#i want to include flower language in my fic

[alien-mil]

I am conflicted...

I don't know if I want to make Junjie overprotective or Eli overprotective...like they both fit the script. I think I'm going to do the whole switcharoo thing a flip between when I write another fic.

[sattlersquarry]

the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU, the sequel to orange juice) After your miraculous return to the land of the living, you aren't doing well.

Word Count: ~12k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. The reader has panic attacks and intrusive thoughts about Not Wanting To Be Alive. If that will be triggering for you please don't read this (read my happier bloom series instead). there's also an allusion to a relapse, slut-shaming, and allusions to sex (although there's no smut, it just gets slightly steamy). this fic is angst + hurt/comfort with an optimistic ending. inspired by noah kahan's music (including this amazing demo on instagram).

a/n: please let me know if i missed any warnings. please don't read this if you think it will be too triggering. the last thing i want is to make someone upset! but writing this was cathartic and helped me work through some things, i think. writing is magical!

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. It feels like a fucking long time.

You woke up on the ground of the Upside Down, covered in dried blood and terrified at the sight of Vecna towering above you.

He brought you back to life. He wanted to send you back home and use you as a soldier and spy, the same thing he did to Will, Billy, Heather, and countless others.

“If you do this,” Vecna had growled, “You can once again see your family. Your friends. Your beloved Steven. Otherwise…you will die here.”

You refused, not interested in being his lackey. He tried to flay you anyway, but he was weak from the hell Nancy, Steve, and Robin rained down on him, allowing you to escape his clutches.

He stalked you for days, finally catching up to you—but you got the upper hand, using Eddie’s spear to stab him. Repeatedly.  

Killing Vecna caused the gates he opened to sew themselves back shut before you could get through. You were glad that your friends no longer had to worry about Vecna and his army of monsters pouring through the four gates, but it meant you were trapped on the wrong side of the universe.

Vecna gone meant the Upside Down could revert back to what it was before he arrived. Now, the sky of the Upside Down was a buttery yellow, and it was much warmer. You saw patches of green grass and flowers starting to grow in various spots around town. But it still felt like a nightmare.

You wander the Upside Down each day with a routine: avoid monsters, forage for food and clean water, and visit the gates to see if any of them reopened. Food and water aren’t as hard to find as you feared, since the world isn’t so much of a poison, desolate nightmare anymore. But the gates stay staunchly shut, much to your chagrin.

You miss your life. You miss Steve. You miss his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his touch. You would do ungodly things to see him again.

You hope he’s okay. Any time you want to give up, you remind yourself that if roles were reversed, Steve would keep fighting to come back to you no matter what.

And, to your pleasant surprise, he does just that.

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”  

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So, what? You’re not just a flake—you’re a slut to this people now, too? What happened to ‘loving thy neighbor’ and ‘forgiveness’ and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating, as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

You let her comment slide and fake a smile, figuring it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

🫀🫀🫀

That night, you chat with Steve on the phone. He’s gone back to college for the fall semester and you miss him terribly.

He promised he’d come back to Hawkins every other weekend. He knows how hard it’s been for you coming back. Or, he says he knows. Sometimes, you get the idea that he doesn’t really understand.

How could he? Every time he tries to get you to open up about what happened and what you went through, you shut down.

However, when he asks how your day was, you decide to be honest.

“It sucked,” you say. You blow out a huff of air. “These old crones were being total bitches at the church potluck. Apparently, the new conspiracy theory is that I was turning tricks in Virginia.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/N,” Steve says. For some reason, the sympathy in his voice makes you wince.

“But it’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Steve says, speaking slowly and carefully as if he’s worried about setting you off. (For good reason; you’ve been prone to outbursts of anger lately.)

“I know!” you say, defensiveness seeping into your tone. “But I don’t give a shit. Really.”

“Good,” Steve says. But he sounds unconvinced. “You shouldn’t.”

Another pause. It lasts a little too long for your liking. You clear your throat.

“I should probably shower and head to bed,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says. You don’t understand why he sounds almost intrigued by the prospect of your boring nighttime routine until he says, “A shower with you sounds like heaven right now…”

Shit. You’re really not in the mood for phone sex. Even if that’s not what Steve is angling for, just slightly flirty banter doesn’t sound fun to you either.

Steve has been a total gentleman ever since you got back. You’ve kissed a little, but anytime he tries to take it further, you stop him. As much as you longed for him in every sense while in the Upside Down, you don’t feel ready to re-engage in those kinds of activities—like you’ve been shot back to the insecure, unconfident person you were before you started dating Steve.

He respects those boundaries and never, ever presses for more. But you worry he’s getting bored and wants to get back into old habits, possibly evidenced by his shower comment.

You’re a coward. You don’t tell him outright that you’re not in the mood, afraid he’ll have an out-of-character reaction and chew you out for being a prude or a tease.

“Huh?” you say. Steve starts to repeat his salacious comment, but you interrupt with: “Bad…connection…can’t…better…”

You hang up the phone and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

It’s a Thursday in October, and you’re taking a trip for the first time in a long time.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

You huff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms like a petulant teenager.

“Mom! I’m an adult. I do not need a stuffed animal.”

“But you packed her, right?”

You mumble out a “Yes” as she pulls up to the parking lot near Steve’s apartment building.

You applied for spring admission at the University of Indiana. Your lovely boyfriend invited you to stay with him for a few days so he could show you around campus for homecoming weekend.

Tonight is the unofficial campus tour with “Tour Guide Steve.” Tomorrow, you’ll help him and his friends put the finishing touches on a homecoming parade float, and Saturday is the big football game.

Before your disappearance and assumed death, your parents were insanely strict about you staying the night with Steve and wouldn’t have allowed it. Now, they’ve mellowed out—but you hate thinking it’s because of some kind of twisted pity.

Steve must have seen your mom’s minivan pull up from his apartment window, because he jogs over to you before you’ve even grabbed your bag from the trunk.

“Hey, babe!” he says with a beaming grin; the picture of exuberance. You can feel his excitement roll off him in waves. You feel like an asshole for matching his energy. Even though you’re excited for time with Steve, you have a pit in your stomach at the thought of being away from home for so many days.

Of course, if you get accepted to U of I, you’ll be away from home for weeks at a time. You try not to think about that.

Steve hugs you tightly, and you hope he can’t sense your apprehension.

He seems not too, still smiling as he gives your mom a quick hug and then offers to carry your duffel bag for you.

You give your mom a hug goodbye, promising to call if you want to get picked up early.

You and Steve wave as your mom drives away. After dropping your bag off at his apartment, Steve takes you on an abridged campus tour that ends at the dining hall. He wants to introduce you to his friends.

He has friends here. Of course he does, you’re glad he does. No one should feel like they don’t have friends, or like their girlfriend is their only friend. But what does it mean that your boyfriend is your only friend lately?

Nancy’s off at Emerson. As for the Hawkins crew, Jonathan’s busy with family stuff, helping Joyce and Hopper renovate their new house. Eddie’s preoccupied with his band, trying to get Corroded Coffin off the ground after a he-was-accused-of-murder hiatus. And Robin’s a student at Roane County Community College, spending her days with marching band and classes and clubs and work.

They’ve started inviting you to things, and sometimes you go. You usually don’t have much fun, distracted with your own anxieties and unable to think of anything interesting to say.

So, the fact that Steve seems to have moved on from everything so easily and has a pack of friends at college makes you feel pathetic, even though it shouldn’t.

At the dining hall, Steve introduces you to his buddies. When Steve lived on-campus last semester, Gus was his roommate. Now Steve’s moved into his own apartment off-campus, but the boys still hang out often and play together on a club basketball team.

Jessica is Gus’ girlfriend. She has a kind smile and compliments your sweater.

The last friend in their clique is Rochelle. She’s tall and slender, like a supermodel. Apparently, she and Jessica grew up together and are good friends.

Everyone greets you happily when Steve introduces you—except Rochelle, who looks you up and down like she’s inspecting you. It makes you uneasy.

You immediately start to dislike her more when she laughs loudly at Steve’s jokes and squeezes his shoulder flirtatiously.

“You are tew much, Harrington,” Rochelle says, flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder.

It makes you feel tense and jealous and angry and sick all at once.

You’re completely content to listen in silence while the others chat, but then Jessica asks where you go to school.

“Oh, um, here, in the spring,” you say. “Uh, hopefully.”

“That’s awesome!” Gus says. “You get the full Hoosiers homecoming experience a whole semester before having to pay tuition.”

You chuckle and smile. Any good feelings you have about this interaction come crashing down when Rochelle asks, “So, like, if you aren’t a student right now, what do you do?”

“She’s working at Sonic,” Steve says. “Saving up money. Right babe?”

You turn to him, face falling. You’re not working. You tried to apply for a job at Sonic and had a panic attack when you saw the gap in your resume from your 15 months in the Upside Down, so you roller-skated your way home to unemployment.

Did you not tell Steve that? You suppose you “forgot” to tell him about that panic episode.

“Uh, actually no,” you say, furrowing your brow. “Not anymore. I’m just taking a semester off.”

Surprise flashes behind Steve’s eyes, but he recovers quickly. He throws an arm around your shoulders and says, “Right, of course.”

The rest of the conversation is mostly you smiling and nodding along to the funny stories and inside jokes the group shares. When you and Steve get back to his place later that evening, you apologize for not updating him on the Sonic situation sooner.

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

“But I feel bad,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers while you sit next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

(You didn’t truly forget. You were embarrassed and didn’t want him to know.)

“These things happen,” Steve says. “I totally get it. For a few months after Vecna and…you, my brain was like scrambled eggs. I’d drink myself to a coma every other night. I definitely didn’t have the sharpest mind.”

You appreciate him for understanding. Except you feel shitty because you’re lying to him about forgetting. It’s a vicious cycle.

The two of you put on a movie, and while you’re lying on the couch with him, you start thinking of something you haven’t done in a long, long time.

You lightly trace your hand up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Would you want to…”

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

You aren’t sure how to ask for what you want without sounding wholly desperate and/or pathetic and/or like the horniest bastard alive.

“Go to your room?” you say.

“Sure, if you want, we can go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and Steve’s jaw drops. Mouth agape, like a goldfish, his brains seems to short circuit.

The air is charged with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Are you sure?” Steve says, a barely audibly whisper. His hand cups your cheek so delicately, and you feel cherished. Love. Seen.

“I am,” you whisper back, before pulling him closer to you for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss you dreamed about while you were trapped in another universe.

It makes you feel electric, the same way your first kiss had. That iconic kiss happened because Steve found out you’d never played spin the bottle. In his kitchen late, late at night, he took an empty soda bottle and spun it on the countertop.

He had maneuvered it just right and stopped it with his hand when the bottle neck pointed right at you, like a compass needle finding truth north.

“Well, what do you know,” Steve had said at the time, with a dopey grin on his face. “It’s you.”

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” you had quipped, “you could’ve just asked.”

And then you two kissed like crazy, amongst other things.

Back in the present, all your hesitancies and qualms about re-engaging in intimacy and sex with Steve are thrown out the window when you feel his lips on yours.

Giddy as if it’s the first time (because, in a way, it kind of is), the two of you break apart and practically race down the hall to his bedroom. Thank goodness for no roommates, because when you’re in there, Steve slams the door and presses you against it to kiss some more, closing the gap between the metaphorical great divide that you’ve placed between you both.

You tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off before the two of you stumble into his bed.

Things heat up, and they’re going great. Steve is kissing and biting your neck, probably leaving a hickey or two, but you don’t mind. His hands are gripping your waist, practically leaving scorch marks in their wake.

You’re loving this. You’re having a great time.

Until you’re not. The trains of thought in your brain all rush from the station at the same time, colliding at a junction on the tracks.

What if you give Steve an infection? Not an STD, but like, an Upside Down sickness. You could be a carrier and not even realize it. Is that a possibility? What did Dr. Owens say last time you saw him?

He advised you not to get pregnant. He said there’s a possibility your future children could have birth defects after your time in the Upside Down. Birth defects! You’re only 21 years old and your body is poisoned. Not enough to harm you in the short term, but the long term effects on you (and your progeny) could be terrible to deal with.

But Steve really wants kids. What if he finds out you can’t give him children and he leaves you? You really, really don’t want him to leave you.

You don’t realize it, but you start breathing a little harder. To Steve, it seems like you’re insanely turned on. Mentally, your brain is on a different plane of existence.

He’s going to leave you because he’s better off without you. He doesn’t realize it yet but one day, one day. He will.

Vecna was right. Vecna said Steve would get tired and bored of you. That’s why the monster tried to recruit you, to flay you. That’s why he pursued you across the Upside Down for days, hunting you like a dog until he cornered you at the quarry.

Steve finally takes notice of your erratic breathing pattern. You’re not reacting how you usually do to his kissing. He ceases the lovefest and leans up on his elbows.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You don’t hear him. You continue to hyperventilate, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

And when you stabbed the beast through the chest with the spear Eddie left behind, you didn’t even feel sorry.

Is that the kind of person you are? A sick, violent freak?

But it was self-defense!

But if you hadn’t tried to draw the demobats away, you wouldn’t have been in that situation. You went against the plan. You caused all the bad things that happened to you.

You’re a bad person. A bad omen. A bad girlfriend. A bad daughter. A—

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

Steve’s soft, slightly panicked, voice brings you back down to reality.

You nod, eyes still shut.

“Sorry,” you say. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still speaking quietly as if he’s afraid to scare you. You don’t feel his hands on you anymore, but you sense he’s still close. “It’s okay. Can you sit up? I think you should drink something.”

You sit up slowly and open your eyes. Steve looks frazzled, but he musters up a smile when he hands you a glass of cold water.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

“Can we just go to bed?” you say after a moment, voice cracking.

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. And, hey, listen, we don’t have to have sex anytime soon, okay?”

“But—”

“No, seriously,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “I mean, of course I like having sex with you. Probably too much.”

You snort and shake your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“But you know I don’t mind waiting. Right?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

But as you lie awake, tossing and turning, your brain continues feeding you lie after lie, and you find yourself believing the opposite. Prude, tease. Bad girlfriend. Bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

The next morning, you, Steve, Gus, Jessica, and Rochelle work on a homecoming float for the club basketball team the boys are on.

It’s fun at first. The parking lot is filled with floats for all different student organizations. Someone is playing music a bit too loud, but the energy is electric.

It takes a turn when Steve rushes off with Gus to get more supplies.

While you’re kneeling by the float trying to staple tinsel trim around the edge, you hear Rochelle and Jessica whispering conspiratorially on the other side. They can’t see you due to a large papier mâché basketball blocking you from view.

You're awash with embarrassment, feeling warm head to toe, when you realize they’re talking about you.  

“You know what Mollie told me?” Rochelle said. “When she and Steve were hooking up last year, he called her Y/N, like, three times.”

Your heart shrinks. You didn’t know Steve had been involved with anyone while you were gone. In fact, he said the opposite.

“That’s kind of sweet though, when you think about it,” Jessica muses. “But I wonder what caused Steve and Y/N to break up and then get back together. I’ve never dreamed of breaking up with Gus.”

“I heard some other super freaky stuff about her,” Rochelle says. “My sorority sister, Tina, is from Hawkins too. Apparently, Y/N had, like, amnesia or some shit after that earthquake thing. And she was like missing.”

“Damn,” Jessica says. “That’s crazy. How’d she remember stuff and get back home?”

“Who gives a shit?” Rochelle scoffs. “That’s obviously a cover story. Tina said the real story is probably something much simpler. Like she ran away to become a stripper but couldn’t hack it because she doesn’t have a good body. And, well, we’ve seen that firsthand.”

Anger and shame courses through your veins, and you tug on the hem of your sweatshirt. You’re comforted only a miniscule amount when you hear Jessica come to your defense.

“Don’t be such a jerk. And we have no idea what really happened so stop making shit up, mkay?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. But Tina’s right, her whole deal is so weird. I can’t believe she’s Steve’s girlfriend. He deserves better.”

Those words echo in your head. He deserves better. He deserves better. You’ve been thinking that a lot yourself lately.

You don’t care if Jessica and Rochelle see you when you toss your stapler onto the ground and stomp off.

“Oh, shit,” you hear Jessica say. “Nice going, Roche.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know she was creeping around!”

As you beeline through the throngs of float-makers, you bump into Steve, holding a box of glittery something. He grins at you.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

When he notices the grim look on your face, he sobers up.

“Whoa, what happened?”  

“Who’s Mollie?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Steve pales. He swallows hard, grip on the box loosening. He gingerly sets it on the ground next to him and shrugs.

“No one.”

“Liar.”

Steve glances around before leading you away from the crowd to a secluded spot on the outskirts of the parking lot.

“She really was no one,” Steve repeats. “Just some girl I had a class with. I was lonely and she liked me, so we went out twice.”

“I heard Rochelle say you hooked up with her,” you say. You cross your arms and try to keep angry tears at bay. “You told me you didn’t find anybody else.”

“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little louder. He clears his throat. “I meant that. We almost hooked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You sigh and shake your head. You want to believe him so badly. But the voice in your head that’s been so cruel to you lately isn’t convinced.

“Do you still think about her?”

Steve scrunches up his face, wholly confused at your line of questioning.

“What? No, of course not. Like I said, we hung out twice, had one near-miss, and then never spoke again. Babe, is everything okay?”

He reaches a hand to your arm and you flinch away. Your action makes him frown deeper.

You rub your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

A beat. You think Steve’s going to accept your answer, until: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying!” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “I’m just tired. Okay, Steve?”

Steve fidgets from foot to foot. He’s starting to look as agitated as you feel. With an annoyingly calm, even voice, he says, “I think you’re not being honest.”

“And I think you should shut up,” you fire back, before you can stop yourself.

Steve’s face contorts into a frown, the line between his brows deepening.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he says. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I just found out you lied about not being involved with someone while I was gone!”

Steve rubs his face with his hands, as if he’s trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. He takes a deep breath, another one, and then finally speaks.

“Y/N, I thought you were dead,” he says, voice strained. “You can’t seriously be jealous of me spending time with someone else because to my knowledge, I was never going to see you again.”

You know you should apologize for your outburst. Tell him about your insecurities, now dialed up to 1000 thanks to Rochelle’s comments. Rejoin his friends at the float like the normal girlfriend he probably wishes you were.

But instead, you find yourself voicing one of the fears that’s been swirling in your brain since June.

“It would be so much easier for you if that was still the case, right?” you ask, softly.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. “Bringing me back?” He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. You clear your throat and, louder, add, “Because it would be so much simpler for you to date a girl like Mollie or Rochelle.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve groans. “Don’t bring Rochelle into this.”

“Why not? She’s obviously obsessed with you!”

“Yeah?” Steve scoffs. “Well, I don’t like her. I like you.” He shakes his head, as if he’s short-circuiting, and corrects, “I love you!”

Too late. You already heard the Freudian slip of your worst nightmare. He doesn’t regard you in the same way he did before your so-called death. You’ve changed too much.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No,” you say. “No. You loved the girl I was before it all happened.”

“You’re still the same girl!”

“I’m not!” you shout. You’re so angry, so upset, so emotional, you can’t stop. You’re floating above your body and watching yourself speak when you say, “I’m not. She’s gone, and sometimes I wish you’d never brought me back so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve goes still once more. When he finally replies, his voice is dangerously quiet: “How dare you say that.”

You hadn’t expected that. You’d expected him to swoop in with comforting platitudes. To hug you and promise it would all be okay. To truly hear the words you’re saying—the thoughts you’ve been too afraid to voice in therapy, thoughts you’ve sugarcoated in your mind to lessen that bitter feeling on your tongue when you finally speak them aloud.

“What?” you whisper. Your eyes sting, unshed tears collecting on your lash line.

“How dare you say that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his hair and barks out a laugh so hollow, you can practically hear the echo in his ribcage. “That’s so fucking selfish that you wish you were still down there. I was miserable without you. I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t think I could!”

He's not getting what you’re trying to say. You open your mouth to reply, to apologize, to try and fix things, but Steve continues.

“So for you to be so callous, to think so little of me, to think I’d rather date some vapid airhead just because it would be ‘simpler’? To think I somehow can’t love you anymore because of what you went through? That’s just…bullshit!”

You heave out a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. Steve’s expression morphs into one of guilt. He swallows hard.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings are bullshit!” you snap. You sniffle and roughly wipe your tears away, before jabbing a finger into his chest and pressing in. “Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all about how everyone else feels about it. You and my parents are so much happier, and you seem to think I can snap back to how I was before and forget it all happened and be grateful that I survived. Well, I can’t!”

Despite your distance from the parade planning festivities, you see a few curious students glance in your direction. You can’t be bothered to care.

“I don’t know how to go on with life like normal after 15 months in that hell, and no one understands what I’m going through!” you yell. “No one has been through that! And I’m miserable and scared and anxious and I’m lying to my therapist week after week because I can’t even verbalize what I’m thinking without feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind. So sorry if sometimes I wish all this would go away.”

Steve’s facial expression cracks your heart in seventeen pieces. He looks devastated and confused.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, somewhat cautiously. “You’re right. I’m not handling this well, not seeing it from your point of view. But this is the most you’ve expressed how you’re feeling about it all. For the past few months, I—I don’t know. I thought you were feeling okay.”

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “This is good, I think. Well, no, it’s not good that we’re screaming at each other in the quad. But getting our feelings out is—”

“I want to go home,” you say, cutting him off.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you back to Hawkins tonight.”

“No, I want to go now,” you say, voice cracking as you try not to cry harder. “I want my mom to come get me.”

Hurt flashes on Steve’s features. “Babe, are you sure? I really don’t mind. I want to, actually. The drive will give us more of a chance to talk.”

But you’re too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore. Steve understands, though his shoulders are slumped as the two of you walk back to his apartment.

He offers to pack your bag while you call your house. Your mom picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

“Mom?” you sniff. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, of course sweetie!” You hear the jingle of car keys. “Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

“I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

“His friends were really mean,” you say quietly, deciding not to disclose that you indeed got in an argument with Steve. “This girl, Rochelle, said one of her friends from Hawkins is telling everyone I was a stripper.”

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

You can’t hold back tears as you begin to cry harder.

“How come everyone makes up those dumb rumors?” you say through sobs. “And if people on campus already know them, how much worse will it be if I’m a student here?!”

Your mom soothes you over the phone before promising to get there as quickly as possible. As you hang up the phone, Steve comes in from down the hall, frowning and carrying your now-packed duffel. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about his eavesdropping when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Rochelle said that to you?”

You shrug and look down at your feet.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I keep replaying our conversation in my head,” he says, “and I feel like an ass.”

“You’re not, Steve.”

“No! I am. I absolutely am. You were honest and vulnerable, and I immediately got mad. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say flatly. Admittedly, you’re not sure if you forgive him yet. But you know you didn’t treat him well either, so you say, “I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I know you had a hard time while I was gone—”

“But it’s nothing compared to what you were dealing with,” Steve says. He steps closer to you and intertwines your hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“My mom’s already on her way,” you say. “And you should rest up. Tomorrow’s the parade, and the homecoming game.”

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

“I’d rather come back to Hawkins this weekend,” he continues. “Spend more time with you. Talk things through, you know? Maybe I can just ride with you and your mom, and Munson can bring me back Sunday.”

He’s sweet. But you aren’t sure how to tell him that you really, really don’t want to be around him right now. You don’t want to be around anyone, really.

You take a deep breath, gently drop his hands, and say, “I think I need some space.”

You can’t look Steve in the eye, but you hear the pain in his voice when he says, “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. Of course. Space.”

You two sit in awkward silence while you wait for your mom to arrive. When she gets there, Steve continues to be a gentleman, carrying your bag for you and politely making small talk with your mom. He gives you a hug goodbye, but it doesn’t linger the way his hugs usually do.

As your mom drives away, you watch your boyfriend get smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

Before leaving, you promised him you’d call him that night.

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

He leaves a message at 9:37 p.m., asking you to call him back.

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

“Hey, babe. It’s Steve. Again. I know we agreed on ‘space’ but I haven’t heard from you in three weeks…I don’t want to rush or smother you, but I’d really like to talk, even if it’s for, like, five minutes. So please call me back. I love you, Y/N.”

-

“Hey Y/N. Are you doing okay? Robin says she saw you and your mom at the store the other day and you just seemed kind of…out of it. To be honest, I’m worried about you. Listen, even if you don’t…even if we…even if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me anymore, or something, I still care about you. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Please call me. Bye. Love you.”

-

“Hi Y/N, I’m coming back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Can I come by after you and your parents have dinner? I want to check in. On how you’re doing, and on how you’re feeling about ‘us.’ Let me know, okay? Bye, Y/N.”

-

“Hey. I’m going to swing by your place after I’ve finished Thanksgiving dinner with the Buckleys. Robin told me you’ve been avoiding her too. And Eddie, and Jonathan. I know you’re going through a tough time, but don’t try to do it alone. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way last year. I’ll see you tonight, all right?” 

🫀🫀🫀

You’ve spent the past month and a half wallowing. All you really do is sleep, eat, shower, and take short walks around your neighborhood for exercise. Any time Steve calls the house phone, you tell your parents to let it ring and let it go to voicemail.

It’s shitty of you, but you aren’t sure how to dig yourself out of this hole that you’ve found yourself in. You’re still feeling rather undeserving of Steve.

So when he shows up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, wearing that maroon sweater that you’ve always just adored, the first thing you do is apologize for your radio silence. Then, you offer him pumpkin pie.

“I won’t say no,” he says. “As long as you split it with me.”

While your parents cuddle on the couch and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, you and Steve sit on the kitchen counter and eat slices of pie with whipped cream.

For a few minutes, you exchange small talk and pleasantries. Then, Steve gets down to business.

“How have you been doing, really?” Steve asks.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Y/N,” Steve says with a sigh. “Please just be honest with me.”

You suck in a breath.

“Okay. You want honesty? I’m having a really hard time.”

“I know,” Steve says gently. “And I want to help. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

You consider it. You consider wrenching your heart open for him and admitting all your fears and insecurities. But last time you broached this subject with Steve and tried to be wholly honest about what you were feeling, you didn’t explain it right and he took it the wrong way.

And you also hear what sounds like Rochelle’s voice in your mind: He deserves better. He deserves better.

You save yourself the trouble and say, “I need to get my shit together. And I’m not being a very good girlfriend while I do, so I think we need to break up.”

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel tears coming on. Everything only worsens when you hear Steve whisper, “What?” 

He deserves better. He deserves better. He deserves better than you.

“I have to focus on myself right now,” you continue as the tears roll down your cheeks. You stab your pie with your fork and say, “I’m sorry. I love you so much—”

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

“—but I need to deal with this on my own. It’s not fair of me to treat you like this.” You clear your throat and add, “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Steve says. You can’t look at him, but you get the impression that he’s tearing up too. “I mean, if this is really what you want, I’ll respect your decision completely, but I just have to know—is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Steve says after a beat. “Even if we aren’t together anymore, I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, still decimating your pie slice with your fork.

