#i feel like this is something phoebe bridgers would do

[skeletal-cornerstone]

if i ever get famous i’d release a collab single that’ll make u long for childhood nostalgia & then the b side would be us covering “we can’t stop” by miley cyrus

[crossbackpoke-check]

56 and any Yamo pairing! 🫶

i just wheezed so hard when i saw what the song was i almost snorted coffee out of my nose i am so sorry for this one

#56 - kyoto phoebe bridgers + yamo

the story of how this song ended up on my wrapped is too long so it’s going in the tags but. let me set the scene for you.

2026 NHL GLOBAL SERIES™️ JAPAN - Presented by YPPI

November 13 & 14, 2026: Dallas Stars, Montreal Canadiens, Seattle Kraken, Vancouver Canucks

Saitama Super Arena, Saitama, Japan

It’s a pitiful excuse of a consolation prize for not being able to go to the Olympics, but Kailer’s not going to look a vacation horse in the mouth. The arena’s cool. It’s huge. The people are cool. There’s so many more of them than he thought there’d be with jerseys that have his name on the back, and a lot more that have the familiar orange and blue. He takes a picture of the fifth Oilers Yamamoto jersey he signs—this one’s the good Reverse Retro—and texts it to Connor, says,

no one here has even heard of mcjesus

and gets a moon face emoji in response. Leon’s influence. Kailer’s still never really deciphered what that one means, and he doesn’t think Connor knows either.

They don’t have a lot of time off between games, but Kailer’s trying to be a good tourist. His dad had been so happy when Kailer had told him about the series that Kailer’d had to stop him from trying to book a flight a year in advance, and his mom’s been just as bad, sending him every article she sees about Best New Spot in Tokyo! Cool Restaurant! Have You Seen This Japanese Cat Café? that she scrolls across on Facebook since June. Suzy’s in the same boat, so they’ve been crossing off their compiled travel-guide list together, looping in as many guys as they can. Everyone’s been pretty game. All the teams are crammed into close quarters at the same hotel, which means everyone wants to spend as much time as possible outside of it, and it helps that Kailer’s gotten pretty close with all the other guys that the NHL picked up as Global Series figureheads. Robo’s memes? Absolutely fire. The groupchat loves them.

For every item he crosses off the list, Kailer takes a picture and keeps it tucked in his phone notes. It’s like speed-running a scavenger hunt—they’re only here for four days—but he’s doing a pretty good job. His favorite so far has been all the gardens. They’re stunning, trees shining bright red and yellow, and every vendor has been selling maple candies, maple cakes, and even fried maple, though the official maple festival doesn’t start until next week. The second garden he visits, he does it on his own after practice, buying two cakes from a cart near the gate and walking until he loses the bustle outside. It’s easy to get lost in the winding pathways, heading deeper into the quiet, and there’s dozens of benches underneath the burnished leaves where young couples are tucked away on dates, or old friends are laughing and catching up. In some of the little clearings, there’s small shrines where people leave offerings, a prayer for good luck or good fortune.

Kailer stops at one without any people and sets the second maple cake on top of it, then sits and scrolls through all the texts that he’s missed. His mom gets replied to with a picture of him outside the garden gate, grinning and surrounded by other travelers. He sends his brother a picture of a trashy graphic I Love Japan t-shirt with the threat that he’ll buy one for him, and Kailer’s dad gets a picture of the meticulously arranged and cut bonsai that are across from the bench where he’s sitting. The Seattle groupchat gets a recycled meme from Robo, and he gets two thumbs up and an “LMAO” before he can even exit the thread. Finally, Kailer takes a picture of the half-eaten maple cake in his hand, holding it next to a fallen maple leaf on the bench, and gets halfway through typing another message before he thinks better of it.

(On the plane over, Drieds was reading them a story about how when they first introduced the high-speed railway, people were afraid to use it because they thought it would be too fast for their souls to keep up.

“Bro, if that were true, you just left your soul in the middle of the Pacific,” Ebs had laughed. “Planes are faster than trains.”

“Are they?” Matty asked. “Isn’t the train in Japan the fastest in the world?”

Drieds couldn’t make it through the rest of the story over the sound of everyone ripping Matty to shreds, so Kailer didn’t get to ask whether or not they found out anything about planes. Kailer’s not worried about his soul, but the logic makes a strange kind of sense; after all, he traveled 429 miles in five and a half hours once, and that was a little too fast for his heart to keep up.)

Fuck it. Kailer’s been trying to write a response for the past ten days, and he’s sick of swiping in and out of the message, staring at the keyboard so long he starts to see swirls in his vision.

Kailer drafts the text again and sends it, no context, no caption. A text travels faster than a high-speed train or a jet. Maybe it’ll pick his heart back up on the way.

[rotisseries]

i think my zelink playlist is my only good one like this shit is devastating genuinely

[pathologicalreid]

that gold mine changed you | s.r.

in which Spencer won't open up to you following his release from prison and you've reached your breaking point

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warning: post prison/prison arc, lack of communication, chemist!reader, slightly proofread word count: 2.13k a/n: love this song. both the original and the phoebe bridgers cover.

i don’t wanna be here anymore; it all tastes like poison

You rifled through the dish that you kept on the entryway console, looking for your car keys so that you could get out. It was hard to describe the way you felt like a spinning top, not dizzy but out of control. Everything felt so out of control.

How could you let it get this bad? You breathed heavily as you fished your keys from the pottery and looped your finger through the key ring. Wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, your eyes caught onto some movement in your periphery.

“You’re leaving?” Spencer asked from down the hallway; his work clothes were rumpled and creased like he’d fallen asleep in them.

You had hoped that he would have the ability to ease himself back into society after three months of prison, and you always took the time to assure him that you would be there for him. Desperately, you tried to be a pillar of support, but you had reached your breaking point.

He’d been given six weeks to readjust. When that didn’t seem to be working, you thought maybe he needed to find his rhythm again, but going back to work at the BAU didn’t seem to help him either. It wasn’t until his first sabbatical hit that you finally considered the fact that things would never be the same between the two of you again.

When you didn’t answer, Spencer put his foot out but hesitated to take a step toward you. “Are you going to come back?”

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at the keys in your hand, “I don’t know.” You eyed the key to your lab, the one place you could always go to escape when you needed to, but you never imagined needing to escape from Spencer.

You weren’t even sure he had been sleeping in the same bed as you, and if he was, he was getting in after you and getting up before you. There was once a moment when you and Spencer shared every minute detail of your lives with each other, at least the parts you weren’t together for, but now you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what he was teaching in his lectures, and he couldn’t guess which projects you were working on.

When Spencer was in prison, you thought that was the loneliest you would ever be, but now you were living with the ghost of the man who you once loved, and you had never felt more alone.

Last week, you had practically begged him, very nearly gotten on your knees and pled with him to have a substantial conversation with you. He didn’t seem interested.

you believe that you love me

Looking back up, your eyes widened at the revelation that Spencer had made his way to you in complete silence; he was standing in front of you, “You’re sneaking out?”

Your nostrils flared in frustration; you were sneaking out of your own apartment, a space that you and Spencer were supposed to share, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. “Did I do something wrong?” You asked him, studying his brown eyes as they appeared until the cool light of the moon.

He set both of his hands on your upper arms, and you pulled away from his touch. Spencer flinched back as surely as if you’d struck him. If you pulling away from him hurt, then he wouldn’t be able to fathom how you were feeling right now—how you had been feeling for the last seven months.

“Is it because of your mom?” You tried again, silver lining your eyes as you looked up at him, mercurial tears streaming down your cheeks as you begged for an answer. “I was at work when she was abducted,” you reminded him, having thrown yourself into work while Spencer was in prison. “Is it because I didn’t help her?”

Spencer’s lips parted in surprise, “I didn’t know you blamed yourself for that.” His arms hung limply by his sides, fists clenching and unclenching in an attempt to release nervous energy.

Blinking tears from your eyes, your shoulders slouched at what felt like a rejection, “How would you? You don’t talk to me,” you told him, your tone wholly accusatory.

“We talk every day,” he rebutted, the energy in your conversation veering toward hostility. That’s not what you wanted; you just wanted to feel at peace.

Three months in prison, six weeks of mandatory leave, one hundred days with the team, twenty days into his first sabbatical, and Spencer was refusing to face what you had already run into headfirst. “We haven’t had a real conversation since February, Spencer. It’s September.”

His eyebrows pinched together as he studied your body language, profiling you to deduce what you wanted from him instead of just asking you. “What do you mean ‘a real conversation?’”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, and you searched every part of your brain for something to say that wouldn’t contribute to taking your life apart brick by brick. You couldn’t. The words simply weren’t there anymore. Maybe you had left them behind months ago, but right now, you shrugged helplessly, “You’re different, Spence.”

He peered down at you as if you had offended him, “Did you expect me to stay the same?”

It was pathetic. You felt pathetic. Staying in your entryway and begging for someone who previously kissed the ground you walked on for a reason to stay. You never had to ask him before. “I’ve never expected anything but love from you, and you know that,” you told him, pulling the truth from the depths of your soul and putting it on display for him.

Spencer took a step back, stumbling as if his legs were threatening to give out beneath him. “You don’t think I love you anymore?” His own tears welled in his eyes, glittering saline along his lash line that made your chest ache.

You blinked, letting more tears fall down your cheeks. You heard the droplets as they fell on the vinyl decal of your sweatshirt, the only noise in the midst of an otherwise deathly silence. “You have given me no reason to believe that you do,” you admitted, your voice tight with emotion.

so, lose your faith in me

“Don’t leave,” he gasped, struggling through his tears. He held a hand out to you, too hesitant to touch you because of the way you reacted earlier.

You felt like you were tearing your own heart from your chest. You held the organ in your hands, blood dripping to the floor and seeping within the woodgrain, and you asked him to put it back where it belonged. “I can’t do this anymore,” you told him.

He set a hand on the side of your neck, and this time, you didn’t pull away from him. Instead, you savored his touch, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin as the two of you waited for something to give. Three months in prison had been a test of your relationship; you had very little contact with each other. Nothing face-to-face, and after a while, Spencer’s mail started to go missing—interference by a prison guard who had it out for him. You thought that getting him back would fix everything.

Spencer was exactly the same, but somehow, he was completely different after his release. You couldn’t fault him for what he had gone through in prison, but you refused to continue your pattern of dancing around each other.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice so faint that you would’ve missed it had you not been searching for it. His breaths were quickening, and if it weren’t so dark, you’d be sure that his pupils were dilated in fear.

You pursed your lips, “Say it again.” You wanted to hear him. You needed to hear him. You so desperately wanted to hear him repeat himself so that you could throw your arms around him and let him know that everything was perfectly fine.

He panted, “I love you,” he echoed. “Please,” his voice broke, “I love you so much.”

“I want to believe you,” you breathed, looking back down at the keys that remained in your hand. As far as you were concerned, Spencer was the Patron Saint of Liars. He had the intelligence and the experience to become a master manipulator. He’d lied to you before. What was stopping him from doing it again? He knew that I love you was what you wanted to hear. When faced with telling a lie and losing you, the choice was laid out in front of him.

He nodded as if he understood, but you weren’t convinced that he possessed the bandwidth to fully comprehend why you were so unhappy. “I’m sorry for lying to you,” he whispered.

You lost your balance, your back slammed against the wall, and your eyes widened as a result of his apology, “Why?”

Spencer’s brown eyes widened as you slid down the wall, waiting until you were sat on the floor to speak again, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mexico.”

“You could’ve told me,” you told him, “I could’ve helped you, Spencer. Then we could… Then maybe…” your voice trailed off, lost in a sea of hiccuping sobs.

Gingerly, Spencer lowered himself to the ground and took a seat next to you, “Maybe I wouldn’t have gone to jail. You’re right,” he admitted, “but maybe they would’ve killed you too. Maybe there would have been the same outcome as the one we got, or maybe it would have been much worse.”

Releasing a shuddering breath, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. “Lorenz,” you murmured, closing your eyes to relieve some of the burning.

“The Butterfly Effect,” Spencer commented, “Small changes can have large consequences. I made a decision that had massive ramifications and negatively impacted you, and I haven’t been doing enough to fix it.”

You sighed, “You can’t fix it, Spence. It’s like a band-aid over a bullet hole.” You thumbed the hem of your sweatpants, opening your eyes just to stare straight ahead at the wall.

He hummed in what you sincerely hoped was understanding, “I took six years of building trust with you and destroyed it, and now when I tell you I love you, you don’t believe me.”

“You told me you were going to Houston,” you whispered.

“I told everyone I was going to Houston,” he said softly.

Your head snapped in his direction, “I deserved more than what everyone else got. I deserved an explanation, and instead, you lied to me. You lied to me, and then you wouldn’t even let me see you while you were in prison.”

The corners of his mouth downturned, “I didn’t want you to see me in there, and I didn’t want anyone else to see you in there.” You’d heard second hand from JJ that the men at Millburn had ogled her the entire time she was visiting Spencer, and maybe he had explained himself in one of the missing letters, but he hadn’t mentioned it since coming home.

“Spencer, I just want to talk with you,” you whispered. “I want to have a conversation with my boyfriend that doesn’t end with him creating some arbitrary mental block because he doesn’t think I can handle it.”

There was a moment where you thought he was just going to let you go, but Spencer Reid liked to keep the things he cared about close. “It’s not because you can’t handle it, it’s because I can’t handle it,” he admitted.

You turned your body to face him, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to tell you about prison,” he clarified. “I barely want to tell my therapist about prison, but you—” his voice broke, and your heart went with it. “If I tell you everything I’ve done, you wouldn’t want to be with me anyway.”

You frowned, “Try me.” Your heart was racing; this bit here was decisive. His response would either mean letting go or moving forward.

He looked down at his lap, “Come to therapy with me tomorrow. It’s… there’s something about the leather couch that turns me into an open book.” He told you, nervously running his palms up and down his cloth-covered thighs. Instinctively, you reached out and grabbed his hands, putting a stop to his compulsive movements. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, “Please don’t leave.”

Shaking your head, you sniffled through your tears. If you’d had more energy, maybe you would’ve given him a soft smile, but for now, you answered him, “I won’t.”

[ylangelegy]

like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.

little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.

★ seungcheol x reader.  ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️‍🩹

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.

When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.

Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.

It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 

The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.

There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.

Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse. 

“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles. 

The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels. 

You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice. 

Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows. 

“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.” 

Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw. 

“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers. 

Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be. 

April 8, 2017 

Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try. 

It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead. 

I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out? 

I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.

Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.

I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet. 

Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.) 

When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate. 

It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything. 

You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow. 

The mark smoothed out instantly. 

Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple. 

Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds. 

You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment. 

His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” you mutter back. 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.” 

An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met. 

You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same. 

“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest. 

He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly. 

You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 

Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces. 

He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 

“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind. 

But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?” 

That’s always gotten to you. 

“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.” 

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 

June 15, 2017 

Cheol and I are on the run. 

He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in. 

As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying. 

Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”

Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 

When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought. 

Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help. 

He did not return unscathed. 

Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you. 

“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”

The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt. 

“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.” 

Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug. 

“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost. 

“No more playing hero?” you ask. 

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again. 

You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin. 

Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 

After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?” 

“Seungcheol.” 

“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.” 

“Shut up!”

The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him. 

September 23, 2017

Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore. 

I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted: 

The first breeze that tells you winter is coming 

The kindness of people who don’t know you 

The smallest fish in the sea

Date nights with Cheol 

Clean water 

Breakfast

My parents

Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building. 

But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be. 

May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 

When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.

Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.

He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine. 

“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.

He was with you. He was kind. He was yours. 

Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 

There is not much that you remember after that. 

The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.

The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.

When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 

You kiss him. Again.

And again. 

And again. 

December 1, 2017

The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds. 

▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.

You’re so unfair. 

I still want you. 

Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou. 

What now? 

My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—

▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.

This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.

It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. 

We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 

[l0vergirlwrites]

how do i know it’s true? ; steve harrington

synopsis: to steve, nothing involving the upside down could really surprise him after everything the gang & him have gone through… that is until you get taken by vecna—that’s the worst thing steve has ever witnessed.

warnings: swearing, mentions of trauma, mentions of fem!reader having a dead dad, blood & injuries, anxiety, possibility of dying, demonic possession sorta??, general angst & vecna (yes, that creepy dude needs his own warning). but don’t worry, there’s fluff scattered in between.

note: this fic is inspired by the blue nile’s “the downtown lights” (let’s pretend it came out before season 3 plz) & phoebe bridgers’ “garden song”!

for a moment, everything was fine.

well, your definition of fine was watching your friends climb up a makeshift rope of bed sheets from the upside down gate in eddie’s trailer. you couldn’t help but let out a few laughs at their reactions when they landed on the mattress eddie had placed beneath the gate as a landing pad.

this was your normal now; casually going in & out of dimensions to solve supernatural puzzles & attempt to save the day all while wondering if you were ever going to finish your algebra homework (you secretly knew you wouldn’t ever find the time).

steve, being the helpful man he’s known to be, was kneeled on the ground with his hands cupped so he could hoist each person up towards safety despite his abdomen aching in pain from bat bites. he truly was your hero.

when it came to be your turn to climb, you couldn’t help but run a hand through his hair.

“chivalry sure isn’t dead, huh?” you ruffled his locks of brown & amber, feeling your heart beat a second faster when he smiled & scrunched his nose cutely at your action.

“definitely not when it comes to you” he winked smoothly, feeling pride in his chest when you grinned wider at him.

“okay, time to hop on up miss”

gripping onto the rope of sheets, you felt a pit in your stomach start to build, but steve tapping the back of your jean covered thigh snapped you out of it.

“i gotcha, don’t worry” he assured with a determined look in his eyes.

like hell he was ever gonna drop you.

so with a nod of your head, you lifted your left foot onto steve’s cupped hands & felt him push you up.

but then everything went black.

at first, you thought your nervous system may of just forced you to shut your eyes in fear of going head first & falling upside down through the gate (you still could not fathom the physics that explained how it worked), but to no avail, all you saw was black.

soon enough, you couldn’t feel the rope.

you couldn’t hear steve or your friends talking.

you couldn’t feel steve.

now, you were starting to panic.

just as you were about to scream, you felt something sharp on your neck. a long nail dragging across your skin too softly to break the skin. the hairs on your arms stood up, goosebumps littered your body, & all you could do was freeze.

“i think you know why you’re here,” a chilling voice whispered into your right ear, making you cringe as you felt the creatures warm breath fan against your skin.

vecna had you trapped. fuck.

“you know, living with the guilt you’ve harboured for so long must be quite exhausting—isn’t it?”

no, no, no, no. this can’t be happening.

“knowing that if you had kept your mouth shut, your anger controlled, that maybe—just maybe, your father would still be alive”

in a flash you were transported back to that haunted day, back to that road trip that your father forced you to go on. you never had a good relationship with him to begin with, so being stuck in a small space for seven hours wasn’t your ideal way to spend a weekend.

it was a few months after your parents finally divorced after years of fighting, screaming, family dinners that were unsuccessful. your father had wanted to bond, to atone whatever trauma he had inflicted upon you as a young child from refusing marriage counselling (or counselling in general) to work on his behaviour.

but as expected, he was too prideful to admit he was ever in the wrong.

which leads you to that moment in the car.

he blamed you for whatever wrong turn he had made a couple miles back, & since you were the one holding the map, it began a screaming match that festered into a tug of war. you tried to get him to let go of your wrists, to let you lead you both out of the barren forest covered dirt roads so you could ge to wherever the hell he wanted to take you to, but he wouldn’t budge.

however, one wrong move changed it all.

it was when you elbowed him the eye accidentally, causing him to yell in agony & involuntarily push his right foot harder on the gas. he wasn’t paying attention to his speed, nor the way the steering wheel was turning.

one minute you were on a dirt road.

the next you were upside down on a rocky ditch that was at least thirty feet from where the dirt road was.

your vision was blurry with blood from a cut on your forehead. your right ankle aching & smushed tight between your car seat & the concaved passenger door.

your father, who hadn’t worn his seatbelt, was partially through the car’s windshield, body covered in glass & blood & you couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

you stayed like that for hours, with the car alarm blaring in your ears until a first ranger showed up as your saving grace.

but your father didn’t survive. & you still believed it was all your fault.

“wouldn’t it be nice if you could let it go? atone for what you did? stop the guilt from eating away at you?” vecna’s voice boomed in your ears.

you were paralyzed in fear, praying this moment would be over.

