#it’s sad. isn’t it? to have suffered but have nothing to show for it.

[nightmarearian]

do you think the abyss healed Childe’s scars?

realistically I know it’s stupid graphics & model “limitations”

But do you think his skin looks as normal as it did before he fell.

Cause when they’re hit, an abyss monster.

They disintegrate.

Do you think Ajax’s scars healed like that? In the abyss? After it, too?

Do you think they burned? Or was it numb, as the darkened skin faded away with little, yellow, glowing particles?

That he has no evidence of his suffering for those three months in hell (and his only companion’s silence) but dull eyes no one wants to look at?

Callouses on his hands and feet that no one pays attention to? Takes care of?

That he shows his prowess and uncanniness and abyssal hunger because that’s the only way how? Yes. he is hungry and wants a fight. Look at him. He’s off. Broken now.

Look at him.

Please.

#am I self projecting? #maybe #a little bit #Nothing like a mental breakdown from a sort of family dinner meeting new people to remind a mfer they’re fucked #it’s me I’m mfer #also abt that companion’s silence part #as much as I fucking Abhor genshin’s uwu-ifying of Skirk #and her characterization cause god fucking damn it hoyo Give him a good parental figure #She says she didn’t talk to him at all/the bare minimum cause she sees him as weak #what the fuck #How do you send your son that was missing for three fucking days Blow off his trauma And then send him to the military? #You don’t care about him. #skirk evidently doesn’t #And the tsarista is all up to interpretation and is dubious as an average #does childe have any caring parental figure? Who the fuck knows. #genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #childe tartaglia ajax #genshin ajax #tw vent #? #self projecting #it’s sad. isn’t it? to have suffered but have nothing to show for it. #Christ I’m fucked. #do u think I should go back to the social gathering? #:/ #drink water #stay safe #<3

[miniwheat77]

141 + König finding out reader has had long term struggles with Self Harm.

This was a request, you can find the ask here.

!CW! Self harm, talk of attempted suicide, (sorry if I missed any.)

König:

Tears stream down your face, you’re looking desperately for anything. Any kind of Razor or sharp object. It’s late at night, you can’t find anything. Usually you would just break a mirror, or anything glass around you. But this isn’t your house. This mirror isn’t yours to break. You’ve done so good but recently, it’s been hard. You’re struggling every day. You managed to cover up the scars to enter the military and hid them very well with your uniforms. You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub in the bathroom you’re in, trying to calm yourself. You don’t hear the bathroom door open because you’re in your own head. You don’t notice anything until large hands are grasping your wrists. “It’s okay, liebling.” His deep accented voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He sees the old scars that litter your wrists, holding onto them tightly. “You’ve made it so far, done so good. Why ruin that now?” He mumbles. His hood covers his face but you can see the sadness in his eyes. “I’m just struggling lately.” You sniffle. “It’s okay. We all struggle.” He breathes. He holds onto you tightly, he’s trying to ground you, bring you back down to earth. “Look at me. Take a deep breath with me.” He breathes. “You’re okay.” He takes in a deep breath, and you follow him. Taking in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He lifts your hand up so that he could get a better look. There’s clearly years of scars littering your wrists. Tears stream down your face. “I didn’t think that you would like me.”

König laughs bitterly behind his hood. “Sweetheart.. nothing is going to change the way that I feel about. Especially not scars. Scars mean you’re healing. Heilung ist alles” he lifts your chin up to look at him. “When you feel like this, you tell me. Verstanden?” He is stern. “Understood..” you look down. “Now, time for bed. I got you.” He scoops you up, carrying you back to your bed.

Ghost:

Your hands tremble, blood pooling at the bottom of your wrist before dripping onto the linoleum flooring. Your right hand holds a razor, now coated in your own blood. It’s a curse. The way that you relied on the shiny metal to ground you. Bring you back to earth. Your eyes are bloodshot, tears stain your cheeks. You should have been better about locking the door, because the handle twists, and Ghost steps inside. You scramble up, throwing your wrists behind your back. “Shit- sorry.” He mumbles, voice deafening as he notices the blood on the ground. “Are you hurt? What happened?” He takes a step toward you. “I.. I just scratched myself earlier. No big deal.” You lie.

He narrows his eyes, eyeing the way you’re holding not just one of your hands behind your back, but both. “Let me see them.” He demands, taking another step forward. “There’s no need for that, I’m okay.” You laugh. He grasps hold of your arms, pulling hard on you. A cry leaves your lips and he forces you to show him what you’ve done. Not only are there fresh cuts, but there’s more. There are some faded, clearly from years of self harm. He swallows hard, choosing not to say anything. He pulls on your arms, forcing you toward the sink, running the fresh wounds under the water. “Deep breath.” He mumbles, reaching into the medicine cabinet and pouring peroxide over the wounds. You hiss and try to pull away but he keeps you there. He helps you bandage up, not saying anything and you worry about what he’s going to say. He doesn’t say anything, instead, pulling you into him and hugging you tightly. “No more. I mean it. I will chain you up to a pipe and you will suffer if you do this ever again.” He grumbles. Hearing you laugh. “I mean it Y/N. No more of this. You’re too good to be doing this to yourself.” He hides the fact that he has tears in his eyes.

Captain Price:

His eyes catch a single glimpse by accident during a meeting. He often wondered why you only ever wore long sleeves but now, it all made sense. “Y/N, my office.” He nods. You nod your head, following behind him. He opens the door, closing it after you walk in. “What did you need?” You ask. “What did you need me for, John?” You ask. He grasps hold of your wrist, pushing your sleeve up. You try to pull your hand away but he has a tight hold on you. They’re old, none are new. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a past with this?” He asks. You swallow hard. “I don’t know.. it was just something really dumb that I did as a teenager. I stopped right before I joined the military.” You mumble. “Do you still feel this way?” He asks. “I’ll always feel that little devil on my shoulder, but I can control it now.” You shrug. He nods. He grasps your hips, pulling you into him. Kissing you a little harder than he usually would, pressing his forehead to yours once he pulls away. “You come to me whenever you feel like hurting yourself. Okay?” He is stern. You nod your head. “I love you. And I need you here with me.” He lifts your hand up, kissing your wrists. You weren’t sure how you ended up being with someone so kind, someone so gentle with you. But you needed it. You almost never felt like hurting yourself when he was around you. He was too supportive and reassuring. He did his best to keep you safe and that’s everything to you. “I love you too John.” You smile. Kissing him again.

He lifts you up by your thighs, setting you on top of his desk and cupping the sides of your head to kiss you even harder. “I’ve got you now, we all do. And I’m proud of you for doing so good. So fucking proud of you for overcoming this.” He breathes.

Soap:

You only ever wore shorts when you were alone. Because you had scars on the tops of your thighs. They were easier to hide. You forget to set your alarm one night, so Soap makes his way into your room to wake you, catching a glimpse of one of your exposed thighs. Seeing the small white lines. They’re old, but the meaning behind them breaks his heart immediately. He swallows hard, sitting down on the side of your bed, running his fingers along them. When he leans down and kisses them, you stir in your sleep just a little, eyes opening. “Johnny? What are you doing?” You mumble. “You didn’t tell me.” He mumbles, you realize he’s running the pad of his thumb over the raised lines. Your lips part slightly and you can’t explain yourself. “I’m sorry…” you breath. He looks up at you. “Do you do it anymore?” He asks. “Not for a couple weeks.” You breathe. He nods his head. “Every time you do this to yourself, I’ll do it to my own thigh.” He looks at you, what he says is toxic. He knows it.

“What?” You ask. “Every little bit of damage you do to yourself, I will do to myself. You cut yourself, I cut myself. And I’ll look, everyday if I have to.” He mumbles. “Johnny.” You sigh. “No. Your skin is too fucking beautiful for this. You’re better than this.” He breathes. He leans down. Kissing your forehead. “I’m here now. I’m here to talk to, vent to. Anything. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to promise me you’ll never do this again.” He raises his pinky up, like you taught him. “Promise?” He swallows hard. You smile, eyes filling with tears. “Okay Johnny.” You link your pinky with his. “I promise.” He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. Hand cupping your scars. He didn’t want to draw his hand away from you. He hated that you’d do this to yourself. You were so perfect. Too good for this.

Gaz:

Gaz is who found you. It was an accident, but he didn’t know it. You had cut too deep. He found you a few minutes later.

He sits beside your hospital bed, eyes burning and bloodshot. He’d almost lost the love of his life. And not even at the hands of a terrorist. It burns him inside, how he didn’t know sooner. It stings even more that you hid it from him. He went through your entire house, finding razors taped under the sink. He threw everything out. He was mad, sure. But he was heartbroken. Shattered by the fact that you were struggling so hard but chose to keep it to yourself. When your eyes flutter open and he sees you, you’re confused at first. “Kyle? What happened?” You ask. He nods to your wrists, and you move them to look at yourself. Blood running cold. “You barely made it.” He mumbles. “I.. I didn’t mean to.” You mumble. “Why?” He asks. It’s the one question he almost never got to ask you. “I.. I don’t know.” Tears stream from your eyes. “I almost lost you. You would’ve left me. With unanswered questions. With nothing.” He sighs. “I’m sorry Kyle.” You cry. He lowers his head. Tears spilling from his eyes. He sniffles, trying to force them back. But he can’t. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just.. I get so angry at myself. I was just trying to take my anger out. I didn’t mean to.. to..” you can’t even say it. He sighs. “You come to me. No more of this Y/N. If I lose you…” he can’t finish his sentence without his voice breaking. “I’m here. I have you now. No more of this. We’re getting you the help you need. And I’ll be right there with you along the way.” He stares at you. You nod your head. “Okay.. okay Kyle.” You breathe. He was right.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #könig mw2 #könig smut #könig x you #könig x reader #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x you #soap mactavish #soap call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader

[justwritedreams]

If I was your man | Wooyoung

Idol Wooyoung x Assistant Reader

Word count: 4505

Genre: suggestive, fluff

Author: maari

Warnings: One heavy make out scene, woo little jealous

Note: I've been planning to write this since march last year, you have no idea! It's totally based on the song if i was your man by the vamps

Summary: What if Wooyoung was your man?

⩥ Ateez Masterlist

Ateez Taglist: @foxinnie8

Wooyoung had just left the recording studio when he saw Y/N sitting on the sidewalk with her phone in her hand.

It had been like this all day, he didn't want to stare for so long but she wasn't like other days.

Y/N used to admire when the group was recording a music video or something, even though she was just the assistant to Ateez's stylist she loved the recording set, the dream of becoming an actress had been left behind for a long time but the luck of being able to watching behind the scenes was an opportunity she wouldn't miss for anything, especially since Y/N was allowed to watch.

But on that particular day, she didn't pay attention to the exhausting hours of recording. She was too busy looking at her phone every two minutes, she seemed anxious for some reason.

Wooyoung noticed that in the last few days Y/N was happier, even talking more since she was always more introverted. He didn't know why but there was something on her phone that had changed her mood.

From happy and excited to anxious and worried. A change in such a short time that anyone would notice.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” asked when he approached and she looked at him in surprise, she hadn't noticed his presence there.

“Yeah, it’s just-” Y/N pondered, sighing. She needed to talk to someone. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure." he sat next to her, keeping his backpack over his shoulder and faced her.

Her gaze down, avoiding contact with him, revealed that she was embarrassed and probably didn't know how to ask what was bothering her.

And she really didn't know, at least she didn't know how to say it without sounding stupid.

“You’re a man and you know how most men's minds work, right?”

"Something like that." he smiled sweetly, wanting to make her feel more at ease.

Y/N bit her lip, trying to find the right words but all that came to mind was that she should be sincere and direct.

This made her not notice that Wooyoung was looking closely at her extremely inviting lips.

“When a guy shows signs that he likes you and even went out with you but then disappears without explaining why, and comes back later as if nothing had happened. What does that mean?"

Wooyoung swallowed the answer he wanted to give and looked back into her eyes, seeing her watching him expectantly.

He didn't want to be rude or too direct and end up hurting her more than she already seemed to be.

Or be too playful and she ends up interpreting it as if he was making fun of her.

It was very clear to him, whoever she was going out with definitely didn't like Y/N the way she thought and probably didn't want the same thing as her.

But her eyes were begging for an answer, as if she needed direction on what to do. And had to be sincere.

“Maybe his priority right now isn’t what you guys are having.” Wooyoung responded carefully and saw her face change expression, from worried to sad.

He didn't like seeing her like that. The last person who deserved to suffer for someone who wasn't worth it was Y/N.

The two didn't have a huge age difference and just like Wooyoung, Y/N knew what it was like to leave the family behind to follow your dreams in a place where you have to learn to fend for yourself.

Y/N was a sweet, polite and respectful person, she would do anything for everyone without expecting anything in return. He knew her well enough to know that she deserved so much more than some asshole was trying to give her.

And that didn't even have to do with the fact that he had a slight crush on her.

Well, maybe it has.

“So he doesn’t like me.” Y/N concluded, her voice even a little deflated and Wooyoung couldn't control the urge to put his hand on her shoulder.

He wanted to hug her, the way he used to hug his members.

It wasn't fair for her to be like this because of someone who didn't treat her like she should be treated.

“I know that if it was me in his place, I would never waste your time like that.” He took a deep breath and took his hand to the strand of Y/N's hair that fell in front of her face, placing behind her ear and she looked at him at the same moment. Although Wooyoung was different from most Koreans, who didn't like to show affection through physical contact, Y/N never crossed that line but Wooyoung was too close, in a way they had never been before. “If you take your hair out of your eyes, you'll be able to see what's in front of you."

After saying that, Wooyoung got up from the sidewalk and walked out in long steps while she just looked at him with her mouth open. In addition to being shocked, she was confused.

He hadn't said it the way she was interpreting it. Right?

[...]

Three weeks had passed and nothing had changed.

Well, not for Wooyoung.

Y/N was still involved with the asshole who had hurt her, she sent him messages all the time but the situation hadn't evolved.

From what she had shared with Wooyoung, the guy still kept disappearing without a good explanation and came back as if nothing had happened to ask her out.

Wooyoung knew that wasn't an explanation but rather a lame excuse, which she always believed.

The phone fell into the water? Lie.

He has to restore his phone and lose their conversations? Lie again.

He slept on the bus and his phone was stolen? The worst lie he's come up with so far.

They lived in Seoul, it was safe even to walk around in the early hours of the morning with a 50-inch TV on your arm.

Wooyoung hated all of this. He knew why the guy always wanted to take her to the dark of the cinema and it wasn't the same reason she had in mind.

Y/N wanted to go out with the guy because she was enchanted, he wanted to go out with her to sleep with her.

It was so simple and Wooyoung was so angry because she didn't see the malice in the intentions.

At least now Y/N and Wooyoung were talking a little more, although it seemed like she was a little shy when she was around him. He had given her a clue and apparently Y/N hadn't understood, so his crush would continue to be a crush until she realized he was there, ready to do everything differently than the other guy.

“Sorry for the delay, Wooyoung, Mrs. Park was busy with another group’s outfits and ended up taking your clothes by accident.” Y/N held out the bag with the tour outfits that Wooyoung would wear to the next concert.

"Don’t apologize. You could have brought it tomorrow morning, you didn’t need to leave the house at that time of night.” he said after holding the bag and saw her wave her hand in the air as if to ensure that it wasn't a problem.

“I didn't want to stay at home and I know you're traveling tomorrow so.” She shrugged and tried to smile but it wasn't quite a smile.

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow.

"Are you ok?" he asked, worried.

She even opened her mouth to say yes, but not even her body wanted to lie, not again. So no sound came out and she shook her head.

"I'm an idiot." she laughed, without any humor and saw Wooyoung look both ways trying to understand.

Knowing that Y/N wanted to vent, he gave her space to go to the living room and sit on the couch while he followed close behind and dropped the bag on the floor as he settled in next to her.

“Let me guess, it’s that guy.” it wasn't a question, Wooyoung knew the answer.

“I thought something very serious had happened to him because he hadn't seen my messages for 6 days.” she explained and Wooyoung paid attention to every word. “But he posted a few hours ago that he’s at the cinema with another girl and his parents.”

Wooyoung felt his heart beat faster with anger.

He was tired of seeing her waste time with that guy, tired of seeing her run after someone who didn't want to be with her. He was tired of seeing that idiot treating her exactly the opposite of how he would treat her.

If he had one chance, just one.

“Why do you insist on talking to him?” he asked and she remained silent, trying to find the answer. “I mean, do you like him so much to live like this?”

“I don’t even know how I feel about him anymore.” Y/N admitted, looking to a random corner in the room. “He was a nice guy and we have a lot of things in common. He was the first guy I went on a real date with in a long time but… I feel like I'm being an idiot.”

Wooyoung bit his lower lip, he wanted to agree quickly but he didn't know if it would be appropriate.

“Do you want my honest opinion?” asked and she looked at him, nodding slowly as she analyzed his expression. “I don't think it's fair for you to sink your heart even further every time he responds to you with an excuse and the next day he shows up living his life as if he doesn't care about you. You’re worth more than that.”

Y/N looked away and started playing with the fingers on her own hand. It wasn't the first time she thought this, but her reason always conflicted with her emotion when it came to this matter.

“You can have any guy in the world, Y/N.” he confirmed and she laughed, shaking her head.

She had known the boy for a while and knew how good-natured he was, but when didn't hear him laughing along she raised her eyes to look at him.

She laughed again, lightly, and when she realized he was serious stopped laughing immediately.

"You’re serious!" she stated, perplexed. “I mean, you really are serious.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked deep into her eyes, Y/N held her breath as realized that Wooyoung was closer and how her mind could only think that his facial expression was extremely… sexy.

“You’re beautiful, funny, kind.” He wet his own lips with his tongue and looked down at Y/N's mouth. She felt her mouth go dry and swallowed, mirroring his reaction. Did Wooyoung always have his lips so full? “I would treat you right. If I was your man…” he rested his hand behind Y/N’s body on the couch and got close enough to feel her labored breathing. “Just me, you wouldn’t waste your time.”

Y/N was left with nothing to say because the sincerity in his words caught her completely off guard, she wasn't expecting it but that didn't stop her mind from starting to entertain the idea.

He was always very polite and respectful towards her, never went overboard with jokes and made the atmosphere happier. And she couldn't even say anything negative about his look.

Wooyoung was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life, the type that would make her drop everything for him, the type that she would fall madly in love with if she weren't so confused.

But the blindfold that blinded her eyes seemed to be falling apart as Wooyoung sighed each word so close to her face, making the room increasingly hot and the air lacking.

She never imagined hearing that kind of thing from him, from a man who had the entire world thrown at his feet.

“I-I don’t know what to tell you.”

He brought the thumb of his free hand to her lips, shushing her.

"You don’t need to say anything." he whispered and she felt a shiver on the back of her neck. That short, new distance between them was making her feel dizzy, Wooyoung's scent was so intoxicating that she couldn't think about anything other than how much she wanted him to get closer.

And in fact, it was as if he was reading her mind, as he not only began to move closer but brought his hand to her cheek, creating a warm and subtle contact. Y/N's breathing was ragged, she was panting at the way he was looking at her.

When their noses gently touched and their eyelids threatened to droop, they were interrupted.

“Wooyoung-ah, did you see my-” Hongjoong’s voice echoed through the apartment, making them both move away suddenly and Y/N jumped in fright, feeling her heart stop in her throat as she saw the oldest appear in the room . “Oh hi Y/N, I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, I…” she got up from the couch, completely distancing herself from Wooyoung who looked impatient, clearly anxious. “I needed to bring Wooyoung’s clothes.” she explained quickly and Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, taking turns looking between her and his friend who was taking a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. The two seemed very suspicious and hadn't even done anything. “But I’m already leaving.”

“Don’t you want to stay a little longer? Do you want to have some tea?” Hongjoong offered and she shook her head.

“No, tomorrow I need to wake up early anyway, you know how Mrs. Park is.” She smiled shyly and he nodded.

“It’s a shame you won’t come with us on tour this year,” he said. “Isn’t it, Wooyoung?”

Y/N tried to hide her ears burning with embarrassment as she slowly turned to face Wooyoung.

"Yes!" he responded promptly, getting up from the sofa, looking at her again, leaving her shy. “I even spoke to our manager hyung, but Mrs. Park needs you.”

“No more than one of us.” Hongjoong spoke, catching the attention of both of them who looked at him with frowns and he simply smiled innocently.

“Well, maybe next time.” she cleared her throat, running her sweaty hands over her jeans and as soon as a silence settled in, she sighed. "I'm already going. You guys need to rest too.”

Hongjoong walked over to hug her briefly.

“See you in a few months. Try not to miss us so much.”

“This is going to be an impossible task.” she laughed and they walked away. "Bon voyage."

He nodded in thanks and Y/N went towards the door, being accompanied by Wooyoung, she lowered her head shyly and put back the shoes she had taken off while being watched by Wooyoung.

“I know I'm going to miss you.” he spoke quietly and she suppressed a smile.

Y/N looked at him as soon as she stood up straight again and saw him come closer to hug her tightly, she closed her eyes at the contact and gave in to the hug. It was hot, it made her heart beat even faster and her legs trembled as if everything she had felt when he was clearly going to kiss her before wasn’t enough. She wondered if he could feel how anxious she was, how fast her heart was beating because of him.

“Don’t forget what I told you.” he whispered close to her ear, making every pore of Y/N's body tingle.

Now she not only wondered if she would give him a chance, but already imagined the answer and what good would come from it.

[...]

To say that Y/N wasn't nervous would be a huge lie.

She spent the day thinking about Wooyoung and she didn't know what time he would arrive back home but she wanted to see him.

In the last few months, after the trip to start the tour, she and Wooyoung spoke every day, sometimes via video calls, but always via messages. They had created a stronger bond, they were developing an intimacy that made Y/N feel safe.

Safe enough to be sure of what she wanted.

She wanted him, it was simple.

For a few weeks she repressed and even refused to believe, reinforcing everything that could go wrong, but on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel everything she felt when she talked to him. There were no games with Wooyoung and she liked that.

Well, she was in love with him. That was the truth!

She actually questioned herself for how long she had felt this way and hadn't even noticed because she was too busy seeing someone who didn't exactly see her, who didn't make a point of being with her like Wooyoung did.

And now, knowing that the tour was officially over and that he was coming back, it made all the butterflies in the world rest in her stomach. Even though they hadn't actually specified something, she was waiting for a text or call from him.

The doorbell to Y/N's apartment rang, making her jump back and almost let the glass she was washing run through her fingers. She hurried to let the glass dry in the sink and dried her hands behind her back to run to the door.

And she was even more surprised when saw Wooyoung standing in front of her apartment when she opened the door, she even lost her speech, making him laugh lightly.

“You- when- what-” she stuttered, blinking several times to make sure she was seeing right.

“I’m not even going to get a hug?” He asked and she sighed.

As soon as she nodded, Wooyoung entered the apartment seeking her body in a tight bear hug, which lifted her slightly off the ground while he buried his face in her neck, causing new goosebumps to run through her body.

Y/N took the opportunity to take her hands to the large strands of his hair, it was a little longer since the last time they saw each other.

“I didn’t know you were back already.” she spoke quietly and he placed her back on the ground, pulling away to face her with a wide smile.

“I've almost arrived now, actually.” he broke the hug to take off his shoes while he rested his hand on the door to close it and she frowned. “I just had time to leave my bags at home and take a shower.”

Y/N felt her heart warm.

“You should have rested a little…”

He shook his head.

“I couldn’t wait.” he confessed, shrugging and she smiled shyly. “I needed to talk to you.”

She swallowed the anxiety that had settled in the pit of her stomach and clasped her hands that were sweating cold.

"Me too." admitted and he looked at her hopefully. “Come on, I don’t want you to stand there at the door. Come in."

Y/N held Wooyoung by the hand and pulled him inside, leading him to the living room, but he didn't even sit on the sofa, he stopped her with his hand and she turned to face him.

“Did anything change?” he asked, directly and she sighed.

"Yes." she replied quietly but firmly. “You told me you would treat me right.”

He nodded and didn't look away from her.

“I would never hurt you.” he said, convinced.

"I know." she smiled lightly. "I trust you."

Those words seemed to sound like music in his ears and he smiled widely, they didn't need to say anything because the sparkle in both their eyes was enough. Wooyoung approached, placing his hands on Y/N's face and she felt her heart flutter but didn't stop him, in fact she approached just like him.

Resting her hands on his arms, she saw him touch their foreheads making her lose herself in his scent while she felt tickled with their noses touching lightly, she smiled lightly but it didn't last long as he kissed her in the same second, making her closing her eyes to truly enjoy the feeling of having his warm lips against hers.

She didn't know how it was possible for her legs to be so weak, but it was what his lips moving against hers was doing to her body. She could lose herself forever in the wet and hot sensation but he had other plans, he sucked her lower lip as he brought with him to break the kiss and make her let out a gasp.

Y/N squeezed his arms as if to ensure she could still stand, however his hands went down to her waist where he hugged her firmly while her hands went up to his shoulders.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” he spoke against her face, which took in the air she needed, still with her eyes closed.

“So we have to make up for the lost time.” Without the strength to face him, or else she wouldn't be able to stand, she kept her eyes closed.

Wooyoung began a new kiss, this time faster and more passionate, the voracious lips made Y/N lose track of the entire world around her, the only thing she wanted was to be there, in his arms.

They actually took advantage of everything they had missed in the last few months, Wooyoung's hands squeezed Y/N's waist without hurting while hers went up to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

There was no space between their bodies and neither of them wanted to stop there, it seemed little compared to the need they felt, they needed more. He then took the opportunity to walk with Y/N and ended up pressing her against the wall next to the sofa, it was enough to press his body against hers, who sighed at the contact.

Breathless, he kissed her neck and she just tilted her head to the side, giving him free access to do whatever he wanted with her skin and it wasn't a wasted opportunity.

Wooyoung didn't just distribute kisses but also light bites and licks that made Y/N's throat dry while her hands could only grab his hair, it was difficult to control the moans that insisted on wanting to come out of her mouth.

He then moved his hands to her thighs, just below her ass, and lifted her up. Y/N took the opportunity to wrap her legs around his waist and when she felt him hard against her hips, she couldn't suppress a low moan.

She opened her eyes to find Wooyoung already looking at her with desire, his dark eyes burned for her as much as hers burned for him, without having anything to say, they began a new kiss, hurriedly in which their tongues met quickly, making bodies brushed against each other for the first time that night.

While Y/N had her back pressed hard against the wall, she scratched the back of his head with desire, feeling her body practically erupt. It was then that she grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing and pulled it up, giving a clear indication of what she wanted, he broke the kiss once again to let her take the piece off.

He smiled proudly when he saw her admiring his chest, she seemed mesmerized by his abs, but he wasted no time in doing the same to her. He lifted the light fabric tank top she was wearing and Y/N helped him by lifting her arms so that the piece didn't get in the way of their warm torsos meeting and when that happened he brushed his hips against hers.

“This is so much better than my dreams.” she said, breathing heavily.

“Did you dream about this?” he asked, panting.

She nodded and looked at him firmly.

“Every night since you left.” She admitted, making him smile mischievously.

He moved closer to kiss her again, but this time they were interrupted by the shrill doorbell. They stared at the door as if to guess who was there and Y/N made to get off Wooyoung's lap but he grabbed her ass and kept her there.

“The person leaves, nothing is more important than that.” he whispered and she laughed softly, agreeing.

He took the opportunity to kiss her collarbone and began distributing wet kisses to that area, making her dizzy.

“Y/N?” her eyes widened when she heard the male voice on the other side of the door.

Wooyoung stopped what he was doing to look at her and she looked at him completely surprised.

That couldn't be the…

“I needed to talk to you. You don’t respond to my messages anymore.”

Devil in person.

“Is that- that guy who was making a fool of you?” Wooyoung asked and she nodded.

He changed his expression, he wasn't happy at all with that interruption.

“I know you’re home, I can hear your whispers.” she felt her jaw drop.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and Y/N actually considered going to the door to throw the abused person out of her life, but Wooyoung was holding her so tightly that it didn't look like he was going to let go anytime soon.

“I know a way to make him go away real quick.” he said and she looked at him with a raised eyebrow, curious about his answer.

“You’re not going to hit him, right?”

He snorted.

“Okay, no, it was my first idea but I have another one.” he replied and she nodded.

He placed her on the floor carefully and began to take off the pants he was wearing, making Y/N open her eyes wide and covered her mouth with her hand to hold back laughter.

He pulled her by the hand and made her stand next to the door, on the side where the asshole wouldn't see her and then Wooyoung opened the door quickly, in his underwear, clearly hard and with swollen red lips.

“It wasn’t her whispers.” He leaned against the doorframe and Y/N had to control her laughter. “It was moans.”

Y/N's jaw dropped and she really wanted to laugh.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Wooyoung replied to the question ironically. “Leave my girlfriend alone and get out the door, unless you want to hear her waking up the neighborhood.”

He closed the door in his face and faced Y/N who was holding back her laughter, he softened his expression and approached her, pulling her by the waist.

"You’re crazy." She placed her hand on his arms.

“Hey, I didn’t tell any lies.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he just pulled her back onto his lap, grabbing one of her thighs. “I’m going to make you scream my name.”

#wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung scenarios #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung fic #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez scenario #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez suggestive #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x female reader #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop fic #kpop suggestive #kpop x y/n #kpop x you #kpop x reader #maari

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Metamorphose | 2k

my masterlist | ao3 ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader ✦ Summary: You and Simon deal with the pain of losing a baby. ✦ TW and general warnings: established relationship, angst, fluff, sensitive content (abortion), depression and eating disorder mentions, it's painful but he comforts you

A/N: Hi everyone! Since I'm working hard on some requests I've received and in the next chapter of Shades of Red, I decided to release this kinda old drabble of mine here. I'm not too satisfied with how it ended up but enoughly to post, so enjoy <3

I'd also like to mention that I have a taglist for my longfic Shades of Red but not one for my general writing and drabbles so I'll make a post for it, but till then, if anyone's interested in being tagged in my general posts and drabbles, please let me know <3

The sky is colored in blue, pink and purple.

