#this fic is actually over a year old but i just pulled up the courage to post it

[piningforstan]

I just recently found your page and love your work!!

can you write an angsty Stan fic where reader and Stan are still dancing around their feelings and reader finally gets the courage to confess to Stan but maybe overhears a conversation with him and Ford out of context saying he won’t date them and r is crushed? Then cue r trying to move on and jealous!Stan and then they get together somehow?

Thank you!!💕

I ended up placing this fic when Stan and Ford are still in high school before their falling out. I apologize if the timeline with Carla isn’t canon, I just wanted to include her. Also, reader is mentioned as a female a few times but this can easily be read as gender neutral.

I hope you like it!

You loved alcohol as much as you loved getting bamboo shoots shoved under your nail beds. But Carla “Hotpants” McCorkle had just broken up with Stan, and it was your duty as his best friend to support him. And if that meant drinking cheap beer on the beach with his brother, then so be it.

“I thought she was the one,” Stan grumbled. He crunched his empty beer can, belched, then reached for another.

You rolled your eyes. “You say that about every girl. Even that one you saw in a dream.”

You knew because you kept a detailed record of Stan’s revolving door of women, each declaration of love another stake in your heart. Secretly, you were pleased that Carla ended things with Stan. You could never date him in fear of ruining your friendship, but that didn’t mean you liked to see him with other girls. Especially not stuck-up bitches like Carla.

“I just dunno what she sees in this new guy.”

“He doesn’t litter?” Ford answered. He nudged the growing pile of discarded cans with his foot. Stan’s brother never drank, but he certainly lamented about how much the two of you did.

Stan continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “So what he can play guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Can you?”

“No.” Stan angrily kicked up sand. “But I would learn if I thought I had a chance of winning her back.”

“You don’t need her,” you told him. The beer in you warmed you from the inside out, initiating the familiar tingling sensation in your legs that happened when you drank. “You’re Stan motherfucking Pines.”

Stan grinned at you. “You’re right. I don’t need her.” After slurping down the rest of his beer, Stan grabbed the bottom of your chair and pulled you closer. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your temple.

It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to — Stan happened to be very affectionate, even worse when he was drunk — but it still sent your pulse skyrocketing.

“I got the only girl I need right here,” Stan said, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

Your insides turned molten. Of course, you loved when Stan called you “his girl” but the sting of the words were especially painful in the wake of his breakup. You would never actually be his girl in the way that it mattered.

You could never jeopardize your friendship with Stan, or Ford. You had been inseparable since you were children, when Stan received a particularly nasty note about you in class and instead of passing it on promptly ate it. You took a likening to him immediately. And, since Stan was never without his brother for very long, Ford became the reasonable cornerstone of your friendship.

It wasn’t until a few years ago that you realized you saw Stan as much more of a friend. To be specific, when he successfully grew out his mullet and you fawned over it instead of throwing up in your mouth. On anyone else you might’ve. But it weirdly fit Stan, who you’d watched go from a weird, skinned-knee little boy to a weird, broad-shouldered man with dark curls that you desperately wanted to run your hands through.

Ford shattered the moment. “Why don’t you guys just date then?”

You’d both been asked the question before. It was expected, when a boy and girl were friends. Parents, nosy teachers, old ladies peering at you from wiry glasses. Usually the two of you fielded the question with various degrees of hilarity — “he gave me an STD” or “that’s my sister!” — but tonight it felt profoundly different.

Perhaps it was because you were so close, physically. Or perhaps because you had confided in Ford the secret crush you harbored on his brother. You trusted him not to tell but to hear it now, spelled out in the air, made you stiffen.

“She knows all my disgusting habits,” Stan finally said to break the silence, “I couldn’t trick her into it.”

He grinned at you in your peripheral, a certain softness in the corners of his mouth that weren’t usually there. You rallied your best grin back,

“Yeah, it would be weird. Right?” You chuckled nervously.

Stan, with unprecedented exuberance, nodded in agreement. “S’weird. I’ve seen you in your retainer. Could never fool around with you after that.”

Ouch. You pretended it didn’t feel like a blow to the stomach. “And you smoke too much. It would be like kissing an exhaust pipe.”

“See? It could never work.” Stan tore another beer off the plastic rings, drained it, then announced he was going on a walk. You watched his retreating form until you were sure that he could no longer hear you.

You whipped around. “Ford! What was that?”

“I��m sick of you two dancing around the subject. If you just dated I wouldn’t have to sit out here every few months when you inevitably get dumped because you’re with the wrong person.”

You groaned and slid down in the lawn chair, covering your face with your hands. You actually liked the smoke that clung to Stan’s clothes, the deft flick of his thumb striking up the lighter. Why did you tell him you didn’t?

You’re a coward, your inner voice accused. You panicked. It wasn’t like you could exactly agree with Ford, especially not after what Stan said about your retainer. Did he mean that?

If he did, that was worse than anything else. Not only did he not harbor a secret attraction, but he was repulsed at the idea of you together.

Stan stumbled back down the beach a few minutes later, to your chagrin. It was much easier not to think of him when he wasn’t in front of you; even like this, swaying on his feet and looking slightly green.

“Stan, are you —?”

He lurched and fell face forward into the sand.

Ford glared at you like it was your fault. “This is the last time.”

“Sure. Just get his other side.”

“Thank you again, hun.” Caryn Pines smiled sweetly at you. The small kitchen smelled profusely of her perfume and cigarette smoke, wrapping around you like an embrace.

“Yeah, of course. No big deal.”

Caryn looked at you strangely, in that way that adults did sometimes. “You’re always takin’ care of my Stanley. I know he ‘ppreciates it, even if he doesn’t say it.”

“I couldn’t leave him on the beach.” You took a bite of the babka that Stan’s Ma put out, chewing thoughtfully. “Again.”

Caryn always tried to feed you when you came over, no matter how fleeting of a visit. You had seen her sneak the food out of packages and container and pass it off as her own, but you didn’t care. It encompassed her parenting abilities — well-meaning but slightly manufactured, a desire to be the mother that she wanted to be but not exactly the drive to put in the work.

Either way, you knew she loved you like her own.

“Ya know, I see the way he looks at you. And you look at him. It doesn’t take a psychic to figure it out,” Caryn said.

Your face warmed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s crazy ‘bout you. I know my Stanley.”

“But what if…what if we broke-up ? I can’t lose him in my life.” Tears strained your voice. Here you were, admitting your feelings to another Pines family member except for the one who actually needed to hear it.

Caryn clicked her tongue and edged around the island, pulling you into a hug. “But what if it’s great? What if it’s everything you imagined?”

“Maybe,” you said, muffled in her side.

Caryn gave you a final squeeze. “I could only pray for someone like you for my son. Say, you don’t happen to have a sibling for Ford, do ya?”

You shook your head. Caryn made a gesture like too bad then fiddled with the coffee machine.

“Here.” Caryn shoved a steaming mug in your direction, then wiped her hands on her dress. “Take this upstairs for me, will ya? I’ve gotta check on Shermie.”

You stood rooted in place for an embarrassing amount of time, mulling over what she had said. What if it was great? Your heart jumped. Maybe she was right. You would tell Stan.

Emboldened, you crept down the hall and past the living room. The TV flickered ghostly blue lights over the couch where Filbrick snored, and you were careful to avoid the creaky stairs. It wasn’t ever said aloud but everyone knew in the house not to disturb Pa after work. He wasn’t abusive, that you could tell, but somewhere on the verge of it.

Stan and Ford’s voice drifted from their shared bedroom — Stan’s gruff, drunken mumbles and Ford’s clever quips lined with affection.

You were going to tell him. You loved him.

A hitch of agitation in Stan’s voice made you pause at the first step, just out of earshot, a silver of light falling across you from the cracked door.

The delirious, bubbly feeling of excitement in your chest fluttered uncertainly.

“Oh, would give it a rest, Sixer?”

“Stan, I just think —”

“You know how I feel about her,” Stan interrupted. From your vantage point you could see him sprawled out on his bed, one hand over his face.

Her? Meaning you?

Your grip tightened on the mug. Here it was, the universe delivering you a sign that Caryn was right. That you were right.

The view didn’t offer any insight on Ford but you could hear his desk chair squeaking as he leaned backwards, contemplative. “And how do you feel about her?”

A beat of silence, the covers rustling as Stan lifted himself onto his elbows. “She’s my best friend.”

“Uh huh.”

“And-And of course I love her.”

“Uh huh.”

“But I could never date her.”

Your blood turned cold. What? Didn’t he just say that he loved you? Whatever brief, sweet bliss you had went plummeting into the ground. You turned away, coffee in hand, unable to listen to more.

Stan stared up at the ceiling, at the water stain that looked like an elephant. Sometimes when he tried to get his feelings out, the words would run circles around and around in his head until he chased them down. It didn’t help that he had drank so much.

Towards the end it wasn’t even really about Carla anymore, but you. You, with your dumb perfect face and laugh. The way that you stuck around despite knowing everything about him, about his family, leaving him feeling raw and infested like an overturned rock.

His stomach churned. Stan waited for the nausea to pass, pinning down his words before eking out, “I would fuck things up with her. It ain’t worth it. Losin’ her. Ya know?”

God he hoped he was making sense. The room was spinning and the elephant was now doing summersaults.

“I wouldn’t let you,” Ford quietly replied. “I know you love her. I’d stop you from fucking up.”

Stan laughed, dry and brittle. “No one can stop me. I’m a one man fuck-up.”

“You’ve never been one man.”

Stan curbed his nausea enough to look at his brother. Really look at him. Any other given day and he might’ve kicked him for saying something like that. His throat bobbed. “Yeah. Yer right.”

A moment passed between them, one of those brotherly, twin moments that he hadn’t felt since they were kids. Ford clapped his hands together.

“My first declaration of not letting you fuck up is to tell her tomorrow how you feel.”

“What? Tomorrow! No way.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. Stan waved a hand and flopped back down onto the bed, resigned. “Fine, fine. Hey, can you tell that elephant to stop moving? He’s bein’ a real dick.”

After that night, you avoided the Pines family like the plague, dodging after-class visits and letting calls go to the answering machine. Your parents asked where your “boyfriend” was, as they lovingly referred to him, but it only felt like salt in the wound. Stan would never be your boyfriend. He said it himself — he could never date you.

You hated the heavy grayness that clung to you, and most importantly, you hated that the one person you wanted to talk to about Stan was…Stan. And you couldn’t. How mortifying it would be to confess something so life altering for him to say that he only saw you as a friend.

Stan left message after message, wondering what he had done and if you could. But you couldn’t bear to see him. You ate lunch in the girl’s bathroom and nearly sprinted to your car after school, peeling out of the lot as soon as the final bell rang. He tried to come by your house, too. Your parents, loyal to you no matter how much they loved Stan, told him you weren’t there.

It was safe to say that, after a month of this, they were relieved when you stepped out of your room in actual clothes. Your mother actually clutched her pearls. “You look amazing. Where are you going? Did you make up with Stanley?”

You ignored that line of inquiry. “I have a date. Not with Stan,” you added, well aware that was the follow up question.

“Oh.” Your mother’s happiness faltered slightly. “Who with?”

“Just someone from school. I’ll make sure they drop me off before curfew.” You pretended to be oblivious to their probing stares, kissing them each on the cheek before striding out the front door to the idled car in the drive.

A dark shape shot out of the driver’s seat and scrambled to open up your door. Eugene glanced nervously at your house as you climbed in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to meet your folks?”

“I’m sure,” you said, monotone.

Eugene had been interested in you for a while now, but you always hedged your answers, not wanting to commit. Last week you finally said yes. You needed to get over Stan — even though the first thing you thought of was how he would laugh at Eugene for opening your door. You could just hear his rasping, seething laugh. Pussy, he would call Eugene, and you would punch him.

Throat thickening with tears, you forced yourself to admire Eugene in the glow of the streetlights that passed by. He was classically handsome. Smart, kind. A musician. Everything that, on paper, would make the perfect boyfriend. It was incredibly sweet that he wanted to meet your parents and open your car door.

Yet all you could think about was Stan: his untamed mullet and cauliflower ears from boxing, the nose slightly too large for his face that was crooked from all the fights he instigated. The braying sound of his laugh and how he thought it was funny to snap your bra strap. The fact that, beneath the jokes and the crude humor, he was soft and compassionate and an excellent artist. He always made you laugh. He was a million things that Eugene would never be.

But Eugene was one thing Stan wasn’t.

Interested in you.

You shoved all of that down by the time Eugene pulled up to your date, flashing him your most winning smile. A drive-in movie seemed innocent enough. You were confident that Eugene wouldn’t try to make any moves, but you still directed him to park near a minivan of children.

“Want to steal some candy from them?” You asked.

Eugene’s expression shifted as if you’d suggested something morally offensive. “What? From the kids?”

“I was just teasing,” you said. You hadn’t been.

Stan would’ve happily jumped at the offer, distracting the family with one of his wild stories while you snuck a pack of candy. The two of you would then share whatever snack and giggle the rest of the movie over your cleverness.

You felt like throwing up. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about Stan?

Abruptly you shoved open the door. “I’ll just go get snacks then.”

“Wait!” Eugene’s voice was muffled, you had already shot out of the car and nearly closed the door. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I’ll pay,” Eugene said.

“It’s fine.”

You needed to get out. Needed to get away. Without waiting for any further questions, you slammed the door shut and stalked off towards the concessions. The night air was uncharacteristically cool, brushing over your flushed skin.

“Okay, calm down, you’re okay. You’re on a date with a nice guy,” you coached yourself.

“You’re on a date?”

You wheeled on your heel. Stan stood a few feet away, brow furrowed. His fur-lined jacket bulged with hidden contraband. “Stan?”

“You’re on a date?” He repeated, the timbre of his voice sinking dangerously low.

“Yes.” You raised your chin.

His jaw feathered. “I haven’t spoken to you in, like, a month. You’ve been dodgin’ my calls and avoidin’ me. What’s goin’ on? Now you’re on a date?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you bit back.

“You don’t?” Stan barked out a scathing laugh. “You just stopped talkin’ to me without any s’planation. What am I supposed to think?”

You stepped into line at concessions. “I don’t know, Stan.”

“Talk to me.” Your name on his tongue was a prayer. “Please. I can’t take this.”

A knot formed in your stomach. You ordered for you and Eugene then brushed past Stan, ignoring his protests. He followed you to Eugene’s car. You wretched open the door, intending to fling yourself inside, but Stan stopped it. He leaned down to peer at your date.

“Eugene? Really? This guy?”

Eugene sputtered. You gritted out, “Stan. Go. Away.”

Stan’s dark gaze bounced from you to Eugene, then back to you. The look on his face was unreadable. “Fine.”

The door shut with a resounding thud. It took all of your strength not to watch him walk away. You tore off the top of a box of M&M’s and shoveled the candies into your mouth.

“Was that Stan Pines? I thought you guys were, like, friends,” Eugene finally said.

“Not anymore.” The candies slid down your throat, suddenly dry and pasty.

“Oh.” Eugene pretended to fiddle with the radio, switching through stations. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Mercifully, the movie screen flickered to life and saved you from more awkward conversation. You kept putting handfuls of candy in your mouth to keep from talking or interacting with Eugene at all. Frankly, you just wanted this date to end.

Eugene respected your space, too, which only worsened your conflicting emotions of shame and regret. You wished you could apologize to him but you couldn’t form the words.

You were jerked from your self-loathing when a huge shadow played across the screen, disrupting the movie. Yells of outrage sounded from across the grassy knoll, until the dark shape on the screen split apart. The candy in your stomach threatened to come up. The profile was unmistakably Stan’s, confirming your theory when you twisted around to spot him in front of the projector, entangled with Carla McCorkle.

He grabbed her hand, smirking at the enraged onlookers, and ran off.

Carla? Again?

Eugene examined you. “Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“Yes. Please.”

He took you to get Dairy Queen, then dropped you back off at home. The passing shadows in the window told you that your parents had anxiously been awaiting your arrival. Eugene moved to get out, to open your door again, but you laid a hand on his arm.

“I’m really sorry. About tonight,” you choked out.

Eugene smiled sadly. “It’s okay.”

You kissed his cheek and climbed out of the car, up the stairs to your house. Eugene waited until you were safely inside before pulling away.

School sucked. You were forced to see Stan with any number of girls. In fact, it seemed as if he was going out of his way to flaunt them, the lingering touches and kisses. It burned you inside.

He preferred anyone but you.

Another month passed, each day growing more and more unbearable without your best friend, without Ford, the reliable foundation of your friendship. With the end of school approaching, so was college, the awaiting jaws of a monster threatening to swallow you whole. You couldn’t even tell them that you got accepted into your dream school.

When a hand grabbed your arm, the familiar face following, you were struck with a swell of emotions. But it wasn’t Stan. The body was all wrong, the measured expression never once belonging to him but his brother. Ford’s eyes were pleading. “We need to talk.”

“Stan can’t know about this,” you said after consideration. Ford nodded.

He brought you into a deserted classroom. You lingered near the door, not sure what to say after all of this time.

“Stan is falling apart,” Ford said without preamble. “I don’t know what happened, but neither of you can continue like this.” A flicker of vulnerability crossed his features. “I can’t.”

You inhaled. It wasn’t fair to drag Ford into this, but it was hard not to. You could never make him side against Stan. “I just…I can’t do it.”

“Do what?”

You turned your face from him, ashamed. “I heard him. That night after we brought Stan home from the beach. He said…he said he could never date me.”

Ford’s face shutters closed. “Is that all you heard?”

“I didn’t need to stick around to hear about how abhorrent the thought of dating me is,” you replied, tone bitter.

Ford flipped open his messenger bag and rifled through it, muttering something that sounded a lot like “two idiots” before finding what he needed. He handed you a folded flyer. “Stan is throwing a party here this weekend.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“You should go.”

You glanced at the paper. The address stated a beach not far from your usual haunt, promising alcohol and a good time. Leave it to Stan to make invitations to a party like this, complete with crude renditions of women in bikinis. You clutched the paper. “I’ll think about it.”

Ford was halfway out the door when he stopped. “He really misses you.”

The words resonated with you the rest of the day. Sometime between meeting with Ford and that weekend, you decided you would go. Eugene told you he couldn’t go, he had to study, so you informed your parents you were going out and that was that. They let you without complaint, probably because you had been moping around the house the last two months.

Tonight you donned your best dress, black and sparkling and totally inappropriate for a beach party but when you bought it, at the mall with the twins, Stan hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off you. There had been no reason to wear it until now and you secretly hoped he had forgotten about it so you could shock him all over again.

By the time you arrived, sweat had gathered at the base of your neck and dampened your hair. You regretted wearing the dress upon seeing the other girls in their bikinis and hotpants, and made a beeline for the keg to soothe your nerves.

The beer was sticky and warm. You sipped it, wishing that instead of being here with people you didn’t know (or care about) you were with Stan and Ford on lawn chairs. The usual. Instead you gazed out upon the rest of the party and found Ford, trapping someone into listening to his theories most likely, and Stan presiding over a beer pong games.

Almost as if your gaze was a beacon, Stan looked up immediately as you spotted him. A cord of familiarity, of affection, tied you together and you could feel its tug behind your navel.

Stan stormed over to you, kicking up sand in his wake. “What are you doing here?”

“Ford invited me.”

“He did?” Stan searched for his brother, who had conveniently found somewhere else to be. “Why are you here?”

“I got invited, remember?”

“Where’s Eugene? Is he here, too?”

“No.” You didn’t feel like giving him an explanation, didn’t need to. You especially didn’t want to tell Stan that it was because you were still in love with him.

His dark eyes hardened. “Where is he?”

“What does it matter to you?”

Stan’s mouth moved as if he was biting back a retort, debating whether to say it. He raked a hand through his hair. He spit. “It doesn’t.”

You spent the rest of the party drifting from place to place, never lingering long. The bonfire funneled smoke into the air, as inconsistent and tangible as you, a ghost on the outskirts. You’re not sure why you came, why Ford invited, why you were still here. The beer had given you a nice buzz, a certain looseness in your limbs, and you decided that was enough. You started up the sandy dunes, shoes in hand, when you heard the sand behind you being displaced by footsteps.

Stan followed you, silhouetted by the fire in an orange haze. “What do you want?”

“I’m walking you home.”

“No. You’re not.” You marched off.

He trailed behind. You thought that he might get bored or fed up and leave you alone but he persisted. Only once you hit the sidewalk did you furiously spin around. “What do you want?”

“I ain’t lettin’ you walk home by yourself,” he replied.

“I walked here by myself. I’m fine.”

Stan took a few steps toward you. “Just let me do this, okay?”

“It’s your party, you shouldn’t leave,” you replied.

“Exactly. My party. I can do what I want.” Stan drew to his full height, shoulders back, reminding you that without his rounded posture he cut an intimidating figure. But it wasn’t intimidation he sought, but protection — protection of you.

Your back molars gritted together. “Fine.”

It actually felt nice, relieving, actually, to walk side by side with him. He maintained a step or two behind you, undoubtedly sensing your anger, but you didn’t correct him. You stayed like that, your strange, wordless dance all the way to your house. When Stan moved as if to follow you inside, what he would’ve done before, you barred him from the door.

“You shouldn’t,” you told him softly.

His brow furrowed and Stan shoved his hands in the pocket of his jacket. The porch awning cast him half in shadows. “What did I do? I know you’re punishin’ me but what I can’t figure out is why.”

“I’m not…I’m not punishing you.” You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Then what? Is it your new boyfriend?”

“Who, Eugene?” You shook your head. “No, this isn’t because of him. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“He’s not?”

“No.”

“What ‘bout yer date?”

“It was just one time. And it was a mistake,” you admitted.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

Stan’s infuriatingly handsome features were set in determination. You wanted to go to him, bury yourself in his chest and let him envelope you. But that same feeling twisted, grew sharp teeth that latched on and refused to let go.

“Why? What do you care?” You fired back. “You’ve been so busy with your tongue down every girl’s throat that I’m surprised you even noticed I wasn’t around.”

Something shifted in Stan, a spark igniting into an inferno. “You’ve been avoidin’ me and ignorin’ my calls, refusin’ to speak to me without telling me why. I don’t get it. If you’re so against me, then why do you care what I do?”

You hissed back, “I don’t. But it’s hard to miss when you’re dry humping your flavor of the week in front of the whole school.”

“How do you think I felt when I saw you with Eugene?”

You paused, his words soaking into your skin. The fist of anger in your stomach loosened at the pain in those words, if only slightly. “I didn’t know you were going to be there, Stan. And I didn’t think it would matter even if you were. You could never date me.”

“What?” Stan’s entire body stiffened.

“You said it yourself,” you said. You were loathed to say the words aloud, which made you cry, which only made you angry to be crying. “You could never date me.”

“When did I ever say that?”

“I heard you,” you said. You explained to him how you had overheard the conversation between him and Ford that night. He listened the entire time, quiet and unmoving.

Stan rubbed a hand over his face. “You didn’t stick around to find out why?”

“Sorry if I didn’t want to hear how repulsive and horrible I was,” you snapped.

“I told Ford that I couldn’t date you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. The last few months have been hell, doll. Going without you every day has been…unbearable.” Stan brushed his knuckles over your cheek, tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “Please don’t make me go through that again.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Stan. I only did it because I couldn’t stand to be around you if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“Same way?” Stan’s mouth morphed into a tired, wistful smile. “I’ve loved you since that first day in class. Since you saw them passin’ that note and instead of bein’ upset you raised your chin.”

You faltered. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you.” Such a simple, genuine statement.

“Stan, I love you too. I’m so sorry —”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just told you how I feel. I’m an idiot.”

You touched his arm. “No, you’re not. Well, you are, but not because of that. I was scared too. And I hurt you.”

“I’m tough.” Stan lifted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. In his face you saw a whole lifetime of memories, of laughter. “But you gotta promise me not to ignore me again. Messed me up so bad that Ford said he saw me stare at a wall for two days straight without sayin’ a word.”

“You? Not talking?”

“I know.” Stan shuddered. His composure softened a bit, examining you as if seeing you for the first time. “When I told you that you were my girl, I meant it. You’re the only girl for me.”

In way of reply, you grabbed the front of his jacket and pressed your lips to his.

You had kissed before, in middle school, just to get the first one over with. It had been brief and awkward, his front tooth clashing off yours. This kiss maintained the same level of comfort, of familiarity and safety, but charged with a current of passion. He kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it again, pulling you into him in a frenzied manner.

Stan’s tongue ran over the seam of your lips, parting them so that he could slip inside, invited by your breath of surprise. You melted into him. Everything about him, this moment, felt right. Perfect. His hands in your hair and roving over the form-fitting dress you had worn for him, sighing and muttering praises on your flushed skin.

You didn’t stop until the porchlight flickered on and the front door ensnared you in its beam. Stan still held you to him, lips bruised, frozen. Your mother took one look at you entangled together on the porch and then sighed in relief.

“Well, finally.”

[oatmilkriver]

the chief's kid- eddie munson

pairing: eddie munson x gn!hopper!reader

summary: eddie munson has never been the tyoe to meet the parents. so when you ask him to meet your dad, he's nervous... especially cause you're the chief of police's kid.

warnings: food mentioned, slight upside down mention, Y/N used, no physical descriptions

word count: 1,197

author's note: this is the first fic i've uploaded!! so notes are greatly appreciated, and if you have any advice please dm me!

Eddie has never been this nervous in his entire life. And he’s fought off demobats. But here he is, still sitting in his van that’s parked in front of your house. He adjusts his hair through the rearview mirror in an attempt to tame his curls and takes a deep breath before getting out. He walks up to your front door, looking at the two flimsy bouquets in his hands. Just as he raises his fist to knock, the door swings open, revealing a very intimidating man. An intimidating man Eddie has met a couple of times: Chief Jim Hopper.

Eddie looks up at your dad, his face set in a scowl, looking Eddie up and down before he is pushed gently away. Now he is met with your smiling face and Eddie remembers to breathe again, a small smile showing on his face.

“Come in, I’m excited for you to meet my sister!”

You say, grabbing Eddie by the arm and pulling him in. You run off down the hall, leaving Eddie to look around your house. It’s cute... cozy. Eddie walks into the living room, staring at the family pictures on the wall, laughing softly to himself seeing a picture of a little you with ice cream all over your face, smiling brightly at the camera.

He then hears someone clear their throat behind him, reminding Eddie that he’s not alone.

“So,” your dad says from the kitchen. “You and my kid, huh?”

Eddie doesn’t have the courage to speak up, his throat suddenly very dry, so he just nods. Before anyone can say anything else, you walk into the living room, arm in arm with a younger girl.

“Eddie, this is my sister, El,” You smile at your sister briefly before looking back at him, “She’s the one with the superpowers everyone keeps talking about.”

Eddie walks up to the two of you, a smile on his face.

“Hi El, I’ve been wondering when I’ll meet this super cool sister Y/N keeps talking about” Eddie smiles and hands El one of the homemade bouquets in his hand. “I picked these for you.”

Eddie then turns to look at you, handing you the other bouquet, “And... these are for you.”

You smile at the bundle of flowers. A colorful bunch of wildflowers that you recognize grew on the side of the road next to the trailer park. You grab his hand and kiss his cheek, muttering a ‘thank you’ and leaving Eddie blushing.

Hop clears his throat, bringing everyone's attention back to him.

“Dinner’s ready” Hop huffs out, holding a tray of food and placing it on the dinner table. You quickly walk to help him out, after placing El’s and your flowers in watered vases. El walks to the table with Eddie, tapping his shoulder.

“Can I sit with you during dinner?” El asks, almost nervously. Eddie smiles and nods.

“Of course! It’ll be exciting to sit with a real-life superhero.”

El giggles and sits down as you and your dad bring out the last of the dinner. Once everyone is seated, plates start getting moved around and dinner officially starts. And it’s scarily quiet. Eddie keeps glancing at you from across the table, his nerves setting in whenever he feels your dad staring at hm from the head of the table.

The truth is, Hop doesn’t actually hate Eddie, despite his behavior. Sure, he’s arrested him a couple of times, but he still thought Eddie was a good kid. He knew that his childhood was rough, and he wasn’t the most popular in school, so yeah, Hop didn’t hate the kid. He remembers the first time he arrested Eddie. Little 13-year-old Eddie who got caught vandalizing the side of a building. Hop just wanted to scare him, so he drove him home after an hour of holding. Hopper wasn’t expecting Eddie to pipe up from the backseat, asking if he could keep the handcuffs. But he let him none-the-less.

But the idea of Eddie dating his kid, the idea of anyone dating his kid didn’t sit right with the old chief. He was scared that his eldest would want to spend less time with their old man, before slowly stop visiting altogether. Especially all that’s happened in the last couple of years, Hopper wanted to keep his family as close to him as possible. Even if that means scaring the poor metalhead away.

