#this fic deserves all the love

[jeonsweetpea]

See, if all my history lessons were presented in such a captivating way, maybe I would've enjoyed history! 🤓 Because this? This is art in itself. 🏆 What a fantastic read, I've never read anything like it. There was so much thought put into this story that it plays itself like a movie. I absolutely LOVED it and think it's a masterpiece.

From the beginning when OC tries to pickpocket JK, the fact you included his dog, Bam. 😭 HOW CUTE! Ngl, the way JK pins her to the wall made me feel some type of way. 😵‍💫 From the start, the way OC talks to JK and how they banter is so... REFRESHING. She is bold, she is fierce, she absolutely is a queen. 👑

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.” “I would rather have a hand cut off.” “I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

STOP, I died laughing ahdklfjldksl I CANNOT WITH THEM. The tension. ✨

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.” “Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets. “You missed a wrinkle there.” Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?” “On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

The title of the fic truly represents JK well. I love the meaning behind it, I love their bickering and jabs at each other. It makes me cackle in the best way! 🤣🤣🤣

Later, when JK realizes OC can't read... then he starts doodling the grocery list items... I'm so soft. 🩷 And then he says he'd teach her how to read and write... be still my beating heart. And the way JK is lowkey possessive when Jimin comes around and suggests for OC to model for him. 😏😏😏

OH MY GOSH. Don't even get me started on the scene where JK stands up for OC!!! We'd all know most ppl wouldn't believe her in this time period, I nearly cried.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

I AM SCREAMING FOR HER, THIS WHOLE SCENE WAS *CHEF'S KISS*

Ohhh, later when she went OFF on the Pope and how JK finally understood why she did what she did... He's soft for her and it makes me soft too. 🥺

When Jimin came towards the end to ask for OC's hand in marriage, I literally gasped so loud. He is such a sweetheart... no doubt she'd be in good hands. But JK's "Are you drunk?" LMFAOOOO!!!!

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.” “Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?”

This 🔪 my heart so bad. 🥺💔

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

YESSSS, YESSS!!! THE CAT'S OUT OF THE BAG!!! THE WAY JK FINALLY INDULGES IN HIS DESIRES!!! It was perfectly executed, steamy, and oh my god HILARIOUS too. I could not believe she slapped him... I literally cannot believe the balls on her. 🤣🤣🤣

“Am I still to marry Jimin?” Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

You had to seal the deal with a growl, huh? I really meant it when I said this was perfection. You should be so proud, thank you for sharing your passion in art history and JK with us. You melded the two worlds seamlessly and I hope you know, it's a fic I'll gush over for a long, long time. Much love to you. 💌🌸 (also I love the banner!)

angel in the marble

after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

♔ PAIRING: michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader

♔ GENRE: high renaissance au, angst, smut, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 8k

♔ WARNINGS: homelessness, stealing, mild swearing/violence/drinking, 90% of this is bickering lmao, mentions of minor characters' death, jealousy and kinda possessiveness?, referenced unconsensual groping (not by jk), a bit of blasphemy, making out, groping, fingering, rough angry sexxx, choking, slapping

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: fun fact this is mostly historically accurate! jk's characterisation, the grocery list doodles, the sack of rome, the beef with his brother, the encounter with his rival (raphael)... are all taken from michelangelo's actual life, even some stuff is quoted from his letters lol. man was fanfic material.

1529, Rome

“How much for that one?”

“No, that one’s sold already.”

It was a lively morning. After days of heavy rainfall, those of high social class were eager to get out and meet under the gentle sun of spring, whose glare reflected on the precious stones of their jewellery; while those of low, out of necessity, couldn’t wait to reopen their businesses or set up their stalls and get back to work. You liked to eye them all as you strolled the streets of Rome.

“To whom?”

“Your friend Taehyung.”

“Agh… How much is that prick paying you?”

The point of the matter was that it was bustling, some colliding if they looked away from where they were going for more than a breath. It worked in your favour for it was then easier to make yourself scarce right after stealing bags of coins, such as those of the three men seemingly bargaining by a workshop’s entrance out of which a large block of marble was being dragged. Perfect.

“Three ducats.”

“Three?! He’s robbing you of two ducats. I’ll pay you the five it’s worth.”

You kept your head low as you approached the pair that seemed wealthier and with those stealthy hands of yours unfastened the bags tied to their belts. After all, pickpocketing was a skill you’d had under your own for some years now, so this was bound to go smoothly.

Because you didn’t realise there was a guardian with them, perhaps you’d grown arrogant.

“I’m sorry, maestro. It’s reserved.”

“But it’ll become a waste in his possession!”

As you slipped away into the crowd, mouth watering at the fresh-baked bread you were going to devour as soon as bought, this brown dog leaped up at you out of nowhere, ignoring your desperate efforts to shake him off. If anything, they caused him to bark.

No, no, no…

The three men turned to the scene playing out not so far, and thinking his dog was bothering you one of them shouted, “Bam, come here, boy!” but as he obediently ran to his owner, you were too slow to hide the bags in your hands. It only took the pair a second to make them out, check whether theirs still hung on their belts, find them not, work out you’d stolen them, look back up, and find you not either.

Of course, you’d made your escape by then, dived into the sea of people and swum through them as quickly as possible, only stopping when you reached an empty vaulted alley to catch your breath.

That was ridiculously close. If you weren’t more careful next–

Your train of thought was interrupted by someone grabbing you by the arm from behind and pushing you against the nearest wall. A grunt accompanied the thud, and a gasp followed at the sight of the two men from before—dog included. Pinned in place, it’d be a bad idea to fight back or attempt to run away again. Fuck’s sake.

“Do you know what happens to thieves?” the one cornering you asked so close that when the cold breeze rustled his hair, some strands grazed your face. You looked away to avoid the tickling rather than out of fear, or so you wanted to believe. “They have a hand cut off. Seems fair, doesn’t it, Jimin?”

By contrast, that Jimin didn’t look intimidating, otherwise still catching his breath from the chase, but he did snatch the coin bags from your hands. “It doesn’t have to be so, maestro. We got our money back. She’s… just a girl.”

“And that exempts her of crime?”

“Please, don’t report me,” you begged, humiliating as though it was.

“Why shouldn’t we?” the maestro scoffed. Maestro… You were being threatened by a damned craftsman, the other one probably his assistant.

“Because I don’t want to lose a hand?”

“Oh, but we wanted to lose money, did we?” You rolled your eyes, and he released his grip only to step away. “Take us to your father, brat. He’ll answer for you.”

It took you a moment to respond, “I don’t have a father, or anyone... Only I can answer for my actions.”

“You’re a beggar?” Jimin asked, taking pity as he studied your appearance for the first time. Dishevelled hair, tattered dress, unpleasant smell… Yes, they should’ve guessed.

“She doesn’t beg, though, does she? She steals.”

“Only from cunts.”

His head snapped to meet your glare, and Jimin laughed, “You seem to not know whom you speak to.” He could be Jesus for all you cared. Uninterested, you petted the dog, Bam, seeing as he’d leapt up at you again. “This is Jeon Jungkook.”

You froze. The Jeon Jungkook? The famous artist who painted and sculpted for the Pope? Whom faraway kings and even emperors commissioned? The one whose genius was said to be changing the world?

At the lack of attention, Bam returned to his master, and that snapped you out of your shock to ask, “Then why do you whine?” The two men frowned, having clearly expected an apology paired with the usual bootlicking. “As if you need that bag more than I!”

“What nerve,” he scoffed again, making you wince by grabbing your arm tighter than before and starting to drag you into the next street. “You’re going straight to the authorities!”

“Wait,” Jimin intervened, thank God. “Weren’t you in need of a servant, maestro?”

“So?”

Jimin pointed at you with his gaze as though it was obvious. “You’re in need of a servant, she’s in need of a roof.”

“I would rather have a hand cut off.”

“I would rather have her hand cut off too.”

Jungkook tried to resume dragging you, but Jimin blocked his way with a soft smile. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…”

“Do you know how to take care of a household?” Slowly, you nodded, melancholy engulfing you at the memory of cooking or sweeping the floor with your mother once upon a time. Somehow, she always found a way to make chores fun... “Then you qualify for the job. You’ll have three meals a day and a bed to sleep on. And you, maestro, a servant who’ll work her hardest, lest you fire her and she ends up in the streets again.”

Both you and Jungkook reluctantly glanced at each other. Truth be told, you didn’t prefer losing a hand to living with him, you just didn’t like him. Despite being a celebrity, he was a stranger. It just wouldn’t work.

But then, why were you holding your breath, hoping he’d accept?

