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vienssunshine · 9 months

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Come Over for a Swim, Darling

pairing: Nanami Kento x fem reader nsfw word count: 4.9k author's note: This was the winner from the poll! It was supposed to be bite-sized but the story got away from me. Parts are inspired by our queen lana del rey. description: You take your neighbor up on the offer of his pool on a hot summer day.

He’s such a gentleman, isn’t he?

It’s been an unforgivably hot July this year, so it was perfect when the man next door offered his pool for whenever you needed to escape the relentless heat.

“Anytime you need, even if I’m not home, you’re welcome to come over for a swim,” your neighbor Nanami had told you at the annual block party.

So as you’re packing a pool bag, fighting through the hot, humid air your busted AC does little to improve, the only emotion you feel is immense gratitude.

You cross the street to his house, noting that his car is still parked in the driveway. Maybe you should knock on the door? Let him know you’re here?

No, that would probably bother him. He could be busy with things around the house and, since he’s doing you such a huge favor, you want to be as little of a nuisance as possible.

You have his number—he gave it to you at the block party in case there’s ‘anything you might need’—so you pull out your phone and type out a text to him:

“Hey! Thanks again for letting me use your pool, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there this afternoon.”

After sending the message, you let yourself into his backyard through the gate in the white fencing.

Your neighbor never talked much about his work, but it’s clear that it pays well. The backyard is spacious and well taken care of with mowed, bright green grass covering the area, only broken up by the cement surrounding the large tropical blue pool just behind his house. Lawn chairs line the near side of the pool and there’s a garden with a large tree that droops over the water on the far side.

You place your bag down on one of the lawn chairs and stretch out, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin, though you’re quick to favor the coolness of the pool when you crouch down and swipe your fingers through the water.

Your phone buzzes. It’s a text from your neighbor:

“Of course. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

You smile, he’s so kind to you. A girl could get the wrong idea. It doesn’t help that he’s tall, built, and handsome. Somehow, he’s unclaimed; you’ve only ever seen one car in his driveway.

After pulling off your cover-up to reveal your white bikini, you wade into the pool. The cool water welcomes you, and you lower yourself down to sit on the steps, submerging your poor, overheated body up to your shoulders. It’s refreshing to a cellular level and exactly what you need after a long, scorching summer. You lean back, arms behind you on the stairs and sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose.

Your gaze floats around your surroundings, noting that you wouldn’t mind living like this, able to enjoy the luxurious backyard whenever you please, until you catch a small movement in the corner of your eye. You follow it to see your neighbor peering down at you through his upstairs window.

He must be checking up on you, how sweet of him. You push your sunglasses down, eyes locked on his, and bring your hand up to give him a little wave.

Nanami returns the gesture and softly smiles. You expect him to close the curtain and return to whatever he was doing, but he doesn’t, seemingly having a hard time pulling his eyes from the sight of you enjoying his pool.

How interesting.

You sit up, water dripping off your chest and leaving behind little droplets that make your skin glitter in the sunshine. His eyes flick down to your bikini top, only for one, shameful second, but you still notice. It sends a rush through your veins; you like his attention, and he doesn’t appear interested in taking it away. This could be fun.

His stern eyes follow your hand as you run it up from your stomach, to your collarbone, and finally to one of the white, thin straps of your top. You enjoy how Nanami, whom you’ve deemed a stoic man, appears impacted by your roaming touch, eyes slightly widening as your delicate fingers push the strap off your shoulder.

You move further into the pool, turning around in the water so your back faces the window, and watch Nanami’s face, determined to soak up any micro-expression the man was willing to concede as you drop the other strap from your shoulder.

His big hand comes up to the collar of his button-up, pulling the patterned tie around his neck loose. The man’s waning restraint makes you giggle, simply delighted by how your teases are affecting him.

You submerge further into the pool so the water is level with your collarbone, and the man’s gaze is unwavering as your hands come around your back to unclasp your bikini top. You turn and toss it onto the cement surrounding the pool, but when you look back to the window to see the spectator’s reaction, you find it empty.

The back door slides open. Nanami’s tall body consumes the doorway as he stands in the threshold, tempted but still hesitant, like he’s wavering between worlds and just a step away from fully giving in to you.

He greets you calmly as if the situation he’s in—having his topless neighbor in his pool—isn’t notable or unwelcome in any way. “Hello.”

You smile at him, coquettish and daring, “Hi.”

“How are you enjoying the pool?” He leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest with a smirk on his face you can only find if you look for.

“I like it a lot,” you respond, moving to the pool’s edge and leaning on it, the water the only thing keeping you modest. “I’d like it a lot more if you joined me.”

“I think I’d feel the same.”

“Okay, go put on your suit,” you giggle. He’s still wearing his work clothes, long pants and a button-up—attire that’s unacceptable for such a hot day.

“That will take too long,” he says, “I’m fine in this.”

He walks to the pool's edge and stops, looking down at you. Though you don't know it, with his line of work, it’s always best to approach unfamiliar situations with a level of caution, and something like this has never happened to him.

Only when you call to him, voice silken and sweet like a siren’s, his sorcerer mindset of constant suspicion is forgotten. “Come into the water, Kento,” you say, and it ensures there’s no way Nanami can refuse your request. Compelled, he removes his leather shoes and joins you in the pool, sitting down on the submerged steps and paying no mind to how the water soaks his expensive work clothes.

You glide over to him and settle down on a step below his so you can keep the veil of water over your chest. He brings a big hand to your cheek, drinking in every feature of your face as his thumb strokes your warm skin.

“So nice to me,” you hum, leaning into his rough palm, “letting me use your pool.” You rest your arm on his clothed thigh and smirk. “Did you expect this to happen?”

“I didn’t,” he confesses, “But I’m glad you took up my offer.”

“Me too,” you say, dipping your chin down and looking up at him with your pretty eyes, “Can I show you how grateful I am?”

He's breathless when he responds, "You may, dear."

Then you're climbing up his built body, water falling off of you, so you can lean forward and press your lips to his. When he processes what’s happening—that the neighbor he hasn’t been able to shake from his mind is kissing him—he melts into it, a big arm wrapping around your waist and the other coming up your bare back, his hand cradling your head and pushing you into him.

You smile against his mouth, elated by the win of seducing your hot next-door neighbor, and he notices, of course, but just feeling your soft body against him is enough to decide to be as sweet as you are being to him.

The hand on the back of your head gently tugs at your hair, pulling a gentle sigh from your lips which he uses as an opening to deepen the kiss. Though he’s pushing you into him, with his tongue rolling over yours, you can tell he’s tempering himself. There’s flashes of impatience and desperation, with the way he nips your lips or roughly squeezes the softness of your sides, but they’re actions he quickly suppresses. It makes you wonder if he’s holding back for a reason, if he wouldn’t be able to stop if he were to fully indulge in you.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers into your mouth in a momentary pause, and the low notes of his gruff voice send the thoughts out of your head and heat rushing to your cheeks.

Then he pulls you from his side into his lap, your wet body—and bare chest—now pressed against his as you straddle his soaked pants. His shoulders are underneath your palms, and you tighten your fingers around them, squeezing the thick, sturdy muscle the wet fabric sticks to; he feels stronger than he looks.

“I appreciate”—he kisses your jaw—“how you express”—then your ear—“your gratitude.” His last kiss is placed on your neck, and you gasp—you’re so sensitive there—and cant your hips into nothing.

“So needy,” he remarks with a low chuckle, hands traveling down to your sides, conducting electricity through your nerves as they move, “At first, I thought you just needed my pool, but now I think you need more.”

“Need you,” you tell him, almost whining, pulling at the tie loose around his neck, “Now.”

“You need to be taken care of,” he agrees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your hips. He places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Let me make you dinner, sweet thing. Why don’t you come inside?”

His suggestion, one you’d normally appreciate, seems unreasonable with the painful ache pulsing through you. You lean forward, pressing a wet kiss on his neck that pulls a groan from him. “Kento, that sounds nice, but I want you, not dinner.”

His hands land on your shoulders, rendering you still. “I know, darling, but I can’t take care of you how I want in the pool. Please, let me dry you off and feed you first.”

You huff, which he finds amusing, but give in to his request, allowing him to help you out of the pool, wrap a warm, fuzzy towel around you, and lead you inside.

Your body is frustrated with you, wanting release so badly, but he’s right, a pool isn’t the most pleasant setting for sex, and you should eat something as you haven’t eaten since this morning, too distracted with trying to fix your AC.

Nanami steps away for a moment and it gives you some time to check out his living room. The interior of his house is as impressive as the exterior: spacious, clean, and decorated in a way that invites you in. Interestingly, there aren’t any picture frames around the house, rather, the shelves are filled with books, all academic-looking and on niche topics regarding the supernatural.

Nanami returns dressed in dry slacks and a short-sleeve button-up. He has a change of clothes for you, a big t-shirt and sweatpants, presumably his own.

It’s still hot–and you feel like testing him–so you tell Nanami that: “Just the shirt is fine.” You put it on, though it’s more of a dress with the way it covers the first few inches of your thighs, and then pull your bathing suit bottom down and step out of it, leaving nothing underneath the shirt-dress. Nanami stares at you, eyes wide.

“Can’t stay in my wet bikini,” you say, unsticking the long shirt from your wet thighs.

“Right,” he says, regaining his composure and taking the bottoms from you, “I’ll hang it up with your top.”

For dinner, he makes you a pasta dish, and it’s delicious, but what you enjoy more is teasing him as he cooks, never letting him forget what you really want from him. You make multiple attempts at convincing him to forgo the dinner plans and head to his room, just so distracted by how his hands move and forearms flex as he prepares the food, but make little headway.

After the meal and patiently dealing with your quips that were only exacerbated by your glass of red wine, he leads you up a tall staircase to his bedroom. The lighting from the lamps on either side of his bed is soft and warm, and a glance at the dark window tells you that the night has been much longer than you realized.

He shuts the door behind you.

“Finally,” you sigh, leaning up to kiss him, but his rough hand on your shoulder stops you, bringing a confused frown to your face.

He takes his hand from your shoulder and uses it to tilt your chin up, his eyes darker than before. “You’ve been teasing me all night and expect me to reward that behavior?”

“You’re saying that like you didn’t enjoy it,” you respond, because if this is the game he wants to play, you’ll play it.

“However I felt does not change the fact that you were trying to work me up.”

You smirk up at him, guilty as charged.

Nanami puts his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the foot of the bed. Then he waits, staring at you expectantly, so you sit down on the edge of the mattress, making sure the hem of his big t-shirt just barely covers the glistening mess between your legs. His eyes flick down to the tease and his jaw clenches.

“So you’re going to punish me then?” you wonder, thrilled by how riled up you’ve gotten your poor neighbor.

“I’ll see if it’s possible for a brat like you to behave first,” he says, parting your thighs. The breath he lets out at the sight of you is shaky. “Look at that,” he says, thumbing your wet folds.

You’ve been left wanting for his touch for too long, so your head falls back at the sensation of his hands against your plump lips, “I like feeling you there,” you admit, your voice breathy.

He hums, pleased, and continues to stroke you, fingers dipping in and out of your wetness, before he removes them and sinks down to his knees so his face is level with your cunt.

You allow your legs to fall open further, and he places his rough palms on the insides of your thighs to ensure they’ll stay that way. His hot breath fans against your folds, making you quiver with anticipation. When he leans forward and starts to eat you out, the only coherent thought you can think is: he knows what he’s doing.

It’s embarrassing, how you were talking so much talk, trying to woo your handsome neighbor with your honeyed words, and now the only thing coming out of your mouth is a series of whines and gasps as he glides his tongue along your folds. You bring your hand down, knotting it into Nanami’s golden hair, but he’s quick to remove it.

He tsks, “None of that. You’re going to be quiet and sit still like a good girl.”

Be quiet and sit still? When he’s making you feel so good? Does he know he’s asking the impossible?

You begin to whine before he interrupts you, “Do you want me to keep going?”

Wanting him so badly for the entire night and getting only a taste of the pleasure he can give you, it’s making the space between your legs hurt. Truthfully, you’ve been aching for him this whole time, and you just want to feel better.

He’s watching you, sharp eyes evaluating what you’ll say next, even though he knows the truthful answer to his question.

Defeated, you nod. He smiles. “Good girl. Now, stay still for me.”

He returns to his spot nestled between your thighs and pushes his tongue through your folds once more. The action would have earned a delighted sigh from you if you weren’t trying so hard to keep it in. Your teases must have really gotten to him if his retaliation is this cruel.

It becomes harder to pretend you’re unaffected by his touch when his tongue begins to close in on your clit, all swollen and sensitive. He’s been circling around the area, never making direct contact until now, when he gently flicks his tongue against it. Your body seizes and your mouth opens wide in a silent gasp.

He waits a moment, seeing if you’ll crack, but you don’t.

“So good,” he purrs, and warmth flows into your lower stomach.

His hands squeeze the flesh of your thighs as he encourages the tornado of heat twisting in your stomach with the gentle licks of his tongue on your clit. You should be given an award for how well you’re holding up, fighting to keep still and letting the man pleasure you how he wants all without allowing the noises your body needs to make escape your lips, which are now swollen from biting into them.

“Alright, I think you’ve proven you can be good when asked to be,” he says, kissing your clit, “So you don’t have to restrain yourself anymore.”

You should have learned your lesson by now, it wasn’t easy to stay quiet when all you wanted to do was moan Nanami’s name, but, even so, you're eager to push your neighbor’s buttons a little more. So you lie, saying that it “wasn’t even that hard to sit still.”

He pauses, which strikes both fear and excitement into your thundering heart, as he assesses your statement, disapproval etched into his sharp features.

“I didn’t want it to be too much for you the first time,” he says, “But if you want to continue to act like a brat, I’ll just have to deal with you like one.”

Then, with ruthless candor, he locks your legs in place by circling his big arms underneath them and clasping his hands together just above your lower stomach. His strong forearms are pressing down on your hips, rendering you pinned to the mattress beneath you.

“Kento, uh-wait–ah”

His mouth is on your heated core again, nuzzling the flesh before taking his clit into your mouth and sucking, hard. You buck your hips up, instinctively trying to escape the intense sensation, but his iron grip makes your effort all for naught.

Then his tongue rolls over your clit in his mouth, whiting out your vision. Your lips gasp his name, and then repeat it in a far more strained and strangled manner. He’s being so rough, tugging at you like a loose string in a sweater and unraveling you faster than you can take.

“I thought it wasn’t hard to keep quiet?” Nanami mocks, “I think I’ve heard my name two times just now.” It’s less than a second after he speaks for his mouth to resume the merciless stimulation to your clit.

“No, not–ah–not hard at all,” you say, pretending like you don’t have to rack your brain to be able to respond to him.

“Is that so? Tell me more.”

He’s asking too much and he knows it; you can’t focus with him touching you like this, each lap of his tongue washing away the start of every coherent thought. You moan as a response, hoping he will let you get away with it.