Eddie continues to eat in silence, looking at you, silently asking what to do. After a shrug in response from you, Eddie decides to try small talk, hoping to get your dad to approve of him.

“This is really good, Ho- sir, um, Mr.-” Eddie stumbles, suddenly not sure what’s appropriate to call your dad.

Hop takes a drink, raising his glass to his lips in an effort to hide his smile. He’s glad that he’s able to make the boy nervous.

“Hop is fine, kid.”

Eddie lets out a relieved sigh, seemingly not embarrassing himself completely.

From that point on dinner went by smoothly. Small conversations were made, laughs were shared, until all the food was gone, and everyone’s bellies were full. El was talking to Eddie about what he should do for his next DND campaign, telling him to mess with Mike more.

When it was time for Eddie to leave, you walked him to the door, kissing his cheek as he blushed like he always does. He says goodbye to everyone, El even giving him a hug, before he walks back to his van.

Halfway there, however, he hears the front door open again. He turns around, expecting you to be there but is surprised at the site of your dad walking towards him.

“Wait up kid, wanna talk to you real quick”

Eddie gulps, fidgeting with his rings as he anticipates what your dad will say. Eddie’s expecting ‘stay away from my kid’, ‘like I’ll ever let a freak date my child’, or anything else that’ll break Eddie’s heart.

“Are you serious about this? About dating Y/N?”

Eddie was not expecting that. Especially not expecting Hop to say it with so much care.

“Absolutely, I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” Eddie responds, cheeks turning red at the truthful declaration.

Hop just nods, looking at Eddie for a moment before holding his hand out to shake. Eddie stares at it for a second before moving quickly to shake it.

Hop stares at Eddie before speaking again, “Take care of them. Because if you don’t, I’ll find you”

He says this seriously, but with the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Eddie nods quickly. But he’s not that scared of the threat, knowing he could never hurt you.

Hop gives Eddie a small smile, nodding his head before moving back to the house. Eddie smiles as he gets into the van. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could win over the chief of police, much less get his approval to date his kid.

Eddie is still grinning the rest of his drive home, planning on keeping his promise to take care of you, hopefully for the rest of his life.

thank you so much for reading!! notes are greatly appreciated, especially reblogs and comments! ♡

[gremlin-girly]

Flufftober Day 13

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Attic, Cellar, Hidden Room

Title: Attic

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, Arachnophobia, implied smut at the very end (but I did write with the intention of just kisses!), retching/vomiting/nausea mentioned, literally as scared as you could possibly imagine, crying, panicking, comfort, friends to lovers (ig?)

Summary: You haven't cleared out your attic in a long time and rope in Bucky to help you; not expecting to be scared out of your wits.

Word count: 2k

A/N: This is one of 3 fics I had for this prompt. They will get linked here and on the Masterlist once they've been edited. Can you tell I'm arachnophobic? I'm so scared of spiders it's untrue (and I may have or may not have experienced the retching from fear hahaha) - Love, Grem x

Attic | Cellar | Hidden Room

Prev | Next | Masterlist

Your attic had not been cleared out in years. The accumulation of stuff and things was now too much and you knew you needed to sort through memories, keepsakes and – let’s be real – shit you no longer needed. So, you enlisted the help of your roughest, toughest, friend to help you along; Bucky Barnes.

Although he usually preferred holding onto memorabilia, he knew how to keep you on task, unlike Steve who would simply melt at your puppy dog eyes. No. You needed Bucky to help you be strong.

And you needed him to stand guard to protect you from anything that might move in the attic.

You weren’t necessarily squeamish, but one big reason you had opted to ignore the growing mass of stuff-and-things was spiders. Attics , especially old ones like yours, held untold horrors of gigantic eight-legged fiends that 100000% would attack you if given the chance.

Maybe poison you.

And eat you.

Maybe.

Regardless of whether the fear was justified or not, the fear remained and Bucky was the only one you felt would adequately protect you from such a creature. Even if you had never seen said fiends in your house thus far.

You made Bucky go into the attic first. There were two reasons for this. The first was if there were any spiders lying in wait as the attic door popped open, they would get him first and you could run. The second was so that you could subtly appreciate his strong build from the other end of the landing.

“Doll, why are you standing so far away?” Bucky had queried after opening the hatch and turning on the attic light. He was turning to look at you with a raised brow, utterly confused as you tentatively stepped closer to the ladder.

“Just in case you fell,” you lie, your nerves shot. “Wouldn’t want to get crushed.”

Bucky chuckles. “So you’d not cushion my fall? That’s nice to know.”

He crawls up the ladder and you follow closely behind, racing up the steps quickly before you chicken out. You and Bucky pull boxes and make chit chat about memories linked to your boxes and share stories about growing up. Soon, you’ve relaxed enough to actually begin enjoying the time you’re spending with Bucky.

“Thanks for helping me,” you say, smiling over at him as you open the next box.

“It’s no problem, doll.” Bucky smiles back, filling up another bag of stuff for charity. “But I don’t know why you couldn’t get up here yourself?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if you should say anything about your irrational fear of spiders, but decide against it.

“Just wanted the company, is all.” It’s a half truth, you like having Bucky around. Well, a lot more than just like. But it’s a can of worms you aren’t willing to open with him yet.

Bucky seems satisfied with your answer and hums in response. A comfortable silence settles as you both work, sorting through your stuff-and-things, dust pluming and giving a stuffy air to the warm attic. Your eyes occasionally rake over Bucky and your thoughts begin to walk in circles. You were grateful for his friendship, his help and his kindness. You only wished you could pluck up enough courage to ask him out on a date – without the worry that it would jeopardise your friendship. You also didn’t want to embarrass yourself if you’d read too much into the spared glances and giggles you both shared.

You stuck your arm into the black bag before you, mindlessly repeating the same conversation with yourself when you felt something on your arm. You frown and try to peer into the bag. The sticker on the side read winter clothes so it must have been a finger of a glove or a-

It moved.

You freeze. No. You were imagining things. It was totally a glove. Your hand is balled into a tight fist in the bag, lost between layers of scarves and jumpers, but there is definitely something moving against your forearm.

Bucky looks over at you concerned. Super soldier hearing means he can not only hear the sound of your stuttered breathing ; he can also hear your heart racing so erratically that he thought you would pass out. Bucky watches as you stay still and you whisper his name so quietly he almost misses it.

“Yeah doll? You okay?”

You turn to look at him slowly and Bucky’s concern grows exponentially when he sees tears in your eyes. You shake your head, slowly. He takes a step towards you, making the floor board creak loudly. The vibration of the floorboard makes the thing against your arm wriggle further and you let out a hushed sob.

What had you said about not embarrassing yourself in front of Bucky?

Your lip quivers and tears spill from your eyes as you look at him, seeing his confused and concerned expression. Words die in your throat and you just nod and your arm. Bucky's blue eyes drift downwards following your arm into the black bag. He doesn’t see anything at first and was about to ask if this was some sort of prank. However, as bad luck would have it, very long, very hairy legs appear at your elbow.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mutters, staring wide eyed. You’re too busy having an existential crisis to care but if you weren’t you’d probably throw something at him.

“Please,” you choke out hoarsely refusing to look down at your arm. You felt nauseous. Maybe you’d pass out. Or throw up.... or both.

Bucky looked at you and then back down to your arm where four pairs of eyes blinked up at him.

“I’ll need a cup.”

“Fuck you and your cup!” You hiss angrily. “You have a metal arm. Just pick him up and throw him out.”

Bucky looks at you dumbfounded, as if you’ve suggested something utterly disgusting, then realisation dawns and he flexes his metal hand. “Oh, yeah.”

The spider moves a little higher, long fuzzy legs tickling the crease in your elbow as it feels its way up your arm slowly. It’s enough to make you heave. If being freaked out by a spider wouldn’t embarrass you in front of Bucky, vomiting from fear would. Your retching seems to snap Bucky out of his stupor of forgetting he does in fact, have a metal arm to deal with the spider. Bucky watches as your shoulder violently move as you retch again, harder this time, and listens to your staggered breathing as you attempt to stay in control.

He reaches over with his metal palm up, placing it gently against your bicep. The vibranium was luke-warm against your flushed skin. You were already breaking a sweat from anxiety mixed with the tepid dry heat of the attic and wished for once his arm was cool to bring some relief.

“Just stay still, doll.” Bucky instructs softly, waiting for the perfect moment as the spider makes its way into Bucky’s palm. You bite back a venomous quip, clamping your mouth shut instead. Once the spider is nestled in his palm, Bucky reels back and throws it across the attic. The spider lands in the cushioned yellow foam between the floorboards, re-orienting itself briefly, before scuttling awkwardly into a crevice.

Bucky would have turned back to you to comfort you but there was an empty space where you once stood. Upon feeling the spider and Bucky’s hand leave your arm, you had practically thrown yourself from the attic. You didn’t even know if you took the ladder or jumped. You were too pre-occupied crying on your bed, trying desperately to calm down.

Bucky appears at your bedroom door with a gentle knock and a soft smile as your wiping your eyes, breathing finally evening out enough with only a few hiccups of sobs.

“Sorry,” you say thickly, sniffing pitifully. “And thanks for getting rid of it.”

Bucky shrugs and comes closer to you, sitting next to you on the bed. “He was pretty damn big, gave me a fright too.”

The thought of the spider scaring Bucky too makes you smile over at him. You sniff again and realise you must look crazy; crying and hyperventilating over a spider touching you. You shiver at the thought and try to quell a wave of nausea. You rub the arm the spider was on subconsciously, your mind tricking you into thinking that something is on you again.

Bucky seems to take notice because he places his flesh hand over yours to stop you rubbing your arm too hard. You look over at him again and notice his eyes are looking into yours with a knowing kindness that makes your heart stutter.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He says firmly and then, quieter, he asks, “Is that why you wanted me here?”

You nod. “I... I don’t do well with spiders.”

“I can see that,” Bucky grins and you shoot him a glare. But it’s half hearted and you falter into a chuckle. You rub at your eyes again, removing the last of the tears.

“I just wanted to make sure I didn’t pass out if I saw one. And I like your company so... two birds.” You shrug sheepishly and Bucky nudges your shoulder with his playfully.

“Well, congrats doll. You didn’t pass out. And...” He trails for a moment, deciding on what to say. “I like your company too.”

You feel your cheeks go a little pink but say nothing. You take a deep breath and exhale a long  exhaustive, lung-emptying breath, body finally letting go of the adrenaline. However, it all kicks up again when you feel Bucky inch closer to wrap his arm around you in an incredibly awkward, yet incredibly comforting side hug. He pulls you close and you're squished against his shoulder as he rests his chin on your head. Your face heats and you don’t know where to put your newly sweaty palms other than onto your jeans. Finally, you breathe and it’s like a switch flips. You relax entirely in Bucky’s embrace and lean your head into his shoulder, mumbling thanks.

You head vibrates as Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. “No worries doll. But maybe we cut the sorting short for today, huh? You made good progress.”

You beam proudly, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah. I think so. We were only up there for about two hours."

You hum thoughtfully, breathing in the scent of his aftershave. "So, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? I’d feel bad that you came all the way here to help.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

You don’t really know how long you sit together, breathing in the smell of him, slotting under him as if you were always meant to. It isn’t  until you sigh as your eyes flutter closed that you feel Bucky’s head move. His nose brushes the your crown and he inhales the scent of your shampoo and ever so gently presses his lips against your hair.  You shift, unsure of how to react, and that makes Bucky stiffen with the realisation he’d just kissed your head on autopilot. Your cheeks flush – as do his. Yet you both remain silent for a few more moments.

“Bucky?” you call out quietly.

“Yeah, doll?”

Another pause.

“Do that again.”

He hesitates but complies.

And continues to comply every time you command it, eventually kissing all the way down to your cheeks, hovering at your lips. With one last command, he meets your eyes briefly before they flutter closed and your lips meet.

Neither of you watch the movie until, much, much later and even then you’re both too wrapped up in one another to care. That day was the first of many good days to come.

Who'd have thought you would be thankful to a spider for bringing you and Bucky together?

[shadowkoo]

What Friends Are For

→ Summary: When your closest friend confides in you with something truly surprising, it's only natural to step in and offer your assistance, because that's what true friends do, right?

↠ vernon x f.reader | 2.8k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, best friends, friends to lovers, virgin/first time au

→ Warnings: explicit & unprotected sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), handjob, doggy, language, creampie, jealousy, teasing, slightly dominant!vernon, virgin!vernon, riding, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, fingering, rough sex, deep dicking, hair pulling, begging, cum swallowing, deep throating

→ Author note: This is an updated version of an old fic of mine, I hope you enjoy it!!! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

“You can’t be serious!” you burst out laughing, sharing a dumbfounded look with your best friend. You’re at his apartment and he just finished telling you the most ridiculous thing ever. You chuckle again while you continue to look for a movie to watch. “You are such a liar.”

“I’m dead serious, don’t laugh,” Vernon huffs, “You have no idea what it’s like having to pretend with the guys like I know what I’m talking about.”

“Oh please, I know you’ve watched porn before and I still don’t believe that you’ve never at least gotten a blowjob before.” He can’t be a virgin. And you seriously doubt he’s made it to twenty-five without ever having his knob slobbered on.

“Well, it’s true! So just let it go,” he barks. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You look over to see if he’s just playing with you, he has to be. But you’re surprisingly shocked to see that he genuinely looks upset.

Realizing you hit a nerve, you apologize. “I’m sorry, I guess I just can’t believe it.” You click on a random movie to ease the awkwardness and decide to text your friends.

♡y/n♡: okie serious question, who wants to blow vern [7:50 pm]

♡cee♡: askjlasjdflkj !! [7:50 pm]

♡mal♡: giiiirl what are you on [7:50 pm]

♡y/n♡: he’s feeling down, someone’s gotta take one for the team [7:50 pm]

♡anna♡:: 👀 …. [7:51 pm]

♡anna♡: KIDDING [7:51 pm]

♡anna♡: but on a real note, why can’t you?? [7:51 pm]

♡y/n♡: ur joking right [7:51 pm]

♡cee♡: yeah you do it, i’m busy rn [7:51 pm]

♡cee♡: plus we all know he wants none of us [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: lmao truuu [7:52pm]

♡y/n♡: what’s that supposed to mean?? [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: idk why don’t u suck on ur boyfriend [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: sorry i mean boy FRIEND [7:52 pm]

♡mal♡: major emphasis on the friend [7:52 pm]

♡y/n♡: i hate you guys [7:52 pm]

♡anna♡: no u don’t, now grow a pair of balls and play with his [7:52 pm]

♡y/n♡: OMG [7:53 pm]

♡cee♡: ur with him, aren’t you? sounds like the perfect time to do it [7:53 pm]

♡anna♡: and let us know after how it was 😏 and size, we’re all curious [7:53 pm]

You set your phone down intentionally upside down so Vernon can’t see the messages. At one point, you did have feelings for him but you pushed them aside in fear of ruining your friendship. How pathetic is that? Peeking over at him, you wonder if those feelings ever actually went away, or if you’ve been pretending this whole time.

He’s very attractive, that’s obvious. The last time you thought about your feelings for Vernon was about a year ago when he started dating this horrible girl. She was awful, but he was trapped under her spell and it drove you two apart. Back then, you thought that it was for the best since you wouldn’t have had the courage to tell him to break up with her and date you instead.

They dated for almost 6 months, and when they broke up Vernon was devastated. It didn’t take long for your friendship to go back to normal after their time apart, so that’s why you didn’t want to take any chances now.

Those 6 months without him were miserable and you didn’t want to live without Vernon in your life again. He was too special to you to let something as silly as old feelings come between your friendship. You don’t want to mess it up.

But on the other hand, you’ve heard friendships often create the best relationships. Would yours?

Vernon cares for you, that’s a given. But how far does it go? Sure, you two pretty much act like you’re in a relationship, but you haven’t kissed. Other than that one time when you brought drunk Vernon home… but that didn’t count because he was trashed at the time and didn’t remember it, or so you told yourself.

If you are ever going to make a move, now is the time. Do you really want to lose another chance that the universe is obviously lining you up for? Why else would he bring up the fact that he’s never had a blowjob unless he secretly wants you to give him one? Does he want more than a blowjob? Does he want you to…take his virginity?

You force yourself to quit overthinking and muster up enough courage to ask, “Vern?”

“Hmm?” he responds. He’s so caught up in the movie you’re watching that he doesn’t seem to notice you sit up and scoot closer to him. Your hands are shaking but you aren’t going to let that stop you.

‘God, what am I doing? This is so embarrassing…’

“Can I…” You mumble nervously, not being able to finish the sentence.

“Can you what?” He asks back, still not really registering what you are about to say.

’Well,’ you think to yourself, ’It’s now or never.’

You move off the couch to kneel in front of him and rest a hand on his thigh, commanding his attention away from the TV screen.

“Please, let me.”

It takes Vernon less than a second to understand exactly what you’re asking and he has no idea how to respond.

If he’s being honest, he’s always had a thing for you. Though he’s never had the guts to make a move or even admit it to you.

He swallows nervously as his length inevitably twitches in his pants. “You’re joking right?” ‘She can’t be serious. There’s no way. This had to be some kind of sick joke. But you don’t look like you were joking. In fact, you look like you’re pleading. Holy shit…’

“Not at all. I mean, we’re friends, right? Friends help each other,” you say while sliding your hands up to the button of his jeans. His eyes follow your movements as you unzip his pants and reach a hand in.

“You really don’t have to. Mingyu’s having a party and I’ll find someone and get laid this week-” his words are lost in his mouth as you wrap your small hand around his rather growing member.

“Why would you want a stranger to do it when you could have me? That’s what friends are for, silly.” You’re trying your damn hardest to make it sound like you’re doing him a favor as a friend and not doing this out of your own desire, your own need to touch him - to taste him. It’s your safety net in case he says no. In case this ends badly. However, you aren’t so sure that’s the message you’re sending since you’re quickly pulling his pants down his thighs.

You look up at him and run a finger over his tip before bringing him into your mouth for a taste. “Before I continue, I need to hear you say that you’re alright with it. Tell me that you want my mouth on your cock,” you demand playfully while your hands stroke his length.

Vernon is at war with himself. Should he give in to his desire of wanting you? Or should he pull back, laugh this off, and forget about this? How the hell is he supposed to forget about this? To forget the look of you on your knees asking to suck him off? There’s no way. It’s impossible.

“Fuck,” Vernon rubs a hand over his face and you freeze in fear of what he’s going to say. “Babe, you can do whatever you want to me. Fuck.”

Without hesitating a second longer, you lean down to take him in between your lips. His girth stretches your mouth in the most wonderful way, and you’re unable to control the moan that escapes from your parted lips. God, you aren’t even embarrassed. You lift your eyes up to watch him, his mouth ever so slightly opens and his tongue drifts out to lick his lips.

Vernon is lost. Is he supposed to hold your hair? Is he just supposed to sit here and watch? Should he be praising you right now? He has absolutely no idea. All he knows is that what you’re doing with your mouth is driving him crazy. “Oh my god, this is what I’ve been missing out on? This whole time?” Vernon leans his head back in pleasure. “Fuck,” he gasps, “I have a lot to catch up on.”

Hearing his words gives you more courage, and you relentlessly bob your head on his length, making sure to have just enough suction while doing so.

You pull back for air and let your hands tug on him while you kiss his tip, listening happily to his husky groans. Honestly, this is the best part of giving a blowjob. Knowing that you can make a guy, let alone Vernon, feel this good. You feel him twitch in your mouth and moan in pleasure. Drool is running onto your hands at this point, proof of how much you like his taste.

Vernon smirks, “I don’t know who’s enjoying this more. You,” he quickly inhales as you shove your mouth further down onto his length, “Or me.”

You slowly pull your mouth off of him, watching his face twist as you tease the underside of his tip with your tongue. “I don’t know, the look on your face tells me that you’re enjoying this a lot,” you taunt.

His legs quiver as his length once again finds the back of your throat, your hands massaging his balls. It’s too much. He has to cum, he can’t wait.

Wanting to help him out, you hum and instantly feel the sticky liquid running down your throat. Your hunger grows listening to Vernon call out your name, his hand pulling at the hair by your neck.

He watches in wonder while you swallow him, licking some of his seed off his length when you release him from your mouth. You lift a finger to rub the remaining cum around his tip, “You came.” Vernon shudders while you tease his sensitive member.

“Shit, Y/N,” he whimpers, “I couldn’t hold it any longer; not when you were doing that last thing.”

“I hope you’re not tired because I am so not done with you yet,” you whisper. You had a taste of him, and now you want more. You want all of him, and you don’t want to wait another second.

The lingering salty aftertaste in your mouth is washed away by Vernon's kiss as he pulls you up onto his lap. He lifts your shirt up and off of you, barely breaking contact with your lips in the process, before he takes off his own in the same manner.

Your hands rub along his chest, feeling his muscles tighten and relax as your touch moves along his silky skin. His head dips down to catch one of your breasts in his mouth. You roll your head back as his tongue plays with your hardening nub, a gasp leaving you when his teeth graze your nipple.

Your head snaps up when he pulls away from you.

He chuckles, “Relax, it’s time for me to return the favor.” He leaves a wet kiss on your other breast and moves down to nibble on the inner part of your thighs. After what feels like years, his hands reach for the waistband of your shorts and pull them and your panties off of you.

His tongue protrudes out and licks your center before moving closer to your clit, which he circles and sucks on gently at first. His mouth on your heat pulls moan after moan out of you, and you involuntarily take a fistful of his blonde locks when his tongue enters you repeatedly.

Vernon pulls back all out of breath and his cheeks glistening. God, it’s such a turn on to see him like that, his face damp with your cum. He reaches for you at the same time you grab for him. His lips crash against yours, your tongues twisting with each other.

Vernon slides a hand back down between your naked bodies and rubs your sensitive clit, making your back arch in pleasure. You moan into his mouth which he gladly swallows before sliding two fingers into your dripping heat, bringing you right back to where you just were. Only this time, your juices cover his long fingers instead of his face.

Just as you finish riding out your amazing orgasm, Vernon starts to sit up. Although, your hands are wrapped around his neck so he doesn’t make it that far. You pull him back down onto you, which he isn’t ready for. His knee falls next to yours, his other foot landing on the floor, causing his length to rub right up against your wet heat.

You both gasp at the contact, but it isn’t enough for you. Your hand moves to grip his member and bring him further between your lower lips, your hips moving along with his - until he hesitates, his eyes full of worry…

Vernon bites his bottom lip as you ask, “What is it?”

“I don’t know if we should go any further. I don’t have protection,” he explains.

“Oh Vernon, I don’t care. I need to feel you.” You kiss him again. “I’m on birth control anyway. I need you inside me,” you finish before gripping his hair to pull him closer to you. “Fuck me, Vernon. Fuck me hard, please,” you beg, “It’s all I’ve dreamt about. I need your thick cock stretching me out. Please, Vernon,”

Vernon almost dies hearing you say that. Shit, he’s dreamt about this moment too, and watching you beg him to fuck you like that made his length twitch with excitement. There is no way in hell he’s going to say no to you after hearing that. He leans in to kiss you hard before dipping his tip into your dewy folds. He’s being too gentle for your liking, typical Vernon behavior, so you push him to sit up and lean against the back of the couch, yourself following, and slide the rest of the way down onto him.

It takes you a moment to collect yourself before rolling your hips into his. Once you’re ready, you anchor yourself by holding onto his shoulders and he lifts his hips up to meet your delicious pace.

Your arousal soaks his member as he slides deep inside you. It’s a perfect fit, he hit all the right places and has you squirming in his arms.

“Oh my god, Vernon!” you whine, gyrating your hips to bring some relief to your aching bundle of nerves. Sweat covers both of your bodies as you fuck each other. The pleasure is almost unbearable; your insides scream for release.

As if he knows exactly what you want, Vernon flips you over and squeezes your ass cheeks before he enters you from behind. You push your face into the throw pillow below your head and grip the sofa’s arm for dear life.

“Oh god, don’t s-stop,” you drag out while he ferociously pounds into you. Vernon groans and hovers over top of you. His hand wraps around your neck and pulls your back against him.

This new angle has you shivering and Vernon can tell that you’re close again. His other hand wraps around your waist, pulling you down onto him harder. The sound of your arousal echoes through his living room, your breaths combining with the creaks of his couch.

You feel Vernon stiffen inside you, he’s close. “Cum in me. I want to feel you cum in me,” you sigh, begging for him to do so.

Vernon grits his teeth, there’s nothing he wants more than to fill you up with his cum right this second. Your legs clench as you tip over the edge. The climax hits you both instantaneously and sends you spiraling.

“Oh my god, oh god!” you cry out. Wave after wave of pleasure passes through your limp body. Thankfully Vernon is still holding onto you or you would have fallen off the couch. Resting against him, your breathing matches his.

His delicate touch leaves goosebumps along your body where his fingers trace. Everywhere tingles. You can’t remember the last time that you came this hard. It’s earth-shattering, exhausting, and yet you feel totally full of new energy at the same time.

Vernon’s cum starts leaking out of your folds, it’s a strange feeling. This is the first time you let someone cum in you and it felt oddly satisfying. Vernon reaches over to the coffee table and grabs a tissue to clean you up with before laying back down on the couch, bringing you on top of him.

“Jesus,” He pants, still completely out of breath, “Where the fuck did that come from.”

“I don’t know but I’ll be needing more of that when I wake up,” you moan, your eyelids feeling awfully heavy. Vernon’s chest vibrates, laughing at your response. He puts an arm around your waist as he whispers, “Thank you, for… well you know. That.”

“Mmm, no problem.” You turn your head over to look up at him and smile devilishly, “That’s what friends are for, remember?”

©shadowkoo 2023. All rights reserved.

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Can’t Break Up Now [Old Dominion & Megan Moroney]

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Fem!reader

Word Count: 904

Warning(s): talk of major fight, self deprecating thoughts, thoughts of self harm

I promise this fic will not hit the same if you don’t listen to the song while reading. This song quickly became my favorite as soon as I heard it, and I knew it just had to be a Jack fic.

—————————————

You know the color of my coffee

Too many t-shirts in my closet that you bought me

At this point, I can't unlearn the things you've taught me

About myself

It was our biggest fight yet. Jack and I had both said things we didn’t mean. We were scared of the unknown. Scared of a disagreement with our future. Jack had merely said he could easily see himself leaving the city if he ever got traded. But I had a stable job and family here. I couldn’t leave…

I had been frozen in shock when the door slammed shut. He’d left. Perhaps rightfully so. I’d called him horrible things. I broke down on the carpet in the bedroom when he left.

You pick the music when I'm driving

Your mama always takes my side when you fight me

And these days, my dog likes you more than he likes me

You can just tell

Jack hadn’t thought the answer through, and in the end he got too defensive to admit how wrong he was. When he left he didn’t know where he was headed. Jack just knew he was going somewhere. The yelling, the accusations, the hateful words spoken… they’d all been too much.

Jack gripped the steering wheel of his car impossibly tighter than before. His knuckles were white. He wanted to pull the wheel and turn himself into oncoming traffic. He wanted to spend his life with this woman. What had he done?

So what am I supposed to, unlisten to every song written?

Take you out of every melody?

You know my secrets, my demons, and I know your weaknesses

All of your doubts and your dreams

Jack knew she was alone, just as he was. Crying, panicking, asking herself what to do. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back. He didn’t know how to face her. But where were they supposed to go from here? The only way to know was if they could talk it out. Jack knew if they didn’t talk, it had a 100% chance of ending badly. Maybe if they spoke they could fix it.

So we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

Four years. Four solid years of loving and growing. There for each other in every scenario. Every rise and fall. Every accomplishment and failure. There was such a deep history, how could they end things?

I hate the thought of starting over

If you left, I know I'd never get closure

Can't imagine letting anyone get closer

Than you are to me, oh

I flicked through photos in my phone, scaling back too many years. If I deleted them, four years of my life would be gone. Four years of so much effort. How could I leave him? I folded my legs beneath myself on our bed. Our bed. I needed Jack. The photos on the wall? His clothes? His towels in my bathroom. His dishes in my cabinets. His movies, his gaming consoles, his furniture. Everything would be gone.

Yeah, I'll battle this out all night 'till we fix it

If the ship's going down, I'm going down with it

Time alone did nothing to ease either mind. So perhaps it was better to be together.

Your friends are my friends

Jack turned his car around the moment he knew what he wanted.

I start where you end

I stood from the bed to leave the room. I decided I’d leave the front door unlocked. Yet when I got there, I couldn’t gain the courage to actually unlock it. Instead I sat against the wall next to the door, waiting to hear his knock. His voice.

We've got too much history

This was the right choice.