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.” 

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

Steve chuckles, despite everything. You two share an awkward hug goodbye before he leaves.

You stay in the kitchen and hear him wish your parents “Happy holidays.” As you hear the front door open and shut, as you hear his car turn on and drive away, you try to convince yourself this was the correct choice. That shutting him out means he’ll live a happier life without you.

The pit of emptiness like a chasm in your soul will go away eventually, right?

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

It’s been 3 months since you broke up with Steve.

You decided to defer your U of I enrollment. Steve, being a good friend, calls a few days before the semester starts asking if you’d like help moving into your dorm, and you break the news to him. He understands but sounds disappointed. It makes you feel terrible.

But this is the right choice. You aren’t ready to be away from home, away from your parents, even if it’s just a couple hours away.

You start taking community college classes to fill your time and get some credits, along with working at Bradley’s Big Buy as a stocker. It’s mindless, monotonous work. It’s kind of perfect.

What isn’t so perfect is your therapist, Elaine. She’s nice enough. But she doesn’t seem to get it. You aren’t able to fully tell her what you went through, considering she knows nothing about the Upside Down, so she can’t really help you.

When you start opening up about the dark thoughts worming their way through your mind, Elaine advocates strongly and staunchly for putting yourself out there and making new friends to fill the void. You’re starting to wonder if you’re wasting your time shelling out $50 a week.

You do think a better social life would be good for you, so you invite Robin, Eddie, and Jonathan to come over to your place for a horror movie marathon. (Nancy would be invited too, if she wasn’t away at school.) You’ve rented a D-level slasher trilogy about a man in a hockey mask attacking pageant queens. It’s small potatoes compared to what you’ve actually been through.

Jonathan agrees, but both Robin and Eddie tell you they can’t make it. Robin because she’s got the flu. Eddie because he has band practice all afternoon and into the night.

It stings like a barb ripping you open when you swing by Melvald’s for cheap movie candy and spot the two of them across the street, laughing as they head into the Hawk with…Steve, who must be home from school for the weekend.

So they do want to have a movie night. Just with Steve and not you. Message received.

You wonder if Steve said something to sour you in their eyes. You thought the breakup was amicable. You know he was upset by it, but he respected your decision. And he doesn’t seem like the type to badmouth an ex, especially after all you’ve been through together.

But anxiety rolls through your nervous system the rest of the day. As you and Jonathan watch the crappy movies, you just feel numb.

“Jee-sus!” Jonathan yelps as the killer’s chainsaw hacks through someone’s limb.

He glances your way, eyebrows raising. “What? That didn’t scare you?”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. He leans over and pauses the movie.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can watch something else. Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can head out.”

You pick at a loose thread on the pillow in your lap.

“Are Robin and Eddie mad at me?” you whisper.

“What?” Jonathan says with a laugh. “You’re, like, the nicest person in a fifty-mile radius. Why would they be mad at you?”

The old you was nice. The current you is moody. But Jonathan is also pretty moody, so maybe your moodiness is baseline in his eyes.

“They both said they couldn’t come tonight,” you continue, “but then I saw them just an hour ago in downtown Hawkins heading into the Hawk with Steve. Why else would they make up excuses not to come unless they were mad?”

Jonathan takes a long, slow sip of his grape soda and shrugs.

“It’s probably because they don’t want you to think they chose Steve over you in the breakup.”

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

“Maybe not,” Jonathan says. “Maybe they just made the plans with Steve before you invited us over and it’s easier to turn down your invitation than cancel on him.”

That’s a very logical way of looking at it, but it still stings feeling like you’ve lost two friends since you and Steve aren’t together anymore.

You and Jonathan continue watching, but his mom calls halfway through the second movie, forcing him to leave early—something about El using telekinesis to turn her bed into a bunk bed and it backfiring horribly.

You try to push your worries out of your mind, but paranoia takes a hold. As you toss and turn in your bed that night, clutching Lambchop for a semblance of comfort, your brain bullies you.

Robin and Eddie are pissed at you. Probably because you haven’t gone to any Corroded Coffin shows since you’ve been back. You’ve been a little preoccupied.

A little selfish, more like. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You should still support your friends.

But why? You don’t like drinking alcohol anymore because you don’t like feeling out of control. And the Hideout is the only place Corroded Coffin plays, and that place reeks of booze and cigarettes and bad decisions.

Maybe that’s why Eddie’s mad. Is Robin mad by proxy? Did Steve shit-talk you to her? How did he describe the events of the breakup?

Were you a bad girlfriend? Are you a bad friend? Bad person?

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

You happen to run into Robin on the community college’s campus the following Monday. You can’t help but ask if she’s feeling better.

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

“O-oh, yeah!” she says. “I’m feeling loads better. Tons! Tons better.”

“Your sinus infection is gone?” you prompt, knowing full well she told you it was the flu.

“Yep! All gone. My sinuses are as healthy as can be. I feel like I could live to be 100!”

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

There’s a dark cloud hovering over your mind. Most days, you’re lethargic. You go to classes and go to work, and you do start going to the Hideout on Tuesday nights with Jonathan and Robin to watch Eddie play with his band.

But that’s the extent of your social life. You’re feeling lonely and drained.

Things take a turn for the worse in March. It was a cold, cold winter in Hawkins, and spring is shaping up to be warmer but just as gloomy. Really bad thunderstorms shake the windowpanes of your house most days, and the streaks of lightning remind you so much of the grayish-yellow Upside Down sky, it makes you sick.

You can’t help but find yourself thinking you want to disappear to escape it all. Not die, exactly. But fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe when you woke up, things would be better.

You try to explain what you’re feeling to Elaine the Therapist, and she doesn’t understand what you meant in the slightest.

“Have you gotten checked for narcolepsy?” she asks.

You give her a tight smile and say you’ll ask your doctor about it at your next checkup.

A bright spot is when Robin invites you to a party at her apartment. You forgot her and Eddie’s little white lie from a few weeks ago and RSVP yes.

The party is going well. You’re having a nice conversation with Jonathan and Eddie when Steve walks in, and he’s not alone.

Your heart sinks to your feet, through the floor, and all the way to the core of the earth when you see Steve is joined by Rochelle.

You don’t even hear any of the conversations happening around you. You quickly excuse yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water—and because you need to be alone.

You get about 15 seconds of a reprieve before Steve enters.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” you say. You can’t even look him in the eye, choosing instead to study the ice cubes in your glass.

“I’m not here with Rochelle,” Steve continues. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, she’s here. And I’m here. And we’re here together. But not together together! God, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“None at all.”

“She needed a ride to her parents’ house for the weekend,” Steve explains. “She lives just forty-five minutes from here. But I guess they were out of town, and she didn’t have a key, so she’s staying with me. And she didn’t want to spend all day in my house alone, so—”

“She’s here,” you finish for him. You finally look him in the eye and force a smile. “That’s fine, Steve. You can hang out with whoever you want.”

“Trust me,” Steve snorts. “I’d rather not be hanging out with her. I’m just doing her a favor because she’s friends with Jessica and Gus.”

Before you can respond, Rochelle saunters into the kitchen. She smiles like a shark—all gums and teeth.

“Oh, it’s you!” she says. “Y/N! How have you been?”

“Fine,” you say politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, just great. Really great. Sad to not see you around campus, though. I thought you enrolled?”

She has the impressive capability of making everything single sentence sound like an insult.

“I’m going to community college instead,” you explain. “But I really should get back out there.”

You give Steve and Rochelle a wide berth before stepping back into the living room.

The rest of the party goes by fine. Except you can’t quite contain your rage watching Rochelle throw herself at Steve all afternoon.

She sits too close to him. She constantly whispers in his ear and giggles, like they’re sharing inside jokes and secrets. While Robin’s putting on a movie for everyone to watch, you swear you even see Rochelle put her hand on Steve’s thigh.

The only thing that makes you feel better is that Steve blocks every one of these advances. While Eddie regales you all with a Corroded Coffin storytime, you even notice Steve's slotted himself in between Robin and the wall, forcing Rochelle to stand off to the side near a potted plant.

When the party’s over, you wish Robin well and try to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Steve has a terrible habit of noticing everything about you, and he follows you out.

“Hey, wait up!” he calls, jogging behind you as you speed walk to your car to avoid the sprinkling rain.

“Sorry, I have to go,” you say, struggling to unlock your car door.

Before you can get it unlocked and make your escape, Steve places a hand over the driver’s side door handle.

“Hold on,” he says. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, I have to get home—”

“This’ll take five minutes,” Steve promises. He traces an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to cry.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “It’s ‘die.’”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.’”

Steve’s eyes widen and jaw drops, affronted. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “Why would anyone ever want to do that?”

“That’s the point!” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on his face. “You don’t want to do that, so you keep the promise.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I’ll be fast. I just want to see how you’ve been doing these past few months. I—I miss you, you know?”

You swallow hard. The rain’s starting to pick up now. You don’t want to wait too much longer to drive home, or else it’ll be too hard to see. And if you see lightning, you’ll probably have a panic attack behind the wheel, making you a danger to yourself and others.

“I miss you too,” you say. “But I really, really need to get home now.”

You think of leaving it at that, but your heart feels as sad as the look on his face, so you add, “But you can come by my house later tonight and we can talk? Uh, how’s 8 sound?”

Steve’s face brightens. He gives you that smile that always makes your stomach do a backflip.

“I’d like that,” he says.

You smile back and open your car door. Before stepping in, you turn to him and say, “Do not bring Rochelle.”

“Cross my whatever and hope to who-gives-a-shit!” Steve says as he walks backward away from your car. You give him a small wave, which he returns, before getting in the car and driving off.

As you suspected, the drive home is much, much too anxiety-inducing. Thunder seems to shake the whole frame of the car as you drive across town. Rain falls in pails, as if angels are taking buckets and throwing them on your car specifically. Your windshield wipers can barely keep up, and cars are honking and passing you since your fear is causing you to drive about ten under the speed limit.

You try not to let that bother you as your hands grip the wheel for dear life, the muscles from your fingers up to your shoulders impossibly tense. There’s a reason your mom drove you everywhere last summer and fall. Getting back into the habit of operating a motor vehicle isn’t easy, and everything seems to scare you now.

Despite everything, the drive is going fine—until one of the cars passing you cuts a little too close as they swerve back into the right lane. They almost clip your front bumper, which causes you to panic and swerve off the road near the now defunct trailer park.

Your tires squeak on the wet grass and you slam on your breaks, heart pounding. Shuddery breaths draw in, out. In, out. You try and collect yourself and turn your left turn signal on to merge back onto the main road. However, something gray out of the corner of your eye causes you to whip your head in the direction of the trailer park.

This is where you died and were resurrected—well, the version of this in the Upside Down. In Hawkins, the area is cordoned off. No one can live there anymore, thanks to the big cracks in the earth. Once gates, they were now sealed, but they upended some trailers and tore others in two.

You see a flash of movement between two broken trailers. The gates are supposed to be closed, and there aren’t supposed to be Upside Down creatures in Hawkins anymore, but you can’t help but wonder alternatives. You feel compelled to check it out. 

You turn off your car’s ignition, grab the flashlight from your glove box, and clamor out, ducking under the “CAUTION” tape and jogging into the park. You squint in the rain, the beam of your flashlight scanning the surrounding area. You step over uneven earth, wondering if you’re wasting your time and should just—

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

You whip around and gasp. The gray creature you saw wasn’t a demo-creature, but a mangy, stray dog with muddy fur. It snaps its jaws and you see three little puppies cowering under a bush behind it.

An overprotective mama dog wouldn’t have scared you two years ago. You would’ve known exactly how to handle the situation without freaking out. But now, your fear spikes and you remember the few run-ins with hungry demodogs you had in the Upside Down. The dog is blocking your way back to your car, so you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, toward the imposing forest.

You can’t think clearly. Your mind is on fire. All you can think is Danger! Danger! Danger! And it’s keeping you from making any rational decisions.

You swear you hear the dog chasing behind you, snarling and ready to attack. You zig-zag between trees and glance behind to see if you really are being chased.

You lose your footing on slick mud, left ankle twisting painfully as you fall to the ground. Your flashlight skitters out of your grasp and rolls away, blinking out.

Now, you’re stuck in the rain, in the dark, with an injured ankle and no flashlight. Thankfully, the dog wasn’t following. But you feel powerless, hoping you can muster any survival instincts from your time in the Upside Down to make your way back to safety.

🫀🫀🫀

At 7:58 p.m., Steve parks outside your house.

He’s more nervous than he needs to be. He tries to remember that this isn’t a visit to win you back, as much as he wishes it was. No, he’s respecting your decision. But he’s glad he has the chance to just talk to you.

After you dumped him, he spent way too much time overanalyzing that fight you two had in October. It solidified the fact that he was an ass, completely misunderstanding you and getting mad for no good fucking reason.

Admittedly, he was tempted to throw away all his progress and drink away his misery. But he didn’t, channeling that energy toward more productive things. His mind is clearer than it was, and he’s going to make it right this time. Steve wants to check on you, the way his friends checked on him while he was having a tough time. Their support was invaluable.

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

The front door swings open. Your father looks expectant, before he frowns.

“Steve, hello,” your father says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m supposed to meet her here.”

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

“Is it her?” your mother says, rushing around the corner with the cordless phone tucked under her shoulder. When she sees Steve, her shoulders slump. She speaks into the phone, “Hopper, she’s still not back.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, heart sinking. “Y/N’s missing?”

“She never came back from Robin’s party,” your father says, stepping aside to let Steve in. “You saw her leave, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. His mouth feels very, very dry.

Your mother continues murmuring on the phone with Hopper, and your father continues grilling Steve: “How was she? Did she seem upset?”

“A little nervous, maybe,” Steve says. He swallows hard. “I, uh, I think she was freaked out by the storm.”

You should’ve driven her home, Steve thinks. You idiot. If something happens to her, it’ll be your fault.

“She’s been so quiet lately,” your father says, voice strained. He clears his throat. “And so jumpy. But she said she wanted to start driving again. We thought she was getting better…”

Your father looks like he’s beside himself. Steve is unsure what to say to make things right.

Your mother hangs up the phone and sighs. “Hopper’s going to go look for her,” she says. She chokes out a sob. “Oh, Roger…she’s been so down lately. What if she…”

“Let’s not speculate,” your father says firmly, though he looks anxious about the possibilities.

Your parents decide to drive around looking for you, and Steve joins the search in his own car as well. He can’t sit idly by knowing you’re out there, possibly in distress, possibly in danger.

🫀🫀🫀

While you’re sitting against a tree trunk trying to shield yourself from the rain, there’s a morbid part of you that’s okay with this.

You wanted something bad to happen. You wanted to be in some kind of distress, because you being hurt means people have to care about you. Right? They have to really, truly see that you’ve been struggling but haven’t been able to ask for proper help.

You snap yourself out of that thought process, trying to remind yourself that people do care about you. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’ve put so much distance between yourself and the people you love.

You aren’t sure how long you sit in the rain having a pity party, watching your swollen ankle get bigger and bigger. You need to ice it and elevate it. And anytime longer in this rain, you’ll catch a cold.

So, you crawl on your hands and knees and find as sturdy a branch as you can on the forest floor. You use it as a pseudo walking stick to help you hobble back toward the trailer park. You know the way, thanks to your time traversing the forest daily in the Upside Down.

As you get closer to the break in the trees, you hear people calling for you. You shuffle there faster.

“I’m here!” you yell, stumbling through the tree line. “I’m here!”

It’s Chief Powell and Hopper, and they look relieved to see you. Officer Callahan and an animal control worker are trying to coax the mama dog and her three pups into crates.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper asks, sitting with you in the backseat of Powell’s truck while the other man radios for an ambulance and a tow truck for your car. The usual gruff timbre to Hopper's voice has a softened edge to it today, like he can sense your emotional fragility.

“Some jerk pushed me off the road. And I thought I saw…I—listen, the mud made the dog’s fur look gray, and I thought it was—”

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Hopper says. “But it’s been two years to the day since you…you know.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t remember,” you admit. “I mean, I knew the anniversary was coming up soon, I just…”

“We were all worried you…did something,” Hopper continues cautiously.

“I wouldn’t,” you say, much too quickly. “I mean, I feel like shit a lot of the time, but…no. I wouldn’t.”

Hopper nods, eyeing you. He doesn’t quite look convinced.

When the ambulance arrives, he rides with you to the hospital. Then, your parents meet you at the ER, while a doctor looks over your ankle.

It’s sprained, but not broken, thankfully. They send you home with a brace, some crutches, painkillers, and instructions to elevate and ice.

The whole drive home, your parents give you a speech about how much they love you and how they want to know how you’re doing, and that if you ever feel low, to talk to them because they can help. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy you, but after today—the fear of seeing what you thought was a demodog, of being back in the wilderness by yourself, even just for a few hours—you appreciate the gesture.

It's after midnight when you get home, and the rain has finally let up. Your dad helps you up the porch stairs, leaning the side with your bad leg against him the whole way. You almost don’t notice the note tacked to the front door until your mom points it out.

It has your name on it. You open it. Parts of it have been scratched out, but you can still read it all.

Hey, Y/N. I was driving around looking for you when Hopper found me. I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be okay.

I’ll swing by tomorrow to chat, if you’re still up for it. If not, no worries. I know it’s a tough time. I just want you to know that I miss you I care about you more than you know I’m here.

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

When Steve comes by the next day, he’s not alone.

You’re surprised to see him and Max Mayfield standing on your porch.

“Uh, hello!” you say. “How are you, Max?”

“Pretty good,” she says, “now that Steve is taking us for ice cream.”

You raise your eyebrows and adjust your stance on your crutches.

“Oh!” you say. You look to Steve. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything about his posture is tense, nervous. You wonder if this is an intervention or something—if you’ll arrive at the ice cream shop and be bombarded by the rest of your friends and a licensed professional promising a “safe space.”

You tell your parents where you’re going, promising a million times that you’ll be careful, and hobble down the porch steps to Steve’s waiting car. He’s a gentleman, one hand hovering behind your back and ready to catch you if you fall.

Max lets you have the passenger seat, likely due to your injury. On the ride over, you consider (politely) asking what she’s doing there, as you expected this conversation would be about the nature of your and Steve’s relationship.

A part of you deep, deep down had hoped he would beg you to take him back. A part of you deeper down felt selfish for that, but it was what you wanted.

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

Steve ends up taking you both to Sonic, pulling into one of the parking spots and pressing the “Order” button. Max leans up from the backseat, sticking her head between the two front seats, and rattles off a complicated order of hot dogs, fries, slushies, and ice cream into the speaker.

“I thought this was just ice cream,” you say with an eyebrow raised.

Max smirks.

“Moneybags Harrington is paying,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I resent that,” Steve grouses. But there’s a sparkle in his eye.

When the food comes, Steve divvies it up amongst the three of you. However, he quickly comes up with a shoddy excuse to step out of the car—something about the fries being a medium instead of a large.

Max climbs over the center console to settle in the driver’s seat.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you’re alone with Max, but it’s definitely not, “Dying and coming back really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Your burger immediately tastes like sandpaper. “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” you say. “Let’s talk about fun things. Have you learned any new skate tricks recently?”

“Don’t deflect,” Max says, waving a french fry at you for emphasis. “Steve said you were having a hard time because no one could relate to you, and I’m probably the only person in the world who can.”

She’s not wrong. After your return to the right side of the universe, you learned that Max woke up from her coma, completely healed, after you killed Vecna and the gates closed. You hadn’t thought about how the two of you had similar, paralleled experiences.

“It does suck,” you say quietly, swirling your spoon around in your ice cream cup. “And I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“For me, it was a lot of anger,” Max says. She fidgets with her own food as she continues. “I couldn’t understand people’s priorities anymore. Like, what do you mean you’re worried about a chem test, Dustin? A few months ago, the world almost ended!”

“I totally get that,” you say, and your heart already feels lighter. “And my parents don’t understand what really happened, so they just don’t get me at all. Why I get so scared, so angry. So jumpy. It makes me feel like I’m a freak in their eyes.”

“I feel like my mom doesn’t even see me anymore,” Max says. She clears her throat and you catch a glimpse of tears gathering on her lash line before she roughly wipes them away. “Like to her, I’m a ghost.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say. She scoffs.

“And there’s another annoying thing,” Max says. “The empty platitudes to make us feel better. That shit doesn’t fix anything!”

You’re not offended by her outburst, because you honestly agree. The two of you lament a bit longer, and by the end of the conversation, you’re feeling on top of the world. Sure, nothing is really fixed. But you finally realize that you have a kindred spirit in all this.

You and Max make a plan to do things together more often. You’re seeing her as a de facto little sister already, and you’re hopeful that your planned meetings will be just as beneficial for her as they are for you.

Steve comes back after what seems like a millennium, shooing Max back to the backseat.

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

And it’s been a year to the day since you returned.

You expect to feel more anxious than you do. Instead, you feel peaceful.

You’re doing a lot better, genuinely. You found a new therapist (sorry, Elaine) and since it’s someone who worked with Dr. Owens, you’re able to spill all the gory details of your past and your trauma. Healing isn’t easy, but you feel yourself slowly sewing yourself back together again.

You and Max stick to your word and take weekly trips to Sonic. You talk about the heavy stuff, but also the normal life stuff. You sometimes have guests. This past week, Lucas and Mike tagged along, arguing the whole time about what should happen in the Ghostbusters sequel that’s supposed to release next year.

You and Steve…ah, what’s there to say. You want him back, but you imploded the relationship and it feels selfish to waltz up to him and say, “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get back together?”

However, you’ve officially enrolled for the fall semester at U of I. While he’s home from Hawkins for summer break, under the guise of asking for tips about campus life, you spend a lot of time with him.

You also spend time in the library, doing some studying to catch up before you start your classes in the fall. Your high school graduation was a lifetime ago. Literally.

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan join you for those summertime study sessions, although Jonathan and Robin usually bicker over the music theory books and Steve doesn’t get much done except for doodling in his notebook. But sometimes you catch him staring at you, and then his cheeks flush pink in that adorable way that makes you want to do something stupid, like beg him to take you back.

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

…which you find out he does, during the summer solstice.

You’re at the county fair with your friends, but they’ve all run off to watch the fireworks, so it’s just you and Steve at a picnic table downing sodas and cotton candy.

Your fingers wrap around the cool glass of a now-empty Coke bottle, and you place it on the tabletop. You attempt to look nonchalant as you spin it slowly.

Once it’s picked up momentum, you let it go, watching it spin a few more times before stopping it with your hand when the bottle neck points at Steve.

“It’s you,” you whisper, attempting to recreate that magical first kiss moment from years and years ago. You clear your throat at Steve’s dumbfounded expression. “Ah, sorry. You don’t have to kiss me. I was just…”

To your pleasant surprise, Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Well, gee, Y/N,” he says. “If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

A million canaries titter a love song in your heart as he leans forward.

The two of you kiss, for the first time in a long time.

The great divide in your soul is starting to seal. And everything feels right.

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

tags; @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @wisdomssdaughterr @huffledor-able541 @springautumn

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 4: Zeus, God Of Thunder]

A/N: Can you believe we're already 1/3 done with this series?? I sure can't! I hope you enjoy Chapter 4. I'm so excited to show you where we're headed. The times are indeed a-changin'... 😉

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 7.3k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs @minttea07 @babyblue711

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You unzip the floral suitcase that Alicent gave the nurses to pack for you. Inside are the hundreds of greeting cards sent by people from the Atlantic to the Rockies; downstairs, Eudoxia is distributing a dozen bouquets of flowers throughout the house with appropriate grimness, and more arrive each hour. You lift cards out of the suitcase by the handful and lay them down on your bed. Every movement feels slow, every thought muddled, bare feet in cold wet sand that swallows you to your ankles. The windows are open, the sheer curtains billowing. The wind whips in off the ocean, smelling of brine and sun glare, life and death.

Aemond emerges from the bathroom in a gale of steam. He finishes adjusting his eyepatch and then dresses himself: white shorts, blue polo. Aemond wears a lot of blue. It is Greek, is it American, it is the Democratic Party, it is the color of the sky that was once believed to hold Olympus, it is everything he’s ever been or wanted to be. He’s humming The House Of The Rising Sun. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since the night before he caught his flight to Tacoma.

Beneath the greeting cards you find the books, cosmetics, and three new sundresses, none of which you ended up wearing home. Alicent bought you a plain black shift dress, matching gloves and flats, and opaque sunglasses to hide your face from the journalists who waited outside the hospital. And there is one last item to unpack. At the bottom of the suitcase is a clear plastic bag containing fabric, white dotted with bruises of common blue violets. At first you are confounded, and then you turn it over to see the dark, saturated stain of crimson. It’s the sundress you were wearing the day you were rushed to Mount Sinai to have Ari. The nurses hadn’t known if you wanted to keep it, burn it, bury it.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s surprised by the question. He goes to his writing desk and turns the chair around so it’s facing you. He sits, crosses one leg over the other, leans back and hides his hands in his pockets. His tone is gentle, but his gaze is hard. “By the time I heard that you’d had the baby, it was already over. You were out of surgery, he was in an incubator, and that was the immutable reality. I figured there was nothing I could do at that point to improve the outcome. And that’s true. Me flying back early wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But you should have been there,” you insist, eyes wet, voice quivering. “You should have known him like I did.”

“Winning Washington was important.”

“Washington is a basket of votes, Ari was our child, he was real.”

“No one told me he was dying—”

“Because you didn’t pick up the fucking phone.”

Aemond is incredulous, like he couldn’t have heard you correctly. “It’s not like I was playing golf or drinking myself under some bar, I was campaigning 20 hours a day and it worked.”

“Nothing on earth could have kept me away from you when you got shot in Palm Beach.”

“So maybe it wasn’t just about Washington,” Aemond says, and his words aren’t gentle anymore. They are razored, dauntless, daring you to battle him. “It’s about the whole picture, it’s about the momentum. If I had underperformed in Washington, the dominoes would fall in Kentucky, and Utah, and Virginia, and then at the national convention in August, and then against Nixon in November. I don’t have the luxury of disappearing from the public eye to sit adoringly by your bedside when we both know there isn’t a single goddamn thing I can do to help.”

“It would have made you look like a better man.”

“But not a better president.”

And like a fracture being snapped back into place, you remember what Aegon said on that bloodstained night in Florida: You’re a vessel. You’re a cow. And one day he’ll be done with you. You stare down at the ruined dress entombed in plastic, still clutched in your hands. You don’t dare to let Aemond see your eyes. You’re afraid you won’t be able to disguise the betrayal glistening there. You ask, a whisper, a whimper: “Why aren’t you sad?” I thought you loved him. I thought you were always so worried about him.

