#sometimes the real friends are the ones we lost along the way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

criminalamnesia · 4 months ago

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warnings: enemies to friends, hinted enemies to lovers, Tyler’s sister!reader, mean!scott, bickering, very real tornado danger, mentions of a car crash and physical injuries, not proofread, f!reader

summary: the three time you see storm par’s one and only scott, including the one in which he saves your life.

author’s note: look at me, finally writing something again! I’ve been extremely busy and, truthfully, in a writers slump. I started writing this after seeing twisters, and I just got the motivation to come back and finish it. I’ve been obsessed with this man since that movie, and good lord do we need more fics of him. anyways, enjoy! (also, for my traitor fans— I haven’t forgotten about you! I hope to work on the next part soon!)

the first time you’d seen scott, you’d wanted to break his jaw, and you hadn't even gotten his name.

“get lost on the way to the hillbilly convention?”

his tone is snarky, his eyes full of disdain as he watched you slide out of tyler’s truck.

your eyes had widened, your spine straightening as you registered his unprovoked hostility.

“the fuck is your problem?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you come back to your senses. you look him up and down, huffing a laugh at his clothes.

“you look like you’re going to a fuckin’ business meeting.” you say, coming to a stop in front of him. your cowboy boots dig into the dirt, and the sun beats down on your face.

perfect day for storm chasing, as your brother had said. darkening clouds rolled in the distance, and the wind was steadily picking up. according to lilly's drone data and tyler's instincts, your first chase would occur sometime within the next few hours.

you had been away at college when tyler’s tornado-chasing YouTube channel took off. you’d always loved the thrill of being close to the storms, but even when you came home to visit during summers, tyler refused to let you tag along.

until now, that is. now that you’ve graduated with a degree in meteorology, just like him. he had always accused you of wanting to follow in his footsteps.

“don’t mind storm par over there,” comes your brother’s drawl as he appears beside you, a hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “the stick up his ass seems to have been lodged a little deeper recently. you’ll get used to it,” tyler grins, barking a laugh at the brunette's scowl.

"haven't seen you before," another man moves to stand beside the brunette. he's also wearing storm par gear, and you watch as him and the taller man share an unreadable glance.

"she's new," tyler responds for you, his wide grin still present as he acknowledges the shorter man with the tip of his hat.

"i'd run while you can, sweetheart," the taller one says, a look of pity in his eyes as he looks back to you. "fucking him isn't worth dying over."

you stare at the man for a moment before bursting into laughter. the storm par pair's eyes both widen, their stares moving from your hysterics, to tyler's rolled eyes, and then to each other.

"you two are supposed to be scientists, huh? the guys who are gonna 'tame tornadoes?'" you throw the last two words in air quotes as your laughter subsides.

the shorter of the two men nods, while the taller opens his mouth once more. "that's right. while you morons are out trying to get yourselves killed, we'll be busy doing shit that actually matters."

"right, right," you nod along, glee shining in your eyes as you stare at the taller one. "you must be so smart, then. where'd you get your degree?"

"MIT," he says smugly, popping the gum in his mouth.

"MIT, wow," you whistle, your eyes finding your brother's. tyler just shakes his head, trying and failing to suppress his laughter.

"you got a degree from MIT, and you're too stupid to tell that he-" you jab a finger towards tyler. "is my fucking brother?"

the man's smug grin instantly falls as his eyes scan you, then tyler, and then fall back onto you. tyler steps forward, smacking a hand on the man's shoulder with a laugh.

"meet my little sister, storm par. may not have gotten a degree from MIT," he says, tipping his cowboy hat to you. you mime tipping an invisible hat back at him. "but she seems to be a hell of a lot smarter than you."

the second time you see scott, you still don't learn his name.

"jesus christ, this thing is huge!" you yelp as tyler swerves the truck back onto the dirt road. he scowls as the storm par truck ahead of him jerks back and forth on the path, blocking his approach.

"how's the wind lookin'?" he asks, his words clipped as his hands grip the wheel tighter. wheat fields ripple on both sides of the road, an ocean of tan as the sky continues to darken.

"pickin' back up," you tell him, glancing down at the laptop in your lap. it was displaying real-time data of the atmospheric conditions. the software had cost a pretty penny, but had been worth it. plus, it had been more than covered by tyler's t-shirt sales. cheesy or not, tyler’s face on a shirt was worth his weight in gold to his followers.

tyler groans as the white truck in front of him cuts him off again.

"ty, just go around!" you yell at him, your eyes widening as you stare out of the passenger side window. the clouds overhead were beginning to swirl.

"i'm tryin' to drive nice," he tells you through gritted teeth. "don't wanna make you sick-" he begins, but you roll your eyes and reach over, jerking the wheel. the car swerves off the road and into the ditch beside it, and tyler scrambles to avoid hitting a wire fence as he swats at your hand.

"what the fuck?!" he yells at you, his eyes cutting to you for a second before focusing back on the road.

"stop tryin' to baby me!" you tell him. "show these storm par pricks what we're made of."

tyler falls silent, clearly debating his next move. you're about to grab the wheel again when his foot slams down on the gas and the truck lurches forward. you cheer, throwing a fist in the air as you laugh with glee.

"just don't tell mom!" he says to you, laughing along.

as the truck speeds forwards, tyler lets off the gas just enough to keep speed with the storm par truck. you lean past him to get a look into the cab, and there's the brunette you'd had the displeasure of meeting a few days ago.

you can see his scowl from here, and your grin is wide as you hold your middle finger up, waving it around to make sure he couldn't miss it. his scowl deepens, and before he can even think of responding to the gesture, tyler hits the gas again.

"what was that for?" your brother asks as you lean back into you seat.

you shrug. "just havin' fun."

the third time you see scott, he saves your life.

it's a week after the middle-finger incident. although storm par and your brother's wranglers have been following the same storms, you haven't had the pleasure of bothering the tall brunette, much less seeing him. you’d caught glimpses, but he seemed to be keeping his distance. you supposed he’d finally grown tired of your constant teasing.

you don't know why you find yourself caring. he's an asshole. an asshole who hates you, your brother, and everything the two of you stand for. who constantly underestimates and looks down on you.

and yet you miss his scowl and the unmistakable pop of his bubblegum.

"hey, you okay over there?" boone asks as he leans over the center console, his head peeking out between the two front seats. you know the question is directed at you, as boone is watching you like a hawk.

"yeah, fine," you shrug, your eyebrows furrowed as you lean down, getting closer to the screen of your laptop.

"ty, turn the music down for a sec," you tell him, and he listens without protest. a rare occurrence, but now wasn't the time for bickering.

what had first appeared to be a measly EF1 had begun to grow. it wasn't dying out, and things were starting to get scarily real as moisture kept feeding into the funnel miles ahead of you.

"this thing isn't stopping," you tell the two men. "you need to tell the rv to turn around. hell, we should turn around."

boone shakes his head, leaning further into your space. his eyes scan your computer screen, and although he's learned a lot from tyler, he still doesn't see what you see.

"nah, it's gonna be fine. ty said it's gonna die out anyways, right? we just need to get in it before it does."

"boone," you warn, turning in your seat to face him. "love you, but shut the fuck up right now." you reach out a hand and grip tyler's arm.

"ty, I mean it."

rain starts pelting the windshield. you can hear the wind howling outside of the truck, and you shudder as hail begins to pound against metal.

tyler mumbles something under his breath as he kicks the windshield wipers up to maximum speed. "you sure?" he finally says.

he turns to look at you as you nod, and those precious seconds are all it takes for the world to spin on its axis.

a fence post slams through the windshield as rain and hail continue to obscure the world around you. you scream and tyler jerks the wheel out of instinct. the truck turns sharply, running off the road. your stomach drops as the truck drops and rises again- your own personal rollercoaster from hell.

"tyler!" you yell, gripping the straps of the harness holding you in.

"workin' on it!" he responds, jerking the wheel the other way. the truck rights itself back on the road, and you close your eyes as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

fuck, the others-

"boone, tell the others to turn around now!" you yell at him, and he's nodding frantically from his seat in the back, his hands fumbling for the walkie talkie in the floor.

"so much for an EF1!" tyler says, and although his tone sounds easy, his face betrays him. you can see the glimpse of fear in his eyes. it mirrors your own.

"yeah, ri-" you begin, but the sentence never fully forms.

you black out as another car slams into the passenger side of the truck.

"c'mon, get up!"

everything feels fuzzy. your head is pounding, and your ears are ringing. pain shoots through your body, engulfing every inch of skin. you think something has to be broken, judging from the numbness you feel on the right side of your body.

"get up!"

your eyes begin to crack open, but your vision is blurry. someone is a few feet in front of you, but you can't make out who it is.

"for fuck's sake-" the voice growls, and you can just hear the faint crunching of glass before your hearing comes back in full force.

the wind is an unbearable howl, and the rain and hail pounding down around you make hearing your own thoughts almost impossible-

your thoughts. what had happened? one second, you're driving and then-

fuck. tyler. boone. where were they?

your eyes shoot open, your body jerking against the harness still keeping you strapped to the leather passenger seat.

you look to your left- to the driver's side- but tyler isn't there. you try to turn you head to see into the back, but a sharp pain in your neck quickly stops you.

"tyler?!" you yell, but your voice is carried off by the wind. you can't even hear your own words.

"boone?!"

"they're fine!" a voice calls to you, and your gaze shoots back to the driver's side. you can see a man crouching by the driver's now blown-out window— which is upside down.

you were upside down. the truck had rolled with the impact of whatever had hit you. everything comes back with devastating clarity, and even though adrenaline pumps through your veins, the pain is beginning to become unbearable.

“can you move?” the voice says. you can’t tell who it is through the spots in your vision and the sheets of rain still coming down.

“I-” you start, pushing your chest against the harness. “I think so.”

“good,” you recognize it as a man’s voice. “then hurry the fuck up and get out!”

under different circumstances, you would’ve scoffed at the order, but now wasn’t the time for defiance. your life was literally on the line, and if you didn’t get to shelter before the tornado engulfed you—

well, you didn’t want to think about that.

you force your brain to gather itself, directing your thoughts toward moving your aching limbs. your left arm is the only one that responds, coming to fumble with the metal buckles of the harness.

the first one unclasps and you swear you could cry from relief.

“any day now!” the man calls, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. you reach your left hand across your torso, working at the clasp on your right side.

“im trying!” you call back. once you get it undone, your arms fall downward as gravity claims them. you groan in pain as your right arm shifts. something is definitely broken, but you can’t afford to give into the pain at the moment.

you reach for the lap belt, tugging at it with a shaking hand. the wind continues to howl around you, and you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. hopelessness begins to eat away at you as you try and try again to undo the lap belt, to no avail.

“it’s stuck!” you call out, hoping the man can hear you. “I can’t get out!”

your breathing is picking up. your chest feels tight, and the feeling you still have in your left hand ebbs as you begin to panic.

you don’t want to die. you know that. it scares you shitless.

but you don’t want anyone else to die, either.

you’re stuck. whoever is outside of the truck isn’t. he should run while he can—

“hold on!” you’re jarred from your thoughts as a figure begins to crawl through the hole left by the blown-out window, and that’s when you register your savior.

it’s him, the brunette from storm par. the man who belittled you, who rolled his eyes at every sentence you spoke, and who you somehow found yourself missing.

he’s crawling into the cab, his arms no doubt suffering cuts from the shattered glass littering his path. “I’ve got you,” he calls to you, and when your eyes meet his, there’s no look of disdain. there’s thinly veiled terror.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him, and you can’t tell if the wetness on your face is from your tears or the rain that’s now blowing sideways into the destroyed truck.

“shut the fuck up,” he tells you, groaning as he slices his forearm on a jagged piece of metal.

“im serious,” you reply, your left hand still fumbling with the belt restraining you. “I can’t feel my right side—”

“will you shut up? please?” he heaves out, his face inches from yours now as he reaches for the lap belt.

you fall silent, but not because you’re heeding his demands. no, you’re too busy examining his face. he’s never been this close to you, and you’re taking in every little detail before death comes to sweep you up.

can’t blame a girl for wanting to gawk at a handsome man in her final minutes, can you?

“stop staring at me,” he grits out, his forearm flexing as he tugs at the lap belt. something has the fabric trapped, and although he’s freeing it inch by inch, you’re not sure if—

the belt gives, and his arms leave your lap to cushion your fall, protecting your head from slamming into the metal below you.

he doesn’t say anything, but you watch as his gaze flits over your right side. stone cold as ever, his expression gives nothing away regarding your physical state. you can’t bring yourself to look down.

“im gonna pull you out, okay?” he says, and you absently nod your head. the pain is heavier now— harder to push away. your vision swims as he hooks his arms under yours and shuffles back on his knees.

agony spreads through your thoughts as the numbness gives way to excruciating pain. your eyelids flutter, but the man doesn’t stop. he grunts as he pulls you forward again, slowly but surely removing you from the truck.

“you need to leave me,” you tell him again, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to stifle a scream of pain. “im not going to be able to walk. I’ll just slow you down—”

“jesus christ, you don’t listen, do you? im not leaving you here to die.”

he finally makes his way out of the wreckage, pulling you with him. once you’re free of the ruined truck, he stands on shaky legs— fighting to maintain balance as the wind whips across his figure. he reaches down, scooping you up in his bloody arms, and starts to run as best he can. the rain is so thick you can’t even see a foot in front of you, let alone where he’s taking you.

lightning cracks overhead, followed by thunder so loud it shakes your shattered bones. your head tilts up to the sky, and you watch in horror at what was once an EF1 tornado races toward you. it’s got to be an EF4 by now— maybe even a 5 based off its sheer size.

“drop me!” you screech, your working hand clutching the soaked fabric of his storm par shirt.

if he hears you, he pays you no mind as he continues to struggle against the wind.

with your eyes focused on the impending doom behind you, you don’t even realize when he reaches his destination. he jumps down into a deep ditch, and you hear him groan as his feet hit the ground. he must be hurt, too.

“is she alright?” a voice calls, and your eyes widen as boone comes into view, a large cut across his forehead that looks like it definitely needs stitches.

“not the time!” the storm par man shouts, ducking behind your friend. your eyes catch boone’s over his shoulder, and you give your fellow storm chaser a weak wink. boone’s lips crack into a wide smile, even amidst this horrible storm.

the brunette carrying you falls to his knees, laying your back against muddied dirt. he refuses to let you go, his arms cradling you against his chest as he shelters you with his own body. there’s nothing to hold onto except for him, and you know if the tornado gets any closer, you’ll both be goners.

you close your eyes tightly, welcoming your end despite your overwhelming fear— but it never comes.

you pry your eyes open as the sounds of wind and rain finally begin to subside. the body above yours still clutches you tightly.

“are we alive?” your voice comes out a whisper. your left hand flexes against the man’s chest, and sure enough, it meets a solid body. he’s not an imagination— he’s real. you’re still here.

“yes,” his chest rumbles with the words, and his arms slowly snake out from under you as he sits back on his haunches. his eyes are locked on yours, his icy blues unreadable as he watches your face.

you don’t say anything for a moment. and then,

“you’re the stupidest son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

his eyes widen in surprise, and his stern facade cracks for the first time— at least, that you’ve seen— and he chuckles.

the bubble surrounding you two quickly pops as tyler’s voice meets your ears. you turn your head and there he is— your brother, running towards you with relief written all over his face.

“oh, thank god,” he says, throwing himself to his knees and scooping you up in a hug. you hiss in pain and he pulls back, his hands on your shoulders as he looks you up and down with a grimace.

“you took the worst of it. those storm par pricks—” his eyes cut to your savior, who is still sitting nearby, watching the two of you. “hit us. you and boone were knocked out, and you were stuck, so I got him first and was coming back, but—”

“ty,” you interrupt, your left hand landing atop one of his. “it’s okay. im okay. we’re okay.”

tyler takes a deep breath and nods, his eyes flitting back down your body, focusing on your right leg. you follow his gaze, grimacing at the unnatural twist of the limb. no wonder it had gone numb.

“I’ve had worse,” you tell him, taking notice of your limp, lacerated right arm.

