#but. consider. i really really want to. i love quilting so much it's such a beautiful art..... it would be nice to have something

[intertexts]

i sgould get really into quiltin.g.

[ink-through-her-veins]

As with all momentous things, it began slowly. A sleep tunic and a change of clothes, became a drawer of Merlin’s clothes in Arthur’s wardrobe. Then a book on one of the nightstands turned into the entire thing becoming Merlin’s tiny library because he needed choices when it came to bedtime reading. And half of Arthur’s wardrobe was crammed with Merlin’s clothes, and the quilt his mother made laid over the foot of the bed that Arthur called their’s, and there was enough dust in the room that used to be Merlin’s for it to be considered well and truly abandoned.

Until…

“I cannot fucking believe you!” Merlin shouted, slamming open the door, and striding through it without a care in the world if said door ricocheted back to hit Arthur in the face.

Which it would have if Arthur weren’t trained since birth to have cat-like reflexes. He caught the door, glared at it, and seethed. He flopped down in chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and waited for Merlin to calm himself.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Arthur closed his eyes against the pounding in his head. He had plenty to say, none of which would make Merlin any less upset. So he sat in silence until he couldn’t bear the curiosity of what Merlin was doing to make so much noise. He turned, and his heart stopped. In Merlin’s hand was his rucksack that usually hung on a hook beside the wardrobe, and was now full of Merlin’s clothes, and books, and—he’d even packed the fucking quilt.

“No.” Arthur stood, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. No.”

“What?”

“You. This. Whatever idiocy you’re thinking, no.”

“I’m going to my room, Arthur, where I can be away from whatever idiocy you’re thinking.”

“This is your room,” Arthur said slowly, and deliberately so the words could sink in through Merlin’s thick skull. “Do you not think it strange that you have to pack to go to your room? That all your things are here, and you haven’t slept in that tiny closet for months? You don’t just move out because you’re upset with me. You call me an idiot, and turn your head when I try to kiss you, and if I’ve really pissed you off—“

“You have,” Merlin interjected.

“Then you throw my pillow onto a chair and make me sleep in it!” Arthur shouted, and then bit his lip, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears. Maybe Merlin was more than upset. Maybe…fuck. He sniffled, and softly added, “But you don’t walk out unless you stop loving me.”

Merlin’s rucksack dropped to the floor. “I didn’t—Of course, I love you. I didn’t realize. I just thought…”

“What? That I let all my servants claim my space, and half my bed?”

“Well I hadn’t thought we’d officially moved in together,” Merlin admitted sheepishly.

“We have. Months ago. You live here. I’m a prat. You’re all caught up now.”

And if Merlin wanted to linger in the argument before, he didn’t anymore. He didn’t even really want an apology for Arthur’s pigheadedness, but he got one kissed into his neck, and his lips, and his hair.

(Arthur’s the idiot in modern times here)

[strawberrygummiess]

pink in the night.

malleus x gender neutral! reader 1k words cross posted on ao3 "At one point, Malleus believed he woke up to see the night sky. But now he was convinced he woke up to see you."

 Malleus believes he wakes up to see the stars.

The night sky was truly a gift from Mother Nature herself. She throws a blanket of darkness over the scenery of Night Raven College, with speckles of starlight peeking through, almost like a homemade, crocheted quilt. She tucks in her children with chaste kisses of the night breeze and leaves a little moonlight to ease their fears of the unknown. It was a tranquil showcase of her love for the world and Malleus couldn’t help but mischievously sneak out of bed to see the beauty in her work.

"Ever the poet," Lilia would always remark. Malleus never really agreed. The poetry wrote itself; he only verbalized what he saw. He wasn’t the creative type, he decided. It wasn’t that he sought and found beauty in unconventional places, like a certain Pomefiore Vice Houswarden, it’s only that he recognized what was clearly in front of him. Although, the presence of the Ramshackle Prefect made him consider singing sonnets from the rooftops.

You had been a surprise for him on his nightly walks. He had come to expect the usual landmarks on campus, broken up by the occasional scurrying creature. But you- you were something completely unexpected. A new student, naively curious. Kind, warm, fearless. You were ignorant of who he was; being from another world (how lucky for him!) left him with endless possibilities. With you, he was no longer Malleus Draconia, the crown prince of Briar Valley, and one of the most powerful mages in the world. He was-

“Tsunotarou! Or Hornton. Your choice… never mind, I’ll just use both.”

Malleus replayed that night over and over. How could he not? This was it. A friend. He wasn’t being presumptuous, it was you who gave him a nickname (not that you had a choice of course, but you gave him two) you who joined him on his walks, you who listened to his rambles, you, you. Clearly, you wanted to befriend him. Who else would be this forward?

At one point, Malleus believed he woke up to see the night sky. But now he was convinced he woke up to see you.

This was the conclusion he came to after tonight’s walk with you. You led the conversation this time. You spoke about the adventures you were dragged into; your frustrations with your feline companion and Headmaster Crowley; and how much you enjoyed the night walks with him.

Wait, what?

“Tsunotarou? Hello?” You dragged out the “o” in an endearingly casual manner, stepping in front of him as you tried to ground him back into the moment.

“You in there? Were you listening to me?” You teased, crossing your arms and smiling. You tilted your head to the side as you tried to read his face. He felt entirely exposed; like you could hear his beating heart and see how enamored he was by you. You, however, wished he’d give you a clue about how he was feeling.

“Of course I was, Child of Man,” He responded calmly. He hoped his butterfly-filled stomach didn’t betray his voice. Your favorite part of the day was the walks with him. He’d never been so ecstatic. “I always listen to you,”

You don’t say anything. You continue smiling and narrow your eyes, still looking for something else. Your expression mirrors one Lilia would use before he scolded him. Were you truly mad at him? He could (and would, if you asked) recall everything you said in the past half hour. He would prove that he was listening, deserving of your presence, a good friend- more if you let him. Malleus would literally move mountains if you asked.

“Hey! You’re doing it again, Hornton. Get out of your head.”

Your touch is electrifying. It almost burns. He hears you exclaim about “how cold” his skin is, but only vaguely. What he did notice, was how your hand was holding his face. A concerned look replaced your teasing smile as you studied him. You mumbled again about how cold he was, and pressed your other hand to his forehead, brushing under his bangs.

“If you were sick, why did you walk over here? Now you’ve made it worse!” You scolded, bringing him closer to your height as you gently rubbed his cheeks, attempting to warm him up. “At this rate, you’ll freeze. I mean seriously, you’re as cold as ice!”

Malleus had half a mind to tell you that he was completely fine. He wasn’t sick at all, fae just ran a bit cold. Colder than what a human could stand. Yet he decided to entertain your doting, smiling slightly.

“I apologize, Child of Man. I didn’t want to ruin your favorite part of the day. Do forgive me,” It was his turn to tease. Just a little. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge in your attention. You click your tongue, before releasing his head and declaring the walk “over”. Pity. He was hoping you’d hold him for a bit longer. He usually wasn’t very tolerant of the heat, but he was happy to withstand it if it meant you held him longer.

“C’mon Tsunotarou,” You announce, walking back in the direction you came. “We gotta go back to my dorm. I’ll wrap you in a blanket burrito and feed you some tuna soup…” you cringe. “It tastes better than it sounds, promise.” You clarify, before decisively grabbing his hand and gently tugging him forward.

He listens to you explain different ways you’ve learned to transform canned tuna because of Grim, to varying success. You once again reassure him that the soup is one of the better creations, before continuing your rant about “missing regular meat,” and “tuna isn’t even the best fish!” but at this point, Malleus can only focus on the warm grip of your hand on his and the constant hammering of his heart.

Oh, the poems he’d write about you. They’d feature tales of fish and ice, comparisons to the peace of the night, and love letters from the starry sky. But really, he wouldn’t be doing much work. He only verbalized the beauty he saw, after all.

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 2

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring nightclub owner! Javier Peña)

Word count: 1,736

Summary: After reflecting on the ups and (mostly) downs of your relationship with Javier, you make a decision about your future.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for allusions to smut. Mention of selling drugs (Javi). Mentions of past infidelities (Javi again). Mention of illegal activities going on in Javi's club. Threats towards Javier. Basically Javier Pena is a walking red flag but reader was in love.

Author's note: this is basically just backstory on how reader and Javi got together. Dave makes an appearance at the end. Also, big love to everyone who's taken the time to read/reblog, or leave a nice little comment. 💜

Series Masterlist

I told you so.

That's the phrase booming through every thought in your brain as you try to come to terms with Javi's infidelity.

And it wasn't even the first time. You could kick yourself for being so trusting and so blind.

From the moment you'd met Javier Pena, who sold drugs to your friends behind the football field bleachers during your senior year of high school, you'd fallen for his bad boy persona. Motorcycle, leather jacket, aviators, cigarette resting between pouty lips, perfectly groomed mustache. He looked like the saxophone solo from "Careless Whisper".

He'd graduated six years ahead of you, and still came around campus, a legend in his own mind. That should have been your first red flag.

But out of all the girls who flirted with him, you were the one he wanted.

He'd whisked you away on his motorcycle, bringing you home so late that your parents forbade you from seeing him. But nothing could stop true love, that's what you had with him. Javier saw you, made you feel seen. He listened to you, big brown eyes studying your every feature, compelling you to kiss him, to do things you ordinarily wouldn't have.

You were engaged right after you graduated, much to the consternation of your family. But when your engagement seemed to go on and on without an actual wedding date in sight, you had your doubts that he really wanted to marry you.

After giving him an ultimatum which led to Javi telling you he wanted to wait another few years to actually tie the knot, you'd separated from him, giving back his ring, crying yourself to sleep as your mom or your sister would make their best attempts at soothing you. Seeing him with other girls - a different one riding behind him on his motorcycle each time - during those separations only further broke your heart. You found out you weren't so special after all.

But he always came back, always smooth talked his way to your too-good heart. And you let him back in, grateful for his kisses again, grateful for the way his body molded to yours, the splay of his hands across your hips as he bent you over and fucked his way back into your life.

The wedding, when it finally happened, went by in such a blur-- the two of you at the county courthouse, Javi in his best suit, bolo tie and new shiny boots, you in a simple lacy white dress you'd found at a consignment store, tailored to your measurements, and flowers in your hair. Javi had whjisked you away right after the ceremony, unceremoniously fucking you in the backseat of your car.

You'd always wanted kids, your maternal instinct going haywire any time any of your friends announced they were pregnant. You'd run your fingers longingly along the wooden cribs and quilted blankets on display at Target. It felt like the end of the world when Javi admitted he couldn't give you any children. His 'family visit to South Texas' just a couple months after your marriage was actually him recuperating after his vasectomy. You'd nearly left him then, deeply hurt by his secrecy and betrayal, but considered that you could make him change his mind one day, and he'd have it reversed.

A married man, he wanted to rely on steady income to support you besides selling weed and adderall to high schoolers. One thing he was good at was showing people a good time. He had his heart set on opening a strip club, but when you vehemently refused to stay married to him if he did just that, he set his sights on the next best thing and bought out an old roller rink with the help of his lifelong buddy Steve Murphy and renovated it into a nightclub.

His purchase of the club drained any savings you'd amassed in the first few years of your marriage, and you only saw a return on the investment once he'd promoted every night, made deals with shady people, allowed a few illegal gambling, drug, and prostitution outfits to operate within the walls of his new sanctuary. You looked the other way, only able to stomach the idea of being okay with it when Javi offered to buy you your own small business.

All your life you loved two things: baking and literature. Fresh croissants over the latest Janet Evanovich, homemade chocolates and The Great Gatsby. Ever the businessman, Javi talked you into creating your own business, gifting you the seed money to open Fiction & Frosting more expeditiously than you were comfortable with, mainly because you knew just where the funds for your business were coming from.

Planning and decorating had been the fun part to get you away from that thinking. You made the place your own, with your stylistic touches and smooth melodies to play over the ambience. You handpicked the titles that went into your store, including New York Times bestsellers along with lesser known authors and self-published works. Meet and greets were held, helping to gain traction when well-known authors were brought in to do press for their latest releases and for up and coming writers to display their own works.

You were proud of your own business, and eventually made enough money to pay Javier back for his investment. But even though your conscience was clean, your problems weren't necessarily over.

With Javi at the club most nights, you were lonely. It would be near dawn when he'd come home, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol, and, occasionally, another woman's perfume. And still he'd curl up next to you, kissing your neck as if nothing was wrong, spooning you so you could feel his bulging erection through your pajamas.

You'd stayed away, hoping to keep separate the Javi you loved and the Javi you knew had a business to maintain. But one night in particular your curiosity got the best of you and you found yourself driving to the club close to closing time.

The interior, tacky red and orange lighting that gave you the feeling of entering Hell, glowed with an intimidating glare as you looked around for your husband. Music blared from the DJ booth. The bartender on duty gave you vague answers as to Javi's whereabouts, but Steve was there, nursing a glass of Stoli. He coolly informed you Javi was in his office, and you chose to ignore the wry little smile on his face.

The closer you got to his office in the back, the more muffled the music got. But that only served to make louder the pounding of your heart, booming in your ears.

Seeing him at his desk with a woman on her knees, bobbing her head up and down enthusiastically was not what you expected to find. You immediately ran away, tears streaming down your face as you went out the back alley, slumped against the wall, defeated and heartbroken. When Javi found you, apologizing and telling you she didn't mean anything to him, you pushed him away, cursed him, wanted to kill him.

But Javi was Javi, and despite the way he broke your heart so many times, you couldn't make yourself stop loving him. And so you made the choice to believe him, to hug him, to keep from leaving him.

You think about that night now that you're actually leaving him.

Like a bird with a broken wing you go straight to your parents' house, and they invite you in without a second thought, holding in their own 'I told you so's' until you repudiate Javier yourself, recounting every time he 'interviewed' for bottle girls, groped a waitress, or lied about any little thing. You shine the light on his villainy, and in your hurt and angst, it feels good. You leave out the parts about the illegal activities.. it's already too much to tell them of his more hurtful iniquities.

"He never deserved you, sweetheart, I knew it from the beginning," your father says to comfort you.

"He made a pass at me last Thanksgiving," your younger sister says.

"He made a pass at me on Mother's Day," your mom says.

You shake your head, hating everything that you're hearing. But you force yourself to face the facts you've been avoiding for so long.

Your dad and brother go with you to get your things, providing a buffer between you and Javier, who's begging you to come back. He looks bedraggled, unshaven and unkempt, so unlike the put-together man you've come to know. You don't have the heart to meet his eyes, only gaining some satisfaction when your brother shields you from him while your dad helps carry your stuff out to his truck. It's the only bright spot in your day when they threaten to beat the ever-loving shit out of him if he dares to come near you again. You've never seen Javier scared until that moment.

You're so strong, your family commends you as you as you find a small place to rent, making your split official.

Your first night alone, after your sister has left and you're tidying up, putting away the washed wine glasses, you remember Dave.

In all the hubbub of the messy end of your marriage, you think of the divorce attorney, and you grab his card from your purse.

David L. York, Divorce & Family Law

The next morning you call and are put through to his direct line. Hearing his voice over the phone, so professional and yet warm, brings you back to that day you met him, and you feel a sensation of butterflies in your stomach.

"It's me," you give him your name and he remembers you immediately, bringing a smile to your face for the first time in days.

"I've been by a few times for coffee but I haven't seen you there," he says with some concern, and the butterflies multiply when you realize he'd actually sought you out.

"I've been busy," you make a lame excuse. "And not feeling very well."

"Oh," he replies. "Which is it? Busy or not feeling well?" he teases.

"Considering what I'm about to tell you.. both."

"What's going on? What can I do for you?" he asks, as if he'd do anything at all you ask.

"Oh, I heard you handle divorces. And I'd like to hire you to do mine."

dividers by @strangergraphics & @saradika-graphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @eviispunk @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal

@sunnytuliptime @mysticsuitcasealmondwombat @joelmillerisapunk

@almostfoxglove @itwasntimethatdidit40 @604to647

@milla-frenchy @everybodylovedcontractors

[danileepearce]

hey, do u miss forums

ive been meaning to post here for what feels like forever, but i've been so busy for so long now that i've just forgotten to until now

from october to november i got heavily involved with building a forum website alongside 5 others, as a very deliberate return to creating a new internet third space at a time where we are sorely lacking in them. it's called "yellowtealpurple.net." (link in image)

this site is built and designed with the intent of making a space for artists and creatives who don't want to deal with the chaos and uncertainty of social media. its entirely self owned and funded with yours truly as one of the central admins under the alias of "dani_phantump". its meant to be a guaranteed space where creatives can share their work and know that it will be seen, as well as a space meant to intentionally nurture a close sense of community online, which i also feel we are sorely lacking in the present day.

we also have a very clearly outlined policy about AI absolutely not being welcome, as we've seen that this is something artists everywhere seem to grieve over and we think we are greatly in need of a space that allows art to be art without trying to "generate" anything from it. social media circles/cliques for me just don't cut it. if you've been around online for as long as i have, you'll know on a deep level that this is the some form of real thing, warts and all. obviously forums are not for everyone, but what we have just has never felt satisfactory. corporate entities controlling online space has just never been what ive vibed with so this is essentially acting as my own lil circumvention

there's spaces here outlined for artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers, game devs, programmers, video artists, sound artists, even archivists. with social media and other sites being so corporate with their design, this site is deliberately made with a more old-school "homespun" online aesthetic. much of the direction of this site's purpose, functionality and look has been dictated by my instruction, as i approached this project with probably the clearest vision of all the admins. ive found lately that this kind of community organizing is one of my true callings and i want to use what i know from experience to try to make at least one site on the internet a more colorful and human place to be again.

as an admin i am deeply committed to maintaining a degree of safety, harmony and quality for my site and for the community that organizes on it. my dream is to rally together creatives of all stripes and have us cross pollinate in ways that social media doesn't really allow. we've already got some big site-wide creative projects underway that allows everyone to each show off our creative talents in cool ways, such as art quilts, a collaborative experimental film, and a lot of other stuff. i want people to feel like they're a part of something meaningful, as i also want for myself, because we all deserve that today.

sign-ups officially opened last November and we've already reached almost 400 members! i greatly encourage everyone i know, not just creatives, to consider checking this place out and all of our hard work. we would love for you all to join us and add whatever it is youre willing to contribute to this community!

[crownedinmarigolds]

What's in my OC's bag.... Noa Hidalgo edition! 🥀🩷💀

Thank you to @rtby for the inspiration!! So fun and it really makes you think about what they value and want to take with them... AHH love it!! I tag anyone who wants to do this - and don't feel like you have to photoshop it all together or anything I just have a lot in mind for her...! Explanations of everything beneath the cut if you're interested!

Christian Dior Pink Cannage Quilted Leather Purse - probably a gift from Nythanel for one of her birthdays or their anniversaries! It's her favorite color and of course large enough to carry her things.

Vivienne Westwood Wallet - To carry all the black AMEX cards ~

Her day planner - Full of notes and is basically her holy bible. Were she a big bad in a Chronicle, this would probably be a key item to try and snatch from her honestly...

A bundle of letters - Handwritten love letters (both sweet devotion and probably filth) from her knight in bloody armor.

Older sliding phone - Noa likes the keyboard best for any typing she may do, though she does prefer to call. It serves its purpose, she takes care of it, and of course it's her favorite color. She doesn't like touch screens.

Photographs - She must carry pictures of her beloveds everywhere she goes!