*~*~*~***~*~~*~*~**~*~*~~*

“you got a good grip, y/n/n?” steve asked after you stilled for a moment, left foot still in the palms of his hands, waiting to be boosting upwards.

you stayed silent. frozen.

steve called out your name again as your grip loosened on the rope & your body began tipping backwards. he quickly reacted, catching your limp body in time before your head smacked the ground.

his heart stopped when he saw your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“no… no, no, no, no! shit! please, not you—not you” steve yelled, his hands cradling your face & occasionally slapping your cheeks gently with hopes you’d snap out of it—hoping vecna would let you out of his grasp so steve could make it better.

“steve? what’s going on down there?” robin yelled, her voice echoing into steve’s ears but his heart was constricting & his chest felt really heavy.

“he’s got her—he’s fucking got her & she’s not waking up!” steve yelled again, tears brimming his eyes in fear because he could lose you right now.

brushing your hair out of your face frantically, steve continued tapping your skin. “sweetheart, you gotta wake up. it’s steve—i’m right here. can you hear me? c’mon—come back” he croaked as the minutes went on, drowning out the panicked voices in the gate above him.

“what do i do? what do i do—“

“steve! what’s her favourite song? we need her favourite song!” dustin yelled repeatedly, trying to wake steve up from his own panic mode.

it clicked—how could steve forget?

music.

“holy shit. that’s it. favourite song, favourite song…” steve began to feel hopeful, scouring his mind through a rolodex of memories until he found the one he was looking for.

“the downtown lights by the blue nile! the cassette’s in my glovebox! hurry!” he yelled with a heartbroken plea, his eyes not leaving your face. “c’mon, baby. wake up”.

steve didn’t care that he was crying now, but he wasn’t gonna give up on you. while the others were searching through the glove compartment of steve’s b&w & eddie’s stash of cassette tapes in case, steve just started to sing the song in hopes you’d hear him.

“sometimes i walk away, when all i really wanna do is love & hold you right…”

his voice was cracking with nerves, failing to stay completely steady as his chest hurt & his hands were trembling against your skin.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” he held back a sob, his heart clenching at how your eyes continued to roll back. “it’s all right. can’t you see, the downtown lights…”

~*~***~~~**~***~*~~***~**~*~

steve learned your favourite song early on when you started dating, around mid october after starcourt fell, where you invited steve over for a sleep over since your mom went out of town for a weekend.

he knew you hated sleeping in your house alone after the events of the summer, so he didn’t mind keeping you company. you both had sprawled out on your living room couch, coffee table filled with pizza, pop, & your favourite treat (which steve picked up on his way over as a surprise). the movie on the tv had become background noise by the time you both had finished eating, bodies turned to one another underneath the blanket you two shared.

“so, when am i gonna get a room tour, hmm?” steve asked as he brushed some hair away from your forehead, fingers tucking some starnes behind your left ear as you looked at him as if he had hung the moon. “got any embarrassing posters on your walls?” he teased, earning a gentle shove into his shoulder.

“shut up. i’ll show you under one condition, harrington”

“i’m all ears” he said eagerly, scooting closer to you on the couch.

nervously, you raised your left index finger to your lips & tapped them, eyes flickering between steve’s brown ones & his pink lips. he watched you closely, getting an idea of what you wanted (which made his stomach roll with butterflies).

“ahhhh” he dragged with realization, “y’want me to kiss you? is that it?” he teased, making you feel smaller than you really were under his gaze.

but before you could turn away or back out, steve was cradling your cheek & bringing you closer to him. his breath fanned your skin, noses lightly brushing against the other.

“i really wanna kiss you too” he mumbled with a smile before leaning further to close the gap.

you hummed in delight when your lips pressed to his, fingers fisting the material of his sweatshirt because it felt so good. steve could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears as he continued to kiss you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek to make you melt under his touch. the longer his lips meshed with yours, the more your body had moved to practically sit on top of his, chests just touching as your arms trailed up to wrap around his shoulders.

“steve” you breathed, pulling away with a pant but still staying close.

“was that too much?” he asked concerned, chest rising up & down as he looked at you with care.

it was you who kissed him next, one that lasted a few seconds before resting your forehead against his. “no—it was nice” you exhaled with a smile, arms tightening around him when you felt his left hand resting on your lower back, rubbing up & down soothingly.

you both hadn’t realized that the movie was over & the channel had switched over to music videos. playing softly in the background was a song you had a deep spot in your heart for. turning towards the tv with a tiny gasp, you smiled harder when you saw that it was the blue nile.

“that’s my favourite song!” you whispered excitedly, turning back to steve when he tapped your cheek.

“what song is it?” he asked since he hadn’t heard it before.

“the downtown lights” you replied sheepishly.

“there is just one thing i can say. nobody loves you this way,” you hummed along to the lyrics with a small smile.

steve watched you, admiring how your face looked with the tv glow casting on your features. he thought you were just the best thing ever.

turning up the volume with the remote in his hand, steve listened intently to the lyrics, right foot tapping against the carpeted floor to the beat. “it’s sounds pretty—just like you” he said, smiling brightly when you chuckled at him.

“that’s so cliche. but thank you”

“cliche but true. & you’re welcome”

~**~*~~*~***~**~~**~**~

after steve let the memory replay in his mind, the cassette tap for the band’s album landed by his feet with a walkman & a headset.

“finally!” steve yelled more so to himself, brushing away a stray tear on his cheek to grab the items

first he put the headphones over your ears. then he attached the tape to the player & forwarded the tape to the song’s track number. turning the volume up, steve’s hands resumed their spot on your face to hold you, to coax out of the horrific trance you were in.

“hey, can you hear me? it’s steve, your steve. you gotta wake up, okay? you gotta come back to me” he begged, his hope growing thin as the seconds went on.

“everyone’s here—dustin, lucas, max, robin, nancy, eddie—we’re here. we want you back. we need you. i promise i won’t do anymore stupid impressions or be an idiot—i’ll be whatever you want me to be” steve continued to ramble, praying that you were listening, that you were coming home to him.

“i-i love you. & i can’t do this without you” he cried to you, not caring if any of his friends heard his love confession in the moment because you were still limp in his arms.

he could vaguely hear the yells of his friends trying to talk to you too, trying to lead you back to reality. but all steve could focus on were how your eyes continued rolling into the back of your head.

it wasn’t until the song was about to restart on a loop where steve felt your arms twitching, your chest raising up & down rapidly. before he could even blink your eyes returned back to normal, lips letting out panicked breaths as you scanned your surroundings, hands about to push steve’s away until realized it was only him.

“s-steve?” you asked wearily, voice feeling small & fragile after the return to hell you had just experienced. “what… i-i don’t understand…” you were at a loss for words, confused & scared.

“it’s me, honey—i’m right here. it’s okay,” before he could finish, you were hiding your face into his chest, hands gripping the jean jacket he wore so tightly in fear that this was another trick. that maybe you weren’t safe & vecna still had you.

you sobbed hard, breaths becoming strained with each cry that tore through you. every time you closed your eyes, you were back there again—back in that god forsaken car with bloody vision & your father dead. back where vecna told you your worst fears.

“god, i was so worried—ohmygod” steve rambled assurances, cradling your head close like he was in disbelief too, making sure that you were really back in his arms.

the headset was still secured to your head, downtown lights continuing to play from the foamy speakers into your ears. the song calmed you down a bit, made you feel grounded. but it was steve’s touches, the smell of his cologne, & his soft whispers that called you home—back to reality.

“is this real?” your broken voice asked, needing to make sure it was really him.

steve pulled your head back to hold your face in his hands. he smoothed away the sweat, the baby hairs, the tears, & splotches of dirt off your skin, giving you the kindest look you’ve ever been given.

“yeah, i’m real. i’m not gonna hurt you. i gotcha, yeah? won’t let anything hurt you again, i promise” he swore with honour, his own lip trembling when your eyes continued to well up with tears.

leaning into his touch, you sniffled before letting out a breath of relief. “i could hear you calling for me… behind all the music, all i heard was you—you brought me back”

you couldn’t decipher the look on steve’s face at your words, it was filled with too many emotions to list off your tongue at the moment. he just felt immensely lucky that you’re still in one piece & breathing.

“i love you” he pressed his forehead to yours, exhaling a shaky breath when one of your hands pressed against his chest to feel his heartbeat. another reminder that he was really here.

that was the most intimate thing steve’s ever felt.

“i love you too” you mumbled back to him, pulling him in for another bone crushing hug to say all the words you wanted to in the moment.

steve got the message loud & clear.

[matthewswifeyy]

After awhile you went quiet, and I got mean

Summary: Exgirlfriend!reader lives with S4!rafe. She constantly has to watch rafe treat someone better and it finally gets to her.

Part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

(This is my first time writing sorry if it’s bad)

It’s been days. Days since he’s last talked to me. He used to tell me good morning every day but now he glances at me and walks away. I didn’t do anything. Or at least I don’t think I did.

Yesterday i saw them hugging in the bathroom before they left for the beach. I watched from down the hallway. But it was weird. He stared at me while he was hugging her.

My life’s been the worst since rafe and I broke up. Even though rafe is letting me stay at his new house it’s still been the worst. We were dating for years and then out of the blue he wanted to breakup. Since we’ve broken up my friend and family started to ignore me. And now rafe is ignoring me.

I started to realize that Sofia brings out a side of him that no one saw. Not even me.

When we dated it almost seemed like he would purposely avoid me. But with Sofia he would drop everything to be with her.

The words ‘hey baby’ pulled me from my thoughts. I watched as rafe walked into the kitchen and immediately hug and kiss Sofia.

I stared at them from across the counter. I didn’t know I was staring until I felt a tear roll down my cheek. I immediately got up from the chair and ran upstairs to my room.

I slammed the door and laid in my bed. I heard footsteps come quickly up the stairs and then my door opened.

“What the fuck is your problem” rafe said with an angry tone in his voice.

“Go away rafe” I told him as I turned away from him.

“Look at me Y/N. I’m not leaving until you tell me what your problem is. This attitude is about Sofia isn’t it?”

“Why do you make everything about her. She’s not the reason why rafe, it’s you”

“Oh it’s me? What if it’s you because you’ve always been a jealous little bit-” I cut his last word off with a hard smack to his face.

“Get out of my room rafe.” I said glaring at him.

“No”

“Rafe get out!” I screamed at him pointing to the door.

“You are not going to tell me what to do in my house, you understand that? You are lucky I don’t tell you to pack your shit right now.” He said grabbing my wrist.

“Let me go rafe” I said with an attitude.

He didn’t let go. He only tightened his grip on my wrist.

“Rafe let go you’re hurting me.” I said trying to pull my wrist away.

His eyes locked with mine

He let go and quickly walked out of my room.

Rafes pov

“Rafe stop you’re hurting me”

Those words repeated in my head as I walked down the stairs. I don’t know what happened. I haven’t acted like that towards anyone in forever.

It was something about the way she was looking at me. She looked scared. She hasn’t looked at me like since the whole Peterkin thing happened.

“Are you okay rafey” a sweet voice pulled me from my thoughts.

“Uh yeah. Just thinking” I said putting my hands on Sofia’s hips.

“About?” Sofia said putting her hands on shoulders.

“Stuff”

Sofia wasn’t the person I wanted to be taking to right now. I wanted to talk to Y/N.

After we broke up I never really checked up on her. After she said I always make everything about Sofia, I realized she was right.

I made everything about Sofia. I stopped talking to Y/N and put my full attention to Sofia. I didn’t care how Y/N was feeling at all after the break up.

I can’t even imagine what she was going through and I didn’t do anything about it. And now I just stopped talking to her.

What is wrong with me.

“Rafe did you hear what I said?” Sofia pulled me out of my thoughts again.

“Uh sorry I didn’t”

“It’s okay I was just wondering if we could go out to eat tonight?” She asked sweetly.

“Yeah that sounds good”

“Okay!” She said resting her head in my chest.

I felt a strange ache in my chest.

[daryltwdixon]

If I Could Give You the Moon, I'd Give You the Moon

I'm obsessed with this angst I've created. Part II of Know It's For the Better

Based on Phoebe Bridgers' Moon Song

Daryl stumbles slightly as you guide him along the quiet streets, his arm draped heavily over your shoulders. He’s drunk—more than you’ve ever seen him—and his weight shifts unpredictably as he leans too far to one side, forcing you to readjust.

“Y’don’t gotta hold me like I’m some old man,” he slurs, his words tumbling together in a low drawl. “Still got my legs, ya know.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the pavement you almost kissed back there,” you reply, your tone light but strained as you try to keep him steady.

He barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, then mutters, “Ain’t my fault these damn streets’re crooked.”

“They’re not,” you say, rolling your eyes even though he can’t see it.

He tilts his head toward you, squinting like he’s trying to focus, and grins—a real, lopsided grin that you’re not used to seeing. It’s different from his usual smirks, less guarded, and it makes your chest tighten.

“Y’look real nice tonight,” he says, his voice softer, slower. The words hang between you, catching you off guard, but before you can say anything, he adds, “Too nice t’be draggin’ my sorry ass home.”

"Weren't you the one who offered to walk me home? Now I'm carrying your 'sorry ass'," you tease, your tone light as you try to deflect from the compliment. You’re not sure if he realizes what he just said—the slip, the way he noticed how you looked.

Or at least, the first time he's ever said anything about it.

The thought makes your heart launch into your throat.

You’ve seen Daryl in all kinds of states—angry, wounded, stone-cold sober—but this version of him, loose and unguarded, is something else entirely. His walls are gone, every word spilling out without hesitation, and you can’t help but let yourself take it in, selfishly cataloging every soft laugh, every crooked grin.

When you reach your porch, he steps back, swaying a little as his arm falls from your shoulders. His hands fumble at his sides, like he’s not sure what to do with them. Then his eyes land on yours, and for a moment, the playful grin fades.

“Don't gotta always take care’a me,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost miss it.

You shake your head, offering a small smile you don’t really feel. “You already do the same for me."

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t speak. Just stares at you like you’ve said something he doesn’t know how to answer.

And then he steps closer.

His hands, rough and callused, come up to your face, cradling you with a fragile kind of care, like he’s holding water in his palms. Like he’s afraid that if he grips too tightly, you’ll slip through his fingers, yet if he lets go, he’ll lose you entirely. Every touch feels suspended, precarious, as if the moment itself might shatter if he doesn’t get it exactly right.

“You’re good,” he says suddenly, like it’s something he’s been holding onto for too long, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, “Too good.”

There's no doubt he can feel your heart thumping against your neck, the pounding having to be pushing up against his fingers where they brush the soft skin under your jaw.

"Know I shouldn't--know it's for the better that I stay far away from ya," he whispers, like he's talking more to himself as his eyes continue to search your face, "But I can't stop thinkin' of...thinkin' what it would be like..."

“Daryl—”

Then, his lips are on yours in an instant—desperate, reverent in the way they push against yours.

For a second, you’re frozen, your mind spinning too fast to make your body respond. You want to—God, you want to—but the shock keeps you locked in place. His lips are hot and firm against yours, moving with a kind of unpracticed urgency that steals your breath.

The kiss is so Daryl, everything you expected and somehow more. Clumsy, a little haphazard, but so earnest, so real, so alive. You’d never believed the romance novels you’d devoured about kisses that made sparks fly, but this… this proved them right all along. Electricity seemed to crackle between you, only for you to realize it was you humming, the vibrations of your approval thrumming softly through your joined mouths.

When his lips parted and his tongue tentatively brushed against yours, your body finally remembered how to move. Your hands slid up, grasping the solid muscle of his arms, and his whole frame shuddered under your touch.

And then he froze.

His breath hitched, his body stiffening as if something had just yanked him back to sobering reality. In an instant, he pulled away, his hands falling to his sides like they didn’t know what to do anymore.

His breath, warm and uneven, carried the faint scent of whiskey, brushing against your flushed face as his eyes met yours. Wide and uncertain, they searched your expression like he was trying to figure out what he’d just done.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice rough and low. He cleared his throat, stepping back quickly, the distance between you feeling sharper than it should. “Night.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you standing there, lips tingling, your heart racing, and no words to fill the space he’d left behind.

The next day, you find him on the porch, sitting on the edge with his crossbow resting against his knee. He’s fidgeting with a bolt, turning it over in his hands like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

When he hears your footsteps, he glances up briefly, his expression unreadable, before quickly looking back down. “Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice low.

“Morning,” you reply, stepping closer. You hesitate before sitting beside him, keeping some space between you.

The silence between you stretches for a moment, the sounds of birds in the distance filling the quiet. You try to think of what to say, but everything feels too uncertain. Like you're not sure if you should just say it outright or wait for him.

You should ask him.

The words hover in your throat, right there, but they refuse to come out. Did he remember the kiss? Did he remember the way his lips pressed against yours, clumsy but so full of something it made your chest ache? Did he remember what he whispered, his voice rough but so sure of his feelings when he confessed his unrelenting thoughts of you?

The memory burns in your chest, every word, every touch of his fingers and taste of his lips is seared into your mind. You need to know if it meant something—or if it was just the whiskey.

He breaks the silence first, letting out a short, almost nervous laugh. “Man, I was… somethin’ else last night, huh?”

“Do you remember much of it?” you ask softly, your heart picking up its pace.

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Not really. Bits and pieces, maybe.”

You stare at him, searching his face for something—anything—that might tell you he’s lying. That he does remember. That those words weren’t just a drunken slip. But his expression is unreadable, his focus locked on the crossbow like it’s the only thing in the world.

Your throat feels tight, your hands curling into fists in your lap. “Daryl…” You pause, the words catching before they can escape. You want to ask him about the kiss, about what he said. But the fear of what he might say—or worse, what he won’t—roots you in place.

“If I, uh…” he starts, his voice softer now, “if I said or did somethin’ dumb… didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

Your breath catches, and you nod quickly, forcing a brittle smile. “Right, course."

And just like that, the warmth of the sun from the morning sky feels as cold as ice, seeping into your skin and draining the last bit of life from you.

You stand abruptly, brushing your palms against your thighs to give your hands something to do. “I should get going,” you say, keeping your tone light even though your heart is still pounding.

Daryl finally looks up at you, his eyes catching yours for a brief, fleeting moment. There’s something there—uncertainty, regret, maybe even a flicker of longing—but it’s gone too quickly to be sure.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and rough. “See ya.”

You hesitate, your feet rooted to the porch even as your body screams at you to leave. The words are still there, trembling on the edge of your tongue—Did you mean it?—but you swallow them down, just like you always do.

Turning away, you step inside, letting the screen door close softly behind you. As soon as you’re out of sight, you press your back against the wall, closing your eyes as the memory of last night washes over you again.

His words replay in your mind, over and over, as if they’re branded into you. You clutch the hem of your shirt, willing yourself not to cry, even as the ache in your chest spreads like wildfire.

Because as much as you want to believe he meant it, his silence today feels like an answer.

And yet, you know you’d still give him anything—everything. If he asked, if he even hinted that he wanted it, you’d tear down the moon and hand it to him without a second thought.

But he doesn’t ask. And so you don’t offer.

[starconchs]

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

pairing: gojo satoru x reader summary: you contemplate gojo's existence on a roof, at night, alone (or so you think). wc: ~1.7k genre: mostly fluff, a tiny bit of angst at the beginning warnings: some jjk manga spoilers, talks about geto, talks about death i listened to "moon song" by phoebe bridgers while writing this so you could say it's loosely inspired

gojo satoru is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer alive.

that isn't an opinion, it's a fact so widely accepted that the higher-ups have begun sending him on increasingly dangerous missions. you're unsure as to whether it's an attempt to end his life or if they're just taking advantage of the fact that there is no curse strong enough to beat him.

a sigh escapes your lips as you lie down, your back pressed up against the ridged shingles of the school's roof. it's neither uncomfortable nor comfortable, but you don't know if it's because of the architecture or if you're just numb.

you've been feeling numb pretty often lately.

things have changed in the past few years. there's an emptiness that seems to live within you, created by geto's defection and somewhat filled in by the presence of fushiguro megumi. you hope that the more time you spend with him, the easier it gets.

(it's hard when he looks so much like his father).

you think about megumi in an attempt to stop thinking about gojo, and you wonder if he knows how it pains you to take the boy in. you also wonder if it's some sort of self-inflicted punishment for him; saving the son of the man he murdered. it sounds like something gojo would knowingly put himself through.

the moonlight is bright as you force yourself to focus on the sky, your eyes studying the stars scattered about in a weak attempt to locate the few constellations you know. you shut your eyes almost immediately, sucking in a deep breath as you remember it was geto who taught you everything you know about constellations.

you wonder if gojo thinks about him often. (you know he does).

there's a brief moment where you wiggle around uncomfortably before sitting up, your hair blowing in the soft breeze as you bring your knees up to your chest. sleep has been evading you for quite some time now, but it's always worse whenever gojo is gone. you claim your insomnia stems from a place of concern, but shoko argues that it's because you have some sort of codependent relationship with your blue-eyed friend. you wonder if she's right.

it isn't long until you notice his presence, and you know that he knows that you know he's there. he doesn't move for a few minutes, and neither do you, content to keep staring out at nothing. it isn't until a stronger breeze blows, making you shiver, that he finally comes to stand next to you.

