, there was a hand on my right forearm. And then I was back in the tunnel... tried to get to the light. "Come to us tonight and we can tell you everything," Tara whispered to me, slowing down my nervous pulse. I could listen to her for hours when she talked to me like that. It was so reassuring. Warm. Pleasant. Right.

Her eyes fell on Sam when she nodded in agreement with Tara "maybe you can bring another pizza right away," she said and slightly raised the corners of her mouth. Tara pressed my arm slightly and looked at me at with bright eyes "by the way thank you for the pizza... after this hangover I needed it".

What was that feeling at once? Joy or nervousness? I had to smile unconsciously and nodded "special wishes?"

Tara snapped her finger and began to list different toppings and looked at Sam to see if she agreed with her "The main thing Jalapeños... registered" I said and stood up. "You have our address?" Sam asked again and I nodded in agreement. She raised the corners of her mouth again before putting her hands in her jacket and set off. Tara followed her.

Before my brain realized what my body was doing, I grabbed Tara's hand and hoped she would turn to me again

"Why did you help me earlier?"

And again this pure placid and sweetness to recognize in her face "what happened in the police station was just fucked up" we both had to laugh about her word choice and Tara's dimpels came to light.

Damn, how could Tara be so beautiful?

Okay, pull yourself together Y/N! How was that again with Tara? Never looking into the eyes again? Now I just wanted to sink into them and that even though I could never keep eye contact. Simp

"And I wouldn't want that either... if I imagined that someone would have done that to Sam..." she looked back briefly to the her. Sam stood a few meters away from us and waited for Tara "and see that as a leap of faith Y/L/N... don't spoil it" dryly I laughed and shook my head "I wouldn't even have a good motive" she squeezed my hand briefly.

Did we hold our hands all the time? How could I miss that? I mean... with this face you forget everything, she gave me a grin with sharp eyes and whispered "but there's always a motive" and then she disappeared.

#actress #fanfiction #jenna ortega #ghostface #melissa barrera #samantha carpenter #scream #tara carpenter #vada cavell #wednesday #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader

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intheticklecloset · 5 months

Text

Carol of the Archer (Dr. Stone)

Summary: In the aftermath of a blizzard that kept everyone apart for a couple of days, Chrome and Ukyo reunite to talk about Christmas carols in the old world. When Ukyo gets more emotional than he expected over it, Chrome decides there's only one thing to do...

A/N: This is one of four Christmas fics I had written for last year's 12 Days of Ficmas that never ended up happening. I'm not doing the 12 Days this year either, but I wanted to finally share these holiday fics with you, starting with this one. There will be three more released between now and Christmas Day, as well as Peppermint Mocha drabbles in between. Enjoy, and happy holidays!