Headphones - Noa sometimes when alone and waiting may like to listen to something and finds it rude to play anything without headphones. She doesn't like things directly in her ears so she prefers these kinds.

Fountain pen set - In her favorite color, just in case she needs to take notes!

Blotting paper - Noa has the Sanctifying Kiss, which means her lips are always shining with red vitae. She occasionally needs to dab it away.

Hairbrush - Noa has a mountain of black hair, and things happen! Can never be too careful with your style.

Travel sewing kit - Noa picked up sewing over her years and considering how much she values her wardrobe, she needs to be able to fix it up.

Book of Hours - A gift from her knight. Originally used back in the day by husbands to their wives in more of the Christian sense, it has been re-tooled to be more devotional messages to her rather than God... well, perhaps for him they are the same? x3

[ofstarsandvibranium]

lemme tell you, your writing is 🤌 every time!

if you’re still taking jamie requests, may i request a jamie x fem!reader where they’re first time parents and when the team comes and meets the new baby, they take keeley and roy aside and name them godparents? i love when big gruff men (roy) get all soft and sentimental🥹❤️‍🩹

(jamie is such a girl dad)

Your daughter was only a few hours old, and you knew you would anything to love and protect her.

Jamie, who sat beside you on the hospital bed, was holding her. Her eyes shut, just recently fed, a quilt that Simon, Jamie's stepdad, knitted, wrapped around her tiny body.

"She's so beautiful," Jamie murmurs, fingers lightly grazing your daughter's little plump cheeks. You tiredly watch him admire the precious girl you two made.

There was a knock at the door to your hospital room and you raise your voice slightly, careful not to wake your girl up, "Come in."

The door opens and Keeley pops her head in. You break out into a smile as she quietly squeals and gestures Roy to follow her in.

"She sleeping?" she asks.

You nod, "Yeah, she's just been fed."

Roy and Keeley inch closer to Jamie's side and peering down at your daughter. Keeley gasps, "She's so cute! So tiny!"

"Thank fuck she looks more like you," he points at you and you smirk. Jamie rolls his eyes.

"What's her name?"

"Willow Georgina Tartt," Jamie answers with pride.

"That's such a cute name! Did you tell your mum about it?"

You nod, "Oh yeah. She burst into tears. They're visiting in a few days. Want to give us some time to adjust to Willow."

"Also," Jamie speaks up, "Me and the wife were thinking...maybe you could be Willow's godparents, yeah?"

Keeley's jaw drops and her eyes begin to water, "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, I'd fucking love to be her godparent!"

Jamie smiles and looks at Roy, "Grandad, how 'bout you?"

With his usual stoic face, Roy responds, "I guess someone's gotta look out for the little idiot."

Keeley is jumping and quietly clapping her hands together, "I love you guys so fucking much, you have no idea! Roy, we're godparents!"

You chuckle and settle into bed more, resting your head on Jamie's shoulder as Roy and Keeley continue to coo over Willow.

______________________

Two weeks later you and Jamie are making your way to the locker room. Baby Willow is wide awake. She's wearing her AFC Richmond kit onesie that's obviously made to look like Jamie's.

She's staring up at you as you roll her pram down the hall. You stop outside the locker room and see that Roy has already got the team's attention.

"We have a very special guest, so you all better fucking behave."

Jamie lifts Willow out of her pram and enters the locker room.

All of the guys gasp, eyes wide, and smiles big.

Jamie smiles back, a sense of pride filling up inside him, "Alright, blokes, this here Willow Georgina Tartt. I'm just gonna have to ask not everyone come out at once. She gets a bit startled around lots of people. Also, if you haven't already, wash your hands! Don't want you getting me baby sick!" Jamie commands in a very protective tone.

Sam is the first one to come up and smiles at Willow, "Oh she is very cute." He bends down a bit to be more eye level with her, "Hello Willow. I'm Sam Obisanya."

Willow stares blanky at him and proceeds to smile.

"Aaawww!" you all say.

You sit on the bench beside Roy, watching the guys meet your daughter.

"She's going to be so spoiled by these guys."

"Considering how your baby shower went, yeah. They're all wrapped around her tiny finger." Roy rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest and watching with how in love everyone is with his goddaughter.

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

*°:⋆ₓₒ day 25. fuck party

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “merry christmas”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the ministry is all decorated in festive decor and it truly feels like the holidays are in season! now… what do these ghouls want to do with you?

pairing: era iv nameless ghouls x gn!reader

a/n: first off i just want to apologize for the last few days being so late. i really did try my best to make sure that each day had a good fic. this is the only fic that doesn’t really follow the prompt, but i tried my best. consider this fic a nice little letter for the start of 2024. happy new year, and please enjoy !!!

cw: slight nsfw content. horny ghouls. poly ghouls. implied orgy near the end. there’s nothing nsfw that really happens, just mentioned.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

“we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~” —❤︎

┅✦┅

the entire month has been a rollercoaster of emotions. each day you felt like something wild and absolutely ecstatic happens to you every day. it has only made your holiday season more and more interesting.

and now here you were, all cozied and nestled in your room, the scent of roasted chestnuts and currier ives lingering in the air. you sat atop your wooly quilt, with eight different letters in hand.

the slips were underneath your door when you came back from a long shift of working in the ministry. they were all decorated and colored differently, each envelope having its own unique flair and personality to it. you didn’t even have to read the names to know who’s was who.

smiling to yourself, you opened each letter one by one, excited to read what’s inside.

—

you had started off with the shiny white envelope. it was decorated in cute stationary stickers and the front was written in a glittery pink pen. at the bottom left corner of the envelope was a pink laced ribbon tied neatly with your name on it. if there was anyone that loved colors more than the entire human population, it was your favorite colorful ghoulette.

“aurora’s letter of thanks”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ to my dear y/n,

hello my darling! i hope this letter reaches you well, because i know how the others can get at times~ happy holidays, my love. i know that this month has been busy for you because of the constant yule traditions, but i’m delighted that you were able to make some time for me and that we could make gingerbread houses together like usual! and i gotta say… your tongue skills never fail to impress me~ you made me come so hard i swore i was going to pass out!! but really though… thanks for being such a sweetie to me, the ministry really doesn’t deserve you. i hope to see you soon for our little surprise~

with lots of love,

aurora ghoulette

—

the next envelope was colored in a dreamy grey, with cute hearts inked in pen on the cover, it gave off a much more serene and calm vibe compared to the vibrant letter of aurora’s. at the back was a little pocket that contained a written song. after careful observing, you had determined it belonged to an infamous air ghoulette. oh what a songbird she was.

“cumulus’ dreamy songbird”

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫༄ؘ hello darling ♡︎

what a beautiful winter night, is it not? i often like to be in touch with nature when i’m writing, helps me keep my mind at center. how have you been, darling? i hope you’ve been better after our little passionate night in bed. you were so cute with how you were eagerly trying to get my lingerie off… it was charming, really. though, putting the promiscuity aside, i just want to really want to send this love letter to you as a token of my thanks. you’re my little songbird, and you inspire me to do better, whether it’s songwriting or performing. so as a token of my gratitude.. i’ve prepared a … special song for you. i hope you like it. anyways… come see me later, i’ll sing it.. specially for you~ i love you, dove, and i wish you a happy new year ♡︎♡︎♡︎

your dearest,

cumulus ghoulette

—

the texture of the next letter was earthy and coarse, but it emitted the soft aroma of fresh pine leaves. it seems that this letter was specially crafted personally for you. just from the scent and touch alone, you smiled to yourself knowing it came from a certain earth ghoul. upon opening it, there was a little sunflower necklace attached to the sand paper letter.

“mountain’s delighted memories”

*:..｡o○ to y/n,

hope you’re doing well, and that this year has been treating you well. i appreciate you approaching me that night… and throwing me into the passions of bed. i gotta say, those faces you made when i came deep inside of you, filling you up with me seed, it still gets me going. just being honest here. the reason i’m bringing this up is well… i want to make more memories like that with you. ones that we can share together, and make ourselves feel like we’re ascending to the heavens we can’t reach. you’re really someone that makes me want to just go all out, and in many ways. which is why my gift to you this year.. is going to be imprinted into your mind for eons to come. so, if you want to find more… stop by soon please, i’ll be waiting. ‘till then, have a good christmas.

from your love,

mountain ghoul

—

this paper was crumpled and slightly torn. it looked like it was made in a rush, but it held a certain charm to it. there were little trinkets and treats attached to the letter, all of which had a cute homemade vibe to it. the faded streaks of purple pen gave away who it belonged to, and you couldn’t be more happy when a certain bug came to mind.

“phantom’s sweet treats”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ hi y/n!

i missed you :(( and i know that we live in the same ministry, but you’re so busy and i barely get to see you! which is why i dragged you out to ‘look for a christmas tree’ with me. i gotta say, i was nervous… but seeing how you reacted when i pounded you against that tree.. satanas, still sends shivers down my spine. after that night, i just can’t stop thinking about you. the way you reacted to my touch, oh it was so good. i put together some handmade goodies for you, hope you like them. think of it as my way of saying thanks for a good night :) on that note, i’m sure the other letters have talked about meeting in a special place. i’ll be there, and i’ll be sure to give you all of my attention <3

love,

phantom ghoul

—

closing the envelope shut, you grabbed the next one. lipstick marks stained the paper perfectly, imprinting kisses everywhere. looking at the particular shade of red of the lipstick, you instantly thought of a certain keyboardist. there was a soft pink rose attached underneath the slip, and you opened the envelope with ease.

“cirrus’ gratitude”

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤ evening darling,

i take that christmas has been well for you, huh? it certainly seems like it has been, considering how you were with me during that night in the log cabin ;)) we have to do that more often, sweetheart. you were so cute, with how your face was squished up against the window while i went to town on you… oh, still gets me wet, i can’t lie. it’s one of my favorite memories this season, and for that, i thank you. thanks for being such a delightful and loving partner. you’re honestly a saving grace for me, and you always make me feel good, both in and out of the bedroom. honestly, i’ve never met someone as good in bed as you are. so, as a token of my gratitude, i want you to meet me with the other ghouls tonight. it’ll be fun sweetheart, i promise.

from your dearest,

cirrus ghoulette ❤︎

—

looking at the next letter with intrigue, you were greeted with a faint smell of cologne, the scent of it was soft and reminded you of the beach. laced over the envelope was a red ribbon with seashells and shark tooth carved trinkets at the end. what a gorgeous sight. you opened it, and smiled upon recognizing the stunning calligraphy ingrained on the paper.

“rain’s poem”

｡･ﾟﾟ･ dear y/n,

having a good christmas? you better be, otherwise i’ll make sure you are. but for real though, i’m sure this year has been great for you. i would also like to thank you for.. ‘helping’ me with my own personal gift. you looked so goddamn good tied up in my bed like that. i’ll admit, i got carried away with my words, but i know damn well you were into me treating you like my bitch while i dicked you down on the mattress. though, that made me realize how much you love my honeyed words, so i’ll use this opportunity to praise instead to degrade. y/n, you’re an absolute starlight in my life, a treasure like no other. i’d move the heavens and pits for you. it’s cheesy, but it’s true, and i promise to show you how much i love you in any way i can. come by soon ❦

from your favorite water boy,

rain ghoul

—

the next letter had an ashy and brazened texture, but it shone with a brimstone-like layer to it. the paper was slightly calloused, and there was a fiery flair to it that could only be from one infamous firecracker you knew of. popping off the sloppily made wax seal, you opened it to find an equally burnt letter, but the sight made you smile.

“sodo’s confessions”

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐒 to my y/n,

i’d ask you how you’re doing n’ shit, but i’m not good with words, or greetings nonetheless. so to get things out of the way, i’m going to be as straightforward as possible. y/n, i want to fuck you so badly this christmas right now. that night we shared, in my bedroom, fuck that was so hot. i loved the way you reacted every time i brought the candle wax down on your body. you looked so goddamn sexy covered in all of that… and the memory still makes my dick so hard. call me a pervert or whatever, but i’m proud to be one for you. i can’t help myself when i’m around you. your body, your scent, everything, it drives me fucking insane. don’t tell the other ghouls, but you’re my favorite, and i really can’t figure out why… guess i’m just so drawn to you. at midnight, when you meet the others, i’ll be sure to let them know who can make you feel the best in bed. and that’s not a threat, that’s a fucking promise. but ‘till then, i’ll be waiting for you, sweet thing

i love you,

sodo ghoul

—

the final letter had a reddish stain on it. bringing it closer to your nose, you got a faint whiff of red whine from the stain. the designs on the letter were intricate and creative, but there was a suave and sultry feel to this letter. if there was any infernal who knew how to be smooth, it was a certain multi ghoul with the voice of an angel.

“swiss’ invitation”

❤︎*♡∞:｡.｡ to my love,

welcome, darling~ i know how much you like the smell of wine, so i indulged you a bit in my envelope for you. merry christmas, and thank you for being such a passionate lover. gotta say, bunny, you looked so cute that one night when you were sitting on my cock. the way your rosy cheeks just got more pink every time you looked at me, desperate to stay warm… ooh, that’s what you call hot. good to know that i was able to keep you warm during that snowy night, and i got to get my dick wet too. so it was a win/win situation for the two of us, dear~ but all jokes aside, i had come up with the plan to treat my favorite sibling of sin to some… fun this season. i conspired with all of the other ghouls and ghoulettes to help me, and i’m sure they all mentioned in their letters that they want to meet up with you too. we want to make this holiday special, dear. come on down to the nave of the ministry… you won’t be disappointed. merry christmas, sweetheart~

forever yours,

swiss ghoul

—

folding all the letters neatly and piling them on your desk, you smirked to yourself, and got up from the bed to start walking over to the nave of the church. each step carried your eager body closer to a lustful, passionate and loving location.

whatever your lovers were planning… you knew it was going to be a good one.

eyeing up the tall, church doors, you pushed them open to be met with a glorious sight.

the moonlight streamed through the glass panes windows of the dimly lit nave. candles aligned everywhere with ribbons decorating every corner and crevice. but the best sight of all… were the infamous nameless ghouls themselves.

they were all dressed for the occasion, all dolled up to your liking. the ghoulettes were in matching lingerie, but in different colors. aurora in a rose gold, cumulus in white and cirrus in black. they all huddled together and perked up upon seeing you. you looked to the other side to see another group of ghouls. rain’s expression was neutral, but there was a promiscuous glint in his eyes as the red ribbon twirled between his fingers. sodo’s expression was as hungry as ever, eyeing like a piece of candy while holding onto a candle. phantom looked excited, but jittery, claws digging into his seat, and mountain looked as calm and collected as ever, albeit, not minding the little problem in his pants.

from the center, swiss emerged, and he looked down at you with a wicked, yet lustful grin. his tail flicked about to the side, and you looked up at him with curious eyes, chuckling, his long fingers traced around your jaw and gently clasped around it while craning your head up, making you look at him.

he smiled at you,

and in return you smiled.

“merry christmas, y/n.” he spoke suavely, his words still as honeyed as ever.

he then stepped behind you, gently massaging your shoulders and holding onto you. with a snap of his fingers, the ghouls and ghoulettes giggled and approached closer to you, lust on their minds.

oh

this would certainly be a christmas to remember~

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

[jazzeria]

A lil update on my lil blankie: more signs of wear in the construction, flaws are showing themselves, and the fabrics are breaking in (some nicely, some are wearing).

3 Jan 2025

So by now, Lil Blankie is about 7 weeks old and has been washed about 5 times.

I sleep with the blanket every night. Sometimes I cover my head and eyes as I sleep. Sometimes I wear it like a cape around my shoulders as I go about my business in the home. Every second day or so, I spend several minutes just snuggling it for the sheer joy of it--and also for science, of course.

But increasingly, there's a sense of... Well, it's less lighthearted than it used to be. I can see and feel Lil Blankie ageing and wearing down--recording it makes me even more aware of it. I'm feeling the entropy.

But also, that was kinda the point of this project: to prepare for repairing my (much larger, and much more emotionally significant) childhood blankie by testing various fabrics, practising the skills required, and, perhaps, becoming comfortable with the idea of wear and repair.

...

The flannel pilling is becoming more noticeable. I'm not sure if this is just because I'm more conscious of it, or if it's actually getting appreciably worse. Hard to say at this point.

The Essex cotton-linen continues to break in beautifully, becoming more and more pliable. The texture is still coarse however.

I'm really enjoying this lovely criss-cross crinkle!

The Sprout Woven is softening beautifully, too. I'm starting to see some wear, but I think it's a good thing: little raised fibres like you'd see on flannel. I can see why this is sometimes used for quilting! I think it's gonna be cuddly and squishy and just generally really nice for snuggling!

The Japanese wovens haven't changed much since last time: they still have a "crispness" that hasn't washed out: a bit stiff, and about as coarse as before. I wonder if they will soften before they wear out?

The only exception is, where the Japanese wovens are backed by the thinnest quilting cottons, there is some kind of transferrence of the quilting cotton's pliability, through to this side... I can't tell if this is purely a psychological phenomenon, or an empirically objective quality. It might be the Japanese woven slipping slightly against the smooth quilting cotton.

In any case, they still have a slightly coarse texture, which I'm attributing to the weave (perhaps a slub in the yarns, or just a coarser weave), and they've developed a criss-cross crinkle as well.

A small patch of the pale blue-purple woven had a tear that I noticed during construction, and patched with fusible stabiliser on the wrong side. The stabiliser quickly wore off (second or third wash?) and the tear began fraying. But I don't think it's grown any larger. I'll have to remember to measure it in future posts.

The Japanese print (which I've since learned is a heavier 220 gsm cotton) continues to break in beautifully. While it's not as cuddly as Sprout Woven, or as smooth as quilting cottons, it feels... "sturdy" and "reliable". I really really want some house pants made from this fabric! But I could imagine a long-cherished blanket being made from it, too.

Here's some shots of the tear I noticed last time. I think it's grown a little since the last post.

On the triangle side (which was made using various quilting cottons)...

In general, all these cottons have softened up beautifully. I think they're at peak softness right now: the most pliable, before they start to fuzz and wear out. So I guess I need to record how long before they fuzz and wear out.

The thinnest cottons, I think they're more appropriately described as "lawn": about 95 gsm, thin enough I can see my hand through, very smooth. For the purposes of these posts, I'll consider them a sub-set of "quilting cottons".

Here's my favourite wrinkly triangle (incorrectly sized during cutting, and stretched/squished to make the triangle points fit together nicely):

When I search for the softest quilting cotton, the order is still:

lawns, when backed by flannel

any quilting cotton, when backed by flannel

the rest, except:

the black-and-colours floral print, especially when backed by Essex linen

When I run my hand over the triangle side, it just feels lovely and squishy all over. I can especially tell when I'm touching lawn backed by flannel, because of how smooth the lawn's surface is. But anything backed by flannel also feels quite lovely.

I can also tell when I touch the black-and-colours floral print (not the black-and-white floral print), especially when it's backed by Essex. This quilting cotton is subtly-but-noticeably coarser than any of the others. I have no idea why, but I can just tell that it is. This fabric came in the same pack as the black-and-white print, which I think also feels very slightly coarser than the other prints?...but I don't think it's as coarse as the black-and-colours print. ... This could be entirely subjective, however.

Some shots to show the lovely drape of these cottons:

I love that my imperfect sewing made this side pucker and crinkle; and I'm extra glad I decided to quilt along the triangle seams (the diagonal ones, anyway) for the larger areas of un-sewn surfaces on this side.