“now’s not the time to play hero,” your brother chastises, standing up before reaching down and picking you up. your eyes meet your savior’s once more. he’s standing now, too, his arms crossed over his chest as he matches your gaze.

“guess we owe you a thanks, clipboard. and you owe us a new truck.” tyler says, to which the brunette rolls his eyes.

“ty,” you roll your eyes, too, as you keep your gaze locked with the brunette’s. “ignore my brother. thank you for saving my life….” you trail off, realizing, truly realizing for the first time that you don’t know his name.

“scott.” he tells you. you nod.

“thank you, scott.”

he nods back, turning his back to you as he starts to limp back to the road your vehicles had been abandoned at. you doubted they would still be there.

just as you’re about to look away from his retreating form, he glances over his shoulder and gives you a true, sweetly small, smile.

maybe storm par isn’t so bad after all.

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biolumien · 5 months ago

Note

Hi Hi! first time requesting like this and I just recently finished watching the latest episode of Kaiju number 8. I was wondering if your could write something for Vice Captain Hoshina.

I was thinking something along the lines of a reincarnation storyline? Maybe Reader is a renowned painter or something. And one day they come across a dream of Hoshina in their past life and they paint his face. And Hoshina is suddenly bombarded by a few officers/cadets a few days later about a sudden article blowing up online with a painting that had extremely similar structure to his face. And maybe they'd end up meeting because of it?

I love your writing. Particularly the one with the glasses reader that I read a few days back. You're free to change things as you see fit. And I'm sure whatever you come up with will be very nice. Sorry if my words are confusing. I don't speak english language that well. 😊👌 Thank you if you decide to write for this ask.

notes: ok the way i am. actually obsessed with this i hope you enjoy!!

every 'one line' drawn.

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no warnings, i think wc: 1768

in your dreams, you always see the same face. red eyes watching your face, purple hair framed over his face and the feeling of a callused hand on your hand, on your cheek. and every time he leans into kiss you, you find yourself pressing your face closer to his, as if desperate, and then you wake up.

and when you wake up, you always feel the telltale trickle of a tear down your face, the feeling of salt on your tongue.

there’s no time to wonder what the dreams ever mean, what with your job as a painter. you lived commission to commission—and while your customers were always high brow and paid generously, still meant that you couldn’t be lost in daydreams forever.

and in your studio, with the pungent smell of turpentine and linseed oil, with your hands inevitably smeared with oil paints, it was easy to forget the stranger whose hands felt rough and weary, and yet held your face with measured gentleness. it was easy to forget him—up until you went back to bed, and you’d always be back in the same dream.

“i keep seeing you,” you murmur in your dream. “who are you?”

the man laughs.

he seems sad, for a second.

“a dear friend,” he responds. you see it on his face, the way his lips twist at his words, that it’s not quite true. and he leans in again, watching your face. “it’s okay if you don’t remember me.”

“but i do,” you say in protest. you think you remember this face. “i want to.”

you must remember this face, surely—this face that, upon your words, looks sadder. and then you wonder if he’s even real—or if this is simply your subconscious, saddened that you can’t remember. saddened that your mind replays this moment, again and again, a repeated brushstroke pulling open the blank canvas underneath.

“we all want things we can’t have, sometimes,” the man says.

he leans into kiss you,

and you jolt up out of bed, awakening to a phone call from your manager.

“hello…?” you mumble into your phone, pressing it against your cheek as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “it’s rare you call me randomly like this…”

“tis no random call,” your manager responds. “you’ve received a request to exhibit some of your works from a museum. will you do it? i hear the pay’s pretty good.”

“mmm… any specific theme?” you ask.

“not really. they said to let your imagination go wild.”

“hm.”

you touch your lips, and when you close your eyes, you see a hint of those crimson eyes again.

“alright. i think i’ve got a pretty good muse this time,” you say.

[…]

hoshina wasn’t exactly someone who was very in the know about art. his job, for one, meant that it’s not like he would exactly be interested in art in general, and it’s not like he was even spending his days off on art museum trips or admiring the local art scene.

so why was it that everyone seemed all abuzz about art today?

and why did it seem like there were more eyes on him than before? not that he particularly abhorred attention or anything, but the eyes seemed to be looking at his face specifically.

his eyes flit to some of the new officer recruits—iharu, reno, kafka… fuck, even haruichi and aoi? what the hell was going on—huddled around a laptop. haruichi’s brow furrows as he stares at the illuminated screen, and then flits up to look at hoshina. when hoshina stares back, harder, haruichi’s gaze immediately ducks back to the laptop.

okay.

well, something was definitely up.

hoshina strolls over to the recruits, who immediately seem to start panicking—the panic is written across kafka’s face more obviously than the others, and reno elbows kafka in the side.

“what’s all this about? if you’ve got time to huddle you’ve got time to run laps—” hoshina starts, leaning over at the screen before—

“about that, vice captain,” iharu says.

hoshina’s in stunned silence staring at the screen, because… isn’t that—

“holy shit,” hoshina says.

“holy shit indeed,” haruichi says grimly.

on haruichi’s laptop screen is a painting of— him. hoshina’s damned face, brows gentle and a softened smile on his face. it was a beautiful painting, and yet—there was something sad about the smile, the brows belying deep sorrow.

“this painter’s pretty well-known, too, aren’t they?” kafka asks. “for like… the psychedelic stuff.”

“no,” reno says. “they’re like our modern-day monet or something. impressionist paintings.”

“impressi-what? how do you know this much about art, reno?” iharu asks, wrapping his arm around reno’s neck in a headlock. reno coughs, slapping iharu’s arm.

“shut up,” reno chokes out, but even as the bickering picks up, hoshina’s gaze is still transfixed on the painting.

it’s him. no doubt about it.

“i’ve never talked to them before,” hoshina says after a moment. at once the arguments rattle to a halt, but in the empty relief of silence is the carved truth—that the painting is definitely of him, and its painter was a person who he’d never talked to before in his life.

“the artist is going to be doing a panel about their exhibition soon,” haruichi says, glancing up at hoshina. “i think they can get me a ticket if i ask.”

“… just don’t expect me to lighten your laps around the training course,” hoshina says with a chuckle.

[…]

you hated speaking in front of an audience. cliche, of course, the introverted artist that squirrels away in in their studio—but that was often your reality. you liked to say you wanted your work to ‘speak for itself’, as it were, so you didn’t often make public appearances.

but your most recent exhibition, featuring the painting of your mysterious dream visitor, created far more buzz than you could have asked for. suddenly everyone and anyone wanted an answer as for who your muse was, why he had a very striking resemblance to soshiro hoshina of the japan anti-kaiju defense force’s third division, and had you gotten permission from hoshina to do it? did you have a specific message surrounding your work?

“just stick to the script,” your manager says to you. “i talked it through with some of the reporters and i wrote some answers for you if you’re scared.” he hands you a slip of paper, and your eyes scan the page, and you swallow the lump in forming in your throat.

“i shouldn’t have done the painting after all,” you say.

it was strange. in the days and weeks you’d worked on the painting, you hadn’t seen your muse in your dreams at all. you’d been forced to rely on only the memory of the dream–which only seemed to get fuzzier and fuzzier until it became barely a wisp. and now, in those ensuing weeks that the painting has been on exhibition, you almost felt embarrassed of the painting–its vague subject matter might have been charming and a little kitsch, but charming and a little kitsch wasn’t supposed to garner this much attention.

“nonsense,” your manager says. “it’s a wonderful painting.” he pushes you by the back, gently urging you forward. “they’re ready for you.”

you push past the door separating you from the reporters–and then are immediately flashbanged with cameras and lights, and jumbling, layered voices creating a discordant symphony that made you wince.

“um. thank you… for…” you wince as your grip fumbles on your microphone, nearly dropping it, the feedback screeching across speakers. “um. sorry. i’m not exactly the best public speaker–my repertoire of events… like this, isn’t many. but thank you for attending this panel… surrounding my exhibition of my latest work. i’ll answer… a few questions.”

the reporters looked like a jumbled blob for the most part–a thrumming organism of similar faces that melted together into one homogenous mess, a splotch of badly-mixed paint on the palette that you’d scrape away with a knife and discard.

reciting your manager’s written responses wasn’t the hard part. as you continued to banter, your eyes swept across the crowd.

what were you even doing here?

you wanted to crawl back to your studio, already, and go back to painting. at least then the idea that you’d dreamed up some man who bore a striking resemblance to someone who already existed would fade away with time. and then your eyes found that telltale shade of crimson and purple–for just a moment. and you think his eyes meet yours, too–crimson eyes the exact shade as the one in your dreams.

his eyes widen.

“... as you were saying?” a reporter’s words float back to your ears, ephemeral, and you pause.

“can we… no more questions.” you shake your head, finding your vision swimming, blurring, and you raise a hand wiping tears from your face. “sorry. something just… came up–”

and you push into the crowd, trying to find the face from your dreams.

that had to be him, right? his face? it was like as soon as you saw him, the underpainting of your memories flowed back to you–a heartaching loss pounding in your chest. something was wrong. something was missing, because you’d forgotten–and now that you’d remembered it, it hurt.

“i’m sorry,” you say.

“you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the man says to you, and leans in to kiss you. “i’ll find you again in the next life.”

“i’ll remember you,” you say.

the man watches you, a somewhat sad look on his face.

you press your thumb to the corner of his lip.

“and when i do, i’ll do something big. to capture your attention. and then your eyes will be on me forever.”

you finally manage to catch the man in the crowd, and you realize you’ve seen him before. only once or twice, though–on a small poster or on television. soshiro hoshina, of the third division. you did know this man–but just barely.

he lets out a surprised noise as soon as you collide with him, and you gasp breathlessly.

“i’m sorry,” you say, looking up at hoshina. “i just… have we…”

“met?” hoshina answers your question, cocking his head, blinking down at you.

“yes,” you say. “i think… i think so. maybe. we… you look familiar.”

hoshina blinks, and then smiles.

it’s so different than the way he smiled at you in your dream. the corners of his lips quirk up, his eyebrows relax almost as he watches you.

“i thought so too,” hoshina says, and you hear relief in his voice. “so… um. hi.”

“hi,” you respond, and he laughs.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader

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illusivelle · 5 months ago

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chicken scratch

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,028 words content: mild cursing summary: you've never met your neighbour, but you've received plenty of their mail and now, a large package. of all the stories you made up in your head about who this 'carmen berzatto' could be, the real thing might just be your new favourite. a/n: brain rot means a middle of the night word dump. will likely be the first of many little stories about your next door neighbour, carmen, because that dynamic lives in my mind rent free. fluff for now, but we all know what that means (it means it'll definitely become nsfw later, sooner probably). read part two link to ao3 here!

The first letter was a mistake, the second one was a coincidence. The third one was not a big deal and the fourth was only a little more than a nuisance. But when a much larger package thudded against your front door at the ass crack of dawn, the recipient clearly written across the top of the cardboard box as your neighbour… well, that was just flat out annoying at this point. You hadn't even known deliveries made their rounds so early in the day and as big as the box was, when you lifted it to carry next door, it weighed lighter than a feather.

The pile of letters that accidentally found their way to your apartment were usually slipped through the small mailbox of your neighbour's, sometimes under the door. You'd thought about dropping the package and simply going about your day, but curiosity got the better of you as your knuckles rapped against the door and waited instead.

What could a Carmen Berzatto have possibly required to be delivered at this time?

In the time you've lived in the building, there'd been very few run-ins with other tenants. Not that you'd ever complain, perfectly content with your own company. You made friends with one elderly lady who always offered you some of her freshly baked bread, and in return you picked her up flowers and some extra produce on your farmer's market runs. The landlord wasn't your friend, but he wasn't your enemy either, and somehow you'd convinced him to let you paint your bathroom your favourite colour with little to no resistance. But your next door neighbour remained a mystery, one you've conjured up about a dozen different backstories and personalities for.

Carmen Berzatto, notorious criminal, hiding out in a tiny Chicago apartment. Carmen Berzatto, hundred-year-old vampire, who might either burn in the sun or look like they'd walked through a glitter bomb. Carmen Berzatto, part time Chicagoan, who actually doesn't live here anymore and maybe there's a squatter inside instead. Carmen Berzatto, the tax evader, because why else would they have so much goddamn mail being sent to them?

You'd been lost in the web of made-up histories for your neighbour when the door swung open to reveal said neighbour, and it slowly dawned on you that there wasn't a single story where you imagined Carmen Berzatto to look like that.

Piercing, wide blue eyes and a head of shaggy brown tufts that made you want to tangle your fingers through them, especially that small curl dangling just above his forehead.

"Hi." His greeting was laced with mild confusion that seemed immediately alleviated when his attention dropped to the box in your hands. "Oh."

"Hi," you blurted out, lifting the package, "got another one for you."

"I—I'm sorry about— about, uh, about all of that. It won't happen again."

"Won't it?" You were mostly teasing now. Although you were jolted awake by the sound of it thrashing against your door, and although you were rather peeved about getting up before you wanted to, you couldn't find it in yourself to be irritated anymore.

Carmen reached out to take the box from you, giving it a small shake with what you thought was a ghost of a smile before he set it down to the side somewhere you couldn't see. "It won't. I'm sorry." The flirt of his tongue along his lips brought your gaze toward it before you met his eyes again.

Those stunning icy blues.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for."

"I must've really fucked up on the— the uh, apartment number."

"What?"

"The apartment number."

"Yeah," you looked at him a bit dumbfounded, gaze darting to the door where the number and letter were, "what about it?"

"I—"

"You don't know your apartment number?"

"My writing's shit."

Both of you seemed to blink in unison, another lick of Carmen's lips which you mirrored before a stupid smile curled your lips. "Oh."

"Not a good excuse, I know." He nodded, jaw working as he turned his head to the metal on the door, a short and deep chuckle sounding from him. "Again, I—"

"Not sorry," you shook your head, "just chicken scratch."

For a moment, Carmen stared at you, and if it wasn't bad enough to have those too-blue eyes simply looking at you, to find them nearly boring holes as they danced between your eyes and across your face made you want to evaporate. Made you wish the ground would open up and swallow you hole. Made you want to drown in the depths of the ocean blues that were his irises.

"Just chicken scratch," he murmured after a beat of silence and what was once a ghost of a smile was definitely something now, the corner of his mouth lifting enough to wrinkle the corner of his eye. Enough to show you the dimple in his cheek. "Thanks for— for bringing the package."

"Yeah." And the smile unfurling on your lips was nothing short of genuine. "You're welcome, Carmen."

"Just, uh, just Carm is good. Carmy."

"Okay."

Another beat passed where you thought you might have been rendered frozen by one of your favourite shades of blue, glued to the floor through hypnosis, until a sound down the hall caught your ear and you nodded at Carmen. Turning on your heel, you took the first step back to your apartment, then another, and another.

And it wasn't until you had your hand stretched out to grab for your doorknob when you heard his voice echo from where you'd came. "See you around?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The moment hung in the air on a thin thread, the both of you sharing furtive and hidden smiles before his door closed and yours opened.

Carmen Berzatto, not a notorious criminal (to your knowledge) or a hundred-year-old vampire (yet). Nor was he a part-time Chicagoan (not with that accent) or a tax evader (maybe). None of the ideas you had floating in your mind about your neighbour even came close to the real thing.

Carmen Berzatto, curly-haired blue-eyed boy-next-door with chicken scratch for writing and a fleeting dimple you wanted to see again.

#jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy x you #the bear #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmy fluff #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto imagine

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batboyblog · 2 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/batboyblog/763234650399424512/the-recent-chappell-roan-thing-is-why-i-absolutely

I frankly also get the impression that a lot of these people genuinely think another Trump term will just be “business as usual” or “it’ll only hurt the people who deserve to suffer” and that they’ll just be able to hide away from the consequences for four years before someone comes along and fixes the mess for them and they get to benefit.

I don’t think they have any realization of just how bad this is gonna get the second time around, because the first time Trump was metaphorically behind a chained fence and held back by strong rope. This time he’s being let loose alongside his fascist theocratic friends.

