Hey there! My name's Chrissy, I'm 36 years old. I live in the semi-cold state of Minnesota in the good old US of A. I am a Gamer Girl! I love Charmed, Agents of Shield, Marvel, Agent Carter, Vikings, Rooster Teeth, BOB ROSS and basically all 90's pop music!
âsummary: you and steve pick up dustin from college in a winnebago to embark on your first family roadtrip and to give him the surprise of a lifetime: heâs going to be an uncle!
âpairing: steve harrington x female!henderson!reader
âword count: 1.2k
âcontent: pregnant!reader (5 months along), married couple, pregnancy reveal, suggestive dialogue, domestic fluff, roadtrip vibes, soft!steve, future family themes, steve being completely whipped, sunshine!reader, just pure tooth-rotting sweetness, protective!steve, dustin being the best brother and uncle!, steve and the reader are happily married.
writerâs note: im afraid im in my steve harrington era (˶Ëđ·Ë˶) english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
âHow do you think he'll react?â Steve asks for what feels like the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, turning his head to look at you from the driver's seat of the Winnebago, his brown eyes flashing nervously even through the shade of his sunglasses. âWill he punch me?â
You roll your eyes, taking them off the map of Indiana you're holding in your hands so you can throw him a gentle look that verges on scolding, considering your husband's overflowing anxiety. âSteve, he won't punch you. He's your best friend.â
âAnd he's your brother,â he retorts in an obvious tone. âAnd now he's an uncle, and he's cranky, and he must be under a lot of stress with his college stuffââ
âEverything will be fine, honey,â you try to reassure him once more, reaching out to place your hand on his thigh and giving it a soothing squeeze, which he takes more as a 'you'll have to be strong and endure this, you got yourself into this.'
Steve grabs your hand as he focuses on the road ahead and lifts it to his mouth, pressing a loving kiss on your knuckles. Then he brings your joined hands back to you, placing them on your growing belly.
Your cute little bump is now visible, and it's at the point where everyone can tell that you're definitely pregnant.
âWill he notice?â Steve bites his lower lip, visibly agitated.
âHeâll definitely notice, daddy,â you reply with a giggle, intertwining your fingers over his on your five-month baby bump.
Steve beams at the title, the nerves momentarily eclipsed by pride.Â
âGod,â he exhales with a goofy smile. âDon't say that, it makes me so happy and horny.â
âSteve,â you call out disapprovingly, even the way you say it is so mom-like that it drives him crazy, with that unforgettable smile curving your lips covered in that cute lip gloss he loves.
âI'm just jokingâI'm nervous,â he shrugs and shakes his head. âI just⊠I really want him to be happy for us.â
You turn your body toward him as much as the seatbeltâand your baby bumpâ allows, studying his face, the crease between his brows, the way his jaw tightens when heâs nervous. Youâve seen Steve face monsters, literal ones, without flinching. But this? This matters in a way Demogorgons never did.
âHe loves you,â you say gently. âHe always has. Youâre not stealing anything from him. Youâre just⊠joining the family.â
That gets his attention. He looks at you fully now, sunglasses pushed down his nose so you can see his eyes, glossy and sincere.
âWhat if he thinks we rushed things?â he blurts out. âOr that Iâm not ready? Or that Iâm gonna screw this up somehow? I mean, my dad wasâhe is kind of a jerk to me. I don't want Dustin to think that Iââ
âSteve, baby, you are already an amazing husband,â you say, voice steady and warm. âAnd youâre going to be an incredible dad. Dustin knows you. Heâs not going to think any of those things. We're family.â
âFamily,â he repeats, tasting the word. Then he swallows and nods, like heâs committing it to memory. âYeah. Okay. Family.â
The massive tires of the Winnebago crunch against the gravel of the university parking lot. Steve kills the engine, but his hands remain white-knuckled on the steering wheel. He takes a deep breath, looking at you with a mix of terror and excitement.
Steve gets out of the driver's seat, adjusting his sunglasses with that characteristic confidence of his, although his smile suggests that he is more nervous than usual. He walks around the vehicle and opens the passenger door with exaggerated delicacy.
âCareful, sweetheart. Slowly,â he reminds you, offering you his hand as if you were made of porcelain.
âSteve, I'm just pregnant, I haven't broken my leg,â you chuckle, holding his hand and stepping down from the motorhome.
âHey, you're carrying a national treasure, so you have to be careful, babyâ he answers in an affectionate tone, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before turning toward the big building of the Purdue University.
Not a minute goes by before Dustin runs up through the crowd of college students, carrying a huge backpack and a huge smile lighting up his face, so happy to see you two after months of phone calls, letters, and postcards.
âHey, buddyâoh! â Steve greets him, hugging Dustin with joy, and Dustin hugs him back tightly, giggling in delight.
âHarrington, you're here!â the young man exclaims excitedly, âYou're both here.â
His eyes wander from the huge camper behind you both and finally come to focus on you. His eyebrows furrow for a second, momentarily confused by the extra volume in your midsection, until the realization finally sinks in.Â
And his mouth drops open, dumbfounded, stammering your name.
âOh shit, is that... a baby?â His voice rises three pitches. âIs there a baby in there?!â
You can't hide your excitement and open your arms, fully revealing your pregnancy state. âSurprise, Dusty! You're going to be an uncle.â
Dustin drops his backpack, which hits the ground with a thud.
âOh shit! Are you kidding me?!â he lunges toward you, carefully wrapping you in a hug that avoids putting pressure on your belly but transmits all his emotion.
His hands tremble slightly as he gestures toward your cute bump.
âMay I...?â he requests with sparkling eyes.
You nod gently and Steve draws closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and looking at Dustin with a huge smile, his lips trembling with happiness.
Dustin places a hand on your bump with near-religious reverence. Right then, you feel a little kick, as if the baby is greeting his favourite âand onlyâuncle.
âOh my God! It moved!â Dustin leaps back, half scared, half euphoric. âMy niece or nephew just communicated with me via tactile vibration!â he chirps enthusiastically. âThatâs a sign of high intelligence, definitely a Henderson trait!"
Steve finds himself relaxed at last, realizing that Dustin isn't upset, but rather the opposite, beaming with happiness for the baby.Â
He lets out a huff of laughter, âI'm pretty sure all babies do that, buddy.â
You laugh as well, leaning back into Steveâs chest and admiring the scene with soft eyes. âWe wanted to tell you in person.â
Dustin looks back at you, his face softening. âI can't believe it. This is going to be the best road trip ever! I already have a list of books we need to read to the bump. Starting with The Hobbit, obviously."
Steve rolls his eyes but pulls you both closer. âAlright, Uncle Genius. Load your gear. The passenger VIP is getting hungry, and we have a long drive ahead.â
As Dustin climbs into the camper, already rambling about "prenatal brain stimulation" and the specific frequency of music heâs going to play for the baby, Steve pauses at the door.Â
He turns back to you, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, revealing eyes that are shimmering with tears heâd never admit to.
âWe did it,â he whispers, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. âHeâs happy.â
âI told you he would be,â you say against his mouth.
âYouâre always right, babe,â he admits with a smirk, helping you back into the passenger seat with that same ânational treasureâ level of care.
itâs been a long time since being dustin hendersonâs older sister and jonathan byers' best friend was an uneventful affair. youâre not sure if you even have a brother or a best friend anymore. all youâre left with is a life that should be maxâs instead of yours and steve harringtonâs promise of a future.
but holly wheeler goes missing, you refuse to let vecna win again. not if you can stop it this time, even if it means risking everything to do so.
(and in risking everything, you get stuck with all youâve been avoiding).
(like complicated feelings).
(as usual).
episode one - the crawl
youve really enjoyed running away from your feelings, dustin is a pain in the ass but also so is steve, youre a part of a radio show for some reason, robin endorses polyamory, and you seriously consider jumping out of a moving vehicle because of idiotic men (typical).
episode two - the vanishing of holly wheeler
youre a makeshift emt and nancy deems you her emotional support animal, steve and jonathan are two bros sitting in a hot tub five feet apart âcause theyre not gay, dustin may actually be trying to kill you, and you regretfully inform joyce that robin buckley is a liar (snitch)
STATUS: updated 4/7/26
season five title based on this song x
blurbs set within "come home" can be found here x
âCOME HOMEâ SERIES MASTERLIST
this is a part of my stranger things rewrite, âcome homeâ, and other seasons can be found linked above :)
the thing we grow into - rewrite series masterlist
steve harrington x fem!reader
status: ONGOING
last update: 23 March '26
summary: you have been jonathan byersâ closest friend since childhood, making the byers family feel like your own. when will disappears, you are pulled into the growing mystery surrounding hawkins, determined to help find him no matter the cost. The last person you expect to rely on is steve harrington â the same boy you've spent years resenting for how he treated jonathan. but as the dangers facing hawkins grow and loyalties begin to shift, hatred slowly gives way to understanding, and something far more complicated begins to form between them.
warnings: slow slow slow burn, 'strangers' to enemies to lovers, potential smut much further down the track, cursing, average stranger things violence, angst (will add more warnings when necessary)
note: I have been reading @snoopyracing and @angelicblondie 's series that follow along with the entire stranger things plot lines and have become OBSESSED with their work, to the point where I would like to give it a go myself. so I am rewriting a reader insert into the entirety of stranger things plot! big shout out to both of them and everyone who has done this. I hope I do it justice and you all enjoy <3 and message me if youâd like to be added to the taglist
Annie talks: This came to me in a dream (not even kidding), itâs not even good but i just HAD to write something i swear
Content warnings: tooth rotting achingly sweet fluff, steve and reader are married, dad!steve, short and sweet
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
You and Steve hated each other at first, you remembered how he used to treat girls back in his âglory daysâ. That was before hell broke loose and you were forced to make friends with the enemy.
After the first few upside down battles, you and Steve got closer. And closer. Until, one night, you two kissed. From then on, your lives were completely and fully embedded.
Through day and night, planning and taking down inter dimensional monsters, you found a home in Steve Harringtonâs arms.
Now those arms had become the home of your daughter, too.
Ellie is only three and recently entered the ânightmareâ stage. You and your husband have had a couple of rough weeks, slowly adjusting to her current phase.
Tonight is no different, you were asleep and so was Steve. Until Ellie screamed loud enough to wake the both of you, followed by crying. Before you could move, Steve takes the lead
âLet me.â
âI can take it.â You protest
âGo back to sleep, weâll be alright.â He presses a kiss to your forehead
You give him a soft nod, not bothering to argue at three in the morning, and watch as he leaves. You can hear him ask âWhat happened?â to your daughter as she cries. The crying gets muffled at what youâre sure is Steveâs chest pressed against her face as he comforts Ellie. You hear him reassure her quietly
âItâs okay, youâre alright, babygirl. Youâre at home and youâre safeâ
You also hear her speak, assuming she pulled back from the embrace
âThe monster was so big, daddy, and he did-â
But it gets muffled as he presses her against his chest again
You know what heâs doing, you know those methods because itâs what heâs used with you countless times before.
Tonight is taking a little bit longer than usual, though.
Even if the Upside Down is long gone, if itâs too quiet for too long, you tend to jump to the worst conclusions. Worried about both of them, you thread out of the bedroom and walk towards your kid, ignoring the weight that is settling in your bones.
As you get progressively closer, the sound of Steveâs voice gets clearer and the heavy in your chest vanishes. But his voice is different
Itâs softer than before andâŠmelodic. When you get there, the scene surprises you:
Heâs singing.
Steve is holding her in his arms, his back to you, rocking back and forth as he sings âBeautiful Boyâ to your daughter in a very tired parent way. He does make slight adjustments to the song, though.
âThe monsterâs gone, heâs on the run and your daddyâs hereâŠbeautiful, beautiful, beautiful girlâŠâ
You hear from the doorway, heâs completely unaware youâre watching them both and how youâll cherish this memory.
Youâve always known Steve would be a great dad, you just didnât know it would make you fall in love with him every single time you saw it.
Coming back to your senses, youâre sure you donât want to disrupt them, so you slowly walk back into your bedroom and into bed, a soft smile creeping up your face.
