#All the heartache. The sleepless nights together in bed.

[graveyardcuddles]

Rhapsody - Astarion x GN!Reader one-shot

You and Astarion are ready to embark on a new journey together. You begin by shedding a painful piece of his past.

A/N: I'm brand new to hobby writing, and this is my first ever fic! This was based on something I actually did with my Tav and Astarion in-game.

tags/warnings: sfw, established relationship, gender neutral!reader, nondescript reader, tavstarion (reader is tav), kissing, in-game spoilers, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mentions of Cazador-related trauma, feelings, fluff.

Word count: ~2000

It's a quiet early evening in the Elfsong tavern. The private room you share with your lover is warm, windows shuttered and curtains drawn. As you entered the room, you froze, stopping to admire the sight before you. Astarion was resting in the comfort of your shared bed. Trancing, to be precise. He hadn't been trancing these past few days, and the sight of your silver-haired love resting peacefully filled you with relief. Slowly, you peel off your boots and make your way over to your resting vampire. Your hands and knees sank into the plush of the bed cautiously in an attempt to avoid disturbing his trance. He was roused from it easily. Eventually, you managed to settle your head on the pillow, simply observing him in a rare moment of peace. He lay unnaturally still, chest unmoving, eyelashes resting delicately where his lovely dark circles ran under his eyes. Hair tousled, collar bones just peaking out of where the top buttons of his shirt clasped together. His face was calm, with no trace of tension he usually had during his night terrors. You smiled. Eventually, your lids grew heavy.

It had been only a week since you and your companions had destroyed the world-ending threat of the mindflayer Grand Design. Your little group of unlikely friends were declared Heroes of the Gate. You should be feeling triumphant, but your victory had been bittersweet. Despite taking pride in the fact he had been one of its saviors, Baulder's Gate would always remain host to Astarion's worst memories. Just returning to the city alone was overwhelming for him: facing his old stalking grounds, his siblings, Cazador. Your relationship had only recently evolved into something more after his confession in the Shadow-Cursed Lands. You knew this would be difficult and messy for him, but you were already hopelessly devoted to this beautiful broken man who was finally trusting you with his heart, wholly and freely.

So you took his heart in your hands and held it gently through all his anxieties and fears. Through the sleepless nights, the sobbing, the flashbacks, and phantom pains. All of which only increased as his confrontation with Cazador drew closer, and the promise of power and security that came with ritual became more and more tempting to him. You feared dearly that you were losing him and that your love and pleas for him to see reason wouldn't be enough to stop him. The fear wound itself around you like a bramble, the heartache gnawing away at you daily.

In the end, your worst fears did not come to pass. He rejected the profane power of the ritual in return for freedom with you. In that bloody moment when Astarion finally ended Cazador, you were in awe of him. His glorious spirit and strength. You allowed him to let out over 200 years of grief and rage. Watched closely as he came back to himself. Helped him back to the Elfsong to clean him up and tend to his wounds. Later on that night, after things had settle and he was in the aftermath of his victory, you had asked him what he wanted now that he was free. "You," he had answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was you that he wanted.

He had taken you to the very soil where his two hundred years of torment had begun and made love to you in that very place as a declaration of his new life and freedom. He cleared away every painful thorn of doubt and fear covering your heart, much like he had cleared the vines growing over his tombstone with his own two hands. The beginning of a new life with you. Sadly, the two of you hardly had time to properly celebrate Cazador's death before returning immediately to securing new allies and calculating battle strategies against Orin, Gortash and finally the Netherbrain's forces themselves. It had all been a whirlwind in which neither you hardly had any time to truly relish in Astarion's new liberation.

You would never forget that horrifying moment the sun had turned on him. It's once gentle warmth that had given him so much comfort on your journey now becoming a burning, searing light. When you found him shortly after, hidden behind some crates, he was still scarred from the light. His face and hands were ashened, pieces of what were once his flesh practically flaking off in cinders. He was panicking, and you tried your best to stay calm for him. You offered him your wrist, reminding him he needed blood to heal. It only seemed to further distraught him. He was just as furious as you expected him to be and more so. Furious that after everything he went through, he was being forced back into the shadows again. Furious at you for pitying him. Furious at Cazador. But most of all, he was furious at himself for having dared to have hoped again. For thinking that just because he had been a very good boy and helped to save the world that the gods or fate or anyone would take pity on him and grant him this one thing. But no.

He sat there on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. He had yelled so much about how foolish he had been to expect any outcome other than this, you half-expected his voice to give out. Eventually, he went quiet for a few long minutes before looking up at you, his beautiful red eyes full of sorrow. He tried to smile at you, but it broke off into a scoff.

"I'm never going to see you in the sunlight again."

He let out a long laugh full of bitterness before pressing his face back into his knees and breaking into a sob. It was then that you closed the gap between you two, holding him as wept. In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and swear a paladin's oath to him personally that he WOULD walk in the sun again. That you were making it your life's mission. But you knew that wouldn't help him now. It wouldn't lessen the sting. It wouldn't soften the blow. Right now, he needed to mourn, and so mourn you let him.

You held him there and let him weep in your arms. When you offered him your blood again, he finally accepted, drinking in your healing essence and regenerating the scorched skin and flesh. You caressed the newly healed skin softly, kissing it with tenderness and reassuring him that he looked good as new. Later on that same evening, after you managed to make it back to Elfsong with him and were together in bed, he took your hand in his.

"I want to apologize, darling," You were confused, but he continued. "I acted abhorrent to you in a moment of weakness. I was so... angry about what I had lost. I was blind to what I still had in front of me."

He cupped your face, stroking the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Your sweet vampire. You took his hand and kissed his knuckles one by one. You reassured him that he had nothing to apologize for. The sun was one of the few pleasantries from his mortality that he could relish in again while tadpoled. The caress of its rays had become synonymous with freedom itself for him. And with the new love between you two. To have that ripped away would make anyone angry.

It was then that you told him that you WOULD help him find a way to walk in sunlight again. He had been surprised to hear you say so, as if he had expected you to write it off entirely as an impossibility, as he already had. But your words seemed to spark a new sense of hope in him. It was what he said next that took you off guard.

"That is...if this is what you want?" Your heart dropped. Surely he didn't still doubt how you felt about him? "I can understand if you would want to part ways..." Even as he says it, his eyes momentarily drop to the floor, and he sways a bit uneasily.

He is still always expecting the worst. Anticipating more grief. You took his hands gently into yours, telling him that if you thinks you're seriously going to break up with him now after everything you two have been through together, then he's going to have to start being a LOT more annoying. Because he isn't getting rid of you any time soon.

The next several days would be spent together, processing everything you had gone through. Your companions had all gone their seperate ways fairly quickly after a hasty celebration: Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, Lae'zel to war against Vlaakith, Gale to return the Crown to Mystra, Shadowheart with her parents and Halsin with his foundlings. After only a few days, it just you and Astarion left in the city. You had stayed by his side throughout this time, only ever leaving to get food or check on the acquaintances you had made in the city. But you were both growing restless. He appreciated your presence, but you could tell the time was coming for the both of you to move on from this place and make a new adventure for yourselves together.

You hadn't even realized you had fallen asleep until a few hours had passed. As you open your eyes, you see your pale elf has moved from the bed. He's seated on the floor, in front of the chest full of the shared things the two of you have gathered along your journey. You slide off the bed, and he turns his head to smile at you. "There you are," his eyes were a soft shade of carnelian in the warm lamp light. You came to sit by him. He seems concentrated on whatever he's holding. You touch his shoulder and look to see what he's examining. A dagger. Not just any dagger but one that made your blood run nearly as cold as Astarion's. Rhapsody. The dagger Cazador had used to scar his back, and the one which would ultimately end his wretched existence. Nineteen times. Astarion had stabbed Cazador nineteen times. You had counted each stab. Presently, he was turning the blade in his hand with a contemplative expression.

"Hideous, isn't it?" He scoffs. You noted he was taking care to only touch the dagger's ornate hilt and pommel, avoiding touching the actual blade at all.

"Is it..?" You stared at the twin design of the twisting gnarled metal.

"Silver? Naturally. How else is one supposed to permanently scar a vampire?"

You bit back the sympathetic words that were lingering on your tongue, knowing he wouldn't want to hear them now.

"Pretty effective at killing vampires as well, I'd say." You quipped gently. Astarion hummed in response, but his expression remained contemplative.

"Yes. I suppose it might be somewhat useful if we ever get on the wrong side of another vampire," he mused. You lean in closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you pondered the dagger. "True. Could also be useful if Petras ever decides to come around and bother us."

You're almost startled as he throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. He sets the dagger down as it's obviously lost his attention for the moment. "Darling!" He exclaims. "You were the one who convinced me to save the poor wretch! Twice, in fact! Only to want him dead now? I mean, it's understandable, but clearly, I'm having a bad influence on you."

You couldn't help but smile back. This was the most you had seen him smile or laugh since losing the sun. His laughter was so light and airy it made your heart burst. "Yes, you are such a very bad influence on me, Astarion."

You crawled over to him, eyes locked. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his gaze softens as you asked permission to go further. He answers by giving you a series of playful kisses leading along your jaw from your earlob to your lips. He locks on those lips and deepens his kiss, going slow and taking his time. A deep, passionate kiss. Your hands find their way into his curls, and they twine their way around your fingers loosely. He sighs into the kiss, whole body relaxing into you. When you pull apart, he's smiling, a touch of melancholy still lingering on his features.

"I saw you in my reverie," he says unexpectedly. You listen to him intently as he continues. "We were leaving the Shadow-Cursed Lands after Shar's curse had been lifted. I hadn't seen the sun in weeks, and then there you were, bathed in its light. I hadn't realized until that moment how beautiful you were in sunlight." He smiles sadly and kisses your hand.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and look him in the eye. "And it's a sight you will see again one day, my love. I promise you." Your arms come around him and hold him close, stroking his hair and simply letting him feel. After a few minutes, he seems to come back to you. "I want to leave this stupid city already," he says plainly. You chuckle and pull away from him. "Me too, my love. We can leave as soon as tomorrow if you'd like."

Astarion's gazes at your travel chest again. He takes out the dagger again, looking at this time with disgust. "And I want to get rid of... this thing," he says with bile in his voice. "It's hideous, just like everything else Cazador ever commissioned. All that damn wealth, and I swear it's like he challenged himself to own the ugliest pieces of art he could." He huffed and shook his head. "I want to throw this damn thing away." An idea came to you. Looking towards the clock, you note there's still a few hours left before sunrise. "Would you like to get rid of it now?" You ask him, careful to only present it as an option. He's still getting used to making big decisions, and you don't want to pressure him. He looks at you. "Gods, yes."

The two of you head out into the warm night air of the city, and Astarion's nose almost immediately wrinkles in offense. "Gods, how have they still not managed to fully get rid of that rotting squid smell? I thought there were clean-up and recovery efforts underway." You roll your eyes. "There have been clean-up and recovery efforts underway, silly. They've gotten rid of all the Mindflayer corpses already. Your nose is just sensitive." Cloaked in night, the many little homes making up the vast reaches of the Outter City light up on the horizon before you. You walk together and tell him all about the acquaintances you've made in the city and how they had been faring after the chaos of the battle.

Eventually, you make your way to your destination: the docks of Baulder's Gate where you had all pulled yourselves ashore after crash-landing the Netherbrain into the sea. Astarion slows down as you walk along the dock. The last time he was running for his life, burning up in the sun. You hoped returning here with him to do this will make for a proper end to your illithid odyssey. At you stop at the dock's end, you take Astarion's hand in yours. You say nothing, waiting on him to make the next move.

He sighs and takes out Rhapsody, giving it a final look. For a moment, you wonder if he might hesitate. He stares at the blade intensely, holding it as if its weight were far greater than it physically was. Two centuries of terror. Without any further warning or fanfare, the dagger is airborne. For a split second, you can just barely make out a tiny glint of moonlight reflecting off the blade as it flew through the air. With a small splash, it's gone forever. Astarion lets out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "You monster!" You exclaimed with mock horror. "You just murdered some poor innocent fish!"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Maybe the Hero of the Gate should go and rescue the poor thing." He grabs you around your waist, his newfound vampiric strength catching you off-guard. He spins you around as if he means to literally throw you off the dock, and while you're fairly certain he's joking, you panic nonetheless. You let out a high-pitched "ASTARION!" that practically comes out as a shriek.

He's giggling like a madman as he sets you down, holding your shoulders for a moment to steady you. "You're lucky I love you as much as I do, you know," you mutter as he continues to laugh at how easily he can tease you. "You're adorable when you pretend to be annoyed with me," he says. The two of you sit on the dock together for a long while, holding hands and simply taking in the starlight dancing on the water. "There's something else I wanted to discard as well, actually." He reaches into his pocket and produces two rings that you recognize as the twin Szarr family rings you had used to unlock your way through Cazador's mansion.

Astarion contenplates the rings in his palm. "You know I..." the words catch in his throat, seemingly paralyzed. You wait for him to continue, and after a few moments, he shakes his head, a smile barely perceptible.

"It's nothing, my dear. You know Cazador really did have the most hideous taste in things, including jewelry. Can you imagine wearing these? Ugh." You take one of the rings and examine it. "Hmm. Not my style, I'll be honest."

"That's because you're not blind, darling." He stands up and prepares to throw it.

"Together?"

"Together."

[edutainer2022]

So it's done! The little story that tidied me over this week of missile hellfire and long stretches of power outages. Jeff is back from Oort Cloud and is forced to question his strengths and aptitudes when things go unexpectedly very, very wrong very fast. All boys get to feature, eventually, but Scotty is having the worst time of all. Many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on through brief patches of power going up.

GRAVITY

Some days were worse than others. Some days the heady rush of pure JOY and BLISS of being back with his beloved boys, his Ma, in his own home, back on his own PLANET, beneath the blue skies, breathing unprocessed air... were not enough to tide him over the bone deep weariness. Days, when the bustling world around was suddenly too much effort. Too much, period.

That morning he woke up, gruff and bleary, feeling every ounce of gravity amplified weight down to his marrow. He didn't remember sleeping a wink, but he knew he was late. The corner of the blanket peeled away, catching on his stubble, revealed a silhouette perched on the side of his bed. Scott. Already dressed to the nines in a suit that looked like it was shipped straight from the Milan runway. It probably had been. His son's aftershave was fancier and more expensive than he could ever afford or had any clue to choose at that same age. Predawn light was casting a grey hue over Scott's features, gleaming in silver highlights, making him look older. Tired. His eldest looked hauntingly like Jeff felt, sagging under the crashing weight, stretched thin, even put together all sharp like that, bright and early. The sudden heartache of that thought came out as a hoarse groan.

They were supposed to meet several executives first thing in the morning to get Jeff up to speed a bit more. To get the company brass reacquainted with the Tracy Patriarch too. There had been many new promotions and appointments over the past eight years. But Jeff could barely keep his eyes open. The thought of getting up and moving gave him a shiver, which, in turn, deepened the worried frown on Scott's face. The taut lines in the corners of his son's eyes and mouth became prominent. Much as the pallor and dark circles, belying a sleepless night. Scott took a call out in One, right off the roof of Tracy Tower. It was the fastest and most expedient option, regardless of Virgil's protests. That's how Jeff remembered most of his sleep being drained by nightmares - One screeching off and him spending eight endless years calculating and hoping (praying) the rocket plane made it out of the Zero-X launch blast radius in time, taking his son to safely far enough. He winced at the memory and squinted against a nauseating headache. Scott's worry was obviously reaching the red zone.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to press for the pulse. His boy's fingers were uncharacteristically cold, but maybe Jeff was just catching space chills.

"Dad, are you alright? I will cancel the morning! I'll get you to the hospital right now, then Virgil will fly Grandma in!"

The on the go plan was all IR Commander, but blue eyes blown up twice the usual size in panic was Scotty at any given time Dad was about to disappear. Again. He hated the treacherous frailty that got his unwavering boy so scared. As much as he hated the very idea of hospitals, enthusiastically shared by all his children.

"It's okay, Bluejay! No need to worry! Just one of those days. I'll sleep it off. You go ahead with the meeting and I'll rise and shine to have brunch with you, deal?"

Between the Zero-XL assembly under wraps, the possibly one-way mission to the middle of the galactic nowhere, and Jeff's subsequent laborious rehabilitation, the Tracy Industries senior executives really needed some quality face time with the Tracy-in-charge. So they would have it. Jeff was under no illusion he was in any shape to be that, anymore. Scott was, still. But that would have to change maybe sooner, than they both wished, if mornings like that became a recurrent thing.

Scott didn't appear entirely convinced and there was definitely a ping being sent up to Five to monitor Jeff's space-addled sleeping hunk extra closely. However, the anxious scowl softened into warm mirth as Scott smiled down at Dad's rugged face. Cool fingers moved from the pulse point to brush away the matted grey curls from Jeff's forehead. The gesture was definitely well practiced on any and all of the younger brothers, but in that moment all Jeff could see in the slight tilt of the head and a special, radiant fondness in the blue gaze, was the boys' mother. He nearly choked on a sob and covered his eyes, feigning a fit of cough. Scott moved immediately to give him a glass of water from the bedside table. Once done blinking away the stinging moisture, Jeff caught the tail end of a hastily covered wince in the boy's features. If he were operating at full capacity, he would have probably dug to the bottom of it with proper insistence. As it were, Jeff settled for a squeeze of the premium wool clad bicep:

"How're you holding up, son? Tough night?"

"I'm okay, Dad! You don't need to worry! A couple of bruises here and there. Mostly my ego, as I landed in a heap when the jetpack gave out. I'll never hear the end of it from everyone!"

The edges of Scott's "cheeky flyboy" smile were tighter than Jeff should have been placated with. But gravity was already pulling his lids down.

***

He marginally remembered a quick tender peck on his forehead, or maybe he dreamt it up, conflating the endless years of longing for his mother and for his wife even before that. The scent of his eldest's aftershave, laced with a familiar wiff of One's fumes, lingered and calmed him down. He came to think of it as home and hope over the past months. Jeff next woke up to an anxious face of a different son.

John's hologram practically vibrated with anguish, bouncing on the bedside comm unit. Eyes wide and wild, John looked all too much like an Alan Jeff last remembered - eight years old and left at the Warton boarding school for the very first time.

"Dad!!! What's going on!?!! Are you alright?!!!"

Jeff's headache still didn't agree with the yell, audible practically from orbit. He didn't master much but an incoherent grumble to that.

"Somebody called 911 to the TI Conference Room for Mr. Tracy! I can't get through to Scott's comm! You were supposed to have a meeting first thing today! Are you okay!?"

Words rushed and stumbled one over the other, so unlike John's usually impeccable, professionally honed articulation. It took an extra moment for John to compute Dad's state of underdress - a testament in and of itself of the ginger's distress.

"Dad? Are you still in bed?"

Awareness was catching up with him and with it the heavy drag of gravity and dread. His ginger spaceman was still faster on the uptake, his own overwhelming horror finally pinned on a name:

"SCOTT!!!"

The only Mr. Tracy at the TI Conference room at that moment. It all was coming to Jeff in bits of a disjointed puzzle - the overnight rescue, Scott's ashen paleness he chalked up to lack of sleep, the stifled painful grimace his son wasn't quick enough to hide. And Jeff wasn't there for him!

***

If the younger employees of Tracy Tower were secretly looking forward to meeting the Resurrected Space Outcast, Founder of Tracy Industries and International Rescue, Hero of the Century and a Living Legend - Jeff Tracy - it was probably not barefoot and clad in pink flamingo print pijamas, sporting a bedhead and an overnight shadow, stumbling his way down the hallway at an alarming speed with a formidable assistance of the wall and an occasional doorknob. Jeff practically flung himself into the Conference room and nearly toppled over several people in expensive suits, crowded over a prone body on the floor. He shoved somebody's shoulder aside with enough force and less ceremony than was maybe appropriate.

His knees hitting the floor gave a jaw-jiggling rattle and it remained to be seen if he'd be able to make it back up unassisted, but he didn't give a damn. Scott was still and sheet white against the navy blue of the carpeting. Somebody had the presence of mind to loosen his tie and unbutton the shirt. Scott's face and chest were wet as someone apparently tried to sprinkle water on him to ease the fainting. To obviously no effect. Jeff might have noticed a shadow of bruising on the toned torso, but his eyes were on the beloved yet lifeless waxy face. He cupped Scott's cheek and shifted the other hand to rub his sternum forcefully .

"C'mon, Bluejay! Give me those eyes! Time to wake up!"

Either the father's voice or the strenal rub had the effect - Scott eyelashes fluttered and a sliver of blue became visible. Jeff felt encouraged, thankful the baffled and paniced executives were giving him a wide berth.

"There you go, Scotty! Open them up for me, eh? Dad is here, Bluejay!"

Jeff moved his palm from Scott's chest to grab a cold limp hand and squeeze. His other hand never left the son's cheek, the thumb caressing cool clammy skin carefully. Give the boy a sensory anchor.

"Stay with me, kiddo! It's alright!"

Blue eyes were still cloudy and unfocused, eyelids heavy. Scott seemed to have just then noticed Dad's presence.