I'm so happy I decided to make this lil blankie.

[boneblushed]

But on a Wednesday, in a cafe

muggle!au, James x fem!reader, I’m going through a really tough break up right now so writing this = therapy

I’ve been spending the last eight months / Thinking all love ever does / Is break, and burn, and end

Perhaps you should be used to it by now, this never-ending chasm of pain that begins and ends at the base of your ribcage.

It’s a deep, aching hurt, the kind that promises to linger until you’re forced to surrender. A draught of cool air pulls through your chest, alerting you to the tired heart squeezed within it. Every time you think about him—about the life you shared—it breaks and splinters, rocketing another of its shards into the surrounding structures. A dreadful pang.

Who knew love could hurt this much?

It’s taken a while for your heart to look the way it does. A few weeks ago, it was held within your shaking palms, wrung through with desperation as you begged him to return. Here… take it, please? It belongs to you… it’ll always be yours.

Prior to that, when the aching wounds were still fresh, you wove bandages from hopeful ignorance, fastened them with blind faith. No, love couldn’t possibly be as fickle as he was making it out to be; you couldn’t let yourself believe it was, you’d simply have to bide your time until he came to his senses.

Until he told you how wrong he was, how much he didn’t mean any of it. Of course I didn’t fall out of love with you, of course that can’t just happen; I love you, I’m sorry, forgive me?

And pathetic as your broken heart is, you would be ready to do so, no matter the stakes.

It makes you stomach roil as you think back on it now — the power he had over you, how callously he wielded it every time you spoke. Has. Present tense. The fissure deepens.

It’s terrifying, how quickly your world can shrink into nothingness. Once upon a time, you’d considered him your soul-mate—your person—and now it’s as though the pair of you are strangers, even less than.

It’s true what they say, indifference pierces deeper than hatred. After all that you’ve been through with him, all that you’ve shared, how are you supposed to simply move on and find love elsewhere?

The cobblestone path you walk along is well versed with your rumination. A quilt of autumn foliage crunches underfoot, a petrichor rich scent present in the air. Every shop window you pass boasts Thanksgiving deals that you ‘just don’t want to miss!’; it’s nauseating as much as it is heart-breaking, having to do the holidays without him for the first time in six years.

It’s probably pity more than it is fate that leads you to the new cafe in Godric’s Hollow — you’ve shed far too many tears for the Universe to bear, plagued with motion sickness from how quickly your sadness turns yearning again.

You miss him. It’s right there in your eyes, how much you miss him. James’ on barista duty whilst his colleague Remus mans the register; the latter may discern the melancholy in your features, but it’s James who recognises the exact significance of it.

He’s been through it before, you see, with Lily Evans. His gaze softens, dappled brown eyes falling over you in paces, and he wracks his brains for things he’d have wanted when he was going through the worst of it.

Except, the one thing he wanted no one could realistically give him — Lily. Who’s your mystery boy? Is it truly as over as your eyes say it is?

“Uh, hey,” you greet. Your voice doesn’t crack as much as it’s barely loud enough to register.

“Hey,” Remus responds, sending you a small smile. Playing it cool whilst his knee nudges James’ under the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Just an iced latte please,” you answer. “With oat milk, if you have it.”

Remus punches in your order as you reach for your wallet. The cappuccino James’ making overflows.

“Shit!” He curses, jerking back his hand hastily, the skin scalded. Droplets of burnt coffee fly onto the machine as he shakes them off.

You startle, turning to look at him. “You alright?”

“Coffee’s on us,” James replies, reaching over Remus to cancel the order. His peripheral vision catches the incredulous look he sends him, but he thinks it a disservice to look away from you in this moment. The melancholy in your eyes ebbs a little. James’ heart soars.

“Really?” You ask, your voice a little louder now.

“Oh yeah,” James responds, faux-serious. “You’re our fiftieth customer today.”

“You’re lying,” you say, a flicker of a smile on your face.

James shrugs, grinning handsomely. “D’you want the free coffee or not, oat milk?”

You raise your eyebrows in response, pretending to zip your lips and throw away the key. James nods approvingly.

He discards the dregs of the cappuccino he was making, starting anew with his gaze flitting over to you intermittently. You watch the trees sway through the high windows to the left of you as you wait, your hands clasped in front of you, one wrist held in a palm. He knows, as he watches you, that you have to go feel all of the pain to see a way out of it.

So he keeps his mouth shut for now, and hopes this cafe will become a regular haunt.

Weeks, a month, two passes. He takes it slow. He thinks your dreadfully pretty but that’s besides the point right now; when he was grieving his relationship with Lily, all he wanted to do was mope and be left alone. No number of Sirius’ “friends” could quell that deep, overwhelming hankering in his chest.

“Hey,” you greet one day, resolute.

James raises his eyebrows at you. Remus is off sick. “Hey?”

“I’m paying today.”

James snorts, shaking his head. “No way.”

“I’m tipping heavily,” you warn.

“Wow,” James sighs sadly. “Like you would any other employee, huh? And here I thought we were friends.”

“Shut up.” You scowl. Not really; it baffles James, how your features can still look so sweet when they’re contorted all angrily. “You’re right. You don’t even need this job.”

The thing about James is, his family owns half the establishments in town square. He’s one of those enigmatic personalities that you’ve always known to rule your hometown; around when you are, dancing around the corners of your gaze, kind and ever-present but never very important. Until now.

He grins handsomely, dropping into a curtesy. He oozes fondness and it makes you forget things often. “Nepo baby at your service, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I don’t get about all this,” you say. “You don’t… why’re you wasting your time here? Is this gig just a way for you to pick up chics?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“James.”

He grins wider, raising his arms in surrender. “Full disclosure?”

You cock your head to one side, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Well… it actually started as a way to fill my time,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I went through a pretty tough break up last year, and I couldn’t bear to be sat at home hurting over the same shit over and over.

“So dad got me this gig. I didn’t even get paid in the start, honest. I barely did anything; made like, one coffee over eight hours. But I was around people, and that helped. I don’t know.”

You swallow. It sounds far too familiar to your own circumstances, and a distant ache rings through your chest — a reminder. “I know the feeling.”

“And then I met Rems, and introduced him to my mate Sirius,” he continues, raising his eyebrows. “Turns out they’re fucking mad for each other, who’d have thought it? And it just reminded me… I don’t know, that there’s still hope.”

Another pause. You know what he means, but you want him to say it anyway, for your own sake.

Your lashes flutter closed. “Hope?”

“To love again. Eventually.”

His rough timbre reverberates through your insides. You nod, slowly, and when you open your eyes, unshed tears darken your lashes. James frowns, but he doesn’t intervene. He knows this feeling; his own heart mourns its melody.

He hands you your coffee soundlessly.

“Thanks,” you says, your voice cracks.

When you turn around, you know you’ll be back tomorrow. And then the next day, a few days after.

You aren’t sure when you start believing it too. But slowly, slowly, without even knowing you are, you begin smiling more. Ruminating less. No one’s ever given you this many free coffees in the past. James’ tally surpasses your ex-boyfriend’s by week four; the small talk’s more about you than about him, and he learns your quirks with this startling sincerity that you didn’t think you’d ever experience again.

The more you see of James, the more you recognise how much love your past relationship lacked. Strangers, friends, more than. All you did was blink.

Though of course, you’d be lying if you said the melancholy didn’t wax and wane, flow through you in waves that make your entire being crash ashore.

James knows this. He still feels the odd pang of heartache at the thought of Evans.

On Christmas Eve, the air feels different. The melted snow in your hair glistens in the warm light of the cafe, and for the first time since he met you, James sees it reflected in your gaze.

“The usual?” Remus asks in lieu of greeting.

“Times two, if possible Rem,” you say. You turn to James. “Coffee?”

James startles for a moment before he regains his composure, his wide, brown eyes falling over your in paces. You’ve always been breathtakingly beautiful, but something about your features seems different now, better.

Softer. Healed.

“You’re paying though, right?” James asks, faux-serious.

“I see,” you reply, folding your arms across your chest. “As long as it’s not a date, you have no problem paying for things?”

“Shit,” James wolf-whistles approvingly, jumping over the counter so he’s standing right in front of you. You gaze tilts, messing with your centre of gravity. “This is a date, huh?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you want it to be?”

James raises his in tandem. “If that’d make you happy.”

A pause. “You know,” you say quietly, breaking eye contact. “After my break up, I didn’t think anything’d make me happy ever again.”

James’ features soften. He reaches forward and cups your jaw, returning your gaze to his. “And now?”

“Can’t you see it in my face, James Potter?” You smile poignantly. “Yes is the answer to your question, by the way. It’d make me very happy.”

Behind you, Remus begins to clap. James groans and drops his head to your shoulder, deftly flipping him off. “Don’t fucking start, Moons.”

“Are you kidding? Coffee’s are on me, by the way. Pads is going to fucking die when he finds out.”

But on a Wednesday in a cafe / I watched it begin again

[bullet-prooflove]

"And I told everybody I was fine for a whole damn year" with Scola, please? Obviously make it 2 years

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @district447 @stelacole @abby-splace

Companion piece:

This Ain't Goodbye - Stuart and you make the decision to divorce due to the revelation about his son.

Every Inch Of You (NSFW) - You and Stuart spend the night together after two years apart.

Escapee - You and Stuart are reunited when a face from your past escapes from prison.

It’s past midnight and you’re sitting inside a safe house, deep in the suburbs staring at the Sylvester Stallone’s frozen features on the TV in front of you because you are positive you can hear someone tip toeing in the hallway outside your assigned bedroom.

It’s a second later you hear Stuart’s light rap on the door. It opens to reveal the man himself standing there in a navy blue t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms. You remember the nights where he wore nothing but black Calvin Klein boxers that clung to him in a way that was almost unholy.

Having a son has changed your ex-husband in ways you never could have imagined. After watching his interactions with Jack you can see he’s softer these days, more patient. There’s a joy in him that you know you never could have given him, even if you had stayed together and Jack hadn’t come along.

You expected it to hurt more, being around the two of them but instead of pain you’re plagued by a sense of wistfulness. You made the right decision by leaving. Your guilt and your bitterness over your condition wouldn’t have created a healthy environment for Jack to step into and he needed support at the time, he needed love and stability. You would have only brought turbulence.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask Stuart and he shakes his head as he leans in the doorway, unwillingly to cross some unseen boundary. Even now he’s thinking of you, of the stress this situation must be causing you. “Wanna watch Tulsa King with me?”

“Is it as bad as it sounds?” He asks as he steps over the threshold, watching as you shift the pillows against the headboard for him.

“It’s pretty fun.” You tell him, resetting the series to the first episode.

“Under the sheets?” He questions, gesturing at the quilt. “Or over?”

You know what he’s really asking.

Do you want me close? Or do you need space?

“I don’t mind.” You tell him honestly.

He climbs under the sheets with you, his shoulder bumping against yours and you’re taken back to last night, the two of you tangled up in one another in a hotel room before he’d received that phone call telling him he needed to leave. You know he must be thinking about it too from the way he unconsciously plays with his ring finger.

“It doesn’t hurt-” You find yourself saying into the space between you. “-seeing you with Jack. I thought it would but it doesn’t.”

“I worried.” He admits, tilting his head so he can study your features. “About what it would do to you being cooped up like this with us. I half expected to find you climbing out the window because you couldn’t take it anymore.”

You laugh then because it’s certainly something you would have considered in the past.

“The old Sasha definitely would have.” You tell him the edges of your mouth tipping up into a smile. “But this Sasha, the one that’s had time and therapy to deal with her issues, not so much. Besides I’m getting too old to shimmy down drainpipes.”

It’s his turn to laugh and you’ve forgotten just how much you love that sound.

“Did it help?” He asks you, rolling into his side and you mirror his posture so the two of you are face to face. “Taking some space, getting some distance?”

“It did.” You tell him as you prop you head up on the pillow. “I wasn’t as focused on the problem, I could look at it objectively in a way I couldn’t when I was here in New York.”

Stuart nods his head in understanding, before he reaches out and tucks an errant strand of hair back behind your ear.

“I’ve told everyone that I was fine for the past two years.” He tells you, his thumb tracing over the blush of your cheek. “And then you walked back into my life and I realised I wasn’t, not really. I was just existing but I wasn’t actually living. I was just being what he needed because I had to be, my life became about him because the rest of it… it’s empty.”

You understand exactly what he means. You’ve enjoyed every single one of your new experiences over the past few years but there’s still this void inside of you, this space that can only be filled by the man who lies across from you.

“I’m back in New York now.” You tell him, your lips brushing over his pulse point as you clasp his palm to your cheek. “They offered me a position setting up a training hub here in the city so maybe we could try again, see where that leads us.”

He smiles then and the expression on his handsome features, it just lights up your entire world even after all these years.

“Oh Sasha.” He whispers as he leans in close, his lips brushing over yours. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-universal-sun]

Could you write some baby regressor Stan with cg Ford or Fidds? Tyy

I've never written about baby regression, and I'm not the most well versed in it, so forgive me if this is short. I still hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and thank you so much for your request!!! I really wanted to see more of CG Fidds, so I wrote exactly that!!! Please let me know what you think!!!

As always, I am open to helpful advice!

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     "Why hello there, Lil' Man, did'ya have a nice nap, baby?" Fiddleford cooed down to Stan from his chair sat next to the couch. It was around four in the afternoon, a bit late for one of Stan's naps, but Fiddleford thinks he's feeling smaller than usual, and he wouldn't blame him. He had such an overwhelming day yesterday, his coffee spilled, customer after customer screaming in his face for hours on end, and his shower went ice cold after just five minutes, nothing went right for his poor one yesterday, so Fiddleford was gearing up for a quiet day with lots and lot of cuddles, and it was indeed quiet, but the energy was off, Stan was off. He didn't play around like he usually did, no coloring or block building, he layed there or clung to Fiddleford and dozed off, only watching the television when a bright cartoon aimed at...very young children came on. The behavior was so similar to his Tate when he was very young that Fiddleford treated Stan that way. And it didn't seem like Stan was much inclined to argue

     Fiddleford smiled and booped Stan's nose as his boy blinked sleepily up at him from the couch, his little Teddy clutched in one hand and his worn quilt in the other. He smiled back at Fidds, one hand reaching up and grasping at his nose in an attempt to recreate to boop, the grasping just made Fidds laugh gently as to not startle Stan. His Little Man just airily laughed with him, his blanket on a course to his mouth before being redirected by Fidds with a "No, baby, that's for sleepin', not chewin' on, I've gotcha something better," he pops Stan's pacifier in his mouth, hoping to satisfy that urge to chew on something. He then helped Stan sit up, steadying him as he tries to heave him off the cushions and into the old wheelchair Fiddleford had been using to move Stan around for the parts of the day he wasn't in the mood for walking-as much as he loves his boy and loves to care for him when ge gets like this, he can only carry him around for so long before his back starts hurting, and he doesn't want to slip a disc with Stan feeling this young-cushioned with pillows and blankets to make it comfortable. With a "heave ho", Stan was succesfully placed in the wheelchair, happily too, as evidenced by his giggles and babbles. Which, Fiddleford loves hearing, his boy's happy babbling is like music to his ears. He rolls Stan from the livingroom to the kitchen, where he had a still warm sippy cup of milk waiting at the table. He briefly considers buying a bottle or two and modifying the lids to fit Stan's mouth before dismissing the thought as something to bring up when Stan's out of his fuzzy headspace.

     "Alright now, Papa's got some honey milk for your tummy, Lil' Man, nice and warm. Just let me hold it, m'kay?" Fiddleford feels his heart about melt when Stan just looks at him, wide eyed and happy, before opening his mouth and letting his pacifier fall on his lap. He just picks it up and sets it on the table before smoothing Stan's hair back, scratching the nape of his neck and earning another giggle. He's had to think about how this will go down during Stan's nap. He would've done it with Stan layed all snug in his lap on the couch, holding the sippy cup for Stan to sip and whatever pace he wanted, but Fidds didn't want him to be on the couch all day, knowing laying down after drinking the milk would put him right back to sleep. He then considered just sitting in a chair and having Stan on his lap as he holds the cup, but dispite Fidds being a good 3-4 inches taller, he would still have to have Stan scoot down until he was on the edge on his knees, which would be uncomfortable for both of them. So he'll just have Stan stay in this chair, bracketed with pillows and blankets, as Fidds sits on the arm of it, holding his sippy cup and petting his hair. It's not as cuddly as he wants, but this is what'll do...maybe they should get a bigger and comfier chair...

     Fiddleford brings the sippy cup up to Stan's mouth, tilting it forwards just slightly as his baby latches on and starts to sip at the sweet and warm milk, wishing there was a way he could capture to dazed look on Stan's face and the soft snuffles he makes as he drinks, the way he grips his plush, crushing it to his chest. As unprecedented as this day may have been, Fidds wouldn't have changed it for the world, there is no place he'd rather be in this moment. He's here for Stan, through the good and the bad, for when his mood sours and his mind goes hazy, for when his thoughts tilt on the side of childish. He's here for his boy, thick and thin, rain or shine, small or big.

[thecreelhouse]

accident prone

part five - a stormy kind of love

Paring: Steve Harrington x Francesca “Frankie” Amato (fem!OC)

Summary: Amidst Frankie’s ruthless flare up, the truth finally spills over and out, just not in a way Steve has ever expected or experienced before.

WC: 11k+ (oops lol)

Includes: a little angst, a lot of fluff, language, mentions/discussions/symptoms of disability (specifically surrounding fibromyalgia and lupus), internalized ableism, hurt/comfort, a fuck ton of emotions and (good) feelings — keeping it vague, don’t wanna spoil anything for y’all ☺️

series playlist ⋮ masterlist

sweetest thing - U2

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

“baby’s got blue skies up ahead / and in this I’m a rain cloud

you know we got a stormy kind of love / oh, oh, oh, the sweetest thing”

A/N: hi! the majority of part 5 was one of the very first parts I wrote for this fic, and I’m so excited to share this one with y’all, especially the lil surprise hidden within ☺️ thank you for the support and encouraging words on the last one!! I really hope y’all enjoy this part, bc we’re finally at the good stuff 🥹 (well. some of it. yeah, there’s a part 6 coming I’m sorry LMAO)

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Humans are naturally stubborn; it’s funny how the help and assistance a person might need could be right in front of them, but they shove it away, wanting to be independent and keep their pride intact. Steve’s discovering over time that Frankie is this exact type of stubborn, through and through.

Time has passed since Frankie opened up about her past, and her flare up waxes and wanes; just when it feels like her routine medications are helping, another symptom pops back up. Despite her father, and Steve, constantly suggesting to try intensive treatment, she’s stubborn and continues to refuse the help. And in a way, Steve gets it; the side effects as your body adjusts to a new medication or treatment isn’t exactly a walk in the park, but he hates seeing Frankie suffer. He hates that he can’t do much more than provide emotional comfort.

Steve persists, slipping the suggestion of treatment into conversation when possible, but it never goes anywhere. He promised her, he promised her father, though, that he’d do anything to keep her safe, so he plans on being a total pest about it until she at the very least considers.

Something finally breaks in mid-spring, when he expects her same, stubborn denial instead.

 The sun’s warmth feels good, despite the way the abnormally hot day is causing his joints to heat up with inflammation. He pushes the ache and stiffness out of his mind, just happy to spend time with his friends on a good day, especially now that Dustin and Eddie moved to the city. The park is quiet, too, a perk of visiting in the late morning on a weekday.