“Of course I’m sad,” Aemond says, more kindly now, patiently, like he’s speaking to someone who can’t be expected to comprehend. “But it’s different for the mother.”

You can’t reply. If you do, something lethal will pour out, smoke and poison and arrows, something that shoots to kill. Ari was quietly interred at the Targaryen family mausoleum in Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park. It had felt so wrong to leave his tiny casket there in a silent stone prison full of strangers.

Aemond is behind you now, trying to knead the tension out of your shoulders. And for the first time in two years, you wish he’d stop touching you. Your belly hurts, your head hurts, your heart hurts, you are a garden blooming with bruises and scars. “I know you aren’t in your right mind. Everything will be better soon. I promise.”

Tears gather on your eyelashes. “I miss him.”

“We’ll have others. Here, let me take that…” Aemond grabs the bag holding your ruined dress and it’s out of your reach before you can think to resist. “You should get ready for dinner.”

“Okay,” you reply numbly, now gazing down at your empty palms. Aemond leaves with his grisly parcel, and you never see it again. But once he’s gone you don’t shed your black mourning dress, blood-soaked pad, bandages, and shake loose your hair and step into the shower. Instead, you walk around the bed to pick up the mint green rotary phone on your nightstand. You speak to a series of operators before you reach the Harbour Rocks Hotel in Sydney. While you listen to the ringing through the intercontinental wire, you sit down on the bed. You’ve never felt low like this. You’ve never felt so unmoored from everything you had believed about your life.

A gruff, familiar voice answers. He’s just waking up, slurping on his morning coffee, dabbing his moustache with a napkin. “Hello?”

“Daddy, I don’t think I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“What?” he asks, and immediately he is no longer groggy but desperately concerned. Your parents are away on a month-long tour of Australia and often incommunicado. By the time they received news of Ari’s death and called Mount Sinai in hysterics to speak with you, you had told them not to rush home. You were about to be released, and they would not make it in time for the funeral regardless. Aemond insisted on a swift, private ceremony, a detour on the drive back to Asteria, like it was something he couldn’t wait to put in his rearview mirror. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“Aemond, he…” He’s not the man I thought he was. I don’t know him, I don’t trust him. “He’s not acting right, he’s not…he didn’t…Daddy, it’s like he doesn’t care. And I don’t want to be here anymore. Can I fly down to Tarpon Springs when you and Mama get back? Can I stay with you for a while? And then…and then…” You don’t even know what words you’re looking for. They don’t exist in your universe.

 “Listen, honey,” your father says with great tenderness. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” You’re trying to stifle your sobs so no one downstairs hears you.

“You’ve just been through something terrible. So terrible I can’t even imagine it. And of course you’re feeling out of sorts. But Aemond is your husband, he’s your protector and your ally, your best friend, your partner in life. He’s not the one responsible for what happened. You can’t misdirect your heartache at him.”

“But he’s…Daddy, there’s…there’s something wrong with him.”

“Oftentimes, it’s easier for women to talk about their emotions, both good and bad. But for men—especially men like Aemond who are so self-disciplined by nature—it can be like pulling teeth to express themselves. They don’t like to be vulnerable. They actually think they’re failing in their commitments to their wife if they let her see how much they’re struggling. Aemond is hurting just like you are. He might not show it in the way you expect, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Of course he cares.”

How do you know, Daddy? Have you cut him open and studied his brain, his ropy nerves, the dark chambers of his heart? “I thought he saw me like you see Mama, I thought he included me in everything because he loved and respected me, but that’s not it. He just needs someone to help him get elected, that’s all Ari and I were to him, and I can’t…I just can’t…the thought of him touching me now…”

“Sweetheart, Aemond is a good man,” your father says. “He does love you. He does respect you. And he’s doing such incredible things for this country. I have friends in Florida who’ve been voting Republican since Hoover, but they’re crossing over for Aemond. They think he’s the one to clean up this mess. Vietnam, poverty, civil rights, the riots, the shootings, the hippies, the drugs, the Russians, the Chinese, someone has to pick up the pieces and create something that makes sense. Do you think Nixon or Humphrey would end the war by this time next year? Do you think either of them would compel the South to enforce voting rights or desegregation?”

“No,” you say, closing your eyes. But that doesn’t mean I can forget what I’ve learned about Aemond.

“Here, your mom wants to say something.” Your father vanishes; your mother’s voice comes piping across the copper submarine cables that span the length of the Pacific Ocean. You wonder—randomly, distractedly—if any of the wires connecting you to Sydney run through Arizona, the place Aegon told you he didn’t want to leave.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Mama.”

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, distraught, hearing the exhaustion and misery in your voice. “You’ve got the baby blues, and no baby to hold good and close to help them run their course. I’m so sorry. It’s just awful, so awful.”

You speak before you know what you’re going to say. “I don’t want to be married to Aemond anymore.”

“You’re confused, sweetheart. Your hormones are all over the place, you’re in pain, you’ve just had major surgery, and after this year with all the stress from the campaign and that horrific shooting in Palm Beach—”

“He’s not like Daddy.” Tears are flooding down your cheeks; your voice is hoarse. “I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“You cannot make a mistake like this,” your mother says, and she’s turned from silk to steel. “If you do something drastic now, you’ll wake up in a month or six months or a year and realize you’ve ruined not just your life, but the chance this country had at a better future. Don’t you realize what’s at stake here? Every marriage goes through tough times. Every husband needs to learn how to care for his wife, and every wife how to best support her husband. That’s natural, and you’ve only been married two years. Of course you and Aemond are still learning how to navigate life together. It only seems so much worse because of what’s happened to the baby.”

Is she right? Am I wrong? “I don’t know,” you say weakly.

“If you leave now, what happens?” your mother demands. “You abandon the campaign and Aemond’s support plummets. You are a divorcee, a sinner, a failure. You don’t get your son back. But you do lose everything you’ve helped build. Marriage isn’t an experiment, ‘oh let’s give it a try and if we hit any bumps we’ll call the whole thing off.’ No. It’s a covenant. Marriage is for life.”

Yes it is, in just about every faith, and certainly for the Greek Orthodox Church. You are suddenly consumed by mistrust for your own body, this flesh that failed your son and now is deceiving you with doubt so heavy—like cold iron or lead or platinum—it masquerades as truth. How could you imagine a life after Aemond? What waits for you in Tarpon Springs besides the promise of an eventual remarriage that is banal, powerless, bleak, exactly what you’ve always plotted so willfully to avoid?

“Do you understand me, honey?” your mother asks, and she’s soft and kind again. “I don’t mean to be strict with you. My heart breaks for you, and I love you. I’m not trying to upset you. I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

“Yes.” There are people getting massacred in Vietnam right now; there are people who can’t afford roofs over their heads. Who am I to complain? Your tears have stopped; your breathing is now slow and measured. “Yes, Mama. I understand.”

After you’ve hung up, you stay where you are for a long time, your hands folded limply in your lap and gazing at the paintings hung on the pale blue walls: small replicas of The Birth of Venus, Romulus and Remus, Prometheus Bound, Perseus Rescuing Andromeda, Echo and Narcissus, Jupiter and Io. Then you get up to sift through the greeting cards you’ve piled on the bed, not really seeing them. Only one captures your attention. Only one jolts you out of the fog like a flash of lightning through dark churning clouds.

You take the card Aegon gave you back when you were still a mother and set it upright on your nightstand, consider it for a while, wander into the bathroom to scrub the despair from your skin and change into something less somber for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re playing Battleship with Cosmo by the edge of the swimming pool while all the other children splash around, howling with laughter and diving for toys they throw to the bottom and then fetch with their teeth like golden retrievers, G.I. Joes and Barbies and Trolls and even a waterlogged Mr. Potato Head. The nannies are observing intently, poised to leap in if anyone should appear to be at risk of drowning. If Ari had lived, I wouldn’t have wanted nannies to raise him, you think. I would have wanted him to have a normal childhood. I would have wanted to know him.

“Your turn,” Cosmo says with a grin. He’s the one who looks the most like Aegon, or how you imagine Aegon must have looked before the pills and the booze and the long caged decades. His hair is so light a blonde it’s nearly white, his eyes huge and glimmering and mischievous. Battleship is a bit advanced for a five-year-old. Cosmo keeps guessing the same coordinates over and over, so you periodically lie and tell him he’s sunk one of your ships. When you launch a successful attack against his, he seems to think it’s fair game to relocate the vessel to a more advantageous location.

“D7.”

He picks up his aircraft carrier and repositions it. From the record player drifts California Dreamin’. “Nope! Nothing sank!”

“Wow. I’m so bad at this.”

Cosmo is snickering. “Yeah, you are. Really bad.”

“If I got drafted, the Army would be better off leaving me at home. I’d just be a nuisance.”

“What’s drafted?”

“Never mind. Your turn to guess.”

“J12!”

The grid only goes up to 10. Nonetheless, you slap your own forehead dramatically. “Oh no, not again! You sunk my battleship!”

“Yay!” Cosmo cheers, then turns to the Jacuzzi. It’s brand new, just installed last month. “Mom, did you see? I’m winning!”

You glance over at Mimi. She has passed out, her latest Gimlet drained and her head resting atop her crossed arms, propped on the rim of the Jacuzzi. “Uh, Cosmo, run inside and ask Doxie to make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, okay?”

“Okay.” He scampers off, toddling on reckless little legs.

With no shortage of difficulty, you manage to stand. Each day your abdominal muscles feel less like they’ve been shredded and then mended with threads of fire, but the pain is still bad, very bad, and there are spots of skin on your belly that are numb when you skim your fingertips across them. You will have a long vertical scar like Aemond’s, an irreparable reminder of the blood you’ve paid to the cause. And for all your anguish, this particular fact doesn’t torment you. It is proof that Ari existed, however briefly, however futilely.

You amble over to the Jacuzzi, your roomy lavender dress flowing in the wind, and shove one of Mimi’s shoulders. “Mimi, wake up. Get out of the water.”

She mumbles incoherently in response. You reach for her before remembering you can’t lift anything. You look around. Alicent and Helaena are on lounge chairs at the other end of the pool; Alicent is trying very hard to look interested while Helaena shows her about 100 different butterfly species pictured in a kaleidoscopically colorful book. Criston is off giving Ludwika a tour of the property, flanked by a flock of Alopekis hoping for treats. Ludwika is Otto’s wife of six months but only newly arrived, 30 years old, perpetually unimpressed, modelesque, golden blonde, if Barbie was from Poland. Aemond, Otto, and Viserys—his sparse threads of silver hair hanging like cobwebs around his gaunt face, grimacing and clutching the armrests of his wheelchair—are conspiring on the lawn between the main house and the pool. They haven’t noticed your predicament. Fosco is sauntering by wearing some of the tiniest swim shorts you’ve ever seen. He is the son of an Italian count, gangly and chatty and from what you’ve seen almost certainly addicted to gambling.

“Will you help me move Mimi, please?” you ask him. “I’m afraid she’s going to drown.”

“Of course, of course, no problem. Let me handle it. Do not hurt yourself.” He has her half-dragged out of the Jacuzzi before Mimi startles awake.

“What’s going on?” she slurs. “Put me down, I can walk.”

“I doubt it,” you say.

“You are alright?” Fosco asks Mimi as he steadies her on the cement, wet with pool water. She clutches at his forearms helplessly.

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”

“Mimi, go inside,” you say. “Eat a sandwich. Tell Cosmo you’re proud of him for winning Battleship.”

“Battleship? Well, that’s just ridiculous. He’s five. Five-year-olds can’t play Battleship.”

“And yet you will congratulate him regardless.”

She can feel your impatience, your judgement, sharp like wasp stings. Mimi retreats like a kicked dog to the main house, somehow summoning the will to remain mostly upright.

You look to Fosco. “Do you know where Aegon is?” You want to see him, but you also don’t; each time you’re in the same room now is a disorienting storm of familiarity, curiosity, painful reminders, annoyance, awkwardness, longingness to again feel as close to him—to anyone—as you did during those fleeting moments at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan.

Fosco chuckles. “Where is he ever? Napping, sailing, drinking, on the phone with one of his lady friends. I could not say. I have not seen him recently.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.” The music stops—the record needs to be flipped over—and now you can just barely hear what Aemond, Otto, and Viserys are discussing.

“And you criticized me for going too young,” Aemond says to Otto. “What’s your age difference with Ludwika? 40 years?”

“She’s good publicity. She defected from the Eastern Bloc in search of the American Dream.”

“Being married to you?” Aemond quips. “I think she found the American Nightmare.”

“Speaking of wives,” Otto continues. “I assume since yours had one surgery, that’s how all the future children will need to be born, is that right?”

Aemond nods, frowning. “Yeah. And the doctors said she shouldn’t have more than three. It weakens the uterus, I guess, all that slicing and suturing. Do it too many times and ruptures get more likely, and those can be fatal.”

“Very unfortunate,” Viserys rasps. “Children are our greatest legacy. I wanted at least ten, but your mother…well…after Daeron, it just never happened again.” And you know that this is just one of the ways in which Aemond had planned to win his father’s admiration: by contributing more new Targaryens to the dynasty than anyone else. Now that’s impossible.

Otto sighs wistfully. “To have a brand new baby to parade around in the fall…that would have been wonderful.” For the first time in two years, you can sense that you have disappointed him. Fosco is watching you, uneasy, ashamed, sorry without knowing what to do about it.

“Absolutely,” Aemond says, as if this is not the first time the thought has crossed his mind. “But it’s done now. There’s no sense in dwelling on what might have been. We must look forward. It’s feasible that…well…if we try again and get good news by October, we can announce in time for Election Day…”

You can’t listen anymore. Your belly aching, your bare feet hurrying through warm emerald grass, you traverse the lawn and disappear into Helaena’s garden, painstakingly tended and continuously expanded since she was a little girl. There are marigolds and daffodils, tulips and roses, azaleas, asters, butterfly bushes, chrysanthemums, lilies and lupines, sunflowers, violets, life blooming in a hundred different shades. There are tiny statues too, tucked away in random places, stone angels and untamed creatures, alligators and turtles and rabbits and cats, the only sort the Alopekis will tolerate. At the very center of the garden is a tall circle of hedges with only one opening, an arched doorway cut into the thick lush green. You’ve been here before, though only with Aemond. On a property shared with so many family members—and the occasional intrusive journalist—it’s a good place to escape prying eyes. You pass through the threshold with a hand resting absentmindedly on your belly, as if you’re still pregnant. You keep doing this. Each time you remember you’re at the end of something rather than the beginning, it carves you open all over again.

Around the inside perimeter of the circle are twelve sculptures positioned like numbers on a clock: eleven Olympians and Hades, confined to the Underworld. In the middle of the clearing is the largest stature of all, a wrathful Zeus hurling lightning bolts and surrounded by a gurgling fountain of glass-clear water. Under the shadow of Zeus, Aegon is sprawled on the ground and smoking a joint. “So you’re hiding from them too, huh?” He gives you a sly, welcome-to-the-club smirk, then offers you his joint. “Want a hit?”

You shake your head, not taking another step towards him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

He is confused. “Done what?”

“Any of it.” I told him about my life before. I made the mistake of thinking I could go back.

Aegon still doesn’t seem to understand. “You’re scared I’m gonna snitch?”

You shrug, evasive. It’s not just the fact that he knows. It’s the sensation that you’ve unlatched something—an attic room, a jewelry box, a birdcage—and now you can’t get it locked again, and the door rattles with every footstep and storm wind, and you are no longer Aphrodite or Io but Pandora, a hunger growing in your stitched womb like a child.

“What? What’s wrong with you?” And that’s always how he says it, not what’s the matter or are you alright or what did I do or how can I fix it?

“I’m kind of…embarrassed, I guess.”

“Embarrassed,” Aegon echoes. “Because of me?”

“I feel like I said and did a lot of things that were out of character because I was emotionally compromised.”

“They were out of character for who you’ve been trying to convince everyone you are since you married Aemond, sure. But they weren’t out of character for you.”

He’s treading too close now, arrows piercing their mark, a tremor near the epicenter. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Au contraire, I have acquired many interesting revelations recently.”

“Where’d you learn French? From Mimi?”

His smile dies. “Boarding school.”

You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know how to be around Aegon without either hating him or letting him see parts of yourself that you’re trying to drown like Icarus in the waves. You glance yearningly towards the doorway cut into the hedges.

All at once, Aegon is furious. “You don’t want to talk to me? You want to go back to how it was before, you want to pretend Mount Sinai never happened? Fine. You got it. Wish fucking granted. Whatever you have to do.”

He turns away from you. You flee from him. But that night when Asteria is hushed and still—Aemond, Criston, and Otto are attending a fundraising dinner in Philadelphia, and you are temporarily excused from accompanying them as you recover—you creep down into the basement of the main house to apologize. Mimi sleeps in a bedroom on the second floor, but here Aegon can keep odd hours and drink and smoke to his heart’s content, and even entertain clandestine guests, girls who are beautiful and giggling and never invited twice.

Aegon isn’t here. He might be passed out somewhere, or at a party, or maybe even upstairs with Mimi, and something about this idea twists through your mending guts like a blade. In his absence, you take a quick look around his room, something you’ve never done before. You hadn’t had any interest; it wouldn’t even have occurred to you. There’s a large green futon, a matching shag carpet, a television, a bookshelf full of notebooks and paperbacks—Kurt Vonnegut, Harper Lee, Sylvia Plath, Truman Capote, Ken Kesey—and vinyl albums, a record player, and his two acoustic guitars. The first is unpainted maple wood covered with stickers. I’d rather be nowhere reads one; Burn pot not people proclaims another. The second guitar is the souvenir he bought in Manhattan, an aquamarine blue six-string.

There's something strange on his end table. Along with a dozen empty cups is a full ashtray, and there’s a folded piece of paper tucked underneath. You slide the paper out and open it. It’s the receipt you used to solve the long division problem in your hospital room.

Why would he keep this? you think, mystified. There are footsteps above your head, and you quickly return the receipt to where you found it and leave before your trespass can be discovered.

When you emerge from the basement, Fosco is waiting in the hallway and carrying a Tupperware container filled with something that resembles kourabiethes, Greek shortbread cookies. “I thought I saw you sneak down there. What were you looking for?”

You scramble for an explanation. “One of the dogs is missing. Alicent wanted me to check the basement.”

“Ah, yes, I see.” He passes you the Tupperware container. “These are for you. I hope they are not too bad. I baked them myself.”

“Are they…” You shake it. “Biscotti?”

“They are ossi dei morti,” Fosco says. “Bones of the dead. We make them to remember loved ones we have lost. They are hard, so you should dip them in coffee or tea before you try to eat them.”

You open the lid. Inside are long thin cookies coated with powdered sugar. You inhale almond flour, cloves, cinnamon. And you are so touched you cannot find your words.

“You know, there still places in Italy where mothers wear black for years to mourn their children.” This is not trivia; it is an acknowledgement. Your son is gone. There is no shame in the grief that is left behind. In another house, it would be expected, it would be required.

“Thank you, Fosco.”

He smiles warmly. “We are in this together, no? We are pieces of the same machine.”

Then he plods off towards the living room, sliding a rolled-up horse racing program out of the back pocket of his tight plaid pants.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re in Louisville, Kentucky, where thunder quakes the eaves. An hour ago, Aegon was popping Valium and leisurely plucking at his pool water blue Gibson guitar, slumped against the wall, nipping at a flask filled with straight Bacardi. But he’s not anymore. Now he’s gathered around the small color television with you, Criston, Otto, Fosco, Helaena, and Ludwika. The news is just breaking. There was a civil rights protest at the University of Kentucky in Lexington one hour to the east. Someone threw a rock, or someone claims someone threw a rock, or someone threw something that was mistaken for a rock, and in any event the situation escalated from there and local police who were monitoring the demonstration opened fire on a crowd, killing five students and injuring another dozen.

Outside, word is spreading through the crowd of over 2,000 people that have gathered for Aemond’s planned speech at the historic Iroquois Amphitheater, a New Deal project finished in 1938. Rain is pouring, and the venue has no roof. Aemond is already 20 minutes late. The voices are becoming louder, more demanding, more wrathful. They’re shouting that Aemond is too afraid to face them now, that he’s trying to figure out what his statement will be, that he’s cowardly and calculating; and if President Lyndon Baines Johnson was here tonight instead of cursing his bad stars up in Washington D.C., he would certainly have something to say about the capriciousness of voters who love you, hate you, carry you higher, drag you down, all without ever knowing you.

In truth, Aemond is not stalling on purpose. He’s in the bathroom trying to get his prosthetic eye in. It’s been giving him hell all afternoon. He wears his eyepatch at home, but he’s never made a public appearance without his glass eye clean and perfect in his voided socket.

“He’s going to have to say something about it,” you tell the others as you watch the news coverage.

“Say what?” Otto snaps. “If he doesn’t treat those dead kids like martyrs he’s going to get booed off the stage. If he condemns the police he’s going to lose the suburbs. They’ll run to Humphrey now and Nixon in November.”

The weather report called for storms—which is why Alicent, Mimi, and the children are already back at the Seelbach Hotel for the night after a long day of shaking hands and smiling gamely—but no one expected it to get this bad. The room you’re huddled in is just off-stage, so you can see it all: the wind ripping signs and flags from people’s hands, drenched clothes, sopping hair, snarling faces, rain turning puddles to rivers. The stomping of boots is now as loud as the thunder. Rocks and bottles are being pitched at the stage.

“Is America always like this?” Ludwika asks, scandalized.

“No, not at all,” Otto says. “Goddamn animals…”

Aegon replies, not taking his eyes from the television: “You’d be mad too if cops were shooting your friends and the only graduation present you had to look forward to was getting disemboweled by guerillas in Vietnam.”

“I’ve had it with you and your Marxist bullshit! You want to liberate the dispossessed masses? Why don’t you start by donating your monthly drugs and rum budget to the—”

“We should cancel,” Fosco says. “Just call the whole thing off. Tell them Aemond is sick or something.”

“That’s the headline you want? ‘Senator Targaryen hides from grieving supporters who braved a thunderstorm to see him’?! Just give the White House to Nixon now!”

“I don’t think we can cancel,” Criston says softly. “I think if we tried to leave, they’d swarm the car.”

“It’s a riot,” Otto moans, rubbing his face with his hands. “This is what happens when you court voters like this, college kids and hippies, professional malcontents…”

“Aren’t there police outside?” Ludwika says anxiously.

“Yeah, a handful,” Criston tells her. “And if they try to do anything this will erupt and we can add to the body count in Lexington…”

You leave them and follow a hallway to the men’s bathroom; on the periphery of your vision, you can tell that Aegon is watching you go. You push the door open and find a row of stalls and three sinks, one of which Aemond is standing in front of as he stares into his reflection and attempts to shove the prosthetic eye into his empty, gore-red left socket. His suit is navy blue, his hair neatly slicked back, his shoes so polished they’re reflective like a mirror.

“Fuck,” he hisses, flinching. His right cheek is wet with tears of frustration and agony. It’s July 26th, and tomorrow are the final three state conventions in the Democratic primary. Humphrey is almost certain to take Utah; Virginia will go to Governor Mills Godwin, who is only running in his home state to control the delegates and will hand them over to whoever he feels is most worthy in August. But Aemond is the favorite to win here in Kentucky. Or at least, he was an hour ago.

“What can I do? What do you need?”

“You can’t do anything. It’s…it’s this goddamn nerve pain, it feels like I’m being fucking stabbed, I can’t get the muscles to relax enough…”

Like an apology, you say: “Aemond, the crowd is getting out of control.”

“So you came in here to rush me?”

“No, I’m here to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re doing the exact opposite.”

“I think you should give this speech with your eyepatch on. It looks good, and you’ll be as comfortable as possible, and the crowd won’t have to wait any longer than they have already.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please—”

“No! FDR didn’t make speeches in his wheelchair and I’m not making mine without my eye in.”

“Do you want me to get you Aegon’s pills? Rum, weed?”

“You don’t think I’ve already taken something?” He tries to force his eye in again and strikes his fist against the sink when he can’t.

Then you ask gingerly: “Do you know what you’re going to say about the shooting?”

“Get out!” Aemond shouts. “You’re making it worse, just get the fuck out! Go!”

You bolt from the bathroom, hands trembling, throat burning. You don’t want to return to the television where the others are standing; you’re worried they’ll be able to tell how upset you are. You go to the edge of the stage, arms crossed protectively over your chest, and peek out into the crowd. Above their chants and jeers and howled threats, lightning splits the sky.

I don’ t think we’re going to be able to find our way out of this one. I think this is the end of the road.

“Hey,” Aegon says, tapping your shoulder. “Back up.”

“I’m fine here.”

“No you’re not.” He grabs your arm and tugs you farther backstage. Seconds later, an Absolut Vodka bottle explodes into crystalline shrapnel where you were standing. You yelp and Aegon gives you a little eyebrow raise. I told you, he means.

“Someone has to go out there,” Otto says, still lurking by the television. Fosco is comforting Helaena, who is quietly weeping; Ludwika is watching the news coverage in horror, surely reconsidering all her life choices. A sixth University of Kentucky student has been declared dead. “We can’t wait.”

“No we can’t,” Criston agrees. Then they both turn to you expectantly.

Your blood goes icy. Tonight was meant to be your first official appearance since the baby. Your hair is up, your dress a navy blue to match Aemond’s suit, gold chains around your wrist and throat, a gold chain of a belt. You thought you were ready. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Don’t you look at her,” Aegon says, sharp like a scalpel, like a bullet, like something that punctures arteries and lungs. “They’re throwing glass. You figure something else out, don’t even look at her.”

Otto relents, perhaps halfheartedly. “No, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Criston starts heading for the bathroom to get Aemond. Otto is watching the television again, his face vacuous as his ambitions are carried away by a flood of rain, wind, rage, blood. Aegon snatches his guitar from where he left it by the wall. He tosses the strap over his head, gives the strings a few experimental strums and retunes them, starts walking towards the stage.

“Aegon, what are you doing?” you ask, panicked.

“Someone has to distract the crowd.”

“No, stop, you can’t—”

“Hey,” Aegon says. And when you glance past him at the uproarious, storm-drenched frenzy, he turns your face back to his to make sure you’re listening. His hand is insistent but gentle, his voice steady. “Don’t go out there. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, startled.

He gives you one last small, parting smile, a flash of his teeth, a daring glint in his murky blue eyes. Then he’s out in the torrential rain, soaked to the skin in seconds. His frayed green Army jacket clings to him; his hair is ravaged by the wind. As he takes his place behind the microphone, a stone that someone has hurled skates by him and nicks the apple of his left cheek. You can see a trickle of blood snaking down his sunburned skin before the rain washes it away; you feel a desperate gnawing dread that someone will hurt him, not just here but anywhere, not just now but ever. The crowd is still seething, shouting, stomping their feet to join the inescapable growl of the thunder. Aegon’s pick flies over the guitar strings as he begins playing, raindrops cast from his fingers like spells. At first, you can barely hear him.