So we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

We've come too far and we're in too deep

We love too hard just to let it go

So we

Can't break up now, oh

It didn’t take Jack long to drive back to the apartment. Mostly because he was speeding. He’d tried to fix his disheveled appearance before knocking on the door, plastered with fake gold numbers that clacked every time the door shook.

So what am I supposed to, unlisten to every song written?

Take you out of every melody?

I shot up at the sound, no hesitation in my body this time as I unlocked the door and opened it. We were met with one another’s faces, silent, blank. Where would this go?

No, we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

“I’m so sorry..” Jack’s broken voice reached my ears. “I love you so much.”

No, we

Can't break up now

No, we

Can't break up now

“God Jack I never should have said any of that.” I fell into his arms, quiet sobs falling from our lips as we held each other tightly.

We've come too far and we're in too deep

We love too hard just to let it go

“Please let me in,” Jack whispered against my neck. It wasn’t even a question as to whether I would or not.

So we

Can't break up now

“Come in, honey.. let’s sit down.” I held onto his hand as I ushered him in, tears streaming down both of our faces.

No, we

Can't break up now, oh

It was better to heal together than alone.

Can't break up now

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while). 

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours. 

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February. 

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile. 

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his. 

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you. 

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap. 

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.  

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one. 

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous. 

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.” 

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon. 

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face. 

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says. 

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa. 

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity. 

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile. 

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack. 

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you. 

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle. 

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?” 

He knew about that? you think with a blush. 

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.” 

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later. 

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change. 

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats. 

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs. 

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says. 

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses. 

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table. 

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat. 

“Need some help there, sweetheart?” 

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back. 

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair. 

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest. 

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile. 

“I’ll show you,” Dean says. 

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage. 

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face. 

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement. 

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin. 

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.  

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time. 

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you. 

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics. 

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed. 

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror. 

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin. 

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas. 

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby. 

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress. 

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier. 

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side. 

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle. 

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver. 

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders. 

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms. 

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks. 

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap. 

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.  

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean. 

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.   

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks. 

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek. 

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”  

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper. 

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen. 

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness. 

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap. 

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles. 

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one. 

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.     

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple. 

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks. 

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean. 

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes. 

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments. 

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look. 

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.” 

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer. 

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow. 

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.  

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can. 

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.  

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.” 

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder. 

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms. 

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!” 

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you. 

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”  

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.  

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion. 

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

 Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.” 

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

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[curiositydooropened]

Group Therapy

Steve’s friends encouraged him to attend group therapy, to push past the nightmares and insomnia. In such a small community of sufferers, he didn’t expect to meet you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Reader

Wordcount: 15,461

Warnings: group therapy, trauma, PTSD, nudity, recreational drug use, minor character death (not canon characters). It's therapy, guys. There's a lot of angst, guilt, speaking of dead loved ones, etc.

This fic is incomplete. This is just part one, but I was dying to get it out, so here it is. There's a bit of a cliffhanger/questions unanswered, but those will be answered in the next part! xo

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---

Joyce suggested group therapy. She knew of a group that met weekly in the old DMV building. Steve wasn’t one to sit in chairs and talk about his feelings (although he pressured the kids to do as much every time he saw them), but he wasn’t one to deny the advice of a woman that cared for him like he hoped a mother would. 

Joyce Byers often surprised him with those sentiments, dragging him from his car by the scruff of his neck to partake in family dinners with the kids or asking about the various dates with various girls she’d seen him on and with around town. She worried over his headaches, offering tried-and-true remedies, and all-but drove him to the optometrist to get his eyes checked. 

Much to his chagrin, he had needed glasses, and much to Robin’s chagrin, he only wore them around Mrs. Byers or the kids, who would tattle on him if he didn’t. 

So, when Joyce cornered him on Labor Day, after watching the skittered reactions of each sound effect the kids made during their weekly DnD game, Steve couldn’t argue with her logic. 

“I found this flyer. I’ve gone a few times, but it’s on Thursdays and Thursdays are difficult with work,” she explained, placing the leaflet into his hand. “But it’s a good group of people, and I’ve seen a few young people go. I do really think it’d be nice to be able to talk to kids your own age, you know?” 

He shrugged and offered a weak smile, and if anyone else had recommended it, he probably would have shrugged it off, crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin at the end of the McDonald’s drive through. But it was Joyce, and she wouldn’t have mentioned it if she wasn’t genuinely concerned. 

So on Thursday night, when the sad streets of Hawkins cleared of construction workers and the few loyal townsfolk driving home from their 9-to-5s, Steve gripped 10-and-2 and inched his way to the old DMV parking lot. He pulled into the same spot he did when he got his license three years ago, and he was surprised to see the lot littered with vehicles from all sorts of residents from Hawkins and the surrounding county. It took him a shaky breath or two to muster the courage to go inside, but he figured this couldn’t be worse than killing a few inter dimension monsters. 

Before he exited his car, he pulled his glasses from their case in the center console and slipped them up the bridge of his nose, hooking them over his ears, and as the dimly lit concrete building got a little sharper, and his headache began to alleviate, he left the car and walked toward the front doors.

The collection of chairs made a perfect circle in the center of the room, but only two people sat, the rest mingling near a coffee carafe and a giant box of doughnuts. Steve found himself jittery enough, and jelly doughnuts still reminded him too much of the gaping hole in Eddie’s ceiling, so he opted to skip refreshments and find himself a seat in the circle.

His hand shook against the cool metal of the chair, from nerves or excessive damage to his nervous system, he was never quite sure anymore. He clenched his fist to squeeze past the tremor and seat himself, glancing down at the watch on his wrist to avoid the gaze of the others around the circle. He had to check the time three more times before his brain registered what time it actually was, and by then, the others had started to find seats around the circle. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and offered a shy smile to the woman who sat beside him. She seemed wary of his presence, but smiled politely in return. And because that exchange felt safe enough, he ventured a glance around the circle. He was surprised to see about twenty people, in various stages of life and dress, mostly cheerful, swapping mumbled greetings and shuffling into their seats to get comfortable. 

The slam of door closing startled everyone to silence though, mood shifting to static as a woman in a tight-fitting skirt suit clacked across the linoleum toward the circle, waving the legal pad in her hand. “Sorry, sorry! Just me.” She explained, finding her seat directly at Steve’s eleven. She glanced up from wire-rimmed glasses, similar to Steve’s and flashed him the brightest smile he’d seen in a long time.

“I see we have a few new faces this evening,” she glanced around to avoid Steve the embarrassment, but he felt heat fan at his face as attention drew his direction. 

“That’s great. Let’s all be sure to welcome them warmly.” She continued. “For those of you who don’t know, this is a group therapy session. We talk about our feelings here. This is a judgement-free zone, and we would really appreciate it if the things shared didn’t leave this room. What happens in group therapy stays in group therapy, right?” 

The group around him let out a chorus of tired agreement, as though they’d heard the spiel week after week. 

“Great. Now I do feel the need to preface that we talk a lot about loss during these sessions. Loss of loved ones, loss of homes, loss of control. If it gets to be too much for anyone, I encourage you bow out. You know your own boundaries better than the rest of us, but we also want you to know that some of us have found a real community here, and we’re here to welcome you with open arms.” This time, she spoke directly to Steve.

He offered a tight-lipped smile, but suddenly found his hands interesting to look at, the crags of scarring across his knuckles, the callouses that littered his palm over the last few months. 

“Let’s start with an ice-breaker, shall we? We’ll go around the circle and share our name and say a hobby we’ve picked up recently! We haven’t done hobbies in a few weeks, right?” A chorus of no’s filtered through the circle. She clapped her hands together. “Perfect. I’ll start. Hi, I’m Cheryl, and a few weeks ago, my friends got me hooked on couponing. Have you heard of that? Where you cut coupons out of the Sunday morning paper? I got my groceries for half the price!” 

“Half the price?” The woman beside Steve startled him. She seemed genuinely intrigued. 

Cheryl grinned, winked. “I’ll tell you all about it after this. Go ahead, dear.” 

And then beside Cheryl, voice raspy yet calm, you spoke your name and Steve’s attention was drawn to you like gravity. Joyce had mentioned people his age, but at first glance around the circle, no one here was younger than their 30s, no one but you. Your hair was shoved under a knit cap, and buttons of your denim jacket clacked against one another as you adjusted in your seat, tucking one sneakered foot up on the chair with you. Steve leaned a little closer on his knees to hear what you had to say. 

“I’ve picked up cooking, mostly out of necessity,” you tucked your chin to your knee and finally ventured a glance Steve’s direction. “Learned how to put out a grease fire on Friday.” Your eyes flared a challenge, a rebellious streak that sent something through Steve as he watched your eyes observe his frame. He sat up a little straighter under your scrutiny, and you turned to hear the comments being made in regards to your answer to the prompt. “I might be able to manage a casserole. Give me a month.” 

And it went that way down the line, various people with boring, small-town names talking about crochet and mountain biking. Steve watched them politely, anxiety curdling his stomach the closer around the circle it got to him. Occasionally, he’d glance your direction, as though you’d offer a lifeline, an out. Cheryl smiled encouragingly and every hobby he’d had flew from his memory. 

“And what’s your name?”

“Uh…” His throat was dry. “Steve. I’m Steve.” 

“Hi, Steve,” the room echoed, led by your conducting arms. The call startled him, and the room was reduced to chuckles at the apparent inside joke. Steve noticed the way you hid your laughs behind a hand, cuff of your sleeve pulled up over your knuckles.

“Ignore them,” Cheryl reprimanded, rolling her eyes. “Tell us one of your hobbies.”

Hobbies, hobbies. He swallowed, glanced around the room, trying to recall the pastimes of the others’. He definitely didn’t cook or coupon. He scratch a particular grading itch at the back of his neck and shrugged. “I swam in high school.” 

“Okay, swimming’s cool,” Cheryl encouraged, smile too bright, blinding. “What about now? Do you still swim?” 

He winced. Swimming and him hadn’t gotten along in recent years, what with Barb and Water Gate. “Yeah, not really.” 

“Well what do you like to do for fun?” 

Joyce hadn’t prepared him for the questions he’d be asked. Once again, head-empty, he wracked for something he did in his free time. Chauffeur little shits to the arcade and back? Watch them play their nerd game? None of those really constituted as fun, and he couldn’t exactly let a group of total strangers know that his most relaxed moments were spent at Hopper’s old cabin sharing a joint between co-trauma-victims.

He licked his lips and considered dates he’d been on recently. Out of habit, his eyes flickered to you. Your head was tilted to one side, expression expectant, and he realized he’d taken too long. 

He blinked and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um, driving? I really enjoy just going for long drives. Does that count?” 

“Of course it does. Driving is a great way to let off steam.” Cheryl expressed with too bouncy of a nod. 

“Kind of car you got, kid?” A grumpy old man asked off to the right. 

Steve turned to face him. “BMW 733i. It’s an ’83.” 

The man whistled, nodded. “German-mades are good cars.”

“Got a good sound system?” A man asked from the opposite side of the circle.

Steve shrugged, nodded, ran a hand through his hair, nearly knocking his glasses off. He still wasn’t used to them. “It’s pretty good. Bass doesn’t blow me out.”

When that man offered a hum of approval, he felt himself warm a little, like that little hum was the acceptance of the group. He relaxed a bit further into his chair and the woman beside him, Mina, took over, discussing her doll collection at length. 

It continued this way around the circle, people discussing their interests like this wasn’t a group therapy session, like you weren’t all here to discuss what had happened to you or who Vecna had removed from your lives. You were just a circle of humans getting to know one another and talking about your passions, and Steve felt a bit soft about it. He even pitched in the conversation at one point when Carl, the sound system specialist, spoke about building his record collection. Steve offered a signed copy of a Kenny Rogers album he knew his dad wouldn’t miss. Carl seemed elated. Steve felt proud to be useful. 

When he looked away, your gaze caught him, eyes narrowed in suspicion at his gesture, and he felt his face heat and he looked away. He didn’t recognize you, didn’t think he’d seen you before, but that insecurity lingered, the fear that you’d gone to school with him and King Steve had been a total dick to you.

“Alright,” Cheryl clapped her hands together. “That was fun. Shall we talk about the tough stuff now? Who wants to go first?” 

—

No one made him talk, and for that he was grateful. He sat in silence, just soaking up the stories and the heartache, driving that ceaseless guilt a little further. He caught emotion in his throat at one point, during a particularly heartfelt story about Mina missing her niece and nephew for Labor Day, and he had to force himself to think about something else, anything else while he wiped the sting from his nostrils. 

When you all stood, at the end of the session, he had half a mind to bolt, to leave and never return, to never mention it to Joyce. He prayed the rest of you would forget his existence, although he’d never forget all of you, your stories, the waver in voices as stories were passed around. He wanted to run, but Carl stopped him with a sturdy hand clapped to his shoulder, and then Elmer approached and the two men asked him questions about his car, eased him back from the anxiety tightening the collar of his shirt. 

The older men argued about BMW versus Saab, and Steve found his attention straying from the conversation, as it often did when his dad and his uncle got into similar arguments over holiday dinners. He found you, pinching the edge of a glazed doughnut. You seemed unimpressed and unengaged in the conversations starting to pitter out as one-by-one, people started to leave. 

Elmer shook Steve’s hand, excuse himself, and Carl did the same. Steve pulled his keys from his jacket pocket and followed them out, a crisp chill falling over the lot. He breathed fog and glanced upward at a cloudless sky.

“Stars look weird, huh? After all that smoke.” A voice from below startled him, and he looked to find you sidled up next to him, hands shoved into your jacket pockets. 

“Really weird,” he agreed, but he couldn’t turn back to the twinkling night sky, not when you were standing beside him, staring up at the cosmos in wonderment, moonlight painting your skin a pale blue. “I’m sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?” He didn’t feel the sting of familiarity, but he figured the question was good to cover his bases. 

You tilted your head to face his and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Don’t think so.” You pulled a hand from your pocket to offer it his direction, reintroducing yourself. 

He took your hand, small and warm from the insulation of your jacket. “Steve.” 

“Steve who swam in high school and drives now.” You affirmed with a nod, placing your hand back in your pocket.

He chuckled and nodded. “That’s me.” He gestured to the car.

You offered a whistle to mimic Elmer’s, as though his car was something to marvel at, and that made a laugh bubble from his lips again. He liked the way you smiled at his laugh, as though you were proud you pulled it from him. He thought of Joyce always trying to cheer him up, of her placing the flyer in his hands. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

You quirked an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Shoot.” 

“Is this…” He glanced backward at the building, now void of light, doors locked, quiet. “Is this group therapy thing helping you at all?” 

“Honestly?” You brought a thumb to your lips to chew at the corner of your nail, and you waited for him to nod before you shrugged. “Kind of. It’s nice to have people to talk to. Better than letting it stew.”

He knew what you meant, the guilt that bubbled there, just under the surface. He nodded. Then felt a little braver. “Do you come every week?” 

You shrugged again, nodded. “Nothing better to do.” 

“Except putting out grease fires,” he pointed out, tested the water with a tease, let you know he was listening. He didn’t know why he felt so desperate for your validation now, felt pride when his joked pulled a smile from your lips, your eyes rolling. 

“Uh huh.” You took a few steps away from him. “Have a good night, Steve. See you next week.” 

“See you.” He waited until you were in your car with the ignition on before he pulled out of the lot.

—

The following Thursday took twice the courage. Steve considered dragging Robin along, or even Eddie, but Robin had to work and Eddie still wasn’t widely accepted in the greater Roane County area. So, with a few steady breaths, he entered the little concrete building with a Kenny Rogers album under his arm. Carl stood from the circle to greet him, taking the vinyl to admire it, and Elmer met them near the snacks table to discuss a model BMW he found in his catalog, wanted to know if Steve would like him to buy it with his next order.

The men were much older than Steve, and gruff with their greetings, stiff upper-lip and all that, and Steve felt himself shy under their attention, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, searching the room for a familiar face. Well, if he was being honest, he was searching for you.

“Or not, saves me a few bucks that I could use on a Thunderbird I was looking at,” Elmer grumbled under his breath when Steve hadn’t responded, and the younger boy shook his hair from his eyes.

“No, no. It’d be really cool if you ordered the model for me,” he offered a smile. “I have a friend that paints models.” 

It took ages to be allowed into Erica’s room, only permitted to babysit her from the doorway with crossed arms and a frown, but one day she finally asked for his opinion on a paint job she’d done on a model dragon. Eddie had commissioned her, paid her extra to keep the Big Bad a secret from the boys, but she wasn’t sure about the gold. So when she called him in with an “okay, shithead, you can come in”, Steve made sure to really admire her handiwork. He���d never forget the proud smile etched into her sweet little face.

“It’s a fine art,” he continued. “I’d love to try.” 

Elmer puffed his chest the way Erica did, grumbled in agreement.

 This time, Steve felt brave enough to pour himself a Styrofoam cup of coffee. It thawed his cold fingers and scalded the roof of his mouth. The doughnuts had been swapped for deli sandwiches, but all of the non-veggie ones had been taken by the time he got there. He stuck with the coffee and found his way to his seat, the same as last week, semi-in hopes that you’d find your same seat across from him. 

He’d dressed to impress, after all. A newly purchased green sweater warmed him, hugged his biceps how he liked, and his favorite pair of Levis. Well, not his favorites, those still held a few blood stains, but these were similar and new. He didn’t wear his glasses either, still self-conscious that they made his nose too square and his eyes too round. At least, that’s what Mom said when he showed her. She reprimanded him for not taking her to pick them out. 

He looked around the circle at mostly blurred faces, a few familiar, like Mina beside him, Carl and Elmer. Cheryl clacked her way to her seat at his eleven once more, repeated the spiel from last week. Your chair, along with about five others, remained empty. 

Steve couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the door every few minutes, between ice-breaker introductions. He sputtered “uh… tiger?” for his favorite animal because again, caught in the moment, he couldn’t think of a single other animal save a Demodog or Demobat, and in this crowd, a joke like that wouldn’t go over so well. 

A woman named Dolores, who he recalled from last week, spoke about her struggles at the grocery store this week, staring at her husband’s favorite box of cereal. A man named Jeffrey started to speak about hearing his daughter’s voice everywhere he went, when the door slammed open, startling them all. 

Steve spun in his chair to see you enter, bleary eyed and sniffle nosed. You didn’t flinch to find all eyes on you, just turned your attention to the coffee table and picked up a sandwich to take a bite from. 

“Keep going, Jeffrey,” Cheryl encouraged, and the group turned back around to face the man speaking his tragic tale. 

Steve had lost all focus. He side-eyed you, watch your hand tremble around the carafe handle, ached to stand up and assist you. He glanced to Cheryl to confirm her eyes were on him. She sent him a pointed look and pointed a well-manicured fingernail Jeffrey’s direction, like a school teacher during a guest lecturer.

“And just this morning,” Jeffrey continued, voice wavering, “as I opened up the garage door, I heard her say - “

“Fuck!” Your voice rang out, followed by the ruckus of the carafe and your cup and sandwich crashing to the ground. Coffee and vegetables littered the linoleum, painting the yellowed tiles a deep brown. 

The entire circle flinched. Steve leapt from his seat to help you, but Mina pulled him down by the cuff of his sleeve, which she used to help herself from her seated position. “You sit, honey. I’ll help her.” 

Steve ventured another glance your direction. You were nursing the edge of your hand with your lips, skin likely scalded, and tears were now cascading over your florescent-kissed cheekbones. You sucked in a sob and pulled a fistful of napkins off the table to start to soak up the mess when Mina met you and placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. She mumbled something, and you nodded, turning to leave. Just before you did, you glanced up at the circle and met Steve’s gaze, and when he found the sorrow there, he realized he’d do anything to will it away, to bring back that half-cocked smile from the week before.

“Keep going, Jeffrey. What did you hear her say when you opened the garage door?” Cheryl pressed on, as though your interruption hadn’t occurred, as though Steve would be able to focus on anything else.

—

The tangy sweet scent of marijuana wafted from the patchwork furniture set all the way through boarded-up rafters. The chill of autumn set in, and Steve’s teeth chattered between each hit of the joint, and he huddled tighter into Robin’s tiny frame under the crochet quilt they pulled from the back of Eddie’s van. He felt tired and cold and hungry, and a mystery substance on the quilt was far too close to his face, but he was too cold to move it. With a groan, he settled further into the poorly stuffed cushions and the warm vanilla of Robin’s perfume. 

“No groaning, man. You’re harshing my mellow,” Eddie swatted at him from the other side of Robin. He was farther gone, one joint in when they got there. Steve was sure the ceiling danced for him, and his leather jacket was probably a whole hell of a lot warmer than Steve’s puffer vest. 

“Steve’s in love,” Robin explained the bad attitude. Ever the linguist, she often translated Steve’s wordless tantrums. She was never right.

He groaned again. “I’m not in love.” He plucked the joint from her ice cold fingers and took another hit, grateful for the deep burn in his chest until it sputtered out of him in a big cloud that rose with the heat through the hole in the roof. 

“Dude, fourteen hot, hot women came into work over the last two days, and you didn’t even say hi. To any of them.” 

He didn’t recall fourteen, maybe one or two. Beside, he was busy stacking shelves and searching the database for all of the Hawkins residents with your name. 

“Jesus,” Eddie giggled. “You are in love. So who’s the broad? Is she hot?” 

Steve groaned and warmed the tip of his nose on Robin’s shoulder, lest it freeze and fall off. Robin squeaked when it brushed her skin, and she sent a punch to his ribs. “Ow, fuck,” he whined, rubbing at the growing bruise, but something about the grin on Robin’s face made him chuckle. 

This made Robin sputter a laugh, and Eddie chimed in with his voracious little giggle, and soon they were a mess of laughter, clutching at their sides to catch their breaths, tears in their eyes, the chill of autumn almost forgotten. 

“I’m hungry,” Eddie sighed, pushing himself up off the couch with minor difficulty. He drug his feet to the cupboards. The cabin hadn’t been properly stocked in months, maybe a year. They ate the last bag of popcorn last time, and Steve forgot to pick up supplies on his way in from work. “Either of you know how to cook?” 

“Steve’s girlfriend’s a chef.” Robin snickered, eyes squeezed tight to avoid the spin of the stars. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve huffed. That’s not even what he wanted, not even the point of asking Robin if she knew anyone with your name, anyone that looked like you. He wasn’t interested in dating you. He wanted to make sure you were okay. 

“You met her at a restaurant?” Eddie tried to piece together the story. “Do they deliver?” 

“I met her at group therapy,” Steve ran a tired hand down his face, completely knocking his glasses free. When had he put those on? 

“So she’s a nutter like you then,” Eddie grinned, and Robin burst back into that raspy laugh that would normally send Steve into his own giggle fit if he wasn’t so irritated by the accusation. 

“She’s not a nutter. She’s been through some hard shit. We all fucking have,” he snapped, stirring his attention to a loose strand of red polyester near his sightline on the cushion. 

His smoking buddies quieted their laughs. Robin sunk into him, curling her head into the crook of his neck. She was cuddly high and flirty drunk, and Steve hated the melt of his heart when she did this. She was like a cat, obnoxiously free-willed and too smart for her own damn good. And she knew when to turn on the charm to avoid a confrontation. 

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Steve hummed a response, annoyance temporarily tampered. 

“Mellow harshed.” Eddie flipped him the bird. 

Robin’s head bobbed under his chin, setting him off, and the three of them started to chuckle again.

—

Week three, Steve arrived early, snatched a maple bar and found his seat, sneaker tapping linoleum subconsciously while he stared at the entrance. Everyone else mingled, and Carl and Elmer offered friendly waves from their place in line for coffee, but Steve was waiting for you. An entire week he spent searching for you. Henderson even made a few fake sales calls from the phone directory, but all searches had come up void. You were like a ghost. And after day six, he thought maybe he had imagined you. 

It would be the next logical step. Head trauma could lead to migraines, tremors, poor eye-sight, bad hearing, why not add hallucinations to the list? If he made you up, his brain did a really good job with the fine details. He could still see the frayed edges at the cuffs of your denim jacket, could still hear the click of metal buttons against one another as you repositioned yourself in your chair.

You cleared your throat, and he realized you’d come and sat across from him, and he was staring. 

He swallowed, nearly choked when he realized he had a bite of doughnut in his mouth. It went down too large, unchewed. He felt it roll down his esophagus into an empty stomach and he winced, coughed. “Hi,” he managed finally, throat dry. 

“Y’okay?” You bit back a laugh, smiling forming at the corners of your lips, wrinkling your eyes, and Steve thought he could fly. It was an excellent improvement from last week. 

He nodded. “Are you?”

You caught the subtext in his question and he watched your expression pinch as you found the frayed edge of your jacket with your fingers. He wanted to stand, to sit beside you, to make you smile again, to laugh. 

But the doors slammed shut and everyone not seated had moseyed to their seats. The room was emptier than last week, and Steve felt a twinge of panic that people were leaving, that they felt healed and no longer needed to come, and he wondered if you felt that way too. Cheryl sat in royal blue and spoke her spiel like she hadn’t rehearsed it, and once again, to her left, you started the ice-breaker round with your name and your favorite book, Peter Pan.

Steve’s heart thumped in his chest at the odd bit of information. A boy who collected kids, who was too pressured by the adults in his life to grow up, a boy at odds with his own shadow, intrigued by a girl from a far-off land. He realized he was staring again when you offered him wide-eyes, mockingly telling him off, but the smile edged on your pink lips again, and he settled into his chair, satisfied once more.

Once the ice-breaker round had finished (Steve muttered something about Sherlock Holmes, running a hand through is hair. He knew the gist, and he thought you seemed impressed, maybe intrigued? You cocked an eyebrow at his answer.), he felt a little less comfortable in his chair. If was being totally honest, he’d hoped you’d open up about last week, about what made you so sad, so helpless. It had been eating him up inside. So, he focused his gaze on you when Cheryl asked who wanted to start, and you kept your eyes on the squeak of your sneakers against the floor. 

“Steve, how about you?”

Steve blinked at the sound of his name, sat at attention. 

“You’re our newest member of the group. How are you feeling about it? Would you like to share maybe what brought you to us?” Cheryl’s voice was the softest he’d heard it, a sweet lull that reminded him achingly of Joyce, like a soft hand brushing hair from his forehead. 

He swallowed, felt all eyes on him, all except yours. He took a deep breath and looked at Cheryl. She offered the most understanding of smiles. He licked his lips. 

“I don’t um… I don’t really know how to start.” His hands were trembling, and he shoved them under his ass, but that caused the chain reaction of his knee bobbing wildly, heel lifted from the ground. 

“How did you find out about the group?” Cheryl asked. 

“Oh, a friend’s mom gave me the flyer. Told me I should check it out.” 

Cheryl nodded. “She was worried about you?” 

It hurt to hear someone else say it. “I guess so.” 

“It was sweet of her to think of you,” she smiled. “What do you think worries her?” 

He thought about it too often, harbored too much guilt for being a burden on Mrs. Byers, on them all. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, probably the doughnut still lodged there somewhere. “I don’t sleep much, and um… I guess I startle too easily.” 

Proving his point, a chorus of agreements from the circle scared him back to reality, and he realized there was a room full of people listening intently, a room full of people that encountered the same problems. 

“What’s keeping you from sleeping?” 

He shifted in his seat again, hands red and creased, pulsing as the blood returned to the tips of his fingers. “Nightmares, mostly. I have this horrible recurring dream.” He shuddered to think of it.

“Tell us about it.” 

He swallowed, ventured a glance your direction. You had your thumbnail to your lips again, but you offered a nod of encouragement. He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, um…” He’d have to censor it. These people knew about the monsters, the horror, but not the specifics. They didn’t know the metallic tang of Demobat blood. They didn’t know the din of a Grandfather clock chiming Max’s death, the downfall of their town. He squeezed his eyes shut to quell the echoing, ground himself in a room that wasn’t shaking from seismic activity. 

“I have dreams about my grandma,” you chimed in, and Steve’s eyes slammed open to watch you pull the attention away. You sat up straight in your seat. “They’re always the same. We’re in her kitchen, and she’s making a beef stew. So I’m cutting the celery for her. And she tells me I’m doing a great job.” Your voice wavers on the last weird, and Steve watches the sorrow slip over your features again. You went somewhere else, far off, somewhere painful, for a split second. 

“But you feel like you’re disappointing her?” Steve braved his question, and to his surprise, and yours, you nodded, wiping a tear from your cheek before it could slip down your soft skin. He nodded. “Mine too. All of my dreams are about my friends, and in all of them, I just…” He shrugged. “Let them down.” 

“I have this dream that I’m dancing with my wife,” Carl pitched in. “We’re swaying to Miles Davis, and she’s laughing. It’s so real, I can smell her perfume. That one’s almost worse than the dreams about monsters.”