“What’re you making?”

Frankie, wearing large sunglasses, grins up at Steve from her spot on an old quilt, holding out a chain of wildflowers she linked together. He can’t see the way her smile crinkles at the corners of her eyes as they usually do, but he knows her facial expressions well enough to envision them anyway.

“Flower crown! Want one?”

“Oh, I, uh—“

“If he doesn’t, I sure do.” Robin nudges Steve aside to sit on the edge of the blanket, sharing with Frankie. He scoffs, joining them on the quilt. 

Steve glances around, then asks, “Where did the other knuckleheads go?”

Robin waves her hand with an eye roll, disinterested. 

“Who knows, who cares.”

Frankie frowns dramatically, “I care.” Steve narrows his eyes playfully at her. “What? I wanna make everyone flower crowns. Didn’t know that was such a crime, Steven.”

Shaking his head, he chuckles, before glancing around to try spotting his friends.

“How the hell do you even make these?” Robin’s curiosity has her fixated on Frankie’s handiwork in real time. She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head before demonstrating.

“So you just…” She takes a hepatica with pastel pink petals, holding the stem gingerly in one hand, while the other holds a tiny pocket knife. She cautiously slices down the middle of the stem, just enough to create a tiny slit. “You could use your fingernails, too, but sometimes it’s easier to use a knife. Paper clips or safety pins work too!” Picking up a spring beauty, she slides its stem into the fresh opening on the hepatica’s stem. Holding it up, she grins at Robin. “Y’just repeat that ‘til it’s the length you want.”

A familiar warmth blooms within Steve while watching his two friends find joy in something so simple. Frankie just… fell into place with Steve’s friends easily. Like she belongs here among them, because she does belong with them.

Giving Robin the flower chain to finish on her own, Frankie grabs some dandelions she gathered earlier, and begins to start a new chain.

“‘Key, those are weeds.”

Though focused on her project, with her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth, squinting one eye closed— Everything she does is cute. What the fuck— she replies, “They’re wildflowers, Steve.” She slides one stem into another, then resumes slicing down another stem. “They’re important for the bees, and we kinda need bees to exist to live, y’know.”

He snorts, “So why are you taking their flowers, then?”

Frankie’s face drops, “Oh.” Steve thinks she’s playing along at first, even as her bottom lip wobbles comically. Once her eyes become glassy, and she sets her flower chain down, he’s backpedaling his teasing comment, hands shaking ‘no’ along with his head.

“No, no, I was kidding! I— you’re not— they’re fine, the bees are fine.”

Robin can’t hold back her laughter, and Steve glares at her. “I was laughing at you, dingus. Frankie’s got a point, bees are important.” 

“Guys, it’s— I’m okay,” Frankie shrugs it off, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater; black eyeliner smudges along the knit, grey, sleeve. “Oh. Jesus I’m a mess.” She laughs, but the tears break anyway, and she can only imagine her face is smudged up, too. “M’sorry, this is all so stupid. I’m getting upset over everything lately.”

“It’s not stupid if you’re upset,” Robin points out with sincerity.

She only shakes her head, sliding her glasses back over her makeup stained eyes, “It’s all good, I know you— you were just kidding. Sorry ‘bout that.” She picks her project back up, hands trembling a little. “This whole flare up has me ridiculously emotional, but gimme five minutes and I’ll be fine.”

While Frankie keeps her focus to the flower chain she’s working on, Robin glances over at Steve, worried. They’ve been best friends for so long now, they can read each other’s faces with ease. He just nods subtly at her, and she pushes up off of the blanket.

“Is anyone else hungry? I’m gonna find those two goofballs, and maybe we can grab food somewhere?” Robin wanders off, not waiting for a response.

When she’s out of earshot, Frankie grumbles, “If she left so you can ask what’s wrong, I’m fine.” A flower’s stem is crushed between her fingers as they twitch involuntarily. “I know you mean well, but I really don’t want you to waste all your energy worrying about me.”

“‘Key… it’s not a waste.” Nothing’s ever a waste with you. “Please don’t shut me out.”

“What is there to talk about? I’m not shutting you out, Steve. It’s just the same shit, you don’t need to hear me cry about it all the time.” Her tone is frantic as her fingers won’t stop shaking, yet she won’t pause from connecting the flowers.

Steve doesn’t miss the way she bites her lip before it can pout, or how she’s staving off tears, features scrunching in frustration. “If it helps to talk about it more than once, I’m listening, and maybe if you started treatment again—“

“Drop it, stop trying to get me to go. I’m fine, just— everything hurts. A lot. Okay? See? Nothing different from what’s been happening since this all start— shit!”

Frankie drops her pocket knife, grabbing her own hand as a bead of crimson bubbles up along the pad of her thumb. She stares as a trickle of blood winds down her thumb, onto her palm. Steve quickly inches closer, about to reach for her hand, but she reels back.

Grabbing the edge of her black skirt, she blots the laceration, pressure included. “Why am I so fucking…”

Steve’s not tired of Frankie, nor is he tired of anything related to her health and this current flare up, but he is tired of this stubborn mindset she refuses to release. It’s difficult to be open with her about his bad health days when she won’t do the same in return, like they promised one another.

Rummaging through his bag, Steve pulls out a small pencil case, one he’s converted into a mini first-aid kit. He can’t remember when he made it, or if he’s ever gone without it since, but it’s useful for moments like this. Frankie notices, brows furrowing.

“Steve, m’fine—“

He ignores her weakened protest, one that sounds like a broken record at this point, grabbing her hand. It’s a firm grip, but nothing threatening, still tender somehow with its intentions. Cleaning her wound with a disinfectant wipe, she hisses at the sting.

“You don’t have to baby me.”

Again, Steve ignores her, trying to stay composed against her forced pride. He bandages the laceration, but doesn’t let go of Frankie.

“I don’t get why you’re pushing me away suddenly. Did…” Steve’s struggling to keep his emotions to himself, but they’ve been building for quite some time now. He can’t stand how his voice cracks as he asks, “Did I do something wrong?” 

This isn’t about me. Stop. Stop it. Grow up.

Frankie wildly shakes her head, “No, absolutely not. I- I promise you’re fine.”

“What’s going on then? Look, if you need space, I can give you th—“

Her fingers, still trembling, tighten around his own. “Please don’t,” Her bottom lip quivers into a pout. “Can we talk later? When you come over? Just you and me.” She scrambles to elaborate, voice cracking, “I’m not ready to to talk about it with anyone else.” 

“Okay, yeah,” He nods, squeezing her hand as his anxiety sinks like a stone in his stomach. “Whenever you’re comfortable.”

Reaching for the unfinished chain of flowers, Steve stops Frankie, moving the knife away before closing it.

“I was gonna finish it for you,” She’s desperate for a distraction, desperate to keep herself busy so her thoughts don’t eat her alive.

“Not after practically stabbing yourself, honey.”

Stop calling her that. You’re just friends.

With a huff and an eye roll, she wipes any remaining tears away before commanding, “Fine. Lay down.”

“Wh- what?”

She points to her thigh, unused flowers in her other hand. “You won’t let me finish your crown, and I need to keep busy.”

Steve immediately understands what she’s saying; he knows how fidgety she becomes when anxious and overthinks. Hesitantly, he lays back, head resting on her leg while glancing up at her, squinting from the sky’s bright reflection behind her.

One by one, Frankie takes each wildflower, sticking them in his hair. Her touch is soft, fingers carding through his hair between each flower; Steve can feel her relax, and he does the same.

A comfortable silence blankets them, one that neither dares to break.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

As Frankie and Steve’s lives intertwined, they both ended up with a copy of a key for one another’s apartments. They were originally only for medical emergencies if necessary after Steve’s big medical scare, and Frankie’s worst flare up yet; now those copies are used often to let themselves in for routine plans.

It’s Friday night, Dustin and Eddie started up Hellfire again at a local board game shop, and Robin works at a gay bar down the street on Fridays and Saturdays; Steve got tired of moping inside, alone on the weekends. What started as last minute plans for Frankie and Steve on a quiet Friday night turned into a weekly routine. They fell into a pattern of alternating between their places each time, and tonight’s plans were at Frankie’s apartment.

When Steve lets himself in with a couple movie tapes and a pizza, he’s met with Frankie running down the hall, groaning in frustration, pair of scissors in hand. Steve sets everything onto the coffee table in her living room, eyes locked on her frantic behavior.

“Whoa— didn’t anyone tell you running with scissors is dangerous?” He tries cracking a joke, but Frankie’s spiraling, consumed by her thoughts. 

“Steve, I- I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

His eyes widen before he follows her down the hall and into the bathroom. She throws the pair of scissors into the sink, diving into the cabinet below before haphazardly throwing its contents onto the floor, in search of something.

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” He crouches down, resting a comforting hand on her back as her shoulders slink down. She pulls out a pair of clippers before letting herself relax under his touch.

“I feel so stupid getting upset over this,” She mutters, ducking her head into her knees as she folds forward on the floor. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

Frankie shudders, suppressing the wave of tears that want to crash. Steve gently pulls her upward and into a hug, allowing her to collapse in his arms.

“Is it anything I can help with?”

She shakes her head, then pauses. “I mean, you have before, but I- I’m so— I can’t keep relying on others to help me all the time. I miss being independent.”

Steve knows how that feels, he knows what it’s like to feel as if you’re a burden to everyone around you, just because your health is out of your control. Realistically, it’s far from the truth, but when the world isn’t built to include disabled and chronically ill people, too, it’s hard to believe otherwise.

“Do you want advice, or comfort? Do you need space?” He’s learned asking this is better for the other person, rather than assuming and diving into unsolicited advice. Frankie trusts him, though, and would gladly listen to him anyway. 

She’s quiet for a moment, pulling back to look Steve in the eye. His heart aches at the exhaustion in her eyes, the bags under them, carrying deep, dark circles; she hadn’t been sleeping well this week, and it was really catching up to her.

“I really needed to wash my hair, but it’s so much work,” Out of habit, she begins to fidget with the end of her braid, loosely wound and hanging over her shoulder; her fingers freeze after a second, glancing down at it nervously before pulling her hands away. “I kept dropping everything in the shower, and got dizzy from the heat and everything just— just—- it was overwhelming. I didn’t get to finish washing it, and I feel so gross.”

“Well, hey, I don’t mind washing it over the tub for you—“

“Steve, you’re a sweetheart, and I’m always grateful for your help, but you’re struggling, too. It’s not fair to expect you to help always.”

He remembers the scissors she threw into the sink, then glances to the clippers. “Were you gonna cut your hair?”

She looks down at her braid, pouting with a soft nod. 

“But I kept chickening out,” She whispers, unable to look Steve in the eye again. “What if I look awful?”

Perplexed is Steve as he remembers the photos Frankie showed him from her high school days, just as cute in a pixie cut as she is with long hair now. “You’d have to really try your hardest to look awful.”

She scoffs out a laugh, “Kiss-ass.”

“I mean it, ‘Key,” Steve’s thumb and forefinger reach out to hold her chin, bringing her gaze back to him. “You could pull off anything.”

“You won’t think I’m ugly?” Steve’s face drops as the words hit his ears. “It’s just— I—“ She rolls her eyes at herself, “It’s only hair, why am I so upset?”

“I’d never think that, first of all. And second, my opinion on your looks is irrelevant. Fuck anyone’s opinion, honestly. You do what you want, Frankie. I’ll support whatever you decide.” Steve wishes she could see the natural beauty she radiates, from the inside out. Self esteem issues are different when you’re in constant pain. Everything can be attached to how you feel, and it’s easy to tumble down the slippery slope of self loathing when your body works against you, from the inside out.

Steve continues, “And it’s a big change, it’s understandable to be upset while you decide. Maybe it’s good to sleep on it, think it over. If you still want to tomorrow, then go for it.”

Frankie’s eyes gloss over, pout trembling. “I still gotta wash it, though… and if I cut it, it seems silly to wash it all, then let that effort to go to waste.”

Steve shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “Told you, I’ll help.”

Minutes later, after returning everything back where it belongs, Frankie’s leaning her head back over the tub, with plenty of towels under her neck to make it a tad comfier. Steve’s gently scrubbing shampoo along her roots when he notices a small bald spot. Then another… And another.

“‘Key… why didn’t you tell me you were losing hair?” It was hard for him to see before, with how thick her hair naturally is, but it’s enough to alarm him now that its visible. He remembers the clippers she pulled out of the cabinet. “Wait, you’re gonna shave your hair off? All of it?”

She only nods blankly. “I don’t know what else to do, Steve. This hasn’t happened in years.” As she speaks, stray strands come out in tiny clumps here and there. “Not since that awful flare up I told you about.” 

Steve doesn’t make a scene, just continues washing her hair with cautious, gentle hands.

“Well,” His glasses slide down his nose a little too far, but he can’t fix them with his hands all sudsy; he’s trying so hard to be better about wearing them more often. She notices, reaching up to gently push them back up the bridge of his nose. He chuckles softly. “Thanks.”

“You were saying?”

Steve’s silent for a moment, catching up to his thoughts again. “Oh, right. I was gonna say, just go for it. Sure, it suits you, a- and I like braiding it for you,” He blushes slightly. “But y’know how badass you’ll look? And how fun it’ll be rubbing your fuzzball head?”

“As long as your hands are still on me,” Frankie teases, but realizes a moment too late how it sounds. Steve can’t catch the snort leaving him in time, while Frankie’s eyes grow wide, mortified. “Oh— no, wait, not like— jesus— I don’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. That was gross.”

“Francesca, we’re having a moment, and you go and ruin it with your mind in the gutter,” Steve cracks back, earning an eye roll while a smile cracks across her face.

Settling into a comfortable silence, Frankie breaks it, “You think I should just… get it done and over with?”

Steve pretends to ponder as he rinses the suds from her hair; a few more tiny bundles of hair flow towards the drain, but he keeps his cool, for her sake. Deep down, he’s worried, but he doesn’t want to upset her any further.

“I think… you should do whatever feels right, but—“ He slowly lifts her head, gingerly scrunching the towel around her hair to sop up the water. “I also think you’ll feel a little better if you eat something first. Pizza break?”

Her eyes grow wide as she laughs, embarrassed, “Oh my god, I forgot, I’m so sorry! My dumb hair can wait.”

 Once the pizza is reheated and they’re settled on the couch, they play one of the movies for background noise. Frankie pipes up, “Hey, Steve?”

He’s mid bite, hitting a blob of cheese that’s way too hot, burning the roof of his mouth, wincing at the sting. “Ow, hothothot—-“ Rather than spiting it out, he swallows the scorching hot food, frowning comically as it burns down his throat.

“Oh— that’s,” Frankie’s trying her best to keep a straight face; she’s concerned, but he brought it on himself. She shoves his iced tea towards him, which he gratefully takes and gulps down. “Steve, you gotta have like, second degree burns in your throat at this point. You always do that.”

“And I’ll do it again next week, too,” He quips before shrugging. “What were you gonna say?”

“Hm? Oh. I- I just wanted to say thank you, for earlier. With everything.” She’s normally not shy like this, especially this far into the friendship with Steve, even with the flirting. But the vulnerability is more than she’s comfortable with, and he can tell. “And I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that.”

“Like what?”

“Asking if I’d look bad. I swear I wasn’t fishing for a compliment—“

He sets his plate aside, intending to reach out for her face like earlier, but he remembers the pizza grease on his fingers still, and decides against it. 

“You didn’t put me on the spot, or anything like that. I’d be upset too if I was losing hair. Maybe not as much as my high school self but— that- okay, that doesn’t matter here. Point is, you’re allowed to be upset, ‘Key, but also I meant it when I said you’d look badass. Like, Tank Girl badass.”

“Surprised you even know who Tank Girl is,” She teases, but gifts him her signature, warm smile. “Thanks, Steve. I owe you for all of this, big time.”

“You owe me nothing,” Steve sincerely replies, then remembers, “Well, you do owe me that mixtape you’ve been hyping up for months.”

Her hand covers her mouth after taking a bite of her pizza, trying not to respond with her mouth full. She holds the other hand up in a ‘One minute!’ gesture, before leaving the couch. She’s only gone for a moment, returning with a cassette tape, handing it over to Steve.

The tape is wrapped in old newspaper, with holographic stickers slapped all over it, donning her shaky, but sweet handwriting on a tag that says “For Steve”.

He feels a warmth wash over his face, blushing and unable to hold back a smile.

“Can I play it now?”

“No!” Her own exclamation takes her by surprise, sheepishly adding. She laughs it off and waves her hand. “I- I mean, just… wait ‘til you’re on your way home, at least.”

Steve doesn’t push it, doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable; he gets it, sometimes there’s something awkward about gifting something to someone, and watching them open it in real time. He just makes a point to throw it in his messenger bag, tucked into a safe pocket inside.

“Thanks, Frankie.” He smiles warmly at her, earning a rise of rosiness to her cheeks. “I’m excited to listen to it.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

The pair of scissors are open wide, caging in Frankie’s messy braid. Her hand shakes, and Steve watches as she frowns, shaking her head before throwing the scissors into the sink.

“I can’t do it.” She looks at Steve behind her through the mirror. “I need to, but once it’s gone…”

“Yeah, but it can always—“

“Steve, don’t tell me it’ll grow back. If it even does grow back, it’ll be all patchy and uneven.” She pushes herself to ask, cheeks growing red, “Last thing I’ll ask help with, I promise, but can— would you do it for me?”

His features falter, unsure. “I don’t mind helping, really, I don’t—”

“But?”

He sighs, “This is so personal for you, I really think you should be the one to do it. At least cutting the length off.” As Frankie fidgets with the ends of her braid, ignoring the strands of hair coming loose between her fingertips, an idea hits Steve. “I can help, though.”

Before she can ask what he means, Steve comes up behind Frankie, gently turning her toward the mirror again before reaching for the scissors. He hands them over to her, and hesitantly, she takes them, fingers gripping through the handles. What she doesn’t expect is his hand to slide over hers, mirroring the position.

“This okay?” He can feel her hand shake underneath his, but he assumes it’s from her tremors.

It’s not.

“Um— uh-huh,” She manages to rasp out; why this has her so flustered when he helped her wash her hair earlier makes no sense to her.

Steve guides her hand holding the scissors to the braid, starting just above the hair tie at the end. 

“We can start slow, okay?”

“Okay,” She takes a deep breath, clamping her eyes shut. Steve chuckles softly.

“‘Key, it’s not safe to use scissors with your eyes shut.”

Her eyes snap open, narrowing into slits at him into the mirror, lips parting to shoot a smart-ass comment, but she forgets it immediately. With a scoff, she mutters, “Fucking brain fog.”

Steve can’t help laughing, burying his face into the top of her head. “M’sorry, I was bracing myself for the worst, didn’t expect that.”

His laugh is contagious to her, and she giggles along with an eye roll. “Yeah, neither was I. Guess you’ve been spared.” He settles down, but she can’t.

“Francesca.” He tries being stern, but the corners of his lips curl upward. “Get it together.”

“Okay, okay!” She takes a few deep breaths. “You gotta stop using my full name like that.”

“Why? Is it bugging you? I can stop.” Steve’s face falls a little, but she looks away from his gaze in the reflection.

“No, I’m gonna end up liking it with the way you say it,” She grumbles, not mad, but embarrassed. She misses the way Steve’s cheeks turn a rosy pink. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay.” He’s so close, she’s trying to ignore how his chest feels so warm against her back, focusing on moving her hand with his to close the blades together slowly. It’s a slow snip through her hair; despite losing it, it’s still thick enough to take a bit to get through.