“We shouldn’t have left Namjoon’s workshop. The marble is about to be delivered,” he said walking away. The air left your lungs in disappointment. It seemed you were to remain a stray cat. Jimin pressed his plump lips apologetically as he gave you enough coins to buy that bread, and you nodded, grateful all the same for his trying. You watched him rush to Jungkook’s side but when this one saw him, he turned around. “Hurry up, brat. If Taehyung gets that block of marble, I’ll not take you in.”

Since the first day, you could attest to Jeon Jungkook’s nature being as rough and uncouth as the rumours claimed, and after living alone with him for two months still believed gossip such as that he’d got the scar on his left cheek in a tavern fight—in which, if you’d chanced to be present, you would’ve rooted for the other individual.

It appeared it wasn’t just others Jungkook was harsh to. However rich his talent had turned him, he behaved like a poor man, consuming food and drink sparingly and out of necessity instead of pleasure, spending only the money required to live decently, sleeping little in order to work on commissions from dawn to midnight…

Why he chose to take little care of himself was a mystery to someone who previously had not been allowed a choice, even if putting work before all was in order to thwart Kim Taehyung’s plans of ruining his career, as he claimed. You doubted his rival was obsessed with him so, but had learned to agree with whatever Jungkook grumbled to avoid disputes. Most times.

Deep down, you had a feeling your boldness amused him. Who else dared get on his nerves?

“I think all you artists fluttering around the Pope are no more than slaves to money,” you let drop once while making his bed. Bam was sleeping peacefully under the window, while Jungkook leaning against the door’s frame behind you, offended to the core. He could help, you thought, or at least loosen my corset a little…

“I, a slave? I’ll be damned… There is an angel inside every block of marble, and I’ll have you know I carve to set it free.”

“Is it the angel that charges the Pope, then, master?” You could feel him barely restraining the urge to throw you out the window, smiled as you finished smoothing out the blankets.

“You missed a wrinkle there.”

Hands on your hips and frown on your brows, you examined the neatly arranged coverings of his bed. “Where?”

“On your face,” he muttered before making his leave.

Not his finest jibe, but the metaphor did stay with you. An angel inside the marble… It perhaps applied to Jungkook himself, though you’d never tell him.

One instance it came to mind was recently, when his assistants and apprentices were invited over for dinner.

Usually, he’d tell you which meals he liked and you’d ask at the marketplace which ingredients to buy, but now that about ten meals were to be cooked a list was needed. So there he sat on his desk in his study, inking said list as you waited in front of him, fiddling with the undershirt that peeked out of your dress’ sleeves. Given that your eyes were fixed on it, you only learned Jungkook was done when the sound of his quill scratching the paper ceased.

“Be back no later than dusk,” he ordered, “I bet there are still Germans and Spaniards lurking about.”

A year had passed since the Sack of Rome, but the mention of it sent a shiver of fear down your spine. Whatever the political reasons for it, you hated everyone involved, for Hell itself would’ve been a more beautiful sight to behold those nine months when the Tiber’s waters remained painted red…

You were lucky to make it through. Your family wasn’t.

“Yes, master.”

“Here,” he said handing you the paper, then picked another letter from a pile of correspondence he’d been going through before your arrival. Jungkook was about to snap its wax seal when he looked up to realise you hadn’t moved an inch. “Why are you here? Away with you!” He saw the reason in the way you avoided eye contact. “You can’t read, can you?” Met with a silence charged with embarrassment, he leaned back in his chair and sighed, “Give me the list.”

Getting hold of the quill again, Jungkook began… doodling?

You tilted your head but couldn’t see well what he was drawing until he finished and returned the list to you. Then, your lips parted. Each item on the list was illustrated next to its name: ten loaves of bread, a jug of wine, tortellini, four anchovies, two fennel soups…

“I’ll teach you to read when I have time. This will do for now.”

“You’d do that?” For me?

Jungkook ignored you, before he went back to reading his letters complimenting the good gesture with an irritated, “Hurry up.”

That night his co-workers arrived one by one, Jimin the first. The sight of him when you opened the door brightened up your mood.

Unlike a certain someone he was always sweet to you, genuinely interested to know how you fared even if you were just a servant. He claimed that mattered not to him, that you were both commoners and thus equals.

“Look at this place, it’s spotless! And you know I’m furtive, so I won’t get in your way,” you told Jimin as you escorted him through a hallway, bright from the torches hung on the walls that you’d lit up earlier.

He laughed, “I cannot make you my servant, Y/N, you’re maestro’s.”

“But he’s going to drive me mad… To tell you one of many examples, he often falls asleep in his clothes, and who but I is to take his boots off so they don’t get the sheets dirty? If the chalk on his fingers or the dust from the chiseling on his hair won’t already. Bam is far cleaner…”

Jungkook had a workshop he barely set foot in, preferred his team made use of it instead to not be bothered by their idiocy. His words. So it was in a chamber on the ground floor of this house he gave way to artistic insanity. In your book, that meant constant cleaning.

Jimin looked at you fondly. “Sounds nightmarish.”

“It truly is!”

As soon as the two of you entered the dining hall, Bam ran from Jungkook’s side by the fireplace to Jimin, who was as excited to see him.

“Good night, maes–”

“Do you think I’m deaf, ungrateful brat?” Jungkook interrupted him to bark at you. “Rome is full of people begging to get a piece of me, so if you don’t like it here, I’ll just get someone else!”

“You say that and yet keep me like a prisoner!”

“As if you don’t have it better here than anywhere you’ve burdened with your presence before!”

“There, there…” Jimin interjected to de-escalate, kneeling to better stroke Bam. “Maestro, I’ve seen your latest sketch of the Virgin and Child. She resembles Y/N.”

Both you and Jungkook failed to fight off the embarrassment, gazes unable to find a place to settle. Sitting down on the large table, he explained, “It was just one time… I had used Yoongi as a model, but the Madonna looked too masculine... and rather than going through the trouble of finding some girl and hiring her, I had Y/N pose for me… So what! Why bring it up out of nowhere…”

“Because maybe you just need a bit of distance from time to time. With permission, I too would have Y/N pose for m–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Now, why the hell not?” you groaned stamping your foot, startling poor Bam. Hope had been born inside you in a second and cruelly crushed in the next.

“Because I say so. And watch your tone with me.” As usual, the mutual glaring would trick anyone into thinking the next step would be murder. Jimin, who knelt there awkwardly, certainly thought so, at least until the bell rang. “Now go answer the door!”

What happened later, though, rendered the fury Jungkook had evoked in your heart nonexistent and instead seized the thing in a clasp of distress.

In the morning, he walked in when you were sweeping the kitchen. At once you forced the sobs to stop and turned around so he wouldn’t see you wipe your tears.

“It’s past nine, where’s breakfast?” he asked in shock that you hadn’t even started making it, the table there empty.

You swore under your breath before leaving the broomstick leaning against the nearest wall, flushed face kept out of Jungkook’s sight, then in a haste fetched a plate, a knife, and a leftover bread loaf. “Apologies, master, I forgot. I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”

Sniffling betrayed you, at which Jungkook frowned. “Are you crying?”

Great, the question just about especially designed to make one well up. Not trusting your voice anymore, you shook your head. Jungkook approached, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from the task at hand, now cutting a few slices of the bread.

“Have you broken something?” You shook your head again, the suppressed sobs making your chin tremble. Jungkook took a deep breath before asking with a surprisingly soothing tone, “Then what’s wrong?”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Within an hour, he’d summoned a meeting consisting of all who’d attended dinner the previous night.

A seemingly calm Jungkook was sat at the head of the table, elbows sunk on it and fingers interlocked. You stood behind him, head still low out of shame. A tense silence had fallen in the chamber some time ago, and sick of it, Jimin shattered it.

“Have you anything to tell us, maestro?”

“I was waiting for Biagio to do so.”

The man was one of Jungkook’s favourite assistants who had worked with him for years, even longer than Jimin. And if it was possible for your position to be trickier, he belonged to some noble family.

“Me? But I’ve nothing to say, maestro.”

Jungkook leaned back in his chair. “My servant will, then. Y/N?”

Bastard. If you are going to fire me, why make me go through this?

“Last night, w-when I left this hall to go refill the wine jug… Messer Biagio followed me into the kitchen, and… h-he trapped me from behind, and started t-to touch me…” Your vision soon blurred, hence why you couldn’t see clearly how concerned Jimin was for you, or how Biagio jumped up in outrage. “I managed to push him away, and ran upst–”

“How dare you slander me, wench? Maestro, you do not believe this!”

“Do I not?”

“She’s lying! I caught her stealing sketches from your study, likely to sell them, so she’s trying to get rid of me!”

You almost scoffed. Only an idiot would choose the one occasion guests had come over and her absence would be noticed to carry out a theft.

Jungkook tilted his head. “I thought you had nothing to say. Why would you keep such a thing just now?”