Mostly blue.

You stare outside of the window while it changes, a golden yellow sun by the morning that rises; it spent too much time burning bright in the also bright blue sky. You counted the hours till it started descending. Now, the sun was nothing more than a little line by the horizon, and the sky was fading into cold colors, fading into the cold night. 

You feel hungry, but it felt wrong to eat knowing you’d be sick of your stomach the second food hits it. You’re not in town anymore, Simon decided it would be better if the two of you took some time out in the country, where it was safe and you’d have time and space to do the things you loved. Running with your dog, swimming in the lake, breathing the fresh air. Truth is, you don’t feel like doing anything. Your legs are too tired, you’re sleepy, you’re tired. You’re very tired. 

You heard him on the phone earlier. His voice was hoarse and low, he argued you wouldn’t want to receive visits. You could tell whoever it was - was insisting, pushing him too hard into allowing them to visit you. He blatantly denied, and you could feel his mood changing in a bit of seconds, his patience running low and the moment he turned off and let out a huge snort; and it had been perhaps two hours since that happened.

You let out a tired sigh, your empty sad eyes stare down at a small sign of movement under the window you were staring at. A little cocoon, seeming to be still inhabited, was hanging from a little line in there. You knew it was supposed to keep hanging till the moment that little caterpillar metamorphosed into a butterfly, and broke the shell, flying out freely. But for some reason you can’t understand - as well as many things in nature, this one cocoon is about to fall.

Your shaky hands reach out for it and before it hit the ground, you carefully pull it and it detaches without a second guess. You take a small look around the room and grab a small empty cup where the water you were supposed to have drunk evaporated, and place the small thing inside of it.

“There you go.” You mutter, the first time you hear your own voice in days, maybe weeks. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. And you’re not supposed to die without being conceived the chance of living, even if only for a day.

You reach for Simon downstairs, minutes later. Looking pale for the lack of food you’ve been putting yourself through, tired for even standing, collateral effects of the strong medication you’re taking for the sake of your life. 

“Baby.” You mutter, and he turns instantly from the alluring stare he was giving the fireplace. Your man’s sitting in a cozy armchair, drinking tea - cold at this point - and dissociating just like yourself. You blame yourself for a second: how can you put him through so much? Isn’t he suffering as much as you, why are you isolating him?

“Yes, my love?” He quickly responds, like he craves for hearing more of you. “Another nightmare?” he asks, standing to come closer to you.

You shook your head. “No… I found this.” you show the cup between your hands; Simon doesn’t seem to get it at first glance. “A butterfly. It’ll come out anytime, the cocoon is moving.” you state.

“Oh.” He raises an eyebrow, and sighs a little. “What a cute thing… Should we put it in the garden?” He asks, so much calm in his voice you feel yourself a little lighter. 

“I want to see it.” You state. “The butterfly, I don’t know what type it will be, I’m curious.” 

Simon looks at you like love would, if love was a person. He’s as tired as you, you can tell. Maybe his legs work a bit more than yours and his hands have the capacity of doing the hard work still, but his mind is as empty as yours.

“Of course.” He nods, and reaches for his own coat, placing it around your shoulders. You feel warm and cozy to the smell of him. “We can watch, come on.” he suggests, and grabs onto your hand. 

His squeeze is light and calm, and your body follows him instinctively, not thinking about anything but the comfort you crave right now.

For the past few days, the only thing you could think of was the void in your belly. The void you haven’t felt in months; when you told him you were pregnant, Simon stared at you in complete despair and horror for at least ten excruciating silent minutes. You weren’t used to the idea as well, you’d have to interrupt your current work, you’d have to dedicate yourself to learn the slightest about being a mother.

It is a lie that every woman is born knowing how to hold a baby. When the two of you would visit some of your friends and their children, you’d try to picture yourself as holding your own baby instead of holding theirs. You couldn’t. They’d tell you that oh, god, don’t hold him like this, while laughing. But for you that was a sinful despairing moment.

Simon knew better than you, as a matter of fact. He held babies correctly, unintentionally - but very correctly. 

You didn’t know if you were supposed to feel envious of his natural ability or proud of having this man as a daddy to your baby. 

You learnt to love the little thing growing in your belly. He did, too. He would often bring gifts to you - keeping track with your cravings, and also buying things for the baby. Baby’s little room would be full soon enough. This little creature who wasn’t even born yet was everywhere around your house. The worries about conciliating Simon’s work with your pregnancy were starting to catch the two of you off guard, and soon as he asked for a license to take care of his pregnant wife, that day. That night. So much pain, so much blood. He wasn’t a small lifeless fetus anymore, it was a whole baby. It was a girl. She had a name. 

Some things aren’t supposed to happen. 

“Your parents want to visit.” He mutters, the two of you sitting in the swinging chairs by the garden, surrounded by dozens of different kinds of flowers. The weather is fairly cold, but you don’t feel it with his coat around yourself. “Told them you wouldn’t want to.

“I don’t.” You agree. “Tell them I need time.”

“I did.” He fixes the coat you have around yourself, and glares into you as the sky fades into deeper tones of dark blue. “I was a little less polite than that, but I did.”

“If you weren’t, they wouldn’t listen.” You argue, looking at him now, too. Your eyes fall deep into the void of his own. 

For the first time in those two painful weeks, you can feel his pain flowing through his damaged soul. Like yours. 

“I know. Terribly stubborn blood you have, dear.” he mutters, moving your hair off your face. “Did you manage to eat something today?”

“No. I’m sorry.” You mutter, your voice failing for the first time.

“Don’t do this to me.” His voice comes out pained like yours. He closes his eyes, and his jaw clenches in sadness when he sees the tears start gleaming through your eyes. “Don’t apologize. Don’t cry…” he asks in an almost begging voice.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, love, this is all my fault, it’s-” you catch your breath in your throat and suddenly, you’re falling apart. Days of nothing, weeks of not feeling anything but pain in your chest, despair, panic, and now you’re falling apart in front of him. Your tears stream down your face like overflowing rivers. “It’s my fault.” You say, grabbing handfuls of your hair and tugging your face on your knees. 

Simon feels his own eyes get drenched as he can’t hold his own rivers by seeing you like this. He kneels down to the ground in front of you, pulling your hands from your hair, carefully stopping you from hurting yourself; feels excruciating to him to be able to do nothing.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” He mutters, and you feel your body moving up. He holds you like you’re lightweight and takes his seat where you were sat at, now, holding you like a baby against his lap. You tuck your face on his chest now, the tears wetting his shirt, your painful voice coming out in low groans of pain, a painful cry of a mother who lost her children. The sad dead eyes of a father who watched this happening and couldn’t do nothing about it. The grief of parents, who didn’t have the chance of raising their children.

“Why? It hurts so much, so much.” You say beneath your cry, your eyes drenched, your face red from all of the crying. His hand is caressing the back of your head as he silently cries.

“I know. I know it hurts.” his voice is almost a blow of the wind, a whisper. “I can’t possibly know how it feels for your, my darling, but it feels bloody excruciating to me, everyday. I miss her all of the time.” He admits, his voice like the one of a kid who just lost its parents. “I miss talking to her, feeling her kick in. I miss her.” 

For the past few days, the two of you seemed to be speaking in foreign languages.

Couldn’t understand each other. Couldn’t comprehend. He was in pain, so were you. None of you could see each other, understand each other. The two of you needed space. The fights, the screaming, his complaints about your refusal to get help and your anger for not feeling understood.

Right now, you feel understood.

Who could understand a grieving mother more, than the kid’s grieving father?

You miss moments that didn’t exist. That didn’t even happen.

You shouldn’t have died without even getting the chance of living. Even if for a day.

“I’d give anything to have a day with her. A fucking day, just one.” You mutter in admission, as you hug in his arms and feel his warmth start to make you calmer by the second. Simon closes his eyes in acknowledgement.

“Me too, darling. And I don’t know what can we possibly do so this hurts any less, but I’m pretty sure we can make it easier if we’re together in this.” He affirms, his hand reaching for your face and washing away your tears. You look at his eyes for the very first time in weeks now. “We face it together.” 

The sky is painted in dark blue now as night approaches and the cold finally starts rising completely. You feel it hitting your skin, as Simon has you in his arms and you hum a low lullaby to the air. He runs his hand across your belly like he somehow tries to heal you from the void you’ve been feeling.

If she feels empty, then I’ll fill her with my own love.

You close your eyes and even though in this terribly uncomfortable position, you feel warm, and you feel cared. You rest. You fall asleep in a matter of seconds

None of you had awakened in time to see the cocoon hatch and the butterfly fly out. But for the past months, for the past years - when you were facing the task of emptying your baby’s room along with Simon, or when you were working - and even in other times, when you’d catch yourself thinking about her, you’d see a blue butterfly flying around you. 

Simon was too skeptical to believe, but even so, he’d always catch every butterfly he’d see, and bring it to you. “Look, who’s coming to visit!”

#simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fic #simon riley fluff

[manticore-fangs]

ANXIETY DRIVEN. (GHOAP x Reader) | OLD ASS POST.

—

cw/tw: severe anxiety, angst, mentions of trauma, crying, yelling, punching (not at anyone), anger, degradation?

a/n: this is based off meltdowns and trauma i endured, so excuse me if stuff isn’t correct for you- but this is like.. an self-insert? i think it is. anyways, not proof-read.

—

the day started off normally. simply. you woke up, got dressed did chores and made yourself supper, that was all you did when your boyfriends we’re deployed. of course you stress, worry and fear of many things when their gone. their your comfort, they stabilize you but obviously your mind starts tricking you, saying: “they don’t need you.” “your doing this, having breakdowns and not helping them.” “they don’t care about your emotions” and more nasty words you don’t wanna hear.

your phone was in your hand as you laid on the couch where you had blankets splayed over yourself, keeping yourself warm and cozy. you we’re relaxing before your mother messaged you, it was a rant about: “you don’t watch your siblings enough! if you wanna be a mother soon, then watch your siblings for me when i’m busy!” and aswell saying “their such good kids, your siblings- they don’t embarrass me as much as you did when you we’re younger.”

it absolutely broke you, obviously she seen the “read” there, but what made you the most angry is the fact she never mentions you anymore. doesn’t post you ever. ever since your siblings we’re born, your mother didn’t care about you- she said she loves you but it doesn’t feel like she does. you were and are stuck in a place where you don’t know what to do and how to show your mother that: ‘i can show you, i can do this for you’ just to get her validation.

the last time she posted a picture of you was your birthday, saying how much she loved you. but when your sister’s birthday came along she wrote a whole paragraph on how much your sibling saved her when you were the one that suffered along with her through the tough times. she even abandoned you on your great grandmothers front porch saying: “i cant be a mother, take her” leaving you there on the porch.

you were laying down on the couch, but you gradually sat up. adrenaline coursing through your veins as you looked at your phone, flipping it over. you screamed. loud. your lover’s haven’t came home yet, so you can scream as loud as you want. with the anger that boiled up, you we’re screaming- yelling at the top of your longs saying how much ‘you hate your mother’ or ‘your mother is a psycho’ your hands were genuinely trembling- shaking even.

you wanted to punch something, a wall, the couch- anything and you did but nothing relieved the tension and anger. your hands moved fast, you clenched them- shook them, wiggled your fingers trying to think of what you can do next- you thought about hitting your thigh or a body part but you didn’t- refraining yourself from damaging you. you were sobbing, crying. so so sad and.. anxious? depressed? you don’t know.

you pulled on your hair, having your eyes closed and blurry, a hand grabbed your wrist making you flinch and gasp- eyes opening until you heard johnny’s voice. “hey- bonnie, is alrigh’ your safe wit’ me now, shh.. shh my love.. is alright..” he moved your wrist away and pulled you back onto his chest- you sobbed. sobbed all night, your mother.. your fucking mother.

#❌ OLD FIC I MADE WHEN I WAS VERY HURT. #❌THIS IS ALSO AN SELF INSERT. I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND. #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod mwii #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap fic #soap mw2 #soap mw3 #soap x you #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon #x female reader #x fem!reader

[stilestilinski]

i just want to start this off by making this clear: i don’t care that byler isn’t canon. i don’t have any serious ships in stranger things and i knew that the duffers would never make it canon in the first place, since our community is almost always put on the back burner for cishet characters/romances. no, my problem is this: what was the point of having will fall in love with mike? narratively speaking, what did will gain from him having feelings for his best friend? what did it showcase? that what, will is gay? most of us who really watched the show knew that already. they’ve hinted at that plenty of times throughout the entire show that will was gay without involving mike at all (the homophobic bullying, his brother telling him not to worry about being normal, being completely uninterested in girls, his alan turning project, being uncomfortable with the girl next to him in class flirting with him, etc). those hints would have been telling enough without having will be in love with mike. and to make matters worse, they decided to have will use his unrequited love for mike, to help him confess his love to his girlfriend, and then have will watch it in person and suffer. what a joke. if they had truly wanted give will some type of romance arc, they easily could (and should) have introduced someone new in s4 that he met in school that he’s crushing on, and that develops throughout the season into s5. after all, they just introduced eddie this season and all of us loved him, so they could have done the same with a crush for will if they really wanted to. but no. instead, they once again have the gay kid pining for his straight best friend (and actively helping said friend with his relationship problems) while all his other friends get to have interesting, well developed, requited, romantic relationships. hell, they could have had the arc just been about will himself figuring out his sexuality, no romantic feelings involved, but they couldn’t even give will the dignity of that either. we had to watch his heart break over and over again throughout the season, for essentially no narrative reason. so i don’t really give a shit that it’s “realistic” for someone in the lgbt+ community to fall in love with a straight person. nothing about this show is “realistic”. it’s literally about a girl who has superpowers, murderous dnd monsters, and an alternate reality in small town indiana. i’m sorry, but “realism” is a bullshit excuse and will deserves more than being just the sad gay boy who falls in unrequited love with his straight best friend. will deserves character development, plot relevance, love, and happiness, and i’m tired of seeing queer suffering in media for the sake of heterosexual characters and their development.

#stranger things #will byers #byler #i literally cringed the whole time like what was the fucking point of that arc??? to help mike out??? give me a break. will deserves better #st spoilers #mimi.txt

[stevesworld96]

look at me now (part one)

--- steve harrington x fem!reader

childhood friends to strangers to lovers. this is a more realistic look at developing a relationship with steve, set in canon while you know nothing about the monsters, or the nightmares, or all of his scars.

a fic about knowing steve before, during, and after the events of the upside down. including all the ways your friendship with him grows, wilts, then grows again - to blossom into something he probably doesn’t deserve. 

tags: fem reader, no use of y/n, childhood friends, typical king steve meanness, yes there is an allusion to steve being icarus, kissing, fighting and making up, cliches, a lot of emotions, depression and suffering etc, reader has an aunt, mentions of death and injuries, codependent steve and robin, steve is so so so so so so so sad. hawkins doesn't get destroyed after the vecna fight - everything else follows canon

please read both parts, i worked so hard on this fic and i'm really proud of it :)

part two!!!

word count: 14878

-

You knew Steve Harrington better than you knew anybody. At least, you liked to think so. 

You were five when you moved to Hawkins into the house right next door to Steve’s, and as things go when you’re a kid, that automatically made you best friends. At that age you didn’t have to try to be friends with somebody - as long as they lived nearby and had a bike, that sealed the deal. 

He was only knee high to his mother, hiding behind her legs when she brought him over to introduce themselves. “We’re the Harrington's,” she said, then with a tight laugh, “minus one - my husband. This is our son. Steve - say hi, Stevie.” 

He didn’t. Your mothers started a polite conversation and your eyes darted between the tall woman and her son. She was dressed like she had somewhere important to be, with red lipstick painted on her lips and pearls hung around her neck. She was pretty. 

Her son didn’t stand with the same pride she had - he was peeking at you, tugging the hem of his mother’s dress and looking down at his feet. You could hardly get a good look at him, and he didn’t even wave back at you. His haircut was prim and proper; the button up shirt he wore was swallowing him.

They came inside for lemonade, and you led Steve into your living room, and by the end of the hour you had instantly become friends, bonding over your toy car collection that Steve loved. 

You were kids - of course things were so easy. 

To see him, all you had to do was walk over to his front door and knock, and you could spend as much time together as you wanted. Or just wait until his parents needed a babysitter - after they learned how much you and Steve loved spending time together, they started to drop him off at your house and you’d have sleepovers for days. 

It was when Mr. Harrington had gotten a big promotion that they’d leave Steve with your family nearly once a week. 

“I’m sorry, Stevie, I know me and Dad haven’t been home much lately. But next month isn’t as busy for us,” his mom would tell him. 

“It’s okay, Mom,” he’d reply. “Don’t worry, I like staying here, so I’m alright.” 

At your age you didn’t see the irony in a seven year old telling his mother that things were okay - shouldn’t it be the other way around? - but those apologies from his mother wouldn’t last very long. And the promises she always made were never kept. Soon enough, she stopped making them altogether. 

Sometimes he’d just show up at your door, and your parents didn’t have to ask questions because they already knew more than you did, and you didn’t understand that he was more comfortable in your bedroom than in his own. 

The routine of your friendship felt like the foundation of your life. Everything you did was with Steve by your side, like you were tied together with an invisible string that couldn’t be broken. Snacks after school were a must; movie nights every other weekend were your safe haven. The last day of school every year you camped out in his backyard under the stars and then woke up early for a big breakfast and a day spent at the arcade. Even as you got older, those things stayed the same. 

You had busier schedules to work around in high school but you still made it work. After-school lunch turned into midnight snacks, and you moved from the arcade to the lake, but you were still intertwined with child-like joy and ease. 

Steve’s other friends were another story. Tommy H was a thorn in your side that you couldn’t pick out, but Steve didn’t get why you hated him so much. At first, you didn’t get it either - you just did.  

Until one day early in your junior year, Tommy H gave you a good enough reason for your disposition. 

Like always, Steve was waiting for you outside of your last class of the day, and you were just about to turn the corner when you heard Tommy’s loud, boisterous, annoying voice. 

“Steve, my boy, what’cha standing around here for?” 

Steve laughed, even though Tommy had said nothing funny. 

“Waiting on your favorite girl so I can get outta here - what’s up, dude?” 

“Come on,” Tommy said, dragging the words out. “We got shit to do, ditch her and let’s get a roll on, if you catch my drift.” 

You could see his stupid face in your head as he spoke - you just wanted him to go away so you could leave. But you’d wait there forever if it meant you didn’t have to have a conversation with him. 

You were hardly paying any mind to their words. 

“Can’t, dude, I’m her ride home. Tomorrow though, for sure.” 

“She’s holding you back, man.” 

But that caught your attention. They were both laughing even though, again, no one had said anything funny. 

“Y’think so?” 

“She even put out?” 

Your eyes rolled so far back to your head they could’ve gotten stuck. 

“It’s not like that with her.” 

“Oh, that’s not what Kimmy thinks.” 

“What? What do you mean - did she say something?” 

You knew Kimmy to be the new flavor of the week, Steve’s new eye candy. It’d be someone new in a matter of days - and this was one brand new trait of his you were struggling to overlook. 

“Just saying, most of the chicks think you’re taken by Miss Bitch -” 

You call Tommy H a dickhead to his face one time and he gives you a nickname that sticks for three years. 

“- and that’s why you’re not getting any action, dude. Gotta shake off the fleas, man.” 

And then Steve laughed. Loud.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to do. You hoped he would defend you even a little bit, but he didn’t. He just laughed, and said, “I’ll think about it, man,” as if he was in on this joke, and then Tommy left. 

And you didn’t know how you felt. 

It’s not like Steve said it. But he had no problem listening to Tommy H talk about you that way. He thought it was funny. 

Or, he was just saving face - did that make a difference?

You knew Tommy’s words were complete bullshit, and you didn’t care about him enough to let it affect you. Maybe Steve felt the same - maybe he just went along with it because it was easier. 

You hoped so, because that’s what you chose to do. You brushed it off and walked out of the room and acted as if nothing happened. 

“Hey - about time.” 

You didn’t reply; he continued talking as you walked together. 

“You hungry?” 

“Thought you were coming over,” you said. “Told you I wanted to build a blanket fort. Remember?” 

He huffed out a scoff, “A blanket fort? Are you six?” The glare you gave him made him reel his judgment back in. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

…

As soon as basketball season was over and you had your weekends back to yourself, you were ready to get through your watch list of movies as quickly as possible. You’d never tell Steve that cheering for him at his games was your least favorite part of your friendship with him - you would always keep that selfishness to yourself. 

And if you weren’t so wrapped up in your own mind, lost in planning your movie night, you may have been able to see your next conversation with Steve coming. 

“There she is, been lookin’ all over for you.” 

A heavy arm slung around your shoulders as you walked down the school hall. You didn’t have to question who it was. 

“What do you want, Steve?” 

“Just want to see my best friend in the whole world, is there something wrong with that?” 

You rolled your eyes. Obviously he’s up to something. 

“I’m going to choose to ignore you,” you said, shaking off his arm and stopping at your locker. His back fell into the metal next to you. 

“What’s up?” he asked, and he was trying too hard to be inconspicuous, but you ignored it. 

“Nothing. Oh, I think I finally have a cookie recipe we’ll like. Mrs. Jenkins gave it to me but she made me swear I wouldn’t share her secrets. Gonna pick up the stuff after school - have you picked your movie yet?” 

Then his eyes widened, a bit too much to look genuine. “Oh, shit, is that tonight?” 

“It’s Friday, isn’t it?” 

“I completely forgot about that, shit. I made other plans without thinking.” 

“Well, cancel them,” you said with a straight face. 

“Well… what if you join in on my plans instead?” 

You closed your locker and didn’t even consider entertaining Steve’s idea. “My mom’s already planning to make dinner for you. Are you ready to face her wrath?” 

“Well - no,” he said. “It’s just - y’know, I was supposed to see Nancy tonight, and…” 

“Oh, I get it, you wanna cancel so you can get laid. Is that it?” 

“No, Christ - I’ll be there, alright? But next time, I’m getting my way.” 

 You laughed at him, and the bell rang and ended your conversation. 

You didn’t think the night would go any differently than your normal hangouts. Maybe if you were expecting it, the disappointment wouldn’t have stung so bad. 

He called you early. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey -”

“Hey, have you picked up the movies yet? I forgot to get popcorn, so…” 

“No, I haven’t. Listen, um…” There was static on the line for a moment before he continued. “Sorry, but - can we - are you sure we can’t reschedule? Like, tomorrow night?” 

You groaned, you were annoyed. But even when he argued with you, Steve never ditched your valued traditions - he may act bothered sometimes, but he would always come around. Even if he did gripe about it being childish the entire time.  

That’s what you thought this would be. 

“No, Steve, I have book club and tutoring and dinner with my aunt tomorrow. You know this.” 

“Right. I guess I forgot about that. Okay, well…” 

“...Well?” 

Once again, he was quiet, and you weren’t sure if he was hesitating because he didn’t know what to say, or because he was nervous. 

“Well - I think it’d be really fun if we hung out at my place tonight!” 

“I guess I can bring all the ingredients for the cookies over. You do have a nicer oven…” you said.

“No, like, you can come over with everyone else I invited and we could -” 

“I thought you canceled that?” 

“I was going to, but… Tommy wouldn’t take no for an answer! And we already got the booze, and Nance finally said yes and - and I’d be really happy if you were here too!” 

“...Okay.”

“Okay…?”

You thought for a moment, then decided to ask him the question you were asking yourself. 

“Would you be happy if I was there, or would you be happy if I’m not mad at you for canceling?” 

“Uh - either one.” 

“Right.” 

That answer was good enough for you, even though it wasn’t the one you wanted. You weren’t getting anything you wanted that night, and you weren’t going to fight for it with someone who already had their mind made up. 

“Then have fun,” you said. 

“Really? We can cancel?” 

The excitement in his voice caused an angry laugh. “Yeah. Bye.” And you hung up. 

And you made your cookies, and you watched the movies you already had on tape, and you didn’t miss the popcorn but you wished you had Steve’s lap to put your feet on - and it was fine. 

You were sure he was having fun. And maybe he didn’t care at all about your canceled plans - because he was too busy with people who didn’t like you, doing something more exciting than what the two of you did as kids. 

It was selfish to be angry. Maybe it was wrong. But you let it boil over anyway. 

… 

You didn’t talk to him for a week after that. Because you didn’t want to, and you wanted to teach him a lesson, and you hoped it would make him sorry. 

Maybe you were being immature, but at this point, you were committed. 

You were afraid that you were setting the wrong example - that, maybe, he thought you were angry about him making his own plans, when the problem was how he’d canceled yours so last minute. Or perhaps it was both. But now you had dragged it out too long and you were stuck giving Steve the cold shoulder until he finally caved in and apologized. 

That’s all you wanted, really: an apology. And a bribe or two, just to get the most out of this argument. That’s how things usually went: you give him the silent treatment and he shows up at your door with your favorite snacks and a new book, and things would go back to normal. 

But not this time. 

You’d managed to bike to school without being caught by Steve all week, but you’d underestimated him waiting for you at the bike racks at the end of the day on Thursday. 

He stood with his arms crossed and his brows drawn together. The moment you saw him you stopped in your tracks, like if you stayed still he wouldn’t see you, but his gaze was locked on. It didn’t look kind. 

So you prepared yourself for this fight. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, but his tone said something different - it said, I’m sick of your shit. 

“What are you doing?” 

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “Just wondering how long you’re going to keep dragging this out.” 

You kept darting around his words and moved to get your bike as if he’d let you leave so easily. “I’m not dragging anything out. Don’t know what you mean.” 

His arms flung out to his sides as his voice raised, “You’re acting like a fucking kid!”

And your volume matched his, “You hurt my feelings!” 

“Well - grow up!” 

The short silence that followed felt heavy, but he didn’t let it sit for long. 

“I mean - come on - I ditch you one time and all of a sudden we’re not friends anymore? Really?” 

“A sorry would be nice, Steve.” 

“I’ve said sorry.” Both of you knew that he hadn’t, but it didn’t matter now. “But sorry isn’t enough, is it? You’re just mad that I have new friends. Because I don’t want to just - sit around and fucking - watch movies in your living room like we’re kids -” 

“Like we’re kids,” you said, laughing. “Yeah - right, because that’s really what this is about, isn’t it, Steve?” 

He looked confused, and you didn’t give him the chance to speak. 

“Because I’m holding you back. Right? Tommy H said it so it must be true. I’m a bitch and I’m keeping you down and you need to shake me off if you ever want to get any action - that’s what it is. Just say it, Steve.” 

“Where is this coming from?” He ran a hand through his hair and his voice sounded desperate, but you weren’t sure what for. Maybe to salvage the remnants of a wounded friendship, to turn this conversation around. But your anger wouldn’t let him. 

“You know where it’s coming from. I heard it, Steve, and you - you agreed with him! I’m your best friend but you can’t even defend me to your shitty fucking friends - so just say it! You’re the one who doesn’t want me around -” 

“That’s not what happened -” 

You were so angry, and he was lying, and Steve never lied to you, and he’d filled you with so much venom that you couldn’t help spitting it out as you stepped closer to him. “It is. And you’re turning it on me when you’re the shitty friend. Stop lying to me and just say it.” 

“Yeah, maybe that is what it is - and I was just too fucking stupid to see it before now. That you’re so fucking clingy I can’t even have one night with a girl without you getting jealous. He was right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Yeah, it was,” and you pulled your bike free and your foot hit the kickstand so hard that it hurt, and you told yourself the pain was the reason tears were flooding your eyes. 

“Maybe I’m better off without you - have you ever thought about that? Is that your fucking problem?”

“Whatever! I don’t care anymore! You never have to watch another fucking movie with me again, alright? We won’t go to the arcade or build stupid fucking blanket forts or any of the other childish shit you hate so much!”

“Good - fucking - good!” 

“And I hope you have fun playing King, and I hope when all your friends turn on you and Nancy dumps your ass - because you’re an asshole - that I’m the last person you run to for help, and I hope your dad is real fucking proud of you, because you’re turning out to be just fucking like him.” 

It all fell out like you were pushing rocks off of a cliff - fast and angry and hard. You knew what those words would do to him. You knew you were hurting his feelings more than he had ever hurt yours - that you were putting the knife in too deep to pull out. You knew and you said it anyway, because you were mad and he was being a dick and lashing out felt good. Especially when you could hop on your bike and ride away from him, fast enough to avoid watching the blood pooling at his feet. 

The worst part is that you were being honest. 

Steve stood there alone and didn’t even turn to watch you ride away. He felt like hitting something, or screaming until his lungs were empty and tired. 

And he didn’t even have time for any of this. He was finally making decisions for himself, for once, and who were you to get mad at him for that? He was popular, he had a girlfriend who was actually into him, his parents had finally gotten off his back. Things were going fantastic for him and he wasn’t going to let you mess it up because you were… jealous, or selfish, or whatever it was - Steve didn’t care. 

He wasn’t going to lose sleep over you refusing to grow up and give him space. He was on top of the world, and you were trying to tear him down. 

He didn’t need you, anyway. 

… 

Months passed.

And, like you had put a hex on him, all of your words came true - and then some. It didn’t take very long for things to crumble around him, and Steve almost thought it was funny how quickly his wings had melted to send him hurling into the ground. 

No matter how hard he tried patching the holes, everyone knows you can’t fly with wings made of wax.