"Dad? Yu'came?"

Jeff's chest constricted. Of course, they were supposed to be in that meeting together. But Jeff succumbed to weakness and left Scott alone. Again.

"I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here!"

The pained, far-away gaze still didn't land on him.

"Yu'never come... Only Mom comes... I call'n'call an'yu'never come..."

He was feeling cold sweat and shivers raking his own body, his head was swimming from strain and fear, but he had to keep Scott conscious and talking.

"Dad is right here! I'm with you, Scotty! Just look at me! Can you do that for Dad?"

Scott seemed to have made an effort to look at him, the brilliant blue almost black with strain.

"Yu'never come when I'm dying..."

With that Scott's eyes rolled back into his head and a thin rivulet of blood trickled down the corner of his lips. Jeff couldn't tell if his son's skin went colder to his touch as his own hands went icy numb. There was a distant sound coming through the pounding in his ears - an animal-like wail of Scott's name in a voice Jeff didn't recognize as his own. Space shifted around him, bodies shuffling urgently as more people entered the room. Multiple hands were prying him away from Scott's unmoving body, but they would need a crowbar. Jeff was putting up a fight to stay latched to his son, or so he thought. In the middle of a vicious flail he was suddenly tipping sideways some distance away, Scott completely obscured from view by a wall off luminicent lined uniforms of paramedics. And Jeff's world went black.

***

[Lucy, please! I know you miss him, love! Oh my God, I KNOW, baby! I know you're all alone there! Please, don't take him! PLEASE! He hasn't lived yet! Our boy, Luce! I let him down so much! I'm so sorry! I asked so much of him, and he gave up everything! I screwed up! Take me, hon! If you absolutely must, take me instead! I'll watch over them all with you, dear! But you can't take him! You won't! I know you won't let him! He needs to live! Please, don't let him stay with you, Lucy! PLEASE!]

***

He started awake yet again with his eldest son's name on his lips, voice hoarse like he'd been shouting over the ocean surf, crashing on the island shore. Caramel eyes were startled by his roar that time. Gordon was quick to collect himself and put on a smile.

"Hey, Dad! You're awake!"

Not unlike Scott's early that morning (was it still the same day?), Gordon's grin was thin, taut, not bright enough to cover the shadows visible on tanned skin. Jeff tried again, putting a worth of questions into the name:

"Scott?"

Gordon's smile faltered and Jeff felt the heady rush of weightlessness, his mind slipping away from the tether of sanity.

"Scotty's in surgery, Dad! There was internal bleeding and he crashed in the Conference room. The paramedics said he coded there, but they got him to the hospital on time! They're working on him now!"

Coded. Scott died on his watch. Because Jeff wasn't there. He took a breather, let his boy take over his slack and his duty. Again. Scott was paying with his life when Jeff was unfit to deal. Again.

He shifted in what appeared to be a hospital bed, but the range of his movement was limited by the IV line, now pulling at his hand. Gordon stopped him from getting up, hands, weighing his shoulders back on the mattress, a lot stronger than he remembered.

"Whoa, Dad! Nah-uh! Stay put! Your BP tanked and you blacked out there too!"

That probably explained the dizziness and the hospital ward spinning slowly around him. Jeff took a cautious look around the room, but for the monitor tracing his vitals it was empty. Gordon read the question in his gaze.

"Allie got so worked up with worry - he threw up. John's with him, helping to clean up. Grandma's watching the surgery and consulting in the OR gallery. They actually let Virgil in the OR! Those puppy eyes are a menace! Or maybe Johnny-boy donated the hospital a research lab or something. Anyhow, they let him stay with the anesthesiologist - you know how Scooter's body eats through painkillers! Freakish metabolism and all! So they wouldn't want him wake up mid surgery,  and Virgie knows the dosage and his stats by heart. It's good, right? Scotty's not all alone in there!"

Gordon was rambling, not pausing for air, and Jeff knew that to be the boy's primary tell for intense anxiety. He reached for his second youngest hand to ground himself as much as to offer comfort.

The door hissed open and Alan waded in, followed by a mile of ginger topped blue. Allie's face was blotchy and ashen, fresh tear tracks marking the skin. John was gripping the boy's shoulder with one hand. He had a tablet clutched to his chest with the other.

"Dad!"

Alan sounded so young Jeff's heart ached. He lifted the IV bound arm and Alan was quick to tuck himself to Dad's side, lanky teen limbs curled into a ball. The boy was not bothering to be discrete about crying again. Gordon flopped over Jeff's legs, uncharacteristically lost for words and craving contact too. Jeff waited till John walked around and perched by his shoulder. The ginger was engrossed by the video feed on his tablet. The live stream from the OR Jeff was not sure the hospital authorized or even knew about. He didn't care. He was dying to ask how the surgery was going, for how long, but Jeff wasn't sure how much John had clued the Tinies in. So he craned his neck to better see the screen and waited. Silence stretched. Virgil's massive form in sterile scrubs, cap and mask was visible, hunched over Scott's face, his fingers drumming lightly over the brother's bare shoulder. Jeff couldn't tell if Virgil was tapping in Morse code or playing out a mute tune. Either way it was definitely a way to reach through to big brother and not to disrupt the doctors. The surgery site was a hustle of frantic activity Jeff didn't dare follow too closely. At some point John's eyes went almost sea-green dark and the grip on the tablet turned his knuckles white. Jeff squeezed his shut, hugging Alan's trembling shoulder closer.

[Please, Lucy! No! Please!]

Time stretched further without meaning in perfect silence. John finally shifted to get up and announced:

"They closed him up! He'll be wheeled to Critical Care now."

Turquoise met caramel across the ward and it occurred to Jeff the statement was addressed more Gordon's way, as the blond was on his feet immediately. There was a LOT of communication between his family going right over his head. Maybe they didn't trust his strength that day. Or maybe they were just too used to not factor him into the synergy of their tightly knit world. Either way, it hurt more than he could ever let them know.

Gordon got his cue and was peeling Alan up and away from Jeff's side.

"C'mon, Al! Let's go find Grandma before she instills fear of hell into the nurses! And maybe grab some snacks for everyone! On my word, Dad DOESN'T want the local variety of green jell-o!"

Alan, as well as everyone else in the room, knew it for what it was worth - a diversion tactics to get him away. Allie could be stubborn with the best of them, and he wasn't a kid anymore, despite a widely acknowledged belief, but he knew there would be no real talk of Scott's post op prospects with him around. Not right then at least. Besides, the boy looked veritably drained by fear and all the uncertainty, and could use a change of scenery.

Shortly after Gordon chaperoned Alan out the doors to Jeff's ward hissed again. Virgil appeared like a giant ghost, swaying on his feet. He shed the surgical mask, gloves and cap, but was still in the OR scrubs. Drenched through with sweat. John was by his brother's side in one long stride. The boys leaned into each other for a long moment, their foreheads touching. Jeff longed to envelope his sons into a massive hug and let them draw strength from their father, as should be. He longed to rush to Scott's side and hold on to him as tightly as he knew how, not letting the boy slip away. He longed to console the Tinies and shoo away the haunted desperation from their eyes. He longed to ascertain them all they were not loosing Scott. Because they couldn't. HE couldn't. But he was marooned by the stupid IV, bedridden by gravity, exhausted by dread and guilt, eating him alive. Not for the first time that day Jeff felt redundant and useless, a fragile husk rolling around, causing mere nuisance.

Virgil heaved a breath to center himself and John stepped around him to head out. But not before giving his brother another quick fierce hug. Virgil seemed to be gathering his bearings, his mind booting up, previously lost in whatever he saw and felt going on in that OR.

"John, wait! Scott is critical. They won't let you in!"

John's face was a chiseled mask, a shade paler yet, if it were at all possible.

"I just bought this hospital equipment enough to research immortality. I'm going to be with my brother!"

With that he was gone through the door. Virgil seemed lost for a moment, lonely in the middle of the room. Chocolate eyes landed on Dad and just like that - the dam broke. The tidal wave of years worth of fear and pain, and toll of anticipatory grief as well as the actual one, for reasons Jeff only began to piece together, breached through defenses and Virgil collapsed into his father's eager arms, sobbing.

***

Maybe it was fitting he only got to do his vigil bid by Scott's side after all his kids, and his Ma, had exhausted themselves. Maybe it was his turn to step up, finally. Or maybe he wasn't ready before. How could he be? No amount of bracing himself could prepare Jeff for seeing Scott in the Critical Care unit - translucent and perfectly still - machines doing breathing for him, pumping blood for him, doing all the living for him. Even after That Place there was more life in his son's body, more tangible reality beneath the gossamer skin. His son's spirit was nearly unmoored, yet Jeff felt like he was the one needing life support. A lifeline. So he reached for the one that had yanked him from the brink more than once, led him out of cosmic limbo, sure and true - his son's hand. And held fast.

***

[I'm right here, Bluejay! Dad is here! I never come when you're dying, because you're NOT! I'm right beside you! Mom will show you the way home! I'll be waiting right here, son! I'm not going anywhere, I promise!]

[lilacura]

Pages of sorrow | Kim Chaewon

pairing: Kim Chaewon x Reader

>wc: 1.4k

summary: Chaewon discovers Y/N's hidden feelings through a secret diary, realizing the depth of unspoken love only after Y/N's passing. The poignant tale unfolds with regret, heartache, and the profound impact of a love never shared.

Chaewon sat on her bed, crying softly as she held the worn leather diary in her hands. It had been a week since the funeral, a week since she lost her dear friend Y/N. While going through Y/N's things, this diary had fallen out from between the pages of an old book. Hesitantly, she opened the cover, hoping to find some answers as to why Y/N had seemed so sad in her last days. 

The first entry was from years ago, recounting a chance meeting between the two girls in their freshman year of high school. Chaewon remembered it well - she had been sitting alone at lunch when Y/N shyly asked if the seat across from her was taken. They quickly bonded over their love for music and dreams of becoming idols one day. As Chaewon read Y/N's description of falling in love with her smile and energetic personality, she felt her heart twist in her chest. If only she had known back then how Y/N felt.

Flipping through the pages, Chaewon was transported back through their high school years. She saw their friendship grow closer through Y/N's loving words, but also noticed the pain and heartache between the lines as Y/N lamented keeping her true feelings secret, convinced Chaewon only saw her as a friend. An entry from their graduation dance made Chaewon break down into sobs. Y/N had mustered the courage to ask Chaewon to dance, but the other girl had been distracted, oblivious to Y/N's intentions as she danced with several guy friends instead. 

College brought more hardship. Chaewon remembered Y/N growing distant their first year, busying herself with study groups and clubs in an attempt to move on. But the diary told a different story - of sleepless nights crying into her pillow, missing Chaewon's presence terribly in their shared dorm room. An especially painful entry was scrawled the night of Chaewon's first real date, the words smudged with tears. 

As Chaewon continued to read, she came across happier times when their friendship had repaired itself. Movie marathons, late night walks around campus, studying together in the library - memories she now saw through Y/N's loving gaze. Small, intimate moments Chaewon had been oblivious to at the time but now realized held deep meaning for the secret lover who watched her from the sidelines, content to just be by her side however she could. 

The final entry was dated only a week before Y/N's passing. She wrote of coming to terms with keeping her love private, finding peace in Chaewon's friendship even if it was all she could have. But one line stood out amongst the rest - "I think a part of me will always be in love with Chaewon, even when I'm gone." 

A few more entries chronicled Y/N growing distant in their final year of college, right around the time Chaewon began dating her girlfriend at the time. 

As Chaewon read Y/N's descriptions of seeing them together on campus, holding hands and sharing sweet kisses, her heart tightened. She had been so wrapped up in her new relationship that she never thought to tell Y/N, her supposed best friend, about any of it. 

Y/N wrote of feeling betrayed, like their friendship meant nothing anymore with this secret kept. Each passing day spent watching Chaewon from afar with someone else chipped away a little more at her soul. 

In bitter lines coated with tears, Y/N questioned why Chaewon never felt she could confide in her, why their bond didn't seem to matter when a new romance entered the picture. She withdrew into herself again, isolating in her dorm with only her diary as company, consumed by jealousy and the feeling of being replaced.

The entry ended with Y/N vowing to distance herself for good, to stop tormenting herself with a friendship that was no longer equal. Chaewon realized with horror that by keeping her relationship private, it was the final straw that sent Y/N spiraling into the depths of despair. Her oblivious actions had inadvertently pushed the girl she now knew she loved away during the darkest time. It was a mistake Chaewon would never forgive herself for.

As Chaewon turned to the second to last entry, her breath caught in her throat. Y/N wrote of feeling overwhelmed by her secret pain, the loneliness and heartache growing too much to bear after years of keeping it locked away. 

With a sob, Chaewon read the line "I can't continue living like this, always wishing for something I'll never have. I hope that in death, I'll finally find the peace I've never known." 

It was then that the reality hit Chaewon like a punch to the gut. Y/N's "passing", which she'd been told was due to illness, suddenly made sense in the brutal truth it concealed. Her friend had been suffering silently all this time, truly believing Chaewon would never love her back, and in a moment of despair had chosen to end her suffering the only way she saw possible.

The final lines echoed in Chaewon's mind, a last will and testament of Y/N's enduring affection: "I hope even after I'm gone, Chaewon will still continue to remember me, our friendship, and the love I could never confess. Please don't cry for me - I'll be watching over you, and loving you, from wherever I am." 

All this time Y/N had kept her pain locked inside, refusing to burden Chaewon with her unrequited feelings even as they consumed her. And now it was too late for Chaewon to tell Y/N she felt the same, that together maybe they could have found the will to live another day.

Chaewon snapped the diary shut, shaking with emotion. All this time, Y/N had loved her so fully yet thought her feelings were unrequited. And Chaewon realized with crushing guilt that she had felt the same, had she only known to look past her assumptions. Now it was too late to tell Y/N she loved her too, and that thought would haunt Chaewon for the rest of her days. Clutching the diary to her chest, she wept for the love they never had the courage to share.

A month had passed since Chaewon read Y/N's final words in her diary. For weeks she remained shut in her room, overcome with grief and guilt for what she realized too late. 

Today, she knew she could put it off no longer. Clasped in her shaking hands were a bouquet of Y/N's favorite flowers, lilies - delicate and beautiful, just like she was. 

Stepping up to the simple grave marker, Chaewon sank to her knees. Tracing her fingers over Y/N's name etched in the stone, the tears came fast and heavy once more. 

"I'm so sorry it took me this long," Chaewon choked out amongst her sobs. "I thought if I didn't come, maybe it wouldn't be real. But you're gone and it's all my fault."

With great care, she arranged the lilies atop the fresh dirt. As the petals swayed in the breeze, Chaewon was again transported to memories of Y/N's smile, her laugh, her kindness. The girl who loved her without condition, even unto death. 

"We were too close to the stars, my love. I was blind not to see what was right in front of me." Chaewon clutched at her chest, heart aching. "I hope that wherever you are, you'll forgive me. And know that I love you, Y/N - I always have, and always will, for the rest of my days." 

Bowing her head, Chaewon let the tears flow freely as she paid tribute to the love they never had but only now, too late, did she understand.

[yungchaeng]

Popstar (Twice series: Nayeon)

III: Missing you

genre: fluff - word count: 3186

Life has always had its way of reminding you that nothing came easy. Even in your relationship with Nayeon, although loving her was effortless…the problem had always been keeping her.

The napkin with her phone number had been sitting on your kitchen counter for days, reminding you of your dilemma every morning since she walked into your café.

Seeing her again was surreal. For years, it was easy to distance yourself from the idea of her. The face you saw on billboards, TV, and all over social media was just Nayeon ‘the popstar’. The more you saw Nayeon as the star she now was, the harder you tried to forget who she once was to you.

When you saw her adorable smile you tried not to think of all the nights you both spent laughing at the dumbest things together. When you heard her songs, you worked hard to push the memories away of her singing you all the songs she wrote you.

And somehow, with time, all that pushing away started to work.

Slowly, but surely, even the sleepless nights you spent missing her became less frequent. The tears you cried over her had dried up, and that heartache you felt when you woke and her side of the bed was empty became…familiar.

Yes, you loved her. You never stopped loving her. However, seeing that she truly achieved every single one of the goals she had once set out for herself…you knew it all had to have been for the best. So you convinced yourself that that made it okay. The hurt had to have been worth it in the long run, right?

Missing Nayeon was hard, but it was slowly becoming your new normal. You somehow managed to keep it all together…until she walked into your café. You laid your eyes on her and it felt like time stood still at that moment.

Nayeon told you that she loved you and that since you loved her the same, that was all that mattered. According to her, things would be different if she got just one more chance. The love of your life stood across from you that day and said all the things you had disregarded as wishful thinking for years. And since then, you had been hopeful that she was right…and you scolded yourself for that.

It could be easy going on as you were: pretending you didn’t miss Nayeon as much as you did. Though you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. Deep down you know your decision was made the second you laid eyes on her again. The exact moment she smiled at you and asked you for a coffee in that voice that was just as sweet as the first time you met, you knew.

You did not want to spend a second apart anymore.

Although you had your doubts, it all seemed to fade away the second you heard Nayeon’s laugh again when you finally called her up.

“I choose you.” Nayeon told you. “It will always be you from now on. I promise.”

And you chose Nayeon too – all of her.

Giving it another try was going to be easier said than done, but for Nayeon you were willing to put your heart at risk to see if it was true.

The day after was nerve-wracking for you. Nayeon would come over for dinner, and your mind was plagued with all kinds of worries. What to wear? What to cook? Would her favourite food still be a good option, or should you make something completely different? Would it be awkward? What would you even talk about?

What if either of you didn’t love the person the other had become anymore?

It turned out that worrying about what to talk about was not worth it. Nayeon came over and there were years of catching up to do, so there was barely any time for awkward silence either. You both laughed and reminisced together, and you watched her with a sheepish smile on your face as she told you about her adventures of being a full-blown celebrity.

A deep breath of relief escaped you. Your heavy heart seemed to feel light again after so long. You finally had Nayeon back, and you adored her more now than you ever did before.

Nayeon sat on your couch, legs crossed and arms flailing as she told you about one of the many times she almost missed her flight on tour. You chuckled along with her story and your heart fluttered every time she smiled. You could listen to her talk for hours, forever even.

The end of the evening seemed to be nowhere in sight, but Nayeon’s ringing phone interrupted your conversation. She picked it up with a frown, followed by a slew of apologies. “I’m sorry.” she sighed. “I’ll be right down.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“Security.” Nayeon stood up with a pout on her lip and shrugged lightly. “It’s getting dark. So they figured it’s time I get home.”

“Oh…”

While the two of you sat there, isolated from the world and wrapped up in each other’s presence, the day had gone and night had fallen. Suddenly, it was dark outside and hours had passed – hours that felt like minutes to you, yet still didn’t feel like enough.

This moment with her couldn’t last forever, but you didn’t want it to end here either.

“…you could..stay here?” your voice was soft when you suggested it. Nayeon grinned, but her silence was too loud for you. So you panicked. “uhm, you know, I still have some dessert I could offer you?”

“Oh.” Nayeon cocked her head and smirked playfully. “That’s not what I came here for, but I wouldn’t oppose—”

“Nayeon!” you gasped. “not that kind, you perv…I was thinking more like ice cream.”

She chuckled as she nodded. “Oh, that’s good too.”

Nayeon called the security off and you both had a few more hours of talking before you went to bed. As she shuffled into your bed next to you for the first time in what felt like forever, you couldn’t help but wonder if things were moving a bit too fast.

The rules on dating an ex were muddy, but the one thing you did know for sure was that you missed having Nayeon so close to you... and by the way she was subtly shifting closer to you, so did she.

Maybe it didn’t matter that it felt fast? Her presence so near felt perfect to you.

Yes, the first few minutes in bed were…awkward. The both of you silently stared at the ceiling until you heard Nayeon’s adorable giggle. When she finally wrapped her arms around you, she told you she had waited too long to be with you to not be as close as possible.

Nayeon always knew exactly what she wanted, and of course you gave in to her. Some things never change.

Her content sigh and tight embrace were already enough to melt you, and you held her closer, tracing figures on the small of her back. You stayed awake long after she planted her soft lips on your cheek and whispered that she loved you.

As her breathing deepened and you laid there, as still as you could in order not to wake her, you knew for sure: you were whole again.

When you woke the next morning and the spot next you was empty, for a second you figured it all must have been one of your silly dreams. You groggily made your way to the kitchen where you were met with a sight you had missed: Nayeon swaying her hips along to softly playing music, as she tried to figure out how to work your coffee machine.

Your lips curled into a smile. She was dawned in your oversized sweater, bare faced with her specs balanced on her nose along with her hair tied messily into a quick bun…it all felt like nothing had changed. Nayeon seemed so comfortable as if she was never gone, and for maybe the 100th time since yesterday you thanked the stars that you got her back: not just Nayeon the popstar, but the Nayeon that stole your heart the moment you first saw her.

“Aren’t you going to be late?” your voice was soft, tentative, as you tried not to startle her.

“I am.” She turned to look at you, eyes sparkling and a slight smile on her face as she handed you your coffee. “but I don’t want to go yet.”