The group mutters in agreement. “I have a dream about my niece playing in the back yard,” Mina agrees. 

Steve doesn’t pull his gaze from you as people continue to share their dream stories. You offer a sad smile, and bring your knee up to your chest before turning your attention to the next speaker. He continued to watch you, the soft cough of a laugh, the upturn of your lips. Maybe Robin was right. 

—

Week Four brought on scarves and gloves, the squeak of wet shoes against linoleum. Elmer brought a large box with a model and paints and brushes, which he shoved under Steve’s chair with furrowed brows and gruff instructions. Carl was humming The Gambler. Steve felt warm, and when he shrugged out of his puffy vest, draping it on the back of his chair, the warmth didn’t cease. It was the same warmth he felt on DnD nights, when he sat on the sofa and read the latest issue of Sport’s Illustrated and Dustin shot spitballs at him from across the table. It was the same warmth he felt when Robin got high and tucked herself into the crook of his neck and gushed about Vickie’s perfect face. 

He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to the crooks of his elbows and waited for the rest of the group to file in when a voice from Mina’s chair startled him.

“Hey.” It was you.

He blinked your direction, picking out the lines of your face from this close, a soft twinkle in your eye. You looked flushed, a bit out of breath, and that set a screw loose inside of him somewhere. He could feel it tinkering around, bouncing off his gears. “Hey,” he breathed.

The door slammed closed, eliciting a communal gasp like it did every week, and you straightened yourself beside him, shrugging out of your denim jacket to expose an oversized sweatshirt, forest green with torn cuffs and a screen printed watercolor of a national park, Yellowstone, maybe? He couldn’t make out the scrawl that had been eaten away by the washing machine. Cheryl clacked her way across from you both.

“Listen,” you hissed, catching his attention again. “I need to talk to Cheryl for a second after this is over, but I want to give you something. Will you wait for me?” You spoke under your breath, out of the side of your mouth, like a secret, and Steve couldn’t help the laugh that caught on his tongue. 

“Yeah, I can probably do that.” 

“Good,” again, you didn’t look at him, facing the group, but he watched your front teeth catch on your bottom lip, fighting back a smile. He liked that he could appreciate the details of you from this close, the wisps of hair on your temples, poking out from beneath that same, grey knit cap, the soft blue gems of your earrings, barely noticeable if it weren’t for this angle, the soft gold chain that lay on your neck, its pendant falling somewhere beyond the collar of your shirt.

“Shall we break some ice?” Cheryl clapped her hands together, yanking him out of the daze that was all you. The woman leading the group sent him a knowing look, eyebrow cocked over her glasses, and Steve cursed under his breath. This was going to be a long night.

This session had been the worst of them so far. Carl kicked it off by voicing his frustrations about the aches he felt in his shoulder when the weather got cold. It’d always been bad. He blew his shoulder out when he was much younger, playing baseball. The injury reinstated after his third row of buckshot in the direction of one of those things.

Mina felt it too. She called it a shift in seismic pressure. Her arthritis had never been worse. Along with the nightmares, she suffered severe migraines, not to mention the hospital bills. 

Don’t get Jeffrey started on hospital bills. His daughter was kept on life support for just over a month before she passed. He’d been paying for the rest of his life, which was about four times the life amount of time she got. 

Elmer broke his arm in three places. Colleen busted her ankle tripping over a leyline or rubble, something of the sort. With each talk, Steve felt himself growing more and more anxious. He was hot, too hot, and the guilt he felt for his friends just compacted, knowing his mistakes affected so many more people. So many more than Joyce liked to remind him he saved.

He felt sick, the coffee twisting in a mostly empty stomach. His temple throbbed, eyes winced under the buzz of the florescents. His own body ached, where ribs healed and shoulders popped back into place. His teeth hurt, feeling all of those punches all over again, and he was just a fucking kid. He couldn’t imagine what everyone else felt, was feeling. 

When the meeting ended, he shuffled upright in silence, sliding his vest back on and stuffing the box of paint under one arm to scurry out of there with the rest of the group. He’d tossed the box in the trunk, with the bat, hands itching to round the handle, to poke holes in something meaty and fleshy and horrifying. He slammed the trunk and hopped into the driver’s side to start the ignition and warm himself up. He needed a stiff drink and a hot shower, or maybe he just needed a drive.

He cranked the heater until the windshield fogged and massaged the leather of his steering wheel into the pads of his palms. He popped the clutch in and shifted into reverse, throwing his hand over the headrest of the passenger’s seat until he noticed your car behind him. The lights were off and it sat cold. Shit. He almost forgot. 

He took the car out of gear and tried to relax his shoulders, tried to excite himself about what you could possibly have to talk to him about. He couldn’t imagine past the pain, the guilt. You were probably going to condemn him for the shit he put you through, complain about some stab to the back that would never, could never fully heal. 

He screamed and gripped the steering wheel, shaking it as much as he could in its locked position along the column. Mostly, he shook himself. Just when he thought he was getting better. Fuck.

His lungs felt tight when you exited, Cheryl in tow, locking up behind you. The two of you muttered, making eyes his direction, and Cheryl offered him a wave before walking to her car, and you separated to walk to the passenger side of his car. He leaned over to unlock the door for you, moving his scarf from the seat so you could sit down. 

You sunk into the seat with a sigh, breath fogged, and closed the door behind you. “It’s nice and warm in here,” you shivered, holding small hands to the vents of his heater. 

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, waiting on you.

You glanced at him from under your lashes and shoved your hands into the pockets of your denim jacket. “I thought you ditched me.” 

“I uh…” He swallowed. He couldn’t lie to you, but he didn’t want you to know he forgot. “Nope.” Smooth.

He could just make you out in the reflection of his headlights against the wall, a splash of warm yellow across your features, and you seemed to be watching him the same way he watched you, a bit timid, unsure. 

“So,” you spoke simultaneously, followed by nervous laughter. 

“You go,” Steve gestured, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

You breathed, relaxed into the seat beside him. “Okay, I feel stupid. This is maybe kind of stupid.” 

“What?” He smiled. He could never find you stupid. 

“I just don’t have many friends here that are my age.” You sputtered around the words, taking time with them, but your face scrunched up as though you weren’t pleased with the way the sentence played out. 

“You want to be my friend?” He could have flown. 

“God, no,” you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave away the sarcasm. “I just figured you might be a bigger loser than me and would want to be my friend.” You explained, releasing a dry laugh in case he couldn’t pick up the joking tone. 

“Oooh, I don’t know. Two losers being friends? Isn’t that against the rules?” He teased back.

You scrunched up your nose. “You’re probably right.” 

“Hey, so,” he ran a hand through his hair before stretching it to your headrest. Your knit cap brushed against his thumb as you turned to look at him. “Do you want to hang out sometime?” 

You rolled your eyes and pulled a rolled piece of paper from your pocket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I wanted to give you this, and now it feels like forty times more lame.”

You handed it to him, and he looked from the paper to you and back before starting to unfurl it from one end. You slapped your hands to his to stop him, yours slender and freezing. 

“Don’t look at it now! For Christ’s sake, wait until I’m in my car!”

Steve laughed at the frantic tone of your voice. You were genuinely embarrassed about whatever this was, and that was beyond endearing. You bit back a smile of your own, and Steve rolled it back into the fist of one hand. 

“Whatever I’m leaving.” You pulled the handle and your door popped open, a gust of cold air fanned Steve’s face. “Oh, and I’m not going to be here next week.”

“What? Why?” He frowned. 

You shrugged, turned away from him and exited the car. “Personal stuff. I’ll talk to you soon though maybe?”

He leaned over to see your waggled fingers, watched you pull your keys from your jacket pocket. “Okay, sure.” 

“Bye, Steve,” you smiled, and he waved before you closed the door.

—

“I thought I was having a stroke,” Steve sighed, passing the note you’d given him to Robin. She unfurled it, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the scattered page of numbers and letters you’d scrawled between the blue rule of notebook paper. 

“Looks like a pretty standard cypher to me,” Erica pointed out, connecting the dots with her finger to the page. “Letters are numbers, numbers are letters.” 

“Nerd,” Dustin took glee in the nickname, and Erica flipped him the bird. 

“She’s right, Steve. This is low level shit.” Robin pulled the phone along the counter, the ringer dinging over the split in sections. “C’mere.” She tugged at the crook of Steve’s elbow until he stood over her and the note, pointing out exactly how you’d created the cypher. “It’s like the numbers on a phone, see? So B would be 2, K is 5, O is 6, get it?” 

Dustin handed her a pen from the cup near the register, and Robin began to translate all of the letters until she had a seven digit number. “Holy shit, dude. She gave you her number.” Dustin held his hand up for a high-five, and Steve resisted. Though his heart did an odd rhythm against his ribs. 

“Okay, okay, what does the rest of it say?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, knee bouncing as he leaned on the counter. 

“This part says ‘Call Me.’” Erica tilted her head, pointing to a series of numbers in the middle of the page. 2255 63. 

“How the hell did you get that?” Steve felt a headache pulling between his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Context clues, dumbass.” 

“‘The game’s afoot.’” Dustin read in that British accent he was annoyingly good at. 

“What?” Steve sighed, watching Robin scribble in the rest of the code. 

“It’s Sherlock Holmes.”

Steve was starting to get really irritated with their tone. He sighed, so confused, and waited for Robin to finish her scribbling before she stepped out of his way and handed him the receiver to the phone. He frowned, but took it from her and leaned over the counter to read the translated version of your note. 

The game’s afoot. Call me, Sherlock. Followed by your name and number. He blinked down at it a few times before Robin slammed her fingers down on the phone to spark the dial tone loud and clear. Steve felt his mouth go dry, but he held the phone to his ear and started slamming in numbers. 

It rang once, twice, three times. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 5pm. Maybe you were on your way home from work. Should he leave a message? Did they get the numbers right? 

“Hello?” 

He breathed your name. “Hi, it’s Steve.” 

“Steve, oh my God, hey. You solved it that fast, huh? That’s so embarrassing.” The sound of your laughter from the other end made his stomach knot. 

Erica made kissy faces from the other side of the counter, and he shooed her away. Dustin and Robin followed up the kissy faces, and he flipped the three of them off. They backed away with snickers. He turned his back to them and picked up the phone, walking across the check out station for a more private corner. 

“So… now that you’ve called,” you pressed on. He heard bangs from your end, like maybe you were putting away your dishes or groceries, the creak of cupboard hinges. “Are you busy tonight?” 

“Tonight?” He stood up straight, glancing sideways at his friends eavesdropping in a nearby aisle. Robin flashed him a knowing smirk. “I think I’m free tonight.” 

“Great,” he could hear the smile in your voice. “Would you maybe like to go for a drive?” 

“A drive sounds… great.” 

“I’ll give you my address. Got a pen?” 

—

Steve promised Robin a quarter of a week’s pay and that he would ‘get laid’ (which made him incredibly sweaty) to get her to entertain the hooligans for the evening without him. He promised Erica a day’s pay, plus tax, to allow him to bail, and she begrudgingly agreed to paint his model for him. Her eyes lit up when he unveiled the expensive paint and brushes. Dustin didn’t care so much, as long as Steve promised to take care of himself, which always made Steve a little itchy, but he did.

So, with his friends on the back burner for one more evening, he raced in the direction of your house. He recognized the area as you spoke it. You lived off Cherry, very close to where Max lived before her and her mom moved to the trailer park. He always dreaded dropping her home if he saw that blue Camaro looming in the driveway. Billy had left him alone after that night at the Byers, but the sight of him still made Steve a little gun-shy. 

Cherry was dimly lit this time of night, this time of year, a cascade of warmth across a desolate neighborhood. To be fair, most neighborhoods in Hawkins were void of cars or residents anymore, a ghost town. He slipped past Max’s old place, for sale sign still swinging in the yard, and pulled up three doors down at your house. 

It was small, cozy, blue with white trim and the glow of life from inside sheer curtained windows. Steve pulled into a little divot in carved in front of your yard and turned off the ignition. His mom taught him at a young age that it was always polite to pick a girl up at the door. All of the girls he dated seemed impressed so far. 

But for you, when he pitched open the door, you startled him with a “Hello!”, already halfway down the drive. 

“Hey,” Steve smiled over the roof. You hadn’t dressed up for him, which he appreciated, but you no longer wore your knit cap, hair neat and tucked behind your ears. He faltered for a moment, wondering if he should open your door for you, but you were already there and climbing in, so he followed you back into the warmth of his little car. 

“You look nice,” he said. Always good to start with a compliment. 

You flashed a smile and turned to look him over as you buckled your seatbelt. “Thanks, you too. I do like those glasses on you.” 

He felt his smile widen, turning the ignition. “You do?” 

“Yeah, they make you look smart.”

Thank God for that. Steve flipped the headlights back on and pulled himself out of the rut and back onto the road. The pavement was a bit rocky out here, the Earthquake having mixed everything up. Hawkins had prioritized the roadwork through the center of town and less so in the lower income areas. Not that you were lower income. He swallowed. “So, where to?” 

“The Lake?” You asked like he didn’t have a choice, and he felt itchy under the collar. 

“Why the Lake?” He was afraid of your answer.

You shrugged beside him, face illuminated by each passing streetlamp. “I’ve never been.” 

He smiled at that. “It’s a lot nicer in the daytime.” 

“I’m sure it is,” you agreed. “But if we go in the daytime, we’re more likely to get caught.” 

“Get caught?” His adrenaline prickled then. He couldn’t decide if he was more intrigued or terrified, but either way, he stepped on the gas a little harder. 

You ignored his question. “So, Steve who enjoys Sherlock Holmes and driving and Family Ties, tell me about yourself.” You sunk into your chair, lifting your hands to warm on the heater vents like you had the night before. Despite his warmth, Steve leaned to turn up the flow for you. 

“Sounds like you pretty much know it all.” 

You laughed. “Come on, there’s gotta be some dirt in there, right? Everyone has to have at least one fatal flaw.” 

“Sure,” he nodded. “Everyone does. I just don’t. That’s my curse.” 

You threw your head back in a barked laugh this time. He enjoyed the raw sound of it, the curve of your throat under lamplight. 

He shrugged, turned onto the main road, shifting into third. “No, I don’t know. What do you want to know?” 

“What do you really like to do for fun?” You challenged. 

He risked a glance your direction again, and you were turned on the console to watch him, eyes careful, scrutinizing. “Answer for answer?” 

You rolled your eyes and faced front again. “Fine.” 

He slowed down, turned south onto Curly. “I like spending time with my friends. We watch too many movies. Smoke a lot of weed.” 

“Steve, I’m a cop!” You blurted, incredulous, and he might have been alarmed if he didn’t have insider knowledge. You took a moment to gage his reaction before following up with a, “Not intimidated by the 5-0. A bad boy.” 

He snorted. “My friend’s Dad is the Chief of Police.” And the shit he’s seen is way scarier.

“Shit,” you laughed. “You don’t strike me as a stoner, but I’ll accept it as your answer.” 

“Good,” he tutted. “Your turn.” 

“No, no, no. Ask me something new. I don’t want to be the only one coming up with questions here.” 

Steve chuckled at your point and thought for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to ask you. He hoped he’d have all night. He glanced sideways at you, watched you stare out at the trees and fields as they rolled by, truly like you were seeing everything for the first time. Maybe he’d softball you your first one. “What brought you to Hawkins?” 

“Needed a fresh start.” Your tone was a bit clipped, a bit far-off. 

Steve felt the tension twang between you, and tried to alleviate it. “Jesus. Where were you coming from, super max prison?” 

You snorted, quiet for a moment longer before you turned back to face him. “One question at a time. Do you have any pets?”

You two carried on like this for a while. He learned you preferred savory to sweet foods. You didn’t go to college. You had a myriad of pets growing up: dogs, rabbits, lizards. You didn’t play any instruments. You were more of a night owl these days. You didn’t sleep much. 

That, you had in common. Steve slipped into a parking spot a few feet from the boat ramp. This area of the lake was used for campsites in the summer months, boat parties, barbecues. This year had been void of any sort of celebration. No campers pitched tents or parked RVs. And now, nearing November, the shores were sticky with disuse, water bobbing buoys a hundred yards or so in.

“Here she is,” Steve sighed, gripping the steering wheel with clammy palms. His headlights illuminated the dull waves in front of them, cast a warmth on a clear evening. He was thankful not to see past the surface, to the gate below, the tear in dimensions, the gaping maw that swallowed him whole and spat him back out the other side, bruised and bloodied. “Lovers Lake.” 

“Why is it called Lovers Lake?” You asked, your voice more playful than the horrors tickling his spine. He wished he could focus on you, wished he could match your energy. Maybe this was a mistake.

“It’s uh…” He scratched at the base of his neck. “It’s shaped like a heart. From an aerial view.” He made a heart in the air with two pointer fingers, a demonstration in shadows and silhouette. Freddie Mercury crooned softly on the radio. 

“You like to swim, right?” You unclipped your seat belt to get comfortable. 

He shrugged. “I used to. Swim team captain, head lifeguard.” Accolades he used to brag about, still helped him get girls. Now it felt like ash in his mouth. 

“Ever been skinny dipping?” You reached down and were slipping out of your sneakers, your socks. 

“I… wh-what?” He swallowed, suddenly zoned in on your fingers undoing the buttons to your denim jacket. 

“You know… naked, swimming, usually late at night as to not get caught…” You slipped your jacket off your shoulders and made to shuck off your jeans. 

“It’s freezing,” he argued, mouth dry from the curve of your thighs against his car seat.

“You don’t have to join me,” you teased, pulling your sweater over your head. Your hair caught on the wool, creating a static charge. Flyaways stuck up to touch the felted ceiling. 

“You, uh…” He blinked again, tried not to stare at the cups of your bra or the swell of your breasts spilling from it. “You’re going to catch a cold.” 

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” You reached behind you to pull at the tab holding your bra together, but as you did so, you leaned fully into his space, warm body against his. He could smell the floral scent of your shampoo. He opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, when you reached past the steering wheel to flick off the headlights, flooding the car and area surround in darkness. 

“No peeking.” You whispered and opened the car door. The dome light turned on, and Steve watched your bra fall to your discarded seat before the door closed and the silhouette of your frame went springing down the ramp toward the water. 

Cursing under his breath, Steve made sure the car was in park and wouldn’t roll, before he got out and followed you. He kept his clothes on, sneakers slipping a little on the ramp, but made his way down a dilapidated wood dock near where he saw the curve of your back disappear into the dark waves. He peered into the water, eyes adjusting to the moonlight cresting too far off, and called your name.

You shushed him from the edge of the dock, fingers holding you afloat, hair slicked back to your head, cheesy smile lighting your features. “This water’s freezing,” your teeth chattered through a laugh.

“I bet,” he winced, remembering the prickle of needles that was ice cold water. “Ever heard of pneumonia?” 

“Ever heard of a rush?” You countered, kicking off from the dock to dunk back under the water and swim a few feet off. He watched the swells of your body as you did so, lumps that rose and fell like waves, soft, unbothered. He wished he had that freedom, wished he didn’t have the knowledge he did, the trauma. 

You popped up a few feet away, gasping for a breath, and Steve felt himself tense. He looked around, wondering how deep it was. If you needed rescuing, he could springboard off the edge of this dock and reach you in seconds. He kicked off the heel of one sneaker.

“Steve!” You called, taking a few breast strokes his direction. “Can I borrow your jacket?” 

He had a blanket tucked into the backseat, which you teased him about. You made him turn around so you could get out of the water, and you let him look again when you’d wrapped yourself in it. You let him swing an arm around you to walk you back to the car, and he cranked the heat. The volume of the vents rivaled the chattering of your teeth, but you laughed louder and went on and on about how great the water felt, how Steve was missing out.

Per your request, Steve drove out of city limits to find a fast food restaurant, somewhere with greasy French fries and a drive-up window, and you pulled a wad of bills from your jacket pocket to buy him a hamburger that he enjoyed on his drive home. You discussed music taste and your lack of involvement in high school clubs or sports, and things remained fairly surface level until you were back on the looping hills of Curly.

“You seemed really upset yesterday,” you started, the softest he’d heard your voice all night.

Steve clenched his jaw around the straw of his Coke, slurped the last syrupy goodness from the icy base. He glanced your direction, your expression of concern cast yellow in lamplight. With a sigh, he placed his cup back into the cupholder. “You could tell, huh?” 

You smiled at that, nodded, hair still damp around your ears. “I’ve got a knack for reading people.” 

“That so?” He felt a smirk tugging as he rounded a particular sharp corner, the one that curved down into Merrill’s. He downshifted a gear. “What am I thinking about now?” 

You didn’t waste a beat. “You’re being flirtatious. Our night’s coming to a close. You saw a boob.” 

He felt warmth lick at his earlobes from the collar of his sweater. He swallowed. “I did not.” He didn’t really. He saw the swell, a curve, under-boob at best, and he knew he’d be thinking about it for days. 

“And,” you interrupted, slender finger prodding at his bicep, “you’re deflecting.”

He deflated a little, mind dragged back to the guilt he’d felt in that room. 

“Hey, I’m not going to make you talk about it, or whatever.” You sounded so casual, like it all rolled off of you, shoving your feet back into socks and shoes. “I just wanted to let you know I picked up on it, and I’m here if you do want to talk.”

Steve licked his lips and waited for a straight-away to watch you, knee to your chest to tie your laces, two bunny ears into a double knot. The pavement sloped downward, into suburbia, and he could already feel you slipping out of his grasp. 

He cleared his throat, turned down Cherry, the long way. “I just feel bad, you know? Guilty. I don’t like seeing all of those nice people hurting.” The honesty felt raw in his throat, like it did every session, like this gas leaking out of him.

You glanced at him then, brows knit in contemplation, and you shrugged. “Everyone hurts sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

“Why are you there?” He asked, tried to sound as casual as you had, but he wanted more, needed more sweet morsels of you to savor for the week ahead. 

You wrapped your fingers tightly around the seatbelt at the center of your chest, thumb playing with a bit of fray there, but your gaze remained on the horizon, on the houses and lights that illuminated your cheekbones in flashes. “I mean, you went because your friend’s mom asked you too, right?” 

Steve shrugged, slowed to a crawl as your little house came into view. 

“Right. And Dolores is there for her husband, and Jeffrey goes for his daughter, and I think maybe we all started going for someone else and ended up showing up for each other.” The way you said it was so resolute, and Steve couldn’t shake off the implication that you were showing up for him. Was he reading too much into that? 

The click of your seatbelt alerted him that he’d stopped, somehow managed to halt just in front of the walkway that led up to your stoop. He scrambled with the buckle of his own belt, ready to walk you up, but paused when he felt a cold hand against his wrist. He looked up to meet your gaze.

“I can walk myself inside.” Again, with the confidence of a different woman, someone he’d only caught glimpses of, out of the conference room and away from metal chairs scraped against linoleum floors.

“When can I see you again?” He was desperate for it, far from calm and collected, missed the grip of your slender fingers when you released him to open the passenger door. The dome light flicked on, bathing you in warmth. He could see a smudge of mascara beneath your eye, the collar of your jacket dipped dark and damp. The corners of your lips turned up into a smile. “Thursday?” 

With one word, your smile was washed away, confidence replaced by timid shoulders, licked lips. You shook your head. “No, I’ll be out Thursday, remember?”

He vaguely remembered, hoped it was a nightmare, some passing fear that you were slipping away from him. “Can I call you?” 

Again, you shook your head, eyebrows folded. “I’ll be out. I’ll call you.” 

He swallowed, that familiar panic crawling up his chest, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he couldn’t wait that long, didn’t want to wait that long. He let out a shaky breath, offered a smile. “Cool.” Smooth.

You chuckled at that, released a breath of a laugh that he wanted to catch and shove into his pocket for safe keeping. You must have noticed his joy at the sound, because your eyes lit with something mischievous, and you rolled them. “God, one look at my tits and you’re like a lost puppy.” 

His face heated, jaw fell open at the mention of them again, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, stammering some sort of defense. “I didn’t see them!” He fucking squeaked. 

Your laugh was louder now, back to that groove of comfort and warmth, head thrown back, white teeth sparkling in lamplight. “Goodnight, Steve.” He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue, liked the way your eyes sparkled, the stretch and pout of your lips.

Then you were leaning in, too close, all encompassing. You smelled Earthy, like lake water, and sticky sweet like Coca-Cola, and before Steve had a second to register what was happening, your lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and you were pulling away. He chased you across the center console, hoping for the sweet taste again, the plush of your lips against his, the warmth of the crook of your elbow, a fingertip, but you were quicker. 

A gust of winter air fanned his face, and he dipped low to see you grinning back from outside the car, fingers waggled his direction. “Thanks for the drive.” 

“I’ll call you,” he promised.

You shook your head, but the smile didn’t falter. “I’ll call you.” You closed the door with a click, dome lamp turning off, and he watched the length of your legs carry you up the walkway to the front porch, light on your feet and bathed in moonlight. 

—

Steve called you the next day, from work, hunched over the counter to hide himself behind a stack of tapes while Robin scrambled to help everyone in the store. You hadn’t answered, voicemail flat and unfriendly. He panicked and hung up before the beep. 

Sunday, Robin convinced him to quit being a stalker, explained that breathing into the receiver was something a serial killer did, and that he didn’t need to come off so clingy, and she was right. So he didn’t try you again.

By Thursday, you still hadn’t called him, and he felt uneasy, like he’d done something entirely wrong. Some stupid Steve Harrington bullshit that had upset you, something he wouldn’t understand until you were in a bathroom, drunk, calling him bullshit. He winced, rolling into the DMV parking lot, headlights sparkling on the thin layer of frost that spread across the grass this week.

The little conference room echoed with chatter, weekly catch-ups, as the smell of burnt coffee coated the air. Steve accepted an M&M cookie from Mina with warmth tickling under his collar. The woman had crumbs on the corner of her lips, but something about her presence reminded him of Joyce and of Claudia, and of all the surrogate mothers that had taken him in when his own was too busy to nurse his wounds and feed him something not cooked in a microwave. 

He considered not showing up, holing himself in his big, empty house, with nothing but the whirring of the microwave. He’d been that way all week, eyes unfocused on the fireplace while his mind grasped to remember the image of your shape in the water, the feel of your lips against his, the sound of your laughter. Your voice echoed around his skull though, the only clarity his mind offered him over the last week. “We all started going for someone else and ended up showing up for each other.”

So, with Carl and Elmer, and even sweet Mina, on the brain, he wrestled into his puffer jacket and grit his teeth past the chill of winter while he scraped the windshield of his car. If he tried, he could imagine them as his friends, adult versions of the little shits that tormented (and enriched) his life, but he wasn’t sure if that would make things easier or harder, especially after the heartache he felt the week before. He slumped into his seat and split his cookie in half, soft and gooey. He’d just have to wait and see how today’s session went. 

Cheryl clacked in with a bright smile, clipboard on her hip like a well-loved toddler, gazing around the group over the rim of her glasses. She poured herself a cup of coffee as the group calmed, though with the look on her face, Steve wasn’t sure she needed more caffeine. “Hello, everyone!” She greeted in a sing-song.

“What’s got you so chipper today, missy?” Dolores asked, her own eyes sparkling behind bejeweled spectacles. 

Cheryl sucked in her smile and took a sip of her coffee before she settled into her seat across from Steve. His heart ached at the blank space beside her. 

“She’s chipper because of that rock on her finger,” Elmer commented. “Jesus Christ, Cheryl, that thing must weigh a ton.” 

Steve’s eyes went to the engagement ring on her finger, hand holding her cup aloft for all to see. The room erupted in a buzz of excitement and congratulations and questions, and even Steve himself felt the corners of his lips tug into a proud smile. 

She just looked so happy, skin flushing, hair bouncing in agreement as she hid smiles behind waved hands, trying to calm the crowd. “Thank you, thank you. I know, very exciting.” She scolded, but the smile could not be swept from her face. “Shush!”

Showing up for each other. Steve glanced once more to your empty seat and wondered how you’d react to the news. A shiver wracked through him at the thought of your own elation, of the smile playing at pink lips while your eyes flashed to his with mischief. 

“Yes, yes, the rumors are true. Thomas finally proposed. And I refuse to waste any more time on the details, so if you’re really interested, ask me after group.” She flashed a timid wink Mina’s direction before setting her coffee on your empty chair and adjusting her knees in her pencil skirt. She wrapped fingernails to her clipboard, pausing to watch the sparkle of her diamond before she clapped her dainty hands together. “I’m glad to see all of you in good spirits today. I know this time of year can be especially difficult, with the holidays coming up.” 

Steve shuffled in his own seat, ventured a bite of cookie. It was soft and sweet, and he nearly choked when he noticed Mina was watching him. He gave her a thumbs up and a smile, and she seemed delighted at the praise. 