Word Count: 1,725

~~~

“Hey, why are you sitting all the way out here by yourself?”

Ukyo turned, not at all surprised to see Chrome striding up to him, bundled up in his blue fur coat and gloves as he trudged through the half foot of snow that covered the ground. It was the first time it had been safe to go out in the last couple of days; no one had been able to do anything outdoors thanks to the winter storm that had blown through. That had meant no working, no playing, and only socializing with those in your respective hut. It wasn’t surprising that Chrome was confused by his desire to spend some time away from people for a moment when that’s all they’d been doing the last two days.

“I’m just thinking,” Ukyo replied now, scooting over to make room for the brunette on the seat beside him. They were overlooking the river that ran by their camp. “Remembering the old world.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Chrome asked, shivering as a breeze picked up his hair from his ears. He flipped up the hood of his coat.

“Since Senku made a calendar, I know that next week is Christmas. I’m just missing the feeling that used to come with that, I guess. I wish I could hear some carols.” The archer smiled wistfully. “It would sure have made that blizzard suck a lot less.”

Chrome opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to reconsider. He was quiet for a moment. Then, “What’s your favorite carol?”

The question took Ukyo by surprise. He hummed thoughtfully, recalling all his favorites from three thousand years ago. “Probably ‘Carol of the Bells’. It’s beautiful in a haunting kind of way.”

“Haunting? A Christmas carol?” Chrome nudged him. “Why don’t you sing it for me?”

“What?” Ukyo turned to look at him, startled. “Why?”

“Because I only remember one of the carols Gen taught the kids last year, and even though it’s about bells I don’t think it’s the same one you’re thinking of if yours is ‘haunting’.”

That, and Ukyo was pretty sure Gen wouldn’t have taught the kids “Carol of the Bells.” It was too complicated for beginners.

He shifted in his seat, blowing out a puff of air that dissolved in front of them. “I’m not much of a singer.”

“Can’t be any worse than me,” Chrome replied, grinning. “Go on. I won’t make fun of you.”

Feeling mildly uncomfortable but also very nostalgic, the archer compromised. “How about I just hum it?”

At his friend’s nod, Ukyo started humming quietly under his breath, relieved when Chrome looked away from him to focus on really listening. Not having eyes on him made it a lot easier, so he gradually increased his volume until he was humming a Christmasy tune into the freezing air around them without reservation, the words of the tune coming back to him as he went. He remembered all the times he’d hear this song in the streets when he passed by a group of carolers, and the thought was enough to make him come to a halting stop, suddenly too choked up to continue.

“It sounds neat,” Chrome said, turning back to him with a smile that vanished when he saw how emotional Ukyo had gotten suddenly. “Whoa, are you all right?”

“Sorry.” Ukyo swiped at his eyes and laughed humorlessly. “Guess I miss it more than I thought.”

“Hey, no need to be so sad. You know we’re going to take a couple days off for Christmas again this year, right? Senku made that clear at the beginning of the month.”

“Even after we’ve fallen two days behind because of that blizzard?”

At that moment, a third voice called out to them from somewhere nearby, making both men turn in their seats. Gen waved at them cheerily with one hand, his other firmly clasped in Senku’s, who walked beside him with his usual nonchalance and sarcastic smirk. “Hey, you two! What are you up to?”

“Ukyo was teaching me ‘Carol of the Bells,’” Chrome answered with a returning grin.

“I wouldn’t call it teaching,” Ukyo muttered. Their resident brilliant scientist and his partner stopped just behind where they were sitting. “Out for a romantic stroll?”

“Something like that,” Senku replied, trying for indifference and failing spectacularly. It was clear he was enjoying his time with Gen. “‘Carol of the Bells’, huh?”

Chrome nodded. “It was his favorite in the old world.”

Gen considered this. “Is that the one that goes, ‘Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away’?”

Ukyo’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! That one.”

Chrome nudged him again, a little more playfully this time. “Look at you getting all excited. See? There’s no need to be sad. We can probably sing it on Christmas Eve if enough old-worlders know it.”

“Sad? Who’s sad?” Gen chimed in, eyes focusing on Ukyo. He already knew the answer of course; nothing could get past the mentalist. “Why are you sad? It’s nearly Christmas!”

Ukyo suddenly felt embarrassed. He waved his hand quickly. “No, I’m not sad. I just had a moment of nostalgia, that’s all. I’m fine, really.”

Chrome shot him a look of exasperation that transformed into one of mischief so fast it actually scared the archer a little. “Really, now? No more crying, then?”

“I wasn’t crying!” Ukyo yelped, cheeks burning. “It was just an emotional moment. Quit picking on me!”

“But it’s so easy,” Chrome laughed. He brought his gloved hands up in front of his face and curled them, wiggling his fingers teasingly, making Ukyo gasp and scoot as far away as he could while still sitting on the bench. “See? I’m not even touching you yet.”

“Don’t!” Ukyo begged, unable to help that he was smiling wide already, body shivering just from the thought of having those fingers on him, making him giggle and let out all kinds of humiliating noises. “I don’t need you to – I’m fine, Chrome, really!”

“Cheer up tickles?” Gen gasped excitedly, pulling his occupied hand from Senku’s grasp to wiggle his fingers, too. “Those are always a good idea~”

Ukyo’s eyes darted to Senku, who merely looked at him as if to say, you’re on your own. He got up to try and run, but the others were on him instantly, leaving him no chance of escape. He was giggling hysterically even before they started in earnest, squirming and kicking up snow. “No! Please, no, I’m fihihihihihine! I swehehehehear! Guhuhuhuhuhuhuys!”

Chrome grabbed one of his arms and pinned it out to the side, wiggling his fingers into Ukyo’s ribs through his coat, which gave him absolutely no protection whatsoever thanks to how insanely ticklish he was. Even the slightest brush of feeling against his torso had him cackling, let alone determined digging and pinching.

Gen pinned his other arm and wormed his way into his armpit, beaming all the while. “Being cooped up inside is never good for one’s mental health, you know. I think a good tickling ought to help bring you back to a good place~”

In the back of his mind Ukyo knew he was right, but it just tickled so bad he didn’t care if it would help him or not. He struggled and laughed loudly, the cold air refreshing in an odd kind of way every time he sucked in a lungful of it to catch his breath and expel it back out again in a cascade of unstoppable giggles.