Biagio gulped. “I deemed it best to mention it later, in private... You won’t believe a pickpocket before an old friend, will you?”

Silence returned, your breath still as you saw all the assistants and apprentices visibly take pity on him. The only one who didn’t was Jimin, but even on his face there was a hint of hesitation. Jungkook’s, you couldn’t see from behind, but after an eternity he stood up and walked over only to put a hand on the shoulder of Biagio, who smiled in relief.

A quiet sob broke through your lips, heart sinking. You’d needed Jungkook to believe you in this. Not because of the consequences his protection as your master could save you from, but because, like it or not… he was the closest thing to family you had.

It turned out he did believe you, judging by the punch landed on Biagio’s jaw out of nowhere. And the next one on his cheekbone, and on his nose. Before everyone around the table had barely stood up to stop Jungkook, he’d already thrown Biagio down and straddled him, pulling his doublet’s collar in a close, tight grip as he continued beating him up. Blood was drawn, but for once, you didn’t mind having to scrub it later.

Jungkook’s influence trumped a whole noble house’s, you learned in the course of the months Biagio tried his mightiest and failed most miserably to have him arrested. Perhaps because of the Pope sitting on his shoulder.

That he’d taken your side was still hard to believe, all he’d grumbled with a shrug when you thanked him while tending to his wounds from the fight being, “I’d been waiting for the chance. I always thought Biagio was a weasel.”

With the matter resolved, life returned to normal—well, whatever that meant in Jeon Jungkook’s household. Because calling for you at the top of his lungs like a madman was not normal. The first time he’d done it you’d raced downstairs, afraid something horrible had happened, only for him to have you close a window as it was getting chilly. Devil rot him. You rushed no longer after that, much to his complaints.

Today, he didn’t notice right away when you appeared under the cased opening, and good thing he didn’t, for he was polishing a bust with sandpaper… shirtless.

Product of hours carving stone into his desired shape or occasionally beating someone up, he could brag of having muscles, which the current task had covered in a layer of sweat and dust. The way they flexed with each movement had you compelled, wanting to reach out, feel if his skin was as hot as the blood pumping through your veins faster and faster. Then your gaze moved to the bust and whatever spell you were under broke.

Hardly an angel was that widowed noblewoman, whom you wished had stayed trapped inside a block of marble. Her name was Madonna Maddalena, and she’d come some weeks past to make a commission covered in pearls, gold, and boldness.

“My friends refused to accompany me today. You’re said to be… disagreeable, which I’m sure is untrue. However, all of them do want to know if you’re as fine-looking as is also rumoured, maestro” she told Jungkook within minutes of meeting him, still by the entrance!

Now you can tell them he’s not, you bit your tongue before it remarked, as this wasn’t Jimin but a patron not to be scared away by your bickering. It wouldn’t be true anyway. All your master lacked in manners, he made up for with looks… Which you’d never say out loud. You’d never say either that he looked even better when irked.

“I’ve heard many rumours about myself, most of them nonsense. My appearance was involved in none.”

She smiled seductively. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to spread them.”

“The weather is pleasant today,” Jungkook changed the subject, flustered beneath the formal demeanour. “Shall we have wine in the garden?” You left to prepare it not before catching Maddalena raise her brow at you in disapproval. She must’ve been able to tell you thought she was a pompous cunt.

The beautiful flowers you cared for tried their best outside, but the air didn’t get any better.

Sat around a small table, Maddalena explained she wanted a bust of herself by his talented hand to decorate the main hall of her palazzo. You served them wine, not really listening until Jungkook started playing hard to get. The hundred times you’d told him it wasn’t a good tactic to make his labour out to be too prestigious had apparently fallen on deaf ears.

“Any other artist could carry this out, Madonna. I am working for the Pope these days…” he subtly scolded her, a mere mortal, for wasting his precious time. And he wondered why he had a reputation for being arrogant.

Maddalena put his thoughts into plain words, “So why should you stoop to taking commissions from an insignificant widow?”

“Correct,” you said under your breath, luckily heard by none from the background, where you stood holding a wine jug until the madonna raised her cup and you approached to refill it.

“It is then fortunate I’m to marry a nephew of the Pope’s.”

Swayed by her future influence, Jungkook smiled back. “So it is.”

“But not for another week. ‘Till then, I belong to no man.” The suggestion in her tone almost drove you to spill wine all over her. No, better yet: order Bam to sic on her. He’d do it.

Just, who did this woman think she was? And why did Jungkook not kick her out right afterwards? It made you wonder whether he’d enjoyed the flirtation. Whether he would’ve been the one to take things further had his inconvenient servant not been present. It was common for men to have affairs and lovers, but it didn’t sit well with you that Jungkook might. Not that you ever imagined him doing any of that, for goodness’ sake–

“What took you so long?”

Jungkook’s voice brought you back to the present, under the cased opening.

“I was lazing about, as always,” you quoted his favourite false reprimand, making him roll his eyes, your own dropping to the floor when he walked closer.

“In that case, prepare a bath for me.”

“Yes, master.”

You sighed at all the work ahead. That being a servant was worlds better than living in the streets didn’t mean you looked forward to collecting gallons of water from a well, carrying them back, heating them, transferring them to a tub, then washing Jungkook—because you did wash him.

Biagio had hurt his left shoulder bad and ever since, he’d needed assistance in certain activities. Curious how he could otherwise chisel a goddamned bust without problem.

Jungkook’s full nudity only made you blush if you stopped scrubbing, so knelt with tucked up sleeves before the wooden tub he was reclined on, scrubbing away the dirt on his skin with lavender-scented soap you were. Maybe all the stupid feelings you’d been suffering lately stemmed from there…

Head resting on the edge, he was exhausted from the long day of work, taking your rubbing as a relaxing massage. You, however, couldn’t ignore the stinging guilt, what with the scar on his shoulder right in front of your face. He probably felt your breathing on it.

“I’m sorry you got hurt…”

Jungkook fought heavy lids only to see you avoid him. Allowing yourself to be vulnerable in front of him was embarrassing, as when he’d caught you crying, but he didn’t take advantage of the fact to humiliate you. Jungkook may be an ogre, but he wasn’t cruel.

“I’ve received worse for less,” he assured you in a calm, low voice. It sounded soothing to your ears.

“That, I don’t doubt,” you scoffed, glancing at his other scar on the cheek. “Did you also get that one in defence of some lady?”

“You’re nowhere close to a lady.” It could be done, you mused. Drowning him. “This was courtesy of my brother.”

“You have a brother?” It dawned on you how little you knew of him. Surely, most had heard it all about the divine Jeon Jungkook, but you’d never cared enough to learn past the shell of gossip, even after months of living with him. In fairness, he’d never asked about you either. You preferred it that way.

“Brothers,” he corrected you. “The one who did this to me was a wayward fool. Had to teach him a lesson.”

“Looks like he taught one to you.”

“I left with a scratch, he with a limp.” The conception of two brothers hurting each other so harshly widened your eyes for a second, and Jungkook noticed, for he added, “He was whoring around, wasting the money I worked hard to send, bullying our other brothers as well.”

Much made sense about Jungkook all of a sudden. Not his personality, that was incomprehensible. But why he killed himself to earn money and yet barely spent it… He had a family to provide for. Once again, you were reminded of his metaphor. Could an angel be in there?

Carrying on washing Jungkook, you dragged the sponge over to his neck. Then his collarbones, his chest, his abs just peaking above the water... They did look like a sculpture’s, especially wet and soaped, reminiscent of polished marble when the light of the torches reflected on them. Swallowing hard, the back of your fingers gingerly graced Jungkook’s muscles, both soft and firm. Slippery. Whatever possessed you to keep feeling them, you lacked the will to expel from your body, and so without realising your grip on the sponge loosened until it fell to float away, fingertips now free to roam over his abs.

You were slowly trailing downwards, past the water’s surface, when your wrist was seized and held in the air in a warning manner, the startle almost making you scream.

Sat upright, Jungkook was glaring at you so fiercely you feared for your life. But he didn’t say anything and instead just breathed hard, jaw clenched… almost as if he was holding back. Your rising heartbeat was deafening in the silence waiting for something to happen, anything, but what did wasn’t what a side of you anticipated with excitement.

Jungkook just let go of your wrist and returned to his previous position, and you got hold of the sponge and finished washing him, albeit holding your breath the entire time.

Days later, you came dangerously close to being fired.

The Pope had summoned Jungkook—something about a portrait commission—and you were to carry his bag filled with sketches for him due to his shoulder injury. As you navigated the ever-busy streets of Rome with him, the cold autumn breeze made you regret not putting on an overgown. The cioppa you’d bought with your own salary and not stolen. It brought a smile to your lips that faded at the realisation your mother would’ve reminded you to put it on before going out.