"cold night," gojo comments, one hand in his pocket. there's a bundle under his other arm, and you barely spare him a glance as you answer.

"you're back early," you mutter, identifying the bundle as the woven blanket you tend to keep at the foot of your bed. "i thought it was a five day thing."

"you know how it is," he says in response. you hum in return because yes, you do know how it is for gojo. for him, a five day mission can be completed in a matter of hours if he really tries, and you're all of a sudden reminded of just how powerful gojo satoru is.

his birth changed the balance of the world and yet, the holder of the six eyes, user of the limitless technique, and master of infinity leans down to wrap a blanket around your shivering form. you feel his fingers brush against your arms.

you stare at him for a few seconds as he adjusts the blanket, the sunglasses perched on his nose making you frown. they look frighteningly similar to the ones he wore back then. you think they might actually be the same pair. there's little hesitation on your behalf as you reach out, gently grabbing them and plucking them off of his face. his eyes are trained on you the entire time, and without the protection from the sunglasses, you are forced to bear the entire weight of the stare from his six eyes.

as you stare into bright, endless blue flames, you think it's not so bad.

the satoru from back then was bright and bold, as unforgiving as the summer sun as he developed into a formidable sorcerer alongside his best friend. you think the one you're seeing now is more like the moon; still bright and impressive but just a little less intense. he's more bearable, slightly matured by the highs and lows of being a caretaker to a grumpy child, but just as out of reach as he has always been.

you presume geto's sun died the day he left.

nothing is said as gojo takes a seat next to you, his knee bumping against yours as he tries to mimic your position. next comes the brushing of his pinky finger against yours, and you wonder if something happened on his mission. the tenderness of his touches is unusual but not unwelcome. it's something you don't think you'll ever get used to.

"here," you say, unwrapping the blanket from around yourself and extending one arm towards gojo. he looks at you, bewilderment clear on his face. you don't do anything but send him a tired smile, motioning for him to scoot in even closer. "it's big enough for both of us."

gojo listens without complaint, pressing himself up against you until you're able to rest your head on his shoulder. there's something comforting about having you close, and he knows it's because you bring him a sense of relief that he doesn't think he's felt since geto suguru left him behind.

left both of you behind.

"do you think about him?" you ask, breaking gojo out of his thoughts. he stays quiet, but you know that he knows who you're talking about. you've started to avoid saying his name out loud but its all you can hear in your head as you wait for his response. geto, geto, geto.

it soon becomes abundantly clear that gojo refuses to answer, and you keep speaking in desperate hopes of trying to finally get rid of the emptiness you feel inside. you think that'll never happen.

"because i do," you admit quietly, your chest tightening as you trace random shapes on your knee. "i think about him all the time and i just wonder where i went wrong because we were so happy, satoru. i think about all those late nights where we stayed up with shoko, laughing and pretending for once that everything would be fine. we knew our lives were dangerous but when we were together it didn't matter because we were together."

gojo pretends not to hear the soft crack in your voice as you get increasingly louder, cutting yourself off with a gasp before taking a deep breath and continuing.

"why did he leave?" you ask quietly. your words ring loudly in gojo's ears and for once in his life, he doesn't have anything to say. "i keep thinking about that day and i don't get it. why didn't he come to us? there was no reason for him to have left us just like that, is there? i thought he loved us. i know he loved you. and i can't make sense of his actions wit--"

"is that what you've been losing sleep over? that's stupid, you shouldn't be concerning yourself over this. and he loved you too, y'know? a lot," gojo says softly, cutting you off before you can spiral even more. there's a pregnant pause as he reaches out, grabbing your hand and bringing it closer to him as he toys with your fingers. you look up at him when he intertwines his hand with yours, eyes widening when you see him already staring at you. his free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb softly stroking the area right under your eye. you're sure your eyebags are looking worse than normal. "and so do i."

it takes you a moment to process his words, the silence growing as you think back to what he had said before initiating physical contact with you. when you realize what he has admitted, that he's in love with you, you feel your face begin to heat up under his hand.

"what?" you squeak, eyes wide as you watch his face. you see amusement dancing in his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling up slightly at your response.

"i am in love with you," he admits quietly, eyes darting down to your lips when they part open in shock. "and i would really like to kiss you right now."

gojo is rewarded with an answer when you lean forwards, your lips connecting in a clumsy kiss as you do your best to remain still on the roof. his hand disconnects from yours in favor of joining his other in cupping your face, deepening the kiss as he does so. your hands come up to grab onto his forearms, and you find yourself shifting onto his lap in an attempt to get even closer to gojo.

"in case it isn't clear, i'm in love with you too," you murmur softly once you've separated. your arms drop to wrap around gojo, and he lets go of your face in favor of hugging you close to him.

"well that's a relief!" he says in his usual teasing tone. it makes you happy to see him happy and for the first time in a long time, neither one of you are thinking about geto suguru in that moment. you giggle when gojo leans back, lying down on the roof as he forces you to cuddle him. you rest your face in the crook of his neck, letting your eyes drift close as he hums.

"you know you don't need to worry about anything, right?" gojo asks, his words uncharacteristically soft as he runs his fingers through your hair. "you have me, and i can do anything to keep you safe. in fact, i will to whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy and i hope you know i'd give you the moon if you really asked me to."

you snort at his cheesy words, your heart feeling lighter than it ever has as he joins you in your laughter. you lean up to press a kiss to his jaw before settling back into your previous position, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you.

"i don't need the moon, satoru. i just need you."

he smiles.

reblogs are appreciated <3

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 29

Warnings: major angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of an ED. get your tissues out, brace yourself for some pain. I cried and so will you. I'm so sorry for this.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Steve shows up at your doorsteps and you take care of him, the way you always did.

Word count: 10.5k+

A/N: shoutout to @hellfire--cult for helping me with this, I couldn't do this without you Roe, I would've given up, this was so hard for me to write. I need therapy now. Also thank you to my sweet angel bff @taintedcigs for being there for me while I was losing it, you're both real ones

To make this even sadder, listen to the 1, the last time, betty, the outro of all too well by Taylor Swift. Oh and Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers. Thank me later.

series masterlist

-

It’s still pouring, the rain is still rolling down your closed windows and the lightning continues to crash through the sky. You can’t fall asleep. You’ve been trying to since you came home, but you can’t. You thought a hot shower would help make you tired, but it didn’t. Now you’re laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling.

You are too giddy to fall asleep. Your heart is still racing. Your skin still feels on fire. You can’t even fight the smile off your face. You feel his hands on your body, his lips on your skin, him. You regret not letting him come home with you. Your bed has never felt emptier. You turn to look at the telephone on your nightstand, contemplating giving him a call but you decide against it when you take a look at the clock, it’s 3am. He must be sleeping already. 

Your eyes fall on the picture that wiped the smile off your face when you walked into your room earlier. A sigh falls from your lips. You need to talk to him. You need to talk to Steve. 

This night has changed everything. 

Your feelings have changed. They have evolved into something even bigger. You have been aware of your feelings for Eddie for a while now, but you never let them out completely. You were too afraid, too scared to get rejected, too scared to lose him because you once again, couldn’t stop yourself from falling for your best friend. 

Your best friend who wants you just as much as you want him. 

Your stomach flutters and a smile tugs at your lips – your lips that are still tingling from the feeling of all the kisses. You touch them, closing your eyes as you picture him, the way he held you, the way he said your name, the way he couldn’t get enough of you, the way he was so proud to call himself yours. He’s been dreaming about this, he’s been dreaming about you for months.

You never thought that you could feel this way again. You never thought that you could smile again at the thought of someone else. You never thought that you would love again. 

Not after him. 

Steve had shattered your heart in a million pieces. He stripped you of your powers. He took everything away from you. He made you doubt yourself and everyone around you. You suffered for weeks and months, not knowing how to keep going, not knowing how to get out of bed every morning. You stopped eating. You stopped reading. You lost your joy in the things you used to love doing. You felt so lost and hopeless but you forced yourself to keep going. It felt like learning how to walk again. 

But you weren’t alone, you had the people who cared for you. 

But most importantly, you had him. Eddie was there. Eddie was there for you, every step of the way. He never left, not even on your worst days. He was there, he was always there and he stayed. 

Your heart skips a beat and your chest fills with warmth when you think of all the times he cheered you up and gave you a shoulder to cry on. When he took care of you despite you not asking him to. He stopped by the coffee shop every morning to get you a coffee and some breakfast, sometimes he came late to school because of it but he didn’t care. He’d take you out to the diner, knowing that you haven’t been eating, he brought you your favorite snacks for movie nights. He knew you were struggling to eat and he did everything to help you without pressuring you to talk about something that he knew would make you uncomfortable. 

He gave you the reassurance that you needed.

He took care of you in ways no one else ever did. 

And he never asked for anything back either.

He just did it because he wanted to, because he cares about you, because you mean something to him, because you always meant something to him, because you were always something more than a friend to him and he always wanted what’s best for you. All while watching you pine after a guy who broke your heart. He even gave you hope that maybe, you and Steve could find your way back to each other someday – all just because he wanted you to be happy. 

You don’t know what comes over you, but tears well up in your eyes. 

Eddie always just wanted you to be happy. 

You sit up, no longer wanting to wait for the next day to come, you need to see him now. 

You throw the cover off your body, your bare feet hit the soft carpet. Your hair is still a little wet from the shower you took but you couldn’t care less. You turn on the light on your nightstand before you rush over to your closet and pick out a sweater, not bothering to change into jeans or a skirt, you leave your plaid pajama pants on and throw the black sweater over your head. 

Your heart is pounding in excitement when you think about how he kissed you before you left, how he didn’t want to leave, how he wanted more and more. You can’t wait to do it again. You can’t wait to pull him into a kiss, to hug him, to tell him what you should’ve told him a long time ago. 

You take a look in the mirror, smoothing out your hair a little, you put perfume on your skin before you turn around and leave your room, slowly creeping down the stairs, not wanting to wake your mom. You leave the light off as you slip into your Vans, you grab your car keys and you open the door, about to step into night but the smile that was lingering on your face fades away so quickly when you find Steve on your doorsteps. 

Steve who was just about to ring the doorbell. 

Steve who is soaked from the rain, despite driving here. You can see his BMW in your driveway. How long has he been standing out in the rain? 

It takes you a moment to realize the state he is in. 

His face is not only soaked from the rain, it’s also soaked with tears. His eyes are red and glassy. His bottom lip is trembling. His body is shaking and you don’t know whether it’s from the tears or the cold rain. He is barely standing and as you take a step closer, you can smell the whiskey in his breath. 

Your heart drops to your stomach when you realize that he drove here drunk. 

“Steve?” You whisper as though in disbelief. 

What is he doing here at 3am? Why is he crying? 

Drops of water roll down his face, his hazel eyes are filled with pain as tears continue to fall from them. 

He says your name with a pained voice, shakily and sadly. 

“I-I needed to see you.”

Your heart breaks at the trembling in his voice. 

You furrow your brows, looking him up and down in concern. 

What happened to him?

“Dolly, I’m so– I’m so sorry,” he slurs as a sob falls from his lips. He loses his balance and stumbles forward, almost crashing to the ground, but you catch him, wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him up as best as you can. He instantly latches onto you, pulling you against him and holding you tightly. 

You blink in confusion, your heart starts pounding faster. 

He is crying, he is still crying, holding you tighter than before as he buries his face in your neck. You let him. Despite the confusion that is rushing through you, you let him hold you like this for a moment, only letting go to close the front door and taking the keys from his hands, before you wrap your arms around him again. The rain is soaking through your clothes, his tears are falling onto you, he is holding you so tightly, like he’s afraid to let you go. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper as you rub his back, not knowing what else to do. 

Did he get into a fight with his dad again? 

“I got you, Steve.”

Your words seem to make it even worse though, his body starts shaking even more as soft sobs fall from his lips. He grabs the material of your sweater so tightly, mumbling incoherent words into your neck. 

You feel so helpless, not knowing what to do or what to say, so you just hold him. 

This happened before, him showing up at your house in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind with tears streaming down his face, he collapsed into your arms the moment you opened the door, rambling and slurring out words. You later on found out that he had gotten into a fight with his dad about his grades and his future. 

But that wasn’t all, you just don’t know the rest of the story, Steve never told you about the things his dad had said to him – how you would leave if he didn’t get his shit together, how you would go off to college by yourself and learn how to live without him, how he would stay back in Hawkins while you would live your life somewhere else without him. 

He is sobbing quietly, keeping his face buried in your neck, melting further into your arms. 

“Steve,” you whisper as you rub your hand up and down his spine. You longingly look at the keys you’re still holding, a soft sigh falling from your lips. You won’t see him tonight. “Come on.” 

“N-No,” he mumbles, thinking you want him to leave. 

“Let’s go upstairs, Steve.” 

You let go of him and grab his arms softly, trying to move back. 

He sniffles as he loosens his grip on you, leaning back, he looks at you through his glassy eyes. He takes in the sight of your face, taking a moment to look at you. 

You don’t know what’s going on in his troubled mind but his eyes tell you that he is suffering, and looking at you, makes him cry even harder. Though this time, he presses his lips together, trying not to sob. 

Your own eyes fill with sadness the longer you look at him. You move your palm down his arm, taking his hand, you hold it tightly as you lead him towards the stairs. You drop both yours and his keys on the counter, taking another sad look at them before you turn to Steve, making sure that he doesn’t stumble again. He is taking slow but shaky steps, holding your hand tighter than before. 

You look up, hoping that you didn’t wake your mom. 

You step into your room and you close the door after he walks in, noticing that you forgot to turn off the light earlier. 

His sniffles quiet down and you think the worst is over, that he calmed down after letting his tears fall, the tears that he probably kept in for way too long. Steve rarely ever cries or breaks down, he hates it, he hates being vulnerable. So, he keeps it in and he lets all his emotions pile up until there’s no space left. 

A look around your room, a glance at a picture of you and him, and the closed window is enough to make him cry again. He lets go of you and hides his face behind his hands. 

You feel so lost and don’t know what to do. Not even the worst fight with his dad resulted in this. Your own eyes well up with tears, your heart breaks at the sound of his cries. He once again, collapses into your arms the moment you take a step towards him, this time you lose your balance and your knees buckle causing you both to fall. You drop to your knees as he does too, still holding onto you, tighter than before if that is even possible. He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your chest this time. 

“Steve,” you whisper shakily, on the verge of breaking down yourself when he clings to you like he never did before. You know it must be bad. 

He feels your hand running down his back, cupping the back of his head, trying to calm him down as you do your best to comfort him. He breathes you in, something that makes his heart shatter even more. 

“I-I ruined everything,” he sobs into your chest. “I ruined you, I broke your heart, I broke you,” he slurs. “I-I was.. I found your note, I never read it. I never said I love you, I just, I didn’t say it back, I didn’t say I love you, I didn’t– I put it away, I didn’t read it until now.” 

Oh. 

Now you understand. 

You furrow your brows and your eyes blur with tears. 

It doesn’t break your heart to find out that he never read that note, it didn’t matter anyway, he dumped you the next day. You got your answer. But your heart hurts for the girl you once were. The girl who loved him so unconditionally. The girl who cried herself to sleep after each fight. The girl who just wanted him to love her back. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and tighten your hold on him. 

“It’s okay, Steve.”

He shakes his head and he pulls back a little, looking at you with his sad eyes. 

You nod before he can protest. You let go of him to cup his cheeks, trying to wipe the tears, but they keep falling and falling. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, trying to convince him but his hazel eyes look back at you so brokenly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, reaching his hands up to grab your wrists. “I’m so sorry for everything I did to you, dolly.”

You shake your head, opening your mouth to speak but he cuts you off, not letting you. 

“Please forgive me,” he cries. 

“Steve..” You frown, trying to catch the tears that keep escaping his eyes. You forgave him already. You forgave him because you never wanted to lose him. The past cannot be erased, not even if you were pained or happy, so the only thing is to look forward, and you don’t want to lose him in the future. He needs to understand that but no matter what you say now, he won’t listen. 

“Dolly, you don’t understand.” As he says these words to you, he looks at you with pleading eyes. 

You shake your head, a pained expression taking over your face. 

He opens his mouth to speak when a knock on your door interrupts him. You tear your eyes away from him, looking at your door, startled. 

Your mom’s voice sounds through the hallway as she knocks on your door again, “is everything okay?” 

“Y-Yeah, hold on!” You call out to her before you turn back to him. Moving your hands down to his arms. “Come on, let’s get you up.” 

He doesn’t protest, instead he takes your hands and stands up with you.

You lead him towards your bed and push him down, placing your hands on his shoulders, you look into his eyes, “I should go talk to my mom, she’s probably worried about the noises.”

He sniffles, nodding at you. 

Before you can move away, your door opens, the light in the hallways shining into your room. You’re met with your mom’s concerned eyes, she looks at you first before her eyes find Steve’s figure sitting on your bed. Her eyes widen and she gasps as she takes in the sight of him. 

“Steve, honey, you don’t look good, are you okay?” 

That only seems to make him sadder. No sounds escape him but the tears fall even harder than before and the urge to break down yourself feels stronger than ever. 

Your mom looks just as helpless as you do, you may not talk to her about your feelings but she can read you like an open book, and right now, she can see how much you’re suffering too. 

“We’re okay, mom. I-I got this, you should go back to sleep.” 

She hesitates. Looking at you with worried eyes. 

You nod at her, pleading with your tear filled eyes. 

She sighs, face falling a little. You feel bad for shutting her out but she had enough to deal with herself in the past few years, she shouldn’t deal with your problems now too. 

She nods at you, taking another look at Steve before her eyes meet yours again, “let me know if you need anything.” 

“I will, mom.”

She closes the door, leaving you alone with him. 

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep and shaky breath, trying to fight the tears. 

He is still holding your hand and crying his eyes out. 

You take a look at him and suddenly feel like throwing up because of the overwhelming pressure in your chest. You can’t take this. 

He looks up at you, tears rolling down his red cheeks, he looks so heartbroken and you can’t stand to see him like this. It hurts so bad. It fills you with so much sadness but also with anger because none of this would have happened if he wouldn’t have changed his mind about you. 

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, you’re gonna get sick if you stay in these any longer.” 

You turn around, letting go of his hand, you walk to your closet and open the door, taking out the box that you’ve been meaning to give him back months ago. You take the lid off and rummage through it until you find what you’re looking for, one of his old shirts. The whole time, you’re biting back tears, not wanting to cry. It’s hard not to when you have to face him again. 

Why does he have to begin this over and over again? 

You’ve been here before. You’ve done this time and time. You forgave him already, you gave him a second chance, you were ready to move on. 

Why does he have to do this now? 

He is staring at you with a sullen look in his eyes, there is so much sadness, so much pain and heartbreak in the eyes you used to love so much. 

“Here,” you whisper, placing the shirt on your bed, beside him. “Take your shirt off, Steve.” 

He can barely see through his vision, his bottom lip is trembling, his hands are shaking, his whole body is shaking from both the coldness that is seeping through his shirt and the pain that he put himself in. 

He reaches for the hem of his shirt, clumsily. 

You sigh and step towards him, leaning down, you push his hands away gently, grabbing the wet material and pulling the shirt over his head. 

“Do you want to take a warm shower?” You ask, putting your hands on his cold arms. “You’re freezing, Steve.”

He shakes his head. 

“Okay,” you sigh and hand him the black shirt. “Here, put this one.” 

“Okay,” he whispers, watching you take his wet shirt and walking into the bathroom. His eyes follow you like the ones of a lost puppy. He no longer feels the tears running down his face, he’s been crying all night, his chest has been hurting badly from the moment he started reading old notes. The way you’re taking care of him after everything that he has done to you, makes him feel even worse.  

You walk back into the room a moment later. 

He is wiping his tears away after putting the shirt on. You can tell that he tries to hold himself together, not wanting to break into sobs again, but you know that he is struggling to with his emotions in overdrive and the alcohol in his system. 

“I’m gonna get you some water–”

“No, please don’t leave me.”

You had never heard him sound so heartbroken, so desperate and scared. 

You had never seen him look like this, so fragile and broken. 

“Please.”

He takes your hand in his. 

“I don’t… I don’t deserve you–”

You sigh, shaking your head as you sit down beside him. 