“Plehehehehehehease, stahahahahahahap! I’m fine! I dohohohohon’t need thihihihihihis!” he begged, squealing when Chrome started pinching at that awful spot below his ribs. He threw his head back into the snow, so far beyond caring how wet and cold it was. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

At this point Gen glanced up over his shoulder and winked at Senku. “Come join us, my love~”

Senku crossed his arms, but he was smiling. “Nah, I think I’m good.”

“Aww, does someone else need some cheer-up tickles, too?” the mentalist teased, and the words were enough to make the scientist kneel into the snow beside him and commit to at least trying to help out, squeezing Ukyo’s knees and lower thighs, narrowly avoiding being kicked in the face for his efforts.

He sighed, then shrugged resignedly. “Well, laughter does have its scientific benefits, I suppose. And Gen’s right about it being a good way to get you out of a bad headspace—”

“I DOHOHOHOHON’T CAHAHAHAHAHARE ABOUT THAHAHAHAHAHAT!!” Ukyo screeched with laughter, desperately trying to buck and roll away from Chrome’s relentless pinching in that awful, highly ticklish spot. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I FEHEHEHEHEHEEL FINE!! I’M GOOD!! I’M GOHOHOHOHOHOHOOD!! LEHEHEHEHEHET ME GO!!”

Chrome grinned, getting right down into his face to tease, “Isn’t there a Christmas carol that talks about ‘laughing all the way’? Do you miss that one, too?”

Ukyo’s cheeks went dark red and he twisted his face to the side, giving in to the knowledge that he was stuck like this for at least another few minutes even as he screamed, “YOU’LL PAHAHAHAY FOR THIHIHIHIHIS, CHROHOHOHOHOHOME!!”

“Uh-oh, is that a threat?” Gen chuckled. “Sounds like he needs some more tickling. Don’t you agree, dear Senku?”

Senku rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “I’m sure another minute or two couldn’t hurt. Chrome?”

Chrome dug into his friend’s death spot with even more vigor, beaming at the way it made Ukyo dissolve into silent hysterics. “Yeah, another minute should do it. Then I’m gonna hightail it out of here before he can recover.”

Senku snorted. “Scared?”

“Not really,” Chrome admitted, tuning back into Ukyo’s ticklish distress right as he let out a high-pitched shriek and a flood of bubbly giggles so adorable it made the brunette’s cheeks turn pink. “But if he wants to make me sound like that, I’m going to make him work for it!”

Ukyo heard and understood the challenge, but he was too far gone laughing himself silly to formulate any kind of response at this point. All he could do was laugh and writhe and kick and laugh some more, and curse that all-knowing mentalist if it wasn’t making him feel about a hundred times lighter.

Well, he supposed, his favorite Christmas carol did encourage him to ‘throw cares away’, didn’t it?

The archer gave up the fight and did exactly that.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #dr. stone #dcst #ukyo saionji #chrome #ukrome #asagiri gen #ishigami senku #sengen #friends #playful #christmas #carols #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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daydream-cement · 1 year

Text

Stately Sequoia Ch. 20

Here it is guys. The grand finale!

Earlier that morning

"Doctor, stop!" Sheriff Galpin had to grab Rowan around the middle to prevent her from entering the rubble to try and find you. She kept trying to push past him, fighting him every step of the way.

Dr. Ali was kicking and screaming, unable to control herself at this point, "Fern! No! Put me down! I said, put me down!"

"If you try and go down there, you will probably end up dead too." He was relentless, not letting her go for anything. Well that was until the rubble itself began to shift almost as if a massive creature was churning the broken boards and stones.

Sheriff Galpin released Rowan and together they watched in awe. Both of them worrying about what could be lurking beneath it all, "I'm calling in backup."

------

Present Time

The warmth eventually dissipated from your body. You don't remember how or why or even when. There was just stillness across your body. It was so relieving to be free of the pain and torment the nightshade has caused you. Finally, you were ready to open your eyes. Even with the first crack of your eyes, the light was blinding, causing you to wince. Is this what the afterlife is?

-----

"Well can I at least see her?" Rowan was impatient with the man at the front desk of the hospital. It wasn't him that responded, but the doctor behind him.

"As long as you don't rile her up, she doesn't need any more stress today. The levels of dopamine and solanine in her blood should have killed her." The woman spoke softly, gently nodding her head for Rowan to follow her down the hallway.

Rowan was on her heels, listening closely as they stopped in front of a hospital room, "And what about Fern?"

"Now that one... is a mystery."

------

"What happened down there?" Rowan was trying to be gentle, but she needed answers. Larissa was propped up in the hospital bed, arms folded in front of her. She wanted out of this silly bed. She felt just fine.

Regardless of how she felt, there was a decent sized cut on her forehead from a beam striking her, bruising across her left eye, and the doctors were concerned about the toxins that still needed to be flushed from her system.

"Well, I don't remember most of it. There is this haze keeping me from... I know was poisoned. But the walls started moving. The stones lining the walls began caving in. The room was collapsing on itself." Larissa shook her head, the memories just weren't coming to her all that well, " Where is Fern? Is she okay?"

Rowan looked at the floor, not wanting to tell her the truth.

"Rowan."

"Well.. they- they didn't find her."

"What do you mean they couldn't find her?"

-----

The brightness wasn't too bad when you got used to it. The sun was shining through the leaves of the trees. Thuja occidentalis, white cedar. You were laying on your back, staring up at the rustling branches. This was nice. If this was the afterlife, you didn't mind one bit.

"Dr. Rogers?"

You shift yourself into a sitting position, and look around you to find that voice. You knew exactly who it was, your favorite student, Eugene. A smile graced your lips as you looked at him all decked out in his bug hunting gear.

"Eugene. Where- where am I?" You look down at your arms,, they were marked with scratches and soot marked your body in different places. Your shirt was torn near the collar and your pants had holes through the knees and the left leg was missing fabric from the shin down. You looked like a character from a zombie movie.

"The cedar forest on the West side of campus." He took a cautious step towards you, "Are you okay, professor?"

You glance back up at him, the fear in his eyes apparent. Remembering your role as a teacher, you smile with a nod, "Yes, I am, Eugene. Thank you for asking."

Eugene didn't believe you one bit, but not one to argue with an adult he took a step back, "Are you sure?'

"Yes, now run along, I thought I heard a Southern Gray Treefrog earlier." You tried tempting him away with something more interesting.

"Hyla chrysoscelis?" His eyes widened, knowing their endangered status in New Jersey.