He doesn’t. “Darling,” he states. He wants the truth.

It all comes out like a waterfall, with your resolve eroded away by the waves of pleasure hitting your body. “Okay–okay–it–was–hard–to–be–quiet–and–I–I–just–need–you–to–keep–going–please–Kento–I–need–it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your clit as a reward. “That’s a good girl.” Then, he continues to tend to the growing want splitting apart your body with calculated licks and sucks along your ridges.

Much to Nanami’s satisfaction, you allow the whimpers and whines your body wants to make flow out of you, finally finished with being so difficult. He likes how needy and pliant you've become, especially since he’s been waiting to have you like this for a while. Dirty thoughts have been plaguing his mind since the block party when you were wearing a sundress that hugged every delectable curve and dip of your body. He remembers the exact color and pattern of the dress, because he's the type to be observant, which also means he's the type to know when he's getting you close.

“Fuck, Kento,” you gasp.

The way you're squeezing your legs together and quickening your breath tells him to keep his movements consistent, and in doing so, his tongue takes you to your climax in an embarrassingly quick amount of time. A final lap of his tongue unleashes a white-hot river of pleasure that twists around your core, making you gasp Nanami’s name as if he could do anything about it. Your body locks up: hands squeezing his forearms with your fingernails digging into his skin and your head falling back onto the mattress as you endure the sensation.

He crawls up next to you on the bed, talking you through it as you writhe. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he croons, watching your eyes flutter and listening to the sweet sounds of your pleasure-drunk babbling. “You’re doing so good.”

When your endless moans settle back down to panting, he cradles your cheek, asking you, “Are you alright, sweet thing? Was it too much?” His other hand is stroking your thigh in soothing patterns, delivering gentle pushes of pleasure as the disorienting buzz vibrating through your body fades away.

Catching your breath, you lean into his rough palm, “M’okay.” He smiles softly as he swipes his thumb along your cheekbone in gentle caresses, a stark contrast to the hard erection pressed to your thigh. It’s funny, how he’s pretending it isn’t even there, but you feel it, warm and throbbing against your leg.

He’s gotten his way, so it’s only fair that you get a turn, too.

Your eyes flick up to his face and your fingers play with the collar of his shirt when you say, “Now I wanna take care of you.” Your hand, still a little shaky from the impact of your orgasm, travels down his warm chest to the bulge in his pants. When you begin to stroke him over the fabric, he hisses and you smile up at him. “Seems like you need some attention, Kento.”

God, you’re such a tease, even after making you cum so hard you couldn’t see. If anything, it spurred you on.

He tries to say something, but you squeeze his erection and he’s unable to get his thoughts straight. Taking advantage of his weakness, you push his shoulder back, laying him down on the space on the mattress beside you. Then, you settle on top of him, sitting on his big legs with your hands near the notable outline pressing through his pants.

“It’s been such a long night,” you coo, unbuttoning his shirt so you can run your palms up and down the planes of his abs, careful to not get too close to his waistband. He watches your fingers as they skim his hot skin, a gentle and unconscious thrust of his hips pressing the clothed aching into nothing.

“Let me help you,” you offer, eyes lidded. He can’t take much more of this anymore, not after being teased all night and then seeing the face you made when you came on his tongue.

“Alright,” he concedes, breath uneven as your fingers approach his waistband, a pleased smile spread across your face.

You unzip his pants and pull down his briefs, freeing his throbbing erection and quickly taking it in your hands, running your fingers up and down his length in a loose fist. It twitches underneath your palm.

“Poor Kento,” you say as you stroke him, “So pent-up and needing to be taken care of.”

“You did this to me,” he responds through his teeth.

“Then I’ll make it up to you.” You lean forward, your lack of underwear allowing you to align your dripping hole and his cock with ease. And when you sink down on him, taking him deep inside of your warmth and bearing the delightfully painful stretch the movement comes with, Nanami sees heaven itself.

His hands clamp down on your hips as you begin to ride him, stabilizing yourself with his shoulders. The tight hug of your walls squeezes around him as you bounce up and down and make such sweet noises that compound the pleasure tearing through him.

“Fuck, darling,” Nanami says, eyebrows pressed together, “You feel so good.”

You smirk, leaning further forward, and capturing him in a messy kiss. The new angle has your clit brushing against the base of his dick as you grind, reinvigorating flames that lick the insides of your stomach. You’re moaning again, now into Nanami’s open mouth as he bucks his hips into you, chasing the release your warm walls are teasing him with. He’s been so disciplined this whole time, waiting to make sure he’s taken care of you before he got to fuck you, and now that he has, he isn’t holding back.

His thrusts are messy, quite unlike the thoughtful flicks of his tongue when he pleasured you. He can’t think straight when you feel this good.

“Seems that you like this,” you laugh, voice breathy and coated with arousal.

“Of course I do, dear,” he says, fingers squeezing at the flesh of your hips, “You’re—fuck—worth the wait.”

Your grin is victorious as you watch how he falls apart beneath you, chest heaving and a light pink glow spread across his nose and cheekbones. Nanami, who’s been watching your face—it’s his favorite place to look when being intimate—notices your delight.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, but it’s not accusatory, rather, amused.

If ‘this’ is referencing you having your hot next-door neighbor beneath you eagerly meeting your grinding hips and filling you up with his cock like it’s his life purpose, then yes, this is exactly what you wanted.

“It–ah”—his thrusts have gotten harder—“it is.”

“Is that so?” he asks, and then his hands wrap around your wrists, taking them from his shoulders and holding them by your sides, pulling you down so he can thrust harder and deeper into your cunt. “Let’s see if you can take it then.”

The wetness and cum from your orgasm have slicked your insides copiously, so it’s the pressure of having him so deep, kissing your cervix, that you’re having trouble adjusting to. Your mouth is gaping in silent gasps, the words fucked out of you, and your eyes are rolled back as he pistons himself in and out, his pace unforgiving. And there’s nothing you can do about it, with your arms pinned to your sides, you’re at his complete mercy as he slams his hips into your wet cunt.

“So f-fast, Kento,” you manage to say, “fuck.”

“I said I would treat you like the brat you are,” he responds.

Maybe this will teach you to not push him so far.

Or maybe it won’t, because having him so rough with you, pushing you to your limit, fucking you like he’s punishing you, it’s what’s stirring up a second orgasm deep in your stomach.

“K-Kento, feels s’good, my god–”

“That’s what I thought, dear,” he groans, “Figured you liked it rough. Can feel you clenching around me.”

He doesn’t sound like the gentleman you thought he was when he talks like this, but you love it.

You throw your head back, forcefully nearing your breaking point as he pulls you into him. His grip crushing your wrists, but the sensation is unfelt when you finally cum all over him.

An unbridled whine rips through your throat as your fingers curl into fists, your body shaking but unable to move due to Nanami’s hold. So all you’re able to do is stay upright as Nanami pulls you down into his dick once more, the contraction and spasms of your walls throwing him over the edge, and empties his load deep in you. His face is contorted in pleasure and he groans as your canal grants him the release you’ve teased him with all night.

The moment his grip on your wrist relaxes, you double over, falling down into the safety of his warm, broad chest. His dick is still inside you, but the sensation is not unwelcome; it feels nice to be connected to him as you cuddle.

You trace the lines of definition on his chest, his slowing heartbeat calming you. Nanami’s hand snakes underneath the oversized shirt to rub slow circles on your back. “How are you doing?” he asks, soft and sincere.

You nuzzle your head into his chest. “I’m good, a little tired though.”

“You’re welcome to spend the night.”

A warm, fuzzy feeling buzzes around your heart.

“But first, please, allow me to run you a bath. I can’t have you sleeping uncared for.”

You suppose you’ll have to get used to this kind of treatment.

“Okay,” you smile.

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loveshotzz · 1 year

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Constellations

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: under the stars, you just want steve to kiss you.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: 18+ even though there’s no smut. sorry kiddos. just some first kiss fluff inspired by season 3 steve who’s kinda lost his confidence.

authors note: another blurb outta the pile! I’m a sucker for late nights at Lovers Lake with Steve 💗. for @superblysubpar cause I know when I came up with this blurb months ago she was so excited. sorry it took me so long!

The sky was clear above the lake, the stars glimmering extra bright against the water illuminating patches of the trees surrounding you. The reflection hits the green and brown specks that lay nestled inside Steve’s eyes in a battle to steal your attention. You try not to meet his gaze as you search for the constellation he promised to show you when he threw rocks on your bedroom window, careful not to wake your roommate.

He was dressed more casual than your first date a few days ago. A date that didn’t end with the kiss you desperately hoped you’d get at the end of an evening filled with warm palms that covered your lower back whenever he’d get the chance, or stolen glances to the pink gloss that covered your lips just for him. Instead, an awkward hug and red cheeks is what you got as he tripped over his own feet from your doorstep to his car.

The gray shorts he wears stop just above his knees, the hair covering his legs matching the patch that’s always peeking out from the tops of his shirts. His sweater was the same color as the car that took you here, tight around his broad shoulders, and snug in all the spots you wanted to explore with your fingers. His honey colored hair was messier than you’d seen before, like he’d just woken up and had to see you, disguising it as late night stargazing by the lake. The thought of how soft it must feel makes your hands twitch at your sides.

Your shoulders are tucked into his jacket that he always keeps in the back seat of his BMW. It was the end of summer — August bleeding into September. The late nights starting to get that little bit chillier, the days a little bit shorter. The faded spice of his cologne swirls around your senses still embedded deep into the fabric from last year. The blanket he’d laid out on the lush grass that still hadn’t disappeared is soft under your hands that keep you propped up at an angle, your legs extend in front of you, crossed at your ankles and the toes of your sneakers bump into his.

The space he leaves between you is just enough to feel the heat of his body radiate off his bronzed skin, freckled and kissed by the sun, his big hands spread out palm down like a mirror with yours. The tips of his fingers are quiet, ghosting against the side of your hand. Leaning his head back to follow your line of sight, the smell of his shampoo reminds you of the woods around you when the wind catches it. He’s so close, but you want him closer.

It only takes a few minutes before you feel his eyes are on you again and you can’t stop the twist of your lips this time.

“Where are these constellations? Or you just wanna look at me?” Your voice is soft, the faint teasing edge behind it isn’t enough to cover up how he’s making you shy when your eyes finally connect with his.

He clears his throat, cheeks blooming and Adam’s apple bobbing under your grin.

“Shit - yeah, sorry. Just like seeing you in my jacket s’all.” Your stomach flutters at his words, butterflies wreaking havoc when he finally crosses the threshold, a big hand enveloping yours. He brings his attention back to the sky, fingers curling purposefully.

You lean in closer under the guise of getting a better look as he starts to trace along the path of a collection of twinkling stars.

“We’ve got Orion’s Belt right over here.” His shoulder brushes against yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your knuckles.

Water laps against the shoreline and the distant coo of an owl drowns out the fading chirp of crickets while he gives you a tour of the night sky. His voice calms your nerves, talking low enough just for you to hear while your bodies inch closer like magnets until there’s no space left, fingers daring to intertwine.

“And this…” he breathes and you know he’s not looking at the stars anymore, spearmint and a little bit of the joint you both shared hitting your nose “Is the big dipper.”

Your eyes dare to leave the wide expanse above you only to confirm your suspicions. The corners of his mouth turn up into a smirk when he gets caught for the second time tonight, but this time he doesn’t move to look away. You can see the stubble lining the sharp line of his jaw from this close, a collection of moles you think you could trace into the same patterns he just showed you coming into view. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips when his eyes shift down to yours and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s gonna do it.

“Are you gonna kiss me Steve?” Your impatience comes out in just above a whisper.

There’s a new air of confidence about him now, shifting so he can lean against his elbow, the new position has him looking up at you. The moon shimmers, wrapping around you punching the air out of his lungs. You’re beautiful. He’s gentle when he cups the side of your face, your skin heating up under the softness of his palm. His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone before moving to the silk of your bottom lip, tugging it down gently, watching it pop back into place.

“Is that what you want, baby?” His eyes darken when he sees the pinch of your brows. A pout.

The nickname makes your heart soar and your chest tighten, only letting you offer a nod and the sweetest “please.” It fills the empty spaces in the air around you, an electricity begging to explode around it.

His hold finds its way to the back of your neck, long fingers curving just below your hairline before pulling you down without a fight to meet him. Nudging his nose against yours, you can feel the brush of his lips from this close.

“I should’ve done this the other night.” His breath mingles with yours, teasing you in a way that you like. “You forgive me?”

You match his smile despite trying to fight it and he takes that as his answer, finally putting you out of your misery with the kiss you’ve been waiting for.

He takes it slow at first, his eyes fluttering shut while his hand finds your jaw. He asks you to open up for him gripping your chin while his tongue licks at your top lip. Granting him the kind of access you’d never deny him, a groan vibrates deep from his chest when you meet him in the middle to deepen it.

Your fingers find their way into his hair when he lays back on the blanket taking you with him, and it’s even softer than you imagined. Of course it is. You grab at roots on the nape of his neck when he nips at your bottom lip already addicted to the sound he gets from it.

The kisses get sloppy, all the tension coming to a head when he tugs at your hips. Your leg slots between his so the muscle of his thigh presses to the most sensitive part of you, and it takes everything not to rock against him. His hand moves to squeeze at the curve of your waist, teeth scraping together when you both start to get needy. More, more, more.

A high pitch whistle from the other side of the lake breaks you two apart with a jump, the culprits hidden by distance and darkness. A loud splash of water tells you they are none the wiser to the company they keep. A late night rendezvous like you and Steve.

He huffs out a low chuckle beneath you, with that signature hand running through his hair when his head hits the ground with a low thump. Keeping a hold on your hip to make sure you don’t go anywhere, his eyes are brighter than before when he looks at you with flushed cheeks and that smile that started your crush all those years ago.

“Took you long enough.”

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader

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sattlersquarry · 3 months

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the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

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

Word Count: ~12k

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

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

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

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

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

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

You think she might have died.

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

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

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

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

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

It only gets worse from there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

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

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

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

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

“But you packed her, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

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

“Go to your room?” you say.

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

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? You okay?”

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

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

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

But it was self-defense!

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

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

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

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

You nod, eyes still shut.

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

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

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

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

“But—”

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

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

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

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

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

“Whoa, what happened?”

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

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

“No one.”

“Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you still think about her?”

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

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

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

You rub your forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head vehemently.

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

“You’re still the same girl!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

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

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

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

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

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

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

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

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

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

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

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

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

You shrug and look down at your feet.

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

“You’re not, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

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

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Just tired.”