“Since we won’t be here next week, let’s practice gratitude. Our ice breaker will be something we’re thankful for.” 

The concept of an ice breaker always sent a bit of anxiety through him, that stutter of a heartbeat that he’d say the wrong thing, something stupid or embarrassing. He couldn’t decide if your absence made it easier or more difficult. On one hand, he couldn’t say anything to deter you, on the other, he couldn’t tell you he was thankful for your presence in this group, for the smiles of encouragement. He couldn’t tell you he was thankful for the night you’d had on Friday. He couldn’t tell you he’d been thinking about you all week. 

His hands clammed up as the answers formed from around the circle, a wide range of gratitude from time spent with Jeffrey’s daughter while she was still alive to the Colts latest season. His brain wracked for an answer of his own, and his mouth felt a little dry.

“Steve, what are you thankful for?” Cheryl offered an encouraging smile. 

He floundered a bit, licking his lips, staring at your open seat. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off from a stern voice to his left. 

“May I?” Carl was leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Steve nodded, thankful for the distraction. Mina also seemed unbothered by the skip, a knowing smile playing across her lips. 

“I’m thankful for this young man, right here.” Carl pointed, long arms and gnarled finger almost reaching Steve’s chest. 

Steve felt himself blinking, felt his mouth bob open again. 

“Because his bravery showing up to this group every week, with all of us old folks, gave me the courage to talk to my grandson about his feelings with all of this.” He twisted his finger in the air to demonstrate the world around them. “He’s a tough kid, my Joel, but I knew he was taking this really hard. He’s only fourteen, and he lost a few friends. He just started high school, made the basketball team, and I could tell he’s nervous. So I chatted with him, and we had a real good talk.” 

Steve could feel the emotion swell in his chest, that familiar bubble of pride that tightened his ribcage. 

The older man’s jaw was tight, hands clamped into fists, as though he was uncertain of Steve’s response, maybe slightly uncomfortable with all of the attention on him. 

“What position does he play?” 

Carl’s eyes lit at that, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Post.” 

Steve nodded. “Cool. I’m friends with Lucas Sinclair. He’s on the team too. Maybe we could get together and do a pick-up.” 

The old man nodded, released the tension in his shoulders. His chair squeaked as he sat back into it. “I think we’d really like that.” Showing up for each other.

—

Decorative plates clattered on their displays a few feet above Steve’s head. He was elbow deep in sudsy water, and breathless grunting and the whoosh of air had him rutted up against the countertop, soaking the front of his sweater in sink water. He grit his teeth and glanced over his shoulder to see Eddie take a swipe at Dustin, easily dodged, curled hair and red faces everywhere. 

“Will you two quit horsing around?” He snapped, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose and right eyebrow itching only because his hands were coated in bubbles and grease. 

“Yeah, Dustin, quit picking on me. Daddy Steve’s going to ground you,” Eddie grinned, opening the refrigerator to pull a bright red can of Redi Whip from beside a milk carton. He tilted his head backwards, aerosol making a choked sound before Steve watched a dollop of whipped cream spill upwards from between Eddie’s lips.

“Gross, dude,” Steve grumbled, grabbing around for another dish to clean. “This isn’t even your house.” 

“Joyce?” Eddie yelled, mouth full, all of the gumption of a school kid calling for his Mom. Dustin snickered and took the canister from the older boy’s hands. “Is it okay if Dustin and I have some whipped cream?” 

Joyce appeared around the corner with her hands full of serving platters. “Of course, sweetheart.” She offered Steve a knowing smile, blowing dark hair from her eyes before setting the plates near a stack of Tupperware containers ready to be filled. “But when you’re done contaminating my Redi whip, think you guys can head outside and quit horsing around in my kitchen?” 

Dustin coughed on his whipped cream, earning a rough slap on the back before the two boys chuckled their way out of the room to harass Will and El and Max into a game of touch football.

“Sorry about them,” Steve sighed, scrubbing dried gravy and trying not to think about how the sink reminded him of the Upside Down. 

“Boys will be boys,” Joyce chuckled, and not a consonant was mean. He’d seen Joyce mean, hackles up, defending her cubs, defending him. It was terrifying. 

“Joyce,” the name always felt weird on his tongue. He’d been raised to be respectful.

She looked up with that same twinkle in her eye, slopping stuffing into separate containers. 

“I just uh…” The back of his neck itched. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his forearm, splattering soapy water across a lens. He wiped it off to procure a smudge. He sighed. “I just wanted to thank you for suggesting that group therapy thing.” 

“Yeah?” She grinned. 

He shrugged, avoided her gaze by picking cranberry sauce off a plate with his nail. “Yeah, it’s a really nice group of people. I’m actually going to play basketball with one guy and his grandkid.” 

“Oh, Steve, that’s so great!” Joyce cheered, soft-spoken and kind. “I had a feeling you’d get something from it. And what about that girl?” 

His heart stuttered at the mention of you, stomach sinking. It had been two weeks since he heard from you, two weeks since the drive, two weeks since your dip in the lake. You still hadn’t called, and he hadn’t wanted to clog your voicemail. He’d been hung out to dry, clinging to the line in some hopes you didn’t totally hate him. “What about her?” He swallowed.

Joyce shrugged, preoccupied with the mashed potatoes. “She seemed really sweet, and your age. I wondered if you two were friends. She seemed so lonely after losing her husband, and I just really hoped she could find some friends here in Hawkins.”

The plate slid out of Steve’s fingers, crashing against the bottom of the tin sink, and he cursed under his breath, chasing it to pull from the water and check for cracks. It seemed fine. Rinsing it in hot water, he chewed over Joyce’s words. When the plate was safely deposited on the drying rack and the sink stop had been pulled to drain the suds, he turned back to the woman spooning mashed potatoes as though she hadn’t said anything Earth-shattering. 

He said your name to get her attention, asked it, really. “The girl with the denim jacket?” 

Joyce smiled, eyes sparkling with the same mischief he found in your own eyes, and she described you to a T. “Very pretty girl, isn’t she?”

He swallowed, dried his knuckles with a damp hand towel.

—

Carl and Elmer were bickering about the NBA, voices gruff, arms crossed. Steve felt warm, despite the couple of inches of snow Hawkins got in the last few days, coffee in hand, fluorescents flickering a steady beat in the corner. Just over Elmer’s thin shoulder, one of the heavy steel doors popped open, and you slipped inside, shaking snow off your knit cap, and pulling gloves from your fingers, one fingertip at a time. 

Steve’s breath caught in his chest, released only in a wheeze when you met his gaze and he watched every beautiful feature light up, cheeks plump and teeth white. If he wasn’t warm before, he was flooded with it now, collar hot and itchy around his neck. He raked his fingers through his hair, unsure where to put his hands, sneakers squeaked against linoleum as he shifted his stance. 

You waggled your fingers in a greeting and shuffled your shoes against the damp floor mat.

Steve’s mind raced with conflict. On the one hand, you hadn’t called. For three weeks, radio silence on your end. The only comfort he’d gained was from driving past your house late Monday night to find your lights on. You hadn’t answered any of his calls. On the other hand, you were real and alive, and your warm smile drew him like a magnet. He excused himself from the present argument and met you at the snack table.

“Hi,” he managed. Smooth. 

“Hey,” you didn’t look up at him, eyelashes long against your cheeks. You tucked a napkin into one hand and pulled the pen from the sign-up sheet on a clipboard. “Can you do me a favor and please give me your number?” 

Steve felt his entire body heat from embarrassment. Of course you hadn’t called. You didn’t have his fucking number. “I’m such an idiot.” He sputtered, pulling the utensil from your hand to scribble his digits on the soft ply of a napkin. 

“No, I’m an idiot,” you assured, squeezing his bicep with slender fingers. “I’m the one who promised to call without even asking for your number. You probably thought I hated you.” 

Steve smiled, shrugged. “I was overthinking everything I said.” The confession spilled out before he could stop it, and he hoped it sounded a lot more suave, sarcastic, flirtatious. But then he froze, immediately question whether or not you wanted him to flirt. You had said you wanted more friends, and if Joyce was right, and you’d recently lost your husband, maybe Steve was in over his head. “I mean…” He stammered, carding his hand through his hair again. 

But you smiled, eyes still cast downward as you poured coffee from the carafe into a styrofoam cup. He thought back to the time you’d spilled, the time you’d come in entirely too distraught. He wondered if it was somehow related to your Husband’s death. He swallowed. 

“On second thought, maybe it was your fault.” You glanced up then, eyes sparkling. He bristled. “You never told me your parents’ names. Are you related to every Harrington in the phone book?” You took a sip, glancing around the room. Your energy was a bit frenetic, flitting back and forth over the faces of your group, an unease tensing your shoulders.

Whereas he relaxed, endeared that you’d thumbed through the white pages to find him. “John and Linda,” he offered, tipping the rim of his cup to yours to bring your attention back to him.

You took another sip, but held his gaze, holding the coffee in the pockets of your cheeks for a moment, chewing a thought before the corners of your lips turned up into that world-ending smile. “Steven John Harrington?” 

He felt his nose wrinkle in disgust. Though maybe, if he had been named after his dad, the old man might have taken him more seriously. He shook his head. “Francis. After my mom’s dad.”

You ignited at that, that spark he yearned to spill out of you. He wanted to bathe in it. He could feel the rumble of your chuckle in your throat, the tease he’d been used to since childhood, but felt sticky sweet from you, if only he could push you over-the-edge, procure a full-out laugh.

The closing of heavy double doors broke the spell. You looked away first, to Cheryl, and Steve watched the smile and cheer wipe from your features and replace with creased concern. He followed your gaze to the slender woman, hair perfectly coifed and eyes red beneath her spectacles. 

“Can I have everyone sit please?” She croaked, almost a whisper, the softest Steve had ever witnessed. A chill settled at the base of his skull. 

Chatter turned to grumbled concern as everyone made their way to their seats. Steve felt your hand grip his tightly, just for a moment, before you left him to sit at his twelve, your frame curved at attention toward Cheryl. You pulled a leg up, rested your head on your knee, a defense mechanism, he supposed, body-armor. He glanced sideways to offer Mina a reassuring smile, and she returned it, tight-lipped. 

“Hello, everyone. I come bearing grave news.” Cheryl wrung her fingers against the top of her clipboard, diamond sparkling beneath the fluorescents. She glanced upward, making eye contact with each person in the circle. Almost a full group, Steve noted. “I just learned that Jeffrey passed away over Thanksgiving.”

A flutter of gasps circulated, and everyone’s eyes settled on that empty chair, a little cock-eyed, cast in shadow at an awkward post between two banks of lights. Steve’s heart sank. He wracked his brain for every fact he knew about the man with red hair and mousy eyes, who spoke so highly of the daughter he missed so dearly. 

He felt his hand start to tremble, knee bouncing with anxiety. Glancing across the circle, he noticed you’d pulled your other leg up, barricaded, eyes glazed over, chin trembling just beyond your fingertips.

“I just want to reiterate to you all how important this group is, and how much you all mean to me, and to each other,” Cheryl spoke, slow and self-assured, almost stern. “I understand how this might be too much for some of you, and if you wish to go, by all means, do what you think is best for you, but I do encourage you to push through, to stay, for your fellow group members. Some of us have no one to lean on but each other.” 

Steve watched your shoulders slump, and you stared directly at the ground, arms coming to link around your knees. 

—

Steve’s throat burned, raw, and his eyes stung, and his God damn hand wouldn’t stop trembling. He wanted to pulverize something, to build up the callouses in his palms and wind up to swing his bat through something fleshy and disgusting. He said polite goodbyes with gritted teeth and a clenched fists, held in his emotion to give Carl and Elmer manly smiles and nods. He tossed battered styrofoam into a bin and tore out of there to suck in fresh, frigid air.

Ice cold hit his face like a ton of bricks, stinging at his nostrils and catching the air in his lungs, but it felt so refreshing. It was so much better than the muggy, stale air of a conference room filled with so much grief, so much loss, so much pain.

“Steve!” Your voice called, reeling him back to reality, and he turned to see you. You were bleary eyed, red-nosed, pulling your gloves from your pockets. 

He took a calming breath, nodded for you to follow him around the corner and out of earshot. When he got you close enough to feel the warmth of your knit hat, he mumbled. “How are you holding up?” As though it weren’t obvious, as though everyone wasn’t a wreck.

You looked up from your gloves, face half-shadowed in exterior lamplight. Your breath fogged at the bottom of his lenses, and your bottom lip trembled with a swallow. “I just…” You glanced around the parking lot before tucking your hand into his own. Your gloves were scratchy, but warm. “I just don’t want to be alone.” 

He gave a curt nod and tugged you toward his car. When you got in, closed the door, he threw his arm over the back of your seat and got the Hell out of there, away from the sadness, away from the memories.

You didn’t ask, didn’t say a thing, just buckled and sat with your hands in your lap, tears staining your cheeks as the lights from Suburbia rolled by. 

Instinct carried him to the junkyard, a lead foot on the accelerator and this itching under his skin to hit something. You didn’t question it when he pulled in between the bodies and engines. He pulled right up beside Hargrove’s Camaro, blue-paint charred and covered in snow. “Wait here?” It wasn’t a question. He set his glasses on the dash.

He left the car running to keep you warm, and bitter wind nipped at his ears and his cheeks. He rounded to the trunk to pull out his bat. The handle was warm and chipped in places. The nails were rusted and stained with the blood of monsters, the blood of civilians. He slammed the trunk closed and steadied his grip.

His shoulders were hunched, but he rolled them. Hargrove’s car still held a side-mirror, mirror long shattered, remnants of glass frozen over, but the appendage remained attached to the body, and with a guttural growl and a swing, it was gone. 

That’s all it took, one hit and Steve was no longer in the junkyard, but on the battle field. He was surrounded by bats and demo-creatures and Vecna himself, and he was swinging and screaming, metal dragging against metal, throat raw, until his palms tore and he stumbled to his knees. 

Eyes slammed shut, shallow breaths dragging from between his lips, he tried to wane the dizziness, tried to pull himself back to reality, back to a place where he was forgiven for his sins, for unleashing those creatures on his Home, his People. 

“Steve?” 

Everything flooded back with pounding in his ears at the sound of your voice, the soft warmth of your hand to his cheek. Your face was blurred from tears he wasn’t aware he’d shed, and he ducked himself into your lithe touch. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked. 

“Come on,” you tugged at his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

His teeth were chattering. His shoulders wracked with a shiver. He let you pull him upright, let you set him into the backseat, let you pulled the spare blanket up and over his shoulders. The heater whooshed in his ears, and he heard the slam of the trunk before you were crawling in the other side, sidling up beside him, all warm hands and body tucked into his side. 

“What day is it?” 

Steve blinked at the headrest in front of him, tried to process your words. “Wh-what?” 

“Tell me the day of the week, Steve.” Your voice was so calm, so self-assured, wise beyond your years. 

He swallowed. “Thursday.” 

“Good. And what’s my name?” 

He tried to take a few deep breaths, noticed the pressure of your palm against his sternum, focused on it. 

“Say my name, baby,” you cooed, and when Steve’s eyes slammed open, you were over him, all encompassing, hand to his chest, nose brushing his nose. 

He released your name in a breath, like a prayer, and at once, you were swallowing it, warm lips pressed to his own, cupping his cheek, climbing onto his lap. Steve groaned at the weight of you, perfect, grounding, and gripped both of your hips, worshiped your thighs, dragged you into him until no part of his middle had room for the breeze.

“Say it again,” you rasped, head turned skyward. He murmured it into the heat of your throat, vowels meeting your pulse like pressed-palms, but the sound it pulled from your lips was sinful. 

He thought of your curves, cast in moonlight, and now he felt them, desperately digging beneath denim and jersey until frigid fingers met scorching skin. 

You yelped at the touch, but it pulled that throaty laugh from you and Steve realized nothing could ever be wrong again. 

He spoke your name into the junction of you shoulder, where your clavicle dipped, and back to steal your breath from your plump lips. Kissing you was a balm, slow and sweet and soothing, chamomile and honey, a lullaby. 

Your body was a weapon, the steady roll of your hips had him seeing stars. Nimble fingers worked the knots in his shoulders. Your back arched beneath his hand. You seethed his name, nipped at his lips, spread saliva down his throat with expert bites. 

And then your hands found the hem of his shirt, crawled upward to trace puckered flesh, and he felt himself seize up, all at once slammed back into reality. Leather squeaked beneath him. He removed you to favor the seat behind you, squirmed under you, suffocated. 

“It’s okay,” you placated against his earlobe, removed your hands from his shirt to place on his chest once more. 

“No,” he struggled, throat aching, and he gripped your biceps until you released him, pulling back to look at him, pupils blown, brows knit in confusion. He ran a hand through his hair, winced at the sweat that had gathered on his neck. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

“Oh,” you swallowed, slid off his lap, the space between you was stale and hot, windows fogged.

“No, I just mean - fuck,” he gasped for air, cranked the window down an inch to alleviate some of the warmth, pressed his skull to the glass. He took a moment to catch his breath before turning back to face you. 

You were adjusting your shirt, your jacket, staring out the windshield, glazed over.

“Hey,” he trailed his fingers across the bench seat to find your own. Yours were too warm, clammy. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine, really,” the corners of your lips turned up, but you weren’t there, weren’t facing him. “I shouldn’t have assumed…” 

“No, God, no,” Steve jumped to remedy the miscommunication. “No, I want this. I want you. Really. I’m like… it scares me how much I’m into you.” He ducked into your line of vision.

Still, you shied. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That’s why I want to take this slow.” He hoped you heard the subtext. Not here, not tonight, not after today. “Okay?” 

You looked up at him then, that far-off look in your eye, but you managed a shy smile, tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and you nodded. 

---

A/N: End of part one! Like I said, I've been working on this for absolute ages, and I just wanted to get it out, so I'm splitting it into several parts! It's an angsty one, but I hope you've enjoyed part one. Thanks so much for reading xo xo xo -Amanda

[wiphur]

They Wouldn't Understand

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Ron Weasley x trans masc! Slytherin! Pureblood! Reader // slight! Molly Weasley x platonic! Reader

Pronouns: he/him

Warnings:  internalized and externalized homophobia/transphobia, dysphoria, ABUSE, lowkey torture, use of dead name (dead name will be used as Tamsyn to try and prevent any mention of your own dead name!), large (but also kinda rushed) buildup, nsfw joke at the end (last two lines), secret relationship (and it being exposed)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Posted from my old account. Sorry for the spam, I just wanted to go ahead and post all of these fics from my old account

Nothing was okay anymore. He felt fine, maybe even safe, at school. But now? It was summer. School was over. That meant he had to go back to his house. To those “parents” of his that always strived to make his life a living hell.

No one even knew how bad it was. As his friends waved to him, and as his boyfriend (albeit in secret, but they were still dating) sent him a small smile while he walked over to his colossal family, the gravity of everything fell onto his shoulders. Nobody knew how bad it was. Hell, most people didn’t even know he was who he was. Only a few people knew he was trans or into men. Both of which were frowned upon. 

He wasn’t normal by any means, but these two struck him deeply. Why couldn’t he follow in his parent’s footsteps? Why was his entire life against the people he was supposed to love? Why wasn’t he a she?

Those thoughts rattled in his mind as he left the train station, moving to grab hold of the house elf’s hand. His parents didn’t even bother to show up. Typical, honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually been picked up from the station by his parents. Only by the house elf. 

Briefly, he realized that he was definitely not going to be perceived well at home. His boyfriend had loaned him so masculine clothes to help with dysphoria, and he couldn’t just change out of them on the train, so he was forced to disapparate to his house in the masculine clothes with a binder on and a semi-realistic looking packer that was just a pair of socks in his pants. This was not going to turn out very well, he already knew it.

The loud crack! had been mostly ignored. No one came to see him or greet him at the door. Almost with a goal in mind (to change out of the masculine clothes into something hopefully more feminine but not dysphoric-so), he hurried to the stairs. He was almost there, stepping onto the first step when his mother walked into the entryway.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Even after being used to the words, he flinched. A year at school where people called him a boy had changed his mindset ever so slightly. “We have a dinner party tonight.” He didn’t turn around, afraid of her reaction to his appearance. “Tamsyn.” She said, her voice becoming more stern as she drew closer. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

He panicked briefly, praying there wasn’t an indication of whose clothes he had on in the fabric, or design, or even the tag. “Nothing, Mother, just going to change from my school clothes.” 

She tsked slightly, “Tamsyn, you know it's rude to not look at someone while having a conversation. Turn around.” He hesitated. “I will not repeat myself.” He followed the instructions timidly. He heard her gasp. “What is this?!” She seemed to be enraged. She called for her husband as tears gathered in his eyes and fear gathered in his chest. 

As soon as his father came out, he knew he was done for. His father’s eyes scanned his body, narrowing his eyes at the almost non-existent chest and the very existent bulge in his pants. “Tamsyn? What is this?”

A sudden wave of courage passed over him as he spoke, “I- uh, I’m trans! I’m a boy, not a girl. My name isn’t Tamsyn-”

Laughter cut him off. “You? A boy? You are the farthest thing from a boy!” His mother laughed, “When you were pulled out of me, the doctor yelled that you were a girl. Trust me, we would have been better off with a boy, but we had you. Go upstairs and change. One of your fancy dresses. Our daughter will not be embarrassing us tonight.”

The courage was still present. While he knew it was a horrible idea, he spoke again anyway. “No! I’m not going to be your stupid puppet! I’m not a girl. I am a boy. There’s nothing you can do to change that fact!” 

A sudden wave of anger coursed through his parent’s face. “You had better watch what you’re saying, girl. Or you’ll be in a lot of pain.”

He stood his ground, only barely trembling in fear. “You can’t change this. I am a boy-”

The shout of a curse almost made him freeze in total fear, however the spell moved faster, forcing him to the ground as he screamed in pain. Complete agony and pain washed over him, wave after wave. He was crying and screaming, his voice hoarse. He had never expected his parents to go this far at all! What was he thinking? His parents were right! How could he think he’s anything more than a pathetic little girl?

After a few moments, the pain waves stopped. He shivered from the pain, trembling in fear. “So, dear, had enough? Gonna go change into the most beautiful and girly dress you own? The bright pink one should be good.” His father almost taunted.

“Oh, no, no. She can’t wear that one! You’re going to wear that new one I bought you.” There was a twinkle of hatred in her eyes. “The real revealing one. That way, you can see all of your feminine traits. Maybe we’ll get you a husband tonight. The Malfoys and Zabinis are coming tonight.” 

The urge to throw up was overwhelming. With little disagreement, he nodded to his mother and turned to walk up the stairs. When he reached his room, a house elf was already there. She gave him a sad look. “Mitsi is sorry, Master.” She murmured. She helped him change, as pain flared every time he moved. She gestured for his packer and his binder. “Mitsi was instructed to take these and burn them.” She said sullenly. Choking on emotion, he handed her the objects that helped him through so much. The only things that truly made him feel like a boy. Right in front of his face, she snapped and the things burst into flames. 

Without much disagreement, he climbed into the elegantly made, yet extremely provocative, dress. Mitsi beside him nudged him into a chair. “Mitsi was instructed to give you makeup.” He looked at his reflection as he was transformed into someone who was not him. As he was transformed into someone he was “supposed” to be.

Once Mitsi was done, she left the room. As soon as she left, tears welled in his eyes. He refused to let a single one fall, in fear of it ruining his makeup, or in fear of his mother seeing his ruined makeup.

His name was called and he took a deep, straggly breath. He urged himself to walk down the steps and into the main hall, where his parents were greeting the families who had come for dinner. 

“Ah, finally. Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Mr and Mrs Zabini, this is our lovely daughter, Tamsyn.” While the adults took a look at him in interest, their children looked at him with utter disbelief. 

“Pardon me, Mrs L/N,” Blaise Zabini spoke up, eyeing his classmate oddly, “I was under the impression you had a son? I wasn’t aware you had a daughter.”

With a forced laugh, his mother responded, shooting him a deadly glare. “I suppose you must be mixing us up with another family. I apologize, but I’ve only given birth to a girl.” The adults shared a laugh, as if it was some kind of joke. Draco and Blaize gave each other a confused look, speaking through their eyes. Y/N avoided their gazes as best as he could. 

Dinner was a mess, and by the end of it, his parents had a pleasant surprise for him.

“Well, I suppose the news should be announced.” His mother started, dinging a spoon on her glass. She smiled at the families. “The adults have been talking about the best move for all of us, and we have decided that Tamsyn is to be married to Blaize once of age!” The drop of cutlery startled his mother. His hand was empty as he stared at his plate. He was in a happy relationship. This was not supposed to happen. This was wrong! All of this was wrong!

“No.” The word came out before he could even stop it. “No, I refuse to marry him.” He gave a slightly apologetic look to Blaize and he returned the gesture with a nod, telling him he understood.

“This is not up to you, darling.” His mother said, trying to keep her anger at bay. “This is the best solution for our family.”

“This is the best solution for you! This has nothing to do with me!” Tears fell from his eyes, now. All of those pent emotions he had been feeling were coming out tenfold. “You keep trying to ruin my life! Well, congrats. You’ve succeeded. You don’t have any right to tell me who I am or who I have to marry! I’ll shout it from the rooftop if I can!” He stood up, climbing onto his chair. “ I am Y/N! I am a boy and I can choose who I want to marry! You have no control over me anymore.”

The anger in his parent’s eyes was monumental, not even describable. The guests left fairly quickly after that, claiming they were ashamed of how the night went. That left his parents in even more immeasurable amounts of anger.

As soon as the Malfoys and Zabinis left the property, the sound of the loud crack! echoing through the house, they turned towards him. “Have you any idea what you’ve just done?” His father’s voice was near silent. A terrifying edge to his tone.

“You’ve cost us everything.” His mother continued, stepping towards him and slapping him across the face with enough force to throw him to the floor. “You’ve ruined our name!”

The silence after the final shout was broken by screams as the cruciatus curse was thrown in the situation again. Again and again. He felt like he was on the brink of death. The pain was agonizing and he wanted to give up. He truly did. But he couldn’t let himself die. Not from these people. After they stopped (something about not being able to kill him because that would tarnish their reputation even more), they practically waltzed away from his agonizing pain. He was numb, but also felt so much pain. His body was confused. He couldn’t tell anything. 

He was surprised to feel a hand fit into his. He glanced up to see Mitsi. She gave him a small nod, “Mitsi takes you to the friend from the letter house.” She had to have meant Ron. There was no one else sending letters his way.

Within moments, he was outside the door of the Burrow. Mitsi was gone as soon as she had appeared. With the last remaining strength he had, he knocked as loud as he could. He hoped someone would hear, despite it being late. Sure enough, as his eyes fluttered shut, he heard steps making their way to the door.

When he woke up, he was expecting a lot of pain. Well, a lot more pain. He was sore and it hurt to move, but he wasn’t in excruciating pain like he had been when he showed up at the Burrow. The Burrow… His eyes widened and he forced himself into a sitting position. His head spun and his head fell back again. He groaned, earning the attention of someone from the other room.

“Oh, dear me! She's awake!” A woman mumbled to herself. “Dear, do you know where you are?” He nodded, but hissed at the feeling. “That's good, dear. Do you know who I am?”

“Mrs Weasley, I presume.” He muttered. She nodded.

“Alright, one more question then I’ll get you some stew. What happened?”

It took a moment to even realize what happened. What had happened? He was struck many times. Too many times to count. “The curse.” He murmured.

Molly gasped, “Oh my, do you mean the pain curse?” He nodded numbly. “Oh, who would do such a thing?”

“My parents.”

She looked furious for a moment, “Oh, Godric! That’s horrendous!” She paused for a moment. “Sorry, dear, let's get you out of these clothes. They’re filthy!” He glanced down, noticing the sweat stains and blood and tear stains on the corset and the dress itself. “I’m sure my daughter has-”

“No!” The word came out of him with more fear than he had expected. “Please, no. I- I’m not a girl.” He seemed to almost be convincing himself.

Molly paused for a moment before nodding, “Ahh. Let’s see then. You look about Ron’s stature. Let's get some of his clothes, alright?” He nodded, extremely grateful for the reaction she gave. It was only a plus to be in the comfort of his boyfriend’s clothes. Speaking of, where was he?

“Mrs- Mrs Weasely?” He asked when she returned with a pair of loose fitting pajamas. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, so you know the whole family, eh? They’ll be home soon, dear. They just went to play some Quidditch with an old family friend. Been gone for the last two days. Should be back sometime today.” Just as she said that, the pair heard a loud whooping noise from outside. “Or, perhaps, they’re here now.” She closed a curtain that was surrounding the couch he laid on, which he had just noticed was there. “I’ll make sure they don’t disturb you at all.”