Her hand found yours and your fingers intertwined. You felt butterflies in your stomach, simply at her touch, but you chuckled nervously as you tried to pretend that your heartbeat didn’t just pick up instantly.

“Although I’d like you to stay too…you have a dance practice in like an hour. I don’t want to be the reason you’re late.”

A sour expression graced your face when you took a sip of the beverage she made you. Nayeon was never the best at making a good coffee, and yes, some things never change. Although, as you always used to do, you took another sip and fought hard to hide your displeasure.

Nayeon laughed and slightly shook her head. “One day I’ll get it right.”

“I sure do hope so…” you chuckled along.

“Hmm, I was hoping maybe…” Nayeon trailed off and played with your fingers. It used to be a tell that she was a bit nervous, but the mischievous smirk on her lips suggested otherwise. “…maybe you could come with me today? To work?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to pressure—”

“It’s not that.” You interrupted. “I would love to, you know that…it’s just…maybe we shouldn’t rush into this?”

“Baby…” Nayeon sighed and held on tighter to your hand with a faint smile dawned on her face. “I could ask you your favourite colour, or how you like your eggs in the morning…but we know all of this about each other already. I’ve been waiting years for this, to share myself with you – all of me.”

“Nayeon…are you sure about this?”

“Yes. I’ve never been more sure about anything.” She smiled brightly, showing off her adorable teeth. “Plus, I think the girls wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t bring you along to see them. They’ve missed you too.”

You hummed, grinning. “Bringing the members into this. Smart move.”

“Is it working?” she asked through a smirk.

“Yeah, it kind of is.” An excited squeal and repeated kisses on your cheek followed and you made yourself a mental note to give Nayeon her way more often.

You both got ready and Nayeon took the opportunity to raid your closet for a sweater she wanted to ‘borrow’, and you let her. You used to try and protest, as you knew you usually never got them back, but you have missed the image of her in your clothes for too long and weren’t going to stand in the way of it now.

“Are we really doing this?” Nayeon asked you with a smile as you left your apartment, and you nodded. “then…will you be my girlfriend again?” she softly asked you.

“Gladly.” You were nervous as hell for everything that was to come, but as long as you had Nayeon by your side it should be okay, right?

A squeal of excitement left her and you chuckled, understanding exactly how she felt. Nayeon pulled you in by the shirt with a grin on her face and she stroked the side of your cheek softly. Her smile was as gracious as ever and her voice lowered to a whisper as she said, “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time…”

Your heartbeat instantly picked up as you instinctively leaned in closer to her.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked cautiously, and not wasting a second more, you close the gap between your lips.

Her soft lips moved along with yours and your head started to spin almost instantly. You missed this. You missed her so much. The feeling of her lips on yours, her arms over your shoulders, and her body pressed up against you…all of it. Your kiss was long, and both of you savoured every second of it.

With a squeeze to her hip, a bite down her lip, and a sigh of pleasure, you tried to express all the things that words could never do justice. In an ideal world, the kiss would never end, but when you heard her sharp inhale and soft moan, you pulled away. Nayeon playfully grinned, but you were still dazed, trying your hardest not to lean back in again.

You were conflicted between not wanting to move everything along too fast, and pulling her back into the house to give her that ‘dessert’ she joked about the previous day.

“hmm,” Nayeon hummed, eyes still closed. “you really missed me, huh?”

“Shut up.” You laughed. “we’re gonna be late.”

Nayeon led you out of the apartment building by your intertwined hands, but the closer you got to getting outside, the more your nerves seemed to build up. This was one of the many little moments that would break your heart in the past. Around this time, she’d kiss you on the cheek, whisper a small “I love you.” and let go of your hand. You can still hear all of her excuses replay in your head.

“you never know who might see us…”

“it’s best to be cautious.”

“you know I love you, right?”

Maybe it was self-preservation, an act in order to not let her break your heart like that again, but you let go of her hand instead and shoved yours firmly in your pockets with a trembling breath.

Nayeon frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah, no…” you spoke softly, trying to avert her gaze on you. “it’s just…it’s best to be cautious.”

Your girlfriend paused, and you wished you could read her mind right then. She softly sighed, took your hands out of your pocket, and held them to her chest.

“I’m so sorry.” Her lip quivered as she spoke, and you kept looking at the ground so she couldn’t see how vulnerable you felt. “I can’t apologise enough for the way I used to treat you.”

“We don’t have to get into it. It’s okay—”

“No, it’s really not.” With a finger hooked under your chin, she made you look at her. “I can’t take back the things I said, or did, but I can try my hardest to make them right…and I will.” Nayeon reached over and took your hand into hers again.

“Are you sure—”

“ssh,” the other girl playfully interjected. “No time to chat. We’re going to be late, remember?” You smiled.

Being out and about with her hand in yours felt so foreign. Especially since you felt like everybody’s eyes were on the both of you �� which, to be fair, they probably were because of Nayeon’s celebrity status.

However, under everyone’s gaze you couldn’t help but feel a bit…insecure.

Some people tried not to linger. They would look for a second and then look away as soon as you made eye contact. Others were not so polite. They would stare, gawk even. Their mouths were agape at the sight of your girlfriend and their face turned into near scowls as soon as they registered your presence next to her…

You felt exposed. Too vulnerable.

Nayeon caught on quick, as she would give your hand a reassuring squeeze every time she noticed a stare. “Are you okay?” she’d ask you as she gave everyone that looked at you an intense glare.

You lied and said you were fine, but of course, she knew you long enough to know that wasn’t the case. As she pulled you closer to her, Nayeon muttered an apology along with the fact that you’d get used to the stares eventually.

It seemed that since your break-up, Nayeon and Twice had become even more famous somehow. Whereas there used to be at least some places where Nayeon wouldn’t be recognised before, she now got multiple stares in every street you passed. It was a lot…

You were about to ask her how she dealt with the constant attention when two young girls approached. They giggled amongst themselves and Nayeon smiled at them – which made them giggle harder. Their hands were shaky when they introduced themselves as fans of hers and they looked at each other with wide eyes when Nayeon gave either of them a hug.

It was all very endearing. The fact that not only you, but the world, loved your girlfriend very dearly made you smile. You always loved her fan interactions and how she’d glow afterward. It made your heart swell and even in the time you were apart, you were comforted by the idea that Nayeon wouldn’t have to go a day without knowing how loved she was.

As one of them spoke to Nayeon and fawned over Twice’s latest performances, you noticed the other one giving you a questioning look. She cocked her head to the side and the frown on her face slowly made you more self-conscious.

It made you uncomfortable, but you also didn’t know what to say so you just awkwardly cleared your throat. “Uhm…would you like a picture together?” you managed to utter.

“Sure…” the girl that was basically staring you down muttered.

“Yes, omg, please?” The other girl gasped as she shakily gave you her phone. “Thank you so much.”

With trembling hands, you took a few photos of Nayeon with the girls. Your girlfriend thanked you dearly and out of the corner of your eye you saw the girls chatting amongst themselves. Then suddenly it was both of them shooting you piercing glares. You swallowed away the uneasy feeling you felt coming up as you handed them back the phone.

Nayeon said her goodbyes to them and after one more glance your way, they went on their way. Barely a second passed before your girlfriend captured your hand in hers again. Your mind was already running overtime thinking about all the things those girls could be thinking of you, but Nayeon’s reassuring smile relieved you from your worries for just a second.

“Was that okay?” she softly asked with a nudge to your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You paused for a second. Maybe it was because being so close out in public was all so new to you, but it all felt so unknown. This felt uneasy. “…yeah, I’m good.”

Although you knew that was not the truth, you also knew that at the end of the day, you felt more so grateful than anything. Sure, everything was different… and sure, people would stare and glare…but who cared what others thought if you had Nayeon by your side, right?

Things would be different this time – you chose to believe that. However, right then, you realised a bit too late that in your excitement for having the love of your life back, you never really prepared for how “different” things could really get.  

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Letters Part 2

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: You and Remus decide to write home and tell your families about your relationship Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist | Part 1

A letter arrives for you, the owl swooping low in your room before dropping the parchment into your waiting hands. It's from your mother, her looping script familiar and comforting. Her words are a balm to your soul, offering understanding and love where you feared there might be judgement.

"Dearest," she begins, "I hope this finds you well, or as well as can be expected."

There it is—the unspoken acknowledgement of your fragile health, the concern that hovers in every line. She knows how much energy each day requires, even without the added complexities of navigating not one but three relationships.

"But I must admit," she continues, "when we received your last letter...well, we were surprised, to say the least." You imagine your father’s brows knitting together as he read your confession, your mother’s hand rising to cover her mouth. But you know them both—there would have been no shouts of outrage, only quiet contemplation, questions asked softly under the glow of the kitchen light.

"Now, don't get me wrong, my darling. Your father and I want nothing more than your happiness, and if these boys bring you joy, then who are we to stand in the way? But we worry about what this might mean for your health. You've always had to carry burdens beyond your years; will this not add another?"

You pause, folding the letter gently across your lap. Of course they'd ask about that—they understand, perhaps better than anyone, the toll your condition takes on you. They remember the hospital visits, the countless tests and scans, the nights spent holding you while pain wracked your small body. They’ve seen you at your weakest, watched helplessly as illness stole away bits of your childhood. So yes, they would wonder how Remus, James, Sirius factor into all this. Do they ease your suffering or compound it?

"I hope they're looking out for you, love," her letter goes on, "especially on those hard days when getting out of bed feels like climbing a mountain. Are they patient? Kind? Do they give you space when you need it most? Or does having three partners simply mean triple the worry, the arguments, the heartache?"

It's a fair question, one you've asked yourself during sleepless nights, your mind spinning with thoughts of what lies ahead. Will they grow weary of your limitations? Will they come to resent the time and energy your care demands? But then you remember Remus’ soothing voice reading to you, James’ gentle touch as he adjusts your pillows, Sirius’ easy humour lifting your spirits—and you know those fears, while valid, may not reflect reality.

"Maybe,” your mother’s words continue, “this isn’t what we envisioned for you, but life has a habit of surprising us, which you have done since the day you were born so why would you stop now?”

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, a faint smile breaking through your clouded thoughts. That’s just like her, finding the silver lining, the shared joke amidst the confusion and uncertainty. And despite everything, you feel grateful—for her openness, her willingness to step outside tradition and consider a different path for you. For her unwavering love.

“We’ll discuss this more when you’re home,” she concludes. “And I’ll need to speak to these boys myself—just to make sure they know how special you are. I’m sure Remus knows, but I’ve never met James and Sirius so they need telling.”

Another owl swoops through the open window, wings barely rustling against the thick drapes. This time it's a small barn owl with speckled feathers that glint in the dim light of the bedroom. It lands gracefully on the back of Remus's chair, extending its leg to reveal a second parchment.

"Looks like this one's for you, Moony," James says, untangling the letter and handing it over. Your gaze flickers from the owl now preening itself to Remus, who takes the parchment with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. You remember your own hesitations just moments before—the fluttering pulse, the dryness at the back of your throat—and reach out to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

"Dear Remus," his mother's response begins, "I received your letter and have given it much thought. You know I've always been one for details, so forgive me if this runs long."

Remus chuckles, a soft sound that ripples through the silence of the room like a pebble dropped into still water. He knows all too well her propensity for thoroughness—countless times he's sat at their small kitchen table, listening to her dissect every nuance of an article or analyse a book down to its last metaphor. It's part of what makes her such a good listener, why he's always felt understood in ways others often missed.

"I find myself surprised," she continues, "but not because you're dating a third person—I suppose stranger things have happened. No, my dear son, what truly astounds me is that it took you this long to admit your feelings for Y/N." There’s a playfulness to her words, a gentle teasing familiar and warm.

His cheeks flush slightly as he glances at you, wondering if the same thought had crossed your mind. Have there been moments, lost now in the haze of memory, when either of you could have reached across the divide sooner? Had fear kept you both silent, each waiting for the other to make the first move?

"And don't think I haven't noticed the way you light up whenever she's mentioned," she adds, as if reading his thoughts from miles away. Her handwriting is neat, each stroke precise—a stark contrast to the chaos usually surrounding his life at school.

"But let us focus on the present," she writes, shifting gears. "It seems we have much to discuss and unpack here, but rest assured, your father and I will support you in whatever way we can."

He lets out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Those words—simple yet filled with meaning—ease a tension within him that's been coiling tighter since the moment he decided to write his parents. Support. That's what he needs right now, more than anything. And though questions still loom large, knowing he's not alone in facing them is a comfort he clings to.

"As for Y/N…" His eyes skim over the next few lines, heart skipping a beat. "I spoke with her mother earlier today, after reading your letter. We had a rather… enlightening chat about everything."

You look up at that, catching Remus's eye. Both your expressions mirror a mixture of relief and mild horror. The idea of your mothers discussing your love lives—an intimate tapestry woven of secrets and shared looks—is enough to make anyone squirm.

"Enlightening?" Sirius repeats, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."

"We expected as much," you admit, running a hand through your hair. "Still, it's mortifying to think about."

The parchment rustles as Remus turns it over, his mother's words continuing in a more serious tone. "I know the fears that gnaw at you," she writes. "It's no accident I've noticed how you flinch when happiness finds you, how quickly you look for shadows where there should be only light."

His hand tightens around the letter, creasing its edges. It was true. Every joy seemed fleeting when set against the permanence of his condition, every moment of peace merely the quiet before another storm. But here she was, acknowledging those fears and meeting them with understanding rather than judgment.

"You wonder if you're deserving of love given your circumstances—of their love," her script meanders down the page, each word imbued with a tenderness that makes his breath hitch. "But remember, my dear boy, love isn't something to be earned or measured by what we believe we owe. You have every right to it, especially from those who see past the complexities that life has bestowed upon you."

He swallows hard, feeling the weight of those words settle deep within him. They seep into the cracks of self-doubt that have long since formed, like rain nourishing parched earth. And though he knows one letter can't erase years of fear and loathing, it's a start—a glimmer of hope amidst the dark.

"Take care of yourself, Remus," the note goes on, a gentle nudge wrapped in ink and paper. "And take care of them too." A pause lingers between sentences, almost palpable despite the distance. "They may not bear physical scars, but they carry burdens just as heavy."

His gaze lifts from the page, finding yours across the room. There's an unspoken agreement in that brief exchange—you both understand what it means to shoulder invisible weights, to smile through pain others can't fathom. And in that shared knowledge, there's a kind of solace, a silent promise to hold each other up even when the ground beneath threatens to give way.

"I imagine it wasn't easy, opening up about this part of your world—the part we've kept hidden so long out of necessity and fear." The handwriting becomes slightly shaky here, betraying an emotion she rarely allows to surface. "Yet you did it, and for that, I am incredibly proud."

Remus blinks, surprised by the sudden sting behind his eyes. Proud. It's been ages since he last heard that word directed at him without irony or pity. To hear it now, applied to the very thing he's spent most of his life fearing, feels like a balm on old wounds.

"And don't worry about Y/N's parents," the next line reads. "From our conversation, it seems they are trying their best to navigate these waters just as we are."

At this, he exhales slowly, relief washing over him like a warm tide. That's one less concern weighing on his already burdened shoulders. He scans the remaining lines, each sentence weaving a thread of reassurance through the fabric of his uncertainty.

The tone of the letters from both families is, perhaps predictably, a mix of concern and relief. But there's also a note of something else—something akin to gratitude—that hums beneath each carefully chosen word.

In the ensuing silence, the magnitude of what you've done begins to sink in. The letters are out, the responses tucked safely inside your robes, and reality is settling back around you like a familiar cloak. It isn't perfect—the edges still fray with uncertainty, and the fabric is heavy with implications—but it's tangible, undeniable proof that you're no longer alone in this fight.

You exchange a glance with Remus across the room, his eyes reflecting the same quiet resolve. There is no going back now, no erasing the words that have etched new paths before you. But whatever lies ahead, you realise, you'll face it with the strength of family at your backs and love as your compass.

[thatwritingho]

Please i am begging hands and knees post the "Yer home" wip POST THE WIP

SO glad you asked. This is easily one of my favorite things I've ever written. Have some Relish comfort with sides of a found family music metaphor, and Pickles reflecting on his relationship with music❤️

.

"There's a million other things you could be doing right now. Better things. Things you like."

Pickles levelled her with an unimpressed look, "I like bein' wit' yew."

"No, you don't," Olive scoffed, harshly wiping the tears from her face as she leaned back, "Not like this, at least. Not when I'm like this. I'm a fucking mess."

Softly running his fingertips over the backs of her hands, Pickles sighed. How could he put this in a way that she wouldn't brush off? An idea struck him, then, one that left him with an ache in his chest — not quite uncomfortable, but not quite pleasant either. But… it was a damn good comparison, if he did say so himself.

"Yanno… I've tried a lot'a instruments."

Brows furrowing, Olive sniffled, blinking at him in confusion, the expression on her face funny enough to make him crack a crooked smile.

"Wha-"

"Shh. Jest, lemme finish."

Licking his lips, Pickles laced their fingers together, continuing, "I tried a lot of em when I was younger. Piano, saxophone, fuckin' violin. Guitar was the easiest. I was a natural. It was easy, but it wasn't... right. It wasn't what I wanted. I didn't know what was missing, not fer a long time. I couldn't place it. And then…"

Pausing to inhale a breath, Pickles swallowed down a lump in his throat.

"...then I joined Snakes, and Sammy let me fuck around on his drum kit, and it just fuckin' clicked, yanno? Like, fuck, this is it, this is what I've been missin'. But I wasn't a natural at it, naht like wit' guitar. It didn't come easy. But, man, I put so much fuckin' time into it. Begged Sammy to teach me. I was on dat set every fuckin' day fer months. It finally felt right, yanno? Like I found myself, found what I was supposed ta be doin'. It felt like home. And then… then we broke up, and I was broke, and I couldn't play fer so fuckin' long. So fuckin' long-"

Old heartache cracked his voice at the memory, tears stinging against the backs of his eyes, and Pickles cleared his throat. Olive gave his hands a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

"And, like, I was homeless, fer a bit. But, shit, without bein' able ta play, it didn't fuckin' matter if I had a roof over my head 'er naht. Didn't matter if I was sleepin' on a park bench 'er someone's couch 'er in my own damn bed. I couldn't play, so I didn't have a home. But, finally, I joined up with Dethklok, and, gahd, dood, nothin' has ever felt so fuckin' right. We lived in a shithole of an apartment, everyone shared rooms, had to sleep on the couch more often than naht. But it didn't matter. The shitty landlord, the neighbors gettin' domestic every night, the bugs, naht having AC 'er heat 'er any money 'er food. None of it fuckin' mattered. Because I could play. I was finally home again."

Tears had slowly been gathering on his lashes as he spoke, a few finally spilling over, and Pickles shook his head, wiping them away with a strained laugh and a small fuck.

"Dillon…"

"I'm- I'm okee. Jest, let me finish. Prahmise I'm goin' somewhere."

With a shaky breath, he continued, "And then we blew up. All dat hard fuckin' work, all dat strugglin' and sufferin', all the shitty, sleepless nights, all those hours I poured inta that crappy, pieced together drum set. It all paid off. It was all worth it. And now, I get ta do it all the time. Now, I'm always home."

Pickles paused, rubbing his hands over her arms as he chose his next wording.

"I figure, people are kinda like instruments, yanno? Most of 'em suck. Most of 'em you'll never learn to play, because they're naht right fer ya. But sometimes, ya find the right instrument. Ya find it, and it might be hard, take a lot of effort, and there might be blood and sweat and tears that go inta learnin' it, inta gettin' it right, but it's worth it. It's worth it, because, at the end of the day, it's home."

Leaning back far enough to see her properly, he gently gripped her shoulders as his eyes bore into hers, willing her to understand his meaning.

"So... I finally got my own set. It's all I'd wanted for years. My own set. My own home. And it's been great, fuckin' great but… but I think… I think I could maybe use an expansion kit, yanno?"

Olive's eyes watered, hoping, praying he was saying what she thought he was.

"Somethin' new to add on, shake up my sound a bit. Like repainting the walls, 'er gettin' a better door after the old one gaht kicked in. Jest… somethin' that'll make it feel even more like home. Y'get what I'm sayin'?"

The tears in her eyes finally spilled over, and she smiled at him through a sob, nodding.

"Good. Good. So, uh, whadaya say? Wanna help me customize?"

Choking on a laugh, Olive leaned forward, closing the space between their lips, a series of watery, chaste kisses shared between them as his hands shifted to cup her jaw. Pickles broke the kiss only to meet her gaze once more, tips of their noses touching.

"So, yer naht a burden, ok? Yer naht a mess. Yer our girl. Yer home."