"Exactly," You groan, as you push yourself to your feet, then pointed off to the North, somewhat guilty that you were lying to the sweet boy. How were you even still alive? You should have died ten times over last night. Knowing there was only one place for answers, you began the trudge back to the meeting house.

------

"Just what I said, they cleared out the cellar and she wasn't there. They only found you and Thornhill." Rowan crossed her arms, upset herself that she had let Galpin stop her. She should have gone down and found her when the floor caved in.

"She was there. I saw her. She was laying on the ground near the wall farthest from the stairs. They must check again." Larissa didn't care how irrational she sounded. Where could Fern have gone?

"They cleared out the cellar, Larissa. It's now an empty hole. Fern is just missing."

"Then I'm going to find her." Larissa pulled herself up out of bed, everything ached, but finding you was much more important.

"Ma'am, please you should get back in bed" The doctor tried stopping Larissa when she reached the door, but even Rowan knew there was no stopping the principal at this point.

Larissa's eyes were ablaze as she turned to Rowan, "Get me my clothes. I'm going to find her."

-----

The barefoot walk through the woods became soothing after a bit. You passed the time gazing up at the trees that towered above you. It was only a 10 minute walk to your destination.

Where the meeting house once stood, there was now a hole in the ground, only a few bits of debris left in the bottom. What had saved you? How did you end up so far away in a different part of the forest?

That's when it caught your eye. A large oak that seemly had once towered over the meeting house now looked as it had been burnt from the inside. The leaves at the ends of the branches, once green, were now crispy and brown, like fall had just arrived.

You were drawn to this tree. As you approached, you could feel the sickness contained within the tree. Tentatively you placed a hand against the bark, the image of what happened in that cellar invaded your mind.

You were looking at the wall of the cellar, just as you had been when you died. The root you had seen had reached out towards you, wrapping around your hand, moving up your arm and around your body. Just as you had felt.

The shifting roots that tangled around you shifted you so you could see Marilyn with her hands on Larissa. She was angry with her. "Why do you care so much about her? It's me you love, remember?"

"No, I don't remember. I remember her." Larissa's eyes never left yours. Marilyn struck Larissa, hitting her again and again.

The rage you felt swelled. The walls began shifting, stones once lining the walls fell from their places, slithering roots making their ways through the cracks. Roots were winding around beams, one captured the leg of Marilyn, pulling her down to the ground.

The whole room was surging like the cellar had become trapped with the grasp of a tentacled beast. You heard a choking noise, on the ground near you was Marilyn, fully encased in roots. They had moved up her legs and slowly began covering her face. She was struggling to get free, but it was of no use.

The roots began swirling around the beams that held the ceiling up. There was a cracking noise and-

A hand touched your back, you swiveled quickly, jerking your head to see who was there- Larissa.

You waste no time. You practically jump into her arms, hugging her, never wanting to let go. You felt the tears stinging at the back of your eyes. Finally, you allowed yourself to feel the emotional rollercoaster of the past 24 hours.

Larissa held you tighter than she ever had before. She pressed multiple kisses to the side of your head, not wanting to let go, "Let's go home."

Link to Epilogue

#larissa weems #larissa weems x oc #stately sequoia #wednesday netflix #fanfic #gwendoline christie

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ryusuisloveinterest · 3 months

Note

Can you write a head-canon where Stanley Snyder and y/n go on a mission, and y/n has a panic attack, so Stanley has to calm her down. one-shot that shows how different characters from Dr stone would react to y/n having a panic attack. Lol thanks!!! 😁

hello beautiful! Ngl I kinda got confused on what you wanted me to write so I wrote a scenario on Stanley helping you through a panic attack so I hope that works lol. If you want other characters or you want me to rewrite it please send another request. Thank you for your patience and hope you enjoy!💖

Stanley helping you with a panic attack 💕

Taken before Kingdom of Science came to America

There were a couple of people who were trying to rebel against Xeno, so you and Stanley were sent to deal with them. The two of you have been having trouble with your relationship lately, between him constantly working with Xeno and barely paying attention to you to the differences in views between you two. As you walked together there was an awkward silence only you seemed to mind. “What are we gonna do when we find the rebels?” You ask even though you know the answer. “Kill them probably.” You look down, disappointed and disgusted. As if he could sense your change in mood, Stanley says, “Maybe would could just take some captive…” You sigh. At least he’s trying to be better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You both approach the rebel camp. You look around and see so many familiar faces. The woman who helped you sew the outfits for everyone. The man who dreamed of being one of the best guitarist there ever was. Even the old lady who would do her best to remember her old baking recipes from the past. Your memories sink in. You really don’t want to do this. “Keep your guard up. I taught them basic self defense so they should be a decent fight.” You can’t respond to that. These are people you know and some you can even call friends. You can’t fight them! You won’t! Your heart begins to race. You start to sweat. You lean against a tree for support. You can’t catch your breath. Damnit why is this happening now!? You can’t breathe. Try to think how can you control your breathing? “(Y/n)?” Why is Stanley spinning? You thought he was attacking. Should you be attacking? Come on- “(y/n)!” Stanley rushes over to you. With his shout the rebels scatter away. “(Y/n) speak to me what’s wrong?” “Pa-i can’t- Sta- tack-“ He takes one of your hands and places it on his chest. “Do you feel my breath? Try to follow its rhythm.” He inhales then exhales at a calm pace. He does it again and again and again. Over a few minutes, you start to breathe normally again. The world isn’t spinning anymore, all you focus on now is the man you love. “Wait…Stanley I’m sorry I didn’t mean to let them get aw-“ “Why didn’t you tell me?” You have him a confused look. “Tell you what?” He tries to calm himself before he speaks, not wanting to upset you. “Your attacks. Why didn’t you ever tell me about your attacks?” You look away from him, not able to handle his anger and disappointment. You didn’t know why to be honest. You and Stanley have shared everything together. “I…because… I just feel like I couldn’t…” Now this is shocking news to