“Wait- Can- Can I see Ron?”

She blinked in confusion, “I suppose. Are you friends with him from school? Gosh, I thought you had graduated! What year are you in?”

“Same year as Ron, ma’am.”

“Oh, goodness me!” She seemed to have to leave to collect her thoughts, so she just left. He closed his eyes, imagining the things Ron would say when he saw him. Perhaps he’d be pissed that he was there? Ron was always so secretive about their relationship. Or perhaps he’d be joyous? Confused? Maybe, and he hoped this was true, maybe concerned? 

It didn’t take long to figure out. The curtain shuffled aside and someone stepped in. He didn’t open his eyes to find out for sure, but he had a pretty good clue when he heard a quiet gasp.

“Angel?” Ron muttered quietly. “What- What happened to you?”

His eyes finally opened as Ron leaned beside him. “My parents finally found out I’m trans.” Fury lit up in his eyes. “They also didn’t like how I refused to marry Zabini.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just marry him? Then you wouldn’t be here like this!” Ron mumbled.

“Because I love you, my love. You are supposed to be my happily ever after.”

“It can’t be a happily ever after without you being alive and yourself.” Ron looks at his boyfriend’s eyes, seeing a deeper feeling in them. “You don’t believe them, right?” 

“What?”

He leaned closer to press a kiss to his forehead, “Your parents. You don’t believe them when they say you’re a girl, right? You are the manliest man I know. You are pure man.”

Y/N laughed quietly, “Yeah, okay.”

“No, I mean it. Like a huge macho-man. Big muscles and you can eat a whole ton because that's just something boys can do, is eat a lot of food-”

He laughed louder this time, alerting the rest of the family. “Stop! You know that’s not how it works!”

“Sure, but it made you laugh.” His laughter continued as he pulled Ron up into a kiss. When they pulled away, Ron leaned his forehead on his boyfriend’s. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. But I know it's hard. I just want you to know that you are my boyfriend. Hear that? You're my boyfriend. I love you.” It was the first L-word to be spoken in the relationship.

“Ron, I- I love you too.”  His eyes drooped, ready to put him into a lulling sleep.

“Sleep well, Angel. Okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and getting comfortable, hissing softly over some bruises. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Once he was sure his boyfriend was asleep, Ron left the curtained room. His eyes quickly fell upon the rest of his family as they stared at him. He blinked in surprise, not expecting them all to be there (he was only expecting Fred and George- maybe even Harry or Ginny).

“Uh, yeah, I’m gay.” Ron said awkwardly. 

“Kinda gathered that, mate.” Fred quipped.

“Yeah, just a bit late.” George responded with a subtle laugh. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

He shrugged, “Me and Y/N were keeping it under wraps, so we decided to keep the fact that we’re both gay a secret too. If his family found out, well you see what happened. “

His family nodded. They were all silent until Harry clapped his hands together. “Okay, how long have you been together? Have you had a first anything? Kiss? I love you?”

George and Fred supplemented an example simultaneously, “time?” 

“You’re sick.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

feel free to imagine a sexy interpretation. Also, I'm going to add a loss of virginity here just for fun. In this scenario, Dream is finally willing to admit to himself that he loves the reader, but he's still not willing to confess (and he's also still a possessive/obsessive jerk), so instead he chases after the woman's dreams, especially until even your wet dreams. And 2 possible catalysts here, either Dream sees that the reader is dreaming about having sex with someone else and becomes insanely jealous or he sees someone flirting with the reader in the waking world and becomes insanely jealous XD. This is so Dream, like a king, he feels entitled to the reader and his time, and while he's trying to work up the courage to confess, he makes sure the reader can't hook up with anyone else.

Petty And Yours

Dream of the Endless x Demon Hunter!Reader

Summary: Somnium Regem, the Dream King, felt a certain kinship to the bondservants of his sister Domina, the Lady, or in the words of the king, older sister, Death. This was because of how closely the family of demon hunters has interacted with the Endless throughout generations. There was a particular member of this family he had a soft spot for, not that he'd ever admit it out loud, unless coaxed.

Word Count: 9k+💀 (why cant i ever just make them fuck and be done with it?)

Warnings: Fem!reader, smut (virgin!reader, biting marking, fingering, oral [f receiving], hair pulling, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, praise kink), Set in the Roman middle ages, dream being stupid, reader being stupid, jealous/possessive!dream, reader, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: OMG YES. MINORS DNI (the smut is at the end) Let go nonnie we love petty, possessive and pathetic dream UGH <3 also I really enjoyed this universe I made with demon hunter!reader, and i usually don't make p2s for my work, but im giving her at least this because she deserves it and i love her. ok isnt actually a p2, its more of a prequel in fact, so you dont have to read the other demon hunter fic i made, but if you do youre gonna be like OMG SLAY that makes more sense now. also, smut after smut for this reader, get it bestie HAHHA HELP THIS REACHED 8k WTF And just in case its not clear, theyre speaking latin in this but like i only put a few latin passages cos i have no idea if its even right lol HAHAHH this gif of him T_T he's so emo sir calm yourself T_T Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @sloanexx @julesandro @farintonorth Previous demon hunter!reader fic: "Caged"

With my thick skirt and cloak gathered in my hands, I stop at the edge of the street, waiting for the donkey cart to pass me.

I release a huff, impatiently, though I end up finding myself smiling at the old man who greets me while he urges his ride to quicken its pace. Once he has passed, I finally move to cross.

I hiss when a bunch of children carelessly run past me. I eye them and call out, "vigilate quo itis!"

Watch where you're going!

"Children," I mutter in Latin under my breath, as I quickly make my down the townsquare.

I run up a flight of marble stairs and huff when I reach the temple at the top. I push one of the massive doors open, and the sound of it echoes in the grand room.

I close the door and call out, "mater?"

I wait. Nothing. I call out again.

When I finally hear my name, I turn and see it was my mother but my brother calling for me. Grin in excitement, not expecting his prescience. I run over to the man who was three years my senior, smiling from ear to ear, arms out stretched.

I jump into his arms. We seal each other in a tight embrace.

"Cassian," I chuckle airily, "it's been nearly two decades."

He hums, "yes, little sister. I've missed you dearly."

I pull away from him and cups his cheeks. I smile at the sight of his face, looking no older than the age of 25, like the rest of us siblings, though we were all on this earth for more that 50 years.

"Where is mother?" I ask.

Cassian grabs my hands, "Domina est ad loquentes."

She is talking with The Lady.

"The Lady is here?" I tilt my head and perk at the idea.

"Apud Somnium Regem."

"With the Dream King!?" I gasp, "oh come on brother, we must meet them at once!"

Cassian laughs as I tug at his arm in excitement.

He and I rush off to where Domina and Somnia were, recounting random stories that we could think of along the way. The moment I spot the two, conversing with my grey haired mother, I release my grip on Cassian and run towards them.

My mother catches me and chuckles, calling out my name in greeting as she opens her arms out to me from the windowsill she was sat upon.

Once upon her, I envelope her in my arms, kissing her cheeks repeatedly.

"Ah, my sweet girl," my mother coos in my mother tongue, "you act as though you did not see me a month ago."

I pull away from her, shaking my head, "I would react the same way even if I saw you yesterday, mater."

She smiles, placing a kiss on my forehead before I turn to the two Endless siblings.

"Domina," I smile, leaning in for an embrace, kissing both cheeks of the dark skinned woman. She chuckles and reciprocates.

"Somnia," I bow my head at the pale man. He smiles and mimics me, and he extends his palm out for me to take. When I do, he kisses the back of my hand.

I chew on the inside of my lower lip, holding back a smile as I pull my hand away.

"Praise to the Lady, Praise to the Dream Lord," Cassian calls when he finally reaches us. My brother takes his time showing his respects to the siblings, then after, kisses our mother's cheeks in regard.

"You finally thought to visit your mother, boy," she says, narrowing her eyes at her second child, "your older sister, Aurelia, might be travelling Constantinople but she oft sends me letters, as do your younger brothers, Amias and Lucius."

I nudge Cassian to further egg him on, and he quickly eyes me in response, though only addresses our mother, "pardon your son, mater. I am here this day, however, to bring you glad tidings."

I perk and raise my brows at his words, "did you capture the archdemon you were tracking?"

Cassian turns to me, brows tensing before relaxing, "no."

"Did you find the Shadow Master?" my mother asks.

"No, mater," he replies, shaking his head, "I..."

My eyes widen at Cassian's hesitation. He was not one to trail off with his worlds or fall flat with them.

"I have a bride," Cassian huffs, lowering his gaze before turning back to our mother with a soft smile.

My jaw drops, my blood stills.

Cassian straightens himself up, "she is Veronica. Her face is brighter than the morning light, and is as temperate and kind as the Lady," he turns to Death when he says this.

I shake my head in disbelief. I turn to my mother who does not look nearly as shocked as I do.

"She carries my child."

A shiver runs down my spine. I recoil at the sight of my brother.

I watch in horror as my mother stands and pouts at her second born, exclaiming, "lauda dominae! My son has come home to me with a family of his own."

I turn to The Lady, who my mother just exclaimed praise to. My face contorts at the happiness written on her face. It was the sight of her brother, Dream's, face that makes me realize this was all really happening. I then watch as my mother stands and walks towards Cassian, sealing him in a tight embrace.

I shake my head at the misplaced affection, "mater, how can this news please you? He is only halfway through a hundred!"

Mater turns to me, eyes taking in my worried and hurt expression.

Cassian sighs, reaching his hand out to me. I evade him, swatting his hand away, "proditor."

Traitor.

My mother calls out my name. I look at her expression and find tears lacing my eyes. She was looking like this at me?

"Sister, please, I-"

"We all promised each other we'd have our own families after a century!" I exclaim, walking away, "and you! You!" I point, "you've betrayed all of us!"

My name is called again, this time both by my older brother and my mother.

"Mater fuit per se propter hoc!" I whine, "and you dare tell her this in the name of glad tidings?"

I am glad I did not choke when I spoke, 'mother lived by herself because of this.' I normally could not bare to recall the stories my mother had after evoking the Right of the Lonely, the right in which the a person from our line would not die because it would kill off the last remaining demon hunters in existence. I could not even stomach the idea of living out a hundred years without companionship.

When Domina calls out to me, I freeze. I watch as she walks closer, reaching out to me to offer me comfort only she was every capable of. But then Cassian calls my name and I'm betrayed all over again.

And so I run. I run out of the temple and lose myself in the city.

If it was so easy for Cassian to betray the promise we swore as siblings not to partake in the world only until after completing our generational burden, then I would do it too!

After all, I laugh to myself as I weave through shady crowds of people in the market place, servicing the earth as a demon hunter for one century was easy, right?!

If the previous generations could do it, I could do it!

If Cassian, who used to be so slow at picking up demon trails, could be so sure he could have a child while continuing service, then by The Lady, I could do it too.

I gasp when I ram into a solid object. When I recoil after collision and do not fall back, I realize it was because my form was being hoisted up by a dark clothed being.

He speaks out my name and the sound finally pushes me into tears.

"Somnia," I whine, gripping his arms tightly.

My lips quiver in despair. I throw my arms over his shoulders, breaking into a sob.

The next thing I know, I am being pushed back and my calves hit something behind me.

I do not wonder what or do not wonder why I am all of a sudden out of the streets. I know it was the Dream Lord's power that brought us here, here in my bedroom. I sit on the end of my cott, beside the King of Dreams, clutching his hands tightly.

"Where were you to go?" he asks, retrieving his one hand from me to wipe off the tears on my cheeks.

I shake my head as I turn to my hands, my hands that were squeezing his large one as though my life depended on it, "nowhere... any where..." I sigh, "somewhere to spite my brother."

He does not retort.

I release him and sling myself back. I crash against my semi-soft cushion, "I curse his existence."

He speaks my name softly.

I close my eyes and feel tears roll down my temples.

Dream of the Endless does not speak to me, does not offer advice, does not analyse the situation for me, and for that, I am always grateful.

I sniffle, reaching out to him without looking, "lie with me?"

Silently, aside from the sound of him shuffling, he takes my hand and lies beside me. My bed is not that large, and so it was a bit cramp. I don't mind though, I know he doesn't either.

I roll on my side, stretching my arm under my head as I turn to him. I blink as he turns to me, body still rigid on his back.

"I do not want to forgive him."

Dream is silent.

I sigh, moving to press my body against his, check pressing onto his chest. The thump of his heart is slow and steady. His arm comes over my back. I feel another wave of tears threaten to crash down on me as I think, "does that make me a bad person?"

He rubs my shoulder, "no."

I sob into his top, trying to hold back my tears, "what does it make me then?"

"Human."

I take a moment to reply as I calm myself from crying. I turn my head to face him, blinking away salt water, "is it easy for an Endless to forgive?"

I see him close his eyes, "no."

"What does that make you?"

"Petty."

I snort at his words.

He opens his eyes and cranes his neck up. He brushes my hair back and hushes me, "I am here. You needn't ever fear living through the same loneliness your mother did."

I smile softly at his words, pushing myself off him so I could sit by his side. I look down on the man, the man who wasn't, but was sweeter and more thoughtful than any man I had ever met.

I trace the curve of his nose, "would you wait five decades for me?"

He takes my hand in his before I could fully pull away from his face. He proceeds to sit up and press my palm on his chest, "I would wait eons for you."

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as I did so, "I don't think I'll live that long."

He does not respond to this, and instead helps me slide to his lap when I shift in my place.

I sigh and rest my head on his shoulder, allowing myself to relax against him.

I brush my nose against his neck and close my eyes, lulling myself into comfort. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer.

Dream smells like a field of flowers, like a warm fire, like perhaps what the stars did.

I shift on him, slowly opening my eyes. I take his cheeks in my hands and lick my lips. I feel my heart thundering in my chest when I lean into him. And then-

I tilt my head up bringing my lips to his, but I don't.

I start when he pushes me away.

He looks at me, somehow bewildered by my actions.

I knit my brows, feeling a bit caught off guard and confused, "what's wrong?"

He speaks my name slowly, arms loosening around me, "I... will always be here for you... but not like this. I cannot give you my heart."

My face contorts at his words. I shake my head, "you cannot give your heart?" I repeat incredulously, "but, my king... you already have."

He pulls his arms away from me. He all, of a sudden, cannot meet my gaze.

I stiffen against him, clenching my jaw as I roughly push myself off him. My nostrils flare in anger and my eyes begin to water. I heave, "why are you here then?"

Somnia keeps his eyes down.

I cannot believe this, "do you not know why you constantly come to me, my lord?"

He, still says nothing.

"Why do you constantly comfort me then?!" I seethe, pointing an accusing finger at him, "why are you even here, if you-" I choke on my words, almost as though my own mouth was not willing to admit this, "-cannot give me your heart? If you think you have not given it to me at all?"

He stands from the bed.

I walk back in response.

"Dilectus-"

"Don't call me that," I quip waving him off, "don't call me your beloved! Not when you claim you don't love me."

He speaks my name.

"What? Have you been leading me on? Have you been passing your time with me because I have not yet aged?!"

"That is not-"

"THEN WHY!" I cry out as my cheeks grow cold and hot all over again because of my tears. I shake my head as I walk all the way back until I could reach my door, "why can't you admit that you love me when I so clearly bleed out my love for you?"

He freezes at my words.

Was he only now realizing this? After everything?

I open the door slowly from behind me.

Somnium Regem is unable to say a word.

I roughly wipe my face, "behold," I scoff, "now I see you are just like any other man."

I turn on my heels and rip the door open, thinking of a place far, far, away as I did. When I hear him call out to me, I slam the door on my way out.

I am gone. I have transported myself away.

I find myself in an army hotspot, where dozens upon dozens of eager, hotblooded men where thirsting at the very idea of companionship, no matter how shallow it posed.

I walked like a regular though it was my first time here. I brazenly sit myself in a table of eight soldiers, looking between them with a bored look, "salvete, milites," I grab the cup of the man beside me, downing the wine in one go. My throat burns at the sour taste and I grunt as I slam the wooden object on the table. I push the cup forward, looking at no one in particular, pulling my lips into a lopsided grin, "et quis ex vobis effundam mihi potum?"

Greetings, soldiers. Will any of you pour me a drink?

The next moment, each man on the table fights to get the ewer of wine.

The moment after that is spent debating my prospects with each Roman militant. One by one, I flirt with them, tease them with my touches and my giggles, taking each one to dance to the muses of a bard and his company.

In the end, the winner, if I could even call him that, was the eldest in the bunch, Fabius. He was still only 27 but the fact he went from Africa and back with the scars to prove it was enough reason for me to choose him.

The perfect criminal to commit a perfect crime with.

Fabius smile as he dances with me, expertly on beat with the lute and the drums.

I'll show them all. I'll show them how I could go against them and break my oaths to everyone, to my family, to the one my heart called for, to myself.

Fabius would do. I would take him and make him mine for the night, or how many nights it would take for my body to bare his seed of mine of vindication.

This soldier was not nice, he was not smart, in fact, he was only rugged. I could tell that all the kindness he extended to me now was only out of his desire to share my bed. It was good enough, considering it was all I wanted or expected from him. And yet he was redeemed by how strong, shrewd, and, most of all, easy on the eyes he was. If he could not give my child compassion and wit, he would at least give his strong nose, soft lips and a warriors stamina.

I pull him near me just when the song ends. He captures me against him and leans down. I whisper on his ear, "would you like to take me home, Fabius?"

Fabius pulls back in disbelief. It is fleeting. He growls and grabs me by the waist, "I'd like to keep you home for the rest of my life."

I feel blood rise up my face at his proposal. I chew on my lower lip and release it from my teeth when he leans in to kiss me.

He is eager and hungry against me. He kisses me with fervor because he wants too, because his body burns in desire for me. He tastes sour, yet again is redeemed by how good he was at kissing.

I could see it now, our disaster. For every wrong he'd do me, he'd have one good thing to show for. It would be an endless cycle of tribulation, and in this moment, the idea of it shined like the stars.

I release a whine when I feel his hands move down to my bottom. This was about as far as I had gone with everyone, and in the next few hours, that would all change.

But suddenly, my head is spinning, utterly confused as to why he pulled away so harshly from me right when I thought he'd whisper the words in my ear.

I only realize what had happened when I see a dark figure faced back away from, sputtering Latin tightly against Fabius.

"Somnia!" I hiss, grabbing his arm, "what do you think you're doing?!"

I tense when he turns to me. I see both the Roman shoulder, toppled on his arse, crawling back in fear, and the blazing eyes of the Dream Lord. His face was truly a fearsome sight to those caught his gaze.

He takes advantage of my stunned state and grabs my arms, pushing me back.

All at once, I find I am pressed against a something, something soft. Dream's ferocious face softens as I am trapped against him, or I then realized, I was trapped beneath him.

No longer did the sour smell of wine tingle my nostrils. In fact, it now smelt like a morning breeze, like a flowery meadow, it smelt like him.

I was now in the Dreaming.

"You are more foolishly impulsive than I could have ever thought," the Dream Lord growls.

I grit my teeth, screwing my eyes shut, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

"You think you can ignore me?" he quips, "you are in my house, my domain, my Dreaming, pinned under the palms of my hands."

I mask the way my body begins to react to his words, how my throat tightens, how my breath grows taxed, how my belly swirls, and how my thighs press against each other.

"Face me, demon hunter."

"Let me go," I weakly demand.

"I will not set you free after seeing what you meant to do to yourself."

I begin to fume, "Let me go!"

I open my eyes and wrangle beneath him, kicking and pushing him. I then dictate a long spiel of Latin cusses. My whole body burns in fury.

I am powerless against him though. He does not strain where I struggle. He pushes his weight onto me, hands trapping my wrists by the sides of my head, legs clamping mine between his. My face was now also turned to the side as he leaned into me, his hot breath practically searing the skin on my cheek.

Somnia mumbles, "you would give yourself away to a mere mortal on the street? A man who ogles your form, who could not possibly understand the honor you would so willingly bequeath him. His thoughts run wild with ideas of desecrating your being in a vile form taking his claim on you."

"Oh, and suddenly you care?!" I snarl, knocking my head into his, making him pull back in contact, "what does it matter if I chose to be with him? Or even if I chose the devil? The master of demons?! You do not love me."

He calls my name.

"YOU SAID IT YOURSE-"

"I WAS WRONG!" he bursts. His outburst leaves him breathless and stiffens me into marble.

I choke on nothing and feel my eyes water at the sight of him. His hair is messy, eyes are desperate, lips are quivering. He breaks when my tears begin to fall. He pulls away from me, sitting himself at the edge of his bed in defeat, in retreat.

I breathe in heavily, trying to calm myself down, "it took seeing me with another man to own up to your feelings."

He does not respond.

"Do you think I find that flattering?" I voice, "do you?!"

Again nothing.

"I find it petulant and slow-witted." I release a breath, "I find it offensively aggravating."

I push myself up from where I laid. I turn to the window, lips parting at the beauty of the meadows I knew he called Fiddler's Green. Never had I witnessed his domain like this, never before this moment had I ever even been here with him, flesh and bone.

And yet I tell myself not to enjoy the moment so much. I suck in a breath and scratch my tears away, turning to Dream's wide and hunched over back.

"Bring be back, Somnia," I mutter.

He straightens upon hearing this, head barely turning as he speaks, "what?"

I scoff, in utter disbelief that he is in shock of my words, "I do not want to be around you." I move to the foot of the bed then stand, "take me back home."

Dream looks at me, eyes reddish and glimmering with tears. He opens his mouth and speaks something but I do not hear it.

I huff through my nose, "take me back now, Dream. Or- or I'll never speak to you again!"

I recoil when he crawls over to me on the bed. He sit as the edge, reaching out to me, grabbing on to clothes. He whispers my name as his face hardens in desperation, "I do not wish for you to leave while this is unresolved."

"So," I tighten my hands into balls, "if I leave you now, what does that make me?"

He looks up at me, jaw clenching then relaxing as he opens his mouth to speak, "cruel."

I scoff.

A tear rushes down his face.

"And if you keep me here?!" I coaxed.

He releases me, dropping his head as he leans onto his knees. He voices firmly, "an Endless."

My whole body tenses at his words, grows rigid in anger over his sentiment. I was seconds away from lunging at him, but suddenly, a flurry of sand began to twist around me and before I could think, I was back in my bedroom.

It became painfully clear to me that if either of us wanted to resolve our quarrel, we'd have to first resolve our pride.

It had been seven days since the fact, and neither did I call out to him, and neither did he make attempts to come to me.

That was that then. Good riddance. Good, hard, and cold riddance.

All that's left, of course, was the issue with my brother, and her... brimming with life bride.

The image I had of her was starkly contrast to what she actually was. I thought she would have been one or two months in her pregnancy. I really dropped dead when I spied my brother talking to a woman with such a large rounded belly that she looked like she was about to pop any moment now.

The audacity. The sheer and utter disrespect.

Today, I was going to finally face her because my two younger brothers, Amias and Lucius, were now here to do the same. Aurelia had arrived two days before, and as much as we both confided in each other our ill feeling towards the whole predicament, she was as tender as ever, and laced every complaint with an eagerness to make peace with the matter.

My older sister was wholly compassionate, as always, but my younger brothers were not, and I was excited to meet this Veronica, solely because of the knowledge I would finally not be the only one restless about the situation.

And yet, as excited I was to see Amias and Lucius, bickering at each other the moment they arrived, I was betrayed by how it seemed neither of them were fazed by the gravity of the predicament, in fact, they were-

"happy for you brother!" Amias laughs, "I'm so happy for you! Lauda dominae!" He slaps Cassian twice on the shoulder before sealing him into a tight hug, "I understand that your bride is carrying two babes."

I nearly choke on the bile in my throat upon hearing that. My jaw hangs low. That's why her belly was so big. I hiss under my breath, "two?"

Amias pulls away and raises his hands, "clearly it is a sign from Domina to have at least one of them named after," he slaps a hand on his chest, "Amias the Gallant."

Cassian makes a half amused face at second youngest.

The final born smacks Amias' face and takes his turn to embrace Cassian, "malediceres ipsum esse huius infantis."

Lucius pulls away from Cassian, who laughed at his words, to repeat them with pinched fingers, eyeing Amias as he did so, "you would be cursing the very existence of this child."

"Your face is a curse to the world," Amias rebuts in our mother tongue.

When the boys begin to bicker all over again, I finally snap, "so am I truly the only one that cannot stomach this?"

The three turn to me. I am the odd one out.

I hear someone call my name from behind. It's Aurelia with that woman, that Veronica that she was now treating more of a sister than I. Aurelia pulls away from her to walk over to me, "let us speak about this out-"

"No!" I dodge her advances. My senses begin to flare at the feel of my siblings staring at me. I heave heavily as I back away from them, "you've all confided in each other about this, haven't you? You and Cassian," I hiss at Aurelia, "and Amias and Lucius."

Cassian calls my name.

"NO!" I shriek, "it's always been like this. It's always you," I suck in a deep breath, "and then there's me. The spare."

"Sister, that is not true." Lucius calls.

I shake my head, chuckling bitterly, "you're right. It's only ever always in my head, is it not?"

Without another word, I storm out of the room, hating myself for the way I was breaking.

I hide myself in the garden, in a secret corner where I basked in my loneliness, except this time, I would truly be lonely all by myself.

Tinges of betrayal flare up in me when Veronica appears out of nowhere.

She starts at the sight of me. I scoff at her pretending to be shocked by my presence. She speaks, "sister, I-"

"I am not your sister," I quip, "did your beloved tell you to look for me here?! To make peace with me?!"

She tenses at the severity of my tone, hand instinctively going on her belly, "I swear it on my mother, I did not know this was your place. I happened to wander here while I was clearing my own mind and found great solitude in the flowers," she says, turning to the said blossoms coloring the otherwise colorless place.

"They remind me of home," she says, "we had plenty of gladioli in our neighborhood."

Veronica turns to me offering as soft smile that makes me want to scream, "I understand they were a gift form your pat-"

"If you want to see these flowers so badly, why not go back home where there are plenty?" I snip, "and take your traitor with you, why won't you?!"

She presses her lips together. Her lightly tanned skin turns a shade scarlet after my cry. She covers her face and nods, "apologies sis-" she cuts herself off, smacking her lips in the process, "I- I'll leave you to your own devices."

My eyes watch her walk off. And very suddenly, as if I am possessed, my voice calls out to her.

Veronica freezes, turning back to me.

What have I done? Why did I do that. I do not want to speak with her.

I turn away, unable to face her, unable to face myself, unable to admit I called her name because I was not enjoying the harshness I was emitting, the harshness I was sputtering to this poor woman who was not even to blame for my emotions.

I'm spiraling, clearly.

I lick my lips, feeling my chest tighten. I huff and shake my head, "I'm not angry at you."

I make the mistake of turning to her. She's just as distraught as I am. I see myself in her in this moment. I sigh helplessly, "I'm not angry-" I curse then sniffle, wiping my philtrum, "I'm not angry at your children."

I wipe my hand on my face, "I'm not even sure if I'm angry at Cassian. I-" I shake my head rapidly, "I'm frustrated that this marks the start of his final years with us. That's he's going to have to... pay... for not completing his hundred years of service."

Veronica visibly reacts to my words. She sighs deeply, rubbing her swollen belly, "I think of that as well. There has not been a day that I have not thought of that."

I deflate. Here and now, it was clear she understood, even if just a fraction, the severity this choice my brother made. If he does not complete a century of demon hunting, then his captives would drag him by his heels into the pits and battle them for a hundred years there.

I look at her as we both begin to cry. I pat the surface I was sat upon, "do you want to sit down?"

She is taken aback by my words. She nods slowly and walks over to sit down next to me.

For a moment, we sit in silence.

"When he told me he would risk his life for me, I did not realize he meant it," Veronica mutters, "not like this."

I am further dejected. I turn to her, feeling my insides get chewed up by the sight of her wailing.

"I at least find comfort in knowing that the love," she places he hands on her belly, "this love we share, here and now is the purest and realest thing I have every felt."

"But how do you know?" I quip on the defensive, "how could you say that so surely?"

It wasn't because I didn't believe her, it was more of the fact I was projecting my own disbelief of love onto her.

I feel a sliver of guilt bite at me for the way in which I spoke, but Veronica was wholly unfazed. In fact, she chuckles under her breath, "because I know him," she smiles, turning to her belly, "and he knows me." She smiles, "it makes no sense, and it's hard to understand, but-" she turns to my side, lips curved in a smile, "I suppose that is what love is like between a mortal and a demon hunter."

I give her a look. She's insane.

Veronica laughs, clutching her stomach, "perhaps I am."

My eyes widen. I said that out loud? "Veronica, I-"

"But is that not how you and your lover feel?"

"What?"

