#wooden casserole box

[songbirdseung]

you flew right by, love / park sunghoon

synopsis: the only love you've ever known, says goodbye

pairing: sunghoon x reader

warnings: heartbreak, death, grief, angst, sorry in advance, i cried too

wc: 1.3k

The sky is a heavy gray, the kind that promises rain but never quite delivers, leaving the air thick and suffocating. You stand amidst a sea of black, the color of mourning, as the world seems to have lost its vibrancy. The sun is absent, hidden behind the oppressive clouds, as if it, too, is in mourning.

You find yourself at the edge of the crowd, your feet rooted to the ground, unable to move. The smell of damp earth fills your nostrils as you grip the single white lily in your hand, its petals trembling with the same grief that shakes your core. Each step you take towards the casket feels like walking through quicksand, pulling you further into despair.

As you reach the casket, you pause, looking down at Sunghoon's peaceful face. His eyes are closed, a stark contrast to the lively spark you had come to love. Tears blur your vision, spilling over and tracing silent paths down your cheeks. You wonder, what if it were you instead? What if you could trade places and lie in that wooden box, so he could continue living?

"I'd give anything to be in there instead of you," you whisper, your voice breaking. The lily slips from your fingers, landing softly on the polished wood.

A flashback hits you with the force of a tidal wave, pulling you back to a time when Sunghoon's arms wrapped around you on the couch, his warmth seeping into your bones. You can almost hear his laughter, feel the vibration of his chest as he speaks.

"I want to grow old with you," he had said, his voice a soothing melody. "We'll have a little house with a garden, and maybe a dog. We'll sit on the porch and watch the sunset every evening."

You had snuggled closer, your heart swelling with love and the promise of forever. "I can't wait for that," you had replied, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "Growing old with you sounds perfect."

The memory fades, and you're jolted back to the present, to the harsh reality of the funeral. The first clumps of dirt hit the casket with a dull thud, and you turn away, unable to bear the sound. It feels like each impact is driving a nail deeper into your heart. People around you try to offer comfort—soft words, gentle touches—but it all feels distant, unreal. All you can think about is the life stolen from you, the future that will never be.

"Why did you have to leave?" you mutter under your breath, anger and sorrow intertwining. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Another flashback overtakes you, a moment of pure happiness. You and Sunghoon are at the beach, the sun setting behind you, casting everything in a golden glow. He's chasing you through the surf, laughter bubbling up from both of you as the waves lap at your ankles. When he catches you, he lifts you up and spins you around, his joy infectious.

"Gotcha!" he exclaims, pulling you close for a kiss. "I love you more than anything, YN."

"I love you too, Sunghoon," you had replied, your heart bursting with happiness. "Forever and always."

The memory is like a dagger, a reminder of what you've lost. The sound of dirt hitting the casket continues, a cruel punctuation to your pain. You close your eyes, wishing you could hold onto those memories forever, wishing you could bring Sunghoon back, if only for a moment.

As the funeral comes to a close, you feel a hollow emptiness settle in your chest. The crowd begins to disperse, but you remain by the grave, your heart unwilling to let go. You take a deep breath, trying to summon the strength to move forward, knowing that Sunghoon would want you to find a way to live, even without him.

But for now, all you can do is grieve, and remember the love that was taken too soon.

The days that follow are a blur, filled with an endless parade of condolences and casseroles. Your apartment feels emptier than ever, every corner haunted by memories of Sunghoon. His things are everywhere—his favorite mug on the kitchen counter, the book he was reading on the nightstand, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Each object is a reminder of the life you were supposed to share.

You find yourself retreating into your mind, clinging to memories like a lifeline. It's in one of these moments, late at night, when you find yourself on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest. The silence is deafening, and you close your eyes, willing a memory to take you away from the pain.

A new flashback emerges, vivid and clear. You're in your kitchen, and Sunghoon is attempting to cook dinner. He's wearing an apron that reads "Kiss the Cook," and you can't help but laugh at how serious he looks, concentrating on the recipe in front of him.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" you tease, leaning against the counter.

He looks up with a mock-offended expression. "Of course I do! I'm a master chef in disguise."

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Oh really? Prove it."

With a playful grin, he steps closer, pulling you into his arms. "How about I start with dessert?" he murmurs, before kissing you deeply.

The memory brings a bittersweet smile to your lips, but it's quickly overshadowed by the crushing reality of his absence. You open your eyes, the darkness of your apartment pressing in on you. The weight of your grief feels unbearable, a constant ache that doesn't seem to lessen.

One evening, unable to stand the quiet any longer, you decide to visit a nearby park, a place where you and Sunghoon spent many happy afternoons. The park is almost empty, the chill of the evening keeping most people indoors. You find the bench where you used to sit together, overlooking a small pond.

As you sit there, staring at the water, you hear footsteps approaching. You turn to see an elderly woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She sits down beside you, not saying a word for a long time. Finally, she speaks.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she says softly.

You nod, unable to find your voice.

"I lost my husband many years ago," she continues, her voice filled with a quiet strength. "The pain never really goes away, but you learn to carry it. You find ways to honor their memory and keep them alive in your heart."

Her words resonate with you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to live with the pain. To remember Sunghoon not with overwhelming sorrow, but with the love and joy he brought into your life.

As the days turn into weeks, you begin to take small steps forward. You start journaling, writing letters to Sunghoon, pouring out your thoughts and feelings onto the pages. It becomes a way to feel connected to him, to keep his memory alive. You also reach out to friends and family, allowing them to support you, to share their own memories of Sunghoon.

One day, as you're sorting through Sunghoon's things, you come across a small, wrapped package with your name on it. Your hands tremble as you open it, revealing a beautiful locket inside. There's a note in Sunghoon's handwriting:

"YN, I saw this and thought of you. I hope it brings you as much joy as you bring me every day. Love, Sunghoon."

Tears stream down your face as you clasp the locket around your neck, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in a long while. Sunghoon's love is still with you, a guiding light in the darkness.

As you move forward, you hold onto the memories, the love, and the lessons Sunghoon taught you. Life without him is not what you had planned, but you find strength in knowing that he will always be a part of you, living on in your heart and in the life you continue to build.

[jungle-angel]

All That Meat And No Potatoes (Calvin Evans x Reader)

Summary: Cooking Thanksgiving dinner with your husband turns into a giant chemistry lesson

Warnings: Parenthood

Tagging: @floydsmuse @ateliefloresdaprimavera

Calvin came through the front door with Six Thirty right at his side, the paper grocery bags full to the brim with all the supplies you would ever need for dinner. It seemed that every year, the entire neighborhood would be coming, the Shangs, Henny's family, Marie and Louie, Sandy and her family and everyone in between.

"Alright, in," Calvin told his loyal companion.

Six-Thirty sniffed a little before trotting into the house and laying down next to Rosie near the fireplace. The fire crackled away, warming the house and banishing the cold outside. Ellen gripped the couch as her little self waddled from side to side, still getting the hang of walking and just now beginning to talk a little. Calvin planted a kiss on her little pink cheek before heading into the kitchen to set the groceries down.

"Good grief I don't think I can do this," you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

"S'matter sweet cheeks?" he asked.

"Just all these recipes and shit," you answered.

Calvin pulled the little wooden box towards him, eyeing them carefully from dinner to dessert. "Ok," he said. "Ok we can work with this."

"Are you sure?" you asked him. "I just don't want to muck things up in case your dad's youngest sister comes."

"She won't come," Calvin told you. "Dad already made it very clear that she's not invited."

You breathed out a sigh of relief remembering the last awful encounter with Henry's youngest sister.

"Even still, we'll make sure it comes out ok," Calvin assured you. "Now lets grab an apron and get going."

You and Calvin immediately set to work, chopping vegetables and measuring everything before he switched on the stove.

"Just remember sweetpea," Calvin reminded you. "When the cheese melts the enzymes are denaturing at a quick rate. Too hot, the cheese in the casserole burns and too cool, it'll be a soupy mess."

"Optimal temperature then?" you asked.

"350," Calvin answered. "No more, no less."

You stuck the cheesy broccoli casserole into the oven and switched it to 350 before Calvin set to prepping another dish.

"Now remind me again," you told him. "Four essential elements in the kitchen?"

"Sodium chloride, lipids, carboxylic acids and thermal energy," Calvin said proudly, stirring the pan full of celery and onions.

"Salt, fat, acid and heat would've done nicely," you laughed.

"Dear, you're married to a professor with a doctorate in chemistry," Calvin said with a broad smile.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, standing on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. "I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too darlin," Calvin said, kissing you back. "Always."

[jeanbury74]

A CC filled lot this time. English-ish House is up on the gallery. 3 bed, 2.5 bath, with a pantry and laundry room. ID jeanbury. All the CC used is written below. Beware, it's a long 'un!

876 simmer-Oslo wardrobe, lowboy dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

9 sims-DIY stars wall hanging.

Adrestea Moon-Storybook Lover and PJR Paintings.

Ars Botanica-Peonies Pitcher and Peony Jule Cup.

Ameyasims-You're So Vain: Vanity Brush and Hand Held Mirror.

ATS4-Breakfast: Milk Pack, Coffee Jars, Coffe Jar, Milk Bottle, Instant Drink, Tea Tin, Tea Box, Cocoa Powder Box. Fruit Juice Packs, Fruit Juice Glass Bottle, Coffee Bag. Baking: Wooden Spoon,Mechanical Scale, Timer, Canister, Baking Decoration Jar, Dried Fruits, Mixing Bowl, Baking Aids, Flour, Nutella, Baking Aids Stock, Dried Fruits Stock, Electronic Scale, Measuring Cup, Sugar, Jar, Measuring Cups, Rubber Spatula, Pastry Wheel, Candied Fruits. SnowyDay: Gloves, Wall Scarf #2, Wall Beanie #1, Fur Boots, Boots Snowcalf, Wall Coat #1 and #2 Bag Clutter: Tic Tacs.

Awingedllama-Apartment Therapy Potted Vine Round Mirror, Hanging Ivy.

Charley Pancakes-Insomnia: Organic Cotton Bedding. Miscellanea: Book Collection, Standing Books, Book Series.

Desimmy-Tiny Nifty Pictures.

Dew At Home-Hallway Hanging Scarf.

Duckey-Springtime Melody ,mug, Forever Spring Canvas Art, Lil Lilies, Friends and More Friends(these are table mounted frames that are called friends. That's all the information that was given)

Faaeish-BB Wall Decor Pegs and Toy Camera.

Felixandre-Chateau: Alarm Clock, Bedding, End Table, End Table 2, Drawer, Table Lamp, Rug Square, Telephone, Dresser. Grove: Salad Bowl, Lady Sam's Peony Vase, Bedframe V1. Grove-Timbershelf Inside Corner, Flagstone Floor, Cups, Stacked Plates, Stacked Plates 2, Stacked Plates Small, Wall Basket Small, Casserole, Bowls.

Felix and Harrie-Livin Rum: Box Files, Rug, Book Row, Book Series. Orjanic: Table Lamp, Bench, Cushion 2, Book End. Baysic: Toothpaste Container. Florence Fresco Mural. Tiny Twavellers:Hedge Wall.

GhostlyCC-Pre Raphaelite Paintings.

Harrie-Coastal Kitchen: Cereal Boxes, Cabinet Stack, Accent Counter 1 Marble Type, Coastal: Farmhouse Kitchen Sink with Tea Towel, Tins, Sofa, Tv Unit, Display Cupboard, Small Plates, Bowl, Bowl Stack, Cans, , Large Plates. Heritage: Traditional Towel Ring, Bowl Traditional Toilet, Traditional Runner, Landscape Artwork, Traditional Console Table, Floor Lamp, Traditional Round End Table, Traditional Elegant Mirror Small, Traditional Desk, Traditional Bust. Country: CoffeeTable.

Haruinosato-2x1 Curtain 01 Short.

Javabeandreams-Whimsical Animal Portraits.

Kardofe-Vienna Dining Room Curtains, Bella Babies Bedroom Small Pics.

Kliekie-Yove Plants 06, Awipow Plants 11, DecorationsPlants 10 Dragon's Herb. Whisper Laurel Plants 05

Kriss-Scania Build Set:Windows Classic Colonial 2 Tile, Classic Estate 2 Tile,Jugend Cottage 2 Tile.

Leafmotif-Botanical Bathtub, Twee Tableware: 6 Egg bowl, 9 Pot with Lid, Twin Mug Stacks, Whimsy Cake Plate, Short Pitcher. Basil's Favourite Chair 3 Maud Lewis Paintings

Linacherie-Ts2 Olde Tyme Skillets, Billyjean Curio Kitchen: Trays, Clip, Jar. Simlish Art 11, RPC Prints, Sizzling Cuisine Mitts, Delicious Bakery: Cookbooks, Flour Bag.

Madame Ria-Back To Basics: Spice Bottle,Dish Rack, Cereal Box, Pot Holder Wall, Modular Shelves, Coffee Tin, Pot Holder, Stock Pot, Dressing Container, Spice Rack, Counter Grey Scale, Open Book.

Marefc-Half Tiled Walls 2.

MC- Modern Crafter The Short Contemporary Radishly Plant

Menaceman 44-Granny's Brolly Vase.

Midsummersim-Simterest Poster.

Moonlightsim-Photo Frame Memories.

Nocturne-Rustic Cottage: Pokers, Master Curtain, Pedestal Old Miller Tea Set, Deco Retro Vacuum, Not So Shabby Rug, End Table. Grandma Cupboard.

Nynaeve Design-Lyne Half Curtains Blinds V1. Lyne Three Quarters Blinds V2, 1069, 1069 Lyne Radiator 1 Tile.

Okruee- ACNH Bathroom Towel Rack. (Animal Crossing)-

Omorfi Mera- Glass Jars.

PlasticBox- Modular Plant Hanging Pot.

Peacemaker-Hinterlands:Living Throw Pillow, Farmhouse Dining Table, Single Bedframe, Cottage Dining Chair, Bedside Table, Luxurious Single Bedding V1, Arched Mirror, Wardrobe, Bedframe with Footend, Nightstand. Hinterlands Living: Stately Fireplace, Coffee Tray Table, Mantle Mirror, Fringed Pouffe. Hinterlands Dining: Framed Dining Chair, Hanging Clock, Short Petal Pendant Porcelain Lamp.

Piersim- The Office Mini Pack: Higher Plant, Landline, Stackable Book, Printer.

Pocci-S Cargeaux Cabinet RecoloursCyclamen Outdoor, Iris Outdoor, Lilac In A Glass Bottle, Woodcabinet Open (Book cabinet Mini Set), Vintage Tea Set: Teacup With Tea, Milk Pitcher, Cupcake Plate. Magnolia Ceramic Vase, Basket Decor With Slots, Anthropologie Ottoman, Laundry Day Basket on Stool, Steaming Coffee Cup, Marguerite Teacup Empty, Iris In Glass Jar. Single Rose Glass Bottle. Potted Lily Of The Valley.

PTS-Cottage Garden Tea Tin Herbs, Granny's Basket Deco, Deco Mason Jar Short.

Quaylinsims- Paintings Zodiac.

Rhiannon AR-Medium Rug Floral Modern, Long Rug WithModern Floral Patterns

Ricca Bee-Mom's Lamp.

RSVN-Clothes Minded: Fedora, Floppy Hat, Baseball Hat, Sweater. Peg To Differ: Dish Towel, Knife Set, Mug, Utensils. Simmerdown: Cookie Jar, Mason Jar, Mug, Hanging Pots And Pans, Paper Towel, Ceramic Jar, Macaroon Jar. Smeglish Kettle Large.Procraftination:Hoop Large,

RoyIMVU-Seagrass Baskets.

Silverhammer-Executron Executive Desk Throne.

SimMan123-Sheer Right Curtain Short.

Sixam-Spring Six Kitchen: Buttery Toast, T Meg Mid Century Toaster With Toast, TMeg The Terrance, Deco Stove Hood, Olly's Oil Bottles, Kitchen Appliances Stove, Don't Be A Square Plate.

SJB (Yika)-Charlie Set Two CurtainsV1.

Soloriya-Zoe Blinds Part 2.

SYB-Colette: Towel, Toilet Paper Rolls, Soap Dispenser,Wallshelf, Bath, Blanket, Sink, Floor Vertical Mirror, Book, Cupboard, Rug, Bath Tray, Toilet.Millenial: Fridge, Fruit Basket,Utensils Rack, Utensils Pot, Totebag, Spices, Dish Soap. Microwave, Olive Oil, Breadbox, Island, Trashbin, Shower Curtains Short. Highschool Corridor: Hanged Backpack, Sandrine Slippers.

Tianella SE- Honey Herbs Paintings.

Veranka-Yesteryear Loveseat.

Wistful Castle-Wistful Room Pictures, Wistful Lamp #1.

Wondymoon-Cycnus Curtains.

Zeenasims- English Cottage: Paintings, Wainscotting Wallpaper.

ZX-Tagada-Lighting Table Candlestick.

[patriciavetinari]

6, 22, and 37 for nosiness

Thank you for the ask! 🖤

6. Describe your dream home.

Oh boy. As someone who rents I would currently consider a soulless studio box a dream home if it could be properly mine.

On a more serious note, in a dream world of plenty, it would probably be a cottage in a small close knit community and local market, with a robust transportation system to get to the big city to Do Things (I'd prefer a high speed train running every 10-20 minutes). 2-3 bedrooms to have friends over, large kitchen and a garden for veggies and bees (I have no gardening skill so this is wishful thinking). Probably about 87% covered in ivy. Proper wooden furniture. Typewriter. Decent wifi. 2-3 cats. Library. Pumpkin shaped casserole dish. Chicken legs under said cottage.

You know, basic needs. Nothing fussy.

22. Tag someone you think is hot.

@patchworkgargoyle has been serving looks lately like a Michelin chef serves dinner to be quite honest.

37. Have any tattoos?

No. :(

I think it's an ADHD issue. Hard to commit to a design and actually set up appointments.

Although the idea still rattling in my brain is to get a sprig of lilac in honor of glorious 25th of May and also I recently saw a really cool chess tattoo that I'm hoping can be extrapolated on.

[reospeeddragon]

eddie munson x og female character

Hazy Shade of Winter - a Stranger Things fanfic

Act I: Twilight Zone

"Help I'm stepping into the twilight zone

The place is a madhouse,

Feels like being cloned

My beacon's been moved under moon and star

Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far?"

POV: Winter Reid

I suppose growing up in any suburb in any corner of America in 1986 is largely the same. There are all the markers of a "thriving" small town.

A locally owned grocery market, a brick library building, sheriff cars rolling down quiet streets looking to catch teens getting high in the alleyway outside the movie theater. You will probably pass a quaint elementary school just steps from the high school, where kids park their bikes and teenagers park their cars not too far apart. And, of course, it wouldn't be the 1980s without the local video store.

Inside, two teens stock the shelves with movies about young boys riding their bikes searching for buried treasure, movies about girls who sit in class and pine after the jock with the luscious hair who sits with his feet up on his desk one row ahead of her, or, if it's to your taste, scary movies, ones full of nightmares, kids toys gone wrong, or brushes with something extraordinary and extraterrestrial.

The neon, the flashing lights, the fireworks... it all keeps our heads swiveling. We look incessantly for opportunities to waste hard-earned dollars on the latest trend or gadget.

Madonna and Michael J. Fox.

Walkmans and Weird Science.

Hair Metal Bands and Farrah Fawcett Hairspray.

It's the simple life, right? Everyone is looking for distraction.

Mom sets a casserole on the table at dinnertime and secretly crushes on the lifeguard at the community pool. A teen turns up the radio in her room and sneaks out of the window to meet a boy in an idling Ford outside. Dad grabs a can of beer, leans back in his la-z-boy, and laughs at sitcoms on TV.

Follow the trends, don't look up.

It makes people feel safe. It makes people feel normal. But Hawkins is far from normal.

Ignorance can be bliss. We try not to worry too much about the missing boy from the outskirts of town or how the brand-new mall tragically burnt down in the summer of '85. Those are unpleasant events in small-town life, the dark underbelly living under all the newness.

If you can, you will ignore it.

The illusion begins to waver once you leave the big houses with their long driveways and Reagan/Bush 84 lawn signs. If you travel outwards, you'll pass dense trees and black roads littered with potholes.

A deer struck by a car is left out in the cold, taking its last shuddering breaths in the ditch - its eyes watch the first few drops of rain beginning to fall. This is the edge of Americana, not as shiny or as new, but real nonetheless. A lopsided wooden sign at the top of a sloping dirt drive reads:

Forest Hills Trailer Park

Trailers sit at odd angles like monopoly pieces left out in the mud, abandoned by a careless child. They are identical in their desolation, with the same rectangular shape and dirty exteriors. There aren't any pools or lawns unless you count the clumps of grass spread across the dirt like patches of hair on a balding man's skull.