“Steve, stop! We’re friends, we’re over this okay? You need to stop doing this, we talked it all out. I forgave you–”

He shakes his head, catching you off guard when he moves towards you and cups your cheeks. 

“I wanted everything with you. I wanted you to be the one so bad. I know we were too young to think so far ahead but.. I wanted it all with you, I wanted to marry you and have kids with you but then I fucked it all up, I ruined everything. I-I don’t know what happened to me, I don’t know what’s wrong with me and why I break everything.” 

Your eyes widen in shock, tears you can no longer hold back fall from your eyes and roll down your cheeks. You open your mouth but no words come out. You are too stunned to speak. 

You never knew how he truly felt about you and about your future together. You knew that he wanted to go to college with you but that was the only part about your shared future that was mentioned – aside from the promise he made to never stop loving you. 

Despite the state of shock that you’re in, you cannot help but cry for the girl that wanted it all with him. 

“I don’t deserve you, fuck. I don’t deserve you– and you don’t deserve me. You don’t deserve someone like me, you don’t deserve how I treated you, you don’t deserve how I made you feel, you don’t deserve the pain I made you go through, because you’re so good, and so perfect, and I destroyed that.. I destroyed you.” His voice is so shaky, his tears won’t stop falling, neither do yours. But he wipes them away softly. 

Your bottom lip trembles as you look at him in pain. 

“Steve..”

He searches for something in your eyes – anger, hatred, rage. But he can’t find any of it. After everything that he put you through, you still got love for him and it makes him hate himself even more.

He knew what he did to you, what he put you through. Yet, only tonight it really sank in, how much he truly hurt you. How much he hurt that one person that he would give everything for – his heart, his soul, everything. 

“I’m so sorry for everything, baby.” His voice breaks and he closes his eyes as he lets his head hang low. Only a second passes, before you pull him into your arms again. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper. 

It’s not okay. How could it ever be okay? 

He left a deep scar, one that you will carry for the rest of your life and there is nothing he can do to fix it. 

He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you in, closer and closer until you’re flush against him, in search of your warmth, he buries his face in your neck. He breathes you in and holds you tightly, like it’s the last time. Enjoying the feeling of your hand running up and down his spine as your other hand cups the back of his head. His lips touch your skin, he is unaware of the marks on your neck. He is unaware of who’s hands, who’s lips have touched your body tonight. 

“I’m still your dolly, Steve,” you whisper into his shoulder. 

Yes, you are still his best friend. 

Still his dolly. 

But never his girl again. 

You stare into nothing as you hold him, breathing slowly. Your lips are pressed against his shoulder, you tighten your arms around him even when his cries quiet down and his breathing slows down, you still hold him, not ready to let go just yet. 

The room becomes silent, so silent that you suddenly miss the sound of his voice. 

“Steve?” You whisper. 

His head is laying on your shoulder, his breathing slow and steady. You know that he had fallen asleep but you still whisper his name again. When you get no response, you move back slowly, careful not to wake him. You push him down softly, adjusting the pillow beneath him. 

Your eyes soften as you take in the sight of him. You scoot closer to him, bringing your hands up to his face, you wipe the fallen tears and caress his cheek. Running your fingers through his hair and pushing away the fallen strands. 

You blink, feeling the hot tears burning in your eyes. 

The joy in your heart faded the moment he crashed into your arms. Right now, it’s just hurting. 

You know why he came here tonight. 

Not for comfort. Not for a second chance. Not for forgiveness. No. He came to end things, once and for all. 

With a heavy heart, you tear your eyes away from him and push yourself up. You lean down to take his Nike’s off, you lift his legs up on the bed and grab the covers, pulling them up to his chest. You notice the wristband, the one you gave him two nights ago, he is wearing it. 

You can’t remember the last time he was here in your room, let alone in your bed. It’s odd, almost strange to see him here. 

You look out your window, noticing that the rain has stopped falling. You hear the tires of a car screeching through the night. Jimmy Davidson must be back from college, you think. The jock is the only in town who drives like a maniac – well, besides Billy Hargrove and Eddie. 

You take one last look at him before you turn around and leave your room, wanting to grab some water and advil for him. You close the door carefully and make your way downstairs. 

You notice that the lights are on in the kitchen. The smell of hot chocolate lingers in the air. Your mom is still awake. You find her sitting at the table by the window, with a magazine in front of her. A blanket around her shoulder and glasses perched on her nose.

You feel bad for waking her up, knowing that she works the morning shift this week. But just her presence alone gives you the comfort that you so desperately need, right now. 

She looks up when she feels your presence. She takes her reading glasses off and places them on the table, pushing the blanket off as she stands up, she wastes no second to make her way towards you, the same concerned look as before resting in her features. 

“Is Steve okay?” 

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and blinking the tears away. 

“Yeah. He’s sleeping now.”

She knows that you’re not telling her everything, you never are. 

Sighing, she raises her hand towards your face, cupping your cheek as she gives you a smile, a sad one. 

“Are you okay?” 

Tears that you have just blinked away, well up in your eyes again. This time you hesitate. This time you can’t tell her that you feel okay or even good. You can’t hold your feelings back, not tonight. 

“You can talk to me. You never do and you always hold yourself back with me. I am your mother and I will listen to you, I’m here for you. So please, talk to me, sweetheart.” 

You look into her kind eyes and you suddenly feel like breaking down. You have been holding back for so long, hiding your true feelings, not letting them shine through out of fear that this would happen. 

But everything is crumbling now, all the last pieces that were holding you and Steve together had fallen apart the moment you had broken the barrier and kissed him. 

You don’t know where to start, there is so much to tell. 

So, you start with something you’ve been dying to get off your chest. 

“I love Eddie, mom.”

It feels like a relief to finally say it out loud, the words that you kept away for so long are now out in the open and.. it feels right. 

You watch for surprise to flash in her eyes but there is none. In fact, she doesn’t give you much of a reaction at all. A knowing look crosses her face, that’s all. 

“Is that why Steve was crying?”

You shake your head. 

“No. He doesn’t know,” you mumble, looking down. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“Then what happened to him?” 

You can hear the worry in her voice. You wonder if it will still be there when you tell her what he did to you. You never told her why he left. You never told her how much he hurt you. You never wanted her to think badly of him, not even after he broke your heart so carelessly. 

It feels like the world is weighing on your shoulders and the urge to throw it off feels so strong. You’ve been carrying it around for too long. 

“He came to apologize, to ask for forgiveness.” 

“Forgiveness?” She asks. “Did you two get into a fight?” 

“No, mom.” 

She tilts her head, giving you a questioning look. 

“Can we sit down?” You nudge your chin towards the table. “It’s a lot to talk about.”

She nods, a smile tugging at her lips. She wraps her arm around your shoulder and she leads you to the table. 

You sit down by the window and watch her move to the other side. She doesn’t take a seat though, instead she grabs the blanket and walks back to you, wrapping it around your shoulders and stepping away for a moment. 

Your eyes follow her in curiosity. 

She grabs your favorite mug from the cupboard and places it on the counter. 

You prop your chin on your palm and watch how she makes you a hot chocolate, the way you always loved it, with mini marshmallows on top. 

As you watch her move around in the kitchen, you realize how much you have missed this, how much you have missed your mom. This reminds you of older days, simpler days. Days where you had woken up from nightmares and sneaked into your parents room to wake your mom. She always knew how to comfort you. Instead of taking you back to bed and reading you a story, she always took you downstairs, made you hot chocolate and let you talk about whatever had troubled your young mind. 

And now you’re so much older and you don’t talk anymore. But you need to, you need to talk about it all so badly. So, you do. 

You tell her everything – from the sweetest note, to your overthinking, to all the fights she never knew about, to Nancy, to Tina’s Halloween party, to Eddie… You tell her absolutely everything. 

Tears fall as you talk about it all with a heavy heart. Relieving all the painful moments of your life and feeling the guilt of watching her eyes flash with sadness when she finally finds out the truth.

How you cried yourself to sleep. How you stopped eating and pretended to be okay in front of everyone. How heartbroken you were after he left. How unloved you felt for so long. How you have lost yourself after losing him before Eddie stepped into your life. How much Steve changed because of her. How he came back to you. How much he cared about you after all. How much he loved you after all. 

And as you finally talk, you can feel the weight getting lighter and lighter, falling off your shoulders but not completely. Not yet. But you let it all out, just like you tried with Robin but this feels different, your mom doesn’t try to lecture you, she doesn’t tell you what to do, what’s right and what’s wrong – she just listens because she knows that this is what you need. 

To talk, to cry, to feel. 

And when your tears stop falling and you calm down, she wraps her arms around you and pulls you into a tight hug. 

“You are such a brave girl. I know you had your friends with you, and Eddie especially. But you didn’t have to be alone in this. I was here. I have always been here, my sweet girl. You were never alone, you were never unloved.”

You close your eyes, ignoring the trembling in your lips and the shakiness in your hands as you hug her tightly, laying your chin on her shoulder. She rubs your back and squeezes you. 

In her arms you feel safe and comforted, you don’t need to hide, you don’t need to feel embarrassed or scared. You’re just safe and at home. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, mom,” you whisper when you realize how lost you’d truly be if you didn’t have her. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“I’ll always be here, sweetheart.” 

You sniffle, falling silent again. 

“You know.. I always knew by the way.”

“Huh?”

“That you loved Eddie.”

Shocked at her words, you pull away from the hug and stare at her with wide eyes. 

“I know how to see your emotions through your eyes, my love. I am not your mother for nothing,” she laughs while wiping away your fallen tears, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

You roll your eyes with a soft smile on your face. 

“And I also knew about Eddie’s feelings. That boy would blush every time he came to pick you up and you would come down with a new dress or skirt. I don’t know how you didn’t see his ears getting all red.” 

Your eyes grow bigger, softening after her words as you’re beaming at her.

“You think he loves me, mom?”

She giggles, staring at you as though you’ve gone crazy. 

“Someone would have to be blind and deaf to not notice that.” 

You blush at her words, though you can’t hide the excitement that crosses your face when you think about him, when you think about seeing him later. You look at each other, as though she can read your mind, you both start giggling. 

She looks at you fondly, squeezing your hand. 

“You know that I’m proud of you, right?” She smiles. “You’re so strong. You have always been a fighter.”

“No. Not always,” you shake your head. “I didn’t always fight for what I wanted.” 

“But now you do, right?” 

You nod.

“Yeah, now I do.”

Your mom looks towards the stairs. You know what’s on her mind. You saw the disappointment, the anger and the sadness in her eyes when you told her the truth about Steve. 

You know that she isn’t angry at him – she would have been had you told her the truth from the start. But a year has passed and things have changed. Steve has changed. You have changed. And despite what you have gone through, you still love him.

And that is another reason for your tears. Steve has always been a part of your life and she knows that you are afraid to lose him again. You might lose your best friend. 

“And do you still love Steve?” 

“I do..” You whisper. “That’s why it’s all so.. complicated.” 

“Is it?” She asks, giving you a small smile. “Or do you make it complicated?”

You tilt your head, raising your brows at her question. 

“You can love them both and they will both be special to you, no matter what. But you can be in love with only one person.” 

You let her words sink in, but your heart only hurts more. 

You have been here so many times already. You have told yourself that you let him go, you have convinced yourself that you did but did you ever let him go? Did you ever allow yourself to move past it? No. Because letting go of him always filled you with so much fear. 

“I don’t want to lose him.” 

The pain in your eyes is very telling. The sadness gives away who you are talking about. 

“But the love you once had for him is somewhere else now, right?” 

You’re biting back tears. And after a few minutes of silence, you nod. 

“I love Eddie, mom. I really really love Eddie.” 

She smiles at your words, taking your hand, she looks into your eyes. 

“You know what you have to do then.. right?” 

You nod, getting sadder each passing second. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “I just– I don’t want to hurt him anymore.”

“You will hurt him more if you don’t talk to him. You need to give him closure. It’s the right thing to do, and it’s the only way the two of you can be happy.”

“I know,” you whisper, shakily. 

She gives you an encouraging smile, “you got this, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“I hope so..”

She holds your hand a little tighter, giving it a squeeze. 

“You should get some sleep. You can sleep in my bed if you don’t wanna go back there. I gotta start getting ready for work now.”

“Already?” You frown as you turn around to look at the clock. It’s 4:30 am already. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry for keeping you up. You really needed your sleep.”

She shakes her head at you, “no, it’s okay. I’m glad you finally talked to me.”

You smile at her, tilting your head to the side, “me too.”

“Take it easy, okay?” 

You nod. 

She gives your hand a pat before she gets up, ruffling your hair playfully as she moves past you, making you chuckle. 

“Hey mom?” 

She turns around before stepping out into the hallway, looking back at you. 

“Thank you.”

Her gaze softens, brows knitting together.

“Of course, sweetie,” the soft sound of your mom’s voice sounds through the kitchen. “I’m gonna go check on him.”

“Okay,” you nod. 

She gives you another smile before she turns around, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

With a sigh, you look down and reach for the now half empty mug, you pull your knees up to your chest, taking a sip of the hot chocolate as you look out the window. 

It’s still dark out, the world is still sleeping, and you enjoy the last moments of this.

You’re not ready for the morning to come. 

You’re still not ready. 

-

Steve’s head is pounding, the pain is excruciating. He can’t open his eyes, not yet. The sun that is shining into the room is too bright. A groan falls from his lips and he clutches the pillow beneath his head, squeezing his eyes shut after trying to open them. 

He hears the birds chirping outside, he must have left his window open last night. He smells the fresh air, it instantly calms the sickening feeling in his chest a little. He sinks into the pillows and breathes in. 

The sweet and floral scent is so pleasant, it smells like you. He takes another deep breath, he smells your perfume, your shampoo, your vanilla body wash. His heart flutters and he can’t help but melt into the warmth of the bed and the scents that linger. He feels safe and comforted. 

It takes him a moment to realize that his pillows shouldn’t smell like you or your perfume. His bed isn’t usually this comfortable either. 

Steve opens his eyes slowly, groaning in pain when the light shines directly into his face. Hiding behind his hands, he sits up. He rubs his eyes and runs his hand through his messy hair. Turning his back to the window, he squints his eyes as he opens them again, trying to get used to the light. 

His throat feels so dry that it hurts and his head is killing him. He can still taste the whiskey on his tongue, it makes him nauseous. 

Once his eyes are fully adjusted to the light, he takes a look around the room and his heart skips in his chest, his red rimmed eyes widen when he realizes where he is. 

His stomach drops when he finds Advil on your nightstand next to a glass of water. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans as he buries his face back in his hands. Dread fills him when he starts to remember the previous night. 

The note. The Whiskey that he stole from his dad’s office. The tears that streamed down his face when he carelessly drove to your house drunk. You. He remembers the way you held him, the way you cried too. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, tugging at his hair. 

He chugs down the glass of water and after a moment of hesitation, he gets up from your bed and looks down at himself, noticing the new– well, old shirt. He puts on his Nike’s and walks into your bathroom to splash some cold water on his face but when he turns on the light and he takes a look into the mirror, he can’t help but feel sick. His eyes are red and puffy from all the crying, his skin looks pale and his hair has never looked worse than it does right now. 

He shakes his head at himself, hating his reflection more than anything, right now. 

With a sigh, he looks down, gripping the counter tightly, knowing that he has to face you now. 

He knows that there’s a small chance that you aren’t home, that you have left. But he knows that you wouldn’t do it while he is here, not even if you’re upset with him. 

After washing his face with cold water and using your mouth wash to get rid of that awful taste of whiskey, he walks back into your room, trying not to let the sadness take hold of him again but it’s hard not to fall into the pit of darkness again when he stands inside the room of the girl he loves, the girl he has made so many memories with, in here and anywhere else in this stupid small town. 

From good memories to bad ones. 

From innocent ones like picking flowers for you at the age of 12 to buying you a bouquet of flowers for your 16th birthday. 

From comforting hugs at school to cuddling in your bed at nights. 

From first kisses on your bedroom floor to more passionate kisses in his car after every stop at the streetlight. 

From making love in your bed to fighting in your room with tears streaming down your face. 

He sees the box on the ground, the one that you took out of your closet, last night. You kept his things, just like he kept yours. 

Did you struggle to get rid of them like he did? 

Did you keep them in hopes that you would find your way back together someday?

His hands are starting to get clammy, his heart starts pounding again. He takes another look around your room before he opens the door and steps out into the hallway. 

The faint sound of the music coming from the radio tells him that you are in the kitchen. He makes his way downstairs, ignoring the shakiness in his legs or his hands. The smell of coffee lingers in the air. 

He presses his lips together as he takes a deep breath before he steps into the kitchen. 

You’re leaning against the counter, your chin is propped on your hand, a book lying in front of you, you haven’t noticed him yet and Steve takes that as a chance to look at you. 

Your hand is wrapped around a mug that Eddie must have given you, you told him that he loves Garfield. He laughed about it when you did. 

It’s only 8 am. He knows you’re not working today, yet you’re already so put together. Make up on your already beautiful skin, hair done in waves, you’re wearing an outfit you certainly didn’t wear yesterday. God, you look so beautiful that it hurts. 

His heart longs for you, his hands itch to touch you – something that he could’ve done. 

In a different world, he would pull you into his arms and shower you with kisses, he would hold you, not wanting to let you go. He would make breakfast for you and then you would spend the day together. 

But you’re in this world. 

In a world where he can’t kiss you or hold you or spend the day with you. 

“Hey..”

You raise your head and your glassy eyes meet his. 

Another wave of guilt rushes through him. You cried. You cried because of him again. 

“Hi,” you whisper as you close your book and straighten your back, you look him up and down. 

Steve hates how concerned you look, how worried you are over him. 

You take a step forward, giving him a small smile. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

He shrugs, trying to smile back at you. 

“I’ll make you a coffee, you should sit,” you nudge your head into the direction of the kitchen table. 

“Okay.”

He walks to the table and takes the seat that was once his. It’s been a long time since he sat here and watched you. 

You make the coffee first, pouring some into a Hawkins High mug. You add two sugars, still knowing how he likes his coffee. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” 

You place the mug in front of him, eying him with softness in your eyes, something that makes all of this even harder. 

He blinks, shrugging at your words. 

“Okay,” you sigh and pull back your hair, without thinking. “Bagels or Toast? I’ll make you some eggs if you want–”

Your voice becomes faint, like he’s under water, sinking further and further into the deep end. The marks on your neck are now visible to him, the hickeys that he left. Steve is not shocked or even surprised. He already knew when he came to you, last night. It was obvious, even through his drunken haze, he could see it in your eyes, the happiness that shined in them before you took in the sight of him. 

It still hurts. 

And it hurts even more to think about you with him, especially in that way. 

“Toast is just fine,” he mumbles. 

“Okay, Steve,” you whisper, this was always his go-to breakfast after a night out. Black coffee and toast. It’s plain but it’s the only thing he gets down. 

He keeps watching you. Eyes following your every moment. 

There is so much sadness inside of him but there is also more, there is acceptance. He knows why he came here last night. 

Bits and pieces start to return to him. He remembers what he confessed to you, how you held him, how you took care of him, how you comforted him. 

He truly never deserved you.

You place a plate in front of him, “you sure you want nothing else?” You point to the buttered toast. You added a few berries on the side. 

He gives you a smile, “you know I’ll probably get sick if I eat anything else,” he says, chuckling for the first time today. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You always had a weak stomach.” 

“Only when I drink whiskey.” 

You nod, sitting down opposite of him. You take a sip of your coffee and lean back. You look down and reach for the magazine that your mom was reading earlier, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by staring. 

Steve looks up at you and he just knows it’s the last time that he will have your coffee and your toast. 

It’s the last time he will get to sit here with you. 

So, for a moment, he pretends that everything is alright, that this is normal, that this is something you both do every day and for the rest of your lives, that he didn’t mess up, that everything is fine. 

He takes a few sips of the coffee and eats the toast, and when he’s done, he takes a deep breath and pushes the plate aside, not looking up from the coffee just yet. 

“I’m sorry.”

You close the magazine, sighing as you finally look up. 

“You said that already… many times, Steve.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. He only looks up at you, his eyes scan your face, his lips twitch. 

“You look happy, dolly.”

What?

You shake your head a little, furrowing your brows as you stare at him in confusion. 

“You have color in your skin again, you no longer.. are skin and bones,” he says, quietly. Looking down as his eyes fill with guilt, knowing that you stopped eating because of how heartbroken you were. “Your hair is longer, your nails are painted black– a color I didn’t like you putting on because I was a fucking asshole..”

“Steve–”

He shakes his head at you, not wanting you to interrupt him. 