"Somnium Regem," she mutters, "he sits outside your bedroom every night." She places a hand on her chest, "when I managed to overcome my fear, I asked him what he was doing."

I straighten at her words.

"He told me he was waiting for you to notice him."

I scoff.

"That his pride could not allow him to open your door."

I roll my eyes and shake my head at the thought.

"Yet the same pride could not bear the idea of ever letting you go."

I clench my jaw. Damn him.

"Perhaps that is was the love between a demon hunter and a god is like," Veronica speaks, taking my hand in hers.

"He's not a god," I tell her through an airy whisper, "he is a fool."

And so later that night, when darkness cloaked the sky, I brushed my sleepiness away and rose from my bed.

I tiptoed to my door and slowly creaked it open, soundless. Behold.

I sigh at the sight of the dark figure sitting alone in the lightless hall.

"Do you plan to sit there for half a century?" I speak, actually making him jolt from his place.

Somnia turns to me, eyes wide, lips parted. He takes a moment before responding, drawing out a deep breath, "if that is how long it takes."

I roll my eyes at him, walking out of my bedroom all together.

Dream watches me near him. When I reach out my hand to him, he immediately takes it and stands.

"Is your pride so mighty that you would never risk calling to me?"

He sighs, "I punish myself with my pride. If you could not bare turn to me again, then I did not deserve you."

"Oh, you half-wit. What if," I take his both his palms in my, "I actually make you wait that long for me to forgive you."

He presses near me, releasing a breath, "then I would say it is deserved."

I snort, rolling my eyes for the second time, "alright then," I move away from him, "better start counting-"

"No, wait," he tightens his hold on me, "please don't."

I purse my lips, nodding my head, "hmm. That's what I thought."

The being releases a sigh and hangs his head low, "I apologize for how I acted. It is a struggle for me to accept such emotions, considering how they have served me in the end."

I release his hands to take his cheeks into my palms. I bring my face near, lips ghosting over his, "then how do you plan to make it up to me?"

He brushes his nose against mine, hands coming to my sides, "how would you like for me to make it up to you?"

"A kiss," I whisper, lips curving into a mischievous smile, "on your knees."

I don't have the opportunity to laugh at my childish remark, for his lips finally catch mine, stealing my giggles, my breath, and my remaining thoughts away. I ignite against him. A haze forms in my mind. My body pushes against him, wanting to be closer than I am now.

He is nothing but soft and sweet against me. His mouth is a tender oasis that makes my heart pound and my mind melt. He pushes me back against the walls and my body pulls him into me along the way.

I gasp when he breaks away. I watch as he drops down. I knit my brows at him when his hands grab my hips. I call out his name with caution. He smiles up at me as his one hand scratches its way up from my ankles to my thighs.

I jolt, attempting to pull away, finding I am trapped with the wall behind me.

Somnia coos my name out, "hush. I am only making it up to my beloved."

"What are-" I whine when he lifts my skirt up and throws it over him. I catch his head when he kisses my thigh, "Dream, please, I was mocking you. I-" I let out an unholy sound when he pushes me back and makes an attempt to bite the inside of my leg.

"I assure you," he hotly breathes against my skin, making my entire body tingle with goosebumps, "I will not stand for the mockery of a demon hunter."

I rip at his hair from underneath my skirts. I tense against him when he shifts me onto one leg. The other, where his lips were busy nipping at my skin, its hooks over his shoulder.

"Somnia," I lean into him, gasping for air. My stomach rolls at this obscene image of him beneath me, "someone could see."

The King of Nightmares scoffs. "They would sooner be haunted with nightmares for fifty years before they could even think of beholding your form like this," he hisses against my skin as his one hand squeezes my thigh.

I slap a hand onto my mouth when I feel his nose rub against my sensitive bud. I dig into his hair and garble up the sounds from my throat as his lips connect with my core. My toes curl and my body leans into him involuntarily.

"Dream," I breathlessly speak, moving my palm slightly off my mouth, "please, I-" the harsh sound that leaves me when he nibbles then blows against my heat would have been enough to make anyone who hears it look for the sound in concern.

"I will please you, my dear," he speaks, suddenly pulling away. When his face is revealed to me after my skirt finally drops down, I choke on my breath as the sight of his glistening face.

His tongue swirls around his lips while he stands.

I helplessly watch him as he takes my cheeks and raises a brow at me, "unless you would like for me to stop."

The very thought of asking him to do anything is mortifying to me, yet I managed to shake my head in response.

And normally, I would have been offended by how he chuckles at me like that, but when he drops down again, or rather, I find, crawls down, I only look at him in anticipation. I push myself up elbows and realize I was now lying on a bed, facing a window, beholding the view Fiddler's Green. I was also naked, exposed to him, looking down at an equally disrobed Dream.

My whole body burns.

I do nothing but watch as he takes both my legs and props them on his shoulders before sinking down the middle.

I grunt and tense in my place, averting my gaze when he kisses my center. One of my hands reach out to Dream's dark hair. I whine before ripping at my lower lip. I look down on him as he looks up at me.

"All is well," he affirms, lifting his head up slightly, making me pull my hand away from his hair. He kisses my hand on its way then smiles, "let me make it up to you, beloved." He rubs his cheeks against my inner thighs, placing a kiss there, "calm yourself," he mutters, "I assure you, I will make you very much enjoy this."

"My king," I breathlessly call.

He hums, lips curving upward, pleased by the sound, "let your king do his work."

I bite my lips and close my eyes as I nod. I allow myself to relax against the cushions, though my hands were gripping onto the sheets.

"Valde bona," very good, he says.

My fists tighten and my toes curl all over again when his lips kiss into my heat. This time around, I am painfully aware of the wetness that is pooling and beginning to drip down my flesh. The feeling conflicts me.

Almost as if he was aware of my realization, he laps at me and moans, "so honeyed and sweet. So eager and ready for me."

I huff at the feel of him.

"Do not needlessly worry yourself, your body is exactly how I want it."

With this, I find myself fulling relaxing. I arch my back, as his mouth presses more eagerly into me. I attempt to suppress my squeals when his tongue pushes into me. My hands immediately reach to him and my fingers curl into his hair.

He moans then chuckles. He makes it a point to do this against me as he parts my legs further when I begin to press them close. He calls out my name, making me turn to him slowly. Half of me regrets it, half of me goes wild at the sight of him.

The Dream Lord states, "I find offence in your attempts to suppress your noises. Do not conceal them."

I choke out a whine then his thumb rubs against my nub. I screw my eyes shut again as he continues, "perhaps you need more encouragement."

When he dips a finger into me, a guttural sound rips past my lips. I pull one hand away from him to clamp it on my mouth, but the growl I get in reaction makes me drop my it and turn back to Dream.

"You mock me further by disobeying me?" he huffs squeezing the flesh of by my buttocks tightly, "I should make sure the entire Dreaming hears you scream for its King."

He sinks into me again, only this time, there is a grit from his teeth. I rip at both his roots and mine when he does so, unable to conceal the noises that leave my mouth.

He slowly pumps in and out of me, "louder."

I whine and catch my breath, calling out his name in some sort of plea.

"Louder, I said," he commands as he sinks another digit into me and hastens his pace.

There was no way I could keep silent even if I wanted to at this point.

With his fingers, poking and curling, and his mouth, licking and sucking, it doesn't take long for a strong tension to coil up in my belly. My lips could barely make sense of the words it wanted to say. I fundamentally begin to sputter out nonsense.

"A little bit more," he moans, "give me a little bit- there."

I come undone on him with a cry. My legs force themselves against him as my body spasms. He does not make an effort to push me open, and in fact, he brings his hands on my hips, kneading at them, as if encouraging my actions.

In those tender, body curling moments, I feel warmth and pleasure spread around me. My breath escapes me as I eventually turn into putty.

When he finally pulls away, I turn down to him as he slowly trails wet and hot kisses from my core all the way up my jaw. I take his cheeks in my hands when he kisses my lips. My own cheeks tingle when I see the sheen of my pleasures on his nose and chin. I bashfully swipe at it with my thumb, eager to retreat. And yet, he catches my hand, taking my thumb into his mouth, licking at my finger then pulling it away with a soft pop.

"Well done, my love," he says, smiling at me as he rolls on his side.

I knit my brows as he lies beside me, pulling me near him as he does so that we could face each other.

Dream notices my demeanor. He pushes my hair back, raising a brow, "did I not make you enjoy it?"

My lips part. My face begins to burn at the thought, "no. No I mean yes- I mean- I- I enjoyed it."

He nods, "I know."

I snort at his words, brows slightly tensing, lips pursing.

He smiles, shifting in his place so that he could lie on his chest. When he does so, he pushes me on my back and brings his mouth near one of my breasts. I gasp when he laps at it like a snack, while he massages the other with his hand. My hands dig into his hair, messing it up more than ever.

"Dream," I call.

He does not respond like I want him to and only closes his eyes.

I let out a soft grunt when he sucks at my flesh. I sigh, "Dream, wait."

He immediately halts, lifting his head up, releasing my breast from his mouth.

I lick my lips as I look down at him.

"What is it? Do you not like this?"

"No... I... what about you?"

He takes a moment to respond. He chuckles, pulling me closer to him, "sweet dear," he kisses my rib, "you need not worry about me."

"No, but-"

"I will claim your maidenhood in a moment."

... w... w- he said what?

He raises his brows along with the corners of his lips. A velvety chuckle escapes him, "is that not what you want?"

"..."

"Is it not I that you wish to lay claim to this tenderness within you, this tenderness that your humanity puts so much emphasis on?"

I suck in a deep breath and bite my lip tightly.

"Do you want me to have you now?"

"... yes."

He grins, tongue darting across his lips, "then I say, do not worry about me," he kisses my skin, "I know well enough what I want to do with you."

So for a few minutes, the Dream King keeps his attentions on my breasts. He pulls me closer to reciprocate the same treatment to the other after a while.

At one point, he brings his hands to my core again, making my body quiver against him.

When I begin to call out his name in the same dazed manner from a while ago, he lifts his head from by chest and kisses my lips, pulling away again to smile down at me, "you feel ready for me now, beloved."

I bite my lips in anticipation.

"Are you ready?" he asks with genuinity.

I nod, "yes."

He pushes himself up and begins to crawl on top of me. His hands parts my legs to make room for himself and I graciously open myself up for him.

I sigh when he presses against me, hands rearing me by my waist. Dream kisses my check, "yes. You're more than ready, aren't you?"

Our eyes lock. He looks at me in expectation. I nod my head again.

He wraps my legs around him as he slowly rocks into me, making me breathlessly moan beneath him.

He sighs, kissing my jaw, all the way down to my neck, sucking on my skin before iterating, "my soft lover, so ready for me."

"Somnia," I whisper, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He hisses when I meet the rolling of his hips with my own. He nips at my neck, "alright, my love. I would not dare deprive you any longer."

A chill runs down my spine when he lifts up and sinks down into me. The action draws out a prolonged cry from my lips. In response, he peppers my neck with kisses while adjusting atop my body.

"So good," I mumble, "so good inside me."

He groans at my words, hands gripping my hips as he slowly begins to push and pull himself into me, "yes, my precious. I'll make you feel good, even more than a while ago, even more than now."

I sigh as Dream kisses my neck, and gently grinds into me.

After a few moments, I tighten my legs around him and whine, "more please. I want to feel you more."

He moans, immediately heeding my cries, hips bucking into me with more fervor, "in imperio tuo."

On your command.

He kisses my lips, repeating, "on your command, beloved, a slave to your command."

My voice hikes up and loudens when his pace grows quicker. I heave in an attempt to even my breathing. My fingers tangling back into his hair for the nth time.

"My sweetness," he says in between thrusts, "such sweet sounds," he moans, "and all for me."

I moan, calling out his name on instinct.

He hums, kissing my cheek, "better now? Isn't it better?"

"Yes, yes, oh, my lord, yes," I whine, "so much better."

He goes wild with the praise. He drinks it up like cool water on a scorching day. He growls as he finds a delicious tempo, quick and full, snapping in and out of me like it was his purpose.

I begin to recite all the Latin praises I could think of.

When I slowly spiral in my pleasure, I call out his name, and when I hardly find it in myself to speak, I bite into him, gnawing at his flesh like it was my deliverance, not thinking about its consequences, not thinking about how it would feel for anyone but me.

He hisses, pushing deeper into me, poking a nerve in my being that breaks my mind, that renders me boneless beneath him.

All at once, my sweet words are morphed into obscenities. All of the praises in my body are burned into oohs and aahs and throaty cries that I never thought myself of producing.

Dream eats it up like candy, taking in my lips with his, making our pants mix into further lascivious noises.

At one point, I am numb to everything but him. At one point, I was at the fullness of his mercy. He could crush me and spit on my bones and I'd thank him. But he does not do this, he does not desecrate my form, he does not disregard my being. Instead he dives into me with adoration, he treats me with divine regard, he stretches me out with care.

I make no other sound than ones of pure enjoyment as the king begins to shift my legs.

I submit to him, to whatever he wants to do with me, and soon, he pushes my knees to my chest and brings my legs to his shoulders.

Now, I was lost to everything save the tension in my core. After adjusting himself against me, breaking into my being as if intent on binding our forms together, I scream out and thrash my hands helplessly at anything, everything I could get my hands on.

When he calls out my name and praises my body, I'm a goner. The Lady be damned. In this moment there was only one, there was only him, the Dream King. Just him, him, him.

And so I scream it out, I scream out his name as my body crumbles against him. I flutter and crash. I tense and release. I was delivered.

He calls out my name in response. He calls out my name and does not dare relent his motions. Next thing I know, I'm shaking all over again with a vengeance as he spills into me, hot, sharp, and blinding.

Somnia pushes my legs apart, though his movements do not at all slow. He digs into me with his heels and pushes his chest flush into mine, cradling me against him, as if he was scared I'd disappear.

Then slowly, slowly, slowly, he allows his pace to relent. Gently, gently, gently, he kisses me and finally gives me a chance to catch my breath, to feel myself on him, to savor this utter bliss between us.

I mumble nothings as I trap him with my limbs. I pull him into me tightly, not wanting him to leave, only wishing that he'd keep me here like this forever.

And then the wildness fades.

In the aftermath of it all, the sounds of strangled breathing persists. Grunts and mewls catch up with us as well, as we both eventually soften against each other's beings.

I let out taut panting sounds against his ear before I nip at his lobe.

I squeal when he laughs, my body was oversensitive to the vibrating of his chuckle.

He stops himself and offers a kiss on my cheek, "my sweet darling."

I close my eyes, allowing myself to savor his scent, his feel, his taste.

Dream continues my neck again, lathering me with more affection, "have I made it up to you yet?"

I nibble at my lip as I nod. He smiles in return.

"I think... you may have ruined every other man for me."

He tenses. I feel him tense above me real time. He pulls his head back, looking down at me so suddenly with a fury, "you dare mean to say you expected to have another besides me after all of this?"

"Well, I-" I wail, body jolting sharply when he ruts into me in offence over my words.

"This," he hisses, "this is more than mockery. This is treachery, this is treason!"

I let out shaky sounds and piercing shrieks when he does not relent.

He only halts when tears begin to lace the corners of my eyes, after I practically call out his name in a plea for my life.

He ends his retaliations with a huff, nostrils flaring, hand grabbing my jaw, "look at me, little one."

I screw my eyes shut. There is a dread that builds in my belly.

"Must I repeat my punishment to have you look?"

I blink back the tears from my eyes as I turn to him. I let out a weak sigh at the sight of him.

"You shall have to make it up to me for that."

I pant at the rigidness of his expression.

"Do you understand me?"

I huff, nodding my head.

"I asked-"

I squeak again when he thrusts.

"-if I am understood."

"Yes, my king."

He hums, or rather, he bellows, "very good then."

[irwinsblender]

pride month

a/n: wrote this short little pride fic as pride month has now started!! i found these two pics of ash with kind of bi lighting which fits with the story!

pairing: ashton x reader

summary: pride month has started and as you feel more comfortable, you decide it’s the perfect time to come out to ashton

warnings: mentions of homophobia

word count: 1.2k

✩ ✩ ✩

since you were a teenager, you always knew you weren’t like your friends. they had boyfriends, and they did only ever date guys.

you knew you were different from most people you’d seen in movies or tv shows. you didn’t want to only date guys. sure, you had a boyfriend as of right now, but wow did you love women.

when you were sixteen, you came out as bisexual to your friends. they accepted you, until word spread and suddenly the hurtful jokes began and you realised your friends weren’t as kind as you originally thought.

you came out to your parents about a year later, telling them you liked girls as well as guys. your parents didn’t have much to say about it. told you that you were being influenced by the media rather than having a mind of your own.

since then, you didn’t come out to anyone else. not your new friends now you’re a little older, not even your boyfriend knew about it.

you’d been dating drummer and singer, ashton irwin, for a couple of years now. things had been going great. he was caring, supported your interests and different things you did. there would be no reason for him not to accept your sexuality. but, you always had doubts in your mind about it.

you’d been trying to figure out the perfect time to bring it up to him in conversation, but nothing ever worked. either you got too nervous, or the timing just wasn’t right.

until now.

a new year, new month. june to be exact. pride month. the month that you felt most comfortable, the most yourself. you always shared support online to anyone out there the same as you, you were surprised ashton hadn’t figured it out by now.

where you lived, every year there was a fun pride festival lots of people attended. you would never go, either because you were both busy, or because you never got around to asking.

this year may be the first time you had enough courage to ask though. deciding you'd bring it up once he was home from the studio one afternoon.

you’d been preparing yourself for this, going over in your head how you’d ask, how you’d tell him that you’re bisexual. it was hard to not worry that he’d react the same way as your old friends and family.

mid afternoon, you heard his keys in the front door, letting himself into the house as you quickly made your way out of the living room to greet him.

“hi, baby!” you smiled cheerfully. “how was your day?”

ashton pulled you in for a hug and a sweet kiss before stepping back to answer.

“it was good,” he slipped his shoes off, following you back to the living room. “got some more lyrics down with a few guitar pieces.”

“that’s great, ash, i can’t wait to hear it.”

you both sat down on the sofa, ashton could almost tell you had something on your mind. especially going by the half nervous, half excited expression on your face.

“how have you been today?” he asked you.

“i’ve been good, but, um, there’s actually something i wanted to talk to you about,” you paused, shuffling to face him slightly. “you know that pride festival that happens every year?”

he nodded.

“how would you feel about going to it this time?” you popped the nerve wracking question.

he didn’t seem to think anything of it at first, the pride events were always great in your area, super fun. everyone loved them.

“sure,” he nodded. “are we going with one of your friends?”

he was referring to a friend who had been out for a while now. most likely asking because he wonders why you’d want to go if neither of you are part of that community.

“um, no, it’s um—“ you cut yourself off, taking a breath. “i want to go, because i’m… bisexual.”

it’s quiet for a few seconds, ashton taking in what you just said. however, he didn’t seem annoyed, mad, or upset with you.

“so.. you like both?” he asked. “is this why you always go crazy every time we watch the winter soldier?”

a smile grew on his face, as it did on yours. he’d noticed before. instead of not accepting you, he’s asking questions, trying to understand.

“yea, it is,” you tucked your hair behind your ears, a few nerves still there.

“now it makes more sense why you wanna go to the pride festival,” he laughed. “how long have you known for?”

“since i was a teenager,” you fiddled with your hands, not knowing how he’d take that. “i wanted to tell you, but i was worried about how you’d react.”

hearing that you’ve known since then, something clicked in his mind, “wait, this is why you don’t speak to your parents, isn’t it?”

you nodded, sighing. you’d never told him that before, but now he knew, there was no reason not to.

“they never accepted me, told me once i was older i’d realise it’s not normal,” you paused, ashton moving closer to place his arm around your shoulders. “once i moved away from home, it was like a breath of fresh air, people we’re friends with being out, you and the guys getting involved in pride events. i felt like i belonged.”

“you like who you like,” ashton sighed. “your parents are just narrow minded, anyone who doesn’t understand are narrow minded.”

you were happy he seemed okay with all of this. although, now you’ve told him you like both men and women, you wondered if it would make things different between you.

“is this gonna make things weird?” you asked, ashton frowned at you.

“weird? why would you being bi make things weird?”

“i don’t know,” you looked down. “just because im dating you, and now you know i like girls too—“

“that doesn’t make things weird, baby,” ashton reassured. “it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“you’re sure?”

“at the end of the day, you’re still you,” he cupped your cheek in his hand, caressing his thumb back and forth. “you’re still the same person i’ve known for these past few years, the only difference is that you’ve told me now.”

you smiled, leaning up for a soft kiss. you didn’t know what you did to deserve someone like ashton, but this whole conversation went way better than any scenarios you’d thought up in your own mind. not only does he accept you as you are, he’s acting like it’s not even surprising to him.

“i love you, you know that?” you wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging yourself closer to him.

“i love you so much more, my love,” ashton kissed your forehead. “now we should definitely talk more about this festival, or we can watch—“

“the winter soldier!” you excitedly finish his sentence.

“and please don’t hesitate on talking about any of the characters, or actors,” ashton says. “now you can talk about this stuff as openly as you’d like.”

“you’re the best,” you happily sighed. “thank you for making me feel so… comfortable.”

ashton hugs you tighter, knowing how much this must mean to you, “you’re with better people now,” he rubs his hands up and down your back. “you don’t need to hide anything anymore.”

with that, you felt yourself become slightly emotional. after the way you were treated from your parents and old friends, this is exactly what you’d hoped for and you couldn’t be happier to have ashton in your life.

✩ ✩ ✩

taglist: @hexsdexs @conspiracy-ash @oliviah-25 @superbloomrry @jake-and-johnnies-slut | if you would like to join my taglist, please comment here or see this post

[blackmageeljin]

Hey! Just wanted to reach out and let any followers mostly here for my work on Repeat:|| know that I AM STILL WORKING ON IT! I REALLY AM!

I have about 20-25k words currently unpublished and am like... 1/2 to 2/3 to the end. I'm sure with Missing Link dropping soon KH will be driving the serotonin bus again and the hyperfocus will Get It Done.

Previously, it was easy to denote a section as 'done' when they moved on from a world, and so I could easily publish those sections. But as I entered the finale, keeping all the timey whimey stuff sorted and dealing with significantly more moving parts and suddenly a much larger cast of characters, I resolved to not begin posting again until the whole thing was done so I would have the luxury of shifting things around as needed.

It has taken a lot of time and recovery to just be able to feel comfortable using Tumblr again, or posting any kind of writing. I have a few Hazbin fics up because that fandom is generally less changed and it is easy to hide behind the Asexual Vore Demon. Also, I am not playing 5 dimensional time travel chess writing for it haha, so it is something that is just a lot easier to produce if I am not having a good health day. But honestly, even that took a lot of courage and I waited a long time before posting, as my agoraphobia became significantly more severe for a while. I spent a lot of time catching up in JJBA in the past few years too, but haven't posted any of the writing I've done for it for fear of the witch hunting doxxing campaigns that go on over ships and things over there.

Admittedly that has taken longer than anticipated for a lot of reasons ranging from ye olde social anxiety and fandom drama to just real world stuff. A tree fell on my house! On a happier note, I now have two goats and they are named Xehanort and Eraqus.

Admittedly, besides logistics, I am waiting until it is done to post because I don't want to deal with any drama/fallout for how I handle things like Xehanort's Actual Motivations™, how characters who have previously not had screen time get characterized, my understand of certain metaphysics, people being upset things Are Wrong when in fact I am referencing something that is explicitly canon from KHUX and such that they haven't played, a lack of understand of the inherent themes of moral philosophy and the duality of history, and, you know, people generally being bitchy. The finale is a turning point in a few ways, in that both the tone shifts and that it's when all the 'hot takes' come fully to light, so I am nervous. For people who have been nothing but supportive I will finish this. For you and for myself and for Sora and Xeha. But fuck if fandom spaces aren't as safe as they used to be, and I'm tired.

As a teaser some general things to look forward to are: Riku finding out about The Boyfriend, light squad screen time, yelling at Yensid, Ansem SoD but he has awkward estranged dad energy, ominous Vanitas implications, things that come out of Lea's mouth, Kairi being relevant.

And if you read this far, here's a lil preview snippet for you:

"After I do that, you gotta hand over your guardian.” Sora clarified. When Ansem nodded he reached his own hand forward and shook.

“Deal.”

Sora half expected some kind of sinister dark magic to flare up when they shook hands… but nothing happened. It was almost anticlimactic, just a normal handshake. That was… good? But it still left Sora waiting for the other shoe to drop again.

Sora turned around to face the other two who had come with him. “Alright then. I… guess I have some work to do.”

Xehanort began to answer, only to be cut off.

“Oh, and Sora? One more thing.”

Sora half turned back to the heartless, getting ready to give him an ear full for trying to pull something, but-

“Be sure to take careful care of my youngest self. By Vanitas’ logic, he is as my precious baby brother. It would be remiss of me not to do my familial duty and ensure the well being of his heart.”

To which Sora, unsurprisingly, turned bright red and began floundering helplessly.

“You!” Xehanort was not faring much better.

And Vanitas had gone from poorly hidden laughter to full blown cackling. Then he stepped forward and high fived the Heartless.

And that was… huh.

Something about that, about seeing Ansem of all people acting like a regular guy… high fiving his friend and laughing over something stupid and- and normal like teasing someone over their boyfriend and not something super evil or sadistic. He was a Heartless- and in a way, Vanitas sort of was too, right? But right now they were just acting like regular everyday people…

Sora adopted an overly dramatic serious expression and gave Ansem a salute. “I’ll have him back by 10, sir!”

“Sora!” Xehanort hissed full of betrayal. Sora flashed him an apologetic grin. Ansem’s grin was significantly less apologetic, if not amused.

“Good man.”

[ghoularaki]

Lovely pixie,

I hope you know that I’ve been BINGING baby’s breath on AO3 and I have work in a few hours. I cannot sleep because I haven’t been this enthralled in a fic in so long. You are an INCREDIBLE writer. The way you write just feels so real… god you are so so talented. I can only hope that one day I can be nearly as good as you. The way you write Levi and Erwin is just pure perfection. The fact that I’ve been shying away from writing this type of dark content myself because I feel like the niche is fading away (or maybe I’m scared of getting called out because of my old deleted content back in 2019) - you alone have made me fall in love all over again. You truly are a hell of a writer. I’ve been in this fandom since I was in high school nearly 10 years ago, and finding you was a godsend. It’s so good to know that creators still write such good shit in this fandom even after it’s all ended.

I also saw that you have been going through a rough patch mentally, so I genuinely hope you are taking care of yourself <3

I hope you know that your work has truly touched my soul, my heart and my pussy.

Please know that your works are adored and admired. You made me feel something again.

Much love

my dude i saw this while on my way to work and i almost teared up in the breakroom lmao kjrngkrgf and then actually snort out loud at the pussy part, thats so funny. i honestly can't thank you enough for the kind words. it makes me so so so happy that you are enjoying baby's breath so far and that i somehow made you fall back in love with dark content.

i get how you feel tho, back in like covid/quarantine era ppl were so chronically online about darker content and literally cancelling ppl over it. my motto is as long as you are properly tagging your stuff, its not about real ppl or underage content, who gives a shit. cringe is dead, be freeeeee.

tbh i have been in love with aot since i was 13 (literally over a decade now wow) and it was one of the first media i read fanfic for and i became obsessed. i was always so scared to write anything for it bc i was so scared of not getting the characters right. the plot for baby's breath has been brewing in my head since i was like 18? and i finally found the courage to write for aot and knowing at least a few ppl think i'm doing levi and (especially) erwin fills me with such joy.

again, thank you for the kind and encouraging words. and i'm so glad that i pulled someone back to loving fanfic once again <3

[gladdygirl18]

Confession is Hard

This fic was requested by the incredibly amazing @blehblahsworld! Thank you so much for this! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Summary: You have a massive crush on the one and only Captain America, however, you’re too shy to tell him how you feel. Being the bestest friend in the world, Bucky knows just the way to motivate you to confess your dying feelings to his long time friend.

Word Count: 2642

⚠️Warning⚠️: slight swearing

Steve Rogers. A charming and handsome man that doesn't look a day over 100. And his charms have got you in a chokehold. As one of the newer Avengers members, making friends was hard since you were one of the youngest (mid to late 20s; the youngest being there was Peter. A few months after you were welcomed into the compound, you grew close to the other Avengers, especially the Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Barnes. This man was your partner in crime; the two of you were always getting into some kind of trouble. He was like the older brother you never knew you needed in life. Whenever you hang out with Bucky, you also hang out with his long-time friend, Captain America, aka Steve Rogers. Boy, did you fall hard for this man? His charming and puppy-like personality drew you in. You were always there to listen to his old war stories, and they were actually fascinating. Who knew learning about the war from a soldier's POV would be so interesting? But to you, everything about Steve was interesting.