People live here, too, although no one thinks much of them. We all go to the same schools because there is just one Hawkins High and one Hawkins Middle. Inside the trailers, you'll see people working to live. They get home after a long shift to their quiet box and find comfort in a microwave dinner and a can of beer.

The drink is not entirely cooled because the fridges here are always lukewarm, but they open it and sip nonetheless. They're trying to be oblivious, too, although it's much harder when you don't have all the modern comforts to stack around you and create a wall between yourself and reality.

The air smells different here - it isn't spiced with pies cooling on window sills or the scent of fresh-cut lawn. The wind cuts sharper against the exposed cheeks of the residents. Lights buzz and flicker at random. Stray cats drink out of muddy puddles. Sheets hang on clotheslines, billowing and floating like ghosts in a graveyard.

It's quiet here... well, quiet enough. Eventually, you get used to the sound of the guitar blaring from the Munson trailer or the incessant barking from the Johnson's dog. Even the sounds from the woods, the low groans and chitters, it all turns to white noise at some point.

We do our best here. You learn to accept what you can't change and find comfort in dreams and wishes.

I remember sitting outside on the picnic table a few days after the mall fire. Eddie Munson stood smoking on his porch. He wore cut-off blue jean shorts - a chain hung through the belt loops on his right hip. He held his arms out like a tightrope walker, setting one black hightop converse shoe down, then the other right in front.

He walked heel to toe and tried to maintain a straight line, tongue poking between his teeth in concentration. He wore a white sleeveless band tee - the fabric frayed over his tanned arms.

I was dressed in a pale sundress. My oversized denim jacket slipped lightly off my shoulders and hung at my elbows. I could feel the warm sun graze my upper back as my pencil sketched across the blank page in front of me.

"I can't believe the mayor's precious mega mall is now a pile of ashes," Eddie said and set a cigarette between his lips. He took a long puff and tilted his chin up, blowing the smoke upwards.

"People died, Eddie."

I looked over at him and drew my eyebrows together, bothered by his lack of sensitivity. He met my gaze with a small smile. He always found my tendency towards compassion a little naive.

"What's the official story?" He tilted his head. "Oh yeah... Teenagers break in and set off a Roman Candle through skylight."

His voice boomed like a newscaster reading a scrolling headline. One hand lifted, and his fingers stretched to resemble a firework bursting in the air as he made an explosion sound effect.

He looked at me with his lips pursed into a smirk. I shook my head at him in disapproval. This caused his lips to part into a full grin. He jumped off of the porch steps and shuffled over to me. He sat on the picnic bench, his legs straddling the seat, and faced me. I focused on tracing the stem of a marigold, but I could feel his eyes on me.

"I'd say it's a win in the battle against conservative, conformist culture," he said.

I didn't look up. I was unimpressed by his big words.

He smiled slowly and continued, "Now that they've burnt down their precious The Gap and hot dog on a stick... where, oh, where will the moms go to do Jazzercise now?" He waved a hand dismissively and cigarette smoke curled in the air.

I snorted out a laugh. He leaned in, trying to force me to pay attention to him.

I finally rolled my eyes over to his.

"Well, with any luck, maybe the moms will move their Jazzercise club here. That way, you can watch them from your bedroom window."

He scoffed, "Yeah, that's not really my type."

"Don't lie, Eddie. I know you have a secret thing for Olivia Newton-John." I batted my eyelashes at him innocently.

His hand suddenly reached over and snatched my pencil.

"Hey!" I protested.

He leaned back, the pencil twirled through his fingers and rolled along his knuckles.

"This town is cursed, Winnie," he said, using the nickname he picked out for me when I first moved here... even though I hate it.

"It's just another Hawkins tragedy."

I reached for my pencil. He slid backward on the bench and taunted me by swishing my pencil through the air.

I set my elbow down on the table and leaned my cheek into my palm.

"Just like that boy who everyone thought was dead two years ago. Just like the pumpkins that were all poisoned last Halloween..." I shrugged. "Shit happens."

Eddie smiled and leaned forward, offering me the pencil back. I reached out for it, but he snatched it back again and quickly tucked it behind his ear. He slapped his thighs and hopped up on the bench. I looked up at him, bewildered.

"What are you doing?"

He held his cigarette in one hand, which hung by his side, the other slowly raised to his mouth, forming a fist. Suddenly, a discordant jumble of sounds fell out of his mouth, causing me to flinch and let out a surprised giggle. His neck snapped left to right, and he continued to produce a sound effect that I gathered was meant to sound like radio static.

He jumped atop the picnic table, towering above me and looking as if he was on a stage. I held my breath in anticipation, unsure what he would do next.

He began to speak softly into his closed fist as if it was a walkie-talkie.

"Status report: USA, Indiana, 1985..." He enunciated every letter in 1985; his body remained still while his eyes darted around him as if he were observing something foreign. "This is Starman speaking. It seems the American dream experiment has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Somehow, the creatures who inhabit this place made a wrong left turn straight into conformism and unchecked capitalism. No signs of intelligent life anywhere, but... plenty of fried foods."

I stared at him in amusement as he pointed his still smoldering cigarette at me.

"I have just found one being with an IQ higher than 75."

I looked behind me quickly, then back at him and mouthed me?, finding it hard to resist playing along.

"She informs me that the outlook here is bleak. My ship crash-landed and is beyond repair. I seem to only have two options," Eddie sighed.

His voice grew low and sounded defeated.

"One, enter the ranks and join a weird ritual where men sweat on each other. I believe they call it a sports team." His eyebrows knitted together. "The creatures of the male variety here seem devoid of any basic communication skills or emotional depth. They seem to have designed an entire system of ball throwing and back-slapping just to allow them to touch one another and express affection without being judged."

He made a good point, and I found myself nodding my head in agreement.

"My second option..." he continued. "Fling myself off the nearest cliff and promptly dive into the unknown."

He lowered his closed fist and raised the cigarette, sucking the smoke into his lungs. He thought to himself for a moment.

He rolled his neck around as if coming to a difficult decision.

He cleared his throat and continued, "This is Starman again. Informing HQ that this will be my last transmission."

I watched as he sauntered to the end of the picnic table, the toes of his shoes tipped past the edge.

He raised his head - a steely determination lit up his deep brown eyes.

Once more, he raised the closed fist to his lips and whispered wistfully, "It has been a pleasure serving with you boys. Starman, signing off. Over and out."

His voice mimicked static again as if the "radio" call had abruptly ended.

He stood on the edge of the table and flicked his cigarette. He turned and gave me a wink and a two-fingered salute, then dramatically fell forward to his "death". I gasped loudly in surprise as he plummeted forward and fell onto his back.

I watched as he lay convulsing on the ground and pretended like blood was spurting from his chest. I slowly brought my hands together in light applause.

"Outstanding performance, Eddie," I shook my head in amusement at his theatrics. "But I think Sigourney Weaver made a better point about the destruction of humanity... and she looked better doing it."

He was still on his back in the dirt, but his eyes rolled over to meet mine. A look of offense passed over his face, and he slowly held up one middle finger in my direction. I laughed and slammed my sketchbook shut.

Was he dramatic? Yes. But he's not totally wrong.

Hawkins is full of people pretending and conforming, but not Eddie Munson. He'll stand on the cafeteria tables at school and give a loud rebel yell while the boys in his Hellfire club are sitting there, watching him with sparkling admiration. Most days, I wish I was more like him. Instead, I clutch my books and walk down the hallway, observing life blurring past me.

Forest Hills Trailer Park's homes are certainly not split-level ranch houses on Oak Street. The first two trailers you'll see as you drive in stand opposite of each other, separated by a patch of dirt. In the back bedroom of the one on the right, a teen boy headbangs while Poison blares in his room. Across the way, a girl sits at her desk and sketches a wildflower while a Fleetwood Mac vinyl spins on the console in the corner.

more chapters published on Wattpad & ao3

title: Hazy Shade of Winter

author: REOspeeddragon

[harmonyhealinghub]

Reconnecting Roots Shaina Tranquilino August 8, 2024

The city skyline glittered through Steven's office window as he closed his laptop for the last time. The call from his sister still echoed in his mind: their mother was sick, and it was time to come home. Steven had spent fifteen years climbing the corporate ladder, becoming a successful executive in a top firm. Now, he was returning to Rosewood, the rural town he had left behind. The drive was long, winding through rolling hills and past fields of wildflowers. As he approached Rosewood, memories of his childhood flooded back—running through meadows, fishing in the creek, and drawing intricate designs on the old barn walls.

Steven arrived at the modest family home to find his sister, Emma, waiting with open arms. Their mother, Helen, looked frail but still managed a warm smile. The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of caring for her, managing doctor visits, and reconnecting with the town's residents. Steven had forgotten how tight-knit the community was; neighbours brought casseroles, offered help, and shared stories.

One sunny afternoon, Steven found himself wandering to the old barn. The smell of hay and earth was comforting, and he noticed his childhood drawings still faintly visible on the wooden walls. He found his old sketchbook in a dusty corner, filled with illustrations of nature, buildings, and dreamlike landscapes.

Inspired, Steven began sketching again in the evenings after his mother had gone to bed. The act of drawing felt therapeutic, a forgotten passion rekindled. His sketches started to capture the essence of Rosewood—the vibrant farmers' market, the serene creek, the rustic beauty of the countryside.

As weeks turned into months, Helen's health stabilized, and Steven's connection to Rosewood deepened. He began volunteering at the local community center, offering art classes for children. Seeing their eyes light up as they created their own masterpieces brought him immense joy.

One day, while sorting through his mother's attic, Steven stumbled upon a box of his childhood dreams—old notebooks filled with ideas for community projects, sketches of playgrounds, and plans for a town festival. He remembered how, as a child, he had wanted to make Rosewood a place of inspiration and creativity.

With newfound determination, Steven approached the town council with a proposal: a community art festival that would showcase local talent, foster creativity, and bring the community together. The council embraced the idea, and preparations began in earnest.

The festival day arrived, and Rosewood was transformed into a vibrant hub of activity. Stalls lined the streets, displaying handmade crafts, paintings, and sculptures. Children ran around with painted faces, while local musicians filled the air with lively tunes. Steven's heart swelled with pride as he saw the town come alive with creativity and camaraderie.

As the sun set, casting a golden glow over Rosewood, Steven realized he had found something more meaningful than his corporate success. He had rediscovered his childhood dreams and passions, and in doing so, had reconnected with his roots.

Helen, now stronger and full of life, stood beside him, beaming with pride. "You've brought so much joy back to this town, Steven," she said, squeezing his hand.

Steven smiled, feeling a profound sense of fulfillment. He knew his place was here, where his heart had always belonged. Rosewood wasn't just a hometown; it was where he had rediscovered himself and the dreams he had once thought were lost.

[s-sania]

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[homespun-stories]

The Winter Bathers

I’m a woman for all seasons. They help me carve up the elephant-sized year into something manageable, so I don’t freak out at the prospect of 365 unchanging days. I joke with friends about the abject misery of cold and wet winters in Denmark, where I have lived for the last eight years, but I inwardly rejoice at the cashmere and candles and casseroles that accompany them. I always think of that Bill Hicks line on people who live in L.A bragging about it being hot and sunny every day: “What are you, a fucking lizard?” Our summers are so much sweeter in Scandinavia for knowing we’ve weathered the worst and we’re duly rewarded with long days, soft breezes, and lush greenery. If you’ll allow me a moment of cringe, I believe that the seasons teach us the power of rituals. And rituals are how we endure.

There’s a saying in Denmark which you learn pretty fast when the first cold snap hits: there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing. Which is all well and good, but does nothing to explain the frantic energy with which the Danes also remove all their clothes entirely and throw themselves into the sea during the coldest months of the year. This particular form of brutality is known as ‘winter bathing’, a coy name which implies retreating to some Edwardian copper tub filled with steaming, eucalyptus-scented water whilst the snow falls gently outside. The reality is a gaggle of naked people, nipples to the wind on a frozen pontoon, wading into water colder than the base temperature of my fridge.

I moved to Denmark during a heatwave. Those first weeks in Copenhagen were spent in a spritz-fuelled haze as the long summer days melted into ambient warm nights, and I did little more than bounce between the bars and cafes that lined the historic canals and cobbled streets. When I filed the papers for my residency card and was asked to give the reason for my relocation, there was no box for me to tick. I had no job, no studies, no family here to reunite with. I had, quite plainly, moved for life. And Copenhagen appeared to be where I was best suited for living it. Even the inevitable winter, and my staggeringly bad clothing, couldn’t diminish the joy with which I embraced my new hygge lifestyle. I lit a lot of candles, I consumed vast quantities of buttered potatoes, bread and pastry, and I persisted in ordering glasses of red wine in local dive bars that only served beer on tap. Denmark and I—we were made for each other.

By the time I was ushering in my third winter, I’d leveled up my clothing to include the kind of coat that stops people dying on the side of Mount Everest. I’d completed my first ‘Viking biking’ experience having cycled in snow without losing my mind or my two front teeth. And I’d also moved to a neighbourhood in Copenhagen that is locally known as “Shit Island” for reasons that seem to involve a blighted history of municipal waste disposal and a whispered disdain of working class people. It offered affordable housing that was minutes away from a protected nature reserve and one of the city’s longest and cleanest public beaches. And that was where I first saw them: the Winter Bathers. A mass of flushed naked bodies waddling around the turquoise wooden dock at the top of the beach whilst I was scowling at my partner through the biting wind, my survival gear zipped up to my nose.

I’d had a primer on European nudity when I went skiing with some friends in Austria a few years earlier. I say “I went skiing” but this is a significant overstatement of the facts given I had never placed a single ski boot on my feet before the trip. “I went crying on the side of a mountain whilst my friends had a blast” would be a more accurate description for the “holiday” for which I forked over vast quantities of cash I could not afford. I can think of no other experience where you pay so much to be routinely hurt and humiliated, aside from the kinds of activities that take place between consenting adults in sex dungeons.

After three days of crying on the side of a mountain called—I kid you not—the Grimming, the weather went from Loads of Snow to Too Much Snow and offered me a blessed exit ramp from the nursery slopes and my perennially hungover 19-year-old ski instructor. My friends and I huddled together back at the lodge, throwing logs into the only form of heating—a single raging furnace we’d named The Beast—and weighed up our options for things to do at a ski resort that didn’t include skiing in a blizzard. My friend, whose family owned the house, suggested we try out the local spa he’d been to before. We wondered why he was so quick to volunteer for dinner duty instead, but desire for warmth soon overcame intrigue as we trotted off with borrowed swimsuits to poach ourselves in pools of water whilst our friend laughed into his snaps and thawed some sausages on The Beast for our return.

Whatever vision I’d had of a cozy alpine spa retreat quickly evaporated as we pulled up outside something the size and comportment of a department store. This was a serious multi-level bathing complex and it was packed with locals. If we’d taken a beat longer at the reception desk, we would have reckoned with the enormous sign that declared the complex “textile frei” beyond the kids’ paddling pool, but we’d paid our entrance fees and suddenly found ourselves surrounded by hundreds—literally, hundreds—of naked Austrian strangers.

One of our party, an American, was so overwhelmed by what he called “this European obsession with nudity” that he stormed off to the deck chairs outside the cafe and put a towel over his head. The rest of us pushed on, slowly peeling off our layers and keeping our eyes resolutely above the neck as we gingerly headed towards one of 50 or more steam rooms. Before long, the simple fact of our nakedness melted into the background. I guess it’s hard to stay uptight when the environment you’re in is expressly designed to do the opposite. I found myself gazing at naked strangers through the steam in the way you might look at potatoes in the produce aisle—no intention or judgment, just browsing the various lumps and bumps. Most of the men were curiously hairfree below the earlobes, like upright seals in toupees, and their wives and girlfriends wore blue frosted eye shadow and gold jewelry despite the water and the heat and the fact it wasn’t 1982 anymore. Everyone looked like they ate boiled potatoes and pork chops three times a day.

Feeling more confident, and leaving our friend to scrub his mind free of rampant nudity, the three of us girded our loins and explored the deeper environs of the spa complex where the saunas were located. My partner nonchalantly strolled ahead of us into some kind of potting shed, the door of which was firmly slammed in our faces by a towel-clad man with a glistening shoulder-length perm. He was, it transpired, a gus meister—a sadist with control of the thermostat and a penchant for using his towel as a whip. My friend and I peered through the porthole, as my partner was scolded in front of the sweating crowd for letting the heat out. He was now in the hands of a man who looked like he’d eaten Kenny G for breakfast and there was nothing we could do to save him. Less than an hour into our spa experience, and we were two men down.

And so, the two of us left standing headed into the empty sauna next door. It happened to provide a stunning, moonlit view of the snow covered ground and the potting shed where unspeakable things were happening. We gazed out into the starlit night in convivial silence, brows beading with sweat as the sand timer trickled down, grateful to rest our eyes on something that wasn’t flesh. Then the door to the potting shed was flung open, disgorging 20 or so bright pink people whereupon they promptly threw themselves onto the snow-covered ground and started rolling around. “Oh, would you look at that..”, my friend quietly muttered. Oh, would you look, indeed—for there was my partner, resplendent in the full moon as he writhed around naked in the snow with his new friends.

***

Back in Denmark, in early 2016, I had developed a lingering curiosity for the eccentric ritual that was being performed at my local beach. Asking around, I learned that the turquoise pontoon was the location of a longstanding winter bathing club, where members rotated between the frigid sea and pine-clad saunas every day of the week, every week of the year. Applications for this obscure membership were open during the first hour on the first day of October to anyone who could navigate the website that had been built in 1997. Correspondingly, the fee for such a bewildering process was less than 20 cents a day. Somehow, my partner and I signed up. So, too, did friends in the neighbourhood, and so we headed off together for an induction session that was totally in Danish which I totally didn’t speak.

Passing over the little wooden bridge from the beach into the winter bathing club for the very first time is like passing some mythical border where The Emperor’s New Clothes is operating at scale, in that lots of people are naked but no one talks about it. You, the one in the arctic base layers and wind-breaker, start to feel like the weirdo in a land where clothing isn’t part of the religion.

Having run the gauntlet of nudity, we finally huddled together in a cabin and waited for class to begin. It was a brisk reminder that Denmark has a national obsession with rules, and despite the seemingly carefree nature of the activity at hand, there were many, many rules for winter bathing. My friend kindly noted the most important ones down on his phone, in English, and periodically showed them to me. You must enter the water ass first, he revealed at one point. I couldn’t picture the pretzel-like distortions I would have to put my body through to conjure such a feat, but Mamma Gus—the grey-haired matriarch delivering the commandments when she wasn’t whipping people in the sauna—was already onto the next bathing diktat which my friend was frantically transcribing. “Who are these people?” I wondered to myself as I gazed across the packed room, before catching my reflection in the window.

People joked, when I first moved to Denmark, that I had relocated for the weather. Lately, because I am not a fucking lizard, I have come to agree. If I must spend a winter somewhere, as a woman for all seasons, then I’d rather spend it here. From the unencumbered vantage point of where the land meets sea, and the weather plays out on an enormous canvas, you understand that the Danish winter contains multitudes. There are days on the dock when the sky is cerulean blue and you can see your toes through the water as the sun shimmies off the ripples. There are days when the slate-grey sky rains down on the churning waves and you hold on to the ladder for your own dear life. And there are days when the sea freezes over, and they cut a hole in the ice so you can swim through the slush as the snow quietly settles around you.

Cold water immersion, much like the culture around it, is something you acclimate to. What was once an affront to the system—the temperature, the nudity—becomes the norm. I quickly learned the right way to compose myself for winter bathing, ensuring I didn’t squeal when I entered the water, and placed a towel between my butt and the bench of the welcoming sauna. I came to understand that the rules are a necessary part of the ritual, because they hammer out the pointier parts of our personalities and let us live the simple mantra of the seasoned bather: cold, heat, and repeat.

Every week I do this ritual a few times over the course of an hour, and when I am done my skin is buttery, my muscles loosened, and whatever thoughts were raging around my head have floated to the bottom of the sea. In the absence of any kind of spirituality that would find me convening in places of worship, winter bathing is where I go—for solace, for connection, and to grapple with the very meaning of things. I do not know what I did or who I was before I became A Winter Bather. How small my life must have been without this tremendous cracking open and repair. It has become a constant amidst chaos and the answer to my questions.

I have asked it many questions, lately. Last year was bruised by loss—the loss of a job, the loss of a home, and the loss of a much-wanted pregnancy. In the aftermath of the very worst day, when I joined that dreaded clutch of women who go to hospital pregnant and leave without a baby, I longed for the cold water. No swimming, the miscarriage pamphlet had advised, due to the risk of infection. I waited and waited whilst I bled each day, deep red and clotted, unable to fathom the cruelty of the loss as the memories bounced around the lockbox in my mind. I needed an ocean to pour them into.