“You wear stuff you always told me you wanted to buy, you started wearing makeup, the heavy kind you once tried and loved but thought it was too much,” he says with a smile on his face, a knowing one. 

You see the way his eyes fall to your neck and your heart jumps when you realize what he is looking at. Surprisingly, there is no shock in his eyes, jealousy or even anger, just sadness. He knows everything and it’s not the marks on your skin he needed to look at. 

“You are living again.. and god, I want to hate him for it but.. how can I when he saved you from the pain I put you through?” 

Your eyes burn with tears. 

“I’m done standing in your way–”

“Steve,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Y-You’re not standing in the way.”

“Yes, I am.” His voice is thick with tears and by the way he is blinking, you can tell that he is trying not to cry. 

He looks down at the necklace you are wearing, the locket he had put around your neck, months ago. 

He knows that there is no picture of him inside and as much as it hurts, it’s okay. 

He didn’t come here to fight for you. He didn’t come here for a second chance or to get you back. He came here to let you go. So you could find happiness, the way you always deserved it. 

“And I don’t want to anymore. I want you to be happy.”

Your bottom lip starts trembling again. 

“And I know that you will be with him,” he says as he tears his away from the marks on your neck and he looks into your glassy eyes. “He would never do what I did. He would never put you through all of this.” 

You sniffle, looking into your best friend’s eyes. There is so much pain and sadness lingering in them and you hate it, you hate it so much. 

“I never let you go, dolly,” he finally admits with a heavy sigh. “Not at Tina’s Halloween party, not when I came to see you the next day, not after we went to Jimmy’s party together. I never let you go.” 

Your brows knit together, eyes that stare back at him with pain, fill with more tears. You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing and you look into the brown eyes you always loved so much. 

You never let him go either, that’s why it hurts so much. 

Knowing that this is the last time crushes your heart in a new way. You know that this could not only be the end of the relationship you always held onto. This could be the end of everything. 

This was always your worst fear. Losing him. 

You have lost him before but you always knew that he would come back. 

And he always knew it too. 

But this, this is different. 

And this hurts even more than it did the first time. 

You still love him, there is no doubt about that. Steve can see it in your eyes, it’s in the way you look at him, it’s in the way your lips tremble and your hands shake as fear crosses your face. You’re scared to lose him. 

How could he ever think anything else? How could he ever doubt your love for him when it’s so clearly written on your face? Even now. 

Steve can’t help but wonder; would it have worked out between you if there wasn’t someone else? 

If Nancy never stepped into his life. 

If Eddie never stepped into your life. 

Would you have stayed together? 

Would you have broken up either way? 

Would you have found your way back together in the future? 

Would he have been able to make it up to you? 

Would you get your happy ending then?

“I dropped some heavy stuff on you last night,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing red when he remembers all the things he had said to you. 

“Oh, you mean marriage and kids?” You ask as a smile tugs on your lips when you see him blushing. 

He scratches the back of his neck, scrunching his face up, “yeah..”

You laugh a little, leaning your elbow on the table, you cup your cheek, “well, I never thought that far ahead when we were still together. I mean, I never knew what I wanted for my future but I knew that I wanted you in it,” you say, watching the way he nods at you. “And maybe a cat or a dog.” 

He chuckles. 

“Or maybe a few cats and a dog.” 

A fond smile reaches his face as he stares at you, shaking his head at the thought of all the pets you’d bring home while he’d– his smile begins to fade, it will never happen. 

“Well, I’m sure that Eddie will love that.”

Your heart flutters at the thought of a future with him. Yeah, Eddie will love that. 

“You’ll be happy with him. He will make you happy,” he says confidently because he knows that he will. “And if not, well, then I’ll take you back to that treehouse and I’ll marry you again.”

A laugh falls from your lips as a tear finally rolls down your cheek. 

“The treehouse we got married in when we were ten?” 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “That one. You know I still got that paper ring,” he says with a serious face.

“I do too, I put it in a box,” you giggle. 

His eyes light up and he smiles at you, but he watches the tear roll down your cheek and then another. He stands up and he walks over to you, his heart skips a beat when you look up at him with your beautiful eyes. He cups your cheeks, wiping away the tears. 

“I don’t want you to cry over me anymore,” he whispers, holding your face for the last time. 

“Steve,” you whisper, shakily. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

You knew that this was coming. You knew that this had to happen. If he didn’t come to you last night, then you’d be the one coming to him to talk and put an end to this, once and for all. 

“I love you with all my heart and I ache for you, all the goddamn time but I don’t deserve you. You should have never forgiven me. You should have never treated me like a friend. You should have never given me the chance to be near you again… not after what I did.”

You grab his wrists, shaking your head at his words. Scared that he will leave you for good. Scared that he will leave your friendship behind and step out of your life forever. 

Steve hates to see the way your lips tremble, the way your eyes are nothing but tears, sadness and heartbreak, yet again. 

He can’t stand to see it any longer. 

“I let you go,” he whispers as he wipes your tears again. “Like you asked me to months ago.”

His heart is screaming at him not to, everything inside of him longs for him to stay, to fight for you, to drop to his knees and ask to try again. 

But this is the right thing to do. 

There is someone who can give you more than he can. 

Someone who didn’t hurt you. Someone who wouldn’t hurt you. Someone who would rather get hurt by you than do something to break your heart. 

“I choose you, sweetheart. This time, I choose you and your happiness.” 

A sad smile lingers on his face, he brushes your hair back and he looks down at the locket, one last time. 

He knows why you aren’t speaking, you’d break down if you would. 

He leans down, tilting your head up a little, he presses his lips against your forehead, kissing you one last time. 

His throat feels tight and his chest is hurting, he knows that he is on the verge of another breakdown, he is so very close to it. 

This is the hardest thing he will ever have to do. 

“Goodbye, Dolly.”

Your sniffles break his heart. You only hold his wrists tighter in response, holding onto them, your touch lingers on the wristband, one that he will never stop wearing. You let go after a few seconds. 

He feels your eyes on him, your big sad eyes. He can’t bear to take another look at you, knowing that he won’t be able to leave if he does, so he steps away from you, despite his heart telling him not to. 

He turns around and he walks away from you for the last time. He grabs his keys that you left on the counter, last night. 

With a heavy heart, he walks out of your house, biting back tears as he makes his way to his car. 

It’s over now. 

Something he held onto since he left you, is over. 

And now he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

He unlocks his car when the front door bursts open, startling him. He turns around with tears in his eyes that threaten to spill. Before he can even react, you suddenly crash into his arms, and wrap your arms around him, you hold onto him like you’re afraid that he might disappear if you let go. You hug him so tightly.

His eyes soften and his chest fills with warmth. 

He doesn’t hesitate to hug you back, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame, he holds you tight and buries his face in your neck. 

No matter what happened in the past. No matter what he did to you. No matter how much pain you have gone through, you still don’t want to live in a world where he isn’t in your life. 

After all, he will always be the boy who picked flowers for you, who surprised you with your favorite snacks, who comforted you whenever your parents fought, who slept in your bed when you were afraid of storms, who taught you how to slow dance, who wrote you notes when he was younger, who promised you to be your prince when your first crush rejected you. 

You hold onto him, pressing your cheek against his chest. 

You stay like that for a moment, for a long moment – one that could never be long enough. 

He breathes you in and closes his eyes, ignoring the fluttering in his chest. 

He knows that this should make him feel better, to know that you love him enough to forgive him, to want him to stay but if anything, it makes him feel worse because he is still losing you.

He knows he has to walk away, for now. 

“I love you, Stevie.” 

He smiles sadly. 

He knows it’s not the same as it was. It’s not the I love you’s from all your notes. He knows it’s not the same love he feels for you, not anymore.

But the love you always had for him. The love you had since you were kids. 

And for him that’s more than he could ever ask for. 

“I love you too, Dolly.”

You sniffle, he can feel you shaking against him. You’re trying not to cry. 

“Please don’t become a stranger again, Steve.”

His breath hitches in his throat, he presses his lips together, willing the tears to stop from falling. 

“Me?” He asks, pulling back to look down at you. He musters up a smile. “I might need some time but I will latch onto you as soon as I get over my whiny ass.” He jokes, despite the pain in his heart. 

You roll your eyes but laugh at his words. 

You take a deep breath and sigh. 

This is it. 

This is what was supposed to happen. 

It hurts but you also feel relieved to finally put an end to something that kept holding you back for so long. 

You know you won’t truly lose him. 

He will always be your Steve. 

And you will always be his Dolly.

But it won’t ever be the same. 

You will be his friend and he will be yours and that’s all you’ll ever be. 

You won’t be sad forever and neither will he. 

He will find love after you. 

He will find it like you did. 

It’s what he deserves. 

It’s what you both deserve. 

“We kinda got friendship bracelets now,” he smiles through his tears, pointing to the wristband as he holds his hand up. You reach out to touch it, tracing the words. 

‘love you to the moon and to saturn’

“Well, I got one, you have a necklace.” 

You smile, placing your hand on the locket, “yeah.” 

You turn it around, looking at the half moon that he got customized just for you. 

You tear your eyes away from him and look around, furrowing your brows when you realize something. 

“You know what, we should stop doing this.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, tilting his head. 

“Saying goodbye in my driveway.” 

He chuckles, though it’s a sad one. 

“This is the last one,” he whispers. “Of this kind, at least. Our future goodbyes won’t be so…”

“Sad?”

“Yeah.” He takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

He takes a step forward, he leans down and kisses your cheek, not paying attention to the feeling in his heart or the way his lips tingle when they touch your skin for the last time. He gives your hand a squeeze before he pulls away again. 

“I’ll see you around.” 

He can tell that you’re trying not to cry,  that you are forcing a smile onto your face. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, Steve.”

You can tell that he wants to say more. He looks at you. His eyes trace every inch of your face, like he’s trying to memorize you. And then, he nods to himself, blinking and giving you one last smile before he turns away from you. 

You watch him leave. 

For the last time, you watch him walk away from you. 

You stand there and wait until he is gone, until you no longer see his car in the distance. 

And just like that, he is gone, again. 

And your tears are falling again. 

-

A/N: I know that no one cares about my feelings cause I did this. But I want you to know that I freaking suffered writing this chapter. It felt heartbreaking and sad and wrong. I really wanted Steve to be the one. And my choice has nothing to do with the fact that I'm an Eddie girl, I love Steve, as well. (I know some of you don't believe this but I've loved him since 2016 so shut up, please and thanks). I didn't know how to make him come back from all what he did -- the emotional cheating, the pain he put her through, the heartbreak, the betrayal. It was too much and this ending genuinely has nothing to do with Eddie being in this story.

But also, please remember. This is not the ending of the story. So before you send any hate to me, remember that there will be another chapter and an epilogue. Anything can happen in an epilogue, just saying.

Also, I'll be working on a new Steve series. Strictly Steve x reader, I promise

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx @somethingvicked @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @munson-mjstan

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART VII

—forever winter

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who can't get their shit together.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 6.8k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). angst!!! cursing, age gap, mentions of alcohol and covid. feelings of hopelessness, anxiety. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: hello again, here's the next part!! also here are a few songs i listened to while writing this one: salt in the wound - boygenius, flume - bon iver, the gold - phoebe bridgers, for emma - bon iver, forever winter - taylor swift and calgary - bon iver.

happy reading <3

masterlist!

January 19, 2020

Los Angeles, CA

There have always been two versions of you: the person you once were and the person the world has decided you are. The first is the one who existed long before the spotlight, the one with a bit of adolescent angst, dreams bigger than herself, and a heart still learning to shield itself.

This version was taught by her parents that she was special, but the world hadn’t yet caught on. She was the girl who felt small and out of place, who wrestled with who she was and where she belonged.

And then there’s the second version, the one who stands in the center of magazine covers, on the glossy side of fame. She is everything you once dreamed of becoming—and more. You’ve spent the last decade perfecting her image, carving her out of raw ambition and countless hours under the hot glare of cameras. Her Wikipedia page reads like an epic: awards, accolades, achievements—flawless. She’s a masterpiece.

This side of you is never tired. She never shows frustration. She knows how to angle her face when the camera flashes, to smile when the questions sting, and to cry beautifully when accepting awards. She can gracefully discuss the sexism she’s faced in the industry, yet she knows better than to name names or point fingers.

She always sticks to the narrative.

For the longest time, you hoped you wouldn’t need to split into two people. That the version of yourself from years ago would be good enough for the world. But the divide wasn’t gradual—it was sudden. It happened four years ago, the day your ex decided to make you the centerpiece of a bitter, ugly breakup that splashed across every tabloid in the country. Since then, you’ve been caught between these two identities, juggling the woman you once were with the image the world expects of you.

As you sit in the back seat of the car, your eyes linger on your reflection in the tinted window. Tonight is the SAG Awards, another high-profile event where your public persona will take the lead. You watch yourself in the mirror, a familiar stranger, and wonder: Does anyone truly know you? Do you even know yourself anymore?

“There's a line of press when you get out of the car,” Taylor, your manager, says without looking up from her phone. “You know, the usual stuff.”

“Got it.”

You nod, trying to focus on the task ahead, but your thoughts are far away. You look out the window, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. No matter how many of these events you attend, it never gets easier.

The car slows to a stop, the muffled sounds of the crowd growing louder through the windows.

“Why isn’t Daniel here?” Taylor asks, breaking the silence.

“He had to fly back to Enstone,” you reply, a pang of disappointment in your chest. “The season starts soon. He’s prepping.”

Last year was a challenging one for Daniel—his racing season wasn’t what he hoped for, and he’s determined to make up for it this time around. His commitment to his craft mirrors yours in so many ways, but tonight, you wish he was here with you.

“Oh, that’s too bad, babe,” Taylor says, her hand resting on your knee in a gesture of sympathy. “When will he be back?”

“I’m not sure; he didn't say,” you murmur. “Hopefully soon.”

The door opens, and the roar of the crowd hits you like a wave. Flashing cameras, the shouting of photographers, and the glittering red carpet stretch out before you. “Looks like we’re here,” Taylor says, stepping out and extending a hand to help you.

You take a deep breath, steadying your nerves. It’s always easier with someone by your side, but tonight you’ll have to do this alone. You follow Taylor’s lead, plastering a smile on your face as you step out into the chaos. The cameras flash, posing and waving, but inside, you feel detached—like you’re watching yourself from afar.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally make it inside the venue, your body relaxing slightly as the noise of the red carpet fades behind you. You’re greeted by familiar faces and smiles, but the exhaustion from keeping up appearances lingers.

“I thought I was going to be the coolest person here, but clearly, you've beat me to it.”

The voice pulls you from your thoughts, deep and teasing. You turn and find Pedro standing there, dressed in a sleek silver suit jacket with black pants, his expression warm and playful.

His presence doesn't faze you; you've been filming for the Mandalorian since November last year, seeing each other here and there, not really spending time together between takes, and not acknowledging what happened at the wedding. You didn't hear from him since production stopped mid-December, only to get back on set early January. Although with everything else he's doing, you barely see him there anyway.

“You look amazing,” he says, his eyes lingering on you.

You glance down at your outfit—a sharp, stylish suit you picked for the night. It fits perfectly, giving you an air of confidence even though, inside, you feel anything but. “Thanks,” you say. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Pascal.” You gesture to his getup, offering a kind smile.

Pedro smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I came over to congratulate you.”

"Yeah?"

“The Achievement Award. That's huge.”

You laugh softly, a little self-conscious. “That sounds like an overstatement for someone who’s only 28.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze piercing. Pedro has always been able to see through you in ways that others can’t. You can hide from the world, but not from him.

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly, his voice firm.

“Do what?” you ask, but he cuts you off before you can finish.

“Don’t invalidate your accomplishments. You deserve this.”

There’s something in the way he says it—a weight to his words that makes you pause. Part of you wants to argue, to downplay everything like you always do, but his sincerity stops you.

Instead, you nod, offering a small smile.

“Thank you, Pedro,” you say softly. “That means a lot.”

Does it?

He sees right through and holds out his arm, a silent invitation. “Wanna walk in with me?”

For a moment, you hesitate. There’s an unspoken tension between the two of you, a history that neither of you has fully acknowledged. But as your eyes meet, the air shifts. You loop your arm through his, holding onto his bicep as the two of you make your way into the theater together. A camera flash goes off, and you smile. But this time, with Pedro by your side, it feels a little less lonely.

•••

You were sitting at a table when a fellow actor and friend started talking about you on stage. It was surreal, like time had slowed down, and you found yourself lost in thought. You’d been to countless awards shows and accepted more than your share of accolades, but this one felt different. A recognition of not just a role or a single performance, but a lifetime of work—or at least, a decade of it. And you were still young. Too young, part of you thought, for this kind of tribute. Yet here you were, about to be honored in front of your peers, the people who had seen your highs and lows.

The screen flickered to life, and a montage of your work began to play. Scenes from movies that had shaped your career, close-ups of moments that had shaped you. A smile here, a tear there, moments of triumph and vulnerability.

It was oddly like watching your life flash before your eyes—a strange out-of-body experience, as if you were looking back at someone else's journey. The montage moved through the years, capturing not just the characters you played but the changes in you—subtle at first, then more pronounced. The younger you, still full of raw hope and untamed energy, compared to the more seasoned version, who had learned how to navigate the treacherous terrain of fame. It felt like a snapshot of your life in fast-forward, as if you were witnessing your own eulogy.

You breathed in deeply, trying to stay present. It wasn’t the end, you reminded yourself.

The applause was thunderous as the montage ended, and it wasn’t until your name was called that reality snapped back into focus.

You stepped out into the blinding lights, the weight of the moment settling in as you approached the podium. The sea of faces before you blurred slightly in the brightness, but you could make out familiar ones. Peers you respected, younger actors looking up at you with wide eyes, veterans who had paved the way before you. And somewhere out there, you knew Pedro was watching.

With trembling hands, you held the award, the metal cool against your palm. You took a breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“This is... overwhelming,” you began, chuckling, your voice breaking slightly from the emotion of it all. “I don’t even know where to start. Thank you to everyone who believed in me and to the people who supported me through the ups and downs. This means more than I can put into words.”

You paused, scanning the room, catching sight of Pedro for just a second, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that grounded you.

“When I started this journey, I was just a kid with big dreams and very little understanding of how hard this industry could be,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “But I learned early on that dreams don’t work unless you do. It’s not just about talent—it’s about determination, grit, and pushing through even when everything seems impossible.”

Your eyes drifted toward the younger faces in the audience. “To the younger actors out there, keep going. I know it can feel like the world is telling you no at every turn, like you’re not good enough or that you’ll never make it, but don’t stop dreaming. Don’t stop working. This industry can be brutal, but it can also be beautiful. Find the beauty. Hold onto it. Work for it.”

A wave of applause broke out, but you weren’t finished yet. You felt a pull, a need to say more, something from the heart. Something real.

“And through all of it,” you said, your voice softer now, “keep the people who truly love you close. In this business, it’s easy to get lost in the noise, in the hundreds of things that try to tear you down or make you feel like you’re not enough. But the people who love you for who you are, not what you can give them, are the ones who will keep you grounded. I’ve met some of my forever people in this industry, and for that, I’m grateful. Despite all the bad and all the heartache that comes with this life, it’s those relationships that make it worthwhile.”

Your gaze wandered again, unconsciously searching the crowd for Pedro, and when your eyes met his, something inside you softened. He knew what you were talking about. He knew the weight of those words better than anyone.

“I’m grateful,” you continued, your voice a little more vulnerable now, “because I’ve been able to hold on to those people. Even when things get complicated even when it feels like the world is pushing us apart. You have to fight for those connections. They’re what make this crazy, beautiful life worth living.”

You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through it, finishing with, “So thank you. To the people in my life who have stuck with me through the good and the bad. This is as much yours as it is mine.”

March 5th, 2020

Calgary, Canada

Life after the awards ceremony didn’t feel much different than before. It was still the same relentless rhythm—work, events, travel, more work. The brief moments of peace in between became rare and fleeting, like whispers in the storm of your career. Daniel’s season was supposed to start soon, and though you’d seen him twice after he flew to France for preparations, something between you felt... off. His distance was palpable, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell on it too much. It was easier to stay busy, keep moving, and brush it off as a phase. After all, the both of you were pulled in so many directions—when was the last time anything felt normal?

A quiet dinner in your NYC apartment, one of the few times Daniel managed to swing by in between training sessions. The table was set with takeout boxes instead of a home-cooked meal—neither of you had the energy for anything more.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you said softly, watching him as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss this,” you added.

“Yeah, me too,” Daniel said, but the words were like dust on the air—insubstantial, weightless.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been quiet," you trailed off, unsure of how to breach the distance you felt growing between you.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind with the season coming up. It’s…you know, a lot of pressure.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on his. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

He gave you that familiar smile, but it still felt like something was slipping through your fingers.