The sorrow pestering you turned to confusion when Jungkook stopped walking and tsked, telling you loud enough to be heard by all, “Look at him, the chief of police, with such an assemblage.”

A well-dressed man and what appeared to be his entourage walked in your direction, halting near enough. You didn’t have to ask to know this was his rival, the renowned painter Kim Taehyung.

“Whereas you, like an executioner, walk alone,” he mocked Jungkook, then noticed you standing behind him like a timid child. “Not completely, my mistake. Maestro, where in your barren soil did you plant such a flower?” He walked over to you, intentionally bumping Jungkook’s wounded shoulder as he passed, causing him to grunt lowly. From up close one was bound to marvel at how handsome Taehyung was, but you didn’t need proximity to tell he was a prick. Miles away, you would’ve known. “Why don’t you come work for me, flower? I’ll make you my muse.”

Jungkook scoffed again, “What, for your horseshit paintings? She’d be a fool to.”

Taehyung turned around to face him, feigning confusion with a smile. “But, maestro, how could they be so if you were once heard saying that all I have in art, I got from you?”

"You naturally have to resort to plagiarising my master’s genius if all you do is horseshit,” you countered, earning surprised looks from every man present, some laughs too, you were proud to say. Jungkook was certainly smirking. Taehyung opened his mouth, but you walked past him uninterested before a response came out of it.

“Good girl,” Jungkook laughed while leaving the crime scene, and for some reason your cheeks burned hot.

The incident happened once inside the Vatican.

Its grandiose corridors alone made you feel small, too unimportant to walk them, whereas Jungkook did so with determination, knowing he belonged at the top of the world. What with your tempestuous relationship, it was easy to forget he was famous throughout Europe. His feet would still never be kissed by you. Someone had to humble the man, right?

At some point the two of you arrived at a door flanked by guards, and averse, you grabbed the sleeve of Jungkook’s doublet.

“Do I have to go in?”

“Too good for the Pope, are you?” He shook you off. “Come on.”

“Damn you…” you muttered.

“What did you just say to me?”

“After you, master.”

Telling himself he’d be late if he scolded you, Jungkook turned and nodded at the guards, who opened the door of a chamber whose walls were frescoed with angels and saints, likely by Taehyung, giving off the impression one was in Heaven. When you saw him sat on a golden chair, old and grey, enjoying the tune of a lute player, you felt as though you’d just entered Hell.

The audience lasted for ever. While you stood by the door, Jungkook showed the Pope some sketches of the portrait for him to choose his favourite and then they talked and talked of politics. All you could do was fix your gaze somewhere on the floor and sigh.

“Yes, Your Holiness, this is the servant I mentioned…” A frown proceeded your looking up to see Jungkook somewhat embarrassed, scratching his nose as if to hide his face. He talked of you to others? Doubtless to complain…

With a sweet voice as if he was talking to a little girl, the Pope asked you, “What is your name?”

“None of your business, Your Holiness.”

The musician’s tune ceased abruptly, allowing Jungkook’s faint gasp to be heard. Then fell a short silence spent by the Pope blinking, taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

Jungkook was quick to fake a laugh, though sweat formed at his temples. “A jest! She meant no offence, Your Holiness, but to make you laugh.”

You held the Pope’s glare in defiance, indifferent to the fact he was the most powerful man in the whole of Christendom.

By some miracle, he let it go, and you left that chamber minutes later with your head as yet attached to your body. Your arm wouldn’t be for much longer, though, given Jungkook was forcibly dragging you all the way out to the streets, pushing you into the first alley he saw.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he shouted, towering over you menacingly. Unlike the day you’d met, you weren’t scared, rather furious as him as you stood your ground. “That was the Pope, you fool!”

“So?”

Jungkook was in utter disbelief. “He could’ve ordered your execution– mine too!”

“Well, nothing happened!”

“Nothing?! I’m sure to fall out of favour!” He paced around, anxiety quickening his breath. “Years of pouring my soul into my craft, of grovelling before the right people, all thrown away! Good God, your attitude may cost me everything…”

“And what about me?! Everything lost to me does not matter?!”

Jungkook stopped to frown. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It was now you who walked up to him. “I didn’t have a job, or a reputation, or admirers. I had only a family, and I never wished for anything else! That monster you work for took them from me. When the foreigners’ armies came and everyone rushed to Castel Sant’Angelo, he gave the order to close the gates as soon as he was safe behind them! You must have been there with him, weren’t you? Well, we weren’t. We were left outside to be slaughtered. And I wish I had been, like my parents, so I didn’t have to suffer the likes of you any longer!”

Tears were streaming down your face by the end, Jungkook just staring back at you. It didn’t surprise him that your parents were dead or that they’d been killed during the Sack, but that it was so deep a wound left festering in your heart that you didn’t mind being put out of misery. He surmised your disrespectful behaviour towards him was also fruit of your pain, especially if you deemed him an ally of the one who caused it.

“The few things I own… They’re wasted on me. Throw them away or give them to your next servant,” you sobbed, taking for granted you were fired. Anyone with half a brain would indeed have you dismissed, and part of you knew it was bound to happen, that you would go back to breaking in fucking churches to spend the night.

So you turned around into the main street, set on wandering until your legs became too sore not to collapse. With any luck, a carriage would run over you. But warmth then surrounded your hand, and you looked down to see Jungkook’s holding it tight enough to force you to halt. Though still mad, a hint of compassion sparkled in his eyes.

“Let’s… Let us just go home.”

Home. His house had felt so for a while now, truth be told. Himself too.

After that, you non-verbally agreed on a ceasefire—avoiding quarrels, that is, which was quite the task for both.

Such as now that Jungkook had you inking down a letter in his name. First of all, did you look like a scribe? If you’d known in advance the lazy arse would teach you to read and write for this, you’d have chosen to remain illiterate. And second, this was your short break before making dinner, intended to be spent playing with Bam. The poor thing was also in the study, at least being stroked by his owner, who was sat beside you on the desk.

“… I send you my regards, may God keep you from all harm. Jeon Jungkook in Rome,” he finally finished dictating, and you recording. “Give it to me, I’ll seal it.”

He was melting the wax with which to do so when the bell rang, to his surprise. Sighing, you stood up and went to open the door to whom turned out to be Jimin. The sight of him brightened you up, and yours stretched his lips into a smile.

“Evening, Y/N.”

“Good evening! I didn’t know the master was expecting you.”

“He isn’t…” You welcomed him in, brows joining at how he continuously chewed on his aforementioned lip and breathed deep through his nose as he followed you. Had something happened…? A decision to eavesdrop was made en route to the study.

Though Jimin requested for you to stay once there, and nothing could have prepared you for the reason why.

“This actually concerns Y/N…” You and Jungkook exchanged confused looks, him leaning against the desk and crossing arms as though he didn’t like the sound of that. Jimin fixed his already perfect clothes before addressing him, “I’ve come to ask for her hand in marriage.” Your jaw dropped. “I know it’s sudden at the lack of previous courtship, but I thought I should ask for your permission before engaging in it, maestro. She’s a lovely girl… and I think she’d be happy as my wife. Worry not, I won’t ask for a dowry or for her to stop working… Although on second thought, fewer hours of service would be ideal.”

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

Jungkook must be thinking the same, for he squinted to ask, “Are you drunk?”

“N-No, of course not.”

“Are you sure? You want to marry a servant with little to her name.” He had a point, so you weren’t offended. If politics weren’t the reason for a union, did this mean… Jimin had feelings for you?

“Maestro, you say it as if I were a lord,” he chuckled. “I don’t care about Y/N’s possessions, I’ll provide for her anyway. I’ve… always been fond of her. And I dare say she shares the sentiment.”

Betrayal hid safely behind a look that asked if there was any truth to that. Obviously not! There was no romance in your own fondness for Jimin. If anything, you had thought he saw you as a younger sister to look after, therefore as a protective older brother you saw him. But so shocked were you still that no words managed to come out, and Jungkook’s gaze shifted back to Jimin.

“I’ll think about it. You may go.”

A curt tone was the norm for Jungkook, it was not being granted his blessing that disappointed Jimin. He knew for a fact he was an honourable man, so why wouldn't he entrust you to him?

“Quite well… I’ll show myself out.” he uttered, before making his leave failing to hide his low spirit by giving you one last shy smile you hadn’t the heart to return.

An awkward silence filled the air that even Bam daren’t break. Only once the front door was heard shutting did you walk closer to Jungkook.

“You won’t agree to this, will you?”

“Why shouldn’t I? I have to get rid of you at some point.”