The fall hurt. But it was what came after that brought the real pain - a stinging, striking ache that was impossible to ignore. It felt like he was the last person on earth and he deserved it; like he shouldn’t be allowed to be around other people because he was no good.

And every time he tried putting the pieces back together, things only got more broken - all starting at Jonathan Byers’ front door. 

What could get worse than fighting a monster from an alternate dimension? 

Or fucking things up with your girlfriend beyond repair? 

Or fighting those monsters again? 

He learned quickly to stop asking stupid questions like those. 

And he learned that he couldn’t just close his eyes and wish it away. He couldn’t run when things got scary; he couldn’t lash out when someone was honest with him; he couldn’t sneak out of his window and into yours when the yelling got too loud. He was forced to face everything he ever hid from, cursed to have regrets and keep them. 

At least he wasn’t completely alone - the company of nerdy kid genius Dustin Henderson brought most of these lessons on. And in a normal situation Steve wouldn’t recommend learning anything from a kid in junior high, but he was living anything but a normal life. He’d take friends wherever he could get them, especially during senior year. 

Maybe he wanted to set a good example for the kids that suddenly came into his life. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t his father - that he could do good things without getting something out of it. Or maybe, most likely, he just did it. 

He wanted to feel like a superhero, wanted to look in the mirror and feel proud of what stared back at him. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t. He wasn’t brave or heroic or gallant - he was no Clark Kent. And everything he did was because he had to. Because who else would? 

Sometimes he felt like only someone as careless as him would fight a man-eating creature with nothing but a baseball bat - because out of everyone he knew, he had the least to lose. Why bother making safe decisions when most days he didn’t even want to get out of bed? What was he risking when he’d already bet it all and lost? 

And who would be proud of that?

But there were moments, in the time between the fall and the fight, that he could almost see it. Like a flicker of light passing by he’d see Max smiling at him, hear Dustin’s excited laughter, feel a heavy high five from Lucas and he’d think - oh. Right there, standing in front of him, were the people he had to lose. The ones he was trying to win for. 

And then he’d lay in bed at night and get stuck in another sleepless round of self loathing; hatred fueled by every cruel word he’d spit and all the selfish acts he’d taken, and fuck, he was spinning and suffocating and screaming, and maybe he deserved this. 

It didn’t matter that he knew how to swing a fucking bat good enough to win more time for the ones he loved, because he wouldn’t love them right, anyway. And he’d turned the best person he’d ever known into nothing more than a crumpled piece of paper on his floor - something to be tossed aside and forgotten. And even if he tried smoothing it out, those creases would always be there. 

Sometimes he stared out his window and watched yours. Waited for your light to turn off so he could look away and stop wondering what you were doing and how your life was without him in it. 

All he wanted was to see you again. He’d beg for that movie night he ditched on junior year. He wanted to grab you by your shoulders and show you that he’s better now, he’s changed, those last words you told him weren’t applicable anymore and everything can just go back to how it was. 

But nothing was ever that easy, was it?

He was glad when graduation finally came around, until he was forced into a sailor’s uniform with an ice cream scoop on his belt like a gun in a holster. 

It was one way to spend the summer. It got him out of the house he hated staying in, and put a little money in his pocket, so slinging ice cream at Scoop’s Ahoy was good enough for him. 

It distracted him from the vague nightmares he kept having and the fact that he got into a total of zero universities, and the free ice cream counted as dinner on his bad days. And he was fine with his obnoxious co-worker and annoying customers. 

He was just fine. 

But it was Hawkins. Nothing could stay fine there - not after a little girl with super powers opened a portal to an alternate fucking dimension and turned the town into a magnet for every fucked up thing imaginable. 

Steve thought it was over, and then Dustin had him and Robin translating the Russian words he heard over his radio, and they were all pulled back in. 

He wasn’t expecting to fall into the Russian lair under Starcourt Mall, to trauma bond with Robin - of all people - or to get any closer to dying than he already had, but he stopped betting on his expectations a long time ago. 

By the time he saw the night sky again, he couldn’t remember how many punches he’d been thrown.

His head throbbed to the beat of his heart. It felt like if he tapped his temple, his eye would pop right out. His work uniform was ruined, stained with blood and spit, but the smoke billowing from Starcourt ensured that he wouldn't be needing it anymore. 

The events of the night felt like they were years away. All he remembered was running, screaming, crying; he remembered the fist coming toward his face but not the impact. He woke up to pain, and then it was gone - more running and bleeding and fighting and then, it was over. 

Robin sat next to him, shivering, on the back of an ambulance. The lights from the siren were blinding, the noise around him was punching his ear drums. 

“Are we alive?” Robin asked. Her voice was totally shot. 

“Think so.” 

“I want to lay down so bad.” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Do you have someone to call?” 

She sighed deep. “Not really.” She let it be quiet for only a second, then said, “I don’t really want to go home. To be honest.” 

“You wanna spend the night here?” 

“If I don’t have to be alone, then, yeah.” 

He sighed, too, then patted her knee. 

He said, “I’ll call someone, alright?” and she nodded. 

The payphone was a bit of a walk, and he had to wait behind two people in line, but it was enough time for him to muster up the courage to make the call. Even still, when he had the phone in his hand, all he could do was stare at it. 

He was trying to remember the exact words you said to him the last time he spoke to you. Something like, “I hope I’m the last one you call,” he was sure. It was hard to remember your phrasing now, but the memory still stung all the same. 

And he knows it’s not fair to call you, but he was going to anyway. Because in all honesty, you were the only option he had. 

Any other time, he’d rely on Hopper for a ride. But Hopper wasn’t around anymore. 

So he dialed your number and prayed you hadn’t changed it from the one he knew by heart. 

-

Your hand darted out of your blanket to reach your bedside telephone. The ringing killed your half asleep ears, and you hardly knew what you were doing when you put the receiver to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

You could barely get the word out; your voice was thick with sleep that was slowly creeping over you. 

“Hey. It’s Steve.” 

With your heavy eyes shut, sleep was pulling you back in. Your whole body jumped a little bit when you attempted to stay awake. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry for waking you up, but -” 

You didn’t know what was going on, and then you heard sirens on the phone. A jolt of anxiety seared through you at the sound. That’s what got you to wake up - then you realized who you were talking to. 

“Steve?”

“...Yeah.” 

“What - what’s wrong?” 

Your heart was pounding out of your chest as you sat up in bed, holding yourself up with one shaky arm. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you held your breath until he answered your question. “There was an, uh - accident at Starcourt, and - I don’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I can’t drive right now and I don’t have anybody else.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Barely.”

You didn’t give your answer a second thought. “I’ll be there in, like, five minutes, okay?” 

You could hear his breath of relief over the phone. “Okay. Thank you.” 

After stealing your mother’s car keys, you stuffed your bare feet into combat boots and ran to the car. Even though you still only had your learners permit, you absolutely floored it to the mall without a single thought in your mind. It was like you were on autopilot, simply doing what you were supposed to, because you were scared. 

You saw plumes of smoke before Starcourt ever came into view, and you swallowed through your dry throat because you knew something bad happened. 

You had to fight through crowds and cops before you were allowed to pass under the police tape to search for Steve, which wasn’t easy. Every face you saw wasn’t his and each second that passed dug a deeper pit in your stomach. 

The second-to-last ambulance in the lineup is where you found him, sitting next to a girl whose head was on his shoulder. 

And when you saw him… it wasn’t him. Your eyes glazed over him because he was hardly recognizable. 

You’d seen him beat up before. He’s had his fair share of fights at school; you wiped blood off his face and helped him nurse black eyes. But it was never like this. 

His left eye was swollen shut. Crimson stained from his eyebrow to his jawline. His skin was aggravated red, his clothes were blood rusted, his knuckles were ripped open. 

And still, somehow, his hair looked perfectly done. That sight alone made you want to laugh and cry at the same time, because of course he managed to keep its style untouched. It was so Steve. 

You ran to him; your legs carried you there on their own, shoelaces smacking against wet pavement. You weren’t thinking when you called out his name or when you flung your arms around his neck. You hugged him like it would heal him, like the scent of your perfume could cover the smoke he smelled of. 

It’d been almost a year since you’d talked to him, and the jagged edges of your ended friendship still cut deep, but you didn’t care. Not when he looked the way he did; not when he was hugging you so tight; not when your tears were dripping onto his skin. 

You pulled back and looked at him, and his wounds didn’t look any better up close. 

“Oh my god, Steve, are you okay? What the hell happened?” 

“I’m alright,” he said. He wouldn’t look at you, or couldn’t bring himself to. “I’m just glad you came. I’m sorry -” 

“Don’t,” you said, and then you looked around at the scene. “Have the paramedics even seen you? Why are you just sitting here?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I - I’m fine. They said I’m fine. They’re all busy with others but - I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

That’s when you noticed the girl next to him, who was looking at you like you were crazy, and you realized what you were potentially barging in on. 

They sat close - too close to be friendly. They were basically cuddling when you first saw them. It was obvious what they were, so of course she was looking at you that way.  

You didn’t mean to make her jealous, but a part of you didn’t care. 

“Are both of you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, answering for the two of them.  The girl nodded. “This is Robin, by the way.” 

You introduced yourself to her, trying to be cordial even though you were meeting in the worst of situations. 

“You two can stay at my place tonight, if you want to,” you told them. Steve asked Robin if she was okay with that, and she said yes, and so you led them to your car. 

You weren’t sure why you made the offer to Steve - you wanted him with you, sure. After seeing the condition he was in, you wouldn’t sleep unless you knew you were keeping him safe and sound in your own bedroom. 

Old habits die hard.

But, all things considered, you should have just taken him to his own home, where he could be with Robin in peace. Without cut ties lingering in the air like flies. 

You drove him home anyway. 

Nobody spoke until you got to your bedroom. 

“Do you need a shower?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. Robin nodded. 

“Okay. Robin, you can take my bathroom. Steve can shower downstairs.” 

You dug through bottom drawers to find clothes for each of them - you still had the ones Steve kept stored there, as embarrassing as it was, so it wasn’t a difficult task. And you’d let Robin choose from your pajama drawer.

And then you got back into bed, because you didn’t know what else to do for them. 

Robin stood in the doorway of your bathroom, just staring into the room. When Steve opened your bedroom door, she snapped her head back to him. 

“Steve?” 

“Yeah?” 

She glanced over at you. You wanted to hide from the tension in the room. 

“I - I don’t know how to use this faucet.” 

He showed her how, and then made for the exit, but she called for him again. 

“I was just thinking - you know - if we both shower at the same time, won’t the water pressure be super low? And what if the hot water runs out before I’m done, and -” 

“I’ll be quick, Robs,” he said. “It’ll be fine.” 

Steve took one step into the hallway before stopping. The darkness looked like it went on forever. He didn’t remember your house being so unlit, or having so many hiding places, and suddenly his legs were shaky. 

“...You’re probably right, though. I’ll just wait out here until you’re done.” 

“Yeah. And I’ll keep the door cracked open, for… all the steam.” 

“That’s a good idea.” 

And he sat on the floor right outside of the bathroom door. When Robin was finished, they swapped places. As if they couldn’t be apart for longer than twenty minutes. 

You didn’t ask them any questions.

… 

The two of them slept on a pallet of old blankets on your bedroom floor. Robin made Steve sleep closest to the door. He tried not to be upset about it. 

And he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but it seemed to swallow him. He didn’t dream, or toss and turn, but he woke up unrested. 

Everything still hurt just as bad as it did the night before. And Robin’s snoring was making his headache worse. 

You were no longer in bed, so he decided to get up and find you. 

He wasn’t sure what kind of interaction he’d be walking into when he found you in the kitchen, but he tried to keep his head high. 

“Good morning,” he said. 

“Hey.” You had a mug in your hand. “Your eye looks better.” 

“It doesn’t feel any better,” he said, and he wanted to make a joke that it actually looks worse - because when he closes his right eye, everything’s blurry - but he held that one in. He wasn’t ready for a comedic coping mechanism quite yet. 

You put Tylenol on the island that separated the two of you. “Take them. I don’t know if it’ll help much, but it can’t hurt.” 

The bottle said to take two, so he took three. And then the awkward quiet started washing in. 

Until, “I saw what happened on the news,” and Steve almost coughed up the water he was chugging. 

“What are they saying?” he asked, because he didn’t know what story he was supposed to be playing along with. 

“Just talking about the fire,” you said. Your voice sounded so dim, and Steve hated it. “It’s… crazy. Hopper… he…” You couldn’t say the word. 

“I know,” Steve said. 

“And thirty others.” 

His throat felt dry. “Thirty?” 

Truly, he didn’t know that many people hadn’t survived. And now, it all felt real. Really real. 

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m just glad - you were lucky to get out, Steve.” 

You had no clue how lucky he’d really been. And hopefully you would never have to know. 

“I know.” 

You sat your mug down, brushed your hands on your chest like you were trying to wipe off everything you knew of the accident, then blew out a loud breath. 

“Let’s just think about something else.” 

Almost at the same time as you, he spoke. “Thank you.” 

“...What for?” 

“For coming to my rescue,” he said, huffing a laugh. “I know that I… didn’t really deserve it.” 

“Don’t thank me, Steve.” 

“Seriously. You could’ve just told me to walk home, but you didn’t.” 

“I’m just being a good friend,” you said, then shrugged. “I hope you would do it for me.” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

He wondered if this was his chance to say sorry. 

Or if there was even a point in it. 

He was afraid you’d do no more than laugh in his face, and even if he deserved it he didn’t want to succumb to it. 

But he had to. Because he almost died last night. And he could be fighting those monsters again, any day now. Was he going to lose this chance? Or is he going to die without saying another word to you? 

He stared down at his ripped knuckles. The wounds still looked fresh. They stung just from touching the open air. 

He stared, and stared, and stared, and - he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word. He couldn’t face it. 

Your footsteps toward him made him jump back. 

You were holding a box of band-aids. 

You held out your hand, asking for his without words, and he offered both of them to you. First his right, then his left, were covered in pink, green, and yellow band-aids by you. 

It was gentle and kind, the way you went about it. Like you would hurt him even more if you weren’t careful. 

He still had dried blood under his nails and splinters in his palms. He watched your clean hands holding his beaten up ones and he felt bad, because your skin was too soft to bother with the cuts and calluses on his. 

But you held them anyway. 

He put his fingers through yours and you didn’t stop him. He wanted to cry.

“I’m just glad you're alright.” 

He didn’t know what to say - there wasn’t anything to say, he guessed. Nothing to make it better or change anything. 

All he could do was squeeze your hand and watch you wipe tears off your cheeks. 

Until he noticed a cut on the back of your hand. He pulled it closer so he could get a better look. 

“What happened?” 

“I dropped a knife while I was cooking last night. It’s fine.” 

It looked fine, but Steve wanted to repay your favor, so he pulled a band-aid from the near empty box and put it on your wound. 

“We match,” he said. 

You laughed. “We’re even now.” 

He felt overwhelmed with melancholy. He needed to rest, he wanted to close his eyes and not open them for weeks. 

“I should go check on Robin,” he said as he walked backwards toward the stairs. He kept his eyes to the ground, away from the look on your face. “She’ll flip if she wakes up and she’s alone.” 

You said nothing. 

… 

The following days and weeks were a lot of checking on Robin, and Robin checking on him. Too much waking up in the middle of the night and keeping his eyes glued to his bedroom door just in case. Only feeling safe enough if he had a baseball bat hugged to his chest and Robin snoring next to him. 

So - he wasn’t doing well, but it was fine. He tried not to complain about it. Robin was the only person he let himself be half honest with - but he kept the truth to himself, because she’d get anxious if he said what he really felt. 

Steve was scared. And he didn’t want anyone else to know it, because all of the others acted as if their lives were perfectly back to normal. They were doing well. So he had to be doing well, too. For their sake. 

Weeks after that awful night at the mall, he and Robin conned their way into getting jobs at Family Video. He was grateful, because god, he was too codependent on her. 

It was a random night at his place when Robin brought you up out of nowhere. 

“I just realized, I never thanked your neighbor for saving us that night.” 

“You don’t need to. I’m sure she knows you’re thankful.” 

“Yeah, but, I feel like I should pay her back.” 

Steve shrugged at her words. He didn’t want to think about you more than he had to - it hurt just a little bit too much. 

“Should I give her a gift?” 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “She likes cookies. Get her cookies.” 

And Steve didn’t know it, but the next day, Robin rang your doorbell with a plastic box of cookies in her hands. You opened the door and she started rambling from the get. 

“Hey - Steve said you like cookies, so, I decided I’d bring you some to thank you. For showing up at Starcourt in the middle of the night and practically saving our lives. And for letting us sleep on your floor. That was really nice of you.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Robin seemed weird. You just went along with it. 

“Oh - thanks. That’s cool. Thanks.” 

She shoved them toward you, and you took them. 

“Do you want to come in?” you asked.

Instead of answering, she just stepped through the door. You brought her to the kitchen. 

“I hope they’re good. I just got them at the corner store. But all cookies are the same, right?” 

“Well - no, but, it’s the thought that counts.” 

“Oh.” 

The gifted cookies didn’t look much better than the worst recipes you’d made,  but you opened the crude packaging and gave them a chance. 

They were fine. Maybe a little worse than fine. You gave Robin one, anyway. 

“They’re good!” she said, with a mouth full. 

“They are,” you lied. “They’re not homemade, but they’ll do. Thanks, Robin.” 

You ate half of your cookie. Robin finished hers. It was quiet. 

You figured you might as well try to get to know this girl a bit better. At least be polite and make small talk, just to be nice. 

So you asked an easy question. “How long have you and Steve been together?” 

But it wasn’t as simple as you thought, because she started coughing up the cookie. “What do you mean?” 

“...What?” 

“We’re not together,” she said with a heavy dose of sass. “God, I’ll never get over people asking me that. I am not dating Steve Harrington. Gross.” 

“Oh - sorry, I just thought -” 

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everyone always asks. I guess a guy and a girl can’t be friends without everyone making assumptions.” 

You laughed. “Yeah. People used to do the same thing to us. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask a weird question.” 

“It’s alright. Actually, I’m supposed to be at his place in, like - well, ten minutes ago. You should come over if you're free.” 

“Uh - I don’t know, me and Steve - we don’t really hang out anymore.” 

You aren’t sure why you didn’t just make up an excuse. Something about Robin made you feel okay about being honest. 

“It’s cool. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. It’s kind of been just us since what happened with - the fire. The fire that happened. So - you know. It’d be nice to have someone else around. If you want.” 

You were curious how this would turn out. So, “sure. I’ll come.” 

“Great. You should bring a cookie for Steve.” 

You brought the whole box, and decided you would accidentally forget them at his place so they wouldn’t go to waste. 

Steve’s front door was yanked open from the inside before Robin could let herself in, and his wide eyes became a little less wide when he saw her. 

“Where the fuck were you - you were supposed to be here half an hour ago, I thought you got fucking eaten or something.” 

“Relax. I was just making a cookie delivery next door. Chill.” 

Robin threw her thumb over her shoulder. You poked your head out from behind her and gave Steve a weak wave.

“Oh.” 

“What exactly would she get eaten by?” 

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. You noticed he was gripping his car keys in a tight, scarred fist. 

“Monsters,” Robin joked. Steve didn’t laugh. You did a little bit. “I invited her over. Is that alright?” 

“Yeah. Of course.” 

You stuck to Robin all the way to his living room, because that was easier than making yourself comfortable. You hadn’t been in this house in ages, and you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. 

“Where’s my crossword?” 

“I finished it.” 

“Asshole. You know I hate that. Just get your own.” 

“Whatever, you suck at them, anyway.” 

Robin, unlike you, had no reservations in the Harrington house. She kicked her feet up and started channel surfing as soon as she sat on the couch. 

“Have a cookie,” Robin said to Steve. You reached the box out to him; he sat down next to you to take one, taking up the spot between you and Robin.  

It was weird being so close to him again. His knee was touching yours, and it made your skin feel too hot. Still, you didn’t move away. 

“These are shit,” he said with a full mouth. 

“Hey!” 

You laughed loud, because you completely agreed. 

“No, seriously, these are awful.” 

“I spent five dollars on those!” 

You gasped. “Five? Robin.” 

“You should have just given her the money instead. Or thrown it in the trash.” Steve dropped his half eaten cookie back in the box. You put the plastic lid back on and sat it on the coffee table. 

“I thought they were good. You’re being so rude right now. They were a gift.” 

Steve looked at you. “You didn’t tell her how bad they are?” 

“I didn’t - I don’t think they’re that bad.” 

“You’re lying,” Steve laughed, then he turned to Robin. “She’s lying.” 

“I’m not lying!” 

“I know you, and I know you’re lying.��� 

“It’s fine, guys, you don’t have to spare my feelings or anything.” 

You sighed, defeated. “...They are pretty terrible.” 

Robin scoffed loud and obnoxious. 

“Whatever. I’ll enjoy them.” 

… 

As it turns out, Robin acted like glue between you and Steve. Neither of you would have ever made an effort to see each other again, out of embarrassment or guilt or both, but Robin didn’t have to unpack any of that baggage. She didn’t even know it existed. 

Instead, she immediately saw you as a friend. And she brought you in like she had known you forever. 

But Robin and Steve were a package deal. So, if you were a friend to her, you had to be a friend to him, too.

And the two of them were weird. Most of the time, they left you feeling like a third wheel on their friendship. 

They could be mean to each other. Rough. They acted the exact way you knew siblings do, but that was only surface level. There was something deeper - more than anything a brother and sister had, because it wasn’t the blood in their veins that connected them. It was the roots they chose to grow into each other that kept them together. 

Robin spent the night with Steve more often than she didn’t. And she bullied him for his bad cooking, and he told her when an outfit was ugly, and they stood next to each other like two puzzle pieces that didn’t match but fit together with a hard press. 

Sometimes you sat on the sidelines and ached, mourning a friendship that had been buried some odd years ago. It was well beyond rotten - something decayed and unrecognizable now. Even if you dug it up, it couldn’t be the same as it was. 

But you wished. 

And as you sat and listened to Robin chastise Steve for saying something dumb - watched as he meddled her hair into a purposeful mess, you could only laugh and sink into yourself. You were happy and sad; you cherished your time together and dreaded it, all at the same time. 

Above it all, Steve was different. Distant in the way he would never meet your eyes, or laugh too loud at your jokes, or sit too close for too long. 

It all felt fleeting. Like that week you spent angry at him - stuck in a weird limbo, between friends and strangers, a frustrating purgatory. Some kind of Schrodinger’s Cat of a friendship - alive and dead at the same time. 

You would have just said something, if it felt like you could. But if Steve minded, he didn’t show it. If he missed how things were, he didn’t act like it. And, as you knew him, if he wanted to he would. 

And it wasn’t totally bad. It was just new. You’d get used to it with a spoonful of sugar and a hard swallow. 

On a random day, you had mentioned off-hand that you had been meaning to visit your aunt’s apartment to drop off and pick up a few things. Steve offered to take you, and you agreed, and the next day, you made good on your plans. 

The two of you didn’t hang out without Robin very often. Since early August, the number was hardly a handful. But with the radio turned on, it wasn’t too awkward. 

Steve had visited your aunt with you several times growing up. He went to her house-warming party when she moved into her apartment. You were thirteen, and you made a game of pressing every button in the elevator before getting off it. Now, every time you’re there, you think about how you used to chase him down the halls. 

Her place was the nicest there was in Hawkins, in the tallest residential building in town. Parking was a nightmare, but Steve kept his complaints under his breath, and he even carried your bag for you. 

The elevator was the only thing in the apartment’s lobby. As you pressed the button, Steve spoke up. 

“You wanna take the stairs instead?” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged. You laughed. 

“You want to climb eight flights of stairs? No thanks.” 

“I’m an athlete,” he mumbled under his breath, sheepish. “This thing is taking forever, anyways.” 

It dinged as it finally started moving down toward the bottom floor.

“It’s on its way.” 

He stepped back, looked around, and he must have spotted the stairwell. “I’ll race you,” and then he took off. 

The elevator door opened as the stairway’s door closed, and you rode to the top floor alone. 

He didn’t win the race - far from it, and you laughed as he tried to hide his struggling breathing. 

“Been waiting for you all day, athlete. Thought you’d take ‘til Christmas.” 

“Psh. Whatever. I’ll win on the way down.”

The elevator creaked and hummed as it started moving down, and Steve glared at it. 

You laughed, “You’re weird,” and you left him behind to walk down the hall. 

He worked fast to catch up, and called out, “The loser pays for dinner!” 

“You know I’d never pass up that bet.” 

Your aunt wasn’t home - she rarely was. But a key was under the mat, and as you walked inside her tuxedo cat, Webster, greeted you at the door. 

“Hey, dude,” Steve said, kneeling down to pet him. 

An old cardboard box sat on the dining table nearby, “Glassware” written on the side in crude permanent marker. It’s what you had been instructed to pick up and take back home - you weren’t sure what was inside.

You sat down and opened it and pulled out the first thing you saw: a white paper bag, one you knew printed photos came in. 

“This what you came for?” 

Steve stood next to you. He had Webster in his arms, who was purring loud and melting into his hand. 

“Yeah.” 

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know. Family stuff, I’m guessing.” You pulled out a fat stack of pictures and the one on top made you bark a laugh. “Oh my god.” 

You and Steve, seven years old, wearing matching cowboy costumes for Halloween - you with a white cowboy hat, him with a black one. You stood with a jack-o-lantern between you. You had your hands on your hips and a frown on your face; Steve had his chin pushed out in a wicked scowl. 

You turned it to him, and he laughed just as loud as you. “Look at those two mean mugs!” 

“Do you remember this?” 

He sat in the chair next to you, continuing to look at the photo over your shoulder. Webster made himself comfortable in his lap. 

“Yeah,” he laughed, “We fought all night because you stole my -”

“Oh my god.”

“You stole my full size Snickers.”

“I did not!” 

“You did.” 

“I didn’t!” 

The way he looked at you told you this was still a sore subject. 

“You went ahead of me to the Smith’s place while I was trying to tie my shoe and you took her last bar. That’s what happened!” 

“That’s not stealing!” 

“It is!”

“I didn’t mean to leave you behind! It’s not my fault you didn’t know how to tie your shoes!” 

“You didn’t, either. And, I learned before you.” 

You puffed a sigh and flipped the photo to the back of the stack. “Why are you still fighting over this? We shared all the candy, anyway.” 

“It’s the principle. Theft is a crime, and you never apologized.” 

You only laughed. No way were you giving him that apology now. 

When you pulled the photos out of the box, you didn’t intend on looking through them all, but your curiosity kept you flicking through them. Most were of random family members or photos of the beach, but pictures of you and Steve were littered throughout the stack. There wasn’t a single photo of you that didn’t have him in it, too.

There were from some first days of school, birthday parties, sleepovers. They were sorted somewhat chronologically - looking through them was pure nostalgia, memories hitting you at every angle as you watched yourself grow up. 

The next one to catch your eye was from a middle school dance. Neither of you wanted to attend, but your mother insisted. Your one condition was that you could wear whatever you wanted. 

So you and Steve had swapped styles. You wore his way oversized Atlanta Flames jersey, a baseball cap, and sneakers that didn’t fit; he had on your purple sweater, a big pearl necklace, and white jeans. 

It was cute, and it was goofy, and you wished you could jump into the picture and relive it. 

At that age, the only thing you knew was that you and Steve would live forever, together. Now that you know what you know, your heart ached for the little girl in these pictures. What would she think about the space between you two now? 

There were pictures from summer camp, swimming pools, and your first day of high school. 

Webster meowed. Steve meowed back at him. 

As you got to the bottom of the stack, pictures of the two of you were less and less. The last one - the one you didn’t know would be your last picture with him - was of you, him, and a few of your extended family members. A day spent at the lake that Steve really didn’t want to go to, for some reason only an angsty teenage boy could understand, that you dragged him to. It was the summer before your junior year.

In the photo, his arm was draped completely over your shoulder. You remembered him leaning all of his weight on you - to the point that you fell out of your seat after the picture was taken by your aunt.

And you had fun, like you always did. Steve became a member of your family out of happenstance. It was just because he was always around, really. They all saw him as much as they saw you. 

You put that photo to the back of the stack and kept carding through them. You didn’t find any more pictures of you and Steve. 

The rest were all more recent. Steve stopped you on one that was of you alone - sat at a dinner table, wearing a cable knit sweater. 

“That’s a good one,” he said. 

“Yeah. It’s from Christmas. Senior year, maybe.” 

You acted like you weren’t sure, but you knew exactly when that photo was taken. You just didn’t want him to know how sad you were in it. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” and you laughed, “this was not a fun party.” He didn’t reply, and so you kept talking, sparing him a shy glance. “Everyone kept asking where you were.” 

The silence was heavier this time. 

“Oh,” he said, trying to bury it. “Yeah.” An awkward chuckle. “I bet that was annoying.” 

You laughed and tried to make it sound real - tried to seem like you didn’t care. “Yeah, well, you know how my family always liked you better.” 

He shrugged, looking like he was going to make a joke, but he didn’t. His eyes were distant as they moved down to his lap. 

You shoved the picture to the back with the rest. 

The one behind it was just as lonely. 

Still, Steve perked up at it. “Is that from graduation?” 

You wore a cap and gown, you held a bouquet of flowers, and you stood all alone. 

“Yeah.” 

Steve’s hand wrapped around yours holding the picture, and he tilted it toward him so he could get a better look. 

“My aunt kept trying to get me to find you for a picture,” you laughed. 

“You should’ve.” He smiled something big and real, and you realized with a rush that this is the closest you’d been to him in a while. If you kept looking, you could count the freckles on his cheek. His thumb pressed into the back of your hand. “I remember seeing you. You looked real cute.” 

You ignored his compliment to say something snide. “I ignored you so hard.” 