•••

By March, you had flown to Calgary to shoot a horror-adjacent film. The setting—a desolate cabin in the snow, miles from anywhere—was perfect for the kind of chilling atmosphere the director was aiming for. You’d always loved working with indie directors; their stories had depth, innovation, and a sense of grounded reality that the big-budget productions sometimes lacked. It was a reminder of why you fell in love with acting in the first place.

On set, things moved fast. Between takes, you found a quiet corner of the cabin and pulled out your phone to FaceTime with Taylor. She was mid-ranting when she answered.

“There’s a potential shutdown happening, babe. Something about a virus…COVID, or whatever they’re calling it. Have you heard anything about it?”

You’d heard whispers from the crew, but nothing had been confirmed. “I’ve heard some talk around set, but no one knows what’s happening yet.”

“Well, I’m telling you now, it’s serious. This might be the last project you get to work on for a while. Everything else is likely to be delayed. Keep your eyes open.”

You sighed, looking around as the crew moved around with their usual buzz of energy.

“Guess I’ll enjoy this last bit of freedom while I can.”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah, enjoy it while you’re in the middle of nowhere. Call me if you hear anything else.”

You ended the call and pocketed your phone, the unease settling into your chest. Everyone around the set seemed unfazed, but the air had undoubtedly changed.

By the final days of production, the world was different. Everyone wore face masks, and hand sanitizer became the reigning deity on set.

•••

Reality hit hard. Flights were cancelled. No one could leave. You were stuck in the cabin, snow piling up outside like a barricade against the world, while the virus barricaded you from returning home. You made a grocery run the minute things got a little hectic, filling the place with more supplies than you’d ever seen yourself buy—just in case. The panic in the air was contagious, and chaos reigned for those first two weeks.

You FaceTimed your mom as you unpacked. “I’m stuck in Canada,” you said, laughing softly despite the anxiety that gnawed at your insides.

“Are you serious?” her voice was a mix of worry and exasperation. “You should’ve been back by now. What about New York?”

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back. Airports are closed.”

She sighed heavily, the sound crackling through the phone. “Just take care of yourself, honey, alright? Don’t be reckless. Are you alone?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be fine."

Her voice softened. “Be careful, okay?”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

•••

It was a particularly dark, cold afternoon. The kind where the sky hung low with thick clouds and the cold crept in through the cracks of the cabin no matter how many layers you wore. You had wrapped yourself in a blanket, the silence of isolation pressing down heavier than usual when your phone buzzed on the table.

Daniel’s name appeared on the screen.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but you couldn’t ignore him. Not yet. So you swiped to answer and brought the phone to your ear, forcing a soft, casual, “Hey.”

His voice on the other end was calm, but there was an undercurrent to it—a kind of distance that had been growing for months. "Hey," he replied, his Aussie accent tinged with something heavy. "How’s it going over there?"

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “You know… same. Snowed in. A lot of waiting.” There was an awkward pause. You filled it with a half-hearted laugh. “How about you? Everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, and you could feel the shift before he even said it. “Actually… I don’t think we should keep this up.”

The words hit you like the cold outside, seeping into your bones, but not with shock—just a kind of muted inevitability. There it is, you thought, the final crack in what was already falling apart.

Your brain hummed with white noise after that. You don’t remember what you said in response, something vague like, “Yeah, I get it.” The words came out on autopilot, and you weren’t really listening anymore. It wasn’t traumatic; it wasn’t the kind of breakup that destroyed you. It was like slowly waking from a dream and realizing it had already ended before you even opened your eyes.

His voice was kind, soft—too soft. “You’re so great, you know that, right? This just… it wasn’t working anymore. For either of us.”

You nodded, though he couldn’t see it. Your mind was elsewhere—on the conversations with Pedro, on the way your heart leaped when you heard his voice instead of Daniel’s. You had known, deep down, for a while now where your heart really was.

“I guess we knew this was coming,” you finally managed, voice steady, as if you were discussing something as simple as the weather.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But still… I didn’t want it to hurt.”

The niceties and the polite words that followed hurt more than any fight ever could have. It was the kindness of it that made it sting—the acknowledgment that neither of you had it in you to fight for something that had already drifted away. There was no anger, no raised voices, no accusations.

Just two people who had loved each other briefly, now saying goodbye like they were parting ways at an airport terminal.

“Well, take care of yourself, alright?” Daniel said softly.

“You too,” you whispered, already feeling the weight of finality.

And then it was over. The phone went silent in your hand, and you stared at the screen as if it could offer you some kind of closure that you weren’t sure you needed.

•••

The days began to bleed into one another. You were alone in that cabin—snowed in and quarantined from the world. The only connection you had was through your phone, through calls with Sarah and Oscar, who checked in on you daily.

Most days, you found ways to pass the time. You read, you cooked—burned some things, too—and found yourself sitting by the old piano that had come with the cabin. Your fingers brushed against the keys, unsure at first, after so much time spent focusing on acting. But the music came swiftly, like muscle memory. The songs poured out of you, stories in lyrical form, shaped by the silence and solitude around you.

But some nights, the quiet was too loud.

The breakup with Daniel lingered in the back of your mind like a dull ache. You had been okay with it for the most part; you knew it was coming, and neither of you were in it anymore. But there were nights, like tonight, when the weight of it crashed down and the loneliness felt too heavy to carry. You lay in bed, tears wetting the pillow, thinking about how everything had ended in polite goodbyes when maybe you needed the screaming.

•••

One day, in the middle of baking—flour dusting your hands and a bowl of half-mixed batter sitting on the counter—you received a text: “I hope you’re doing okay.”

You stared at it, your heart skipping a beat. You had thought about him every single day and wondered how he was coping and whether he was safe. Anytime Sarah called, you asked about him, telling yourself that it was enough to know from a distance. But now, with that simple text, you caved.

“I’m okay. Are you?”

His reply came almost immediately. “Not really. Mostly lonely.”

Your heart broke for him. You knew how hard it was for him to be alone. He thrived off people, off energy. And now, the world had gone still.

“Wanna talk?” you typed, holding your breath.

“Would love to hear your voice,” came the reply.

So you called him, and the hours melted away as you both talked about everything—about the virus, about work, about how isolating it all was. He asked, finally, “How’s Daniel?”

You hesitated. “We’re no longer together. Haven’t been for a while.”

There was a pause, then a soft, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

You quickly changed the subject, but it lingered between you, the unspoken acknowledgment of what that meant. After that, you spoke almost every day. The isolation became less suffocating, and with each call, you both felt a little less alone.

•••

On Pedro’s birthday, you baked a cupcake in his honor, lighting a single candle before FaceTiming him. When he picked up, he laughed, “You made me a cupcake?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a grin, holding up the tiny treat. “Now, pretend to blow out the candle.”

He played along, puffing his cheeks and making a ridiculous show of it. “Thank you for this. It’s not much of a birthday without people.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” you said, singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday. His laughter filled the space between you.

Later that night, he posted a screenshot of your call on his Instagram story, and the internet lost its mind. Comments flooded in—"Omg, she baked him a cupcake!"—“My favorite best friends!”—and you laughed at the attention it brought.

•••

One evening, as you sat at the piano again, your phone propped up with Pedro on FaceTime, he listened quietly as you played a new melody. “I think the lyrics need work,” you said, biting your lip.

He smirked. “Let me hear them.”

You hummed the first few lines, fumbling over the phrasing. “See, it doesn’t quite flow.”

“Let’s try this,” Pedro suggested, offering a line.

By the end of the night, the song felt whole, and you felt lighter.

The days passed—isolated and cold—but your connection with Pedro was alive and warm again. And as the weeks stretched on, you couldn’t help but wonder: How long until you fucked this up again?

October 5, 2020

Budapest, Hungary

Pedro had always known loneliness. It was a quiet, persistent companion, but in Budapest, it had taken on a new form. The city was beautiful, its streets old and layered with history, but none of it could distract him from the hollow ache in his chest. The early mornings on set, the long hours of filming—the work was steady. But outside of that, the hours stretched endlessly.

He had been filming in Europe for months, and though he loved his job, the thrill of creating something special—the distance—both physical and emotional—was wearing him thin. He had been keeping in touch with you, his constant thread of connection. The texts, the occasional FaceTime calls, were easy and comforting. But he could never shake the weight of what he hadn’t told you. What you didn't allow him to say. It felt like a brick in his stomach.

You lived strangely in his head.

He still hadn’t found the courage to say the words. I love you. They haunted him—a truth he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Every time he thought he was ready, he backtracked, swallowing the confession whole. His cowardice infuriated him. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been in love with you for years, the feelings growing stronger and deeper, but now… now you were thousands of miles away, and he was stuck in this self-made purgatory.

His thoughts often drifted to his mother lately. She had always known how to comfort him, her voice soothing, her advice simple but profound. What would she have said about you? About his inability to speak the truth? He could hear her in his head, telling him to stop being such a fool, to just go for it. But she wasn’t here anymore, and he felt lost without her, more than he ever let on.

The days on set were repetitive but engaging. The crew was tightknit, and the project was exciting. He threw himself into work, hoping it would distract him. He laughed with the cast, bantered with the director, but when the camera wasn’t rolling, his mind was elsewhere. It was with you.

•••

A few weeks later, after wrapping up in Budapest, he found himself in Switzerland alone again. He didn’t know why he’d come. The scenery was breathtaking, the mountains vast and quiet, but the isolation magnified the emptiness he felt. It was as if everything had come to a standstill.

The stillness weighed on him. The quiet, once a solace, now felt oppressive. He spent his days wandering the small towns, drinking coffee in hidden cafés, trying to convince himself that the solitude was a gift. But he felt shattered, more broken than before.

One night, the loneliness became too much, and he called you. Desperation tightened his throat as he waited for you to pick up, his mind screaming at him to just tell you. The phone rang, and when you answered, your voice was soft, familiar, and full of comfort.

"Pedro," you said, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks.

His breath caught, and the confession lodged itself in his throat again. He had been ready, so ready, but hearing you—he thought better of it. What could he say that wouldn’t ruin everything?

"Hey," he replied, his voice rougher than intended. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

You chuckled softly on the other end. "You good?"

"Yeah, I’m good," he lied, the words heavy on his tongue. "Just…miss talking to you, that’s all."

"I miss you too," you said, and it broke him a little more. The call went on, but he had already retreated into himself, too afraid to say what needed to be said. He listened to you talk about your day, your laugh filling the silence on his end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was failing—failing himself, failing you.

•••

The next day, he went for a walk. The air was cold, biting, but it didn’t bother him. He needed to clear his head. He walked along the cobbled streets, past quaint houses with shuttered windows, and let the weight of his feelings wash over him. It was overwhelming. His history with you, all the unsaid things, all the moments when he should have acted and didn’t. It crashed over him like a wave, leaving him breathless.

He found a bench and sat, his head in his hands. One day, he thought. One day, I’ll tell her.

December 31st, 2020

New York, NY 

The phone call from Oscar came two weeks before New Year's Eve. His voice was warm, as it always was, but there was an unmistakable edge of hope in it, the kind that crept in after months of isolation.

“It’s just something small,” he had said. You could hear his smile through the phone, that charming grin he always wore. “Not a lot of people, you know. Just family and close friends. After the last few months we've had… I think we need this.”

You hadn’t seen Oscar in person in what felt like forever, and the idea of being with people—Oscar’s people, your people—sounded like a balm to the soul. You agreed before he could finish the invitation, the excitement bubbling up despite the world still not feeling quite right.

You got tested later that week, making sure you were safe to attend the gathering.

When you arrived at Oscar’s apartment, the city had an eerie quiet to it. New York was never still, even during the pandemic, but tonight it felt subdued, like it was holding its breath for something more. You headed for the entrance, and the soft sound of music spilled out the moment the doors opened.

Oscar met you with his arms wide open, pulling you into a tight hug. “Look who finally made it,” he teased, his face lighting up in that familiar way. “You look good.”

“You too,” you said, stepping back and taking in the warmth of the room. It was intimate—just the right amount of people to make you feel at home, but not so many that it felt overwhelming.

Before you could take another step, Sarah swooped in, stealing you from Oscar’s embrace with an exaggerated squeal. She enveloped you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe.

“I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. You hadn’t seen her in ages, and the reunion felt like a weight lifting off your chest. The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up, your laughter blending in with the soft chatter around the room.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him. He had arrived a little late, typical of him, but the sight of him sent your heart into a dizzying spin. It had been almost a year since you last saw each other in person.

He moved through the room, and when he finally made his way toward you, your breath hitched. He wore a simple black t-shirt, the fabric clinging to his toned chest. His hair was longer, fluffy from the months of lockdown, and his big brown eyes—usually so full of light —looked tired.

But when he saw you, the weariness seemed to lift for a moment.

He said your name softly, stepping close. His arms opened, and you fell into them without hesitation, wrapping yourself around him in a way that felt too familiar, too safe. He held you tight, his grip lingering longer than necessary, like he was afraid to let go.

“Hey,” you breathed against his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—pleasant, familiar, grounding. The world seemed to fall away for a moment, leaving just the two of you. You pulled back slightly, looking into his face, wanting to say something—anything. You couldn’t live without thinking about him. He consumed your every thought, and somewhere along the way, you had come to terms with how you felt about him.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“At last, we see each other,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, his hand still on your back.

“At last,” you repeated, your heart pounding against your ribs.

You both opened your mouths to speak, then laughed in unison.

"You first," Pedro said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, though there was something deeper there—something lingering just beneath the surface.

But before you could say anything more, Sarah reappeared, her arm hooking through yours as she dragged you away. “Sorry! I need to steal her for a sec,” she said with a laugh, oblivious to the quiet intensity of the moment she’d interrupted.

Pedro smiled at her, though his eyes flicked back to you. "What I wanted to say can wait," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise that sent a jolt through you.

You promised yourself you’d find him later.

•••

In the kitchen, you and Sarah were rummaging through cabinets for more drinks when you heard Oscar’s booming laugh. Turning, you spotted him and Pedro, who now had a ridiculous pointy birthday hat perched on his head. You burst into laughter at the sight, unable to resist.

“Cute hat,” you said, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “Let’s document this moment.”

He grinned, grabbing Oscar by the shoulder and pulling him in for the picture. Pedro tilted his head, drinking from his beer, and Oscar looked up at him with a puzzled expression as you snapped a photo.

“Perfect. That’s going on Instagram for sure,” you teased, and Pedro groaned.

Before anyone could respond, Oscar’s wife walked by, eyeing the hat on Pedro’s head with mock suspicion. Pedro took his cue, unlocking from Oscar and jokingly attacking her with the pointy hat, poking her side with the plastic tip. You snapped another picture, laughing as she swatted him away.

“Send that to me,” she called over her shoulder, and you nodded, tucking your phone back into your pocket just as Sarah handed you a drink.

•••

The night continued, the energy in the room bubbling up as the countdown to midnight approached. Karaoke had started in one of the rooms, and you couldn’t resist.

Pedro avoided it at all costs, standing in the doorway with a bemused expression. After your rendition of Losing My Religion, he caught your eye.

“That was something, huh?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I was extra terrible just for you,” you shot back, walking over to him. “I know how much you hate this.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said.

Just as you were about to respond, a woman’s voice broke through the moment. “Oscar said you were in here,” she said, stepping forward. “Hi.”

You turned to see her approach Pedro, and before you could fully register what was happening, she leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips. A casual, intimate gesture that sent a shock of realization through your entire body.

You blink, dumbfounded, as Pedro shifted slightly to make introductions. “This is Julia,” he said, his voice a little too calm for the turmoil suddenly spinning inside you.

Your mind raced, trying to place her. And then it hit you—she was in the group photos he posted from the crew of the movie he was filming in Budapest. One of the producers, you think.

Oh.

Julia greeted you happily, oblivious to the terrible ache now pooling in your chest. You felt your throat tighten, the words you had wanted to say earlier were now swallowed by this unfamiliar wave of jealousy and disappointment. You went mute, unable to find words that wouldn’t betray how much this hurt.

Pedro’s voice broke the silence again, almost too nonchalant. “This is what I wanted to talk about earlier.”

Your stomach twisted. “Oh, great,” you managed to say, forcing a smile that you didn’t feel.

“And you?” Pedro asked, clearly trying to keep things light. “You said you wanted to talk, too.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, and your mind screamed for you to say something—anything—but all you could muster was, “No, um, it was nothing, really.”

Something stung deep inside you. It was a dull ache, gnawing away at your resolve. You needed a way out. Fast.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” you said to her, your voice tight. “If you’ll excuse me…”

And before either of them could say anything more, you slipped away, making a beeline for the kitchen where Oscar stood.

“Hey,” you blurted, pulling him aside. “He’s fucking dating someone? And you didn’t say a thing?”

Oscar looked at you, taken aback. “I—it wasn’t my news to share.”

You pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to swallow the embarrassment. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. I just… I can't believe I was about to confess my love for him and make a fool of myself. Again.”

Oscar stared at you, his eyebrows raised. “You were what?”

You laughed, though it was tinged with bitterness. “Yeah. But now? I mean, clearly, it’s just another sign. The timing’s never right. Never.”

Was it punishment? you thought.

Oscar opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly uncertain of what to say. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed another drink. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it to you.

You took it, staring at the liquid swirling in the glass.

"It’s fairly new, you know," Oscar said softly, his voice tinged with hesitation. "Like two weeks or something. It’s not serious yet."

“I just don’t get it,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “I don’t.”

Oscar sighed, his hand finding your back, a comforting weight that helped ground you. “I know. I know.”

You knew there was else nothing you could do right now, so you poured the drink down your throat, feeling the burn as it went down.

•••

“There you are,” Pedro called softly, his voice muffled by the cold air as he stepped through the glass doors onto the backyard patio. The wind hit him immediately, sharp and biting, but the bitter cold felt fitting, almost poetic.

You stood there, your back to him, a silhouette against the frozen horizon. For a moment, he was transported back to the first time he saw you in this very spot, under a much different sky. That night, the air had been warm, filled with the kind of anticipation that crackled with every glance exchanged. You had stood just like this, dressed similarly too, arms crossed against the world, hair cascading down your back like a curtain he desperately wanted to pull aside.

But tonight was different. Tonight, your shoulders were tense, hunched against more than just the cold. When you turned around, your face wasn’t full of curiosity. It was distant, your eyes heavy with an emotion he couldn’t quite name, but that he knew he was responsible for.

"You bolted out of there," Pedro said, his voice strained as he tried to sound casual, but the worry leaked through.

You gave a soft, bitter hum, a sound he couldn’t decipher but felt in his bones. "I was a bit shocked, honestly."

He swallowed, suddenly nervous, fumbling with the words he had rehearsed in his mind so many times but never managed to say. "I know. I wanted to tell you about her, I just... I don’t know. It’s new. I didn’t think it was important enough yet. I thought I’d find the right moment, but it never felt... appropriate. And I didn’t want to make things weird, you know?"

Pedro kept talking, words spilling out as he tried to explain. He mentioned her name—Julia—said they had met on set, that it wasn’t serious yet, that it had barely even begun. His voice grew quieter, more unsure with every sentence, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

See, Pedro hadn't planned on getting into a relationship, not when his every thought was consumed by you, not when he knew he loved you, and yet here he was. He didn't know what he was doing anymore.

But your expression had already changed. He could see the way your face shut down, the way your gaze hardened, and it twisted something deep inside him.

“Don’t apologize to me about your relationship,” you said, the words sharp and cutting. “That’s the kind of thing that makes me feel like I’m some kind of Machiavellian villain.”

Pedro winced, his breath catching in his throat. He hated this. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your voice lower, more controlled.

"Our time never seems to align, does it? It never has, and it never will. It's funny, even.” You paused, looking away, your voice a strained whisper.

Pedro wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that he felt trapped between his own heart and the razor-sharp edge of what was right, what was fair. The guilt and longing were choking him, twisting his insides until all he could feel was the jagged ache of wanting something that was always just out of reach.

You took a deep breath, the cold air clouding in front of you like smoke.

"Are you happy?" you asked, your voice barely audible. A mirror of his very own "Do you love him?" from last year.

Pedro looked at you, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’m trying,” he said quietly, the truth in the words landing hard.

You nodded, your lips pressed together in a sad, resigned smile.