[enruiinas]

 ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He’d spent hour upon endless hour considering what he might say to her in the unlikely event the universe conspired to bring them together at some distant point in the future. More sleepless nights than he would ever admit reliving what brief time they had had with one another, turning over every word the redhead had said to him, every moment that might have been the one that pushed her away from him in the end – because that was what had happened, wasn’t it? Why would she have bothered saying any of those things to him if she hadn’t meant them in the first place? It could have been a week they looked back on fondly even without the talk of futures or feelings.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Maybe it had been naïve of him to believe her so quickly. It had definitely been foolish of him to speak anything of his own as quickly as he had, though of course he’d realized as much only when it was too late to do anything about it.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He really should have known better. And it shouldn’t have come as even a remote surprise when he’d woken to an empty bed that morning – but he had been. Immature and irresponsible as he’d been with the younger woman, Law had known he had no one but himself to blame for the heartache she had left him with.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ But knowing a thing to be true rarely soothed the pain or regrets said thing brought with it, and he’d felt the sting of Nami’s absence even as his fraying grip on logic insisted he had no right to.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ And he had believed her. Despite every sensible, rational, self-deprecating reason Law’s mind had provided for things not working out between them – no matter how hard he tried to look back on that week and chide himself for any hopes or expectations he had placed in what felt more and more like a misguided summer fling, he had believed her when she’d leaned in close and whispered that she might want more with him.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He’d been a clueless, lovesick idiot, from the moment he’d found her on the beach that night to the moment he’d given voice to the lie just now. It’s fine, he had murmured, as it hadn’t been so long since he had felt that way he’d forgotten what the word even meant in the first place. Like his emotions hadn’t run the gamut from hurt and raw betrayal to remorse and acid fury when those first days had passed and she couldn’t be bothered to text him. Like he had truly moved past it all the way he’d been pretending to that first day he’d finally stood in his empty apartment, shaken his head at the state of his life and the world around him, and tried to bury everything he’d ever felt for her besides the awe and contentment of the week she’d spent here with him.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ What did it matter if he shoved it all into a box in the back of his mind – all of the hurt and anger and heartbreak, and made it through that day only by scrawling a desperate note, denying reality, and pretending things would be better when he came home from his shift that evening? What did it matter if he’d done it time and time again since then, and lied to himself so convincingly (that it was fine and he could forget all of those things entirely, if only she’d come back again?) that he’d felt sure he would one day know exactly what to say and be for her? She wasn’t coming back. She would never see what she had done to him – this half-alive creature of denial and desperation she’d left in her wake.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Why should it matter if it was the only way he knew to keep on moving? His friends would never know anything about the fleeting summer romance; in time, it would hurt less and he would move past it. And if by some turn of fate Nami actually ever did show up in his life again, well… he wouldn’t have to pretend harder for her sake, now would he? It was pathetic and he knew it, but that same misguided part of him had believed seeing the woman again would be enough to take away all of those bad things. If Nami ever knocked on his door, he would be there waiting. If she offered reasons, he wouldn’t need them. He would let go of all of it, and if she ever stood in front of him again, he would look at her and know exactly what to say. That all was forgiven. That he had missed her. That none of it mattered now – as long as she had come back to him, they would find a way to move forward with that life they had dreamed about.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He was supposed to have the answers. He was supposed to wave it off and tell her that everything was okay now – but he couldn’t.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Not when Nami rose to her feet with perhaps a little less grace than the doctor remembered, and the quick glint of gold at her throat knocked his breath from his lungs. Because that was what had done it. It had nothing to do with the brief glimpse of her skin the movement had allowed him – skin that a keen amber gaze did not perceive to look stretched too tightly over her stomach, because he had seen nothing, had not watched her stand from the couch, had not taken in everything from the boots still on her feet that did not suggest she wasn’t planning to stay again to the way her teeth toyed with her lip as she stuffed the note he’d left her in her pocket.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He didn’t see anything different about her, and if he didn’t see something, it couldn’t hurt him, so it had absolutely nothing to do with anything she might or might not be concealing beneath that hastily-adjusted jacket of hers. He was frozen and speechless and reeling simply from the tiny, heart-shaped pendant around Nami’s neck – the one he’d gotten her several days into her stay and clasped around her neck hours before she’d walked through his apartment door the first time, that she’d reached up to run her fingers over before she’d arched onto tiptoes to press her lips to his in the hallway.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ If she was still wearing his necklace, and that was all that he had noticed, he could lie to himself a few moments longer. He could pretend she’d come back only because she had missed him, and that she hadn’t dug it out of a forgotten drawer or cabinet so that he would let his guard down before she told him what she’d really come back for.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Law forced his gaze to remain solely focused on that little golden heart, and his features to reflect the fable he’d just crafted.  He poured every ounce of his willpower into keeping his shoulders relaxed, his jaw from clenching, his eyes from straying to that little strip of skin he absolutely had not seen and a bump that absolutely was not there, his treacherous lips from agreeing that Yes, she fucking should have, and his fingers from curling into shaking fists at his side.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He’d grown so good at pretending in her absence.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He could do it a few moments longer. Have this coffee with her and cling to the illusion in the last few moments before it shattered completely. Act like he hadn’t been deluding himself and that at one point, even if it had lasted only for a moment, Nami had murmured that she thought she might love him – and that in that moment, she had believed it as much as he had.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝I thought it might help,❞ the surgeon said calmly, finally looking up from the heart-shaped necklace upon her chest to lift a dark eyebrow. ❝To have something familiar waiting if you found yourself that far from home again.❞ He nodded toward the half-eaten fruit on his table and tried not to hate himself for still hoping that it had.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ He didn’t argue as she set off toward the kitchen, though he declined the suggestion of sitting down in favor of following behind her in a leisurely pace that spoke nothing of the warmth draining from his bloodstream, or the quickening of his pulse in his ears as he leaned against the wall behind her. Nami made her way around the room with the ease of a woman who’d never left it, and Law leaned against the doorway and watched her with the quiet awe of a man who had never stopped missing her.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Partially because he was.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Partially so she wouldn’t see what he had absolutely not seen in his demeanor.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ …But mostly because he was, and he wanted to enjoy playing make-believe for even one more minute longer.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ❝You don’t have to do that,❞ he said for the sake of it. ❝I’m sure you had a long day, too. It’s no quick trip to get here. Assuming you came all the way from your island, I mean. Did you?❞

[dadsbongos]

steve harrington loses his mojo

7.3K words

warnings - blink and you’ll miss it suicide reference, steve harrington is depressed

summary - Steve and you are both depressed kids working towards nothing specific. Maybe you should kiss (AKA a convoluted three times Steve watches his friends be in happy relationships and the one time he gets into one).