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

You suck in a breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

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

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

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

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

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

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

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

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

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

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

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

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

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

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None at all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I have to get home—”

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d like that,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

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

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

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

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

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

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

Max smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

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

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

#st fic: oj #st fic: tgd #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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beiasluv · 2 years

Text

neteyam x human!reader

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

a/n: the domestic bliss got me so, here it is / let’s say you guys are the same age /spoilers??

masterlist

enjoy!

being a human on pandora isn’t easy as you might think. breathing air? not possible without a mask. traveling around? quite difficult with human’s capability.

but those didn’t stop you from loving this planet any less.

you are one of those babies who didn’t got a chance to travel back to earth 10 years ago, and you are not complaining.

pandora is much quieter and more peaceful (well, not yet, and we are here for fluff)

spider is one of your friends, well your only friend, until you meet netayam and the sullys. spider taught you the na’vi language, until you are fluent to a certain level. you can catch many phrases, but, unfortunately, can not reply.

you first met neteyam when you were both still young. he was practicing hunting for fish and you were exploring around the forest

“ok, near the rock, just as dad told…,” a young blue na’vi mumbled to himself and stretched back his arm, holding his weapon. splash! a loud sound echoed from the water as the fish was caught dead by the sharp tip. “yes! dad! I did it! I caught a fish!”

“…dad?” he looked into the bush as he saw your (e/c) reflected by the sunlight.

he crawled closer to the bush as he saw you running away deep into the forest. without any delay, he followed your footsteps and scents. along the way, admiring your beautiful choice of path into the damp grassy area. there, he found you napping peacefully by a tree and woodsprites surrounded you. your hair contrasted the green grass perfectly, yet your exomask covers your face from his.

“…hey,” the boy nudged you slightly causing you to stirred awake.

“wh..who are you?” you gathered yourself quickly, hiding your face from him. “oh wait, do you even know what I am saying? um…sorry, Ohe can’t tukru na’vi (I can’t speak na’vi)”

“you are funny, because you are speaking it right now, i am neteyam, who are you?” he giggled “I haven’t seen you around before, let alone a human,” he turned your face towards him. he tapped playfully on your mask, examining it as he looked into it.

“i am um…(y/n), and I haven’t left the lab that much,” neteyam stared into your eyes. “you must be spider’s friend, he told me about his friends.”

“are you related to spider?! must be nice keeping you to himself,” he fake pouted. “i want to have more human friends, my brother have five fingers like you!”

“well, you can meet me again by the lab. I didn’t left it that much, because i don’t have friends, except spider, of course, but he likes to leave me alone in the forest,” you rolled your eyes and received a giggled from neteyam.

“i can be your friend! and i promise I’ll never leave you in the forest!” he grinned showing his whitey teeth.

it was easy to say that your life had never been the same ever since

your duty patrolling grace’s tank at the lab isn’t so boring as before, and you get to meet and know grace’s legacy, kiri

neteyam would visit the lab with kiri more often, making up excuses like he wants to make sure she is okay while visiting grace.

another reason he likes to see you in the lab, because he can touch your face without the difficulties of a mask. he likes to hold your hand and especially your pinkie.

you, neteyam, and kiri became greats friends. while sometimes you would visit them in the forest; you noticed neytiri wasn’t giving spider the warmest welcome, so you learned to keep a space from her

neteyam, the being the older brother he is, is always protective of you and his siblings. you two are often teased as the parents of the group.

neteyam will carry you wherever and whenever you want. even times when you insist you can walk on your own, but he will carry you through the jungle.

tuk is very attached to you, even though she is 2x bigger than you but she’s your baby sister.

kiri is your bestieee, and she definitely knows all the tea. you will always comfort her when she gets picked on for her hands.

“these pinkies are here for special reason, it is for pinkie promises. a special promise for special someone, and you are special to me, kiri,” she smiled back.

the middle brother, lo’ak, is quite reserved at first but you’ve managed to melt his wall away. your warmth that his brother couldn’t resist made him comforted every time he is around you.

he sees you as an older sister and you’ve managed to made him listen more than his own brother. you know how to cheer him up and comfort him wherever he felt that he is his brother’s shadow. you became soft mother figure to him.

jake, being somewhat of a human, took you under his wings. he sees you and neteyam often teasing each other, and that reminded him of himself. (neteyam: one down, one more to go)

he is always glad that there is someone helping him and his wife around the house. you were there to support his children emotionally and physically, sometimes.

well, years had passed and the ‘lovebirds’ had grown stronger ever than before.

everything was going smoothly, until two reasons.

one, the sky people are back again.

two, you have grown weaker than before.

your human body was great but you hoped that you could have an avatar of your own, and coincidentally, the lab had been creating one for you. (definitely neteyam did not asked for one and definitely he did not begged his grandma to help with consciousness transfer)

“we have to take your DNA, okay? my (y/n)…” neteyam ran his hand through your head and hair calming you down. “i don’t know ways to help you other than this, i don’t want to lose you, alright? you are my best friend.”

‘you are the love of my life!’ you thought. “yes, i know, neteyam, take my DNA even if it means i am dying soon.”

“no! you are not dying, the sky people are here, well, yes, they might be your species, but you are special to me, okay?” he sighed. “I will not lose my best friend, not to a problem we have a solution to.”

“i don’t know what are we fighting for! you know that i am about to die, why then worth trying something that can be passed on for spider or other human with more opportunities and possibilities than me!”

“please, dont make this harder, okay?”

“neteyam! neteyam! nete-“ and that was the last thing you saw, netayam holding you down and a scientist with an anesthesia.

…

“grandma, how is she taking it?” neteyam strolled hurriedly around your body.

“wait out, you hot-headed boy, she’s going through…”

“what- what is going on?”

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” the blue faced boy went ahead and hugged your body close.

“neteyam, glad to see you-“ “woah- you aren’t so big anymore, my- my feet! they’re huge! woah- i have a tail? look! woah- what- my ear is like a cat’s”

“woah- woah woah, take it easy, my (y/n), that’s what i went through for 15 years, you just had it for one minute and you’re going crazy!” he giggled. “see? it wasn’t so bad after all and what’s a cat?”

“silly of you, neteyam- but why the tree of souls?”

“got cha consciousness transferred, wouldn’t have it done the scientifac- scientific ways,” he tapped your forehead slightly. “i begged for grandma myself, glad she’s helping out, or we’re doomed.”

“thank you, neteyam.”

life didn’t get easier after that, but you were now together, at last.

the sullys welcomed you quickly and warmly. neytiri had some hard times but jake reminded her once again of their past.

-spoilers-

uncertain times calls for uncertain choices, the sullys decided to move to the metkayina for shelter.

neteyam and his siblings, along with you, flew across the ocean toward your temporary home.

the flight there was risky as you guys had to travel across the storms and oceans. neteyam held you tightly within his embrace the whole flight.

the first few weeks, he often cries whenever he is alone with you, saying you are his safe house.

“i- i want to go home, (y/n), i can’t do this anymore,” he sniffles on your lap.

“i am so sorry, nete, we are here now, i miss our home too, but this is for the best for the people,” you cradled him close.

“you- you shouldn’t say sorry, my (y/n), it’s not your fault,” he grabbed your hair tight as he cried.

“ow, nete, c’mon let’s go swim and calm down,” you swayed him like a baby and sang him songs.

at the ocean villages, the leader welcomed the sullys with not the warmest welcome but satisfying enough for the time. they must live and depend on it for now, that’s the least they could do.

kiri and you got called out for having five fingers which neteyam did not take it very well. he had been hostile towards anyone who made fun of your hands.

tsireya, ao’nung, and the rest welcomed them as well, although the boys could’ve been much friendlier in your thought.

tsireya and you kicked along pretty well, she’s beautiful, kind, caring, and hot. 😳 (sorry, not sorry)

of course, you gotta tease her with lo’ak, and how she told him ‘i see you’ before you and neteyam was a disgrace. you love her like a sister and adores her so bad.

likewise, she never misses a chance to tease you with neteyam.

“please, y/n, when? when are you going to do it!”

“not now, not never, does he even like me?” you pouted. “he calls me his best friend, i am obviously in the friend zone.”

“c’mon, please, that boy is head over heals for you,” she rolled her blue eyes. “when i taught you guys to swim, he is drooling over you underwater, almost choking himself unalive i supposed,” she giggled.

“maybe he is just amazed by the ocean, it is really pretty,” you sighed.

“girl- you are not taking hints.”

and boys are boys, they were fighting on the beach over kiri. kiri stood there laughing and her brothers getting themselves into the mess. while you walked out of the water sprinting towards neteyam and lo’ak, grabbing their ears and dragging them out.

“i apologize for my friends,” you laughed politely at ao’nung’s face.

“e- erm, i am sorry, too,” he was stunned by your face, dampened by the water, and your hair sticking to your body. ‘grrr’ neteyam scowling in the background behind your back to ao’nung.

“now if you please excuse us, i am so sorry, let me know if you want me to treat your wound as an apology,” you smiled and turned back to widened your eyes at neteyam and lo’ak.

“so- sorry” “sorry🖕”

“lo’ak!”

wound-tending sessions wasn’t as fun as watching them fight.

kiri took lo’ak and you took neteyam.

earning ‘ow’s and ‘ouch’s form neteyam you scolded him while patching him up.

“squeeze my leg if it hurts.”

he did tried not to but he ended up left some red marks on your legs.

during harsh and cold times, you still find your comfort in neteyam. you guys cuddle every night together before bed, and singing lullabies together, reminding each other of home.

neteyam likes to be the big spoon but you can be the big spoon, too, ever since your human form to your avatar form.

now for domestic stuffs in metkayinaa

you guys love to swim together in the ocean, and sometimes hiding the reefs (shh, they make a great place for a kiss on the cheek)

neteyam loves your hand, he will hold them wherever you go.

he loves finding pretty shells for you and clipping them onto your hair.

ao’nung having a crush on you, and tsireya told him off. because, obviously, she is your biggest shipper.

neytiri and jake knew there is no use separating you and neteyam, so one calls for a family meeting.

she noticed how her children received an emotional support whenever they need it from you. neytiri slowly accepted you into her family and realized that you had become more than a friend to their family, but a part of them. now, she sends a heartwarming smile for you. (neteyam, two down, it’s only you babe)

“thank you, (y/n), for taking care of my family,” she hugged you. “you are a part of us, never let them separate us apart.”

“I trust you, (y/n), i see a great potential in you, take care of my sons and daughters in this time of war,” jake touched his forehead against yours.

fond moments must come to an end; the thing they dreaded the most had arrived, the sky people

you guys fought until your very last breath, and every moments felt like it is your last

“go! y/n! go!” lo’ak and spider jumped into the middle pool of the boat, while neteyam took the gun.

“okay! love! on my count okay?” you shouted back.

“no! on my count- OKAY HE’S DOWN! 1…2-“ he was taken back by your push, and as of everything goes in slow motion. your body push his against the rails and made him fall into the pool.

the bullet made its way towards your chest, and everything flashes back. your mom, your dad, your lonely childhood, meeting him for the first time, meeting the sullys, growing up together, transferring your consciousness, traveling here, and fighting along side him.

you felt an impact within your body, and his eyes widened as you both fall into the water. he cradled your body in his as you both meet the impact of the water. slowly, your bodies submerged into the water and he pulled you out…and everything seems to black out.

…

“no no no no NO!” you heard neteyam screams.

“rip that cloth, RIGHT NOW!” jake shouted. “she is losing her consciousness!” you felt a burning sensation and a tightening sensation on your shoulder.

“is she alright DAD! SHE IS SHAKING! DO SOMETHING!” neteyam cries and clings onto your body.

“y/n…” tsireya hold your hand and her wet tears dropped on your arms.

“No! My child, my guardian protector!” Neytiri screamed in agony, as she lose her voice in the attempt.

“neteyam! take her to the village if you still want to have the love of your life,” he pushed her into his embrace. without a second thought, he calls his ilu and drove head straight to the village.

the boy waited impatiently in front of the village’s nurse. he traced back and forth and his breath hitched whenever the nurse made any noise. he prayed to the great mother that she will be fine. his meals were untouched and he didn’t bothered fighting along his brother’s side for once.

he loathed the demon ever than before, he prayed his mother would’ve finish him off the second time.

it has been three days and the family is back together. they’ve been healing together spiritually and physically, except one boy who refuses to join them, neteyam. he had been sitting in front of the nurse room for four days full, until he heard a sound.

“neteyam?”

“yes? is she alright?”

“go ahead and see her for yourself,” the nurse opened the curtain.

“(y/n)? are you awake?”

“ne- neteyam? are you hurt?”

“(y/n)! thank the great mother!” he hugged your body so tightly that you might rip apart. “i thought i had lost you!” he cling onto her lap. “promise me you’ll never take a bullet for me again! pinkie promise me!”

“i can’t make promises i can not keep, love…,” you smiled and knitted your ringer finger with his. “do you know what finger is this?”

“um…longer pinkie?”

“no,” you chuckled. “this is a ring finger, a ring is put in the right side for engagement and left for marriages.”

“then i will never have to lose you with our ring fingers attached,” he rest his forehead on yours.

“how could you lose me, when i see you,” you smiled and kissed his forehead.

“i see you too.”

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, 🤍

#avatar #avatar imagine #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #avatar the way of water #lo’ak x reader #fanfiction #neytiri #neteyam x you #avatar x reader

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urne-buriall · 3 months

Text

so you've told me now you like sotw alternate realities. well here's the river scene were Dean opens up to Cas about John's abuse way ahead of schedule, mere days after the 4th of july:

“There are things I want to tell you,” said Cas, “and questions I want to ask. But I’m never sure if I can.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dean.

“Sometimes I want to tell you about my family because I think you understand,” said Cas. “Other times… I’m just not sure.”

“You could tell me if you wanted,” said Dean. He wished Cas would say. He wanted so badly for Cas to trust him. “It wouldn’t change anything. You’d still be my friend, no matter what you said.”

Cas slowly nodded his head. “Right,” he said. He turned again. Started walking. “I don’t want to burden you. And like I said, talking isn’t my strength.”

There had been a test and Dean failed it. He was sure of it. He just didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Had he come on too strong? Had he seemed insincere?

Maybe he was supposed to offer something first. Maybe he needed to be the one to break open that levee, the one that would never close again. To find out if they shared anything, perhaps it was on Dean to say, my dad beats the shit out of me and has since I can remember.

“Cas, wait,” said Dean. He caught up with Cas, then continued walking. He didn’t quite look over his shoulder as he said, “I’ll tell you.”

At the river. He needed to be still, not in this in-between space on the path.

And as he walked, feeling Cas trail slowly after him, studying Dean, he wondered what he was about to do. How would he say it? Could he really confess this? Could he trust Cas with it?

He went to a rise above the river, where grass and clover turned into a straight-edged bank a few feet above the water. He took off his boots and set them aside, bare feet coming to rest in the cool green clover.

Cas came beside him and cautiously did the same. Dean wrapped his arms around his knees, unable to look at Cas next to him. Nearly shoulder-to-shoulder.

They’d sat like this the day of the rainstorm, talking idly before the downpour. That night, Cas stayed over and wore Dean’s clothes. Had stripped to nearly nothing on the covered porch, skin gold in the light and shining with rain.