Another laugh, “Really?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Yeah. That’s fair - I would’ve, too.” 

You tried not to think about how badly you wished he was standing next to you in the picture. 

Steve spoke up, “I -” but you cut him off by accident. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t mean it. He could tell.

“...Is it?” 

It was honest when you replied, “I don’t know.” 

He was still holding your hand. 

“I never told you I’m sorry.” 

“I guess I just figured you were.” 

You dropped the pictures on the table, dropping his hand with them.

“Is that good enough?” It was an honest question. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it is.” 

And your answer was genuine, because you didn’t know. Steve had come back into your life just as easily as he left it - on a whim, without any warning. You didn’t put any roadblocks in his way. 

But you stared at the photos spread out in front of you. At the story they told of your friendship that would always be unfinished. 

You had to teach yourself how to do life without him. All of those lessons seemed useless, now, because here he was. And you didn’t even know if he ever missed you. 

You pulled away from him, a move that was far more snappy than you meant. You did it like he’d reached out and burned you. It had Webster jumping down to the floor. 

“It’s fine,” you repeated. 

“I think you’re lying just to make me feel better.” 

“I don’t know why I’m lying.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it now,” he mumbled, and you stood up. The chair scraped the floor in a way that grated your ears. You turned your back to him. 

“I thought I knew you.” Your eyes welled up, your nose started to run. You balled your hands up like you were on defense. “I thought you would say sorry, and make everything go back to normal like you always did. But you didn’t. I thought you would miss me, at least, but - but you didn’t.” 

“You think I didn’t miss you?” 

The shake in his voice had your fist dropping to hit your thighs, defeated. 

“I miss you more than anything. I’m sorry - I’m not just saying it to make you feel better, or because I have to, I - I don’t even deserve to be saying it.” He paused, and you could imagine the way he was running his hands through his hair and pacing around with nerves. “I’m sorry for being a bad friend. For not treating you like you deserved - I hate myself for it. You were the best thing in my life, and I know that now. I was just too scared to come crawling back to you because I wasn’t worth your time.”

You breathed in deep, exhaled hard, and it felt like the first breath you had taken in two years. It was that feeling when you’ve forgotten your keys but find the door unlocked - the relief of being let in despite a mistake, it rushed through you, and it had you turning to look at him. You found him standing and staring at you, through you, with glassy eyes you would always know. 

“I just miss you, Steve.” 

Three steps and then he was around you. And you were safer than a child hiding under their blanket from whatever lurked in their closet - monsters weren’t real if his arms were around you. That had always, always been true. 

Webster rubbed up against your leg, then Steve’s. The hug shook with both of your laughter, and he held you tighter. 

… 

Things didn’t go back to how they used to be after that, but it was close enough. And you were trying to settle into the differences that kept knocking you off your feet. 

It started with late night phone calls. 

Before, you never talked on the phone. Why would you when his house was a stone throw away? If you wanted to talk, you’d invite yourself to his place. 

But the two of you were still dancing on the ripped edges of that two year old fight. Wounds were still healing - almost there, but not quite. So it was easier to take it slow, to treat this time as something brand new. 

And it was brand new. 

You had caught yourself grinning ear to ear over stories he’d tell you, and you had to force the smile off your face. Like you shouldn’t be acting that way over your friend - you quickly realized you just couldn’t help it. 

He’d keep you up too late and tease you for it the next day. And you weren’t sure if he was trying to get a rise out of you, but that’s how you felt. He acted so smug after seeing your cheeks swell in embarrassment. 

So it wasn’t going back to how it was before. In fact, it was going down an entirely different road - one that wasn’t even on the map. 

You weren’t complaining, because you felt things you hadn't felt before around him. He made you feel warm, and you were addicted to it. You were addicted to him, and you had blind hope that the feeling was mutual. 

He’d spend his entire lunch break visiting you, even if your breaks didn’t line up. He’d follow you around the apparel section at Roses and you’d have all your attention on him, just the way he liked it. He made sure to see you every day.

You never thought he’d make you feel so shy, but it was an emotion you couldn’t get enough of. You hardly realized what you were spiraling into until you’d catch him looking at you with a blush on his cheeks, or until you had to stop yourself from thinking about him every night before bed. 

But there was something glaring, something major, something you couldn’t look at directly until it came up in conversation with Robin. 

Robin and Steve always had Sundays off, so the day was designated to be stolen by their other friends - who were all in junior high. 

When you asked why they were friends with junior high kids, Steve called himself their babysitter. Robin said she was their good influence. You avoided asking follow up questions. 

It was a lazy autumn day, one where the warmth of fallen leaves reflected in the air - something rare for early November. 

The youngest of the kids, Erica, loved putting on a nice outfit and going for a walk. Today it was yellow Chucks, a red silk and pleated maxi skirt, and a long sleeve button up with a rainbow of vertical stripes. (It would have been a tie dyed short sleeve, if Steve hadn’t told her it was too chilly for it.) She had stuck gems beside her eyes, the kind that come in the plastic packets and don’t stay on for long, and Robin packed yellow eyeshadow on her eyelids. 

She was downright cute, but if you told the eleven year old that she’d aim her sass at you and shoot to kill. She much preferred receiving a refined compliment, because, “I hear that all the time.” 

Today, you told her you loved the way she paired so many colors together. She grinned something beautiful and kicked her foot up behind her and agreed with you. 

Steve had once described her as a menace - you didn’t understand why. 

You walked with Robin a few feet behind Erica, Dustin, and Steve. Dustin had not stopped talking the whole time, except when Erica butted in. Steve had stolen the younger boy’s thinking cap hat and was wearing it backwards. 

“The last time I wore this coat, I found two phone numbers in the pocket.” Robin held up two fingers and gestured to the Letterman jacket she wore. It was Steve’s. “Can you believe that? I mean, what a douche. I wouldn’t even wear this if it wasn’t so warm.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, I believe it, actually. They were probably from some cheerleaders or something.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t get any numbers these days. He’s cursed to be forever lame as punishment for the jerk he was in high school.” Robin was smirking wicked and wide, like it was satisfying for her. 

“He’s lost all his charm?” 

“All of it. I mean, one hundred percent. I used to keep count of how many times he fell on his face in front of girls. It’s magnificent, truly.” Then, quieter, “He’ll get it back, though. One day.” 

“He used to have no trouble at all.” The conversation had the gears in your head turning; it had you speaking without thinking. “I don’t know. He’s really different now.” 

Robin laughed, like you were joking. “Yeah, he learned manners, for one.” 

“It’s not that.” You were thinking out loud. “He’s nicer, yeah, but… it’s almost like he’s not even the same person. I’m not sure what happened.” 

The Steve you knew was boisterous. He was unapologetic. He was stupidly confident, the life of the party, and he wasn’t afraid of anything. A wouldn’t take no for an answer, go with the flow, drop of the hat kind of person. 

You were lucky to know him when that’s all he was. Before the halls of Hawkins High swallowed him and spit out someone ornery who cared too much but not at all. 

You thought it was just Tommy and Carol’s influence. Now that he wasn’t their friend anymore, you thought he’d become who he used to be. 

“He told me how close you two were before,” Robin said. She was tugging on a strand of hair that was stuck in her lip gloss. “I guess I never knew him like you did.” 

“He’s so quiet now. He used to be so loud.” You meant it more than literally - you hoped Robin would understand. “I don’t know. So much changed and it’s only been a couple years.” 

It seemed like she was struggling to reply, because it took her more than a few seconds to get her words out. 

“I guess - I mean - I think you’ve probably changed a lot, too. Two years is a long time, right?” 

Robin knew. No one could tell, but she knew. 

Maybe the differences that you had described of Steve were really there. She wasn’t able to see them the way you could, but she didn’t care. It was selfish to admit that she would never change a thing about him - but one. 

He was waiting. 

Everyone was, she thinks. 

Waiting for another fight. 

It wasn’t easy to go back to normal after trudging through hell. It was like coming out the other side of trench warfare unharmed - you didn’t. When a gun fires, its bullets hit. If a bomb is dropped it doesn’t miss a fucking thing, and Starcourt Mall was goddamn ground zero. 

And Robin wasn’t there for the disappearance of Will Byers. The death of Barbra Holland. The Upside Down. The Demogorgon. The Demodogs, and the lab, and the girl with psychic powers. She wasn’t there, but Steve was. 

Her head hurt just thinking of the stories he’s told her. And she knew his did, too, more often than he’d admit to her.

And she felt bad when her sleeping patterns went back to normal but his didn’t. When she got used to being on edge all the time, Steve still jumped at any noise. His phone would ring and she would watch him prepare himself to answer it - to hear Dustin’s voice on the line telling him that it’s back. 

So when you said that Steve’s changed, Robin didn’t know what to tell you. You were right, and she knew that, but she couldn’t tell you why. You knew everything about him besides, well - everything. 

Robin wished she didn’t have to know, either. She wanted to tell you that you should be grateful you couldn’t see the shackles on his ankles. You got to know him before - and Robin would give anything for that. 

But she couldn’t change a thing. 

Instead, all she could do was wait. 

And lie. 

And pretend. 

“He’s still loud,” she said, uncomfortable as all get out. 

As if he heard her words, Steve busted out in a stomach hurting kind of laughter at one of Dustin’s stories. 

“See what I mean?” 

Your destination was in sight now. Steve turned around - letting Dustin steal his hat back - walking backwards, and reached a hand out to you. 

“You coming?” 

Your pace turned into a skipping sort of jog to catch up with him. When you were close enough he grabbed your hand and didn’t let go. He’d been doing that often. 

The kids and Robin broke away, heading for the tiny park that was up on your right. To your left, Steve tugged you to a tiny convenience store.

“Place your orders!” he called. 

Dustin and Erica shouted at the same time. Steve mumbled something about not being able to understand them, so you relayed their messages. 

“You’re getting two things! No more than that!” he shouted back. “Robin?”

“7-Up.”

“What else?” 

“Surprise me!” 

You hung onto his arm as you walked into the store, and you weren’t even sure why. He never pulled away when you got that close, so you kept going back. 

You went for the drink coolers first. He reached for the apple juice. 

“She likes orange juice the best, now,” you said. 

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” 

“You better be right - if she’s mad at me over this, I’ll be mad at you.” 

You rounded up all the snacks everyone wanted, following Steve’s only two items rule. You laughed when he chose plain potato chips as Robin’s surprise - the blandest possible choice. And while he checked out at the counter, you wandered off into the aisles. 

He acted like he didn’t want you to go, pulling you back and asking a quiet, “where’re you going?” 

“To look around.” 

It was straight to the candy aisle for a Blow Pop for Erica, Pop Rocks for Dustin, and sour gummy worms to share. You liked spoiling them - it helped to get on their good side. 

You made a stop at the candy bars to grab a Snickers bar before going back to the counter, and Steve immediately shook his head when he saw you. 

“What are you doing? What’s all that?” 

“It’s all for me.” You dropped it all for the clerk to scan. 

“All of it?” 

“Yeah.”

“Even though you said you didn’t want anything?” 

“I changed my mind!” 

He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, and you watched his hand move to his back pocket. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

His wallet was half way out of his pocket as he laughed. “What?” 

“You’re not paying. Stop.” You tried to sound mad, and felt you were doing a good job, but he kept giggling at you. 

“Oh, are you my boss now?” 

“Yes, Steve,” and you bumped into him, trying to push him away. “Don’t make me say your full name.” 

“Just let me -” 

“Take their things to them! Go!” 

You were shocked when he listened, but he only made it as far as the door. He stood against the glass with his arms crossed, staring at you until you finally followed him. 

“What are you looking at?” 

He pushed his back into the door to open it. “Trying to figure it out.” He reached for your hand, and you swatted it away, only for him to catch you, anyway. And you let him hold your hand, all the way across the street to the park. 

Your friends sat at a picnic table waiting patiently. It was actually two tables pushed together, doubling the normal length; Erica and Dustin sat opposite each other on one end, and Robin sat in the middle, crisscrossed on top of the table. 

Steve divvied snacks to grabby hands, and you snuck their surprise treats in to the sound of thank yous. 

You took your seat on the other end of the table across from Steve. When you sat down, he put a bottle of Coke between you. 

“Are you going to share?” you asked. 

“Only if you’ve got something to give me in return.” 

The Snickers bar made a thud on the wooden table. Steve hummed. “I guess that’s good enough.” 

You were almost happy with the trade until you realized, “No bottle opener?” 

His eyes doubled their size. “Shit.” Then, he grabbed the bottle. “No, it's a twist off.” The noise he made as he tried taking off the cap was something like a squeak, and everyone at the table laughed. 

“Just walk back to the store!” 

“Dustin - Dustin! Do you -” 

The boy slid a large key ring down the table. It was a wad of keys, keychains, and gadgets. 

“It’s on there somewhere.” 

There was a mini flashlight, a laser pointer, a plastic Q*bert charm, a pocket knife, keys and keys and keys, a kubaton, and, “Yes!” a bottle opener. 

“This is why I keep you around, Henderson.” 

“I’m the one keeping you guys around, first of all.” 

You grabbed the Coke and guzzled a couple drinks worth in one go, and when you put it back down, Steve had already eaten half the candy bar in one bite. 

“Steve!” 

His mouth was full when he said, “What?” 

“Why can’t you share? Why didn’t anyone ever teach you about sharing?” His laugh was sweeter than the chocolate he was shoving into your face. “Stop, I don’t wanna eat after you.” 

“We’ve got the same germs,” he said, and he was feeding you the Snickers before you could make another argument. 

The snacks were all gone much quicker than it took to walk and get them, because none of you would ever learn to savor the destination. Regardless, next Sunday, you’d all be sitting in the same spot - give or take a few others, creating a good day for yourselves. 

And, if you were lucky, Steve would be holding your hand the whole time. 

...

It didn’t matter who you were cheering for on the court, you hated high school basketball games. 

Going to Lucas’s game brought back far too many memories than you’d care to recollect. But even though you hated it, you were still filled with pride watching the boy play the game so well. 

And Steve hadn’t shut up about it all night. He spoke about Lucas shooting the buzzer beating winning basket like he was recounting a grand story - something from a movie or a comic book. Like you weren’t sitting beside him the entire time. 

You stood with him in his kitchen, and the excitement had finally started to settle. You and Steve had spent far too long talking about how weird it was to be back in the high school gym, and both of you agreed that you didn’t miss it at all. 

“Is Robin excited for spring break?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “She said she’s spending the entire week here so she can be as lazy as she wants, so - I guess she is.” 

You threw a weak fist into his shoulder and he caught it. “What’s wrong with that?” 

“She’s gonna steal all my time!” His grin was contagious as he slotted his fingers into yours. “And that means I can’t steal all of yours.” 

“Does that mean I’m finally getting a break from you?” You laughed, but he didn’t. 

It was weird, the way his entire demeanor changed in a snap. Before you could even take back the joke you made he was shifting his eyes and dropping his grin. 

He had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even if he tried hiding it. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yeah.” It was a hand through his hair that said the opposite, but you’d never call out his tells. “I just - that reminded me there was actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He dropped your hand to cross his arms, and it had you feeling nervous.

“What about? …Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, honey.” You weren’t sure when that nickname came around, or when it started to stick, but it had a fairy fluttering its wings in your chest. He started to reach for you again, you could see it, but he stopped himself. “You could never do anything wrong.” 

You laughed quiet. “Neither could you.” 

You moved to stand next to him, mirroring the way his back leaned against the counter. Your arm pressed to his. He was looking at the floor; you were looking at him. 

“Are you sure?” It started as a whisper but jumped into a shake, a crack in his voice that said more than he wanted to. And he looked at you, to see if you caught it, and you swore his eyes were shining. He didn’t show them to you for longer than a moment. 

“Steve?”

“I just - I don’t want to fuck this up again.” 

“How would that even happen?” 

He looked at you like he knew something you didn’t. “I don’t know.” 

You nudged his arm with your elbow, again and again, until his crossed arms dropped. Your pointer finger snaked around his, and the touch brought enough bravery out of him to link his fingers with yours. 

“What do you know?”

He scoffed into a smile, one big enough to reach his eyes, and it brought him out of his funk. “I don’t know,” he said, moving closer to you as he made the joke. 

“That’s what I thought,” you replied. “Not a thought going on in your head.” 

Making him laugh was the key to his heart - you knew that, and it worked this time as well as it always had. 

He had his head turned, cheek to shoulder, staring down at you; you were so close, you could watch his eyes move across your face and know where he was looking. They wandered, but when his gaze lingered on your lips - you noticed. 

“I know one thing for sure,” he said.

When you took a loud breath, you’re sure he heard. He gave you eye contact again, and maybe you were seeing things, but you swore you saw question marks swimming in the green. 

He didn’t breathe. You didn’t blink. You moved forward just a hair, and he looked back down, so you pressed on. You wanted to be closer, as close as you could get - it was curiosity or desperation, you didn’t know. 

When he tilted his chin toward you, it was hardly noticeable. But you saw it, and it was enough. Your nose was just about to touch his - you watched his eyes close, right before yours did. There was nothing to do but move closer, closer, closer. 

And then, when you felt just the softest graze of his skin on yours - 

BAM! BAM! BAM!

You jumped back from each other like same-side magnets, gasping and jumping at the sound of loud knocks on the front door. 

He moved fast, like he was looking for a way out, leaving you alone in the kitchen. “Shit.”

Steve had a good idea of who he’d see when he opened the door. The knob was jingling when he unlocked it, then pulled it open. 

Sure enough, Robin. Wearing a flannel that was his, with wild bedhead that he couldn’t help laughing at. 

“Did you walk here?” 

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Let me in.” 

It was written all over her face why she was there, and Steve felt bad. 

Even though she asked to come in, she didn’t move. Her features were all scrunched up, her shoulders were hunched into her crossed arms. 

“Robin -” 

“I fucking hate this.” Loud, echoing into the night and through his door. “I hate it, Steve, and I swear - I swear it’s not over.” Her eyes wet her cheeks; she looked at him through tears. “It’s going to happen again. I can feel it. And I’m scared.” 

He had to pull her inside, because he knew she’d stand in the same spot all night if he didn’t. She pushed into him, shoving her face into his shoulder, wiping her tears on his shirt. 

“You just need to rest,” he told her.

She spoke something pitiful, not caring that her words were muffled. “The gate’s really closed, right? For sure?” 

“It’s over, Robin, it was just a nightmare - you just need some good sleep, alright?” 

She nodded, wiped her runny nose into her sleeve, and tried pulling her tears back in. 

“I wish I could sleep anywhere else.” 

“I know.” It wasn’t any sort of jab - it was just the truth. The only time she was truly afraid was when she slept alone. 

She hit a fist into his chest, something playful that made things feel a little more okay, and then took herself to the stairs. 

“I’ll be up in a minute to stand guard,” he joked. She barely laughed but it was enough, and he watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore. 

And he hoped you hadn’t heard anything, because he wouldn’t be able to answer any questions you had. When he found you in the kitchen you looked nothing but concerned. 

“Is she okay?” 

All you knew was that she had nightmares about the mall fire. It was a realistic excuse, in comparison to the unbelievable truth. 

“Yeah. You know how she is.” 

You nodded. Steve wasn’t sure how to go back to the talk you were having before, so he avoided it. 

You spoke first. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I should probably go be with her,” he said. 

You were perfectly okay with it, understanding as always. “Yeah. She needs you.” 

He walked you to the door, and it was too brief for his taste. But when you were there, he spoke up. 

“I’m sorry. Can we finish this tomorrow, maybe? I promise - I… I really did want to talk.” 

“Of course,” you said, and it was shy. “Don’t be sorry, Steve, she’s more important right now. We can talk any time.” 

His arms wrapped around your shoulders for a crushing hug. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Before work. We can make plans then.” 

And that was it - he watched you make your walk home until you walked into your front door, and that was it. 

The moment was ruined, and he might not be able to make it happen again. 

… 

Steve didn’t call you the next morning. 

-

-

-

part two!!!!

#my writing #perhaps the only steve fic i will ever write #if there are typos in this i. lmao i will rage #this took forever this is so fucking long if no one reads it i dont blame truly #anyway #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #fluff #angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you

[peachesofteal]

So hiiii this is 🫔 Anon once more! I'm glad the A/B/O angst was a hit and here I bring more angsty thoughts

So Dead Disco AU where Darling is pregnant but this time nothing bad happens!

You're pregnant and despite not being able to have your meds, the guys and and you manage around it. Picture them randomly kissing Darling's forehead in passing and Simon listening to the baby's heartbeat when he has insomnia. Pampering you: rubbing your feet when they're achy and swollen, standing right behind you, carefully lifting your belly, relieving some of the pressure on your back. Running for late night snacks because you're craving pickles and cheese. Telling (and showing) you how gorgeous and hot you are because you are feeling insecure once you start to show. On base, right beside Darling's photograph in their quarters there's also the picture of an ultrasound that's replaced whenever you have a new appointment with the doctor.

Everything's fine. You're just two weeks away from giving birth and this is the last op before they use all their saved up leave to care for you and the baby. You can still remember how happy you felt watching Johnny paint the nursery in green, while Simon assembled the furniture. You giggled at the thought of Simon collecting every plushie he saw that ended up on the dresser. Or Johnny thinking about every possible name for the baby.

Everything's fine, your obgyn has the team for the birth ready, you already have a bag ready to leave for the hospital. You're just waiting for Simon and Johnny to return.

And then. Someone knocks at your door, early in the morning. Something dreadful sits in the pit of your stomach because who the hell would knock on your door so early, but you try to convince yourself the guys forgot their keys. You try.

But then, when you open your door to John Price standing there with a mournful look on his face, you can only comprehend few words in between the ringing on your ears:

... Simon... MIA... rescuing... Johnny... MIA

Hope you're having a good day Peach, k now I'll go, byeeee

– 🫔 Anon, currently running away from the scene

🏃🏃🏃

I have absolutely zero bandwidth to write anything for this right now and I’m pretty sad about it. However I would hate to deprive everyone else of 🫔 anon’s incredible brain, so please enjoy this beautiful suffering.

Okay I lied a little, I have some bandwidth I guess. A tiny amount.

I just think about Price being the one to have to deliver the news. Your knees buckle and he catches you, trying to hold you while you completely lose it, sobbing into his starched uniform about how he better be lying, and how could he let your guys go missing, and why isn’t he out there right now looking for them. The stress triggers early labor, and then you’re fully panicking, terrified of having to do this without them, while also being terrified they’re never coming back.

Maybe they do.

Maybe only one of them does.

Maybe they don’t.

#🫔 anon #peaches asks #disco baby au

[cinis0]

Now what if I said all 3 of the last competitors represent toxic types of love taken to the extreme. Notably all types that are usually shown in music.

Let’s be for real here, all of these kids grew up in captivity or at the very least spend a majority of their life in it. What are the chances all of them have a healthy and good idea of love? Yeah. close to 0.

But let me explain what I mean with the above.

Let’s start with the most obvious in my opinion, Ivan. He represents the idea that love equals suffering. That any sacrifice is worth for being seen by the person one loves.

He shows that through one, his habits of stealing things from till and picking fights, and then of course in black sorrow where he literally says how much Till hurts him but he’s going to keep standing by his side. And of course his sacrifice in Cure. It was sad, yes, I cried too. But ultimately it was the manifestation of just that. Taken to the extreme.

Moving on, Luka.

He shows the type of toxic “love” or rather charm that is displayed in countless music videos. You know, the ones where the “love interest” plays hard to get but then ultimately gives in anyway. He represents the idea that love can be a given as long as the person is charming and attractive enough. That as long as they seem appealing, anyone would fall in love. Luka takes this way too far with both Hyuna and later Mizi.

Lastly, Till. Let me start this by saying I do believe he’s the most “redeemable” out of these 3, but I do believe there’s some flaws to be recognized here.

Now, Till represents something less common than the other 2 but present nonetheless. Till represents the inability to let go of things. To spend one’s entire life chasing after something they can’t catch. He shows the belief that it doesn’t matter how resistent/non interested the person you’re chasing after is, eventually you’ll get them. And obviously the outwardly destructive frustration at not getting that but I think that’s more Till’s personality and tendency for trouble in general but worth noting.

Because let’s be honest, Mizi doesn’t seem very interested. It’s clear she’s in love with sua.

Now, he hasn’t taken this too far, yet. And I doubt he will, but I wanted to mention him at least.

One last thing I want to point out, is how all 3 of them throw their ideas into a competition. Putting it out on display for the whole world ( or alien world idfk) to see and decide what’s better.

And who are the only ones who didn’t do that? Mizi and Sua. (Haha this is hidden a Mizisua appreciation post I tricked you)

Mizi and Sua didn’t compete, instead simply singing with each other. No sacrificing, no overly affectionate display, nothing. Just them singing with each other and sharing their love. They don’t need everyone to see. They have each other and they know they love each other and that’s enough. They have their love in between them and not infront of them.

TLDR: Ivan and Luka probably represent the most extreme types of toxic love, while Till shows signs of it and might get there but he isn’t yet and Mizi and Sua are fucking awesome for being seperate from all this.

#alien stage #alien stage ivan #alien stage till #alien stage luka #alien stage mizi #alien stage sua #please don’t come for me #I’m just voicing my silly thoughts #I apologize for any typos I wrote this on a phone #the thoughts needed to be written there was no time

[textfromthelookout]

if you have the time, I wanna know what makes vegeta so compelling to you, whole ass character arc stuff and what not. I wanna hear you go off on your short king.

Anon do you understand what you’ve unleashed? I don’t think you understand what you’ve unleashed. Or if you do understand, I can almost guarantee you aren’t prepared. This is almost 3000 words of me frothing at the mouth. I hope you know you asked for this. Like the reason I was so late answering was because I wanted to do it justice and could not figure out what I wanted to yell about first.

I guess to understand why Vegeta’s development is so fucking staggering to me, you have to understand who he starts as when you meet him.

Vegeta is around 4 or 5 when Freeza destroys Vegetasei. He’s roughly 30 when he comes to Earth for immortality. In between are two and a half decades of being taken from, which he suffers only because he believes wholeheartedly that he will grow strong enough to kill Freeza and take it all back from him. He lands on Earth with little to his name beyond his pride in who and what he is, and power that, while paltry compared to Freeza and the people in his inner circle, surpassed and still surpasses every member of his race.

Right?

One of the biggest things about Vegeta in Z is that there is A Way Things Are Supposed To Go and when they go any other way, he cannot let it go. Losing to anybody other than the people he has known for years can kill him is unacceptable. Even more so if it’s to another Saiyan. Even more so when this Saiyan is such a disgrace to the blood in his veins. The loss is an impossibility and has to be rectified. Vegeta limps off of Earth with two big driving forces now: kill Freeza for vengeance, kill Kakarot to mend his pride (or at least beat him so far into the ground that his superiority is unquestionable).

Namek is where Vegeta gets really interesting. He’s fresh off a stinging defeat that put a couple cracks into his sense of certainty and self. He knows a way to get what he wants (the Dragon Balls on Namek). He’s in a race against the powers that be for it. He has something of an ace in the hole in that he worked out how to sense ki while he was flying half dead through space, so he’s no longer forced to rely on a scouter—on Freeza’s technology. He intends to make a clean break, and for a while it goes according to plan. Zarbon’s a stumbling block, but he makes it work in his favor, takes all the Dragon Balls Freeza collected and escapes with his life to boot.

And then another repeating theme surrounding Vegeta in Z comes into play. He’ll be a hairsbreadth from getting everything he wants before it all comes crashing down around him, largely due to things entirely outside his control. He couldn’t have used the Dragon Balls even if he had decided to press Gohan on what he was doing in the middle of nowhere with a ‘watch’, because he doesn’t have a password. The Ginyu Force thrashes him, Goku shows up stronger than ever. It’s fine though, because now he knows how to get the Dragon Balls to work, so he’ll never suffer defeat again—it’s a moot point.

…Right?

I think that the point in the story where Vegeta well and truly starts to come unraveled as a person is pretty immediately after Porunga dies and Freeza starts cycling through his transformations. Because like, rudimentary or no, Vegeta’s ki-sensing ability still works. He’s suddenly faced with irrefutable proof, that he can feel in the entire essence of his being, that his power is nothing to Freeza. And he lies to himself, because he can’t accept that he’s outclassed by the magnitude he is. Because this isn’t The Way Things Are Supposed To Go. He’s supposed to avenge his people and embody the legend. He refuses to bend, and so, he breaks.

And it’s sad, y’know? The way he just… stops fighting. For his whole life, he sweats and bleeds and swallows his bruised pride for the sake of survival and hope and what does it get him? I think all the goddamn time about the anime’s interpretation of this, where Vegeta being broken for Piccolo/Gohan/Krillin to witness up close is a deliberate choice on Freeza’s part*. In fact, I may never stop thinking about it. It’s not enough that Vegeta loses his will to fight, he has to know that others know that he gave up, that he can’t do anything against this monster even if he hadn’t. It’s a stunningly cruel blow precisely because he’s so proud and strong.

The man who dies on Namek crying at the feet of both of his bitterest enemies, begging one of them to kill the other for the sake of their race—who in that final moment lets his helpless frustration, his grief, his pride in his people supersede his own personal pride as warrior and prince—is not the same man who fought Goku on Earth. That man is in pieces, and Vegeta will spend every moment for years afterward trying to put him back together with saltwater and desperation. We meme on how death means basically nothing in Dragon Ball, but I go nuts thinking about how, intentionally or not, Toriyama managed to twist that to work with Vegeta’s development.

Because now Vegeta has to reckon with his many abject failures for longer than the few minutes before sweet oblivion, you see. Now it all matters again. As long as he’s alive, he’s still being taken from.