I've puzzled about this for some time, because like do people honestly not remember what it was like? what those 4 years were like? the fear, the chaos, the national embarrassment. Every day waking up and going "oh god! what did he DO! while I was asleep!" and how often you'd wake up to some story that he'd tweeted something scary and dangerous at 4am. I believe him threatening to nuke North Korea (the "Fire and Fury" tweet) was one of those very early AM specials that we all woke up to.

I mean for people like Chappell, its hard to remember, but Trump has been the more or less national main character for 9 years, since the fall of 2015. I mean an 18 year old first time voter could have been 8 years old when Trump came down the gold escalators told us all that Mexicans were rapists and he was running for President. So for anyone under 30, Trump is normal since every election they've been able to vote in, he's been the Republican nominee. I've spent 9 years of my life, across 5 elections fighting Trump directly or indirectly. Depressing thought that.

but past that there's been a national effort to gaslight us all into thinking "yeah no it was normal" I mean I remember the media coverage of 2017, the first year or so of Trump's Presidency, every few weeks or so there'd be some "is it time for the 25th amendment now?" story about if Trump's weird behavior this time for his cabinet to step it and remove him. (A quick google turned up CNN Oct 2017, New York Times May 2017, The Guardian July 2017, and Vox February 2017) compare that to coverage today? The term "Sane-washing" has been coined where when Trump says something bonkers it gets characterized as "sometimes meandering" rather than "incomprehensible" and "worrying"

figures in the media have gone so far as to claim there's just no point to covering new Trump scandals because "they won't move the needle" which really should not be a journalist standard. And we see that they do, take North Carolina's Mark Robinson. Caught in a massive scandal, involving sex, porn, and being a Nazi, he's now down massively in the polls after nation wide coverage. Trump just had new court documents opened that showed he wanted a riot on January 6th, that his reaction to a mob threatening the life of his Vice-President was "so what?" and they he knew full well that he had lost but was going to "fight like hell" any ways. And its not much of a story, indeed I'm seeing more news about a NY Republican Congress having worn black face (new story today) than Trump's effort to over throw the government and kill Mike Pence.

past the media's gaslighting of course there's been a major and on-going campaign to effect how we see reality. I know that sounds very woo-woo, but to step back for second, most of what we know about the world is stuff people tell us, so you know Joe Biden is the President because other people have said so, most likely you've never met him or even seen him in person. Well as more and more people turn away from traditional media, and traditional media turns more and more to making of money by confirming the bias of people, it becomes easier and easier to slip things that are not real into "facts we are told". So for example "Joe Biden is President, and also in decline" there's never been any real evidence of that, but if on social media you are bombarded with it 4,000 times a day... you start to take it as understood wisdom.

people are also getting worse and worse at not just taking what they're told if it confirms biases they already have. Former Vice-President Al Gore wrote a book nearly 20 years ago now, called "The Assault on Reason" which had a ton of very interest neuroscience about the ways that moving images, TV he was talking about, by-pass the logic centers of the mind, the way we relate and trust someone talking to us in a way the written word does not. I can't help but reflect on that with the rise of TikTok and short form video as a "source of information" (lol)

any ways this is a long winded way of saying bad faith players, Republicans, left wing grifters, and agents of chaos, have been very good at flooding the zone all through the Biden Presidency with stuff "student loan debt" remember when that was SO! important SO big and Biden "not doing anything" (untrue) was the biggest deal? well yesterday his newest plan got unlocked in court and 3 out of every 4 people with loan debt will get relief.... oh you're just now hearing about that from me? huh... funny... I thought it was the number one issue and reason we should never trust Biden and the Democrats... weird....

but there have been other issues pushed up as THE! issue, its all misdirection, its all meant to get natural Democratic voters to feel frustrated, upset, and hopeless, and not to vote their interest. The world is a big complex multi moving machine, and anyone telling you that one issue either fixes every other issue or totally totally outweighs everything else and should for everyone, is most likely BSing you and doesn't have your best interests at heart.

and lets be clear, Trump is a Rapist he's a lot of things, traitor, racist, scumbag, criminal, scab, tax cheat, fraud, etc but for me any ways, I'm not gonna vote for a rapist to be President and if other people aren't gonna do everything they can to stop a rapist from being the President I don't want to hear how much they care about progressive issues.

#politics #US politics #American politics #election 2024 #Donald Trump

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gguk-n · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 2- Secret and Surprises

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Y/N has lost out on a few of her publication dreams while juggling 2 jobs. Her crush on Max has only led to failed relationships. She dreams of one day meeting and being with Max. But Max has a girlfriend and a career she knows nothing about.

{Reader's POV}

I finally moved out from my parents's place a few years back when I decided to pursue Literature. It was a very difficult time for me but I had Max by my side. Trying to convince my parents that I want to understand the art of writing and then doing what I love was very challenging. I moved to a another city with my dream university. Even today, they detest my choices and hope that I would take my life seriously. It has been difficult but seeing them once or twice a year only has made it easy.

Max and I are still very close. I still have a crush on him; it got worse after we started video calling each other after I moved out. I wasn't about to get 'caught' talking to a guy under my parents's roof. The consequences would be disastrous. Max is still the same, slightly older, has a stubble. I still don't know his full name, but he doesn't know mine either and I don't mind keeping it that way.

Having Max as a friend has hindered quite a few relationships either because they weren't him or they were jealous of some guy I would drop everything for. He still has a horrible sleep schedule, I've scolded him a couple time, but he doesn't listen. However, he has the cutest cats, Jimmy and Sassy. They love their dad a lot; I really wanna get cats too but I'm barely keeping myself alive, I'll kill my pets.

My job pays shitty, I'm a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I had hoped that being an editor for bigger and well established authors would help me improve my writing and get my book or poems published; has yet to happen. All my clients are kind people and very understanding of my predicament. Alas, this doesn't leave me much time in the day; teaching, lesson planning, correcting papers, editing other's stories or poems, talking to Max. Max has gotten pretty good about not disappearing like he did a couple years back. I still have no clue what he does, not like he knows what I do specifically. But he said he does something along the lines of cars; I knew he loved cars. I hope his job pays him better since he moved a few years back when I was still at home. His place looks lavish, either he gets paid well or it's from the company. I will never know. He's seen the shit hole I live in, but has yet to comment on my poor living conditions. I have too much of an ego to let my parents know I am struggling; I would rather starve then let them know. All I would hear is that they were right and I should mend my mistakes. What mistakes should I mend when these were my choices and I'm happy with them.

I've compiled 20 of my poems and even wrote a book, I've sent it to so many publishers in hopes that it will get picked up. This is like my fourth or fifth time. I mean, I haven't exhausted my resources and till the day all the publications shut down I'm not giving up. I've been rejected quite a few time, sometimes at the initial stages or after first reading and preview. They make publishing a book look so easy on shows and movies. I wish it was that easy in real life, but it isn't.

Being on spring break makes it so much easier for a while, till I have to return. However, I can focus on my book and the editing gig since it pays better than teaching. There's this guy I'm editing for currently and he's so annoying. I want to stop working with him except he pays the best. The life of being chained to capitalism. I was fixing up his errors when my phone rang, it was Max on video call. We spoke on video call a lot after I moved out. He's attractive, blue eyes; truly all my weaknesses combined. When the screen popped up, he almost fell out of frame when Jimmy jumped on the phone. Max placed Jimmy on the floor. Max- Hey, Schat. Sorry about Jimmy. Y/N- Hi, honestly I would rather talk to Jimmy. (I laughed) Max- Sometimes, I think you are friends with me for my cats. Y/N- Yeah, I would've stopped being your friend had you not adopted them. Max- Wow! I'm hurt. (He placed his hand on his chest) Y/N- Stop being dramatic. I'm just living vicariously through you. Max- You should get cats too, you seem lonely. Y/N- I wish, I'll end up killing them since I'm so busy. Max- hmmm, I hope you find a companion. I did find a companion Max, every time I get a boyfriend, we break up directly or indirectly because of you I thought. Max- What happened to Finn? I thought he was smitten for you. Y/N- Yeah, things didn't work out. We both were too busy with work. In actuality, when we finally got close after months of talking and the first time we had sex I moaned out Max's name. He left immediately. I wasn't about to tell Max this. It would ruin everything, I believe. Max- What were you doing? Y/N- Editing that ass's book. Max- You know maybe, you should leave some blunders, not the most obvious ones but one's that would make him look stupid. Y/N- I wish Max, he pays me a shit ton to do my job. (I laughed bitterly) It's fine, honestly. I'll be done soon and I'll never have to see him again, hopefully, fingers crossed. Max- I hope so too. Y/N- Max, you should date someone. Instead of worrying about me. I've never seen you date anyone in all the years I've known you. Max- ahh, yeah, I'm too busy with work to do that. Y/N- If we lived closer, I would've set you up with someone. That someone being me, but he doesn't need to know that. We haven't even met yet; we never even spoke about meeting each other honestly. Max scratched his neck, shaking his head. Max- I'm good, schat. You should find someone, maybe you'll stop being cranky. Y/N- I'm not cranky, at least not with you. Max let out a deep laugh. Max- Well, I've got to go. My sister's visiting. I'll talk to you later. Y/N- Sure, say hi to Victoria for me. Bye Maxie!! Max- bye Y/N.

Talking to Max always brightened up my mood. But since, Victoria's visiting, he won't be available to talk as often. That means I'm gonna have to spend all my free time scrolling through Instagram. It's all fun and games until I'm on hour 6 of some random video on Youtube. I spent the next couple of days cooped up in my home, just to enjoy waking up late. There were still a few months still summer break and I intended on enjoying them to the fullest.

School started way to soon for my liking. Max would send pictures of Jimmy and Sassy to cheer me up. It did cheer me up. Max travelled a lot for work, I've seen quite a few hotels and I think they are 5 star hotels. So, his work place is rich rich. I wish Max would hire me, I lamented, maybe then we might meet. I've thought about meeting him but he never showed any inkling that he would like to meet me. I wasn't about to seem desperate; I would probably jump him if I did. I mean he is single, so it's fine.

When the school started after spring break, I got handed a new author to help edit her work. I spoke to her and she was very nice to talk to. The book she was writing was based off a sport. On further questioning, she told me it was Formula One. I had heard about it when my city hosted a Formula E race a couple years ago. I don't remember much because I'm not sure if they held it again but what I can tell you is that traffic got so bad, I hated leaving the house for a couple of days. I don't really see the appeal of watching people go around in a circle in fast cars. I think I would panic if I found out how fast they drove. The author asked me to do some research on the topic. I was a good student and I wanted to be of help, so I decided to spend the next couple of hours going through Formula One and their rules.

There's something I have to clear up, I have a type of blindness bias. If I'm not interested in a topic, it would be like I live under a rock. Nothing could phase me and I couldn't care less. That's how I ended up on the wikipedia article of Lewis Hamilton, Micheal Schumacher and then current champion Max Verstappen. Schumacher and Hamilton were very good, reading about them made me awe struck. What really shocked me was a guy named Max Verstappen, who looked awfully like Maxie. I've stared at Maxie more than I would like to admit, so I'm sure they look alike. As I went through the article, my heart seemed to beat harder; not sure why. I felt like this was my Maxie however I believed that Maxie would've told me if he was a Formula One driver. I had to lay my doubts to rest, so I ended up on Youtube with the search bar reading Max Verstappen. My doubts laid to rest in a place I didn't want them to; Maxie was Max Verstappen. I could recognise that voice anywhere. He talked a lot, I could recognise his voice in a crowd of people or in my sleep. All my suspicions were cemented when I saw a picture of 2 cats who looked like Jimmy and Sassy and were called by the same name. My heart was ready to jump out of my chest. Max had lied to me; but was it really lying when I never prodded him for answers. Worst of all, he had a girlfriend and a kid. That's when I felt I was lied too. How could he not tell me? I would've genuinely been happy for him. We would've celebrated his 2 championship wins. My throat felt dry and my eyes wet.

Life wasn't fair when I've been trying to get my book published while my best friend, don't even know if I can call him that, is a 2 time world driver champion. He never even told me, while he has been in Formula One almost all our friendship and karting all his life. I felt the ground slipping from under my feet. Was I that unimportant to not share such a crucial part of his life or huge accomplishment in his life? Was I even his friend? All these questions raced through my mind, while tears streamed down my cheeks. The pillow wet from my tears when my phone rang. It was Max on the other line, and for the first time in 10 years I did not answer his calls even though it rang for a 4-5 times. He finally stopped after sending me a couple of worried messages; asking how I was and where I was?

[Max was freaking out. Y/N never missed his calls, no matter the time or place. Worst of all, she didn't even reply to his messages; not after 5 minutes or 10 minutes or 20 minutes. Max didn't know where she lived, he didn't know who to call, or who to ask about her. His hair was a mess, he was pacing the room so much so, that his girlfriend’s daughter asked him what happened. He couldn't tell them, no one knew of this secret internet friend he had. Who was he supposed to contact to file a missing person's report? He tried to calm himself down and think happy thoughts but all his thoughts were Y/N]

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mothandpidgeon · 3 months ago

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P Boy Podcasts

I was swapping podcast recs with @schnarfer and asked her what kind of podcasts would each of the Pedro boys host? (I’m a bit of a podcast junkie. I'm literally listening to one right now.) Well, we were brainstorming and I went and created episode art for each of their shows. Which ones are you subscribing to?

Nic on Nic Get a peek into the brain of legendary talent Nicolas Cage. Cage collaborator (and fanboy) Javi Guttierez is watching everything from Con Air to National Treasure 2. Take a deep dive into the films of Nic Cage and hear exclusive interviews with the man himself.

The Unfortunates There are spies living among us, everyday people living double lives. What makes them do it? And how do they keep their secrets? Each week, Dave York shares a true story from the clandestine world of espionage.

Foundlings Din Djarin’s parenting journey has never gone to plan because he never planned on becoming a dad! Come along as he navigates the challenges of single parenting a 50 year old son. Each week Din leads insightful discussions with a range of guests— pediatricians, parenting experts, and other parents that are just trying to figure it all out.

Declassified Drugs, danger, and dames. The fall of Escobar made way for the Cali Cartel. Hear the story from Agent Javier Pena as he recalls the hunt for the Cali Cartel and reveals details that have never been heard before.

Tales from the Green Ezra shares spooky fales of distant worlds on this anthology fiction podcast. All set on the Green Moon, these bizarre and enthralling stories introduce you to a lush world filled with intrigue and danger.

Heist The Mona Lisa only became a cultural icon after it was stolen in 1911. Learn about the greatest capers in the art world with host Marcus Pike. Hear first hand accounts going undercover during his time in the FBI.

No Cap 4 best friends chat about anything and everything. Hear Santi, Will, Frankie, and Ben give their takes on dating, travel, and current events. You’ll love listening to them react to r/aita.

UNKNOWN ZONE Alien encounter? Evidence of the lost city of Atlantis? Ghost fucking? Sometimes the truth is stranger than fiction. Join celebrity host Dieter Bravo for real life brushes with the unknown!

Joel’s Construction Corner Have a burning home improvement question? Or maybe you just like a southern drawl? Host Joel Miller has 30 years of experience in contracting and he’s here to share his advice with you. As soon as he figures out how to use this damn computer. Ellie does the ad reads with a pun for every one.

Hungry History What does the invention of margarine have to do with Napoleon? Did Marco Polo really introduce pasta to Italy? Which Founding Father had a craving for ice cream? Follow your stomach to discover the origins of your favorite foods as we travel back in time with host Pero Tovar.

I might've gone overboard. But I wish these all existed???

If you reblog this please rec me your favorite podcasts in the tags.

#podcast #pedro pascal #pedro boys #p boys #joel miller #marcus pike #dave york #pero tovar #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #frankie morales #javier pena #din djarin

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sitp-recs · 5 months ago

Note

back for another rec!

looking for a possessive harry, *especially* if he say or thinks “mine” (!!!)

thanks so much!

Your wish is my command! 🫡🫡

Devour by @digthewriter (E, 1k)

"We fight we break up. | We kiss we make up." Jealous Harry is jealous.

Utterly Yours by @lazywonderlvnd (E, 6k)

Draco gets back at Harry for his late nights as an Auror by flirting with the new Arithmancy professor. Harry's not usually the jealous type, but he has his moments.