“Rid of me? Like I’m a burden?” you asked, voice rising. How a servant could be so was unknown to you until, like wooden ship toys did when you’d submerge them in a bucket of water as a child, certain guesses surfaced in your thoughts. Trying to pickpocket him, the constant clashing, Biagio, that bath, the Pope… Yes, you may perhaps be described as a burden. But you didn’t want to leave. With a calmer tone, you pleaded, “I’ll behave from now on. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

Jungkook didn’t deign to look your way as he left, followed by Bam. “You have to marry at some point, Y/N. Otherwise people will gossip.”

Since when did he care about what people said of him? And why should you?

Winter having dropped its anchor, nightfall arrived early. Not early enough, you brooded as you cooked dinner, longing for the day to end once and for all. With any hope, all of this was a nightmare and upon waking up in the morning life would go back to normal. You didn’t even know why you wanted to stay with Jungkook, as the occasions in which you’d begged Jimin to employ you to leave this house were countless. The only certain thing was that you were upset.

Later, after washing all plates and cups, you began to put off all torches lighting the house, finding out in the hall that Jungkook hadn’t moved from the seat he’d dined in. You considered carrying on with your job and leaving him in the dark, but he wouldn’t find it as funny. Instead, you stood before him.

“Will that be all, master?”

The coldness in your expression made him sigh, “Y/N–”

“I shall retire, then.” You turned to leave but were made to stop in your tracks.

“It’s an advantageous proposal for you,” he lectured to whom he must believe an idiot. “Jimin works for me, he’s wealthy. A better match than you could ever aspire to. And he asks for no dowry because he doesn’t want money, he wants you…” His words were tainted with resentment. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Skirt of your dress swirling along, you faked a smile. “If you think so, master, then it must be so.”

He shook his head as he leaned back in defeat. “Suit yourself, but I won’t be the one to reject Jimin. You crush his heart.”

A laugh escaped you. “If you genuinely cared about him, you wouldn’t let him marry a woman in love with–” Oh no. It only hit you as you were saying it.

Jungkook had appeared annoyed, but now he was mad. “Who?” He stood up abruptly—chair’s feet scratching against the floor making you wince—and walked so close you were backed against the wall, face forced to turn to a side. In a low, deep voice, he repeated, less as a question and more as an order this time, “Who.”

There was no way in the nine circles of Hell you’d say it, when you didn’t want to believe it in the first place. For fuck’s sake, why? Jungkook only ever made you want to get away from him. That was the case right now, but then… why were your feet frozen?

Some unreasonable part of you seemed to have prevailed upon the others, casting away all resistance from your body and allowing yourself to indulge in Jungkook’s proximity. You met his eyes without fear, held his dark gaze. It didn’t take him long to work it out, yet he kept close, so close your unsteady breaths mingled, the effect akin to intoxication. He was visibly trying to hold back, telling himself it’d be a bad idea, but you prayed he wouldn’t care.

By God or the Devil, your prayers were heard.

Jungkook finally smashed his lips into yours, devouring them with a hunger you shared and felt growing as he gripped your waist to press you against him. A minute ago, you wouldn’t have imagined his tongue belonged inside your mouth, swirling around your own, and now you wanted it all over your body. As if reading your mind, Jungkook broke the ardent kiss to move down to your neck, which he licked painfully slowly before sucking hard, making you hiss with pleasure. He knew that would leave a mark, the bastard. You wondered if it was meant for Jimin, so he’d see you were Jungkook’s, and in such case you didn’t mind, let your eyelids close to enjoy it.

Steered by the lust possessing you, one hand grabbed his soft hair in a fistful, keeping his head in place where he was sweetly abusing your neck, while the other travelled southwards until it reached his crotch and held it over the trousers, feeling his cock stiffen. Jungkook groaned—a vibration to your skin—in retaliation lifting your skirt. You’d thought he'd take his time, tease you, but after ensuring you were wet enough by gliding his middle finger along your core, he slid it inside and began making beckoning motions.

“Master…” you moaned, legs shaking. Jungkook forsook your neck to pull back, watch how you struggled to keep it together as he added another finger, curling and uncurling them both, hitting all the right places, and unwilling to give him that satisfaction without consequences you groped his erection with the same vigour. Although he was in good control of his expression, his breath quivered against your lips, so he kissed them again, biting hard into your lower one.

He exhaled, “You’re driving me to sin…”

Indeed, the same fingers that held the brushes when he painted religious artwork were buried deep inside your cunt, bringing you the most sinful ecstasy. It made you chuckle. Jungkook took that as the mockery it was and, crossed, pulled his fingers out of you to drag you by the arm to the edge of the table, where he had you sit. Without delay he lifted your skirt again, only this time he also pulled down his trousers to reveal his cock, thick and throbbing, which he pumped as he watched you spread your legs eagerly, ready to take all of him.

With his free hand Jungkook cupped your cheek, thumb caressing your lower lip, coated with saliva and reddened still from when he’d bit it. He could sense your desire, that you craved him inside, had for a while. Desperately. And however much tempted he was to make you beg for it, his own arousal led his cock to your entrance and eased it inside already, another groan hitting the back of his bared teeth. You didn’t have time to gasp, his thrusts so quick they earned only moans, so wonderful did it feel.

Jungkook’s hand on your cheek then wrapped around your neck. “Do you know how often I’ve fantasised strangling you?”

You chuckled again as you slapped him across the face. Jungkook halted his movements in shock, glared at you. “And I slapping you?”

It took him a moment, but he scoffed and pushed you back so that you were lying down, climbing next atop you, confident that the wooden table was sturdy enough to hold both. So legs hooked around his torso and arms around his neck, you welcomed his thrusts, rough enough to make your eyes water. But it felt heavenly, how he ravished you... The mutual irritation and tension building up for over half a year translated into indescribable pleasure.

He kissed you again, flicking his tongue against yours as he pounded into you without mercy. Overwhelmed by the sensation, all you could do to express you were nearing your limit was sink your nails into Jungkook’s biceps at each side of you, moan inside his mouth. He took the hint and fucked you as fast as his body would allow, within mere seconds your walls clenching tight around him. The sight of you collapsing under him, overcome with bliss, made him reach his own highest shortly, spurting his warm seed inside you.

As his movements gradually ceased, so did your panting. Before a complete silence fell, you asked, “Am I still to marry Jimin?”

Jungkook grabbed your face and growled against your pouted lips, “You’re not going anywhere.”

[hinamie]

"I'll show you every day that choosing to live was worth it"

some of my favourite scenes from @hijinks-n-lowjinks' fic things i would miss from the other side . this fic tore my heart out fr but like in a good way and i wanted to pay it homage the only way i know how <3

[nikholascr0w]

Pandora Rosier is so underrated I love her with my whole heart. She is the light of my life and the reason I wake up in the morning.

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[heynhay]

scene from where the apple falls by @jupiters-junipers :-) wholeheartedly recommend any and all of her work