AO3 Link

~~~

Part 1 - king steve’s dead

It’s been a long, long time since Steve has been in a relationship. It’s been a long time since he’s had somebody to lay down next to at night and quietly eat with and wake up to. Since he could turn to the side and see a smile he’d die for - kissing it away just to create a bigger one. Since he could hear someone say they love them.

His big house feels like a pharaoh's tomb as of late. Big and luxurious and for one person to decay in.

In a weird way, crushes made Steve feel alive. The locking of eyes from across a party that neither of them really want to be at, the shy waves and smiles, the giggling and teasing - the giddiness was a rush. The heartache and hopeless pining was pain, but it also worked. Sleepless nights and desperately hoping nobody notices the way you lean into someone a little closer than you should. Daydreams that turn into nightmares. Humiliation when you’re rejected. Having to smile and grit your teeth when you know that person could never feel the same. It all reminded him of the heart that faithfully beat inside his chest. Reminded him he was human and capable of love and loss and adoration and aching. As long as he was human, he could be loved.

When he and Nancy started dating he was alive. The sneaking into her room and kissing in the bathroom during zero hour. The doe eyes and cuddles. That very first time together in his bed. 

The brief crush he had on Carol after seeing Molly Ringwald in Tempest - endlessly painful to watch her and his (then) best friend, Tommy H., be happy and gross during that fall of ‘82. 

When he and Nancy broke up. He spent a good few weeks holed up in his room and pretending he wasn’t crying. Then he had to get a job and found himself a new friend.

The crush on Robin and the subsequent heartbreak of finding out there’s no way she could like him back. 

Then he moved on and it was fine.

But that’s how it remained.

Fine.

Nancy was dating Jonathon. He hadn’t seen Tommy and Carol since graduation. Robin had a crush on a girl that sounded nice. His ball and chain that took form in a group of children were even in healthy relationships. 

Steve used to go on a new date every night. 

Lately, the dates are decreasing in appeal and the girls in Hawkins, while very pretty and interesting in their own ways, don’t call to him. Not that it’s their fault or responsibility. His heart just can’t get into it the way it used to - which is bizarre because he’s always known himself to fall in love quickly.

A young lady maybe two years older than him is checking out The Tempest. She’s gorgeous - lips that he would’ve been begging to kiss if she came into the store just a few months ago, eyes he’d die to stare into under the moonlight if she came into the store just a few months ago, and hair he’d love to run his fingers through if she came into the store just a few months ago.

“I got a crush on Molly Ringwald from this movie,” he mutters, cataloging the checkout and handing the rental back to the woman.

“That’s…” she can’t even fake a smile, but she’s merciful enough to bring her tone up, “interesting.”

“Yeah,” he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed and maybe that’s a sign he’s dying. Looking up at the woman, Steve plasters on his golden boy grin and plainly says, “We here at Family Video hope you have an incredible day.”

She nods and rushes away and Steve doesn’t blame her for a second.

“What was that?” Robin groans, coming out from the backroom, “Steve! You cannot parade yourself around as the charmer of Hawkins and then bomb that hard!”

Steve presses his lips thinly and shrugs, “A dud.”

“Do not call that innocent woman a dud,” Robin smacks his arm, “Steven Harrington, what would Mr. Rogers say?”

“‘I’m not mad, just disappointed,’” he grimaces, leaning back so his elbows support him on the counter, “That feels worse than if he was just mad.”

“Good,” Robin bumps Steve over with her hip, “But really - you’re starting to worry me. What’s your problem?” before he can respond, she turns and points in his face, “And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I know that’s not true, you’re totally off. You don’t flirt, and when you do it’s awkward and bad and makes me look like Tom Cruise.”

“I make you look weird?”

“You make me look smooth.”

Steve’s head hangs back, then turns to stare at Robin, picking at her black nail polish, “What if I’m designed to be single?”

“Designed to be single?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not,” Robin pats his shoulder, but doesn’t look up from where her polish is chipping, “Nobody’s designed to be single unless they decide they are. What’s bringing this all up anyway? You’re not even twenty-two, it’s way too early for a life crisis right now.”

“I’m just saying, Rob,” Steve turns towards the double doors, though he still doesn’t stand upright, “I don’t feel good.”

“Like how?”

“Like I’m designed to be single.”

“Stop it,” she frowns now, though just one look at her face would tell him it’s downright mocking, “You’re Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington, you could bag anybody.”

“Don’t say bag,” he huffs.

“Don’t say you’re meant to be single, ‘cuz you’re way too clingy to be by yourself for eternity,” Robin leans on her side to look at Steve.

They’ve always been teasing - sometimes even plain rude - towards one another, but that was just their friendship. They’re best friends and best friends are often more cruel than even an acquaintance, but it’s all out of love and comfort. This time, however, it’s different.

Steve’s responding and trying to joke, but she can see that he doesn’t have it in him right now.

His brows are furrowed and his lips carve a frown into his face. His arms cross over one another and he sighs. 

The store is slow on this boring Tuesday afternoon, so Robin bites the bullet and lowers onto her elbows to be eye level with her suffering friend. She leans in and pouts.

“Wanna talk to Big Rob about it?” he doesn’t respond so she presses her thumb into his glabella and smoothens it, “If you keep scrunching your eyebrows like that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“I use a great moisturizer.”

“Well, all the moisturizer in the world won’t listen to your problems like I will,” she knocks her elbow with his and can’t hold in her laugh when it tips his balance, “So spill. Where is this coming from?”

To be honest - it comes from Nancy Wheeler.

Turns out, being told that you’re bullshit and the entire relationship you’d been harboring was bullshit, and the girl you’d die for didn’t even love you was a real turn-off from relationships in the long run. Who knew that kind of stuff could cause a massive wave of insecurity?

But for the sake of keeping her name out of his mouth unless he’s tempted to vomit those insecurities, he keeps it light.

“I mean, I’m just watching all my friends be in happy relationships and I’m… stuck.”

“Well, tell me about it.”

Steve stands up straight, running a hand through his hair before crossing his arms again, “Fucking Henderson.”

~~

The night is cold and dark and Steve’s shivering because he lent his jacket to Dustin after specifically telling the shrimp to make sure he brought his own. Of course, Dustin was not an excellent listener when it came to anything outside of battling off monsters and left his jacket at home.

He’s left in a thin long sleeve, leaning against the hood of his BMW - he would be sitting inside with the heater on if it weren’t for the fact he was trying to save on gas. Dustin’s at the top of the hill he’d dedicated a makeshift radio tower to talking with Suzie.

Could Dustin just have used the powerful radio he and Suzie upgraded to following the summer of ‘85? Sure, but when Steve suggested that - Dustin shook his head.

“It’s about the nostalgia, Harrington. The old times.”

“I don’t get that at all.”

“And that’s why you don’t have a super genius, super babe, super girlfriend.”

“Shut up and get in the car, Henderson.”

Get in the car, he did, and now Steve was impatiently tapping his foot in wait like a child whose mom just ran into a friend at the grocery store. 

It’s been twenty minutes and Steve grows sufficiently fed up (though if he’s being honest, waiting for Dustin isn’t that much of a chore) and climbs up the hill.

What he sees is almost enough to make him believe in young love again.

Dustin is grinning, broad and sweet, mindlessly plucking and twirling grass as he speaks and listens. He cracks a joke or tells a story and waits in earnest until Suzie’s giggles ring through the air and the way he buzzes at the sound is something straight out of a book. He pays utmost attention to whatever Suzie is saying and lights up at every syllable she spills.

Dustin’s eyes land on Steve and his posture shoots upright, “Do we have to go?”

His tone is dismal, almost heartbroken, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it.

Steve, against his desires for other things to do with his free time, shakes his head, “Just wanted to make sure you were still up here. Hurry up, though - your mom will kill me if you’re not tucked in for story time.”

“Haha,” Dustin sarcastically calls.

Steve makes his way back down the hill and slides down to a lonely sit in the grass. He can faintly hear Dustin speaking animatedly - laughing and teasing and all the things Steve used to do.

~~

“Sounds rough,” Robin pats Steve’s back, “Sorry you got upstaged by a toddler and his girlfriend in Salt Lake City.”

“He’s fourteen, first of all,” Steve glares at the girl, “Second; I wasn’t upstaged.”

“You were jealous.”

“Not jealous,” he grumbles.

“Well, I am sorry that you had to go through that,” she’s not sure what exactly it was he went through in that story, but the words are what Steve needs right now so it’s what she says.

“It’s not just that,” his eyes flicker to Robin for just a second, “Last weekend, too.”

~~

“I’m not a chauffeur, you know.”

“Right, you’re a clerk at Family Video,” Mike looks up at Steve and smiles sardonically, “That sounds a lot better.”

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t lower the lackluster sign Mike had made for his girlfriend. Not that he was holding it very high in the first place. Just raised as high as his chest, was a rectangle cut from cardboard with ‘EL’ written on it in Sharpie. 

Hawkins wasn’t big enough to justify its own airport, so Eleven had to take a domestic flight from California to an Indianapolis airport. Forcing Mike to force Steve to make the hour drive. 

Mike is in the ugliest get up Steve’s ever seen. A yellow and blue floral Hawaiian shirt with neon yellow swim trunks and blue sneakers. Dandelions and wild teasels found on the side of the road are bunched in Mike’s hand, fingers cut and bleeding from the prickly thorns of the teasel stems. He’s smiling as a flush of people come out of the terminal and Steve moves his eyes up to catch Eleven as she comes towards them.

One hand holding a yellow backpack, the other waving at them excitedly.

Steve returns the wave and pretends to not care when she skips past him to hug Mike. It isn’t like he’s the bestest of friends with Eleven, but he’d thought they were closer than her pretending he doesn’t exist.

For the first time since Steve met Mike, the boy actually gives a tight hug - practically squeezing Eleven’s body to his in their reunion. 

“How was your flight?” Mike reaches down for his girlfriend’s hand when they pull apart, “Did you get to sleep at all?”

Eleven quietly hums and nods, “It was nice. I got to watch a movie.”

“Wow,” Mike’s actually smiling as he talks, “what movie?”

Steve doesn’t get to hear the answer because while he pops the trunk and takes Eleven’s backpack - the couple move to the backseats and climb in. He’s left alone in the front of his nice car and tries not to overhear whatever plans Mike and Eleven are conjuring.

“A new diner just opened up, actually,” Mike is watching as Eleven plays with his bony fingers, “I could take you, if you want.”

Eleven looks up at Mike, a shy smile peeks at her lips and reaches the eyes. She nods slowly, “I would want that.”

Then the awkward teenage hormones resurface and Mike chuckles, eyes falling to their thighs that are barely touching, “Nice.”

She giggles and leans into her boyfriend’s shoulder, “Nice.”

~~

“I didn’t know Wheeler was capable of that kinda affection,” Robin shakes her head, “He doesn’t look like very good boyfriend material.”

Steve taps his fingers against the wooden counter, “I didn’t know either.”

Hopefully, he’s only taken example from the best parts of how Steve treated Nancy. If he’s taken Steve as an example at all.

God, he hopes not actually.

No colleges. No career endeavors. Just a clerk at Family Video with his best friend who’s still in high school. His other best friend is also still in high school and is currently replacing him with Eddie Munson. Ex-girlfriend basically left him for the guy that took pictures of her through a window while she was half-naked.

Destined for Hawkins. Designed to be a loser. The epitome of peaked in high school.

“Anything else?” Robin asks, tone much more careful than before.

~~

Lucas and Max are on shaky ground, but they’re together. Beginning to get back together, anyway. He’s gentle and soft but still ribbing and acerbic when she needs him to be. Max is getting better slowly - sometimes she falls and curls into a ball, but Lucas is always holding out a hand to help her up (and when she refuses to take it, he sits down next to her and waits until she’s ready).

It’s enough to make a grown man cry.

“Movie’s up to you tonight,” Lucas settles his chin on Max’s head as they stand in front of the horror section. 

Steve almost wants to call out how he has to stand on his tip-toes to do it. 

Max narrows her eyes at the selections, “They all look bad.”

“Well, what about…” Lucas pauses and then lifts a movie from the shelf, “Halloween - you like Halloween, right?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, “I don’t know - it’s kinda overplayed now, don’t you think?”

“No,” he steps back and to her side, brows furrowed, “I think it’s cool.”

“Really?” she looks at him like she doesn’t believe him, but her lips are already beginning to quirk up, “You wanna watch Halloween?”

“If you want to, then I’d love to,” he nods resolutely, “Like I said, ‘s all up to you.”

Max takes the movie in his hands and turns it in her own, her lips purse and she looks up at Steve. Then back to Lucas, “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Steve wonders why he couldn’t be like that for Nancy. What genius did Lucas maintain inside that dense head that Steve was incapable of?

~~

“Ouch,” Robin hisses, “stings for a high schooler to be better at relationships than you. Multiple high schoolers, actually. That sucks.”

“Thanks, Robin. Didn’t know that.”

“Clearly.”

Steve inhales deeply and sighs, “And then there’s you and your pining. With Vic.”

Vic - easy code name for Vickie so that nobody in public knew they were talking about a girl.

“Oh, that reminds me- “ Robin sparks up and claps, “not pining anymore. Dating.”

“What?!”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I kept forgetting.”

“How do you forget that?”

Robin shrugs, then smiles, “It’s cool though, right?”

“Very, Rob,” Steve musters up a grin and nods, “I’m happy for you. Really, I am.”

“I get it,” she punches his shoulder, “We’ll celebrate when you’re not feeling so…” she tosses up her hands, “bleh!”

“Yeah,” he looks at the clock and sees it’s almost closing time, “wait till the bleh era is over.”

Robin follows his lead and moves to the back room, “I’ll start cleaning, can you get the sign?”

“Yeah,” he knocks his knuckles against the counter.

There’s no customers left inside and Steve flips the sign at the door to read ‘closed’. It’s then he notices a familiar figure sitting right outside on the curb. His eyes widen and he throws the door open, “Holy shit, Birdie?”

Birdie - an easy (and cheap) nickname for the former captain of the Hawkins High golf team, infamous for her luck in making birdies. 

You turn and see Steve Harrington hanging out of Family Video, “King Steve? I heard you worked here, didn’t know it was true.”

He pretends that doesn’t sting and moves to sit beside you, “What? Too unbelievable that I have to make a living?”

“No, I just…” you shrug, “I dunno, it didn’t sound like you.”

Steve tilts his head at that, “And what does sound like me?”

Your eyes flip to him and suddenly he’s remembering why he had a crush on you in high school. You crack a grin, “Male stripper.”

“I tried but I couldn’t bulk up enough,” he sighs disappointedly and bathes in your laughter, “What about you? What’re you up to?”

His eyes are strangely sincere, in a way you’d never seen back in school. You had a crush on him back then - who didn’t? With that hair and that smile and that charisma. 

“Working at the movie theater,” you find it hard to look away from Steve, his face almost hypnotic.

“You, uh, disappeared towards the end of the year there,” he lays his legs out into the barren street, “What happened?”

“I…” you look away and then look back, waving your hands about dramatically, “dropped out.”

“What?” his jaw drops open.

“Yeah. Well, I just stopped going and then when I failed, I chose to drop out rather than repeat the year.”

“Why’d you stop going?” he moves closer, “Everyone thought you just moved or something, not that you… Nobody knew where you were.”

“Yeah,” you scratch at the back of your neck, “I just lost motivation and then paid for it.”

That was putting it lightly. You were like a candle that someone forgot to put out - burnt at the wick until the wax was too low to be used. Between golf (which you can’t say you even had much passion for by the time you were a senior) and grades and the social hierarchy and realizing how dismal the world of adulthood looked - the idea of even getting out of bed began to sicken you.

You were destined to Hawkins, now. Working easy jobs that would hire without a diploma and hope you made enough to move somewhere far from here.

“What’re you doing here anyway?” you tilt your head and bring your knees up, “I thought King Steve had big, fancy parents to pay for a big, fancy college.”

“King Steve’s dead and his parents didn’t pay for anything,” he sighs, “but I’m kinda glad they didn’t. I don’t think I would’ve learned to be better if they did.”

“Then I’m happy for you,” you nod.

Steve looks up at the swirling sunset sky, “What’re you doing sitting outside this dump?”

“Supposed to meet a guy here.”

Eddie Munson. Your dealer since junior year - turned genuine friend during that summer - then neighbor when you dropped out and your parents kicked you out.

“My car broke down on my way to work, so I’m getting a ride,” you further explain.

“I could give you a ride,” Steve stands when you do, his hands shove into his pockets and he hates the way he wants you in his car.

Guess that high school flame wasn’t as high school as he thought.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” you lean your head out and see Eddie’s van making its way down the road, “He’s already here.”

Steve looks between you and Eddie incredulously, “You’re riding with Munson.”

It’s a statement but the way his voice drags makes it clear he’s giving you room to deny. 

“Yup,” you pop the ‘p’ and pat his shoulder, “See you around?”

“Actually,” Steve has no idea where he’s going but thankfully his brain managed to retain some of his flirting ability, “I’d like to catch up more, if that’s okay with you?”

“Catch up how?”

“However you want.”

���You can come over, if Forest Hills won’t infect you or anything.”

“The trailer park?” there must be an underlying tone that he doesn’t even catch because you’re suddenly pulling back and your hand is on the door.

“You don’t have to.”

“No,” Steve steps forward, trying to grin and ease whatever nerves his stupid tone caused, “I want to. I just - asking. I was just asking.”

“Yeah,” you’re quieter than before, “the trailer park.”

A peek at the suspiciously quiet Eddie reveals the disgust painted on his face and Steve has to ignore it if he wants to survive a conversation with the girl he thought was cooler than even him in school.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. When do you want me?”

“Whenever you can be there,” you shrug, “I’m not picky.”

“I just have to finish closing up,” he thumbs back to the store.

“Then when you’re finished closing up,” you open the passenger door and climb into the seat beside Eddie.

Steve turns back towards the front door of Family Video but before he can get inside, you’re calling back to him.

“Hey, Steve!” he turns, eyes stupidly wide and brows raised, “The king doesn’t die until he surrenders.”

What the fuck does that mean?

He doesn’t ask and you don’t explain. You two wave to one another and before Eddie’s even driving off, Steve can hear him talking shit from the driver’s seat. You laugh and Steve doesn’t waste his time on a pity party.

Steve returns to the store and Robin is standing in the romance section, jaw hanging and a few movies scattered at her feet.

“What was that?” she gestures towards the front windows.

“Just an old friend,” Steve shrugs.

“Old friends don’t look like they wanna kiss each other.”

“It was a conversation.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t wanna kiss her.”

When Steve doesn’t respond, Robin makes a proud ‘hmph’ and picks up the movies she dropped.

There’s an underlying numbness to Steve and while you’re a short burst of excitement, you don’t cure it. Something inside him worries this feeling is forever. Another thing inside him worries that he deserves it.

Part 2 - when birdie’s wings were clipped

Wake up. Eat. Get ready and go to school. Smile and pretend you don’t hate the popular kids that wouldn’t hesitate to tear you apart if you weren’t exactly as they wanted you to be. Go home. Eat. Sleep.

And the day repeats until the weekend pops up. Then you get the pleasure of going to whatever party the basketball team and your golf team members begged you to go to until you wind up at home at whatever hour in the morning. It became a dismal existence. Quickly so. 

Towards the end of senior year, the four years came to a climax as you realized that everything you’d done had hardly been for yourself. You tried so hard to be popular and successful that now you were drowning in the anxieties of how you could live when you grew up. 

It started small - dropping out of golf, intentionally not doing homework, smoking weed in the boys’ bathroom with Eddie, skipping classes. Then you stopped going altogether.

You felt cheated out of high school experiences you really wanted and with college - then careers - so close, one could say that you snapped. Well, if you bothered calling any of the friends you sort of hated and telling them, then they might have.

But you didn’t. Not even Chrissy Cunningham, who you genuinely did like. Eddie only knew you were alive because you still visited him (partially for weed, partially for a laugh when you felt like crying).

Your mom didn’t know you weren’t going every day. Only because you would delete the messages Ms. Kelly left the machine before your parents could come home. Sometimes you left them and would grit your teeth through the lectures and stares. You pretended that graduation wasn’t coming up and you acted as though you would be graduating.

And then, three days before graduation, Ms. Kelly called your mom to tell her that you wouldn’t be graduating in your senior year. 

The call was early enough to where your mother hadn’t left for work yet and could answer before it even went to the machine. She was mad enough that you dropped out of golf after earning yourself that cutesy nickname “Birdie”, but now she was seething. You couldn’t even bring yourself to fight her on it.

“Do you even care?!” she threw her hands into the air and laughed humorlessly when you didn’t reply, “Of course, you don’t! Why would you? It’s not like you have to fucking pay for anything! You never even had to get a job because we loved you and wanted you home, and this is how you repay us?! How fucking dare you!”

An apology will get you nowhere and fighting it will get you killed (hyperbolically, at least). So, you keep your head down and stare down at the kitchen tiles.

“Get out,” your mother huffs and that makes your eyes snap to her.

You shake your head - then stand, “What?”

“Get out,” she’s straight-faced, “I’m not kidding. I want you out of my fucking house by the time I’m home from work.”

 “Mom, I- I’m sorry, but don’t do this, I have no money and nowhere to go- " 

Your mother turns, shaking her head as she charges for the front door, “I don’t give a shit. You wanna slack off and be like your little Munson freak? Go ahead. But you will not do that under my fucking roof.”

Eddie was failing senior year, too. He didn’t tell you, but judging by how unenthused he was for the end of the year, you already knew.

You weren’t even out of your pajamas but you were packing up your childhood possessions - blood boiling and brain set to fuck her mode. If she wanted you out, then fine.

By two in the afternoon, your belongings were packed and you were dialing Eddie’s number. With a tapping foot and two more hours until your mother came home, you were desperate for lodging. 

“Hey, Ed? Is that empty lot still available at the park?”

To say you had no money would be a lie. Your money was all a secret, it was what you saved for emergencies when Eddie needed a little help selling or sorting and would pay you. Not enough for an apartment or house, but definitely enough for a trailer and the lot space.

Probably no electricity for a while, but you could live with candles. 

By three in the afternoon, you were moved into Forest Hills Trailer Park. No note or call home to speak of and you’re sure that your mother didn’t bother calling your father about your impromptu eviction.

By seven the next morning, you had a job at the Hawkins movie theater (that quickly thrived following the fiery destruction of Starcourt mall) and that next month, you had electricity and water.

If you had an answering machine for your phone, it surely would’ve been out of commission from how many calls your parents left. Depending on which parent called, they were different - but ended the same.

MOTHER

“You knew I wasn’t being serious, you ungrateful brat. You’re making me look bad, now come home and get out of that disgusting park.”

“No.”

“I won’t stand for this, young lady. If you aren’t home by tomorrow morning, I’m sending the police and they will escort you back to me!”

There was nothing the police could do when you were eighteen, so the threat was incredibly empty. You never went home.

FATHER

“You knew your mom wasn’t being serious. Just come home and we’ll get past this.”

“No.”

Dads of the 80s weren’t known for their excessive emotional output, and your father wasn’t a superb exception. He loved you, but he wasn’t about to beg you to come home. 

The days rolled by the same.

You got up at noon. Ate. Got ready for and subsequently went to work. Got home late. Ate. Went to bed. Smoke sessions with Eddie are sprinkled throughout the day at your leisure. 

The numbness of high school didn’t fade and you were growing alarmed that the burning boredom was forever. Only split up by the momentary joys of sharing life with your friends. Well, lately, it’s only been the sophomores (and one elderly woman) you work with and Eddie that are qualifying as your friends. Not that you’re complaining much, but there’s a certain embarrassment that sparks when people recognize you and ask who you’re running with now.

You’ve heard a few stories about King Steve.

“A total deadbeat.”

“Hangs out with actual kids, now.”

“Best friends with his ex’s little brother.”

It’s never any of your business, so you can’t say that you pay all that much attention to it.

That’s a motto of yours. Sort of.

You keep your head down and stay in your lane. Life spins and Earth continues.

So when you’re heading to Family Video so Eddie can pick you up on his way home, you pretend to not see Steve Harrington - just in case he’s embarrassed to be recognized. Lord knows how much shame builds under your black uniform polo when kids see your Voted-Most-Likely-to-Succeed ass stuck behind the concession stand at the Hawkins theater.

You sit on the curb and act like you aren’t tempted to actually say hi. You had a crush on him in high school, after all. And who doesn’t daydream about rekindling that sort of romance?

Old flames that were only ever smoldering. A chance to start over. 

It’s a nice daydream. But even if you did, it’d just be brief, right?

A bell chimes and a voice calls from behind, “Holy shit, Birdie?”

Part 3 - a cheesy line and fairy lights

There wasn’t much to catch up on. Steve knew that before asking you and he’s certain that you knew that before agreeing. Maybe you had enjoyed his presence like he had enjoyed yours. Maybe you were just lonely.

Your trailer is as tidy as the lack of storage space will allow. He gets first pick of the seats on the couch and decides on the one farthest from the door - a peculiar attempt to apologize for his slip of judgment. As if by showing you he has no problem being in your trailer, you’ll forget the sneer he didn’t even notice when he spoke.

Steve remembers you being a breath of fresh air and a sprinkle of sunlight at Hawkins High and he can see glimpses of that in your living room. The fairy lights strung up and the candles carefully set on your coffee table (“They’re prettier than the regular lamps, ya know?” you reasoned as soon as he stepped inside). Your offering of different teas as opposed to water.

Then - suddenly the lights flicker and Steve’s body freezes. They cut and inky black stretches through the room. Not even the streaming moonlight is enough to make up for the sudden blackout.