Intention by @the-sinking-ship (E, 7k)

Harry really ought to listen to whatever Ron is saying, but it becomes impossible to focus when a familiar figure across the pub curls his fingers around another man’s tie. And when that man leans in with a wolfish smile, Harry sees red, and all he can think is mine.

Once Upon a (Wet) Dream by InnerLilith (E, 13k)

Once a year, Harry has a very strange dream. Meanwhile, in real life, he’s falling for Draco Malfoy.

I've Waited Here for You (Everlong) by heyitsamorette (E, 23k)

Ever since Ginny started dating Blaise, Harry has had to see a lot of Blaise’s friends as well… and with them comes Malfoy. Everyone’s too focused on rebuilding the world after the war to notice that Malfoy is still a dick, so they don’t seem to mind letting him into their little group. But Harry remembers everything, and when he’s not having nightmares from the war or training to become an Auror, he is doing his best not to let himself become friends with Draco Malfoy. And friends with benefits is not actually friends… is it?

In Your Arms, Rests My World by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 24k)

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it. “You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

on the divine agony of longing by @flimsi (E, 25k)

Speaking to Draco is like poking a beehive - and Harry is a glutton for punishment. In which Harry makes some serious blunders and then tries to fix it. Somehow.

what husbands are for by @softlystarstruck (E, 52k)

To settle tensions between werewolves and vampires, Harry volunteers for a political marriage. But it turns out he's marrying Malfoy– cold, untouchable Malfoy, who he hasn't seen in ten years. Throughout contention and politics, werewolf pub nights and grudgingly shared meals, they have to make it work. And in the midst of it all, Harry finds something he already gave up hoping for.

Lemon Colour, Honey Glow by @thusspoketrish (E, 67k)

Over a series of unfortunate pub nights at the Leaky Cauldron, Draco Malfoy falls in love. A story about finding strength and forgiveness in unlikely places.

Who we are in the shadows by @quicksilvermaid (E, 100k)

What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost.

Bonus: dark!Harry (pls mind the tags)

I Love You by Curlee_Cue (M, 18k)

Harry knows what love is. It’s something that grows. Something that adapts. Something that sometimes needs a little help along the way. (or the one in which Harry loses his mind)

#asks #anon #drarry reclist #possessive Harry

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mustainegf · 5 months ago

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Friends with benefits typa thing with 1991 James, reader has been friends with him since 83 and knows Kirk, lars and Jason real well. AND LIKE MAKE HIM CONFESS HE WROTE NOTHINF ELSE MATTER ABOUT THE READER. And like end up fucking backstage after performing it 🙏🏻🫶

DONT YOU DARE MAKE ME CRY.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ¹⁹⁹¹

I’d known James for many years. That bond between us was always quite firm. Things had recently become pretty intimate. I will say we hooked up a few times in our friendship, just two friends seeking something more during lonely nights on the road.

One night, after a great show show, we just sat around on the tour bus. Adrenaline was still high, beers were flowing.

James and Lars were knocked out from performance, having gone directly to bed, shockingly. So I, Kirk, and Jason sat around and let the liquor flow.

"Hey, turn up the radio," Jason said suddenly, his eyes lighting up. "I think that's one of our new tracks."

Then, sure enough, the soft melody of Nothing Else Matters filled the small space of that tour bus.

It was quite a far cry from the usual thrash metal Metallica creation. This song was somber, simply beautiful. I found myself immediately in love with it since the day they played it for me in the studio.

"I really like this one," I said aloud to no one in particular. "It's different."

Kirk chuckled and glanced over at Jason. "Oh, you know all about this song," he said, his eyes sparkling with tipsiness.

I raised an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Jason turned to Kirk, then back to me. "Wait, you don't know?"

"Know what?" I asked, a weird sense of anticipation.

"James didn't tell you?" Kirk asked, lowering his voice so James wouldn't hear from his bunk.

I shook my head, completely baffled as i glanced around for any clue as to what’s they meant. "Tell me what?"

Kirk leaned forward, his face now dead serious. "He wrote this song about you."

I just sat there staring at him, my brain stumbling over the thought. "About.. me?"

Jason nodded, his face softening with a knowing smile. "Yeah. Ever wonder why it sounds so personal?"

I was floored. Absolutely floored. Of all the things that I had contributed to the scale of imaginations in my mind, this wasn't one.

James wrote a song for me? I replayed again, this time each word sounding all new.

"But, why?" I stuttered.

Kirk and Jason exchanged another look, as if wordlessly passing along a secret they both shared. "Because you mean a lot to him," Kirk explained conclusively. "More than you might realize."

I sank back, my heart thudding inside my chest. The lyrics looped in my mind, the tune entwining itself into my thoughts. James, who I had known for so many years, my friend, and lately so much more, had laid his heart out in this damn song. A song about me.

Everything had become pretty fuzzy in the days since Kirk and Jason's secret. That conversation just kept playing over in my head. The knowledge James had written that song about me left me unable to breathe.

I sat backstage at one of their concerts tonight, just like I usually did. The crowd roar and the all knowing riffs of Metallica pierced the air, but my thoughts strayed strong.

I sat there, lost, replaying the moments I shared with James, not able to shake off that my heart filled with an emotion I had been trying to ignore for years.

The final song began.

Nothing else matters, those sweet open notes.

I watched James up on stage, his voice pouring out something so raw. He looked so vulnerable in that circle of light.

I am thinking of James, of his smile, wide, sweetly bent, which can still make me smile. His laughter is soft and amused sometimes, other times, it's loud and proud. He has such a big heart, which maybe he would have covered up with an exterior of toughness, but there was unmistakable proof in his acts. He was just a big teddy bear, really.

I thought about the times we had shared, nights that we spent as lovers. The way he touched me, held me, kissed me, made love to me. It wasn't just sex, it was something deeper, something more.

I felt my eyes swim with tears as he sang. The lyrics glowed of love, longing, all the same things that I had suppressed, feared admitting.

All along, I had been trying to tell myself it was just a friends with benefits thing, no strings attached, that sort of thing. Yet now, with this song playing, knowing it to be about me, it was impossible to keep lying to myself.

I loved James. And always had.

As the last plucking notes of the song ceased into the applause of the many fans, something hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized I was in love with James. But now, denying it wasn't possible. I loved him.

Later that evening, we started back to the hotel. The streets were empty, at times, only the sound of our footsteps could be heard.

That song still stirred something inside me. I walked along with James, taking quick looks at him, my heart racing with all the things I wanted to say. But didn’t.

Finally, we reached the hotel, and James excused himself. "Hey, can you come with me for a second?" he asked, looking at me with a face he clearly wanted to look hesitant.

I nodded, my lips curling up slightly. "Sure."

We walked down the hallway to his room, until at last he stopped and turned toward me.

"So uh… Don't freak out," he started off awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "The guys convinced me to tell you what I'm about to say."

I nodded again. My stomach practically doing flips as I knew what he was about to say. "Okay, shoot."

He sucked in a deep breath and looked around looking more nervous than I’d ever seen the man. "I, uh… I don't really know how to say this, but…the song, you know.. 'Nothing Else Matters'…I wrote it about you. For you."

"About me?" I whispered, even though I already knew. Hearing him say it was different.

James nodded, his eyes finally meeting mine. "Yeah. I… I wasn’t gonna tell you, but Kirk and Jason wouldn't let it go."

"Why would you write something so beautiful about me?" I queried softly.

James stepped closer, his voice whisper soft now.

“Because I love you.”

His words strung in the air between us, then came the kiss, soft and full of passion, full of all the love that had been built up inside me during all those many days. His hands rested lightly on my hips, and I felt right.

I pulled back just an inch, my forehead still against his. "James… promise me this means something, that we won't go right back to being friends," I whispered, referring to all those other times when, well, we'd made out, even fucked, without meaning anything by it.

He stared into my eyes. "The last thing I want is to just be friends.”

A grin spread across his face as he swung me up and into another kiss. Our lips had barely touched when he pushed open the door to his hotel room, sweeping me inside before he kicked it shut behind us a little more gently.

The latch clicked, and the sound bounced in the room.

We both giggled, the laughter blending with the kisses, our joy filling the room. His hands took their place all over my body.

He laid me softly on the bed, crawling over me. His lips found mine again, and this kiss was slow, full promises.

His hands were absolutely everywhere, stroking down my sides, brushing and squeezing against my breasts, finally resting on my hips.

"I love you," he breathed against my lips.

"I love you too, James…” I whined in return, just hardly a breathy sigh.

He shifted in weight, moving between my legs, his erection pressing insistently against my thigh. I felt the heat of him, the hardness that told me of his deep need.

We stripped ourselves down, pecks and smiles given between each article of clothing that was tossed to the floor.

Slowly, he guided himself to me the head of his cock nudged against my wetness. It was familiar, but different this time. It meant something.

My hands clutched at his back, my nails dragging in a little as he started to push inside.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned out. "So perfect for me…”

That stretch was fucking perfect, a mix of pleasure and slight ache as he filled me up. Slowly but surely, his cock slid into me, inch by inch, and sank deeper.

I just cannot describe this feeling of being inside.

"You're so big," I whimpered again. "I love how you feel inside me..." I told him earnestly, I knew it would get him riled up.

"I love being inside you," he replied with a chuckle despite the growl. "You make me feel so good, baby… you always do."

Once he was bottoming out, the thrusts began almost simultaneously, each pump a reasoned peice of his love. I felt every inch of him, the way his cock stretched and filled me up completely, how it rubbed against all the right places inside.

"You feel amazing," he murmured again, his lips against my ear. "So, so tight. My good girl."

My hips lifted to his thrusts, and we moved together. The sounds of our lovemaking were quite evident, the wet slap of our bodies coming together, the endless gasps and moans becoming a mess.

"James," I groaned, grasping at his neck and tugging him closer as he moved inside me. "Oh God, yes. Just like that!” I wailed.

His tongue delved deep into my mouth, as did his cock. I felt the heat of him, the slick pulsing hardness that filled me so well, better than anyone or anything ever could.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against my lips, breath hot. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I gasped, my body arching against his as my pricked nipples grazed his sweaty chest. "I love you so much, James."

His thrusts quickened, grew harder, urgent, sloppy. I could feel that tension tightening and tightening in my tummy.

His cock pounded inside me, each beat forcing me closer to cumming.

"You're my everything," he groaned thickly. "My beautiful girl. You're so good for me.”

"Yes," I groaned, my nails clawing into his back and probably leaving vulgar marks. "I'm yours, J-James. Always."

I could feel him throbbing inside me, its heat a delicious reminder of his lust for me.

"Cum for me," he whispered, his voice at once a command and plea. "Cum for me, baby."

The final push that sent me over the brink. My climax ripped over me. I clung to his body, my frame shaking as He fucked me through it.

It was only second later and James followed, his member pulsing as he roared. I felt the hot, wet rush of his cum, flooding me. He groaned my name, every inch of us trembled, from our legs to our voices.

He kissed me lightly, lips tender. “You're amazing," he breathed in my ear.

This was where I was mean to be, with James.

And nothing else matters.

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factual-fantasy · 11 months ago

Note

I realized we know the least about the river person in ya au.

Care to remedy that?

Well to be honest.. not a whole lot has changed about her. I keep forgetting she exists and I don't have a lot of ideas for how she could interact with the group..

Though speaking of her, recently I tried to dig into her character a little more and I started by making a redesign for her. Although its only the first pass and Isn't official yet-

And despite my attempts, for now her story and character is still relatively the same..

She was just a lonely boat keeper. She would come home from her shifts to a gloomy house where no one was waiting for her. No family, no friends.. no pets or hobbies.. she didn't really have anything going on except for running the boat. And to be honest.. she was kind'a okay with that in a way. She just accepted that this was her life, and this is how she lives. And its not like she had no joy in her life. Her joy came from running the boat.

She would take all kinds of people down the river, and they would talk to her. They would tell her wonderful things. The children would talk about their hopes and dreams. What they wanted to be when they grew up.. what their favorite food was. They'd tell her about that crazy looking frog they saw on the way here.

The elderly would tell her stories of all the places they'd been and all the things they'd seen. And even if they didn't talk to her directly.. she still overheard some interesting conversations. The young couples would talk about what they were planning on naming their first child. They would talk about what they wanted their house to look like and how many pets they wanted to have.

And sometimes the people on the boat didn't talk at all. Sometimes they looked sad and wouldn't look up from their feet.. So she would sing to them. And when they got off she would tell them "I hope you're day gets better. I enjoyed your company." And the few times she got a smile back made it all worth it.

She put her value of herself and her life on the people around her. Transporting people from point A to point B and occasionally cheering people up.. was all the worth she really felt she had..

But then Jevil and his group came along for a boat ride. Half way down the river Jevil breaks out in a cold sweat and starts to shake. Somethings wrong.

"This world is about to end." The group perks up "What?"

Grabbing Seams sleeve beside him he says louder and frantically "THIS WORLD IS ENDING"

Jevil jumps up and makes a mirror below the water large enough to swallow the boat whole.

As they fall through the mirror, horrible soul breaking sounds can be heard as that timeline collapses in on itself.

The boat probably landed in a snowdin somewhere.. or maybe another waterfall? Or maybe in a dark world.. where ever it landed, Jevil was looking the group over when he saw River Person..

"Where.. am I?"

He had done it again. Ripped someone out of its AU just as it was dying...

I intended for River person to have some kind of survivors guilt. Thinking her life had no real value and that anyone else in her AU deserved to have been saved in her place. Almost the opposite of Grillby.

Grillby hates Jevil becuase he valued his life and lost everything he held dear.. River Person doesn't hate Jevil for saving her at all. She's not sad about losing her life becuase she never really had one.. She's just grieving for all those people who died and wishes any of them could have been saved in her place.

The guilt really eats her up inside..

#my response #river person #undertale #deltarune #I've been thinking of who's gonna give her the talk #the “you are endlessly valuable and just as deserving of life as everyone else in your AU was” talk #and if it convinces her or at least makes her feel better or not

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jooba · 7 months ago

Text

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too.

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?”

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing.

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?”

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.”

“What?”

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details.

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest?

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded.

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text.

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair.

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through.

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter.

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made.

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe.

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter.

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!”

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare.

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased.

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity.

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch.

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head.

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.”

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed.

“Oh, okay,” you mumble.

#suggest TW #monster fucker #wolfman x reader #monster x reader #sorry #hmmm should i write more for Peter?#x reader #not a werewolf #MDNI #monster/alien/human society #not proofread #its 2 am

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yaniiiiism · 3 months ago

Text

just fine. -h.hj / l.mh 𖤐 !

🍢 chapter 5.

if you haven't, be sure to read the previous chapters before reading this!

previous ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི next !

☆┆pairing : hwang hyunjin / lee minho x fem!reader ͏☆┆ info : sadfic , a LOT of angst , melancholy , drama , feelings , mature themes , suggestive , bsfs , one sided. ͏

☆┆ personas: uni students ; dancers ; hyunjin does art and dance, reader does dance and songwriting, minho dances.͏͏ ☆┆ word count : 2.2k ☆┆warnings : hyune's a bit of an ass here.. + sad.

may not be best friends -> lovers <3

previously.. in chapter 4.

saturday night, 8:24 pm.

She leaned against the railing, her hands gripping the cool metal as she took a deep breath, trying to centre herself. The silence between them was comforting, a stark contrast to the loud, unspoken emotions that had filled the room moments ago.

Minho stood next to her, his gaze fixed on the horizon, his profile softened by the dim glow of the streetlights. He didn't push her to speak, didn't demand any explanations or force his presence into her space. He just stood there—quiet, steady, like an anchor in the storm.

After a few moments, she finally spoke, her voice low and tired. "It's stupid, isn't it? Getting so worked up over something- or instead, someone, who was never mine in the first place?"

And then, it was night again.

— 🎬 # 01

friday night , 8th grade , 10:10 pm.

It had been one of those nights, the kind that slipped into dawn unnoticed, where time seemed to dissolve in a haze of soda and laughter.