Dean buried his face in the crook of his arm and tried to forget that.

“Dean?” said Cas, patience giving way to desperate curiosity.

Cas would say he seemed upset again. And if Dean took an outside look at himself, it was laughable to try and deny. He lifted his head.

He’d promised to tell Cas. It was the only way to find out more about Cas in return, and it was something Dean wanted badly enough that it brought him here. He was going to risk everything. For Cas.

“It’s my dad,” he said, surprised by the weakness of his own voice. Shaky, hoarse.

Cas looked Dean over carefully as he waited for more. He gave a faint nod.

“He’s… Tough.” That could be taken so many ways and Dean knew it. “On me,” he added, like it clarified anything. “Sometimes.”

Cas didn’t shift his posture, but the lines of his face became more deliberately contained. He took a moment to say, clear and even, “Does he hurt you?”

Dean looked sharply to the water. Only because his eyes began to burn, because he was losing his grip on the control he thought he had. He wasn’t supposed to cry over this. He was supposed to bear it. He was just going to state a fact, a fact he had lived with for so long and was strong enough to deal with. And it would have been different if Cas asked ‘does he hit you?’ but instead he’d said hurt, and that was a different question, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be easy to say hit, yes and move on without the impact of that action. But hurt made it so much more lasting.

He winced, trying to find another way around the answer, but then he nodded, a concession timed with the tears that came bitter and fast. He quickly bowed his head into his arms, not enough to hide the catching sound his breath made as he tried not to choke on this feeling.

He wasn’t supposed to be so upset. He wasn’t supposed to be this reactive. He wasn’t dead, it was nothing worth crying over.

Cas’ arm wrapped around his shoulder, a solid warmth that gave shape to Dean, keeping him from coming apart.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, voice deep and low.

Dean tried to push down his feelings, raising his face even if it was tear-streaked and flushed. “About what?” he asked. Cas had nothing to be sorry for.

“That you’ve had to go through it,” said Cas.

Dean had never imagined anyone saying that to him. He thought he deserved to be called weak for putting up with it, or for crying about it now. He thought nobody would care if it happened to him or not. That anywhere he might’ve grown up he’d have been treated just the same because of the way he was. Never enough. All the things John implied and made him believe.

“You should leave,” said Cas.

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t,” said Dean. “Sam—”

“Does he hurt Sam, too?”

Dean shook his head. He felt oddly defensive. Of course John didn’t hurt Sam. Dean would never allow it. “I keep Sam out of it,” he said.

“You still shouldn’t stay.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Dean, like he hadn’t been trembling with the force of his tears just moments ago. His voice came thin. “Not enough to leave.”

“Any amount is enough to be worth leaving,” Cas said, so certain of himself.

Dean retreated back into denial. “It’s more complicated than that,” he said. “I’m— I’m not a kid anymore so…”

Cas’ arm fell away from Dean so that he could look at him better. Which was more dangerous and less comforting than his touch had been. “When was the last time it happened?”

Dean rubbed the edge of his hand against his wet cheek, not wanting to answer but unable to resist a direct question from Cas. He looked down at the river and cleared his throat. “Day before yesterday,” he said. If Cas were to roll his eyes, it wouldn’t be undeserved, but Cas stayed perfectly still. Dean’s fingertips brushed against his throat, wanting to say what happened, but unable to describe that part. “He was mad I brought Sam home. Against orders.”

He dropped his hand again, but Cas’ eyes stayed on his throat. Where a fading bruise could be taken for a smear of motor oil. Cas sharply inhaled, putting pieces together. His eyes scanned the rest of Dean’s body, pausing on his shoulder.

“Your broken arm,” said Cas.

“Yeah, uh,” said Dean. Thinking he’d find something better. “Yeah.” There wasn’t really a way to allay it. “He caught me— We were arguing. About eventing, and Zepp, and I thought if I could just get away from him. And he caught me on the steps and I— I fell down.”

“He’ll kill you,” Cas said.

Dean’s head jerked upward, facing Cas directly. “No,” he said. “He doesn’t want to do that.”

“So he’s in control when he hurts you,” said Cas.

“No!” said Dean quickly. Because that couldn’t be true. His father loved him or could. “When he’s mad he just— It flares up and then it’s over. And he’s sorry about it.”

“So he’s out of control,” said Cas. “Which means you’re in danger. Every time.”

Dean parted his lips to answer but Cas had him in a bind. Either John’s anger was out of control and a constant threat or it was in control and was used with full intention. Neither was good for Dean.

“I don’t want to leave,” said Dean, and that was more true than any of the apologies he’d tried to make on John’s behalf. He looked down between them. “I just want it to stop.”

Cas took a breath, almost started to say something, then didn’t. There was a kind of understanding in that holding back.

“What was it like for you?” Dean asked. It was the only reason he’d said anything. So that Cas would open up to him in turn. Cas thought there were things they had in common that Dean would understand.

“Different, probably,” said Cas. He went quiet, struggling with what to say, his eyes gazing nowhere as he grouped his thoughts. It was far easier to talk about Dean’s troubles than his own. “My mother was… unstable. Religious. Which made her hard to live with at the best of times. Never knowing which mother you were going to get.”

Dean could understand that. John was volatile too. It was a lot of work just planning for what version of John he’d meet in any given scenario.

“Would she hurt you?” he asked. He used the same word on purpose.

Cas didn’t cry, but he looked distant. “Yes,” he said. “She’d… She had punishments. She’d drag me by the ear to lock me in a cupboard for— for hours, when I’d done wrong.” Dean knew without Cas having to say that ‘doing wrong’ could be anything from causing trouble to colouring too loudly. He couldn’t imagine Cas being a trouble-making kid, not on purpose. But he mentioned being different when he grew up. Too emotional, finding it difficult to connect. That would be ‘wrong’ too.

“If we didn’t listen or were found impertinent, she would slap us,” said Cas.

“We?” said Dean.

“My siblings and I,” said Cas.

“I never knew you had siblings,” said Dean.

“Four of them,” said Cas. “They never left. I think. If they had, I hope they’d find me.” He shifted, picking at clover. “Then again, they had less trouble listening or understanding the right answer. I could never seem to figure it out. I was… different. And because I was a… a target, I think they didn’t always know that they had more in common with me than her.”

“And that’s why you left?”

Cas looked away and it told Dean how much more complicated it was than that.

“You said once…” Dean wet his lips before he spoke. “You said you didn’t feel like you had a choice.”

“I didn’t,” said Cas. “It was either live the way they wanted me to live, or leave. And I chose to leave.”

That made Cas probably the strongest person Dean knew. And just as Cas found it simpler to talk about Dean’s troubles, Dean found it easier to think of all Cas deserved.

“Remember what else you said?” Dean asked, the idea lighting up his mind as a fix for Cas’ incredible loneliness. “That you’d want a place with fresh air and animals where everything’s right. What if that was us? You know, like, around here so I didn’t really have to leave, but not with my dad, and—”

Cas was looking at him strangely. Dean’s excitement must have been somehow out of place, or the idea unappealing when Dean included himself. Cas hadn’t been making an offer of somewhere to stay, for Dean, when he warned him that John was a danger. This must not be what he was thinking of it all.

“Sorry,” said Dean quickly. His face flushed again, not helped by the heavy heat of the day. “I thought— When you said that, it sounded— It sounded so nice. But you want that on your own.”

“No, not on my own,” said Cas. “That defeats the point.”

“Right,” said Dean, and he placed his hands on the ground beside him, about to launch himself away from his foolish entry into the conversation. He needed to get away from Cas. He was hot. He should swim. If he could bear to get undressed.

Cas curled a hand around the inside of Dean’s arm just above the crease of his elbow. It wasn’t an iron grip, but it was solid, keeping him in place when he otherwise would’ve gone.

“I like spending my time with you,” Cas said in a rush. It was like he was answering something else, something neither of them had said. He didn’t look at Dean. “If I could give you somewhere to stay, away from your father— If you wanted that, I would do it.”

“We’re just—” Dean hesitated. “We’re just talking dreams, Cas,” he said.

“Why should it only be a dream?” said Cas.

This was more than Dean had ever reckoned on. So heavy it felt like lifting a weight from the bottom of a river.

“I mean that if you want to leave,” said Cas, “then you should. You could do it.” He let go of Dean’s arm, fingertips dragging away from his skin.

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Dean, finding himself confused. In one breath he suggested buying a farm with Cas, and in the next that he could never leave his father. It was just that what they talked about sounded too perfect to ever truly exist. How could Dean put any faith in something that exceeded his wildest dreams like that?

“If I bought a house with space for horses,” said Cas.

“Jeez, Cas,” said Dean.

“Would you come stay?”

“Are you for real?”

“If I could do it this minute, I would,” said Cas. “I don’t want to say goodbye and know you’ll go back to that house with John.”

“Could you do it?” said Dean. “Is that even possible?”

“I could figure it out,” said Cas. “One word. From you, and…”

“You think we can do this?” said Dean. “Then… Okay.”

And that was all it took. Cas leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean didn’t have time to think of it or react. The press of their lips was warm, sudden. A dangerous spark in a dry forest. As he pulled back, so did Cas, looking anxious.

“What was that?” said Dean.

Cas hadn’t looked away from Dean’s face, although there was something to the way he held his body, like he expected to run. “I just—” he said. His voice was every bit as gravelly and flat as usual, but he sounded uncertain, a rare note. “I…”

Cas had kissed him. Dean’s brain and body couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t work together in any sensible way any longer. His heart started pounding. The heat of the day made sweat rise on the back of his neck and above the lip of his mouth. He was frozen but he was supposed to be doing something. Running from this, striking out, kissing Cas, jumping into the river.

“I shouldn’t’ve—” Cas looked stricken now. “I want to help you and it’s not— I made a mistake.”

Wasn’t this Dean’s fault? Just days ago he had wrapped himself around Cas in the shade of a garden and silently begged for his affection in any shape. He’d had that untoward dream the same night. The colour rose high in Dean’s cheeks and he looked swiftly at the river. Cas hadn’t kissed him in the dream, only touched him, but already Dean’s mind was conflating the real and the imagined, completely out of his control. Dean had stared too long the night of the rain storm. He’d been wrong to and he’d made this happen and it was all because he was broken up into pieces and he got things confused and now there was this, which was too much to handle.

Next to him, Cas rested his forehead against his fist, eyes scrunching closed. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he said.

Dean’s mouth remembered the touch of their lips and wouldn’t let go. He felt they were reddened by Cas’ kiss, the same as that day in the attic, that day when enchantment poisoned itself into sharp fear and which was exactly like right now. There was something wrong with him for all of this. For the fact that he wanted to kiss Cas again and really know what it felt like. If he was damned he wanted to know what he was damned for.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said again. “I thought you were like me.”

It struck Dean for the first time what that would mean. What it would be to be like Cas. What it meant Cas was. And how if he were to say Cas was correct right now, that Dean was not like him, it didn’t feel at all true. How if he were to be able to act on what was true, that would mean giving over to what was in him. He felt so miserable and scared and all he wanted was for Cas to cover over Dean’s body with his own. To hide in Cas’ collar, in the very hollow of his clavicle, the place he’d wanted to kiss just three days ago when he stole comfort from Cas in the garden.

He dragged his gaze back to Cas, who looked equally mired in his own despair.

“Cas,” he said, not certain of what he meant to follow. And when Cas looked at him he leaned in and kissed him.

Cas lost a sound against Dean’s mouth, a melting hum. His hand found the small of Dean’s back. This kiss came with another renewed one, chasing it, then Dean bowed his head, breaking it off but not breaking away. His body shifted deeper into Cas, his hand clutching Cas’ shirt, his forehead resting against the base of Cas’ neck. Cas held onto him this time, cheek brushing against the top of Dean’s head. A hand came up to stroke through Dean’s hair.

“Cas,” he said wretchedly.

“It’s okay,” said Cas. As much as anything could be okay. For a bare second, Dean wanted to believe it would be.

#spirit of the west #bonus content #when your au has an au #there was serious potential to go this route and it was hard to make Dean NOT open up in this scene #because he wanted to and it had been building #and it was very nearly worth the trade-off of learning more about Cas for him #so here's the world where that happened #and other things would've happened differently too #butterflies flapping wings and all

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randomwriteronline · 1 year

Text

“Now,” Arezu began whistfully, “Not to pit two exquisite Ladies against each other, but - if they had to fight, who do you think would win between Lady Lilligant and Lady Sneasler?”

“Sneasler,” Ingo replied instantly.

There was a hot second of stunned silence.

“No hesitation, huh,” Mai noted.

“I am basing myself purely on typing,” the man began explaining as he briefly stopped carving the second wooden spoon he would give as a traditional wedding gift to Palina and Iscan: “If both had been pure Fighting it would have been a perfectly fair fight, but Lilligant has the disadvantage of being part Grass, which Poison happens to be supereffective against.”

“That’s why your Tangela hates me,” Melli commented.

“She does not,” Ingo replied.

“Why does she suffocate me then?”

“I have told you already, her hugs are not an attempt at your life, she is simply made out of a mass of vines which can sometimes result in hazardous situations despite her best intentions.”

“Is there someone Lady Lilligant could take on?” Arezu distracted them.

Ingo turned to her without missing a beat: “Avalugg, Basculegion, and possibly Kleavor, though it would be a very tight match.”

“No she could not take on Lord Avalugg!” Gaeric blurted out.

“He is doubly weak to Fighting and his Rock type would not do him many favors against Grass,” the other man replied, shattering his hopes in one fell swoop.

“But he’s-!” the warden fumbled on his words for a moment, waving his arms vehemently to find a comprehensible enough way to explain himself before having to resort to just: “Big!”

“Fair argument!” Ingo admitted. “But typing wise, he’d be done for. It’s a very unfortunate pair, mostly on account of neither type covering the other’s weaknesses. He would similarly lose against Sneasler, Arcanine, Basculegion, Electrode, Kleavor, and... No, that should be it, I believe. Ursaluna would would put up a valuable effort, but wouldn't survive the Ice. My condolences, Miss Calaba.”

The woman didn’t even move from where she napped, just gave him an ok.

Melli laughed at the disheartened Gaeric.

Mai smacked him to get him to stop.

“He’d be good against Braviary,” Sabi predicted.

That got her a gentle pat on her head, away from the braids she was getting done: “Indeed,” Ingo nodded, “Flying is weak to both Ice and Rock. He’d also fare pretty badly against Kleavor - Bugs are awful for Psychic types.”

“But he’d be good against Sneasler?”

“Oh, he’d decimate her. Both of his types are supereffective against her. Wyrdeer too, she’d have no chance against him. For more information on how weak Poison is to Psychic please refer to Melli and his many defeats at the spoons of Alakazam.” and he ducked to evade a halfhearted slap. “Also Ursaluna! Ground is another powerful weakness of the vitriolic type. Congratulations, Miss Calaba.”