When the time finally came and the bleeding stopped, it was a quiet weekday afternoon. A couple of lunchtime bathers were already packing up their things, leaving me and a pair of ducks to enjoy the moment in companionable silence. The winter bathing club actually has a name: Det Kolde Gys. It roughly translates as ‘the cold shudder’, which is strangely enigmatic for a language which is so blindingly matter-of-factual. It points to the shared sensation of every single person who heads down the ladder and into the water, no matter how seasoned the bather. Like the rumble of an engine turning over, the cold shudder is the sign of life. That day I welcomed the shock, drawing it deep into my body and wrapping my arms around the pain before I released it into the water. The balm of the heat in the sauna just moments later made me weep. Isak Dineson was right when she said that “the cure for anything is saltwater - sweat, tears or the salt sea.”

Cold, heat, and repeat; winter, spring, summer and autumn. Rituals are how we endure.

[golden-rolling-hills]

*Leaves this here and runs away*

ik i said headcanons but i went a little overboard, idk if this is even any good, maybe i’ll edit it and add to it at some point idk

-

The first time that all seven boys were quiet and well behaved while in the same room as each other was the day that they somberly filed into the church pews and averted their gazes from the two closed caskets at the front of the room.

The three Curtis boys sat in the front row, the youngest tucked between his numb and stone faced oldest brother and his middle brother who was trying as hard as he could to keep his tears from falling before the service even started.

Pony had been choking back sobs as soon as his brother had lead him through the doors of the church. Consoling hugs from aunts and uncles and friends of his parents only made it worse. None of these people had a right to be crying right now. He was the one who lost his parents. He was the one who might end up in a boys home. He was the one who might get taken away from his brothers and his friends. No one else had a right to grieve except for him.

When the organ started playing and everyone finally took their seats, Pony curled into Soda’s side as Darry stood up to give his eulogy.

Pony couldn’t bring himself to listen to his brothers words, he could bring himself to follow along in prayer, he couldn’t possibly fathom the idea of looking up from his lap to see the two cold, impersonal, wooden boxes that would eternally house his parents remains.

the wavering sound of darry’s voice faltered and the only sound that remained in the room was that of hiccuped sobs.

Pony briefly wondered who would have the nerve to interrupt his parent’s funeral until he felt a pair of hands all but lift him from his seat and bring him outside. It wasn’t until the cool, January air started to freeze the tears on his cheeks that he realized the screams were coming from him and the hands belonged to Two-Bit.

He pounded on Keith’s chest with weak fists, trying to form coherent enough words to beg to go back in. Two-Bit just held him and shushed him until he tired himself out enough to quiet down. He rubbed Pony’s back and whispered comforting words with a softness that Pony didn’t realize his older friend was capable of.

Two-Bit helped Pony clamber to his feet and the two boys straightened out their rumpled, hand me down suits and wiped at the dried tears on their cheeks.

Two-Bit placed his hands on Pony’s shoulders and lead him back into the church , giving Soda and Darry a sympathetic look before taking his seat.

Soda reached for Pony and pulled him down to sit back between him and Darry.

Soda grasped onto Pony’s hand so hard his knuckles turned white and Darry, who still had a lifeless look on his face, placed a weak hand on Pony’s shoulder.

The rest of the service passed in a blur of tears and shared solemn glances. By the next morning, Pony couldn’t even remember anything between the car ride to the cemetery for the burial and the car ride home.

He remembers the uncomfortable silence at the dinner table that night as he and his brothers picked at reheated casserole and stared at the two empty chairs. He remembers being too scared to be the one to break the silence that had followed the brothers around for the entire day. He remembers waking up screaming from a nightmare and having Darry and Soda both run into his room to console him. He remembers waking up again with the sun shining through the window and his brothers asleep on either side of him, both with dried tear-stained cheeks. He wishes he could forget that night the same way he forgot the afternoon.

been a little inactive bc i was away for my grandmothers funeral but now i’m tempted to write some Curtis parents funeral headcanons. is that too sad or do y’all want some angst

[bimrwolf]

Promise? to Leave the Window Cracked Open

steve harrington x afab!reader words: 14,379 warnings: mentions of cancer (minor details of aftermath of treatments), minor character death, implied smut summary: Dealing with his father's presistance that he become a perfect son and being told he can't be "just friends" with girls, Steve has to learn the hard way that being popular is not what it's cut out to be. Growing up is a lot harder than it looks. a/n: i'm not *entirely* happy with this piece but my friend told me to post it anyway. so here you all go!!!

The red brick house at the corner of Dearborn Street had gone through many inhabitants. There was the weird Gibson family whose grandfather lived with them, occasionally he stood on the front porch in nothing but his house shoes. Then there were the Weirs. Their kids always came to school smelling of salami. Finally, there was the Lyons. The small town life did not set well with Mrs. Lyon, forcing her husband to sell the home after two months of living there, leaving the red brick house up for sale once again.  

One day when Steve Harrington was in the back of his father’s car, playing with two green army men, he noticed the large SOLD covering the for sale sign that had been up there for exactly seven months and three days. The next day, there was a car parked outside, boxes in the driveway, and a woman yelling at two children running in the freshly mowed grass. 

A week later, while his dad was at work, his mom drove them to the red brick house. She knocked on the door, a casserole in her hand, looking down at her son, straightening the collar of his shirt.

A woman with a bright smile answered the door, greeting the two enthusiastically. 

The two women began to talk and five minutes turned into ten. 

They weren’t paying attention so he wandered off into the yard, noticing a few toys strewn about. The summer sun beamed down on the back of his head as he hopped on the stepping stones next to the rose bushes. 

His ears perked up when he heard shouting around the corner of the house. 

He looked behind him, his mother still in deep conversation. Curiosity built inside of him, peeking around the corner he saw a younger boy covered in mud, looking up at the side of the house. Steve followed his gaze, catching the sight of a girl leaning out a window, holding a wooden sword that was pointed towards the boy. “The treasure is mine.” The girl proclaimed.

“Come on, Y/n. I wanna play something else.” The boy complained, kicking up some of the mud at his feet. There was a water hose laying a few feet away from him. 

The girl, Y/n, sighed. “Please, Aaron. Mom made her peach cobbler tonight and I’ll let you have my slice if you play.” 

“That doesn’t matter. You hate peach cobbler.” He crossed his arms. Steve could see her pucker her lip and bat her eyes. Aaron groaned, holding up a sword himself, unenthusiastically. “Come down and fight me you coward. The jeweled crown will be mine.” 

“Arrrggh!” Steve watched in bewilderment as Y/n stepped out of the window and onto the ledge, climbing down on the lattice panel that was covered in dead vines. Steve gasped when the small girl misplaced her foot, causing her to fall on the ground. She landed with a thud. 

He was amazed she didn’t cry or scream. 

He remembered two days ago when he had stepped on one of his toy race cars and cried for twenty minutes, maybe longer if his dad had not come home. 

The girl looked up, locking eyes with Steve. She smiled at him, revealing her two front teeth that were missing, quickly pushing her body up and pointing the sword in his direction. “What do we have here?” 

Steve cowered behind the corner, his cheeks were red, too shy to answer. 

“Another pirate looking for the crown, eh? Looks like you have no weapon but that stick by yer foot.” Y/n pointed to a long thick stick that had fallen off the oak tree next to her house.

Steve stepped where they could see him. “M-my mom will be upset if I get mud on my shirt.” 

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Pirates don’t listen to their mommies.” 

Her brother spoke up. “Mom did tell us not to get dirty before-” 

“Shut up.” She scrunched her nose up, examining Steve up and down. His hair was short and slicked back. His teeth were too big for his mouth. A few freckles were scattered on his face. “What’s yer name, matey?” 

“S-Steve.” 

“Pirate Steve?” Aaron laughed.

Y/n nudged him to be quiet. “That’s a lame pirate name, but it will do. When you’ve been sailing the seas as long as I have, you’ll come up with something better. Now, Pirate Steve, you will have to fight us both to the death if yer want the treasure.” The two siblings held up their weapons higher, mutually deciding to team up to fight the strange boy in their yard. Y/n took the first step toward him, her brother close behind. Finally, the tip of her sword was only inches away from his chest. 

Steve noticed the dried up mud caking her cheek, but she didn’t seem to care. 

Steve looked down at the stick, then looked back up at the siblings, then over to where his mom once stood. She had gone inside once the two mothers saw their children were talking.

Y/n leaned her head closer to him, breaking character. “Promise to not get mud on you.” She held out her pinky, and he hesitantly took it, watching with wide eyes when she kissed her thumb, telling him that’s what seals it. So, Steve also kissed his thumb. “Have any last words?” She asked, pointing the sword at his neck. 

Without a beat, Steve picked up the stick, swinging it against hers. The three of them chased each other in the yard, yelling, giggling, and clanking the wooden objects against one another. When finally, Steve had softly tapped Y/n on the side of her stomach with the sword, declaring he had killed her. She did not accept the defeat, arguing that Steve had cheated. When Steve wouldn’t let her continue on, she balled up her fist with one hand and shoved him with the other, so hard he fell backwards in the mud. 

Soon, the three kids were talking over one another in the kitchen of Y/n’s house, trying to explain to their mothers what had happened. It was clear that Steve’s mom was irritated that her son’s shirt was dirty, but still put a fake smile on, claiming kids will be kids. Then she grabbed the ten-year-old’s hand, said goodbye, and took them back home. 

Two days later, Y/n and her mother had shown up to the Harrington household. Steve was forced to come downstairs and stand in the doorway so the toothless girl could apologize. It was obvious she wasn’t that sorry, but when she revealed a wooden sword from behind her back, telling him that he could come play pirates with her anytime, a toothy grin spread across his face. 

That afternoon she also promised her window would be cracked open for him to call her to come down and play. 

Although Steve and Y/n had outgrown playing pirates together, the pair never seemed to separate. Their families thought maybe it would have been Steve and Aaron that ended up childhood best friends, but Y/n’s mom sometimes would have to beg them to include him in the things the two older kids did. 

The evening before the first day of middle school, Steve had convinced his parents to let him go over to Y/n’s, promising to be home before dark.

The bike ride was only fifteen minutes, plenty of time to see his best friend before their big day. 

Two years had gone by since he first met Y/n. Their yard was decorated differently. Her mother had exchanged roses for petunias, hydrangeas, and lilies. There was now a tire swing on the big oak tree. Aaron used to make Steve push him so hard that he went so high that he almost wrapped around the big branch. 

Steve got off his bike, setting it in the lawn, walking past the front door and over to the side of the house. He smiled when he saw the window cracked open slightly, Dreams by Fleetwood Mac drifting out. 

Her parents had accepted the fact Steve had no intentions of using the front door, never surprised to see him in her room if they opened the bedroom door. They would just ask if he wanted anything to drink, and he would always ask for a Dr. Pepper. No one in the household drank Dr. Peppers, but they always had a case just for him. 

Steve climbed up the lattice panel, the old vines had been ripped off. When he got a view of the inside of her room, he expected to see her reading or painting her toenails. Instead, she was in front of her dresser, throwing clothes behind her, groaning loudly. A messy room wasn’t shocking, Y/n was always getting in trouble for never cleaning it. But the sight Steve was looking at was horrific. “Are you rearranging?” Steve asked, sliding the window up, crawling through. 

Y/n didn’t seem phased that he had shown up unannounced. “What are you wearing tomorrow?” 

“I dunno.” He answered, smiling because there was already a Dr. Pepper can on her desk. 

“I forget. Your mommy still dresses you.” She teased him.

She loved to poke fun on how much of a momma’s boy he was. “Why are you worried about clothes?” 

She let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s the first day of middle school.” 

“So? It’s no different than fifth grade.” Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his Dr. Pepper. 

“To you! I spent the night at Tammy Thompson’s last night. Tina is a B cup now and Carol had her first kiss at summer camp.” The girl pulled out a pair of shorts, sighing when she saw the tag. 

“That stuff doesn’t matter, Y/n.” He downed the rest of the drink, belching loudly. He started to giggle, but quickly stopped when Y/n gave him a disapproving look. He frowned. She always laughed when he burped. 

“No girl is gonna kiss you if you do gross things like that.” Y/n put a hand on her hip. 

Steve still didn’t understand why his friend was making a big deal about clothes, other girls, or kissing. Why did any of it matter if they had one another? “I could be your first kiss.” Maybe if they kissed then maybe she would stop worrying about it. 

Y/n’s expression didn’t falter. It was like she hadn’t heard him. “Very funny, Steve. Kissing you would be gross.” 

When Steve had rode his bike back home— after finally convincing Y/n to wear the dress his mom had bought her for her birthday— he kept thinking about how she had reacted to the idea of kissing him. 

What made him gross? 

He was one of the cleanest boys at school. He took a bath every night, and his mom started making him wear deodorant. His hair was nice and neat. He didn’t eat his boogers like Tommy Hagan or ate dirt like Reed Booker. He’s never even had lice before. 

Had she even thought about it before? Did she lay awake thinking what if she and Steve kissed? Is that when she came to the conclusion kissing him would be gross? 

He couldn’t even sleep properly that night, tossing and turning, irritated that Y/n decided to make these thoughts appear in his head. 

It was so stupid. He didn’t even think about kissing girls until now.

Then it seemed like seventh grade came in a blink of an eye. Steve’s dad was getting harsher about grades and what Steve’s plans were for extracurriculars. “A good Harrington boy is well-rounded, who doesn’t run around and play pretend.” He would tell him at dinner, whenever he wasn’t away on business trips. He had recently been promoted at work, making him less and less available to stay home. When he was home, he was always sitting in his office, smoking a cigarette, yelling on the phone. 

But one good thing about seventh grade was that he had changed. It seemed like he had gone to sleep one night and woke up the next day two feet taller. His clothes were too small and sometimes he found himself tripping over his new long legs. 

Girls were starting to put letters in his locker, and sometimes he caught them giggling on the other side of the gym during PE, watching him play basketball. He would blush when the other boys would nudge him, pointing out which girls they thought were cute. His attention would then turn to Y/n, standing in a corner by herself jump roping, obviously annoyed that the other girls were gawking at him.

Steve didn’t understand that she had no friends except for him. All the girls pretended to be friends with her and then they would ask about Steve. Steve this. Steve that. Quite honestly, she was sick and tired of them always talking about her friend. There wasn’t anything even spectacular about him. He still had too large teeth for his face and he always burped or gave her wet willies. When Y/n fed them the answers they wanted, they’d never speak to her again. She never told him that was the main reason she stopped going over to Tammy’s slumber parties. 

Steve on the other hand, didn’t mind the attention. His new popularity with the girls changed his social status with the guys as well. Soon, he was roped in with Tommy Hagan and spent his lunch period, sneaking off in the woods by the school to smoke cigarettes with one other boy, Carter Adams. 

One particular chilly day, Tommy shushed them when he heard giggling coming from their spot. They all hid behind the wall that bordered the school, peering over to see two high schoolers making out against a tree. 

Steve immediately felt uncomfortable, whispering they should probably go, but Tommy grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him back. “Ten bucks says he’ll grab her tit.” Tommy told the boys. 

“Ten bucks he’ll grab her ass.” Carter challenged. 

“What about you Harrington?” Tommy asked, looking at him with a smirk. “Tits or ass?” 

Steve shrugged, glancing nervously back at the school, praying a teacher would catch them so he could get out of the situation. “I dunno.” 

“Have you even kissed a girl before?” It had been known that Tommy had kissed lots of girls. 

Steve looked at the ground, shaking his head, regretting telling the truth when Tommy and Carter laughed quietly. “What about your girlfriend?” Tommy raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” 

Carter poked his side. “He’s talkin’ ‘bout that girl you’re always with. Have you kissed her?” 

“Y/n? She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.” Steve answered. 

The two boys next to him exchanged a knowing look, trying to hold in another fit of laughter. “Boys and girls cannot just be friends, Harrington.” 

Steve furrowed his brows. He didn’t understand why it was so wrong to be friends with her. She wasn’t mean. Except the other day she did smack him upside the head because he put his armpit in her face. He understood he had it coming. 

He should have told the boys he didn’t care what body part the high schooler grabbed. But he knew if he didn’t say anything, they’d stop wanting to hang out with him. He peeked back over the wall to see the couple again. “Tits.” 

A part of him regretted participating in the bet, mostly because he had lost ten bucks, but also because it seemed to be the rite of passage to be personally invited to Tommy’s girls and boys party the next Friday. 

Steve was nervous. He had only been to birthday parties with parents watching their children closely as they swam in the pool or played on the swing sets at the park. This was different. 

Tommy’s parents were out of town, his big brother in charge and Tommy gave him two months worth of allowance to buy everyone beers and keep quiet. 

He kept looking over at Y/n, who was walking next to him, pulling down the uncomfortable itchy yellow dress she decided to wear. “Did you really have to wear that? You look like Big Bird.” Steve poked the puffy sleeve, warranting a slap from her. 

“Shut up, or I’m going home.” She warned him. 

“You can’t because you promised.”

Steve had climbed through her window, begging her to come with him. He had to lie to her that Tommy wanted her to come. She still wasn’t convinced, but agreed nevertheless. 

“Maybe fun for you. You’re cool in their eyes.” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. 

“Once they get to know you they’ll see how cool you are too. Listen, we’ll stay an hour tops and if you are ready to leave, we’ll go. I promise.” He stopped walking, looking at the white house that belonged to Tommy. He stuck out his pinky towards the girl. 

She gave him an unimpressed look. His attempt to pull the pinky swear trick they used to do three years ago was a cheap gimmick on his part, knowing she was a sucker for nostalgia. She tried her best not to break, but when he leaned forward, looking at her with his wide brown eyes and toothy grin made her roll her eyes, sighing in defeat. She wrapped her pinky around his and they both brought their thumbs to their lips, locking the promise in place. 

Tommy’s brother was the one who answered the door, leading them to the door of the basement. 

Y/n scrunched her nose up when the smell of cigarettes and beer greeted them at the top of the stairs. Steve decided to ignore it, walking down the creaking wooden steps. When Tommy saw him, he immediately jumped up from an old battered brown couch, announcing the arrival to everyone in the room. He tilted his head slightly, frowning when he saw trailing behind Steve. He quickly wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling him to the side away from the girl. “I told you not to bring her, Harrington. The girls here are gonna think you two are a thing.” 

Steve looked over at Y/n. She was looking over at a group of girls huddled in a corner, looking between her and him, whispering. “Tommy, give her a chance. She’s cool and really funny when you get to know her.” 

The lanky boy whose breath already smelled like beer and cigarettes sighed, agreeing to let her stay. He then turned around, clasping his hands together dramatically, announcing it was time to play truth or dare. Steve felt his heart drop in his chest, looking over at Y/n who seemed to still be observing the room and the people that filled the space up. She always did that before interacting with anyone, studying them quickly in her mind.

He was about to tell Tommy he didn’t feel good and had to go home, but was shocked to see Y/n confidently walk towards the circle forming on the floor, plopping down next to a boy he didn’t recognize. Steve gulped, deciding to sit between Carter and Tina. 

The rules were simple, either tell the truth or do the dare and if anyone chickened out, they had to take a drink. 

Secrets were spilled, kisses were exchanged, someone was dared to lick the bottom of Carter’s foot, but no one was chicken enough to take the first sip. The longer Steve sat on the cold concrete floor of the basement, the longer it felt sticky, hot, and damp. The air was almost suffocating as he anticipated his name to be drawn out of Christopher Smith’s baseball cap. When his name finally did get drawn, it took him a moment to process when Carol had said it. 

He knew Tommy would give him shit if he said ’truth’ but he was afraid of what Carol might ask him to do. “D-dare.” 

Carol smirked, sharing a look with Tommy. “I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room.” It dawned on him that this party had been a set up the entire time. Tommy was throwing Steve into the lion’s den, forcing him to finally catch up with the rest of the grade and kiss someone. But Steve had never thought about anyone in the room like that before. Sure Heather Holloway was cute, but once in second grade she threw up on his new pair of shoes. He could still smell the fish sticks burning in his nostrils. 

Then there was Beth Johnson, she wore braces and was always wiping dripping saliva off her chin. No way. 

Carol was pretty, but Tommy had a crush on her.

Which meant the only two girls left were Tina and Y/n. 

He tried to see how Y/n felt, maybe she would give him the face that said “Kiss me Steve!” But there was no sign whatsoever of what she wanted him to do. He remembered a year ago when he had suggested being each other’s first kiss, but she was revolted by the idea, telling him kissing him would be gross. He remembered from then on, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to kiss her. 

Carol had said he had to kiss the prettiest girl in the room. To him, Y/n was by far prettier than any of them. The longer he looked at her, the more he began to admire her features. Her puffy cheeks, her nose, the way her eyes gleamed from the bright yellow dress she wore. The other girls in the room looked so dull compared to her. 

He debated the consequence of taking a sip of the beer to get out of it. 

The choice was so simple and easy to him, but he was confused. Y/n was his best friend, he couldn’t think of her like that. He most definitely couldn’t kiss her either. 

So instead of crawling across the circle to kiss her, he turned and gave Tina a quick peck on the lips. 

The basement erupted in hoots and hollers, making Steve blush. 