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Confessions

Steddie || ~2.3k words || rating: T || tags: post vecna, references to stancy, angst and fluff, robin buckley just being herself

~~~

Eddie and Robin were just finishing filling the snack bowls and mixing drinks when they heard a knock at the door. It’s a Friday night– and not what Eddie would consider a late hour–but they weren’t expecting anyone to join their weekly movie night at Steve’s. 

He glances at Robin who shrugs, shaking her head. As he rounds the kitchen counter towards the foyer, Steve’s voice carries down the hallway.

“Nance?” He sounds surprised too.

“Steve, I’m sorry I know it’s late, but I’ve been meaning to talk to you and I can’t wait anymore,” she says. Eddie can’t see her, but she sounds anxious. 

“This can’t be good,” Robin huffs. He agrees, if the sinking pit in his stomach is any indicator.

“Look, Nance, now’s not really–”

“Steve,” she barrels over him, sounding desperate. “I’ve been an idiot trying to convince myself that I haven’t missed you since we broke up– and before you say it, this isn’t because Jonathan left after we closed the last gate. When we were stuck there with Robin and Eddie, the way you looked at me was how I’ve always hoped someone would love me. You looked at me like I was everything to you, like you could look at me forever and never get tired of it. I feel wanted, and loved, and safe when I’m around you.” She takes a deep, steadying breath before pressing on.

“Last time, when we were together, I took all of my grief and anger out on you. I blamed you for  what happened to Barb because I couldn’t face it myself and I knew you loved me enough to hold the weight, and I resented you for it. You wouldn’t stand up to me, and I resented you because you loved me anyway.” Eddie can hear Nancy sniffling, small sobs carrying down the hallway. “You loved me at my worst, and you didn’t deserve that. You’re amazing, and strong, and kind and everything I could ever ask for.

“Steve, what you said in the Winnebago, I just, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us”

The silence that follows is stifling and Eddie feels bile climbing up his throat. Arms wrap around his shoulders as Robin tucks her head into his neck. Only a small comfort while months of gentle moments with Steve flash behind his eyes: soft hands brushing his curls, stolen glances, lingering touches, and warm smiles. Now Eddie’s forced to stand vigil as it’s all washed away by Nancy's whispered pleas.

“Nance, please–”

A spark of hope after a late night confession weeks ago– swiftly blown away.

“Steve Harrington, I lo–”

“Nancy,” Steve interrupts, his tone firm yet soft around the edges, “I’m in love with someone else.”

Robin gasps into his neck. Her arms around his shoulders squeeze tight, anchoring him to reality in the wake of Steve’s confession. His chest is so full he can’t breathe. 

“Oh,” Nancy whispers before another, deeper sob leaves her breathless. He never thought he’d hear Nancy Wheeler cry. Even though they’re apparently both in love with the same man, he’s grown close with her too and can’t help the urge to comfort her. Eddie’s grown to love everyone in his new found family. But Nancy is right. 

“Yeah Nance, I’m sorry. And they’re kind of here right now, so,” he says gently.

Steve Harrington is everything. 

And they’re kind of here right now…

Hope flames in his chest, blooming with warmth. Eddie doesn’t hear the conversation end over the buzzing in his own head and Robin’s frantic giggling until they hear the click of the front door and Steve’s footsteps coming towards them.

“Oh.”

Steve’s standing in front of them, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Eddie’s realizing he and Robin maybe should’ve hid before Steve rounded the corner to find them eavesdropping. 

“So,” Steve stammers, a fierce rouge burning his ears, “how much of that did you hear, exactly?”

Robin quickly stands, clearing her throat before Eddie can think of an answer. “Is that the microwave? Did anyone else hear the microwave ding? I think the popcorn is done, so I can go check that right now. Yeah, right now. I’ll just, umm, be in the kitchen checking the popcorn. For the movie.”

She practically sprints down the hall, and although she wasn’t subtle, Eddie’s still thankful for the privacy. Steve’s shaking his head with a small smile on his face.

“Everything,” Eddie answers. “We heard everything.”

“Oh,” Steve says again. He sounds anxious and unsure, something Eddie’s compelled to fix, because all he wants in this world is for Steve Harrington to be happy.

“It’s ok.” He takes Steve’s hands in his own, tracing his thumb lightly over his knuckles. “We won’t say anything to her about it, and we won’t tell anyone what she said. Nancy’s in safe hands with us. Mum’s the word!” And as Eddie mimes zippering up his mouth, he hopes that Steve won’t take the easy way out. That he won’t use the life-raft Eddie’s just thrown in his direction to keep him from drowning. 

“Right,” Steve says. He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip as he gazes at the floor between them. The silence as Eddie waits for Steve’s next words grows long and tense. He can’t hear any movement in the kitchen, making him more anxious now that he knows Robin’s listening. Which, he’d be a hypocrite to be mad about.

Maybe he has this all wrong. Maybe Steve just needed a way to get her to leave, so he lied about having a date over. Maybe he didn’t know what to say, and just said the first thing to pop into his head. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with Eddie at all. 

Eddie realizes he’s still holding Steve’s hands, his grip tightening the longer he spirals. If it hurts, Steve hasn’t said anything. But when Eddie looks at his face, he seems dazed and lost in thought. As fast as if he’d been burned, Eddie drops Steve’s hands and takes a step backward.

“So,” Eddie stammers, voice shaking, “I’m going to go help Birdie with the popcorn. You want to get another movie started?”

Hands still frozen in the air, Steve finally lets his clenched fists fall to his sides. Eddie can see the whites of his knuckles. He hears Steve sigh, exhausted and frustrated, but Steve’s nodding with furrowed brows and taking a step backward towards the living room– away from Eddie. Too far to reach out to.

Turning away, Eddie’s in the middle of forming an escape attempt when he opens the kitchen door to immediately be swept up in Robin’s arms. Of course she’d been listening. He’s grateful for it, now that he doesn’t have to explain himself. As he buries his face into her neck, he finds a wet patch and wonders what kind of accident she got into while prepping snacks. It’s not until she starts gently shushing him that he realizes he’s crying, tears soaking into her shirt. 

“It’s gonna be ok, teddy bear,” she says, running her hand through his curls, “he’ll get there, I promise. He’s working on it, you know that.”

He nods. He does know that. Steve’s been out to Robin for a few months, but only to Eddie for a few weeks. He deserves the space to figure it out, and the grace of those around him to do so at his own pace. Still, Eddie can’t help his growing impatience alongside the increasing severity of his crush. At least Robin’s here to support the both of them.

The two of them finish gathering the snacks in silence. She was full of awkward jokes to try to lighten the mood, but when it was clear Eddie was stuck in his head, she’d stopped. He feels bad about it. He’ll make it up to her later, plus he knows she’s not upset with him. Eddie suspects they’ll be getting together sometime tomorrow to rehash everything that’s happened– after she’s finished consoling Steve, of course.

When they leave the kitchen, Eddie’s surprised to find Steve exactly where he’d left him. He’s standing frozen in the hallway, lip pulled between his teeth and hands still clenched. But when he lifts his gaze to meet Eddie’s, there’s resolve behind his eyes.

“Eddie,” Steve says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh my god! Finally!”

Eddie jumps violently at Robin’s shouting, almost directly into his ear. She’s flushed red with embarrassment decorated with a manic grin so wide he wonders if it’ll just keep stretching like taffy. There’s popcorn poured out onto the floor from where she clearly threw her hands up in excited exasperation. He watches as her eyes grow wide, her smile morphing into shock, her lips forming a perfect ‘o’, as if to say ‘oh shit, I just interrupted the most important moment in my best friends’ lives because I’m so excited and impatient that these two dinguses finally figured their shit out’.

She kicks the scattered popcorn towards the wall, like that’ll somehow hide the mess, before awkwardly passing them both down the hall towards the living room.

Eddie loves her so much.

“Huh,” Eddie chuckles, “well that was–”

“I’ve known I’ve liked you since last summer when you let me help you into my pool onto Holly’s rubber duck floaty so you could finally go swimming after you finished physical therapy.” Steve sounds out of breath, words running into each other with misplaced breaths in between. Like if he stops, he knows he won’t start again. 

It’s the only time Eddie’s felt the urge to keep quiet– when he’s not fighting for his life.

“You were so nervous,” Steve plows on, “but you said you felt safe with me, that you wanted only me to be there. You said you trusted me to help without laughing or judging you. Fuck, Eddie, you were so goddamn cute once we got you settled in with a Coke with a crazy straw in it. We were listening to ABBA and you didn’t even complain and you were so sunburnt the next day. It was the happiest I’d ever seen you.”

The memory leaves Eddie shocked. He did trust Steve to help, didn’t even consider asking anyone else because Steve just felt like the most obvious answer. He’d been there through the worst of Eddie’s post-PT work to make sure he ‘kept form’ on his exercises. They’d lounged in the sun all day, and it was the first time Eddie watched Steve relax since his final Upside-Down battle. 

Eddie feels his lip quiver, eyes burning, knowing they’d felt the same that day. Judging by Steve’s watery eyes, he guesses they feel the same now, too. 

“But love,” Steve whispers. He swallows as he takes a step closer, reaching out to grasp his hands. “Eddie Munson, I knew I was in love with you yesterday.”