She gave him a thumbs up and continued not caring.

Palina hummed, struggling for a moment with Sabi’s green hair as she tried to untangle a knot: “How’d my young Lord do?” she asked with genuine curiousity: “He hasn’t been mentioned much, has he?”

“Fire type seldom has trouble in matchups, so he’d be fairly fortunate in a fight against most of his fellow Nobles...” the expert mumbled: “Lilligant, Kleavor, Avalugg as I’ve mentioned, Electrode - Ursaluna would asphalt him, though. Together with Basculegion they are his worst enemies. In a fight, of course, I’m well aware they’re on excellent terms.”

Iscan waved a little to reassure him: “The Lord isn’t a big fighter anyways, he probably wouldn’t do too well.”

“Oh, he’d be quite good actually! Plenty of the Nobles would be in trouble against his Water and Ghost combination, he’s rather fiersome! Electrode is the only one to be a total threat to him - those two are probably the ones to look out for the most. Terrific typings, the both of them.”

His sleeve was tugged to take him out of his musings: Lian twisted his mouth at him to properly figure out how to express his question, looking particularly pissed as he side-eyed what Ingo refused to look at but knew was probably a very smug Diamond warden with a burning desire to bury the guy alive, which would have severely worsened not just inter-clan relationships but also the fairly relaxed gathering they were having.

“So - this is all just, theories, right,” the kid began.

“Yes, based on types.”

Lian hummed deeply, pressing his mouth flat, and a fairly well-known feeling he could only denominate as Oh No took over Ingo as he dreaded the question.

“So you could tell who would win between Almighty Palkia and Dialga?”

Now that was something not to be touched with a 25 and a half foot pole, as evidenced by the other Pearl wardens shooting a glare at Lian and most of their Diamond counterparts paling notably.

Ingo, bless his heart, completely lost the religious implications somewhere in the cogs of his battle-analitycal machine churning in his brain.

“That would require an actual battle to be determined, actually!” he answered without missing a beat: “Both of them are Dragon types, meaning they have at the same time a massive advantage and disadvantage on one another, so effectively the chance at one prevailing over the other just based on that is rendered null, and since their secondary typings of Steel and Water are completely neutral to one another, a fight between the two of them would end up being rather balanced. It would also probably be an incredible spectacle with a very high chance of completely tearing reality as we know it apart according to professor Laventon’s studies, so it would be best for them and the rest of the world to remain on good terms and never have the chance to settle the score between them if they had any to settle.”

The young warden mumbled an agreement.

Not the way anybody expected a bomb like that to be defused.

But oh thank fuck it worked!

“What about the third one?” Iscan asked meekly. “The worm?”

Ingo buffered for a second: “Dragon-Ghost,” he recalled. “Same exact situation as the other two. No certain prevailing, and we should hope not to find out.”

“Ghost is good against Ghost, right?” Palina intervened.

The man nodded. A funny thought striked him: “With enough determination, it could be taken down by Basculegion. And by Avalugg as well.”

Gaeric cheered at his Lord’s good honor being restored.

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violettduchess · 1 year

Note

Please can I have 16 with Keith sorry if it is late thank uou and congratulations for the milestone you deserve them all 🎉🎊🤗🙏

A/N: Hi @queengiuliettafirstlady and thank you for the request! This also fulfills an anon request for breathless kiss with Leonardo or Silvio (I did both!)

WC: 1335

Keith

Your horses' hooves churn the earth of the field underfoot as it flies through the tall grass like a skiff on the water. The wind tugs at your hair, your clothing, caresses your skin with cool fingers. The Jadean countryside rolls by in a blur of emerald green and sky blue. You and your steed move as one, racing towards your goal: the small pond on the edge of the palace grounds. Keith’s voice travels the wind to reach you and a breathless laugh escapes your chest as you hear him begging his horse to hurry up.

But he’s too slow. The pond comes into view and you leap triumphantly down from your swift mare just seconds before Keith pulls the reins of his snow-colored stallion. “I won!” you manage to say, your breath staccato as you struggle to catch it. He slides off his mount, giving it a gentle pat on the neck. “Good try, boy,” he murmurs. The horse joins its friend, drinking mouthfuls of cool, refreshing water. The Jade Prince approaches you, golden eyes alight with admiration. “I believe the winner traditionally gets a prize.”

Your poor heart has no chance, its quickened rhythm only increasing as Keith removes his pristine white gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his forest green coat. He steps towards you, cupping your face in his bare hands, framing it with his strong fingers. You meet his gaze, naked yearning painted in sunrise across your face. This gives the usually shy prince the boost of confidence he needs as he leans down to kiss you.

He is sweeter than iced cream on a hot day, gentler than the twilight when it cradles the day-worn earth. He kisses you like it is an honor, a privilege. His hands stroke your skin, almost trembling in disbelief that you would allow this, as if worried that you may disappear at any moment like a burst of dandelion seeds in a summer breeze.

You have imagined this moment a thousand times since meeting him, and yet nothing you have ever dreamed comes close. When you part, he is as breathless as you are.

Leonardo

You’re sitting in one of the most beautiful concert halls in the world. Golden, ornamental lamps, plush red velvet and mahogany seating, balconies with intricate designs carved from the most expensive wood. It is the incarnation of everything lush and elegant. But even its majestic beauty isn’t what has you breathlessly on the edge of your seat. The story told through the grace of the ballet playing out on the gigantic stage before you has captured your imagination completely.

You watch, hand over heart, as the heroine dances her way through the dark forest, intent on saving the man she loves. The lead dancer, in her glittering white, leaps and twirls her way through the dozens of others dressed as black shadows. You gasp when they hold her, lift her and spin, menacing despite their beauty.

Leonardo reaches over, covering your hand with his. You offer him a quick squeeze in acknowledgement but don’t look away. While you’re spell-bound by the ballet, he is spell-bound by you. Your face is flushed with emotion, your hand pressed against your heart as if keeping it inside your chest. You look radiant, bathed in the dim, wavering light of the concert hall. The heroine defeats the shadows, reaching her prince only to have to battle the devil himself. What follows is a gravity-defying duel, a dance between good and evil, innocence and sin.

It is only when the heroine defeats the prince of darkness and leaps into her lover’s arms that you tear your gaze away from the stage to look at Leonardo. “Isn’t it beautiful?” All he sees is your face, your eyes bright with unshed tears, your heart racing with the adrenaline of the show, dusting your skin with warmth. And he can’t help it. He leans forward, capturing your lips with his. A moment passes where you are still, the emotion of the story ebbing to let in this new flood of emotion sparked by his kiss.

And then you’re melting into him, the tension that had held you on the edge of your seat dissipating. The heroine embraces her rescued prince and you wrap your arms around Leonardo, kissing him back with the full-force of your racing heart.

Silvio

You have to win. The waves roll over your head as you swim beneath their pull, racing your way to the shore. Your heart hammering steadily in your chest, a coxswain giving the muscles of your legs and arms the rhythm they need to keep up a steady pace. But Silvio is right behind you. You can sense it. You can feel his nearness, the force of his determination to win, conducted through the water like electricity.

You were shocked when he took the bet. The swim out to the buoy had been relaxing, both you enjoying the cold water and warm sun. But then he had gotten cocky, telling you what a fantastic swimmer he is, “the best. No one fucking faster.” And his bragging had needled you so much, you opened your mouth, claiming you could beat him. Sure your swimming was limited to rivers and ponds, but it couldn’t be that much harder out in the ocean. Could it? Those brilliant blue eyes had flashed at the challenge. “What’s it gonna cost you when I win?” “A truth. No matter what I ask, you have to answer honestly.” He regarded you for a moment, body swaying with the rhythm of the waves, one hand on the red and white buoy. “It works both ways,” he finally said. “You gotta tell the truth when I win. Which I will.”

You don’t even know what you will ask him but it doesn’t matter now as you propel yourself through the salty water. You just want to win. To see that smug smile on those damned beautiful lips disappear. So you swim as you have never swum before, willing yourself forward towards the beach. But try as you might, Silvio is a child of Benitoite, raised by the wind and the waves. He cuts through the water like Poseidon just as the sandy beach comes into view. By the time you reach the fine white sand, he’s already sitting there, breathing hard as the ocean’s foam tugs at his legs. You collapse on your back into the sand beside him, breathless as you look up at the endless expanse of blue sky.

“I won. So I get to ask a question.” He turns, looking down at where you’re laying, cheeks flushed with exertion, chest rising and falling as you claim control over your lungs. You can only nod, feeling the way the sand softly cushions the back of your head. He leans down, silver hair dark with sea water, eyes sapphire-bright. “Do you wanna kiss me?” What an unfair question. Because you have to answer it honestly and you’re not sure you are ready for that. But your bet has you staring up at him, his face and shoulders glistening with water droplets, and your heart bounces off the ropes like a boxer ready to go another round of frantic beating.

“Yes.” The word is so small but it feels like it could change your world. Silvio grins slowly. “Knew it.” And he leans back. You blink. He’s not making a move to kiss you and a very irritated part of you realizes he only wanted the admission. Not today, sir. Like a cresting wave, you surge upwards and pull him down, kissing him passionately. He goes stiff with shock. But then his body takes over before his mind can ruin anything and he lowers himself down, the length of him pressed against you. As the cool ocean breaks around your entwined bodies, as his mouth returns your kisses with a heat that feels it may burn you alive, you realize you were right. This moment will change the world as you know it. For the better.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikemen vampire #ikepri #ikevamp #ikepri silvio #silvio ricci #ikepri keith #keith howell #ikevamp leonardo #leonardo da vinci #1k first kiss celebration #kiss fic #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfiction #violettwrites

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persephoneflowerpetals · 5 months

Text

'Til Death

Chapter 8: First Date

Chapter 7: Passing the Time

Chapter 9: The Exes (WIP)

Wake up, babes! We finally got chapter 8 of ‘Til Death! Lmao, but seriously I just wanted to apologize for the long wait. I really struggled trying to write some authentic and in-character dialogue for these two lol. Also life and work got in the way too, so yeah. But now I can really get to the “nitty gritty” parts of the story! I’m very excited to write for those next chapters coming up! Hopefully, those won’t take forever to write like this chapter lol! But anyways, please enjoy!

Persephone waited for the black smoke that surrounded them to dissipate before taking a look at her surroundings, wondering what this “perfect spot” that Hades was referring to would be like.

When the smoke finally cleared Persephone found herself by a river bank. The grass was a dark green color and the trees that stood nearby the river were sparsely covered with warm colored leaves. You could really tell it was autumn and that Persephone’s mother, Demeter, was busy at work. The rushing water in the river was practically crystal clear as it ran along various rocks and logs. Persephone could see fishes of various sizes swimming along the current to their unknown destination as well as the occasional autumn leaves being swept away by the current.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? Not bad for the River Styx.” Hades remarked as he surveyed the area as well, his hands planted firmly on his hips.

Persephone looked at Hades with surprise. “Wait, this is the River Styx?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yup, the one and only aqua border and river route to the Underworld.“ Hades answered as he crossed his arms and smiled proudly while looking at the river.

“Huh, I never knew this was part of the River Styx. I thought it only consisted of souls of the dead.” said Persephone.

“It does in the Underworld, but outside the Underworld it’s just a plain old river and a pretty nice one at that if I do say so myself.” Hades replied.

Persephone smiled then looked around at the empty, grassy area they were in. “So, where’s this picnic you were talking about?” she asked as she raised her brow curiously.

Hades grinned as he snapped his fingers and suddenly an entire picnic, blanket included, appeared on the grass before them. The blanket was a dark blue color, contrasting greatly with the green grass around it. An array of delicious looking foods were scattered on one half of the blanket while the other half was empty, leaving room for the two gods to sit on it.

“Voila. A picnic for two.” Hades declared, presenting the set up to Persephone as if it were a work of art.

“Wow, you certainly went all out.” Persephone remarked as she went over to the blanket to sit on it.

Persephone observed the food laid out on the blanket as Hades sat next to her. The picnic looked more like a feast rather than a small lunch. There were lots of Grecian finger foods like tirokroketes, tzatziki with fresh baked pita bread and veggies, and tomatokeftedes. There were even foods she’s never even seen before like little triangle shaped pieces of bread with some sort of tomato sauce and cheese. Of course, Hades didn’t forget that Persephone had a bit of a sweet tooth, as there were many scrumptious desserts on the blanket as well like melomakarona, kourabiedes, and Persephone’s favorite, bougatsa. Sitting on the edge of the blanket were two black colored goblets that looked like they came straight out of the Underworld and a pitcher of nectar (which also looked similar to the goblets).

“What can I say? I like a little variety with my meals.” Hades replied with a cheeky smile and shrug. “Go ahead. Dig in.”

Persephone looked at him and smiled before helping herself to some of the mysterious foods on the blanket. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen some of these foods before. What is this stuff?” Persephone asked, picking up a cream filled treat covered in powdered sugar and chocolate chips.

“I figured you might like some Roman dishes. Those guys stink at naming gods, but they make some great food. Try it. It’s really good.” Hades answered as he poured some nectar from the pitcher into the goblets for each of them.

“Funny, you said the same thing about the worms. I’m surprised you didn’t bring any.” Persephone joked.

Hades smirked as he replied, “Uhh, as I recall you liked the worms, so don’t sound so skeptical. Anyways, I thought I’d be a little more classy by keeping bugs off the menu.”

Persephone giggled softly before taking a bite of the sweet looking pastry. Her eyes widened as her mouth formed a small smile. “Oh my gods, this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted! What’s it called?!” Persephone asked with delight after swallowing.

“Cannoli.” Hades answered with a grin before taking a sip of nectar. He found her excitement and wondrous delight in food to be adorable. The way her face lit up when she found something new to be truly delicious made Hades’ nonexistent heart skip a beat.

“Well, I think cannolis are my new favorite food!” Persephone giggled before taking another bite of the creamy pastry.

Hades chuckled softly as he looked at her with admiration. Gods, how could one goddess be so darn cute? The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment as they both snacked on food, the natural sounds of the nearby flora and fauna putting them at ease as they took in the beautiful view of their surroundings.

“So…we’re here. We’re eating. Didn’t you say you wanted to talk?” Persephone asked as she grabbed another piece of food from the blanket.

Oh, right. This was supposed to be a date. Though, Hades didn’t actually say it was a date, but this is what it was supposed to be and a date is supposed to involve talking and getting to know each other.

“Well, what do you wanna talk about?” Hades asked before taking a bite out of one of the tomatokeftedes.

Persephone paused for a moment, trying to think of a subject to discuss. She then looked at Hades with a sweet smile. “Could you tell me more about your mother? I like hearing you talk about her. It’s nice.”

Hades smiled fondly at the comment before taking a final bite of his food. “Heh, sheesh, where do I even start?”

“Does she have any hobbies besides watching over the cosmos?” Persephone asked.