It was Steve’s turn to pick a name. When he reached in the hat, he frowned, realizing there was only one piece of paper left– Y/n. Her face was still stoic. “Y/n, truth or dare?” He asked her, mind buzzing with what he should say. 

He should have known she would pick dare, never backing away from a challenge. However, a few minutes passed by, struggling to come up with anything. He looked at Carol for help, who immediately accepted. “Write down the name of the one person you want to kiss in this room, then put a blindfold on and wait for them in the closet.” She pointed to the closet that went under the stairs. 

Y/n didn’t hesitate once, scribbling a name on a piece of paper that was handed to her, standing up to give it to Carol who then put a bandana over her eyes and walked her to the closet. Steve watched her disappear inside, almost immediately Carol put a hand over her mouth when she shut the door. “Where’s Rosie?”

It had happened all so fast. Tommy had gone upstairs, bringing back his pet beagle. Steve was confused, until Carol and the other girls let Rosie lick their hands. Tommy started towards the closet door. Steve jumped forward, blocking his way. “What are you doing?” 

“Giving her a kiss to remember.” He tried to step around him, but Steve stepped back in front of him. Tommy scowled, narrowing his eyes. “Always knew you were a pussy, Harrington.” 

Steve swallowed, feeling like he was drowning in thick molasses. “No, I was just volunteering.” He stuck out his arms. 

Tommy smirked, looking back at the others. 

Everything seemed to go slow, Rosie being put in his arms, the closet door creaking open, taking heavy steps inside. Even when they closed the door, his back hitting against it, darkness enveloping the room, Rosie whimpering, he was still able to see Y/n in the bright yellow dress. Like the sun. 

She tilted her head up, the black bandana covering her eyes. Steve walked closer to her, taking in the smell of mothballs, dust, and copper. When he crouched down, the closet scent faded away. Y/n’s sweet honeysuckle fragrance and mint toothpaste overtook it. 

He knew what Tommy and the others wanted him to do. But being this close to her, led him to put the dog down who immediately found a place in her lap. She giggled when Rosie licked her hand repeatedly. 

Steve reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder, letting the tulle of the puffy sleeve scratch against his fingers. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” He almost wanted to laugh at how bored she sounded. 

He should tell her what was going on, that an hour had passed and it was time to go. When they got back to her house, they could laugh about how ridiculous seventh grade was. Maybe they should have never hung up their wooden swords and eye patches. He didn’t want to grow up and do the things that Tommy Hagan did. 

However, she licked her lips and he realized from the way his tummy flipped and breath hitched in his throat, he couldn’t stop from growing up.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips on hers, tender and saccharine. 

He pulled back, smiling, lifting the blindfold up, catching her eyes with his. 

“You’re not Tommy.” Y/n’s eyebrows creased.

Steve didn’t understand why she looked disappointed. 

He didn’t have time to ask because the door swung open. The two quickly shot up, eyes wide like kids who had their hands in the cookie jar. Rosie barked, running out of the closet. “Wait a minute… did you two kiss?” Carol snickered. 

Steve saw the piece of paper in the blonde’s hand, suddenly remembering that Y/n was asked to write down who she wanted to kiss, making out the cursive ‘T’ in her neat handwriting. 

She wanted to kiss Tommy. Not him. 

He clenched his jaw, balling up his fist as they laughed at them, ignoring the look on her face, silently asking if he was going to say something. “Me? Kiss her?” He scoffed. 

He noticed the way Y/n’s mouth fell open, shocked he had said that. 

“Rosie took one sniff of Y/n’s dog breath and cried. I wasn’t gonna take a chance.” He instantly regretted the words leaving his mouth when he saw his friend clench her jaw, eyes glossy as she fought the tears forming. 

Someone made a comment about being able to smell her breath from across the room, and soon the others chided in, all laughing at the made up lie that Steve couldn’t take back. 

Y/n had stormed past him, exiting the closet. The others started making barking noises as she ran up the stairs, bending over in laughter when they heard the front door slam shut. 

Later that night, Steve had to retrieve his bike back from Y/n’s, having left it there so they could walk to the party together. He had worked on his apology on the walk back from Tommy’s, even picking zinnias out of The Wheeler’s garden for her. But when he walked over to her window he felt his mouth go dry. 

Her light was on, but the window was sealed shut and the bubblegum pink curtains were closed. 

The next week, Y/n didn’t come to school. 

Steve tried to go over to her house and apologize, and every day her window was shut. He even knocked on the front door, her mom telling him Y/n wasn’t feeling good or wasn’t home. Which he knew was a lie, because one day he saw her peeking through the blinds in the living room. 

When she did come to school, kids barked at her in the hallway until the principal sat everyone in the gymnasium to speak about bullying and if any of the teachers caught them making dog noises at any student, they would be suspended for a week. The principal tried to keep Y/n’s name out of it, but everyone was looking at her, knowing. 

Two days later was when Y/n finally acknowledged him. 

He was alone at his locker, cramming answers for a quiz he was about to take for math. His locker slammed shut. He jumped up, locking eyes with her. She looked like she had just been crying, eyes red and puffy, shoving a box against his chest. “Tell your friends they’re so funny.” Steve looked down to see the contents. There was a toothbrush, cheap toothpaste, and a dog bone tied in a red bow. 

He gulped, not sure what to say to her, the rehearsed apology slipping from his mind. When he noticed Carter lingering by, pretending to tie his shoes, Steve felt himself speaking before thinking. “Maybe next time we should get you a shock collar.”

He took note how her face fell, the little bit of glitter in her eyes flickered out. Whatever little bit of hope she had left for him to fix everything, vanished. As she walked away, head hanging low, Steve realized this wasn’t like the time she pushed him in the mud. He wouldn’t be able to show up to her door with a wooden sword and she would forgive him. 

That night he rode his bike down her street three times before he finally walked to the side of her house. 

The window was still shut. 

As the seasons changed, Steve would check every day if it would be open. But it never was. 

Finally, there came the day when he stopped checking.

–

Hawkins High felt intimidating when Steve’s mom pulled to the front, tears in her eyes because her baby boy was growing up on her. He kept begging her to calm down. If his friends saw her reacting like that, they would give him shit. He allowed her to give a kiss on his cheek, before hurriedly grabbing his blue book bag and climbing out of the car. He saw Tommy and Carter hanging over by the railing, scanning the crowd of high schoolers, greeting them both with fist bumps. 

“Who knew high school was full of babes?” Carter nodded at a redhead walking into the school. “Is that Becky? Jesus, look at the rack on her.” Tommy laughed, closing the boy’s mouth, making a comment about him drooling. 

Steve observed the lawn, taking in the sounds of kids chattering amongst themselves, basking in the sun, trying to get the last few moments of summer into their systems. He then stopped, staring at a girl whose back was facing them, wearing a pair of Levi’s. “Shit.” He said out loud. 

“Looks like Harrington has scouted his first victim. Damn, what a sweet ass.” Tommy exclaimed. 

“Don’t let Carol hear you say that.” Carter chuckled. 

“What? You don’t think I know she’s looking at other dudes? This is why we work out, because we respect and trust one another.” Tommy explained. It was true, they always made comments about other people in front of each other, but neither of them got jealous. In fact, Steve swore they got hornier, knowing that there was nothing to worry about. “Why don’t you go over there, lover boy?” 

Steve turned to face them again, running a hand through his hair. “I dunno. What if she’s ugly? Like her face covered in warts or something.” 

“Just go, and if she’s ugly, tell her Carter wants to take her out on a date.” Tommy slapped his hand on Steve’s back, pushing him to walk over there.

“Wait, why me?” Carter asked. 

“‘Cause even the ugliest girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with you.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, their arguing voices drifting away as he walked closer to the girl with the sweet ass. She was talking to another girl he didn’t recognize. He coughed, but neither of the girls heard him. He took a deep breath and tapped her on the shoulder. 

He felt the world freeze around him when she twisted her body to face him. His jaw fell, and her beaming smile turned sour. It was Y/n. 

Everything about her was different. Her face, her hair… her body. He swallowed, hard. He knew if he turned around, Tommy and Carter would be bent over in laughter. He was unsure what to say or do, except gawk at her. 

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” She was the first to speak, and her voice had changed too. It was calm and soothing, but he could hear the tone of hostility. 

“I er… hi.” He wanted to hit himself in the head for sounding pathetic. 

“Really? You haven’t talked to me in over a year and you start with, ‘Hi?’”  She raised an eyebrow, eyes burning into his skin, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he stood there stupidly. “Oh, am I not standing in the right area? Sorry, I couldn’t find the dog park.” She turned to her friend, telling her they were leaving. She turned her head, “Nice outfit, Harrington. Did your mommy pick it out?” 

He watched her walk away and he could see Tommy and Carter covering their mouths so they wouldn’t burst into laughter. Steve walked back over to them, hitting Tommy’s stomach. “Shut up.” 

If Steve hadn’t gotten the picture he and Y/n were no longer friends, he had gotten it now. 

–

If there was one thing Steve loved most about his home was the swimming pool in the backyard. The house itself was way too big for the family of three, and recently, it’s just been him around. He hated to admit the loneliness creeping around the corners of the rooms, following him around. 

Whenever he was bored, but still wanted to be alone, he walked outside and got in the pool. Today, however, he had invited Tommy and Carol over. They, of course, took the liberty of inviting TIna. Steve didn’t mind, more nervous than anything. Last year she had gotten prettier, no longer wearing pigtails or clothes that didn’t fit. 

He also enjoyed kissing her. 

Steve had kissed a lot of girls since the eighth grade. Now it was the summer before sophomore year, and a week before his sixteenth birthday. Him and Tina had been on a few dates, always ending up making out, tongues, salvia, heavy breathing and touching each other in places they shouldn’t. 

The blonde was sitting between his legs, laying her head on his chest, placing soft kisses on his jaw. Tommy and Carol were on the lawn chair next to theirs. Tommy was rubbing Carol’s shoulders, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, listening to Carol ramble on about her uptight step-mom. “Did you find someone to get us some beers?” She asked Steve, rolling her eyes when he wasn’t answering, his lips locked on Tina’s. 

She hit him with a towel, forcing him to break away from Tina, lips red and wet, giving Carol an annoyed expression. She repeated her question. “Yeah, they’re in the kitchen.” He tried to go back to kissing Tina, but Carol asked her to come with her, making the girl slip off the chair and follow the brunette back into the cool house. He watched the way her hips swayed side to side in her blue bikini bottom. 

“Jesus dude. When are you gonna man up and fuck her?” Tommy asked once the girls walked inside. 

Steve licked his lips, staring at a water bug as it skidded across the surface of the clear pool water. “We’re not even anything serious, yet.” That was always his excuse. Like the girl before Tina and the girl before her, they were never official enough to sleep with. Tommy and Carol always gave him shit for it, having done it since the beginning of freshman year. 

The growing popularity in high school was overwhelming, girls coming up to him and saying their friend thought he was cute, landing a varsity spot his freshman year, being invited to upperclassman parties. A lot had changed for him.

His hair was thicker, his teeth were no longer big, his legs were longer, his shoulders broader and arms stronger. Last Christmas his grandmother made a sweater that ended up ripping because she didn’t realize how big he was. 

He hated to admit that although the attention was staggering, he enjoyed it. In fact, he no longer blushed when girls would express their interest in him like he did in PE. Instead he would smirk, flirt, and occasionally, if he thought the girl was cute, he would give his number to them. 

Tommy scoffed, “It’s just sex. It doesn’t have to be serious.” 

Steve wanted to tell Tommy that it wasn’t just sex. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it. Oh god, no not at all. There was an embarrassing amount of wet dreams, or uncomfortable hard-ons in class that proved otherwise. But it was nerve wracking to think about being so young and stripping down to show the most vulnerable parts of yourself to somebody. 

Then there were the expectations. What if it wasn’t good? What if he wasn’t good? 

Steve was about to give Tommy an answer until the large gate to the pool opened. The boys turned their heads. 

Y/n was pushing it open with her back, then closing it with her foot. When she turned around, she stopped in her tracks realizing they were staring at her, holding a rectangular glass platter covered with tin foil. “Um, your mom called my mom and mentioned you were by yourself. She was worried about you being fed. No one answered the door and I… well I don’t know why I came back here.” 

Steve knew exactly why, especially when her eyes flickered to the second flower pot by the back door, the flower pot that always had the spare key underneath. 

Steve sighed, pushing himself up off the pool chair to help the girl into the house. When he opened the door to the sun room, Tina and Carol were coming out holding beers, giving each other a look when they noticed Y/n was behind Steve. 

He motioned for her to go in, closing the door quickly when he heard Carol say, “Since when did Steve get a dog?” 

It was silent between them as she walked in front of him to the kitchen. Although they didn’t speak, or hung out, their families still had dinner every now and then. His mother may redecorate when she’s bored but it was nearly impossible for Y/n to forget how to get around the Harrington household. 

She set the dish on the kitchen island, running the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping off the beaded sweat from the blazing summer sun. “Mom is trying out a new recipe. M’sorry if it’s not any good.” 

“It’s okay. Tell her I said thank you.” Steve shifted uncomfortably, his bare feet stinging the cold linoleum. Y/n’s eyes were anywhere but on him, trying to ignore the fact he was shirtless and wearing only his swim trunks. “How’s Aaron doing?” 

She shrugged. “Has his good and bad days. Yesterday he couldn’t stop throwing up.”

“Cancer sounds like an asshole.” He joked, earning a small smile from her. 

The two of them were still far from being friends, but the second semester of freshman year they were partnered together for biology and now Y/n would actually have a conversation with him without scowling. 

“How are you doing? With everything going on, I mean.” He asked her. 

Something flashed across her face that told him she hadn't been asked that. “Alright, I guess.” 

“You wanna stay? We have beers. Tommy and Carol aren’t that bad anymore. Tina’s cool too.” He could tell by the way she bit her lip and nostrils flared, she wasn’t going to stay. 

“Preheat the oven at 350º and reheat it for ten minutes.” She left the room, making her way to the front door so she could avoid walking in the back again. 

He joined the group outside again, Tommy and Carol wading in the pool, Tina laying on her stomach soaking up the sun. If this was seventh or even eighth grade, they would have interrogated him about Y/n showing up unannounced. But they never brought it up, at least not in the way they used to. 

“How is it possible for someone’s ass to get even sweeter?” Tommy gave a cheeky grin when Carol splashed him. 

Steve sat on the edge of the chair Tina was on, rubbing her back, slick of tanning oil. 

“Why don’t you ask Reed? Tammy told me the other day they did it in the back of his dad’s car. Chief Hopper was the one who caught them.” Tina said.

Steve furrowed his brows.

It was no secret some of the boys at school started to find interest in Y/n, the rumor of her having dog breath had been set aflame when she allegedly sucked face with Connie Phillips at a party the beginning of freshman year. 

“Can’t believe she lost her virginity before you, Harrington.” Carol sniggered. 

He felt the heat on his cheeks rise. 

It was odd to talk about her in such a way. He knew they were older, grown out of their awkward bodies. He knew they weren’t friends anymore. He knew he shouldn’t care what she’s doing or who she’s hanging out with.

So why did he feel his chest tighten?

–

Steve had never lost someone before. Any funeral he had gone to was as a visitor. Sometimes he would get asked how he knew the family, he’d look up at his mom, because he had no idea. 

He didn’t know the pain of having a loved one ripped away suddenly from your life, having to adjust and adapt to a life without them. 

He guessed that’s why it was hard to understand Nancy. He loved her, but in reality, he didn’t understand the things she had gone through.

He realized that when he looked her in the eyes at the Halloween party, and he finally saw her for the first time in their entire relationship. She didn’t love him— she couldn’t. She resented him. 

He sat outside on the sidewalk of Tina’s house, cigarette in his hand, recalling his entire time with the eldest Wheeler. Anytime they were intimate, it was like she disappeared inside of herself, and it wasn’t until now that Steve realized it only reminded her of Barb. How they creeped up the steps of his house to his room, giggling and carefree while Barb was killed. 

How the hell was he supposed to know Barb would be dragged to another world by a monster? 

Shit, he thought to himself, taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Not only was the first long-term relationship he had ever been in was over, but school wasn’t any better. Tommy and him stopped being friends last year. The new kid, Billy Hargrove, was now Hawkin’s High golden boy. He wasn’t anything special anymore. 

He felt like the failure his father always said he’d be. 

“I should have known you’d dress as Risky Business.”

Steve snapped his head towards the mysterious voice. He felt his stomach dip. Y/n was standing behind him, a beer in her hand, and a smirk on her face, wearing a Wonder Woman costume. He watched her walk over, plopping right next to him on the sidewalk. 

“Your girl was fucked up.” It was a statement. He wondered if she knew about the argument in the bathroom. He wondered if it was her way of comforting him, telling him Nancy was drunk and they would be fine tomorrow. 

But Steve knew there was no going back to the way things were before. 

“It’s whatever.” He mumbled, resting his arms on his knees, flicking the butt of his cigarette he wasn’t hungry for anymore. 

Her costume was shiny, gleaming underneath the streetlight softly glowing above them. “Still sucks. I could tell you were really into her. You somewhat stopped being a dickbag.” 

A corner of Steve’s mouth turned upwards. He had wondered how she really felt about him. 

She had to grow up, watching him go from the boy who played pirates, the boy who still slept with a baby blanket until he was eleven, the boy who attended tea parties willingly, the boy who was disgusted by the idea of kissing girls. She had to grow up, watching him become something the opposite of everything he once was. Cruel, self-obsessed, and seemingly heartless. 

Although he was different, nothing could change what he had done to her what seemed forever ago in that damp basement closet. That’s the Steve Harrington she knew. 

But he didn’t know anything about her. Was her favorite color still lilac? Did she leave the window cracked open for the boys she’s been with? 

“Do you think you could take me home? This party is kind of lame.” She asked, taking one last sip of her drink, tossing the can into the yard. 

It made Steve chuckle, past Y/n would have been angry if she caught someone littering. 

The car ride was mostly silent, besides the soft crackling of the radio. One point, Y/n reached over and grabbed the Ray Bans hanging off his shirt, putting them on, resting her head on the window. 

“You going to college?” She asked him. 

Steve felt his body tense, thinking back on the evenings his dad forced him to send applications to every possible school in the United States. If it weren’t for his mom, Steve would have probably been shipped off to military school by now. “Hoping to. You?” 

“Just got my acceptance letter from UCLA.” He was envious of the proud tone of voice she had; nevertheless, he was happy for her. 

He pulled into the familiar driveway, but she didn’t rush out of the car once he put it in park. There were a few trick-or-treaters walking through the lawn from getting enough tooth rotting candy that would make a dentist cry. “I miss trick-or-treating.” She sighed. 

Steve agreed. 

There was a beat.

“Wanna come up?” 

His jaw slacked, chestnut eyes drooped, brows creased. Did he hear her correctly? She didn’t say anything else, getting out of the car, sauntering inside her house. He could see her greet her mom in a hug through the frosted glass on the door. He waited until he saw her bedroom light turn on when he turned off the engine of his BMW, getting out. She still had his sunglasses, that was the only reason he would go in. At least, that’s what he told himself as he crossed the yard to the side of the house. 

He turned the corner, stopping when he was greeted by her brother, Aaron, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. 

He looked Steve up and down. “Harrington.” He was skinny, face sunken in. Usually he wore a cap to cover the lack of hair on his head, but tonight he wore a pirate hat, almost making Steve laugh. 

“Should you be smoking?” Steve asked him. 

Aaron looked up above him, smiling knowingly. “Should you be sneaking through my sister’s window? Neighbors might get the wrong idea.” 

Steve wanted to answer, but Y/n voice interrupted him. “Aaron, if you don’t piss off I’ll tell mom you’re smoking again.” 

“I’ll tell mom you’re sneaking boys in again.” He challenged. 

“You’re the one dying, she doesn’t care what I do.” 

Aaron gave her an unimpressed look, smashing the cigarette into the wall, flicking it to the ground, mumbling insults. He set a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Careful, I hear she bites.” 

Steve swallowed. He had always been embarrassed when he thought that Y/n probably told her family what he did to her. He always assumed when her mom stopped inviting him to go to Indiana Adventures– an amusement park outside of Indianapolis– or when her father gave him a narrowed eye look if he walked into the room. But now, Aaron confirmed it. 

Steve looked up at the window, wide open. Just for him. He climbed up the lattice panel, remembering where to avoid because the wood was weak. Although now, he had to be careful because vines had grown back, that would be morifying if his foot got stuck. 

Fortunately, he successfully slipped inside the room with a smooth landing. 

Y/n’s room was different from the last time he had been in there. The walls were still white, small holes from nails and chipped paint. There were now posters from her favorite bands and the Karate Kid. There were a few trophies and medals from academic meets and debate club. Pictures decorated her bookshelf. He smiled at the one of her frowning the summer her mom forced her to join gymnastics. 