(Bulma’s one of the few—if not the only—person to simply give him something without coercion, or prompting, or obligation. Certainly the first we see. She had every reason to tell him to fuck off, really. She didn’t have to offer him a place to stay.)

Vegeta has a transitive hierarchical logic on strength, which comes up again towards the end of Cell that I’ll touch on when we get there, but for now it will suffice to say that in order to keep moving forward, he has to readjust his purpose in life to focus solely on beating Goku. If he beats Goku, then he beats Freeza, since Goku beat Freeza. Step one, obviously, is attaining Super Saiyan. And he’s so fucking committed to that that he unwittingly locks himself out of it, up until he leaves partway through the three year gap before the androids.

I could write another entire essay on how Super Saiyan can be read as a trauma response and how it differs between all the Saiyans in Cell saga (and especially about Goku on Namek), but this is surely already more than you bargained for when you opened this can of worms, so, Vegeta. When I think of Vegeta’s awakening to Super Saiyan, I tend to default to the original dub’s take (ep129), because it has lived in my head rent free since I saw it and it will not give me peace.

Take this part of my rambling with a grain of salt, I know I’m about to get a little ‘it’s not that deep’ about it, but. Here’s my interpretation of this. Vegeta only attains Super Saiyan once he has done away with distractions—not entirely because now he can focus on nothing but his training, but because he’s inadvertently given himself space to even begin to process all the shit from the last 25 years of his life, even if he fights it every step of the way as weakness. All the self-hatred, yes, but also the aforementioned frustration, the grief, the anger. The helplessness. ‘I didn’t care if I lived. I didn’t care about anything.’

Ultimately the trigger to Super Saiyan is a single moment of all-consuming emotion, so whichever thread of canon you personally subscribe to, the facts are that something happened in Vegeta out there in the middle of nowhere space. And he returns to Earth riding high. I’m not gonna lie, he’s rocking some seriously manic energy when he shows up to waste Android 19, and honestly why wouldn’t he be? He’s latched onto this new power and he doesn’t have to feel anything else. Things are finally going right. He’s invincible. He’s the king again. This is The Way Things Are Supposed To Go.

…

…right?

Super Saiyan is supposed to be a solution for Vegeta, and instead it eventually turns itself into a problem during Cell and the androids. To be fair, he can’t misestimate the strength of an opponent he can’t sense in the first place, but even so, he’s so blinded by the euphoria of succeeding for once in his goddamn life that he can’t imagine that anything can be stronger than him. Androids 17 and 18 are a rude fucking awakening. They are the ultimate pulling-the-rug-out-from-under-you vibe check. All those pieces that he struggled so hard to put back together, kicked apart again without thought or effort. He has a bit of a crisis over it, understandably.

In the interest of brevity, I’m glossing over the intermediary parts between Vegeta coming out of the time chamber (wish we had more info on what transpired in there, personally) and the tail end of the Cell saga, because it’s something of a repeat of what he did with Freeza, except he’s using Goku’s ‘let Freeza power up to 100% to hammer home his superiority’ logic. I made a previous post on my main blog about the post-Cell part of Vegeta’s character arc, which I’ll copy down here with some minor revisions:

The hell of Vegeta swearing to never fight again is that he actually follows through, at least in the beginning.

There are seven years between Cell and Buu. In every version of the media I’ve gone through—English manga, uncut dub, uncut JP, Kai dub—Bulma says that Vegeta has trained the last five years before the tournament. Which can only mean that there was a two year gap right after the Cell Games where he didn’t train at all.

And like. Can you really blame him. His purpose in life has been cut out from under him not once but twice, first by Goku attaining Super Saiyan and avenging their people by killing Freeza, and then by Goku’s decision to stay dead and deny him the opportunity to surpass him. His strength has proven insufficient time and again no matter how hard he works, overshadowed by that of a boy half his age, who doesn’t even like to fight. His pride hinges on both of those things and even before that was mercilessly trampled on. He has no people. No planet. No purpose, power, or pride.

I really do think the only things keeping him going by this point are inertia and spite. Almost without doubt, this is the absolute nadir of Vegeta’s existence: at least, the nadir for the man he thinks he has to be, or can’t reconcile not being. If he has nothing, if the last things tethering him to his supposed innate nature (to borrow a line from this fic, shameless plug,) are torn away from him, what is left for him to do but accept defeat and submit to change?

What he doesn’t know yet is that that’s okay. He doesn’t know yet, but the seven years that Goku is no longer a presence in his life is perhaps the best thing Goku could have possibly given him. Without Goku physically there to be actionable on (for lack of a better phrase), new things can grow in the spaces where his animosity and aggression burned holes in him. Even if Vegeta is still nursing the embers of that blaze and ignoring the encroaching growth as hard as he can, he is still beginning to care about things that the old him wouldn’t. (coming back to Vegeta’s logic on strength: to Vegeta, Gohan’s victory over Cell is also Goku’s victory, and Trunks’ loss is his own loss. Bulma mentions to Gohan that he’s dead set on making Trunks stronger than him, and why would Vegeta care about that goal specifically unless Trunks’ victory over Gohan is also Vegeta’s victory over Goku?)

And then.

And then all of a sudden, Goku is back in the picture. And when he comes back, so does the Vegeta from before, like a relapse.

Because as much growing as does, he still has seven years to gnaw on the same question he has been for ages now. Why is Goku so much stronger than he is, being what he is? Why is he so inadequate? There is now a window, fleeting as it may be, for Vegeta to get some answers he had no reason to assume he’d ever get. There is now the terrible possibility that he can make things go The Way They Are Supposed To Go. And Goku’s willing to let him take that shot and get those answers, right up until the whole business surrounding Buu disrupts everything and then he isn’t anymore.

Because the thing is, they were scheduled to fight each other before anybody else. Vegeta was not supposed to see the gap between himself and Goku until he was experiencing it firsthand. Picture for a minute the timeline in which the tournament plays out normally. Goku and Vegeta fight, Goku wins, and then Vegeta’s only recourse is to demand answers from Goku—who would surely give them, to the best of his ability!—or to come to his own conclusions and act from there. Either he makes peace with affairs, uneasy as it may be, or he blows up immediately, and Goku is there to stop him before he gets too out of hand. Instead, what happens is that he’s given the opportunity to realize that he’s still inferior, he still doesn’t understand why, and most importantly, that there’s a third option open to him. At the cost of his will, there is a way.

Submitting to Babidi to force Goku’s hand and close the gap is the act of a man who knows that he is running out of time. Whatever pride Vegeta still has would not possibly have allowed this unless he was so desperate for closure that he couldn’t see another way. For ten years he’s been trying to rebuild a sandcastle below the high tide line, and it’s not that he’s too stupid to move farther up so he isn’t freshly shattered at every pass—it’s just that trying to power through in the face of futility is literally all that he knows to do. He has been coming apart stitch by stitch ever since he met Goku, his worldview and his preconceptions of destiny and self dissolving in slow motion under his feet. Goku will only be here for a day. This is the last chance he has, and he knows it. He knows he’s not going to see Goku in the afterlife, even before he asks Piccolo.

What the fuck else was he supposed to do?

The music in the background of this scene is ‘Trapped Between Past and Present’ and if that doesn’t sum up the backbone of Vegeta’s arc in Z, then there’s nothing that does.

The beauty of his sacrifice is that he still has the mark of evil on his forehead when he dies, even though he’s bucked Babidi’s mind control by that point. He chooses the present. He chooses to symbolically and very literally raze his old self to the ground for the sake of all that his new self cares for. That is why the impermanence of death in Dragon Ball works for him. That’s why I go insane over the Majin arc specifically. New growth roots in ashes, phoenixes and sapling trees both.

Super (and end of Z) is where you get to luxuriate in that growth and watch it pay off, and oh my god does it ever pay off. Without going deep into spoiler territory (formally begging all of you to read the manga here), the later arcs begin to address Vegeta reckoning with his personal sins against the Namekians, and those of his race, who destroyed countless worlds under Freeza. Vegeta and Beerus have a conversation in chapter 69 of Super where things I’ve described in this here essay are worded explicitly into the canon. I think of it to this day. I think of all of the things Vegeta does in Super and I think it’s incredible just how far he’s come.

Before creation comes destruction.

Alright that’s enough pretentious meta. Here’s Vegeta being very happy about a well-earned victory. Isn’t he so fuckin’ cute.

*ep85, or 41 if you prefer Kai

#vegeta #dbz #dragon ball z #dragonball z #wanna hear me talk about dragonball characters? WANNA HEAR ME TALK ABOUT EM SOME MORE? #drop an ask or smth bc boy have I got things to say about Things. #i swear to god i didn't send this ask to myself #basia and breezee if it was one of you you better fess up right now #long post #text from the mod

[mah-t-wordblog]

Tanjiro’s foot is sore from a bad sprain and Giyu decides to sit him down and give him a deep massage to loosen up the stiffness. It's a painful ordeal for Tanjiro who struggles to stay still and then a new problem arises when Giyu discovers the boy is very ticklish. He sneaks tickles in while massaging to distract Tanjiro from the pain and then afterward unexpectedly pins Tanjiro down and searches out his other bad spots. Tummy, belly button, and sides r bad, but armpits r the worst and Giyu shows little mercy and makes him laugh and squirm wildly. He finally stops when he thinks the boy has caught up on two years of little laughter. In other words Giyu's lack of mercy is because he wants the boy to have a good long laugh after all the sadness and hardship he has been put through. It's like, no matter how cold or tough on Tanjiro he was in the beginning, he really does care for the boy and feels sad for him. After he stops Tanjiro feels so relaxed and exhausted that he ends up falling asleep and Giyu takes him back to the Butterfly Mansion.

Giyu remains his stoic self while massaging and tickling Tanjiro, but inwardly he is smiling. 

Tanjiro's laugh starts out kind of like in little huffs and snickers, and then dissolves into shrieks and belly laughter.

Hiiii, ofc ✨💛

Painkiller

Lee: Tanjiro Kamado

Ler: Gyuu Tomioka

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

Ships: NONE

Warnings: This is a tickle fic, if you don’t like it, just scroll down

This fanfic is originally in Portuguese, my English is translated using an automatic translator, if there are any big errors you can tell me so I can fix them

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

Tanjiro wanted to bury himself in the sheets, the pain in his right foot was too intense.

Gyuu watched him lying on the bed in the Butterfly Mansion.

"What happened?" He asked Shinobu, who was right next to him

“A serious sprain, nothing that a little treatment won’t cure” she prepared some medicine “but Tanjiro can only suffer at this moment”

"It is a shame"

Tanjiro looked at Gyuu and tried to smile

“It’s okay, sir, it’s not that horrible, ah-!” The boy screamed when Gyuu touched his foot

“It looks pretty bad”

“Medicines will help” Shinobu said walking away “maybe also some massage”

Gyuu thought it wasn't a bad idea, he sat on the bed next to the boy

“It’s good that they put me in this isolated room” Tanjiro smiled, trying to suppress the pain “it’s much more cozy, isn’t it?”

Gyuu looked at him, Tanjiro groaned in pain

“Why are you pretending it doesn’t hurt?” Gyuu asked

The boy sighed “to lighten the mood”

The man laughed in thought, he is so sweet

Then he grabbed, without warning, Tanjiro's foot and began to warn him

"Hey! Sir-?" Tanjiro writhed in pain

“It’s a massage, it will get better”

The boy couldn't help but let out groans of pain, but he held them back to make it seem like everything was okay.

The massage was good, and it was really getting better

"Everything is fine?"

“Yes, I just-HA” Tanjiro let out a little scream, this little scream was different from the screams of pain, this aroused Gyuu’s curiosity

"What was this?" Gyuu pressed the same place on the boy's feet

“No-HA-thing” he snorted

“It feels like something, does it hurt?”

“N-no, It just tickles a little bit”

Gyuu's eyes widened, tickles? It wasn't a bad idea, really...

"Oh yes? I understood"

Tanjiro tried to stay still again, trying to calm himself down.

But Gyuu wasn't willing to help him stay still, he ran his fingers along the sole of the boy's foot.

“Ehe-HE Tohomiokaha!” The boy screamed

“Stay still, Tanjiro, I need to give you this massage”

Gyuu was serious, but inside he was melting at the cuteness he saw

“Ihihi cahahan’t”

“Stay still, argh” Gyuu pretended to be irritated “I’ll show you a great massage for the whole body”

“But my body is not hurt-HAHAHA NOHOHOHO”

The man had squeezed the boy's stomach

“Relax and enjoy”

Tanjiro squirmed, really cute, Gyuu remembered how he tickled Sabito, they were very similar

“I once tried a deep massage on someone who was sensitive like you” the man pretended to ignore the fact that the boy was dying in front of him “that’s how I did it”

He lifted the other's shirt and placed a finger on his belly button.

“NOHOHOHO STOHHOOP”

The same reaction, how interesting” he continued seriously, but in his head he was melting “does your whole body have the same reactions to this massage?”

Gyuu climbed on top of the boy, placing his knees on top of his arms and not allowing him to move.

“S-sir, IhI- noho- please” the boy laughed anxiously, the tickling had stopped for a moment

“You'll be fine, little guy~” the man slowly brought his hands closer to Tanjiro's vulnerable sides, making him snort and laugh “unless if you're very ticklish~”

Tanjiro can't take it

“IHIHI AHAHAM”

“Ah~ what a shame then”

The tickles came before Tanjiro could even reason.

The boy burst out laughing, Gyuu was imagining it as if he was tickling Sabito once again, so he didn't have an ounce of mercy

“I think there’s another place around here where you’re in even more pain, right?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHO”

“I think so~”

The provocations made Tanjiro even more vulnerable and sensitive

“How about here?” He dug his hands into the boy’s armpits “does it hurt a lot here?”

“AHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE”

"Why?"

“STOHOHOHOHOP”

Gyuu remembered that he wasn't tickling Sabito, that was Tanjiro, and if he didn't stop, the boy would definitely die.

But just a little more

“Are you feeling better Tanjiro?”

“YEHEHES ​​YEHEHEHEHEHES”

“And you’re going to be really bad again?”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO”

“That's good…” he quickly lifted the boy's shirt for the grand finale “because otherwise the tickle monster will have a little chat with you” and blew a raspberry

Tanjiro arched his back and burst into silent and tired laughter.

Gyuu stopped immediately, waiting for the boy to calm down so they could talk.

Tanjiro took a breath, then spoke first

“Thank you sir” he said with his typical warm smile “you always make me feel so much better”

In fact, it wasn't the first time that Gyuu helped the boy with his problems.

The hashira looked down and tried to hide a satisfied smile that wanted to appear on his lips.

Tanjiro has seen Gyuu smile several times, but I think the man thinks that no one sees him smiling

“Do you want any more medicine?” Gyuu asked

“No, actually I’m really tired” Tanjiro said, closing his eyes “I think I…”

And the boy slept

The man came close and stroked her hair in an affectionate way.

"What's happening-" Shinobu entered the room, but when she saw the boy she covered her mouth and started whispering

“Shhhh” Gyuu made her “let him sleep”

“Are you going to stay here?”

Gyuu looked at the unoccupied bed next to Tanjiro's.

"Yes”

Shinobu smiled (truly) “you know you’re like a brother to him, don’t you?”

In fact, Gyuu thought of Tanjiro as his little brother, he would take care of him, and wouldn't let him suffer, like his older sister did with him.

He nodded to the woman and waited for her to leave the room to lie down next to Tanjiro. After a few minutes they were both asleep.

He really cared about him

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜❤️🧡

Thanks for reading 💛💛

Whoever asked me to write a fanfic, I'm going to write it, ok? But I had to write in order of who asked first, don't worry 😊

#demon slayer tickle #tickle fic #demon slayer tickling #kny tickling #lee!tanjiro #ler!gyuu #ler!tomioka

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | xiv

Apologies and confessions lead to a climactic end for Gold Dust Woman.

Read part thirteen here

Listen while reading: the chain - fleetwood mac (other songs mentioned but not really important to the story)

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader, Sam Kiszka x f!reader, Danny Wagner x OC

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), touch of voyeurism, biting, lots of dirty talk, brief mention of spitting, touch of degradation, drinking, swearing, angst, arguing, breakups, crying, insecurity, self doubt, feelings of regret, anger, lots of fluff near the end 🫶🏻, sorry if I miss any!!

The last chapter 😭 these last few months of writing this story has been absolutely spectacular for me. the love and support and engagement I’ve received from you all has been mind blowing, and I’m so thankful for each and every one of you. Without you guys, Gold Dust Woman would be nothing. So thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I really hope that you enjoy the ending as much as I did. As always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻🫶🏻 (very lightly edited so please forgive me 😁)

“Sam,” You sighed, setting your coffee cup down with a shaking hand. “We have to talk.” You said, much less hesitation about your choices, now. It seemed like clarity had become you the minute you had realized Jake was the best person for you. You knew it was true, mostly because you had not felt one shred of anxiety that even came close to what you had been feeling all day. No, you weren’t excited to break Sam’s heart, but you were certainly less apprehensive about it than you were with Jake.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, stress already showing in his features. You managed a small smile, your stomach sick at the knowledge you would effectively have to go through two breakups in a single day.

“No, I guess it isn’t.” You said, moving to take a seat on the couch. “Sit with me?”

“Yeah, okay.” He whispered, sitting down beside you. You ran your hands over the fabric of your jeans, drawing in a long breath as you tried to settle your thoughts. Eventually, you looked over at him, noticing the sadness in his eyes before you even spoke a word. It killed you knowing that you had to be the bad guy despite months of trying to figure out how to end up the hero. The sad truth was, in the entanglement you had all found yourselves in, nobody could be the hero, yet you all seemed to fall somewhere under the victim category. So much suffering, yet no one to blame or save you from the pain.

“I love you, Sam.” You started, making sure that despite the impending doom, he knew that you still had so much love for him in your heart. Just because you were not going to be his forever did not mean that he wasn’t holding on to a huge part of you. “And I have for a really long time.”

“I know, y/n. I love you, too.” He said, watching expectantly as he prepared for the worst possible outcome of the conversation. You leaned back into the cushions, exhausted from the days events already, comforted none by the knowledge that it would only get worse from there. You reached out, grabbing his hand in your own and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“There’s a saying that’s always stuck out to me,” you explained, tone quiet and as relaxed as possible. “If you don’t receive the love from the ones meant to love you, you’ll spend the rest of your life searching for it. I feel like up until now, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I’ve been looking for so long that I’m starting to go blind, and I’m missing the entire point of being alive.” You laughed at your own stupidity, finding your search for love quite comical in the moment. You had spent a lifetime trying to find something that you never really believed in, and now that two blatant contradictions to your disbelief happened to be staring you in the face, you had no idea how to address it. “I don’t remember who said it, but it’s always stuck with me. I always thought it was you, Sammy. I really did. I wish it was, because it kills me to do this to you, but it’s not.”

“Oh,” he breathed, nodding his head slowly as he absorbed the information you were giving him. It was a heavy hit, especially after you had stormed into the room with such excitement to see him, but he managed to persevere.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, hoping to catch his eye to show him you were being genuine.

“You don’t have to be, Princess.” He assured you, letting out a long sigh. He could be all but mad at you, for he had made the bed that you were forcing him to lie in. “I knew the risks, and it was worth it. It was always worth it, for you.” He said, looking up to meet your face. “Y/n, I meant every single thing I said to you over the last few months; I care that you’re happy, and if this will make you happy, I can live with it.”

“You have no idea how badly I wish that it could’ve been us. I see Danny and Dylan, and I’m so envious that I never got to have that with you. It’s been so hard since the very beginning… I just feel like I never got to have you the way I wanted to.” You felt the tears brimming in your eyes once again, unsure if you could make it through the conversation without cracking. Everything hurt, and you had no idea how to stop it. Sometimes, you believed as though pain was the only thing you knew how to feel. “I love you so much Sam, and I’m lucky that I got the chance to have you at all, even if it was different than how I pictured it. These last few months were beautiful, and they taught me so much. Even if it didn’t work out the way we hoped does not mean it meant nothing to me.” Your cheeks were soaked with the admissions of your guilt, tears falling at an unprecedented rate and showing no signs of stopping. You couldn’t control it, and at this point, you didn’t really care to. Sorrow was heavy in the air, constantly following you and making home even when you tried so hard to keep it out. There was no shame in displaying your heart to him, because that’s all you knew how to do, anymore.

“Hey, come on.” He pleaded, reaching up to wipe your cheeks clean. “Don’t waste all of those tears on me. God knows I don’t deserve it.” He said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You do, Sam. You deserve the world, and I wish that I could have given it to you.” You cried, leaning into his touch in hopes that it would take away some of the pain. “Maybe I could have loved you better if I loved myself more. I might have found the courage to say something sooner, and we could be living in the universe where we’re happy and everything is okay.”

“This isn’t your fault, y/n.” He said, fighting back tears of his own. “It’s mine; I should have said something sooner, I should have fought harder, or maybe I never should have put you in a position like this at all. I guess it doesn’t really matter, now. The war is over, and you can stop fighting. You’re tired, and I’ve known it for a while. I’m sorry that I let things go this far. You can blame whoever you want, but please stop blaming yourself.” He moved ever so slightly closer to you, grabbing your face gently between his hands. “If this is going to make you the happiest, I would never be upset at you for it. You deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer. You always try and give it to everyone else, but it’s your turn, baby. You get to enjoy it, and you don’t have to worry about me.” He wiped your face clean once more, the soft touch warming your soul and soothing the pain. You wished so badly to make everyone happy, to settle the problem with no casualties, but it was just not possible. Someone had to hurt, or all of you would hurt. There was no winning, and in a way, everyone lost at least something along the way.

“In another world, Sammy.” You said, recalling the daydreams you and him had shared in the past. They seemed so close, so real, but you didn’t want to reach for them anymore. Your arms were tired of searching for something that might never be found, and if they were, you knew they would not have been able to compare to the fairytale world that you had created in your mind. “We’d have the house, the dogs, and the rest of our lives.”

“I’ll be dreaming of that world forever,” he said, a sad smile crossing his lips. “Just make sure that he treats you right, because you deserve it, and you make sure that he knows he’s the luckiest man to ever walk this earth. If he doesn’t realize that, then I’ll remind him myself.”

“Thank you for understanding. Thank you for not hating me.” You sniffled, already so burnt out from the whirlwind of emotion the day had thrown at you.

“Hate you?” He scoffed, a smile on his face despite tears welling in his eyes. “There is no possible way that I could ever hate you, y/n. You’re my best friend above anything else, and you’ve given me a lifetime’s worth of happiness in just a few months. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I could never make one as big as that.”

“I could never hate you either, Sammy. I hope that when this all settles, we can still be friends. I don’t want to live a life without you in it.”

“Of course we can. It’s going to suck at first, and it’s going to hurt, but we’ll get through it. We can get through anything.” He promised. “Thank you for being honest, and thank you for giving me the best few months of my entire life.”

“Thank you, Sam. You showed me how beautiful this life can be when you’re looking in the right places, and you helped me more than you can ever imagine.” You said, reaching out to brush the hair from his face. You let your thumb drift over the soft skin on his cheek, feeling better than you had in days. You hated hurting him, but you knew that it was what you had to do; Sam was your best friend, someone you loved to be around and loved making memories with, but in the long term, it just wasn’t right. You could have a good life with him, a great one, even, but you feared that it paled in comparison to the life you could live with Jake. Sam was comfortable, familiar, and fantastic all the same. He would make a phenomenal partner, but you knew he would be suited best for someone else. Jake was what you needed, what you craved for the future, and you knew he was exactly what your heart wanted. The truth lied within the fact that you were aching all over after walking away from him, and now that you knew you were walking away from Sam, you felt lighter than you ever had before. It did not feel good to hurt him, but it felt good to free yourself from the chains that your entanglement was tying you down with, and it felt good to finally be certain in your own decisions.

“You did too, Princess.” He mumbled, closing his eyes to hold back his tears. “Like I said before, if you ever change your mind, I’ll be here. I’d wait for you forever if I had to. If you ever decide to try again, I promise I’ll do it right, next time.” He said, turning his head slightly to press a kiss to your thumb.

“It has nothing to do with rights and wrongs, Sammy. I made just as many mistakes as anyone else. Don’t punish yourself for it, because we were all doing what we thought was best.” He nodded, hearing your words and trying his best to adhere to the request. “Thank you for everything.” You said once again, making sure your gratitude was clearly expressed.

“I assume you have to go deliver the good news, now?” He asked, eyes glistening with an emotion you had never seen from him before. It was killing you to cause him such suffering, but it was for the best, and in years to come you hoped to look back on this rough patch and have all of you laugh at your own stupidity.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You sighed, ready to make amends with Jake but not ready to leave Sam. “One last kiss, for old times sake?” You asked, a shred of hope in your voice. He chuckled at your question, drawing you in to him without another word. The kiss was soft, sweet yet sad all the same. It was a celebration as much as it was a goodbye. When you parted, sadness lingered on both of your faces, but there was also relief in knowing that the struggle was over. As much as he was mourning the fact that he couldn’t have you, he respected your choice, and he knew that with time he could heal the wounds he collected from the battle. The dance that you had been doing was only worsening them, and with proper care, the scars might be so light that you would never guess they existed in the first place. “I love you, Sam. I think I will for the rest of my life. A piece of me will always belong to you.”

“Me too, y/n. I love you, and I hope that even after it’s all said and done, you don’t forget that.”

“Never.” You promised, placing another kiss to his cheek, this time. “I’ll see you soon, Sammy.”

“I hope so,” he said, grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze before rising to his feet. He gave a small wave goodbye before disappearing out of the room. You took in a long breath, but stood despite your body begging you not to. You were terrified to face the world after inflicting so much damage on another, and more so, you were terrified of rejection from Jake. After hurting him so badly, you would understand if he never wanted to speak to you again. You hoped that it was not the case as you broke into the hallway, headed straight for the direction of his dressing room, because you feared that him turning you down would effectively turn you to dust.

You stopped in front of his door, no more hesitation present in your mind as you knocked on the door. You waited for something, but received nothing. There was not even a hint that there was life inside the room. You swore under your breath as you raised your hand to knock again. You listened intently, wondering if you might be able to hear a movement beyond the door, but there wasn’t a thing that signalled that he was inside. You tried not to let the disappointment take over, but it was creeping up on you faster with every second that passed. You worried that you had effectively driven the final nail in the coffin, that you had pushed him just a little too far and now there was no way to recover from the hurt you had caused. You took a step back from the door as you continued deliberating your next move. You looked down the hallway, feeling like you had stumbled upon the key to the grand prize. Josh was walking towards you, mindless and uncaring of his surroundings.

You stepped towards him, cutting him off before he could make it any further and startling him with the suddenness. “Josh,” you greeted, trying to keep your frantic mind away from the public eye.

“Gold Dust Woman,” he greeted, slowly looking over your face. “You don’t look very good.”

“No,” you chuckled, knowing his observation barely scratched the surface “guess I don’t.” You sighed, wondering how to word your question to showcase the importance of your need for an answer. “Is Jake in his room? O-or do you know where he is? I really need to talk to him.” Your nervousness slipped out in your stutter, and he was quick to catch on to it.

“Uh, no, he’s not in his room.” He said, a note of sympathy in his eyes. “He’s in pretty bad shape, y/n. I think it’s best to leave things be for now.” If your heart could shatter any more, it did just that at the sound of his words.

“I know I fucked up, Josh. I just need to talk to him and make it right.” You whispered.

“Listen,” he sighed, placing his hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze “you’re my best friend, but he’s my brother. I know that you didn’t want to hurt him, and I know it was never your intention, but he needs some time to heal. Sometimes it’s better to just let it go and move forward.” His sympathy felt like a punch in the face, but his misunderstanding of your intent was even worse.

“No, Josh, I’m not trying to coddle him because I broke his heart, I’m telling you that I fucked up. I made the biggest mistake of my life, and I need to make it right. I’m not trying to put a bandaid on a bullet hole, I need to tell him that I was wrong.” You rushed your words, looking over his confused expression. You gave a nervous gulp, not wanting to speak the obvious but knowing that it would be the only way he understood your intent. “I just broke up with Sam. I was wrong, Josh, and I need to say it before it’s too late.” You were desperate in your explanation, hoping that now he could see what you were trying to tell him. His eyebrows raised, lips parting slightly in shock at your words. “This whole thing is a mess, and I know that I’m at fault, but I’m trying to do the right thing. I need to do right by him, Josh. I swear I’m not trying to hurt him any more.”

“Oh, wow.” He said, processing the information you had thrown at him.

“I know, and you can hate me for hurting them; god knows I deserve it, but he deserves the truth. He deserves everything good in this world and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. I know he’s your brother, and I know you’re trying to protect him, and I’m so grateful that he has someone as good as you to look out for him, but please, if he’s in your room just let me see him.”

“I don’t hate you, y/n. I just wish I could solve it for everyone, take the pain away, even. You’re all family, and this is incredibly confusing and frustrating, but I do not hate you.” He clarified, moving forward to pull you into a hug. “You’re sure?”

“More than anything else in the whole world.” You assured him, holding him tightly as if it would ease your hurt. His arms were familiar, but strange in the sense that you knew it was not him you were supposed to be hugging.

“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.” He said, giving you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Thank you,” you said, but it held little weight in comparison to the relief you felt at his words.

“I think Aaron’s looking for you,” he nodded in the direction of the manager who was quickly approaching the pair of you. “Probably time for soundcheck.”

“Fuck sakes.” You sighed, turning to see for yourself. Josh was right, Aaron was talking to you before he was even in earshot, ordering your presence on stage. As much as you loved your job, you seemed to despise it more than anything in that moment. You looked back at Josh, giving him another silent thanks with your eyes before walking away. You went right to the stage, ignoring any other attempts at initiating conversation from anyone else passing by. Dylan was sitting at the drum set, tapping out a small beat while Riley was soloing on his bass guitar. Not even the sight of your best friends could break you from your misery; tears were still begging to be shed, only worsening when you picked up your own instrument. “Let’s get this over with.” You muttered, uttering a small check into the mic to make sure it was on.