He’s been here before. In ‘83 and ‘84 and ‘85 and now it’s happening again - he’s been here before. At the Byers’ home and Starcourt - again and again. 

His body is frozen and he feels useless, muscles clenching and lungs growing heavy. Memories like hallucinations flash before him in vivid detail. The Demogorgon and demodogs and the Mind Flayer stretch before him and he can imagine each spore and gaping maw that wishes to gnaw the flesh from his bones.

There’s no Nancy to give him orders and there’s no kids to watch and there’s no monster immediately in sight and he’s petrified where he sits.

“Stupid fucking electricity,” you, however, sound completely cool, “Sorry, Steve, this shit goes in and out sometimes.”

When he doesn’t respond, you listen carefully and pick up his labored breathing. It’s the overworked raggings of someone scared and now you really feel bad because you didn’t know he was scared of the dark.

“Here,” you call to him as tenderly as you can, your hand scrambles for his and he jumps - but takes the hand you offer, “You’re okay, Steve, you’re okay. ‘m right here, you’re safe. I promise.”

You have no idea why he’s stuck frozen - not the real reason, anyway, but he thinks it’s sweet of you to try. 

Steve feels you crawl closer to him on the couch and his hand winds tighter around yours.

“I’m right here,” you reach out for his other hand and hold it, “You’re okay, Steve. Everything’s fine.”

The lights don’t flicker - they remain off. The scent of blood doesn’t sting his nose and there’s no screeching. No chills that creep over his skin.

It truly is a simple power outage.

He blinks himself into sobriety and clears his throat, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you release one of his hands but he keeps the one between you two in his hold.

You move back to sitting but now you’re closer than before. He can feel your body heat against his and something about that rekindles the life in him.

Not in a way that he couldn’t live if you suddenly walked away, but that by being next to you he could revive the King Steve that you liked. The nice one, from before his ego stepped in.

The nasty one Nancy killed and Robin burned. A little unrequited love was all Steve needed.

If it weren’t for the women in Steve’s life, he’d be nowhere and he’s grateful every day for them. But it makes him think about every girl from his past and woman of his future that he may wrong or has wronged. If there��s even women in his future.

“You’re quiet,” he feels you gently prod his side with a finger, “You didn’t die, right?”

“Thinking.”

“Uh oh.”

“Shut up,” he’s laughing, though. He doesn’t mean it. He never would.

“What’s on your mind, Stevie?”

“I feel like I’m supposed to be alone,” he admits.

It’s easier to be honest when you can’t see the person’s reaction to your truth. Right now, he’s pretending you’re shocked.

But you don’t sound shocked, “I don’t think anybody’s supposed to be alone, unless they want to be.”

“I’m not a… great guy.”

“Steve, just because you were a douchebag in high school does not mean you’re being punished by the universe with eternal loneliness.”

“But what if I am? I wasn’t a good guy.”

“You were a dick, yeah, but you weren’t a monster. Besides, you’re better - and getting better still. That’s something,” he can hear you sigh, “Besides, if one of us has to be punished, it should be me.”

“Because you stopped going to school? I don’t buy that.”

“I just stopped doing everything. I could barely bring myself to eat and ignored my friends. I feel like I’m just - a barnacle on a whale. Growing up was so terrifying because it was just working and working and working at a job you probably hate after going to college for a degree you probably won’t use and I was so scared of falling into that, that I let the last pieces of my childhood rot.”

“You’re still young… If it makes you feel better - I literally couldn’t get into any colleges without my dad’s money because I never actually did anything other than party and make out with the girl who would eventually say she didn’t love me.”

Yeah, trauma dumping is easier in the dark when you can’t see the other person’s reaction.

“That does. A little. Not that I’m happy you’re not in college or Wheeler screwed you over, it’s just nice to know I’m not crazy for feeling like this.”

He never thought that Nancy screwed him over, not really anyway. Sure, it wasn’t the right thing - to pretend and lie when you knew the other person loved you - but he deserved it, right?

“Yeah. It’s… nice,” his eyes close and he shakes his head, “This might sound dumb.”

“You usually do.”

“Hilarious,” he feels you poke his side again and he swats at the air between you, “I had a crush on you. Like, major crush.”

“No way,” he hears you mock gasp and heat crawls over his neck, “The Steve Harrington had a crush on me?” he nods before remembering you can’t see him, “I had a crush on you, too.”

“No shit?” his lips rise subconsciously, a smile creeping up so hard his cheeks hurt, “Since when?”

“Freshman year.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You were cute in a nervous, football-playing dweeb-with-cool-hair kind of way.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“You were always dating, was I supposed to think that was a ploy to flirt with me?”

“Actually, yeah, you’re right. I sounded dumb.”

“Once again, you usually do. You’re not dating anybody right now, right?”

“Single as the small kid when they pick dodgeball teams.”

“Just say yes, dork.”

“Yes.”

You giggle at his lame jokes and there’s the sting of life at his heart, “Wanna sound dumb on a date sometime?”

“God, yes. I was worried you were just gonna rub it in.”

“I thought about it.”

You changed since high school. You’re more sarcastic. More willing to rib and pick at someone - though never in a hurtful way. You’re still down to earth and he thinks you’re even prettier since those days in the pale halls of Hawkins High.

“I’m glad you didn’t move away,” Steve turns his head in your direction.

Unbeknownst to him, you were looking in his direction this whole time. You nod curtly and squeeze his hand, “I’m glad King Steve changed for the better.”

“I’m not King Steve anymore.”

The lights flicker back on and you’re both swamped in the orange lamp light of your trailer. Steve notices how close your faces are, if he just leans forward a couple inches then his lips would be on yours. You don’t pull away.

The fairy lights are in strobe mode. A gentle twinkling that flutters and reflects off of Steve’s brown eyes.

You grin and press your face just a pinch closer, “Who are you then?”

He has no idea.

King Steve’s corpse is rotting in a big house with no parents. The Babysitter is useless until one of his kids that’s happier than he ever was in high school comes around. Mr. Popular hanged himself in the doorway of Scoops Ahoy and his ghost floats through the neon lights of Family Video. Prom King was dancing alone in the Hawkins High gym to the sound of illusioned cheers.

He peaked in high school and now he has a life he used to make fun of people for living.

“I like to think I’m pretty funny,” he shrugs and pushes back his hair, desperately hoping you can’t see through the false bravado.

He thinks you can, but you just think he’s pretty.

“You are funny,” you agree quietly, “but that’s not all you are. You’re nice, apparently.”

“Apparently?” he rears back, eyes wide, “Wow.”

“Well,” you laugh at his expression, “you hang around the kids, right? The D&D ones? They talk about you sometimes - they like you a lot.”

“Those brats better like me,” he scoffs, “I’m their ride to, like, everything.”

“Don’t tell them I told you,” you lower your voice as if they’re anywhere nearby, “but they wanna take you to see that Ferris Bueller movie.”

“Are you serious?” he sighs and tosses his head back.

“Hey,” you swat his shoulder and he looks back up at you, “they think you’ll like it. You should give it a shot.”

Those kids are a pain in Steve’s ass, but he can’t lie and say he doesn’t love them like his own siblings. Yeah, his best friends are all about six years younger than him, but they’ve gone to hell and war together and when it comes down to it - he’ll die for those little shits. And now he has to stop them from doing the same for him.

The realization thrums warmth through his veins. He smiles and relents, “Yeah, maybe I should,” but before you can tease and snark, he continues, “but if it’s bad, I’m giving them endless shit for it.”

You just roll your eyes, “I bet you will.”

“If you ever want a discount on movie rentals,” Steve jabs a thumb into his chest, “I’m your guy.”

“I’ll certainly rely on you. If you ever want movie theater discounts then you’re shit out of luck because their main goal is to make things as expensive as possible.”

“Damn, I was just foaming at the mouth for half-off popcorn.”

“I know, I know, everyone’s after me for it.”

You two stop talking and the silence is filled with zeal. Usually on dates, the quiet is awkward and bland - but now it’s almost kind. Almost welcomed. 

There has never been a collar on his heart quite like the one you leashed him with. All within one blackout.

“I know a lot of people have a no-kissing rule on the first date,” Steve begins, “but technically this isn’t even a date. So…”

You gasp as though scandalized, “Steven Harrington, are you saying you want to kiss me?”

“I am,” he looks up at you through his lashes, “Do you want to kiss me?”

“I do,” you murmur, your free hand coming up to land in his soft hair, “I think a kiss would be nice. For the old high school romance that never happened.”

Steve chuckles and leans up, lips brushing yours as he whispers, “For the old high school romance that should have happened.”

Or maybe it shouldn’t have. Whatever. It was a cheesy line and it got you to giggle and that’s more than enough for him.

If you two were dating in high school then nothing would’ve changed. You probably would’ve crumbled to expectations and kept going to school to land in a college you hated and he never would’ve gotten a terminal case of ego death. 

It’s weird, but he’s glad you two didn’t date.

He likes himself a little more than he did a few hours ago. He likes you more now than he did in high school. Past the pretty face and popularity, he likes the lines you spit and he wants to know every thought you harbor.

He didn’t peak in high school, Steve realizes as you tug softly on his hair, he was on the decline of progress - he’s making his way to a peak.

The numbness dies a little more and Steve’s excited to wake up tomorrow for the first time in a long time.

Not necessarily because of you, but he’d be lying if he said you didn’t help. Your words are comforting and eye-opening all at once.

The kids love him and he has a job that pays decently with his best friend as a coworker. He has a nice home and he has every good trait that he used to like about himself. 

Steve Harrington is doing just fine - and now he might even be on his way to getting a girlfriend who uses fairy lights instead of proper light bulbs (not that he’d have you any other way).

[beachy--head]

Prompt: April and Jackson deciding to have another kid together (in Boston). It would be nice to see them have a planned pregnancy.

Of course he's thought about it. When he watches April and Harriet, his heart is always full, and his mind is telling him that she deserves, they deserve to become parents again, to see Harriet become a big sister, to hold a baby and go through all the sleepless nights and the diapers changes together. He grew up an only child, doesn't want that for Harriet. But he's almost scared to broach the subject with her, because their track record with pregnancies and births is a mess and the last thing he wants is make her go through it again if she's not ready.

So he smiles when one night, when the lights are off and there's not one inch of space between them, she murmurs against his chest "I want a baby." He kisses her face and hugs her even tighter against him, saying "yes" over and over.

___

The three minutes they wait before looking at the pregnancy test result are so long, and yet he relishes every single second, no matter how weird it may sound. They never got a chance to do this, the planning, the tracking, the half-smiles, the "I'm a few days late". When they see the positive sign, they both have tears in their eyes and broad smiles. He picks her up and holds her close, his face in her neck, and he feels years younger.

___ 

They tell Harriet, unsure of her reaction, and she claps and laughs and smiles, taking her role as an older sister to heart from the beginning. April is more reserved than him, more reluctant to share the news and to talk about it, and he knows Samuel is on her mind more than ever.

___

She cries the first time she feels a kick. During her pregnancy with Harriet, her life was so upside down that she refused to believe anything could go wrong with the pregnancy. This time around, everything in her life is perfect, so she has time to worry. Going to each scan is nerve-wracking, Jackson's hand slipping into hers in the waiting room, but it's worth it every time they hear the baby's heartbeat and see him move on the screen.

___

He can't seem to be able to keep his hands off her belly this time around. The baby seems to react to his voice, so every night when they go to bed, he lays his head on her lap and talk about his day or tell stories, April's hand softly stroking his hair. He could be angry at himself to have deprived them both of this routine when she was expecting Harriet, but there's no room in their life for resentment or regret anymore. 

___

She gets to have the delivery she has always imagined. She breathes, she yells, she crushes Jackson's hand during contractions, she cries when she feels she's too tired to do this. His arm is around her and he whispers that she's strong, that she's amazing, that she's a soldier and she can do this.

The world stops when they hear their son's first cry, when the nurse lays him on her chest. They fall in love for the third time, all at once, and he'd gladly endure all the heartache of his life again, knowing it would all lead to this.

[e-dubbc11]

Top 5 Slow Dance Songs for Matt

Thank you for reading these!  Let me know if you like them and if you’d like me to do some more of these from my full list of Slow Dance Songs for Matt here….or I have another list of Lap Dance Songs for Matt also that I can do scenarios from.  I do really like doing these so I may do more just because I can.

Pairing:  The first 4 are GN! and the last one is F!

1.  Crazy Love – Van Morrison

The first thing I thought of when I put this song on my list was a sleepless night for Matt.  He didn’t want to keep you up with his tossing and turning, it’s one of the nights where he can’t seem to drown out the commotion of the city so he just decides to get up, go out to the couch, and listen to some music.  

Matt getting up isn’t what woke you, he is your own personal space heater so it was the cold that woke you up when you rolled over and he wasn’t there.  Your feet hit the floor and you walk on your toes out to the living room and there he is, adorable as ever, the only light in the room is coming from the neon sign outside his window.  He had felt you walk across the floor and heard the bedroom door slide open so he takes his ear buds out…“I’m sorry sweetheart, did I wake you up?”

His face is so soft and sweet. He’s genuinely concerned whether or not he woke you up and gazing at him in that moment, you didn’t know it was possible to love him more than you already do but you absolutely do.  

“Oh no, no Matty…It’s just cold in bed without you.  What are you listening to?”

Slowly you walked over to him and brushed your thumb across his stubble.

“Just some music.  I couldn’t sleep…I’m having a hard time tonight drowning out all the noise.”

You always feel terrible when something as basic as sleep doesn’t come easily to him.  His abilities are a blessing and also a curse and all you wanted to do was take away whatever problem he was having at the moment.  

“I’m sorry, my love…Maybe I can help.  Can I see your phone, please?”

You extend your hand, he notices your fingers are like ice as he hands you the phone and you put the song on…

I can hear her heartbeat from a thousand miles Hear the heavens open every time she smiles And when I come to her that's where I belong Yet, I'm run into to her like a river strong

You take both his hands in your and pull him up towards you.  “Up here with me, handsome…come on.”

He pulls you close so your bodies are touching, his strong arms wrap around your waist, while you hold him close with your head on his chest and just move with the music.

She gives me love, love, love, love, crazy love She gives me love, love, love, love, crazy love

She got a fine sense of humor when I'm feeling low down And when I come home to her when the sun goes down Takes my troubles all away, take away my grief Take away my heartache, in the night like a thief

“This is nice, sweetheart.  I feel like we’re the only two people in the world right now.”

You smile against his chest and softly say…

“Well if it will help you tune everything out, just think of it that way.  It’s just you and me, baby.”

She gives me love, love, love, Crazy Love

“I think I’m ready for bed now.”  Matt says.

“Well come on then, Matty, you ready for sleep?”

You look up at him, he had that devilish smirk on his face that was illuminated by the neon sign outside and he whispers in your ear…

“Who said anything about sleep?”

2.  Tennessee Whiskey – Chris Stapleton

Let’s be honest, this song is one of the sexiest songs ever.  I can see putting this song on the juke box while you’re out together at Josie’s or another bar.  It’s one of my favorite songs of all time and I’d LOVE to slow dance with Matt to this song.

A night out at the bar for a few drinks was a weekly occurrence.  Matt, Foggy, Karen and you.  It’s just a way to unwind after a long week at the office and being with your friends and your boyfriend made you really happy.  Watching Karen and Foggy try to shoot pool was hilarious, you’d think with all the time they spent there that they’d actually be pretty good, nope, not at all.  Then you hear your song come on.

Used to spend my nights out in a barroom Liquor was the only love I've known But you rescued me from reachin' for the bottom And brought me back from being too far gone

You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey You're as sweet as strawberry wine You're as warm as a glass of brandy And honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time

Reaching up, you take Matt’s drink away, rest it on the table and grab his hand.

“How about a dance, handsome?”

Matt smiles, turns and tilts his head towards you and asks…

“What?  Here?  No…Well… I’m sure everyone will be looking at you beautiful, and not me so you win.”

You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey Tennessee whiskey Tennessee whiskey

The two of you dance to your song, Matt kisses your forehead and you lift your chin and give him a long, deep kiss.  Patrons at the bar start whistling and cat calling and from the pool table, you hear Foggy yell in your direction.

“UGH!  You two are nauseating, get a room, will ya?!!!”

The two of you laugh and then you hear Matt’s voice low and gravelly in your ear.

“We should go before I take you right there on that pool table.”

3.  You and I – Lady Gaga

I LOVE this song.  The first time I heard it was when I realized that Lady Gaga could really belt it out and how powerful her voice is, she’s amazing.  It would probably be my karaoke song…that or “Tequila” (everyone laugh, because that’s hilarious).  Anyway, the scenario I came up with for this one is a little funny because it involves Matt catching you basically putting on a concert at the apartment while you’re cleaning.

Matt left work early to surprise you and in a few minutes he’d find out just how surprised you’d be.  As he got closer to his building, he tilted his head and realized you were…singing and he thought to himself “that’s not half bad…”  Then he remembered you said you wanted to do some cleaning today and also telling him to make sure he’s careful whenever he comes home because the floor might or might not be wet.  As he walked up the stairs, a smile spread across his face while he stood outside and listened to you for a minute…  

You taste like whiskey when you kiss me, oh I'll give anything again to be your baby doll This time I'm not leaving without you

He said, "Sit back down where you belong In the corner of my bar with your high heels on" Sit back down on the couch where we Made love the first time and you said to me

Something, something about this place Something 'bout lonely nights and my lipstick on your face Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy Yeah, something about, baby, you and I

Quietly, he unlocked the door, put his things down and took his shoes and socks off.  The scent of natural lemon cleaning products filled the apartment, you knew with Matt’s hyper senses that some cleaning products were just too much for him so you tried to use as many lightly scented products as you could.  The floor by the door wasn’t slippery but he could tell it had been recently cleaned, again he smiled, so you weren’t JUST putting on a concert in the apartment, you were ACTUALLY cleaning and he could tell you were in the kitchen.  He walked around the corner and smiled with that dimple on full display…you hadn’t noticed him yet.

“I didn’t know I was coming home to a clean apartment AND a show.”

He scared the ever living daylights out of you and you nearly jumped out of your skin.  Covering your heart, you shrieked.

“Jeez Louise!!  Dammit Matty!  You and your ninja skills!!”  He laughed again at you.  There’s that dimple again.  “You scared me!”  You were laughing a little too.  “And stop laughing, you nearly gave me a heart attack.  Good thing you can’t see me, I look a fright right now.”

He was still laughing a little “Well, I’m sorry I scared you, beautiful and I highly doubt you look bad.”

“So yes, I was just getting ready to mop the kitchen floor…and maybe I am using the mop for a microphone.  Don’t you judge me.”  The song continues…

You and I, you, you and I You, you and I, you, you and I, I You and I, you, you and I Oh yeah, I'd rather die without you and I

C'mon, put your drinks up

He loosened his tie and bit his lip.

“Why don’t you dance with me instead, sweetheart.”  He extends his hand and wiggles his fingers a little.

“Really?  I smell like a combination of cleaning products and sweat, you sure you wanna do that?”

Of course he does not mind in the slightest.  “I’d really like you to dance with me, your singing would feel nice against my chest.”

You and I, you, you and I Baby, I'd rather die without you and I You and I, you, you and I Nebraska I'd rather die without you and I

“Well how can I say no to that?”  You take his hand, he pulls you quickly into his chest, and you continue to sing just for him this time.  

It's been a long time since I came around Been a long time but I'm back in town This time I'm not leaving without you

That’s enough cleaning for today.

4.  Crazy for You – Madonna  

Come on, you know I had to stick in a school dance/wedding song in here somewhere.  I needed my 13 Going on 30 moment because I love that movie. I imagine you and Matt going to one of your cousin’s weddings.  It’s probably one of the first big family events you’re taking him to and he decides today is the day he tells you he loves you.

Your cousin’s wedding was beautiful, maybe a little too beautiful.  The two of you were in Newport, RI and felt more than a little out of place, just because Newport is a very rich town.  The venue is way extra but hey, open bar right? You love weddings so you were determined to have a great time, especially with the sexiest man on your arm.  

You and your boyfriend, Matt have been together for a while, long enough for him to meet your parents and your siblings but not long enough for him to meet the extended family but today was that day.  You thought it went well, as well as it could go.  Periodically you checked to make sure that all the commotion wasn’t too much for Matt’s heightened senses and every time you asked him, he said he was good.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed he was in a deep conversation with your cousins and your brothers while you were talking to your mother and your grandmother however you didn’t notice when your youngest brother carefully led Matt over to the DJ who then handed him a microphone.

“Excuse me, everyone.  I’m sorry to interrupt this beautiful wedding, at least everyone is saying it’s beautiful, I wouldn’t know…blind guy.”  He holds up his cane and everyone laughed.  “Anyway, I was wondering if my lovely date would come up here, please.”

”Oh my god, Ma!  What is he doing?”  You whisper yell to your mother, then your brother starts to push you and chimes in…

“Well go on, y/n…go up there!”

The song starts…

Swaying room as the music starts Strangers making the most of the dark Two by two their bodies become one

You take his hand, put your left hand on his shoulder and he takes his right hand and rests it on your back.

I see you through the smokey air Can't you feel the weight of my stare You're so close but still a world away What I'm dying to say, is that

“This is how you ask me to slow dance with you, Murdock?”  You smiled “With everyone watching?  And you picked the most middle school dance song you could think of, didn’t you.”

He laughed and flashed his charming smile.

“Oh come on, sweetheart, I know you love this song.”

I'm crazy for you Touch me once and you'll know it's true I never wanted anyone like this It's all brand new You'll feel it in my kiss I'm crazy for you, crazy for you

“Well you are not wrong, I do love this song.”  God, this man made you so disgustingly happy.

He leans into your ear “I am ‘crazy for you’ as the song says.”  

A little embarrassed, you smile big and cover your eyes with your hand.  “You know I’m ‘crazy for you’ also.”

You could tell he was a little nervous for what he was about to say next…”Actually…” he paused and kissed your forehead…”I’ve wanted to tell you for a while…that…I…uh”

Looking up at him, you asked “What is it, Matty?  What do you want to tell me?”

You could feel his fingers fidgeting on your back so you knew he was anxious.  “I’ve wanted to tell you that…I love you.  I really, really love you.”

It's all brand new, I'm crazy for you And you know it's true I'm crazy, crazy for you It's all brand new, I'm crazy for you And you know it's true Yeah, I'm crazy for you Crazy for you, baby

With a smile on your face, you tilt your chin up to give him a little kiss on his lips and told him…

“Well I really, really love you too, handsome.”

5.  Bring It On Home to Me – Sam Cooke

Fun fact about me, I love old Motown and R&B.  I listened to a lot of classic rock growing up because that’s what my Dad loves but I remember him and my Mom also loving a lot of Motown and this song by Sam Cooke is one of my favorites.  So this one I thought about you and Matt cooking together, it’s just such a nice tempo for a happy slow dance, he could even throw a spin in there.  

On this dark and rainy afternoon, you left Matt in front of the stove, stirring the soup he helped you make while you cut up a few pieces of bread.  One of your playlists that he loves so much is playing in the background.  Bring It On Home to Me starts playing and you excitedly let out a little bit of a squeal…

If you ever change your mind About leaving, leaving me behind Baby, bring it to me Bring your sweet loving Bring it on home to me Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

“Awwww, Matty!!  I love this song!  I used to listen to it all the time with my parents!”

Matt smiles, puts the spoon down, and extends his hand…”Well c’mere beautiful.  I’ve always wanted to dance with a pretty girl in my kitchen.”

I know I laughed when you left But now I know I only hurt myself Baby, bring it to me Bring your sweet loving Bring it on home to me Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

A laugh escapes your lips while moving to the beat…”Yeah right, Murdock.  You expect me to believe that you’ve never used that line on anyone else?”

He stops dancing for a minute…”Lemme see your hand…”  He places your hand on his chest…”I’ve never danced in my kitchen with anyone except for you.”  His heartbeat was so steady  “You believe me now?”  He asked.  

You smiled and said…“Well…when you put it that way…You’re no liar, Matthew.”  

Matt kisses your nose and says…”You ready for the spin?”

Before you could protest, he spun you outward and pulled you back into him, both of you laughing with the rain coming down in the background.

One more thing I tried to treat you right But you stayed out, stayed out at night But I forgive you, bring it to me Bring your sweet loving Bring it on home to me Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

You continued to dance with your love even after the song was over, it was quiet with only the sound of the rain to move to now and you thought...maybe rainy days weren’t so bad after all.

Honorable Mentions:

1.Cry to Me – Solomon Burke  

For your Dirty Dancing moment before smexy time. (wink wink)

2.  Wonderful Tonight – Eric Clapton

Either before or after a really fancy date night

Again thank you for reading! I appreciate you!💕💕💕

Tag list: @freshabogados @skvatnavle @phoebe-danvers @moonlarking @shedaresthedevil @mindidjarin @matt-erialgirl @nelson-et-murdock @elgrandeavocados

Others that might enjoy: @1800-fight-me @sobachka-korol @mattmurdockspainkink @saintmurd0ck @wint3r-h3art

Please please tell me if you’d like to be added or removed from either list.

[silkylious]