“Come gather ‘round, people, wherever you roam

And admit that the waters around you have grown

And accept it that soon you’ll be drenched to the bone

If your time to you is worth saving

And you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is settling down now. Some of them are singing along. You can feel that Otto, Ludwika, Fosco, and Helaena are gathering around you, but you don’t grasp anything they’re saying. You can’t tear your eyes from Aegon. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time, this radiant sunbeam of a man, a light in dark places, a constellation that whispers myths through the ink-spill indigo of the night sky. How could you ever have hated him? How could you ever have thought he was worthless?

“Come writers and critics who prophesize with your pen

And keep your eyes wide, the chance won’t come again

And don’t speak too soon, for the wheel’s still in spin

And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s naming

For the loser now will be later to win

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Aemond and Criston appear beside you at the edge of the stage; Aemond’s prosthetic eye has at last been successfully placed with no lingering evidence of a struggle. You expect him to apologize for what he said in the bathroom, but he doesn’t. Instead he says when he sees Aegon: “What the hell is he doing?”

“Saving your career,” you reply simply.

“Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call

Don’t stand in the doorway, don’t block up the hall

For he that gets hurt will be he who has stalled

The battle outside raging

Will soon shake your windows and rattle your walls

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Now Aegon peers pointedly off-stage to where Otto Hightower is gawking. Aegon beams, throws his head back to get his dripping hair out of his eyes, comes back to the mic.

“Come mothers and fathers throughout the land

And don’t criticize what you can’t understand

Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command

Your old road is rapidly aging

Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand

For the times, they are a-changin’”

Everyone you can see in the crowd is singing and swaying. It’s not just a Bob Dylan song from 1964 but an anthem, a prayer, a rallying cry, a dire warning for the powers at be.

“The line, it is drawn, the curse, it is cast

The slow one now will later be fast

As the present now will later be past

The order is rapidly fading

And the first one now will later be last

For the times, they are a-changin’”

The audience is applauding and whistling. Aegon steals a glimpse of where you are standing backstage, checks that Aemond is still there with you and that he’s ready.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aegon broadcasts with a wicked grin. “I am now proud to present the next president of the United States of America, Senator Aemond Targaryen!”

And Aemond is crossing the stage, no trace of pain or self-consciousness or prey-animal fear, no mere mortal but someone chosen by the gods, and the rain is slowing to a drizzle, and the clouds are opening to let through rare pinprick aisles of daylight, and the riotous spectators are now his disciples, exorcised of any rage they’ve ever felt for the scarred senator from New Jersey. He and his family are not the enemy; they are the solution. They are revolutionaries who have bled for the cause. They bring with them the change that is required. Aegon steps back and the rest of you join him in a semi-circle like a crescent moon behind Aemond. When you walk out onto the stage, the cheers swell to screams.

Aegon takes off his guitar and then leans into you. “He’s lucky you aren’t 35,” Aegon whispers, soft lips that curl into a smile as they brush your ear. And he’s teasing you but he’s not mocking, he’s not mean. He’s so close you share the same atmosphere, the same gravity. “Maybe when he finishes up his second term you can start building your resume for your first.”

“I want your endorsement.”

“From the disgraced former mayor of Trenton? What an honor. You’ll have to fight for it.”

You ball up a fist and playfully bump your knuckles against his chin. He pretends to bite at you. And you laugh for the first time since a doctor and priest entered your hospital room 13 days ago. Aegon slings an arm around your shoulders, pulls you against him, soaks you in his rain.

“Today in Lexington, we lost six brave and brilliant souls,” Aemond says, his voice booming through the amphitheater. A hush ripples through the crowd as they listen, enraptured. “Their sacrifice was for the most noble of causes, but they should never have been forced to pay the ultimate price. They deserved long, full lives in a better America than the one we now call home. This tragedy is a symptom of the sickness that has infected this nation, a fatal failure to empathize with our fellow countrymen, a deafness to pleas for justice, a blindness to mercy. But the remedy is within all of us, for it is our own humanity. When we purge the diseases of war, prejudice, and ravenous greed, we will reclaim our best selves—our true selves—and our nation will at last be cured.”

The amphitheater is illuminated with not only strobing lightning but the flashbulbs of cameras. The journalists have arrived just in time.

[buckysxgal]

One Piece Fanfiction Recs

** if an author has multiple fics on here i only mentioned them once **

Eustass "Captain" Kid

Eustass & Pipsqueak [18+] by @honeysworld-offanfiction

Payback [18+] by @icy-spicy

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This by @sofixxoxo

Sex and Violence [18+] by @zoros-sheath

Magnet Crush by @muenbear

KIDD; soft and loving kidd [18+] by @matchadobo

Just a Name One | Two by @escenariosinfumables

KIDD; calm to his storm by matchadobo

KIDD; fvck me like you love me [18+] by matchadobo

Botherin' Me [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

KIDD; 3 times he almost said i love you and the 1 time he actually did by matchadobo

Flowers Are Stupid by @sheerxfiction

An Eye for an Eye by icy-spicy

Safe Haven by @sofixxoxo

You're lost, unsure if they can find you by @eustasssimp

Making the reader cry (good) by eustasssimp

Language! [18+] by @sanjis-all-blue

Furtive by @myonepiece

Massacre Soldier Killer

Close Encounters by @heyitsdoe

Shooting Stars by @motherofflies

It's Okay to be Difference [18+] by @anemptypuddingcup

Killer's Baby Girl [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

You Don't Need It, You Want It [18+] by sheerxfiction

Killer's Darlin [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

Killer's Straw Hat Crush by myonepiece

Wearing His Shirt by eustasssimp

Kitchen Mischief by sheerxfiction

Roronoa Zoro

Rip My Ribcage Open [18+] by @yourtamaki

Late Night at the Office [18+] by @zorosimpclub

Against the Mirror [18+] by zorosimpclub

How to Disappear by @zorobff

I Bet On Losing Dogs by zorobff

In All My Dreams by @bby-deerling

Flowers by @fanaticsnail

Comfort Drabble by @anime-cupid

Portgas D. Ace

Fill You Up [18+] by @maddddstuff

Tension [18+] by @sharks31

Black Leg Sanji

Jealous, Jealous Boy by @bleachification

Too Much (Take Me Home) by @secretwritingspot

Home is Where the Heart Is (That Heart Just Won't Stop Racing) by secretwritingspot

Pros and Cons by @toriswritings

I Can See You by @holymusicalmothman

Put My Name at the Top of Your List by @ladadiida

Mouse in the Kitchen by @honeydjarin

3, 2, 1 [Masterlist - includes NSFW] by fanaticsnail

That's What Friends Are For (Platonic) by bby-deerling

Just For Me by @blondeewhorre

Type by @yayakoishii

Charlotte Katakuri

Katakuri & Little One [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

Buggy the Clown

Roger and Jessica Rabbit Effect by @writingoddess1125

Didn't Mean to Make Your Heart Blue by @wood-white-writer

Vice Admiral Smoker

More to Grab [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

Playing Dangerous [18+] by @ninascloset

Donquixote Doflamingo

Doffy's Messy Girl [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

Monkey D. Luffy

You Drive Me Crazy by @soulofapatrick

Run Away With Me by fanaticsnail

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Three Times You and Law Almost Confessed and The One Time That You Did by @nina-ya

Three Times Law Said "I Love You" by nina-ya

Untitled by @grandlinedreams

Trades of Goods and Services by bby-deerling

Benn Beckman

Untitled [18+] by @nekassvariigs

Multiple

Jell-O Shots [18+] (feat. Kid, Luffy, Zoro, Law and Sanji (Separate) x afab!reader) by @bokutosbiceps

Convenience (Mishanks x Reader) by @stillxnunpxidintern

"Wrap me like a Christmas gift" (feat. Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Law (separate) x afab!reader) [18+] by @raggedyflowers

KIDD & KILLER; Gifts (KidKiller x Reader) by matchadobo

Helping Killer and Kid after escaping Udon Prison - HCs by heyitsdoe

Good Mouse (Smoker x Reader x Law) [18+] by @leakyweep

Telling Them "I'll be a disgusting whore for you." Headcannons (feat. Shanks, Zoro & Ace (separate) x reader) [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

Cowboys You Say? (feat. Zoro, Kid, Sabo, Marco & Ace (separate) x reader) [18+] by honeysworld-offanfiction

[konigsluvr]

Hey hey! I'd like to request König headcanons please. I was thinking more of his childhood but it can be anything really :D thanks x

Also I'm an Avatar fan too! Don't seem to know a lot of people who are into both #teamneteyam

Hey!! I looooove Avatar so much, I haven't been reading it much lately but 2 months ago I was on tumblr all day, everyday just reading various Avatar fics (best days of my life). I miss neteyam so much :(( I really hope this is to your liking<3 i have included some NSFW headcannons, but there will be a warning, if you are uncomfortable, just skip. Reposts are highly appreciated. I will literally marry you. And of course, here I present...

★ navigation ★ masterlist ★

König Headcanons

Includes: Childhood König. König x fem!reader. Fluff. Spice. Smut.

☆ As said in his biography, he has suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life. This probably started developing in maybe late childhood/early teens.

☆ I can picture him as the quiet kid in school. Had a couple chill friends that he was comfortable around and hung out with after school.

☆ I think König was average grade student (like me lmao), not bad grades but not super good either, he just did what he had to do at school.

☆ He liked helping around the house so he could contribute and help his parents save time.

☆ He applied to the military at 17, having a job that allows him to blow off steam would help with his anxiety sometimes but if it's a more dangerous mission than usual, his anxiety might peak but he could have coping mechanisms.

☆ Even though he is 6'10" and literally all muscle, he can't stay still. Due to his anxiety again, he is fidgety at times depending on the social situation he is in. Now this leads onto the relationship stuff.

☆ With him being fidgety, I feel his love language is physical touch. He can sometimes struggle with his words but you always know that he loves you when he cuddles you or does little things like playing with your hair or holding your hand whenever you are in public.

☆ König isn't the best at working with technology but you'll show him how he can text you and phone you, so whenever he has free time at base or whenever he isn't with you, expect him spamming you with texts because he misses you so much :((

☆ He has a gym at home for when he wants to work out but with him having such a physical job he doesn't feel the need to workout everyday, maybe 3 or 4 times a week when he's home with you but at base he'll do it more as its like the only thing to do there.

☆ He enjoys going on walks. When he's home with you he'll love going on a walk in the woods or just wondering around town with you, go shopping to get food for supper or something, he'll sneakily buy flowers to surprise you. At base, he sometimes can't sleep well so he'll just walk around for some fresh air to clear his mind.

☆ His down time with you would be watching your favourite show or a random movie. He would do it just to cuddle up or be with you but he will get invested. Like I watched the notebook last night and I was thinking about König crying as you watch the notebook together.

☆ Like you'll be watching the movie and a sad scene comes up, you are already crying and you hear a sniffle but it isn't from you. You turn to your left and see a tear rolling down Königs cheek. This will make you cry harder as you wipe away his tears and cuddle into his neck.

☆ With König having a high payed job, he has a lot of money that he doesn't know how to spend. Lucky him, he has you. You would tell him its no bother, that you have enough clothes and pretty jewellery to last you a lifetime but he drags you to the car to your favourite store and you can't help but give in.

☆ He would get a former guard dog and train it to only command you and him, this dog would stay at home with you all the time. You would take it out walks and just spend your whole day with it. He wants to make sure you are safe all of the time.

NSFW AHEAD!!

☆ He likes to take it slow, make ethereal love to you and treat you like your made of glass. You would let a few tears roll down your cheek from his sweetness.

☆ Pussy eater!!! He is like a god with his tongue. Worships your clit like its his favourite thing while his fingers work in and out of you. It doesn't matter if you are crying from overstimulation, you have a safe word. His only mission is making you cum.

☆ Loves face sitting, literally just loves your pussy on his face and your thighs pushing against the side of his head. You would tell him that you are too heavy, he huffs frustrated and pulls you down on him and instantly gets to work. Let's just say, you forgot about what you said 3 seconds ago.

☆ Breeding kink. Sorry, not sorry. In all his fantasies about you, it's you all pretty n pregnant with his baby. You will have that pregnant woman glow and he just can't keep his hands off of you. He doesn't really wear condoms but you'll usually be on the pill, he still struggles to pull out but it's nearly impossible for him. But when he does cum in you, he finds it the sexiest thing ever. He'll use his fingers to plunge his load back into you to feed his growing hunger.

☆ He loves when you top him and take your time with him, but he also enjoys being in charge and having his sole focus on you, even if you just came for the fourth time from his tongue and his cock is rock hard.

☆ The ratio between him giving you head and you giving him head is very diverse. He loves a good blowie but only does it when you want to, he will never ask you.

☆ Isn't one for quickies, he wants to take his time with you. He wouldn't like the risk of someone else seeing you being intimate with him, that is a sight only for him to see.

☆ Isn't afraid to make noise in the bedroom. Whimpering. Moaning. Whining. Groaning. He does it all.

I hoped you liked this!! If you have any more requests don't be shy. Stay safe and take care of yourself my lovies xx

[rainylana]

“I’m always going to take care of you.” Alternate version!

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: this is a new version of my old series i wrote last year. so many people have asked to see more of how eddie deals with such a horrible thing happening to the reader, so here we go, this is for you!

warnings: PLEASE READ! this is purposely written, in the beginning, as fast paced. i was trying to establish a sense of anxiety and fear while writing it because of how quickly it happened. the assault happens differently and does not go into much detail this chapter, but will during the next. i purposely switched povs because i still wanted to give insight to the reader. so with that being said, warnings for this fic include: rape, blood and bruises, broken bones, hospitalization, language, smoking of weed, trauma and shock, lots of tears and angst. please, please, let me know what you thought and if there’s anything i need to go about differently. it’s been a year since i’ve properly revisited this series. i feel like this version will be much darker and will take more of a toll. let me know your thoughts and if anything needs changed. i never spellcheck lol. this one’s for all of us. i see you and feel you. much love, lana.

Steve Harrington’s parties were the kind that were talked about for weeks on end. The music, the food, the house. It was a mansion, and there had been many of times were you and Eddie had slept in multiple rooms of that house, unbeknownst to the owners knowledge.

This party was no different. Bodies were on bodies, beer was spilled and the pool was splashing every drop of water out into the flower bed, that was no covered in trash. There was a basketball court that entertained the jocks. It was an absolute mansion.

You were somewhere. Eddie would see you from time to time getting more beer or a snack, coming over to check on him. He closed his eyes, taking a long drag and leaned against the wall. “Shit, this shit is good.” He coughed slightly, letting his arms fall at his sides, black sleeves pulled up at his elbows.

You found him eventually, hair slightly wet from being splashed at the pool, a towel wrapped around your shoulders. Most everyone was wearing their bathing suits. You smiled when you sat down beside him, laughing at the redness of his eyes. “Feelin good, Eddie?” You tapped his chin.

He grinned at you goofily. “Shit, is the shit, babe. Wanna try?” He offered it to you.

You plopped down on your ass and sat beside him, saying hi to all the others that joined the circle. You laid your head on his shoulder. “Sure you don’t want to come swim with me, Ed? It feels good. Moons out, too. It could be romantic.”

“I give you plenty of romance, darlin’.” He said through hooded eyes, armed laid lazily around your wet shoulders. “Damn, your tits are out!” He exclaimed, finally realizing you had changed, eyes bulging for dramatics.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “My tits are not out. Everyone is wearing them! You picked it out, don’t you remember?”

“Baby, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember much of anything right now.” He was practically drooling at the mouth, giggling like a child and floating off into space.

“Uh, huh.” You gave him a look before turning to the rest of the group. “He’s cut off.”

He was too stoned to realize what you had said, curling up in himself and lulling his head against the wall, eyes drooping closed.

“Eddie, Eddie, oh, okay,” You sighed, watching as he fell asleep. “I’m serious, Gareth, make sure he doesn’t do anything else. I got to carry this guy home, you know.”

You sat with Eddie for almost an hour, making sure he was alright. He always was. He always got tired when he smoked weed, you did too, but not near as much as he did. You gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling everyone else you’d be back and that you were going to change your clothes.

You went to the same room you always did, walked up the same steps and same corridor, the air cool against the exposure of your wet skin. Nobody was upstairs. You had planned for a quick change and nothing more, but you hadn’t any idea what was waiting for you behind the door, or the fact you were being followed.

•

Eddie was in and out of it, waking up here and there if someone spoke loudly enough. Dustin kept laughing, about what, he didn’t know or care. He just wanted to sleep. Later on he would realize that it was probably an act of God that he heard you, because there was no scientific explanation for it. He shouldn’t have heard you.

The music was booming loud, playing a hit from Blondie over the speakers. People were chugging beers, getting high and fucking out in the shed outside, the bedrooms above. The lights were flashing on and off, mixtures of colors painting the walls, their bodies. There was no way he could of heard you, yet he did.

He felt as if he were dreaming at first. His eyes were still closed, body numb from the awkward position he was in. It felt like a loud thumping at first, like something had hit the floor. Then a crash, something had broke. Then a high pitched noise, someone had screamed. It had to have been a dream, because he swore it was you.

Eddies eyes peeled open slowly, foggy and clouded from his high, but he didn’t feel so good anymore, and was left with a chill up his spine. He looked to the right of him to find you gone. “Gareth?” His voice was gravely and deep. “Where’d y/n go?”

Gareth pointed up the stairs quickly, eager to get back to his conversation with Robin about her thoughts on the new Back to the Future movie. Eddie had pushed himself up and found the stairs. It was a mansion, having had to climb four sets of stairs before he could find the hallway. Each set he could hear it clearer. He still shouldn’t have. The music was too loud. He could feel the vibrations underneath his feet against the wood flooring.

He walked quicker and quicker, the sounds of crashing, screaming, begging, becoming louder and louder. Soon, he heard his own name, and he knew it was you. He was running then, as fast as he could to find you. And when he did, the last door on the left, the same room you both had slept in many of times, he was brought to pure horror.

•

You weren’t entirely sure what was happening. Well, you did. You had been raped. You were just confused what was happening now. You were sitting up, staring blankly at the floor. Eddie was down at your feet, saying something, saying a lot of things, actually, but you couldn’t hear him. It sounded like he was underwater. Your ears were ringing, and he kept dabbing his hand under your nose. Were you bleeding?

Your hands were vibrating, along with the other parts of your body, shaking like you were having a seizure. Surely you’d pass out soon. Everything you felt was heightened. The pain, the emotion, or lack of. You soon realized you were going into shock.

You felt everything, yet nothing, all at the same time.

•

Four seconds.

It had taken four seconds for Eddie to react. Four seconds for him to decide what to do. He’d found you bent over the bed, hands pinned above your head and legs split apart. The man above you, twice your size, twice his size, a man he’d never seen before, raping you. It had taken him four seconds to react.

The man above you had stopped when Eddie had come in, staring at him in the act with a look of surprise and shock. Eddie lunged then, knocking the man over and into a side table that crumbled under their weight, a string of punches and curses, the sound of choking and items breaking. There was so much noise, but you didn’t hear any of it. You laid there, bent over, legs spread, a mixture of blood and semen seeping out of you as you stared straight ahead, fixated on the painting in front of you.

Steve and his mom at the beach.

You didn’t hear the sound of Eddie’s cry of pain when your attacker punched the wind out of him, you didn’t hear him run out of the room or Eddie’s footsteps after him, halting halfway and returning back to you. You kept thinking of Steve and his mom. She was so sweet. You really should spend more time with her.

All of that, led to now.

“Baby, baby, please, please, say something!” He panicked, knelt down at your legs, holding your arms to keep you upright, “Oh, God,” He took another look at your legs, covered in blood. “Oh, my god, Oh, my god.” He covered his mouth briefly, not knowing what to do. “Okay, okay,” He jumped up, running to the joining bathroom to grab a towel. “Okay, baby, I got this, see?” He started quickly wiping away at the blood, switching his eyes from his legs to you.

It looked like you’d been killed, or were dying. You said nothing, deathly pale, face stained with tears and mascara, deep bruising that painted your cheeks and eyes purple. Your lip was busted and bleeding. You were shaking with tremors, your breath coming out in little pants that were uneven. You were choking on your sobs, not a single one being allowed out. It hurt to sit, the pain in your abdomen was almost unbearable.

Eddie didn’t realize it himself, but he was also going in to shock. It became harder and harder to get the blood off of you due to his shaky hands, and his breathing become more sporadic and choppy. “I’m getting it, honey. I’m trying.” He said, words coming out in a rush. The towel was stained red when he’d finished, your legs still coated, stained by the blood from inside of you. He looked you over, shaking his head. He didn’t know what to do.

“Y/n,” He gasped, reaching up to grab your face. “Talk to me. Are you hurt? Where does it hurt at?”

You couldn’t look at him. It felt impossible. Your eyes were so heavy. His voice still sounded as if he were underwater, his movements slow, like he was fighting off a current, and you suddenly became freezing, trembling harder like you were out in the snow. Maybe it was the shock.

“Honey, please,” Eddie begged you, eyes tearing up. “I don’t know what to do.”

When he noticed how hard you were shaking, he jumped up and got a blanket from the chair, wrapping it around your body and sitting next to you. “Okay, here, I’m here. Steve!” His scream snapped you out of it, making you gasp and jump.

“No!” Your voice was hoarse, burning as you screamed. “No!” You tried to stand but you collapsed, pointing to the door. “Close the door! Close the door!”

Your urgency made him obey quickly, and he was slamming the door and locking it within a second. “Y/n-”

“You can’t tell anyone!” You sobbed, wobbling on your legs. You were a sight, one that would traumatize him for the rest of his life. “No one, swear it! Let’s just go home!” You we’re a wreck, sobbing, hyperventilating, shaking. Surely you would faint.

“Angel, baby,” He tried to approach you, but you freaked.

“No!” You jumped away. “Don’t- don’t touch me, please!” Was the room getting darker?

“Okay, okay,” He held up his hands, heart racing and bulging, fearful eyes. “I won’t touch you. I’ll stay right here, okay?”

You nodded, mouth opening and closing, feet shuffling, limping, trying to stay upright. Surely, you would faint.

•

His elbows are on his knees, hands pressed against his mouth. The chair he’s in is uncomfortable, an ache in his back that matches the one in his heart. Wayne is there, sitting across from him on the other side of the room. Steve, Nancy, Robin and Dustin are outside in the waiting room, along with the rest of hellfire. He tried to be discreet. Well no, that wasn’t true. When you’d fainted, Eddie lost it.

He’d swooped you up in his arms, carrying you down stairs, a sobbing mess, looking anywhere for anyone, to help. He found Mike first, then Chrissy Cunningham. The party was over very quickly.

“Eddie.” Wayne said tiredly, wearing a puffed, flannel coat. “Why don’t you go home, bud? I’ll stay with her.”

“No.” He didn’t miss a beat. He was staring a hole right through you, eyes so tearful they looked to be made of glass. “I can’t leave her.”

Wayne knew he wouldn’t leave. It was four in the morning, and you hadn’t shown any signs of life. If it weren’t for the machines, Eddie was sure you would have been dead. You were so quiet, not a stir, not a twitch. Were you dreaming? Was it good or a nightmare?

“She’s alright, buddy. You know that.” Wayne could see the telltale signs of his panic attack coming on. “You heard what the doctor said.”

You had abrasions along your vaginal walls. Your nose was broken, now covered with gauze and medical tape. You had two broken ribs, bruises covering your entire body. The doctor had asked him questions he didn’t know the answer to. Eddie knew what had happened, but what had really happened?

You would be okay. He knew that. You were alive and you survived. But were you okay? What would you become when you woke up? You would be totally traumatized, or would you simply move on with life? He knew the answer and he hated himself for knowing it. He knew the pain you were going to suffer when you woke up. He saw it. He saw what it was you would have to endure. A part of him wished you would sleep peacefully forever.

It felt like every vital organ inside of him had been ripped apart, like his stomach had been cut and everything spilled out. He’d thrown up twice since they got to the hospital. It been hours since you both got there. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d saw. Your body being used, abused by a man who had beaten you up, raped you, split you open and left bloody.

“Oh, god, Wayne.” Eddie broke down in sobs, shoulders sinking and face hiding into his hands for a shield, a mask to hide from the world. “This is all my fault.”

The image of you had scared his brain, the mental image something he thought he’d never be able to erase. Through everything he had gone through, this moment here, was the worst moment he had ever lived through, and he himself, would make a deal with god if he could, just to take your place, to take it all away. The love of his life was in pain, and it caused him more hurt than he could have ever imagined.

His uncle looked at him, saddened and distraught for the both of you. “Don’t say that, Eddie. You know she’d hate to hear you say somethin’ like that.”

Eddie’s body shook with heavy, deep and broken cries. “It is. I was asleep. I was asleep and stoned out of my mind while she was being raped right above me!” He practically spat the words with a venomous hatred, throwing out his arm as he looked at you longingly. “I failed her. Her, of all people. I fuckin’ failed the one thing I care about most. How the hell am I supposed to live with this?”

Wayne watched him stare at you, stare at you and cry like he was mourning for the entire world, like you had been taken from him.

“How are we supposed to be okay after this, Wayne?” He looked like a little boy then, looking over to his uncle with big, brown eyes. “How can I…how can she ever forgive me?” Another sob, and another. Wayne was sat beside him now, holding his shoulders as Eddie cried.

“You two have been through hell together.” The old man said, on hand on his nephews new. “You’ll get through this. She will and you will. She stood by your side when you were dying, remember? She helped you through it. It did you both in, but you got through it, didn’t you?

He didn’t answer, but he heard his uncle loud and clear. He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he’d help you in every way he could. He owed it to you. You’d patched him up, held him through nightmares and insecurities about his scars. You fed him, helped clothed him and helped him keep himself clean when he was still too sore to move around. You had put your own life on pause for him. He owed it to you to do the same. In his eyes, it was his own fault it happened, anyways.

“Yeah.” Eddie sniffled, wiping away his tears with his jacket. “Yeah, I- you’re right. You’re right. I can help her. I’ll help her. She’ll be okay.”

“She’ll be okay.” Wayne assured him.

He didn’t realize just how hard it was going to be, how a giant rift in your relationship would almost separate the two of you. That the both of you would be forever changed from that night.

Eddie gulped, blinking back tears as he looked at the steady beating of your heart in the vital screen. “She’ll be okay.”

[mailjeevasfan]

dating dn characters would include… ❦

(hopefully going to write more fics soon but i <3 unleashing my headcanons)

-gn!reader

-kind of angsty but also cuteness <3

-misa amane, light yagami, L, matt, mello, near, matsuda

༺♡༻

misa amane

- would always be very romantic and would want you to be the same.