If heâs that good with only one kid, imagine when he finds out thereâs another one on the way.
pairings â steve harrington x fem!reader with foster child!OC
synopsis â after defeating vecna, jodie saw her biggest fears come to life. she thought abandonment was in her cards, unaware that you and steve would never leave her alone again.
time stamp â november 6th, 1987
warnings â long chapter, angst, mentions of death, anxiety, fears of abandonment, injury, adoption
series masterlist
a metallic floor plate groaned under elevenâs telekinetic grip, with the sound hearing through the backyard of hawkins lab like a dying bird.
the lab itself was an eerie place to be at. you've heard so much about this place from steve, hopper, and joyce. you remember the times when your parents, before their death, mentioned this place being owned by the department of energy. however, it kept children for superpower experiments, you know now.
eleven stood at the center of it all with her face pinched in concentration, and her nose starts trickling blood as she lifted the heavy plate inch by inch. the girl's eyes were squeezed shut as you watched from a few feet back, arms crossed tight over your chest to brace against the pull on your ribs.
the idea of a portal into the upside down being created by the hands of one person made your skin crawl and your fractured rib ache deeper, as if the other side was calling to the pain already inside you.
every breath was a negotiation since each one was shallow enough not to flare the fracture, yet deep enough not to pass out. anxiety churned in your gut, since you wanted to be mad at steve. you wanted to be so mad your blood boiled.
heâd slipped away from the hospital while you were stuck in that sterile hell, arguing with nurses about discharge papers. your man left you behind like you were fragile glass he couldnât risk breaking.
however, the anger wouldnât stick. it melted into something worse and it turned into anxiety that twisted your insides until you felt sick.
did he find something down there?
dustinâs voice on the walkie earlier had been garbled, static-crackled words about seeing jodie and holly... but your heart had raced anyway with hope and fear colliding like thunder. if she was with them, how the hell were you supposed to explain all this?
how were you supposed to explain the upside down, the monsters, vecna. jodie loved science which involved volcanoes, stars, and radios, we all knew that. but this was an entire shadow world of red lightning and flesh-eating horrors?
it would overwhelm her and shatter that bright, curious spark in her eyes. she was nine and too young for the nightmares that had stolen your own childhood.
you scoffed inwardly, the thought bitter on your tongue. you sounded like a mother.
and maybe that was the point.
the two-year foster clock was ticking down. last month, shannonâs voice over the phone echoed in your head about a family in california who was ready to meet and adopt her, but you couldnât let her go. not after everything and the anxiety about her being gone had clawed at you for days, with a constant strangle around your chest harder than the fractured rib.
sending her away would destroy you, and her. hawkins was her home now which had the radio station with robin, science fairs with dustin, basketball in the driveway with lucas. abandoning her to strangers across the country would echo every loss sheâd already endured with her parents, and the âaccidentâ cover story.
you were keeping her, and adopting her.
the money for college, for DC, for escaping this cursed town... it could wait. she was your family and steveâs too.
youâd make it work, somehow.
soon eleven finally lifted the plate free with a final clang, crashing to the side. with that, a sea of red glowed up from the ground, pulsing like a heartbeat with the air shimmering with heat and that sickly sweet rot from below.
mr. clarke... your old middle school science teacher, dragged into this madness by murrayâs and erica's âpersuasiveâ speech.. stood frozen beside you with his wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, mouth agape.
âholy mother ofââ he stammered, eyes wide as saucers.
murray chuckled from behind, slinging a backpack over his shoulder, âyou coming, snookums?â
clarke blinked, face paling further as the rumbling from the gate grew louder with a low, guttural vibration that shook the floor, âweâre⊠going in there?â
you smirked, since laughing would pull at your ribs, âitâs not as bad as it looks.â
that was a lie. the upside down was hell and it was cold, toxic, and full of things that wanted to rip you apart. you stepped forward anyway with you heart pounding and the red glow reflecting in your eyes like blood.
robin and vickie went first, with vickie clutching a flashlight like it would run away if she let go. you followed, and the descent was like falling into a wound with vines slithering along the edges, red mist curling up to meet you, and the air turning thick and cold midway down.
your boots hit the ground with a wet squelch because of the upside down dirt, always damp, always alive underfoot. the world inverted around you with the hawkins labâs underbelly twisted into something nightmarish. the ceilings were dripping with black ichor, the walls were pulsing with veiny growths that glowed faintly purple. the sky above was that endless storm with dark clouds roiling, and red lightning forking silently.
ânancy! holly!â mike yelled into the blue-gray wind, voice desperate for any response.
âjodie! steve?â you called, the words tearing out of you despite the stab in your side. you winced, hand flying to your ribs, but kept moving.
vickie coughed, waving a hand in front of her face, âis this shit safe to breathe?â
âunclear,â robin said flatly, scanning the shadows.
âwell... um... i got a sore throat after the first time i was under here,â you added, forcing a smile, âbut hey, builds character.â
vickieâs eyes widened, with anxiety going deeper into her face. she clutched robinâs arm tighter, flashlight beam jittering across the ground.
âmike? mike!â a voice yelled from the distance. it was faint and distorted by the wind before it got closer with flashlights waving ahead... dustin.
your group broke into a run, pain be damned as your ribs screamed with every jolt. the beams converged and soon dustin, steve, nancy, jonathan emerging from a cluster of twisted trees with their faces smeared with ash and weird goo.
âjesus, itâs so good to see you guys,â mike said, voice breaking.
dustin threw himself into mikeâs arms, the two boys hugging tightly yet quick. you scanned the group with nancy hugging joyce, jonathan clasping hopperâs shoulder.
there were no small figures, though. no curls, and no jodie, and no holly.
your smile died as steveâs face which was defeated, haunted, and worse than nancyâs or jonathanâs... told you everything. you walked forward, past your group, the pain in your side fading under the crush of dread.
âsteve?â you mumbled, hands reaching for his arms, gripping gently.
steve couldnât meet your eyes as he stared at the ground, ashamed, broken.
âwhere is she?â you whispered, âwhereâs the girls?â
steve finally looked up, shaking his head as his eyes which are usually so warm, and so steady with you were shattered, twinkling with unshed tears.
âshe was here, y/n,â he mumbled, âshe was here.."
your mouth went agape, "what?"
"something had a hold of her, but you couldnât see anything. she was just⊠right there. now sheâs gone.... it was him, it had to be.â steve said, with the defeat on his face clear.
your eyes widened with horror blooming cold and loud in your chest, âI don't... I don't get it?â
nancy stepped closer, and her face was more pale than usual, âwe were on the floor below the roof and we heard screams... we ran up and we looked up and saw jodie floating and terrified. she was screaming for us.... for steve. she reached for him, but⊠something pulled her away and up into the sky like vecna had her on a string.â
jonathan nodded grimly, âholly too. we saw her shadow above but it was the same thing, like the two of them were gone before we could do anything.â
you looked back at steve and searched his face as moisture started building in your eyes, âshe was⊠screaming?â
steveâs voice cracked, âmy name.... over and over. I tried, y/n. I reached but she was too high and she got yanked away like the clouds swallowed her.â
the words punched through you since your little girl, terrified, alone, calling for steve, couldn't be reached. failure crashed over you again and it was heavier than the rib pain, than anything else.
mikeâs walkie crackled suddenly and lucasâs voice was frantic.
âmike, do you copy? is jodie okay? is holly okay? mike? mike do you copy?â
however, the boy's voice was static in your ears since the white noise drowning everything. she was so close and now so far and gone again.
tears blurred your vision, âwe have to get her back,â you whispered, ânow.â
steve pulled you into his arms and it was so gentle, being mindful of your ribs. âwe will,â he said, voice convincing despite the break in it, âi swear. weâll get them back.â
later, the van ride back to wsqk was suffocating in its silence. the only sounds were the low rumble of the engine, the occasional crackle of gravel under tires, and the wind whistling through a cracked window that no one bothered to close.
nancy sat being the driver's seat in the back, with her arms crossed tight and staring straight ahead like she could will the road to move faster.
jonathan was beside her, head against the glass, eyes distant and nearly broken from something deeper than just the events happening right now.
in the middle in the backseat, dustin fidgeted with a walkie and started turning knobs that werenât there, all while you sat in the passenger seat as steve drives another car that was not lost in the upside down... all while your ribs scream with every pothole.
he drove with both hands on the wheel, knuckles white and jaw locked so tight you could see the muscle jump.
steveâs face was a mask of quiet devastation with his mouth set in a line that hadnât softened since the roof. he kept glancing at you right and there, like he needed to confirm you were still there and still breathing, and still with him.
the relief of having you out of the hospital warred with the fresh horror of jodieâs scream still went through his head like a radio rewinding. heâd reached for her and sheâd reached for him, yet sheâd been yanked away anyway.
you stared out the passenger window, watching the dark shapes of hawkins blur past with abandoned houses, rift-scarred streets, and the occasional federal barricade lit by floodlights.
rage burned low and constant in your chest, hotter than the pain in your side. it wasnât just steve leaving the hospital without you, it was everything piling up at once, a landslide you couldnât outrun.
first, your mind replayed your parentsâ car crash at fourteen. imagining the screaming sirens, hospital smells, and the sudden silence where their voices used to be.
next, the russians at starcourt with the truth serum burning your veins, steveâs blood on your hands, and the mall collapsing in fire and smoke.
after that, it was vecnaâs curse and lucas' description of maxâs bones snapping, with her lifeless body later in his arms, and the way youâd frozen when steve looked at nancy like she was still his future.
now it is jodie screaming everyone's name, steveâs name, reaching for safety that wasnât there.
every breath pulled at the fracture in your third left rib, a sharp pinch that made your vision spot black at the edges. you welcomed it since the pain was grounding.
pain meant you were still here, and still fighting.
the van lurched to a stop in the wsqk parking lot. nancy and jonathan were out before the engine fully cut with their boots hitting gravel, moving toward the building like they could outrun their own fear. dustin scrambled after them as steve killed the ignition.
the sudden quiet, afterward, was deafening as he turned to you.
ây/n.â
you didnât respond at first since your gaze was fixed on the heat vent by the passenger window, watching the faint ripple of warm air. your pupils were blown wide, breath shallow, with your mind miles away replaying jodieâs possible scream, imagining the way her small hand had reached for steve, and the way the sky had swallowed her.
ây/n,â he said again, softer.
you turned slowly and the movement made your ribs flare as steveâs face swam into focus... exhausted, heartbroken, terrified.
âwe will get her back,â he said, reaching across the console to take your hand. steve's fingers were cold as he squeezed gently, âi promise.â
you stared at your joined hands with his thumb brushed over your knuckles... once, then twice... like he was reminding himself you were real.
he smiled before he turned to reach for the door handle, at that time is when you blurted three words out.
âiâm adopting her.â
the words came out quiet, but they landed like a gunshot.
steve froze, hand on the handle. slowly, he turned back to you.
âyeahâŠâ he said, âi figured that.â
you blinked, all while confused, âyou⊠figured?â
he nodded, settling back into the driverâs seat, with his shoulders relaxing for the first time in days, âthe day shannon called about that family in california⊠you were anxious for weeks and pacing, never sleeping. you kept looking at her like she might disappear if you blinked. and after everythingââ he gestured vaguely around the place, like explaining now's events, ââeveryone knew we werenât just gonna let her go... not after two years and not after she became ours.â
your throat tightened, âbut⊠do you think itâs a good thing? now itâs not two years anymore. itâs⊠the rest of our lives.â
steve looked at you, and he really looked and his eyes were soft, tired, yet certain.
âyeah,â he said, âI know, but weâre good people. nowadays, at least.â a small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth, âsheâll be okay with us.â
he reached across, hand cupping your cheek.
you leaned into it, with your eyes closing for a second as his thumb brushed away a tear you hadnât realized was falling.
âbesides,â he murmured, âjodieâs technically our first out of six nuggets.â
a laugh burst out of you... short, surprised, and painful since your ribs protested, but the sound felt like release.
âthereâs my girl,â steve said, smile widening.
he leaned over the console and kissed your temple before he got out of the van. you watched him round the hood, open your door, offer his hand.
you took it.
inside wsqk, the environment was full with urgency and coffee. the main room had been turned into a makeshift command center with maps pinned to every wall, radios crackling, and glass windows covered in dustinâs frantic handwriting.
joyce sat at the center, briefing the group and hopper leaned against the window in the back, arms crossed as robin near vickie. everyone else was sat on a couch, and you were sitting beside steve on your left and murray on your right.
âwhatâs the plan?â
eleven sat beside her sister and her eyes were distant, with blood dried under her nose. sheâd just come from saving her sister, and the red glow still lingered on her exposed arm skin like sunburn.
dustin exhaled, âso the upside down isnât a world,â he said, âitâs a tunnel... like a bridge to another world. we are calling that other world the abyss.â
your stomach dropped.
âjodie and holly is in there,â dustin said quietly, âwith the others.â
you stared at him, âhow do you know?â
âwill felt it,â dustin said, âwhen he connected. itâs⊠different and colder. vecnaâs not hiding in the upside down since heâs in the abyss while building something.â
nancy spoke up despite the exhaustion etched into her face, âthatâs why every crawl led to dead ends....â
eleven nodded, âand that is why i canât find him in the bath.â
you shook your head, hand pressing harder against your ribs, âso all this time, vecnaâs been hiding in the sky, like the sky in the upside down?â
joyce nodded, âthat explains the floating. the way jodie and holly were pulled up. heâs not just taking them. heâs collecting them.â
âfor what?â hopper growled, angry at the idea of something happening to childern.
will spoke softly from the couch, âthe same reason he took me. kidsâ minds are weaker., and more malleable. he used me to amplify his reach. now heâs doing it again, with them.â
you sighed deeply, and steveâs hand tightened on your back as a result of that.
âamplify his abilities?â hopper asked, âto do what?â
max, finally awake, and finally here sat in her wheelchair with her voice rough, âto move worlds.â
the room went still.
âholly told me,â max said, âhenry... he told the kids they were going to help him move worlds. he wants to use jodie like he used will by being another sorcerer, all because sheâs been through harder things. because sheâs⊠gifted, he says.â
the word hit like a slap to your heart. jodie is gifted, and vecna wanted that.
you stood up from the couch and turned away with a hand over your mouth, trying to breathe through the pain in your side, in your chest, in your head.
steve followed you into the hallway as you speed walked, ây/nââ
you spun on him, tears spilling over.
âjodie,â you choked out.
he pulled you into his arms, careful of your ribs, and you collapsed against his chest, sobbing.
âi need to get her back,â you whispered, âwe have no other choice.â
steve nodded against your hair, âyeah. her, holly, the others. weâre getting them all back, y/n. we just need to all talk about it, okay?â
you clung to him, shaking.