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.” (Lucifer x Reader)

fandom: obey me! shall we date?

pairing: lucifer x gn reader

warnings: angst, fluff (mildly lol), suggestive (nothing explicit though!), bittersweet, ambiguous ending (??), unedited 

wc: 2.1k

“Lucifer?” you called out to him on a whim, eyes trailing the seconds ticking away on his grandfather-clock.

“Yes?” he didn’t spare you a glance as he worked methodically through his second hill of paperwork; a heaping stack of duties assigned to him by Diavolo, endless bills–a consequence of Mammon’s latest spending spree, you ought to talk to him about those soon–and the sort piled neatly on his pristine desk, slowly but surely decreasing in size as Lucifer burned through the tedious task with unwavering efficiency. You felt exhausted just watching him work. Lucifer? He hadn’t so much as blinked more than three times in the past five minutes (yes, you counted). Obsidian sleeves rolled up just past his elbows, hair perfectly framing his face with one strand slightly out of place–hot–and a gentle crease between his brows (the only observable hint alluding to the mounting stress on his shoulders). He looked positively delectable, nothing like someone who’s been working diligently for hours without any breaks. But that just served as a testament to the fundamental difference between the two of you, you supposed.

“I’m in love with you,”

That made his meticulous fingers pause in their tracks.

“Pardon?”

As it turned out, his ears hadn’t, in fact, deceived him. You repeated the confession as if it weighed nothing on your tongue. You were strangely calm given the words you’d just blurted out; he almost didn’t recognize you. An unfamiliar shade of desperation painted all over your face, and yet your voice bared to him a serene conviction, one he’d never heard from you before. Lucifer’s heartbeat stumbled in your wake.

Basking in your courageous display just a second longer, he sighed. Too bad he’d have to mutilate such a pretty sight so soon.

That didn’t go exactly as he’d planned. The harsh rejection barely deterred you, leaving only a petulant pout on your lips and a promise that you’d come talk to him later.

Lucifer was anything but stupid. He knew that he let things stray too far between you, knew it was his fault for not pulling away from your kisses and instead indulging you (and himself) to the fullest. His fault for ignoring the guilt that settled deep in his gut like hunks of steel when you looked at him like he’d never experienced before. Lucifer had lived for many millennia, had relished the warmth of countless passionate lovers and faceless hookups, none of which had ever set him alight from the inside out like your adoring gaze had. It terrified him how after all these years, watching humans thrive and collapse over and over again, he thought he’d seen everything there is to see, all that humans had to offer. And then you come along, reinventing what love meant right before his eyes, with a simple look no less.

He never intended for you to fall in love with him, and he never intended to reciprocate. Had he been mortal, maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated. But life dealt a cruel hand, and he wasn’t. A relationship like yours was doomed to crumble in heartache from the start, it was best to stop it before things went too far. That was the plan anyway.

You didn’t share the same sentiment.

With one last exasperated sigh, Lucifer focused his attention back on his duties. He didn’t know how long he could hold up against your persistence, and honestly he preferred not to dwell on it. Whatever outcome lied for the both of you in the near future, itching one step closer with each tick on the clock, he’d face it head on when it was time.

Meanwhile, you laid wide awake, in your bed, rethinking every decision that led you here. You didn’t regret your confession, nor were you keen on giving up, but Lucifer’s ruthless rejection, his vehement claim that a relationship between a human and a demon is destined to end in tragedy festered a bud of doubt in you. You noted pettily that he hadn’t outright denied any feelings for you. How could he? Lucifer was many, ugly things but a liar’s not one of them; you wouldn’t believe him even if he did lie, not with how delicately he holds your hand in his gloved one, not with how heartbreakingly beautiful he was when he lets you in at his lowest, stripped completely of his pride.

You knew though, that as much as Lucifer was a creature of the past, he was a creature of regrets.

Somehow, you’d managed to reach the heart of the Avatar of Pride himself, bestowing a porcelain touch on it and subsequently rocking the monotony of his endless life. Despite the acknowledgment of both your feelings, you weren’t naïve enough to dismiss how his heart drums thousands of years apart from yours and would continue to do so long after yours gave its last valiant pump.

He was a creature of the past you realized; humans intently watch minutes, hours, years approach because there’s only so much of them live out, there’s only so much to do in a lifetime. Naturally it would be counterintuitive to waste scarce time on the past. The immortal have no such concern. When time is limitless, and life is all but a blur of recycled events, its only instinctive to lose interest in what’s to come. And you guessed, maybe there was a strange comfort in the predictability of eternity, maybe that’s why Lucifer was so offput by the notion of something serious yet temporary, especially romance.

You decided. You wouldn’t let him look back and ponder what ifs in that stubborn head of his, not while you were still breathing. With regained determination, you glanced one last time at your countertop alarm and entered a dreamless slumber.

Not even two days later, three consecutive raps on his door made Lucifer rub at his temples for the nth time and begrudgingly called for you to enter. Piled on his desk were several stacks of papers (as was the usual), though, that night he was in a particularly sour mood. Ever since your confession, he’d been feeling uneasy, Diavolo hurling more work at him last minute was only pushing him to his wit’s end.

“Lucifer,” he hummed in response, not bothering to conceal his growing agitation. “we need to talk,”

Ah, there it was. He was wondering when you’d confront him again.

“I believe I made myself quite clear last time,” he sighed, dropping his pen and finally meeting your eyes. “If this is about your feelings again then I’m sorry but I can’t–”

“But why? Can you really say that what we have isn’t special at all?” your lower lip quivered just a bit and Lucifer had to fight the immediate reflex of holding you close and hushing your worries. His impassiveness quickly arose frustration out of you. “God Damnit, Lucifer! All I want is to be with you while I still can! To die with no regrets, knowing you’ll be there with me, but it’s very fucking hard to do that when you’re too scared of the future to do something about–about us!”

It was a low blow to go after his pride, you knew that, but he wasn’t giving you much to work with.. Rubbing salt in a ghastly wound had certainly done the trick, the dimmed crimson that pooled just below his pupil began to shine scarlet. You would have found it gorgeous had it not been imbued with near murderous intent. Lucifer’s poker face was rapidly breaking, a horrid mix of anger and melancholy sat heavy in his throat. He was looking straight at you, but his eyes were somewhere else, some time else. He was staring hundreds of years behind you at an unhealed, poorly bandaged cut. An everlasting guilt he carried with him everywhere.

“What would you know about regret?” he breathed out the words like they’re bullets, whatever restraint he’d managed to scarp together deteriorating. He stepped closer, each stride bigger than the last as he closed the distance between you, a perfect diamond manifesting on his forehead and you could see the beginnings of black feathers sprouting from his back. “Do you have the slightest clue what a blessing mortality is? Do you have any idea how agonizing it is to live with your regrets and not be able to die with them?”

“You’re right. I don’t,” you stood your ground. “But, do you really want to live with one more regret to bear?”

He kissed you. He kissed you like he hated you, animosity and anger and pain and, most prominently, pining spilling from his lips. Lucifer parted from you just as quickly as he’d initiated the kiss, taking the time to let his irritation bleed out of him, until he was left grappling with (frankly terrifying) longing and adoration. Just this once, he’d take a leap of faith, he’d break his own rigorous code and take the risk of undying heartache in the future to be with you in the now.

One kiss turned into many, and soon you found yourselves stumbling your way from his office to his bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of you, the thought that some day he would be deprived of you broke him and made him yearn to cherish you just as much. Precious things aren’t meant for longevity, he learned. All the more reason to treasure them when given the chance. You were pushed onto his bed and not once did his hands and mouth and breath leave your skin; he couldn’t bear sever that connection.

Before long, your hands were pined to the mattress, fingers tightly laced with his as if he was petrified the moment will break and a thousand years would pass you by the instant he let go.

“I love you. Truly and deeply.”

Neither of you heard the clock strike midnight.

Lucifer was well-acquainted with sleepless nights. He was no stranger to the prick at the corner of his eye, excruciatingly familiar with midnight’s cold, lonely touch. But this one was different. Where usually lied a cool emptiness in his sheets, your warm, inviting body was just in reach. Where the corners of his mind were usually plagued by past mistakes and sorrowful repentance, you were all he could think about. He reflected on your words now that the high of emotions had worn off. He still disagreed with you on many things and, if he was being true to himself, it would take more than one night to abandon his reluctance, much more. But he was willing to put in his fair share of effort. He was willing to do many things for you, he mused. You were right about one thing though, regardless of whether or not he acted on his feelings, your parting would hurt all the same. Part of him was still resentful that he let himself fall so deeply in love with you, and a part of him knew it couldn’t be helped. You’d carved a home for yourself out of his heart, invited yourself in and declared pompously you’d be there to stay, and he’d be damned to hell all over again if he said he didn’t like that.

Pulling you closer to leech off your warmth, for the first time in forever, he dreamt of the future, a future with you.

Snapping out his reverie, Lucifer refocused his vision on the framed picture before him. It’s been a couple dozen years, the pain dulled into a hollow longing, and yet not a single regret weighed on his back. He was astonished, how you, who had lived but a fraction of his own lifetime, had such impeccable foresight. He lays in bed every night and morning thanking you for not giving up, knowing that if you had, he’d be spending the rest of his infinite days in self-loathing regret.

All Lucifer could ask for now is a little guidance. What was he to do now? Was he even capable of falling in love again after you? Would he allow it? All questions that began frequenting his head since you’re no longer there to occupy it. He only knew is that he’d love you, and love you, and love you until this world fell apart. He toyed with the idea of reincarnation. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; he saw you in everything he did. Strange how you’d taught him more about appreciating every day’s mundanities than he had in the many eons he’s been alive. Lucifer wonders about the possibility of you donning the same white wings he once had back in the Celestial Realm. If you ever did, he wonders about the complications that would arise from that, he wonders if you’d even remember him. All Lucifer was left with was a simple truth. If you ever came back, whichever form you may take, he’d welcome you back into the adobe of his heart without a second thought.

He ran his thumb over your smile, a bittersweet acceptance in his own.

“I love you. Truly, deeply, eternally.”

Obey me! taglist: @katsucookie @strwbry-m1lk​ (you wanted to be tagged in this one lol) join my taglist here! <3

[edutainer2022]

It's WIP Wednesday, so I'm gonna use some of my battery on a little thing, set after Jeff's return, I've been working on. There IS more to it I wanted to finish yesterday and today, but over 12 hour blackouts had a different plan.

***

Some days were worse than others. Some days the heady rush of pure JOY and BLISS of being back with his beloved boys, his Ma, in his own home, back on his own PLANET, beneath the blue skies, breathing unprocessed air... were not enough to tide him over the bone deep weariness. Days, when the bustling world around was suddenly too much effort. Too much, period.

That morning he woke up, gruff and bleary, feeling every ounce of gravity amplified weight down to his marrow. He didn't remember sleeping a wink, but he knew he was late. The corner of the blanket peeled away, catching on his stubble, revealed a silhouette perched on the side of his bed. Scott. Already dressed to the nines in a suit that looked like it was shipped straight from the Milan runway. It probably had been. His son's aftershave was fancier and more expensive than he could ever afford or had any clue to choose at that same age. Predawn light was casting a grey hue over Scott's features, gleaming in silver highlights, making him look older. Tired. His eldest looked hauntingly like Jeff felt, sagging under the crashing weight, stretched thin, even put together all sharp like that, bright and early. The sudden heartache of that thought came out as a hoarse groan.

They were supposed to meet several executives first thing in the morning to get Jeff up to speed a bit more. To get the company brass reacquainted with the Tracy Patriarch too. There were many new promotions and appointments over the past eight years. But Jeff could barely keep his eyes open. The thought of getting up and moving gave him a shiver, which, in turn, deepened the worried frown on Scott's face. The taut lines in the corners of his son's eyes and mouth became prominent. Much as the pallor and dark circles, belying a sleepless night. Scott took a call out in One, right off the roof of Tracy Tower. It was the fastest and most expedient option, regardless of Virgil's protests. That's how Jeff remembered most of his sleep being drained by nightmares - One screeching off and him spending eight endless years calculating and hoping (praying) the rocket plane made it out of the Zero-X launch blast radius in time, taking his son to safely far enough. He winced at the memory and squinted against a nauseating headache. Scott's worry was obviously reaching the red zone.

A firm hand landed on his shoulder, then moved to press for the pulse. His boy's fingers were uncharacteristically cold, but maybe Jeff was just catching space chills.

"Dad, are you alright? I will cancel the morning! I'll get you to the hospital right now, then Virgil will fly Grandma in!"

The on the go plan was all IR Commander, but blue eyes blown up twice the usual size in panic was Scotty at any given time Dad was about to disappear. Again. He hated the treacherous frailty that got his unwavering boy so scared. As much as he hated the very idea of hospitals, enthusiastically shared by all his children.

"It's okay, Bluejay! No need to worry! Just one of those days. I'll sleep it off. You go ahead with the meeting and I'll rise and shine to have brunch with you, deal?"

Between the Zero-XL assembly under wraps, the possibly one-way mission to the middle of the galactic nowhere, and Jeff's subsequent laborious rehabilitation, the Tracy Industries senior executives really needed some quality face time with the Tracy-in-charge. So they would have it. Jeff was under no illusion he was in any shape to be that, anymore. Scott was, still. But that would have to change maybe sooner, than they both wished, if mornings like that became a recurrent thing.

Scott didn't appear entirely convinced and there was definitely a ping being sent up to Five to monitor Jeff's space-addled sleeping hunk extra closely. However, the anxious scowl softened into warm mirth as Scott smiled down at Dad's rugged face. Cool fingers moved from the pulse point to brush away the matted grey curls from Jeff's forehead. The gesture was definitely well practiced on any and all of the younger brothers, but in that moment all Jeff could see in the slight tilt of the head and a special, radiant fondness in the blue gaze, was the boys' mother.

He nearly choked on a sob and covered his eyes, feigning a fit of cough. Scott moved immediately to give him a glass of water from the bedside table. Once done blinking away the stinging moisture, Jeff caught the tail end of a hastily covered wince in the boy's features. If he were operating at full capacity, he would have probably dug to the bottom of it with proper insistence. As it were, Jeff settled for a squeeze of the premium wool clad bicep:

"How're you holding up, son? Tough night?"

"I'm okay, Dad! You don't need to worry! A couple of bruises here and there. Mostly my ego, as I landed in a heap when the jetpack gave out. I'll never hear the end of it!"

The edges of Scott's "cheeky flyboy" smile were tighter than Jeff should have been placated with. But gravity was already pulling his lids down.

TBC

[ticketstomydaydreams]

5:3666

(All We Have: Part Two)

Part One

Colson x Female Reader

Summary: You and Colson fall into a night time studio routine when he starts keeping you company through your insomnia and you decide to work though some past demons

Word count: 3,200 (ish, I lost count editing)

Feels: Fluff with a dash of past trauma

Warnings: Drug & alcohol consumption, domestic violence, cursing, Colson being so sweet it almost makes your teeth hurt

Companion playlist:

Machine Gun Kelly - 5:3666

Warren Zevon - I'll Sleep When I'm Dead

The Vamps - All Night

Halsey - You Should Be Sad

A/N: If you've been affected by anything in this story, please know you're not alone. My inbox is always open and I'm all ears 🖤

______

During the first couple of weeks of moving in, you’d been partying A LOT. The guys wanted to show you just how mad it got, breaking you into their chaotic household, blending the days together. Everyone was hyper and the house was buzzing with energy. You'd been so exhausted from all of it that you'd been all but passing out each night, but you couldn’t lie, it was great fun.

You’d tried to pass on a few nights but Colson would never hear of it, often forcing you out of your room to get involved as the house was filled with people, jam sessions taking place in between drinking games. It was a far cry from your usual homelife, your last housemate mainly kept to themselves so your place was normally pretty chilled. Colson had used your place as a quiet escape over the years, but it seemed you wouldn’t have the same set up extended to you here with this lot.

With the pandemic unfolding, the house had started getting quieter, less people in and out every night and everyone was settling into a lazier way of life. The gang were mooching around the house throughout the day and while the house was still lively at night, it wasn’t quite the party central you’d almost started getting used to. Your normal working routine went out the window as everyone had started working from home mainly and without your daily routine, followed by nights out partying, your insomnia was back with full force.

______

You were lying in your bed, trying to force sleep on yourself but after trying to nod off for a couple of hours, you accepted defeat and got back up. Throwing some sweats on and one of Colson’s huge hoodies (you’d been slowly sneaking them out of his closet, finding that the masses of material drowning your small frame were super comforting), you headed down to the kitchen, turned the stove on and filled the kettle up. You were scrolling through your phone when you heard footsteps on the tiled floor. Colson strolled into the kitchen looking disheveled in a white tank top and boxer shorts, hair ruffled and looking sleepy

“Dude, it’s 3am how come you’re up?”

“Couldn’t sleep, living that oh so fun insomnia life again” you sighed “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I was already awake. Couldn’t sleep either and heard someone moving about so thought I’d come down” He replied, climbing onto one of the breakfast stools

“Yeah, I think it’s not having much of a routine. Hate lying in bed staring at the ceiling so just got up. You want a cup?” you offered, pointing to the chamomile tea you were brewing

“Sure, thanks” he says, taking the steaming mug from you

You sit down at the breakfast bar with him and start chatting, scrolling through instagram as you do. After about an hour, as you’re talking about an article you’re reading, you notice Colson doesn’t respond and you look to your right and see he’s fallen asleep, leaning on his hand, his mouth slightly ajar.

“Hey, sleeping beauty” you whisper, rubbing his back with your hand “Go to bed”

He slightly jolts at your touch, opening his eyes “Nah man, I’m keeping you company”

“Some company” you laugh softly “pretty sure you just slept through all my rambling there”

He leans against your shoulder, closing his eyes again “Hey, at least you’re not sitting here alone. That’s something right?”

“That’s true” you smile, leaning your head against his “You’re very appreciated, do you know that”

You gently push him upright and stand up “Come on, let’s go to bed. I’m pretty tired myself, so you’ve definitely helped”

He’s laid his head down on his arm on the counter, his breathing getting heavy immediately so you pull his other hand making him stand up. He stands up and puts his arm around your shoulder as you walk towards the stairs, your legs feeling heavy as you climb each step, carrying some of Colson’s weight as he sleepily walks with you

Once you’re standing outside your bedroom doors, he pulls you in for a hug

“Night kid, don’t be wandering around bored if you can’t sleep yeah? Just come get me. Nothing worse than sitting up alone at night…”

“Will do. Thanks Col” You squeeze him a bit tighter as he kisses the top of your head

“Night” you smile, as he let’s you go and turns and heads into his room, waving his hand up behind him

Undressing and crawling into bed, your eyes feel heavy as your head hits the pillow. Colson was right, insomnia was a much less lonely experience with a friend.

______

Of course, as is always the way after your sleepless nights, you sleep in super late the following day meaning the cycle continues and you find yourself wide awake as the witching hour approaches. Feeling restless in your bedroom, you get up, and decide to head downstairs and out into the studio because you figure you might as well put this time to good use. You settle into a chair with your acoustic guitar and started playing, stopping and starting as you figure out a melody, working your latest lyrics in with it

“I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest. Got no anger, got no malice…”

“I thought I told you to come get me if you couldn’t sleep”

You almost drop your guitar as you hear Colson’s voice behind you, “Jesus, how are you such an enormous human but you still manage to creep up on me all the time?”

“Just a stealthy motherfucker I guess” He laughs, flopping into the chair next to you

“Whatcha working on? That sounded sweet, keep playing…”

Colson knows you sometimes get a bit self-conscious with people watching you sing, so he lights his joint, rests his head on his hand and closes his eyes. You smile as you see what he's doing, thankful he always understands what you're like.

You turn back to your notepad, reading over your lyric outline quickly before repositioning the guitar in your lap and resetting the metronome

___

‘I wanna start this out and say, I gotta get it off my chest

Got no anger, got no malice, Just a little bit of regret

No, nobody else will tell you, so there's some things I gotta say

Gonna jot it down and then get it out and then I'll be on my way

No, you're not half the man you think that you are

And you can't fill the hole inside of you with money, drugs, and cars

I'm so glad I never ever had a baby with you

'Cause you can't love nothing unless there's something in it for you

Oh, I feel so sorry, I feel so sad

I tried to help you, it just made you mad

And I had no warning about who you are

I'm just glad I made it out without breaking down

And then ran so fuckin' far, that you would never ever touch me again

Won't see your alligator tears

'Cause, no, I've had enough of them’

___

“Man, that was beautiful Y/N. I got some chills right there…You just wrote that?”

“Nah, it’s something I dug up from ‘back then’. Been going through some old lyrics and samples while we’ve got all this time on our hands. It’s kinda cathartic to go over some of that stuff now there’s a bit more distance you know”

______

A couple of years ago, you’d been stuck in a really toxic relationship with your ex, Stevie. Your time with him had been a tornado of arguments, drugs and the constant heartache of him cheating on you. Every time you’d get close to having the strength to leave, you’d always cave in and the mess would continue with you losing a bit of yourself each time you stayed. You’d become pretty used to his violent outbursts, he had always been controlling and short tempered, often pushing you and throwing stuff around your apartment. Despite his own frequent infidelity, he flew into a jealous rage with you constantly.

He’d always hated Colson, despite him being one of your best friends, and while he’d play nice to his face you’d always get it in the neck once you were alone about how you and Colson were ‘too close’ and he ‘didn’t trust him’. Before that final night you’d spent with him, things had been pretty good with the two of you for a few weeks, there hadn’t been much drama and so you hadn’t thought too much of inviting him out with you and the gang for a night out clubbing. Your good run had clearly come to an end, when you felt his hand grab your arm tightly and drag you off the dancefloor where you’d been dancing with Colson. You’d been bundled into an uber so quickly, you hadn’t even managed to get your handbag from inside. You saw Colson running out of the club, followed by Rook and Slim who was holding your bag, as the cab pulled away.

Once you were back at the apartment, he flew into a rage. You’d never seen him this bad before, his eyes were dark and when you tried to argue back, calling his jealousy ‘pathetic’ he snapped. He’d grabbed you by the throat and slammed you against the wall, “Don’t you ever disrespect me like that again” he’d spat in your face, before striking you so hard with his fist that the skin across your cheek split open. It was as if his actions had knocked him back to reality, he’d let go of you and you ran to your bedroom, locked the door behind you and started packing a bag. He hammered on the door, begging you to open it and you could hear that he was crying. You looked around for your phone before you remembered you’d left it at the club. Desperate to get away, you opened your laptop and brought up instagram, managing to send Colson a message asking him to send you an uber to his house straight away. You’d thrown your laptop and a few more bits in your bag, the battery dying before you had a chance to wait for a reply, before pulling the bedroom door open and barging past Stevie. He’d tried to grab you, but you’d finally had enough “Never fucking touch me again” you spat, pushing him off you. The hatred in your voice rooted him to the spot and he said nothing as you walked out, the door slamming behind you.

Once you were outside the apartment building, the reality of what had just happened and the situation you were in started to wash over you. You had no phone, no wallet, your laptop was dead. Just as you were starting to seriously panic, an uber pulled up and Colson had leapt out of the backseat. You’d been in total shock and had just let Colson guide you into the cab and then out into his house, up to his room. He didn’t say anything as he led you to his bathroom and lifted you up onto the counter. He grabbed a flannel and soaked it with warm water, rinsing it out before pressing it softly against the cut on your cheek, gently wiping away the blood that had mixed with your mascara laced tears. The tenderness of his actions was almost too much and you started to sob again.

“Hey, hey. Y/N, look at me” he said softly, lifting your chin so you looked at him, his blue eyes misty themselves “It’s okay, you’re safe here. Don’t move, I’ll be back in a sec”

He left the bathroom and returned with a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Putting them on the counter next to you, he crouched down and undid the straps on your heels, slipping them off your feet and then helping you down from the counter. “I’ll leave you to change”

When you came out of the bathroom, Colson was lying in his bed “Come here” he said, holding his arm and beckoning into his side. You crawled under the covers next to him and snuggled into him, his long arms wrapping around you.

“Col…” you said quietly

“Yeah?” he whispered back, stroking your hair off your forehead

“Thank you…”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ve always got you Y/N”

______

“I hated that fucking guy. That night...I wanted to kill him after what he’d done to you”