Y/n, now changed into an oversized shirt and shorts, was rummaging through her dresser. Finally, she pulled out a jewelry box, opening it up and taking out a blunt. Without a word, she walked over to the window seal, plopping down criss crossed. Steve just stared at her stupidly, watching her light the blunt and inhaling it, tilting her head when she noticed his uneasiness. “Have you never smoked before?” 

“I have.” He joined her, crossing his legs as well, giving a small thank you when she handed the blunt to him. 

The two sat there, listening to crickets chirping, the doorbell ringing, kids yelling excitedly down the street. It smelled like banana bread and pine. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve blurted out. He felt like he was a balloon airing up for years, the needle finally closed in on him, forcing him to burst. 

She made a face, knowing what he meant. “I get it. I probably would have done the same to you. Remember me at the beginning of sixth grade?” 

“No you wouldn’t have.” Steve said sternly. “You would have never done that to me. Not to anyone. You realized quicker than I did that some people are full of bullshit.” 

By now the blunt had been passed between them so long that it was only a nub. She put it out in a glass bowl, setting it to the side. “Then why did you tell them that? What was so bad with them knowing you kissed me?” Her tone was soft and sad. He imagined her staying up late at night, wondering what was wrong with her all because her friend had rather made up an outrageous lie than admit he had kissed her. 

Steve ran his hands over his face. “No one was supposed to even kiss you. They were going to make the dog lick you, and I just couldn’t do it. But then when you looked disappointed that it was me and not Tommy… anyway, it’s stupid.”

Y/n didn’t look at him, instead her eyes were focused outside the window. “I didn’t want to kiss Tommy. I mean, not really.” 

“Not really?”  

“I wanted to kiss you.” 

There was a beat. 

“Oh.” He felt like he was back in that closet, heart thumping and mind racing. So long he had questioned what was wrong with him that made her not want to kiss him. His eyes fell on hers and his mouth parted. He couldn’t help that they wandered over to her lips. 

She noticed.

“You wanna kiss me right now?” This time she was looking at him, eyebrows raised, part of her mouth upturned. 

Steve licked his lips, swallowing when she leaned forward, placing a hand on his thigh. Her face was close enough he could lean down and close the gap between them. It was an easy task. However, he sighed and looked down at the floor. She took the message, leaning back and taking her hand off of him. “If this was a year ago. I would with no hesitation. But I can’t. Not like this. I love Nancy and I…  just can’t.” It was hard for him to explain that even though she was pretty, things were different than before. He was different. 

He realized tonight, he never needed a wooden sword to apologize to her. It seemed like she had forgiven him a long time ago. 

But maybe he needed to apologize to his younger self too. Putting so much pressure on the young boy with too big teeth to grow up faster than he really wanted. It was uncomfortable, outgrowing his old self, becoming the version of himself that he always envisioned. 

Maybe that’s another reason he didn’t kiss her. 

He’s rushed so many things before he could properly think about the consequences or after math. 

He needed to learn how to be a friend to her again. 

–

Since junior year, Steve had always dreamed about being crowned prom king. That would be the moment he knew he made a mark in high school. 

Yet, when they announced his name and set the plastic crown they probably got at the party store on his head, slightly messing up his styled hair, he didn’t feel satisfied. He looked out onto the dimly lit gymnasium streamed with cheap decorations, sweaty bodies, and the spiked punch with cheap tequila. 

His date, Betty Simpson, had ditched him the first ten minutes they had arrived, somewhere in the crowd with her friends, only finding him whenever a slow song came on. 

There was only thirty minutes left of the dance, people already treading out to get ready for the after party at Tammy’s house. He stood to the side, watching everyone jump or sway to the music. Some people came up and patted him on the back to congratulate him, something he did to the prom king before him. 

“There you are.” A pair of hands wrapped around his arms. “I think I’m going to catch a ride with Billy to Tammy’s. Is that okay?” Betty asked. He could smell the hint of alcohol from her breath. His eyes flickered over to the exit of the gym, a couple of girls were standing by the long haired boy, whispering to one another as they watched him. Billy had a smug look on his face, waving tauntingly. 

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve shrugged the girl off his arm, thinking about how he wasted his entire night bringing her. He bet Billy wouldn’t have taken her to Enzo’s or would have even bought dessert like Steve did. 

Betty didn’t notice the irritated expression on his face, happily telling him goodbye, picking up her dress and running towards her friends. 

Steve walked over and sat down on a chair, dropping his head and taking the crown off. Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time came on, he glanced at the couples dragging their dates to dance, sighing. “The prom king shouldn’t be moping around.” The familiar voice of Y/n made him look over, straightening in his seat. He had seen her earlier, it wasn’t that hard to point her out in the yellow dress she wore, outshining everyone in the room. Sometimes he’d tune out Betty talking his ear off, and just stare at her. Admiring how pretty she was. 

He wouldn’t say things had gone back to the way they were between them, but they’ve made progress the past seven months, hanging out, having movie nights again, talking at dinners with their families. 

“You know, you made a pinky promise to dance with me at prom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his hand, pulling him up, dragging him towards the group of people. Y/n took the crown and placed it back on his head, smiling, settling his hands on her waist before placing hers on his shoulders. “Why do you look so sad?” 

Steve motioned his head over to a couple. Y/n looked, “Ah.” It was Nancy and Jonathan, looking ever so in love. Although he had given up pining over her and letting her go from his thoughts, he still sometimes felt that pang of hurt whenever he saw moments like that. “Well, she can’t say she danced with the prom king, can she?” 

Steve managed to smile. “Is that why you wanted to dance with me?” 

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Yes, you caught me. Wanted to tell my kids someday that I danced with the prom king in high school.” The sarcasm was thick, but it still made him chuckle. Her face softened. “Also, like I said. You promised me.” 

“Do you remember every pinky promise we made?” He noticed that his hands had relaxed, mindlessly thumbing the fabric of her dress. He may have even slightly pulled her in closer. 

“Only the important ones.” She shrugged, clasping her hands around his neck. “A lot of the broken ones.” She mumbled, looking at their feet. 

“Can I make a new promise to you?” Steve asked her, bringing her chin up so she would look at him again. “My promise to you is if I ever lose you again, I will do anything to make sure to find you.” To her, the promise was at surface level than what he meant. Steve had gone through a lot the past couple of years, and although she knew about it, saw it first hand herself, she had no clue how terrified he was that he’d never get a chance to say how much he missed her all these years apart. How much he missed the silly pinky promises. How much he missed hearing her laugh. How much he missed crawling through her window and opening a cold Dr. Pepper that she set on her desk for him. 

He held up his pinky in front of her, smirking. 

She shook her head, her smile betraying her. She wrapped her pinky around his, neither of them forgetting to kiss their thumbs to secure the promise. Normally, they would drop their hands and go on about their business. However, their eyes stayed locked on one another, pinkies still clasped together, lips parted, a tingling sensation moved from his pinky through his hand up his arm to his chest, his heart beating fast. “Wanna get out of here?”

The clatter of bowling pins and cigarette smoke greeted Steve and Y/n when they walked into the bowling alley, still dressed in their prom attire. They replaced their dress shoes and high heels for uncomfortable smelly used bowling shoes. A large cherry slush was shared between them, slurping, sticking their tongues out occasionally like they did as kids, comparing whose tongue was redder. 

“How is it possible to get worse at bowling since middle school?” Y/n laughed, climbing triumphantly into his car after undeniably beating him. “Don’t say ‘cause the suit. I wore this dress and still kicked your ass.” 

Steve threw his white suit jacket in the back seat of his BMW, visibly pouting at the loss. “Whatever, next time I’ll prove to you that it is the suit.” He pointed his finger at her before pulling out of the parking lot.

“Oh, next time?” She tilted her head, giving him a ‘yeah right’ look. 

He nodded ferociously. “Yep. How about next Friday?” His brown eyes flickered towards her. 

She rested her elbow on the center console, setting her head in her hand. “Did you just ask me on a date, Harrington?” She moved the crown on his head from leaning over. 

“No.” He said, maybe a little too quickly. His brows creased, recollecting what he had just said, trying to figure out what words specifically made it sound like he was asking her on a date.  “Henderson will be there and probably the other dorks.” 

She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Really shouldn’t call them dorks.”

“I find it offensive you would think me, Steve Harrington, would take a girl bowling on the first date.” He looked at her with a lopsided grin. 

“I don’t think you take girls bowling on the first date,” She replied. “I think you take them to your bedroom.”  

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, Big Bird. That hurt a little.”

He saw the way she looked down, fidgeting her fingers, a bashful look on her face. “Shut up.” 

“What? I think you make a cute Big Bird.” He poked her cheek. 

She opened her mouth to say something. However, loud sirens and lights rolled into earshot and eyesight, quickly passing Steve’s car. Y/n grabbed his hand, panicked breathing coming out of her as the emergency cars were still moving in the direction she prayed they wouldn’t. It felt like slow motion, stopping in the street in front of her house because the driveway was crowded with vehicles, blinding lights flashed as they ran inside. 

Steve watched as Y/n’s mother engulfed her daughter in a hug, rubbing her back, telling her how much she loved her.

They waited twenty minutes in the living room for the paramedics to come downstairs, assuring the family everything was okay. 

Y/n had been sitting on the couch with Steve, holding his hand the entire time. It was because she was scared, he told himself. 

She asked him to come up with her to see Aaron. Knowing she didn’t want to be alone, he agreed. 

Aaron’s room had changed too since they were kids. It still looked like a teenager’s bedroom, decorated in posters and pictures, but in the corner there was a hospital bed with beeping monitors. He remembered the day Y/n was upset that he had to be put on bed rest, because he no longer wanted to do treatments. Although she claimed she came to terms with her brother’s numbered days, Steve could tell by the way she picked her fingernails, or jumped whenever she was called to the office, she really hadn’t. 

Aaron weakly smiled when they entered. “Look, I’m E.T. now.” He held his finger up that was covered with a heartbeat monitor, moving it creepily towards his sister. “E.T. phone home.” His horrible impression made the three of them laugh. Y/n sat at edge, grabbing his hand. “Harrington, you’re prom king.” 

Steve touched the cheap crown on his head that he had forgotten about. No wonder they were giving him odd looks downstairs. “Yeah.” 

“Y/n was pissed you didn’t ask her to prom. Ow!” Aaron took his hand away, rubbing it after she had squeezed him ‘accidentally’ too hard. 

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, giving her a smug look. “Was she?” 

“Oh yeah. Now that I’m quite literally on my deathbed. I have so many secrets about Y/n I can share. Once I found her diary. Every page was always Steve this and Steve that. ‘Dear diary, I cannot stop thinking about that kiss-” Y/n’s hand found its way over his mouth. 

“If you don’t shut up now, I’m going to start unplugging shit.” She took her hand off of him, placing it back in her lap, avoiding the look that Steve was giving her. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Always wanted to be prom king. The ladies were obsessed with me in middle school.” 

Aaron grinned, fidgeting with a loose thread on the bed sheet. “Because they thought you were dying.”

“I am.” 

Steve had always wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling. He once asked his mom why they never had any other kids. His father had interjected the conversation. “If we weren’t so worried about how you turn out, maybe we'd have time to have another kid.” He guessed that’s why he had taken such a liking to Henderson. A kid he once never thought twice about and now if someone even looked at him funny, he’d kick their ass. 

Steve looked down, a smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, bending down to pick up the familiar wooden object. Memories of laughing, falling in the mud, swinging too high on the tire swing, flooded his mind. He looked over at two of them, still bantering. “Hey, how about some fresh air?” 

The spring air was cool, a light fog casted down the street of Dearborn, the lawn was damp and muggy from the rain yesterday, Y/n’s mom’s lilies had just bloomed. Steve held the wooden sword firmly in his hands. Aaron sat in a wheelchair, covered in a blanket and a knitted toboggan on his head. He was opposite of Steve, holding Y/n’s sword, while she held the handles of the wheelchair to push him since he was too weak to do it himself. 

It took their mom a lot of convincing to allow Aaron to come outside, but even she couldn’t stop smiling ear to ear when Steve carried the boy down the stairs and outside. He even caught a nod of approval from her dad.  

“Aye, we meet again to fight one last time for the jeweled crown. If yer want it, you have to kill me first.” Steve spun the crown on his pointer finger. 

“Pirate Steve-”

“It’s now Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington, matey.” 

Y/n snorted, but didn’t say anything. 

“Pirate ‘the Hair’ Harrington. That crown will be mine!” He motioned for Y/n to start pushing, holding the sword out, charging towards the dark locked boy. 

It was like a messy dance as Steve ran in circles while Y/n and Aaron chased him. Occasionally the wooden swords would clatter against one another, Steve careful not to hit too hard. His shoes and the bottom of his trousers had mud and dirt splattered on the slick black. He would get an earful when he got home, but he didn’t care. 

Finally, Steve put himself in the position for Aaron to hit his waist, signaling he had been defeated. Y/n had been giggling the entire time, and it only got louder as Steve dramatically coughed. He took the crown off his head, placing it on Aaron’s over the toboggan. “You won it fair and square.” 

Aaron’s expression changed, quickly shaking his head. “Steve, I’m not taking your crown.” 

Steve smiled tenderly, “You didn’t take it. I’m giving it to you.” His eyes flickered to Y/n. Her head was tilted slightly and a toothy grin was painted on her face. 

He couldn’t help it, his feet started going towards her. When she saw the mischievous look in his eyes, she held a hand up, grabbing the bottom of her yellow dress, running away from him. She squealed when he easily caught up with her, grabbing her waist, her feet twisting underneath forcing her to the ground, pulling him down with her. He could feel her belly rumble against his own, laughing, smile beaming in the soft glow of moonlight. She had a spec of mud on her face, Steve brushed it off with his knuckles, chuckling because he had made it worse. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was cute?” She asked him in a low whisper so that Aaron couldn’t hear. 

He felt his own voice go down. “Of course I did.” 

She hummed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Promise?” 

A breath of air hitched in his throat. His jaw slacked and eyes widened. She gave him an innocent smile, eyelashes fluttering when she blinked. 

Their noses bumped when he leaned down, connecting their lips. His stomach felt like it was doing flips as he drowned himself in her. He could taste the cherry slush that still lingered on her lips. He could feel the longing desire as her fingers touched the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper. 

This was his promise. 

“Guys? It’s awfully quiet back there. Did you kill one another?” Aaron asked, trying to look behind him. 

The two broke apart, sharing a giggle and a secret that only the two of them would know. 

–

Steve had never had a girl cry in front of him. He could always tell if they were about to or if they were sad, but never did they cry. He had always thought maybe they were too embarrassed, not wanting him to see their red puffy eyes or snot running nose. He had shrugged it off until he dated Nancy. 

He realized that none of them were flustered. They never trusted him enough to see that side of them. None of them felt safe enough. 

So when he laid in Y/n’s bed, holding her shaking body, her tears staining his polo, he was unsure what to do. 

It had been a week since her brother’s funeral.  Since then, he had seen a few tears fall when she thought no one was looking, but would always wipe them off and smile if he said something. 

It wasn’t until he had snuck in her window— her parents now disapproved of this since they assumed more might be happening between them, rightfully so. 

They were laying in her bed, his hand on her stomach, she was playing with his fingers. Until all of a sudden, she burst into tears. 

At first, he thought he might have said or done something wrong. All he knew what to do was pull her even closer, allowing her face into his chest, assuring her it was okay whenever she cried out an apology. There was no reason to apologize, he told her. She was allowed to be sad. She was allowed to cry. He would be there for her, always, even if he didn’t completely understand how she felt, even if she didn’t want him to be. 

The room fell silent besides her quiet sniffling. 

She turned over, making Steve believe she was ready to be alone. He slipped out of the bed, walking over to the window to put on his shoes. Y/n turned her body, watching him with creased brows. “Where are you going?” 

Steve looked up. “Thought maybe you wanted to be alone.” 

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Please stay.” 

Steve took his shoes back off, closed the window, and crawled back on the bed next to her, flushing his chest to her back and holding her tightly, never wanting to let go. 

—

Y/n had always hated peaches. Even the smell of them made her gag. Whenever the school served them and a tiny drop of peach juice touched her food, she wouldn’t eat it. Finally, her mom started packing her daughter’s lunches to prevent any further peach contamination.

So when the boy came up to the counter at Scoops Ahoy, smirking, asking about the pretty girl in the booth reading a book and what Steve thought her favorite ice cream flavor was. Steve couldn’t help but smile wide once he handed the guy a double scoop of Peaches and Cream flavored ice cream.

When the ice cream was offered to her, she smiled and gave a thank you. 

After he left, Y/n narrowed her eyes on Steve. She stood up and walked up to the counter. “Why did you do that?” 

Steve acted clueless. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

She scoffed, holding the ice cream cone that was already melting and running down her fingers. “There’s other ways to make it known you’re jealous than making me come in contact with my mortal enemy.” 

His face pinched up. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Oh, so you won’t care if I call him?” She showed a piece of paper that Steve didn’t see earlier when he was watching them. 

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Let’s not go that far. I mean, did you see that unibrow?” He pointed to the space between his brows, grimacing. He then leaned on the counter with his elbows.

“Well, at least he’s man enough to ask me out on a date.” Her voice had raised, earning looks from some of the customers sitting down. 

Robin, his co-worker who had made a silent oath to make any second working with him miserable, pretended to come outside and check the toppings. 

This was ridiculous, he thought. He didn’t realize it was a big deal to play a harmless prank. Besides, Y/n was way out of his league. No, he was not jealous because there was nothing to be jealous of. If she was implying that he hadn’t asked her out because he was a wimp, she was wrong. Completely wrong. 

What was the point of starting something with her if in a couple of months she’d be across the country in California? He’s seen the posters of those surfers in her bedroom. That’s all he could imagine, her pathetically splashing around in a yellow bikini and a tanned, long hair blond saving her, complimenting how beautiful she looked and that yellow was definitely her color. He would stare at all her supple curves and her boobs and her sweet ass— Jesus what was he even thinking? 

She was his friend. 

A friend he’s kissed. 

A friend that he had only gotten back recently, and he was too selfish to let her go. 

Y/n wasn’t pleased with his lack of words. She pursed her lips, took the ice cream cone, smeared it on his dark mop of hair, and then pivoted on her heels to storm out of the ice cream shop. 

Steve poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, nodding to himself. He probably deserved it. 

He turned to look at Robin, seeing her smile for the first time since he started working there. “Dude, you kind of suck.” 

He muttered something about her getting off at his misery as he scooped the broken cone and melted ice cream off his head, trying not to think about how it screwed up his hair routine for the week. 

“So, why isn’t she your girlfriend? She comes and sits in here nearly every day.” Robin never took interest in his personal affairs, so why now? 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Buckley, but it’s complicated.” He used a rag to clean the counter off. 

She hummed, going back into the breakroom, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts and a group of familiar looking teenagers. 

Steve couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning, uncomfortable because his hair was still damp from the shower he took. “Screw it.” 

When he got to Y/n’s house, he didn’t even care that her bedroom lights were off and the window was closed. He still climbed the lattice panel, knocking loudly on the glass. He was relieved when he saw a dim glow appear through the curtains which snapped open. Y/n’s face had no expression whatsoever, her eyes were half-closed and pajamas were rustled against her body. Nevertheless, she unlocked the window and opened it. “It’s two in the morning.” 

She still let him crawl through, shutting it when he stepped further into the room. “I couldn’t sleep.” 

“So you came over to wake me up instead? Did the ice cream freeze your brain cells?” She poked his forehead, giggling a little at her joke. 

“No. I came over to talk to you.” His serious tone made her wake up completely. He took a deep breath, already overwhelmed. “You’re my best friend, Y/n.” 

“Sure it isn’t Dustin?” She joked, sitting down at the edge of her bed. 

Steve rubbed his hand over his face. Why was she being so difficult? “Can you just let me talk?” 

Her jaw slacked, surprised at the mini outburst. “Losing you as my best friend was one of the worst things that happened to me. I became a douchebag and didn’t care about anything or anyone. Now, I’m scared that you’re going to leave for California and you’ll realize I’m just a nobody still stuck in this shit hole because I realized too late high school doesn’t matter.” 

Y/n eyes softened. “This is all about me going to UCLA?” She asked, disbelief laced in her words. He only shrugged, avoiding her sympathetic look. “Steve.” 

He still wouldn’t look at her. She sighed and stood up to walk over to him. “Steve.” She said again, softly, placing her hand tenderly on his face. His hooded eyes found hers, warm and sweet. “I made the decision to go to Indiana State.” 

“What? Why?” 

“To be closer to my parents. I don’t want to be across the country worrying about them all the time.” She paused looking down bashfully then back up at him, thumbing the collar of his sleep shirt, batting her eyes. “I also wanted to be closer to the boy I like.” 

Steve felt his heart beat fast. “Indiana State is about an hour and a half drive from here.” 

She began to pepper kisses against his jaw. “I could come down on weekends or somebody could come see me.” 