âiâm sorry,â you mumbled, âfor everything and for doubting you, and for pushing you away.â
âstop,â he said softly, âweâre past that, babe. weâre here, and we are together.â
after another minute, he guided you back into the main room and will was standing now, marker in hand, drawing on the window with squiggly lines representing rifts, a larger shape for the abyss.
you sat on the arm of the couch beside steve with your ribs throbbing, and hands slightly shaking.
will spoke quietly, âhenry wants to merge his world with ours. he wasnât licking his wounds in the abyss. he was creating rifts.â he drew connecting lines between hawkins and the abyss, âheâs weakening the boundary like he weakened hawkins. when the abyss and hawkins collideââ
he pressed his hands together.
ââthey become one.â
steve leaned forward, âso how long do we have? instantly? orâŠ?â
mike answered, âwe better hope it takes time because if willâs right, we have to get two thousand feet in the air, find our way into the abyss, free holly and jodie and the others, and kill vecna all before the merge finishes.â
lucas nodded grimly, "and if my calculations are correct⊠heâs moving worlds tonight.â
the room went dead silent.
as some people complained about hating lucas' theory, you stood up... too fast and pain flared white-hot. you gasped, hand flying to your side.
âthen what are we waiting for?â you said, voice raw as steve reached his arm up, helping you stand more balanced.
hopper scoffed, âyou know i hate all of this... but at least we know what weâre up against.â
after steve came up with a beautiful plan in another room, joyce looked around the room seeing exhausted faces, bruised bodies, and terrified eyes.
âwe gear up,â she said, âwe move at dawn.â
you nodded once before then you walked out of the room, going into one of the closets and finding a backup outfit, one you've always kept here at the radio station incase of emergencies. all dark clothing, perfect.
afterwards, you move into the hallway bathroom and you locked the door. shortly after, you stripped off your jeans and dark green sweater and stood in your bra and underwear, staring at your reflection in the mirror in front of the sink.
the bruise on your left side was massive, it was a deep purple spreading across your ribcage like spilled ink, yellowing at the edges.
you touched it lightly and pain flared which caused you to hiss.
after seeing the big bruise, and feeling the pain that followed, you wondered, for one terrible second, if this was your last night alive.
vecna didnât lose, not really. every time you've encountered an upside down monster in the last few years something always went horribly wrong.
but... but for jodie, for the shy girl youâd raised into someone bright and brave, youâd do anything.
shaking your head, trying to push your thoughts aside, you pulled on black windbreaker nylon pants, a black long-sleeve shirt, and a dark green camouflage army jacket you kept here for emergencies.
afterwards, you had on your brown military boots laced tight.
you looked at yourself again and you were bruised and terrified... but ready.
opening the bathroom door, you stepped back into the war room to see everyone was moving by loading weapons, checking batteries, and taping knives to bats.
steve looked up when you walked in and his eyes softened.
âyou okay?â he asked quietly.
you nodded, âweâre getting her back,â you said.
he crossed the room at that moment, and pulled you into a careful hug.
âyeah,â he whispered against your hair, âwe are.â
the journey through the gate at the mac-z had you clenching your teeth the whole way, with one hand pressed to your side the whole time pretending like the fractured rib wasnât screaming louder than the monsters that could be around, or the military men.
adrenaline had dulled the worst of it for a while, but now crammed into murrayâs van hurtling through the inverted hawkins streets, the pain was back with teeth and harsher words.
the van lurched over a cracked road and you knocked hard into steveâs side. thankfully, he caught you instantly with arm around your waist, careful not to squeeze but the jolt still sent a white-hot spike through your left ribcage.
âjesus christ,â he exhaled, voice tight with worry.
you hissed through your teeth, hand flying to your side, â'm sorry.â
hopperâs voice boomed from the front, âeverybody alright? everyone okay? y/n?â
you shook your head, forcing a tight smile as you slid down to sit on the van floor between his knees, hands braced on the metal walls for balance.
âi just get motion sickness too. iâll be fine.â
it wasnât a complete lie since the vanâs erratic swerving and murrayâs maniacal driving were making your stomach churn, but everyone knew the real culprit. pity flickered across their faces since robin, holding onto a support bar for dear life, gave you a look that said she wasnât buying it.
lucas, pressed against the opposite wall, winced in sympathy.
âi kind of thought that was supposed to be the easy part,â robin called over the engine noise, voice shaking from the ride.
âit was,â lucas muttered.
you closed your eyes for a second, trying to breathe through the pain. it was shallow and slow as the vanâs motion rocked you forward and back with each jolt tugging at the fracture like someone twisting a knife. thankfully closing your eyes helped a little since the darkness behind your lids was quieter than the chaos around you.
when you opened them again, your gaze landed on eleven.
she stood across from you, staring straight ahead at kali on the other side of the van in front of her. both sisters radiated that eerie calm they got before using their powers... eyes glassy, expressions focused.
however, there was something else in the look they shared. a silent agreement like a willingness to burn themselves out if it meant ending this.
your eyebrows furrowed and the dread coiled tighter in your gut.
before you could day anything, he van finally screeched to a halt and murray killed the engine.
the sudden silence was deafening before the side door slid open with murrayâs grinning face appeared, backlit by the red glow of the upside down sky.
âcome on, fellas. a whole dimension is about to come falling down on our heads.â
his cheer was forced and you knew that because his eyes were too wide, and his smile too sharp. he was terrified, you all were as he helped hopper down first, then kali, then eleven.
steve jumped out next, turning immediately to offer you his hands and you took them, easing yourself down as carefully as possible. the impact still jarred your ribs but you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. steveâs arm slid around your waist instantly, steadying you as robin climbed out last.
murray clapped steve on the shoulder, âyouâre driving the others, kid. I'm staying hereâI gotta help hopper with the bomb.â
steve nodded once as you and robin squeezed into the passenger seat together. there wasnât enough room, so you ended up half on her lap, legs awkwardly folded, one arm around her shoulders for balance as steve finally hopes into the driver's seat.
robin snorted softly, âthis isnât weird, right?â
you managed a weak smile, ânot unless you make it weird.â
steve slid behind the wheel, shaking his head as he started the engine.
âokay, donât do that with my girlfriend, rob.â
you smirked despite everything, âdo what, steve?â
he glanced over, fighting his own smile at you, âletâs save the teasing until after all of this shit is over. deal?â
you and robin nodded in unison, serious now as the humor was drained away as quickly as it had come.
the van lurched forward again, and murrayâs reckless driving replaced by steveâs careful but urgent pace. the upside downâs hawkins unfolded around you with treets cracked open like wounds, buildings sagging under vines, and the sky churning with red lightning that never struck. wsqkâs radio tower rose ahead and it was two thousand feet of twisted metal wrapped in black tendrils, with platforms jutting out at intervals like broken ribs.
steve parked at the base and the group piled out once you slid open the back door.
soon, everyone gathered as lucas stared up, âno sign of an evil moving planet.â
you exhaled shakily, following his gaze as the tower loomed impossibly tall, vines pulsing faintly, with wind howling through the girders.
climbing that, with a broken rib, was going to be torture.
jonathan stepped forward.
âwell, thatâs good. âcause this is gonna take some time.â
you sighed, looking from steve on your left to nancy on your right.
jonathan continued, âalright, we should split up. letâs use both ladders.â he looked at you specifically, âdo not rush. pace yourselves.â
you straightened as much as your ribs allowed.
âthatâs why iâm going last.â
steve turned sharply, âno. I'm going directly after you.â
you shook your head, âsteve, iâm going to slow the group down if anybody goes after me. iâll be fine being last... i promise.â
he searched your face and saw the stubborn set of your jaw, and the desperation in your eyes. finally, he nodded, reluctant.
jonathan added, âthere are platforms along the way, y/n. use them to rest, okay?â
you nodded, silently lying through your teeth. you had no intention of stopping and not when jodie was up there somewhere, waiting.
âalright,â you said anyway.
the group split with half to one ladder, half to the other. you watched them start the climb with robin first, then dustin and lucas, mike and will, nancy and jonathan.
steve stayed at the bottom with you, hand on your lower back.
âyou sure that you'll be okay climbing this?â he asked quietly.
you looked up at him, and you really looked since your pupils lined up with his. steve's face was pale, and his eyes shadowed.
âiâm sure,â you said, âshe needs you.. and she needs me too.â
steve nodded once before he leaned in, kissing your forehead which was soft, and it lingered as he turned around, and started climbing.
he stopped after the ninth step, looking down to watch you starting to climb. after the twentieth step, each rung started to feel like agony. your left arm pulled at the fracture every time you reached up with your boots slipped on vine-slick metal.
wind tore at your jacket, howling through the girders like a chorus of screams. halfway up the first section your vision grayed at the edges. you stopped, only for a second to cling to the ladder, breathing through your teeth.
you could hear the others above you with grunts of effort, occasional curses, and the clang of boots on platforms.
you kept going, mostly using mental strength rather than physical strength.
every rung was slick with the upside downâs perpetual damp, cold and oily goo under your palms. on the way to the second platform, you clenched your teeth so hard your jaw ached since you refused to let the pain slow you down.
steve climbed just ahead of you now, four rungs above since he went a little slower to make sure that you were okay. he never went more than that. heâd insisted on going last on his ladder so he could keep you in sight, but you went last instead.
every few platforms he paused, boots planted wide on the grated metal, turning to look down at you. your man's face was streaked with sweat and ash, hair plastered to his forehead thanks to his hat with eyes full with worry that never quite left.
ây/n,â he called over the wind after the third platform, âyou okay?â
you were maybe fifty feet off the ground... already higher than youâd ever wanted to be with cracked bones but you forced your voice steady.
âkeep going, hun, iâm fine.â
he hesitated, hand gripping the rung above him, âyouâre breathing funny.â
âiâm always breathing funny when iâm climbing a two-thousand-foot death trap with a busted rib,â you shot back, trying for humor. it came out thinner than you meant, âjust keep moving, harrington. iâm right behind you.â
he studied you for another beat and saw the way your left arm trembled slightly when you reached, also the way your jaw locked every time you pulled yourself up.
steve nodded once, which was reluctant, âalright. but you yell if you need to stop.â
âi wonât need to stop.â
he exhaled sharply through his nose which was half frustration, and half fear, before he resumed climbing. you followed, slower than him but steady.
one rung, then another.
the pain was constant now, and it was a deep ache that radiated from your side into your shoulder, your neck, your skull. each breath felt like inhaling broken glass, but you refused to let it show. not when jodie was somewhere above you terrified, and maybe hurt. the thought of her alone in that abyss drove you upward, one agonizing step at a time.
the platforms helped a little since every hundred feet or so there was a small grated landing, just wide enough for two people to stand side by side. steve waited on each one, leaning against the railing, watching you haul yourself over the edge.
on the fourth platform he crouched immediately, reaching down to help you up the last few rungs. your boyfriend's hands closed around your forearms which were gentle, and careful not to pull too hard.
âeasy,â he murmured as you stepped onto the metal, âlean on me if you need to.â
you shook your head, though your legs trembled under you, âiâm good.â
steve didnât believe you since he could see the sweat on your forehead wasnât just from exertion. steve can see the way your left hand kept drifting to your side but he didnât push since he knew it would upset you. instead he stayed close, with his shoulder brushing yours, giving you something solid to lean against without making it obvious.
âweâre making decent time,â he said quietly, âyouâre doing better than i thought.â
âliar,â you muttered, managing a weak smile, âiâm slowing you down.â
âyouâre not.â he looked up the tower which was still impossibly tall, with platforms disappearing into the red haze, âyouâre keeping up. thatâs more than most people could do with a busted rib.â
you didnât answer and just breathed through the next wave of pain, with your eyes fixed on the next set of rungs.
he waited until your breathing steadied, then asked again, softer.
âstill okay?â
you nodded, âkeep going.â
he studied you a moment longer and saw the stubborn set of your jaw, the way you refused to lean on him even though you wanted to... then turned back to the ladder.
âalright,â he said, âforty more to the next platform. then we rest.â
âno rest,â you said automatically, âwe donât have time.â
he didnât argue and just started climbing again, slower than before so you could match his pace.
soon, your vision tunneled at the edges with black spots dancing like demobats but you kept moving because stopping meant admitting you couldnât do this and you had to for jodie.
for the girl whoâd once been too scared to leave her bedroom, who now drew pictures of stars and called you her "younger momâ to her friends when she thought you werenât listening.
you reached the next platform... the fifth or sixth, with legs shaking and sweat stinging your eyes. steve was already there, turning back to help you over the edge.
this time you let him as his hands closed around your wrists. he pulled you up slowly, yet easily and carefully, until you were standing on the grated metal beside him. the wind tore at your jacket, howling through the girders.
steve didnât let go right away. he kept one arm around your waist, letting you lean into him while you caught your breath.
âyouâre shaking,â he said quietly.
âcold,â you lied.
he didnât call you on it since just held you tighter, chin resting lightly on top of your head.
âweâre way more than halfway,â he murmured, âyouâre doing it.â
you closed your eyes for a second, letting yourself feel his heartbeat against your back, âi know.â
he kissed your temple, and it was quick before he then stepped back to the ladder.
âready?â
you nodded.
soon, everyone reached the very top and you were panting by the time your feet touched the metal surface. steve rubbed your back, staying to the right side as you turned your head, stretching out whatever tension muscles you may have.
however, you drop to one knee with your chest heaving. for a split second the others freeze with their eyes wide, thinking the pain from your ribs finally buckled you but you force yourself upright again, slow, deliberate.
it wasnât the break, you were just bone-tired with every muscle screaming from the climb. your side still throbbed, sharp and hot with every breath, but you shove the feeling down deep.
in your head you repeat it like a mantra that if you focus on it, it gets worse. so you donât focus on it.
everything up here drowns in red. the sky bleeds crimson with the clouds boil like open wounds, and lightning cracking so close the thunder feels like itâs inside your skull.
you tilt your head back, squinting through the haze and searching for the tear, the place where the other world should be pressing down.
soon you see ragged splits in the âroofâ above you, glowing faintly with the edges fraying like torn fabric. the upside downâs false sky is lowering, inch by inch, straight toward the radio towerâs antenna.
your stomach lurches since if that world collides with the needle, the whole structure collapses, and youâre all dead and someone else seems to notice it too.