-always there for you and wanting to do things for you

-she’d be worried that if she wasn’t constantly doing things to benefit you and you’d ofc reassure her that you didn’t need that. you’re with her because you love her for who she is and that’s all that needs to be said

-she’d always want to dress you up in all sorts of different styles. she has a varied fashion sense and an extremely expansive wardrobe that she wants to put to use. she may even help you find your own style

-crazy about pda but not in a weird way. she wants to show u off and hug u and be near u all the time

༺♡༻

light yagami

-honestly i can’t help but see him as a romantic guy. the only thing that turns me away from this hc is how busy he’d be, whether he’s assisting in the investigation or anything similar

-but i can easily imagine him buying u flowers often and all the cliche romantic stuff like that. it could definitely be construed as him trying to maintain his image as a normal guy but i’m sure we’d like to think it’s because he wants you to know how much he cares and thinks about you.

-pre timeskip, he would 100% help u with ur homework. study sessions would be the norm with you two, and no matter how hard you tried to affectionately get him to yourself, he’d be determined to finish helping you

༺♡༻

l lawliet

-after establishing your relationship, he did everything he could to try and understand the social norms a little better. he can use basic communication with other people and would be capable of making friends, but he’d never been in a situation like this.

-he’d do the typical cheesy romantic stuff at first but you could tell he was unsure. you explained to him that there’s so specific way to do these things and that he should do whatever he feels comfortable with.

-he’d probably continue to be cheesy and romantic at times in a more teasing way when you were alone, but his main love language is acts of service. he’d do things for you to lift some weight off of your shoulders and be more affectionate in private.

-in time he’d become a lot more comfortable with the relationship, especially considering you’re someone he trusts which isn’t a common thing for him.

༺♡༻

mello

-again, it’d probably take him a while to warm up to romantic gestures and stuff like that. the difference is that mello may never fully become super affectionate.

-he may be an emotional person, but it’s very hard for him to communicate his feelings to others. he’d have to trust you a lot to be in such an intimate relationship with you and he knows he can confide in you, but you’d need to help him out a LOT.

-you accept him for who he is and he knows that too.

-after a long day you’re always there to supply him with endless chocolate and random activities to chill him out. you’d watch movies and just cuddle together until you fall asleep.

-you also understand that he needs to be alone sometimes too. in general, you’re his break from a very chaotic life in the best way possible

༺♡༻

matt

-you guys would just be the most chill and friendly couple ever. i feel like dating matt would just be the most comfortable thing ever you’d just be best friends but much more affectionate in the best way

-playing video games together and having lazy days all the time would be the focal point of this relationship. it would be an interesting contrast to matt’s occupation and hobbies. one minute you’re just eating junk food and playing games on the couch and suddenly matt is monitoring 56 surveillance screens and hacking into a database for mello. at this point it’s the norm and he even trusts you to help

-i hc that matt has adhd and can get depressed sometimes, and you help him out of these periods. you recognise when he needs to get out and do something. however, you’d never make a big deal about it unless you had to be a bit more blunt. in the end, he knows that you want the best for him and he trusts you enough to let you help him.

༺♡༻

near

-like L, he wouldn’t be used to the norm of relationships. tbh i feel like he’d be anxious, even if that is uncharacteristic.

-he’d probably remain his usual stoic self even after things had become more comfortable, but all in all he’d be a sweet partner.

-i also think that even though his main love language would be acts of service and stuff like that, he’d love to have you close to him all the time.

-on that same note, i think he would be very protective. he’d be worried to get you mixed up in some of the dangerous things he’s involved in

༺♡༻

matsuda

-SWEETEST BOYFRIEND YOULL EVER KNOW (it goes without saying tbh)

-he would be such a hopeless romantic, super cliche in the best way possible. always getting you flowers or other cute gifts like that and acting very chivalrous but in a relaxed way.

-he would also need reassurance quite a lot. he’s incredibly overlooked at work and isn’t taken seriously most of the time, so you’d need to make sure you told him often how great he is. his self esteem can be low at times but you’d help him through it and it’s what makes him love you so much.

༺♡༻

[wroteclassicaly]

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Summary: A few years after the events of the Upside Down, your life has gotten progressively worse. From overly destructive nightmares causing you to socially isolate and distance yourself, to losing your job and your apartment — you find yourself having to crawl to an unlikely source for help. Your perfect, golden child, older sister (who is oblivious to everything that’s happened in Hawkins, your parents included), and her brand new husband (who also happens to be the guy you’ve been in love with since you were all kids) - Steve Harrington. Faced with no choice but to move in with the happy couple, mutual feelings resurface and trauma is revealed.

Warnings: Language, anxiety, panic attacks, smut, overall NSFW, loss of virginity, slow burn, friends to lovers, masturbation, mutual masturbation, pining, depression, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, handjobs, public sex, cheating, trauma, jealousy, mentions of pregnancy, whole lotta angst in this one, tooth rotting fluff, so much comfort, and MORE!

A/N: This fic… I wanna cry just sharing it with you all. It’s been my baby that I’ve had outlined/been nurturing for about a year now. Inspired by the song I will link above, lyrics included. I can’t wait to take you all on this journey! I have so many plans for this, and I’m incredibly proud to finally announce it! Snippet from my WIP post here, is below this cut.

“I always thought that you two would end up together.” Nancy says, popping a pastel colored candy into her mouth from the hideous glass bowl that’s centered in the middle of the table.

And it’s true, even his first love always knew that he should’ve been with you. It made so much sense. You were one of her best-friends, as Steve had become during these last few years. This whole entire day feels like a horrific fever dream, complete with an itchy lavender puffball dress, lace gloves that made her feel like a flower girl and not a woman nearing her thirties in a couple years’ time. With her hair in the updo from hell, Nancy wants to take you and Robin, and just get the fuck out of this mess.

You sigh heavily, trying to fight back the disgusting amount of bile that keeps threatening to spew from between your lips. Robin reaches out to caress a gentle set of manicured nails along your forearm. “Dumbass dingus.”

*©️ 2023 wroteclassicaly - Do NOT redistribute, post to another platform, translate, or plagiarize my work — under any circumstances! *

[kaylawritesfics]

hii!! can you please do more headcanons for steve harrington dating byers!reader? i really enjoyed the last one, it’s my comfort fic 😌🫶

+ @1tessthebest: Hii! Could u do a steve x byers! Reader? She loves to read and all that nerdy stuff?

Dating Steve Harrington and Being A Byers Sibling - 2

headcanons

summary: what it’s like to date steve harrington while being a byers sibling

pairing: steve harrington x reader (byers!reader)

warnings: none :)

note: i combined these because they were pretty similar !! hope that’s okay :) also i’m really glad the last one is your comfort fic <33

Your family loves Steve !! He’s invited over for every holiday/special occasion.

Steve’s parents are usually out of town around Christmas time so he’s especially grateful to have you and your family to spend the holidays with.

He always comes in with a stack of gifts taller than he is. He makes a real effort to get really good gifts for the four of you. Joyce always scolds him for spending so much money but he can’t help it. He just really wants to show his appreciation for you.

Gift giving is definitely one of his love languages

He’s also a huge birthday person !! He makes a huge deal out of your birthday, buying basically every flower he sees and ordering you a cute little cake.

He also makes a big deal out of Will’s birthday. They actually become really close and Steve loves to buy little nerdy things that he knows Will would love.

When Steve figures out that you love to read, he practically begs you to read to him all the time. Sometimes, Joyce will come into your room to check on you and finds the two of you, curled up in your bed fast asleep with a book laid carelessly aside.

He always buys you new books, claiming that “Robin said this one was a classic and I know you haven’t read it yet so it’s really not a big deal it was like $5”

He’s not a big fan of reading but he’ll totally watch the movie that goes with the book you’re reading just so he can talk about it with you.

He likes to help you study !! He’s also not a big homework person but he knows that you really take those things seriously so he doesn’t mind helping you at all.

Joyce is absolutely the type of mom to tell him all your embarrassing childhood stories !! Steve can’t get enough of it. He thinks the way you get flustered and embarrassed is adorable.

(He also just really loves hearing stories about you)

Sometimes Jonathan even joins in, sharing the most mortifying stories of your life.

Steve is so helpful !! He’ll always volunteer to babysit Will, do dishes, clean up, etc. when he’s hanging out at your house.

He lets Will ramble on about all the nerdy things he’s into !! Steve actually really loves to hear Will talk about the things he’s passionate about and he actually gets pretty into it, as well.

Steve brings Joyce flowers all the time !! He’s very charming and he’s actually really good with parents. She adores him so much.

Will absolutely includes Steve in any kind of family portrait he’s drawing.

[annavrse]

letitia is the type of girlfriend…headcanons

ー letitia wright x black!reader

ー no smut of course, no sexual content whatsoever, all fluff, a little drama, tish being protective, tish being in love

summary : what it’d be like to date letitia wright. headcanons + small plot

even though the media tries to portray her as a player, tish is definitely a lovergirl at heart.

ー☆ this is very interactive! i’ve included links, photos, and a video! click and watch as you read along. the links are optional but i think it adds to the reading experience. it’s more entertaining cus it’s actual proof of tish doing these things lol.

ー☆ note : i still have that twin fic in a ziplock bag. (truth be told im writing another fic that’s got a real bad hold on me and might come out first) i just wanted to give y’all something while you wait! i had so much fun writing this. don’t take this too seriously or let it determine my true writing abilities. i haven’t given y’all anything to go off of, but trust that i am at least a decent writer and that these hcs are just for fun!

also im sorry for any typos or mistakes i didn’t catch. i hope you enjoy <33

tags : @venusdraco @naomis-daydream @marsolgy @shurislover @inmyheadimobsessed @dominiquesheart @stvrrversee ☆ just tagging some of my mutuals until i create a taglist!

• her love languages are gift giving, words of affirmation, physical touch and quality time.

• she bought the two of you matching bracelets. she has a habit of playing with hers during interviews and she sometimes kisses it when you’re not with her.

• she buys you flowers of your favorite color so it feels more personal.

• always reassuring and reminding you how much she loves you.

“i prayed for you”

“i love you so much”

“you mean the world to me”

• you’re her personal travel buddy. whether it’s for work or leisure, she takes you everywhere she goes.

• she takes you to court side basketball games.

• you’re always her plus one at events. especially award shows. you reassure her when she loses, and you’re the first one she hugs when she wins.

• loves when you visit her on set.

• loves going to concerts with you.

• she loves taking you to her home country, guyana. and where she grew up in london.

• she thinks it’s cute when you mock her british accent. she does the same with your american one.

• she calls you baby and babygirl.

• she loves it when you call her by her middle name.

• loves to dance with you at parties and she especially loves it when you dance on her.

• she never tells you about the movies or the shows she’s filming. no matter how much you want her to.

“the suspense is killing me.”

“well if i spoil it for you, you’ll kill me. so stop asking.” she said, laughing. “you’ll have to wait just like everybody else.”

“but im not like everybody else.”

“that you are not.” she grabbed your chin and pecked your lips.

“pleaseeee just give me a little something. nothing too important.”

“you’re the one who made me promise not to tell you anything, even if you beg.”

“i know but-”

she walked away from you, shaking her head.

“your words not mine.” she yelled over her shoulder.

“michelleeee.” you whined, chasing after her.

• she’s such a cliche when it comes to romance. she likes taking long walks on the beach, especially when the sun is setting. she likes candlelit dinners. she makes you breakfast in bed. you feel like you’re living in a rom com.

• you’re not use to the huge crowds and people following your every move. she knows that this makes you anxious and does everything in her power to make sure that you feel as comfortable as possible with this new life she’s brought you into.

• if you want to leave an event or a party, she escorts you herself if she can. if not, she has her driver bring you home or back to the hotel.

“i don’t wanna leave you though.”

“it’s okay, im fine. seriously if you’re not feeling it, i can bring you home. i don’t want you feeling uncomfortable for my benefit.”

• most of the time she ends staying with you. you two undress, shower, throw on your pajamas and fall asleep watching a movie. she’d much rather lie in bed with you, than mingle at a party you’re not attending.

social media

•she’s your designated photographer. she takes most, if not all of your photos for social media. and she makes sure to get her pic creds in the comments.

• she’s you’re loudest supporter. her fandom has nicknamed her instagram “y/n’s fan account” she posts you more than she does herself. especially on her story. with captions like :

“😩😩😩”

“wow”

“😍😍😍”

“all mine” with the song playing in the background

“she’s insaneee”

“mannn😮‍💨”

• she even has a highlight for you, titled “LOVE ❤️”

• always posts your accomplishments. “so proud of this one 🥹”

• you’re slowly gaining fame/attention from being her girlfriend. some of her fans have started making edits of you, and you two together. you sometimes catch her binge watching them on tiktok. her search bar is full of :

- y/n and letitia

- y/n edits

- y/n y/l/n

- letitia wrights’s girlfriend

she’s hopeless.

• but unfortunately, not all of her fans are okay with your relationship. after you two launched as a couple, you received a ton of hate. it went as far as receiving death threats from jealous fans. she quickly took the situation to social media.

and of course the shaderoom got a hold of it.

theshaderoom : #LetitiaWright defends girlfriend #Y/N from internet trolls who have been sending her “hateful messages and death threats” 🫢

user : it sounded like she’s threatening us 😭💀

user : she said she’ll whoop y’all ass behind her girlfriend in the nicest way possible lmaooo

user : it’s the “im telling you” for me 😮‍💨

user : why can’t y’all just let this woman be happy and leave her gf tf alone 🤦🏾‍♀️

user : not her threatening y’all 🫣

user : oh she don’t play bout ha 🗣️🗣️🗣️

• she went as far as offering you your own personal bodyguard. in which you declined. you felt like it was unnecessary. though you appreciated the offer and how much she cares.

after her post, the hate started to die down. some of the trolls even apologized to you for the things they’ve said. but you ended up blocking them anyway because why send hate in the first place?

interviews

• she always finds a way to bring you into the topic of conversation.

interviewer : filming this movie must’ve took a lot out of you. the hours. the training. the stunts. and i mean the storyline itself is darker than what we normally see you do. what made you take on this role?

letitia : ooo. wow, that is a great question. uhmm. i mean…yea this role was something i never would’ve imagined myself playing. like when i was offered to be apart of this film, my immediate response was “no, absolutely not.” but my girlfriend, y/n, she reminded me that i needed to stop playing it safe. i tend to stay in my comfort zone because i know that it works best for me and it’s what im used to. but me and her talked about this year being the year of trying new things. so if it wasn’t for her, i mean…i probably wouldn’t have accepted the role and uh i would’ve missed out on being apart of this amazing film. so it’s all thanks to her. she’s my number one supporter.

interviewer : wow. that’s beautiful. i’m happy that you found someone who pushes you to be your best self.

interviewer : recently you’ve been rocking some new looks, that i myself am a huge fan of. where are you getting your style inspiration?

letitia : oof i was afraid someone was going to ask me this question.

interviewer : what, why? you’re not ready to give up your source?

letitia : yea i just wanna gatekeep her a little longer—nah im joking uhm, i just don’t have time to hear her mouth ya know? her head is big enough as it is and if tell the world that she’s behind these fits, my god, i’d never hear the end of it.

interviewer : oou is it a snooty designer or—or a bougie stylist of some sort?

letitia : oh she’s definitely a bougie stylist. uhm it’s y/n, my girlfriend.

interviewer : oh reallyyy?

letitia : yeaa, i don’t know what it is. it’s just something about about her closet man. i just find myself going through her things and taking pieces here and there. and she thinks it’s cute cause apparently im *air quotes* “jocking her style”

interviewer : that’s hilarious. so she doesn’t mind you wearing her clothes?

letitia : no not at all. she actually dressed me today. oou im just feeding her ego aren’t i? but yea she has, in my opinion, the best fashion sense. but of course, im biased so—uhm yea i just love her style and i love her.

interviewer : i heard you mention that you and your girlfriend made some vision boards to ring in the new year.

letitia : yea we did.

interviewer : what is the number one goal on that list?

interviewer : ooouu look at you over there blushing. wow, that’s so exciting. is this something that you two have talked about?

letitia : yea we’ve uhm, we’ve been talking about our future and building a life together. ya know, marriage, kids—the whole thing. i think we’re both ready to start heading in that direction. it’s one of my top priorities right now.

interviewer : wow that’s amazing. i am so happy for you two. is it safe to say that the next time you come on the show, you might be engaged?

letitia : that’s crazy to even think about. but uhm yea, yea that’s the plan.

interviewer : and who knows, maybe you’ll even have a little one on the way. a mini letitia running around. you ready for that?

letitia : ooh absolutely. the real question is, is y/n ready? cus i was a little troublemaker when i was younger. so he or she will definitely be a handful. i just know it. we’ll need her mini me to balance out the crazy for sure.

she said laughing.

interviewer : just for balance?

letitia : for balance, exactly.

interview : it sounded like you were trying to sneak in the fact that you want two children.

letitia : aww man you caught onto that? uhm…yea i definitely want two children. preferably a boy and girl. ya know, best of both worlds.

interviewer : well i hope that happens for you, truly.

letitia : thank you. i really appreciate that.

interviewer : of course. and thank you for being so open, you’re hands down one of my favorite guests. next time you stop by, i hope your lovely girlfriend can join us. i’m very excited for you two and i hope that everything works out.

letitia : aww, seriously thank you so much. i’ll definitely try and bring her on for sure. it was nice to come on here and share my goals. i like to think of it as speaking them into existence. im so excited for this next chapter. im ready to be a wife. im ready to be a mom. im just uhm…grateful, is the best way to describe it. i used to pray for love like this. i asked god to send me my soulmate and that’s exactly what he did. i couldn’t be happier. so to be able to even have these types of conversations, is a dream come true. thank you for having me.

[thatdeadaquarius]

Admiiinnn do you write for platonic sagau?

Me wanna request my son (Razor) ue.

Because most of the fics I've read is just the creator falling on Mondstadt but never other places! I want them to fall on Wolvendom and maybe meet the wolf boy 🐨

I imagine he doesn't know/able to describe what he's feeling (not understanding human emotions and stuff because he grows up with wolves and all). But he really likes this feeling of peace and feeling like he belongs! So he'll stay with this random person that just dropped out of nowhere, and teach them how to survive in the wild too!

Unlike the overly-obsessed-head-over-heels acolytes, I think Razor will be like a worrywart bestfriend. You're his lupical now! It's his duty to protect other lupicals!

Days with him will literally be so fluffy ueueueu imagine we teach him how to cook things besides meat and puppy-paw hash browns (and teach him how to season them too! Good food always relies on taste after all). He'll just be like a little sibling that saw a very cool trick for the first time.

Aaaaa I wanna braid his long hair with flowers ue...

a request. A REQUEST. FIRST GENUINE REQUEST!! WOO!!!

AND A PLATONIC ONE?? 🥺 FOR THE BOY??🥺🥺THE MOST BOY IN ALL OF GENSHIN IMPACT???!!💖💖💖 YOU 🤝 ME = OUR LOVE FOR LIL ELECTRO FERAL PUPPY BOY

U get a whole slice of cake for that one. 🤲🍰💜

DUDE i totally thought abt (idk if u read it but its floatin around here smwhere,,) including Razor in the first Sagau idea post i made about Blunt Language reader vs. Teyvat's flowery language

TYSM FOR THE REQUEST!! I WILL DO MY BEST FOR THE BOY 💜✨️🐺

This gif encompasses everything i feel abt razor

Almost a part 2? But more like Bennett ft. Razor

Welp, you could've landed somewhere worse.

Like, accidentally-activated-Andrius-challenge worse.

You vowed to urself that if u ever got isekaied, or magicked away, or whatever else, u would not be those stupid protagonists who acted like they didnt know where they were

Or didnt adjust quickly to their new surroundings, esp if theyre life depended on it

U got this, u know exactly where u are rn. >:)

...

..Well, maybe not the exact location, but Wolvendom was pretty hard to mistake for anything else

The moon is full, and it looks to be about midnight or so,

A wolf howls.

...a little too close for comfort...

But hey, the lamp grass irl was so cute and pretty omg! <3

And it lit the ground nicely when u were nearby :) what a helpful aesthetic plant, so cool

Seeing a hilichurl camp further away, u slowly backed off into the woods away from the path u landed on (woke up on? Its unclear)

And up onto a small flat cliff thingy, filled with small lamp grass

U figured u werent getting anywhere tonight, i mean u rlly can't see jackshit rn, unlike in Genshin where the moon was almost as bright as the sun 💀

So ur just sittin on ur ass, wondering how tf ur gonna build a wolf-proof shelter when a bush shuffles nearby

...On ur little platform, how did u not hear whatever it was before now??

Too late now, bc u saw smth silver, and welp

U knew there were wolves, (its wolvendom)

But since u never saw any in game u kinda assumed they were like Earth wolves and were unlikely to get near a human like u-

Turns out u were probably wrong- the silver flashes in the bush- u get up and brace urself to run screaming and begging on ur knees for Andrius to take u in like-

.

..

...?

...Razor?? 😐😑😐

...

RAZOR!! :D!!!

It's the Best Boy™️!!!!!

The bestest boy ever sticks his head out of the bush

!!!??? His head tilts like a puppy in confusion ur heart💘

"...Lupical??" He says in the most confused ass tone youve ever heard

🥺

"Oh! Yes! Hello," you introduce yourself, "Can you help me? I got kinda lost here, but I don't really have a home to go back to,,"

Razor stands out of the bush, shaking his head back and forth like a dog, his hair nearly whips u in the face lmao

You: "AHH- uh- so, do u know somewhere I can go??"

Razor: "Mhm. Here. Razor like you, feel like Lupical. Stay?"

He asks, his eyes bright and shiny (not the puppy dog eyes)

Well, u figure if he can literally be raised by wolves and still be alive, so can u

(U figure itd be hard to convince Diluc to let u stay w/ him, and u dont have money for an inn in Mondstadt.. u dont even kno abt Springvale... wolf woods it is)

Plus, maybe u can help him out a bit! (it always did irritate u in game that nobody rlly checked on him/helped him live better >:/ )

"Oh! Y-yeah! That sounds great, are u sure ur family's- uh- other Lupical, r ok w/ that?" U hella dont wanna have to wrestle other wolves just for some raw food bc yall gotta share 💀

"Yes, come, I teach!" :D

___

AND SO BEGINS UR ADVENTURES WITH RAZOR

Bbyboy got ur heart in a vice gripe lol

Turns out he lives in a cave, that wasn't rlly available in game

His bed is just kinda,, moss and leaves, maybe one fur pelt

So obv u start gettin chests and get money to buy him better stuff!

Plus monsters drop money too (the slimes just bring u money?? W/o u having to defeat them?? Whos paying all these monsters anyway, where do they get this money-)

.

Also bc i HATE that u r just a regular ass human in other SAGAUs, imma keep it canon and say u can still upgrade Vision Users/Allogenes + all the regular game mechanics besides time manipulation, including quest log and inventory (bc that still exists here fuck regular sagau BS)

(bc how would u prove ur the Creator otherwise? How would u live up to that if u didnt have powers?? Isnt that the whole point of why they think ur the Creator???!! Did I miss smth here-??)

.

So ofc u give the boy the comfiest bed of pillows and furs and handmade quilts (Springvale's very talented and friendly turns out :)

And new clothes!! :D new outfits pop up on his character screen!! (It just kinda,, hovers like a hologram screen in front of him when u click a button u see hovering over his chest at all times)

.

U also teach him how to comb his hair.

(J. F. C. I dont even wanna think. abt how bad it is, a kid raised by wolves, in the woods w/ little human contact?? ill leave that to ur imagination)

He really loves the lamp grass flowercrowns u make him :) <3

.

Also yes.

We have to talk about it.

U got him soap.

And perfume. (That are still scented but not enough that he hates it thank fuck-)

.

Razor seems like he'd react to everything with either worry for ur safety (BEST BOY EVER) bc sm stuff u do is unfamiliar to him,

OR just like u said anon, like a little sibling u showed a magic trick to for the first time <3333

.

Like?? U can?? Use salt?? Pepper??? On food??? That u have cooked???!!!

Omg, his grubby little hands snatch that shit outta ur pan so quick 😭😭

He's literally scarfs down anything u make him

Oh god the wolves.

If u thought Razor loved ur food, the Lupical pack is on a whole different level.

They're such sweet doggos bc ur technically Lupical now too (Razor gave u a tooth necklace like his :] )

!!! PUPPY PILES !!! 🤲🐺💖💜✨️✨️✨️

And theyre never violent, even their play fighting is pretty tame

But the food.

Ur seasoned. New recipe. Food.

The first time u made a new dish with salt alone

It was a fucking free for all. (including Razor😭)

.

So now u have a schedule of who gets what when (as insisted and aided by Andrius himself, it got so out of hand,, paw??)

Congratz u got a pack of little siblings now, w/even the "will be bribed w/any food u give them" feature too

.

Razor loves u sm, he feels so safe around u!!

He usually cant articulate it, but u can tell by how he clings to ur arm whenever yall go into human towns so he wont lose u,

Or how he'll offer u some of his portion of food always (even if u made it)

.

and he's happy to do all these new things w/ u !!

(i sure as fuck know id get bored af if i was just,, in the woods,, all day everyday,,, not even a book to read,,,)

So needless to say he joins u for nearly everything u do

Esp monster hunting/grinding for his artifacts + weapon + stuff

Razor sees it as his job to look out for Lupical, esp if his favorite (besides Andrius) has to leave pack territory

.

Also yes, u DID meet The Andrius.

He was. So much. Bigger. Than you. Expected.

The game doesn't do him justice.

He's literally the size of a fucking school bus.

Also, apparently Razor didnt rlly know what u were, mostly bc he just feels ur comfort and safety, no words needed

But Andrius does, and he immediately explains how Teyvat sees u and even does a wolfy bow with his head lowered onto his front paws (ahdkala Andrius pls ur a gOD GET UP)

He's also surprisingly helpful and nice to u, very polite big doggo, a good leader (alpha??)

.

Lisa is hella grateful for u and all the help/care u give the bestest boy ever

(even tho u did give her the stink eye at first bc,, why didnt she teach him how to take care of himself? And even if he didnt want to join human society at least make sure he's in liveable conditions?? Hes not even an adult???)

But at least she also agrees he's the bestest boy ever, she always brags about how quickly he learns language (both writing reading and speaking) to anyone she knows

Which did endear u to her a little more (plus she apologized for not looking out for him more, or at least asking someone else to/check up on him)

.

U kinda think she (and the rest of Mondstadt) dont really realize ur some kind of Creator god,

Mostly bc u dont really stay in Mondstadt long, just to get essentials and see what it looked like in person (smtimes to visit Bennett and Fischl :D )

(U mostly only know that bc Andrius claims its so, hes very insistent too)

But ur spending most ur days with Razor anyway so it doesnt matter to you two whether ppl know what u can do

.