him. You thought he would be offended or even angry, but the look in his eyes only showed guilt. Has he really made you feel so alone? He cups your face and makes you look at him. “(Y/n), I…I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you can’t talk to me. I’m always here for you! I- what can I do? How can i make you trust me again?” His reaction really shocked you. You’ve never seen Stanley cry yet you’re watching him tear up. You’ve never seen him struggle yet he looks so desperate right now. “Please (y/n), whatever you need to get off your chest please tell me…” With a deep breath you tell him everything; how you feel like he doesn’t see you, the way he is able to strike down anyone without blinking an eye, even how you miss him holding you in his arms while you both fall to sleep. He’s quiet for a moment, then he kisses you on the forehead. “Thank you for telling me this, I’ll be better I promise. You’re my number one (y/n) always remember that.” He helps you off the ground and gestures for you to hold his arm. When you take it you feel like you did when you first met him, connected. “I love you Stanley…” you mutter under your breath. “And I love you more.”

#dr stone #dcst #dr stone headcanons #dr stone x reader #stanley snyder headcanons #stanley snyder x reader #stanley snyder #stanley snyder x you #dr. stone #dr.stone #drst

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the-fiction-witch · 5 months

Text

Thunderstorm

Media Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet

Kinda ASMR a little bit

I had attempted to sleep for the last few hours but sleep was not on the cards for tonight.

Not if the darkness remained in the sky, if the clouds dwelled low, if the rain persisted to stream, if the thunder grumbled on and the strikes still struck the land with such brutality.

The other nurses were fast asleep, the storm was not a hindrance to them.

But it brought so many horrid memories for me.

I had clambered from my bed in the utter darkness past many others nevertheless sleeping, and went to the small window attempting to see an end to the storm but there was no such end in sight.

Solely darkness, solely fear, solely the harsh sounds and looming threat.

I pulled myself from the window and shut the curtain, I slowly sauntered across the frigid stone floor of the hospital, my nightie seemed to glide with me as I walked.

I took a candle from the side and held it in my hand as I walked through the muted hospital, the few who were here were asleep in their beds, the patients resting, and any staff still awake quiet in the darkness and the violence of the storm that had stolen our power.

I did my best not to pass anyone as I knew slowly walking through the dark haunting passages of the hospital with a nightgown candle in hand would make me appear otherworldly.

I reached the lobby and saw the rain pummeling the doors open of course if needed but the streets were empty the whole port sealed in their homes.

"Y/n..." Her voice lingered in my memories

But I kept walking I turned taking a few steps on the stairwell, all that lit the hospital was my small candle as I slowly moved

"Y/n sweetheart come out!" She called to me echoing on the raindrops and thunder rumbles, the sudden flashes from lightning enough to freeze my body, my candle quavering from my unstable grip.

I continued up the stairs for a moment I felt small, my candle taller, my footsteps tinier as if in the flickers of the lightning flashes I went from now to my body that night, But I kept walking reaching the second floor, I ran my hand across the bannister as I always did doing my best not to be fearful as the sounds only grew more vociferous and more frequent.

The storm was getting closer, more fierce.

I jumped as I heard the thunder crack through the sky like the earth itself was opening to swallow us up.

I began to run the rest of the way until I found myself at the dark wooden door.

For a moment I was utterly frozen unable to even consider what I was doing but my fear outweighed everything else.

And I tapped on the door three times.

"It's open." He called from within,

I forced the door open and slowly stepped inside seeing the little room for the young doctor, the windows shut up tight but the shadow of the rain fell across the room so much I could barely see him as he lay in his bed.

He moved a little to look at me better moving his sheets and looking down at me "Y/n?"

"Hello, Dr Dawkins."

"What are you doing here?"

"The storm... It uhhh..." I began having to sniffle my nose and wipe away a tear,

he didn't speak, he merely moved over a little and spread his sheets invitingly, and for the first time since the rain began, I smiled. I slowly went over and set my candle on his bedside table before I climbed in with him leaving my head on one side of his pillow, as he had the other our noses just touching, he pulled the covers over me so I could be nice and cosy,

"Hello Y/n,"

"Hello, Jack,"

"You scared me a little, thought some little ghost girl was coming to haunt me."

"Do I look that much like a ghost?"

"Wondering the corridors by candlelight in your nightie... yes. you do."

"I'm sorry-"

"It's fine. Maybe you scared some of them straight down there" he chuckled "I take it you want to stay? like you do every storm?"

"If it's not too much trouble?"

"Of course not, I was missing my little storm snuggle" He joked "Come here" he offered his arms

"You sure?"

"Come on."

I smiled and moved closer and he left me to settle my head on his chest, my arm over his stomach, his hand moved around me the other gently and softly playing with the loose hair at the end of my braid. For a while, we merely lay together, his delicate cotton sheets around us, his warm body around me, the only sound our peaceful breaths, the rain striking the window, and the periodic thunder or spark of sparkling lightning.

Many of which made me jump but Jack would hold me a little tighter seconds before like he knew when the thunder was coming and prepared me for it, if any time I jumped, squealed, or began to let tears slip he would kiss the top of my head and whisper sweet things to me.

"It's okay. Your okay. You're safe here with me. I won't let anything happen to you" He whispered barely even audible

The Thunder rumbled so loud and so intense it shook the hospital around us.

I wanted to scream but all I could manage from fear was a panicked whine tears flooding down my face and I gripped him tightly

"shhh shhh shhh... it's okay." He told me kissing my head "It's almost over. It's almost over."

"How do you know that?" I asked as his hand came picking up the sheet to wipe my tears

"Because I have seen enough storms to know."

"How many storms have you seen?"