Steve felt selfish that he was more than happy with her decision to stay in Indiana. He should be jumping up and down, celebrating, but something was gnawing on his mind, like a tiny ant he couldn’t get rid of. 

—

Never did Steve think he’d be in a bathroom, coming down from the biggest drugged high of his life, with his co-worker Robin. Granted, they had just escaped Russians who had beaten his face so badly his eye was nearly swollen shut, but never did he think he’d be sharing the most vulnerable parts to someone that he barely knew. 

Yet, there he sat, back against the cold tiles of the freshly cleaned restroom, the scent of cleaning chemicals burning his nostrils. 

“Are you in love with Y/n?” Robin’s raspy voice was soft, but the question felt like it had echoed against the stalls, ringing in his ears. 

His chest tightened and he swallowed hard. “I dunno. I’ve never thought about it.” 

“Why are boys such idiots?” Robin said, mostly to herself. “She’s your girlfriend, dude.”

“Yeah, and we’ve only been dating less than a month.” 

She let out a long exasperated sigh. “You’ve known her longer than a month.”

Steve looked at the multicolor tiles below him as his hand cradled the toilet which was defaced in his vomit and blood. Steve might have lied. He had thought about Y/n beyond just liking her. 

He slid under the bathroom stall. “I’m scared.” He admitted. “I’m scared that I’ll tell her and she’ll look at me the same way Nancy did. With that blank look because she never felt that way and never will.” 

“Y/n isn’t Nancy.” Steve had to agree with her. Maybe that’s why he dived so fast into the relationship with Nancy. She was the opposite of Y/n. She didn’t remind him every single day that he was lost without his best friend. 

“You just wouldn’t understand.” Steve ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. 

She let out a breathy laugh. “You really don’t know a thing about me, Steve.” 

He glanced at her, noticing the way she was chewing on her lip and how she was slightly pulling her hair, staring at the toilet paper holder next to him. He was still astonished that this day had brought them closer. A girl he would have never hung out with in high school. Maybe because he was afraid Tommy would have made fun of him or maybe it would’ve hurt his chances to be prom king. 

He knew it was all bullshit. 

He was different now, and Robin must have seen it too, because she told him a secret that she had never told anyone, letting him know she did understand. He couldn’t tell her how his high school self would react to the news of her being a lesbian, but it didn’t matter because that person didn’t exist anymore. 

So, four weeks later, when Steve still had a fading bruise under his eye, and a healing cut under his lip that would surely leave a scar, he still couldn’t get that ant from gnawing his brain. 

Not even when his lips were meshed with Y/n’s. His back against her headboard as she straddled his lap, fingers tangled in his hair.

 It was a heated kiss, heavy breathing, tongues sliding against each other. Y/n took his lip between her teeth, forcing a guttural moan out of him, his hands slid down her back to her ass, gently squeezing, smiling when he felt the sliver of flesh peeking through her shorts. 

Y/n’s hands wandered from his hair to his neck and then down his chest, her fingers hooked his belt loops, pulling his waist up against her.

She tasted sweet like the vanilla cookies his mom used to make for him. She still smelled like honeysuckle along with a hint of his cologne. It was like he was walking in an apple orchard. He didn’t believe in a God, but Jesus, she felt like an angel. 

He scattered kisses along her neck, finding her sensitive spot that made her let out an angelic sound which drove him crazy. 

He felt her slowly mess with his belt, unbuckling it. However, when her thumb unbuttoned his jeans, Steve quickly pulled her hands away, leaning back, chest heaving. 

“Steve.” She whined. 

He cursed the ant ruining his life. All he wanted to do was explore every inch of her. This wasn’t the first time they’ve been close, and this wasn’t the first time Steve, regrettably, stopped anything from going further. She sighed, wiping the wetness on her lips, crawling off him and the bed. He closed his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t. It’s fine.” She started to mess with her stereo. 

“I’m sorry.” He continued, putting his belt back on and then throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Am I not attractive?” She asked him, spinning around, her nose flared. “Do you not find me desirable?” 

Steve shook his head. “Christ, Y/n. You have no idea how bad I want you.” He wasn’t going to say out loud he’s wanted her for a pathetically long time. 

“Then what’s wrong? I’m… dumbfounded that Steve Harrington is saying no to sex.” One hand was up in the air. Maybe she thought it would help her figure out what his deal was. 

There was a moment of silence except for the radio crackling. 

Steve had had enough of the ant. 

“You should go to California.”

Y/n’s expression changed, trying to process what he had just said. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because I’d be a fool if I didn’t.” He got up from the bed and walked over to her. 

She shook her head, pushing past him. “I already made up my mind. I’m staying.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ve told you! I want to be closer to home. I want to be closer to you.” She proclaimed. 

“Because you want to or you think you have to?” He didn’t want to raise his voice, but it was hard not to. She muttered something about him being unbelievable, plopping down on the window seal.

The sunset was bleeding through her curtains, illuminating all of her features. “I know you’ll be content with going to Indiana State but you won’t be happy. You don’t talk about it like you did UCLA.” 

She ducked her head but he could see the tears spilling from her eyes. He took long strides over to her, squatting down, looking up at her, cradling her face. “I can’t just leave my parents, not after Aaron.” 

“They’ll be okay, Y/n. I’ll come over every week and have dinner with them to make sure they’re okay.” His offer was serious. He’d move in if he had to. 

“But what about you, Steve? I don’t want to leave you.” She sobbed. “I love you.” 

Steve felt a lump in his throat. His stomach flipped and heart nearly jumped out of his chest. Tears ran down his cheek. He used to think he would have to beg someone to say those words to him. Beg them to love him. But there Y/n sat, his best friend, who loved him unconditionally. This made letting go of her even harder. “I love you, Y/n. I’ve loved you an excruciatingly long time. I’ve been in love with you since you wore that yellow Big Bird dress with the puffy sleeves. I’ve been in love with you since I kissed you in the closet. And I love you too damn much to not let you go to California.” 

She laughed and sniffled her nose. “You’re so cheesy.” 

He choked on his own laughter, pushing down another lump forming in his throat. She gave him a sad look, nodding slightly. “Okay, I’ll go.” She ran her fingers through his hair, already missing him. “What will you do while I’m gone?” 

He smiled, running his thumb over her lips. “I’ll be here, waiting for you.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, putting her pinky up. 

“Promise.” He took it and kissed his thumb exactly like they’ve done before since they were ten-years old. 

He then tenderly placed his lips on hers, standing up,  bringing her up with him by grabbing the back of her thighs, allowing her to wrap her legs around him. Steve carried Y/n back to her bed, laying her softly down. 

He made so many promises to her with each kiss and touch. He promised he would call her and write to her. He promised to never forget her favorite song or color. He promised he would never forget the way the color yellow complimented her skin. He promised he would never forget how much she hates peaches. He promised he would never forget the way she made sweet noises or how she moaned his name when she hit her high. 

Most importantly, he promised he would never stop checking if her window was cracked open.

[passivenovember]

As soon as work calms down y’all will have to chase me away with a broom.

Until then, here’s a snippet of the next chapter of If Snow Loves the Trees and Fields.

—

The guy who opens the door is taller than anyone that skinny should be, and Billy has to jack his head back to see that, like, way up into the stratosphere and past the cartoon birds and the cotton candy marjuana clouds, the guy is scowling.

Billy steels his jaw. Dips his voice in honey and sugar cubes before asking, “Is Steve home?”

And.

The guy’s scowl only deepens. His red-rimmed eyes scan the full length of Billy’s body, clocking the dorky starched press of the shirt Steve picked out for him, and the polished dress shoes his mom sent from the JCPenny back home, and, finally–the casserole dish that’s gone foggy with sweat.

“Is that a casserole?” The guy asks.

Billy looks at the milky saran-wrap topper.

“Did you make it yourself?”

“Uh–”

“Is it a family recipe?”

“Yeah,” Billy says, a little defensive. “It’s my mom’s.”

The guy narrows his eyes. They’re so red, like white-hot lightbulbs left out in the sun, and Billy wonders how they don’t burn. Itch. The guy clicks his tongue, eyebrows pulled together like he’s gotta ramp up to make sense of it all. A lawnmower refusing to start.

“Thought your mom lived in California, or something,” He says.

Billy shifts in his ugly dress shoes. Tries to swallow the heavy, whole realization that this scarecrow knows who Billy is. Realizes to whom he’s delivering the third degree.

“Yeah, she. She keeps all of ‘em folded in this little wooden box back home,” Billy hears himself say. “Whenever I need one–”

“What, does she mail it to you?”

“No, there’s. The internet, you know? Facetime. Email, if I need specifics.”

Somewhere, past the lanky guy and the warm, amber glow of the foyer, Steve laughs.

And Billy doesn’t want to get dramatic about the whole thing, but the summerwarmed church bell timber of that man. That laugh. Sends relief plummeting down his spine. Rolling like waves of spring showers into the gutter.

Billy strains, trying to see around the asshole who won’t let him into the house, but the guy gets in front of him, a little. Unintentionally. Leans against the door jam, arms folded casually across his bird-cage chest. “What kinda casserole is it?”

Billy frowns. “Tater-tot.”

“Tater-tot?” The Scarecrow repeats, his nose scrunching with annoyance.

Billy freezes in place. Steels his jaw again, ready for a fight.

“Is that cool with you, or–” He demands, not really caring either way, but of course, the guy grunts, like it’s obvious what the answer is. Billy taps his foot, “Steve didn’t mention any dietary restrictions. Can you eat it?”

“Yeah, I could. Don’t really want to, though,” The guy says.

Billy falters, suddenly noting the splinters in his self-esteem. He stares at the casserole dish, face warm. “I like tater-tot casserole. It’s a universally known fact, I thought. Midwestern folk like tater-tot casserole, y’know?”

“Yeah?” Scarecrow says, pushing off the jam. “Well not this Midwestern folk.”

The casserole dish groans in Billy’s vice grip, and it feels like he’s swallowed an iron. This evening, so far, has been a fucking shit show. Billy hates this. Hates the Scarecrow. Hates himself.

It was so stupid to believe, even for a second, that he could make a good impression. That he could meld with Steve’s friends.

This was a terrible idea, this was so dumb—

“California?”

Billy jerks toward the sound of Robin’s voice, nearly collapsing in relief when she floats into view wearing a party hat and heart-shaped sunglasses, looking every bit like a lighthouse in the storm.

Robin falters. Must see something on his face because she sighs and turns on Scarecrow, says, “Beat it, Michael.” With all the venom of someone who’s performing an exorcism. A holy force that’s had to do it before and knew it would need done again.

The Scarecrow, Michael, jabs a thumb over his shoulder at Billy. All, “Can you believe this guy?”

Billy wants to go home.

Robin takes her sunglasses off, clearly annoyed, “No, I didn’t at first. But he grows on you,” Robin leans around Michael, looking Billy up and down. “He’s kind of a miracle, don’t you think?”

“I–”

“Don’t worry, Mike, by the end of the evening you’ll be a believer.” Robin puts her sunglasses on. “Now hit the road, squirt. They’re loading another bowl in there.”

Mike turns to Billy. “Nice meeting you,” He says, like. “Duty calls.”

And then he’s gone.

[helaintoloki]

Everybody Loves Somebody

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: slight language, themes of insecurity, angst, pining, slow burn (kinda?), eventual fluff, over 5k words in length

notes: it’s finally finished! this took forever but I swear I put my entire soul into making this as perfect as it could be. I’ve never used this format before in my writing and it was challenging but also super fun so hopefully you guys like it :) (also yes the title and the fic somewhat is inspired by the Dean Martin song)

summary: Thrown into a blind date against his will, Bucky does his best to prepare in the days leading up to Saturday night, a feat that proves to be much more difficult than expected thanks to his neighbor across the hall.

Sunday

Three quick raps on the apartment door force Bucky to kick back the covers and sluggishly rise from his spot on the floor. He’s exhausted, but his recognition of the evenly spaced knocks on the wooden frame has him feeling compelled to answer, and so he does. Too tired to notice the television is still droning on in the background, Bucky idly wraps his discarded blanket around his form to shield his vibranium arm before opening the door to greet the old man standing on the other side.

“Rough night, huh?” Yori greets with a knowing smile.

“Something like that,” he replies with a tired, lopsided grin. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I set you up on a date,” the man says casually, as if setting Bucky up on dates without his knowledge and against his will is a common every day occurrence, and it is. “Saturday evening at six.”

“What— A date? Yori—“

“She’s a nice girl, very pretty. I think you’ll like her.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Bucky tries to interject, but Yori is already halfway down the hall before the super soldier can get another word in.

“You’re meeting her at the Italian place down the street!” Yori calls behind him. “She likes sunflowers!”

The old man’s shouts are sure to have woken up the entire fourth floor by now, but Bucky is too busy trying to process the jumble of information that has been thrust upon him so suddenly and so early in the morning to care. The last date Yori had sent him on had ended in disaster; Bucky wasn’t ready to get back out on the field, a stable relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. Surely no one in their right mind would stick around once they found out the truth about the man, and if they did it would only be a matter of time before the constant nightmares and extra baggage that came with dating the ex-Hydra assassin sent them running for the hills. But Yori meant well, Bucky knew that, and he also knew he owed the man more than he could ever give him in return, so if sitting through another painfully uncomfortable date would make him happy, then Bucky would just have to suck it up, put on the nicest shirt he owned, and charm his way through another awkward dinner.

“Sunflowers,” he grumbles to himself, quietly shutting the door before returning to his spot on the cold hardwood floor.

Monday

Monday mornings are gym mornings, early workouts that start at five and end at seven. He promptly returns to the apartment building at seven thirty, eight if he stops for breakfast, then goes to check the mail before heading back to the comfort of his sheltered apartment. He doesn’t receive much other than grocery coupons and an odd letter from the government every now and then, but he’s been told that a routine is good, it’s healthy, so on Monday mornings at seven thirty—or eight— Bucky pulls out his keys and opens his assigned metal box with a sense of indifference.

It’s eight o’clock on this particular morning, and with a half finished cup of coffee in hand the soldier opens the little metal compartment to find nothing other than stray specks of dust and the tiniest of spiderwebs in the top right corner of the box. It’s a familiar sight, but Bucky has learned not to let it bother him by now. Remember James, it has nothing to do with you, his therapist always said. You have to learn not to take things personally.

“It has nothing to do with me,” Bucky murmurs quietly before finally shutting his mailbox with a sigh. Coffee cup discarded in the nearby trash can, Bucky turns to make his trek towards the elevator only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of a beautifully familiar face.

Your name is y/n, you live on the fourth floor, and for someone reason you’re always covered in glitter. You’re on your way out the door, art supplies held clumsily in your grasp just begging to jump free from your hold, and despite the rush you seem to be in you still greet the man with a polite smile.

“Good morning,” you chime, honey coated voice filled with warmth and kindness for the stranger. Bucky simply gives you a halfhearted smile in return, watching you walk out the door and wishing he could just muster up the courage to speak to you.

You won the soldier’s heart the day you knocked on his door to drop off a “welcome to the neighborhood” casserole. It had only been his second day in his new apartment, and while he knew some of the other tenants were weary of the mysterious man with the thousand yard stare who had decided to call the building a home, you never once seemed to bat an eye at Bucky or his closed off nature. He had been a little short with you upon your first meeting, his anxiety coming off as annoyance, but still you wore that same kind smile of yours and assured him that if he ever needed anything you’d be happy to help. You were a kind person with a big heart, and Bucky didn’t want to chance snuffing out one of the few lights left in the world, so he let you be. Admiring you from afar was all he let himself have of you, and that was it.

Though, Bucky would be lying if he said you didn’t come across his mind every once in a while. He wondered what you were like, what music you listened to, how you liked your eggs in the morning, if you were an old soul or young at heart, if you’d ever let yourself fall into in the arms of a broken man and help pick up the pieces. It was a pipe dream, but sometimes a friendly smile from you in the morning was enough to get Bucky through an entire day. He hadn’t been with anyone in years, and while he didn’t think he was ready to get back out on the dating scene just yet he knew that if you asked him to he’d take the plunge in a heartbeat. You were an angel, and Bucky would never be able to bring himself to taint you with his touch.

Monday mornings are workout mornings, but they’re also mornings with you.

Tuesday

On Tuesday afternoons Bucky often finds himself in the company of Yori, ensuring the old man stays out of trouble and going out of his way to make sure his newest friend has a nice day out on the town. It isn’t much, and it never will be, but it’s enough for now, at least until Bucky can find the courage to tell the father just what exactly happened to his son on that fateful night. But until then, sushi for lunch will have to do.

He makes his usual trek to the man’s apartment, stomach already beginning to rumble at the prospect of a nice crunch roll, but Bucky’s hunger is soon replaced with nerves at the sight of the woman standing in Yori’s doorway.

You look pretty today, hair haphazardly styled in your rush out the door this morning, colorful stains of dry paint adoring your hands that clutch a bundle of books close to your chest, and a dangly pair of earrings that glint underneath the sunlight pouring through the hallway windows. There’s a smile on your face as you nod along to something Yori says that doesn’t quite register in the soldier’s jumbled thoughts, and the two of you are both too engrossed to notice his lingering presence standing just a few feet away.

“Thank you so much for lending me these. The kids keep me on my toes and I haven’t had any time to settle down with a good book so these were perfect,” you utter gratefully, handing off the pile of poetry books to Yori’s awaiting hands. Names of authors that Bucky doesn’t recognize catch his eye, just as his friend finally catches his presence.

“Of course. I have more if you’re ever interested,” he says before finally addressing the elephant in the hallway. “James, there you are. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

Bucky stiffens at the sound of his name, heat immediately crawling up his neck as you turn to him with a friendly smile. Clearing his throat, he steps forward and musters up a meager grin in return.

“Like I’d ever miss Tuesday lunch,” he jokes, a nervous chuckle falling past his lips.

“I guess I better get going. Thank you again, Yori,” you chime with a grateful smile. Then, with your attention turned to Bucky, “Have a nice lunch, James.”

“Thank you...” he trails quietly, mentally kicking himself for his stiff demeanor and wishing he could be less pathetic in your presence just once. Just once and he’d die a happy man.

You leave with a polite smile, turning down the hallway and out of Bucky’s grasp once again. Yori elbows his side.

“She’s single, you know.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Bucky replies with a wry chuckle. “You have me set up with one girl already.”

“Right,” Yori notes thoughtfully with a knowing smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite decipher. “I think you’re going to have a nice time on your date.”

“We’ll see,” is all he says in reply, your smile the only thing on his mind as the two men head out for the day.

Wednesday

Bucky has grown to love rainy days, days in which he can remain tucked away in the warmth and comfort of his own home with a relaxing mug of hot chocolate in one hand and some piece of pop culture media he has yet to catch up with in the other. Today’s pick is a book titled The Outsiders, and Bucky chooses to sit upon the windowsill to read the novel.

Gentle drops of rain trail down the glass window, pattering soothingly in a way that makes Bucky fear he may fall asleep. He sets the book aside with a tired sigh and glances out the window with his warm cheek pressed against the cool surface; the city is quiet and the streets nearly empty, and this makes it easier to spot you.

It’s almost as if you’ve been popping up out of nowhere lately, but Bucky never seems to mind. Watch from afar, that was the deal he made with himself, so who was he to complain if you made the task easier for him? He could never have you the way he wanted to because he doubted you’d ever want an unstable old man like him, and even if you did he’d be no good for you. He knew girls like you back in his day, girls with stars in their eyes and hearts on their sleeves, girls who’d melt in his arms whenever he so much as smiled at them. And yet you weren’t like any girl he’d ever seen; you were an enigma and he wanted nothing more than to spend all of eternity deciphering the mystery of you. But he couldn’t, because he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

Despite the gloomy gray skies hanging above you there’s a serene smile on your face as you stop to admire the pots of sunflowers outside the building, reminding Bucky he has to buy some for his date on Saturday. God, he was dreading it. Bucky was sure whatever girl Yori picked for him would be nice enough, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes wish it were you he’d be taking out for a night on the town. A guy can dream, right?

You retreat into a nearby coffee shop when the rain begins to fall harder, and as Bucky turns to his own warm drink he finds that the mug is now cold. Book discarded, he rises from his spot on the windowsill and drowsily drags himself into the kitchen for another cup.

For a moment he thinks sunflowers might surely bring about his demise, and the passing thought brings the smallest of smiles to his face. Only time will tell.

Thursday

“How are you feeling about your date on Saturday?”

The woman stares at him expectantly, pristine notepad resting casually in her lap, pen in hand as a warning, eyebrows raised at the man as he stares down contemplatively at the stitching of his leather gloves. What should be a comforting environment instead only seems to put him on edge, and as the seconds tick by on the clock hung crookedly above the doorway her pen only seems to get closer to the blank page below her. Shoulders sagging, Bucky can only offer a small sigh in response.

“I can’t say I feel too great about it,” he finally says, the tension in his shoulders alleviating slightly as she finally puts the pen down.