âno no no, guysâitâs not lining up,â lucas says, voice pitching high as he stares upward, one hand shielding his eyes.
âwhat do you mean itâs not lining up?â steve asks, stepping closer, with his confusion turning into alarm.
âlook! the weather needle, the antenna! itâs not gonna hit one of the holes in the rift. itâs off. itâs way off!â
you crane your neck beside dustin and steve, horror crawling up your throat. the massive spire of the tower is perfectly centered under the descending tear, but the glowing gaps above arenât aligning. the antenna will smash straight into solid other-world ground instead of slipping through like itâs supposed to.
âshit,â steve breathes.
âthe towerâs gonna come down if the abyss hits the needle,â you say, the words tumbling out too fast with your voice cracking.
your feet shuffle backward instinctively toward the ladder, toward escape, toward anything but being crushed here.
ây/n,â robin says quickly, with her hand clamping onto your shoulder, anchoring you before you can bolt.
âgreat. thatâs just great,â steve mutters, still staring up, oblivious to how close you came to running.
dustinâs already on the walkie, voice shaking.
âhey, chief, weâre gonna need el to stop this planet on the sooner side, please!â
you nod uselessly since hopper canât see you, and canât hear the frantic beat of your heart... but you still nod anyway.
âlike⊠thirty seconds?â dustin guesses, eyes flicking between the rift and the walkie like heâs bargaining with time itself.
ârobin, iâm scared,â you whisper, barely audible over the rising wind.
âme too,â she admits, fingers tightening on your shoulder. she doesnât let go of you as the rift drops faster now, and it is too fast. you grab robinâs wrist with one hand, white-knuckling the railing with the other. the metal groans under your grip as your pulse explodes in your ears.
âhopper, what is going on!?â dustin nearly screams into the walkie.
âi donât know! i gave her the signal, I canât talk to her right now!â
your lungs seize and the air feels thinner, and tighter. fuck, you cannot die here and not on this cursed tower, not in this red-soaked hell, not when the kids are waiting, when jodieâs waiting, and when you promised youâd come back.
âweâre about to be squished by a moving planet, hopper!â dustin yells.
you look up again and the descending world is close enough now that you can see faint outlines of the ground crashing down. your eyes find steveâs at the same instant his find yours with pure terror mirrored back.
you lunge toward him, closing the gap just as the antenna kisses the underside of the other world and metal screams.
the tower shudders violently then lurches sideways like a ship taking a wave. everyone screams as your lungs burn white-hot as you cling to the railing, to steve, to anything.
the violent sway rips you apart from him for a heartbeat.
you spin, reaching blindly before his entire body flys off of the edge.
âsteve!â
the scream tears out of you, animal like as it shreds the vocal cords inside of your throat. you lunge toward the drop, feet sliding on the grated platform as robinâs arms hook around your waist, yanking you back just as your fingers hit the lip.
steveâs fingers scrabble on the metal, then nothing.
you see flashes behind your eyes at this moment. scoops ahoy, the stupid hats you wore, the way he leaned over the counter and asked for your number like it was the easiest thing in the world even though his hands were shaking.
everything was perfect, down to the late nights of him training you how to swing a bat properly while you taught him how to shoot a gun. steve was your bestfriend at first, since the two of you would laugh at anything until your sides hurt when he kept missing shots on purpose just to make you stay longer.
the first date at the theater with his arm slung around you, pretending to watch the screen while he traced slow circles on your shoulder.
steve confessed his feelings for you outside of hawkins high after dark, rain soaking through your clothes with the both of you finally saying the words out loud like youâd been holding them too long.
afterwards you had the russians, and the bunker then jodie showing up in your lives like sheâd always belonged there, with tiny hands reaching for both of you at once.
now, he was almost gone. one second away from falling into nothing, and from leaving you and jodie and every stupid, beautiful, terrifying thing you built together. the fear tastes like metal in your mouth and it claws up your throat and you canât swallow it down.
youâre still screaming and shaking as terror and ache from the amount of tears blurs everything. robin holds you back from the edge with every ounce of strength she has.
suddenly, jonathan dives and catches steve's wrist in both hands from over the edge. the man's muscles strain, with veins bulging in in his neck as he hauls.
steve dangles, legs kicking empty air with the red sky swirling behind him as onathan grunts, then pulls harder, and finally drags steveâs chest over the railing.
steve collapses onto the platform, gasping realizing that he is alive but your heart is still hammering like itâs trying to escape your ribs, and the tower keeps shaking beneath you all.
youâre already moving before your brain catches up, stumbling forward with tears blurring everything. robinâs grip on your arm loosens only when she sees youâre not running to the edge anymore.
if he had fallen, if jonathan hadnât lunged, ifâ
steve pushes himself up on one elbow, eyes finding yours instantly.
âiâm okay,â he rasps, voice rough from panic, âbaby, iâm okay.â
you crash into him anyway, burying your face against his shoulder as your fingers twist in his shirt like you can anchor him to the tower through sheer force. he smells like sweat and upside-down ash and him, and the sob that rips out of you is ugly.
âyou idiot,â you choke against his neck, âyou absolute fucking idiot.â
your man's arms wrap around you hard, with one hand cradling the back of your head. âiâm not going anywhere,â he murmurs into your hair, âi promised, remember?â
you pull back just enough to look at him with dirt streaked across his cheek, and his pupils blown wide with adrenaline. your hands frame his face and you kiss him like youâre trying to prove heâs real, like if you stop he might disappear again.
he kisses you back just as desperate, fingers digging into your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until thereâs no space left for fear.
when you finally break apart, three seconds later, youâre both breathing like youâve run miles. he rests his forehead against yours, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.
âyou thought i was leaving you that early,â he says, half-laugh, half-wrecked.
you smack his chest weakly, âshut up, harrington. you nearly died.â
he laughs and it is shaky, and breathless before he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.
ânever. iâm not leaving you or jodie behind.â
the walkie crackles with lucasâs voice, bright and triumphant.
âthe abyss stopped! el got the bastard! el got the damn bastard!â
the relief hits you like a wave, he is right. the abyss had to stop because of eleven. she is with jodie right now.
you turn with your arms still tangled with steve, and robin barrels into you next, arms tight around your shoulders.
âweâre gonna get jodie home!â she yells, voice cracking with joy.
you laugh through the tears, hugging her back, âwe are, rob.â
the hug is a quick few seconds and quieter, just for robin you add, âby the way, steve and i are adopting jodie.â
robin's eyes go wide, then soft, and she squeezes you harder. the rest of the group hears you, and they erupted in cheers, whoops, with dustinâs fist pumping the air. jodie is so loved, and hearing it out loud, up here on this cursed tower with the red sky pressing down, makes something warm bloom in your chest despite everything happening to you.
you wipe your face, glance up at the rift hanging above you like a wound in the world.
"who's going up first?" you ask, curiosity filling your eyes.
everyone goes quiet, with their eyes on you as they hesitate to move. when you realize and understand their looks, you knew that you were going first.
âokay,â you say, small smile tugging your mouth, âso i guess itâs me.â
steve and jonathan are already moving, kneeling, offering their hands.
âweâre gonna help you, sweetheart,â steve says, voice steady now.
you step into their grip, right foot on jonathanâs palms, left on steveâs. you look down at him one last time as he gives you that small, reassuring nod, the one thatâs gotten you through every nightmare since 1985.
âon three,â he says.
you donât wait for three since you push off, and they launch you upward into the slime and the red glow and the unknown.
the push from steve and jonathan the second you shift your weight feels coordinated as youâre launching upward before the rift swallows you in an instant.
itâs cold and thick, like plunging through gelatin made of motor oil. slime coats your skin, your hair, and your clothes as it clings and pulls and makes every inch of you feel violated.
your stomach lurches as the red haze of the upside down vanishes and the world flips to a softer, sickly orange that seeps into your vision like spilled sunset.
gravity feels wrong for a heartbeat, it is lighter, then heavier again before then youâre tumbling out the other side.
you hit sandy ground hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. the impact jars your broken ribs as pain flares white-hot along your side, but you grit your teeth and roll onto your hands and knees instead of curling up.
a low grunt escapes you as you force yourself upright, with the shotgun you had on your back that entire time already sliding off your shoulder into your grip.
the barrel feels reassuringly heavy, even though you've had it during the climb.
for a few seconds you just breathe careful breaths through your mouth because the air here is bone-dry and tastes like dust and rust and something faintly metallic. you blink against the orange light as the landscape stretches out in distorted dunes that ripple like theyâre breathing, rocks that look half-melted, and a horizon that bends in ways horizons arenât supposed to.
itâs a desert, but wrong like someone took a photo of the sahara and stretched it over a dune-like state.
youâre the first human here, voluntarily. the thought lands heavy in your chest with pride and terror twisting together.
soon, there is a grunt behind you and you spin, shotgun halfway raised, only to see nancy drop through the rift next.
she lands in a crouch, more graceful than you managed, and immediately snatches her own rifle from where itâs slung across her back like yours was.
the woman's curly hair is already coated in that same glistening slime as yours and she wipes a streak from her cheek with the back of her hand and grimaces.
your eyes meet with no words at first... just a long, silent look that says everything. this place is fucked, the air is too dry and the light is too wrong.
nancy breaks the silence first, with her voice low and a little breathless.
âdoes this officially make us the first space travelers?â
you canât help it since a small, tired smile tugs at your mouth. you nod once.
âinterdimensional space travelers.â
she lets out a short, surprised giggle and the sound almost foreign in this dead place. thankfully, it loosens something in your chest just enough to breathe a little easier.
one by one the others come through with lucas first after nancy, afterwards robin, jonathan, dustin yelling the whole way up like heâs on a carnival ride, then steve, will, and joyce last with a grunt that sounds more annoyed than afraid.
they all hit the sand, curse, shake off the slime, then check weapons. for a long minute no one speaks. everyone just stands there, turning slow circles, taking in the endless tan desert that isnât quite a desert.
jodie is somewhere in this world, the other kids are too.
the group starts moving... slow at first with their weapons up as eyes scan every shifting dune. you fall into step beside steve without thinking.
after ten minutes of walking, he nudges your shoulder gently with his.
âhowâre you feeling?â steve's voice is soft, but his eyes are sharp and scanning your face, and your posture like heâs cataloging every place you might be hurting.
you shake your head, âa little weird, honestly.â
he glances at your side, âyour side still hurts after all of that?â
you scoff, but it comes out weaker than you mean it to.
âit burns, honestly.â
he shifts closer until your arms brush with every step. you catch sight of jonathan walking just off to your left, maybe three feet away close enough to hear, yet far enough to give you space.
noticing you looking at jonathan, steveâs voice drops lower.
âdo you promise to go to the hospital, and stay there for as long as you have to, after all of this?â
you look up at him and see the worry carved into his face, with the love sitting right beside it. you notice the way heâs holding himself like heâs ready to carry you the rest of the way if he has to.
you nod slowly, âonce jodieâs back in our world, safe,â you say, âshe needs to go to the hospital too.â
steveâs mouth quirks, âthat makes sense.... but look at you being so maternal already.â
you roll your eyes, but the smile is real this time, âsays you. youâre overprotective about the both of us.â
he nods, looking down at the sand for a second, âyeah but i wasnât protective enough to keep her out of this situation.â
the guilt in his voice hits you like a slap.
you stop walking, turn to face him fully.
âit wasnât your fault, steve. if anything⊠all of this is my fault.â
you keep going before he can interrupt, âi mean⊠if i didnât let that one petty moment distract me nearly two years ago, vecna wouldnât have gotten this far, and max wouldâve never been stuck in her trance.â
you think youâre making sense and you think the logic holds but lucas stops ahead of you, and turns around fast.
ây/n, you need to stop being so hard on yourself.â
steve echoes him instantly, âi agree.â
you open your mouth to argue, but lucas cuts you off, stepping closer. ânone of us blame you for any of this. nobody... because it was not your fault. okay? max doesnât hate you, either. she knows it wasnât your fault.â
lucas words land solid, they were so nice and honest that it shocks you.
you stare at him for a beat with your throat tight like you wanted to cry, before close the distance and pull lucas into a quick hug. he hugs back just as hard before letting go and turning to keep walking.
you linger there a second, alone in the middle of the group.
you almost drift back toward steve but you turn and notice that heâs fallen into step with jonathan now, heads close, talking low. it was surprising, and you catch yourself smiling at the sight of them together.
soon after walking again, robinâs beside you and she is matching your pace like she timed it perfectly.
âlucas is right,â she says quietly, âyou need to stop being so hard on yourself.â
you try, âi donât think i am, though.â
she scoffs and it is loud and dramatic, âyouâre fighting for the sake of humanity with a broken ribcage. i think that is a little hard on yourself.â
she smirks as you roll your eyes, but when she lifts her arm you duck under it without hesitation, wrapping both arms around her middle and squeezing tight. she hugs you back just as strong, chin resting on your head for a second.
when you pull apart from robin, the group has stopped ahead and you look up seeing a massive shape looming in the distance. it is spider-like, with too many legs, and too many joints with its body segmented and gleaming under the orange sky.
the dunes around it are brighter, the air itself shifting from dusty haze to thick, burning amber.