His shoulders tighten as he recalls yesterday, surprised because they hadn’t seen each other at all, one of the rare days where their schedules didn’t line up. It was the first time in months they’d gone longer than thirty-six hours without seeing each other. Sure, they’d talked on the phone while Steve worked, but it’s not the same.

“I know,” Steve laughs, clocking Eddie’s confusion. “I thought about you all day. Couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried. Robin had to work with the customers because all I kept thinking about was tonight. If you’d get here before Robin, so we could sit out by the pool and smoke. Where we’d sit for the movie and if we’d get to share the popcorn bucket. If you’d pick a movie I hadn’t seen, so you’d lean in close and tell me a million random facts, even when you know I don’t really get it. But I just like when you’re close, next to me, and–” he hesitates– “I think that’s why you do it.”

Steve lifts their joined hands, wiping a tear from his eye using the back of Eddie’s knuckles. He returns the gesture, wiping what Eddie’s guessing is a mix of tears and snot off of his own face with Steve’s sleeve. 

“I think you lean in because you want to be close to me, too, and you don’t actually care about the movie either. Eddie, I think you ask for my help because you trust me in a way only Robin does. You give me cute nicknames like ‘sweetheart’ and ‘pretty boy’ because you’re teasing me, but I think it’s mostly because you really mean it.” Steve’s stepped closer now, and Eddie can feel the warmth of shared air between their gasping breaths. 

“I think you tease me and lean into me because you want my attention,” Steve whispers, brushing his nose alongside Eddie’s as their foreheads touch. “But Eddie, you’ve always had my attention.”

Eddie surges forward, capturing Steve’s tear-soaked lips between his own in what has to be the snotiest kiss either of them has ever had. But he doesn’t care. How could he? Eddie’s kissing the man he’s been in love with for almost eight months. 

Steve drops Eddie’s hands in favor of running one through his dark curls, while the other grips tightly at his waist. He can’t help but cup Steve’s cheeks, running a gentle thumb along his cheekbones. 

It’s soft and messy and everything he’s ever hoped for, because Steve Harrington is his everything, and he’ll do anything to keep him. Right now, he doesn’t have to worry about what they’ll tell their friends, or how they’ll explain this to Nancy, or even if Robin’s listening behind the door– he’s sure she is. No, right now, he lets himself bask in the glow of Steve’s love and soak in the comfort that Steve feels loved in return.

[grey-viridian]

Future father-son hugs!

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[salemoleander]

lost in the dark (Hunger AU) webweave

Created as a tribute to the absolutely incredible fic @definitelynotshouting is writing, up to the current plot beat!

// Sources under readmore //

What is a webweave? Previous art: Third Life | Void Falling | Attempt 33 | Martyn | Limited Life | Nightingale Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | singing songs to the secrets behind my eye | A Hundred Things We Had Not Dreamed Of | solving counting sheep

Pt. 1: Flutter / Valerie Hammond ◆ Sanssouci Palace + The Black Ice Cream Song edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Excerpt from The Average Fourth Grader is a Better Poet Than You (And Me Too) / Hannah Gamble via @blackberryjambaby ◆ of course i bite textpost / @valtsv ◆ Lie Down / Ellen Jenkins ◆ 27 / Daniil Kharms trans. Matvei Yankelevich ◆ Embrace my Soul / Sergio Borga ◆ Color Changing Magic Potion / DirksenCraft ◆ Fragile Bird / @cocoabats ◆ Holding Onto Black Metal / Debra Baxter ◆ Excerpt from III. The Child / Quinn Newell via @voicedwords ◆ Crawler Pot / Rose Schmits ◆ Metamorph / Gunnel Watkins ◆ Untitled eye / Henrik Aa Uldalen ◆ tumblr guide for chad twitter users (real) / @arahir ◆ the best way to solve problems tweet / @wolfpupy

Pt. 2: Reoccurring Nightmare comic / @deep-dark-fears ◆ Knotted Serpentine / Hannah Russell ◆ Garden + Blues in Dallas edit / @mountainqoats ◆ The Watching Moth / Cady Shaye Poorman ◆ NOCTURNAL Series 11 of 20 / Santiago Caruso ◆ Watching Moth / Cady Shaye Poorman ◆ Afterglow / Pei Wang ◆ Sun in an Empty Room + The Young Thousands edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Study for "Mathematics," "The Sciences" / Kenyon Cox ◆ Hard to Swallow / Debra Baxter ◆ Molly Brodak / Molly Brodak via @kafk-a ◆ 02112022, S.T. / @ryebreadgf ◆ Woman with Red Hood / Alice Pike Barney ◆ Come On, Motherfucker, You Survived! / @selfhealingmoments ◆ Excerpt from The Blind Assassin / Margaret Atwood via @flowerytale ◆ Heirloom II / Cindy Rizza

Pt. 3: Excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock / T.S. Eliot ◆ i love you. i can't tell you / @/tturing (OP altered, original contents linked) ◆ Hope is the Thing - Sunset Flight / Erica Wagner ◆ Poppies + Nova Scotia edit / @mountainqoats ◆ Untitled (open/end) / Debra Baxter ◆ Excerpt from Alive at the End of the World / Saeed Jones via @geryone ◆ Weeping (Lamentacia) / Dezider Toth via @amare-habeo ◆ NOCTURNAL Series 7 of 20 / Santiago Caruso ◆ Fridge Funerary Epitaph / @catilinas ◆ Untitled (Trail of eyes) / @julialepetit ◆ Stained Glass Hellebore, California Poppy, + Poppy / Jessica Saunders ◆ 世界の声が聞こえるとき (When the voice of the world is heard) / Tomohiro Inaba ◆ Still from Don't make me do this again gif / @cibastion ◆ Excerpt from So I Locked Myself Inside a Star for Twenty Years / Jeremy Radin ◆ Excerpt from Invisible Monsters / Chuck Palahniuk via @quotespile ◆ Potion Bottles / Edited from Panel 1 Source

[tekitothemagpie]

HEY MA! THERE'S A WEIRD FUCKING STRAY CAT OUTSIDE!

[messervixen]

Lily should have survived.

“Harry was saved by his mother’s love-“ Let me stop you right there.

I present to you: James Fleamont Potter.

You’re telling me that James didn’t love Lily and Harry enough to evoke the ancient love magic that Lily saved Harry with?

Mr. “Had an ego the size of a lake but a heart to match it?”

He loved both of them so much that he literally died trying to give them a chance to escape and that wasn’t enough?

I don’t buy it.

The only semi-logical explanation I can come up with is that he didn’t have his wand and maybe you can’t do something like that wand-less but did Lily have her wand?

Even then we’re talking about a guy who literally became an illegal animagus at the ripe age of 15.

He also loves and cares for people so deeply and it was LOVE MAGIC.

Look me in the eyes and tell me James Potter couldn’t have just saved BOTH of them without his wand.

Exactly, you can’t.

Honestly I could go on about all of the reasons James and Lily dying didn’t even make sense.

This is just another thing that makes me question why they died the way they did.

Them dying on an order mission would’ve been more realistic. There were just too many plot holes in them dying in Godric’s Hollow.

In conclusion, the ending of the first war didn’t make sense. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Edit:

Guys this post is not that serious I just mean that everything about what happened that night and the explanation for all of it felt like a stretch and kinda vague to me 😭

Even with the stuff about James not having a choice. Like yeah Voldemort didn’t verbally give him the option to back off but James still made the choice to try and hold him off.

Also James was a Pureblood and Voldemort made it known that he would spare them if they didn’t fight him because his whole thing was blood purity.

So like the “Lily was given a choice” still feels so vague to me.

Also Voldemort making the promise to Snape feels weird. Snape asked him not to kill Lily but Voldemort said that he wouldn’t as long as she didn’t get in his way. And Lily did get in his way of killing Harry so he didn’t break that promise by killing her.

Yeah he probably could’ve just knocked her out or something but he still didn’t break any promises.

And the whole reason Snape joined Dumbledore before the end of the first war is because he didn’t think Lily would just let Voldemort kill her son. He didn’t make an unbreakable vow or anything so Snape knew that Voldemort would probably kill Lily.

[imfinereallyy]

Steve Harrington hadn’t talked to his dad in a year.

The last thing the two of them had talked had been after the earthquakes, across the room in the den; his dad barely stepped through the front entryway, and Steve’s back pressed against the back door. The house was messy but still standing, unlike Steve, who was broken and barely keeping himself upright. The only thing Richard Harrington had said to Steve was,

“I think it’s time to move on.” Which was his way of telling Steve they were selling the house and he should figure out his own arrangements. Steve hadn’t cared, though. Didn’t even look at him as he spoke. Instead, he stared at the cracks in the ceiling and wondered if it was some kind of metaphor.

He tried not to think too deeply about it.

It had been a year since then. There had been time to move on, as his dad said. There was no more Upside Down. There was no more worrying about the next move. Max and Eddie were healed. Everyone was back in Hawkins. Robin and Steve lived in a little house on Fifth while Robin took community courses. Eddie practically lived there, too, with the strange friendship bond that had grown between the three of them.

Eddie had argued once it was because their couch was comfier than his bed, but Steve liked to think it was because Eddie wanted to be close to them. To be close to him. Sometimes Steve thought about letting him stay in his bed together.

Time had not moved to that yet.

Everything seemed good. Despite Steve’s resentment towards Richard, and his reluctance to admit the man was right, sometimes it was good to let things go, break apart and move on. Though Steve was sure, this wasn’t exactly what Harrington Sr. meant.

Steve hadn’t talked to his father in over a year. And he didn’t really miss him. Sure, there were moments that passed when Steve would yearn for the small happy moments between them. Secret smiles at baseball games, lunch at his office, and him cheering Steve on at the one swim championship he managed to show up to.

But it always got mixed in with bigger, badder moments. Being left alone for months on end. The belittling. The missed graduation. The yelling. The slurs when he grew his hair out too long. The cold way he said to Steve,

“I think it’s time to move on.”

Like he had been breaking up with a high school sweetheart before leaving for college.