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

It was an unspoken agreement—a quiet acceptance that, once again, you were not meant to be. That your lives had written this story long before you’d ever had a say in it.

a/n: enough sadness, their time will come soon ;)

a like, reblog or comment, anything is very much appreciated <3

[swtsupernatural]

D&S W. || NEVER ENOUGH

Dean & Sam Winchester & Winchester! Middle-Sibling! Gender Neutral! Reader

Content Warning Takes place after John's death, no specific episode, just soon after. Swearing, dealing with John's death & grieving, reader throws up once, use of knives and guns, mentions of demons, dean being unable to communicate his feelings

Summary Angst !!! hurt/comfort for reader - Dad died, and all you could think about was how he died not even liking his middle child. You.

W.C. 2.2 k

Ask anon : Could you do something with the Winchester brothers and a Winchester reader? Where the reader is the middle child and is the forgotten one of the family. The reader feels kind of useless compared to Sam and Dean.

Playlist: ♫ I Love You So - The Walters, Better Than Me - The Brobecks, I Know the End - Phoebe Bridgers

A.N. first platonic winchester reader fic ! wrote this sooo fast lol (I think I was projecting even though I'm the oldest child) also I had to include my fav chaotic old man duo in this one...enjoy! - claire <3

Dad was dead. It hadn't been too long since he left, but fuck. He was dead and all you could think of was how much of a shit child you were. You tried your entire life to prove yourself to your dad; but you weren’t Dean; you didn’t follow him blindly, listen to his every order, pick up on hunting skills like it was playing cards. And you weren’t Sam; you weren't booksmart, you didn't have a touch for understanding, and you weren’t as defiant. Yet, it still seems like your whole life that you were your dad’s least favorite. Now you didn’t have Dad, and you felt sick to your stomach that you were almost relieved. It was like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and another one had been placed in your stomach. Your own father had died and you were relieved. No wonder you were the least favorite. 

When you were younger, you’d been more like Sam. Dean was Dad;s pupil, and to you both it didn’t matter who was second because you were both not your older brother. You’d move to a random small town school,get picked on like Sam did, Dean told you he’d beat them up for you, and then you moved again. Every now and then shit would go down and you’d spend some nights at Bobby’s — and it repeated all over again. Then, Sam had graduated highschool and left you and Dean for Stanford. You and Dean never went into upper education, it hadn’t really crossed either of your minds. Sam was 18, you were 20, and Dean was 22. You’d been out of school for a bit, trying desperately to keep up with Dean and Dad, you were just never as good. You didn’t know anything else, and couldn’t see yourself doing well in any other ‘profession,’ if you could even call it that. A couple weeks after Sam left, you were digging through the trash like a damn raccoon looking for a note cliping you’d accidentally thrown away with some crucial information about your current hunt. You found the sticky note, but it had latched onto a thick, white piece of paper. It was a job application. It was Dean’s. You nearly cried, he wanted to be a firefighter. You were so emotional because you know he totally could; he’d be wonderful at it. But he’d never leave the hunting life, especially not after Sam had “abandoned Dad and us,” as he put it. The heat of the fire brought you back to the stupid forest you’d bought Dad’s body to. The fire was warm, but still not comforting in the slightest despite the chipping cold. Your cheeks were pink, and you could feel your eyes starting to water. This was it.

You began walking with your head down in the opposite direction of the Impala. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Dean’s voice was gruff, his own head and heart in turmoil, showing in his wavering voice. He never sounded like that. It was so uncharacteristic and gazing up at their faces made you sick. They were lit up warm from the fire, both of their green eyes shining, frowns and dirt on their faces. You doubled over by a tree, placing your hand on the tough bark as you threw up your breakfast on the dewy grass. You heard Sam sigh, the thick, uncut grass rusting, a hand coming to your back as he pushed the hair from your face. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told you everything. He knew more about your struggle with Dad than Dean did. Sam had always been easier to talk to. That’s why you wanted him to leave.

“Sam,” you whispered after wiping your face, “you need to go back to school, dude.” Sam looked down sheepishly.

“Y/N, cmon, you know I was there on scholarship, I–

“And you were also the best in your program, Sam. Dad’s gone. Go back, go make something of your life, please.”

“And what will you do? Keep hunting?”

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do? I’m not good at anything else, Sam! Hell, I’m not even that good a hunter. I’m half the reason he left to go on that stupid hunt in the first place.”

“Don’t start with that, Y/N.” 

“I know it, you know it, and Dean knows it. Just…I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.” Dean’s voice came from your left, walking up at a quick pace with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“You don’t get it.” You whispered, and they just heard your small voice.

“What’s there to get?” Dean huffed, shaking his head.

“Dean, knock it off,” Sam muttered.

“What you don’t get, is that Dad never fucking liked me while like he liked you both. And Sam, don’t act like he resents you for leaving or something. He stayed up sighing and reading all those student aid and college billing bullshit because he knew you could do it. And Dean, he always taught you so much more than me because you actually got hunting like he did and knew what you were doing. I was never good at either. I wish I was the one burning in that fucki—

Dean grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the tree.

“Can you shut up about yourself for two damn seconds when we're at Dad’s funeral? I don’t need you crying about him being a dick when he’s dead. He had funny ways of showing it, but he loved you, Y/N.”

“No he didn’t,” You shoved him off of you, shoving your hands in your coat and huffing out steamy air as you returned to the car. Your brother’s followed you, but you were already lifting the trunk and grabbing your duffle bag. 

“Bye. See ya around.”

“Dean, let them go,” Sam grabbed his arm, stopping his brother from getting to you. “Even I know Dad was always a dick to them.

“C’mon, dude, give ‘em a break, just for now. We’ll call them in a couple days, it’ll be fine.” Dean shook Sam off of him, opening his car door and slamming it aggressively. Sam sighed, getting in the car and watching the black smoke in the rearview mirror flying up into the sky.  __________________________________________

It had been four weeks. Four weeks, two cases solved, 11 missed phone calls from Sam, 6 from Dean, and now you were cornered in a damn demon’s trap. It was 5 against 1, but that didn’t change how useless you felt. You were never as good of a fighter as Sam or Dean, you weren’t as obnoxiously tall or particularly strong. You always felt useless as a child, as a sibling, as a hunter, and as yourself. Of course this would be how you died.

You were at the point of just giving in and calling it quits on your life when a booming BANG rang out. From behind you, two more shots rang out, knives slashing. You didn’t question it, you just acted. You managed to corner the last demon, grabbing his head from behind and shoving your knife in his throat, killing it. You focused your eyes up and saw the last person you were thinking about. But boy, were you glad to see him.

“Bobby?” He crushed you in a big hug, gun in one hand and a first aid bag in the other. 

“Heard’a some weird stuff in this town, deaths and weird figures, figured it was demons. But, when Rufus and I went into the local police office as P.I.s, they said someone with your description already came by,” He grumbled.

“You know how stupid it is to go on a hunt alone when you're young, kid?” Rufus spoke, as his way of greeting you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder in a half-hug. “That’s why I always drag this old man with me in case shit goes down. So I can throw him in the storm and buy myself some time to run.” Bobby rolled his eyes at Rufus’ sarcastic words, and led you both out of the building.

“Why aren’t you with the boys, Y/N?” You sighed, running a dirty hand through your hair. 

“You uh…heard about Dad?” Bobby stopped the tread to his old car, turning and peered at you with dark eyes. 

“I did. Don’t worry, m’not gonna hit you with all that “I’m sorry, woe is you” crap you hate.” You huffed, smiling at Bobby, “But, I am gonna tell ya you always have a place to stay, kiddo.”

“Thank you.” 

He looked at you expectedly, his head tilting towards you, “...So?”

“I left them after the funeral. I was just…having a hard time, Bobby.” You muttered, sitting in the back seat like a little kid.

“I know, kiddo. How’s about you come to my place and get yourself straight, hm?” You nodded, and Bobby watched you through the rear view mirror hanging above him. Your hair was greasy and the bags under your eyes almost purple. This had been fucking you up a lot.

Bobby got out and opened the trunk, rearranging things while Rufus opened the garage to grab salt, bullets, and gear to restock after your predicament. He tossed you his keys and you caught them with a jingle. You shoved them in the door and finally turned the janky lock, pushing it open. You froze.

Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch. The second you sighed and stepped inside, Dean shot up from his seat rushing towards you, wrapping you in a far too tight hug. He pulled away, his lips in a straight line as he lightly smacked you upside the head.

“You scared the shit out of us, dumbass.”

“Great to see you, too.” 

“Where were you?” 

You shrugged, moving past Dean to Bobby’s cramped, warm, familiar living room.

“I was on the road…hitchhiking, looking into cases, all that.” “I’m gonna refrain from telling you how dangerous that is and opt for a hug,” Sam grumbled as he wrapped his long arms around you. 

“Why are you here?” You asked, settling down on the couch like no time had passed at all since you last saw them. Sam began to speak up, but Dean cut him off and Sam stared at him sternly.

“Cause we couldn’t find you and you weren’t answering us, and Bobby said he found you on a hunt near his place. We got here right before you guys. Y/N you had us fucking worried.”

“I’m sorry. I needed some time alone. I…love you guys. But being around you after Dad, it just reminds me that I’ll never be good enough for him. He’s dead and all I can think about is how he died not even liking me. I’ll never be like either of you.”

Sam laughed; he actually laughed out loud. “Like me? Are we talking about the same people? Cause I see visions of people dying, Y/N. I dropped out of college and can’t do anything right in anyone’s eyes, not just Dad’s.”

“That's not true, Sam…” He sat down next to you on the couch, his knees turned towards you, his eyes dark and watchful. Dean mumbled something about getting you all drinks and disappeared into the kitchen, sensing a touchy conversion he'd rather not be a part of just yet.

“And Dean,” Sam continued, “Dean would rather die than open up to anyone, even either of us, and he can’t function if he’s not drinking, hooking up with some random girl, or drinking. Which is why he’s getting us drinks right now. If anything, you’re the one I’d rather be like. I know Dean would too.” You rolled your eyes pointedly, like Sam was talking nonsense. He moved his head to find your eyes, tilting his head towards you with that face he made that would always stop you from talking. “Y’know, you’re so good at reading us and we didn’t even realise until you were gone. Honestly, Dean and I have never fought that much. And you’re always good at talking with the vics and feds, way better than me or Dean, I–

“Can we end the girly-crap convo now, please?” Dean handed each of you a beer, throwing his back the second he sat down, drinking way too much in one sip.

“Sorry we have feelings, Dean. In case you forgot; most people have those.”

“Yea, yea. Listen,” he turned to you after he groaned, trying to look sincere, well, as sincere as Dean could look. 

“You’re probably the least fucked up one in our freak family, Y/N, so quit it, alright? Sammy and I…we love ya.” He threw his hand that wasn’t clutching his drink up in a surrender. “That good? Can we please drink now and head to our next stop with a hangover in the morning?”

You chuckled, clink-ing your drink with your brothers, and nodding to Dean. He smiled silently, thankful you were back. He hadn’t realized how much you kept the peace and sanity between the three of you. He really missed you. 

“There better be two of those left, idjits,” Bobby grumbled, Rufus on his tail as they went into the kitchen grabbing a bottle each. They sat opposite of you all on the other couch and you held up your bottle. 

“Cheers. To being a weird, fucked up family.”

“Cheers!” Sam gave you a tight lipped, sweet smile. “Cheers to that,” Dean finished the rest of his drink, throwing his head back.

“You kids are gonna kill me,” Bobby muttered.

[softgreengrass]

The Gold

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: angst, au where clint dies on vormir instead of natasha, set a few months after endgame, relationship troubles😬

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: survivor’s guilt, breakup

Author’s Note: based on “the gold” by manchester orchestra and phoebe bridgers

You wake to birds chirping. Natasha has opened the window. She’s nowhere to be seen, probably in the kitchen or out for a run. All at once, a crushing melancholy falls onto your chest, the one that’s been appearing with increasing frequency ever since she returned.

She hadn’t wanted to come back; anyone could see that. She wished she was dead instead of Clint, instead of Tony. And she meant it. She wanted to be dead.

Because of that, it had never felt like a victory to you. You knew the others agreed —Wanda, Peter, Bucky— but that didn’t make it much easier.

Even the things Thanos hadn’t taken, he had changed.

You get up slowly, all too aware of the lump in your throat and the fragility of your heart. If Natasha so much as looks at you wrong this morning, you’ll lose it. Again.

You know she’s tired of it, of your mood swings and sensitivity, but it all stems from her and she knows that too. Those first few weeks after her return had set a certain tone.

Natasha is standing at the kitchen counter, staring at the coffee pot. You know why instantly. You always do.

“I forgot how he used to drink straight from this,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

You’ve grown used to Natasha’s blank stare: it doesn’t twist your heart the way it used to. Some days you think she found your biggest store of sympathy and dried it all up. You shuffle past her, open the freezer, and pull out hash browns.

“I was going to visit Laura today,” she says numbly.

“You visited her yesterday, baby,” you say, glancing up at her as you dump the hash browns onto a pan. “I think she���s okay for today.”

Natasha swallows. You can see the pain in her eyes, the sinkhole of regret. “I don’t have any other plans.”

“You could stay home with me.”

Your tone is neutral, but you know she picks up on the hope in it. And you can feel the distance that grows between you the longer she takes to answer.

“Come on, Nat,” you smile, like your eyes aren’t already stinging with tears.

“I want to be useful,” she pleads. “I… you’re too good to me here. I can’t be useful.”

It takes you a second to process what on earth she could possibly mean. Natasha stands quietly.

In another life, you could’ve said the words on your tongue. Could’ve told her that you need her like water, that the most useful thing she could possibly do is just be with you. But you know you can survive without her. At this point she must know that too.

And yet, there’s something yearning in her eyes, like she has faith in you.

The hash browns crackle and give you an excuse to look at them instead of her.

Somewhere deep inside of you, you know Natasha has always been fine without you. She doesn’t love you in the way you love her, in the way that would summon sympathy and energy out of thin air. She used to, maybe. It’s all bitter on your tongue.

She clears her throat. “I got an email. Apparently they want to give us medals.“

“You brought back half the universe. The least you deserve is a medal.”

You know what she wants to say to that. The silence is frustrated and thick, the lump in your throat quickly returning. You hate that nothing is easy anymore.

“I’m going to Laura’s,” she says eventually.

You can’t find it in you to respond; you can barely make yourself nod. The oil on the pan bubbles and spatters violently, and you realize that’s how your blood feels, singing your arteries and your veins and your heart.

When the door closes behind her, you close your eyes.

Your dad’s face comes to mind. “Don’t open your eyes for a while,” he used to say, his voice gravelly but gentle. “Just breathe that moment down.”

It had helped, especially in your teenage years when you were quick to anger and quicker to hurt. Regret used to swallow you whole. You had told Natasha that once, years ago, when you visited his grave together for the first time. She had been polite.

You don’t want to resent her. God, how you don’t. But the past couple of months have worn you down to the bone, and it would be one thing if she was fighting too, but she gave up on that cliff. You don’t know how much longer you can do all the caring for.

And it’s not like your relationship was perfect before, either. You had met her at a high point. It had always been a steady decline.

A hard wave of guilt nearly knocks the breath out of you, and you have to grip the counter to keep your balance. You love her. You’ll fight for as long as you can.

You eat the burnt hash browns right out of the pan, even though you don’t feel hungry.

By ten, Natasha still hasn’t come home, and you’re back in bed, blinking back more tears, since that feels like all you do nowadays. Now accompanying the gloom and guilt in your ribcage is an unrelenting discomfort. It’s that same old helpless feeling, the one that knows things are going to change and there’s nothing you can do about it.

The vertigo of it all rocks you to sleep.

You make it another week before one of Natasha’s nightmares wakes you up and you’re so full of discontent you can’t breathe. Still, you swallow it down and find her hand in the dark.

“Nat, you’re right here,” you whisper.

A squeeze of her hand and she opens her eyes, frantically looking around.

“It was just a dream.”

Wild eyes find your own; a sheen of sweat coats her face. Her breath heaves. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” The words burn in your throat. How many times will you have to tell her that?

Her head falls back against the pillow with a sigh.

Your eyes ache for sleep, but then there it is again, that realization that soon you might never be in bed with her again. You’re not sure how to appreciate it fully.

“Are you hungry?” she asks coarsely, staring up at the ceiling.

You’re not. “I could eat.”

She smears peanut butter onto toast into the kitchen, gives the first one to you. It must be the millionth time the two of you have been in the kitchen together, dark circles under your eyes and hair frizzy.

“You know I wish none of that ever happened,” Natasha says softly.

“Of course,” you furrow your brow. “I wish it didn’t either.”

“No, I mean,” she huffs. “I wish we didn’t change. I wish I didn’t change.”

It’s like something has pierced your heart. You can’t find anything to say to comfort her, because you wish that just as much as she does.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admits, her bottom lip quivering. “But I don’t want to hold you back just because I’m stuck.”

“Nat…”

She swallows thickly. “It’s your choice.”

You hate that you already know your answer, that you’ve known it for so long. You hate it.

Your arms wrap around her tightly as you take in her softness and her scent again. Her cheek is damp against your shoulder, your own eyes welling with relentless tears.

It feels like stiff fingers prodding at your throat and your chest: it makes you want to curl into a ball. You’re horrified at the idea of a life without her, especially one where you know she’s still walking around. But it’s either drown or freefall, and you need to give yourself a chance.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mutter into her neck.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m sorry too.”

She holds you as wave after wave of bittersweet relief and regret crash over you, and you fall asleep in each other’s arms once more. The next morning she helps you gather your things.

[ordinary-barbie]

i would give you the moon.

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

tags: fem!reader, lots of sap, rafe and reader are in their 20s, pet names ("babe," "baby"), some suggestive references but no actual smut, a mention of drunk driving but nobody actually drives drunk!

summary: Rafe was never one to care about Valentine’s Day—until you came into his life.

word count: 1.1k

note: I know Valentine's Day is over with but I had to get this out of my system lol.

fic title from "Moon Song" by Phoebe Bridgers!

Rafe Cameron never used to be a Valentine's Day sort of guy.

He'd buy chocolates or stuffed animals for past girlfriends because he felt he had to. Because they'd chew his heads off if he didn't. He personally didn't give much of a fuck about the holiday and thought it was lowkey corny.

Then you walked into his life—so casually, like you had no idea how much your presence made Rafe's world shift—and he started feeling differently. You made him want to spoil you rotten any day of the week, but especially on Valentine's Day. Sarah and Wheezie teased him for being "so down bad" for you after only a few months of dating, but he didn't care. You were so kind and caring, but also funny as hell, and didn't take any shit from anyone. How could Rafe not utterly simp for adore you?

When Rafe had asked about making Valentine's Day plans, trying to seem nonchalant, you'd laughed and shrugged, admitting that you weren't much of a Valentine's Day kind of gal. And Rafe got it. If you'd talked to him back in high school or college, he would've been relieved to have a girlfriend who didn't want him to put forth an effort. But you were you, and Rafe was determined to give you the day you deserved.

Butterflies danced in your stomach. It was Valentine's Day, and you were excitedly waiting for Rafe to pick you up for whatever plan he'd concocted for the night. Rafe told you a few days ago to clear your calendar for Friday because he wanted to do something for Valentine's, but his lips were sealed despite your constant badgering. All he'd told you to do was "dress cute," which you did, donning a burgundy wrap minidress and a pair of black pointed-toe ballet flats.

You'd never been excited about the holiday before. If whatever boyfriend you were dating bought you a plushie and chocolates, or took you out for Italian food, cool. But it was never something you anticipated until now. Your past boyfriends had been a mixed bag (some were definitely better than others) but Rafe was proving himself to be the best. When you moved to Kildare last year, you were initially unsure of him, feeling intimidated by his stunning looks and impassive exterior. However, you managed to unravel the enigma that was Rafe Cameron and found someone who cared, truly and deeply.

You grinned when Rafe's truck pulled into your driveway. When Rafe stepped out of the vehicle, he paused, his jaw dropping as he noticed your ensemble.

"Baby...you're beautiful," Rafe murmured, making you feel warm inside.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you joked, but you were practically swooning inside. Rafe looked incredibly sharp, wearing a black long-sleeved button-down, khakis, and brown loafers.

Rafe smiled fondly at you, giving you a peck on the cheek. "C'mon, princess. Your chariot awaits."

"Well? What do ya think?" Rafe asked, looking at you expectantly.

Rafe Cameron had truly outdone himself. He'd brought you to the marina, where his yacht was decorated for Valentine's Day: fairy lights casually strung, some rose petals scattered about, and a candlelight dinner for two on the deck.

"Oh, Rafe—this is amazing," you gasped, your voice overcome with emotion. Before Rafe had a chance to respond, you launched into his arms, burying your face in the side of his neck.

"Only the best for you, baby," Rafe said, kissing the top of your head. "Now let's eat—I'm fuckin' starving."