âholy fuck,â you mutter.
willâs voice, small, cuts through.
âthatâs it. the kids are in there.â
you glance at him and his face is pale with his eyes fixed on the thing. after you turn back to the creature. jodie is in there and your heart kicks hard against your broken ribs.
âthen what are we waiting for?â
your hands tighten on the shotgun and you donât wait for anyone else. you break into a run, with sand kicking up behind you as nancy falls in beside you instantly, rifle at the ready, matching your stride.
behind you, the rest of the group follows a heartbeat later with footsteps pounding, shouts overlapping, and weapons clicking into place. the orange sky pulses ahead like a heartbeat, and you run straight toward it.
in henryâs mind, jodie runs barefoot across cracked red desert sand, with her small hand locked tight in hollyâs. the cave stretches endless around them since this is the place henry was supposed to fear, but he got right in anyway, and now jodie feels every step he takes echoing in her chest like a second heartbeat.
sheâs terrified, but she keeps moving, pulling holly faster as all of the kids run away.
back in the abyss, will drops to his knees in the sand, hands pressing flat against the ground as if he can feel the tremor through his palms. you look down at him alongside joyce, with your heart slamming against your broken ribs.
will's face is pale, and distant.
âheâs inside,â will whispers, âhe found the kids.â
the ground under your feet shudders. ahead, the mind flayer stirs. its legs, long and jointed like nightmare scaffolding, lift slow from the sky then slam down. each impact sends shockwaves rippling through the dunes.
the creature creaks, metal-bone grinding against itself as you flick the safety off your shotgun with a sharp click, finger hovering near the trigger.
dustinâs voice cracks through the dry air, ârun!â
everyone spins and bolts the opposite way. your lungs scream with every breath feels like inhaling fire, ribs grinding bone on bone but you push anyway. the legs smash down around you, close enough that the wind from one hit knocks you sideways.
you stumble, dodge a plume of sand and dust, then another leg comes down too fast. pain explodes white-hot through your side as you fall hard, knees and palms slamming into the ground.
the next leg rises above you, shadow swallowing the orange light, ready to spear straight through you and a scream rip from you before Steve dives full body, crashing into you and rolling you both away.
the leg slams down inches from where your head was, cratering the sand.
he hauls you up fast, âbabe, come on, come onââ
adrenaline floods in like ice water, numbing the fire in your ribs as you run again, matching pace with Nancy now with your shotgun bouncing in your arms. the monster roars overhead, hot foul wind blasting your face.
you cover your mouth, eyes watering as its legs sweep in a cage around the group, trapping you all as you spin.
the mind flayer rears up, mouth splitting wide, roaring straight into your faces. the smell hits like death and sulfur as you rip the shotgun around, and the jam shells in.
before you can fire, a boulder the size of a car hurtles from the side and smashes into the creatureâs face. it screeches, reeling back as rock and slime rain down. the ground cracks and crumbles as you look to your right, and far ahead eleven stands in the distance with blood trickling from her nose.
mike watches her with pure pride, with his chest heaving as she sprints forward from afar, ducking under the flayerâs legs, then launches herself straight into its chest.
the monster howls, body convulsing.
âsheâs hurting it!â lucas yells.
âhow?â mike asks, stunned.
you shake your head, âno! sheâs fighting vecna. we need to helpânow!â
no one hesitates anymore since nancy volunteers herself as bait, drawing its attention as you pair with robin, steve with dustin, lucas with mike, and joyce stays with will.
you run hard toward a jagged cliffside, shotgun ready but you notice that jonathan freezes for a second when nancy darts past, mind flayer lunging after her.
âno, jonathan, no!â you grab his sleeve, âthereâs nothing we can doâcome on, please!â
he snaps out of it, turns, and runs with you and robin.
it works since eleven drives vecna back. after a long fight, and from the help of the group... vecna's body impales on one of the flayerâs own spears, pinned, bleeding black.
the monsterâs chest splits open, a wet gaping wound.
once you noticed that the mind flayer was dead, meaning vecna was too, you donât wait for another second before sprinting straight inside of the thing.
the interior is dying, with the walls of the flayer slowly throbbing, and slime dripping is from the ceiling in thick ropes.
you scan the supernatural sight with your heart in your throat.
âjodie!?â
you whip your lead to the left, and there on a caved platform of fused goo and flesh, a small shape lies cocooned in goo. right away, you notice the messy braids, and the familiar striped shirt now soaked through with her green overalls. your eyes widen, seeing the tentacle pulsing in her mouth.
dropping the shotgun, you sprint and tear at the slime with bare hands. it rips like wet paper, even though it was tough. the flesh opens with strength you didnât know you had.
you peel the covering away, and yank the tentacle free as jodieâs body slumps forward into your arms.
she was too heavy for your pained state, and steve reaches you in the next second, catching you both before you collapse with the unconscious girl.
he sinks to his knees, pulls you onto his lap so jodie lies across yours.
âjodie! jodie!â
youâre shaking, panting, tears already falling.
âjodie, pleaseââ
after five seconds, she coughs and it is hard, wet, violent. at the same time, her soft eyes flutter open with goo clinging to her lashes, and her cheeks, but itâs her alive.
ây/n? steve?â her voice is small, cracked, like sheâs not sure this isnât another trick from mr. whatsit.
âitâs us,â you sob-laugh, âitâs us, jodie, itâs us!â
steveâs voice breaks, âhey, kid.â
she stares, processing, then her face crumples.
jodie throws herself into you, arms locking around your neck as the three of you cling together crying messily while covered in slime. there is relief as the others work to free the rest of the kids around you.
the nine year old's sobs start soft against your shirt, then grow sharper and harder.
those cries start to feel different, and you notice the shift in her body. she goes from being relieved and relaxed to getting tense, with her tiny fingers digging into your back like sheâs afraid youâll vanish if she lets go even a little.
you pull back just enough to look at her and steveâs eyes meet yours over her head, worried.
âhey, baby,â you whisper, brushing slime-soaked hair from her face, âweâre here, and youâre okay.â
she jerks back suddenly, eyes wide and frantic, darting between your face and steveâs like sheâs waiting for the trap to spring.
âyou are.. b-but are you⊠are you letting me leave now? are you giving me back?â
your heart stutters, almost shocked at the outburst, âhuh? what? noâno, jodie, whatââ
âdonât lie!â her voice cracks high, almost like a scream as she scrambles half out of your lap, knees digging into the slime-slick floor, but her hands stay fisted in your shirt like lifelines, âyou saw the papers! you both saw them! two yearsâthatâs all it was supposed to be! two years and then they take me somewhere else to strangers who donât even know me! next week! itâs next week and youâre gonna let them!â
tears pour down her face faster than you can wipe them, mixing with the goo until her cheeks shine. jodie's whole body trembles violently as your hands shake with her.
âjodieââ steve starts, reaching for her, but she flinches like the touch might burn.
âplease,â she chokes out with her voice splintering, "please donât send me away. iâll be so good, I swear! i wonât talk back, i wonât ask for anything, iâll clean my room every day, iâll never complain about bedtime againâjust donât make me go! i canât⊠i canât do another house with another set of people who look at me like iâm broken or temporary or⊠or wrong. you two... you made me feel like I mattered and wanted me! I love the movie nights with popcorn fights, and I love when steve lets me sit on his shoulders at the fair. y/n I love when you sing me to sleep when the nightmares came back⊠i thought maybe, maybe this time it was real but being in here all alone... it felt like when my parents died.... like i was nothing again and forgotten. please. iâm begging you. donât let them take me! adopt me! keep me. forever. i donât want anyone else. i only want you! please, please, pleaseââ
jodie's words dissolve into wrenching sobs that shake her so hard you feel them in your own chest. sheâs curled in on herself now, forehead pressed to your collarbone, fists so tight in your shirt the fabric twists.
âdonât abandon me,â she whispers, over and over, barely audible, âdonât abandon me like everyone else would.... i canât⊠i canât lose you tooâŠâ
steveâs eyes are streaming, jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumps in his cheek. he wraps both arms around her from behind, cocooning her between the two of you.
âjodie. look at me.â
she doesnât at first since she is too scared... but he waits, patient even through his own tears.
finally she lifts her head, face blotchy and terrified.
âwe are not sending you anywhere,â he says, voice super low and soft, âwe are not giving you back. we are not letting anyone take you. you hear me? youâre ours. youâve been ours since the day you walked through our door with that little backpack and those big scared eyes. we already decided. weâre adopting you. legally and permanently. forever. there is no more two-year limits and no more foster anything. just us. just family. youâre never leaving. never.â
you nod, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs stroking through the mess on her cheeks.
âheâs right, baby. weâre keeping you for good. youâre our daughter now. no one else gets to have you. no one else gets to love you the way we do. youâre stuck with those movie nights, bad singing, and thunderstorms under the blankets, all of the things you love... forever.â
jodie's breath hitches, eyes searching yours like sheâs looking for the lie that has to be there.
âyou promise? you really promise? no tricks? no⊠no one coming to take me next week?â
âi swear on everything,â you say with your own voice breaking, âno oneâs coming. weâre signing the papers and weâre making it official. youâre staying since youâre home with us.â
the relief hits her like a physical blow as her face crumples again, but this time the sobs are different.
it is deep, cleansing, like something massive is finally cracking open and letting light in. she throws herself forward, burying her face in the crook of steveâs neck, arms wrapping around him so tight her knuckles go white.
âforever, stevie?â she mumbles into his shirt, voice muffled and small.
âforever,â steve whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. he rocks her gently, one hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
you stroke her slime-covered braids, gentle and steady with tears slipping down your own face as you watch her shoulders slowly stop shaking.
steve looks up at you over her head, eyes red-rimmed but shining with something unbreakable. he mouths the words silently.
i love you both.
you smile through the mess, through the tears, through the ache still burning in your ribs, and mouth back.
i love you both, too.
series masterlist
author's note: thank you so much for tuning into this series, it means the world to me and any reposts and like is highly appreciated <3 again, thank you
Steve Harrington had a dream, a silent yet big one: having a huge family of his own. Four, five, even six little Harringtons... and his dream girl on his side to raise them with all the love he has to give to the world. And here, this dream comes true <3
This will be Steve x fem!reader but no use of y/n!
Requests are open!
I will be adding the headcanons/blurbs/one shots as I publish them, but Iâll try to put them here in chronological order
Before having kids // With Their Kids
The Harrington Children (kid fic!)
How it came to be: Steve falling for the love of his life (set in 1985)
Jealous, much? (set in 1985)
Steve and his girl reunite at Family Video after the battle of Starcourt (set in 1985)
The night Steve and his girl confess their feelings for each other (set in 1985)
Steve's and his girl's reactions after their first kiss (set in 1985)
The day Steve's girl met Dustin Henderson (set in 1985)
The baby name incident (set in 1986)
Our last New Yearâs Eve as a family of three (set in the 1990âs)
Steve's and his girl's late night phone calls (set in 1986)
Steve meeting his girl's family (set in 1986)
The night Steve finally felt he belonged in a family, thanks to his girl (set in 1986)
A typical school morning at the Harrington household (set in the 2000's)
Saturdays with the Harrington family (set in the 2000's)
Steve's girl meets his parents... and it leads to Steve and his girl to say 'I love you' for the first time (set in 1986)
The day Steve and his girl learned they were having twins (set in the 1990's)
The birth of Steve Harrington's twin sons (set in the 1990's)
Steve and his girl find out they are expecting for the third time... right after having the twins (set in the 1990's)
Christmas at Casa Harrington - The first year with four little Harringtons (set in the 1990's)
The first time the twins don't do something together... and one of them suffers because of it (set in the 2000's)
Steve sneaking into his girl's room at her house for the first time (set in 1986)
Steve proposes to his girl (set in 1989)
The day Jo Harrington breaks a little (set in the 2000's)
Picture day for the Harrington children (set in the 1990's)
The day Max Mayfield accidentally rebrands Josephine into Jo (set in the 1990âs)
The day one of Steve's kids gets into advanced science classes, and Steve is an absolute mess (set in the 1990âs)
The anniversary trip that led to the existence of Theodore 'Theo' Harrington (set in the 1990âs)
Summary: Youâre in love with Steve and Robin says he feels the same way back. So why does Steve keep on choosing Nancy Wheeler over you? Why is he trying so hard to impress her?
Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader
Warnings: ANGST, heartbreak, cuss words, a little rude Steve, maybe more idkk SET IN SEASON 5 SO SPOILERS
pairing: steve harrington x reader
series summary: steve harrington used to be your other half. practically bonded at the hip since you were both in diapers, but when he starts high school the steve you once knew no longer seems to exist. instead he's been replaced by an ass who only seems to care about sports, parties, girls, and his popularity. when steve starts seeing your best friend nancy you're forced to face the one thing you've been running from â how you actually feel about steve. but with the disappearance of will byers and your other best friend barbara holland, you come to find out that things are not what they seem in hawkins and steve and you are forced to face more than just how you feel about each other.
warnings/includes: cursing, alcohol use, smoking, graphic depictions of death, bad childhoods, mental health issues, survivors guilt, 18+ sex scenes, ptsd, miscommunication x100, friends to strangers to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, angst, and the idea that love prevails all.