The air was warm, heavy with the scent of summer, and they’d found themselves sprawled out side by side on his room’s floor, their gazes lost in the ceiling as they spoke of everything and nothing at all.

The hours had blurred, and for a while, it was just the sound of their voices and the hum of the world outside, faint and distant.

She remembered the way his voice dipped, the way he suddenly shifted his weight to look at her. There was a spark in his eyes, something playful, something reckless.

It caught her off guard, the way the night sometimes does when it feels too perfect to be real.

"Why don’t we just try.. kissing?"

He had said it with the ease of someone asking for another slice of pizza, like it was a natural progression of the conversation, something as simple and thoughtless as breathing.

But for her, it had been anything but casual. "You know, to get an experience since.. none of us have had our first yet."

She’d laughed then, a quick, nervous sound that filled the quiet between them, her mind scrambling to catch up.

Surely, he was joking.

Surely, this was just one of those moments where they were both too tired to think straight.

But before the laugh had fully escaped her lips, he had leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers—a whisper, a ghost of a kiss that left her breathless.

Her heart had stuttered, the world narrowing down to the feeling of his lips on hers, the closeness of him. It was over in an instant, too brief for her to even process what had happened.

He had pulled away just as quickly, a grin on his face, eyes glinting with mischief, as though it had been nothing at all.

She had forced herself to smile, to let her laughter mingle with his, pretending that her heart hadn’t just fluttered in a way that felt terrifyingly real.

She’d played along, just as she always had. But the truth of it lingered, caught somewhere deep inside her, lodged like a secret she didn’t even know how to confess.

He hadn’t seen the way her eyes lingered on him that night. The way she studied his profile in the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, the way she admired the easy grace with which he moved through the world. Hyunjin had always been like that—effortless, distant even when he was right there. He spoke with his hands, laughed with his entire body, but he never truly let anyone in, never stayed long enough to see the ripples he left behind.

She’d watched him as he turned his gaze back to the ceiling, his attention drifting to something else, as though the kiss had been nothing more than a passing breeze. And in that moment, she’d realised the ache in her chest wasn’t from the kiss itself, but from the space it revealed between them.

A space she hadn’t even known existed until it stretched wide and hollow, impossible to bridge.

She had wanted to hold onto that moment, to believe it could mean something more, but Hyunjin was already moving past it, already forgetting. To him, it had been just another fleeting moment in a string of nights that would blur together over time.

But for her, that kiss was more. It had been the start of something she wasn’t ready to name. Something that stayed with her, woven into the fabric of her memories, tucked away in the quiet spaces of her heart where he could never reach.

And maybe that’s how it was always meant to be—Hyunjin, always looking away, never seeing what was right in front of him. And her, always watching, always hoping for something more, something that would never come.

“It’s nothing, really,” he had said, his voice light, as though they were still children sharing secrets beneath the stars.

He’d ruffled her hair, his touch careless and warm.

“Friends do it all the time.”

— 🎬 # 02

4 days ago, that night. (chapter 1,2)

The second time, it was different.

It was that night, the one where the world felt soft at the edges, hazy like a dream she wished she could escape.

His words, light as air but heavy as stone, wrapped around her, tightening with each breath.

She had laughed—tried to laugh—tried to push the moment away with a shrug.

But Hyunjin was relentless, eyes glinting with something playful and dangerous. Then came that smile, the one that always made her heart stumble.

"We could make out. Just so you know what it’s like. No big deal. No strings attached.”

Her pulse had quickened, thoughts whirling in a storm of want and doubt.

The music hummed faintly in the background, the only anchor in the rising tide of emotion. And in her silence, her surrender, she had nodded.

When their lips met, it was softer than the first time, and longer—his hands settling gently on her waist, her fingertips trembling as they grazed the back of his neck.

For just a heartbeat, she allowed herself to believe it meant more than it did, that maybe his touch held a promise, something unspoken but felt.

Their kiss began like a whisper, tender and cautious, as if each touch was a question, a gentle inquiry into uncharted territory. Her lips met his with a softness that felt like a promise, an echo of something both familiar and unknown. His touch was warm, his hands finding their place on her waist, fingers pressing lightly as if he feared she might dissolve into the night air.

As they deepened the kiss, the world around them fell away. Her fingers trailed along the nape of his neck, tracing the curve of his spine, each contact a spark that sent shivers through her.

His mouth moved against hers with a languid rhythm, a dance that was at once hesitant and hungry, as if he were exploring the contours of her desire.

Time seemed to stretch and contract, a fluid entity, as their breaths mingled and hearts quickened in a shared, silent cadence. The softness of his lips, the heat of his breath, each sensation was a thread weaving through her chest, stitching together a tapestry of fleeting dreams and aching hope.

The kiss was both an exploration and a revelation, a moment suspended between friendship and something more, a fleeting glimpse of what might be.

But as they parted, the taste of his lips lingered like a bittersweet echo, leaving her with a delicate ache, a soft pang that whispered of the depth of her feelings. The music's gentle pulse seemed to underscore the fragile heartbeat of her longing, a melody of what-ifs and might-have-beens, as she forced a smile through the veil of her heartache.

He had laughed, that sound breaking the fragile hope she had built in the space between their lips.

“See? It’s easy.” he had grinned.

“It’s nothing— just go for it with him.” And she had smiled, because she always smiled for him, even when it hurt.

Even when her heart was quietly unraveling.

Even when she wanted to tell him that it had never been nothing. That for her, it was always everything.

Their kiss that night had been longer, deeper than the one from years ago.

But still, there were no feelings behind it.

It was just a kiss—an experiment, a moment of curiosity. No strings attached.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

back to present.

“It's not stupid,”

Minho's voice broke through her spiralling thoughts.

She blinked, surprised by his sudden response. She turned her head slightly, catching his gaze. His eyes were steady, unwavering, and there was something in them that made her chest tighten.

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he seemed to search for the right words.

"It’s not stupid to care about someone, even if they don’t feel the same way. You can't control how you feel. And just because he doesn’t see it, doesn’t make it any less real."

His voice was low, almost too soft to hear over the noise of the city.

“What’s stupid is pretending like it doesn’t hurt when it clearly does.”

Her heart clenched at his words.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

Maybe he hadn’t known the specifics—about the kisses, about Hyunjin’s careless way with her feelings—but Minho had always been able to see through her.

Even when she wished he couldn’t.

“We kissed,” she muttered, the words falling out before she could stop them. “Twice. And one of them was 3 nights ago.”

Minho stiffened beside her, the shift so subtle she barely noticed.

But when she turned back to look at him, she saw the flash of something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded.

"You kissed him?" he asked, his voice calm, but there was a tension there, lurking beneath the surface.

She nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up with shame, with regret. "It didn’t mean anything," she whispered, the words feeling hollow even to her. "It was just—"

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho cut in, his tone firmer than before. "If it hurt you, it mattered."

There was a pause, a beat of silence between them that stretched on for what felt like forever.

Then, slowly, Minho’s hand reached for hers, his fingers brushing lightly against her own. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like a lifeline in the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer now, full of something she couldn’t quite place.

“I wish I could…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as he struggled with the words he wanted to say.

“I wish I could make it easier for you.”

Her heart squeezed at his words, and for the first time that night, she looked at him—really looked at him.

His usual teasing demeanour was gone, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

And in that moment, she realised just how much Minho had been there for her. Quietly, patiently, always watching from the sidelines while she chased after someone else.

Maybe she had been blind all along.

“I guess, I was just never enough.” She let out a bitter chuckle.

Minho shifted, taking a step closer to her, his familiar, yet soft, vanilla-scented cologne enveloping her in a comforting embrace.

"It’s not about being enough, Y/n. Why don’t you get it?” “You are enough. More than that— actually. Hyunjin’s just—" He trailed off, clearly frustrated as he raked a hand through his hair.

"He’s a fucked up idiot, alright? He’s too wrapped up in his own world to see what’s right in front of him."

Y/n blinked, her heart clenching at the sincerity in his voice. She glanced up at him, and for a moment, the intensity in his gaze made it hard to breathe. The same eyes that had always held teasing mischief were now filled with something much deeper, something that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Minho sighed, his hand coming to rest on the railing beside hers, his fingers brushing lightly against her own. "You don’t deserve this—waiting around for someone who’s too blind to see what he’s losing."

His words cut through her, sharp and gentle at the same time, and she felt the sting of truth in them. Her chest tightened as a fresh wave of emotion surged up, threatening to break the surface.

But before she could respond, before she could even process the weight of his words, Minho spoke again, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

"I see you, Y/n."

Her breath caught, and she turned her head slowly to look at him. His eyes were on her, dark and unwavering, filled with something unspoken that made her heart skip a beat.

"I’ve always seen you," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if admitting something he’d been holding back for too long. "Even when you couldn’t see me."

Her pulse quickened, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

The air between them crackled with an unfamiliar tension, one that neither of them had ever acknowledged until this moment. It was as if the wall that had always stood between them had finally cracked, allowing the truth to seep through.

"Minho..” she started, but the words died in her throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on her.

He smiled, a small, sad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You don’t have to say anything." His voice was gentle, his hand lifting from the railing to lightly touch her arm, grounding her in the present.

"I just wanted you to know... that I’m here. I’ve always been here."

Her chest tightened, the gravity of his words settling deep within her.

How had she not noticed?

How had she missed the way he had always been there, quietly supporting her, while her focus had been on someone who never even looked back?

But, before she could say anything more, the door behind them creaked open, and the muffled sounds of the party filtered through once again. They both turned as Felix stepped out, a concerned look on his face as he glanced between the two of them.

author's note!! AAAAA cant wait to post more shshsshhs i was busy editing this sm 🤓 plz lmk if u wanna be added to my taglist!! minho x yn or hyune x yn??? ;) byeee <3

taglist !

@babybreadddd

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sheisjoeschateau · 8 months ago

Text

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | Part IX (FULL)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER IX WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - language, innuendo / sexual undertones, mention of dr*gs and abuse and childhood trauma, Max in a coma, talks about death, difficult confrontations. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the 9th chapter, written in full. Not action packed, but vital to the plot. Lots of beautiful moments in here that I really took my time with writing because at this point, I am just so in love with this concept. We learn more about Bauman's past. Steve and Jonathan finally have that talk. Murray is a proud uncle. The kids are adorable. Steve's dream isn't only his. And everyone prepares for doomsday.

Bonus: If you love the song "This Little Life," well then you are in for a treat. It heavily inspired this chapter, and it will be back...

PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington was no stranger to nightmares.

He’d learned how to endure them. Over the years, he made friends with his demons. So much so, it got to a point where he got too used to having them around. He just nodded at them as they lurked in the darkest corners of his sunshine mind, letting them exist as lonely, miserable wallflowers who were never noticed in the daylight when he was awake…waiting for their fleeting moment of popularity after dark, when his eyes were shut. He didn’t address them when he was awake. Because if he addressed them, that would mean they were real. But if he let them have their way at night, forgetting them the next day and acting like they did not exist, that meant they had no power over him. They didn’t mean anything. They were nothing.

They meant nothing.

At least, that’s what Steve told himself.

Every night before shutting his eyes, he steels himself for whatever hell he was going to face. From the ripe age of four, he learned to simply expect the unexpected when it came to sleeping. Sleep was never going to be his friend — whether he was sleeping alone, or with a friend, or holding naked girl in his arms. Steve was made to suffer in his sleep. His subconscious was a world that was built upon a foundation ruled by the reality of absent parents, being an only child, high school flings that left him longing and the endless search for love. It consisted of repeated dialogues — sometimes the incessant arguing between his parents, or the jabbering of Tommy H. and Carol, or hearing Nancy chanting bullshit, along with all the other voices of people who filtered in and out of his life. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Sometimes, Steve was running away from his own voice in his head. There were nights when, within his own nightmares, he himself was the nightmare. That really came into effect during his last year of high school and the summer after he lost Nancy. Adding the entire element of the upside down into his life only fed his nightmares. They were bad before, they were bad then, and they were worse now.

Trauma after trauma, loss after loss, fight after fight, bloodshed upon bloodshed.

Every punch to his eye. Every word slapped across his face. Every other worldly creature he was made to battle. Every moment he was paralyzed with fear of losing one of his kids.

Nightmares loved Steve. And they knew exactly where to find him, every single night.

But right now, sleeping next to you, it wasn’t nighttime. It was still day. Daylight shown through the windows of your assigned guest room in the Harrington house — curtains drawn, and the gloomy afternoon sky filtering the space around you both.

And here he was, fast asleep with his cheek resting on top of your chest, as your heartbeat thumped against his ear. One of his toned arms was looped around your waist, having closed his eyes and letting the steady rise and fall of your chest lull him to sleep. Steve had been fighting sleep for the last two nights. Especially the night after you died in his arms. He had just barely brought you back to life, and he knew that as bad as his nightmares had been before…all of them amounted to nothing compared to the nightmares that would undoubtedly follow him after that. Steve wanted nothing to do with sleep. He was damned for all eternity when it came to sleep, and it was sure to bring him a life of insomnia after the real life nightmare that he was made to face when wide awake.

That’s the beauty of being asleep: you have to wake up.

Steve told himself that every night before he went to bed. He told himself that no matter how bad it got, he would still wake up. And once he woke up, it would be over.

He learned to do that after he went to the county fair one year with his friends, back in middle school. He’d gotten on a ride, peer pressured by Tommy H. and not wanting to look like a chicken.

Every second of the ride, Steve was petrified.

He wanted off, he wanted off, goddammit let me off he shouted.

Then he remembered having been told by the county fair worker that the ride lasted four minutes. Steve took a deep breath, realizing he’d likely been on it for already half that time. So he counted to himself. Counting down the last half of the ride, he told himself over and over: eventually, this ride has an end.

Sure enough, when it did finally come to an end — and when everyone was let off the hellish escapade — Steve realized that he had found the glitch in the matrix. The warp in time. The secret superpower to conquering fear. Suddenly, he wasn’t so afraid anymore. Which is why now, whatever nightmare he was made to face, he would endure it — knowing that the sweet relief of waking up was just right around the corner.

And after all: stranger things had been proven real in Steve’s real life, far more than in his wildest dreams.

Loving you had turned out to be the strangest thing of all.

Even more so, the lack of nightmares that came with that was also strange…

Because right now, as Steve finally succumbed to sleep instead of fighting it, lying next to you…he was not trapped in a nightmare. His subconscious did not have him roaming the unpredictable pathways that led to the darkest corners of his mind. His demons had ceased their dance. Vecna, and all his other worldly monsters, were not the stars of this particular show. Steve was not trapped in the midst of jabbering chants coming from the voices of all the people that he loved, all the people who had betrayed him, or even the voice belonging to himself.

For the first time in years, Steve Harrington was dreaming.

It wasn’t anything drastic. Nothing that could exhaust him, to where any hours of sleep hadn’t felt like any sort of sleep at all. In fact, his subconscious state was…serene. Quiet, peaceful. It was almost unsettling in a way.

Little bursts of yellow — pastel and sunshine and lemon — colored the dark walls inside his mind. A light breeze gently wooshed in the distance, coming seemingly from nowhere but still fanning his face and the flop of his perfect hair. Somewhere, someone was humming. Almost like a bird, or the sound of a foghorn super far off in the distance. Maybe even the distant drums of a far away land. The rhythm came and went, but it kept him company. As if it were some little song made up in his head as he went along, saying, “Hey, I’m right here. We are in this together.”

On the other side of Steve’s closed eyelids, you laid beneath him in his yellow crewneck. The air you breathed softly, in and out of your nose, fanned across his forehead and his perfect hair. And while your heartbeat was not even, it was there — beneath his ear, drumming in a makeshift pattern, inventing its own rhythm as it went.

In the real world, your uneven heartbeat reminded you both that you yourself were not in the clear. Not yet.

But currently, in this new world that Steve’s subconscious had just discovered, it reminded him that he was no longer alone. Not with you.

In the real world, Hawkins is in trouble. Cursed.

And while none of you had figured out how to break that curse just yet, along with Vecna’s…one curse had been broken.

You’d broken the curse to Steve’s endless nightmares.