Frankie’s eyes follow the chunk of hair as it tumbles to the floor. 

“Okay… alright, that wasn’t so bad. B- but don’t let go yet.” She breathes, finally locking eyes with Steve in the mirror. “Please.”

“It’s okay, I got you.” 

Moving the scissors up her braid, she stops his hand where her shoulder begins. 

“Ready?” He asks, and she nods. Again, they cut through her hair together. More falls to the floor, leaving Frankie with shoulder length hair.

“God… I can’t remember the last time my hair was this short.”

“You wanna stop here?”

“One more time?” She lifts her hand, palm facing down, using the side as she taps the side of her head above her ear. With a nod, he’s about to move their hands together when he hesitates, brows scrunching together as he thinks. “Steve, you okay?”

“Might be easier like— here, hold these—“ Frankie takes the scissors from Steve before he grabs a spare hair tie from the counter, pulling what’s left of her hair back. “Maybe even’s the right word, not easier. My bad… Can you reach back here?” He splits the ponytail, gently tugging the ends to tighten the hair tie.

She shrugs, arms still aching from her attempt at washing her hair earlier. Steve is about to take the scissors back, but her grip tightens. Again, she shakes her head.

“Gonna push through it,” She mutters, stepping away from Steve to keep the scissors at a safe distance. She lifts her arms back, one to hold the ponytail out, the other with the scissors. 

Her hands shake, and this time, it’s the tremors; they won’t quit, and Steve being Steve, he immediately wants to help, but hesitates. Just like the day he met her. He knows how frustrating it can be when someone jumps in to help, assuming just because you’re not able-bodied, you can’t do anything on your own. 

She waits, holding her hands back for a few seconds, then pulling them back in front of her. “I can’t. I’m gonna end up bald and missing fingers,” She tries to laugh it off, but she’s visibly upset. The need to ask for assistance is barricaded off by her pride.

Steve knows Frankie well enough by now to tell what she’s thinking; he reaches around her for the scissors, gingerly pulling them from her grip. He does his best to pay no mind to the close proximity, but he does notice the way Frankie gets goosebumps when his breath hits her neck.

That means nothing, quit overthinking it.

“Ready?”

She nods, “Mhm—“

“‘Key, keep your damn head still,” He uses his free hand to grasp the back of her head, laughing as he splays his palm open, fingers wide as he easily steadies her. “Little miss bobble-head.”

She stifles a laugh, nodding with a deep breath. “Okay. Go for it.”

Steve moves swiftly, before either of them fall into a fit of giggles once more; with a quick snip, Frankie’s small ponytail is gone. She’s left with an uneven, disheveled haircut, shaking her head to get the loose hairs out. 

“I dunno, Steve, I think we’re done. Looks totally presentable.” Her eyes lock with his in the mirror for what feels like the millionth time that night; the two of them splitting into a fit of laughter all over again.

“Yeah, Frankie, you’re— …” He loses his teasing remark in an instant; even with her hair unkempt among the patchy bald spots, even with fatigue weighing heavy on her features, her smile and personality peek through with ease. She’s beautiful, always, from the inside out, and he’s positively fucked.

“I’m… ?”

“Nothin’.” Steve nods over to the clippers on the sink. He clears his throat, hoping the warmth blooming across his face isn’t noticeable; it’s not just noticeable, it’s hard to miss. “You need help with that part?”

Frankie gives him a skeptical look before grabbing the clippers, plugging them in to the nearby outlet. “Might need your help with the back, if that’s okay. Otherwise… can’t really fuck this part up, right?”

Steve breathily laughs with a nod, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Right.”

Shaking out her nerves— literally, looking like a wacky inflatable arm man— she laughs off the doubts, flipping the switch. She holds the clippers in front of her face, nearly going cross eyed— Jesus, she’s cute, Steve thinks with a faint smile; holding it up to her hairline, she stares at herself in the mirror while pushing the clippers right down the middle of her head.

“Can’t go back if I make myself look like a fool, can I?” She laughs, muttering to herself, but Steve still catches it.

 He watches as she stays focused, running the clippers through more hair; with each glide of the device along her scalp, her breath grows shallow, short. Steve anticipates the panic to start, but it never comes; a tear slips, then another, trailing through the little loose hairs scattered across her face, but she’s not upset. It’s a huge change, and Steve expected this to be emotional, but he doesn’t expect her lips to curl upward, ever so slightly.

A good chunk of Frankie’s hair is buzzed down on the left side, and she continues on, releasing a shaky, breathy laugh. “Holy shit.”

“How do you feel?” He asks over the monotone buzzing, filling the room. 

“Like a damn mess, but… good.”

He’s not thinking when a soft, “Atta girl” slips out; the simple praise turns Frankie’s face a cherry red.

“Can’t say shit like that to me,” She murmurs, working on shaving another stripe down her head. Steve’s left with scrambling thoughts, wondering if she means what he thinks she means.

Boldly, he’s about to ask why, but her hand begins to shake. Steve steps in, about to grab the clippers, but pauses. He doesn’t want to overstep boundaries, or make her feel helpless, because she’s not. 

As if she can read his mind, she tells him, “It’s okay, Stevie. I trust you.” 

Steve takes over, gliding the clippers along the spots Frankie couldn’t reach earlier. Though he’s a little faster than she was, he still takes his time, checking in with her every so often to make sure she’s doing alright. First time she tries to nod, but Steve gives a playful glare through the mirror, and she laughs, until his fingers grip the back of her head, this time closer to her neck. The smile on her face drops, and the blush returns.

Under his fingers, Steve feels her shiver, but doesn’t visibly react, just continues to run over her prickly scalp, making sure the buzzed down hair is completely even. When he flicks the power off, and the buzzing halts, Frankie reaches up to her head, rubbing along the freshly buzzed skin. It’s prickly and textured, and some spots where patches once lay are still a little noticeable, but it’s not bothersome anymore. She can finally gain some peace now that she won’t have to try hiding hair loss anymore.

“See? Told ya’,” Steve smiles warmly at her, gently brushing off the stray baby hairs from her shoulders. He leans closer to her ear, causing her breath to hitch. “You definitely look like a badass.” She playfully pushes her shoulder back into him with an eye roll.

Finally, she turns around, leaning against the sink, glancing up at Steve, face to face. 

“Thank you, Steve.” She presses up on the balls of her feet to swing her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. Steve blushes— because that’s all they seem to be able to do over one another tonight. His arm curls around her waist, hand pressed against the small of her back, while the other reaches to cradle the back of her head.

“Don’t thank me, you did the hardest part.”

“What, crying?” She makes fun of herself with a giggle.

“No, you were brave to take care of yourself, even if it was hard and the last thing you wanted to do.”

“Steve, don’t you dare start with the sappy shit,” She warns, but he can hear the smile in her voice. She doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t want to. Despite constantly joking how cold she gets, Steve notices how warm her embrace is. 

“How do you have a perfectly shaped head?” Steve murmurs, running his large hand over Frankie’s now freshly shaved scalp. She giggles as the sensation of his fingers so close to her skin, it feels so foreign. 

“What?” She pulls back, smiling, and he has to suppress the reaction to frown over the loss of her arms around him. 

“Yeah, like, c’mere,” He gently pulls her hand, resting it at the back of his head, slowly guiding it along his own scalp. The pads of her fingers ghost over some uneven dips and bumps on the back of his head. “Feel that?”

Frankie giggles some more, “Steve, were you dropped as a kid or something?” He’s fine with the teasing, the two of them do this often to one another. But when she reaches further up out of curiosity, her fingers graze a scar, thick and rugged along his scalp. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Startled, she goes to pull away, but her fingers get tangled in his hair, accidentally pulling a little too hard.

Steve whimpers, eyes darting away, and Frankie freezes while her gaze grows wide, glued to him.

The tension settling in the air around them is suffocating; one of those “you could hear a pin drop” kind of moments. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to Steve.

“I- uh—“ He clears his throat, eyes darting away, then back to her, instantly turning bright red. “S- sorry.”

Rather than shrug it off, or politely accept the apology, Frankie says with a small glint in her eye, “Good to know.” She leaves Steve in the bathroom, all alone and flustered. He sighs, louder than he means to.

“Whose mind is in the gutter now?” She sing-songs from the end of the hall. She’s only gone for a moment before returning with a vacuum cleaner, biting her lip to hold back her laugh as she finds Steve rubbing his eyes with his fingers, hand sliding under his glasses. “M’gonna clean this up quick and shower… again.” She rolls her eyes at herself. 

Steve nods, exiting the bathroom as her voice follows, “Pick the next movie, I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Do you want he—“ He cringes at himself, catching his words a bit too late as he realizes how they sound. 

“Do I want your help? In the shower?” Frankie smirks while she plugs the vacuum in; that look she gives is going to be the death of him. “Gonna have to find a more clever line than that if you wanna see me naked.”

“Wh— that’s not—“ Steve sputters, feeling his entire body burn up under her gaze. “I wasn’t saying it like that, I swear!”

Frankie flips the vacuum on, cupping her ear towards him comically, shrugging like she can’t hear him. She shouts over the noise, “What was that?”

Steve rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, flipping her off playfully before heading down the hallway. Right as he’s about to be out of earshot, he hears a muffled, “Maybe later, if you’re lucky!”

He thinks of everything, anything that isn’t Frankie; he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, shoving his glasses onto his head. The sound of running water floats down the hall, and Steve takes the opportunity to sigh his frustration out. Flopping into the couch’s cushions, he’s trying to think of anything to stop the rush of blood and heat ready to run south.

Currently, there’s no room in Steve’s mind for anything else other than Frankie.

I’m so, so fucked.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Steve should’ve stayed.

He wanted to. He really, really wanted to stay at Frankie’s— it’s not uncommon for one to crash at the other’s place on movie nights— but, in Frankie’s terms, he “couldn’t get his mind out of the gutter”— There was just no way he could stay without embarrassing himself. Making up some excuse Frankie saw right through about needing to get home, reluctantly, he left.

Frankie is his friend, he can’t ruin what they have with his desires. But he’s torn, because it’s more than just fleeting lust, he likes her. Really, really likes her.

Sometimes, Steve wishes he could say he hates how easily their bodies meshed together, how casual it was to cuddle with one another, fall asleep in one another’s arms. That he hates how cute Frankie looks when she drools a little in her sleep. Or that he hates the sweet balance she carries between positivity and realism— always leaving room for the bright side and reality’s facts. He wants to hate both her gentle and sharp laughs, the off-key way she sings softly to herself while keeping busy; her self confidence, the warmth in her smile that always reaches her eyes, despite their cool grey tones—

He’s lying to himself. He could never find himself actually wanting to dislike Frankie in the slightest. There’s not a damn thing about her that bothers him.

Nothing, except for the fact that to Steve, she’s perfect in the way she embraces her imperfections, her quirks, her flaws, her strengths— it’s all only drawing him into her more and more as time carries on. Frankie is perfect as a friend alone, and that’s just something he can’t afford to put on the line for the sake of his feelings. Feelings that are most likely one sided.

Even after the comments about a date made months ago, on the precipice of slumber, Steve still can’t tell if Frankie was joking or not. Or if she called him “babe” after a nightmare just to be nice. Same with the innocent kiss left on the top of his head. He’s completely puzzled, left to wonder if he’s overthinking it all, or if the signs are really there.

Tonight didn’t make any of this easier to untangle and make sense of, either.

Feeling fine enough to walk home and enjoy the warm night, Steve skips jumping on public transit; maybe the fresh air would do him some good, clear his head. When he reaches in his bag for his Walkman, his hand brushes against a cassette case— the mixtape Frankie made for him.

Avidly, he tears the upcycled wrapping paper off, admiring the mixtape’s DIY cover art.

With a clumsy grip, he nearly drops the case, catching it in time to glance over the cover she made, resembling the punk show flyers tacked on her bedroom walls; the style’s true to her character. Eager to listen, he pops the tape into his player for his return trip.

What he doesn’t expect is to hear Frankie’s voice flood through his headphones.

“I know what you’re thinking, ‘this girl cannot shut the fuck up, huh?’” Her laugh instantly graces a smile across Steve’s face, shuffling his feet along the concrete as they carry him home. “I swear, there’s music on this tape, but I wanted to say something first.” Steve’s brows knit together, listening carefully. “I promised you months ago I’d make a mixtape of mostly songs and bands you haven’t heard yet, but some are gonna be familiar to you. That’s … intentional.”

There’s a soft hum of static, filling in a short gap of silence. 

“I kept putting this off, ‘cause I got this idea shortly after your hospital trip, but I was too much of a scaredy cat to go for it. Felt too soon.”

“What felt too soon?” Steve mutters to himself, as if she can hear him.

“You’ll pick up on it, I know you will. You always amaze me with the details you notice that no one else does.” Frankie sighs, does one of the countless things Steve finds cute about her; she blows air through her lips, making ‘pbbbbbtttt’ sounds, like when she’s stuck on her own thoughts. “It’s been hard trying to tell you this myself, so… m’gonna let the music do the talking for me. Just do two things for me, please?”

He braces himself, because what on earth would Frankie be so afraid to tell him in person? What would she need to hide behind a tape for?

“Listen the entire way through, and when you’re done,” She takes a deep breath, letting out a nervous giggle. “If we’re not on the same page, and I’m just some delusional freak, promise me we’ll still be friends?”

Steve stops dead in his tracks, breath caught in the back of his throat. Is she—

There’s a harsh click, abruptly rushing in an unfamiliar song after her intro. His eyes bounce around his surroundings in a hurry, landing on a bench a few feet away. Once Steve’s settled on it, he flips the case over, looking for a tracklist—

It’s not a complete tracklist. Just a list of the artists in chronological order.

“‘Key, are you kidding me?” Steve grumbles to himself, shaking his head while a smile’s curling along his lips. 

A lyric from a Dinosaur Jr. song catches his attention, stretching his smile into a grin. 

“The weirdness flows between us / Anyone can tell to see us”

Scribbled on the bottom of the list is her scratchy handwriting:

You’ll get the titles later! 

-Frankie ♡

Steve’s hopes begin to rise, but he forces himself to squash them immediately. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way this is what I think it is. I’m just thinking too far into it.

Three minutes into the next song, by my bloody valentine, Steve’s still on the bench. 

How long is this one? Jesus Christ.

It’s not bad, but he can’t make out the words, and god, it feels like this one’s going to last forever. Silently, he’s cursing Frankie for adding this to the mix. Maybe this song would be great to listen to while stoned out of his mind on the floor, but not right now, not when he’s antsy to figure out exactly what this tape’s all about. He’ll have to ask her for the lyrics later.

Track #3 by Fugazi is good, and the lyrics are a gut punch from the start.

“I am a patient boy / I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait / My time, water down a drain / Everybody’s moving / Everybody’s moving / Everybody’s moving, moving, moving, moving / Please don’t leave me to remain / In the waiting room—“

Steve loses track of the words from there; he’s never been the best at keeping up with the fast paces of some punk songs, but he gets the point.

Track #4— a Kate Bush song—  is one he’s heard before, courtesy of Max always playing Kate Bush’s discography, even after surviving Vecna’s torture. He can’t remember the name, but he remembers it’s off the album The Dreaming, and the lyric “We let the weirdness in” has him curious as to why Frankie chose this song, wondering why it’s another song leaning into the word ‘weird’.

All pondering halts when he immediately recognizes the Bruce Springsteen song— Crush on You. His breath hitches in his throat while the familiar song from The River plays on. The lyrics and title are self explanatory.

… Maybe I’m not overthinking it.

He’s unsure when he began walking again, but he’s already halfway home when he realizes it. The trip by foot on a good pain day is 10-15 minutes, but at the pace he’s speed walking, he can easily make it home in 5.

The next three songs by Jawbreaker, Green Day, and X are songs he’s never heard before, but recognizes the style of each band from the times Frankie plays her own mixtapes in the store. 

The repetition of “I want you” over and over in the Jawbreaker song begins to fizzle out his doubts. The entirety of the song by Green Day is even more obvious, but “I know that we’re only friends / I hope this feeling never ends / If I could only hold you / it’s the only thing I want to do” makes his heart jump.

“Holy shit,” He’s frozen on the stairway to his floor as the words float into his ears. “… She likes me.”

She feels the same. Frankie feels the same.

It’s the opening lyrics of the X song that cause the last of his doubts disappear, rushing down the hallway to his apartment. 

“Now if you love me, please don’t tease / If I can hold you then let me squeeze / My heart goes ‘round and ‘round / My love comes a-tumblin’ down.”

Steve promised he’d call Frankie once he made it home safe— they do this every time one leaves the other. Now all he can think about is of is calling her to confess his feelings instead. He’s fumbling with his keys, dropping them a couple times, and bangs his head on the door when he tries to pick them up; the door swings open, with Robin glancing down at him, a brow quirking over his frantic demeanor. 

“I thought someone was trying to politely break in,” She cracks while moving aside for him to come in. Steve begins pacing in circles as he tugs his headphones off, staring at Robin, stunned. “Whoa, dude, what happened? You good?”

It barely comes off as a whisper, rushed out like a dream that’ll disappear the more he focuses on it. “Shelikesmeback.”

“Who— what— I’m too tired to decipher what you just—“

From the position his headphones are around his neck, he faintly makes out opening notes of Sweetest Thing by U2. A bright smile appears among his features, despite the love song’s bittersweet, realistic meaning; it’s one Frankie always teases him for enjoying.

Holy. Shit.

“She likes me, Robin. Frankie likes me.” Saying it out loud, to someone other than himself, sounds far too good to be true. Despite how surreal it feels to figure this out, he can’t suppress his still-growing grin. 

“I told you!” She grins, already antsy for details. “So, what happened?”

“She gave me—“

 “How’d you find out?”

Steve huffs, still winded from the run home, but also annoyed, “Because, she gave me a mix—“

“And why are you here?”

“Jesus Christ, Robin, let me answer one of those at least.”

“Okay, okay, sorry!” She rolls her wrist, hand circling in a “let’s go” gesture, as if she’s not the reason for the hold up.

Scrambling for the tape’s case, he holds it up to her, hand shaking from a flurry of emotions. “The— she made me a mixtape, a- and she said she’s using the music to tell me how she feels, ‘cause she’s too scared to tell me herself.”

“That’s actually really sweet,” Not a hint of sarcasm can be found in Robin’s words, but her face crinkles in confusion. “But you never answered my last question— you were just with her. Why aren’t you doing something about this?” She gives him a “duh” look and gestures her hands out, exasperated as he stands there, lost. “Steve, I swear if you don’t finally tell her how you feel—“

Now it hits him. “Oh my god… why did I— I have to— I’m such an idiot.” Eyes wide and jaw slack, he takes a moment to breathe deeply and collects his thoughts. He pulls her into a bear hug, one that takes her by surprise, leaving her in confused laughter. “Robin, you’re the best wing-woman ever.”

 As Steve rushes out the door, she shouts, “I did the bare minimum, but I’ll still take the award!”

Eddie opens the door across the hall from theirs, poking his head out along with Dustin. Steve’s already out of sight when Dustin asks, “What the hell is going on?” Eddie’s head snaps down the hall, then back to Robin with a quirked brow, expecting an explanation.

“Hang on, I’m getting popcorn, ‘cause we’re gonna gossip like nosy grandmas,” Robin snickers.