âââ ââ ââ â âââ
season one:
⥠chapter one
⥠chapter two
⥠chapter three
⥠chapter four
⥠chapter five
season two:
⥠chapter six
⥠chapter seven
⥠chapter eight
⥠chapter nine
⥠chapter ten
⥠chapter eleven
| DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE. reblogs are fine and appreciated! |
DISCLAIMER: in this story y/n is described as female, however it is up to you what she looks like!
after hawkins, indiana experiences the tragedy of will byers going missing, y/n hopper discovers that there is more to her life than grades and cigarette smoke. there's things she can't escape. things like secret labs, monsters, portals to other dimensions, and worst of all, her best friends boyfriend, steve harrington.
this is a slow burn fan fic that goes throughout all seasons of stranger things. steve and reader do get together eventually, i promise!
youâll be able to see what season im currently working on/have finished by if the episode titles are there or not for that season!
my masterlist
SEASON ONE:
the vanishing of will byers
the weirdo on maple street
holly, jolly
the body
the flea and the acrobat
the monster
the bathtub
the upside down
SEASON TWO:
madmax
trick or treat, freak
the pollywog
will the wise
dig dug
the spy
the lost sister
the mind flayer
the gate
SEASON THREE:
suzie, do you copy?
the mall rats
the case of the missing lifeguard
the sauna test
the flayed
e pluribus unum
the bite
the battle of starcourt
SEASON FOUR:
the hellfire club
vecna's curse
the monster and the superhero
dear billy
the nina project
the dive
the massacre at hawkins lab
papa
the piggyback
princess byers masterlist (steve harrington x byers!reader)
| DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE. reblogs are fine and appreciated! |
a stranger things rewrite in which...
y/n byers, the princess of hawkins high, has her world flipped upside down in one foul swoop. while dating the most popular guy in her school, steve harrington, she must work through a lot of distress. she juggles her baby brother going missing, her mom balancing on the edge of slightly insane, her other brother picking fights with her boyfriend, and the cherry on top, disgusting, previously un-heard of, monsters lurking in the town. the byers girl doesn't back down, however. not to monsters, not to government officials, and certainly not to her boyfriends awful friends. she'll do whatever it takes to defend the people she loves.
"your family's a disaster, your brother is missing, yet somehow, i'm the one getting yelled at? classic."
"screw you, steve."
"you already did, sweetheart."
my masterlist
season one:
the prologue
in progress!
season two:
coming soon!
season three:
coming soon!
season four:
coming soon!
season five:
coming soon!
a/n: i am so excited to write this story!! i am planning on it being a full rewrite, and don't worry... steve might seem like a bit of a jerk in this first blurb but he's going to be great. and i know i said to some of you that this wasn't going to come out until after my hopper!reader series is over, but i have been thinking about writing this non-stop, and so i at least wanted to get this idea out there! i am going to start the taglist now, so let me know if you want to join!!
ౚৠđđđđđđđ: before Hawkins High crowned him âKing Steve,â Steve Harrington was your best friend. the boy you biked home with after school, the boy who knew all your secrets, the boy who swore heâd never change. then freshman year happened. his new friends didnât like that he hung around someone so âpatheticâ, and Steve didnât defend you when they cornered you. one stupid moment of betrayal was all it took to end years of friendship. You hardened yourself, dropped the girl he once knew, and built a life where Steve Harrington no longer existed. but when Will Byers goes missing and your little brother Dustin starts acting suspicious, Hawkins becomes anything but normal. you start noticing strange lights, weird noises in the woods, and a mysterious girl hiding in the Wheeler's basement, and suddenly, Steve is everywhere again. you donât want anything to do with him, but the world is falling apart, Dustin is in danger, and Steve keeps proving he isnât the same coward who let you down years ago. as monsters crawl out of the dark and secrets unravel, old wounds reopen and so does the possibility that maybe Steve Harrington was never meant to stay out of your life.
ౚৠđđ: bullying, verbal harassment, language, violence, past betrayal, alcohol, parties, drugs, toxic relationships, abuse, manipulation, aggression, trauma, jealousy, possessive behavior, angst, canon character death, smut scenes (18+/skippable), normal stranger things stuff, (lmk if I missed anything!)
These are some facts that J.K.Rowling let slip in numerous interviews. Facts that tell us what all happened nineteen years later, with our three heroes, Harry, Ron, and Hermoine and other wonderful characters,
~George Weasley married Angelina Johnson and had 2 children named Fred and Roxanne.Â
~Harry made sure that the Wizarding world knew that Snape was a hero and on Dumbledoreâs side.
~Slytherin House became more diluted and was no longer solely pureblood; however its dark reputation lingers.Â
~Harry lost the ability to speak Parseltongue.Â
~Umbridge was arrested, interrogated and imprisoned for crimes against Muggleborns.
~The Resurrection Stone is now buried in the Forbidden Forest after being pressed into the ground by a centaurâs hoof.
~Â Voldemortâs curse on the DADA position at Hogwarts has been lifted.
~Viktor Krum fell in love with a woman back home in Bulgaria.
~The Death Eaterâs Dark Marks eventually faded to look like a scar. It will no longer burn or hurt.
~Â The Quibbler is back to publishing articles about the lunatic fringe & is appreciated for its unintentional humour.
~Members of the DA still have their coins, as they are like badges of honor.Â
~Neville Longbottom worked as an Auror before moving on as the Herbology professor at Hogwarts.
~The remaining Death Eaters were killed or imprisoned in Azkaban for their crimes, with the exception of the Malfoys.
~Luna Lovegood married the grandson of the Newt Scamander, author of âFantastic Beasts and Where to Find ThemâÂ
~Firenze survived his wounds and was welcomed back into the Centaur herd.
 ~Harry will never become Headmaster of Hogwarts since an academic career just isnât him.
~Hagrid was still working at Hogwarts by 2017, at 88 years old.
~Draco Malfoy really cares about his son, Scorpius Malfoy. He is growing him up to be a better person than he was.
~Centaurs realized that âpro-human leanings were not shameful.
~Draco and Harry never became friends, but they did come to understand and appreciate each other better.
~Hermione tells Scrimgeour that she is not planning to embark on a career in Magical Law. Ironically, thatâs where she ends up.
~After his death, Voldemort is forced to exist in the stunted infant-like form that Harry sees in the Kingâs Cross-like Limbo.
~Harry would take his family to visit Dudleyâs when they were in the neighbourhood (occasions dreaded by James, Albus and Lily).
~Aberforth is still at the Hogâs Head âplaying with his goatsâ.
~The number of Dementors have been greatly diminished because despair and degradation have been lessened in the world.
~Arthur Weasley fixed Siriusâ motorbike and gave it to Harry.
~Nineteen years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the school for witchcraft and wizardry is led by an entirely new headmaster (âMcGonagall was really getting on a bitâ) as well as a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. That position is now as safe as the other teaching posts at Hogwarts, since Voldemortâs death broke the jinx that kept a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor from remaining for more than a year.
~Hagrid never married, although he had a relationship with a giantess.
~Kingsley Shacklebolt became the Minister of Magic after the Second Wizarding War.
~Harry will not train to be an animagus; his âenergies are going to be concentrated elsewhere and heâs not going to have time to do that.
~Audrey Weasley is wife of Percy Weasley, and they both  have 2 daughters, Molly and Lucy.
~In the aftermath of the war, the Order was disbanded once and for all.
~Luna has twin boys named Lorcan and Lysander with Rolf Scamander.and apparently  travels the world, looking for mad creatures.
~Hermione advanced the rights of magical creatures & eradicated the old pro-pure-blood laws in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
~The head of the Auror Office as of 2007 is Harry Potter.
~Lavender Brown was attacked by Fenrir Greyback. Hermione saved her but she was already injured. What happened to her later on was never really told.
~Neville Longbottomâs students were impressed when he showed them his Dumbledoreâs Armyâs Coin.
~Harry, Ron and Neville didnât return to Hogwarts for their 7th year. They went straight to get training as aurors and Neville went to work as an auror before becoming a Professor.
~Harry sometimes visits Hogwarts to give talks on DADA.
~Hermione is Jamesâ godmother.
~Hermione Granger was the only member of the trio who returned to Hogwarts to complete their seventh year.
~Ron worked with George in WWW for some time and then became an Auror.
~Ginny became a professional Quidditch player for the Holyhead Harpies and become the senior Quidditch correspondent for the Daily Prophet.
~After the war, Hermione found her parents in Australia and restored their memories.
Maybe I'll make you see through my words and my actions exactly just how much you mean to me.
Neville Longbottom x Reader
Fluff, inspired by Pickle Bart (Mom Jeans)
Summary: You spend an afternoon in the presence of your lover, and have a sweet date <3
WC: 800+
Neville had patches on his jeans, crudely sewn-on squares with colorful gingham and polka dots, and pink, embroidered hearts that you always left on the back pockets of his trousers after fixing the rips and tears. The pair was too short for him, and thus it exposed the patches of skin above his mismatched socks, but he wore them with pride simply because you had mended them for him. You watched him in amusement as he carefully stepped around the edge of the Black Lake, the tall grass brushing against his exposed skin. He held a thick, leather-bound book in his fingers, although you were admittedly focusing more on how the soft rays of sunlight framed his handsome features rather than what he was holding. You could see the gentle slope and bump of his nose, and his jawline, which you loved to trace and caress with your finger.
You were content to watch his clumsy movements while you sprawled on a raggedy picnic blanket, underneath the shade of a pine tree. It was the typical, weekend date spot that the two of you frequented, for it allotted far more privacy than the courtyard or other areas surrounding the school.
You could tell that Neville was murmuring to himself as he focused, and as always, when he was focused he was never paying attention to where exactly he was walking. With one misstep, his sneakers slipped and it was a miracle that he picked himself up in time, for he had come close to teetering down a wet slope of mud into the frigid water of the Black Lake. His eyes shot to yours immediately once he straightened, and a nervous smile overtook his features as you began to giggle at his misfortune. Even from a distance, you could tell that the tips of his ears were flushing into a nasty shade of red, which quickly coursed down his cheeks until it reached his neck. He shyly beckoned you over, his heart thumping in his chest as you pulled yourself to your feet in order to stand at his side. The hairclips that you had clipped his shaggy, overgrown bangs back with were slightly crooked, and he politely shifted his head as soon as your hand shot up to fix them. He could read every movement that you made, for he was so terribly infatuated with every part of your being.Â
He cleared his throat after a moment of silence, the touch of your gentle fingers sending his heart into a frenzy. âI thought this⊠well, itâs only a non-magical plant, but I was sure it would grow around the lake. See, itâs in this muggle bookâŠâ
You shifted forward, your shoulder brushing against his as he pointed down at the letters and detailed drawings on the pages. He was looking for pondweeds, and despite the droll subject of his search, he spoke so passionately about the plant that it made your heart flutter. You could not help but observe his mouth as he talked, your eyes lingering on his perpetually chapped but surprisingly soft lips. You spent a moment too long imagining pressing your lips against his, because as soon as you had snapped out of your trance he had stopped talking completely. His hand scratched his cheek while he blinked down at you.
âIs there something on my face?â He inquired softly, closing his book and tucking it into his side. He was used to peopleâs disinterest when it came to Herbology, but the plain ignorance of his words hurt a lot more when it came from you. He craved your acceptance.Â
You were quick to quell his worries, however.Â
âNo, Neville, I was watching you because youâre just so pretty.â
âOh.â He straightened up, his cheeks growing pinker as you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. You could read his emotions as if he were mere words on a page, for he conveyed all that he felt through his quiet mannerisms and the infinitesimal shifts in his features.Â
âI got distracted by you, and Iâm sorry. Iâll listen this time,â You quickly added, your hand curling around his bicep and offering a reassuring squeeze. His face was liable to burn off from how horribly red it had grown, for he knew in that moment that he was wholly infatuated by you. He bit back a smile as he ducked his head, his hands immediately moving to thumb open the pages of his book once more.
You donât know how long he ranted to you, but you were content to listen to his sweet ramblings and the terrible jokes he occasionally added; he liked to awkwardly humor you in order to see the beautiful smile upon your face and to hear the sweet sounds of your laughter. It was a clear reassurance that, yes, you were dating him, and you did love him and wish to talk to him. There was nothing he valued more than security with you.Â
And he knew, despite once thinking that he would never find his special someone, that you were the only person in the world that he would ever love so dearly.
pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader
summary: you think itâs nothingâjust a one-off, a flukeâwhen bucky softens at the sight of a baby in your arms during a cookout. but then it keeps happening. babies at airports. babies on recon. babies in vending machine ads. and every time, he looks at you like youâre the answer to a question he hasnât asked out loud yet. he starts carrying gum âin case someoneâs kid gets fussy on a flight,â stares too long at tiny boots in store windows, and once, unironically, asks if your hypothetical child would like goats. youâre not dating. officially. no one knows. but youâve been sharing a bed for months and he makes you tea without asking and youâre starting to have dreams about pacifiers. heâs subtle about it. until heâs not. until heâs standing at a target, holding a baby hat like it cracked his ribs open, and says he wants a familyâwith you. not someday. now.
word count: 10.7k
content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, piv, oral (f! receiving), soft dom bucky, light bdsm undertones, bucky barnes being whipped (he gets the baby fever first let's bffr), kind of feral bucky, you think you guys are in a situationship when he's fully looking at baby registries, nipple play, yearning, angst, dirty talk, praise, overstimulation, self-induced angst, multiple orgasms, talks of pregnancy and starting a family, marathon sex, riding, fingering, body worship, size kink, bucky picks the reader up, he talks you through it, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie
notes: this is the most unhinged, feral thing i've ever written. i hope you enjoy!
The baby gets handed to you like a bread basket.
No warning, no instruction manual. Just, âHere, can you hold her for a sec?â from someoneâone of the off-duty OXE staff maybe, or someoneâs civilian cousin. You donât catch a name, just a flurry of motion, and thenâ
Sheâs in your arms.