"Ohh god. Too many to count." he said "I lived in London. you know that right? london has this dense viscous fog that rolls on the wind, so thick you can barely see the hand in front of your face, only interrupted by the rain, grey clouds that stretch on for miles with no break, no rest for a moment, just rain, you barely see light some months, just this grey with a damp rain tumbling on you." he explained "And then I was a sailor. Storms at sea are worse because you are fighting mother nature herself, and she's pissed. Everything is thrown at you and the ship wants to work with the waves, but the ship can't go with the waves... or all of us aboard will die. it wants to ride the storm a simple gust can turn you up and around in your bed, a little rain makes the deck un-walkable, the rain so fast and cold it feels like needles in your skin, you don't know if is raining or you drowning, the dark clouds leave it so dark at sea without another light for miles you're left to face the storm and all its terrors blind, hoping to god that scream wasn't your friend flying overboard, and praying something doesn't come loose and send you plummeting into the dark freezing water." he explained in a gentle tone and he glanced down at me noticing my face "... that doesn't make you feel better does it?"

I simply shook my head

"Sorry y/n. I didn't mean to scare you"

"It's okay... it is kinda comforting." I smiled nuzzling a little closer

"Really?"

"It is. I like hearing you talk." I smiled "And it does make me feel safe. if you could do that... then you can keep me safe"

"Of course, I can keep you safe darling, I will fight the storm away if that will help you sleep" he whispered

"Thank you, Jack." I smiled pressing a little kiss on his chest

"Why are you so scared of storms?" He asks

"Y/n..." I forced her from my mind

"My mother," I answered

"What happened to her?"

"It was storming... she so loved storms. So rare for her, she went out one night in the storm dancing in the rain, and she begged me to come out and dance with her." I explained "By the time I got to the porch... I saw her dancing, she was so beautiful but I only saw her a moment before this huge flash, this sound loud enough to shatter the earth. And she was gone."

"Gone?"

"Lightning stuck her. What I saw was left of her... could barely be called a person let alone my mother." I explained, "Ever since... whenever a storm is over, I heard her calling out to me, I heard her calling me to dance in the rain like the storm wants me to..."

"I'm so sorry y/n." he said "I promise you the storm doesn't want you, it might feel like that sometimes but the storm doesn't want you, it's just passing though, I promise you nothing bad is going to happen to you, not while you're here with me. Just stay here with me till the storm passes."

"And if it never passes?" I whispered a tear running down my cheek

he smiled picking my chin up to see him and he kissed away my tears "Then I'll keep you safe, and protect you, forever." He smiled pressing a soft kiss to my lips "Just stay here in my arms where you're safe darling, I'll take care of you." He reassured

"Thank you Jack" I smiled squeezing him tightly

"You're welcome, come on try and get some sleep."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Okay... just get cosy on me, shut your eyes and just listen." He said almost whispering into my hair "Listen to the little taps of the raindrops, how each raindrop sounds a little different, see if you can tell how far away a drop lands just from the sound" He muttered his hand resting on my hip his fingertips gently tapping along with the sounds of raindrops "Listen to how the drops on the glass aren't the same as the drops on the roof, like different instruments playing the same tune, listen to how the wind rolls on through the trees and stone walls and scurries around the little street corners, listen to my breathing feel the slow gentle breaths, I'll match my breathing with you okay, we'll sync up" he smiled "You breath... very fast. remind me to look into that tomorrow. or is it just you're scared?"

"A little of both"

"Okay, just listen to the sound of my voice" he cooed kissing my head "Is it soothing..."

"Yes Jack your very soothing"

"Feel the soft covers, feel my skin, and just relax, nothing can hurt you. So just drift away somewhere magical" he muttered

"I'm already somewhere magical"

"Alright, just relax and be here with me in this moment. Okay darling?"

"Umm humm" I nodded as I began to drift away

"No ones gonna hurt my darling, I swear. and if she gets any bad dreams, I shall kiss them away." He cooed

“Thank you jack, goodnight”

“Goodnight y/n.”

#tbs #thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #tbs smut #thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagines #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster smut #the artful dodger #jackdawkins

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junosmindpalace · 2 years

Note

Hi!! If you're open I'd like a Dr stone senku one shot! where senku is being confronted by (gen and other characters) that he has a crush on his best friend(reader) and obviously he denies it lol with "his love is illogical" nonsense 🙄 but everyone can see his bullsh*t and point out all the cute sh*t he does whenever hes around reader like leaning on them whenever hes tired or making some stuff that they like on his free time and even asking their opinion of things when he's in deep thoughts and being the only one he gets excited around when they ask him on scientific subjects that he loves and reader just listens and talks to him all day if they could 💕 but I don't think he'd be lovey dovey with them knowing senku I just feel like he'd be more comfortable and just be very slightly touchy? like not full on hugs just soft tender touches😭💗 like would he end up realizing that gen is right? and what would he do in the end?

"There’s nothing worse than getting involved in a romantic entanglement, and he swears he's not in love, but Senku’s friends think he’s full of crap. "

THIS IS SO SWEET AWWW I WAS SO EXCITED TO GET THIS REQUEST. I love fluff so much and hopefully this is good compensation for my previous angst oneshot. i hope i did your request justice!

warnings: tiiny bit of swearing, implied panic. No manga spoilers :)

words: 2,663. i'll try to edit this in the morning.

P.s., if you’re interested in knowing a bit about my hanahaki oneshot, click here :) italics in the story are flashbacks!

Constructive feedback is always welcome! I’m always looking to improve!

Requests are open! (check my pinned post!)

There’s nothing worse than getting involved in a romantic entanglement.

Especially after being sent back two million years in scientific advancements. One day, a mysterious green light swept over Earth and turned every woman, man and child into stone. After teenage science genius Senku Ishigami broke out of the stone he was petrified in for 3700 years, he swore to rebuild civilization and beat fantasy with science.

There’s nothing worse than getting involved in a romantic entanglement, and he swears he's not in love, but Senku’s friends think he’s full of crap.

It was, of course, Gen who first brought this idea up.

The guy could be such a pain, and it seemed like his attention was only ever focused on his own personal benefit. That was until Gen started paying closer attention. It was especially when he first joined the Kingdom of Science that Gen noticed Senku’s behavior toward you. He would pay special attention to your words, always answering questions you asked seemingly no one and finishing thoughts you spoke out loud to yourself without missing a beat. Hell, Gen even managed to observe that Senku…attempts to make small talk with you? About things that aren’t entirely science related?