Dinner was so delicious that you had to restrain yourself from scarfing it all down in five minutes. You and Rafe dined on cacio e pepe—one of your favorite pasta dishes—along with roasted asparagus and a glass of Chablis. (Rafe opted for a sparkling cider because you would kill him if he ever drove drunk.)

"This is so good," you raved, swallowing your last forkful of pasta. "What restaurant did you get this from?"

"I made it," Rafe admitted, smiling bashfully. "Well—Sarah helped, 'cause I was scared of fucking it up."

And suddenly, there was a tug at your heartstrings. Rafe had admitted that he hated cooking and insisted that you were much better than he was. The fact that he went to the trouble of making a homemade meal, especially one of your favorite dishes, meant the absolute world to you.

You looked at Rafe like he hung the moon in the night sky. "You really are something else, you know that?"

"Hopefully you mean that in a good way," Rafe quipped, wearing a playful smirk.

You rolled your eyes at Rafe, trying and failing to hide your grin. "You're such a dork."

"And yet, here you are," Rafe said, lightly stroking your cheek. "Just admit it—you like me."

You responded by kissing him deeply, wrapping your arms around him. Rafe pulled you closer to him, running his hands down your sides as he returned your kiss. Making out with Rafe was intoxicating—you could never get enough of the thrill it gave you. Still, after a few minutes, the two of you broke apart, taking the time to catch your breaths.

"Night's not over yet, princess. Why don't we take this to the bedroom?" Rafe suggested, his voice sounding deliciously husky in your ear.

You've never moved more quickly in your entire life.

"Can they just fuck already?" Rafe grumbled, staring at the man and woman bantering on-screen.

You rolled your eyes at Rafe, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Rafe, it's called romantic tension for a reason. Now shut up and enjoy the movie!"

After a passionate night on the yacht—and once more in the morning—you and Rafe were back at his place, cuddled together on the couch as you watched a rom-com. Though Rafe had scoffed at romantic comedies in the past, you convinced him to watch Set It Up, one of your favorites. (He'd also ensured you had your favorite movie snacks stocked in the pantry, so yeah, he was a keeper.) It tickled you to see that even your sarcastic boyfriend wasn't immune to the charms of Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell.

You felt Rafe's eyes on you and turned to your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow. "Rafe Cameron. You're supposed to be watching the movie, not me!" You tried to be stern with him, but you ended up giggling.

"Can't focus on the movie when I've got a beautiful woman right next to me," Rafe replied smoothly.

You focused back on the screen, visibly flustered. Why did he have to be so damn charming? Rafe chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around you, paying attention to the movie again.

Both of you had the same thought: maybe this whole Valentine's Day thing wasn't half bad.

[perseephoneee]

sleigh ride [ficmas day 8] [castiel x reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: this is a day late bc my stomach has been killing me and also i was hella sleep deprived but you know what it's fine totally fine nothing to see here

playlist:

winter wonderland -- pentatonix

coffee -- tori kelly

7 o'clock news/silent night -- phoebe bridgers

You never thought about kids, not in your line of work. 

The reasons people got into hunting were varied. Most of it was personal. For you, you just couldn’t deal with the knowledge of the supernatural world and not bother actually doing something about it. Even though you knew that doing so would likely mean a young death.

This is why you stopped thinking about kids; you’d likely never have them. But being stuck in Leavenworth, WA, with Castiel gave you the same kind of glee. You imagine parents likely got excited to watch their children experience Christmas for the first time. That’s the same joy you felt watching the angel observe all the twinkling lights around you. 

The difference is that Castiel is not your child. And if he was, that’d be gross, considering you are harboring a major crush on him. 

Maybe you should’ve thought of a different analogy. 

You had been hunting with the Winchesters for a bit now. You all ran into each other on a ghost case. Your hula hoop of salt made their jaws drop, and the next thing you know, Sam is inviting you to hunt with them. You didn’t know that Castiel was a regular member of that group. 

Even in his vessel, you could sense something otherworldly about Cas. There was a sort of preternatural stillness, an ancient gleam in his eyes otherwise juxtaposed by his lack of knowledge of human nature. It was so easy to get lost in his curiosity. Sometimes, when he looked at you, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze observing every molecule you were. Like he saw you better than anyone else. 

Right now, you felt like you saw him better than anyone else, the angel so ready to give up everything for humanity. It was late, and snow was falling. You had all decided to take an extra night in Leavenworth after a Krampus case had gone wrong (don’t ask). Also, Baby was struggling to get out of the snow, and Dean was too wired up to ask for help. Fortunately, it was the Christmas season, and Leavenworth knew it. The town looked like the North Pole. You weren’t surprised it was a tourist attraction, not when there were actual reindeer and Bavarian-style buildings. The cup of hot cocoa you had earlier solidified this town as Christmas incarnate. 

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked, watching Cas catch more and more snowflakes on him. He just shook them off. 

“I don’t get cold.”

“Lucky you, I’m freezing,” you shivered, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Your nose was ice cold, and your breath came out in puffs. Castiel frowned, walking back over to you. He shucked off his trench coat and put it over your shoulders. You felt your cheeks heat as he made sure you were adequately cocooned. The jacket was surprisingly warm. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“I do not want you catching a cold,” Castiel said. “I am ill-equipped to handle it.”

You laughed. His lips quirked for a second before settling into their normal neutral expression. You would give the world to see him smile. 

“I’m going to go inside and get something to drink. Are you going to stay out here?”

“No, I will join you,” Castiel nodded. He paused for a second. “Is that alright? Dean often tells me people want alone time.”

You melted.

“Of course, it’s alright, c’mon,” you nudged him with your shoulder, still bundled in his jacket. You walked the short distance back to the inn. The idea of mulled wine sounded appealing at this moment. The inside was a picturesque log cabin with a roaring fire. You let out a sigh of relief from the warmth and were able to return Cas' jacket to him. You also were able to remove your hat and scarf. You probably looked like a sweaty mess, but you didn’t care. You chose a seat by the fire and tucked your legs under you as Cas came to sit across. A waitress came over a second later, and you ordered mulled wine for the both of you. 

“I don’t really drink,” Castiel added after the waitress left. 

“You can just tell me what the chemical compounds are,” you shrugged. Castiel looked out of place in his suit and tie. And yet, the light from the fire accenting his bone structure, contrasting the blue in his eyes, was enough to think that this was where he was always meant to be. 

He was frowning at the tree. 

“Why do humans put angels on their trees?” he inquired, brows furrowed. You looked up to see a stereotypical angel planted on top of the Christmas Tree. It had a little horn and everything. 

“I think people like to imagine there’s someone watching over us, that we’re not alone,” you sighed, turning back to him. “Even if it isn’t true.”

“It’s true for some,” Castiel murmured. “I watch over you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, especially as Castiel looked at you with those intense eyes again. You had to wonder if he was really this clueless, or if he knew exactly the effect he had on you. You watched him lick a sauce off his fingers once, and it was enough to make you excuse yourself from the room. 

The mulled wine arrived a moment later. 

The spices were a perfect blend, and you felt yourself sink deeper into your chair as the alcohol invaded your system. Castiel took a sip and nodded. 

“Mostly ethanol and water,” Castiel sipped it again. You grinned as he listed off the ingredients. He would ruin anyone who wanted to keep a secret ingredient. 

“Last call for sleigh rides!” a man dressed as an elf called out, having come in from the front door. You perked up immediately. You had never been on a sleigh ride before but have always wanted to. You have a soft spot for horses. 

“We should do that,” you jumped up, grabbing Castiel’s sleeve. He spilled the wine, but you were already out the door. You barely had time to throw on your hat and scarf as you were running after the elf man. Castiel, to his credit, kept up with you. 

“One sleigh ride, please!” you said, breathless. The man just looked you up and down and then took your money as you jumped with glee. 

“What is a sleigh ride?” Castiel questioned when he caught up. He was not out of breath. 

“You get to sit in a sleigh and get pulled around by horses.”

“And this is entertainment?”

“It’s serene,” you smiled, getting good luck at the horses pulling your sleigh. They were beautiful Clydesdales, and even in their enormity, you weren’t intimidated. They were beautiful. Cas didn’t ask any further questions as you piled into the sleigh. You took one of the blankets provided and put it over your lap, bundling it up. The sleigh was going to pull you through the town, emphasizing the light installations and ice sculpting competition. The cold kissed your cheeks as the sleigh started moving. 

You both sat in companionable silence as the sleigh ride started. It was so quiet, and you welcomed that peace. When did you ever receive peace such as this?

“I understand now,” Cas nodded. “Why you were excited over this.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Someone had built an igloo, and you took your phone out to take a picture. Castiel just looked at you.

“I don’t measure beauty the same way humans do.”

“How do you measure beauty?” you inquired. Some part of you was worried that whatever he was going to say would dash your dreams. 

“By someone’s soul.”

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting, and you just blinked in response. It shouldn’t be shocking. You just never expected that maybe he would never see your face, only your soul. You wondered if your soul was beautiful. 

You didn’t say anything as you passed through a light tunnel, the brightness contrasting with the night sky. You could fall asleep out here if you let yourself. 

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked. He noticed your silence. 

“Is my soul…?” you trailed off. You barely had the guts to say anything at all. Castiel’s gaze softened as if he understood. 

“Your soul is like the North Star,” he answered simply. You kept looking at him. “It’s what one needs to follow to get themselves home.”

He was full of surprises tonight. You don’t remember anyone saying anything like that, especially not to you. How absurd was it that the first person to truly see you was not a person at all? Your heart picked up pace. 

“Cas…” you murmured. He never looked away from you, was never shy. It was unnerving and intense. He would never be too scared and proceed to look away. You couldn’t help but look at his lips. He noticed. His hand came up and brushed loose hair away from your beanie, his fingers somehow still warm as they brushed your freezing cheeks. You sucked in a breath. 

“I do not understand human courtship,” he whispered. “I would be interested in you showing me.”

You understood; how could you not? He just called you his home. You closed the distance between you two, going slow until you weren’t slow at all. Your hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him into you. You kissed him like you needed him to kiss you. Fortunately, Castiel was a quick learner. He nipped your lips and kissed your teeth like he had been doing it his whole life. You would sell your soul to kiss him for eternity, just like this. His hand was firm on your hip like he was afraid to touch anywhere else. You wished he would touch you everywhere. 

You had to pull away for air, even if he tried to chase after your lips afterward. 

“You’re a quick study,” you breathed a slight smile on your lips. Castiel grinned a true goofy smile that you had been yearning to see. You were the cause of that style. 

“Anything for you,” he responded. 

He kissed you until the sleigh ride was over, and the worker was rolling his eyes. He kissed you when you made it back to the inn, and you felt like you could feel his wings holding you closer. You would stay with him until you weren’t able to because with him, you were finally home. 

taglist: @thefutureastronaut @lover-of-books-and-tea @qardasngan @evasmlp

[snowdrop-ivy]

Scott Street

Summary: Reader went back to the town she grew up in. What happens if she sees an old flame? Will they be strong enough to rekindle the fire? Or will they let the fire burn down?

A/N: Hey, I wrote this while listening to Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers. Hence the title, trying a different genre of writing so I hope you like it!

The town felt unchanged, as if time had paused in her absence. For her, though, everything was different. A decade had slipped away since she had left, and the only reason she returned was for her brother’s wedding. Once that was over, she intended to leave again, to retreat to the life she had built far from here.

As she strolled through the neighborhood, she sought familiar landmarks and faces that would reignite the memories of her childhood. But nothing stirred within her; the town seemed almost alien. It might have been the relentless passage of time that transformed it, or perhaps she had simply forgotten the moments tied to these places.

Stepping into the local mart, she was on a quest for snacks, but the cashier was a stranger. It used to be Ernie, the kind-hearted man who would slip her a candy bar when she didn’t have enough cash. The only constant was the cash register itself, a relic in a world that had moved on.

She wandered the aisles, searching for something—anything—that would quench her hunger or rekindle a flicker of nostalgia. Standing before the freezer, she pondered over a choice between Nat Light and Corona. Both beers had been staples in her youth, but they were now relics of a life she had chosen to leave behind. Everything connected to this town—the people, the places, the drinks—felt like ghosts of a past she had buried.

“Still a Corona girl?”

The voice sliced through her thoughts, startling her. She turned, and her stomach twisted at the sight of him. 

Bucky.

She hadn’t seen him in years, hadn’t heard his name whispered in conversation, hadn’t even allowed herself to think about him. He was one of the reasons she had left—his lingering presence and the complications that came with it. What did they even have? It hadn’t been a relationship; it had been a friendship, marked by a single night of passion and a few stolen kisses.

She swallowed hard, struggling to dislodge the tightness in her throat. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, as memories flooded back unbidden.

“Glad you still know my name,” he said, a hint of surprise lacing his voice. He leaned casually against the freezer, his gaze steady on her, but there was an edge of uncertainty beneath his relaxed demeanor.

Y/N could feel the weight of their shared past hanging in the air between them, thick with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. She hadn’t anticipated running into him here, not after all this time. Her heart raced, caught in a mix of nostalgia and anxiety.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to forget,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light, even as memories swirled around them. The laughter, the stolen moments—they had etched themselves into her mind, impossible to erase.

He chuckled softly, but there was an undercurrent of tension in his laughter, as if he too was grappling with the memories. “What brings you back?”

Her heart sank slightly at the question. “Just family stuff—my brother’s wedding. I’ll be gone again after that.” She kept her response vague, unwilling to dive into the details of her life or the reasons behind her long absence.

“Ah, a quick visit, then,” he said, his eyes searching hers, as if hoping for a glimpse into her life.

“Yeah, something like that,” she replied, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. Their conversation felt familiar yet foreign, like picking up a book she had loved but realizing the pages had been torn out.

“Do you still drink these?” he asked, nodding toward the beer in her hand, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Haven’t drank it in a decade,” she replied, a faint smile tugging at her own lips, trying to reclaim some of the lightness that had characterized their friendship.

He grinned, the expression softening the tension that had hung between them. “So you completely forgot about it?.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, her gaze drifting back to the freezer, suddenly unsure of what to do next. She could feel the weight of his presence, the memories threatening to pull her under.

As the silence stretched, she realized how much she had missed this—this banter, this connection, even if it was complicated. “So, how have you been? How’s Becca?” she finally asked, meeting his gaze once more, curiosity mingling with trepidation.

“Becca’s got her degree,” he said, the weight of his experiences evident in his tone. “But we’re good. Can’t complain. I can’t be more proud of my little sister”

“That's good to hear,” she replied, and for a moment, the world outside the mart faded away, leaving just the two of them standing in a familiar yet changed space. “I remember her telling me she’ll get that degree one day.”

“That day finally came,” he said, crossing his arms, gazing into her eyes to see if she still has memories of him. 

“You still play drums?” she asked, trying to bridge the gap of silence with the only piece of knowledge she had about him.

“No,” he grinned, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “I stopped. That was a lot of shit to carry.”

“Oh,” she replied, her heart sinking slightly. She bit her lip, feeling the weight of the conversation press down on her. There was so much she didn’t know about him anymore, so much time had passed. “How about the band?”

“They’re all married,” he admitted, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice, though it was mixed with a tone of resignation.

She nodded, happy for his friends. “How about you?”

He lifted his left hand, revealing a carefree smile. “Free as a bird.”

“Just how you like it,” she said  like an echo of their past.

He stood still, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. The truth clawed at his chest; he didn’t like it. He didn’t relish the freedom she spoke of. In fact, he craved the opposite—he wanted to be captivated, tied down by something real, something meaningful. But he’d lost that chance the moment she walked away.

That’s when she noticed it—the small tattoo on his wrist. Her initial, etched into his skin, a ghost of their shared past. The sight sent a rush of memories flooding back, and she quickly pulled her sleeves down, trying to hide her own matching tattoo, the one she had been afraid to remove.

“Still got it?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly, as if he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her cheeks warming. “I thought about getting it removed, but…” She trailed off, the words caught in her throat. The truth was, she couldn’t bring herself to let go of that piece of him, no matter how much time had passed.

“It’s a part of us, I guess,” he said, his gaze lingering on her wrist, a mix of nostalgia and something deeper reflecting in his eyes.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky stood frozen, their memories flooded through him. Reliving the past they had. Regretting the future they couldn’t. He thought about the last time they saw each other. It was his birthday party, the night where she admitted her feelings, but he turned it down because he was scared. Afraid of not being able to give her the future she needs. He was a drummer playing on a gig. That even wasn’t enough to feed himself. His answer that night was the one she hadn’t hoped for. She was content with what they had, as long as they’re together. As long as he could also risk their friendship. But he didn’t, he was not gonna let her bet on their future where he couldn’t provide. However, she took it another way, she took it as rejection.

“Bucky?” she called him, breaking the silence, her gaze piercing through the tension. “Are you okay?”

He forced a smile, though it felt more like a mask than a genuine expression. “Yeah, just… thinking about old times,” he replied, his heart heavy with the unspoken words trapped inside.

He hesitated, his expression shifting to something more vulnerable. “Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Leaving. Us,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it resonated with the weight of their history.

“Bucky,” she took a deep breath, unsure of what to say. “I—”

“Have you forgotten about me? About what we had?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed. He knew that he wouldn’t have the chance to ask all these unsaid thoughts once again.

She felt bombarded by the questions he was throwing her way. The air thickened with tension as she searched his eyes, desperately trying to find the right words. “No, I haven’t forgotten,” she finally managed, her voice shaky. “I just… I don’t know.”

“Did you really love me?” he asked, his voice low, searching her face for answers.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation, her heart racing at the weight of the question.

“Do you still?” He leaned in slightly, hope and fear mingling in his gaze.

“I don’t know,” she replied, sighing in defeat. The truth hung heavily between them, filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.

Bucky took a step back, his expression clouded with disappointment. “I see,” he said softly. “When do you leave?”

Y/N felt a pang of longing as she considered his words. “In a week,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Here’s my number,” he gave her a card, his eyes gentle yet insistent. “When you find your answer, call me."

“Okay. I can do that.” She nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation.

“Good,” he said, a small smile breaking through the tension between them. “I gotta go.”

There was an awkward pause as Bucky hesitated, unsure whether to kiss her or simply walk away. After a moment of indecision, he settled on a hug. It felt safe, but meaningful. She returned the embrace, her arms wrapping around him a little tighter than she expected.

Bucky inhaled her scent, a mix of nostalgia and comfort that stirred memories of their past. He stayed longer than usual, holding her as if trying to freeze this moment in time, to capture the feeling of being close to her again.

Y/N could feel the weight of the embrace, the unspoken words hanging between them. Neither wanted to let go, but eventually, they did. Bucky gave her one last look before stepping back.

“Take care, Y/N,” he said softly.

“You too, Bucky,” she replied, watching him walk away, feeling like the door they’d cracked open was still waiting to be fully stepped through.

Bucky hesitated at the door, his hand hovering just above the handle as if crossing the threshold might take something away. He turned back, his voice soft yet firm as he called her name again.

"Yeah?" she asked, her gaze meeting his, her voice carrying a tinge of surprise.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” he said, his eyes gleaming with an emotion he didn’t dare name, a quiet plea hidden in the simple request.

Her heart pounded in her chest, an ache she couldn’t quite place. She managed a small smile, though her voice trembled slightly as she answered, “I won’t.”

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with all the unsaid things, before he nodded and finally stepped out. Y/N went home with a heavy heart. As she stepped into her room, she locked the door behind her, craving solitude. She found herself drawn to the box in her closet, a repository of memories filled with photos and trinkets from her time with Bucky. Each picture stirred up a rush of emotions, from laughter to heartache, but as the days wore on, she kept herself busy, trying to drown out the memories that slipped through the cracks of her resolve.

Despite her efforts, the memories clawed their way back, reminding her of the intensity of their past. A sense of longing settled over her, intertwining with a deep ache of regret. She took a deep breath holding her plane ticket, she looked around to see a familiar face, but once again she didn’t. 

With a heavy heart, Y/N stepped inside, the sun shining brightly overhead, but it felt as though a shadow loomed over her. Each step felt like a farewell to the pieces of her heart that she had left behind. She thought of Bucky and the tender moments they had shared, the promise of rekindling something that had once burned so fiercely between them. But now, she was leaving again, and the weight of the decision pressed down on her like a leaden anchor. Perhaps it was for the good, she reached into her pocket and got out his card.

James Bucky Barnes.

Attorney at Law.

She smiled, feeling proud of his achievement. She took a deep breath before putting it back in her pocket. As she stepped inside the plane, she looked back, just one last glimpse of the town she used to know. The town that now treats her like a stranger.