“And why’s that?” Doctor Raynor prods curiously.

“I just don’t really think I’m all that ready for a relationship. What person wants to be with someone as screwed up as me?”

“The right person will,” Christina comforts. Your smiling face flashes briefly in his mind in response and he shifts in discomfort— the doctor notices. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the full story here, James. I suspect there’s something else that’s holding you back. Or maybe someone.”

“That obvious, huh?” Bucky retorts with a wry smile.

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Her name’s y/n,” he says, your name falling past his lips in the softest tone Dr. Raynor has ever heard from him before. “I don’t know her all that well, but she lives in my apartment building so I see her around a lot. She’s... she’s really pretty.”

“Well, what is it about y/n that you like?”

Geez, where do I even begin?

“I don’t know,” Bucky shrugs, picking absently at a loose seam on the end of his shirt, “I guess I like how friendly she is. Every time I see her she’s always smiling, she always says good morning to everyone and lends a hand wherever she can. It’s like she goes out of her way to be nice to me, and I’m not really used to that but it’s a nice feeling. The first time I met her she never even flinched, she wasn’t scared like other people usually are, and even when I blew her off she still made it clear that I was welcome and if I needed a friend she’d be there. That’s the kind of person she is.”

“Did you take her up on that offer?” The woman asks, but by the look on her face Bucky is sure she already knows the answer.

“No...”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” Christina says firmly, “you have to stop closing yourself off from the people around you. Making a friend could really help you, especially if this girl is truly as nice as you say she is.”

“She is,” he reiterates firmly, “and that’s why I can’t be her friend.”

The doctor’s brows furrow with piqued interest at his admission, legs shifting underneath her as she gets comfortable in preparation for what will most likely be a heavy confession. “Can you elaborate for me?” She says. Bucky sighs.

“After everything that’s happened, and everything the world has been through, it just gets harder and harder to find some sort of light in the dark. So when you finally do find it, it’s like you have to do everything in your power to make sure it never goes out.”

“So y/n is a light?” Raynor reaffirms.

“For so many people,” Bucky nods, “and if I try to put myself in the picture I’ll only bring her down. There’s no future with me, and she deserves better than that.”

“How do you know that if you never put yourself out there?” The doctor asks softly, silently stunned by the heavy confession Bucky has entrusted her with; it’s the most he’s ever opened up before.

Pieces of the past dart through his mind, and in the midst of all the heartache and the chaos he sees Yori, the one friendship he’s been able to successfully maintain since his period of healing. The memory of the man is pleasant for a moment, until Bucky is reminded of the basis of their friendship and how one single confession will tear down everything they’ve built together. It doesn’t matter what kind of man he is now or how much control he has over his own life, the Winter Soldier will always have the final say, and nothing will ever change that. Finally, he speaks.

“I just do.”

Friday

“Crap.”

The softly uttered curse sounds from across the hallway and alerts Bucky of his struggling neighbor’s presence. Purse slipping off your shoulder and heavy groceries spilling from your arms, you struggle to maneuver your key into the lock of your front door all while the heat of embarrassment engulfs your body in a suffocating hold. You’re not as put together as you usually are, your belongings in disarray and eyes full of exhaustion rivaling that of his own, your usually meticulously picked clothing replaced by joggers and an old college sweatshirt that’s three sizes too big on you, and yet Bucky still finds himself frozen in your presence.

Don’t just stand there, help her you idiot, his mind screams at him, the soldier harshly swallowing down his nerves before taking shaky steps towards you. An orange slips out of the brown paper bag and rolls towards his feet, and Bucky takes it as his in into a conversation.

“Need some help?” He asks with a crooked smile, one that softens at the look of distress clear in your eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe out before offering a meager smile of your own. “Some help would be great, thank you.”

Bucky takes the heavier bags of groceries from your aching arms and returns the orange to its rightful place, allowing you the chance to take your keys and unlock the door. You don’t spare him another glance as you walk in, leaving it open as a silent invitation for him to let himself in. Bucky swallows nervously but wordlessly follows behind; he’s never been in a woman’s apartment before, and the fact that it’s yours makes the experience all the more nerve wracking.

Your apartment is small but personalized, decorated with little knickknacks and houseplants and old family portraits that Bucky does his best not to stare at in fear of being rude, and the vanilla scented candle that burns on the coffee table makes him feel all the more welcome. You drop your purse by the couch with a tired sigh before directing your attention to the man who stands awkwardly in your living room. His hulking figure makes your apartment seem tiny, oddly comforting in a way, but you hold back your giggles and merely guide him to your kitchen.

“You can set them on the counter,” you say with a passive wave before reaching into one of the cabinets for a glass cup. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” the man says politely as he settles the heavy bags down on the marble surface; as much as he’d like to sit and spend the evening with you, he can’t stay long, or more like he won’t allow himself to stay long. Your movements are clumsy as you down your glass of water, and Bucky looks away flustered as little droplets begin to escape the corners of your lips and dribble down your neck. “I hope I’m not overstepping by asking this, but are you alright? You seem a bit... flustered.”

“Is it that obvious?” You joke quietly, your smile barely reaching your eyes as you fidget with the sleeves of your sweater.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky begins to say in fear of overstepping, but you merely shake your head in response.

“I’m just a little stressed out. The kids always keep me on my toes, especially now that there’s more of them, and it’s been hard trying to get some of them to readjust.”

“Kids?” He repeats with furrowed brows. He can’t recall ever seeing you with any children, and there’s no sign of any living with you in your apartment. A genuine laugh leaves your lips this time at his response and Bucky tenses uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong?

“I’m a kindergarten teacher,” you explain with a smile, and everything clicks in Bucky’s mind then. That would explain the constant paint stains and trails of glitter left in your wake, the arts and crafts supplies and stacks of drawings you seem to carry with you everywhere. And here he thought your heart couldn’t get any bigger than it already was— were you even real?

“The effects of the blip have been really difficult for them. It’s hard having to come back to school and see that all your old friends are now five grades ahead of you. I know everyone has been impacted in some way by what happened, but it’s harder for the younger ones to understand. I’m doing my best to make the transition back to normalcy easier for them, but some days are harder than others, you know?”

“Sounds rough,” is all Bucky can manage to say, swallowing his emotions back harshly.

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly, rubbing away the clear exhaustion in your eyes, “but I’m trying my best.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You smile then, a genuine smile, one that makes Bucky weak in the knees, and suddenly it’s as if all the weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

“I really needed to hear that,” you utter softly, “thank you.”

“What are neighbors for?” Bucky jokes lamely, but you must like his sense of humor for you let out the quietest of giggles.

“You’re sweet. I like talking with you, but I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re a busy guy.”

“Not really,” he shrugs with a crooked smile, “I just had some errands to run before tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” You ask curiously, brows raising with interest as Bucky awkwardly looks down at your hardwood floor.

“I’ve got a date.”

“Huh, no kidding. Me too,” you smile, and in response Bucky’s heart slowly begins to sink to his stomach. Yori had said you were single, but only an idiot would believe that someone like you could stay that way for long. Maybe if he had taken the doctor’s advice sooner he could be the one you’re seeing instead of the lucky guy that beat him to it.

“I should get going... I’ll see you around.”

“Thank you again for the help, and good luck on your date,” you say with an encouraging smile. Bucky swallows harshly in response, a look of longing in his eyes that he hides well with a meager quirk of his lips.

“You too,” he murmurs in response, casting you once last glance before showing himself out. The lock clicks behind him, and Bucky trudges back to his own empty apartment.

Saturday

The dining patio of the Italian restaurant is pleasantly empty, but the quiet stillness does little to help soothe Bucky’s nerves as he waits for the arrival of his date. He probably should have asked Yori what she looked like, what her name was and what she’d be wearing so he’d know what to expect, but the old man had been adamant on keeping the identity of his date a surprise.

“It’ll be better that way,” he had said, “trust me.”

The bouquet of sunflowers sits before him on the table almost tauntingly, their bright colors and sweet scent sending his senses into overdrive. He almost resented them, but then he thought of your smiling face through the window and the tension from his shoulders began to dissipate— if you could be strong and put on a brave face despite all the bad things that had happened in the world, then so could he.

“James?” A meek voice calls quietly, pulling the man from his thoughts. His blue eyes widen in surprise at the sight of the woman standing before him and he swallows anxiously.

“Y/n?” Bucky replies, quickly rising from his seat and cringing at the way in which the legs of the chair scrape harshly across the floor with his sudden movements. Here he thought you couldn’t get any more beautiful, and here you were proving him wrong with your cute little outfit and styled hair and charming smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my date,” you explain with a sheepish smile. Bucky deflates— not only would he have to suffer through his own painfully awkward date, but he’d also have to sit and watch you get swept off your feet by someone else all in the same night.

“Oh... well, who’s the lucky guy?”

“That’s the thing,” you say with a nervous laugh, “I think you are.”

“Me?” Bucky repeats flabbergasted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Yori was the one who said I should try dating again. He thought it would be good for me to spend some time with other adults since I’m always with my students, and when I said I didn’t really know anyone he told me he’d take care of it for me. All he told me was to come to this restaurant Saturday at six and look for the man with sunflowers,” you summarize before gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “and you’re the only one here with sunflowers so...”

A disbelieving laugh leaves Bucky then at the realization, and he isn’t sure whether he should jump for joy or wait for the ground below to swallow him whole. Finally he had a chance to spend time with the girl who had taken over his thoughts and occupied every available space in his heart, and yet he couldn’t help but feel terrified. A date was a big step up from neighborly conversation in your apartment, and all of Bucky’s hopes of developing something more with you were riding on this one date. Yori knew exactly what he was doing by setting the two of you up, and Bucky had no choice but to be grateful for the man who had bestowed upon him the chance to finally win you over.

“If this is too awkward for you we can just skip this whole date—“

“No, it’s not awkward at all,” Bucky is quick to interject. “I mean, this whole thing is certainly a surprise but it’s a good one. It’s an honor to be your blind date.”

He flashes a charming smile that makes you weak in the knees, and he knows then that he’s back in the game— who would have guessed he’d be able to dust off his old moves with such ease? He had to if he wanted any kind of chance at winning you over.

“In that case, why don’t we get out of here? This restaurant is a little stuffy,” you note with a small chuckle, your nerves slowly beginning to dwindle.

“Alright, what do you have in mind?”

The nightlife atmosphere of the plaza square is surprisingly much more comfortable compared to the dining patio, and Bucky considers himself the luckiest man alive to be able to witness firsthand the way your eyes seem to sparkle with the light of the starry sky. A nighttime stroll is right up Bucky’s alley, and you both fall into a comfortable step as you talk about whatever topic seems to come to mind. You speak of your students, about how much their smiling little faces have helped you get through the toughest times, how there’s a stray cat who calls the dumpsters behind your apartment building a home and waits for your arrival on trash days because you always bring the feline a special treat. Alpine, you had named it, and Bucky adored that greatly.

The details are vague but you enjoy the stories he tells you of his childhood and the way his whole face seems to light up at the mere mention of his mother and sister; that look dwindles slightly when he speaks of his old best friend, but you pretend not to notice. As a younger man Bucky worked at the docks before serving time in the army, though he fails to mention where he’d been stationed, and now he works for the government. You feel almost giddy to be learning so much about the man you once believed would rather prefer solitude over your company, and as the night drags on and the conversation begins to dwindle you almost wish you could reverse the clock and do it all over again.

“Thank you,” Bucky says after a moment of silence, prompting you to halt your steps and raise a brow curiously at your counterpart.

"What for?"

“Taking a chance on a guy like me,” he smiles faintly while offering you a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “I haven’t really done anything like this in a while, and the idea of putting myself back out there scared me shitless, but you just make things so much easier. I guess what I’m trying to say is when I’m with you everything comes naturally, and I really appreciate that.”

“Oh,” you utter softly, a sheepish smile of your own gracing your lips as you turn away to admire the scenery around you. It isn’t until now that you notice you’ve stopped before the fountain, the arches of water flowing overhead illuminated by the fluorescent lights below them. A nervous fluttering occupies your stomach and when you finally meet Bucky’s gaze you feel as if nothing else in the entire world mattress other than the two of you in this moment. “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m kind of in the same boat, so that just means we can figure this out as we go. Together.”

“I like that,” Bucky affirms with a nod, a look that can only be described as lovestruck taking over his features. Nerves overcome you then as you clutch your bouquet of flowers to your chest, heart thrumming rapidly in your rib cage as Bucky steps closer. The glove that had once shielded his right hand from the cold is now missing as he gently cups your cheek and encompasses you with his warmth. His palm is calloused and rough but comforting all the same, and it takes everything in your power not to melt like putty in his grasp.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs quietly as if raising his voice any higher will ruin the moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, swallowing back your nerves, “it’s okay.”

Your softly uttered words of confirmation are all Bucky needs to hear before dipping down and gently brushing his lips against your own. His movements are hesitant for only a moment, and it is only once he’s sure you are comfortable and secure that he moves in for more. Your lips are soft against his own, plush and warm and so sweet, and as your eyes begin to flutter shut and the forgotten sunflowers slip out of your grasp you drape your arms securely across his shoulders at the same moment in which his left hand joins his right in cupping your face as if you were a precious jewel in need of the upmost care.

Nothing exists when you are in each other’s arms, you are safe and sound in your own little world, and as you part to take a breath Bucky realizes then that one kiss is all he needs to know that you are the one he’s been waiting for all his life.

And by god, if you aren’t more than worth the wait.

[pinkchanelbag]

apartment 6C. [e. jaeger]

the annoying guy in the apartment above you refuses to keep quiet, so it’s time to fight fire with fire.

cw: not proofread? idk like cussing also armin’s high lol

wc: 1k.

note: yes i got lazy in the end so what? idk this is just a funny idea i had it has potential but i am simply too tired to continue it rn enjoy lol.

“jesus christ i’m gonna fucking kill him!”

“is that—oh...okay,” jean doesn't get to finish his sentence before you get up from your place at the coffee table, round the couch, and yank open the tiny storage room in the kitchen.

“can’t you just file a complaint?” sasha asks. her eyes follow you curiously as she nestles an open box of pizza in her lap on the loveseat.

“you saying she should snitch?” connie pulls a face that’s meant for her, but his eyes are glued to the tv screen as his posture jerks left and right in accordance to the xbox controller in his hands.

you return with indistinct grumbles under your breath. jean snickers at you until he sees what you’ve brought back.

“fighting fire with fire?” he cranes his neck up from his seat on the floor to look at you standing. you give him a deadpan expression before stepping up onto the coffee table, taking the bright red broom in both your hands, and knocking the pointy end into the ceiling. one, two, three, four times, firm and fast.

“woah!” armin’s entire body jolts, the book in his one open palm getting tossed to the floor and the joint in between the fingers of his other hand dangerously close to being loosed. “what the hell was that!?”

“what?” eren calls to his friend from the other room. the kitchen door swings open as he steps through with two beers tucked between his long fingers and the other hand holding his phone to his line of vision.

“that scared the shit out of me,” armin breathes. “loud ass knocking from the floor below.”

eren’s eyes flick up from his phone. his hair sticks out of his small ponytail messily, a result of his frenzied reactions to watching the football game that has only just recently ended. the game was neck and neck the entire time, and it completely fried his nerves, not to mentions his friends’. at some point eren put armin in such an excited chokehold that mikasa had to chop him on the nape of his neck before the blond passed out. but it was still a win, topped off with panned shots of the stadium chanting we will rock you with deafening claps and stomps. armin and mikasa shared bemused looks at the way eren sang and percussed along like a little kid watching cartoons. yeah, he’d gotten a little rowdy.

“whatd’ya mean?” he asks to be sure.

“like, it sounded like if someone was pounding on a door except the door...was the floor,” armin leans back against the seat behind him and rests his head on the cushion, legs spread out across the floor and his joint-carrying arm raised high in the air, clearly already over the disturbance. he doesn’t catch the grin that rises slowly to eren’s face.

“she thinks she’s slick.”

“you’re gonna put a hole in your ceiling,” sasha tells you with curious eyes and no particular warning in her tone. her mouth works around the pizza as she talks.

“if it means it’ll fuck up his flooring, then i won’t mind as much,” you scoff, taking jean’s extended hand to help you down from the table.

“will somebody pleeease play mario kart with me,” connie hollers. any potential reply is cut short by a booming thud that has all four of you jumping out of your skin. sasha makes an eep sound chokes on her pizza, and connie—whose remote flew out of his hands at the sound— gets up to thump against her back as she coughs.

“what the fuck?” jean asks in genuine disbelief. it seems he’s finally catching on to the situation at hand. and then he’s looking at you, and you’re fuming.

“do you enjoy making people not like you?” armin asks his friend. there’s a confused frown etched onto his face as he watch eren drop a heavy dumbbell he’d retrieved from his room onto his hardwood floor.

“not especially, but with this girl it’s fun.”

“what girl?” armin asks, and he’s crawling onto the couch to lay on his back.

“lives under. she goes to trost too, but probably in a different school.” he lifts the dumbbell with one hand, veins protruding up his arm, and places it next to the tv stand before coming to sit on the floor in front of the couch. “annoying...as hell. like, gives me a dirty look if i take more than one of the complementary muffins in the lobby. complementary literally means free,” he says incredulously. his hand reached up to yank out his hairtie and re-pull his hair away from his face for a new bun. “plus, she’s friends with that guy jean.”

“from high school? didn’t he like mikasa?” armin asks. with eyes closed and his hands behind his head, he looks like the definition of unbothered. eren hums in confirmation.

“yeah, imagine my fuckin’ horror when i come home one day to see the hot girl who lives a floor down with horse face.” he pauses for a moment before continuing the one-sided conversation, though he doesn’t appear fazed. “they’re not together though. she comes home from dates or whatever sometimes.” armin makes an mhm sound as an act of attentiveness.

“ready?” connie asks. upon getting the okay, resounding crashes and clangs echo through the panels of wood beneath eren’s body. it’s not as startling as knocking, but tenfold more annoying.

“keep going!” jean yells over the crashing pots and pans. he begins alternating between banging his spatula into the casserole pan and onto the ceiling itself. connie hits the inside of his pot with a wooden spoon as if ringing a church bell, hand moving almost too fast to see. he pairs this with a sound akin to a turkey gobble, high and aggressive like a war cry. and finally, you and sasha each grip the handle of a large metal wok and smack its underside over and over again with your own tools of choice.

“eren,” armin says in part-groan part-whine. “why’d you provoke her? i’m tryna sleep.”

but the brunette’s attention is elsewhere. once again, that sly smile plastered to his face, he’s all too cheerful for a person whose ears are undergoing a violent assault.

“you know what this means, right...?” eren says. armin hmphs.

“you’re a child.”

“this means war, man.”

[thewidowsghost]

The Welcome Christmas Surprise (Natasha Romanoff x Wife! Reader)

3rd Person POV

Natasha wakes early Christmas Eve morning, watching her wife sleep. (Y/n) had taken to sleeping on her side, facing Natasha, recently. 

Natasha smiles tenderly at the (H/c) haired woman, resting her head back on her memory foam pillow, her dark ginger hair splayed out on the pillow. 

(Y/n) shifts drowsily, her hand coming to rest lightly on her stomach. 

Natasha turns to her side, watching her wife with a soft look in her eyes.

The door squeaks softly as the Bohemian Shepherd puppy sticks his head into the room.

Bear springs lightly onto the bed and lies down at (Y/n)’s feet. 

(Y/n) sleepily opens her eyes, smiling drowsily at Natasha. “Morning, Nat,” (Y/n) says, blinking at the light streaming through the burgundy curtains. 

"Morning, Love," Natasha says, leaning over, and placing a kiss on (Y/n)'s lips. 

(Y/n) lets out a happy little hum, shifting closer towards her wife; her eyes fluttering closed again. 

But then, (Y/n)'s eyes flash open. "What time is it?" she asks, panicking slightly. 

"Hey," Natasha soothes, rubbing her thumb atop her wife's hand. "It's only eight."

(Y/n) lets out an uncomfortable noise as she raises herself from the bed, and Natasha moves her wife's pillow against the wooden headboard, and (Y/n) rests her back against the pillow.

(Y/n) turns her head slightly to the right, and smiles at Natasha.

"The others should be here around three," Natasha tells (Y/n), and the (H/c) haired woman nods thoughtfully. 

Natasha and (Y/n) had bought their own house a few weeks ago, just before they had gotten married. The other Avengers, as well as Daisy, Wanda's girlfriend, Pepper, and Morgan, were coming for Christmas, and to also see the house with the couple's things in it, for the first time.

"I think I should make Christmas dinner," (Y/n) tells Natasha, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"I agree," Natasha says with a chuckle. 

"Yeah, but you better help," (Y/n) says with a laugh. 

"Yeah, but I burn water, so," Natasha says and (Y/n)'s eyes flicker with amusement. 

"You can cut potatoes," (Y/n) replies simply. 