Steve’s already rushing down the stairs, unaware of the conversation he’s left behind, yet still a part of.

The following song on the mixtape has a familiar style— it’s Strawberry Switchblade, he recognizes the poppy goth style, giving Steve a boost in his step and energy to retrace his steps. The instrumentals are so upbeat, and the lyrics are cute, sweet, like Frankie. She’s played them in the shop before, but he’s unsure if this song ever came on through the stereo’s speakers. 

“In a kiss lies so much more than touch / And my life has found a new temptation / And ecstasy has meaning once again”

Wait—

This is the song she was singing along to the day Steve found her dancing while sweeping around the shop. Before he startled the living daylights out of her, accidentally ruining her moment of solitude. It makes him chuckle to think of that memory; that entire day— aside from her pain, pushing it aside with her pride— was so good to them both.

Exerting himself to run back will cost him for the rest of the week; his reward will be multiple high pain days, but Steve doesn’t care. All that matters is getting back to Frankie, finally confessing feelings he always believed were one sided. 

“I find suddenly I'm closer to you / And I find all my wildest dreams / Have come true / While I spin round / My heart is beating for two / And I am wishing / It will always be you and I / You and I”

Winded already, Steve slows down, trying to pace himself and keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

Just a few more blocks. A few more, and I can tell her I feel the same, hold her, hopefully kiss her, finally.

That alone is enough to carry him the rest of the way, though he almost runs into the street without looking, until a car honks at him, yanking him away from his thoughts. He holds his hands up apologetically, cringing as the car speeds off.

Man, try not to die before you can tell Frankie how you feel.

Lovesong by The Cure is the next track, one Steve knows well. He doesn’t know many songs by The Cure, but he likes this one; warmth is blooming throughout his body over the clarity and certainty of Frankie’s feelings through the lyrics.

“Whenever I'm alone with you / You make me feel like I am home again / Whenever I'm alone with you / You make me feel like I am whole again”

If Steve was honest, he hasn’t felt completely at home since leaving Hawkins; the closest he’s felt to that has been with his friends, and now, with Frankie. She puts him at ease, reassures him that he’s safe and at home in his own skin.

Home and safety are two things he’s longed for, even while living in Hawkins. His home— his parents’ house— that never felt like a home. Not unless the party filled its empty shell. 

The rest of the way back blurs by, body on auto pilot as he finally catches her apartment up ahead.

He’s practically running down the hallway, tugging his headphones off his ears, while he’s too wrapped up in the moment to stop the tape; Dolly Parton’s voice faintly sings on as Frankie’s apartment door comes into view.

“Say goodnight while there's still a star to wish on / Say goodnight while the moon is still in your eyes / Let me touch your smile and hold you for awhile / Then say goodnight, but never say goodbye”

Steve pumps the brakes, hesitating as he reaches the door; they welcome themselves into one another’s apartments all the time now. But this feels different, this is different, and what if he intrudes at a bad time? What if she’s asleep already?

Ignoring his worries tumbling like an avalanche, his hand shoots out for the doorknob, spare key at the ready, but he hovers above it. He can’t bring himself to unlock it, can’t pinpoint a clear reason against the second nature behavior.

Oh, fuck it.

He knocks rapidly, then regrets it in an instant. Chest still heaving, he tries settling down, calming his breaths before she can open the door.

I should just go in, I have a key, and knocking this late might startle her, and that would fucking suck, totally ruin the moment when I’m trying to tell her I feel the same—

The door creaks open, with a sleepy Frankie poking her head out; her freshly shaved head is covered by Steve’s hoodie, one he left behind weeks ago that she refuses to return. 

“… Steve?” She smiles, a little confused seeing him again; she rubs one of her eyes, hand covered by the sleeve, opening the door some more with the other— Christ, she’s fucking cute just by existing— “What’d you forget this time?”

Steve’s heartbeat is in his throat, blanking out as he locks his gaze with hers.

“I…”

Don’t freeze up now, say something!

“You…” Her smile falters a little, noticing how winded he still is. Opening the door wider, she steps closer to him, hand reaching for his arm as she leans out of the doorway. “Hey, are you okay?” Gently, she pulls him inside, softly shutting the door behind them.

Dolly’s voice floats out of his headphones, breaking the daze he began to fall in.

“Oh, it's easy now to tell you how I'm dreaming about tomorrow / Because you'll be there to share that dream with me / But now it's time to close your eyes, put this night away / And keep it safe, a perfect memory”

 Where it was hiding all this time, Steve’s unsure, but a flicker of confidence sparks within him, ignites him to make a move.

“D—“ He has to clear his throat, still catching his breath from running. “Didn’t get to say goodnight the way I’ve always wanted to.” Frankie’s too tired to catch on, not until Steve carefully backs her against the door, leaving little room between them.

While the last song plays out of his headphones, slung around his neck, he’s grabbing her by the waist with one hand, and the other cradles the side of her face; gently making its way to mold along the side of her neck, thumb ghosting along her jawline. She gasps softly as the two gravitate toward one another, foreheads pressed together, noses nudging against one another—

The dim apartment, the sounds of the city, the entire world begins to melt away for Steve; it’s just the two of them, bodies and hearts meeting the way he’s dreamed of for months now.

Lips tenderly colliding, it’s soft and sweet, affectionate smiles causing the two to giggle into the kiss. Frankie loosely grips the front of his shirt between her fingers, tugging him closer as her hands eventually slide up his chest, arms slinking around his shoulders.

It’s a cinematic, magical moment, if the lead roles were two disabled friends to lovers, anything but what mainstream romance films depict. No, this is real. It’s real, because Steve can tell the difference between Frankie’s usual tremors, and the way she’s trembling right now with excitement. It’s real, and he’s able to let the ever-growing ache in his body fall away, while his focus fixates on Frankie only. 

This is the truest form of affection Steve has ever felt for and with anyone, ever— and it’s real.

He takes one step back abruptly, still holding onto her as an avalanche of overthinking begins to tumble. “I shouldn’t have left earlier. Did I wake you up? I was gonna just let myself in, but then I panicked, and then I felt bad for knocking, ‘cause you were totally asleep, and I know you’re gonna be too nice to tell me—“

“Steve,” She breathes that same reassuring, smile-ridden, acknowledgement, and like every time before, he’s at ease. “I’m glad you left earlier— wait, no, hold on, that sounds mean—“

Steve starts laughing as her face turns red. 

“If you didn’t leave, you wouldn’t have listened to the tape!” She backs up a bit, hands falling to her hips as she tries to elaborate.

“Hm, I dunno,” His hand reaches out for hers, pulling it out of the sassy pose to tug her closer; she stays put, stance locked to the floor. “I would’ve snuck a listen if you fell asleep.”

“Oh, for— You know what I mean, Harrington!” She tries to come off pissed, but bursts into giggles right along with him. Sticking her tongue out, she flips him off while he catches a glimpse of her tongue piercing, jaw slack as he’s blushing like he did the first time all over again. Frankie smirks, aware of what he’s really looking at. “You wanna know what it feels like, don’t you?”

Steve nods with a strained, groaning reply, almost in a trance “I- yeah, I gotta know.” Her smile scrunches up her features as he leans back in; a nervous laugh slips out of him while his lips brush against hers, but once they meld together, everything feels so natural, so right.

The last time anything felt right to Steve was… god only knows when. He’s lost in his thoughts until Frankie’s lips part, slotting against his with ease. She boldly runs her tongue along his bottom lip, smirking as Steve makes a soft, airy whimper into her mouth. His knees feel weak as her tongue brushes against his, the stainless steel piercing giving a new sensation he’s never experienced in any kiss before this. Who knew a little piece of metal could make a kiss so dizzying?

It ends as quickly as it begins, with Frankie pulling back in giggles against Steve’s lips while a groan slips from him. “Holy shit…”

“Would’ve kissed you way sooner if I knew this silly piercing would make you weak at the knees.”

Playfully, Steve rolls his eyes, with a scoff to match. “Oh, like you didn’t have to use a mixtape to tell me how you feel.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She scrunches her face. “So… you’re staying, right?” At first, Steve thinks it’s a question backed by desire, but she cracks, “‘Cause you look like you’re about to pass out.” She squeaks out a laugh as he pulls her off the door.

“Shut up, ‘Key,” His lips are back on hers, initiating a deeper kiss; Frankie hums, and the vibrations against his own lips drives him wild. 

“Can we, uh—“ He’s a breathy mess, gaze falling to her lips, then finding her eyes again. Fatigue is creeping up on him, and though he wants to stay up all night with her, he knows they both need the sleep. Coherent, full sentences are lost on him as he only asks, “Bed?”

Frankie’s brows shoot up, tugging a teasing smirk along her face. “Oh? Damn, didn’t know you moved that fast.”

“No, wait— not— that’s not what I meant!” He’s flustered, shaking his head wildly. Frankie’s amusement only grows. “I- I- I don’t— god, that made me sound like such a dick—“

“Steve.” That’ll never get old, the way they both stop one another’s ramblings with a breath of the other’s name, followed by a comforting, tiny smile. “I’m only kidding. You’ve gotta be exhausted from running back, huh?”

He exhales relief, nodding. Even drained, he smiles at her tiredly, “So worth it though.”

“Yeah, we’re not working tomorrow, are we?”

Grinning sheepishly, he shrugs. “I can get us a ton of coffee—“

“Nope, it’s decided, shop’s closed tomorrow.”

Steve shakes his head, grin still hanging around. He’s got a feeling it could last a long time.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I… didn’t think that far yet, shut up.”

“Okay, sleepyhead, c’mon,” Hand lacing in his, she leads him to her bedroom, where he lets himself flop onto her mattress to finally rest. He sinks back into the pillows, legs hanging over the side as his eyes slip shut with a dazed sigh.

Frankie carefully removes his glasses to set on the nightstand, giggling, “Steve, you’re still— we’re not cuddling if you wear your damn jeans in my bed.”

Eyes still shut, Steve’s the one smirking now. “If you wanted to see me naked you could just ask, ‘Key.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

A weak retort dies on Steve’s tongue as he feels the laces of his sneakers come loose, shoes sliding off his feet. Frankie stands up, hands on her hips as he pushes himself to sit up. The tiny act of affection makes his heart swell.

“M’not taking your pants off,” She giggles, eyes falling down his figure. “Though, it’s tempting.”

Steve grumbles under his breath, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off, falling back onto the bed as he’s left in his boxers. His eyes begin to close again, until his legs are pushed apart; Frankie stands between them, watching a blush creep across his face with a smirk. Her hands take their time as they slide up his thighs, crawling onto the bed, ending up directly over him.

“Oh— wait, hey, what—“

Steve’s sure as hell wide awake now.

“H- hey,” He shudders nervously, hand wandering up to her face. Through her smile, she bites her lip, leaning down towards him.

“Hi,” She stifles a bout of giggles, noses barely touching, lips hovering over his. His breath hitches, eyelids growing hooded. “Steve, can I tell you something?”

He’s way too eager to respond, nodding quickly, bumping his nose against hers. The two groan from the gentle collision, dissolving into laughter while he murmurs a ‘sorry’.

“Y’can tell me anything,” He’s trying his hardest to keep his cool, but his wavering voice has to be a dead giveaway. “You know that, ‘Key.”

Frankie’s lips brush against his, and Steve’s too slow to catch her before she leans in closer to his ear, breath tickling along his lobe. 

“You’re in my spot, babe.”

She sits up, sleepy giggles escaping her as she rolls off of him. Steve exhales with an annoyed look, narrowing his stare at her as he slides over.

“Just when I thought you were trouble already,” He scoffs, slipping under the covers; his arms wind around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. 

“M’your favorite troublemaker though, huh?” Frankie nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck, limbs intertwining with his own. 

“I don’t know… you got three other knuckleheads to compete with.”

She scoffs, “You’re tough to please.”

“Oh, far from it, embarrassingly enough.”

Steve kisses the top of her head, hand slipping under the sweatshirt’s hood to softly graze his fingers along her buzzed head. She shivers under his touch.

“Sorry—“

She grabs his hand, holding it in place. “Don’t, it feels nice.” A ghost of a kiss lingers on his neck, coaxing a whimper out of him. She leaves another imprint of her lips behind, and another, taking her time as she works her way up his neck. She pauses at his jawline, murmuring against his skin, “This okay?”

“Mhm,” One hand slides to the back of her head, cradling it gently as the other wanders to the small of her back, tracing mindless patterns along her spine. Her trail of feather-light kisses continue along his jaw, to his chin, up to his lips. Eyes locking with his, she nudges her nose against his, lips barely touching again as he parts them with bated breath. 

“I like you, Steve.”

A lopsided grin pulls along his worn features. 

“I like you too, Frankie.”

She shakes her head, “No, I- I really like you. Like… a lot.”

Steve steals a quick kiss, admiring the way her cheeks heat up, blush running strong under her butterfly rash. Somehow, their connection feels the same, and yet completely new all at once. Uncharted territory with the one he trusts his heart with the most.

“And I like you a—“

“No.” 

“No?” 

Frankie sighs shakily, “M’so bad with words.” She kisses him, lips lingering a little longer than he did prior. “And I’m—“ Another kiss. “I’m so… I’m really scared to say it.” She doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t give him the chance to ask what she means when she kisses him again; she moves with grace at first, Steve following her lead. They move together so fluidly, but a renewed desire takes over, slipping her tongue into his mouth as her hands grip his shirt, balling the fabric into her fists. 

Steve can feel her piercing against his tongue, immediately growing dizzy from the heightened sensation that damned little piece of metal brings. The strong hand on her back circles to her hip, fingers kneading the plush curve along her body. This time, Frankie’s the one to make a needy noise, whining into the kiss. He pulls away, despite his body screaming at him to mold into hers again.

“You can say it,” Steve murmurs against her lips, half in a whisper. Her arms slink around his shoulders, fingers toying with the soft tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck. “S’okay, I’m scared too.” 

She winds a lock of hair around her fingers, then another, tugging ever so slightly, enough to make him shiver.

“Y’feel the same?” 

Steve nods slowly, lips melding into Frankie’s, with a hum of a “mhm” vibrating into her. Reluctantly, he moves back again, gravelly offering, “Fuck yeah I do.” It earns a giggle from her, but it’s short lived.

“Steve, m’not kidding, I- I’m scared to say it, but I wanna.” She trembles against him, but keeps some kind of composure. “W- what if you leave and—“

Desperately, he shakes his head, antsy to hear what she wants to tell him. “‘Key, just say it, pl—“

It’s a raspy, rushed mess, but Steve still hears it, loud and clear: 

“I love you.”

A silence falls between the two, where the only sounds are their shallow breaths and wildly beating hearts.

“‘Atta girl,” Steve’s teasing response brings a grin along Frankie’s face as she blushes deeply, before kissing her again, taking his time to memorize every line and curve of her lips. But he abruptly stops, “Shit, wait, I- I love you too, sorry, I’m— it’s just— you’re distracting me, Francesca.”

Between kisses, she laughs, then murmurs, “Can’t say that shit t’me, told you that.” He trails away from her mouth, kissing softly along her face, making his way to her neck. Gasping, she pulls at his hair, pausing him as he groans lowly. “Quit using my full name too, I like how it sounds coming from you.” He laughs as she forces a frown. “We should be sleeping, Steve.”

“What, you don’t wanna make out all night?” He’s teasing, but checks in, “We can stop. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m more than comfortable, trust me. But don’t— uh— only this, okay? For now?”

Steve kisses back up her neck, taking in the view of her kiss-swollen lips, the dark circles under her eyes, and the lazy grin across her face. Now that they stopped, fatigue is catching up to her quickly, and it’s written all over her features.

Her “I love you” echoes in his head over and over.

Nodding, Steve gently cradles his hand against her face— a signature move the two now share, one that wouldn’t feel right with anyone else. 

“For as long as you want or need,” He’s exhausted, can feel his eyelids growing heavier by the second as the two calm down; sleep’s within his reach, and judging by the tired look she wears, she’ll doze off with ease soon, too. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going anywhere. I love you, ‘Key.”

Before Steve can drift off, he remembers the last time the two were in her bed, and what a difference there was between the emotions then, and now, but Frankie’s voice yanks him out of the thoughtful daze.

“Hey, babe? You free tomorrow?” She mumbles, smirking with eyes closed, lazily wiggling her eyebrows in his direction. “Y’wanna make out?”

He bursts into laughter, embrace tugging her close as she gives a giggle that settles with ease as she falls asleep.

“Fuck yeah I do.” 

[dahliah-blackened]

The Golden Boy (Pt.2)

Guys! Thank you so much for the love on part 1! I've had so many ideas rushing through my head for new fanfics and storylines, but my mind always goes back to the classic starved to stuffed. What can I say? I'm a sucker for it. This is part 2 of my story with Julien and Kobi where Julien finally gets a nice meal, perhaps he indulges a bit too much. Contains a little hunger, food as comfort, stuffing, and belly rubs. Also they may or may not kiss at the end :3

Julien woke up late, sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, but he didn’t move. The bed was a fortress of comfort, the only thing that had felt remotely like relief in the past few weeks. His body ached with exhaustion, and despite his stomach growling with need, he buried his face deeper into his pillow. Today was his day off. The day he’d spend in bed, in peace, no shifts to rush to, no meals to plate. Just silence.

But then, his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes, reaching over lazily to grab the phone. His thumb hovered over the screen before he even opened his eyes, and for a moment, he considered just turning it off and going back to sleep. But the buzzing didn’t stop. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and glanced at the screen. It was a message from Kobi.

"Hey! I’m making dinner tonight. You should come over :0"

The offer was tempting but he quickly shook his head. The last thing he wanted to do was drag himself out of bed and go anywhere. Not today. But his stomach growled again, more insistent this time, reminding him of how empty he was. Julien winced, trying to ignore it. He stared at the message for a few more seconds before his stomach let out another long groan. Julien sighed, placing a hand over it and typed a response, his fingers moving slower than usual. “What’s on the menu?” Her reply came quickly. “You’ll see. Be here at 4 :)”

Julien let out a heavy sigh and dropped his phone onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was hard to ignore the pull of her offer. He was hungry—starving, really—and the thought of getting a proper meal, something that didn’t come out of a plastic container, was more enticing than the warmth of his bed. For a long moment, he lay there, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His stomach was still growling, demanding his attention. Finally, with another groan, he set an alarm and promptly rolled back into his quilt.

Julien’s fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel as the car hummed along the road. He turned the radio up louder, trying to drown out the constant growls from his stomach. It had been like this all day as he drifted in and out of sleep, the hunger gnawing at him, refusing to be ignored. But as much as his stomach wanted to scream at him, he couldn’t ignore the bigger, deeper hunger—a hunger for something more than food.

Kobi.

She’d been slipping into his life in ways he hadn’t expected. Over the past month, they’d grown closer, almost without him realizing it. It had started with the night she treated him at the diner after he’d nearly passed out from exhaustion. A simple meal, but she had seen him for what he really was—the broken, burned-out shell of the person he used to be.

And she hadn’t backed off.

Sometimes, she’d show up at his apartment with takeout—just enough to make him feel human again, like someone cared. Other times, she’d surprise him with a home-cooked meal, though he knew better than to admit how much those small gestures meant. But even with all of that, they hadn’t spent time together when Julien wasn’t utterly exhausted. When he wasn’t on the edge of collapse from overworking himself, struggling to hold everything together. Kobi had seen it all—the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he desperately tried to hide. And now she was offering to cook for him again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t just about feeding him. It was about being there, about sharing a moment without the chaos of their separate worlds.