“You seem chipper today.” Dylan noted, begging to catch a glimpse of your face so she could judge what type of poor mood you were in. “Left this morning before I even woke up. Felt like a cheap tinder date.” You let out a small chuckle at her joke, but opted not to respond as you tuned your strings to your liking. Without any warning, you let out a loud strum on the strings, kicking on your distortion pedal as you stepped towards the mic and let out a shout.

As if it were muscle memory, as soon as she heard the sound, Dylan joined in on the drums. Riley followed suit, singing into his own microphone alongside of you. You proceeded with the song, singing the lyrics with all of the emotion you were holding in your heart. Riley allowed you to sing the verses and the chorus, only joining in every so often when he felt the need to accentuate your impact. When the solo came around, you looked only at the floor as your hands did all of the work. As you finished, you leaned forward to sing the last few lines, ending the most passionate rendition of ‘Them Bones’ by Alice in Chains you had ever performed.

“So we’re angry, today.” Dylan said, catching her breath as she rested her arms for a moment.

“We’re everything today, Dylan.” You corrected, switching to your clean setting. “Try Little Wing.”

“You got it.” She said, waiting for you to begin. You played around with the Wah pedal, making sure your tone was right before you started the melodic intro. You couldn’t look out to the seats, knowing that there was only two bodies watching this time around. It killed you to know you had hurt the brothers enough that they felt as though they couldn’t even watch your rehearsal. Your chest was aching, wondering if you had truly fucked everything up as badly as you believed you did.

The cry of your guitar was similar to the one of your soul, echoing through the empty air just to return back and strike you in the face. Your eyes were still blurred with tears of defeat, but you refused to let any more fall. The weakness you had displayed within the last few hours left you shocked that you hadn’t crumbled to the ground in a mess of your former self, yet. You felt like you could, and you definitely wanted to, but you knew you had to keep going for just a little while longer. Your bones ached with exhaustion and your body was begging for a moment of peace, yet you continued on as if nothing was wrong. It was your best defence mechanism, and your only one. If you stopped now, you would never get back up again. As tempting as it was, giving up was not an option until you settled the score with Jake and did everything you could to make things right again.

Dylan drummed along with your playing and Riley was near perfect in his timing, but when you stepped up to sing, your fingers slipped from their position. An off note rang through the air, covered by your voice and quick work at recovery. You made it through the lyrics with no other mishaps, but when the outro came around, you seemed to completely lose your train of thought midway through. You let out a slur of curses, angry at yourself and the instrument for not doing what you wanted it to do. “All good, y/n.” Dylan tried to mediate, knowing your temper all too well. “Can try it again if you want.”

“No, just move on.” You shook your head, starting into another riff. You only chose to play it as a way to prove to yourself you still had the talent, but you couldn’t seem to get the right sound from your guitar that you were hoping for. You tried it a few more times, but couldn’t find the right rhythm for the outcome you wanted. “Fuck!” You exploded, your moment of anger catching you off-guard and echoing through the microphone. You practically ripped the strap from your body, slamming the guitar onto the stand and walking away without another word. Dylan nor Riley felt the need to call you back, knowing that your time on stage had come to an end for the time being. Forcing you to pick the guitar back up would only result in a catastrophic mess, and they were not willing to risk another Gibson guitar being shattered on the floor of a stage.

You walked around the corner, ignoring Aaron’s persistent complaints about your short lived soundcheck, and headed straight to your dressing room. The door slammed behind you with enough force to knock the building down and you collapsed on your couch without any care for your childish display. You put your head in your hands, hoping to hold the tears in for good, but they still seemed to find away around the strength in which your palms were pressed to your face. You felt like the world was ending, the sky crashing down and the earth cracking below you. After so long playing with fire, you had finally succumbed to the fatal burns of your own mistakes. You had hurt the two people you loved most, and you knew nothing about how to fix it, or even if you could mend the damage you had done.

You reached to your purse that was lazily discarded on the floor, rummaging around before finding a few single-shot bottles of whiskey. You took one and swallowed it down, ignoring the sting that settled in your chest, for it was much more pleasant than how you were already feeling. You dumped the other two into the coffee cup that Sam had given you, the liquid just reaching the brim of the cup. You took two long sips from it, uncaring of the unpleasant taste. You made it halfway through the brew before the knocking began. If you had to choose your least favourite sound, that would be at the top of your list. You ignored it the first few times, but it had eventually gotten so loud and persistent that you could no longer tune it out.

You swung the door open, met with the face of your stylist. “Told you we’d be spending lots of time together, today.” She said, opting to ignore your clear distress.

“Kind of in the middle of something.” You said, furrowing your eyebrows at her disregard for the scene.

“Moping around your dressing room?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow as she waited for an answer. When you remained silent, she stepped inside. “Let’s get you cleaned up and brand new, again.” She said, kicking the door shut behind her. She motioned for you to sit in your chair, to which you obeyed. She was a strong personality, one that was hard to adjust to, but you loved her. Much like everyone else on tour, she was family, and unlike everyone else, she wasn’t one to feed into your bullshit. “Get it all out now,” she said, looking to you as she took a seat on the arm of your couch.

“You want me to cry on command?” You questioned, confused about her motive.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I want.” She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. You felt like you were being graded on your misery, and it was a very confusing feeling. So confusing, that you almost seemed to be distracted from your poor mood.

“I… I think I’m okay, now.” You said, certain that the tears had finally run dry.

“You better be sure, because once I start, I can’t have you crying all of my hard work away.” You wanted to argue with her, but somehow the blunt words seemed to snap you out of your previous state of mind. Actually, you found them quite funny. She approached you after pulling a few things from her bag, giving you ample opportunity to double back on your word. She kneeled in front of you, bringing a makeup wipe to your face as she softly removed any physical reminders of your hurt. “I told you not to let them steal your shine, Gold Dust Woman.”

“I think I stole my own shine, Rachel.”

“Mhm,” she shook her head, dabbing away the mascara stains from under your eye. “Whoever stole it needs to give me my girl back, because this is not the Gold Dust Woman I know.”

“I know.” You agreed, solemnly cementing her words in truth.

“We’re gonna make you look beautiful, and then hopefully your mind will follow suit. Sometimes you just need a little break from the world.” She was right, and usually your time spent with her was a break from the real world. She put you in a suit of armour with her work, turning you into a version of yourself you barely believed to be real. You hoped that once she dressed you in your stage clothes, you could find the confidence to make it through the rest of the night. She was like a mother in the way she cared; firm yet comforting, and unwilling to put up with any bullshit. Neither of you seemed to talk much about any troubles, but she always seemed to make you feel better just by being in your company.

Once your face was clean, she took extra time to soothe the puffiness from all of the crying. When she began to apply makeup, she used a gentle touch and utmost concentration. She didn’t break her focus until she was certain that she had perfected the look. She guided you to your clothes, allowing you to dress yourself before she fine tuned any details. You were clad in a gold tank top, elegant and beautiful in its simplicity. It was filled with very tiny, reflective sequins that from afar seemed to blend into one. It was low cut, the neckline lax and swooping down as it settled on itself. It stopped just above your navel, the material loose and comfortable to move in. She picked a pair of leather pants that flared at the bottom but stayed very form fitting above the knee. She pinned your shirt in place before moving on to your hair. She touched up her earlier work but didn’t change much, leaving it hang freely over your shoulders before spraying it with hairspray.

“How do you feel?” She asked, voice quiet as she stepped out of your view of the mirror. You inspected your reflection, wondering if the woman staring back at you was truly you, or just an imposter begging you to believe it. You couldn’t tell for a second that you had been such a mess only a short time before. Your eyes were painted dark and prominent, standing out even further by the accent of gold eyeliner she had trailed down your face. She had made gold tears with the makeup, so subtle that you could miss it, yet shining just perfectly under the light.

“You deserve a raise,” you breathed, leaning closer to inspect yourself even further. She crouched down, now the same height as you and staring into the mirror with you.

“Even when you cry, y/n, it’s made of gold.” She whispered, looking to your face with a small smile on her lips. “Bring back my Gold Dust Woman. Show them that you’re worth more than all of that pain.”

“Thank you, Rachel.” You said, feeling more gratitude for her than you could even comprehend. The relationship between an artist and a stylist is nearly incomprehensible; no, you did not share the darkest of your secrets with her, but she most often saw the most vulnerable and intimate parts of you. She was projecting your inner self outwardly, and to do so, she needed to know you wholly. She was phenomenal at her job, and you were eternally grateful for her.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She said, standing once again. “Put my work to good use, then we’ll have time for gratitude.” You chuckled at her bold persona, nodding in agreement. She straightened the gold chains around your neck before slipping out of the room in silence. You waited until her footsteps faded away until you moved out of your chair, finding a shred of courage to move towards the hallway yourself.

You peered into the open area, timid to find the bodies that occupied it. You leaned against the doorframe, finding Riley and Dylan only a few feet away from the stage. You could hear the soft lull of Jake’s guitar calling to you, begging you to go and watch him work his magic. You took a few steps forward towards your bandmates, sneaking up behind them and shocking them with your presence. “Hey,” you uttered, remorseful about your blatant disregard for the soundcheck earlier. Dylan tuned her head to look at you, softened by your shy expression. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay,” she said, knowing that there was nothing you could do about it now. “Just don’t do it tonight.”

“Of course not,” you assured her, sneaking into the small space between her and Riley.

“You okay, now?” He asked, turning his head to look down at you.

“Yeah, much better.” You nodded.

“That’s all that matters.” He said, slipping an arm around your waist. Dylan did the same, a silent show of agreement. You slung you arms around their shoulders, finding it easier to stand with the strength of their support. You knew that no matter what happened, you had plenty of love coming your way. You had a world full of friends who would give anything to make you smile and go to the ends of the earth to take away the sadness. Grateful was not a strong enough word to express how you felt about them, and you wished you could be better at showing it. Your hope was that when the storm settled from loving the Kiszka’s, the world would appear easier to understand and navigate.

You watched the stage from the sideline, noticing immediately that you were on the same side as Jake normally took post on. It was hard to notice anyone or anything else when he was around because his presence took up all of the space in a room. He was beautiful, kind and generous beyond measure, and you were so close to having him forever. You were foolish to let him slip through your fingers once, and you would be damned to ever let it happen again. He was the earth you stood on, the sky above, and the air you breathed. Jake was everything, and you were an idiot for ever thinking otherwise. You felt entranced as you watched his fingers graze the fretboard, pulled in by his talent and suffocated by his beauty. Before you even knew it, the song had came to an end and the boys were walking away from the instruments.

You thought that this was your chance to get Jake by himself for a moment. As he walked towards you, head turned towards the ground, you broke free of the hold your bandmates had on you. You stepped to the side, landing a few feet in front of Jake in hopes to stop him from going any further. He looked up, surprised at your presence. He looked worse than you had ever seen him; his eyes were tired, bloodshot as if he’d spent the afternoon in the same state you had been. At the sight of you, he did not smile, nor did he give you any hint that he was happy to see you. You could not blame him, because if you were in his shoes, you would never want to speak to you again. Still, you persevered in hopes that you could change the situation for the better despite your heart begging you to run and hide.

“Jake,” you whispered, holding his gaze for as long as he would allow it. “Can I talk to you for a second? Please?”

“Y/n,” he sighed, pain rising in his features the longer he was in your company. “I just need some time, okay?”

“No, Jake, I swear-“

“Please,” he cut you off, clearly not knowing what you were trying to tell him. “Just give me a few days, then I promise we can try the friends thing.” He mumbled, averting his gaze away from you. You wanted to scream your love from him so loudly that it shattered the windows and lived inside the walls forever, to show the world how much he meant to you and how apologetic you were for not realizing it sooner, but you seemed frozen in your place. The rejection was not unexpected, but it was debilitating.

“No, I just need-“ you tried again, but his hand landed on your bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance before he stepped past you and continued down the hall. You turned, watching him appear smaller and smaller before he eventually turned into a room and disappeared from sight completely. You thought you were going to be sick, broken underneath the weight of the love you were carrying for him. As much as you wanted to chase after him, you knew it was best to let him come to you in his own time. Still, even if you knew it was for the best did not make the fact easy to choke down.

You looked over to your bandmates, noticing that they had been watching the interaction unfold in hopes of discovering the source of your misery. You let out a long sigh, shrugging your shoulders as if to tell them you didn’t know any more than they did. Dylan nodded her head towards her dressing room, silently asking if you wanted to wait with her until it was time to perform. You have a solemn nod, letting her lead the way. When the three of you were together in her dressing room, door closed and locking out any unwanted listeners, she finally felt comfortable enough to pry some information for you. You explained to the two about the events of the day, biting back tears as you spoke. When you made it to the end of your sad story, the shock on their faces was too much to bear. You closed your eyes, leaning your head on the back of the couch while you tried to forget about the sadness that seemed to make permanent home in your head.

“So, how are you going to tell him?” Dylan asked, now at the hands of the stylist who had recently been in your own company.

“Have to get him to talk to me first, don’t you think?”

“No,” her answer was simple.

“How am I supposed to tell someone I love them without talking to them?” You rolled your eyes, sipping on the drink Riley had grabbed for you. A little liquid courage could get you through anything, or that’s what you always thought. This time, it seemed different. The anxiety stemming from your predicament with Jake seemed too large to calm with any sort of substance. You weren’t worried about superficialities, nor surface level scars that would fade into nothing; this was the love of your life, someone who you wanted to spend forever with, and you were terrified you had lost him for good.

“Do you forget that we’re in a band?” Riley asked, looking over at you with a hint of humour in his eye. He was tipsy, but he was just as enthralled in the conversation as Dylan. “We write about our feelings for a living. Sing him a song, dumbass.” You reached over, smacking his arm gently as you both dissolved into a fit of laughter. The more time you spent with the two, the more the dread seemed to float away. It was still lingering, but it seemed much less daunting with them in your company.

“What song should I sing?” You asked, tracing circles into the fabric of your pants to distract yourself from your fear.

“That one’s on you,” Riley said. “I’m not the one confessing my love for him.”

“Maybe you should, I think you two would be awfully cute together.” Dylan teased, hidden behind Rachel as she had her face painted with stage makeup.

“I’ll let her shoot her shot, first. If she fucks up, though…” Riley trailed off, slowly turning his gaze towards you. “You better watch out.” Another chorus of laughter echoed through the room at his words. After the excitement died down, you drifted away into your thoughts, thinking of the best way to express your feelings for him. After a few moments, an idea surfaced in the mess of self-doubt that seemed impossible to pass up.

“I got it.” You announced, a small smile breaking out on your lips. Riley leaned over, giving you a pat on the back as a way to say he was proud of you.

And thus began the longest wait of your entire life.

The minutes seemed to pass with the length of an hour, and the hours felt like eternities. You drank, trying to settle the nerves in yours stomach, and tapped your foot against the floors to rid yourself of the jitters. Riley left the room to allow Dylan to get changed, and eventually Rachel left to tend to his stage outfit. The small talk had between you and your drummer was nearly painful, both of you knowing that you were completely uninvested in any of the topics at hand. You were nearly vibrating by the time Aaron knocked on the dressing room door, bursting at the seams with anticipation of getting on stage. You joined together at the side of the stage, listening to Aaron’s short instructions to ensure the performance would run smoothly.

When he motioned for you to start, you have a nod and a prayer for enough confidence to get through the night. When you appeared in front of the crowd, you were met with cheers and applause, fuelling your ego only enough for you to pick up your guitar. Dylan sat behind her drums, a blinding smile on her lips as she started a slow beat on the kick drum to set the mood. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Riley asked, met with a cheer of an excitement from the audience. He looked over to you, laughing at the sound.

“We’re Gold Dust Woman, and we’re so excited to spend the evening with you all. Here’s a song we wrote about being drunk…” you said, looking to Riley for a moment “and in love.” You started a familiar riff, one that had been circling around the internet after your first performance of the song. You knew that once the tour finished up, it would be first on the list of songs to record.

The longer you played, the more confident you felt in your own ability. You found yourself intermittently checking over your shoulder, looking to see if the boys were watching you from their usual spot. At first, there was only Josh and Danny observing from the sidelines. Halfway through the set, Sam made an appearance, looking beautiful in his stage clothes and makeup. Your heart ached at the sight, but when he caught your eye and gave you a reassuring smile, you felt on top of the world. The weight lifted from you ever so slightly just by knowing he did not hold any resentment towards you. There was only one more loose end that needed tying, and you had put your entire faith in the idea that Jake would be willing to watch your performance that night.

When you got down to the last three songs, you were tired and dejected, ready to pack up your things and stitch up your wounds. Jake had not yet made an appearance, and you were beginning to believe he would not leave his room until the second he was needed on stage. You couldn’t blame him, but you so desperately wanted to blame someone, which ultimately landed you back in your initial position. All of the self-doubt and insecurities flooded back in, giving your hands a nervous tremor as you played the solo of your second to last song. Riley sang softly over your playing, distracting the crowd from any potential mishaps your fingers may have caused. You finished with a small outro, trying to zone in on your fretboard to avoid any further mistakes. You finished with a smile, happy that you finished at all.

You looked back over your shoulder, knowing that you would be met with another staggering rejection, yet needing to check anyway. Your heart nearly erupted from your chest and your breath caught in your throat. Your head was swimming with adoration as your eyes landed on the fourth body that finally joined the crowd. He caught your gaze, the same intense emotion taking hold of him in an instant. You struggled to break from the state, wishing to stay lost in his eyes for the rest of time. His lips upturned in the corner, not quite smiling at you, but acknowledging that he was invested in you. You managed to shake your head free from the overwhelming fear, looking to Riley in hopes he could communicate with you wordlessly. You nodded your head in his direction, silently asking if you could switch positions. He caught on immediately, making it seem like the interaction was planned all along as he moved towards you.

You gave him a high five as you passed, trying to make the switch as relaxed as possible. “Alright, we’ve got one more song for you tonight, and it’s a very special one to me.” You said, tuning down your top string. “If you know it, sing it with me. I think I might need some help to get through it.” You encouraged, tuning your bottom string. You casted a look back towards Dylan, a hopeful smile on your lips. She gave you a grin with all of the support she could muster in her features. She gave you a drum roll, hiking anticipation until you began playing.

You began the infamous introduction, the first cluster of notes immediately sending a surge of excitement through the room. Dylan joined in, giving you a steady beat, and Riley bit back a smile as he plucked the top string of his bass.

“Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies” Riley sang with you, your voices harmonizing alongside the crowd’s excited voices. You took a step back, playing a small part on the guitar before leading him into the chorus. Before you began, you looked over at the group of boys watching your performance. You caught Jake’s eye, holding him captive as you sang directly to him.

“And if you don’t love me now,

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain” you sang, powerful and with clear intent. Jakes head cocked to the side, his eyebrow raising in disbelief as he watched your blatant display of emotion. You sang the chorus once more before breaking your gaze, focusing on your hands to regain your composure. You could feel the rhythm in your heart, the beat of the drum rattling your bones and the bass pounding in your ears. If you could keep your focus on the music, you could finish the song. You continued repeating it in your head until you believed it.

“Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night

Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies

Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light” you looked to Riley, allowing him to lead you back into the chorus. He sang alone while you echoed his words back to him. He let you sing the next one, switching roles so he could echo you. You looked back at the side stage, the shine of tears in your eye as you saw the look of anger begin to form on Jake’s face. You continued singing, only stopping so he could play the bass line leading up to the solo. On his second run through, you began picking the bottom strings, speeding your pace the longer you played. You took a step back from the mic, losing yourself to the tune. You let your head fall back, eyes closed as your hands guided you through the process of the solo. When it came time to sing again, you were overcome with a sudden burst of energy.

“Chain keep us together!” You shouted into the microphone, looking to Riley as you did so.

“Running in the shadows!” He sang back, watching you to see when you would start again. You repeated your line, more passion than the last time, and he copied your energy. You grinned, walking over to him before singing again. He stepped to the side, allowing you to join him at his microphone. He faced you, playing at you as you did the same to him.

“Chain keep us together!”

“Running in the shadows!” You sang into the same mic, face to face as you played your instruments. The passion was electric, igniting your heart and your soul as it only increased further. You looked past Riley, catching Jake’s gaze one last time before singing the line once more. Dylan let out a loud bang on the drums, stopping the song entirely and filling the air with silence. After a second, everyone erupted into cheers. Dylan stood behind her drum set, raising her arms in the air in triumph. You looked back at her, laughing at her antics.

“Thank you, and goodnight!” Riley yelled into the microphone. You waved out at the crowd, slipping your strap over your shoulder and handing it off to a sound tech waiting for you just off the stage. You were breathless, barely able to thank the group for their endless compliments on your performance. You were stopped before you could move any further, frozen in your tracks by a body that stepped in front of you. You looked up, meeting Jakes angry eyes while fear settled in your stomach. Both of you were too caught up in the flurry of emotion to care about your surroundings, ignoring Aaron’s warning of the boys 45 minute timer until they got on stage.

Jake reached out, placing a hand on your upper arm as he guided you away from the group and towards your dressing room. He pushed the door shut behind him, looking to you as he waited for an explanation. You were at a loss for words, not expecting your performance to catch his attention so efficiently. “What the fuck was that, y/n?” He asked, his stare burning into you and his tone harsh. You opened your mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find anything meaningful to say. “You break up with me, tell me you’re in love with my brother, and then you get up on stage and pull a stunt like that? I have no idea what you want from me. If you want Sam, then have him, but you need to give me some time to get over you!”

“I was wrong!” You blurred out, panic stricken and desperate for him to slow down. “I don’t want you to get over me because I was wrong, Jake!” He paused, completely still as his expression shifted. He was frozen, eyes glossed over with disbelief as he processed your words.

“What?” His voice was quiet now, approaching you with utmost caution as if he was afraid to scare you away.

“I love you, Jake, and I was wrong.” You whispered, taking a step closer to him. “I was so wrong, and I know I can’t take back the pain I’ve already caused, but I can’t let you go. I love you. Three months ago, I loved you. In a year from now, I’ll still love you. When I’m eighty years old and watching the world happen around me from my front porch, I will still be thinking about how much I love you. It’s the type of love that’s forever, and I know that I will never feel this way for anyone else in my entire life. I’m so sorry for not seeing it sooner, and for walking away, or for thinking that there might be something happier for me somewhere else, but it’s just not true. You are everything Jake, and I am certain of that. You wouldn’t listen to me earlier, but I needed to tell you. I couldn’t live with myself if I just let you go.”

He watched you, head tilted to the side slightly as he absorbed your confession. His lips were parted slightly, in awe at the profound nature of your words. As nervous as you were, you couldn’t help but admire him. The beauty that he was surrounded with was indescribable; the way his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to process his thoughts, the glimmer in his eye that gave you a shred of hope, all of it. He was breathtaking, and you couldn’t believe that you had the opportunity to love him at all. You wanted to step forward, to be so close to him that you never had to worry about distance again, but you were afraid. You awaited the invitation, your body yearning to be in his arms and addicted to the memory of his touch.

“I know that this has been hard, and we’ve messed up, but I don’t want to make mistakes with anyone else, Jake. I would be happier struggling with you than I would be if I was comfortable with someone else. I don’t know how to love, or what it really means to love someone so completely and selflessly, but I know that I feel it for you, and god do I know that you feel it for me. I’ve never been so loved in my entire life, and I never want to let it go. You love the parts of me that I thought would always be unlovable. You loved me so much even knowing that you could get hurt, and you loved me even while I was hurting you. I’ve never really been in love like this before, but I know that this is what it’s supposed to be like.” You rambled, confessing every thought that crossed your mind. You hoped that it was enough, because you couldn’t fathom the thought of watching him walk away.

“A-are you sure?” He asked, seeming like he wanted to reach out for you but worried that it might be some kind of sick joke.

“I am more sure than I’ve ever been before.” You whispered, gravitating towards him despite your brain telling you to stop.

“100 percent?” He asked again, also leaning closer as he asked.

“A million percent, Jake.” The pain that was on his face seemed to vanish at your assurance. Without another word, he stepped forward, so close to you that it made your head spin. He grabbed your face in his hands, leaning down and kissing you with every ounce of love he could muster. You flung your arms around his torso, pulling him as close as possible. You wished you could live in the moment of euphoria forever, knowing that nothing in your life could ever top the feeling of loving him freely. He broke away from you, his face still dangerously close to your own. He pressed another soft kiss to your lips as a way of thanking you for coming back, but he had no need to thank you for anything.

You slipped your hands under his suit jacket, desperate to be closer but unsure of how to do it. He laughed at you, your cold hands shocking his warm skin. You looked up at him, hearts dancing in your eyes as you lost yourself in his expression of elation. “You meant everything?” He mumbled, looking over your face and soaking in every detail.

“I will scream it from every rooftop in the world if I have to. If that’s what it takes for you to understand how much you mean to me, I’d do it a hundred times over again.” His eyes were speaking words that only your soul could understand, pulling you in further and making you fall even further in love. “When I left earlier, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I had made a huge mistake. I came inside to to talk to Sam, and I couldn’t do it. It’s always been you, even if I was too stupid to see it.” You said, feeling choked up just at the thought of leaving him. “I’m so sorry, Jake. I know I can’t take it back but I hope that I can make it up to you with enough time.” He let his thumb drift over your cheek, shaking his head before you even finished speaking.

“No apologies, angel. It doesn’t matter anymore, what matters is that you’re here with me, now.” You smiled, unable to contain your excitement any longer. His lips were still close enough to your own that you could feel him start to smile, too. Without warning, he moved his hands, crouching down slightly and anchoring them on the back of your thighs. In one swift motion, he picked you up off the floor. You let out a shriek of surprise as you wrapped your legs around him and threw your arms around his neck to steady yourself. He laughed at the sound, making sure to hold you tightly so you knew there was no fear of falling. But, as long as you were with Jake, you were well aware that you would never have to fear falling unless it was in love, because he was always waiting to catch you.

“So this is it? We get to be happy, now?” You asked, looking down at him. It was almost too fantastic to be true, but you knew that it had to be, because no dream could make you feel as good as you did in that moment.

“I think so,” He breathed, grinning up at you with the same happiness in his heart. You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the moment and unable to hold back any emotion trying to push through. A tear rolled down your cheek, which he was quick to spot. “Why are you crying, baby?” He asked, concern thick in his voice. “There’s no need for tears, anymore.”

“I’m just happy,” you said, voice shaking as you spoke. “I’m so happy, Jake. I never thought I could be this happy. I’ve spent my whole life trying to be something more than what I was born with, more than what I was ever given, but all of the work never seemed to make any sense because I still went home feeling the same way. I don’t feel like that, now. For the first time in my life, things feel perfectly right.” And it was true; you had searched forever, always coming out empty handed and wondering if you would ever find the thing you wanted most. Now, it was in front of you, and with a promise of forever. It was almost too much to take, but you were trying your hardest to accept it.

He moved to the couch, sitting down while being cautious of not dropping you. Once you were settled in his lap, he brought a hand to your face and wiped away any fallen tears. “It can be like this forever, y/n.” He whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I promise I will love you as long as you want me to, and long after that. You are my heart and my soul, and everything worthwhile. I want to be everything you need, whenever you need it.”

“You’ve already given me the whole world, Jake.” You said, bringing your hand to his cheek. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought I could have.”

“And I’ll keep giving until I can’t give any more.” He said, drawing you closer to him and resting his head in the crook of your neck. “I’ll give you whatever your heart desires, Gold Dust Woman. All I ever wanted to do was make you happy.”

“Happy doesn’t even come close to what you do for me.” You said, running a hand through his hair. He placed a kiss to the skin on your neck, pulling away only for a second before beginning to move upwards. He kissed a trail to your lips, the final kiss nearly too sweet to break. You held him to you, settling your other hand on his shoulder to support yourself.

It only took a moment for the passion to catch up to you, weeks of being deprived of each other taking its toll and begging you to submit to the temptation. His fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin of your back was enough to drive you to insanity, and the intoxication from his kiss made it impossible to resist him. You gave an involuntary grind of your hips against him, your body’s natural response to the feeling of his touch. He tightened his grip on you as his breath caught in his throat, desperate for anything more than what you were already doing. He pulled you down on him, his erection pressing into your heat and sending a wave of arousal through you. You let out a small whimper into his mouth, sending him feral in an instant. His arms travelled up your body, sneaking under your shirt and begging to pull it off of you.

You parted from him, breathless with stars dancing in your eyes. “Jake, we don’t have time.”

“We have plenty of time,” he assured you, refusing to back down. He could see the worry in your eye, but he was certain in his statement. “Don’t you trust me by now, Gold Dust Woman?” The nickname was like pure ecstasy to you, settling deep in your chest and making home like it had always belonged there.

“Of course I do.” You said, regretful for ever doubting him. You lifted your arms, allowing him to discard your shirt with little care. He brought his mouth to your collarbone, starting softly with kisses as he unhooked your bra with expert precision. He let that fall to the ground, too, not concerned with anything other than getting your clothes off. He brought a hand to your breast, the cold air of the room stinging your skin but the warmth of his touch offsetting the harshness. He let his thumb drift over your nipple, sucking marks into your collarbones as if he was trying to cement the reality of his victory. He moved his mouth downwards, focusing on your other nipple with his tongue.

He was desperate to know you again, like the weeks of separation had made you strangers. If he could, he would have spent the entire night with you in your dressing room, but he knew he had to make quick work in order to finish before he was expected on stage. With the vulgar noises rolling off of your tongue, he knew it would not be difficult to do. You were deprived just the same as he was, just as desperate to be touched and just as eager for an orgasm. He let his teeth sink into your nipple, sending a shiver down your spine and a gasp from your lips. You could feel him smile against you, cockiness returning so quickly that you doubted it ever left. He moved his hands to your hips, prompting you to stand so he could take your pants off, too.