Razor was practicing his writing one time (bc u also help him out at home/Wolvendom when Lisa isnt)

And he carved "Razor loves Lupical and [You]" into a tree near yalls cave

:')

🎵 JESSSSUSSS CHRISSSSTTT THIS IS TOO LONGGG

BUT I DONT FEEL LIKE EDITINNGGGGG🎵

I didnt know where to end it i got sucked in dont LOOK at me-)

Uh anyway i hope this was adequate!! Sorry this was ungodly long!! I will limit myself in the future 🥲

Tysm again for the request and if u read this far LMAO!!

<3

Cheers,

🌒🌊🌧Aquarius ♒️ 💧🌌🌘

[earl-grey-teacake]

omg hello! your brain is truly so big for this idea… george coaching logan lives rent free in my mind at all times and their minimal interactions bring me life fr 🥺🥺 now.. very important question.. WHO adopted logan first? alex as his current teammate or george as his long-time mentor? i also have this insane image in my mind of george making a powerpoint titled “7 step plan on how to win oscar’s heart / why he’s definitely in love with you don’t be stupid / we need to talk about your (lack) or self esteem” . yea there are three topics but alex has sighed deeply and provided snacks to keep them going. and also the idea of carlando adopting oscar?? it’s a very strange dynamic bc lando is so excitable he’s def not a parent figure and oscar and carlos are still squinting suspiciously at each others for sure. maybe the three of them are using their combined 8 brain cells to come up with a game plan for wooing logan? and they’re just sitting their arguing over flower symbolism and lando and carlos genuinely almost break up over how worked up they both get. i know this ask got out of control but bestie.. your mind is so large and i am obsessedddd w this idea

Hello! Thank you so much! Very happy to hear that the ideas my brain makes up in the middle of the night are appreciated!🥰

To answer your question, Alex adopted Logan first. I see George keeping his distance, close but still professional. Alex, as both an eldest sibling and having gone through 2021, is very sympathetic to Logan. He sees the spiraling, he understands being alone as your parents are dealing with their own issues, and he knows what it feels like to be left behind while the friends you joined F1 with go on ahead. When Logan stops answering his texts and James brings up his worries, Alex is at Logan’s door telling him to pack up and come over to his place. George starts off in a “I’m here to help but mainly because Alex wants to do this and I love Alex” and quickly becomes “i am onboard with helping you, here is a list of therapists I have complied, please pick one.”

George is absolutely making PowerPoints. It starts off with “No one on the grid or your team hates you + with proof from the group chat” to “Your lack of self-esteem is alarming and we are all a bit worried” before becoming “Oscar is in love with you + photographic evidence.” George’s love language is PowerPoints. When he was getting Alex that Williams seat, I imagined him cornering people with a laptop in hand and a PowerPoint titled “Alex Albon’s Achievements: Why he is a perfect fit for Williams”. Alex is ordering take out and providing commentary on the slides, and questioning where certain photos came from.

I see Carlando adopting Oscar not in a parental way, but more in a “I have more life experience so let me tell you why ghosting your friend and crush is a bad idea”. They absolutely brainstorm ways to woo Logan but they keep failing because Logan thinks Oscar is doing this to apologize for not talking to him for a month/forgetting his birthday and Oscar is slowly going insane because nothing works and in every interaction Logan looks sadder and sadder. Carlos and Lando are definitely getting worked up because it was never this hard when they got together .

Your idea with the flower language is genius, can I write that in the fic? I am thinking of a scene like

“No, Lando we cannot put yellow roses in the arrangement. They mean decrease of love, that’s an awful flower to include.”

“How about orange lilies? There aren’t exactly a ton of papaya or orange flowers to choose from.”

“No! Orange lilies mean hatred. We should be starting simple like pink roses and baby breaths.”

“Those options are basic. They don’t have personality to them. It looks like Oscar just went to a supermarket and picked it up. How is anyone supposed to feel special receiving a standard supermarket bouquet?”

“I wouldn’t know Lando. You never got me flowers before so I don’t know how I would feel receiving a supermarket bouquet?”

This ask was super fun to answer! Thank you so much for sending it❤️ I am also obsessed with it and am drafting outlines to write it. Please feel free to send more asks. I really love answering them.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 2: The Jailhouse]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, historical topics including war and discrimination, smoking, blasphemy, kids, parenthood, alcoholism, y'all know exactly who is in jail come on now, Pizza Hut, a wild ex-husband appears!

Word Count: 7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @eltherevir @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @aemonddtargaryen @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰🧁

Amir is sitting at the kitchen table and icing peach cobbler cupcakes; he has a single white flower from a dogwood tree poked through one of his cornrows. He wears a short sleeve button-up shirt with a kaleidoscopic geometric pattern, high-waisted khaki shorts, and eyeglasses with large rectangular, tortoiseshell frames. He has one leg crossed over the other and is kicking it absentmindedly as he works, a habit he’s had since long before you met him in your 9th grade English class. The microwave is humming. Walk This Way is blaring from the little pink boombox.

“Ho, I mean it this time, I gotta get the hell out of this town.” Amir uses a fork to place a small peach wedge—sauteed in butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla—atop the swirl of buttercream frosting, then sprinkles the cupcake with cinnamon before moving on to the next. “Guess what some inbred neanderthal swamp creature did last night. They busted a window out of my car again.”

“I told you to take that thing off it.” Amir has a homemade bumper sticker on his Ford Escort that reads, in holographic rainbow cursive: Fuck Ronald Reagan (not literally)!

“That war criminal can let 50,000 people die of AIDS but I belong on America’s Most Wanted for exercising my First Amendment rights?”

“I know you’re not wrong. You know you’re not wrong. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“To be afraid is to behave as if the truth were not true. Bayard Rustin said that.”

“And I’m sure he was a very smart man, but he didn’t have to live in Napoleonville.” The microwave beeps, and you remove the sweet potato inside with an oven mitt and place it on the counter alongside the others. This is a trick you’ve learned: they’re so much easier to peel and slice once they’ve been microwaved a bit, thirty seconds for a small potato, one minute for a larger one. “You want me to ask Willis to do a stakeout or something?”

“He might be the one committing vandalism.”

You frown down at the sweet potatoes as you peel them over the cutting board and toss the skins into a bowl so Cadi can feed them to the squirrels later. You doubt Willis is responsible, but one of his friends very well could be.

Amir sighs, acquiescing, wistful. “Six months from now I’ll be in San Francisco.” Yes, he will; he’s been saving up for years. The thought of him leaving is practically apocalyptic. You can’t envision a future without Amir. It’s like the very worst version of when you’re a kid and some event—Christmas, your birthday, summer break, prom—is so glimmeringly monumental that whatever life will exist beyond it is incomprehensible, a haze of other people’s dreams and warnings. Surely you won’t exist in that timeline; surely you will dissolve away once that fateful checkpoint is reached and become nothing but sun and sand.

You don’t tell Amir any of this. You don’t want to make him feel guilty. Instead you tease: “You sure you don’t want to stay and get a job on one of those shiny new oil rigs?”

He laughs as he pipes buttercream frosting onto the last peach cobbler cupcake. His artistic talents far surpass yours, but you bring the baking techniques and recipe ideas. Still, you have always split the bakery profits—however meager they might be—equally. “Yes, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to lose half my skin in an explosion caused by company negligence? Or inhale toxic fumes, or have my limbs ripped off, or fracture my skull? Or fall off a platform in the middle of the night and be eaten by a gator before anyone bothers to fish me out? I will surely regret all my life choices when I’m lying on the beach in Pacifica next to my new boyfriend who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”

The front door opens. It’s Mr. Fontenot, the town pharmacist. You call out: “Hi there! Come right on in! We’ve got your cake ready. Blue velvet with marshmallow cream and topped with candied blueberries. We read up on how to make them just for you. So thank you kindly for the learning opportunity.”

Since you’re wrist-deep in sweet potatoes, Amir leaps up to retrieve the box. He opens it so Mr. Fontenot can inspect his order. “When you cut into it, you’ll see that it’s a dark royal blue on the inside. Cookie Monster blue, not robin egg blue, just like you wanted.”

“Will ya look at that,” Mr. Fontenot says, beaming down at the cake. Written across the marshmallow cream in blue icing is (in Amir’s most elegant script): Happy 8th Birthday, Corey! “My grandson is going to get such a kick out of a blue cake.”

“He sure is,” Amir agrees. “Now can I talk you into anything else for the party? Some peach cobbler cupcakes, perhaps? Praline brownies? A brown sugar pie? Homemade Fruity Pebbles Rice Krispie Treats? Kids love them…!”

You say once Mr. Fontenot has gone: “He works for the company, you know.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Aemond. He works for Jade Dragon. He’s an engineer.”

“Ho, you are obsessed with that man!” Amir says. “You’ve brought him up, like, four times already!”

“Yeah,” you confess, a humiliation that is futile to deny. Parts of you are still sore from what he did to you; other places are aching for more.

“And you didn’t even get to see the dick?!”

You shake your head as you cut the peeled sweet potatoes into haphazard chunks. Amir puts a pot of water on the stove so you can boil them until they’re soft enough to mash into filling for a sweet potato pie. “Didn’t see it, didn’t touch it…”

“Didn’t lick it, didn’t suck it?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Dr. Seuss. But no.”

“Secret dick, scar on his face, missing an eye…” Amir mutters. “Maybe he’s a veteran who lost his andouille in combat! Yes! That’s it! He was there when we invaded Lebanon or Grenada or Libya and now he’s horribly disfigured and can’t bear the prospect of your inevitable horror and rejection!”

“His andouille is definitely unchopped. I could…uh…tell. Through his jeans.”

Amir closes his eyes and presses his palms together. “Sweet baby Jesus, please send me a gainfully employed big-dicked blonde man too.” He looks at you again. “But he really wouldn’t use it?!”

“Aemond said he wanted me to trust him first.”

“Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you might be on the prowl for Shotgun Wedding #2. You should tell him he’s got nothing to worry about in that department. You’ve been on the pill practically since Cadi was born.”

You murmur: “And I will be forever.”

“I know,” Amir says gently, pausing to squeeze your shoulder before taking the sweet potato hunks you’ve sliced already and dropping them in the boiling water. “So! When are you going to call him?”

You startle. “I can’t call him! I called him the first time. Now it’s his turn to call me. I can’t call him again, that would be desperate. Right?” Right?!

“Does he even know your number?”

“He knows my name, and he knows about the bakery. The number is publicly listed, he can find me in the phone book.”

Amir groans. “Lord have mercy, just call him! Pick up that pink phone right there beside the refrigerator and press those cute little buttons and say, loud and proud: Come on over here, big boy, I want to see that traumatized war veteran dick.”

The phone rings. You trip over your own feet as you lunge for it.

Amir snickers. “Pathetic!” He takes over slicing the rest of the sweet potatoes.

“Hello?!”

You hear a deep, slothful drawl; Willis’ family have been bayou people for longer than the United States has been a country. “Hey sugar, you want to bring your favorite ex-husband some dessert?”

You sigh. “Hi, Willis.” From across the kitchen, Amir makes retching noises.

“So what’d ya say? I just had a late lunch and got to thinkin’ of you. Gave me a sweet tooth.”

“Um, I don’t know, we’re really busy right now.” Amir snorts; you’ve had three customers in the last hour. There’s usually a rush first thing each morning and then again around closing time.

“Ya ain’t got time for me? Well, alrighty then. Maybe I won’t have time for you when you need a wild hog chased off your porch or a flat tire changed out there on Route 401.”

This is the eternal dilemma, the balance you wrestle with like a boat in a storm: not making him angry, not letting him get too close. You and Willis don’t have a formal agreement for custody or child support. You’ve worked it out yourselves, and he typically doesn’t make it too difficult. You’ve always felt that appeasement is the wisest course of action. As the elected sheriff of Assumption Parish, Willis Boudreaux is responsible for all criminal investigations, court proceedings, and tax collecting. Even when he was just a deputy, he had plenty of friends at the little white courthouse in the heart of downtown Napoleonville. You’re better off working with him than against him. “Okay, fine, I guess I have a few minutes. What do you want?”

“Why don’t you make a professional recommendation?”

You glance irritably at the kitchen table. “We have brown sugar pie, peach cobbler cupcakes, praline brownies, lemon blueberry cookies, uh, I’ve got half a strawberries and cream cake left in the fridge…”

“Definitely the cake,” Willis says. “I love strawberries. Remember how you fed them to me on the beach when we went to Grand Isle?”

That was…what, eight years ago? Ugh. “Barely.” You like when Willis has a girlfriend; then he mostly leaves you alone. Tragically, he and his most recent fiancé Colleen broke up last month. “I’ll drive the cake over now.” You slam the phone receiver into the base before Willis can respond.

“Let’s kill him,” Amir says.

You laugh. “I’ll consider it.”

“We can feed him to that gator out in the tree row.”

You grab a flat white bakery box off the pile, fold it open, and fetch what remains of the strawberries and cream cake from the refrigerator. “You’ll get that sweet potato pie in the oven if I’m gone for a half hour?”

“Yup. Then I’ll start working on the brown butter oatmeal raisin cookies. Is the recipe…? Oh, I see it, it’s right here on the counter. Got it. Have fun with your awful ex-husband. You sure you don’t want to add a little something special to that cake? Windex? Rat poison? He sure looks like a rodent to me. That nose? Those eyebrows?!”

“Amir, he’s just French.”

“He should be exiled to Saint Helena.”

“I’m going to have to put my own ad in the Bayou Journal,” you say, smiling sadly. “Who’s going to run the shop with me when you’re in San Francisco?”

Amir winks. “Maybe your traumatized, half-blind, hung-like-a-horse war veteran knows how to bake.”

Outside, the gator is sunning herself by the gravel driveway. She’s only about five feet long and dozing with her muddy green eyes closed, jagged upper teeth on display, missing toes here and there, back scarred by boat motors. It’s 90 degrees and sunny, warmth flooding over your bare legs and arms: denim shorts, lime green tank top. You can hear cicadas, doves, chickadees, starlings, goldfinches, ospreys, the benign droning of bumble bees. You throw the white box in the passenger seat and start your Chevy Celebrity, yellow paint, wood paneling, brown velour upholstery. You crank down the windows—the air conditioning is broken, that’s one reason why Willis’ brother was willing to sell it to you so cheap—and turn on the radio: 867-5309 by Tommy Tutone. You pull out onto Route 401, headed northeast towards downtown Napoleonville.

You pass fields of sugarcane and soybeans, shacks and trailers, grass green like emeralds. The hot mid-May air, humid and stagnant, blows through your hair. If the ride was any longer than ten minutes, you’d have needed a cooler for the cake. You find a parking spot on the street outside the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and grab the box containing half a strawberries and cream cake, probably just starting to get melty around the edges. Deputy Melancon is on his way out when you arrive. He holds the glass door open for you.

“Comment ca va, cherie? Is that for me? I hope so!”

“I think your boss would chew your arm off if you tried to get between him and this cake.”

Deputy Melancon guffaws as he ambles towards his police car. “Have fun in there! It’s a zoo today.”

“What…?” But now you can hear the noise coming from inside the building: howling, banging, Willis telling someone to sit down and shut up, his Cajun drawl lethargic and calm. Willis is not a yeller, and you’ve never witness him raise his hands in violence. The being a cop part of his job is the aspect he enjoys the least. But sitting around jawing with his deputies until long after midnight, regaling them with tales of supposed glory acquired while you were home with a screaming baby, scrubbing floors, fixing dinner, still bleeding eight weeks after birth, waiting—because it was all there was to look forward to—for him to walk through the door and shuffle to the couch and collapse there with an ice-cold can of Bud Light in his fist, dripping condensation down his sinewy forearm? That’s what Willis lives for.

Willis is at his desk and grudgingly plodding through an intake form. His sunglasses have been shoved up into his dark curly hair; his hat—which he loathes wearing—is resting atop a mountain of deserted paperwork. There’s a poster of Heather Locklear on the wall along with a dartboard with a cutout of Tommy Lee in the center. There’s a man in one of the three holding cells that you’ve hardly ever seen used. He has slicked-back blonde hair, an aristocratic wisp of a moustache, an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny red shorts and thick foam rainbow-patterned flip flops. He’s the person responsible for the ruckus.

“I want my phone call!” the prisoner shouts as he beats his palms against the iron bars. “Hey! Hey, mullet boy! I want my fucking phone call!”

Oddly, the stranger has a British accent. Aemond? you think for a split second. But no; this man couldn’t possibly be related to Aemond. He is short, slouched, soft all over, uncoordinated and uncomposed, pathetic, petulant, innately pitiful. Willis ignores him. He speaks to you instead.

“Bienvenue, sugar. Ya got something sweet for me?”

Obediently—though not entirely willingly—you bring him the white box and set it on his disorganized desk. Willis produces a stack of Styrofoam plates and a Ziploc bag full of plastic eating utensils that he keeps stocked in a drawer specifically for such occasions. He opens the box and sighs euphorically, his eyes on the moist pink cake and layers of whipped cream frosting as if it’s the flesh of a naked woman.

“Hey!” the prisoner shouts, gripping the iron bars and pressing his flushed cheeks flat against them. “Hey! I like cake too!”

“Just what I needed,” Willis tells you, as if the man isn’t there. “Sit down, eat with me.”

“I really don’t have long.”

“Ya got five minutes, don’t you?”

I guess I do. You sit down but don’t take any cake. As Willis cuts himself a slice, you can’t help but watch the man in the holding cell. He stares back at you, a little ashamed, a little defiant, palpably weak. You ask Willis: “What did you book him for?”

“DWI,” Willis says with his mouth full of cake. “Driving While Intoxicated.”

“Huh. You don’t usually pick people up for that.”

Willis points at the prisoner with his fork for emphasis. “This one was very intoxicated.”

The man kicks the bars with his flip flops. “I want my fucking phone call!”

“Ya already used it,” Willis says pragmatically, and nods to something on the floor of the holding cell: an empty, grease-stained Pizza Hut box. The prisoner looks at it, regretful.

“I didn’t know I’d only get one,” he admits. “But also! You ate three slices of my pizza!”

Willis chuckles. “Consider it payin’ your taxes.” Then, to you: “It was tres bien. Meat Lover’s. Ya can’t argue with that.”

“Hey cake lady,” the prisoner says, his prominent eyes weepy, needful, a deep stormy blue. “Can I have a piece? Please? Please? I’m having a rough day here. My flip flops are giving me blisters and your redneck husband committed pizza theft. And I’m in jail.”

“Ex-husband,” you correct him.

“Good for you. Smart cake lady.”

Willis says: “You just settle down and I’ll drive you over to the parish jail as soon as I’m done with my dessert.” He shovels cake into his mouth; he eats like a gator, like a pig.

At last, you cut a portion of strawberries and cream cake—the whipped cream frosting turning thin and runny—and place it on a Styrofoam plate. Then you get up to take it to the prisoner. You have a soft spot for the freaks of the world. You and Amir, you know exactly what it’s like to be freaks.

“Don’t give him no fork or nothing,” Willis says around a mouthful of cake. “I can’t have him tryin’ to kill himself.”

“As if I’d give you the satisfaction, Sasquatch!” the prisoner flings back.

“It’s the Rougarou we got down here, son,” Willis replies, unbothered.

You set the plate on the beige linoleum floor close enough for the prisoner to reach out and drag it to his cell. When you step back, he retrieves the cake and eats it with his bare hands. “Oh, fuck, this is so good!”

You turn to Willis. “Cadi keeps mentioning some horseback riding camp that a bunch of her friends are going to this summer. Can we make that happen?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?! It’s over $300! That’s a new boat!”

“I think it would mean a lot to her.”

“Tell her if she grows her hair back out, maybe she can go next year.” Willis licks pink cake crumbs from his fork. “Why the hell’d she ever get it cut like that?”

You shrug, irritated. “Because she wanted to.”

“Never wears no skirts or dresses, doesn’t care about jewelry, always got dirt on her face…ain’t she gonna want a boyfriend in a few years? Who’s gonna take her out lookin’ like that? Who’s gonna marry her one day?”

“She’s ten years old, Willis.”

“She’s been spending too much time with your little friend, that’s the problem.”

You glare furiously at him, but are interrupted before you can say something unwise. The man in the holding cell has finished his slice of cake. He sucks frosting off his chubby fingers and then yanks on the iron bars in vain. “I gotta go home! I gotta feed my ferret!”

“Guess ya should have thought about that before driving 70 miles per hour in a school zone, Mr.…” Willis glances at the intake form to refresh his memory. “Targaryen. What the heck is that, Italian? Polish? It ain’t French, that’s for sure.”

“It’s Greek, you dumb hick.”

Willis jabs his plastic fork at him. “You oughta watch that, son, or you’ll catch yourself a nasty case of what the liberals call police brutality.”

“He’s a Targaryen?” you ask, stunned. The man in the cell peers back at you with large, ever-wounded, ocean-blue eyes, glassy but not entirely unintelligent.

“So what?” Willis says.

“Willis, those are the oil people. Jade Dragon, the new rigs on Lake Verret? The Targaryens own that company.”

“Well I’ll be damned!” he marvels. “Really? This bon a rien right here, his family are a bunch of millionaires?”

“Yes. And you should probably let him make another phone call.”

“Yeah!” the prisoner says excitedly. “Listen to the cake lady!”

“Alright, alright,” Willis grumbles. “Guess I don’t need no legal trouble.” He picks up the phone off his desk and walks it to the holding cell; the cord stretches just far enough. “Make your damn phone call, gros couillion.”

Mr. Targaryen snatches up the receiver, punches some buttons, and listens as it rings. “Hi. Okay, don’t yell at me. Here’s the deal. I’m at the Assumption Parish Sheriff’s Office and I need you to pick me up. Wait, I said don’t yell at me! Stop yelling!!”

“I really need to get back to the bakery,” you tell Willis as you make for the door. “I’ll see you around, okay—?”

“Hey, sugar.” You stop and wait for him to finish. He’s considering you in that way he does sometimes: mild, thoughtful, vaguely sad, how’d we end up like this? He should know, you’ve told him a hundred times, but that doesn’t mean he understands. “I’m supposed to be gettin’ a new deputy next week. When he shows, I’ll send him down your way, recruit ya another customer. Charge him a little extra if you want. He won’t know no better.”

“Thanks, Willis,” you say, and you mean it. Then you step outside into sun glare and the shrieking of cicadas.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s almost dinnertime when the phone rings. You’re heating up the turtle soup that Amir brought over earlier, stirring the pot as the sky outside turns from a crystalline blue—just like Aemond’s eye—to rust and amber and fool’s gold, as the twilight air breathes into the room warm and ancient. There’s a plump nutria nibbling on grass at the edge of the backyard. Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go pipes from the boombox. At first you’re too startled to race for the phone—too terrified that it won’t be Aemond, too afraid to get your hopes up—and you hesitate just long enough for Cadi to answer instead.

“Hello?” she says, and then: “Yeah, school was good.”

Everything sinks in you, heart, spirit, the sweltering pressure of blood ebbing in your veins. Oh. It’s Willis.

Cadi continues chatting away obliviously. “Uh huh. Not really. We learned about robber barons and cannons of Italy. Yeah, captains of industry, that’s what I meant. Uh huh. Yup. It was okay, I guess. Yeah. Today it was pizza, but it’s always shaped like a rectangle. Exactly, no crust. It’s weird. Pepperoni. I always sit with Michelle and Erica. Erica has this totally tubular book about horses she showed us. Yup. I like the Appaloosas the most. Uh huh. Okay, I will. Yup. Bye.” Then she hands you the phone. “For you,” she says, then resumes setting the counter: cups, bowls, spoons, folded Bounty paper towels, dinner for two. You never eat at the kitchen table. The table is reserved for business.

You raise the pink phone receiver to your ear with some uncertainty. What does he want now? “Willis?”

“No,” Aemond says, amused. “Though we’ve been to some of the same places.”

You try not to let the smile fill up your face. You fail. “You were asking Cadi about her day?”

“Evidently.” You don’t know what this means; you don’t ask. “When are you free?”

“I usually have the house to myself on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.” It’s currently Monday.

“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“I should be done in the bakery at around 5:00.”

“I’ll be there at 5:01.” Then Aemond hangs up. So do you, your skull suddenly abloom like springtime, colors and promise and warmth. He’s going to be here in less than 24 hours. I really am going to see him again.

You turn towards the counter. “Cadi, what are robber barons?”

“Rich people who are mean to their workers to get as much money as possible. They don’t care about others. They just want more and more and more. They’re very greedy and are never satisfied.”

“So like the Rockefellers and Standard Oil,” you say, thinking back to your high school American History class. It feels like a lifetime ago, it feels like trying to catch lightning bugs in your bare hands.

“Yeah.” Cadi pours herself a cup of Tang. She’s wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and green corduroy pants; her father would not approve. “Or Jade Dragon Energy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Tuesday, 5:03 p.m., rattling cicadas and golden light like the lit coil of a stove burner. You’re still scrubbing dishes, and Amir is icing the last of the orange creamsicle cupcakes for the next morning. Aemond opens the unlocked front door and strides purposefully into the kitchen: ripped jeans, red t-shirt, Converses to match, Marlboro jacket. He is carrying a neon teal duffle bag that he drops on the sloping wooden floor where the living room meets the kitchen. He is momentarily taken aback when he sees Amir, then recalls what you told him about your friend who helps run the bakery. Aemond pulls out one of the kitchen table chairs and sits. He lifts the glass lid from a cake plate, takes the last peach cobbler cupcake for himself, makes unflinching eye contact with you as he licks the frosting off it with long, slow, sensual drags of his tongue.

Amir says: “Hey Scarface, that’s $1.”

“Amir!” you scold, mortified. But Aemond doesn’t seem offended. He smirks, extracts his black leather wallet from the pocket his jeans, and fishes out four singles. He slides them across the table.

Amir sighs. “This bitch can’t even count.”

“I’m sure he can count,” you say, smiling. “He’s an engineer.”

“He’s mouth-fucking this cupcake right in front of me, he’s clearly unstable.”

Aemond looks to you. His voice is low, imposing. “I need to know what your limits are.”

“Oh my God!” Amir squeaks, bent over the table and icing as quickly as he can.

“Okay,” you tell Aemond. You rinse the pearlescent soap bubbles from your hands, wrists, forearms. Then you step out from behind the counter and watch him, remember him, imagine what will happen next.

He gives the peach cobbler cupcake another lap. Buttercream frosting coats his mischieviously curled lips and then is swiftly licked away. “Can I spank you?”

“Yes.”

Amir mutters to himself: “Grandma is never going to believe this.”

“Can I tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you hard enough to leave bruises?”