You see him tense up at the memory and you lean over and squeeze his knee “You’re such an amazing friend, do you know that. I don’t know what I would’ve done that night without you”

"You're a fucking warrior Y/N, you'd have handled your shit. I was just happy you trusted me enough to let me be there for you. You deserve so much better than that" he says, covering the hand you'd placed on his knee with his, staring you in the eyes and returning the smile that's crept across your face

"You know there's been a few punches I've wanted to dole out on behalf of you over the years, but you've never let me" you tell him

"Too right I'd never let you. I never want you in the drama, you're too good for getting caught up in that shit" he replies, pointing at you with mock sternness

"Hey" he says, seeing your expression wash over with a tint of sadness "At least the sleepless nights aren't what they were then…

… If we're gonna work through some old demons this lockdown, I'm sure I've got some songs and lyrics that have never seen the light of day" He reaches over the desk and pulls his laptop towards him "You've inspired me… "

"Oh no, are we gonna fuck our heads up with this?" you joke nervously, worrying that Colson's going to delve into something that's going to upset him

"Nah, I got you covered and you got me, right?"

"True dat" you say, as he holds his fist out so you can fistbump, his eyes now focused on his laptop screen

______

You felt kinda bad, having kept Colson up all night with you the last two nights, especially as you'd got him reminiscing about some tough memories, so tonight you tried to sneak past his room when your restlessness got the better of you.

"Nice try kid!" Colson says as he throws his bedroom door open, causing you to yelp in fright. standing there topless with his sweatpants hung low in his hips, he lights the joint hanging from his mouth "I told you we were in this together now"

"I felt bad, making you stay up with me"

"You didn't make me do shit…Wait a sec, let me find a hoodie. If I have any left in here…" he says, giving a pointed look towards the huge blue hoodie you were wrapped in before walking back into his room and rummaging through his drawers

"Oh shush, you have like a hundred…"

"Right come on" he says, pulling a pink hoodie over his head and flipping the hood up over his messy hair "Let's see what we get into tonight…"

______

And so the nights went on like this, the two of you falling into an easygoing studio routine. If there wasn't anything else going on in the house, you'd eat dinner together then head to the studio and work through the night into the small hours, skipping out the pretense of trying to sleep. You were both pretty productive at this time it seemed, both being proclaimed night owls, and keeping busy during these uncertain times was keeping your minds off the unfolding pandemic.

Considering he’d referred to his home studio in the past as the ‘rage cage’ (and it certainly could still be party central when the entire crew got involved), it was actually a place you drifted towards to relax these days. You’d always worked well together in a studio, but over the weeks spending so much time just the two of you, you became more in tune with each other, noticing when one of you had hit a wall and it was time for bed. Sometimes you'd work in comfortable silence, side by side, engrossed in your own seperate tasks. Sometimes barely any work would get done as you put the world to rights talking about anything and everything in a late night impromptu therapy session.

This evening, you'd been sitting cross legged in your chair for hours now, focusing so hard on editing a song which was driving you mad, you hadn't realised your feet had gone numb. As you try to move, your knees crack and pins and needles shoot through your legs. Colson looks up from the screen he'd been engrossed in after hearing you groan and sees you rubbing your feet trying to bring back the feeling to them

‘C’mere’ he said, before turning his chair towards you and leaning down to grab your legs, bringing your feet up onto his lap. He pulls your socks off and begins massaging your feet. You lean your head back, eyes closed and let out a long ‘hmmm’. You don’t see Colson glancing over at you and shifting in his seat as he lets out slow breath before turning back to his screen

“Now this is the kind of work session I could get used to”, you sighed "You being my studio bitch on hand for foot rubs. Although, I imagine this enjoyment goes both ways Mr Foot Lover” you tease, throwing him an exaggerated wink

Colson throws his head back with a hearty chuckle, and light heartedly slaps your calf

"Keep it in your pants Y/N"

You laugh and wiggle your toes, Colson letting out a dramatic, throaty groan in response. "Those are some sexy little toes though" he states, sticking his tongue out.

Still laughing, you put your hand to your chest, and gasp as you feign prudishness and try to pull your feet away. He grabs both your feet in one of his hands, keeping them in place then leans over the desk and pulls your laptop towards you

"Get on with some work you, this is supposed to be keeping you motivated, not distracted"

He scolds affectionately, with a smile on his face

“Okay, okay, spoilsport” you grumble as you pull your computer onto your lap

Half an hour passes, your legs still on Colson’s lap with him still massaging your feet absentmindedly with one hand while he works, and your eyes begin to feel heavy. You don’t realise you’ve fallen asleep, until you’re awoken by a “woah” from Colson as he catches your laptop which is about to fall. Taking it from your lap, he states “Right, time for bed you”

You check your phone and see it’s already 5:36am.

You stand up and stretch then walk over behind Colson, putting your arms around his shoulders, and resting your chin on his head. Looking at his screen, you yawn “You got much left to do?”

He leans back into you, bringing his hand up to rest on your arm, “Making some good progress so just gonna finish a couple of bits”

“Okay dude” you gently kiss the top of his head and squeeze the back of his neck a couple of times as you turn to leave “Try and get some rest, we’ve got a long day of sweet fuck all to do tomorrow” you say through another big yawn

“Heh yeah, Night Kid” he says softly, letting out a yawn himself. Colson turns and watches you head out of the studio and lets out a big sigh. Feeling the back of his neck still tingle from where you’d squeezed it, he’s suddenly aware of how empty the room feels without you in it....

______

Taglist: @triplexdoublex @thisshitisfuckingdifficult @brightblaqkkheaven

Lace Up! ❌❌

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Nightmare (2) Masterlist

Links Last Checked: September 2nd, 2022

part one

100 Sleepless Nights (ao3) - theoreticalgrey

Summary: Dan has a nightmare and Phil tries to comfort him.

but it's better if you do it. (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: “I’m sorry Phil,” Dan whispers against his neck. Phil thinks that this is for both of them, struggling with things that the other doesn’t quite understand but still being there for the other because it’s just what you do for someone you love.

prompt: phil just had a nightmare and dan tries to comfort him although he is having one of those bad days

Closed Eyes (ao3) - Phanallamallama

Summary: Dan thought that brushing those few hairs out of Phil’s eyes would be nice, maybe placing their lips together and just lying with him as more than friends would be good too. But then he remembered Phil wasn’t there. Now those feelings felt bitter and the side of his bed that used to be owned was empty and colder than he remembered.

Closer To Where I Started (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: An onstage accident at a convention leads to a week of stress, nightmares, and evaluating life choices for Dan and Phil.

Comphort (ao3) - Phantje

Summary: Phil is woken up by Dan having a nightmare. He quickly runs over to him and manages to comfort him after a few complications. Dan however thinks that he is still dreaming, so he has no problem confessing his love. Phil doubts Dan actually means it and hopes Dan doesn't remember what has happened. Problem is, he does, which makes them have an awkward talk in the morning.

Feels Right (ao3) - pastelpinkmiraculous

Summary: Dan has a nightmare and comes to Phil for comfort.

Goodnight, Danosaur (ff.net) - OceanSunrise32

Summary: Dan has a nightmare, and Phil, as always, is there to comfort him and cheer him up.

I Don't Deserve You, But I Need You. (ao3) - wat (SemeGal)

Summary: Dan isn't good about talking through issues, even with Phil. But after a terrible nightmare, Dan can't hold it in very well and spills it all to Phil.

I'm Not Going Anywhere (ao3) - melapplesphan

Summary: Dan wakes up to a panic attack after having a bad nightmare. Phil comforts him. Takes place July 4th, 2018. Established relationship. Please heed the tags.

In Dreams (You Will Lose Your Heartache) (ao3) - surfeitquill

Summary: Prompt: Soulmate AU where soulmates can appear in your dreams, but Dan’s too shy to say hello until Phil has a nightmare. (Or several nightmares, and after a few Dan finally builds up the courage to help out.)

Lay It On Me - phantasticlizzy

Summary: Phil has a nightmare and Dan is there for comfort.

Love Me Like You Do (ao3) - ReederJoe

Summary: Dan has a nightmare about losing Phil in the worst way possible. Phil comforts him, and one thing leads to another.

Stabbing Yearning (ao3) - MaeTaurus

Summary: Dan has a dream Phil dies and Phil comforts him.

the devil’s game (ao3) - watergator

Summary: it starts with a curtain pole

the nightmare before tatinof (ao3) - phanscheekybumsecks

Summary: Dan has a nightmare on tour and Phil comforts him

Yes, my lion? (ao3) - WaterChickens

Summary: Phil has a nightmare and Dan comforts him. Pining, confessions, and fluff occur.

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

A Certain Heartache (Joe x Reader)

(this might be the supreme Joe Hoe fic. Just simping out the fucking ass. Before I had a title for this, I just referred to it as “The Simp Fic”. I would write this late at night while lonely)

Dedicated to @heaven-is-hysteria​ >:3

Words: 3,494

Prompt: Holland, 1985, pre-Hysteria. You’ve been working alongside the band long before the recording of the 4th album began. Studio stress is at an all time high, so you and Joe (your mutual confidant) have a long, intimate talk one evening to vent it all away. After you part ways for the night, both of you are kept awake by the gears turning in your heads.

Romantic tension ahoy!

-----

His warm, lengthy body was perfectly contoured against yours. It was such a cold night, and you were glad he was there under the covers to provide you with an extra sense of security. The drumming of his heart thumped against your ear, and the swelling of his lungs was your reminder that your pillow was capable of breathing, too. As per his duty as a pillow, he let you cling to him in any way you pleased and had not complained once; he would just tell you "if you're comfy, then so am I."

Yes, that's what Joe would've done- if he were there with you.

Instead, there you were, in the wrong bed again. The bed would only feel like the right one if you had his company.

Romantic tension didn't even begin to define what you and Joe had between yourselves. There was no doubt in sight that both of you sensed it. It was magic in the air that only appeared when you were alone; it was something truly different. Things like a brief touch to your hair, holding hands, a quick kiss on the cheek, or occasionally dozing off on each other made this magic arise. There had been times of genuine affection with Joe, just as there had been times of platonic friendship. Unfortunately, you weren't sure where the line was drawn between them.

Based on past events, neither did he.

Stress at the studio had taken a toll on both of you over the past few weeks. That night, either of you were on the verge of a total breakdown because of it. You'd spent about two hours sitting and standing, walking and talking, laughing and crying to each other. The more you thought on it, the more romantic it felt. The social intimacy you discovered felt somehow more binding than what Joe had with the rest of his band mates.

Your heart leapt against the sheets at the realization; he let himself be open and sensitive around you that night, not the others. Of all people the mighty Joe Elliott was close to during such a pivotal time in his career, he chose to have deep conversation at night with you. And there you were, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because you were thinking about him.

For fuck's sake- this is getting too serious. You weren't sure why neither you or Joe hadn't made a move quite yet. One thing was for sure; it was killing you- especially after an evening like that.

-----

Your warm, gentle body was perfectly curled over his. While he didn't want to appear nervous, Joe's heart was mercilessly thumping against your ear. You were using him as a pillow, and he was trying to be the best one he could be. Even after Joe dismissed your concern for his comfort, you'd still try to shift yourself in a way that would feel better to him.

Yes, that's what you would've done- if you were there with him.

The game of chicken you two were clearly playing was reaching a breaking point. Joe wasn't sure who would crack first, but cracks were undoubtedly forming.

Joe stared up at his ceiling. The cold night was eating away at his skin, and goosebumps came and went when they wanted. When you both left each other for the night, it felt wrong and awkward. He felt like he should've spoken up and asked if you wanted to stay with him. Just a quick "wanna stay at my place tonight?" would've sufficed.

Joe thought that might have sounded better than "can I stay at your place tonight?", but regardless, he didn't get the chance to test either of them. It's not like it mattered too much to him. After all, you were only a hallway away from each other.

That evening, your long route through conversation topics left Joe feeling changed. He couldn't put his finger on what had changed, however. He supposed it had something to do with how you normally viewed him. For inexplicable reasons, you always seemed to get along with him the best. After that night, it was apparent you preferred him over the rest of the band.

The bumps on Joe's arms rose higher under the covers.

Out of the five Leppards, you chose him. He was the singer, and should've been used to girls picking him, but you still left him flattered and flushed like a shy child. Joe felt that of all the Leppards in distress, he was the last one who needed another heartache or another sleepless night.

Yet there he was, lying awake at night, unable to sleep because he was chosen by you. Oh, bloody wonderful. When it came to you, the line between 'friend' and 'girlfriend' was getting thinner and thinner. Joe couldn't get you to leave his heart, it seemed.

Unfortunately- to him- that only meant one thing:

There was no going back.

-----

It felt incredibly late now, but hardly an hour had passed since you went to bed. With Joe occupying every corner of your mind, you almost wanted to get up and go to the end of the hall to get him. You almost wanted that so badly. His affection wasn't just something you desired at the moment; it was something you couldn't get through the night without. It was an ache deep inside you- but you couldn't place whether it was in your heart or your soul.

Thinking of him felt like a dream, and in one corner of your mind, the phrase "man of your dreams" soon became his label.

The plain old pillow you embraced wasn't doing as well of a job as a tender, 6'2", warm-blooded, long-haired Yorkshire gentleman would have. You could still feel him all around you; his presence wouldn't leave. A hallway away and nothing but silence separating you both made the sound of Joe's heart louder than anything.

You wanted him with you, plain and simple. You just needed him there in whatever way was convenient. You wanted him to hold you and softly breathe against you and tell you he was happy to be in bed with you. Hell, he didn't even need to say anything if he didn't feel like it.

In the darkness, you blinked a few times. Your head shook and you rolled away from the fantasies of your late-night conscience. Who could ever truly know what Joe wanted? Certainly not you. He had his thoughts, and you had yours.

That night felt like the night where if a move could've been made, it would've been made.

It should've been made.

Wasted time, you thought. Maybe that's all tonight was; a missed opportunity, and wasted time. Just when you speculated things might have been getting down to the bone, you began to think too much, and an idea crushed you: what if you were just another hopeless maniac who wanted to get your hands on the lead singer? Anyone with an outside perspective would have most likely seen things that way.

You didn't feel like that, though. You knew what you felt.

Maybe you were just another crazed fan, and maybe Joe was just another rocker out of your league. Even if that were so, that didn't mean your feelings for him were fake.

Maybe Joe wasn't even the man of your dreams... but god, you still needed him so badly that night.

----

Joe lost track of how many times he'd tried falling asleep. Each and every time, he was interrupted by a flood of your imaginary presence. With you threatening every inch of his mind, he almost wanted to march down the hallway and take you back with him. Dare he say, he needed that. It was such an intense longing, he wanted to beat his arms against his bed and exert it all away- just to make it stop.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the energy for that right then. He felt like he was trapped in a dream he was unable to be woken from. Any second now, he hoped, he'd wake up and realize he'd made it through this dream-like temptation.

For a fast second, his conscience labeled you as "dreamy."

Joe shook away the label, rolled onto his side, and resumed his fantasy. There wasn't just a craving for your presence; there was a starvation for it.

As far as your previous interaction went, there were a million more things he thought of to add onto it. He didn't want that evening to stop- not then, not ever. He wanted more from your time together. He didn't just want vocal reassurance; he wanted physical reassurance. Joe wanted to experience every soft part of you cushioning him while he slept. He wanted to feel your hair frazzled against his skin. More than anything, he needed a tender touch from you- any tender touch from you. You were a reminder that tenderness still existed, and that tenderness still cared about him. Joe's eyes opened in the darkness, and he audibly sighed as the fantasy was broken. He didn't know if you desperately cared about him like that; he couldn't read your mind. Who could ever truly know what you wanted? Certainly not him. Just like Joe currently trapped in his own universe, you had a world of your own down the hall. These worlds felt like perfectly matching puzzle pieces when they collided- especially hours before. It would've been easy for Joe to make a move. In fact, it wouldn't have just been easy; it was probably expected from you. If there was any right time to make it move, it was that night for sure.

But Joe didn't do that. Instead, he wasted time regretting something he didn't do. Things seemed as if they were looking clearer to him. He finally reached the extent of how badly he needed you in the dead of the night, yet also felt you were getting further away. Perhaps he was overthinking it- but that sense of failure was overwhelming and true. He blew it; plain and simple. You'd definitely peaked in your friendship that night, and to Joe, that meant it was only downhill from there. He didn't want that.

He didn't need another thing to regret. He didn't need another reason to not march down the hall and somehow ask you to stay with him for the night. He didn't need another hour of heartsick insomnia.

But god, he needed you so badly that night. Maybe he needed you just a little bit more. -----

You were starting to rationalize that you weren't going to get any sleep. The best you could do was lay facing the ceiling and hope to fantasize yourself into slumber. If one thought could lead to another, perhaps it'd be pleasant enough to lull you to rest.

A few lovely fantasies rolled around in your head. First, it was Joe suddenly showing up right then and there, sweeping you off your feet, and kissing you deeply. Second, it was you going over to him and pulling him down onto your lips.

That aspect of your midnight brain struck you as strange. You'd never thought too much about kissing Joe before. Although thoughts about kissing were expected from romantic tension, it wasn't something you actively desired. It wasn't as if you normally thought about Joe's lips- how soft they might be, how gentle he might use them, how not gentle he might use them, or how he might make them dance on other parts of your body.

It wasn't like thinking about those things kept you up at night.

After that, the third fantasy that came your way was waiting until morning to try and rekindle the spark you and Joe created not long ago. Maybe approaching him and trying that would go over well.

Instantly upon registering the thought, you draped your forearm over your eyes with a scoff.

No, that would horribly awkward. The fourth fantasy, you decided, was a more reasonable course of action. What you would do was wait.

You'd wait however long you needed and let things run their course. While it was painful to think of, you concluded that maybe not touching anything would make things better.

While it was rational, that option sounded the least realistic.

Or, maybe, I should just sleep on it. A loud sigh floated from your mouth at the idea. You wanted to be put out of your misery in order to get away from this certain heartache. While you were half-decent at handling your problems, you weren't a miracle worker.

-----

Joe was staring at his door now. He had accepted that he wouldn't be getting any sleep. The best he could do was lay facing the door and hope he'd come up with a course of action to end his suffering and heartache.

His mind wasn't working like yours. There weren't multiple fantasies for him to dwell upon in order to lull him to sleep. There weren't several options floating around in his head. He was stuck, he was antsy, and he was impulsive. Into his mind came only one option, and, unfortunately, it stuck to him. To his disbelief, it was a realistic course of action.

Joe smushed his face into his pillow, sighing loudly. Being tired didn't just make you fantasize more, and he knew it.

Being tired also made you completely, undoubtedly, one-hundred-percent honest. Paired with his impulsive conscience, he had a perfect recipe for humiliation. The worst part of it: he didn't care. Well, she's probably just as tired as I am, he reasoned with his twilight mind, Would it really be that big of a problem? -----

Knock, knock. knock. Naturally, your brain whispered Joe's name the instant you heard a feeble noise in the hallway. Your heart instinctively leapt, but just as quickly, your mind shot down the possibility of him crashing through your door and declaring his intense mutual longing. Perhaps you were truly exhausted now, and had hallucinated the noise to begin with.

Your arm was still over your eyes when there came proper knocks at the door. A startled gasp flew from your mouth. In a wink, you were sitting on the side of your bed and staring intently into the blackness.

"Y/n?" Joe's voice gently seeped through the door. Your eyes lit up, and your heart began to tremble within you. Turns out this isn't a fantasy after all. A hand reached over and turned on the lamp, and you'd never thrown on your robe so fast in your life. Joe was there- he was there for real. "Coming," you cooed, not even thinking of fixing your appearance. None of that mattered; what mattered was getting to the door.

You carefully twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. To your continuing surprise, your tender, 6'2", long-haired, warm-blooded Yorkshire gentleman was standing there. He was in his own robe- his rather short Union Jack robe, if that- and hadn't bothered to fix his appearance in any way at all either. As if you were looking in a mirror, you noticed how tired he seemed all over.

"Joe?" you made your surprise apparent, "What's wrong?"

Honesty, Joe said to himself, Honesty is what's wrong. "I can't sleep," he spoke with such sincerity.

You didn't hesitate to admit, "Me neither. What's got you up?"

Joe did hesitate at first.

"Oh, just- you... and everything we talked about. The gears are turning and I'm- so stressed."

He ran his fingers through his messy hair and faltered before tagging on, "I just wanted to ask you..."

You made your attentiveness clearer. You thought to pinch yourself in order to make sure you were conscious. What could Joe possibly say after seeking out your presence in the middle of the night, only to admit he couldn't stop thinking about you? Your fantasy, perhaps, may have been becoming concrete. If that was the case, you wanted to fulfill some of it yourself. "Would you wanna stay the night?" you both asked in sync with each other.

Each of you were taken aback, and giggled to yourselves as you avoided the other's eyes.

"We think too much alike, you know," Joe shook his head.

You stepped aside, inviting Joe into your apartment.

"I know."

With a twist of the lock, you felt no need for your silly fantasies anymore. You wiped away your stupid grin, and joined Joe on the mattress where he sat.

"I hope I didn't wake you," Joe apologized, "Even if you were having trouble sleeping. It's just- how was I supposed to sleep after an emotional roller-coaster like tonight?"

You sensed his emotional stress, and reached out to sloppily fix his hair from his face. His eyes bashfully darted away from you and looked down at the bed. "I know, I know. That's exactly why I couldn't sleep, either. My mind's all shook up; rattled around."

Your hand ruffled his hair, unable to keep yourself from showing him affection.

He silently laughed while masking the shiver your touch sent through his body.

Joe rubbed one of his legs and went on, "I can't stop thinking about past versions of ourselves. I feel like we could've prevented this whole fucking mess somehow. I feel... I don't know, guilty? And it's keepin' me up..."

While you were paying attention to what he said, you were paying more attention to his body language. Joe was being shy. Everything about him was oozing shyness. It was so out of character for him, even if he were half asleep. He was fidgety and avoiding eye contact with you. Even his choice of words sounded cautious. Not only that, but as soon as you seated yourself by him, there was a definite blush on his cheeks.

It was as if something had changed, but you don't know what. He almost looked like he was trying to be small. Joe's fingers traced shapes on your blanket, "I know things were never meant to be easy, but now things are getting impossible, you know? Like we had one shot and-"

His hand accidentally brushed against yours. The sound of your hearts dropping together was as audible as a gunshot. If he had suddenly taken your hand, it would've been less intimate than such a subtle gesture.

To cover up his accidental action, Joe did take your hand instead.

"-and it's like we blew it."

You could feel his quick pulse through your hand. There was no hiding he was nervous, now.

You other hand was placed on top of his. With a sympathetic smile, you looked at his blushing face and told him, "You didn't blow it, Joe. We're all in the same boat, and it's okay to have doubts. You guys are gonna have your second chance and I know it." He rolled his eyes in thought, still avoiding your look, "Maybe we're not good enough for a second chance..."

His hand was taken away shyly. Joe finally looked at you, but dashed his eyes away instantly.

"Oh, honey..."

Your hand sought him again, reaching out and cupping his cheek so he would look at you. Instead of speaking further, you leaned in and wearily planted a tired kiss on the opposite side of his face. "...you know you're worth it." your voice softly hit the side of his face. Before you could think of a way to pull back and move on with the conversation, Joe went completely rigid. Without thinking, you froze, too.

The magic was back- you both knew it. This was what you needed to get through the night.

You held yourself there at his jaw for a second or two, then carefully drug your lips over the side of his face, only stopping when they met his own. There was no other fitting action at that point; no other appropriate thing to do besides giving him a real kiss. Joe turned his head slowly, closing his eyes and complying with the sealed embrace. It seemed the thought of his lips were keeping you up at night after all. You both kept your eyes shut when the kiss ended. The dreamy sensation had captured you both; magic, indeed.

"Seems to me like we got a second chance tonight..." you whispered close to his mouth when your eyes fluttered open. Joe was now blushing even more strongly than just a moment ago.

He exhaled in surprise. The unexpected kiss had taken his words (and his breath) away. "Oh thank god, Y/n... I've been waiting so..." instead of saying something, he leaned in again to softly press his lips back against yours.

There was no more starvation, no more heartache, and no more fantasies. The only fantasy to be found was the present moment; the man of your dreams, kissing you gently, just as you had dreamed of.

Suddenly, you both felt you'd found the right bed at last.