But would this world even allow for you both to explore a future together, in which you had broken this dark spell cast over Steve Harrington’s life…?

***

Seeing Nancy shuffling out of Argyle’s room is the last thing Jonathan ever could have expected. And he’d seen a lot of shit that prepared him for the unexpected.

The perplexed look in her eyes. The determination in her step to get the hell out of there, despite clearly having been given some sort of useful information after sharing God-knows-what conversation with his Cali best friend.

The two lovers at war made eye contact. It was quick, fleeting. But tense.

Eddie and Robin watched as Jonathan turned to stare at Nancy over his shoulder, and how she froze for a moment to stare back at him through her glassy, wide blue eyes. Her gaze, fixed on him, went from longing to hardened. Nancy walked away, and Jonathan letting her without a word only motivated her to keep walking.

And now, Jonathan had been in Argyle’s room for a good long while. Eddie and Robin had left behind their own little comforting conference of sorts to join the adults downstairs, while the kids had set off in other directions of the Harrington house.

But before that, during all the upstairs drama, Joyce and Murray had been having some drama of their own in the basement.

“You did what?!”

By now, Murray had recounted every single part of his story and how he’d played a huge role — along with you — in how her son had ended up with Nancy Wheeler. Murray’s once upon a time had rendered her speechless.

Even Hopper — who’d heard them go downstairs and immediately followed when he heard Joyce start rocking the boat as she pressed Murray for information — now stood there beside Joyce, having just listened to everything – stunned.

Because when in the world did you all have time to fall in love, fall out of love then fall back in love / new love like this? How the fuck were you all managing that on top of the upside down mayhem?

“May I remind you both how you two lovebirds have spent the last few years developing your own slowburn of a story arc?”

Murray’s question was dripping in condescension. But it was valid. It also came from the heart. He loved these two humans to death. And they loved him back.

While Joyce felt an enormous amount of joy that her son had ended up with the girl he loved…her heart ached for Steve. She’d grown to love him like her own over the years, especially these last several months as she lived under his roof. She had no idea just how broken up he’d been about Nancy. Joyce couldn’t help but feel…almost guilty.

But Hopper was shaking his head with a sort of proud grin, noting how as much as Murray had been the one to rock the boat — you had been its captain at the wheel. He pointed out how you had steered that wheel without even trying.

“Were they even friends in high school?” Hopper asked curiously. “Harrington and Bauman — I can’t see your niece even having time for him back then when he was a punk.”

Murray went on to proudly confirm that assessment, along with explaining how you’d simply participated in your Uncle Murray’s meddling because you happened to be there that night and it’s just a sort of family tradition that you both had formed over the years. And when Joyce asked him how someone like you had not been swept up already by some guy, Murray had scoffed. He looked bitter — in the way that a protective parent is on behalf of their own kid.

“My niece deserves the world. Not one stupid guy at that high school could give her a mere city, let alone a globe’s worth. Doesn’t mean she didn’t…try. I know she was into one guy for a good while at one point. Some friend she’d made with one of the athletes who shared A.P. classes with her. She helped him study. Something she never did, unless it was with the girls and guys from her class that had weekly study group nights. But this kid she liked…he was smart, and he liked her back. She more than liked him…and he let her. Then, as all the petty high school boys do, he ditched her and all her efforts and hours spent studying and helping him pass his classes with flying colors…for a bimbo. A blonde, hip shaking, Pom-pom waving babydoll who’s all body, no brains.”

Joyce frowned. “Bauman is beautiful. She’s body, beauty and brains.”

“Yeah well,” Hopper mumbled, shaking his head disdainfully. “In high school, if you’ve got a dick, we’re letting it do the talking for us.”

“Point is,” Murray continued. “It hurt her. Big time. But that’s the thing about my niece. Given our Bauman blood, we don’t easily succumb to our sentimental feelings. We just let it broaden our dark comedic chops and cynical worldview. My niece doesn’t have mommy or daddy to run home to and cry. She’s an only child, so no siblings to help care for and bond with. Yeah, she’s got friends. But mainly at school. She’s got herself…and she’s got me.” Murray smiled at that. “Between me and her grandmother, we’ve been the ones that raise her. But to be perfectly honest, my niece pretty much raised herself.”

Hopper’s heart clenched. For both you and your uncle.

“She’s great, Mur,” Hopper murmured. “You’ve been there for her and it shows.”

Murray was quiet at that. He hated compliments. But he didn’t flinch or get snippy. He actually looked humbled, silently appreciating this observation.

Joyce sighed. “Murray…you really have been an incredible uncle to her. I know that I’ve…given you a hard time about things, but…really. You’ve never missed with her.”

Murray was still quiet. He looked everywhere but at his two best friends for several beats. Finally, he gave a curt nod. But it was grateful, and full of love. Mainly for you.

“That’s my kid.”

Murray’s voice cracked a bit. It was the most unusual sound in the barren basement of the Harrington house, bouncing off the walls despite its soft decimal in volume. The tight lipped grin on his face as he finally made eye contact with Joyce and Hopper said it all. He loved the shit outta you, like any good parent loves their kid.

“I didn’t get the white picket fence life. Or a lifelong love story with some gal. I got dealt a crazy family of addicts and narcissists and loons. Had a brother who married a gal from rehab, got her pregnant while they relapsed and went forward with having a kid that didn’t stand a damn chance at surviving it.”

Murray pursed his lips before he continued. “That’s the first goddamn miracle I’ve ever witnessed. That little fetus somehow made it, all of 5 pounds at 9 ounces. Ready to get the fuck out of the womb and live. It made for an early arrival and the risk of being premature, on top of being a crack baby.”

Murray’s eyes shone with a certain kind of fondness. It held both sadness and joy. And his voice was the gentlest it had ever been as he spoke about you.

“She didn’t have one thing wrong with her. Not one thing. Perfect lungs. Perfect heart. Perfect brain activity. Not cursed from the drugs that coursed through her mother’s veins and doomed her life from the start. That kid’s been outsmarting everyone in her life since she was a seed.”

Joyce and Hopper couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Their eyes shone with Murray’s, having been parents themselves and unable to fathom being so reckless when bringing life into this world.

“I didn’t get my own kid,” Murray continued. He looked at Hopper. “I didn’t get a Sarah.” Then to Joyce, “Or a Jonathan, or Will. A kid who’s my own flesh and blood that I’d fight for to the bitter end.”

Murray stood there, resolute in what he was getting at. “But I got her. I got a niece who loves me. After she was born, I got my dad’s mom to take her in while I traveled and worked. She’s the only family member I’ve bothered keeping in touch with. She’s an odd one. But she had a home and money and willingness to take in a stray. She never thought she’d ever get a granddaughter. Don’t even think she really wanted one much till she was handed one to take in. Between the two of us, we raised her. She got thrown at whoever would take her and that was fine with me. Meant she still had a damn shot at a life. That’s what we gave her. The rest? She’s done herself.”

Murray sniffed. Then, smirking at himself —

“I’d like to think my being an unorthodox parental figure of sorts is why she’s built for the war.”

Hopper grinned at that, swallowing back tears of his own. He squeezed Murray’s shoulder. “Yeah, she is. Kid could survive the damn streets of New York on her own.”

Murray laughed at that, and so did Joyce — she finally shook her head and wiped away a couple motherly tears. She took a deep breath, looking up and shifting gears with the topic.

“You know,” she started. “Call me a hopeless romantic… But I’m pretty sure that Steve Harrington has hopelessly fallen for your niece.”

Hopper snorted. “God, I haven’t ever liked the idea of two youngins together the way I like them.”

Murray grinned big. “Yeah that’s a plot twist even I wasn’t expecting.”

The cynical gent’s expression suddenly went from warm to grave. “…don’t ever repeat that.”

The adults all shared a heart laugh at that, making their own comments on how the two mortal enemies turned out to be lovers. Hopper cringed at the word, along with Murray — and Joyce gave your uncle hell for that, given he’s the self-acclaimed mastermind at love.

“My witch doctor hours are limited when it comes to my niece’s love life,” he argued, but it was all with humor and fondness. “I already orchestrated the basics.”

“Which were…?”

“Calling her out.”

Joyce smiled. “What do you think of them?”

Murray’s expression softened. He contemplated that for several sincere moments.

“Surprises me to say it…but I think she’s got someone who loves her fully. Will love her fully. There’s actual years there, backing them up. Years of real life shit. Abnormal shit. Valid tension, deeply rooted hatred that turned out to be love. She saw Harrington for who he was, and sees him for who he is. I mean — Jesus, she was there for all of it. Steve Harrington’s redemption arc was witnessed by her just as much as those kids that he’s taken on as a babysitter. Well, and the Robin girl. But that’s…not the same thing as what he’s got with my niece. No threat there.”

Hopper’s eyes narrowed at that, curious. But Joyce gave Murray an all-knowing grin, knowing what he was getting at.

“I don’t think she’s on the same field,” she winked.

Murray winked back. “Exactly.”

Hopper blinked. “…alright, you guys lost me.”

Joyce waved him off, continuing. “So you like him with her. Maybe even…approve?”

Murray slowly nodded. “Didn’t think there’d be a guy who stood a chance at that. But given the whole…letting us all stay here and saving her life thing…yeah. I’d say I’m very good with those two being together.”

Joyce nudged him with her elbow. “Maybe you should tell him that. Y’know…given you’re at fault for ‘ruining his life,’ too.”

Murray rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, those two never stood a chance with your broody son standing in the way of that.”

“Yeah well…that broody son of mine isn’t making much sense right now,” Joyce shook her head. She sighed, worried. Hopper stroked her back. “I need to talk to him.”

“Lover’s quarrel,” Murray pointed out. “Best let that be up to him and Wheeler.”

“Yeahhh, well,” Hopper sighed. “Emotions are high right now. Maybe a little adult intervention would be good for them.”

Murray patted them both on the shoulders, back to his usual self. “WELP! You two have a large time with that. Meanwhile, I’ve got a date with a second drink calling my name.”

***

You watched Steve sleep on top of your chest, thinking about the words he’d spoken to you before dozing off.

“What about France? Or Switzerland, somewhere with a bunch of acres and nature and a lake nearby or something?”

You’d smiled at Steve’s question. “How would we get the Winnebago over there?”

He’d stared at you for a moment, eyes sparkling as your words landed. A deep grin formed on his face.

“You really liked my little dream on wheels, huh?”

You grinned back. “Yeah. It’s not little. It’s big.”

He shrugged sweetly. “I mean, it’s not a mansion. Or a house. It’s a home on wheels. Honestly, a really small home on wheels, but…I dunno, I just — wanna travel. With my family. Not leave them behind at some big house while I go off and explore god knows where without ‘em.”

You played with his fingers, listening to his every word. He wasn’t used to this. Having someone who was happy to just…listen to him ramble. Was he even one to ramble at all? Or is that something you just brought out in him?

“I just dream of this…this little life of sorts,” he continued, speaking to you and also to himself.

You smiled at his words. “I think I like this little life.”

Steve could sing at your response. Something about that one sentence after he’d just further divulged into what a bright future looked like in his mind made him feel on top of the world. The lovesick joy in his eyes, and in his heart, made you melt.

“I only want that little life with you,” he whispered to you, cupping your neck as he bent down to press his forehead to yours. You loved when he did that. Too much, way too much.

You nuzzled your nose to his. Steve loved when you did that. Too much, way too much.

“And the nuggets,” you whispered back with the cutest grin. Then, daring to say it — “Our nuggets…”

Steve’s heart soared at that. Ours…

The happy little laugh Steve breathed against you was the prettiest sound in the entire fucking universe. He caught your lips in a kiss, sweet and soft and firm.

“Your heart needs to get its shit together,” he breathed before kissing you again.

“I know, I know,” you breathed back with that playful attitude he had come to love, gliding your lips against his. “Such a pain in the ass. I know you wanna rail me, Harrington.”

He deepened the kissing, his fingers sliding up from your neck into your hair. “Yeah, god forbid I actually just want you to be okay. I only wanna fuck you senseless.”

You sighed into his mouth, clutching his hips with one of your hands and a fistful of his shirt with the other. “Yeah, you dirty, filthy asshole…”

He sucked on your tongue, cutting you off. “Be nice, princess.”

The two of you had eventually pulled back, knowing that you needed to wait on Dr. Owen’s to bring you whatever goddamn medicine was supposed to help even out your heart arrhythmia. Steve had moved in your arms to rest his head over your heart, cheek pressed to your chest with your heartbeat in his eardrum. You could feel him shaking. So, you made up a little tune as you felt fatigue taking over you.

“I think I like this little life…

This little life…

I think I like this little life…

This silly little life.”

You could tell it made Steve smile as he held you closer. He murmured something sweet to you about liking the improvised melody, to which you murmured something back about it becoming a hit one day. Steve let your soft spoken singing play in his mind, giving him the sweetest of dreams as your voice trailed off.

And now, you were awake — humming it again. Steve was still fast asleep on your chest, which brought you tremendous relief. You dared to think it might be the only medicine your heart really needed.

There was a soft knock at the door. You craned your neck towards the source of the sound, curious. Steve didn’t move a bit. He was out. It made you grin. You sighed lightly, planting a soft kiss on top of Steve’s perfect hair. Slowly, gently — you found a way of standing up without waking him. Little did you know, the sleep he found in your arms couldn’t be bothered easily. He slept harder with you than he ever had in his life.

You padded over quietly to the door, opening it slowly and only enough to show you. Your uneven heart was flooded with warmth as you stared back at 5 familiar faces.

Dustin, Mike, Lucas, Will and Eleven all stood there. They held random things. Board games, snacks, and pillows with blankets.

“We are inviting ourselves for a sleepover,” El said.

“A very unexciting one,” Lucas clarified.

“Yes, no excitement,” Dustin agreed.

“Just some good ole fashioned card games that don’t hit pique anxiety,” Mike added.

“Annnnd drawing,” Will threw in, lifting his bag. “Art is always therapeutic. Good for the soul. And the heart.”

You felt yourself getting teared up, looking at their faces with pure love and joy. You chuckled wetly, your chest clenching as you so sorely wished that the sixth nugget was awake to add her sarcasm and unwavering love to the mix.

“Plus it really sucks about the mandate coming soon,” Lucas added sadly.

“Yeah,” Mike nodded. “Before we know it, we’ll all be cramped downstairs in the basement or out there in the middle of nowhere.”

You gave them a sad smile.

“A not-exciting sleepover sounds like a grand plan,” you nodded with a wink. Then, cocking an eyebrow, “So I’m hosting then, huh?”

“Yeah, your room’s bigger than ours,” Dustin said.

“True,” you winked. “Orrrr, we could go over to Max’s room and have her join us?”

All of them nodded excitedly. You smiled, turning back to look at Steve sleeping peacefully in the bed.

“Gimme a few minutes to wake up mom and tell him that Max needs some attending to first, so that we can successfully host a sleepover in her room.”

They all quietly cheered, carefully moving to set down their array of stuff inside of your room. They caught sight of Steve sleeping, snickering to themselves like they were all 8 years old again. You shook your head at them with the biggest grin on your face, adoring how Lucas and Dustin were just so tickled with Steve being in your room. Will and El were giggling into their palms, with Mike shushing them but snorting himself. That made everyone fight back even worse laughter, and you ushered them out quickly before closing the door behind you. Man, you loved these kids so much.

You went into the bathroom, freshening up a bit and turning on the shower to let some hot steam hit your aching shoulder for a bit.

he sound of Steve murmuring your name made you hold off on that.

You walked out, beaming at him as he stared in your direction while sitting up. You were back in his arms in seconds, mumbling into his neck.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Jesus, how long was I out?”

“A good chunk of hours.”

Steve groaned, pulling you impossibly closer to him — still mindful of your bad shoulder. You giggled in his grasp. His ears perked up, craning his head up towards the bathroom door as he heard the stream of water running.

“How dare you think of showering without me?” he scoffs incredulously in your arms.

You continued giggling harder as Steve nuzzled his face into your neck, pretending to attack you as he smothered you with groggy affection.

“Just needed to relieve my handicap a bit,” you sighed contentedly.