You pause. “Only places that will be covered by my clothes.”

“And what should you say if you ever don’t like what I’m doing?”

“I just tell you to stop.”

“Exactly.” Aemond grins. His right eye skates from your face to your chest to your hips to your thighs to your ankles, drinking you down like the earth swallows rain, like the vines and cypress trees and Sanish moss of the bayou thieve sunlight and never give it back. His left eye doesn’t move at all, though this is not something you would notice if you didn’t know to look for it. “Good girl.”

“Done!” Amir announces triumphantly, completing the swirl of frosting on the final orange creamsicle cupcake.

“Can I pull your hair?” Aemond asks you.

“Yeah, I think so. Not hard enough to yank it out though.”

Aemond scoffs. “Of course not. I don’t actually want to hurt you. That’s what some doms are after, but not me. Not here, not with you. You don’t want real pain, do you…?”

“No, definitely not,” you say, relieved.

“Brilliant. Then we’re on the same page.”

Amir could leave, but he doesn’t. His eyes dart between you and Aemond from behind his large rectangular glasses, fascinated, scandalized, too astonished to move.

Aemond continues: “Birth control?”

“I’m on the pill and have been for years. I can show you the pack if you don’t believe me.”

“I believe you. I saw them in your bathroom last time I was here. I’m in the practice of using condoms regardless.” He tilts his head impishly. “Can I fuck your ass?”

“Um.” You hesitate. This is uncharted territory, though you cannot say that you are entirely unintrigued. “Maybe one day.”

“Noted. Some people find the sensation, the taboo, the fullness…quite pleasurable.”

“Do you?” Amir asks flirtatiously.

Aemond gives him a lazy, ludicrously charming smile. “Well I’ve never been on the receiving end, but I’m game to give it a try if you are.”

Amir bursts out laughing, then says to you: “He’s alright. He can commit abominable sins with you, I guess.” He stands and shakes Aemond’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Kind of.” Then he saunters off through the living room and out the front door. After a moment, you and Aemond listen to his blue Ford Escort rumble to life and then the crunching of gravel as it rolls out of the driveway. From the boombox drifts Just What I Needed by The Cars.

Aemond licks the last of the frosting from the peach cobbler cupcake and says: “Now you’re going to be the cupcake.” He crosses the kitchen, kneels down in front of you, roughly yanks down your denim shorts. He presses his face to your royal blue satin panties—hastily purchased this morning while Amir watched the shop and changed into just one hour ago in anticipation of Aemond’s arrival—and inhales deeply, desperately, like a drowning man gasping for air. Then, through the sheer fabric, he begins to tease you: nudges of his nose, nibbles of his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his short blonde hair. Blonde like the drunk man in the holding cell, you think randomly. “Aemond, why didn’t you want me last time?”

“I wanted you. I wanted you then and I want you now.”

“But I disappointed you. You didn’t finish.”

“Oh, I came,” he purrs. “Went home, got in the shower, thought of you. It didn’t take long. I would have disappointed you terribly. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of you. Tried to miraculously get some work done yesterday while thinking of you. Crawled out of bed this morning thinking of you. Are you noticing a theme?”

You smile as his tongue presses forcefully against the satin. “I might be.”

“How many times in your life has a man treated his orgasm as essential and your own as an afterthought, if he considered it at all?”

Oh God. That’s the fucking truth. “A lot more than once.”

“So consider what we did on Sunday as one little notch in the other column. Just restoring a bit of much-needed balance to the universe.” He hooks his thumbs under your panties and tugs them off. “Open your thighs for me,” he orders as he pushes them apart with his palms: large, smooth, artful hands. You brace your own hands against the kitchen counter as he buries his face between your legs, not lapping in a tentative, exploratory sort of way but feasting on you, drowning in you, lips and tongue and then fingers that skate up the downy inside of your thigh to taunt you, enter you, fuck you expertly yet leave you wanting more of him, all of him. Your nerves are on fire, your blood is simmering. Outside the birds of prey are emerging from their liars and battle-scarred gators stalk boldly through the green prehistoric wildness of the Deep South.

What happened to his eye? you think through the lust-pink haze, knowing you cannot ask him. Aemond respects your rules. You must abide by his as well. How was he injured so gravely? Who hurt him? Did they atone for their misdeeds, did they pay the cost?

Suddenly, Aemond stands and pulls you against him by your waist, rips your yellow tank top over your head and unhooks your bra, kisses you fiercely. His mouth is dripping with you, clean mineral longing; his right eye is gleaming, famished, not just lustful but half-mad. No one else exists. No one ever has or ever will. “Go to the bed and wait for me there.”

“No.”

He spanks you once with his open palm; the sound is sharp and exquisite. “Go.” And this time you obey, counting the seconds in the dusk-lit splinter of time before he joins you.

In Aemond’s duffle bag—among other things, surely—are silk scarves the color of sapphires. First he fastens one over your eyes as a blindfold. Then he ties one around each of your wrists and binds both to the same bedpost, low enough that while your hands are kept up by your head, you still have some room to maneuver on the freshly-laundered, wildflower-patterned duvet. “Not different posts?” you ask Aemond.

“No. Tying your arms far apart like that can cause cramps in your back and your shoulders. It can even make it difficult to breathe. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be focused entirely on what I’m doing to you.”

You moan as his fingers slip between your legs and circle over the place that makes your muscles yearn and twist and tighten until you feel they might snap, until you can imagine every string of you breaking and dissolving from the prison of flesh into water, air, gravity, the eternal silent progress of time. He bites and sucks at your nipples, flicking his tongue over them, admiring them, praising them, ravenous for them. You are enraptured by the weight of him on top of you. Without your sight, everything else is more noticeable, more real: his warmth, his sweat, his every brush of skin against yours, his smoke and cologne and gasps and sighs, the grinding of his bare cock against your thighs as he makes you ready for him. And you beg for it long before he gives it to you.

“Roll over,” he commands breathlessly, and then guides you: your fingers clutching the scarves that secure your wrists, your elbows propped on the mattress, your back arched and hips angled up towards him, his lips murmuring against your shoulder, your cheek, the side of your throat. He’s telling you so many things, perfect things, delicious things you’ll never hear enough of: how beautiful you are, how badly he wants you, how well you’re doing. There is the sound of Aemond opening a condom wrapper, and a strange sorrow ripples through you. I wish I could have him raw.

One of his hands reaches around to stroke you, keeping you soaked and supple for him. The other begins to guide his cock into your aching, starving wetness. You stretch for him, you accept him eagerly…and then there is resistance. He stills immediately and tries a slightly different angle. Nothing. He could force it, probably, but he won’t. He recedes from you, agonizing emptiness, dire unfulfillment. I’m disappointing him, he’s too big, I’m too tight, too nervous, too inexperienced at being dominated, I can’t please him. You whimper: “Aemond, I’m sorry—”

“No,” he says, more ferocious than any words you’ve ever heard from him. You are not allowed to criticize yourself. You are not allowed to give up so easily. He leans down and whispers into the shell of your ear, his ribs against your spine, his heat entombing you: “Relax. I’m in charge now. I’ll take care of you.”

You want him to. You need him to. His commandment rolls through your blood and bones like a wave, loosening those last vestiges of anxiety, shaking grim psychological heirlooms from the highest shelves. You can surrender yourself completely to Aemond. He is worthy, he is safe, he is euphoria made flesh. His fingertips are still stroking you. He pushes your thighs just a little farther apart and—slowly, cautiously—eases his cock into your throbbing warmth. He hisses in a breath, though he tries not to break character, to show you that he might just be a little bit at your mercy too.

You moan loudly and shamelessly, letting him know you’re alright, more than alright, in ecstasy, in bliss, in torment, on the edge. When Aemond thrusts, he finds a place that’s never been hit so directly or so well. The climax is on you before you are aware of it, one of those swells that rises out of nowhere, capsizes the boat, fades back into the endless blue of the ocean. It jolts through your pelvis, your spine, your skull, and then evaporates like steam from a bathroom mirror. And now Aemond is trying to finish too, but something is off. He tries a few different rhythms, can’t seem to get it right. You think you can feel him beginning to soften. No no no, I can’t leave him unsatisfied again.

You look back, though you cannot see him through the blindfold; instinctively, you want to be closer to him. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond says. “Nothing, nothing, nothing is wrong. You’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect.” He turns your face so he can kiss you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, swallowing you down, entangled in every way possible. And only then he is able to come: powerfully, trembling, crying out like he’s in the kind of pain that leaves scars for life.

He glides his cock out of you, and you can hear him snap off the condom. Then he unties your blindfold and your wrists. You reach for him, then stop yourself; he reaches for you—a reflex, surely—and then shakes the notion away and collapses beside you on the duvet. You both lie there panting, gazing dizzily up at the long shadows of centuries-old oak trees that cascade across the ceiling, minds drained, bodies spent.

After a moment, Aemond clambers off the bed to grab a lighter and a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his jeans pocket. Then he flops back down next to you, lights a cigarette, takes a deep, slow drag. “So, cupcake,” he says nonchalantly, exhaling smoke, hand shaking. “Where’d you get married?”

You laugh; this is ridiculous. “Why on earth would you want to know that?”

“I want to know things about you. Things other than your tits and your pussy. I mean, those are great. I enjoy them tremendously, and I plan to keep enjoying them. But I also enjoy you.”

You sigh. Aemond waits, puffing on his cigarette. “The parish courthouse.” Plain, boring, economical. “I wanted a wedding at Saint Honoratus, but…”

“Saint…who?”

“The Chapel of Saint Honoratus of Amiens,” you say. “It’s this gorgeous place in a town called Belle River on the other side of Lake Verret. Very small, very old, it’s a historic site or something, they can’t ever knock it down.”

“Why couldn’t you get married there?”

You shrug; how much could the details matter now? Someone needed to organize it, someone needed to decorate, someone needed to pay for food and drinks, someone needed to send out invitations, someone needed to care enough to make it happen, and that someone would have been you, just you, seventeen and broke and bedridden with morning sickness until noon every day. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Sounds like a lot of things didn’t work out for you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Aemond winces.

“Sorry. That was…not the way I meant to express that sentiment.”

You forgive him. You’d forgive him for anything right now, right here, in a bed stained with his sweat and your wetness and the seed you wish he could have spilled inside you. You taunt him: “Should we meet up at your house next time?”

He recoils, horrified. “No. Definitely not.”

“Why? What’s at your house? An abandoned wife and six tall, blonde, prominently-jawed children?”

He chuckles; he has collected himself again. “No. It’s just that…well…I have family in town currently. They’re staying with me while I get set up with the new job and everything. Quite a lot of people. And my family is…unorthodox.”

You wish he would stop using words you don’t know. That’s the hazard of affiliating with a highfalutin petroleum engineer, you suppose. “So they’re strange?”

“That’s a kind word for it.”

“I like strange people. I like you.”

Aemond smirks warily. “You wouldn’t like them. Just trust me on that.” He traces the border of your face with his fingertips, contemplating your secrets, tending his own like a nightscape garden. “Do you ever want to do something…not in your bedroom?”

You grin and he kisses you, nicotine and quelled desire; he can’t help it. You say when you break away: “What, like dinner or flowers or any of the other activities that were very clearly not a part of this arrangement?”

“Arrangements are flexible.”

“Are they?”

“This one is. Increasingly so.”

You ponder his proposition. “There’s this new restaurant I really want to go to. I’ve never been before, but it looks pretty rad in the commercials on tv. It’s up in Gonzales.”

“The same town as your illustrious Kmart engagement. How fortuitous. Pease continue.”

“It’s an Italian place,” you say.

“I love Italian.”

“It’s called Olive Garden.”

Aemond’s mouth falls open. He is bewildered, appalled. His cigarette smolders forgotten in the crook of his fingers. You might as well have told him you wanted to run over puppies with lawnmowers. “You want me to take you to Olive Garden? Seriously?”

You are wounded. “What’s wrong with Olive Garden?”

“Cupcake, Olive Garden is not real Italian food. That’s like saying Taco Bell is Mexican.”

“…Isn’t it?”

“Okay,” he capitulates. He smiles as he smooths your disheveled hair and touches his lips to your forehead. “It’s fine. We’ll go to Olive Garden.”

“Really?” you reply, beaming.

“Really. You’re free Thursday?”

“Unless Willis has to switch nights for some reason, yeah.”

“Then we’ll go Thursday.” Aemond rolls off the bed and finds a mug—Return Of The Jedi, Princess Leia and the Ewoks—left on your dresser to put his cigarette out in. He looks through the screen of your open bedroom window as the sky turns ever-darker, as the moon and stars begin to rise, and he breathes in the verdant, humid, ageless witchcraft of the bayou. “You have no idea what the last few days have been like for me,” Aemond says softly, his bare back turned to you, the ridge of his spine like a road cut through a swamp or a forest or a field of sugarcane. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”

[satoru-is-the-way]

Namor loving the way reader says his name and going buck fuck wild when she whispers it in his ear.

A/N : Yes I love this request! I am unsure if this is suppose to be smut or PG-13 so...!! By the way all my Namor fics are Hispnic/Latina women based!

Here is my Fandom Master List! You can find more Namor fics including other characters!

Warnings: Curssing, grinding, thoughts of SMUT,and SMUT

MINORS DO NOT INGAGE. MDNI MDNI MDNI

"A Whisper"

Namor x Hispanic/Latina Reader!

Namor never would have imagined that he would one day fall in love with a surface dweller. He had no love for the surface world; that much was true. Everything about the world above sea posed a threat to his people. One day when he decided to make a venture above he meet her. The God of Talokan instantly became hypnotized by the gorgeous female. He watched the stranger linger on his beachfront. At that moment Namor knew he would claim this land woman as his queen.

Over a year had passed since his declaration. Namor stood in the cavern which displayed several murals of Talokan's history. His current segment is a devotion to (Y/n) and how she became the Queen of Talokan. While carefully mixing the colors Namor only thought of you. Many in Talokan wondered why their king, their god, choose somebody from the outside world. He felt many emotions thinking of his love. The (h/c) hair that shines in the sun. Her soft (s/c) skin that clashed against his. Her large (e/c) orbs that held so much love for him and Talokan. Perhaps it's her body? The way she moved, showing her curved in every outfit he handcrafted for her... Or how his cock perfectly fits into her wet pussy. The way she called his name- That was it! Her voice.

(Y/n)'s voice held an accent. Speaking their language Namor often shivers at her intersections. Or the way she would call his name. He then was pulled from his thoughts hearing footsteps. "In reina" (My Queen). Namor smiled walking to her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"In ajawo' ~ Sigues sorprendiendo in yéetel a mayajo' yila'ob. Ma' ya'ab u píibo' ki'ichpam bey utia'al u pintada ti' le pak'o'."

(My king~ You continue to amaze me with your artwork. I am not beautiful enough to be painted on this wall.)

"Oh stop being humble. Your beauty is everything. It lights Talokan in the darkest corners. It gives me a want for a different view on life. To have children." He said kissing her deeply.

The innocent kiss soon became heated in the cavern. The God and queen soon were on the ground him between her (s/n) legs that wrapped around his waist. He roughly grinds his hardening cock into her precious flower. (Y/n) moaned her plump lips against his ear. "Kukulkan~" A whisper left her voice as she nibbled on his pointed ear. That is what did him in. The King growled like an animal. He pulled her bottoms down as (Y/n) yanked his boxer briefs down. "Ah fuck!" She pants once his large cock pushed into her tight wet cunt

The End - 😌

[piedpiperslists]

hiii can you recommend any jealous jungkook/oc AUs? thank you so much 💞💞

Hi. I did not expect to list about 30 fics just for this theme 😭 but tbf I also included fics that aren't necessarily focused on jealousy but some which the authors also tagged with.

* ² - two shots s - contains smut

Drabbles

Defense Mechanism by yoongiphoria established relationship Summary: Your love language is not words of affirmation, but that’s not going to stop Jeongguk.

Focus on Me by aquagustd s FWB, college au

Green Room by honeymoonjin s established relationship, idol au, PWP Summary: Post-concert jealous Jungkook.

Head Over Skates by mercurygguk ice hockey player!Jungkook, college au Summary: Jungkook doesn’t get jealous but here you are, bringing out new sides of him.

“I’m not jealous.” by taleasnewastime established relationship

Just Friends by jeonqkooks s FWM college au Summary: Jungkook doesn’t like it when other people look at you the way he does.

Like That by dawnagustd s college au Summary: Running into an awkward situation at a house party? Your first instinct is to hide. And because you have the worst luck, your hiding spot is already being occupied… by another awkward situation.

Ness-tled in Your Embrace by lavienjin s established relationship, PWP Summary: A drabble about one (1) jealous Jeon Jungkook.

Perilla Leaves by hyungieyoongi friends to lovers, fake dating

The Past Is Past by yukheii established relationship Summary: Where Y/N is with Jungkook but she originally had a crush on Taehyung and Jungkook finds out and feels insecure.

The Perilla Leaf Debacle by here2bbtstrash s established relationship Summary: You hate it when your boyfriend gets jealous, but you love the way he takes it out on you.

Tulip by jinfizz friends to lovers Summary: Red roses aren’t the only flower with a romantic meaning, so you don’t have to totally splurge to show your dedication. Red tulips are also considered a declaration of love, and they’re especially gorgeous in the spring.

“Wait a minute…are you jealous?” “I’m not jealous! It’s just…you’re mine!” by taeken-my-heart established relationship, college au

When he’s jealous over the perilla leafs debate by delugguk s established relationship, PWP Summary: 'Next thing you know, you're holding hands with him and end up getting married!'

You are jealous of a new staff member by bangtan-sonyeonddaeng established relationship, idol au

One Shots

A Blight on the Heart by thatlongspringnight s wc~13.3k / established marriage, historical au Summary: You married him because you wanted a new life, and even with the struggle, the fights, you’d marry him again any day. Or - Jungkook loves you from the moment he reads your first letter, and the rest is history.

Absolute by v-hope wc~4.3k / fuckboy!Jungkook, tutor!reader, FWB, college au Summary: After arguing over the status of your relationship and having a bit of a fall out, Jeongguk and you find out you don’t quite like the idea of each other being with someone else. Nevertheless, with the two of you not being precisely a couple, things might get a little too complicated.

Bewitching by taegularities s wc~10.8k / FWB, vampire au Summary: Your feelings for Jungkook differ too much from the quiet agreement between you and his free-spirited, cold soul; too dangerous to speak them aloud. But when desire and longing take the lead, how long will you, the loyal servant to her master, be able to silence what resides deep inside of you?

Ego Season by sparklingchim s wc~6.3k / hockey player!Jungkook, brother's best friend, college au Summary: POV: You make ur secret fuck buddy jealous. Number 7 by sparklingchim s wc~3k / hockey player!Jungkook, brother's best friend, college au Summary: POV: Your jealous fuck buddy pounds you in his jersey.

Heaven’s Open by btsmosphere wc~3.5k / friends to lovers, college au Summary: It’s never a good time for the heavens to open, trapping you to wait out the storm. But your own piece of heaven is stuck right there with you - maybe the rainclouds will shed some light on the cold front that has formed between you and Jungkook.

Hot Boy Bummer by jungkxook s wc~14.6k / fuckboy!Jungkook, friends to lovers, FWB Summary: When Jungkook offers you a proposition of just sex, no strings attached, how can you possibly say no? After all, what are best friends for?

Jealousy by jkeuphoriadreamland s wc~2.3k / established relationship Summary: All of this over a fucking perilla leaf!?

My Heart Is Yours by honeytae wc~3k / established relationship

Never Be Friends by jjungxkook wc~3k / friends to lovers Summary: A healthy mix of irritation and amusement leads to kissing and making out with your best friend. Everyone knows that.

Pink Sapphire by jiminrings wc~11k / arranged marriage Summary: Having Jungkook for a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he’s easy to love. Your relationship’s perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn’t think sometimes — and that’s what makes it the easiest for you to hate him. Alternatively, you and Jungkook married each other for business, but the both of you stay for love.

Project: Star X by xenizaation s wc~6k / rockstar!Jungkook, friends to lovers

[...] So It Begins (2) by muniimyg wc~2.5k / friends to lovers, university au Summary: The one where it’s all about what Jungkook wants.

Stay by jungkxook s wc~8k / popstar!Jungkook, groupie!reader, FWB Summary: Jungkook wasn’t always so madly in love with you but the fact that you’re sleeping with two of his band mates too makes things a tad bit complicated.

The Cockpile: Try Out by httpjeon s wc~6.6k / established relationship, pornstar au Summary: Dating a porn star wasn’t easy. Jealousy can run rampant if there’s no communication.

Two Shots/Series

Denial ² by girlygguk s actress!reader, FWB, idol au, PWP Summary: It's been a plethora of secret meetups, quickies in the bathrooms of his award shows, and 2 am 'you up?' texts during your year-long situationship with Jungkook. You both agreed in the beginning that your careers are far too hectic to commit to anything serious, but you can't shake the shitty ache in your chest every time the high wears off, or when you're crawling out of his bed in the middle of the night. Trying to exile the shitty feeling of longing that you harbor for him, you spend time with another one of your guy friends. Jungkook sees, and he's mad.

Four Seven Eight by jiminrings actress!reader, established relationship Summary: You’re secure when it comes to loving Jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. What you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. Alternatively, Jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

You can also check the FWB list. I think most fics there have an overall feel of jealousy.

[pechadream]

Sebastian's Flower Dilemma

Pairing: Sebastian/Farmer OC

Summary:

Sebastian didn't like flowers. Anyone who knew him could tell you that much. 

It's not like he hated flowers, he just didn't care enough about them to spend some extra time in his day learning about them or stopping to look at them. 

They looked decent at best in his opinion for most cases, they weren't anything wow worthy to him. It's not like he was going to bother anyone who did like them. But it took too much work to keep them looking good, so he never saw the point. 

He didn't know a single thing about flowers.

So why the hell was he standing at the back of Pierre's shop looking at a wide array of bouquets?

Category: Fluff, Illustrated fic

Content warnings: Mild language

Word count: 6671

A/N:

Guess who got motivated to write/post fics again after like three years thanks to SDV?

I'm going to try to find my writing style again and I'm also trying out a new format for my fanfics where I include my art.

I'm gonna be testing and messing around with the format for the next few oneshots I post (E.G. The spacing of drawings and the placement of them in the fic) in preparation for a much much bigger fic planned, so feedback is really appreciated for that!

(Please note: For most oneshots, the drawings will most likely stay as [clean] sketches.)

Sebastian didn't like flowers. Anyone who knew him could tell you that much. 

It's not like he hated flowers, he just didn't really care enough about them to spend some extra time in his day learning about them or stopping to look at them. 

They looked decent at best in his opinion for most cases, they weren't anything wow worthy to him. It's not like he was going to bother anyone who did like them. But it took too much work to keep them looking good, so he never saw the point. 

He didn't know a single thing about flowers.

So why the hell was he standing at the back of Pierre's shop looking at a wide array of bouquets?

He pursed his lips and stared at the vibrant colors in front of him, silently thanking yoba that Abigail wasn't home and that Sam had no plans on going to the store as he didn't want to risk his friends catching him and making a big deal about it or annoying him. 

Why were there so many options? Why do some of the flowers have meanings? Who the hell is writing meanings for flowers??

Sebastian's hand picked at a loose thread on his hoodie as he walked closer to the bouquets and looked at the vibrant options in front of him. 

He, personally, wouldn't really care what bouquet someone gave him, but this was serious. He wanted the best for her. But how the hell was he supposed to find out what flowers she even liked?

He thought back to when he visited her farm a week ago, her bright smile as she took his hand and led him to the corner of her farm that held her animals. The gleam in her eyes sparkling as she showed off her new flower patch in the center that surrounded her fruit trees.

"It's not really much right now," She said as she walked over towards it. "But I'm hoping to grow a lot more flowers soon when I can buy the seeds! Doesn't it look pretty?" She turned to look at him, his heart tugging as he smiled back to her.

"Yeah… It looks nice."

She definitely didn't know of his lack of interest in flowers. 

Sebastian looked at a rose bouquet as he tried remembering the flowers that she had planted down. He was sure she mentioned it once, but the name completely slipped his mind.

Maybe she texted him the name? 

Sebastian let out a sigh and pulled out his phone, completely unaware of what else was happening in the store.

He scrolled through their (many) texts between each other and alas, there was no mention of the damned flower name. 

Of course. Maybe Pierre would've known if she bought it recently? But how the hell was he supposed to ask–

"-Yeah okay dad! I'll just put these in the back, okay?"

Sebastian froze, his eyes going wide as he heard the familiar sound of a certain someone's voice. 

Abigail. 

Shit.

Why is she here!? She said she'd be out all day because she had things to do! 

And why was this the day that she decided to help Pierre of all days?!

Sebastian's eyes darted around, there's absolutely no way he'd be able to hide or try to get away without her seeing him. He couldn't put his hood up, if anything that'd just make him stick out more.

The sound of footsteps started getting closer as he just froze in place, not even daring to look away from his phone. 

His mind raced as he held his breath.

don't notice me don't notice me don't notice me don't-

"... Seb? What are you doing here?"

damnit.

Sebastian's head shot up as his panicked eyes met Abigail's (very confused) gaze. His mouth opened, trying to come up with some stupid excuse as to why he was next to a bunch of bouquets. His eyes darted back and forth from Abigail, then to the bouquets, and then to his phone. 

Abigail stared at him, waiting for him to respond before she followed his gaze to the bouquets and her mouth formed an 'o' as it sank in. 

"Oh my god…"

Nonononono-

"Holy shit- Are you- Sebastian, are you going to ask someone out?" A wide grin plastered itself on her face as she quickly set down the boxes onto an empty shelf before rushing over and squeezing him in a hug. "I can't believe it! Sebby's fallen in loveeee-"

"NO- No, it's not-!" Sebastian shoved his phone into his pocket and backed away from Abigail. "You're completely wrong- I'm not asking anyone out, I'm just- …. looking at the flowers?" He weakly said, his voice getting more quiet as he kept talking. 

Abigail snickered, "God, if you're gonna lie, at least put in some effort." The girl walked over to the display, leaning against the side of it. "Soo, which one were you thinking of?".

Sebastian's fingers picked at the loose thread on his hoodie even more roughly as he dug himself deeper into a hole. "None of them! I'm just- Looking at some for Maru, because she said she needed flowers for an experiment and- " "Sebastian that's an even worse lie." She shook her head and gestured for him to come over. His shoulders slacked as he felt defeated, taking his three steps of shame over to be closer to the display.

Abigail's teasing grin softened as she nudged his shoulder, "C'mon, I know you're probably struggling with this. Tell me who you're crushing on and I'll help you pick one!" She walked over to stand beside him. "Sooo? Who is it?"

Sebastian felt his face burning up, god he wanted to die. He took in a deep breath before finally saying her name. 