He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex, the car’s engine humming softly as he parked in front of the building. For a brief second, he let his hands rest on the wheel, taking a deep breath. His thoughts swirled—he couldn’t believe how quickly things had changed. He had been so sure that keeping everyone at arm’s length was the only way to protect himself, but with Kobi, it didn’t seem that simple. With a sigh, he grabbed a bag from the passenger seat and got out of the car. His stomach groaned again, louder than ever, as he walked toward the entrance.

Kobi stood in the middle of her kitchen, her eyes darting from the pot of simmering broth to the dishes spread out across the dining room table. The aroma of savory meat, rich spices, and roasted vegetables filled the apartment, making her mouth water in anticipation. But she wasn’t hungry—not yet. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts, wondering if she’d gone too far.

The spread before her was nothing short of extravagant—more food than she’d ever made for herself in one sitting, let alone for someone else. There were bowls of perfectly seasoned rice, thick slices of tender braised beef, and a fragrant, simmering soup that had taken her hours to perfect. The mix of vegetables were perfectly caramelized, a beautiful golden brown. She had gone all out, hoping to impress Julien, but now, with everything ready, she couldn’t help but second-guess herself. Was this too much? The kitchen was a disaster, the counters covered in chopped onions, flour, and scattered bits of vegetables. She’d barely had time to clean up as she moved from one dish to another, the rhythm of cooking making her feel alive in a way she hadn’t experienced in years.

The dishes looked beautiful, almost too beautiful for her tiny apartment. The thought of Julien seeing it all—the food, the effort she’d put in—made her feel self-conscious. What if he thought it was strange? What if he felt uncomfortable, like she was trying too hard? She had no reason to feel this nervous. But something about Julien, how he always seemed on edge, how he tried so hard to hide how tired and hungry he was, made her want to do this for him. He deserved to eat well. He deserved to indulge a little. 

Kobi wiped her hands on the apron she’d tied around her waist, the fabric covered with flour and splashes of sauce. A glance at the clock told her it was almost time. He should be here any minute. With one last look at the food, she gave the pot a quick stir and took a deep breath. Hopefully, Julien would appreciate this. If not… well, at least she’d tried. Her heart skipped a beat when she heard the knock at the door. She wasn’t sure why her pulse was pounding in her chest, but it felt like she was about to face something far more significant than just serving dinner. 

When she opened the door, there he was. Standing there in casual clothes—loose-fitting jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers—a far cry from his usual restaurant uniform. There was something different about him like this, something younger, more approachable, more human. The tired lines on his face weren’t as harsh, and for a moment, Kobi could see the guy beneath the exhaustion. Undeniably handsome, disheveled in the best way, and almost normal. 

His expression was a mix of uncertainty and determination, as if he wasn’t sure if he was walking into a formal dinner or a casual hangout. He looked up at her, offering a sheepish smile, and held up the bag. “I, uh… brought a bottle of wine. I figured I couldn’t show up empty-handed,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, a faint flush on his cheeks. Kobi blinked, trying to suppress a smile. She wasn’t sure if it was his awkwardness or the unexpected gesture that made her heart race even faster. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“Wine, huh?” she said, an eyebrow raising as she glanced at the bottle in his hand. She could tell it was one of those expensive bottles people only bought when they were trying to impress someone. Julien shifted a little under her gaze, and for a moment, Kobi could see the self-consciousness creeping in. It was endearing, in a way. She pulled him inside, closing the door behind him, and gestured toward the dining room table where the spread was laid out. His eyes widened as he took it all in, clearly surprised by the sheer amount of food. “Is… all of this for me?” Julien asked, his voice incredulous but touched with a hint of awe. “Of course not,” Kobi replied, raising an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I was planning to eat it all by myself. Yes it’s for you, stupid.”

Julien smirked, though there was an unmistakable gratitude in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t set the bar too high,” he said, setting the bottle down on the counter. Kobi rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re about to find out just how high I’ve set the bar.” She gestured to the table. “I hope you’re hungry.” Julien chuckled under his breath, his gaze lingering on the food for a moment longer.

Kobi waved him toward the table, her hands full as she tended to the last touches of the meal. She turned off the stove before reaching for the corkscrew and worked it into the bottle. Julien’s gaze drifted across the spread before him, his fingers twitching against his arms. The dishes were vibrant and fragrant, filling the small apartment with the kind of warmth that didn’t just come from the heat of the stove. Platters of roasted meat glistened under the soft kitchen light, fluffy rice steamed beside them, and a dozen side dishes added pops of color to the table. It was a feast, plain and simple—more food than he could ever remember sitting down to eat in one place.

Julien exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. His body ached, the exhaustion from weeks of nonstop work settling into his limbs now that he had finally stopped moving. And yet, despite everything, he felt… lighter. "Come sit already," he muttered as Kobi buzzed around the kitchen. "I’m starving over here.” Kobi snorted, grabbing her glass and making her way to the table. "Well, we can’t have that now, can we?" She set her glass down, finally sliding into the chair across from him. "Alright, now you can eat." Julien didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up his fork and, after a brief pause, dug in. The moment he took his first bite, he realized just how much he had been missing out on.

Kobi tucked into her own plate, silently patting herself on the back as the flavors hit her tongue. Still, what really mattered was across from her. She glanced at Julien, watching as he reached for another bite—then another. His pace wasn’t rushed, but there was a certain eagerness in the way he took larger portions, in the way he barely hesitated before going back for more. She watched him swallow mouthful after mouthful of her cooking. If she hadn’t already known how hungry he must’ve been, this was confirmation enough.

She took a sip of wine before clearing her throat. “So?” Julien barely looked up. “So what?” Kobi rolled her eyes. “Don’t ‘so what’ me. The food, idiot.” Julien finally met her gaze, fork still poised over his plate. His expression was unreadable for a second before he smirked. “Not bad.” Kobi snorted. “Not bad?” Julien shrugged, the smirk widening as he picked up another bite. “Alright, it’s great. My compliments to the chef.” Kobi clicked her tongue but couldn’t fight back the small grin tugging at her lips.

He chewed for a moment, then, more seriously, added, “You should go into fine dining.” Kobi barked out a laugh, nearly choking on her sip of wine. “Yeah, no thanks.” Julien raised an eyebrow. “What? You’d do well.” Kobi shook her head, stabbing at a piece of meat. “After seeing the way fine dining treats you, I take that as an insult.” Julien shrugged. “It’s not all bad.” Kobi shot him a flat look. “You literally ran out of there crying not too long ago.” Julien flinched, shoulders tensing. “Okay, that was…” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “That was just a bad night.” Kobi hummed, unimpressed. “Yeah, and I don’t do bad nights.” She popped a roasted brussel sprout into her mouth, chewing pointedly before adding, “I like my job. I like my customers, and I don't like being told what to do.”

Julien exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. “I keep forgetting how stubborn you are.” Kobi smirked. “And yet you keep expecting me to change.” Julien shook his head, but there was something softer in his gaze now, something thoughtful as he watched her. He lifted his wine glass, taking a slow sip before muttering, “Still think you’d kill it.” Kobi scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she just reached for her own glass and took a long drink. She wouldn’t say it out loud, but she was starting to enjoy these moments with him.

Julien hadn’t realized how tense his body had been until the warmth of the food began to spread through him, chasing away the lingering ache in his stomach. Each bite settled in his gut like an anchor, filling the empty space that had become all too familiar. He told himself he’d pace himself this time—wouldn’t let hunger make a fool out of him like before. The last thing he wanted was another night of curling up on his couch, clutching his overfilled stomach as he eagerly wolfed down whatever meal Kobi had brought him. But then Kobi reached across the table, dumping another generous helping of vegetables onto his plate without hesitation. “You’re slowing down.” Julien stared at the new portion, then at her. “Yeah, I’m getting kinda full.” Kobi raised an eyebrow. “Full?” He only offered a shrug. She snorted. “Please. You’ll be starving again by the end of the week. Might as well keep going.”

Julien huffed, pushing his plate an inch away. “I don’t need to keep going.” Kobi didn’t miss a beat. “And I didn’t make all this to go to waste.” Julien groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.” She offered a sly smirk “And you’re underfed,” she shot back. “Eat.” Julien sighed, glancing down at his plate. His stomach, for all his protests, didn’t exactly disagree with her. It had been so long since he’d had a meal like this, he might as well take advantage. With a reluctant shake of his head, he picked his fork back up. “You’re gonna regret this when I throw up all over your nice table cloth.” Kobi just smirked. “Bring it on.”

As the night rolled on and the plates of food on the table dwindled, Kobi leaned back in her chair with a dramatic huff, setting her fork down in defeat. Across from her, Julien was much less obvious about it, delicately wiping his mouth with his napkin. But Kobi wasn’t fooled. She saw the slight shift in his posture, the way his hand hovered near his stomach as if debating whether to rub at the discomfort building there. She hesitated for a moment before clearing her throat. “So, uh… I also made dessert.” Julien let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “There’s no way I have room for it.” Kobi shrugged, leaning her cheek against her palm. “I dunno. I heard somewhere that sugar helps expand your stomach or something.” Julien gave her a dubious look. “Is that true?” Kobi tilted her head, feigning thought. “Beats me. I’m not a biologist.” 

Julien rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, he watched as Kobi moved through the kitchen with practiced ease. He leaned back slightly, careful not to press too hard against the edge of the table. His stomach was working through the sheer amount of food he’d just put away, a low, sluggish churn settling in its depths. It wasn’t painful—not yet, at least. Just… unfamiliar. He wasn’t used to this kind of fullness, the warm weight of a proper meal sitting heavy inside him. It was a welcome change from the emptiness he usually ignored, but at the same time, it was almost too much. Guilt flared in his chest, chased quickly by embarrassment as he looked at the near empty table. Had he really eaten that much? He hadn’t meant to overdo it, but with the way Kobi had kept pushing food onto his plate, and the way it had tasted—

He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, shoving the thought aside.

Shifting in his seat, he cleared his throat. “I’ll help clean up.” Kobi snorted, already loading dishes into the dishwasher and dragging out Tupperware. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re the guest. Just sit there and digest or whatever.” Julien frowned, pushing himself to stand. “I can handle stacking some plates, Kobi.” She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Sit your ass down, Julien.”  He exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He was too full to argue. Begrudgingly, he eased back into his chair, resting his arms on the table as he watched her move through the kitchen.

Julien leaned back, letting his eyes slip closed for just a moment. His stomach, now fully aware that it had been fed, seemed to grow heavier by the second. He pressed a careful hand against it, feeling the taut dome beneath his hoodie. The initial warmth of the meal had shifted into something weightier—still not painful, but enough that he knew adding anything else would be pushing it. He immediately tensed when he heard the fridge open.

He watched as Kobi pulled out a small porcelain bowl, her expression satisfied as she grabbed two spoons. “Make a little more room.” Julien’s stomach gave a weak gurgle in protest, and he shifted in his seat. “Kobi, I—” “Nope.” She turned, setting the bowl down with a quiet clink. “I’m not listening to whatever excuse you’re about to make.” Julien sighed through his nose, watching as she lifted the lid, revealing a familiar golden broth with soft, round dumplings floating in it. He blinked in surprise. Tangyuan. Sweet glutinous rice balls he had grown to look forward to on every lunar new year.

Kobi shifted, suddenly looking unsure. “You mentioned once that your mom made these for you when you were a kid, so…” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Figured I’d give it a shot.” For a moment, Julien didn’t know what to say. The scent of warm ginger syrup curled around him, bringing back memories he hadn’t expected. His chest tightened—not uncomfortably, but in a way he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge. His stomach, however, protested again, reminding him that it was already far past full. “Kobi, I don’t know, my stomach—” She shot him a look. “It’s just soup and a few rice balls, Lee. You’re telling me you can’t make room for that?”

Julien hesitated, glancing at the bowl. Kobi was watching him, expectant but not forceful. There was no demand in her eyes, no challenge. Just an unspoken hope that he would accept this, that he would share this moment with her. “…Fine.” He exhaled, shifting his hand from his overfilled belly as she slid a spoon toward him. “But only a little.” She smirked. “That’s more like it.”

Julien set his spoon down with a quiet clink, exhaling as he leaned back against the chair. His stomach felt impossibly full, stretched tight beneath the weight of everything he had eaten. The warmth of the tangyuan lingered in his chest, but so did the unmistakable discomfort of having pushed past his limits. Kobi, stretching her arms over her head as the food settled in her own belly, glanced at him with a raised brow. “You look like you’re about to pop.”

“I knew I’d overeaten about three plates ago,” Julien admitted, pressing a palm lightly over the noticeable curve of his stomach. “But someone is stubborn.” Kobi scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I’m the stubborn one.” He smirked—at least, he tried to. The way his stomach protested even the slightest movement had him grimacing instead. Her eyes softened slightly, and she sighed. “C’mon, before you fall into a food coma at my table.”

Before he could argue, she reached over and took his hands in hers, pulling him gently to his feet. Julien let her lead him toward the couch, though the movement made his stomach churn uncomfortably. He let out a breath as he sank down onto the cushions, immediately settling his hands over his aching middle. His fingers splayed over the curve, pressing lightly as though that might relieve some of the pressure.

Kobi slid in next to him, tucking her legs up as she turned toward him. “You really don’t know how to pace yourself, huh?” Julien scoffed. “I wasn’t given much of a choice.” She shrugged, strawberry blonde locks falling in her eyes as her bun loosened. “You could’ve stopped.” He gave her a tired, knowing look. “Could I?” Kobi huffed, but a smile tugged at her lips. She let him sit like that for a moment, watching the way his brows furrowed as he tried to ease the strain in his stomach. Then, after a beat, she shifted closer.

Gently, carefully, she reached out, resting a palm against the firm swell of his stomach. Julien tensed—she could feel it beneath her fingertips—but he didn’t pull away. He wasn’t used to being touched like this. Her palm moved in slow, careful circles over his bulging stomach, pressing just enough to soothe the discomfort but not enough to make it worse. His skin burned beneath his hoodie, warmth pooling in his face just as much as in his stomach.

“…You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, clearing his throat. Kobi only scoffed. “Yeah? Well, it’s kinda my fault.” Julien huffed out a short laugh, but it ended on a small, involuntary sigh as her touch pressed just right against the ache. Kobi, ignoring the way her heart was pounding, let her hands still for a moment. Then, before she could think better of it, she hooked her fingers under the hem of his hoodie, pushing it up just enough to press her palms against his bare skin.

Julien flinched. “Relax,” Kobi muttered, even as her own breath caught slightly. Her hands were warm as she resumed those slow, steady circles. His stomach was more muscular than she expected, the skin warm beneath her fingertips, but still taut from how much he had eaten. Julien sucked in a sharp breath, hands twitching slightly where they rested at his sides. “…This is weird,” he said, voice barely above a murmur.

Kobi felt the way his stomach tensed slightly beneath her palms. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Maybe.” She didn’t stop, though. And Julien—despite the initial flustered tension in his shoulders—didn’t ask her to. Instead, after a moment, he exhaled slowly, letting himself sink into her touch, into the warmth of it. Julien swallowed, his eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of her touch, the rhythm of her movements, eased the dull ache. Kobi shifted, adjusting her position as she continued to rub deep, slow circles into Julien’s stomach.

And then—without thinking too hard about it—she moved to straddle his lap.

Julien stiffened. Her touch, once just comforting, suddenly felt intimate in a way that made heat shoot up his spine. His breath hitched as her fingers pressed deeper into his stomach, working out the tension, and—God help him—it felt good. Kobi, seemingly unaffected, only murmured, “This’ll help more,” as she leaned in, bringing their faces closer. Julien swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure where to go—if he should hold onto her hips, if that would be too much, if it was already too much.

But the slow, methodical movement of her hands, the way her thumbs pressed just right, had his eyelids growing heavy, his body sinking into hers. And then—the tension changed. It wasn’t just about his overfilled stomach anymore. Their faces were close now. So close he could see the flecks of brown and green in her eyes, the way her breath hitched just like his. The air shifted, something unspoken passing between them, something undeniable.

Kobi hesitated, her lips parting slightly. Julien’s gaze flickered downward—brief, fleeting. They both leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tentative. But then—deeper. Julien’s stomach pressed against Kobi’s middle as he pulled her closer, the ache momentarily forgotten in favor of the warmth spreading through him for an entirely different reason.

When they finally pulled apart, Julien exhaled shakily, his chocolate brown eyes still half-lidded as he took her in. He smirked. “…You’re red as hell, Kobes.” Kobi blinked, heat burning across her face. Scowling, she sank her fingers into his belly. Julien yelped, his hands drawing up to meet hers. “That’s what you get, stupid,” she muttered, cheeks still flaming. He groaned, glaring weakly at her. “That was uncalled for—” But neither of them pulled away.

And both of them knew—moving forward, everything was different.

[lightgirlification]

In Stars and Time: After Story Chapter 5

CW for slight intrusive thoughts. It's time for the next chapter in this story! Enjoy!

Chapter 5:

Siffrin sighed in content as they flopped down to the bed, taking in the soft blankets and the mattress that formed around their body just right. They heard a chuckle from Isabeau,

“You really love that bed huh?”

“It’s one of the best I’ve slept in.” Siffrin pouted, “Do we really have to leave it when we go?”

“Unfortunately, but this won’t be the last time we have such a comfy bed. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find an even better one!” The rogue shook their head,

“Nope. This bed is the ruler of all beds, it reigns supreme.” His boyfriend grinned,

“And we are it’s subjects I presume? It seems to rule over us well considering how we sleep.” Siffrin smirked,

“Would explain the spring in our steps.” Isabeau laughed,

“Yes! Definitely!” The tall man tried to calm himself, “I should watch my voice, I don’t want to disturb the others.”

“Don’t worry…” Siffrin’s smirk grew, and Isabeau tried not to look like he was eager to hear what came next, “I’ll quilt it if it gets too much.” The large man covered his mouth to muffle his cackles, falling to sit on the bed. Siffrin joined him in his laughter, it was so easy with how hearty Isabeau’s laughs were. His laughter dying down, the man looked back at Siffrin,

“Crab, I love you, you know that?” The bright haired adult’s cheeks darkened slightly but they nodded. They would never forget that; they would do everything in their power to remember, especially with how much Isabeau does for them. They looked down at their hands, fiddling with them,

“I do. I don’t want to ever forget that.” It became silent, Siffrin becoming enraptured with how his hands looked. He couldn’t forget his love for Isabeau or the others; if he did what did that make him? Someone who used that very love to make himself feel better. No, he wouldn’t let that happen. He felt the bed recessing more and turned his head to look at Isabeau lying next to him,

“What’s on your mind buddy?”

“What do you mean?” His boyfriend gave a fond, yet knowing look,

“You look like you’re thinking too hard again.” Siffrin blinked and stared for a moment, before looking to the side with a nervous smile,

“I guess I am…” Turning to face the ceiling again, his hands rested on top of his stomach, “It’s just…I’m happy my memory is getting better, and that I was able to recall something for so long. But…What if it was just a fluke, that this is just one big trick being played by someone bigger than all of us? And then tomorrow I forget everyone’s favorite foods, or even the designs in your sketch book.” His eye became pained, “I hate that thought, I don’t want to keep forgetting Isa.” If he forgot he was no better than the villains in the plays he watched; using others for their own gain, tricking them into caring so they could get what they wanted. He didn’t want to be like that…He jumped a little at the feeling of a hand covering both of his, and looked back over to Isabeau,

“You won’t keep forgetting Sif, I promise.” Siffrin looked desperate,

“How do you know? Isa, I may have grasped the memories now somehow but with my mind the way it is…”

You will forget, you ALWAYS forget. You grasp onto them like a leech and will keep doing so because you treat the memories like TRASH.