“Oh, yeah. Believe it or not, my mom’s a total party animal. Seriously, I think she could out-party Bacchus!” Hades answered with a chuckle.

“Really?” asked Persephone in slight disbelief as she chuckled with him.

“Yeah, you’ve never been to a ‘Rhea party’ before?”

Persephone shook her head. “Well, next time my mom throws a party I’m takin’ you with me, babe. Let me tell ya, her parties are wild! I’m not joking, last party she threw she made her grand entrance by riding in on a lion! A lion! Can you believe that?!”

“Wow,” Persephone giggled. “When I asked about your mother’s hobbies, that's the last thing I expected to hear! I think I’d love to meet her one day. I can tell you really admire her by the way you talk about her.”

“What’s not to admire? She’s amazing! Besides, her parties are the only ones I can attend where I’m actually welcome…and invited.” Hades said as he took another sip of his glass of nectar. “So, I told you about my family. What about yours? What’s the deal with your dad? I’ve never heard anybody talk about him.”

“Oh, that’s because I don’t have one.” Persephone replied casually.

“Ah, I get it.” Hades said with a nod. “Deadbeat dad. Left for goat milk and never came back, right?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just literally don’t have a father. You really don’t know how my sister and I were born?” Persephone asked, surprised that this god who seemed to know everything about everything didn’t know how she was born.

“We’re both about the same age and we grew up in different parts of Greece, so besides reproduction, no. I have no idea how you were born. What? Did you pop out of your mother’s head or something?” Hades asked with a playful smirk.

Persephone laughed at his silly question. “No. Back when the titans were still running things my mom was busy using her powers trying to make the Earth a better place. More beautiful. Of course, that’s a little difficult when you have titans like Pyros and Lythos running around destroying everything in their path. So, safe to say, my mom had her work cut out for her and she didn’t think she’d have the time to find a husband and maintain a relationship, but she did really want kids, so she found a safe place somewhere in Attica and planted some sort of ‘magical sprout-let’. While it grew she watered it and gave it some sun, y’know, normal gardening stuff. Then, 9 months later, the sprout bloomed into a flower and here I am! Of course, the same process happened with my sister too, so the real reason why mortal parents tell their children babies come from ‘magical gardens’ is because of my mother.”

Hades smiled as she explained the story of her birth, listening to every word. “Huh, and here I thought it was because they didn’t wanna teach their kids about the birds and the bees at such a young age.”

Persephone laughed again at his comment. “Yeah, that too.” she replied.

“But seriously, why does that not surprise me in the slightest? You being born from a flower of all things.” Hades said.

“I know. The flowery spring goddess being born from a magical flower? What a shocker!” Persephone replied sarcastically as she smiled.

A sudden noise from nearby immediately interrupted the gods’ conversation. A mother duck and her ducklings had decided to hop onto dry land after swimming in the river. Persephone smiled as she watched the ducks shake the water off their feathers and waddle near the picnic blanket. She then manifested a bunch of seeds into her hand and offered them to the duck and her babies. The ducks eagerly ate the seeds in Persephone’s hand as Hades watched with a smile. He wasn’t really big on “cutesy stuff” like this (in fact, this sort of stuff kinda disgusted him), but when he looked at Persephone and how sweet she looked feeding those ducks, Hades just couldn’t help but smile. The goddess was so stinkin’ cute that even Hades wasn’t immune to her adorable charm.

One of the ducklings, struggling to find room around Persephone’s arm to eat some of the seeds, then wandered over to Hades after its failed attempts to reach her handful of seeds. Hades looked down to see the fluffy, yellow, little duckling chirping at him, as if it were asking him for some food.

“Uhh, no. Go away. Shoo. Food’s over there. Go on.” Hades said, trying to gently shoo the chirping duckling away from him as he looked at it with slight disgust.

Persephone lightly chuckled and placed some seeds on the blanket near the little duckling. The duckling turned around and saw the seeds, instantly going towards them to eat them as other ducklings started going over to the small pile of seeds.

Hades looked over at Persephone and just couldn’t stop smiling and staring at her. She was just so sweet and beautiful. He couldn’t not look at her. He was so distracted by her, in fact, that he didn’t even notice that some of the ducklings that had gathered nearby were starting to waddle on top of him and into his lap. It wasn’t until he heard the sound of many chirping ducklings that Hades actually looked down to see the baby ducks all spread onto his lap. Some were even trying to hop up to climb up his chiton.

Persephone giggled when she noticed Hades with the baby ducks in his lap and how confused he was by it. Hades looked over at her again when he heard her giggling.

“I think they like you.”

Hades raised his brow and smiled as he looked back down at the ducklings. “Well, it’s no wonder you little things are easy prey. You’re a poor judge of character.”

Persephone laughed at Hades’ witty comment before the mother duck that stood by the spring goddess started quacking at her babies. The ducklings then waddled away from Hades and straight to their mother, one little duck straggling behind the others after clumsily tumbling out of Hades’ lap. The gods then watched the family of ducks waddle off into the forest behind them.

Hades then picked up his goblet of nectar once again and took a sip. “So, there’s something I’ve been dying to ask you since the day you yelled at me.”

Persephone then looked over at Hades and smirked. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“You said you didn’t have a say in what role you’d get as a goddess, so what kind of role would you have picked if you had the chance? I’m genuinely curious.”

Persephone looked down in thought. “Huh, I guess I never really thought about it before. Well, I mean, I have thought about it, but just not…deeply...”

There was a short pause as Persephone thought about her answer. She then chuckled to herself, trying to think of something. “I dunno. There’s a lot of things I’d like to be goddess of.”

“Like?” Hades asked, wanting her to continue her thoughts.

“Like, Goddess of Beauty and Love. Aphrodite has an amazing role. She blesses mortals with beauty and helps them fall in love. I think that’s really sweet, but there’s always a down side to every role, y’know? Like, having to deal with mortals that fall out of love with each other or mortal women begging and pleading to be blessed with beauty.”

“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point there.” Hades replied.

“But, I hope you don’t think I hate my role as a goddess because of what I said. I really do like being Goddess of Spring. It’s just…sometimes my family makes it hard for me to enjoy what I do…but, I dunno, at the same time I guess it would’ve been nice to have a say in what I get to do for the rest of eternity. Who knows? Maybe I could’ve been Goddess of the Underworld.”

Hades chuckled. “Goddess of the Underworld, huh? Alright, I see how it is. Are you vying for my job now?” he asked with a smirk.

“Nah, I was thinking maybe we could do a partnership. Like a ‘duo deity’ sort of thing.” Persephone replied with a playful smirk.

“Oh, a partnership. Well, you show a lot of promise, babe. I mean, you’re pretty good at organizing scrolls for me, so I could make something work. How about you send me your resume and I’ll beseech you with an offer at my earliest convenience, alright?” Hades jokingly suggested.

Persephone laughed as Hades joined her. “Alright, deal.”

There was another moment of silence as the two just sat there, enjoying each other’s company as they looked at the natural scenery before them.

Hades then turned to Persephone to speak. “Hey, uhh…you wanna…go for a walk along the river for a little bit?” he casually asked.

“Sure.” Persephone replied with a nod before getting up from the picnic blanket, wiping any dirt, grass, or crumbs from her chiton before making her way along the river bank.

Hades stood up as well, brushing himself off before snapping his fingers, causing the picnic to disappear in a cloud of black smoke. He then followed after Persephone to walk along with her.

The two gods spent the rest of their time just walking along the river and talking. They told stories, cracked jokes, shared their likes and dislikes. They had gotten so lost in conversation that it had already reached sunset and were now heading towards the end of the River Styx.

They spotted a wooden bridge across the river, the bridge that crossed the border between the entrance to the Underworld and the entrance to the mortal part of the Earth. They decided to stop on the bridge and watch Apollo slowly pull the sun across the sky.

Hades looked over at Persephone and smiled as he admired her. She was so gorgeous. The way her hot pink hair flowed in the breeze. That adorable little smile she almost always seemed to have on her face and how her amethyst colored eyes always sparkled. Hades was positively stunned by her beauty. Everything about her was truly perfect in every way. That honestly used to annoy him, but now it’s one of the many things he finds so attractive about her. It was so crazy how after getting to know her, his perception of Persephone really changed.

Hades then looked down to the water of the river rushing under the bridge, trying to decide whether he should finally make a move on Persephone. He didn’t want to ruin the moment by making her uncomfortable, but this was such a great opportunity to do something romantic. Anything romantic. But…what if she was getting mixed signals this entire time and thought this was some sort of friendly outing? What if she gets creeped out by his advances and leaves? He’s already come so far with her, especially with this impromptu date. He didn’t want to ruin things now, but…he couldn’t let this beautiful moment go to waste. Who knows when he’ll get another moment like this with her? Decisions, decisions…

Persephone looked over at Hades who seemed to be lost in thought. His face had a focused expression as he watched the water while he leaned on the railing of the bridge. Persephone smiled as she observed him. It amazed her how well she got along with him and how much they had in common with each other. She was honestly really glad she took the chance to actually get to know Hades. Not a lot of gods out there were willing to do that, but she was and it was certainly worth it.

The spring goddess continued to study Hades’ features as he looked at the water below. His gaunt face, his gray-blue skin, his fiery blue hair that always made cute little swirls when he walked around, the surprisingly well toned muscles on his arms. Hades really wasn’t that bad looking of a god. In fact, Persephone oddly found him to be quite handsome. She loved the way he laughed, the way he smiled at her when he gave her a genuine compliment, the way he took in every single word she said when she spoke to him as if it were the most important information he could ever retain.

That fluttery feeling started to come back to Persephone, like that night when Hades talked to her under the stars. It was like a bunch of butterflies were floating around in her tummy. She looked at Hades again and the feeling got stronger and stronger the more she thought about the things she admired about him…and then…it hit her. The sudden realization hit her like a tidal wave from Poseidon that this feeling she had been getting...it was love. She had fallen in love with Hades. She was in love with him this whole time and she never even knew it. Whenever they subtly flirted with each other, when they smiled at each other, when Hades showed genuine appreciation for each and every plant she made for him in Asphodel Meadows, whenever she blushed when he said something sweet to her. The signs were all there and she never saw them until now. This god that she once despised has now stolen her heart and she had no idea what to do.

A million questions and thoughts rushed through Persephone’s mind as she came to this sudden realization. She looked out and the sunset, once more. The sun was nearly gone from the horizon and it wouldn’t be long now before Artemis would shoot her arrow towards the sky to bring out the moon.

The pink goddess turned to Hades and took a shaky breath. She had no idea what she was doing right now. It seemed like she was doing whatever her body told her to do in that moment.

“Um…Hades?”

Persephone’s soft and somewhat shaky voice brought Hades out of his thoughts as he turned to her.

“Yeah?”

He now had her full attention as she nervously stroked a lock of her hot pink hair, looking down to avoid looking at Hades.

“I, um…I just….wanted…to tell you…...”

Persephone truly had no idea what she was doing right now, but for some reason she had this urgent need to tell Hades how she felt. She was terrified and excited all at the same time. She finally looked up at Hades and found him watching her with anticipation, waiting for what she had to say. It wasn’t until she looked into his glowing yellow eyes that the words slipped out of her mouth.

“….I love you.”

For a split second, Hades’ expression turned to one of surprise before Persephone quickly and suddenly placed her hands on his chest and kissed him. Little blue flowers started to bloom out of her hair when her lips met with his.

Hades’ eyes grew wide as his pupils dilated. His blue flame began to flare up as his body tensed. He wasn’t expecting her to kiss him, let alone tell him she loved him.

Persephone could feel Hades tense up and for a moment she considered stopping, worrying that she had just made a huge mistake, but then she felt Hades relax. This was exactly what Hades wanted from all this. He wanted her to fall for him and she obviously did, he just didn’t expect her to admit her feelings to him right then and there.

Hades melted into her kiss as he kissed her back, gently cupping her soft and rosy cheek. They then separated for air as they looked at each other again. Persephone’s face was flushed red like a strawberry and Hades could help, but smile. His sudden flare up was starting to die down as well as he gazed into Persephone’s eyes. He then noticed the little blue flowers in her hair and smirked as he picked one, studying it with a fond expression before looking back at her.

“Y’know, I think blue looks really good on you.”

Persephone smiled back at him and giggled as she then cuddled into the crook of his neck while she wrapped her arms around him. Hades dropped the little flower and wrapped his arms around Persephone as he rested his head atop hers.

Everything just felt so right, like they belonged in each other’s arms. They stood there on the bridge, holding each other close as the sun finally set and the moon appeared in the sky.

Persephone then looked up at him and smiled. Hades looked down at her with a soft smile and brushed a piece of hair away from her face. “How about we call it a night, huh?”

Persephone nodded as they separated before they both disappeared from the bridge in a burst of blue flames. The gods then reappeared in the Underworld, now holding hands as Hades walked Persephone back to her bedroom in comfortable silence. Neither god could stop smiling after that kiss. They were truly happy at that moment and they never wanted that feeling to go away.

When the two gods finally reached the doors to Persephone’s room, Persephone let go of Hades’ hand and walked over to said doors. She turned to him one last time, still feeling flustered from the kiss. “Thank you…for everything today. I had a wonderful time…and I hope we can do that again soon.”

Hades continued to smile as he looked at her with admiration. “Yeah, me too…g’night, Seph.”

Persephone stepped towards Hades and gave him another quick kiss as she cupped his cheek. “Goodnight, Hades.” she said before opening the doors to her room and going inside for the night.

Hades just stood there in front of her room for a moment. Staring at the doors in a lovesick daze before turning around to teleport himself to his throne room. Once there, Hades slowly and calmly took a deep breath.

“WHOOOO!!! YEAH!!! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT!!! I STILL GOT IT, BABY!!! YEAH!!!”

Meanwhile, as Persephone got herself ready for bed, she just couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face. She just had her first kiss! With Hades! She couldn’t believe it! After hundreds of years of being alone and single, Persephone finally found herself a boyfriend that she truly loved! Persephone went to sleep that night with the biggest smile on her face, knowing that she had finally found love with the one and only God of the Underworld...and oh, gods was her mother gonna flip when she finds out.

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f1a1w1n · 4 months

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Centre of it all (Cal Kestis x (f!) reader)

Part one

Summary: You, a jedi hides on the most remote plant in the galaxy. No one can find you, or so you think. Enemies to lovers, Friends to lovers etc.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

Authors note: I'm writing a new fic. if you have any ideas pls tell me, comment or tel me in the google form at the bottom. love ya pls enjoy

Rain.

A stupid amount of rain. Not that it bothered you particularly or anything, its just your speeder was rusted at this point and left at home, and you were so used to the dry weather and walking everywhere that it had become a habit to walk to the market whenever you needed anything.

It was a small town that you lived on the outskirts of, on a small planet, in a small system on the outer rim of the galaxy. The town you live in was mainly made of wet grey bricks -now covered in blooming green moss. You stand on the steps of a small grocer, a small shel of wet rock your only cover. The grocer - if you can even call it that, it's just old Syue with her imports and exports of the week, sometimes it's fresh produce and sometimes it's best to stick to the non-perishables.