So Steve didn’t miss the man, not really. But in moments like these, in the back of the Byers-Hopper’s backyard at the Father’s Day BBQ, where all party members and parents alike gathered, Steve couldn’t help but ache.

Steve ached for something better than Richard Harrington.

It wasn’t because of parents who stuck around that made Steve’s stomach churn in jealousy, but the ones who decided to show up. It was the way Wayne threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and the cheers their beers to something probably ridiculous. The way Steve knew that man would crawl to the ends of the earth for someone who wasn’t technically his, but was nothing short of a son.

It was the way El and Hop manned the grill together. Him laughing at something El said, probably something ridiculous, and her smile back that could light up the sun. The way Steve knew that El wasn’t a replacement for the things Hop had lost, but instead an addition to his life he would choose over and over again.

Steve ached to be loved and care for because someone wanted to. Not because of obligation or by accident. Steve wanted to loved deliberately.

Steve sipped his beer instead of bringing down the celebration with his thoughts. Eddie caught Steve’s eye across the yard and gave him a megawatt smile. Steve couldn’t help but smile shyly back.

“Hey, Steve.” A shy voice said beside him, startling him out of his thoughts. Steve turned to find Dustin standing beside him, nearly up to his nose now with his recent growth spurt. Steve couldn’t help but miss when he was small and could throw him over his shoulder.

Steve was a little surprised to find him there. Dustin wasn’t one to speak small or shy. He liked to make his presence known (much like the lovable metal head he was staring down earlier).

“Hey bud, what’s up?”

Dustin looked around the two of them before answering. Everyone else was with their dads, or talking to one of the party members. Even Robin managed to wrangle her dad and Mr. Sinclair into a conversation about WWII. Dustin looked a little relieved everyone was doing their own thing.

“Okay so you know how like, everyone is celebrating their dad today? And mine isn’t here?”

Steve felt his stomach drop. Somehow in the midst of his self-pitying, he had forgotten that Dustin’s dad wasn’t around either. Didn’t even stick around long enough for his first words. “Yea, dude, I’m sorry this must suck for you.”

Dustin looked nervous. He shifted on his feet back and forth, as if he was trying to find a rhythm to calm himself down. “Yea, so that’s what I actually came over to talk to you about.”

“Yea, Dustin. Im here if you need to talk.”

Dustin seemed to finally be at ease and rolled his eyes at Steve. “No, asshole, I don’t need to talk. I haven’t thought about the dick in years, if I’m honest. I just, it’s something else. And you don’t get to be weird about it.”

“I’m confused.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Hey!” Steve laughed despite his protest. A year ago, stuff like that hurt Steve’s feelings. But now Steve knew it was all in good fun, that Dustin was kind of dick to everyone. And he knew that the joke wasn’t about his intelligence. It hadn’t been a long time, since Steve threatened to push him out of a moving vehicle last time. Steve was pretty sure it had to do with a particular conversation involving his feelings for more than women.

Only Dustin and Robin knew. She was overly supportive, and Dustin instantly made a joke. Both made Steve supported and safe.

The dumbasses.

“Not my fault this happens to you often.”

“Is there a point being made or are you here to just be a dick?” Steve questioned, laughing behind the lip of his beer.

Dustin fidgeted again before pulling something out his back pocket. “Just—promise not to laugh.”

Steve crossed his heart with a giggle before he took a folded white piece of paper out of Dustin’s hands.

Suddenly, Steve’s face got serious as he saw what was on the front.

A poorly drawn Steve with a nail baseball bat, with the title “Happy Father’s Day”.

Steve swallowed thickly before placing his beer on the ground and opening the card. There in Dustin’s chicken scratch, was a message.

Dear Steve,

Don’t be weird about this. Okay here it goes.

My dad wasn’t around a lot, big whoop. Big surprise. I honestly don’t care anymore. Don’t give me a look.

I honestly didn’t think I would really care about any of the dad stuff, didn’t feel like I was really missing out. My mom and her annoying love for cats has always been more than enough. But as time went by sometimes I thought maybe I would be better, I would be different if I had a dad. I see it with the rest of the party, how willingly or unwillingly they all reflect their dads. And how I don’t.

Sometimes I don’t feel like my whole self because if it. Thought maybe I would never really be a whole me because of it. That maybe the world was better off anyway because I know I am a lot.

But then I met you asshole.

I didn’t think I would like you, and more importantly I didn’t think you would like me. But suddenly we are battling worlds together, and you’re hanging out with me even outside the end of days, and I have a new best friend.

If I’m being honest I do see you more as a brother. Someone I look up to. But the more I think about it (again don’t be weird), I do see you as a dad some days. Although the hands on hips do scream mother hen, you’ve been a dad to me in the ways the asswipe who made someone as amazing as me hasn’t been.

You are brave, and funny and despite popular belief you are kind. One of the kindest people I know. You make me feel safe and loved, and give me rides despite me never giving you gas money. Some days I look in the mirror and see parts of you in me, and I feel proud.

Some days I look at you and hope that I can see the braveness and kindness in myself too. I don’t yet, but you make it feel possible.

I don’t need a sperm donor (thank you Robin for that one), I have the world’s okayest dad right here.

Love you brother, friend, dad.

Happy Father’s Day, from your fellow nerd,

Dustin <3

Steve was crying. He knew that. He knew he promised not to make it weird, but Steve couldn’t help it. The little shit got him right in the heart.

He couldn’t be blamed for scooping up Dustin in a hug. “I love you too, Dusty Buns.”

Dustin squeezed Steve tight, “You don’t get to call me that.” He grumbled, but Steve could feel his tshirt getting wet.

“As your father it is my right to get to call you embarrassing nick names.” Steve squeezed Dustin even tighter.

Dustin just laughed and pushed him away jokingly. They both wiped their eyes, but the smiles on their faces remained.

Steve thought about Richard at that moment again, about how he ached for someone to care. And maybe Steve would never get it, but he could be that someone for someone else. He could give that care, Dustin.

The little shit.

“Thank you Dustin.”

Dustin shook his head, his crooked smile remained. “Nah man, thank you.”

They both just stared at each other in comfortable silence before they were interrupted by a barking force.

“What are you two saps talking about?” Eddie slung his arms around the both of them, mouth spread wide in a grin. But then he noticed the tear tracks, and suddenly his face dropped.

Eddie took Steve’s face in his hands, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Steve shook his head fondly, “Nothing—“ He started, preparing to wave it off. But then Steve realized he couldn’t lie to Eddie. “—nothing bad. Happy tears. I promise.”

Eddie looked at Steve for a moment before nodding, giving his face a tight squeeze, and then dropping his hands. “Okay, Stevie, as long as their happy tears.”

“What am I? Chopped liver?” Dusting grumbled.

“Aweee Dusty, I could never forget you!!” Eddie threw himself at Dustin in a horrible attempt at a hug.

Dustin just pushed him off before rolling his eyes. Steve swore they were gonna get stuck one day.

“Whatever, man. Just make sure that you treat my dad right, or I’m going to have to make some tough calls.” Dustin stared down Eddie seriously before laughing evilly and walking away.

Steve wanted to freeze at Dustin’s implication, but Eddie looked adorably confused, so Steve didn’t feel too bad.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Is this new? Him just getting protective about this without explaining?” Eddie asked Steve.

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve looked down at the card again wistfully, before glancing back up at Eddie. Steve took one of Eddie’s hands and started to play with his rings. A blush bloomed across Eddie’s cheeks; Steve wanted to kiss him. Instead, he just said,

“Just think he’s trying to be a little like his dad.”

***

Dad’s are complicated, and family isn’t always blood. I hope you enjoyed my little Father’s Day contribution. I do headcannon Hopper as Steve’s father figure/replacement, and usually write it that way but this seemed like a fun opportunity to show how Steve is his own father figure for others.

He is a good egg.

Now with Father’s Day over, my birthday is in two weeks which is making me feel all sorts of things. So I’m distracting myself with steddie. Either way expect a lot of writing and updates soon.

[malavera]

I see y’all are still sleeping on him

i mean i get it back then y’all might not really act on those imaginations because he was a married man… and i love that for yall clearly we are all aint a home wrecker 😌😉

but HE’S NOT ANYMORE i’m sorry to his wife i loved them both truly.. but people,

LET’S GO NUTS with them fics / oneshots / drabbles about HUGH FUCKING JACKMAN 😘

[areyoudoingthis]

I am SO grateful that ed and stede exist as characters exactly as they are. I'm so grateful for these two men who are traumatized and messed up and struggle to even like themselves, who are terrible at communicating, who make enough mistakes between the two of them to fill an entire ocean. I am so grateful to watch them struggle and be seen and be loved and reach out for the things they want and are maybe starting to believe that they deserve. I'm so grateful that the show lets them fall in love and get together exactly as they are, that it doesn't say they need to wait until they've become some unattainably perfect version of themselves before they have permission to have that. i am so grateful for ofmd

[platossoulmates]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE drop any x-men found family fic recs- all of the major stuff is solely cherik and the first class cast which is so good BUT i want team fluff so badly 😭