Natasha smiles and (Y/n) leans over, placing a kiss on the redhead's lips before she gets up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom. Bear jumps up and trots after the woman before she can close the door.

A few minutes later, (Y/n) emerges from the bathroom, wearing a pair of jeans, and a Stitch Christmas sweater.

Bear trots at (Y/n)'s feet before he jumps onto the bed. 

(Y/n) smiles at her wife before she climbs back into the bed, moving to snuggle up to Natasha's side, the redhead wrapping an arm around (Y/n)'s waist, pulling the (H/c) haired woman even closer. (Y/n) rests her head against Natasha's shoulder and she begins fiddling with the ends of Natasha's hair. 

"You're so quiet today," Natasha says, looking at (Y/n) thoughtfully. 

"I'm just excited to give you my gift," (Y/n) says simply, her eyes sparkling.  "Now, if you excuse me, I'm off to start dinner at eight-thirty in the morning." 

Natasha chuckles and (Y/n) kisses her cheek before getting up from the bed, Bear trotting after her. 

Around two-o-clock, Wanda Maximoff, and (Y/n)'s cousin, Daisy Johnson arrive. 

Wanda hugs (Y/n) tightly and Daisy smiles at her cousin brightly. 

"Here, Wanda made this," Daisy tells (Y/n), handing her a nine by thirteen casserole dish of sweet potato casserole. 

Daisy smiles at her girlfriend as (Y/n) takes the dish. 

"Thanks, Tremors," (Y/n) nudges Daisy, "and you, Wanda."

"No problem," Wanda says, following (Y/n) into the kitchen as Daisy takes the bag of gifts that she was carrying and sets it by the Christmas tree. Natasha smiles at the brunette as Daisy sits down on the couch, the two beginning to chat animatedly.

"I'm making pie," (Y/n) says, smiling down at Wanda. "Wanna help?"

"Of course," Wanda says. 

"Pumpkin or pecan or both?" (Y/n) asks, pulling ingredients from the pantry. 

"Daisy's favorite is pecan and everyone likes pumpkin, so, I'd say both," Wanda says, making (Y/n) laugh. 

"So, how are you and Daisy?" (Y/n) asks as she and Wanda start. 

"Good," Wanda says, smiling at the thought. "How are you and Nat?" the girl liked to keep tabs on her mentors. 

"Good," (Y/n) grins down at the piecrust she was rolling out. 

"You're so excited about something," Wanda says, noticing the change in (Y/n)'s behavior. 

It wasn't as though (Y/n) wasn't ever cheerful, but Wanda notes that she seemed a lot more excited and cheerful at the moment. Wanda chalks it to be Christmas spirit and drops it.

The doorbell rings again, and Natasha stands up from her seat next to Daisy. Natasha opens the door and smiles at Tony and Pepper, and their young daughter Morgan. 

"Hey, Red," Tony says, setting down a box of gifts and hugging his daughter-in-law. 

"Hi, Tony."

"Hi, Nat," Pepper smiles at the redhead, a covered dish in her hands. 

"Pepper," Natasha nods to the auburn-haired woman. 

"Hi, Natty," Morgan says happily, jumping into Natasha's arms. 

"Heya Morgan," Natasha hugs the little girl. "Come on in, you guys," Natasha steps aside so the three could walk inside.

Tony carries the box of gifts and set them around the tree while Pepper carries the dish into the kitchen where she finds (Y/n) and Wanda sliding four pies - one pecan and three pumpkin - into the oven, and she sets the dish on the counter. 

"Pepper!" (Y/n) rushes over to hug her step-mother. 

Pepper laughs, returning the hug warmly, "Hi, (Y/n), Wanda." 

The witch smiles at Pepper and accepts the hug Pepper offers. 

"It's good to see you, (Y/n)," Pepper says as she sits down on one of the barstools against the island. 

"As am I," (Y/n) says, sliding a ham out of a second oven. 

"You've been busy?" Pepper asks. 

"Well, you know Tasha can't cook, but it hasn't been too bad," (Y/n) answers, looking up from the mashed potatoes and gravy on the stovetop. "She helped me chop a lot of things."

By three-fifteen, everyone had arrived. Steve, his boyfriend Bucky, Sam, (Y/n)'s uncle Rhodey, Bruce, Clint, Laura, Lila, Cooper, Nathanial, Maria Hill, Phil Coulson, and his team - Mack, Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz, Melinda May, and Elena Rodriguez - and finally Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter.

Phil walks into the kitchen to find his honorary daughter pulling things out of one of the ovens. 

"Hi, (Y/n)," he says, taking a potholder and pulling things out of the second. 

"Dad, when did you guys get here?" (Y/n) asks, looking over at Coulson. 

"The team and I got here a few minutes ago. Let's just say Cap was a little surprised to see me," Coulson says and (Y/n) chuckles. 

"Wanna help me carry this out into the dining room?" (Y/n) asks, grabbing a dish from off the granite countertop. 

As Natasha sees (Y/n) and Coulson bringing out dishes, she excuses herself from her conversation with Wanda and Daisy and goes to help; a moment later, everyone was helping move food into the dining room. 

Once everything, except the deserts, was on the table, Natasha nudges her wife into the chair at the head of the table. 

(Y/n) stands up once everyone's seated at the table and everyone turns to look at her. 

"We're really happy that you guys could come out today," (Y/n) says, then pauses. "That was the most formal sounding I've been in my whole life," she smiles and everyone chuckles. "Eat food, it's there," (Y/n) sits down, and everyone cheers. 

Natasha smiles at her wife and passes her a bowl of mashed potatoes. 

(Y/n) winks at Natasha as she takes a scoop of the potatoes and passes them to Wanda, who was sitting on her left.

The conversations at the dinner table were cheerful and Wanda, Pepper, and Jemma help (Y/n) clean the dishes before everyone sits around the living room to open gifts. 

Natasha smiles as (Y/n) leans into her on one of the many couches in the living room. 

"You okay?" Natasha murmurs in (Y/n)'s ear. 

"Yeah, just a little tired," (Y/n) answers with a tender smile. 

The group opens their gifts until (Y/n) gets up towards the end and grabs a final gift from the back of her closet. 

(Y/n) stands in the doorway, watching as everyone opens their last gifts. 

After a moment, (Y/n) walks over and kneels in front of Morgan. 

"Wait until everyone is done, then open this one," (Y/n) murmurs in the girl's ear. 

Morgan looks curiously at her older sister but then nods.

Natasha glances at (Y/n) as she walks back over and sits beside her on the couch, scooting over, their shoulders brushing. 

(Y/n) suppresses a grin as Morgan opens her last gift from (Y/n). 

Morgan looks excitedly up at (Y/n) as she reads what's written on the shirt. 

"What does it say?" Tony asks, the excited look on his youngest daughter's eyes making him curious. 

Morgan turns the shirt around so everyone can see what's written on it, Only the best sister gets promoted to an aunt.

Natasha looks wide-eyed at (Y/n) as everyone begins to give their congratulations. 

(Y/n) nods and Natasha wraps her wife in a tight hug. "Are you really pregnant?" Natasha murmurs into (Y/n)'s ear. 

"Yeah," (Y/n) breathes, placing a kiss on her wife's lips. 

"I'm so excited," Natasha says, then looks over at Tony and Coulson, whose eyes were wide. "I think you broke your dads."

(Y/n) kisses Natasha on the cheek before walking over to Tony, being stopped a couple of times by her friends, who continue to offer their congratulations, but then move off to congratulate Natasha. 

(Y/n) sits down beside Tony on the couch, and places a hand on his arm. This jolts Tony out of his reverie. 

"Dad, are you okay?" (Y/n) asks, her worry showing in her eyes. 

Tony's eyes soften, and he wraps his daughter in a hug. 

(Y/n) lets out a laugh, returning the hug. 

"I'm happy for you two," Tony says, pulling his daughter to look at her arm's length away. 

"Aww, thanks Grandad," (Y/n) says with a small laugh, leaning forward and kissing her father on the cheek. "Love you. Now I've got to go shock Coulson out of his own reverie."

(Y/n) crosses the living room, glancing back over her shoulder at all their friends and family congregated around Natasha, and the bright smile on the redhead's face. 

"Congratulations," Jemma says, bounding over to (Y/n) before she can reach Coulson. 

"Thanks, Jemma," (Y/n) steps forward, wrapping her scientist friend in a tight hug. 

"You going to help Coulson?" Jemma asks, her British accent prominent in her question. 

"Sadly, he still gets shocked by things that come out of my mouth," (Y/n) grumbles. 

"Well, good luck," Jemma says with a smile, and Fitz, who had walked over, grins at (Y/n).

As (Y/n) reaches Coulson, she sits down on the couch. The two have a similar conversation to (Y/n) and Tony's, and it ends with a hug. 

"Now, go see your wife before she kills us all," Coulson says and (Y/n) looks over, catching Natasha's eye. 

"I guess I will then," (Y/n) rises to her feet. "Love you, Dad."

Coulson smiles. "Love you too, kid."

(Y/n) crosses the living room, and makes her way through the group surrounding Natasha, and sitting down on the couch beside her. Natasha wraps her arm around (Y/n)'s waist, and (Y/n) lies her head on Natasha's shoulder. 

After about half-an-hour, everyone clears out of the house, leaving Natasha and (Y/n) alone. 

"I can't believe we're going to have kids," Natasha says, leaning her head against (Y/n)'s. 

"I'm so excited," (Y/n) murmurs, closing her eyes. Bear jumps onto the couch, resting his head on her knee. 

[fusionfurnishing]

Excited to share the latest addition to my #etsy shop: Wood Chapati Box / Round Casserole/ Humidity Proof/ Wooden Storage Box/ Home Decor/ Multi Purpose Box With Lid / Bread Box #white #housewarming #mothersday #homeliving #kitchendining #chapatibox #indianchapatibox #giftbox #decorbox https://etsy.me/3wnoycr

[harryhandstan]

where we belong

Yeah so..it’s been a year. A long and very frustrating year since one of the worst days of my life. This is just a continuation of You Bring Me Home and Harry helping me through the grief process of my aunt’s death. That was one of the first pieces of writing I ever shared and it was so incredibly personal to me. Thankful again to @bfharry​ for letting me include that in her fic event happening at the time. It was so good for me just to release that grief both then and now!

I also just owe a huge thank you to anyone else who has listened when I’ve talked about this or offered any sort of comfort. Your kindness in such a dark phase of my life means the world to me!!

This idea was born of the very strange urge I had to watch the movie I was watching with my sister that night we found out. I still haven’t been brave enough to watch it, but maybe someday.

Thank you to Miss Jill and Oliva (@havethetimeofyourstyles​, @bfharry​) for reading over this for me :) I appreciate you so much you’re the best!

//

“Linds? You home?”

He knows he’s later getting home than he said he’d be. But things on set don’t always go as planned so it had taken him longer than he imagined. He had tried to call to let you know, but when you didn’t answer his texts and your phone went through to voicemail for the third time, he assumed you were either out or gone to bed.

He drops his keys into the small bowl on the wooden table in the entryway, hears the clink of your set of keys against his and breathes a sigh of relief; you were here, safe. Not that you couldn’t venture out without him when he was busy, but he always feared the worst until you were back under the roof of your shared space.

He makes his way down the hallway into the kitchen, depositing the few grocery bags on the counter. When there’s still no sign of you, he works quickly to put away the few things you’d asked him to pick up on his way home, eager to be near you again. He notices a small round cake when he opens the refrigerator, and suddenly runs through the list of significant dates the two of you had accumulated over the past couple of years you’d spent together. Had he forgotten one? An anniversary of something that was important to you? Were you upset with him for forgetting, waiting somewhere for him to remember and apologize?

His hands work faster now, and when he goes to put away the grocery bags, he takes time to observe the casserole dish on the stove. He lifts the foil, sees the food untouched, and recovers it before moving through the rest of the house to find you. The open layout of the kitchen and living room allows him to quickly eliminate the couch as your hiding spot. He peeks down to see the door to the bedroom ajar, the light off but a slight flicker from the TV flashes across the walls and the tension in his chest continues to unravel the closer he gets. The box fan you insisted you couldn’t sleep without was silent, so either you hadn’t heard him call earlier, or again, you’d fallen asleep while waiting for him.

He pushes aside the guilt for being late, tries to rid himself of the thought the second it appears. He doesn’t know how many times you’d reminded him of your love and pride for him and his work. It was a mantra he repeated in his head when he was away and missing you. Your voice repeating I love you, I’m proud of you, come home to me soon no matter the length of time or distance you would be apart.

He stops before entering the bedroom, removing his shoes and making his movements as quiet as possible so he doesn’t disturb you. He glances quickly into the room, hears the faint murmurs of voices from the TV. It wasn’t an unusual sight, you hated falling asleep without him and so you often found a movie or show to try to lull yourself to sleep when the fan and other things just wouldn’t do the trick. Though the noise of a movie could never be a replacement for him, it was often enough for you to rest until he returned.

What comes next absolutely terrifies him, chills him to the bone worse than the bitter cold of the December air outside. A sob, echoing through the silence he had already adjusted to. He’s by your side in a second, almost leaping to meet you. He throws the blanket back that’s covering you, no real logic behind the action other than you must be physically hurt somehow. From the cry, he expects to see blood, an open wound, some clear injury. When all he finds is you, in his faded t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he questions again if you were sleeping, if it’s a bad dream that caused what he had heard.

But your eyes are too wide to have been resting, your face wet with fresh tears, new ones still streaming rapidly out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks. His heart is racing, fear laced in his voice when he kneels next to you, “S’a matter? Are you hurt?”

All you can do is wrap yourself around him, arms clinging to his neck. He tries to loosen your grip, pull you back so he can study your face, but you only clutch tighter. The panic is evident when he speaks again, “Lovie, you’re scaring me. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

You do your best to calm yourself, finally able to form words through shaky breaths, “It’s been a year, Harry.”

He frantically searches his thoughts again. A year? He tries to remember what tragic anniversary would have you this upset. That’s when he tunes in to the movie behind him, strains his ears to hear and tries to determine when he heard it last and how it could relate. It’s faintly familiar, but the tone is too light to be the only reason you’re this unsettled. 

Suddenly it hits him. How could he have abandoned a date from his head this important to you? He silently curses himself for even thinking of leaving you alone for a second today. Hates himself for ignoring the signs of your grief from the past week; the restless nights, your unusually quiet moods around him, the way you had melted into any sort of touch he offered. It was your way of seeking comfort without verbally requesting it. 

You’ve relaxed your arms enough now that he can create some space between you, just enough that he can visualize the sorrow set upon your normally joyful spirit. His voice is mixed with his own agony when he tells you, “I’m sorry. Love you so much, baby. Should’ve never left you today.”

You shush him, a gentle sign you’re not upset with him for overlooking the importance of this day. He can’t help but embrace you firmer, wishing he could absorb even a fraction of your painful heartache. He would take it all from you in an instant if he could.

The cake (which he now recalls was her favorite), the movie (he now realizes the two of you were watching the very same night a year before), this date. All reminders of what would always be one of the darkest days of your existence. 

The day your aunt had left the world too soon. The day you found out you would never see her beaming smile or hear her laugh or share a meal or create another cherished memory with her.

//

“Did you talk to your family today?”

“Yeah, FaceTimed my sister for a bit. Called my mom too, and my Nanna and Aunt Donna. It was nice to talk to them about her, share some stories.” He’s laying with you now, you curled against his side. The movie is still playing, set on a low volume, neither one of you paying much attention to it.

His eyes are closed but you know he’s still awake and listening by the way his hand rests on your back, occasionally working over that spot to soothe you as you talk, “But then I was alone and started thinking about that cake that she always loved. You were gone so I just walked to the bakery on the corner, not really expecting them to have it, but they did. Only one left and I started crying when I saw it in the case. Scared the poor cashier, but she was so sweet to me when I told her it reminded me of my aunt.”

“Then I came home and started thinking about that night I found out, how I was here with you and the movie we were watching. I don’t know if she had ever even seen it but..I wanted to connect with her somehow. It just made me more sad though, pulled me right back to that moment a year ago when I found out.”

“You could’ve waited for me. I would’ve watched it with you so you didn’t have to do it alone. Would’ve sent someone to pick up the cake too so you didn’t have to. Or sent a car to pick you up and bring you to set with me, s’always nice to have you there.” 

“I know. I just didn’t want to be a downer on your day. I wanted to be strong enough to get through by myself until you came home.” Tears are falling again, but you’re more in control of them now, they pool underneath where your cheek is smushed against his chest, “I miss her so much, Harry. It’s too much some days and I don’t know if it’ll ever get easier.”

“You could never be a downer to me, angel. Just because today was a little harder doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. It will get easier. You’ll always miss her, but it won’t always hurt so bad. It’ll take time to heal enough to find that balance between grief and happiness for the things that remind you of her. You’ll get to a point where you smile when you see her favorite things,” You press your face into his side, the fabric of his shirt is soft and comforting on your face, which you’re sure is red by now from crying so much throughout the day, “Will you look at me, please, love?”

When you do, he reaches to pull your hair back away from your face so that he can see it more clearly. He swipes a thumb along the top of your cheek, doing what he can to smooth away tears that have collected there, “I know how hard this year has been for you, but I also know without a doubt that she would be so proud of you, just like I am.”

“I wouldn’t have made it through a second of it without you, H. I’m only so strong because I had you to help me.”

“Maybe, but I won’t take credit for all of it, I can’t.” Your lips are dry and rough against his soft ones, but he doesn’t care, traps them gently to his once before gracing your cheek with another one.

“Saw you made dinner earlier. You weren’t hungry?”

“Not really, just needed something to keep me busy for the evening. I got too upset once I got it all done though.” You’re tracing patterns on the inside of the hand he’s offered you, knowing it’s one of your comforts, “Made that pasta you like, with garlic bread from the bakery.”

“Mhm, sounds good. With that homemade sauce you make?”

You snort, followed by a laugh at his adorably confused expression, “I’m flattered you like it so much, but it’s clearly not homemade, babe.”

“Really? This whole time you let me believe it was your own recipe?” 

“I thought you knew! You’ve literally been at the store with me when I’ve bought it. Several times, in fact. Probably even paid for it a few of those times too.”

“I feel so betrayed.” His bottom lip pokes out, a charmingly cute expression of disappointment. 

“I’m sorry. Think you can forgive me?” You're sitting up now, looking down at him. His hand is still settled in yours, and you squeeze his fingers, prompting him to look at you.

“Maybe. Definitely helps you got my favorite bread t’go with it.”

All the talk of food has your appetite returning quickly, and by the low grumble your stomach makes, it’s back in full force. If it were anyone else but Harry you were with, your cheeks would have flushed pink, but instead you just giggle.

“S’nice to hear that again, love. The laugh. Missed it, and the smile too. S’one of my favorite sights, seeing you so happy.”

“I’d be happier if we were eating pasta and garlic bread.”

“Me too.” 

The food is long cold by now, but the two of you work together to reheat everything. The smell envelops you both, chasing away the frosty chill December seemed to always bring. Harry’s already seated as you make your way to the table with your plate, and he shakes his head when you reach to pull the chair out to sit next to him. He takes your plate and sits it beside his own, tugging your wrist to guide you into his lap.

It’s the most normal, natural thing to him, to have you so close. He loops an arm behind your back to hold you securely there, “Saved you a seat with me instead, baby.”

You don’t suppress the blush now, can’t stop it from blooming scarlet across your face. He lifts his fork, gathering a bite you expect him to fill his own mouth with. Instead he brings it to yours, a beaming grin when you bend to accept it.

“What are you doing? Harry, I can feed myself. I’m not a child.” You drape one arm around his shoulders to steady yourself.

“‘Course you can, just missed you today. Wanna make it up to you that we spent the day apart,” He stuffs the second bite into his mouth before pointing his fork at you, “And y’coming with me tomorrow, won’t have m’girl sitting here bored and alone in this cold house. I’ll treat ya to dinner at that little Mexican place you love. Or if you’d rather have somethin’ else..”

You wrap your arms around him for the second time that evening, surprising him, making his fork clatter to his plate when he drops it to wrap his other arm around you, temporarily forgetting the meal to hug you back. You’re content to just let him hold you for a minute, relaxing your body to conform to his. Your chin rests on his shoulder and you finally turn your head to kiss his neck before letting go to cup his face with both of your hands. 

You kiss him..once, twice, and on the third one he’s smiling, an amused smirk crossing his face before he asks, “What s’all this for, lovie?”

“I love you, Harry, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, peach.”

Maybe there was a wound, not visible, that may never fully heal, but made significantly smaller by this man who you’re certain loved you more than anyone ever had. The man who kissed you a fourth time before feeding you a bite of garlic bread and reluctantly letting you transfer yourself from his lap to the chair next to him. He doesn’t even flinch when you prop your feet in his lap, just grins down at the mismatched socks covering your feet. 

The grin widens when he realizes they’re his socks keeping your toes warm. Loves that after a year of grief and distress, you remember exactly where you belong.