“Holding a conversation doesn’t equate to romantic feelings, mentalist.” Senku told the former magician annoyedly while in the midst of an experiment when he brought this up, adding his self-proclaimed title at the end as if to say “smart ass”. Gen blinked. Sure, Senku wasn’t wrong, but it was Senku.

So he continued to observe, sharing his findings with others and provoking the villagers’ thoughts on the matter. Soon enough, you two had a fanclub hellbent on getting Senku to recognize his feelings and make a move on you.

When Senku, Chrome and Ginro returned to the village from their mission to acquire sulfuric acid, you immediately took notice of Senku’s exhaustion and helped him carry the jugs he was hauling, laughing as he shifted half his weight onto you while helping him walk to the shed. Gen obviously saw this from a distance and made mental notes of the way Senku didn’t mind in the slightest that you were holding his arm around your shoulders even after he had caught his breath, and how he was leaning into your touch, not uncomfortable with the physical contact.

“I was tired and Y/N helped me,” Senku glared at Gen as the two and Chrome were working together on a task in the lab, his voice a lot more irritated and his face contorted into one of great annoyance. “I’m not picky about who I use as a crutch.”

“Now that I think about it, Senku, you are pretty touchy with Y/N…” Chrome placed a finger on his chin and closed his eyes, looking up in thought. Senku huffed.

Sure, that wasn’t a lie. Sometimes Senku would guide you towards something by putting a hand on the small of your back, or he’d drag you away from the others by pushing your shoulders. Gen recalled one particular instance where you had been talking to him and some others and Senku had unexpectedly shown up to retrieve you.

“-and I told him it was a bad idea! The thing exploded in his face!”

“Yo, Y/N! You’re coming with me, I've got a task for you!” Senku approached you with a determined fire in his eyes and a smirk, pushing you toward the lab by your shoulders.

“Wh? What? Senku?!” You exclaimed, wondering why he needed you so urgently.

“You’ll wanna hear what I’ve got for you,” he said, craning his neck so your noses almost brushed. “Get excited!”

“And what about all those times you’d insist on cleaning them up? They make it clear they can handle themselves.” Gen raised his eyebrows.

And yeah. Senku always picked twigs and leaves out of your hair and cleaned up wounds you may have received from training or in battle. Of course, it was always followed with a remark that made you hiss at him, but it was just the way you two were.

“Do you want a member of the Kingdom of Science getting sick? We need everyone in ten billion percent tip top shape to win against Tsukasa!” Senku hissed at Chrome, even though Chrome’s point still stood. You didn’t struggle with taking care of your appearance and health; Senku didn’t need to help you with anything.

“Chrome does have a point there, Senku. You go through an awful lot of trouble to take care of them despite Y/N being fully capable of looking out for themselves.” The conversation had been moved outside from the lab and old man Kaseki had now approached the small group with observations of his own. “Chrome and I’ve noticed that you’ve taken a lot of spare materials to craft things for Y/N.”

Senku had started off with making antibiotics, creams and other medicines for you that he realized were useful tools that he could incorporate into daily use for the rest of the citizens, but he wouldn’t have been inspired to make these upgrades if it wasn’t for you. Things Senku gave you were also more personalized; if you were an artistic person back in the modern world, he’d try to recreate instruments, make you notebooks, pencils, canvases--all sorts of art tools. If you were more athletic, he’d make sports and workout equipment (that you shared with the other villagers). Senku would make you crafting tools, attempt to recreate your favorite foods, and was attentive to the things you missed. He knew that the petrification had taken a much bigger toll on you than you were willing to show— it was the same way for him—so he wanted to make adjusting to this new primitive lifestyle a bit more comfortable.

“Where do you even find the time to complete all these mini projects?” Kohaku had now joined into the conversation as she held up a small item Senku had made specifically for you.

He was busy during the day with plans to revive others and defeat the Tsukasa Empire, so he’d stay up at night to craft those wonderful creations from the past for you. He did it all willingly, and in his mind, it was worth it to see your face light up in excitement.

Senku’s eyes widened and he shook his head. What was he thinking? He promised he’d bring back all of the old world’s entertainment, and he was doing just that. It’s not specially for you, he misses all those old things himself too. But they certainly weren’t a priority for him, and he wouldn’t have made any of them as soon as he did if it wasn’t for your longing.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be making things that are useless to us. We can use these items and materials for future projects and missions. What’d I tell you guys? Science is all about recycling.” Senku stared at his friends exasperatedly, trying to shake them off his back. Why the hell were they suddenly so persistent with this?

“It just goes to show how attentive you are to them. You seem to be so interested in every word Y/N has to say, constantly praising them.” The corner of Kohaku’s mouth twitched upward into a small small as she crossed her arms over her chest. Similarly to what she thought of Chrome’s obliviousness to his crush on Ruri, Kohaku found it sweet that Senku seemed so oblivious to all the things he does for you.

You’ve contributed plenty to construction, discussions and other scientific endeavors. You were responsible for a lot of the brilliant creations that Ishigami Village utilized and Senku often consolidated with you on projects and theories. You spend hours forming ideas and putting together blueprints with Senku- Chrome, Kaseki and others joining in here and there. There were many ideas you brought up with Senku that seemed to sometimes work better than his original proposals, and he’d compliment you on your skills, saying “that kind of thinking is going to chart us a pathway to victory!” and “great work, Y/N! Ten billion points for you!”

Senku would rarely give intimate compliments, but he has his own ways of showing his admiration toward you.

You were always extremely fascinated by all of Senku’s knowledge, and so you were constantly asking him questions about different science topics, both in the modern and stone age. Senku would patiently explain to you the science behind inventions, their purpose, and his calculations. Sometimes he found himself getting carried away, talking in scientific terms that no one besides him could understand. With how many times people have asked him to simplify, he usually stops himself midway and cuts to the chase, but that wasn’t the case for you.