"... It's Luna."

He could only stare at the floor as his face reddened, he couldn't believe he was just sharing his crush as if he were in highschool. 

Abigail stared at him, taking it in. 

"Wow, that's…" She took in a breath.

"... not really much of a surprise." Abigail let out a laugh. 

His head snapped back to look at her again. "What?" Sebastian stared at her in confusion. "How- how did you-" He watched as she shrugged. "Dude, you're so predictable! I was gonna guess if it was Luna you're asking out! But it's kinda rude to guess someone's crush like that so-" 

"Abby, how did you know?" Sebastian shoved his hands into his pockets, his face burning up more. Abigail just stared at him blankly.

"Sebastian…" She shook her head and placed her hands on his shoulders, "Oh, sweet, oblivious, Sebastian…" the woman let out a sigh. "How can you be so oblivious to what you do? Mr. 'Of course, Luna! Of course I'll step outside into the sun for you!'." She said in a mocking tone while clasping her hands together.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I do not act like that." He smacked her on the shoulder gently. She scoffed with a grin, "You sure? It really seems like that to me!"

Abigail rolled her eyes before putting her hands on her hips.  "What kind of flowers does she like?" 

"I… Don't know." He said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as Abigail just stared at him blankly.

"You… Don't know?" She stared at him for a second before walking over and picking up a rose bouquet. "What about this? It's pretty, isn't it?" She lifted it towards him as he backed away.

"I dunno… Isn't that a bit… Cliché?" He gently pushed it away as she let out another sigh. "Dude, she won't care! If she feels the same way then she'll just accept it and make out with you or something! She's not gonna throw it on the floor and stomp on it while going on about how 'This didn't even cost 10,000G, I don't want it'!" 

Abigail placed the bouquet back before picking up another one, this one being a bouquet of daisies and holding it out towards Sebastian, "How about this one?" She watched as he scrunched his nose. "That feels too childish." Abigail scoffed and placed it back. "Seriously? Seb, she's not gonna care, she's not picky!" 

"But I want there to still be thought put into it!" He watched as Abigail took a closer look at the selection. "Kinda hard to put thought into it when you don't even like them, Sebastian…" She muttered as she grabbed a bouquet of mixed flowers. Sebastian stared at it for a second before opening his mouth again. "Oh, what is it this time." Abigail said with an exasperated tone. 

"Isn't it a bit… much??" 

"... What is that even supposed to mean."

Sebastian gestured to the flowers as she looked down at it as well. "I dunno, it just feels really… Fancy? Like- That's not something I'd get for a confession, probably more so an anniversary or something- It's a special occasion bouquet." 

Abigail blinked at him.

"Why are you acting like you know anything about flowers?" She placed the bouquet back into its spot, "Although I guess you are right," She ran a hand through her vibrant hair, "It does seem like it’s a bit much." 

They both let out a sigh as the bell above the door rang, footsteps entered the building as Abigail and Sebastian continued to stare at the flowers in front of them.

Pierre said his usual greeting which was then met by a chipper: "Hey! Do you guys have some cleaner in stock? Mom wanted me to grab some, she just ran out."

Wait… Is that-

"Ah, I believe we do! It should be near the back. Tell Jodi that Caroline and I say hi, okay Sam?" 

God damnit.

"Sure thing!" Sam's voice sounded like it got closer as footsteps got closer, Sebastian pulled his hood up and held onto the edges tightly, there was no possible chance of that working, but he did not want Sam seeing his face right now. Maybe there was a tiny chance that the cleaner was closer to Sam than he thought, and Sam might not see him. 

Abigail saw his tense body and stressed expression as she giggled lightly before walking closer to the flowers and gesturing to some, before looking at Sebastian and raising an eyebrow. 

Sebastian shook his head as his lips squeezed together. 

"Hey, whatcha up to?"

A pair of hands that belonged to the voice latched onto his shoulders.

Sebastian flinched hard and quickly turned around, stumbling backwards and almost bumping into the flower display as his eyes met with Sam's expression, a massive grin on the man’s face while his eyes gleamed at catching his best friend looking at flowers. (It was actually more likely that he was just amused that he startled Sebastian more than anything else.) 

"GOD- You can't just- Sam–! What is your problem!?" Sebastian shoved Sam's shoulder as Sam started laughing, Abigail's laugh quickly followed. "You gotta admit, Seb," She started up, "That was kinda funny!" 

"No it wasn't!" He buried his head in his hands, his face felt like it was on fire. 

Sam walked closer to Sebastian as his grin got wider, "Dude, do you have any idea how suspicious you look right now?" He gestured his hand towards Sebastian's outfit, "You're wearing all black with your hood up while looking at flowers- If Mayor Lewis saw you he'd probably think you were about to play another prank!" He let out another laugh while Sebastian glared at him through his fingers. 

"What are you even doing here? I thought you hated these things!" Sam tilted his head before it sank in. "Wait…" His eyes widened as he let out a gasp, "Don't tell me-!" Sam looked at Abigail for confirmation as she nodded with a grin on her face. "Our precious lil' Sebby's in looove!" She wrapped her arms around Sebastian and gave him a squeeze. Sebastian groaned and pushed her away while she continued to laugh.

"No it's- That's not-!" Sebastian tried to argue but got abruptly cut off by Sam giving him a tight hug, "Holy shit, Seb! Who's this lucky person who gets to date your anxiety riddled ass?" Sam asked him with a gleam in his eye.

Sebastian pushed Sam away before thinking it over for a second. He considered lying right then and there but then he remembered that he just told Abigail and he knew she'd call him out on lying right to Sam's face. 

Plus if he lied to Sam and got caught, Sam would act all dramatic and try to use it as a way to guilt Sebastian into buying Joja-Colas for him again.

And he didn't feel like wasting his money like that.

Sebastian stared at Sam for a few seconds, seeing how Sam's eyes sparkled in anticipation before finally speaking up. "I'm… I'm going to ask out Luna."

Sam let out a gasp, his left hand covering his mouth as his eyes widened in shock, while his right found its way onto Abigail's shoulder to keep himself stable. 

"Wow, Seb! Luna? You're… gonna ask her out??" Sam's hand lowered from his mouth to rest on his chest as if he were in shock, the grin on his mouth saying otherwise. "Yeah I already knew that."

Seriously!?

"Wh- How the fuck did you both know?" Sebastian finally put his hood back down and crossed his arms as Sam and Abigail both laughed. "Sebastian we've known for so long– It's so obvious that it'd kinda be sad if we didn't!" Sam gave his friend a pat on the shoulder as Sebastian scoffed. "What do you mean 'it's obvious'? No it wasn't!" He rolled his eyes, "How long did you two even know?"

"About three months."

"What're you talking about? I've only liked her like that for one month!"

Silence filled the room as Sam and Abigail stared in shock before they both burst out with hysterical laughter again. "Holy shit!" Sam gasped for air, "We knew you had a thing for Luna before you did!" He leaned against Abigail for support again as Abigail laughed as well. "Oh my god!" She wiped tears from her eyes, "When you two get together I'm so telling her about this!".

"Like hell you are! And- And besides! She might reject me, so there's no guarantee that we'll start dating!" Sebastian scrunched his nose as Sam only started laughing harder, "Dude! No way you can't see how into you she is!"

Sam clasped his hands as he then began to do his best impression of Luna. "Why- Sebastian! Of course I'll listen to you ramble about coding when I know absolutely nothing about it! Of course I'll watch these gorey movies with you despite hating horror with a passion! Oh Sebastiannn! There's no other seats available by the fire! Can I sit next to you in a way where we’re really close togetherrr?"

Sebastian watched, unamused as ever, as Abigail then joined in. Making sure to move her bangs to mimic his hairstyle by covering one eye as she lowered her voice. "Why, of course, Luna! Luna, would you like to practice the flower dance routine with me despite the fact I hate it with a passion? Yes of course we can play some games on my TV, Luna! We're gonna have to sit on my bed though– Hey Luna, do you need any help around the farm despite the fact I burn easily and I hate being outside and would never help my other friends like this?"

They both laughed as Sebastian grabbed a nearby newspaper and rolled it up, whacking them on the head with it, "Okay, okay, god. I get it. Knock it off." 

Sam cleared his throat, "Anyway– I'm more surprised you're actually going with the traditional way of asking someone out in town. You didn't really seem like the type." Sebastian shrugged as he looked back to the flowers, "I mean, I didn't even consider the tradition for asking her out. I just knew she loved flowers, so I was trying to pick out a bouquet of her favorites…" He pursed his lips again, why couldn't he just remember the damned flower's name!?

"Buut…" Abigail spoke up for him, "The thing is, he forgot what her favorites were, so now I'm trying to help him at least pick out one that's at least something she'd like,". Sam's mouth formed an 'o' as he looked at the flowers as well.

"... Welllll- I don't know her favorites either, but I can help!" Sam gave him a grin and a pat on the back, "It can't be that hard! Just- Get a bunch of flowers that seem like something she'd be into! That's not that difficult, right?" He walked over to the display and opened his mouth to speak. "Wait- Sam, no-!" Abigail gasped as Sam quickly turned away whilst sneezing. Abigail quickly dragged him further away from the flowers as he dug through his pocket for a tissue. Sebastian grimaced as Sam blew his nose. 

"Yeah, uh… Thanks for the offer, but maybe you shouldn't be anywhere near those." Sebastian gave him a pat on the shoulder as Sam nodded. "Good idea." Sam walked further back and gave them a thumbs up. "I'll just send encouraging thoughts from this corner!". Abigail gave him a thumbs up in return before turning her attention back to Sebastian. 

"Alright, plan B time." She lifted up a manual Pierre left laying near the flowers as she smiled at Sebastian. "Dad left this list of flower names here, so how about I read out the names and you'll see if you can recognize them from what she told you!". Sebastian and Sam both stared at the girl, which she only responded with a scoff as she put it back down, "Well, I dunno how else you expect to remember it!" She crossed her arms while Sebastian went back to staring at the flowers.

Sam hesitated before walking over again. "Hey, what about those?" He pointed towards a bouquet of tulips, "I'm pretty sure I've seen those around her farm before, so she's gotta at least like them, right?" Sam watched as Sebastian shook his head, the blonde's shoulders slacking as he let out a groan. "Sebastian, you can't seriously be acting this picky when you don't even know what she likes!" 

"But I want her to really love it!" Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. He could really go for a smoke right about now… Sebastian looked up at his friends again, watching as they both stared at him, realizing just how important this was for him, before their expressions softened.

Sam's eyes scanned his face before giving him a smile, "Okay… I get it, this is important to you. How about you pick something based on what she likes? Like- What's her favorite color?" Sam asked, picking up the flower list Abigail set down a while back. 

"I'm not sure…" Sebastian stared blankly ahead of him, "I never really do small talk so I've never asked her anything like; 'hey what's your favorite color?'," He shrugged as Abigail hummed, "Well… She always wears that top that has pink and blue on it, maybe her favorite colors are those?".

Sam nodded, looking at the bouquets with a small frown, "Well that'd be a safe bet, but there aren't really any bouquets with both of those colors," He pointed to some, "A lot are just pink but there's not that many blue ones, let alone pink and blue."

They all stood there in silence for a bit, all thinking it over. 

Abigail let out a gasp as she snapped her fingers, "I got it!" She grinned at the two, now confused, men as she walked over to grab two bouquets. 

"How about I pick out two random bouquets, and then you can tell me which ones that you think Luna would most likely love more! Then, I can put the other one back and pick out another!" She said with confidence, "It's an elimination game!" 

Sebastian and Sam glanced at each other before shrugging. "Sure, I guess that'll work." Sebastian said as he watched the purple haired girl quickly grab two bouquets before turning around and presenting them. 

"Tadaaa!" She held out the bouquets as Sebastian looked at them. One of them looked to be a light pink Fairy Rose bouquet. He swore he recognized it from Luna's farm last year, she must've grown it back then around her farmhouse. The other bouquet were mostly Sunflowers, with a few smaller flowers that he didn't know the names of. 

Sebastian thought about it for a second before pointing to the Fairy Rose, "I think she'd like those more." He watched as Abigail nodded and placed the sunflowers back. 

Huh, maybe this might actually be the plan that works. 

Sebastian watched as Abigail grabbed another bouquet, this one being way more vibrant than even the sunflowers. 

"What even are those??" Sebastian raised an eyebrow to her as she turned back and looked at the name above the price. "Uhhh," she squinted her eyes, "Tiger Lilies." She turned back to him. 

Sebastian paused, his brain trying to remember where he heard that name from, did she mention it before?

Oh wait-

Sebastian watched as Luna tended to her flowers. "So," He watched as she looked up at him before he continued, "Any idea on what flowers you're gonna plant next?" He asked as she stood up, wiping the dirt on her hands off on her apron. 

"Ah, not yet… I wanted to plant these pretty flowers that grew outside my old apartment building, Tiger Lilies, but it turns out that they're poisonous to cats! And I don't wanna risk harm with Solar since she wanders out here frequently to nap with the chickens." She sighed as she wiped the sweat off her cheek, "I didn't know Lilies were poisonous to cats… Did you? It's such a shame too! They're so pretty…"

He definitely shouldn't get the bouquet of Lilies for her then.

Sebastian grimaced, "Yeah no- That'd be a horrible choice." He watched as Abigail tilted her head, looking back at the Lilies. "Really? I thought she'd like these."

"She told me that Lilies are poisonous to cats."

"Oh shit– really?"

"Yeah."

Sebastian watched as Abigail quickly put the bouquet back. "Yeah I uh- don't think she'd like it if you killed her cat." Sam patted Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian flicked his hand away, "Wow really? You don't say." He stuffed his hands back into his pockets as Abigail picked out another bouquet. At least they were getting somewhere with this plan. 

Ding!

The trio tensed up, their heads quickly snapping to look at who entered the store, just hoping it wasn't Luna. 

"Ah, hello Evelyn!" Pierre's voice rang out.

They all let out a sigh of relief as Evelyn walked past, most likely not even noticing the trio. Abigail twirled a piece of her hair with her fingers, "Wow, we all just kinda tensed up there huh?" She laughed as Sam spoke up, "Yeah," He scratched the back of his neck, "I didn't think I was gonna freeze up like that! Thank god it wasn't Luna though, she definitely would've noticed us."

Abigail turned to go pick out another bouquet again as she continued to speak, "I completely forgot that it's around this time that Evelyn comes in to get seeds for the community garden around this time, I might need to go help her out if she needs certain things. Sam, can you step in for me if that happens?" She asked as Sam grimaced.

Wait a second…

"Abby, do you want me to sneeze on all the flowers or something?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at her as she laughed, "It would be kinda funny!" She shrugged as Sam gawked, "No it wouldn't!".

"Hold on, I'll be right back." Sebastian quickly left his two friends behind as he walked over to Evelyn. "Hi Evelyn." He waved to the old woman as she smiled at him, "Ah! Hello, Sebastian! What brings you out here?" She asked as he nervously fidgeted with the fabric of his hoodie again. "Ah- Well, uh… I was hoping to get a gift for Luna, since she's done so much for everyone in town! And, um-" He picked at the skin by his nails as he continued to speak, "I wanted to give her some flowers… But I don't really uh- know what she likes… So, I was just wondering if you knew, since I know you two talk a lot." He stumbled with his words as he felt his throat tighten up. God, he did not enjoy talking with people.

Evelyn nodded understandingly as she gave it a thought, "Ah… I think she's mentioned to me that she loves Carnations, Fairy Roses too. They were her grandmother's favorites as well, funnily enough!" The woman sighed happily as she reminisced, "Ah, I remember when Mariana would tell me all about those two flowers… Maybe I should plant those when they're back in season?" She shook her head gently before turning her attention back to Sebastian. 

"I think if you gave her some Carnations, she'd absolutely adore it," She gave him a smile as she gently took his hands.

"She's a very kind woman, she takes after her grandmother a lot… So make sure not to break her heart, alright dear?" She gave him another smile before letting go of his hands and walking away to go to the seed aisle. 

Sebastian stood there for a second, blinking twice as his mind went blank. 

Was everyone seriously more aware about how he felt more than him?

He let out a sigh before walking back over to the bouquets and taking a look at the names, ignoring Sam and Abigail watching him as they whispered between each other. His eyes scanned the rows as they finally landed on what he was interested in. 

White Carnations. 

He took a deep breath before picking it up and looking at it closer. Making sure the petals weren't wilted and that it looked perfect, he stared at it again. 

It looked…

Bland. 

He didn't really know much about flowers but even he knew that it didn't really have anything impressive with it all being white. 

Abigail must've sensed his disappointment as she spoke up gently, "Ah… Seb? If you want, then uh- We can actually make it more custom by adding in the Fairy Rose that we looked at earlier. The pink might add a nice contrast to the white!" She took the bouquet from his hands and placed both down on a nearby table before pausing, her lips pursed. "I'll have to go get my mom to do this, she makes all the arrangements anyway, but it shouldn't take long! And it won't cost extra!" She said as she quickly ran off, leaving the two men standing there.

Sam cleared his throat and turned to Sebastian. "So… ah…" He rocked back and forth on his heels, "When are you gonna ask her out?" He watched as Sebastian shifted, his eyes fixated on the bouquets. "I'm… I'm not sure. She seems really busy, I kinda forgot how busy she gets during this season so I might just ask her out during one of our hangouts at her house?" He shrugged, Sam stared at him. 

"Wait- How frequently do you two hang out again?"

"I dunno, every saturday night?"

"... And... what do you two usually do?" He watched as Sebastian shrugged, "We usually just watch a couple of movies and talk about whatever." He paused before speaking up again, "Actually, it's more like I watch the movies. She usually ends up falling asleep midway through and I'm just stuck there because she's using me as a pillow or something." 

Sebastian looked to his friend, who looked very amused by what was told to him. 

"Sebastian. Are you sure you weren't having dates?" Sam tilted his head, a grin slowly creeping its way onto his face. 

The two of them stared at each other, Sebastian's face getting warmer and warmer by the second before he broke eye contact and stared at the ground. "Sam, why are you still here?" Sam shrugged as he waved to Caroline, who was following Abigail over. "I'm here as moral support for my best friend." He said, as if it were obvious, "Plus, it's kinda funny."

"Well you're doing a pretty bad job at being moral support." Sebastian ignored Sam's offended gasp as he looked up and waved to Caroline as well as she smiled at the two before taking a look at the flowers.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do with this, it'll probably take at the very most ten minutes. Sebastian, do you want to watch and see if you like the arrangements?" She asked as she took the flowers out of the paper and pulled out a fresh sheet for the new arrangement, placing it down in a temporary vase and carefully placing the flowers in one by one. Sebastian stayed silent as he watched, giving a nod if Caroline asked his opinion on how it was going as Sam and Abigail just stayed further back, talking between themselves.

After a bit of careful placement, the bouquet was soon done. Caroline pulled it out of the vase and wrapped it in fresh paper before handing it over to Sebastian. "Alright, how do you like that? Do you need any adjustments to the flowers?" She brushed her hands off on her skirt as he looked it over, a very slight smile grazing his lips. "I think this is good… Thanks."

Caroline gave him a smile, "Of course," hummed as she started cleaning up her workspace, "Oh! Pierre will probably tell you this when you're checking out, but these bouquets will stay fresh and good looking for about a week. After a week, they'll start to wilt. It most likely won't be noticeable until about two days after the week is over, give or take, but you'd still better hurry and give the bouquet to Luna before it wilts. Of course, it will last longer in water if you have a vase for it at home. That'd probably be the best option if you do."

Sebastian nodded as she spoke, "Yeah, okay… I'll be sure to- … wait what-" Sebastian's mind went blank as he processed what she said about Luna as she only smiled and walked back into her house. Sebastian turned to Sam.

"Sam. Be honest with me."

"Hm?" Sam turned his attention from Abigail to Sebastian, noticing the man's embarrassed expression. 

"By, 'it's so obvious that you're into Luna', exactly how obvious do you mean?"

Sam shrugged, "I dunno, it was just kinda just- there- Like, when you'd text me at around midnight asking me what you should respond to her text with when you normally don't care much about your responses," He continued to explain, "And whenever she'd walk into the room and go over to you you'd immediately start smiling and you'd listen to every single thing she says. You'd also do things like offer your umbrella or jacket if it was raining or if it were cold." 

Sam watched as Sebastian's expression softened before starting up again, "It's a bunch of little things, but I think everyone can kinda tell how happy she makes you. Plus, you've even commented a few times on how you feel more energized when she's around," He ran a hand through his blonde hair as Sebastian's grip on the flowers tightened. "Do you…" He hesitated, "Do you really think she feels the same way?" He asked as his eyes bore into the flowers. 

Sebastian felt a hand place itself on his shoulder as he looked up and met eyes with Sam, who gave him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, from what I can tell, she's just as into you as you’re into her." He grinned as Sebastian took a deep breath. 

"Okay, I'll figure out how to tell her when I get home." Sebastian watched as his two friends high fived. "Fuck yeah, dude!" Sam wrapped his arms around Sebastian, careful to not crush the flowers, "You've got this!".

Abigail laughed while watching the two, "Look at you, Seb!" She grinned at him, "Making the first move! Ah- You really are all grown up! It brings a tear to my eye!" She wiped away a fake tear as Sebastian finally laughed, feeling more confident now compared to how he felt just a few minutes ago, "Come on… This isn't that big of a deal." He pushed Sam away as Sam shook his head, "It is, though! Just think of it, Sebastian. You and Luna, living on that farm, maybe with some kids-"

Sebastian quickly cut him off with a whack to the forehead, rolling his eyes as Sam only grinned at him, "You're a bit ahead of yourself there. We'll probably just test out dating before doing anything official yet, let alone talk about kids." He watched as Sam shrugged, "You never knoww-! Ow!" Sam rubbed the back of his head, shooting a glare at the woman who slapped his arm, who only smiled at him before turning her attention to Sebastian. "He's probably only this excited because we placed a bet on who'd confess first and he's winning right now, don't mind him!" She said as she started to push Sebastian over towards the checkout. 

"You what??" Sebastian watched as Abigail dismissed him by waving her hand, "Nothing, nothing!" 

She led him over to the counter before giving him a quick hug "Good luck, Sebastian," She smiled before running back over to Sam.

Sebastian only let out a nervous sigh as he placed the bouquet on the countertop. Pierre scanned the bouquet before looking at Sebastian, "Is that all you'll be buying?". Sebastian only nodded, his throat feeling too tight to speak. Everything sounded muffled as the nerves finally set in on what he was doing, he could somewhat make out that Pierre was telling him about how to take care of the flowers. Luckily Caroline already told him about that, otherwise he'd definitely not know what to do since he practically zoned out whatever Pierre was saying.

"That'll be 200G."

Sebastian paused, processing what was said before pulling out his card and swiping it through the scanner as Pierre cleared his throat, catching his attention. "If you'd like, I can put the bouquet in a bag so it's more discreet," He offered. Sebastian stood there for a second, thinking it over before nodding, "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Thanks.".

Pierre nodded as he carefully placed the bouquet in a bag before handing it over to Sebastian, "Good luck." Pierre waved goodbye to him as Sebastian walked out the door, passing by Abigail and Sam without saying a word. The sun immediately glaring down on him as he squinted, looking around to see if Luna was around.

He took a deep breath before taking the long walk back to his house. Hoping that Luna wasn't there to buy something from his mom. 

The walk home was uneventful, by the time he arrived his mom already closed down the shop so there was no way Luna would've been there which he was definitely thankful for, as he was able to sneak back into his room unnoticed.

He placed the bag with the bouquet under his desk as he then collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes as he just laid there. 

He pursed his lips together as his eyes stared straight into the wall, his mind racing as it all sank in. 

He was going to confess to her.

Sebastian felt his face heating up, his eyebrows furrowed as he thought about it more. 

What if she rejected him?

What if she didn’t want to be friends anymore?

Has he just been getting the wrong signals?

What if-

DING!

Sebastian rolled onto his back as his hand dug through his pocket and pulled out his phone, flipping it open, his eyes focused as he saw the notification.

1 NEW MESSAGE

He paused, assuming it was Sam, before opening up his texts and seeing who it was. 

Luna. 

Perfect timing as ever. 

He paused before opening her text message, there was an image attached.

'Look!! Solar has me trapped :c'

The image attached showed a blurry picture of a small blonde kitten laying on  Luna's shoulder, her face is barely visible from the top corner but his eyes could make out that she was smiling. As Sebastian processed what was happening another text was sent. 

'She's never done this before! I think she finally likes me :D You're no longer gonna be her favorite person anymore!! hehe >:3'

He smiled as he quickly typed back to her, 

'It's not my fault that she just likes me more than you, I'm not the one who tries to give her baths.'

He his arm fell limply to the side of his head as the phone began buzzing again, must've struck a nerve with that, he laughed as his other arm draped itself over his eyes.

His mind started to wander, thinking about his concerns about confessing to Luna. Why was he getting so worked up about this?

Why this of all things?

He was never one to hesitate over taking risks. 

He bought his motorcycle on a whim when he was seventeen and he pierced the majority of his piercings by himself. All those worked out just fine (except his first piercing, which did get infected.) So why was he so worried about this? 

He pursed his lips, his empty hand tightly being curled into a fist. 

The worst she could do is say no, and even then, it probably wouldn't be a harsh rejection either. She's a nice person, she wouldn't be hurtful about it. 

Sebastian turned his head and stared at the phone in his hand as he thought about what Sam said to him earlier about Luna feeling the same way. 

He did have a feeling that she was getting a crush on someone, but maybe he should see if he could question her a bit on it just to make sure before he screwed anything up. He considered himself decently observant despite what his friends said. He was sure that he’d be able to tell what her reactions meant to certain things he'd do. 

He took a deep breath as he moved his arm so his phone was hovering over his face and started typing without a second thought. His thumb hit send without even reading it over so he wouldn’t get second thoughts as his eyes bore into the screen ahead of him. 

'Hey, do you want to hang out tomorrow? If you're not busy, that is.'

He stared at the message, his brain screaming at him for actually going ahead with the plan he so messily came up with. 

What were the chances she’d say yes? She’s very busy with her farm this season, so there’s no way that–

DING!

'Yeah sure!! I should be done with my work around the afternoon like usual, should I come over then?'

'Yeah.'

Sebastian quickly threw his phone to the opposite side of his bed as he shoved his face into a pillow, his face felt like it was on fire. His hands buried themselves in his hair as he cursed himself out, silently thanking the fact that his pillow muffled him. 

He lifted his head, his eyes staring at the bag with the bouquet in it as it sat there taunting him. He felt as if this was one of the biggest risks he's ever taken in his entire life. He didn't want to screw this up and lose her as a friend. 

But with the off chance that she might like him back the way he liked her,

Then maybe this was a risk worth taking.