You did as he pleased, allowing him the honour of undoing the button and removing the fabric to reveal what he’d been missing so much. You kicked the pants to the side, leaving yourself almost completely exposed and accessible. He sat on the edge of the couch, practically drooling at the thought of having you wrapped around him again. His eyes raked over your body, his jaw hard set as if he was a predator eyeing its prey. Romantic Jake was long gone, and you were more than okay with that; you loved him, and you were joyous over the knowledge that he was yours and you were his, but you were desperate to be fucked. You would never tell him, knowing that it would only fuel his already strong ego, but he was the only one who could do it right. He settled his hand on your hip, drawing you in and bringing his mouth back to your skin. He admired you only for a moment before turning you around. He let his hand trail over your ass in silent admiration before placing a kiss there, too. Instead of pulling away like you expected, he sunk his teeth into the skin with intent to make you quiver under the touch.

He did just that, the sensation causing you to jump and shy away from the unexpected moment. He let out a chuckle as he pulled away, unapologetic for his actions. He let his finer trail under the band of your underwear, drawing the elastic back slightly and snapping it against your skin. You wanted to complain, to chastise him for the teasing, but you were enjoying it too much to care. You were willing to take anything and everything that he was willing to give. He hooked his fingers through the sides and pulled that fabric away from you too, leaving you fully naked and at his disposal. “Do you know how much I missed seeing you like this?” His voice was low, husky and filled with lust. You thought you might be able to get off on the sound alone. He spun you around again so you were facing him, looking down as you anticipated his next move. “Do you, sweetheart?”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, feeling his fingers ghosting over your thighs. You shivered under the touch, wondering if he was possessed by his own sexual desire, or if it felt so good solely because of how much you loved him.

“Did you miss me, angel?”

“So badly,” you sighed, watching him with hearts dancing in your eyes. He let out a hum of approval, loving the sound of your shameless desperation. He reached down, placing his hand behind your knee, slow with his touch so he wouldn’t catch you off guard. You allowed him to guide your leg so your foot was resting on the cushion beside his thigh. He leaned forward, dusting kisses over the inside of your thigh, lost in the haze of desire that had quickly filled the room. He brought his hand to your cunt, letting his fingers run through you to get a better understanding of how much you wanted him. His jaw clenched at the pool of arousal, nearly insane from the thought of you being his and his alone. He trailed his finger to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles as he watched your face. He was aching to see the look of pleasure, the one in which your eyebrows knotted together and your lips parted, shamelessly crazy for everything he was doing to you. Sometimes, it kept him alive even more than the most basic of things like food and water.

“Did she miss me, too?” He purred, looking up to you with the far-away smile that let you know he was no longer thinking about conversing with you. Even if you hated to admit it, you had grown to love it so deeply that it made your chest ache when you thought of it for too long.

“Why don’t you find out?” You asked, trying to focus on anything other than his rose tinted cheeks and glossy stare. As much as you wanted to, you knew you would never hold any real power in the bedroom with Jake. Or, perhaps you held all of it, and you would never know the difference.

“Talking back to me, angel?” He asked, adding more pressure with his fingers.

“Never, baby.” You breathed the lie so easily he could almost believe it was the truth. Almost being the keyword, but he missed you too much to punish you, and he didn’t have enough time to do so, anyway.

“Come here,” he muttered, making a move to guide your leg over his shoulder. A whine slipped through your lips before he ever put his mouth on you, deriving pleasure from the idea of his tongue alone. His eyes fluttered up to meet your face before he proceeded any further, amazed by the sound and intrigued by the cause. “You want me that bad, baby?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Your face tinted red with embarrassment, but he was having none of it. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. I want to hear all of those filthy fucking noises.” The end of his sentence was resembling a growl; his excitement was nearly unbearable and he was unable to hide it from you.

“Please, Jake. I need you so fucking bad.” You pleaded, your fingers already knotted in his hair with anticipation for his next move. His eyes fluttered closed, the words settling in his soul and already beginning to heal the wounds he’d collected from the days events. He couldn’t wait any longer, too pent up after being without you for so long. He guided your hips forward to meet his mouth, his tongue immediately landing on the sensitive bud he’d been teasing just moments before. In lieu of any formalities, he slipped two fingers inside of you, making it a mission to bring you to a climax as quick as possible.

A sharp moan sounded through the room, making home in the foundation of the walls to leave a permanent reminder of what had happened behind the closed door. His fingers stayed at a steady pace, pumping into you in time with the movement of his tongue. You couldn’t help but tug at his hair, needing more than he could possibly ever give you. At least, you thought it would be impossible to give, but Jake always managed to find a way. Your eyes were screwed shut as you bit down on your tongue, hoping to stay as silent as possible so nobody would know what was happening inside the room. His tongue was still laced with unholy energy, You were certain of it. There was no human that could possibly hold so much power within such simple movements. He was sent from the devil to turn you evil, too, and you didn’t care. Even if he was corrupt, or if the touch was woven with hidden intent, you would succumb to the temptation every time. Jake as an entity was much too powerful to resist, and you would be okay with it even if it was death you were suffering at his hands.

Your breathing was labored, chest heaving in hopes of catching up on the air he was stealing directly from your lungs. A thin layer of sweat had already begun to form on your forehead, your body so willing to give in to him with so little persuasion. It was always like that with Jake; it seemed as though he never even had to try to turn you into a mess because you were willing to do it as soon as he walked into a room. A raspy cry tore through you, already feeling an orgasm creeping up on you. It had been so long that you were surprised it even took him this long to get you there. You thought maybe he was savouring the moment, because Jake had to the ability to make you come undone in seconds. No matter what it was, you couldn’t find the strength to complain about it. You were so grateful for anything he was willing to give you, even if he chose to deny you an orgasm for the entire night.

That strength was not within him, though, and he was just as desperate for your climax as you were. He sped his tongue, matching the pace with his fingers, hoping that with a little encouragement you would come undone right then and there. You swore under your breath, holding his head for support in fear that your legs would give out from under you. He hummed against you, showing his own pleasure from your enjoyment. You felt the knot tightening in your belly, the burn almost too intense to ignore. You wished to drag it out a little longer, but you couldn’t hold back. It was partially due to your need for a release, but mostly because you could not deny him of his wish. He asked so little of you that you felt guilty even thinking of refusing him anything did want.

“Fuck, Jake.” You let out a shaky breath, feeling your muscles tense and your walls clench around his fingers. He did nothing but continue working at you, keeping a steady pace and continuous movement. Your fingers tightened against the strands of his hair, keeping you grounded as the world started to spin. You couldn’t even manage another word before the orgasm washed over you with a ferocious intensity. He tightened his grip on you, making sure you would not stumble and fall to the ground. You managed his name through the waves of pleasure, singing it like a hymn. Jake was the god you prayed to and the devil you feared. He was the angels watching over you and the sins you committed. He was everything and anything all at once, and although it was confusing, it was euphoric to be in the company of someone so magnificent. You hoped that you would never have to see a lifetime without him.

He slowly pulled away from you, making sure you were steady before removing your leg from his shoulder. With a shaky hand, you loosened your grip on his hair and moved it to his shoulder, supporting yourself with his help. “How was that, angel?” He asked, looking up at you. Your orgasm was glistening on his chin, like a trophy of the vulgarity you two had just engaged in.

“It was so good, baby.” You sighed, already recovered and ready for more. He stood, hands never leaving you as he did so. He wasn’t willing to stop touching you because he had spent the entire day believing he would never get the chance again. He guided you towards the chair placed in front of the vanity mirror. He unbuttoned his pants, only pulling them down to his knees before sitting in the chair. He wasn’t a fan of the time crunch, yet he was grateful for it all the same. It allowed him to give in to the temptation of you without needing any further excuses. He was certain that if he had to wait any longer, he might die from the agony alone.

He spit into his hand, stroking himself for a moment before reaching out for you and guiding you towards him. With your back to him and your legs on either side of his, he lined himself up with your entrance. “Waited so long for this, beautiful. You have no idea how many times I thought about having you like this again.” He murmured, lips just hovering over your ear. You took the intiative and lowered yourself onto him, both of you hissing in pleasure at the feeling after going so long without it.

“Just like this?” You asked, slowly gyrating your hips. He let out a hum of agreement, too lost in the pleasure to verbally express his feelings. “Did you touch yourself while you thought of me, Jacob?” You pressed, tone growing more firm the longer you spoke. His eyes snapped open, shocked that such a question had come from your mouth. “Hmm?” There was a fire in his pupil, like you had ignited a part of him he never knew existed.

“I don’t remember you being such a whore,” he said the word so sweetly, like it was far from insulting. But, being a whore for Jake was nowhere near insulting, and you would proudly admit to it any day of the week.

“Maybe you bring out the worst in me.” You hummed, looking forward and into the mirror, watching his face intently as the pleasure began to take over. “You didn’t answer my question, baby.”

“I did,” he groaned, your slow pace pushing him to the brink of insanity. You could feel him throbbing inside of you, desperate for more but willing to take what you were offering just so he could be close to you. “Every fucking night.” His fingers were burning into your hip, brandishing it with marks that would turn purple within minutes. He slipped his hand to the front of you, letting his middle finger find your clit so he could continue his torment. “Did you think of me when you were touching yourself?” He asked, eyes flickering up to your reflection.

“All of the time,” you sighed, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder. He brought his free hand to your face, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers and forcing you to look back at the mirror.

“Keep watching, angel. Don’t miss all of the fun.” He said, pulling your earlobe between his teeth. You felt a flutter in your stomach, a warning from your body that it was going to explode if he didn’t slow down. “See how pretty you look with my cock inside of you?” Your hips stuttered, thrown off course by the vulgarity of his statement. “Don’t you think so?”

“Y-yes, sir.” You whimpered, weak from the tone of voice he was using. It was filled with power, yet coddling you at the same time. It was intoxicating, and you were a complete fool for him, eager to stay drunk off of it forever.

“Fuck you feel good,” he hissed, turning his head inwards to place a kiss to your neck. “Could fuck you all day.”

“We have the rest of our lives.” You whispered, barely realizing the weight of your words until the movement in his hands stuttered. He smiled against you as if you had given him the most wonderful gift in the world.

“We have the rest of our lives,” he agreed, trailing kisses from your neck to your shoulder. He dropped his hand from your face, bringing it to your breast as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. You arched your back at the feeling, only allowing him to thrust in even deeper as you came back down on him. You let out a whine, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix in a painful type of pleasure. He sped his fingers, knowing that as much as he wished to keep fucking you all night, he would need to leave soon. He felt you clench around him, your legs shaking as you tried to keep your pace steady. “Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” He muttered, eyes flickering up to watch the reflection. “Do you want to cum for me?”

“G-god yes,” you stuttered, holding on to his arm for extra support. He took in a long breath in attempt to calm himself, feeling dangerously close to the edge, too.

“Okay, baby. Want to watch you while you cum on my cock.” He encouraged, gaze focused on your face in the mirror. “Be a good girl for me.” He whispered, speeding his fingers ever so slightly. That was all you needed to come undone, head spinning with no real thoughts as your body vibrated against his hold. Your eyes were squeezed shut, his name stuck on your lips like it was the only thing you knew how to say. His jaw was clenched, knowing that he couldn’t hold on any longer, feral from the noises you were making for him. “That’s it,” he hummed, letting out a groan through gritted teeth.

When you started to relax against him, he took his window of opportunity and brought both of his hands to your hips. He pulled you down on him, forceful and loving all at the same time. You let out a yelp, all of your nerves still tingling with the ghost of pleasure. You leaned forward, grabbing on to the edge of the table to hold yourself steady while he fucked into you. It only took him a few moments to catch up, his orgasm long overdue and just as intense as your own. He spilled into you, muttering curses as he fucked his own release back into you. After a moment, he tapered his movements to a halt. You both sat there together for a moment, breathless and scared to move in fear of ruining the moment.

Eventually, he carefully stood, moving his hand to catch any potential mess as he pulled out of you. You sighed, disappointed at the loss of contact once he was fully parted from you. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.” He said, motioning his head towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, okay.” You breathed, following after him to erase any evidence of the sinful activities you had engaged in. Once you finished, you searched your room for the clothes you had arrived in that morning, finding them in a pile on the floor. You slipped on the sweatpants and the t-shirt, a smile permanently stuck on your lips as you turned to face him.

“What are you smiling about?” He said, teasing you while knowing he had the same one on his own face.

“You,”

“Me, too.” He said, taking a step towards you. “I love you so much, y/n.” He mumbled, taking your face between his hands.

“I love you, Jake.” You said, wrapping your arms around him to pull him into a hug. He did the same, holding you just as tight.

“So, uh, maybe I should have asked sooner…” he started, pulling back so he could look down at your face. You watched him, wondering what could possibly be floating around in his brain. “Would you… would you like to be my girlfriend, maybe?” You laughed at his nervous stature, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks to match his own.

“I would love nothing more, Jacob.” You giggled, elated at the childish glee that overwhelmed his expression. He leaned down, placing a small kiss on your lips. Just as he did so, a knock sounded on your door. “Showtime,” You chucked.

“Showtime,” he agreed, hesitant to let you go, almost as if he was scared you wouldn’t be here once he got off stage.

“Go, I’ll be waiting for you right here when you’re done.” You said, urging him to listen to Aaron’s instruction. He nodded, leaning down and placing another short-lived kiss on your lips.

“Okay,” he sighed, moving away and towards the door. Just as he opened it, he looked back at you for a moment. “Thank you for sharing your secrets with me, Gold Dust Woman. They were far better than I ever imagined.” You laughed at his words, feeling the happy tears begging to make another appearance.

“It was a pleasure sharing them with you, Jake. Now go on, you’re going to do great tonight.” You shooed him away.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss. His eyes sparkled with adoration as he reached out, pretending to catch it. He then proceeded to pretend to shove it in his pocket before turning away.

“That’s my good luck charm.” He said, but he was gone before you could reply.

Slowly, you made your way towards the door and out into the hallway. Dylan was sitting on the side stage, looking back at your room with a hopeful expression. You gave her a nod and a thumbs up, barely able to contain your glee. She grinned, ecstatic at the news and already wanting to know all about it. You approached her, standing by her side as you looked out at the stage. She was caught up in Danny, who was sitting eagerly behind his drums, and you were caught up in Jake, who was already strumming away at his guitar. Even Sam, who was across the stage, had a smile on his face, knowing that he would be alright. The world seemed okay, and that was something you were eternally grateful for. You never pictured things turning out so perfectly, but even the most brutal of storms left a rainbow shining brightly in the sky.

You wrapped an arm around Dylan, your chest finally free from the aching pain that had been ravishing it for weeks. As you watched Jake, you knew that there was no doubt in your decision to love him. There was something eternal about the two of you, like when the oceans meet the rivers, and when the river meets the sand, leading you all across the earth until you find water once more. It was similar to how the day turned into dusk, only for the midnight skies to turn blue once again. An endless cycle that was the only permanent comfort in life. You could love Jake in every lifetime and never grow tired of it, and at the very end, you would still feel like you could love him even more than you already had. You would share every secret and untold story, and hope to make every memory and experience with him as beautiful as humanly possible. He was your lesson, the one you had been dreading for so long, but you were so grateful that you opened your mind for long enough to learn it.

He was your forever, and you were his Gold Dust Woman, just like it was always meant to be.

GOLD DUST WOMAN

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye @profitofthedune

#gvf #jake kiszka #greta van fleet #sam kiszka #jake gvf #sam gvf #danny wagner #gvf fic #josh gvf #danny gvf #gold dust woman #gdw #jake kiszka x y/n #jake kiszka series #jake kiszka gvf #jake kiszka fluff #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka series #sam kiszka x y/n #sam kiszka gvf #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka smut #daniel gvf #sammy gvf #josh kiszka #builtbybrokenbells

[jtl-fics]

One of the other Time Travel fic ideas that lives in my head rent free STARTS very very sad but then quickly moves onto sheer hilarity. I thought of most of it while listening to New Kings by Sleeping Wolf.

It starts with Wymack’s funeral and all of the Foxes are grown up and off living their professional lives. They’re all gutted that their Exy dad has passed away and it is all sorts of unreal that he’s gone. Abby’s driving them all in the old Fox travel bus to go to the burial as a sort of an ode to their importance in Wymack’s life (he had other teams he was close to but nothing will really compete with his most problematic team, he always loved them the most even if he denied it until his dying breath)

Except, in true time travel/world travel/etc. fashion, they get T-boned on their way to the burial and the ‘Miracle Team’ of Foxes all die there.

And then they wake back up and it’s disorienting because they’re still on a bus but they were pretty sure they were hurt a lot worse than they are now. Then Wymack’s voice is loud and concerned asking everyone is okay.

He looks just like how he did back when they were in college but when they all take a look around, they all also look exactly like they had in college too. Andrew is on the court mandated drugs, Seth is alive, Kevin’s hand is still healing from Riko crushing it, and Neil isn’t there.

Kevin, Dan, and Abby barrel into Wymack and it quickly becomes apparent that this Wymack is also the Wymack who had died 20 years later. Meanwhile Andrew is not handling being back on the drugs well at all, especially when Neil is not around.

He’s freaking out that at this point (the beginning of the spring season) Neil is all alone in Millport. He wants to go right now and get his Junkie and there’s the question of whether or not Neil even remembers because Wymack is pretty sure it takes a hard whack to the head or some sort of shock to remember. Wymack took an errant ball to the head the week after the ‘skiing accident’ that Kevin suffered.

Andrew wants to go right now and he’s fine with re-enacting his first meeting with this Neil if it means he’ll get his Neil back. Wymack promises that they’ll go and they’ll do everything they need to get Neil back. Even if Neil doesn’t remember anything then Andrew will keep him close and keep him safe because FUCK there are so many dangers to Neil’s life again.

Wymack and the rest of the Foxes also work on getting Andrew cleared to start going off of his medicine with the enthusiastic support from Betsy. They won’t put Andrew in Easthaven again but manage to get him into an outpatient program that Abby will oversee once they get Neil because Neil’s the only one that Andrew trusts to be with him and see him like that.

They get to Millport two days after the bus accident and Hernandez had sent Neil’s reel and his belief that Neil was a runaway and Wymack had said he was going to come down at some point to talk with him but the other coach hadn’t really heard from Wymack since then so he’s surprised to have Wymack, Kevin Day and some manic blond show up.

It’s pretty awkward to explain that the Ravens came and offered Neil a full scholarship a week prior to be a sub Striker with the Ravens. That Riko Moriyama himself came and offered it to him. Andrew and Kevin look like they’re going to pass out until Hernandez says that Neil had said no and he’d ran off immediately after and Hernandez hasn’t seen him since he ran away from Riko Moriyama a week prior.

Neil’s in the wind.

He might not even be Neil anymore.

Andrew is catatonic, Kevin is hardly any better, and the rest of the Foxes don’t know if Neil running was better than having Neil as a Raven.

It doesn’t make any sense on why Riko would be offering a place with the Ravens to Neil let alone why he’d offer the Striker position.

It’s Aaron, barely managing to hold Andrew together as his brother refuses to start the rehab until Neil is with him, who offers the idea that they’re not the only ones who came back. Riko had also died, he could have come back and Neil was part of his imagined perfect court he could have gone to get him for that or even just to ruin the chance of Neil being around for the Foxes because the sight of a Moriyama would have sent Neil running.

It’s a month later and Andrew’s ready to drop out of college to start hunting down Neil until a phone call comes and it’s Hernandez letting them know that Neil had shown back up at his house and asked if he could stay for a little bit. Neil was bruised and bloodied but wouldn’t say what had happened to him.

Andrew and Wymack are the two who go this time. Kevin has a history test that he can’t skip and Andrew wants to be in Millport immediately. They come up on coach Hernandez’s house to find Neil climbing out of a side window from a bathroom looking terrible and Andrew is getting ready to smack him in the gut but Neil turns and sees him and, “Drew?” comes out of his mouth before he can think better of it.

What follows is an explanation of what happened. Why he ran. Where he’d been the last month. One of Riko’s thugs hit him pretty hard to get him to agree to sign on as a Raven and that knocked Neil’s memories back into his head. He needed to get away from Riko and he had no idea that he wasn’t the only one who had come back so he’d thought he had time before the Foxes came to Millport. He went off and he killed Drake first and foremost and then set a trap for the worst of his father’s men, including Lola that left 6 dead and one alive only long enough to beg for mercy that Neil didn’t have for the woman who would play tic-tac-toe with a dashboard lighter on his arms.

Andrew cannot be separated from Neil after that. They make plans that Neil will be completing his high school education in Palmetto. Neil is 18 so he can transfer himself out and Neil’s address is Abby’s house but he doesn’t spend a single night there aside from the time spent getting Andrew off of his drugs.

The Foxes finish out their season quite well after their accident. Most of the graduating players and Seth are confused by the changes in their teammates after the crash, especially why everyone is so visibly relieved when some skinny kid from Arizona comes in and why the terrifying freshman has clung onto him so fiercely.

The Foxes have plans for the next year. There’s no need for them to ‘come together’ the way they had the first time because even Seth has chilled out now that Kevin is doing more than just bitching that they’re not enough (he’s had years to actually get good at coaching).

They’re going to make the world recognize them again.

#New Kings AU #Fic Ideas #AFTG #AFTG fic #All for the Game #Palmetto State Foxes #Time Travel Fic #Andreil #long post #David Wymack #In a Masterpost

[kaigarax]

Abatina Petals

Tengen Uzui x Reader

Quote: “Fall in love with someone because you know it won’t last forever.”

Now

“Have you ever been in love, (Y/n)?” Asked Mitsuri.

Tengen looks up from his seat. You and Mitsuri sat at a table by the window, a cup of tea in front of each of you. A bouquet of yellow abatinas sits in a vase, colouring the grey room. Tegen has always perfed more traditional flowers like Wisteria or Sakura but he isn’t one to judge.

It wasn’t often that pillars met up but they did happen to bump into each other every once in a while. Tegen had just finished a mission and was taking a brief break to write letters to his wives when you and Misturi stumbled in.

The two of you must have had missions in this area too.

“Love, huh?” You speak the word as if it's a foreign word that you’ve just heard for the first time. As though it’s something you’ve never thought of before. You lean back in your seat, your eyes meeting with Tengen’s briefly, before replying, “briefly.”

Mitsuri tilts her head to the side, “briefly?”

“Yeah,” you smile fondly, “I have quite the fickle heart after all. Isn’t that right, Tengen?”

The sound pillar suddenly feels frozen to the spot as Mitsuir turns to look at him. Her eyes are large and curious. Your eyes, on the other hand, look amused. As if you’ve been expecting something like this to happen.

A fickle heart. The very words he onced used when describing you once.

Back then you hadn’t taken the words nearly as well as you did now. Tegen supposes that’s how you’ve always been. Ever the most unpredictable one in the room.

Tengen shrugs, “I guess your feelings are rather unpredictable.”

“Really?” Mitsuri beams, “I feel like (Y/n) is the total opposite. She’s always so composed and calm.”

You smile, “thanks, Mitsuri!”

There’s a strange pang in Tengen’s chest and it makes him feel abnormally childish. His clothes feel weird and they don’t fit as smoothly as what he wore before. His arms and legs are almost sluggish, as if he’s been taken out of his own body and placed into that of another’s.

It was a special skill of yours, making him feel this way.

Huh.

When was the last time you’d managed to make him feel this way?

---

Last Time

“Wow! You’ve really grown, Tengen!” you smiled brightly, approaching the Breath of Sound user, “or maybe I should say Uzui. You’re a married man now, afterall.”

How can you smile like that so easily?

Guess he was right.

You really are like Abatinas.

“How are you, (Y/n)?” Tengen asks, his voice soft.

“Me, huh?” you make a gesture of scratching your chin as if you’re debating the answer. Tengen feels a small smile begin to form on his face. He knows you already have an answer. You always do. You just happen to like making a show of things for others.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else here named (Y/n).” Tengen replied.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.”

You lean in towards him, too close for strangers but not close enough to elicit a scandal but just barely close enough for someone to see that there might be something more. There’s that look in your eyes that’s always made Tengen’s treacherous heart flutter. And oh, how he hates that feeling.

Eventually, you answer, “I’m doing as well as I can. How are you doing, Uzui?”

Tengen frowns, “you know, just because I’m married doesn't mean you can’t use my name.”

“Well,” you laugh, “if you insist, Tengen.”

His heart pangs and he absolutely abhors it.

Will you always have this sort of effect on him? Will it ever fade away or disappear? He supposes he’s given away too much of himself. Little by little and piece by piece. Tengen wonders if things would be different if only he hadn’t realised it after you.

He’s always been told that rather ‘late’ than ‘never’ but ‘late’ seems to bring nothing but pain and sadness. And Tengen, being the ever kind and gentle soul that he is, would rather have that sadness only kept within himself. Afterall, there is nothing to be gained but sadness and suffering.

---

After

“What are you looking at?” Tengen asks, taking a seat beside you.

You smile, “at something I’ll never have.”

“And what is it that you don’t have?”

Your eyes twinkle and unspoken words are shared. Neither of you are willing to say them; neither of you are willing to share; but both of you know the unshared message between you. Truthfully, Tengen wonders if your feelings have changed. He had once been so certain about you. About your feelings, thoughts and opinions yet he finds himself nothing more than a stranger as he stares at you.

“Are you excited?” You ask, breaking the silence.

Tengen shrugs, “it’s what my father wants.”

“You’re a good son.”

“You and my father have differing opinions on that fact.”

“And is that a good thing?”

Tengen smiles, “definitely.”

You chuckle a little before leaving back. Tengen feels his stomach flutter. This is what he’s always loved. You always seem to know the right times of when to be soft and playful or serious and cold. Not like him.

There’s a loose strand of hair on your face and he leans in. You catch his hand mid air.

“I…” Tengen turns away, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” The two of you sit awkwardly. Eventually you nudge him, “here,” holding the yellow flower out to him.

Tengen tried his best to smile, “Oh, thanks. These are Abatinas, right?”

You nod, “I noticed that they always seem to catch your eye.”

“That’s because they remind me of you,” said Tengen suddenly.

“Oh,” you flush, surprised. Heck, even he’s surprised at those words. Never once did he imagine saying something as intimate like that to you. The words almost feel foreign. You’re quick to recollect yourself as your surprised expression is replaced with a well practiced smile, “even more of a reason to give them to you. Remember me when I’m not here.”

And he absolutely will.

A part of him wants to pull you close towards him. He’s going to be married soon but he so desperately wants to tell you that he’d rather be marrying you then someone he doesn't know. That he’s always thought about you, even when you’re not here. Especially when you’re not here.

But he doesn't.

It’s not his place. It’s not his right.

Instead, Tengen watches as you turn around and walk away. You back disappearing into the distance.

Oh how he wishes to chase after you. Would you smile? Would you laugh and tell him that your feelings never changed?

Tengen would never know. But how could he? Afterall, he was the one who turned you down back then.

---

Then

“Tengen!” You beam brightly as you make your way towards him.

Tengen, who had been lazing around, felt a smile form on his face. That smile though is quick to disappear as the memory of his last encounter with you comes to mind.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I guess I’m just wondering.”

“About what?”

He flushes, “you.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow, your interest sparked, “what about me.”

“How you feel about me.” admits Tengen.

“Well, that’s something I can help you with.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. I like you, Tengen.” you’re smiling with that smile that he’s certain many hearts have already fallen victim to and your eyes are twinkling in the way that always makes his heart flutter.

“I like you, too.” he replies, though he isn’t certain of exactly what he said. The blood pounding into his head is too loud and he’s suddenly dizzy.

“No,” you take his hands into your own, “I like, like you.”

And he finds himself at a loss for words.

He wants to say yes. Truly. But you’re much too like Abatinas. Much too distant and ever changing for him to allow his heart to settle.

At one point in your lives, Tengen felt as though he knew you. Felt as though there was a part of you and him that were the same. The two of you had gone through similar experiences as children and become such samilair people as adults. But the image of you in his mind was but an image. Nothing but an imagined version of the person he thought you were.

He wants to smile.

He wants to take your hand in his own.

He wants to be with you.

But he can’t. He won’t ever allow himself to.

“(L/n),” Tengen turns away from you, “please don’t say things you don’t mean. Your heart is light and you shouldn’t be bound to someone like me.”

“My heart is light? I’m insincere?” you ask, your eyes staring deeply into his own.

Tengen nods, removing his hands from your own.

He can’t see your expression but he imagines its a sad one. An expression he’s all too familiar with yet has never seen on your face before.

Perhaps if this had been before, his answer might have been different.

---

Before

After just finishing a mission, Tengen found himself wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. Who would have thought that becoming a demon slayer would be just as hard as being a ninja? Certainly not him.

His father would likely laugh at him.

This was not the path Tegen had chosen for himself. A shining beacon of his rebellion and if he were to back out now he would likely never hear the end of it.

“Oh, really?” someone’s voice rumbles through the walls. It isn’t someone Tengen is familiar with.

“Of course.” another voice responds. His heart flutters at that.

It’s you.

His previous exhaustion seems to have suddenly been extinguished. His heart is now pounding and his head feels lighter than it has in ages.

“(Y/n)!” Tengen exclaims, opening the door.

“Oh, hi Tengen.” you say. Your eyes don’t meet with his own.

“Oh, who’s this, (Y/n)?” asks the man beside you.

You beam brightly at him, “he’s a friend from the demon slayer corps.”

“Really? I can tell!” the man beside you leans in close towards you and whispers into your ear, “he’s very buff.”