As you wait foolishly for the rain to stop you think back to two weeks ago - a strange disturbance in the force, something bright, energetic… terrifying. The small planet was your only refuge, growing tired of moving around - this small gem was your lifeline in a never ending cesspool of politics. That presence in the force was alluring to you, your mind constantly flicking back to it. What was it?

“Fuck it.” You say. You bolt down the street, groceries clutched in hand. You turn the corner ducking under cover whenever you can. Eventually you reached your small house, on the very edge of town. Surrounded by foliage and dense grass your house stood defiantly against the rain, brave little thing.

You kick off your shoes and dump the groceries on the counter. You squeeze out as much water from your hair as you can. You glance at the clock.

“Ugh.” It was time for work. I mean as bad as jobs go, this wasn’t the worst. You can’t really find jobs as a jedi can you? No - you can’t, and working as a waitress isn’t horrible?

Your blanket and pillows still remain on the floor from when you had fallen out of bed this morning, a vivid dream burned into your eyes. A bright red energy in a field of dull grey reaching out to you. “No” you say in your dream. The red energy creeps forward. “Who are you?” No reply. Suddenly the energy takes a vague form, it's a man. You can barely hear him say something. “Pardon?” you say.

“...who are you…” you barely catch the man say - then all of a sudden you flung from your dream and you wake up on your floor.

Dreams like this have been clouding your mind for months now. You're barely getting any quality sleep.

Jido Kara’s Tavern

For the most part, this evening was the busiest shift you had seen in a long time. Practically the whole town was there. You speculate its cause of the most recent import of alcohol, courtesy of Old Syue.

Wring the rag between your hands as you sit down your boss sits next to you.

“Why don’t you call off early? Rica is coming in to cover your shift.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll just get a drink first.”

He gives you a pat on the back and waddles off to the back. A game of sport is playing on the tiny tv at one side of the bar - close to the door where everyone is huddled. Cries of yay’s and boo’s chorus through the bar as the town's favourite team play. Obviously, you choose the opposite end of the bar to sit. The bartender, Deonor, pours you a drink and winks.

“On the house.”

You smile gratefully, unable to make small talk. He doesn’t chide you for it. What seems like an hour goes by when you occasionally look at the game and sipping at your drink. Deonor refills it. Then suddenly you see a head of red hair poke through the crowd which surrounds the small tv. He boo’s and cheers with the rest of the group. You wave Deonor over.

“Do you know that guy?” You carefully point to him.

Deonor thinks for a second. “Hm yeah, he’s new. He’s been coming in for the last two weeks getting drinks if I remember correctly.”

“Oh right.” You say as nonchalantly as possible.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason, just curious.” You say lost in thought. Why does he feel familiar? You can’t help but stare at the back of his head. Maybe if you stare long enough you’ll know.

“I think he was looking for someone.” Deonor says. But you barely hear him, too intent on this man’s familiarity.

“Uh huh.” you say, taking another sip of your drink. You can barely make out his face, only his hair is visible over the small ground of sports enthusiasts.

“I think he was looking for you.” Deonor says.

You almost spit out your drink. “I’m sorry what?” just as you say this you lock eyes with the man. You can almost feel your face flush as his bright eyes scan your face. But just as quickly as he looked at you, you turned around and high-tail for the back exit.

“Wait” the man says over the crowd.

You ignore him speed walking back home. Why did he feel so familiar? Just to be sure you reach out with the force scanning the crowd and sure enough, a bright red presence at the centre of it all.

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silaslich · 16 days

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It’s My Heart, I Can’t Cut It Out

Simon Riley x John Mactavish

Wc - 5.9k | chapter 4 of ? | chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 | check cover art for tags + warnings

Price has never run so fast in his life, he’s sure of it.

He hadn’t even thought to grab his coat or shoes, now he runs barefoot and half dressed as he hurls himself around corners and ignores the complaints that the portraits throw toward him because of all the racket he’s making.

He needs to get to John.

Something bright had awoken him. A light so bright it burned through his eyelids. He’d stirred, grumbling at whatever it was that had woken him up. He blinks through the discomfort as he tries to make out the shape. It’s a crow. Yet, it isn’t any ordinary crow. This one is made up of a bright silvery-blue light. It’s eyes round and glowing like sapphires. Price blinks hard, the bleariness of his vision beginning to subside, as he moves to sit up in his bed. The crow hops down from where it had perched on his bedpost. Realisation hits Price like a thundering train.

It’s Simon’s patronus.

It’s all Simon could think of doing at that precise moment in time. Stumbling out of the forest, exhausted and disheveled after a long night. The full moon bringing forth his compulsion to transform. He’s knock-kneed when his feet hit the cobblestone road, his eyes adjusting to the rising dawn across the hill, framing Hogwarts as it sits in the distance with a pale-yellow glow. His hands are caked with dirt and he can taste the familiar coppery twang of blood on his tongue and lips. He smothers his hands down his chest and his shirt, starting off toward the school - when he sees something lying in the middle of the cobblestone path.

Simon thinks nothing of it, walking toward what looks like a wand, he’s in half a mind to leave it where it is incase someone comes looking for it; but then he notices a chip in the wood close to the tip of the wand and the intricate vine-like swirls that weave their way around the base of it - this is Johnny’s wand.

Panic doesn’t immediately set in. Johnny could have just dropped it out of his pocket, but deep down Simon knew that this was something more. He knew Johnny would be missing his wand, so why wasn’t he looking for it? Simon’s judgment of the suns position in the sky gives him only an indication of the time, a mere guess, he has nothing on him to tell him exactly. Surely Johnny would be up and awake by now, he’s so sure of it.

He’d be up by now, Simon’s convinced of it, he’d be up and awake and hungry and most of all grossly aware that his wand was missing.

Simon’s mind reels, confused, his post transformation state is always a delicate one. Fragile and unstable. His rationality is stripped away for now. So when his fingers wrap around Johnny’s wand it’s no surprise that his patronus comes flying out of the tip with an explosion of silvery-blue light. A bursting flurry of feathers and wisps of wind that come with each beat of its wings.

He expects the crow to lead him toward Johnny, but instead, the conjured bird hovers close by, its big blue eyes fixed to the ground below - as if watching a beetle scurry through the grass. Simon reminds himself that this isn’t his wand, perhaps the casting was off, not suited to his magic.

Then, Simon’s legs begin to carry him toward where the crow hovers in the sky, intrigued almost, he’s met with horror instead. “Johnny” his voice is barely that of a whisper.

His eyes fix to Johnny’s lifeless body that lays below, thick with mud and half submerged in green-brown water. A second doesn’t pass before Simon is beside him, up to his thighs in the freezing water as he kneels beside Johnny, quick to support his head and pull him close and out of the reaches of the chilled water, “come on Johnny” Simon murmurs. As if sensing Simon’s panic, the crow darts off toward the castle, leaving a silver trail in its wake.

Simon moves to adjust Johnny in his grip, his face whitening when he pulls his palm from cradling Johnny’s head to find it caked in blood, too much of it. “No no no no” Simon’s unsure of what to do for the best, but he does the only thing that feels right, he can’t wait for help, so with a strain - he hoists Johnny up into his arms and pulls the both of them out of the muddy ditch and starts off toward the castle - quicker then he’s ever had to be before.

John dreams.

There are no creatures; and his hands are bloodless, clean as a whistle. He hears birds sing above his head in the trees and there’s the faint smell of the honking daffodils that line the dirt path in front of him. As much as his surroundings feel familiar, John can’t piece the rest of the image together; it’s fragmented. Held together, just barely, strung together like a tattered friendship bracelet he remembers from his childhood. It was green and blue.

As his feet begin to move and his eyes wander, it becomes no clearer to John, but the pulsing in his head is gone and his entire being feels lighter than it has in years. So he won’t question whatever this is. John walks for what feels like hours, but when he turns to look back from where he’s just come from he’s barely moved ten feet. It feels like he’s underwater; everything is hazy, yet, so crystal clear. He blinks and suddenly he’s standing beside a body of water, a lake of sorts, its water is a beautiful shade of blue and the rays from the sun scatter across its surface and create a cacophony of bright shapes that dance with the lakes movement. He’s intrigued, he wonders if it’s simply a mirage, a trickery of his eyes and a sign of his madness.

There’s a lull to his movements, it takes too long to put one foot in front of the other, time moves differently here. Wherever “here” is.

By the time Simon reaches the castle, Price is already sprinting toward him, tailed by Ivor McCormick, the Matron at Hogwarts. Ivor is a slight man with a head full of inky black curls and eyes that are impossibly green, he’s round about Simon’s age.

He had come from a specialist branch within St Mungo’s Hospital that specialised in healing injuries incurred by dark magic. His work was widely renowned and it left him in high demand - so he was well travelled despite only being in his late twenties.

Simon is exhausted, no matter how many times he’s endured a full moon, it never seems to get any easier. He’d never had the added weight of Johnny in his arms when he was dragging his own carcass back to the castle, so this time there is more on the line than just himself, he had never really cared about that. Now, it’s different, he’s so weak he can barely stand but he won’t let himself falter, even as his knees threaten to give way from the weight of his own body he still doesn’t slacken his hold on Johnny, his head remains supported gently in the crook of Simon’s arm.

Price is merely feet away, his eyes wide and his mouth agape, gulping air like he’s starved of it. “What happened?” He shouts. The man slides to his knees with his arms extended wide, just in time to catch Simon’s fall as he sinks to one knee, adrenaline is the only thing fuelling him now.

There’s no emotion in Simon’s face, a blank slate, not even a spark in his eyes. Price immediately reaches out to take Johnny’s weight, to give Simon reprieve, but Simon just clutches Johnny tighter to his chest. Unwilling to let even Ivor look at him.

The two men look at each other, they both know of Simon’s condition, for obvious reasons, and that means that they both know that some of Simon’s “wolf-like” behaviours can and do bleed into the human side of him. He has always been aggressive, his childhood had shaped him that way, but his Lycanthropy only worsened this trait, amongst a few more. Trying to take Johnny’s body from him now would be like trying to take a lamb shank away from a starved Manticore - a death wish.

Ivor clears his throat, and although he nears closer to Simon, he keeps his hands raised to the height of his chest in a sign of surrender. “It’s okay Simon” he says softly “we need to help John” he inches closer with each word he speaks, “we won’t hurt him, I promise you that”. Ivor knows that his words hold little regard in Simon’s eyes, but he has to try, and for a fleeting moment Price can see the way Simon folds his gaze over toward the healer; considering him.

Simon’s eyes then fall to Johnny’s face, sloped peacefully in false-sleep despite the blood that’s smeared down his throat and across his cheek, a gruesome image. Simon adjusts his grip, still holding Johnny in the cradle of his arm but freeing his other hand so he can brush the hair from Johnny’s eyes where it’s fallen down across his forehead. He stares down at him for a few long seconds, mapping out every scar and freckle and mole, trying to picture the silverish-blue of his eyes - how could he ever forget it?

“It’s his head” Simon’s voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, “he’s hit his head” Simon’s body language suddenly shifts, inviting Ivor into the space, the healer wastes no time at all.

As Price stands near, watching Ivor try to work around the death grip Simon maintains around Johnny’s shoulders, he can’t help but wonder - what really happened?

He doesn’t doubt the authenticity of Simon’s words, but he can’t help but put Simon as the catalyst in his own story, he’s the reason Johnny had smashed his skull and was now unconscious.

Had they had an argument? Was it an accident incurred during Simon’s transformation? Price calls down his rationality, the wolfsbane should keep Simon’s mind intact despite his change, perhaps it hadn’t worked - for whatever reason. Then again, there is categorically no chance that John had failed at brewing an effective wolfsbane, unless he had done it on purpose…he knew things between the two men were bad, but he wouldn’t expect that from John.

The haze continues. Repeated over and over again. The cycle drags on, but it never ends. John is tired, but the air around him seems to breathe the life back into him when he wavers, his feet drag across the path but the changing scenery around him keeps him moving forward, the trees shift and the lake ripples - and John keeps on walking.

John keeps on walking until he steps on something, it rolls beneath the heel of his boot, it sounds as if something splinters. When his eyes follow the sound and he moves his foot to examine what it is, it’s a wand. It’s his wand. He tilts his head, crouching to pick it up, it’s worn and even more broken at the tip but it’s nothing Olivander’s can’t fix for him.

As his fingers wrap around its base something explodes in his chest, it burns, it’s like a whip lashing across his back. It makes him gasp, stealing the breath from his lungs and the pain makes him snap his eyes shut; only, when he closes his eyes - that’s when he sees the creature once more. Blood drips from its lips and its jaw snaps, but its familiar hazel-green eyes are the only thing John can focus on.

John’s body jolts and he’s suddenly sitting bolt upright in his bed in the hospital wing.

The space is devoid of light bar a few candles across the other side of the room, no doubt for Ivor to make his night checks, but not so bright as to disturb those who are sick or sorry.

John blinks his eyes, trying his best to adjust to the dim light, but everything hurts. There’s an ache that pulses in his body and the side of his head throbs with pain, he brings his fingers up to apply pressure where the pain stems from. He’s met with bandages.

He can’t really remember anything. Nothing of importance at least. There’s a lake and the honking daffodils. The trees rustled and swayed with the wind over his head and the birds were ever so loud. Yet, that hadn’t been real, but it seems to be all he can remember. He doesn’t know how or why he’s here. There’s a bandage on his head and his body aches and he doesn’t have a clue why.

John sits up straighter and tries to get comfy, his neck is stiff and his back hurts, his legs feel like they’re asleep. They’ve gone all fizzy and dead from the lack of movement, and now that he’s noticed it, he can’t un-notice it. As he stretches his body out against the bed he realises that there’s another reason entirely that his legs have lost the feeling in them.

Simon’s arms are folded over John’s knees and his face sits cradled in them, his cheek flat against his forearm with his face aiming away from John.

What the fuck happened?

Thats all John can ask himself. The more he tries to remember, the more it hurts, so he’s quick to stop trying. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s not entirely thrilled that Simon is here, and nor does he understand why he’s here, but he seems peaceful. The steady rise and fall of his chest and the delicate breaths that John can just catch onto in the silence of the hospital wing; it pulls something in John’s chest.

Fatigue eats away at John as he lays there, slowly ebbing its way behind his eyes and into his mind. He doesn’t know how long he tries to fight sleep for, but as he counts Simon’s breaths in time with the swell of his ribcage - everything’s steadily fades to black.

From where John sits on the face of the hill he can see Gary very clearly.

It’s a typical summers afternoon for the two of them. John is nose-deep in a book and Gary is wading in the Black Lake with his trousers rolled up to his knees as he searches for leeches. He has only one in his jar so far and they’ve been there for over an hour.