Somehow, between the last debrief and the next recon drop, a grill appeared in the Watchtower's rooftop patio, along with several folding chairs, a cooler full of Avengers-branded soda, and one slightly charred volleyball. You suspect Val had something to do with it. Some psychological team-building exercise disguised as a cookout.Â
Either way, youâre here.
Sheâs maybe seven months old, squishy-cheeked and furrow-browed, in a tiny Sentry onesie. Her hair is an indecisive wisp of something light brown, fine and floaty like thistle down, and her eyesâheavy-lidded, contemplativeâregard you as though youâre a particularly uninspiring segment of the Discovery Channel.
âSheâsâuh,â you say, because your brainâs buffering. âHi?â
âHey,â you say again, dumbly.
Next to you, Bucky lowers his beer so slowly itâs like watching a magic trick. He blinks once, then again, like heâs not sure youâre real or the baby is. Possibly both.
âWhatâwhyâdid you steal a baby?â he asks.
âShe was just handed to me.â
You shift, trying to get comfortable. Sheâs a solid little thing, warm like a fresh loaf of bread, and her hand is currently fisting your collar with alarming purpose. Your shirt stretches under the assault.
Buckyâs still staring. You can feel itâlike a sunlamp trained directly at your temple. His mouth is parted slightly. One finger taps against the side of his bottle, rhythmically, unconsciously.
âSheâs fine,â you say. âIâm holding her fine, right?â
âYeah. No, yeah. You lookâgood.â
You glance at him. His eyes snap up to yours, then away again, like they touched something they werenât supposed to. The tips of his ears are pink.
You almost say somethingâtease him, maybeâbut the baby chooses that moment to yawn, a full-body, jaw-cracking affair. She snuggles closer into your chest, small cheek pressing into the fabric of your shirt, and suddenly itâs less funny.
Bucky tilts his head, unreadable. âShe trusts you already.â
âSheâs a baby,â you say, trying to shrug it off. âShe trusts anyone with a pulse.â
âNo. She knows,â he says, like itâs a settled fact. His gaze lingers on the place where her fingers clutch your shirt, and thenâslowlyâdrifts back to your face.
You feel that look all the way down your spine.
The barbecue hums around youâlow, uneven, weirdly domestic for a group like this. Someoneâs burned the corn on the grill again (probably Walker, judging by the smoke and the defensive muttering). Yelenaâs holding court by the picnic table, sunglasses perched on her head, force-feeding Bob the worldâs most questionable potato salad and narrating it like a cooking show. Alexeiâs seated in a folding chair two sizes too small, already shirtless and red-faced, beer in hand, yelling something about meat science. Ava is off to the side, calmly reading the nutrition label on a bag of marshmallows like it might be a coded message.
But you and Bucky are caught in this little bubble. A stillness between the beats. The baby, breathing softly. Bucky, watching you like the moment means something more than heâs prepared to admit.
She shifts in your arms. Grunts. You adjust your hold, and Bucky makes a small, strangled noise.
âShe good?â you ask.
âSheâsâsheâs got a strong neck,â he says, as though thatâs a compliment. Then, after a second. âYouâre really good with her.â
âYouâve seen me hold her for thirty seconds.â
âStill.â
You hold his gaze a beat longer than you should. Itâs soft, something unguarded in it. You remember, vaguely, hearing Steve say once that Bucky used to watch people the way most men look at stars. Like there was something miraculous in the simple fact of their existence.
You think maybe youâre beginning to understand what he meant.
âShe wants you,â you say, mostly to break the tension. The baby is reaching now, hands grasping toward the collar of Buckyâs henley like sheâs on a tiny mission.
He stiffens. âShe what?â
âSheâs targeting you. Consider it payback for all that glaring you did at the diaper bag earlier.â
âI wasnât glaring,â he says. âI wasâŠassessing.â
You arch an eyebrow. âWell, sheâs assessing you back. Here. Take her.â
You donât give him a choice. You carefully shift the baby into his arms, and despite all his protesting, he takes her like heâs afraid sheâll breakâgently, like someone handed him a fragile truth.
For a moment, he just stands thereâawkward, tense, unsure. His left arm, the vibranium one, catches the light in hard, gleaming lines. But then she sighs, her head lolls toward his shoulder, and his body reacts before his mind doesâhe cradles her closer, shifts to support her neck, leans in slightly like heâs listening to her breathe.
A hush settles around you.
âSheâs warm,â he murmurs.
âThatâs a good sign. Youâd know if she was cold. Babies are very vocal about injustice.â
His eyes donât leave the babyâs face. Those eyesâstormcloud blue, too old for his face, always a little waryâare softened now. They flick across her tiny features like heâs reading scripture. Absorbed. He sways just slightly, unconsciously, like some long-dormant instinct is waking up in his bones. âSheâs got little eyelashes,â he says, like itâs the strangest thing heâs ever seen.
âSheâll grow into them,â you say softly. âIt happens.â
Heâs silent a long time. The baby squeaks in her sleep and tugs at the collar of his shirt.
âSheâs⊠safe,â he says, the word delicate on his tongue. âYou can feel it, canât you? Like the whole world isnât so bad. Justâquiet, for once.â
Your chest aches.
He glances at you then, and for a split second, he looks completely vulnerable. Like thereâs something perched just behind his teeth that he doesnât know how to say.
You step closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough for proximity to pass as intimacy.
âBucky.â
He doesnât look away from you.
âI think youâd be good at it,â you say quietly. âThe whole dad thing.â
You watch the thought settle on himâslow and heavy, like snowfall. He blinks, once. Breathes in, shallow. His jaw shifts, like he might say something and doesnât. And thenâ
âIâd want you there,â he says.
Itâs not casual. Not joking. Just... real. A plain sentence, stripped of armor.
You freeze. The baby exhales against your collarbone like sheâs aware of the moment and giving it space. Bucky, for his part, looks like heâs just handed you something delicate and possibly flammable.
âOh,â you say, brilliant as ever.
And he nods. Thatâs it. A small thing. But he looks weirdly shell-shocked by the admission, like heâd surprised himself saying it aloud. Like he hadnât even meant to. His smile comes after, slow and stunned and slightly lopsidedâalmost sheepish, as if he's staring straight at the sun and canât quite believe itâs warm.
Then her parentâs voice breaks through, all cheerful gratitude. âHeyâthanks! I just needed a sec.â
You watch Bucky blink back into the moment, his hands reluctant as they ease from the babyâs back. He doesnât quite give her up at first. His fingers linger on the edge of her onesie like theyâre memorizing the feel of it. When he does let go, itâs too slow to be casual.
Just like that, the babyâs gone. The space she took up in your arms feels heavier now that itâs empty.
You glance sideways. So does he. But you donât quite meet in the middle.
Instead, you reach for a napkin and hand it over wordlessly. He accepts it like itâs a diplomatic gesture, dabbing at the drool spot on his shoulder with a sort of distraction.
âShe liked you,â you offer, voice quieter than you meant it to be.
His lips quirk. A ghost of a grin. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
Thereâs a silence after thatâlonger than it needs to be. Not uncomfortable, just... spacious. Like itâs waiting for someone to step into it. Neither of you do.
Then Bucky clears his throat. âWanna go in on a pack of bibs?â
You blink. âWhat?â
He shrugs, suddenly preoccupied with smoothing the napkin along his leg. âJustâyou know. For next time.â
You almost laugh. You want to. But something in your chest goes soft instead.
âYeah,â you say. âSure. Next time.â
.
Everyone else calls you âthe new Avengers.â Valentina prefers to call you just "the Avengers," like saying it with enough fake reverence will make people forget it started as a Hail Mary branding ploy and ended with supernatural darkness swallowing half of New York.
You still call it the Thunderbolts in your head. Not out of loyalty. Just because it fits better.
Technically, you werenât supposed to be on the roster. Neither was Bucky. He was busy playing congressmanâpressed suits, policy meetings, public appearances where he looked like heâd rather be fighting a bear. He wasnât exactly thrilled about the job, but it was penance, or progress, or both, depending on who you asked. Youâd been benched too, in a less official capacity. Tactical reassignment, they said, which is just HR speak for âwe donât know what to do with you yet.â
But then Bob Reynolds cracked in half like a cosmic wishbone. And everything went sideways.
They needed people who could navigate pocket dimensions without losing their minds. People who wouldnât balk at the Void whispering their worst memories back to them in surround sound. People who could get in and out of a childhood bedroom that wasn't theirs, and still say the right thing.
So now youâre here. In a Watchtower with folding chairs and lunchboxes with your face on them. With a new badge and a code name you didnât pick. With Bob, whose grip on sanity is improving in inches. With Ava, who can barely look at light too long without phasing through it. With Alexei, whoâs taken to shirtless speeches and the New Avengers merch like a religion. With Walker, who somehow thinks this is a promotion.
And Bucky.
You donât talk about what you are.
Thereâs no label. No neat little term to slot yourselves under, no status update or whispered confession over pillowcases. No oneâs dared to say the word ârelationship,â and yet youâve brushed your teeth side by side, curled instinctively toward each other in sleep, passed cups of coffee back and forth like currency. Youâve learned each otherâs silences. Memorized the geography of old scars. He knows how you like your eggs. You know when his silence means donât ask and when it means please.
Itâs not nothing. It never was.
Youâre just not telling the others. Not because youâre ashamedâgod, noâbut because itâs yours. And because once the world knows something, it stops being sacred. It becomes strategy. Becomes leverage. People like Valentina will smile too wide and call it a liability. Alexei will make a crass joke. Walker will ask for details.
Itâs easier this way. Quieter. Unnamed, it canât be ruined.
And besidesâyou donât even know what to call it. What to call him, when itâs three a.m. and heâs tucked behind you in bed, breath warm against your neck, arm slung around your waist like he doesnât even realize heâs doing it.Â
Buckyâs not a man who rushes things. He moves slow, careful, like heâs learned the cost of wanting too much. And youâyouâve never let someone all the way in without already picturing the exit wound.
But moments like earlierâwhen he held that baby like she was breakable and looked at you like you were the answer to a question he hadnât meant to askâtheyâre getting harder to ignore.
You donât think about it. Not actively.
You just⊠catalog. Silently. Carefully. Like a squirrel with emotional acorns.
.
Itâs past midnight when you find him again in the kitchen.
You knew heâd be here. You always do.
Thereâs leftover risotto on the stove and a mostly full bottle of red wine on the counter. Heâs sitting at the tiny table like itâs a church pewâhunched a little, fork in hand, bare feet braced on the cold tile floor. His hoodie is soft with age, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, and the vibranium arm glints under the light. His hairâs still damp from the shower.
He looks up when you pad inâdoesnât startle, doesnât flinch. Just finds you with those soft, sleep-starved eyes like heâs been waiting for you. âYouâre up.â
âSo are you,â you say, sliding into the chair across from him. âCould smell garlic from my room.â
âI put more cheese in it this time,â he says, with the quiet pride of a man whoâs learned domesticity through stubborn practice and YouTube videos.
You reach for the wine, pouring yourself half a glass. The silence between you is familiar. Easy. Itâs the kind that grows roots.
âBad dream?â you ask.
âYeah,â he says.
You nod. You donât ask about it.
Instead, âYou always this good at risotto?â
âFirst one was basically wallpaper paste,â he admits. âSam said it was fine. His sister actually cried.â
You snort, half-choked on your sip. âCried?â
âShe got emotional. Said she saw God in a grain of arborio.â
Youâre still grinning when he pushes the pot toward you with a silent offer. You help yourself, spooning some into a mismatched bowl. Itâs warm. Comforting. Rich with butter andâyeah, definitely more cheese.
Thisâthis is your favorite version of him. Not the soldier. Not the team lead or the briefing-room strategist. Just Bucky. Tired and soft-eyed in the kitchen, humming low when he stirs a pot. Still, in a way that feels rare and deliberate.
You think about the baby again from earlier. About the way he looked at her. How his whole body went still, but his eyes went soft, like heâs seeing something he misses but canât remember.
You stir your wine with a finger. Casual. Not casual at all.
âIâve been thinking,â you start, mostly just to fill the space. âWeird day, huh?â
His brow ticks up, a silent question.
âThat baby,â you say. âShe just⊠latched on. Like I was made of Velcro.â
Thereâs a beat.
âShe liked you,â he says. Quietly. Not teasing. Just honest.
You huff a small laugh, not quite hearing the undertone. âShe drooled on me. Thatâs practically a proposal.â
But he doesnât smile.
Heâs looking at you the same way he looked at the babyâstill, like something cracked open and never quite resealed. You miss it entirely. Instead, you sip your wine and stretch your legs beneath the table, toes brushing his. âBut, I mean, you held her like a pro. Natural instincts, huh?â
His gaze lingers on you for a moment more before dropping to his bowl. He stirs it slowly, the motion absent.
âI used to think Iâd have a bunch.â
That surprises you, but he keeps going.
He smiles a little, faint and crooked. âBack when I was just some punk from Brooklyn. Thought Iâd get married. Have a couple kids. A porch swing. You know. The American Dream.â
âWhat changed?â you ask, voice gentler than you meant.
He shrugs. âEverything. Time. Who I became.â
You nod slowly. Try not to let your chest cave in.
âRebecca used to say Iâd be a good dad,â he adds. âShe said I was good with her dolls.â
âYour sister?â
He nods. Thereâs a glow in his eyes nowâfaint, faraway. âShe was eight years younger. I helped raise her, after my ma got sick. Used to walk her to school, do her hair. She liked braids. I wasnât good at âem, but I tried.â
You try to picture itâBucky, hair slicked back, hands clumsy with a brush, coaxing bows into place on a giggling childâs head.