“What are the two of you doing?” Tengen asks, feeling a bout of embarrassment.

“Oh, we were just looking around for the kitchen. This lad over here promised me he’d teach me how to cook Takoyaki!” You explained.

Tengen feels a lump in his throat as he asks, “can I come?”

You shrug, “I suppose if you want to.”

“Of course you can come.” replies the man beside you.

You give the man a smile.

It isn’t your dismissive words that send a pang through Tengen’s chest. He’s never been overly sensitive to what people have said and their moods. It’s the way you smile at the man. It’s the same smile you had given to him back then. It’s the same smile he thought reserved strictly for himself.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m going to try and sleep.” Tengen retreats back into the room, “I just finished a mission after all.”

“Okay.” you answer.

Tengen finds it quite suitable that you carry around Abatinas. You’re quite like them, after all.

---

Back

“Have you ever taken a leap of faith?” You ask, leaning towards Tengen, a bored expression on your face.

Tengen chuckles, “no, I can’t say I have.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“That can’t be true!”

“Why not?”

“Because you fit the persona of a rebellious teenager much too well! And every rebellious teenager has done something requiring faith.”

“Faith?”

“In other people.”

Tengen laughs, “and what does Faith have to do with rebellious teenagers?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Because rebellious teeangers are attempting to break away from their parents they suddenly find themselves in a strange position. Positions where they need to rely on other people if they hope to succeed.” You explain, “and success in a new environment isn’t possible if you don’t have other people you can rely on.”

“And I suppose you know this because you’ve relied on people before?”

“No actually. I’ve always followed the path my father laid out for me.”

“Well, aren’t you a good kid?”

“Apparently~”

“Say, why do you carry Abatinas around?” asked Tengen.

You smiled, “because I think they’re pretty.”

“Is that all?”

“Do I need another reason why?”

“No,” Tengen’s heart fluttered as his eyes met with yours, “I guess not.”

---

Now

“Have you ever been in love, Tengen?” Mitsuir asked.

“Of course.” replies Tengen.

“Really!” The love pillar’s eyes gleam with interest, “how did it end?”

“Horribly sad.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to last forever.”

“Would you choose to love them again if you had the choice?” You ask.

And now it’s Tengen’s turn to have a knowing smile, “of course.”

You smile back.

There isn’t the same expressive gleam that the two of you share anymore. There’s no longer a spark. But that’s okay.

Does your heart ever still flutter the same way he did? The same way he does?

He supposes he’ll never know.

Fall in love with someone because you know it won’t last forever.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #Kimetsu no Yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #tengen uzui x reader #100 ways to fall in love

[new-ronantics]

i don’t think people realize that at this point it’s much more important for queer stories to be shown in a positive light than it is to portray them “realistically”.

(there’s also an issue in the idea that queer characters/couples not suffering 24/7 is inherently unrealistic, but that’s another can of worms.)

there are plenty of “realistic” queer love stories out there. we get it. most queer people lead miserable lives, never get happy endings, and are generally shunned from society, right? we know this. we see it all the time. we experience it. i’d like to think that we’ve come far enough to say that representation is no longer just about queer people being included—it’s also about depicting them in a way that’s somehow meaningful, fulfilling, and—dare i say—hopeful.

is will’s self-hatred, shame, and overall reluctance to come out to anyone a realistic portrayal of the experience of being a closeted gay kid in the 80s? yes, of course it is. nobody thinks it isn’t. the problem is that, ultimately, this is a TV show with a narrative. it’s supposed to tell a story, and a good one at that.

my question is this: what does will having unrequited feelings for his (supposedly) straight best friend do for the narrative? what does it do to develop any characters involved? the answer is nothing. it does absolutely nothing. it’s just another unnecessary tragic ending for a queer character who’s already suffered beyond belief. will’s arc could have easily been separate from mike’s; it could have been all about self-acceptance and gaining confidence in his identity, but this is very pointedly the route they didn’t choose, and that is why queer people are upset by the path vol 2 went down.

to watch a gay kid’s feelings be used as a prop to push the main heterosexual couple back together is humiliating. to see a lesbian watch as her crush kisses her shock-factor boyfriend is humiliating. it’s like it’s being rubbed in our faces—hey, look, people like you will never be happy! haha!

that’s not the representation we need anymore. it’s not impactful or satisfying or new, it’s just depressing. realism only matters so much in a sci-fi horror/drama, and i’ve honestly never seen so many people bitch and moan about realism until the conversation was about queer characters finding happiness.

so no, queer people are not just sad because their ship didn’t become canon. that is not what this is about. pay more attention, please.

#to any queer people who enjoy the storylines of these characters/feel seen by them: good! i’m glad something good has come from this #this is just the way i see it and an attempt to explain why so many people are unhappy with vol 2 #i could say a lot more but unfortunately i am stupid #byler #will byers #robin buckley #mike wheeler #stranger things #st4 spoilers

[eureka-its-zico]

Winterfall

Synopsis: When you thought of your life, Glenview Psychiatric Hospital was the last place you thought you’d end up. What could be weirder than calling a place like this home? Finding people who remind you that, sometimes, the messiest parts of who we are can be the best parts of us too.

Pairings: Christian Yu x Reader x Jay B x Reader (It’s a love triangle, y’all) 

Series: ongoing 

Word Count: 5186

Warnings: mentions of self-harm, mental health issues, mental disorders, slight violence, sexual themes

A/N: This is a hard one to post. I’ve had this in my WIPs for over seven years. I’ve rewritten it multiple times. Consider if this was a series, I was willing to share. As someone who suffers from BPD II and PTSD, it felt strange to dive into mental health. In a way, I felt like I needed a safe place to get it out. To share. This fic isn’t meant to be sad. It’s meant to be about growth. The journey of mental health can be a messy one, but it doesn’t have to hinder our own growth. Our sadness does not define us. If I ever miss anything in the warnings for chapters, please let me know and I’ll fix it ASAP! This fic is loosely based off of one of my favorite films, Girl, Interrupted. And remember, if you you ever need to talk: Im here.

Shout out to my bestie @deadneverlander for always being the better half in our clownery. I wouldn't be able to do half of this without you.

There was something about the bleakness of winter that seemed to make countless people’s bones ache for the warmth of summer. Their loneliness is somehow made more apparent by rain clouds and negative degrees, turning thoughts into reminiscent scenes of a doomsday film. 

You’d always claimed that fall was your favorite season because the vast spectrum of your sadness didn't match the heat of summer. Sure, you loved the possibilities of hot cocoa, warm fires, ridiculous horror, Christmas films, and the first sight of snow. Somewhere along the way, however, came the anxiety of holiday dinners. Where the comfort you’d found in overcast skies turned sinister with repeated looks that reminded you that you were the black sheep; the odd man out with another year of nothing to show.

Fall no longer meant binges on shows and breaks from the endless routine that was work and school. It meant laying in the snow until your body heat forced it to melt underneath you, seeping into the fabric of your clothes to leave your nerves numb and transparent like ice. Your mind silently hoped it would be enough to extinguish the agony that blossomed in your chest. 

Jackets were no longer marked for warmth, but strictly to hide your struggle to feel anything past the chasm that’d grown in the past couple of months: to bleed out the parts of you that didn't belong. It wasn't a surprise it's what landed you a one-way ticket to the cozy room inside a psychiatric hospital. Maybe that's just what happens when you're found unresponsive with a belly housing a fifth of rum. The marks on your skin lay like a map to follow on how you got there; only being found like a frantic afterthought. 

Glenview Psychiatric Hospital, or GSH that was strategically labeled in bright crimson above the pocket of your prison-inspired sweatshirt, had been home for three months now. It was meant to be a place of healing, among the basic mood stabilizing and therapy sessions everyone held in a day. You felt further away from that concept with every group activity the doctors forced you to take part in. Your social anxiety becoming apparent each time it lands on you to speak, either to close the circle, or to be a part of the ridiculous game activities. The last time you played volleyball your face saw more action with the pleather ball than your arms ever did. 

It was currently 12:47 p.m. The clock giving you a false sense of hope that the time wouldn’t just creep by to leave you stranded the last thirteen minutes until you’d earned your freedom. There was, however, the off chance if Dr. Thompson wasn't hearing what he wanted; the hour-long group activity would be extended. 

You scanned the other six faces that made up your group: the huddled mess of piled sweaters and huddled blanket of Soomi a fleeting moment of comfort. It only took your eyes adjusting on her figure to know she didn’t have one. Her tiny body composed of thick layers of clothes to portray a false sense of shape. Her anorexia becoming so severe her family had no other option but to put her here, or watch her die. Jason’s endless finger taps on every surface he could touch the only giveaway to his OCD until he removed himself from his chair. Sejun with his alcoholism and Yuna with her acidic imagination that the wind whispered her deepest secrets out into the world. 

All this ending with your gaze narrowed on the statuesque figure of Jaebum who comically sat opposite of your current position. The two suicidal inmates that shared in the anxiousness of sadness but little else, and the usual reason why your group never seemed to end on time. 

You couldn't say it was a shame to be stuck sitting dead center of someone so attractive; as shallow of an observation as it was there was no denying how ungodly true that statement was. He held a silent attractiveness that resonated in the solitude he kept around himself, and Jaebum was indeed a solitary creature.

He preferred books over people. Usually moving away from anyone who got close to his latest reading perch without ever glancing up from his current book. Jaebum’s favorite place he’d reserved to get lost inside his fiction the seal of the window that looked out the expanse of the institute’s backyard. The entire estate currently covered in the dead burgundy and gold of a forest of oak tree leaves. 

It wasn't like you were laying avid amounts of your attention on him or anything. You didn't pay attention to how broad his shoulders looked in his old man sweaters that you could've bet money smells like mothballs. How his features seemed sharpened to match the fierceness that lived inside his eyes. The only thing that exposed his softness was the speck of a mole that dusted itself on his left eyelid. 

Jaebum just held a presence that demanded to be noticed. Whether he himself liked it or not. 

“Jaebum: do you have anything you’d like to add to the session?”

Dr. Thompson’s question made the both of you jolt in your seats. Youwere too busy staring down at your nails while you plucked away at the cuticles. Jaebum's head turned, unbeknownst to you, from looking at you to the good doctor. It was enough to make your cheeks flush hot. 

His crossed arms gave a soft shrug, and you hated how your eyes stayed captivated by the movement. You were willing to blame it on the charcoal-worn cable knit sweater he favored. It really did smell like moth balls and age making you willing to bet it wasn't his to begin with. 

“We talked about this guys. Shrugging is not an adequate substitute for an answer.”

His tone showing his frustration more than anger at his need to repeatedly inform the group. Dr. Thompson looked at each of you individually until he stopped on Jaebum, who didn’t seem the least bit moved. 

“I have nothing to say.”

A sigh escaped from Dr. Thompson’s lips as his head shook softly. His eyes averted down to the tin clipboard momentarily before they resumed their previous position. 

“And what is it exactly you would like me to add, huh?” You felt your body tense against the chair. Your hands grasping at its edges like it would be the only thing to keep you stable against the oncoming rage that was Jaebum’s agitation. “We do these pointless sessions over and over: again and again. For what? Do you think it “saves” anyone?”

Your eyes diverted from the safety of your knees; counting every frayed piece of cloth on your jeans that hung loose from torn holes. No part of you needed to acknowledge that he was standing. The room did that well enough with the tension his power caused. The room itself swelling with anxiety that made fidgety Sera begin to rock violently against the back of her chair. Her head shaking hair into her face, like a curtain to hide what she feared was coming her way like the abusive hands of her father. 

The orderlies were already beginning to circle his chair, but Dr. Thompson held up a hand of warding. He reminded you too much of an irresponsible ring handler at a circus. Unwilling to recognize his own tiger was about to maim him. 

“No, no that’s fair enough. I see you have an issue with the way we try and help our patients.”

“Help?!” Jaebum snarled. “Is that what you call it? Like you helped Simon remember all the things he wanted to forget! Is that what you call endless therapies until he killed himself! You consider being helpful with the way you handled Ian?”

Dr. Thompson regarded Jaebum quietly, but his eyes were focused and searching the young man’s face. You watched in helpless awe as one stood like a calm in a blazing storm, while the other raged so furiously you thought the walls would come down. No longer was his voice a strong current, but now thunderous words that hurled like lightning bolts were being directed at the man before him. 

Jaebum was right. Sometimes, the doctors picked and picked a part at you until you were left bare and raw. And if their words didn’t do it their physical methods picked up where they lacked. His anger was justified, because deep down so were you. But you didn’t have the towering strength like he did to stand up to anyone. Your fear of the seclusion rooms kept you prisoner: locked in your chair as a simple flick of Dr. Thompson’s hand sent the orderlies rushing to Jaebum’s side. 

“I think that’s enough for today’s session.” 

In the back of your mind you knew that Jaebum was right. In part. Who were counselors and psychologists to tell the broken mirrors of people how to put their pieces back together? Only to end up with more blood on their hands from struggling to put sharp pieces in place. They studied people like you, Jaebum...people like Ian who were features in their college books. They themselves barely ever one to experience it themselves. 

Healing, even if unconventional, was still healing in the end. There was no right or wrong way to get there, but here, with people like Dr. Thompson, their textbook solutions were the only solutions. Maybe that’s why it backfired so terribly with Ian. 

So for once, you wanted to stand up with Jaebum. To call out the injustices of treatments forced on patients, like Ian. Treatments they’d placed on patients that only wanted to forget, because no one wants to remember traumas and everything that makes them feel like failures. 

You knew, however, if you took that chance to be brave for once you would end up like Jaebum. Uselessly struggling against orderlies who came prepared with syringes to make you complacent and an endless day being locked for god knew how long inside seclusion. 

It was cowardice that kept your mouth shut. All of you stayed quiet as an orderly you aptly nicknamed, “The Bull,” grabbed at the neck of Jaebum’s sweater. That was all it took for him to react violently. Jaebum’s elbow flew back with such force it dislodged The Bull’s grip, which only seemed to make it worse. 

“Jaebum, please do not struggle.” Dr. Thompson’s voice didn’t sound as soothing as he probably imagined. Obvious agitation outlined every word; the struggle forcing all of you up from your chairs and away from the fighting. “Everyone out. Now.” 

A part of you hated listening. For not firmly digging your feet in to stand for something you agreed wasn’t right. It was an odd thought. Since Ian was the usual instigator of the chaos of how these ended. Never Jaebum. Maybe he just felt like in Ian’s absence he needed to take over for him. 

“You play god with everyone’s emotions and leave them to drown alone in the aftermath. You are the reason Christian keeps escaping and Hyujin is gone! It’s you! It’s all of you!”

Jaebum’s rage became more apparent with each sentence and broke as his throat formed the words of his former friend. Former because he’d found himself as one of Dr. Thompson’s experimental new treatments. A treatment that brought back too much Hyujin couldn’t cope with - was forced to confront - before he was ready. 

The ward still felt hollow - missing in the sound of Hyujin’s laugh. 

You would’ve been impressed with the way Jaebum was laying into the doctor. He was holding his own against the orderly at his arms until the Bull snuck behind him and brought him falling down to the cold concrete floor. 

That was the last you saw of Jaebum as you were ushered outside the doors. You faced them for a long time. No one questioned why you stood at the entrance as Jaebum’s yelling dulled to nothing. It was too late for you to run back and play the role of knight in shining armor and standing in front of the door would only make the staff assume you were waiting to cause a scene. 

Turning on your heel you headed towards the living area. Your mind racing heavily with indecision and not paying attention to the overcrowded chairs and couches. You bypassed them all to head to your favorite window seat. It was opposite to the one everyone knew as Jaebum’s; reading a new book every week during free time. It was so engrained to the fabric of the facility that no one tried to take it from him. Not even Ian. 

You folded into yourself as soon as you sat down on the window seat. Your chin pressed into your shoulder so you could get a better look outside. The vibrant colors of changing leaves reminding you that fall was coming. Maybe they would let you work outside if you were good? You were tired of doing bathroom and kitchen duties, but because of Ian’s latest stunt no one was allowed outside. Not until the fences were made higher with wire curled along the top. 

If thoughts could be breathed into existence, you were positive you alone would be deemed responsible for Ian walking, right then and there, through the facility's double doors. Of course, Ian could never simply enter a room quietly.

Christian entered every room like a force. Wild and unpredictable. Mother Nature couldn’t compete with his massive hurricane personality. No one could come close, because underneath all that unhinged nature was a magmatism that far outreached just good looks. 

Was Christian good looking? Devilishly so. It was his way with words, however, that left many people reeling. Not just fellow patients, but staff as well. He was painfully charming and, if you weren’t prepared for his wide-set smile directed in your direction, you were going to find yourself in trouble. Deep, deep Christian-flavored trouble. The staff had even labeled him with a warning of “verbal jujitsu” - you had to stay miles ahead of the conversation or you’d find yourself like the recently fired psych tech who’d handed over the ward keys without a second thought.

Seriously. That’s how Christian escaped this time. All the other times, well, the man could be considered the second coming of Houdini. 

“How have you been, Bob? Are your feet still giving you grief, Margo?”

It was impressive how he acted like it wasn’t a big deal he’d magically reappeared. The guard and orderlies awkwardly keep watch over the double doors he’d come through like he’d disappear back into thin air. 

You hated how happy you became hearing the richness of his voice. The way his accent reminded you of the battle of wills on what was the proper way to say, “water,” and the teasing you gave him about constantly saying, “Naurr”. 

“It’s Margaret, jackass,” the older psych tech mumbled in reply. She didn’t even bother to look up from putting a new bandage on Bob’s hands.

“Missed you too, babe.” 

You watched his reflection in the safety of the glass of the window. You didn’t want to show how eager you were to see him - or to find out that every time he left the ward became almost too much to bear alone. 

In the safety of the window, you could pretend the call to freedom was what kept your eyes hypnotized. Not the sleeveless tee he’d tucked inside the waist of skinny jeans that hugged to the muscles like paint or the layers of tattoos that covered honey skin. He wasn’t tan when he’d left. Where had Ian’s adventures taken him this time? 

You would get the chance to ask him yourself. 

When his eyes caught sight of your huddled frame curled in the window seat his trajectory changed completely. He didn’t think you’d noticed him yet, but it didn’t stop his infamous megawatt smile from brightening up his features and the butterflies he’d left trapped in your gut instantly springing back to life. 

The only downside? You were more than positive Ian saw you only as a sister. If he’d thought of you in the past as anything else you would’ve definitely known by now. As much as Ian was known for his charisma and whirlwind energy, he was also known for slipping into the janitor’s closet with more than a few now-fired staff members. 

In a matter of seconds, he left the mirage of the window to become real beside you. The smell of cigarettes and his preferred cologne enveloped you, instantly turning the space intimate. You tried your best to ignore him. Ian would receive nothing but the side eye from you after the latest shit he’d pulled. 

He let out a heavy sigh as a finger playfully poked into your side. He wiggled the digit in a weak attempt to tickle you thinking it would be enough for you to finally look at him. Fat chance. Using your elbow, you pushed down with just enough force to dislodge him from your side. The act forced a heavy sigh to flare his nostrils as he leaned back against the window. 

“Come on, ‘Roo. You can’t be that mad at me?”

Of course, he would use your nickname. The nickname you earned one night when he’d tried to tickle you until you couldn’t breathe. To be honest, he thinks you’d kicked him accidentally in the chest because you might wet yourself. The truth? Ian had gotten dangerously close. A few times it felt like his lips were just a few sharp breaths away from landing on yours, and that night you’d felt hollow. So hollow. All you wanted was to burn and Ian…he was so full of fire and life and for once you wanted to know what it felt like to be filled with something other than emptiness. 

You wanted to catch fire too. 

So you’d kicked out at him in panic. Hence how you became his Kangaroo. His ‘Roo. 

“Actually,” you began, biting out the world with each syllable. “I can be upset with you and I most definitely am.”

“Don’t be like that, ‘Roo. I know you missed me.”

“No, I didn’t. It was rather peaceful while you were off on whatever antics you decided to get into.”

A tsk sent his bottom lip into a pout as he crossed his arms. His shoulders lean further down the window and slightly into your view. 

God, why did he have to be so heartbreakingly handsome? 

You refused to make eye contact with him. Don’t do it. It’s a trick. You knew it was a trick. A sneaky ploy and yet…you looked. One look was all it took and Ian knew he had you.

“I missed you.” His voice caressed your skin like velvet causing it to erupt in goosebumps. “So, I know if I missed you that can only mean that you missed me.”

A snort of disbelief left you as you finally gave him what he’d been asking: your full and undivided attention.  

“Is that how it works, Ian?”

“Ah!” He beamed. “She finally looks at me.” 

You couldn’t keep your eyes from rolling as you tried to face away from him, but Ian wasn’t having it. 

“I shouldn’t even do that.”

“Where is all this hostility coming from?” He pouted. “Did you experience another one of Dr. Thompson’s riveting group circles?”

“It’s not funny, Ian. You always leave.” You hated how your voice betrayed you. The way it cracked before you could glue it back together. “You go and leave me here, without you, all the time. One of these days you may not come back.”

All the playfulness slowly drained from his features. The sly smile wilted to a grimace as deep brown eyes scanned over your face. Calculating your words with the body language of guarded arms and saddened eyes. His hands gently grabbed at your elbows to loosen your arms before turning you to him. His head dipped down just a bit to make sure he had you at eye level. 

“Hey, ‘Roo. I’m sorry. I come back for you, you know that right?” You knew he was lying, but try telling that to the butterflies fluttering around like crazy in your gut. “These assholes could never catch me if I didn’t turn myself in, and I only turned myself in to get back to you.” 

You didn’t know what you would’ve said at that moment. Maybe something he wanted to hear or maybe - finally - you’d have the guts to call him out on his bullshit. Luckily for you, the muffled sound of Jaebum’s screaming slowly grew louder until his struggling body was brought through the double doors from therapy. 

“Let me go, you assholes!”

You’d never seen Jaebum fight so fiercely before. The way he flailed his arms to find a way to get them released along with his legs kicking out like a madman. They practically dragged him down the hall towards seclusion. For a split second, in his struggle, his eyes landed on you. His gaze held yours for what felt like a lifetime until the spell was broken. It felt like slow motion as his face turned to see Ian on your right and all the fight drained from his body. 

Did he think he was fighting for Ian? Himself? Jaebum was never much for acting out. That was usually Ian who created trouble. Maybe that was why he looked so shocked seeing Jaebum being dragged down to seclusion. 

“Oi! What the fuck is this?”

Ian was up off the window seat in seconds. A couple of orderlies were already coming out from behind the nursing station to meet him halfway. Whatever they were saying, you weren’t all too sure. Ian was doing his usual of screaming and shoving causing the orderlies to prepare for a fight. The patients closest to all the commotion desperately trying to get out of the way. 

It was all chaos. All classic Ian. The only non-classic thing was Jaebum looking at you in a way you’d never noticed before. It created a row of questions that sat heavily on your tongue and ones you weren’t sure he would ever be willing to answer. 

It wasn’t until everything had settled down again that you snuck inside the room that held group therapy. Your eyes instantly homing in on Jaebum’s chair and underneath it one of his grandfather’s books. 

Before you dared to push all the way through into the room you gave one last cautious glance to the recreation room and slipped inside. You made sure to hold the door so it didn’t click into place. There was no denying if you were caught sneaking in somewhere you weren’t meant to be you’d be joining Jaebum in your own seclusion room. 

The sterile room with its egg-white walls was most definitely not your favorite. The only way to add your own source of color to its walls was to display your thoughts - projecting them out like a fucked up home movie that you’d rather forget. 

You made sure to cut across the room silently. Your legs bending at the knee to swoop down to grab the worn-down cover and secure it to your chest. 

You couldn’t explain why as you made your way out of the room towards the upper floor that held the seclusion rooms what made you want to do this for him. It’s not like he would thank you, but you weren’t looking for that. 

It wasn’t hard to notice the way Jaebum cared for his late grandfather's things. From the sweater he wore daily that was meticulously cleaned and laundered to the few books Jaebum was able to keep from his collection. He coveted them the way others valued trophies but it wasn’t praise that Jaebum found secluded inside their pages: it was peace. 

You didn’t know much about him. Jaebum wasn’t much of a sharer. He was reserved. The only way to know him was by the pages you held close to your chest. So, you weren’t terribly sure why you were doing this for him except for the fact you believed no one should go without something that they loved. 

Just as you were about to round the last corner to the hallway that held seclusion rooms 1 through 3, you caught a flash of an orderly speaking to a nurse. From the brief moment you’d caught before you found the safety of the opposite wall, they were more than likely flirting. 

Ted. That was the name written on his uniform. He’d called Ian a “Psycho,” a handful of times. You wondered if Ted knew the nurse he worshiped spent the same handful of nights sneaking inside Ian’s dorm. 

“Do you maybe want to go get breakfast in the morning?” 

Breakfast?! You mouthed to yourself before you snuck another peek around the corner. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Ted. I might have plans later.”

If your eyes could roll back any harder you would’ve seen brain cells. You knew exactly what her supposed plans were. You could already hear the moans that echoed down the halls like a haunting. The only thing haunted here would be you. 

You didn’t have to see Ted’s expression to know he was defeated. He was probably wondering how someone could refuse breakfast or maybe he was finally growing tired of being told no. The mystery of the unknown in this love triangle would sadly (not really) remain a mystery. You didn’t really care if they had breakfast together or hunted Easter eggs. You just wanted them to finish their awkward conversation and leave the damn hallway. 

A few more strangled pieces of conversation later and you could hear the shuffling of feet. Quickly, you moved inside a linen closet and quietly shut the door. Your ears straining - waiting - to hear a pair of feet move past your location so you could finish what you came to do. 

Every second you were out here and not inside your own dorm waiting for the nurses to come in and check you were there was one second too many in a chance at punishment. After a few more minutes went by and the coast sounded relatively clear, you creeped out from the linen closet and dashed towards the seclusion rooms. 

“Jaebum!?” You half whispered half yelled. “Jay!”

“What the hell are you doing over here?”

Ah, there was that condescending voice you’d grown accustomed to. Following the sound of his voice, and with the help of his fingers hanging out of the small seclusion window, you darted towards the back of the hall. Your arms still securely held onto his grandfather’s book and only began to loosen as you got closer to the door. 

“I wanted to bring you something before they placed it in lost and found.” 

With another cautious glance down the hall, your fingers wrapped around the edges of the book's spine. You offered it up to him and gently started to push it through the small window. Jaebum hadn’t spoken since he noticed what you held in your hands. His fingers overlapped yours as he took it from you. His arms immediately brought it inside with him with the sound of pages flipping while he made sure each page was still accounted for. 

“How did you-“ he began, but his words quickly died out. 

“Can you believe it ladies and gentlemen? For once, he was too stunned to speak,” you teased. 

Jaebum’s eyes narrowed in on your face. His hands wagged the book as if he was going to hit you over the head with it. Who knows, he might have if there wasn’t a 30-pound door stationed between you. 

“I’m serious. You came all this way to give me this?”

You shrugged his words off like what you’d done wasn’t a big deal. Both of you knew it was. So many factors that could lead you to where he was, or worse, if they believed you were trying to steal someone else’s property. Which, they one hundred percent would even though kleptomania wasn’t part of your conga line list of disorders. 

“I remember how much his things matter to you. I didn’t want Bull or Kojak The Great Dick to get a hold of it. I know they wouldn’t have respected it after today.”

You’d expected a lot of things to come out of this exchange. The main one? At least a thank you. All you were getting now felt like the cold shoulder that featured a very unnerving stare. With every second you were feeling more self-conscious and it took everything in you not to shout, “Boo!” in an attempt to get him to blink. 

You couldn’t take the awkwardness of the exchange any longer. Your feet were already backpedaling as your arms swung, thumb extended out, to indicate your exit before you spoke. 

“Great well, this was a fun chat-“

“He lies to you, you know.”

Jaebum’s words took you by surprise. You were sure that was the point. His face was set in deep lines of determination as if what he needed to say was something you needed to adhere to like the gospel from the Bible. 

“Okay, Jay I’ll bite: who is he?”

“You know who I’m talking about. Ian. It’s who he is. He doesn’t know how to tell the truth, and you always set yourself up for failure with him.”

Maybe Jaebum thought he was being helpful - calling to light all things you were aware of but couldn’t bring yourself to say out loud. You must have seemed too weak - gullible - in his eyes for him to believe he needed to say these things. 

You eyed him coolly through the window. Your tongue rolled around inside your cheek trying to decide what exactly you should say at this moment. Did he want recognition that you knew you were an idiot? What did it matter to him if you knew Ian didn’t give two fucks about you. 

So, the only thing you could settle on was the beginning of a long sigh before you spoke: “I know I might look like a love-sick puppy to you, Jay, but I know my place.”

He tried saying your name to stop you. You just ignored him as you shook your head and allowed yourself to begin to move back down the hall towards the safety of your own dorm. 

“It’s alright, Jay I get it. Take care of your grandfather’s things better, okay?”

You didn’t wait to finish your sentence before you were already turning to head down the hallway. The bottom of your feet itching for you to sprint in the opposite direction. Your mind raced over Jaebum’s words and matched them with the growing chasm in your chest.

So lost in your head, you barely caught the sound of his parting, “Thank you,” as you bolted around the corner. 

#winterfall #ongoing series #dpr ian #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian scenarios #christian yu #christian yu x reader #dpr scenarios #dpr fanfiction #dpr #lim jaebum #lim jaebeom #jay b x reader #jay b #jay b x scenarios #khh scenarios #khh fanfic #christian yu scenarios #christian yu angst #jay b angst #christian yu x fanfics #yu barom #yu barom x reader #dream perfect regime #comments and feedback of any kind is always appreciated! #Thank you for reading