After about a year or so into the compound, your feelings towards Steve only grew, and it's gotten to the point where you can't look at this man in the eyes anymore. His cerulean eyes were so mesmerizing you felt like you would drown in them if you got too close. So, what's the best thing for you to do in a situation like this? Bottle up all of your emotions!

"Absolutely not!" Bucky cried.

You jumped at the volume of his voice.

"Come on, Y/N/N," Bucky said, "You're gonna have to tell him eventually."

"No, I don't," you retorted, "What he doesn't know can't hurt him, right? And besides, what if... he doesn't even like me like that...?"

Even though you and Steve were very close friends, the thought of him liking you more than a friend made your heart soar, but it also ached at the thought of him not liking you like that, and your confession to him would've been for naught. That aching thought made tears well in your eyes. Bucky frowned and pulled you into a side hug.

"Y/N, please don't ever think that," Bucky said, "You're an incredible person with an equally incredible personality. You're smart, funny, and courageous; you're an Avenger, for God's sake! Who wouldn't want to be with you?"

What Bucky said made you smile softly. He always knew what to say to cheer you up.

"C'mon, Y/N/N," Bucky said, standing up, "I'm gonna help you confess to Steve!"

What the Winter Soldier made your cheeks heat up.

"C-C-Confess!?" you stammered, "I can't even look at him in the eyes. Those crystal cerulean eyes..."

You found yourself swooning at Captain America's eyes, blissfully closing your eyes to see the imaginary image clearly. Your thoughts were interrupted when Bucky barked out a loud laugh.

"Ya see? You're head over heels for him," Bucky said, "Come on! Since I know him best, at this time of day, he's in the lounge chillaxing."

You twiddled your thumbs, looking down at the floor with a worried and flustered expression. Why was confessing to the one you like so hard? Bucky noticed your hesitation and kneeled in front of you before placing a hand on your shoulder.

"Can I at least motivate you to try?" he asked sweetly.

You bit your bottom lip before looking at the super soldier in the eyes. You sighed and nodded. Bucky grinned as he stood up and extended his hand out to you. You smiled softly as you took your best friend's hand. The eager man smiled before dragging you out of your room and into the lounge nearby. Like Bucky had said, Steve was in the lounge watching TV. Just looking at him so content made your heart pound out of your chest.

"Well, go on!" Bucky whispered, squeezing your shoulders from behind, "Now's your chance!"

You took a deep breath to steady your accelerated heart before waltzing into the lounge. When you were within arm's length of Steve, you breathed out before sitting next to him. When Steve noticed you, he smiled.

"Y/N, hey!" he said kindly, "How've you been?"

"O-Oh, I've been well," you said sheepishly, "J-Just hangin' around, doing some training with Nat and Buck."

"That's good to hear."

You nodded before turning behind you to see Bucky gesturing to Steve with a grin. You nodded as you took a deep breath to face Steve.

"Steve." you began.

"Yeah, Y/N?" he asked, his cerulean eyes facing you.

Your face flushed instantly. You cleared your throat before averting your gaze.

"U-Uhm, I wanted to... uhm..." you stuttered, "W-Wanted to tell you I-I..."

"Yeah...?" Steve questioned.

"I-I wanted to tell you that... I-I like... y-your sense of fashion! Right! I've been meaning to tell you that I like your sense of fashion!"

In the background, Bucky knocked his forehead against one of the pillars.

"Oh, thank you!" Steve said, "They were popular during my time, of course, but I think I make it look good."

"You do look good," you said, catching yourself, "I mean, you do make it look good!"

Steve chuckled as he patted your shoulder.

"Thanks, Y/N," he said before standing up, "Gotta go; I promised I'd train with Nat. See ya around!"

You waved goodbye as Captain America waltzed out of the room. When he was gone, you gripped one of the throw pillows and screamed in it; your entire face flushed. That was way too close for comfort. Bucky groaned before walking over to you and plopping down beside you.

Buck groaned as he rubbed his temple. He then glanced at you, your face still buried in the throw pillow. The Winter Soldier's feigned disappointed face soon shifted into one of malicious intent.

"'I like your sense of fashion'?" Bucky questioned, quoting you, "Really?"

"I'm sorry!" you cried, "I'm too shy!"

"Y'know what, Y/N," Bucky began, "If you don't confess to Steve sooner or later, I'll have to start using other ways to motivate you to do so."

Something in Bucky's voice made you quiver. You looked up to see a Grinch smile plastered on his face.

"B-Bucky, no," you said, backing away, "D-Don't you dare."

"How else am I gonna convince you and motivate you to ask out my brother from another mother?" Bucky joked.

You felt a nervous yet giddy smile spread across your face.

"Bucky, nohoho," you giggled nervously, "That's only for emergencies only..."

"This is an emergency," Bucky said, creeping closer, "My bestest friend in the whole wide world, Y/N/N, is scared of asking out Captain America and believes she's not worthy of his love, time, and affection. Doesn't that sound like an emergency to you?"

As you scooted away from the approaching man, your back hit the couch's armrest. Before you could jump off the sofa, Bucky pounced on you, quickly straddling you before tickling your sides with vigor. You yelped before letting out loud laughter.

"Buchyhyhyhyhyhyhy! Nooohohohohoho!" you half-whined, half laughed, "No tihihihihihiklihihihihing!"

"Yes, tickling!" Bucky said, "This is the best way to get you to do anything!"

You slammed your legs against the cushions, letting out adorable giggles.

"Just think, if Steve found you giggling like this," Bucky said, "He would think you're absolutely and positively adorable because you are!"

Bucky's teasing made your cheeks heat up.

"No teheheheasing!" you giggled, "That's not fahahahahair!"

Bucky couldn't help but chuckle. The Winter Soldier smirked before squishing your belly, eliciting more adorable giggles.

"Nahahahahaaa!" you cried, "You so mehehehehan!"

"Mean? This is me being nice!" Bucky said, "If you want me to be mean-"

"Nohohoho! I tahahahake it bahahahahack!"

Bucky barked out a hearty laugh. He then moved his hands up to shake them across your ribcage, causing you to cackle.

"Buhuhuhuhuhuckhyhyhy! Sthahaaaaaahahap!" you cried, "Thahahahat feels sohoho weheheheheird!"

"Hey, not my fault you were born adorably ticklish." Bucky said.

You tried to pry your best friend's hands away from your ribs, but that only permitted him to shove his hands into your armpits. You let out a scream before dissolving into loud laughter and slamming your arms to your sides.

"NAHAHAHAHAAAA! STAHAHAAAAP!" you laughed, "SHIT, NOT THEHEHEHEHERE! AHAHAHEHEHE! YOU AHHAHAHASSHOHOHOLE!"

"Watch it," Bucy growled, "So, are you gonna confess your feelings to Steve?"

"NAHAHAHOHOHO! FUHUHUHUCK, GET YOUR HAHAHAHANDS OUT! PLEHEHEHEASE!"

"But you trapped them, Y/N/N! Unless you agree to confess your dying love for Steve, you're gonna have to endure this!"

You let out another scream-like laughter when Bucky hit a sensitive spot under your arms.

"Y/N! WHAT'S GOING ON!?" questioned a frantic voice.

Bucky stopped tickling you and turned up to see Steve looking around the lounge frantically.

"Oh, hey, Steve!" Bucky said, waving him over, "Y/N's just fine, trust me."

Still on alert, Steve walked over to his friend to see him straddling you. Your cheeks were tinted red, and your hair was a bit messy.

"What are you doing to her?" Steve asked, a small smile appearing on his face.

"Nothing much, just tickling her until she admits what she's supposed to admit." Bucky said, emphasizing his words.

You swallowed a lump in your throat as you averted your gaze from the super soldiers.

"Can I help in any way?" Steve asked.

You wanted to die when you heard that. When you tried to push at Bucky's chest to escape, Steve held your wrists above your head. You giggled nervously as you squirmed under their weight, but let's face it; you may be on the same level of strength as Natasha, but these two war monarchs are on a whole different level of strength.

"Nonononohohohoooo! Plehehease lemme gohoho!" you giggled.

"Not until you confess," Bucky said.

"Is Y/N hiding something?" Steve asked, glancing down at you.

"Something along the lines, yeah."

"Well, Y/N, you heard the man; confess."

If only Steve knew what you were confessing, this situation would've been so much more flustering. I say more because even though Steve doesn't know what you were confessing, it's still flustering as hell. When you refused, Bucky sighed before shaking his hands against your ribs, eliciting loud giggles.

"Bucky, dohohohohon't! You fuhuhuhuhucker, stahahahahaaap!" you laughed.

"Language, Y/N!" Steve tsked.

Your cheeks started to heat up again. When Bucky started squeezing your hips, you yelped and gave a wild buck.

"Not thehehere! Stahahahahap!" you cried, "Steheheheve! Lemme go, plehehehehease!"

"Sorry, Y/N, but unless you confess, you're not going anywhere." Steve said.

The fact he doesn't know really makes this so flustering.

When you shook your head, Bucky sighed before stopping, allowing you to catch your breath.

"Buckyhyhyhyhyhy, plehehehease!" you giggled, "Enohohohohough!"

"Are you gonna confess?" Bucky asked.

"I didn't want to do this, Y/N, but you leave me no choice," Bucky said, "Steve, make sure they can't move."

When Steve nodded, his grip around your wrists only got tighter, but it was still gentle.

"W-W-Wait, Bucky, l-let's be reasonable here..." you stammered.

"One last chance, Y/N," Bucky said, leaning in beside your ear, "Are you gonna confess your feelings to Steve?"

You giggled and moved away from Bucky, his breath tickling your ear. When you refused, Bucky grinned as he cracked his knuckles. Then, he pounced on your worst spot, the back of your ribs. Even though you were on your back, Bucky knew just how to reach your worst spot. You screamed bloody murder as you laughed.

"NAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUHUHUHUHUCK, SHIHIHIT!" you swore, "BUCKY, FUHUHUHUHUCKING STAHAAAAAAHAHAP!"

"Geez, was Y/N always this foul-mouthed?" Steve asked.

"Only when you tickle her and piss her off." Bucky said casually.

You slammed your legs against the cushions as you cackled.

"BUCKY, PLEHEHEHEHASE!" you cried, "STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!"

"Are you gonna confess?" Bucky asked over your laughter.

When you didn't answer, Bucky added more power to his tickles, causing you to wheeze and cackle. Your face was as red as Peter's suit by now; eyes squeezed shut with a broad smile across your face.

"STAHAHAAAAAA! NOHOAHAHAHAAAA!" you laughed, "I CAHAHAHAHAAAAN'T! PLEHEHEASE!"

"Are you going to confess, Y/N?" Steve asked.

When you peeked up at Steve, his cerulean eyes stared down at you. Just glancing at him sent a new electric shock of tickles throughout your body, making everything 20x worse. Not knowing how long you could hold up, you finally gave in.

"OKAY, OKAHAHAHAAAAAY!" you laughed, "PLEHEHEHEHASE STAHAHAAAP! I'LL CONFESS! I'LL CONFEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESS!"

With that, everything came to a halt. When Steve released your wrist, you covered your flustered face as you panted.

"Good choice, Y/N." Bucky said, climbing off you.

When you controlled your breathing, you sat up and glanced between the two super soldiers.

"So, what is it that Y/N had to confess anyway?" Steve asked.

When Steve asked this, you turned to Bucky with a worried look. The Winter Soldier smiled and nodded. You took a deep breath before turning to Steve.

"Steve, I-I wanted to let you know that..." you began, "T-That I like you..."

The words fell out of your mouth like a cascading waterfall, and you turned your face away from Steve.

"I've liked you for a while now, but I was so afraid to tell you because I was afraid you wouldn't like me back, and I didn't want to ruin the friendship we had going," you said, tearing up, "I understand if you don't want someone like me, but I just wanted to let you know how I feel."

You took another deep breath before speaking again.

"You make me feel weak and strong at the same time; you brighten my mood on the gloomiest of days," you said, "And you're funny, handsome, considerate, and all-around incredible. Having someone like you has been such a blessing and... I would love it for us to be more than just friends..."

When you glanced back at Steve, you saw that his cheeks were a slight shade of red.

"Would you... want to go out with me?" you asked.

"Y/N," Steve began, "Why didn't you ask me sooner?"

What Steve asked you caught you off-guard.

"Everything you just said... it's how I've felt about you, too," he said, "You're beautiful, strong-willed, confident, funny; I can't imagine being with anyone else but you."

Captain America soon took your hands in his and stared into your eyes.

"Yes," he said, "I would love to go out with you, only if you would go out with me."

What Steve brought tears to your eyes. You smiled as you let out a sob and nodded.

"Yes!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him.

Steve smiled and returned the gesture. At this moment, you were the happiest person in the world. Who would've thought that Steve had feelings for you, too?

~~~~~~~

"And that's how we started going out." Steve said, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You smiled as you leaned into your boyfriend's chest. A year and a half later, you and Steve were the power couple of the Avengers. Tony was hosting a party, and you and Steve decided to tell the rest of the team about your relationship.

"Aw, I'm so happy for you guys!" Peter said.

"Y'all are really cute together." Sam said.

"Who would've thought tickling would make you confess your feelings to the star-spangled banner?" Tony questioned, sipping on his drink.

What Tony said made you blush and bury your face into Steve's chest. Steve chuckled before patting your head lovingly. You looked up at your boyfriend and smiled, only for him to return the gesture. He then lifted your chin and placed a loving kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes blissfully as you felt his soft lips press against yours. You heard the other Avengers "aww" in the background. When you parted, the two of you smiled.

"Love you, Y/N." Steve said.

"I love you, too, Steve," you said before embracing him, "Now and forever..."

[lazywriter7]

Cap-Ironman Rec Week - Take A Chance On Me Sunday

I’m a firm believer that good writing and a long enough wordcount can sell me on anything... which is why this list was hard, because I read coffee shop and Hogwarts AUs to major character death, twice over. But I think we’ve come up with some fun stuff to rec nonetheless -  Same old story. by orphan_account “We’re toasting our regrets,” Tony explains. “Your turn." “Oh,” Steve says. It takes him a long minute to think of something. Or, more likely, it takes him a long moment to work up the courage. But then he turns and raises his bottle to Tony. Looks him dead in the eyes, a sad, sort of wistful smile on his face, and says, “You.” Notes: On a list of era preferences, post-Endgame is usually not super high for me, and this fic is the Most Endgame. It’s compliant with Steve’s ending Endgame. And yet I enjoyed it so very much because it gave me a SteveTony ending without necessarily going back on their past loves and choices, it talks to regret without actually rewriting it, and I very, very much recommend it. such a devotion of the heart by  drunkonwriting Persuasion AU. Tony is a disillusioned heir on the outs with his wealthy, spend-thrift father, trying to finish his master's degree so he can work on engineering instead of joining the House of Lords. When he has to return home to prepare his family house to be rented, he doesn’t expect the new tenants to be Bucky Barnes and his new wife - old friends of Tony’s spurned ex-fiancé, Captain Steve Rogers. Tony, still heart-broken over their falling out, has no intention of meeting Captain Rogers again if he can help it. Captain Rogers has other plans. Notes: I don’t always click on WIPs, which is mighty hypocritical of me, and Persuasion is... mumbles someofmyleastfavouriteAusten. This fic, however, does address some of the things I don’t always enjoy about the original plot, and the liveliness and detail in the writing and characterisation is more than worth it not being complete yet... so go and shower it with love! how much i’ve been touching you by isozyme Steve loves Tony, but not enough to listen about the SRA. He loves Sharon, but not enough to stop coming to Tony late at night. Notes: Oh boy. Infidelity is one of those very, very few tags I avoid, but I’ve loved all of this author’s other work, so gave this one a shot. It’s brutal, ugly and unpleasant, which is exactly the way I’m supposed to feel, and so very, very well done. The excellent prose -  Rain sluices down Tony’s floor-to-ceiling windows. Every so often the wind shifts, and the downpour slams into the glass mid-fall like an open-handed slap. - accentuates every emotion the reader is meant to feel, so if you’re in the right mood for it, this is a highly impactful read. Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies by MemoryDragon Seven-year-old Tony Stark wakes up on a Hydra base, lost, afraid, and alone. He has to overcome his fears before it's too late for the Avengers and Captain America. Notes: Character de-aging is something that can be hit-or-miss for me, but this one is a classic. By the very nature of the premise and how much time Tony spends as a seven year old, it’s more pre-slash though Steve/Tony is tagged, but watching Steve and the Avengers match their expectations of who they think Tony is versus who they see in his younger self, makes for quite the satisfying read. The Time of the Season by  WhenasInSilks Iron Man shuffles his feet and clears his throat in a burst of static. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. Doesn’t matter the reason.” For one wild moment Steve actually considers it. Surely if he can tell anyone, it’s Iron Man? Iron Man would never shrink away, would never laugh at him. But what could he possibly say? Actually, Shellhead, I just pulled myself off three times in the past hour and I was thinking about your boss the entire time. Actually, Shellhead, I’m a science experiment they let out of the lab too soon and I think I might be going out of my mind. Notes: This is another one of those WIPs that is completely worth the read and subscribe, because identity porn oh myy :D The author takes the secret identities of Tony Stark and Iron Man and pushes them to the farthest extremes, till it’s incredibly entertaining and somewhat disconcerting and the amount of sheer pining that exists in one room is surely enough to kill us all of delight. A Fool's Name For Fate by  elise_509 It’s 1949. Hollywood’s system of powerful studios and contract stars is fading fast as a new decade looms. Tony Stark thinks he’s just the type of forward-thinking, madcap genius that can solve the dream factory’s woes, and maybe he can. If not for a certain distraction named Steve Rogers, the golden boy who should clearly be twenty-feet high on the silver screen yet seems determined to stay hidden behind the scenes. Tony’s used to getting what he wants, but now he’s not sure what that is. Or rather, who that is. Notes: More WIPs that deserve love! The premise is so captivating, and the writing even more so. I love the period it’s set in, I love how Tony and Steve fit into it and the roles they play, as well as the way they play off each other, and the sheer pleasure I got from the 70k words I gobbled down is definitely worth holding out for an ending.  And that’s all for today. Go take a chance on reading something you normally wouldn’t!

[sor-di-dor-die]

Imma post that fic I teased about a year ago I honestly forgot I posted that. This is about to be embarrassing..

My first fic ;-;… wtf this is actually good I wrote this years ago

“Why!...”You exclaim weakly, clamping your eyes shut after groaning in frustration, while your hands unconsciously ball into fists under the desk.

You slump back into your scruffy, old office chair, trying to think up one more word to add to this long chapter in your up and coming novel.

“No, no, no..” You mutter in anticipation of the person imminent to appear, then turning your chair to face where he was to arrive, he did.

A red shade in the darkness of the darkest corner of your room comes to light.

“Having trouble again?~”

The, not yet clear entity, smooths with a sneer graced upon his blurred face , his voice, silken, though still increasingly intimidating. Your brows furrows depicting an amalgamation of anger and fear, as the entity clears into a solid seemingly four dimensional shape. The black, scarlet accented creature, let a deep groan escape his throat, shaking the very structure of the small room. What followed was the straightening of his speckled tie.

“What are you doing here Dark.. “ Enough courage stirred in your soul to let you become slightly hostile with the antagonistic being.

“Would it be to much to ask for a few months alone!?”

You raise your already cracking voice at him. His very presence made you weak. Half trembling, you spin your chair back around towards the dim computer hoping to block him out, but to no avail, he phases closer.

An almost undetectable whisp of sweet, cool air slides across the sensitive, blood flushed skin of your cheeks. Goosebumps appear over your arms as he whispers in a deep velvety voice, very closely into your ears.

“Yes, a bit too much to ask I’m afraid. Though, if I let you writhe in your..’ he sighs disparagingly “gruelingly depressing solitude, how I would long to lay my eyes upon you once again~”

You could hear the smirk laden upon his lips when he drew out his words, almost as if he were speaking calligraphy.

“I-I don’t think I’d be the thing you’d miss.”

You manage to stutter a few words out before your vocal chords simply wouldn’t obey. Just then, you were rendered helpless, as a new born faun, in the presence of a much greater being.

“Hmm~ I think you’d be just the thing I’d miss.” The tone of his immaculate voice changes from intimating, to seductive in an instant. He is, somehow, closer than before. His cold lips just barely hovering above your ear. Your whole body is quivering, seemingly fazing in and out of reality.

The chair, without warning, abruptly turns one eighty, then you are pulled from your seat to a standing position, you are now facing Him. Your vision tunnels, it is only you and He in a void as black as pitch. You are entranced by his indescribable eyes and paralyzed by his presence. You both stand Utterly and completely alone.

The sound of your pounding heart is alike a herd of a thousand horses, deafening in your ears, you are sure anyone within a ten foot radius could hear it. But that’s just that, it is only you, and Dark in a seeming endless void. His face so extremely close to yours.

His light, chilling breath against your warm skin sends you deeper into the trance like state, presenting you so very infatuated with him. Every inch of your mind buzzed with his intoxicating scent. The only thing you want is this moment.

“The only one I’d miss, my dear, the only one I would desire is you~.. - But of course,” He breaks off, ending the trance, and leaving you hanging in need. His aura dropping the alluring colors, of which you had hardly noticed on account of the seductively, manipulative hypnosis.

“-if you do not reciprocate, then I will leave you to your depressing hovel.” Seeing the need in your eyes he decides to tempt you. Every thing about him is perfect. Not a cell out of place. Not a blemish on his skin. The man, or devil, leers at you expecting the answer he predicted.

“N-no..” You cave, shoulders drooping, submitting to him.

He chuckles smoothly, it slowly vibrates through the dark void. Sounding like the low growl of a tiger. The body in front of you vanishes, then re-appears behind. Chills run up you spine as the man places his chilling hands atop your shoulders.

“I thought so~ now whatever am I to do with you?” He whispers, as the cold muscular hands steadily slither upwards towards your neck, your breathing becomes shaky. You know that he’s smiling, and finding pleasure in your state. As the finite hands pull back, they take hold your hair very gently, then sweep it to the side.

You can hear him breathe a deep, low breath taking in your scent, and then exhale it back out again against your neck. The tingling in your body intensifies then stops all together, you stagger on the verge of falling. Then you topple over the precipice and fall. Your breathing heavy and your muscles weak you ask yourself “how is this man able to do this to me?”

Perhaps he isn’t a man at all, but rather a demon.. a perfect demon.

The cold marble arms catch you immediately before you hit the ground. Their grip astoundingly tender and gentle, lift your debilitated body with smooth ease, your breathing deepens.

“My darling, you cannot control yourself in my presence can you?”

He teases, purposely drawing his face close to yours then pulling away before they could touch. The thought makes your lips feel like they were betrayed by pins and needles, before you pitifully pass completely out in his chiseled arms.

C.2

You wake in a ebony room with a red sheen all around, could this get worse? Its Dark’s bedroom..

The beast practically drugged you and brought you here, though it is rather hard to complain about. This is Dark’s bedroom.. the thought swirls inside your head endlessly, until he appears-

Just outside your peripheral still very close. You hesitate to even turn your head, knowing that if you do, the trance will never stop, but it’s so difficult. So tempting.

Like always you succumb to yourself. Turning your head locking eyes with the beast of charm and seduction. His eyes bore into your soul like nothing else in this realm could try to.

[the--highlanders]

tagged to rec five of my own fics by @penny-anna, thank you <3

old ghost's waltz

Rolling his foot from side to side, Jamie bumped the edge of his shoe against her calf. “It’s like mendin’ somethin’, I think. Like your dress, there.” His toe traced around the corner of a patch. “It’s different fabric, ye know, but it’s – coverin’ up a hole, at least, even if the tear’s still there beneath it.” He huffed out a smile, his cheeks reddening so slightly she almost missed it. “That’s what I always thought, anyway.” There was something distant on his face, a glassiness in the way his eyes drifted up to the clouds above. And there was someone else on his mind. A ghost, sitting with him. Just as Alexander’s ghost sat with her, one hand in hers, dragging her down through the earth that had swallowed him. Jamie’s ghosts pulled him up, instead. Drawing him into the sky. The thought twisted a knife into her chest, somehow. Kirsty MacLaren has never believed in ghosts, or spirits, or men from other worlds. But they sit with her regardless, after the deaths of her father and brother - and the ripples cast by one of them might just change her life.

this is my absolute favourite thing I've ever written, it is THE fic to me. my first time writing kirsty, my first time really actually properly getting into jamie backstory stuff/my post-war games jamie timeline. I do intend for it to be part of a trilogy someday, and also I want to write a proper post-war games longfic from jamie's pov, but if none of those things ever happen then I'll be happy just having written this.

unsorted

But that wasn’t the point, was it? The point had never been Eòghann, too busy with Sàra to laugh at a silly old joke with him. It stung, yes – but like the snow, he could brush it away easily enough, and still never dip into the yawning gap in his chest that lay beneath it. The first traces of watery light were creeping over the horizon, just where the line of the trees parted into fields. Sunrise would be many hours away yet, the deep blue of the night splitting into lighter colours – and here, caught between night and daybreak, he could almost believe nothing would ever change. If nothing ever changed, then nobody could grow up without him. He wouldn’t turn around and find all his friends sat at the back of the ceilidh-house – and he wouldn’t look down at himself and wonder if he had been left a child, watching them run on ahead. Over and over again, Jamie tries to understand himself.

another fic with a bunch of jamie backstory content, you can absolutely tell I love playing with that setting/those characters ajgkfd. but also this fic (or the thought of writing something like this fic) lived in my chest for probably 5 years before I finally plucked up the courage to write it. it's so so so personal to me and writing/posting it felt very soul-baring and the fact that people responded positively to it just fills me with indescribable joy

There is Music of the Birds in it (and Music of the Sídhe)

"I remember there was always music. Everywhere we went, the selkie songs echoed through the water and on the beaches, sometimes for days afterwards, like they'd been caught on the kelp and the stones." The people of the sea can seldom stay with those they love, but their songs always remain.

ohhh god this is six years old now. but this is also a fic with a very special place in my heart, even though it's old, and I think I'm a much better writer than I was back then. technically there is a third part to this series also!! & I swear to god one day I will write it. (I just need to get over my fear of writing longfics & also learn a whole other language so I can see the film that inspired it which is totally @ettelwenailinon's fault <333)

in the night i lie and look up at you (when the morning comes i watch you rise)

“Settle down,” he said, regretting it only after the words left his mouth. Suppose this was just the Doctor’s way of getting to sleep. But he froze at the sound of Jamie’s voice, eyes almost luminous beneath the angular shadows of the crumpled bedcovers. “I don’t bite or anythin’.” “I know you don’t bite,” the Doctor muttered. But a moment later he sighed, almost shrinking down into the mattress. “My people, ah – don’t make a habit of sleeping. And certainly not communally.” Jamie grinned again at that. “Mine do.” In the shadows, he caught a faint glimpse of the Doctor raising his eyebrows, his mouth tightening into a wry smile. “So I gathered.” Five times Jamie wondered why he woke up alone, and one time he knew.

this one was just. SO much fun to write, it was a real breakthrough moment in me writing a bunch of longer stuff which felt so good. and I think it came out really well!! there's just a bunch of little headcanons and bits and pieces scattered through the whole thing, it's like. this is the source code for how I write two/jamie in a way. also the first time I actually dared to tag a fic as ace two/jamie (and poke at it a little bit more in a fic) which again was super personal & nervewracking

a light in bitter dark (i think i'm ready to go)

Victoria might have liked to stay. It was hardly unreasonable, was it? All the others had, after all, and some of them had stayed in far worse places than this. But it simply hadn’t occurred to him that Victoria’s time might be approaching. Maybe he had grown complacent, really, so used to Jamie walking beside him and promising him forever. It ought to have been his turn to go, after all, now that Ben and Polly had found their way home. But Jamie stood so firm, and made that promise with so much steady confidence. And now the Doctor was starting to wonder whether there was a part of him, buried deep in his hearts, that believed it as much as Jamie seemed to. They all promised him forever, though. In their own ways. And a Time Lord, of all people, should know that no forever really endured. Five times the Doctor couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to Victoria, and one time he managed it.

of course I HAD to get a victoria fic in here ajgkdf. I tossed up a couple but in the end it came down to this one (ashamed to admit that it was in part because of the title. rip. it is one of my favourite titles I've ever used tho). I love love love love writing victoria angst and also lesbian victoria content and I got to do so much of that in this fic <33

the first three fics on this list were pretty obvious picks but I was tossing up between a few for the last two, so a couple honourable mentions:

The Falls

inkstains

somnium

should i have bent, been reshaped in your image

the love that you need will never be found at home

litany for a reunion

tagging @galacticlamps @hesgomorrah and anyone else who wants to do it!!!