It’s just the two of them. As it always is. They’ve chosen not to go home for the entirety of the holidays this year. John’s family is away visiting even more family abroad and Gary is muggle born, meaning half of the things he wants to do over the summer to prepare for his next school year - he simply can’t do. Not because they don’t support him, but because they prefer he didn’t do it at home. For whatever reasons.

There are a number of other students who stay too, for multiple reasons, Hogwarts never turns anyone away.

John thinks he prefers staying. He adores his family, more than words can express; but he doesn’t miss the dynamics. It’s something he doesn’t know where to fit into. His dad works long and tedious hours as a broom-maker and his mum suffers with her health meaning she can’t do anything too strenuous; it makes for many arguments between his parents. They’re both tired in their own respects and it gets lost in translation between them half of the time. Between that and the added strain his siblings bring to the mix, it’s stress John can easily do without at this point in his life.

He used to feel bad about not going home. Having received letters from his mum that detail how much she misses having him around the house. He reads deeper into it, she misses putting the chores onto him. John isn’t scared of work or lazy by any means, not at all, but he’d spent too long feeling as though he owed his parents everything. His siblings are no help at all, and that’s what annoys John more.

His older brother Eric had dropped out of Hogwarts in his fifth year. Too overtaken by the wrong crowd and unable to keep up with the workload. He barely comes home and when he does he picks fights and torments the household. Stealing money and things to sell to fuel his drinking habits. Eric is older than John by four years and he’s the first born, and that means that his mother refuses to see the wrong in what he does.

Iris is John’s younger sister, and by heck is she a handful. She’s two years younger than John and that means that she also gets away with murder. John was quick to learn what it meant to be a middle child. It means that there’s more expected of him, for what reasons, he doesn’t know exactly. It must be some unwritten hierarchy when people have kids, that the middle is the most forgettable but is also expected to pick up the slack where his siblings don’t.

John’s sister doesn’t attend Hogwarts however, because she’s a squib. A squib is someone who is born to magical parents but they themselves possess no magical abilities. He remembers distinctly when Iris and their parents had found out. Everyone insisted she was just a late bloomer, some children are, she’ll get there eventually. Only - she didn’t. It came closer and closer to her eleventh birthday and finally John’s parents decided that she needed to see a specialist. They had traveled all the way to London and back again. John sat by the window reading his book, waiting for them to return. When they did, it was like hurricane had ripped through their home.

Although not magically adept, Iris managed to destroy anything and everything in her path when she came through the front door.

Who could blame her? Finding something like that out at such a fragile age. John tried his best to be patient with her, he tried to be sympathetic, but she shut him out - she shut everyone out.

It took some adjusting, learning to live with someone who was non-magical. Sure, over the last ten years they had known no different. But now John could no longer talk to Iris about potions or flying lessons or life at Hogwarts because she would never be able to experience that. Before John had indulged her, he had told her how much she’d love it once her magical abilities finally started to peek through. He fears he’s the main reason for her disappointment, he had told her how bright her future was going to be and told her endless stories about life at Hogwarts since he’d moved there. He’d set her up for disappointment, and John is sure she hates him for it.

Gary has always lived that way, however, it’s his parents who are the non-magical ones. There was utter disbelief when his acceptance letter came through the letter box, a beautiful snowy owl had been sitting on the garden gate when Gary had walked past the window and seen it by chance. His parents had never heard of such a school. They assumed it was a prank, some kind of a joke - but it wasn’t.

Ever since being a tiny child Gary has always been the odd one out. Always strange and rough around the edges. An awkward little kid who loved creepy crawleys and playing in mud and being outside. He liked keeping to himself and wasn’t overly bothered about making many friends. He happened to enjoy his own company. Until he met John.

The two had immediately hit it off. John could never put it into words. It was like finding the other half of himself that he didn’t know he’d lost. John and Gary shared so many similarities and so many differences, but their souls were one and the same. Platonic soulmates. Each one a half that creates a whole. An unwritten understanding of living and loving. They finish each other’s sentences and share the same thoughts about things. John loves sweet things and Gary loves savoury things. They compliment each other in every way possible and there’s too many to list.

Gary suddenly cries out and it pulls John from his book. When he looks down the face of the hill toward where Gary had been paddling, he sees three figures. Two are stood hunched over the other, the one that’s now dangerously close to being pushed under the surface of the water.

Gary.

There’s no thought process. His legs simply move on their own accord. He’s sprinting so fast down the hill that his chest burns and his legs almost twist around themselves. As John nears closer he can see more clearly who is holding onto the front of Gary’s shirt. It’s Sockett and Sledge. A pair of “nitwits” as Gary called them once. There’s any wonder how they’ve made it a whole six-almost-seven years through Hogwarts. They’re as uninterested as John’s brother was, and they’re not the sharpest tools in the shed either.

John’s shoes catch on the sand and smooth pebbles as he jumps from the sand bank onto the shore, losing his footing for a split second. He steadies himself but when he looks up, he’s unsure of what to think.

Someway - somehow. Gary is up and out of harms way. Water dripping from him as he’s bracketed behind Simon’s arm, the other arm sits limply at his side, the knuckles gnarled and bloody as it drips to the cool-toned sand below.

Now it’s Sockett and Sledge who are on their backs in the water. Sockett’s nose is clearly broken from the angle it’s now sitting, blood spurts from his nostrils as he breathes through his mouth. He’s shocked. Sledge on the other hand has some sort of wound to his cheek, it’s hard to tell exactly, the only tell of the injury is that his palm is clapped tightly to his skin as blood seeps between the gaps of his fingers.

Simon doesn’t say anything, but he must make some sort of gesture with his face or eyes. The two beaten boys look at Simon and then look at each other, and as quick as they had appeared- they’re gone.

John and Gary can’t see Simon’s face, but perhaps that’s a good thing.

The older and much taller boy turns toward Gary, inspecting his face with his eyes, as if looking for any cuts or scrapes. “Are you okay?” He finally asks, Simon doesn’t realise it, but he’s so close and so much taller than Gary that it makes him tower over him. It leads Gary to step back, to give himself room to process, Simon’s face drops.

John has stopped dead in his tracks. He’s unsure why. Perhaps because the danger is gone now, he thinks. He knows very little about Simon Riley, but he knows he’s not to be messed with. They’ve been poked and prodded and teased enough by him over the years - so why help them now?

What’s changed?

Gary swallows. As he looks up at Simon, he can’t help but notice the cut on his lip and the swelling above his right eye. He thinks that Simon notices him notice, because he suddenly goes rigid. Before he can storm away, Gary manages a few words. “Yeah I’m good” he blurts out, averting his eyes from the injuries on Simon’s face, “all thanks to you” his voice softens, he’s genuinely grateful.

As Simon stands there looking at the ground, it looks like he wants to say something back, but as he opens his mouth to do so he simply closes it again. Then he looks up and nods his head with a creased brow, and turns to walk away.

Again, both Gary and John notice that as he strides away, there’s a limp in Simon’s step.

They turn to look at one another, sharing the same telepathic thought with one another.

What the actual fuck?

John startles awake. There’s a pressure in his skull and he’s suddenly aware of the heat his own body is giving off. There’s too many layers covering him. He feels suffocated.

He’s disoriented for the first few seconds after he opens his eyes and there’s a bright green glow that surrounds the space in front of his face, meaning he has to further squint to focus. As he does, he sees the clear outline of the Hogwarts Matron, Ivor, standing at his beside with a grim look on his face. The grim look happens to change once Ivor notices John stir awake. He’s quick to withdraw his wand from where he had been casting a diagnostic charm, instead he brings up his free hand to brush inky curls from his forehead as he plasters on a sincere looking smile.

“Ah! You’re awake” he squeaks, “I’m so pleased” his teeth almost glow in the low light when his smile stretches from ear to ear. For whatever reason, it unnerves John.

The Scotsman looks around the hospital wing. It looks to be getting dark outside, he can’t even muster up the strength to guess what time it could be. They should put up a clock in here. John clears his throat, it feels like he’s tried to swallow a cactus, “how long has it been?” He says hoarsely. Ivor takes less than a beat to answer, “Simon found you three days ago”.

There was a lake, and the daffodils. The birds were loud and no matter how long John walked for it seemed that he just wasn’t going anywhere. It felt so real. For the most part. So real he could smell the flowers and taste the pollen in air.

Yet, staring into the eyes of that beast had been the most veritable experience John had in a very long time. He was never one to dream that vividly. Not to the point it scared him awake. Not going as far as feeling the beasts hot breath against his face and smelling the unmistakable musk of blood as it dripped from its jaws.

The pain in his head seems to have shifted and John finally notices it. He brings up a shaky hand and ghosts over the bandages that are still wrapped around the crown of his head. He can’t remember what had happened exactly. Nor does he understand how and where Simon had found him.

Almost on cue, Ivor pipes up, watching as John tries to piece everything together in his head. “You took a tumble not far from Hogsmeade” he says, shuffling around John’s bed, pouring a pre-made remedy from a glass bottle into a mug for John to drink. “You bumped your head on something rather sharp and also managed to break your right ankle and fracture your wrist on the same side” Ivor seems almost taken aback by the amount of damage John had managed just from one slip, but he refrains from adding in the details of John’s condition at the time. So sloshed to the point you couldn’t walk straight pops into his mind but he manages not to share it.

John looks surprised. Apart from a sore head, which he usually lives with anyway, he feels pretty much fine everywhere else. Again, he’s about to ask but Ivor beats him to it. “I managed to get away with just regrowing your wrist” he looks rather pleased with himself. “The ankle was a nice clean break but your wrist was pretty mangled” he presses the mug of thick blue liquid into John’s hand and gestures for him to drink it. “I fished all of the stray bone fragments out of your wrist as I regrew you a new one so everything should be in fine working order”. Ivor shares that same unnervingly wide smile again and John simply sips at his drink. He thinks it’s because Ivor just isn’t used to smiling. It’s like the muscles aren’t trained properly.

The view of the sky from the windows tells John it must be even later than he thought it was before. In the blink of an eye it seems the sky had turned a deep midnight blue.

He hands off his empty mug back to Ivor with a small smile. “Thank you for doing this” he says, sincerely. It wasn’t often that John needed to be healed by someone else. He’d never been knocked out like this before. As an Auror it’d always been hexes and cuts and scrapes. Things he was easily able to manage and heal all by himself. After he’d seen to everyone else of course.

Ivor smiles back at John, and this time, it’s more natural. “You’re welcome John”.

Simon can only stare at Johnny.

His brain can’t process anything other than him at the minute. As much as Simon would like to pretend he doesn’t understand, he does, and it makes it hurt so much more.

Ivor had just finished up with regrowing Johnny’s wrist and Simon had stayed the whole time. He hadn’t left Johnny’s side since arriving back at Hogwarts.

There’s certain parts of Simon that became elevated after being bitten by that werewolf. All the nasty parts of himself that he hated the most seemed to be doubled. A sick twist in his already broken story. He’s somehow even more angry that he had been, and he wasn’t sure how that was even physically possible. Anger had been the first thing Simon ever tasted. Not love or adoration or affection. He was born from hatred and fear and weakness. Shared from both his mother and father. He had never known a kind hand. There was nothing gentle about Simon’s childhood and upbringing. He never learnt right from wrong or how to apologise or how to be accountable.

He was only ever told about the things that were wrong with him. Too skinny. Too blonde. Too weak. Too lazy. Too scrawny. ‘Bout time you earned your keep don’t you think boy? Why can’t you be more like Tommy? He’s just a boy leave him alone! I won’t have someone like him under my fuckin’ roof. He’s a fuckin’ puff. Don’t make him angry Simon, it hurts us all.

He’s had wooden chairs broken across his back for speaking out of turn and he’s had shattered glass pushed into his skin for making too much noise as his father tried to sleep his hangover away. He’d been forced to kiss a snake despite how truly terrifying it was because his father thought it was funny and he’d been made to eat dog food because he dared stand up for his own mother after she’d already been beaten senseless four times that week. It was only Wednesday.

How ironic it had been to get his Hogwarts letter. Shipping off and never looking back. Staring at the emerald serpentine crest that was now stitched to every piece of uniform he owned. All provided by Hogwarts because he couldn’t afford it. He reclaimed his fear of snakes after his sorting ceremony, because no longer would he be pressed under the thumb of his scumbag of a father.

He might have moved on physically, but Simon never really let go of everything that made him who he was. In reality, he was afraid to. Everything he had ever known suddenly stripped away, it was an adjustment. Living life at Hogwarts alone because it felt safer. Building up his walls because he was scared people could read his mind like he could theirs. It took him a long time to realise he was gifted; that not everyone could rifle through someone’s mind without really meaning to.

Simon lived his teenage years in a never ending destructive cycle. He craved friendships and he craved normality. Teenage romance and getting drunk on fire whiskey by the black lake in the summers. Attending end of year balls and fooling around in Hogsmeade at weekends to kill the time and make fun memories. He was never up for any of that. As much as he wanted to, part of him felt he didn’t deserve it. Maybe that’s why he resented Gary and Johnny so much when they were at school, because they had what he wanted.

Instead Simon would stalk the halls and snap at anyone who was in his way. He kept his head down through classes and exceeded expectations. Continuing on with his destructive behaviours outside of academics; pushing and shoving and tripping Gary at any given opportunity - not really knowing why.

Except he did. Gary was an example of what Simon failed at. They were both born to muggle parents and that should have given them something to relate over. Instead, it fuelled Simon’s resentment. Simon came from a broken home and Gary didn’t. They couldn’t have been any further apart when it came to upbringings and parents. Gary was loved and fawned over and pushed to do his best at everything he tried his hand at.

Simon’s parents didn’t even know where he was.

As Simon sits staring at Johnny, it suddenly occurs to him that the anger that usually sits bubbling in his chest - simmering away. It simply isn’t there. It’s as if just being near Johnny calms him. At this present moment, it really shouldn’t, because Simon could have easily lost him. He’s lucky he found him when he did, because he dreads to think about what the outcome would have been if he was even just another hour later.

Sleep usually escapes Simon. He’s always been able to run off as little as four hours, it’s never ever bothered him before. He gets by as best as he’s able to, and so far, it’s not affected him too dearly. In the presence of Johnny however, the tiredness creeps in, like something is poured over him. A slow molasses like feeling that oozes and soaks into every muscle and fibre that makes Simon whole. It seeps into him and with each passing minute Simon can feel the way his limbs grow limp and his eyelids start to droop. His blood pumps thick and lazy in his veins and he can hear it in his eardrums, tonight it sounds like the best kind of lullaby.

Within minutes, Simon leans over from where he sits in his chair and lays his head to rest against his arms as he props his head against the bedsheets that cover Johnny’s legs. Just rest your eyes for a second, he says to himself. It won’t hurt. Just a minute. As Simon closes his eyes, there’s that feeling of safety that washes through him again, and before he knows it - he’s fallen asleep to the sound of Johnny breathing. Safe and sound.

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