You wanted to hear everything. Every scientific term, invention, formula- truly everything, which is why you insisted that Senku left nothing out. Senku’s excitement would only grow as he continued talking, speeding up and gesturing wildly at the materials sprawled onto the table in the lab. He constantly finds himself marveling over his passion, his love of science seemingly boundless, and you would sit and listen to every word that spilled out of his mouth, taking mental notes and asking questions. He’d always demonstrate what he was talking about through experiments, gestures or math, and though there definitely was a lot to learn, Senku was an awesome teacher. He remembers you telling him so during one of his rants.

“Seriously, Senku, you’re incredible!”

Senku shook his head. There he was, letting his mind wander again! Why the hell did he keep thinking back to those things?

“This is all to help us win against the Tsukasa Empire. We need to keep ourselves in good spirits, and our new inventions help us progress even further in scientific advancements. This isn’t exclusive to Y/N at all- it’s helping all of us be more efficient workers and raise our chances of success!”

The group eyed each other and sighed. Maybe you would eventually make him realize, though you were just as clueless as Senku was.

A couple of days had passed since the Kingdom of Science had interrogated Senku, and he didn’t like it, but he was left thinking.

The sun had set and everyone was asleep; everyone except you and Senku, that was.

It was one of those nights where you two worked together running experiments in the lab and documenting information. Sometimes you crafted things here and there, sometimes you’d bombard Senku with a bunch of questions and a lesson would ensue, but tonight was peaceful. The air was still and only the buzzing of cicadas could be heard from inside. There wasn’t much conversation shared, but neither of you minded. It was nice simply being in each other's presence.

Senku must’ve gotten caught up in his experiments however, because when he turned to ask you a question, he saw you were hunched over asleep on the table, paper sprawled beneath you.

And he doesn’t know when or why in that moment it dawned on him that he was in love with you, but it really was a shock to him. Senku Ishigami, the scientist who strictly believed in logic, was falling in love with you, which is probably one of the most illogical things someone could be doing right now.

Gen was right. From the very beginning, Senku has always been particularly affectionate with you (well, as affectionate as Senku can be.), and persistent in taking care of you. He’d never say it, but he truly did love and care for all his friends an unbelievable amount, but he never once would’ve expected that he’d be in love with one of them.

Senku stared wide-eyed at your sleeping figure as he reflected, watching you shift a little and your chest rise up and down. No. No, no, no. He was in love with you. Senku, the leader of the Kingdom of Science, was in love with you.

What if an enemy were to find out that you were particularly special to him? What if they tried to use you as a way of taking him down? Was he endangering you even more than he already was because he was in love with you?

Senku blinked and put his head down, resting his hands on the head of a chair. He’s realized (finally) that he’s in love with you, there’s no denying it now. It would be illogical to avoid confronting these feelings, but what was he going to do about them?

“Look, you’ve felt this way for five years but never said anything? I can’t praise such illogical behavior.” Senku remembers telling his best friend, Taiju, this way back 3700 years ago. Was he seriously going to wait five years to tell you? Was he seriously going to tell you at all? Did he really plan to pursue you, especially in the midst of so much unknown?

Senku lifted his head to look at you again. You were still completely unbothered, which was ironic considering the battle raging in his head. Your mouth was slightly open and your cheeks were squished against your hand. Hair fell in your face.

Senku straightened and walked around the table to you. He crouched down and moved the stray hair away from your face and mouth, leaving his fingers against your temple for a minute to analyze (admire) your face. He could hear his heartbeat quicken.

In love. Endangering.

With the current state of the world, even Taiju must’ve realized that it would be inappropriate to confess his crush on Yuzuriha to her. Hell, just having these feelings for you was inappropriate.

“Aren’t you ever scared, Senku?” You asked him as the sun was setting, your knees tucked into your chest. Senku paused what he was doing for a brief second before his hands got busy again. “Scared? Of Tsukasa?”

“I mean…generally. So much has happened. We were stuck in that god forsaken stone for thousands of years. We’ve been ripped apart from everything and everyone we’ve ever known and now we’re preparing to fight a battle.” Senku turned around to face you hearing your voice becoming hoarse as you sunk into your knees, lowering your gaze. “Isn’t it all…a little much sometimes?”

He stared hard at you. It definitely wasn’t easy. Senku has been working ever since he was revived, his mind having very little down time. A whole village was looking to him for direction, and he was leading them all into a war with an uncertain outcome. It was stressful.

And if he were honest, he was glad he wasn’t alone in what he was feeling. Senku is not an openly emotional type of guy, which is why he was grateful that you could grieve openly for him as well.

He slowly walked over to you. “Nobody said this was going to be easy. Even I sometimes get lost in the sheer scale of things, but regardless, I do know this,” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you hesitantly met his gaze with tears pricking your eyes. An uncomfortable pit formed in his stomach and burned his skin. He hated seeing you cry.

“We’ll get it all back. We’ll revive everyone and two million years of science. We’ll rebuild civilization!”

And you smiled at him, wiping your tears away, and in their place took over a determined glint. “Yeah, we will!”

Despite everything at risk, Senku chuckled. He had the upmost confidence that the Kingdom of Science would beat the Tsukasa Empire, and afterward, Senku could consider what to do with his feelings. He’d figure it out while rebuilding civilization and every wonderful thing it had to offer that you held so dearly to your heart. He’d do it alongside you. Maybe it’s illogical, but Senku is absolutely content with simply staying by your side for now.

#dr stone oneshot #dr stone hcs #dr stone x reader #dr stone fanfiction #dcst senku #dr stone headcanons #dr stone senku #senku ishigami x reader #senku x y/n #senku headcanons #senku ishigami #senku x you #senku ishigami oneshot #senku ishigami headcanons #senku fluff #dr stone fluff

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