With that, Steve rose to stand. He was scooping you up into his arms before you could blink, carrying you into the bathroom. He lifted your shirt off, then his. As you stripped your pants, be took the hair tie from your wrist and ran his fingers through your locks, tying it up with ease. With a kiss pressed to your neck, he took your hand and escorted you into the hot stream of water. You watched Steve wistfully as he shed his pants and joined you.

As Steve gingerly massaged the soap into your shoulder blade, you remembered you needed to tell him about the plans that had been made for you both that evening.

“Baby?”

He hummed in response, loving when you called him that.

“The kids have the evening cut out for us tonight,” you started.

Even with your back to him, you knew his eyebrows were raised. “Oh yeah? What, am I making some crazy dinner feast out of canned goods now?”

You sniffed a laugh, turning to kiss his jaw. “No, we’re on for a sleepover in Max’s room.”

“S’that so?” he mulled, a grin in his voice.

“‘Tis so. That, or in here. But I don’t know if we can move her. Plus, I really want her to hear us all talking as much as possible.”

He exhaled, a kiss pressed to your shoulder. “Alright well, I’ll need to go ahead and get her taken care of before we all take over the room.”

“Sounds good,” you sighed contentedly.

You both finished up, and as you got changed into fresh comfy clothes Steve was eyeing the pile of stuff that the kids had unloaded into your bedroom.

“Damn, they just decided to dump the haul here?” he asked.

You snorted. “Yeahhh, they like to make themselves at home here.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but the fondness behind them said it all. He loved it.

Noticing you struggle with your shirt, he quickly moved to help you pull it over your bad shoulder carefully.

“Need to get better at asking for help, angel,” he winked at you, pulling your arm carefully through the sleeve.

You blushed at that, playfully rolling your eyes. “Noted.”

Steve shook his head as he made sure that your shirt was straight, lost in thought for a moment. “Guess we all won’t be able to hang out up here soon,” he murmured. “Outside of the basement.”

Your heart sank, knowing he was referring to the impending doom that loomed around the corner with the whole mandate going into effect next week. “Yeah,” you mused. “Might as well make the most of tonight with them before we have to go back to doomsday mode.”

He nodded sadly, planting a kiss to your hair before grabbing your discarded clothes along with his to start a fresh load of laundry.

“I’m gonna go start a load,” he said. “Check with Hopper on when Dr. Owen’s is getting back here with your meds.”

You sighed. “Yeah, those…”

Steve looked at you solemnly. “Hey.”

You gnawed at your lip, looking up at him.

“You will be okay,” he told you. His tone was firm yet soft. Confident, despite the worried undertone laced around his voice.

You gave him a light smile and nod.

“I’m serious, Bauman,” Steve continued, his brown eyes boring into yours. “We’re getting you on these meds and if they don’t work, then we…do the next thing that does.”

You knew he was stressed. Too stressed. You hated seeing just how fearful he’d been when he lost you before, and how much the fear of losing you again was eating away at him. Of course, Steve being Steve, he now insisted it would be fine. He’d broken down in front of you when it all happened, unable to stop it. Normally, he’d never let that happen. But given the dark reality of things, and just how much everything else had caught up to him, he wasn’t able to be his usual positive, nonchalant self with you over the last 24 hours.

With a mischievous look in your eye, you patted your chest. You gave it a little knocking rhythm, beatboxing under your breath so that he’d laugh. After a moment of Steve glaring at you, the corner of his lips finally twitched up into a grin. He tried to hide it, but you’d already seen it before he could turn away.

“Don’t worry, Harrington,” you told him. “I’m not even close to being done bothering you.”

He turned to look back at you longingly, a smile ghosting behind the way he bit his lip. He nodded.

“Don’t think that ever really had an expiration date, did it?” he asks, teasing you in his husky voice that you loved whenever he was getting coy with you.

You smirked. “Never.”

He took a moment to soak you in with his eyes. “Good,” he said. “I’m keeping it that way.”

You knew what he meant. Don’t you dare fucking leave me again.

And you had every intention of keeping your word. I’m here as long as you’ll have me.

Steve intended to keep you forever.

“Now,” you said, moving towards him. “Let’s go have a big ole sleepover with these six nuggets so that we can stop the end of the world and have another six later on down the road, yeah?”

Steve glowed. He stuttered a bit, unable to breathe. “Y-you really want that? S-six of ‘em…?”

You shook your head, smiling up at him as you stood toe to toe. “Hell yeah, I want that.”

You kissed his jaw. Then, moving to scoop up a bag of the kids snacks — “That’s more buckets of Halloween candy for us down the line.”

Steve smiled and blushed unabashedly, shaking his head with the happiest eye roll you’d ever seen.

“So we’re gonna be that family, huh?” he asked, moving to grab a sour gummy from the bag you’d just opened.

“We will win every costume contest, Harrington,” you said seriously, that signature dry humor of yours coursing through your Bauman blood at full speed. “I’m very competitive. Don't worry, the kids will be too busy having a great time to know that their mom is secretly a little psycho.”

Steve tugged at the gummy worm between his teeth with the most mischievous, flirty glint in his eye. You could smell his perfect skin mixed with the scent of the raspberry candy. “Ahh, so you are mom. Thought I was mom.”

You leaned up on your toes, inching your lips towards his where he still dangled the gummy worm. “In this era? You’re mom. I’m dad. Next one, I’ll be Mommy.”

You bit at the end of the gummy worm, going full lady and the tramp with it like a loose spaghetti noodle. Steve’s lips and teeth stretched into a wide grin, eyes swimming in sex and lust as they looked down at you. You both bit and sucked the gummy worm till your teeth and tongues met. In the lowest, sexiest of husky tones, Steve told you…

“Well in this one? I’m daddy.”

His tongue lapped your mouth, tasting like sugar sweet candy. “Your daddy.”

Before you could completely dissolve into a hot mess of a puddle, familiar voices from the other side of the door sounded off.

“EEEEWWWWWWW!!!!!!”

“STEEEEEEVE!”

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god —”

The sound of all your kids gagging and losing their shit were making for an orchestra of triggered teens, and you both jumped at the noise. After gasping, Steve threw his head back and huffed incredulously.

“Seriously??” he snapped.

You buried your face in your hands, unable to keep yourself from laughing in pure humiliation — but also in adoration.

“You shitheads are listening in, seriously — Jesus.”

Steve huffed and puffed, but it was clear as day he loved it. You did, too. He moved to open it while you stood back, snickering into your palms with flaming hot flushed cheeks.

“Hello,” he said, voice flat.

“You’re disgusting,” Dustin scoffed.

“And you’re an eavesdropping ass hat.”

“Why do you smell like gummy worms?” Mike asked suspiciously.

“Because you left them in my room, Wheeler,” Steve said wryly.

“Yeah, for tonight!!! For all of us!” Lucas scolded.

“Well Sinclair? Maybe don’t leave your candy unattended in my room.”

“It’s Bauman’s room!” Mike said.

Steve opened his mouth, then shut it. “Right yeah, well. My house, but yeah.”

“Lord, I can’t unhear this,” Will grimaced, but even he was grinning.

“You weren’t supposed to hear it at all,” Steve pointed out defensively.

“If you’re gonna fuck around, you’re gonna find out.”

Eddie’s sing-songy voice was new to the mix as he walked past them all, carrying a bunch of things as he made his way downstairs. “Howdy folks, don’t mind me.”

Steve snapped his fingers, pointing at him as he looked back at his kids. “That. What he said.”

El looked at everyone curiously. “What does being daddy mean if Steve is that for Bauman —”

Everyone cut her off with sounds of disdain.

“Noooope! Nope, nope nope nope.”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“La la la la la la la la not talking about this la la la la.”

“Alright, enough,” Mama Steve silenced the kiddos. “Move along.”

“No, we’ve been waiting for 30 minutes,” Mike griped.

“It’s okay,” came your voice as you emerged from the room, standing next to Steve. “Why don’t you kids come on inside while Steve gets Max’s room ready?”

They all took you up on that offer, shuffling past you both and making their way inside. Steve shook his head as you grinned, pinching his side.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be grown up and outta the house before you know it.”

You winked at him before making your way into the room with them. Steve watched you fondly, hands on his hips in true Mom Steve Harrington fashion. He had that signature sexy-sassy look on his face that everyone had come to love over the years — you especially. Despite being annoyed, Steve felt his heart fill to the brim as he watched the kids scatter the bags of candy and show you the card game selections. You were hugging El closely while Dustin pointed out that he had plenty more candy hidden in his backpack. Will was telling you about his newest art collection ideas, and you excitedly listened to him while Mike and Lucas bickered about which games were better for everyone.

“Steve, you’re joining us, right?” Dustin asked.

Steve scrunched his face in confusion, doubling back with his shoulders. “Yeah, wasn’t that already happening?”

Dustin shrugged. “Just making sure you’re not gonna be lame.”

Steve shook his head. You looked over at him as you smiled.

“F’course he’s joining,” you winked. “It’s not a party without mom.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at you playfully, making your shoulders shake with a chuckle.

He felt more at home in his own house than he ever had in 19 years.

__________________________

Jonathan watched Steve make his way into Max’s room, knee bouncing.

He was seated in the living room, next to Joyce. She’d cornered him earlier, after watching Nancy move to sit on the porch alone and stare at nothing as she sat on the steps. Robin had moved to join her eventually, giving her company and offering to lend an ear.

That sprang Joyce into action, and she found Jonathan standing outside of Argyle’s room with Will. She’d found them both talking, happy to see her boys were in deep conversation and bonding. She could tell they’d been doing that for a little while now, and when they both looked up at her the three Byers all shared warm, solemn smiles. The boys looked a bit sheepish. Mostly the oldest.

Jonathan knew his mom wasn’t gonna let him off the hook. And if he was being honest, a good honest talk with his mother about something not having to do with the upside down was something he’d needed for a long time.

So they talked. Joyce listened while Jonathan spoke, and he listened while she responded. It was the perfect blend of expressed empathy, disappointment and motherly advice shared on her end. He admitted to the fight with Steve in the alleyway, back when Will was missing. And he admitted to making a move on Nancy while she was still in a relationship with Steve. She brought up Murray telling her about him getting drunk at the Henderson’s house, 2 years back…and he shamefully ducked his head as he wrung his hands. But Joyce just rubbed his back, reminding him she wasn’t here to berate him and only to talk through things the way they always have: as mother and son.

“You know, Jonathan…” Joyce spoke softly, her heart heavy. “I don’t think I ever really thanked you for everything that you did in helping me find Will.”

Jonathan did a double take, brow furrowed. “What’re you talking about, of course you did —”

“No,” Joyce shook her head. “No, we talked about it, sure. I verbally thanked you.”

“Many times, mom,” Jonathan assured her.

“Just listen,” she cut him off gently, clutching his hand. “I lost a son…but you’d lost a brother. We both lost him. Twice. God, twice… and each time was a brand new hell. We didn’t even have time to process the first round.”

Jonathan chuckled darkly. “Would we ever have processed that? I mean really…”

Joyce grinned at that. “Psh, yeah. Doubt it.” Looking back at him with a softened expression, she continued. “Point is…in the midst of all that stress, and searching, and worrying…you were still going through so much. Not just with Will missing…but everything else, too.”

Jonathan listened to his mother as she looked deeply into his eyes, clutching both his hands. She went on to tell her eldest son every validating thing a mother could tell her child. She recounted every single thing that Jonathan had been dealing with outside of Will going missing, and it hurt her to relive it all just as much as it hurt Jonathan to hear it all over again. When Joyce got to the part where she’d had to make them all move, Jonathan’s eyes watered up.

“You and Nancy were just beginning to dive into things deeply,” she was saying. “Really, you’d both gone through so much together and finally you both got to just…start being a couple, and then it all went wrong again, so that — that forced you both back into the upside down bullshit…”

“Mom,” Jonathan said, a bit shocked.

“I’m serious,” Joyce said back, eyes fierce and full of love. “Jonathan, you’ve had to be an adult since you were just a kid. Since you were Will’s age. And then you finally get into a relationship with a beautiful girl, and immediately you’re thrown into war. Not even able to enjoy your teens going into adulthood. Even Nancy, she…she’s been through so much with you. And now…”

Joyce’s voice trailed off. She sighed, exasperated with herself. She re-centered, turning back to her son.

“I love you,” she told him, eyes full of love. “So much, you just don’t know. You are just…a good person. And the fact you feel overcome with guilt as though you’re not —“

“I haven’t been a good person, mom,” Jonathan murmured, voice wobbly.

“Jonathan,” Joyce whispered, squeezing his hands. “Just because you’ve not acted right in certain ways…that does not make you a bad person. Do you understand that? Because if not — then whoever’s telling you that…whether it’s someone you love, or a stranger, or yourself…stop listening. Seek within. Listen to your heart, because it’s never going to steer you wrong. And no, that’s not just some dumb cliche saying, it’s true. Your mind will confuse you, and your soul will get shaken. But your heart? It will always lead you back.”

Jonathan’s lip trembled, and Joyce held him tight as he shook him her arms. He clung to his mother, overwhelmed.

“I’m afraid I’ll never say enough, mom,” he wept into her shoulder. “To Steve, or to Nancy… I’m actually more sure about what I need to say to him instead of her.”

Joyce chuckled early, squeezing him tighter. “Aw, baby… Don’t overthink. Say whatever is going to give your heart peace. You’ll regret anything you never said far more than anything that you did.”

***

“Trust me kid, I’m in the doghouse now for the hell I raised on the phone with him.”

Hopper stood in front of Steve, along with Murray. They’d just spoken with Dr. Owens on the phone, who’d told Murray that he wouldn’t be able to bring them the medication until tomorrow morning. Murray had managed to remain calmer than Hopper, to both their surprise. Now, they stood in the kitchen with Steve – filling him in.

Steve took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling just as deeply out his mouth like a puff of air he’d been holding while running a hand through his hair. Murray looked at him with a somber, empathic expression.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not just as furious about it,” Murray pointed out. “But given the whole…having a target on his back thing…I’m trying to have some sort of grace about it, mostly for her sake. And yours.”

That made Steve look over at him gratefully. He couldn’t imagine the stress your uncle was experiencing, knowing your heart — literally — was on the line.

“Says he’ll be here with it as early as he can be,” Murray added. “Just keep doing what you’re already doing. Which is the most.” His lips turned upwards at one of the corners. “The most, and then some.”

Steve allowed himself to give your uncle a sad smile back, appreciating being seen by him. He’s all that you had as far as family goes. With a nod, Steve let that news settle into his brain. He reached out to shake Murray’s hand, who shook it back firmly and dared to pat his shoulder. Physical affection was so not his thing. But he’d make an effort for the guy his niece was in love with, and who not only saved her life — but was still doing everything he could to keep it intact.

“Kids sleepover, huh?”

Hopper changed the subject, grinning at Harrington — who chuckled lightly.

“You guys know about this?”

Hopper shrugged. “We might’ve told them to allow themselves some fun for one night, before we all go into lockdown…” His expression turned grim, a thought pushing its way to the forefront of his brain. “And whatever plan needs to go into action.”

Steve knew what he meant. Getting back out there. He swallowed hard, giving him a quick nod. No one was ready for this. But were they ever really “ready” for any of this?

Murray and Hopper told Steve to not give any thought whatsoever to anything relating to doomsday until the next morning. They insisted that they just take the focus on laughing and soaking up the night with you and the kids. Steve was surprised at how certain they both were about it, but despite it being out of character for them in an endearing way…it scared him. It meant that they knew just how much everyone here was at risk. It made a sharp chill run up Steve’s spine.

Eventually, Steve had made his way up to Max’s room. He was sorting through it, making room for you all to camp out there. El had already turned her little cot bed into a floor couch of sorts, which made Steve grin.

He talked to Max out loud as he checked her vitals. Lucas already had, along with Joyce and Hopper. Still, he always wanted to make sure.

“Not sure if this is gonna be one of those nights where I’ve gotta make Dustin cut the attitude during games,” Steve was telling her with a smirk as he straightened her pillows. “Honestly, it’s probably an excuse for Mike and El to be able to cuddle at night. So I’ll likely be chaperoning the entire night. Good thing I got mad good sleep with Bauman today.”