They shook their head, “We can’t trust it! I know I’ve been doing well, and maybe there’s a possibility I won’t need physical proof or so many reminders in the future but I-!”

“Sif.” The words stopped immediately at Isabeau’s stern tone, but it was replaced with soft comfort, “It’ll be okay. You’ve been doing very well, I’ve seen it. But you seem to think that failing isn’t an option anymore.” The man’s grip on Siffrin’s hands tightened slightly, “There’s no shame in needing help. You know you can rely on us, right?” The rogue looked at their pillow,

“I do. But I don’t want to bother anybody. You all do so much for me already, and if I get better then you all won’t have to worry about me.” To their surprise, Isabeau chuckled,

“I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re going to anyway. We all worry about each other, and we make sure that we’re okay. There are times we make mistakes, but we work together to solve the problem or do our best to make it up to each other. That’s what being family means.” Siffrin blinked. Right, they were family, even after…

“Even after…What happened 4 months ago?” Isabeau nodded,

“I know how hard you treat yourself about it, and while what you did was wrong, I think anyone would be lost when going through what you did. Crab Sif you’re human. You are allowed to feel upset.”

“But I hurt you all…” Siffrin muttered sadly, but Isabeau continued,

“You did, but you obviously regret what happened, and you are making it up to us by letting us in bit by bit. We just want you to get better buddy.” Siffrin’s lips tightened into a thin line,

“What if I never get better? What if I’m…just trapped?” They shivered at the thought, “I can’t…go back.” Isabeau lifted his arm, an invitation to a hug, and who was Siffrin to refuse? They scooted closer to wrap their arms around Isabeau as the man held them close, combing through their hair with his fingers,

“No one is ever truly stagnated. Stuck maybe, but we’re always improving in some way. I know how you feel, wanting to rush through it and see the results, but you can’t do that to yourself. All it’ll lead to is an eventual crash, and the more you push it the more chained down you become.” Siffrin looked up,

“But shouldn’t I push through it so I can work towards those goals?” Isabeau closed his eyes in thought,

“Well…” His dark orbs opened, “Think of it like this. A rope that’s secure and well maintained will do its job just fine, but there’s still going to be ware and tear on it. If that rope is pulled on constantly, that tear will become worse until it eventually snaps. It’s not the rope’s fault, the situations around it just pushed it to its breaking point.” Isabeau looked at Siffrin, “Now imagine you’re the rope. You have gone through a lot of situations that would cause any of the finest thread to break, but you’re still here, fighting and holding on. A ‘rope’ with that strength is extremely special but needs to be cared for as much as anyone would. You deserve to take it easier on yourself, you’re doing so much work as is.” He kissed Siffrin’s head, “And I for one am so proud of you.” Siffrin blinked several times as the tears began to build up. He took in Isabeau’s words, and nodded,

“Thank you.” He whispered, “I’ll do my best to…take it easier.”

“And that’s okay, moderation is important. Just know whatever you decide to do, we’re all here for you, okay?” Siffrin nodded once more, before yawning. Isabeau made them both more comfortable, and after nuzzling into their boyfriend’s chest, Siffrin let themself drift off.

o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

Siffrin fell asleep easier than usual. It was probably because of the big meal they had that night, and the talk they had with Isabeau calming their nerves. The man was right about a lot of things, and Siffrin could admit they felt accomplished for remembering things over a long period of time. It made his heart swirl with pride and truly, maybe soon he wouldn’t need help to remind him of various things; no more lists, books, or even other people’s words, he would grasp memories all on his own. But was that truly possible? With his mind the way it is…No, stop, he shouldn’t give in so easily. He said to Isabeau he would try to take it easier, and he could also talk with Odile to set up a plan to help him continue remembering things. He could do this.

Speaking of which, his talks with Odile did help soothe his subconscious, not having nearly as many nightmares as he did a few months ago. Originally, during and after the loops, sleep was something Siffrin feared. The visions he saw when his body drifted off were intense, and there were plenty of nights where he woke up screaming, sometimes not even knowing he was awake. Now however, his dreams had been easier to manage despite the vivid imagery.

But this was...Different...

Siffrin's eye was met with a bright, almost shimmering field of which he laid in, and a calm sky above; quite different than the usual scenery his mind would conjure up. It was...peaceful, not only that but Siffrin felt awake just as he did when he laid his head down that night. There was no haziness that came with his vivid dreams, he felt fully awake. What was going on?

Well, nothing is going to come to him just laying here. Besides doing so brought on less then savory memories…

They stood up and looked around, seeing a few trees around and a little river. Perhaps they should follow it and see where it led…They began following the water’s edge, looking around for any changes. They walked for what seemed like a few minutes before a tree came into view, and not just any tree, it was...The Favor Tree in Dormont? Oh no, what was this dream trying to do to him? Siffrin gulped and took careful steps closer, unsure if he would be ready for what awaited him. He was at the side of the tree, placing a nervous hand on it. It felt so real, the wood brushing against his glove as it would when he was awake. He took a deep breath in...And out…He needs to face whatever his head was going to throw at him. Siffrin swiftly turned the corner of the tree and turns out he was right about not being ready, but not in the way he would ever have expected. He froze on the spot, his eye growing as wide as it could become as he took in the person before him.

"...Loop?" The said figure jumped only slightly. It was like they were experiencing the same dream as Siffrin was, but he had to remember this was just an illusion made up by his mind due to the traveler missing Loop so much. Siffrin shouldn’t get his hopes up, this was a dream after all, and they looked down sadly, "I guess...I would dream of you eventually. It's been months and yet this is the first time I've seen you in some way. At least it counts for something right Loop?" It is silent between them.

Obviously, what good would talking to a mere imitation do? Stupid, absolutely stupid.

"Come now Stardust, are you still thinking like that? I imagine you've at least tried to talk with them!" Siffrin's head shot up and stared at the other, and Loop stared right back, "Wait...You heard that?" Siffrin nodded slowly, and Loop blinked several times as if trying to see if this was real, real to them as it was to Siffrin. They laughed a little, "Well isn’t this a cruel joke. First, I wake up somewhere I don't know, and now I'm dreaming of you. I mean, what sort of comfort is that when I can't even truly talk to-"

"Loop." The said Star stopped talking as Siffrin spoke, "I...I want to try something." He stepped a little closer, and could tell Loop was tense, almost taking a battle stance. Did they perhaps have nightmares too, if so what of? Put that on the back burner Siffrin...

The shorter between the two slowly raised his hand, and then gently poked Loop's, who blinked at the action, "Did...You feel that?" Loop nodded, and Siffrin gulped. He didn't want to get his hopes up but..."Now, do something similar to me." Loop carefully took Siffrin's hand in theirs...

Before pinching the back of it.

"OW?!" Siffrin jumped and pulled his hand away, "SERIOUSLY?!" Loop all the while was staring, before their laughter burst out,

"Stars, you really let out a yelp! I knew you were still jumpy Stardust but my goodness~!" Siffrin huffed,

"I was just trying to see if...! If..." It hit them both, they were really speaking to each other. Whatever dream this was, whatever was happening to them...

This was real. This was real!

"Loop!" Siffrin smiled widely and jumped to wrap their arms around the said Star, who stumbled back a bit,

"Ack! O-Okay, I wasn't expecting you to be a hugger now!" Siffrin looked up at Loop with tears in his eye, happily giggling,

"I had a good teacher." There was a pause, but soon Loop gave a soft chuckle,

"Bonnie?" Siffrin nodded,

"Bonnie." The rogue felt tears fall down his face, and he buried his face into Loop's chest, "I missed you Loop."

"I...Can see that..." Siffrin felt Loop's hands hover over his back, before settling on his shoulders, "I did say we'd meet again Stardust." Siffrin nodded, looking up again,

"But where are you now? Are you far from us? Are you still under the tree in Dormont-"

"Hold on now, how about you calm down first before asking all the questions? Also, I'd prefer not to be a handkerchief so could you please not wipe your tears on me?" Siffrin jolted backwards,

"I-I'm sorry I just-!"

"I'm kidding Stardust~! You're just so easy to tease!" Siffrin pouted before Loop sighed, "But really, despite everything...It’s good to see you." Siffrin smiled at the words, looking at the tree,

“I wonder why this is the place this dream…vision…or whatever decided on.” Loop crossed their arms,

“I don’t fully understand myself, but maybe it’s because we spent a lot of time underneath this tree. Honestly, the place that was involved in you being caged and where I tried to kill you shouldn’t be a place we meet again.” While there may be truth to that, Siffrin still shook their head,

“Even so, it’s where I first met you. Though I was trapped I still was happy you were there. In a very odd way, I’m fond of this place because it reminds me of you.” He could feel Loop’s eyes on him,

“You really are strange Stardust…” They looked conflicted, and Siffrin understood why. It was as if Loop didn’t want to be looked at so fondly after everything, but the rogue couldn’t help that. Loop was dear to them as his family, in a sense they were family. Siffrin wished he could say that, but he knew Loop’s feelings were very raw on the topic, so he would remain silent about it for now.

“Well, I don’t think we’ll wake up anytime soon.” Siffrin sat down on the tree just like he did back in Dormont, “So why don’t we talk a bit?” Loop raised an eyebrow,

“You? Talk? Now I’ve heard everything.”

“Pun intended?” Siffrin asked and his counterpart rolled their eyes, a smile clear to see even without a visible mouth,

“Make of it what you will.” Loop took their seat, crossing their legs and resting their cupped hands on their knee, “Now then, how can help you on this wonderful-” Loop caught themselves, their eyes holding unease as they looked to the side, “I have to get used to not needing to say that.” Siffrin chuckled nervously,

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” This brought on an awkward silence that caused Siffrin to play with his bangs. What could the two talk about exactly? Maybe Siffrin could start off with how he’s been, but would that be rude of him? Wait a minute, Loop mentioned they were unsure of where they were, perhaps Siffrin could ask about that, “So um…You don't know where you've woken up at all?" Loop blinked at the question,

“Eh? Ah…” They thought for a moment, "I'm not entirely sure what happened after our fight but...It was like I was sleeping for a long while. Perhaps death is very much like that.” A shake of their head, “But I digress. I woke up just recently in a wooded area, and I didn’t make much head way in finding a town or city because, well just waking up from being dead gives you a lot to think about~!" Loop cheerfully put their hands together, and Siffrin knew they were masking how they truly felt, but he wouldn’t push it. It was quiet again as Loop seemed to think for a bit before they seemed to think of something and they narrowed their eyes at the bright haired traveler, "You didn't wish for this did you?" Siffrin swiftly waved his hands in front of him,

"No absolutely not! Even if I wanted to, I refused to even utter the word ‘wish’! Hasn't left my mouth for months..." Loop sighed,

"Right…I was just making sure." Siffrin didn't blame them, still it was all so odd...

"Why do you think you suddenly woke up?" Loop leaned back a little,

"That is the burning question, Stardust. Anything could've happened when you won. Who knows, maybe your 'belief in me' brought me back." Siffrin smiled softly and Loop made a face, "Don't look so happy about that, it's the cheesiest thing I've ever said." Siffrin giggled,

"But I'd like for it to be true." Loop tilted their head,

"You certainly are back to being more positive again. You've been talking to your allies I presume?" Siffrin nodded,

"A lot yeah, and Odile and I have scheduled talks. It...feels good to get things out." Loop closed their eyes in thought,

"...I'm glad." They then winked at Siffrin taking on one of their famous poses, "So! Were you losing sleep over little ol' me? Do you find me that dreamy?" Was...Was Loop making puns? And not only that, but they were also good ones! Siffrin’s title of 'Ruler of Puns' was being challenged, he must stand his ground.

Siffrin put on a smirk, "Perhaps I needed to see your shimmering presence again." A confident air emanated from Loop,

"I am quite stellar."

"Maybe I'll catch some z's thanks to you." Even Siffrin knew that one was bad, and Loop looked triumphant,

"I believe I win this round Stardust." The rogue huffed a little, before beginning to chuckle,

“No worries, I’ll get you next time. Besides, I appreciate a fellow pun enjoyer.” Loop huffed a laugh,

“I honestly don’t remember the last time I made any. Good to know my skills haven’t diminished at all.” Siffrin smiled,

“Really though, it’s good to see you again Loop. I was worried I’d never see you again.” He shifted a little, “I know you probably were tired of talking to me but-”

“Hey, don’t go doubting yourself now.” Loop interrupted, “Look, as much as we had our differences, you honestly brought a sense of normalcy to my life again; despite being another version of me, which is saying a lot. I did say it was good to see you again.” Siffrin could tell the words were sincere, but the other was holding something in,

“But…aren’t you concerned about being back?” Siffrin asked nervously, “You deserved to be at peace in any shape or form.” Loop sighed,

“I don’t know how to answer that, Stardust. I admit I have mixed feelings about it, but how about I decide what ‘peace’ is for me alright?” Siffrin nodded. That was the end of that conversation, maybe for the best, “Now then, what were you saying about having talks with your Researcher?” Back to using his family’s titles? Maybe it was no surprise, they had no connection to these people. Siffrin nodded again,

“Right. Odile brought up the idea shortly after we left Dormont. I can talk about parts of the loops I can’t with the others yet with her. It’s preparation for therapy now and…while I don’t think highly of it, everyone seems to think it’ll help. I mean, Mira has had therapy so it can’t be all bad right?” Loop hummed,

“They really care about you, so they are making sure you get the best help you deserve.”

“Mm-hm. I’m happy they’re still with me, no matter if I can be next to them or not.” Loop closed their eyes,

“It seems you’ve made some significant progress since we last met.” They opened their eyes to reveal they held warmth, “I’m proud of you.” Siffrin jolted a little at the words, but smiled widely as he couldn’t help the tears building up in his eye,

“Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

“Well of course. I am great at flattery~.” Loop winked, and Siffrin giggled tearfully,

“Still, thank you.” Siffrin let out a yawn, feeling lightheaded so he leaned against the tree. Loop held their head,

“Well then, I think it’s time we woke up.” The expression on Siffrin’s face must have been dreadful, because Loop laughed a bit, “Don’t worry Stardust, I doubt this is the only time we’ll talk again. Perhaps we’ll will tomorrow night.” Siffrin stared, before nodding,

“Alright, I’ll hold you to it.” A smile sent his way was the last thing Siffrin could remember seeing before his consciousness faded.

o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

The sun’s rays peaked through the curtains and fell on Siffrin’s face. He slowly opened his eye and surprisingly felt well rested. His mind recalled what he dreamt of, or rather, who he met again, and beamed just as bright as the orb in the sky. He began giggling, bringing his hands to his face to muffle his voice, but he couldn’t help but wave his hands in excitement.

“Someone must’ve had a good dream.” At the voice, Siffrin looked up and saw Isabeau smiling at him, “I have to wonder how you got so adorable.” Siffrin giggled more and hugged the other,

“Morning.” He paused, mulling over how to tell Isabeau without sounding crazy. Would he even believe them? “I can’t explain it but…it wasn’t a dream I had. I…I saw Loop again. I-I know that sounds crazy, but I swear it’s true! I don’t know how or why but-”

“Sif it’s okay, I believe you.” Siffrin stared at his boyfriend,

“…Really?”

“Of course. You wouldn’t lie about something like that.” Siffrin’s grip around Isabeau tightened a little,

“I wouldn’t but…You don’t think I’m just saying it just because I miss them?”

“Again, you wouldn’t do that Sif. You’ve missed them a ton, and I know how much that’s been weighing on you. So if you’re able to see them again in any shape or form, that’s good!” Isabeau said and Siffrin felt bashful, but soon smiled again. It felt good to know he was believed, hopefully the rest of his family would also too. He sat up with Isabeau following him, and he sent the rock craft user a big grin,

“Well then, let’s get some breakfast. I’ll tell you and the others all about it!”

[solkteaa]

Hiiii! How are you ?

I Hope you had a good day. I saw your post about taking requests and wanted to request something :)

So my idea was like being Marie’s s/o ( so a x reader story ) that behaves like an old person as in hobby’s and such. This is like kinda based on the comment Callie makes on Marie’s hair…

Preferably I would like a gn!reader but you do as your comfortable I don’t really care! + you don’t have to take this if you don’t want to

Being Marie's S/O, but she has old lady habits.

[Author's note; I literally forgot about this, sorry!1!!! I didn't know how to put this into a story, so instead enjoy the head cannons]

Grrr I love doing these they're so fun

MARIE, who has one of those small beaded coin pouches

She used to collect these pouches and shows them off to you, but now she learned how to make them and even made you one!

She has one for coins and one for those little candies most grandmother always had.

She mainly keeps those strawberry ones and butterscotch ones.

She munches on them before concerts.

MARIE, who has all this money and could get a fancy, brand new Bugatti if she wanted but instead has a 2011 Volkswagen that she refuses to get rid of.

When you first saw her car it caught you off guard. I mean, she's definitely pretty wealthy but it doese make since she's not pretty materialistic, given her personality. Though you'd think she'd at least get a newer model.

When you asked her about why she hasn't gotten a new car yet, she felt judged.

"If you have a problem with my 2011 Volkswagen named Beatrice, you can get out and walk."

Don't judge her car she will fight you over it.

MARIE, who sits on the patio with her little "Fish in the area wants me" mug in her hands every morning.

It's her own little ritual she does.

Every now and then she'll ask you to sit with her, which is a honor as usually she doesn't want anyone to bother her or near her when she does this.

MARIE, who bakes

this originally started because growing up she would make cakes for her parents for their birthdays. To perfect her recipes she would bake everyday until it was were she liked it.

Now it's became a habit.

Considering your her S/O, she'll randomly bake for you.

It's not too rare for you to come home and there will be a fresh batch of cupcakes or brownies waiting for you!

She'll also pull you out of whatever your doing just to taste test for her.

"Marie, I'm in the middle of a turf battl-"

"I don't care, I need you the try this icing."

Just make sure your home when she's experimenting.

MARIE, who gardens in her freetime.

she's always had a green thumb for plants, but I'd like to think the one thing she can't keep alive is orchids.

It's just simply to hard not to overwater them, or give them too much sunlight.

Worse part, they're her favorite flower.

Don't give her orchids, she'll cry.

MARIE, also has a garden in her backyard and plants out through her house.

Her worse fear is being on tour for a month or more and coming back and her plants are dead.

So she begs you to check up on them for her!

Just keep in mind, you kill her plants, she'll kill you.

You swear she gives more love too her goddamn flowers than you at times, but as long as she's happy!!

MARIE, who's bedtime is strictly 7pm.

if she stays up any longer she's a moody and slightly clingy mess.

MARIE, who crochets.

She has many quilts and sweaters she's made.

She would make some custom just for you, but that's too much effort so instead she let's you have some of the ones she already made.

She's also tried sowing.

She kept on poking her fingers over and over again and had enough.

It looked like a murder scene and she'd went through a whole pack of bandaids.

So much for those expensive ass fabrics she bought to make you something.

Never again.

[Unfortunately ran out of ideas but this was fun anyways. Thanks for requesting!!!]