Steve moved to close the curtains, watching the sun begin to set behind the trees in the distance. It looked dull, given all the debris and toxic air.

“You know what’s crazy?” he asked her. “Ever since I started sleeping with her — like actually sleeping, head outta the gutter Max — it’s…I haven’t had a single nightmare. I always have those.”

He moved to discard some of the kids’ loose candy wrapped and one of Dustin’s empty pudding containers, glancing over at her sleeping form.

“Seriously, it’s weird. It’s like she just…makes them all disappear.” Steve scoffed a laugh at that. “Who’d have thought… She’s been a nightmare to me, and now I can’t��can’t even stand to think back on the times I never saw her like I do now.”

Steve looked around the room, seeing it was good for the night. It would be a tight squeeze — but having shuffled Max’s bed over enough so that they all had room to play games and draw on the floor with snacks, it would do. He sighed, taking a second to sit on the edge of the bed near her feet.

“Maybe this is a good thing,” he murmured. “Tonight. Hearing all our voices at once. Arguing and bickering and laughing the way you all do together.”

Steve poked her knee. “Think that’ll kick start you again, red? Wake you back up so that you can give us all shit?”

Her silence isn’t as long as he expects it to be whenever he hears a knock. Steve looks over to the open doorway, finding Jonathan standing there. He looks…wary. Rough, and timid. Standing awkwardly with his hands buried deeply in his pockets, he shoots Steve a very quick, uncomfortable right-lipped grin.

“Hey.”

Steve blinks. “Hey.”

Jonathan rocks on his feet for a moment. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

Steve blinks again, but eventually nods. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, yeah.”

Jonathan moves to lean against the wall, next to the doorway. Steve would laugh at the fact that this is Byers’ way of “coming in,” if it weren’t for the fact that he was so clearly nervous about something. Steve had a few guesses as to why he was here. He knew this had been coming, and he wishes he’d been the one to initiate it. Because they really needed to talk.

They’d needed to talk for 3 years.

“Look, Byers,” Steve started after waiting for what felt like a century for Jonathan to say something. “I owe you an apology…”

“No,” Jonathan cut him off.

It made Steve look at him in surprise. But Jonathan continued before he could say anything else.

“No, it’s me who owes you an apology.”

Steve stared. “…what?”

Jonathan sighed, scratching his neck and praying the words could find him as he finally dove into what he needed to let off his chest.

“Look I’m not good at this,” Jonathan said. “Talking, I mean. You know I’m weird.”

He gnawed at his lip, pensive and twitchy. He looked down at his feet a lot, feeling tense under Harrington’s gaze. But he sucked in a deep breath, going for it.

“Back in 1982, you had every right to break my camera.”

Steve froze. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah. Yeah you did. I shouldn’t have been spying on you guys like that. ‘Cause even though I was looking for my brother, it…it turned into me just…following the sound of you all partying and watching from afar. So I mean, technically…” Jonathan chuckled under his breath darkly. “Technically, I was being a stalker.”

He looked up at Steve finally, finding him looking at him in pure shock.

“You were dating Nancy,” Jonathan continued. “And I took…really inappropriate pictures of her. In a moment when you both were having…or well, thought you were having a private moment together. That wasn’t alright. And if…if someone had done that to me and my girlfriend, I would’ve…probably done the same thing. And honestly, you getting mad at me in the alleyway that morning —”

“Dude, no,” Steve shook his head. “Don’t take the blame for that. That was all me. It was shitty, what I did to Nancy. And what I said to you.”

“Yeah it was, but you found me in your girlfriend’s room, Steve,” Jonathan told him. “I was in there with her, in her bed, sleeping next to her when she told you that she was with her family. It looked…fucked up.”

Steve was just staring again. How in the hell was this happening right now? And why had he himself never made it happen sooner?

“So you chewed me out,” Jonathan shrugged. “And no, you shouldn’t have publicly humiliated Nancy like that at all…”

“I kick myself for it every day,” Steve murmured. “Trust me…”

“I know,” Jonathan told him, voice softer. “I know that now. I’ve…known you have for a long time. Nancy told me. I know you apologized over and over.” He took a moment, going back. “But what you said to me was just…your way of saying fuck you. You felt used, tricked and stupid. After you’d protected Nancy from a guy who’d proven himself to be a creepy stalker, and it looked like she slept with him. So you lashed out. Like any teen guy would.”

“I called you a queer,” Steve says incredulously, cringing at the memory. “I even went as far as saying you were the reason for Will going missing, along with your mom. It was low, Jonathan. What I said and did was just — flat out low. No excuses. None. I’m the one in the wrong.”

“Steve, we both were.”

Jonathan’s voice finally finds confidence. It makes Steve look at him in another light, as if he’s truly seeing Byers for the strong-willed young man that he is. It occurs to him now that maybe Jonathan has been going through some soul searching of his own, just as he had over the last few years. Clearly, he still was. Both of them were.

“We were barely 17 years old, and stupid,” Jonathan kept going. “We — we didn’t know how the hell to deal with anything. Much less a missing kid, or a guy related to that kid who’d taken creepy photos. We both were idiots.”

Steve let that land. And it actually made him laugh, sheepishly.

“Yeah,” he nodded slowly, scratching his neck. “Yeah, I guess we were.”

Jonathan laughed too. It was still tense, a bit awkward. But it was becoming lighter. For both of them.

“Shit, Byers,” Steve shook his head. “Have we both been feeling awful about this for years and just… not saying something about it until now?”

Jonathan sighed. “Sounds like it.”

They were both quiet for a moment, letting this newfound revelation settle into existence.

“Thanks for the new camera, by the way,” Jonathan added. “I know that was you.”

Steve looked back up at him, finding kindness and sincere gratitude in Jonathan’s eyes. It made him feel shy. Worse, yet better at the same time.

“Least I could do,” Steve shrugged.

Jonathan sniffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… You didn’t take the credit for it. You let Nancy do that.”

Jonathan pursed his lips, brow pinching as he shifted against the wall and stared down at his feet again. Steve waited as he watched him curiously.

“You extended way more kindness to me than I did you,” Jonathan said softly. So softly, it made Steve wonder if it was actually what he said.

“I shouldn’t have pined after Nancy,” Jonathan said. “I should’ve asked her out. Like actually asked her out, while she was single again. Before you two got back together.”

Steve felt his stomach jump. This was…a lot. So much was being covered right now in this conversation.

“But instead, I just sulked and pretended I still wasn’t in her thoughts at all. Even though I knew that…that she liked me. But I also knew that she liked you. So I just… I convinced myself it wasn’t ever gonna happen. Because that was safer. And hating you made it easier to do that.”

Jonathan looked ashamed of everything that he was saying now, but certain about it. Steve just listened, not daring to interrupt him.

“I might not have cheated with Nancy the first time you both dated…but I did the second time. And that’s not… that’s not right.” Jonathan sighed, taking a breath. “But I was a coward. Maybe not when it came to the upside down and finding Will, but up here? In regular real life? I am. I’m a coward. I don’t say whatever it is that I’m actually feeling or thinking, or wanna say. I just…wait for circumstances to make it happen for me. You don’t do that. You just…go for it.”

Steve scoffed. “Trust me, I’m…I’ve been a coward for years. In many ways, many times, for many reasons.”

“Yeah, well…you still didn’t steal someone else’s girlfriend instead of actually making a move. And I’m really…really sorry about that, Steve. I’m sorry I swooped in like that, and then…drunkenly bragged about it to Bauman Squared while you were in earshot. It made you take it out on her, when she didn’t deserve that. I did. All she did was call me out on it with Murray. They both had no idea it would turn into this.”

That made Steve squirm. He thought about how he’d been pining after Nancy still, even when she was with Jonathan. He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to let that off his chest too.

“Look,” Steve started warily. “Honestly, I really appreciate everything you’re saying. And really — apology accepted. Completely.”

Jonathan could tell that Steve meant it, and he visibly relaxed some once he let that settle into his bones. He released a breath of air that he hadn’t even realized he had been holding.

Meanwhile, Steve was holding his own.

“And you’re right,” Steve continued. “What I did to Bauman? Taking it out on her like that was…well it was projection. Cowardly projection. Instead of taking it out on you and Nancy, I took it out on someone else. Because that was easier. Because it meant that I still got to be the unsung hero in Nancy’s life, and a bigger person than you.”

Jonathan stared at him now, surprised to hear this. He wasn’t expecting his confessed guilt to lead to Steve admitting guilt of his own.

“I’ll probably be telling Bauman I’m sorry for as long as I live,” Steve continued, voice solemn. Honestly I feel…shitty beyond belief, knowing that I could’ve been kinder to her all this time…maybe even spared myself way more heartbreak...if I’d just gotten mad at you guys instead of her. Because then, I might’ve gotten close with her and discovered feelings for her before this all went down.”

“Maybe,” Jonathan pondered, nodding. “Then again… I don’t think you’d have fallen for her nearly as hard if it hadn’t been for you giving her shit for it.”

They both awkwardly chuckle at that. But it makes them both sad to think about it. How you’d taken the brunt of it all.

“Fuck, she didn’t deserve that,” Jonathan huffs. “And I’m — I’m the one who caused it.”

“No,” Steve shook his head, eyes sad and dark as they swam in regret. “No, that was all me. I was an asshole. And truthfully, I was still so hung up on Nance that I didn’t know how to even remotely look at another girl. Let alone one I convinced myself was responsible for taking that away from me, knowing damn well that it wasn’t. Nance wanted you, and you wanted her. Plain and simple.”

Jonathan looked ashamed all over again, but Steve held up a hand.

“Trust me,” Steve assured him. “She wasn’t mine to keep. I get that now.”

Jonathan slowly smiled at that. “You love her, don’t you?”

Steve knew who he meant. You.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Yeah, I…don’t even know what to do with it.”

Steve stared into thin air, lost in thought. Jonathan didn’t push him, just watching him and waiting for him to go on.

“I just…look back on it all and wonder how. How did I not see her in high school, or…see during the summer of ‘84 that she was clearly perfect?”

“It takes time,” Jonathan said softly. “Shit doesn’t always hit you right away. I know that better than you’d think.”

Steve pursed his lips. “Yeah. Yeah no, you’re not wrong. I just… I dunno. I guess I’m just…”

He took a deep breath, knowing he needed to get this over with.

“I was still hung up on Nance while you were in California,” he continued, making eye contact with Jonathan again. “So much so that…I told her I was. And I’d…hoped to get her back. I wanted to steal her back from you.”

Jonathan sighed, giving him a small smile.

“I know,” he said. “She told me.”

Steve stared. Oh.

“Believe it or not,” Jonathan continued. “I’m not…mad about that at all.”

Steve blinked. “…why…?”

Jonathan chuckled. “Steve, I actually stole your girlfriend. I had it coming.”

After several more blinks, Steve coughed out a laugh. Was he serious? As Jonathan laughed with him, he realized that he truly meant it. He wasn’t mad.

“Sorry man, but I won that round,” Jonathan chuckled.

“Fair,” Steve chuckled back. “Good game, man.”

Jonathan nodded awkwardly, shuffling his feet. “Yeahhh, good game…”

They took a few moments of silence, letting the tension wear off some more. It was…nice. This weird sort of talk was nice.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Steve continued. “I’m sorry, too. For going after Nance again, and not just… facing you both sooner.”

“S'alright,” Jonathan told him. “I’ve honestly been a really shitty boyfriend these last several months.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Long story,” Jonathan waved a hand. “That’s my own wrong that I gotta make right with Nancy.”

Steve contemplated that. Had whatever was going south between Jonathan and Nancy, unbeknownst to him, been the reason she’d seemed to be interested in him again? Or was that just the tipping point for her, and her buried lingering feelings for Steve?

Regardless, it didn’t matter now. Steve was so in love with you, he couldn’t see straight. But it did make him wonder.

“And honestly, I don’t blame you,” Jonathan said, smiling. “Nancy, she’s…perfect.”

Steve smiled at him. “She’s pretty wonderful,” Steve agreed. “I’ll always adore her. But…”

“…but you found your person,” Jonathan finished for him. “Your ‘perfect’ person.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah. She makes everything make sense for me, and I just…god, I love her.”

Jonathan nodded, still smiling. “I know how you feel.”

Steve fiddled his thumbs in his lap, staring down at them and feeling his stomach knot up. There was another thing he needed to own up to…

“Jonathan, what I said to you…” Steve murmured, eyes still downcast. “Yesterday, back at the fence…when Bauman…” Steve winced, skipping that part. “...it wasn’t at all —”

“I deserved it.”

“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that, will you let me feel bad for at least one thing I’m saying?”

“No, and especially not this one.”

Steve sighed, perplexed. “…and why is that?”

“Because I deserved it.”

Jonathan watched as Steve just gaped at him, biting back amusement. He let the sincerity of the serious topic ground him again.

“You all searched and fought relentlessly for me and my mom when this all started,” Jonathan went on to say.

“...I so did not do anything from the start.”

“Maybe you don’t think you did? But you did.”

“…I so did not.”

“You got there. And besides…like we both said earlier…lots of misdirected projection. And lots of long overdue confrontation. On both our parts.”

Steve couldn’t argue that. Byers was right, at least in this case.

“You were still mad at me,” Jonathan continued, “and I was just mad at myself but convinced that everything and everyone else — you included — were the problem. Not me.”

Jonathan gnawed at his lip for several moments, clearing his throat. “You basically unleashed years of deeply buried resentment onto me in one foul swoop. I gotta say, your words…shit hit me hard.”

Steve frowned, ducking his head a bit. “I honestly don’t even remember some of it. I just…saw red.”

Jonathan snorted. “Blind rage will do that. Shit, I don’t even remember swinging on you back in ‘82. Apparently, I did a pretty nasty job.”

“I was positive you’d done permanent damage to my nose.”

“Yeah, and then you took an even worse beating from that Hargrove kid and the Russians,” Jonathan said, nose scrunched with a laugh. Steve laughed, too. They had to laugh about it all at this point.

“Christ, man,” Steve groaned. “It’s a wonder my face isn’t the prime subject for plastic surgery…”

Jonathan shrugged. “And you wonder why we all hate you so much. You’ve gotten your ass beat so many times, and still look good.”

Steve smirked. “Thanks.”

Jonathan winked. “I’m sure Bauman Squared digs it. All the battle wounds.”

That actually made Steve blush. “Psh. Compared to the fall she took? My experiences look like a walk in the park.”

“So Dr. Owens is bringing her meds tomorrow, yeah?” Jonathan asked, brow pinched with worry.

Steve sighed, raking a hand through his hair before crouching over his knees, elbows pressing into them. “Yeah. Yeah, that can’t come soon enough.”

Jonathan looked at Steve with a somber expression. He hated that he was going through this. Seriously, when was Harrington going to catch a damn break?

“She’ll be alright, man,” Jonathan told him kindly. “She’s got you. Got all of us.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, she’s gonna have to be. I’ll lose my goddamn mind if she — yeah, she has to be.”

“She will,” Jonathan nodded, speaking firmly. Assuringly. “She’s not going anywhere.”

Steve bit his lip, staring at his hands.

Jonathan shuffled his feet, feeling shy again before asking… “So hey…are we cool? Like actually really, finally cool?”

Steve looked up at that, eyes shining with relief and kindness. He stood up, extending a hand out for a firm handshake. “Yeah man. We’re cool. For good.”

Jonathan felt relief wash over him entirely as he shook Steve’s hand, pulling him in for a tight hug. And Steve felt like he had just made so much peace with his old self in a multitude of ways, over one honest conversation with Byers. While he wished it had happened sooner, he realized…maybe if it had, it wouldn’t have led to this. This true sense of peace that came with newfound mature understanding that both of them had grown into individually.

Byers and Harrington could be friends now. They both had peace to find with Nancy Wheeler, but if they were being brutally honest with themselves — that wasn’t going to be possible until the two of them had hashed it out, once and for all. And now that they had, Steve could let Nancy know that he had finally moved on…once and for all...and so could she.

And Jonathan could go make things right with her — whether that led to them deciding to take time apart, or getting his girl back.

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