Your lips twitch. âBraids?â
âBad ones.â He finally glances at you, mouth quirking faintly. âShe called âem âbuckle braids.â Said they looked like seatbelts.â
You laugh, unexpected. He ducks his head, a little embarrassed, but you miss the way his eyes stay on you too long.
âSheâs still alive, isnât she?â you ask softly.
He nods. âWe talk. Itâs⊠complicated. A lotta years between us now.â
Thereâs another pause.
You donât fill it. You just watch him, lit gold by the stovetop light, swirling his water like itâs something stronger. He looks far away in that momentânot guarded, not distracted, just... elsewhere. Like his mind is somewhere quieter, and heâs trying to remember how it felt to live there.
He looks like a man trying to remember a life that feels more like a dream.
You think about the look on his face earlier, when that baby yawned and curled into your chest. How heâd watched like he couldnât quite breathe. Like heâd seen something he wanted and couldnât name. And yeahâokayâit tugged at something in you too, sure. But not like it did to him. Heâs still in it. Still holding on to the ghost of that moment with both hands, even now.
You look at himâsoft in a hoodie and bathed in golden light, cheeks pink from wine and warmth and maybe something elseâand your chest twists with something slow and awful. The kind of ache that leaves no bruise.
And still. You push your bowl toward him and say, âOkay, fine. Iâll admit it. This is good.â
He snorts, low. âTold you. Not totally helpless.â
âMm,â you hum. âJuryâs still out.â
But your smile lingers, even as your heart doesnât know where to settle.
You donât talk about babies again. Not directly.
But when you both stand to rinse the dishes, you brush past him and say, âFor the record⊠I bet youâd nail braids now.â
And his ears go pink.
You pretend not to see. Because if you doâif you look too closelyâyou might not be able to keep pretending you donât know what all of this means.
.
âI want ten of my babies. Obviously.â Ava dips a fry into mustard with the kind of grim determination usually reserved for defusing bombs. âDifferent thing.â
Youâre all at the diner again. It started as a jokeâsomething Walker demanded once after a particularly grim mission, swearing by the restorative power of bacon and drip coffeeâand somehow, it stuck. Now itâs tradition: post-debrief pancakes, a rotating cast of bruises and black eyes crowding into a corner booth thatâs definitely too small. No oneâs sure when it became sacred, but no one skips it, either.
The baby talk started againâsomehow inevitablyâbecause of the mission.Â
A standard evac turned sideways. Smoke, rubble, a collapsed stairwell. Someone heard crying. Alexei went full Terminator through a wall. And when the dust cleared, there he wasâcoughing soot and holding a six-month-old like it was a live grenade. The baby didnât even cry. Just blinked and drooled and grabbed Alexeiâs nose like he owed him money.
It shouldâve been a footnote in the mission report. It turned into a full-on debate about parental instincts, fight-or-flight hormones, and who would actually survive trying to raise a baby while doing this job.
From there, it was only a matter of time before Ava declared her hypothetical soccer team of spawn with a kind of detached confidence that suggested sheâd already drawn up the chore wheel.
You nod slowly, as if thatâs a normal sentence to hear over diner food at 9 a.m. on a Thursday. âDifferent thing,â you echo, like that explains anything.
Thereâs a pause filled only with the faint sizzle of a kitchen grill and the shriek of someoneâs child two booths over. Youâre content to let the silence stretch, to keep spooning eggs into your mouth like a sane person, until John leans back. His arm stretches across the vinyl booth with the exaggerated flair of a man who thinks heâs charming. He tilts his head toward you like heâs about to ask for a kiss, and then drops the bomb.
âWhat about you? Ever think about having kids?â
Your fork pauses mid-scramble. You blink. Once, then again, slower. The question isnât newâitâs just never been aimed quite so directly at your throat before.
And somewhere in your mind, like a coin dropping into a well, you hear Buckyâs voice again.
âI used to think Iâd have a bunch.â
The memory curls in your chest like a secret.
âSure,â you say finally, and it comes out like a shrug in sentence form. âSounds like fun. You know. In a nightmarish, identity-altering kind of way.â
John grins like youâve handed him a gift. âHey, I know a guy if youâre interested.â
âOh?" you deadpan, already regretting it.
âBanked some before deployment, real clean record, full medicalââ
Thereâs a sound beside you. Ceramic on laminate. Not a crashâmore of a punctuation mark. You glance over.
Buckyâs hand rests on his coffee cup like heâs trying to stop it from shivering apart. The cupâs rim taps against the table once, sharp and accidental. His face doesnât move. Doesnât look at you, or at John. He stares into the coffee like itâs a black hole that might finally suck him in, if he just glares hard enough.
Walker doesnât notice. Or pretends not to, which is maybe worse.
You shift slightly, angle your body just enough to catch Buckyâs profile. Not his eyesâheâs not giving you that. But you see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his thumb presses against the handle like itâs either that or throwing the cup against the wall. He breathes, slow and heavy, like heâs counting to ten. Like ten isnât enough.
And youâidiot that you areâyou feel it too. That low, aching pull at the thought of him with that baby. How natural heâd been. How soft his voice had gone. And how, for one weird, echoing second, youâd let yourself imagine it. Not just him with a child. But him with yours.
(Itâs a thought you shouldn't let live, but it does anywayâburrows in, sharp and hungry. Heâd be such a good father. Steady hands, steady voice, a tenderness in him that most people never get to see. Youâd watched it spark to life like muscle memory, something old and unforgotten.Â
And then, because your brain is a traitor, the thought tiltsâwhat it would feel like to give him that. To give him that child. Not some hypothetical future, not a vague maybe someday. You. Him.Â
That kind of closeness. That kind of permanence.Â
The weight of him over you, inside you, something rough and reverent and completely undoing. It knocks the air from your lungs before you can even feel it coming.Â
You imagine his voice rough and lowâyouâd look so fuckinâ good like this, heâd murmur, hands spreading over your stomach, already possessive. Full of me. Mine. You imagine his mouth, soft and reverent between your thighs, saying let me make you a mom, like itâs the last sane thought in his head.
And youâwell, now you're sitting in a diner booth trying to pretend you didnât just think the words âlet me make you a momâ while someoneâs child screams three feet away. Youâre not proud. You are, in fact, actively praying for death. Or coffee. Whichever comes first.
So you do what you do best. You pivot.)
âAnyway,â you say, louder now, aiming your voice like a dart at Walkerâs oblivious skull. Making sure your voice is light enough to convey that there isn't a world that it would ever happen with him. âLet me know if your guy offers a bulk discount. Iâll take two or three. Maybe four if they come pre-housebroken.â
John laughs. âFirst five are free. They just start billing you in sleep and soul erosion.â
Bucky finally moves. Not much. Just enough to slide the cup an inch back toward the middle of his placemat, like maybe now itâs safe. Like maybe no one noticed.
Youâd like to kick John under the table. Just enough to shut him up. Just enough to let Bucky breathe.
Instead, you swirl your fork through yolk and wait for someone else to speak. Hope to someone out there that this whole baby thing will be put to rest.
.
But that day was just the start.
You donât know if something cracked open in the universe or if Bucky secretly bartered a piece of his soul to a baby-loving deity in exchange for emotional clarity, but suddenlyâitâs like the planet has been overrun. Babies. Everywhere. Strollers, carriers, those ridiculous kangaroo pouches. Toddlers with juice mustaches and light-up shoes. Infants in tiny sunglasses.
Worse, youâre always with him when it happens.
It starts innocently enough. Youâre on stakeout. The intel turns out to be garbageâno targets, no movement, just an empty building and a guy who mightâve been Hydra or mightâve just been bad at directions. Youâre about to call it when Bucky⊠stops walking.
No explanation. Just freezes on the sidewalk.
You turn, squinting. âWhat? You see something?â
And then you hear it. A laugh. Tiny. High-pitched. Pure. You scan the street and there it is: a baby in a stroller, arms flailing with chaotic joy, pink beanie slipping sideways on her round little head. Her mom is pushing her like itâs just a Tuesday. But Buckyâhe crouches. Hands on his knees. Watching like heâs stumbled across the Ark of the Covenant.
âThatâs a good laugh,â he mutters, almost reverently. âThatâs⊠like a top-tier laugh.â
You blink. âYou ranking baby laughs now?â
He doesnât answer. Just keeps watching. Like the baby might do it again. Like heâs rooting for her.
You nudge him with your elbow. âWant me to get you a ringtone?â
He says nothing. His silence is telling.
Then it escalates.
Buenos Aires. Late afternoon. The heatâs syrupy, everything sunstruck and slightly too bright. Youâre waiting for the decryption key to finish runningâloitering under a chipped awning while the team fans out down the block, pretending to be tourists. Youâre halfway through a warm soda and reading something in Spanish when Bucky drifts up beside you.
You donât look at him. Youâve learned not to. He does this thing sometimesâleans in close enough for his shoulder to brush yours, says nothing at all, and just exists like a slow-burn fire youâre pretending not to feel.
This time, itâs worse. He gestures toward a store window. Shoes. Not just any shoesâtiny tactical boots, scaled down like someone was kitting out the junior division of the Avengers. Rugged soles, reinforced stitching, little laces that look too delicate for real fieldwork but too precise to be anything but serious gear. Theyâre absurd. Theyâre perfect.
âYou think they make those in toddler size 5?â
You turn. Slowly. Give him the full weight of your skepticism. âPlanning to outfit your own baby militia?â
He shrugs. Casual. Easy. Too easy. âJust wondering. Hypothetically.â
But then his eyes flick toward youâjust for a beat. Like heâs measuring something. Like heâs waiting for a reaction you donât know youâre giving.
You keep walking. Pretend not to feel your heart skip unevenly.
And it becomes a pattern. A weird, creeping, almost endearing pattern. Youâre raiding safehouses, rerouting encrypted intel, shaking a tail in Prague, and somehow Bucky is the one lingering in front of vending machines, pointing at squeezable yogurt pouches like theyâre alien tech.
âThese have the little resealable caps,â he says, deadpan. âFor babies, I think. Smart.â
You blink. âYou want one?â
âNo,â he says, looking thoughtful. âJustâclever design. Kid-friendly.â
You stare. He shrugs. Again. Itâs becoming suspicious. Too real.
.
Later, itâs dark. Safehouse. Everyone asleep or pretending to be. You and Bucky are curled in the guest room thatâs technically yours but hasnât been solo occupancy in weeks.Â
Heâs already touching you before your brain catches up. Warm fingers ghosting under your shirt, calloused and rough, sliding over your ribs like heâs taking inventory of your soft places. Youâre breathing shallowly before he even kisses you, your body already recognizing this as surrender.
There was a time when you thought Bucky would be a gentleman.
Reserved. Polite. Old-world chivalry repackaged in tactical black. Youâd imagined he was probably hesitant in bed, at first. Careful. The type to ask twice, maybe three times, before putting his hands anywhere remotely close to where youâd actually want them. You thought heâd kiss softly. Whisper his affections like prayer. You thoughtâfoolishlyâthat his stillness was quiet.
Itâs not.
Itâs restraint. Caged hunger. A man constantly one flick away from wrecking you completely.
Because Bucky doesnât fuck like a soldier. Or a hero. He fucks like a man starved. Like heâs spent entire decades in lockdown with nothing but the memory of heat, and youâre the only warmth heâs ever wanted. Heâs filthy in the way that makes your ears ring. Filthy in the way he moans your name when heâs too far gone to realize heâs saying it out loud.
Filthy in the way he says please.
Thatâs the worst part. The please.
Please kiss me, sweetheart. Please, let me stay in a little longer. Please, donât stop. Please, Iâll be good. Please, have my kiâYou gasp. He hasn't said that last part. You can't entertain that.
âRemember that time in Bolivia?â he murmurs, more statement than question, voice a gruff rasp against your throat. âWhen I fucked you against the wall and I had to put my hand against your mouth, becauseâJesusâbecause you were being too loud?â
You tried to open your mouth. You usually have some sort of witty remark. But tonight his hand is trembling a little, and your chestâs too full of ache to joke.
"We can't do that here, sweetheart. I need you to stay quiet for me. Can you do that without my help?"
Itâs always like thisâa little desperate, a little unhinged. Like you both know it canât mean what it means and keep doing it anyway. A nightly game of chicken with the truth.
Your legs spread, obscene, filthy, and soakedâgiving him just the right view. He ducks down underneath in a flash, tongue swiping out before he does so, the pink flesh needy and hungry. The flutter of his eyelashes as he takes you in and wraps your legs around his face.
And when he pushes his tongue inside you, itâs slow. Not teasing. Not lazy. Just deliberate. Like heâs trying to stayâinside you, with you, in the moment.
Your hands are in his hair, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, and thenâmidway through a breath, a moan, a whisper of his nameâhis hand slides up.
Spreads across your stomach.
Not rough. Not possessive.
Settled.
Justâthere.
Like heâs holding a thought.
His thumb traces one slow arc across your skin. Then another. Circling your navel like heâs drawing a map. Or casting a spell. You donât even register it until his breath stutters.
You freezeâjust for a secondâbut he doesnât stop moving. Doesnât stop looking at you, either. You look down and his eyes are dark, wide, wrecked. Like heâs trying to rein it in. Like heâs already failing.
âJesus,â he murmurs, half-strangled, pulling away from your cunt long enough for you to see the long, shimmering streak that connects his mouth to you. âYouâdâfuck, youâd look so perfect like this.â
You blink down at him, too far gone to process. âLike what?â
He doesnât answer. Just looks at youâlike he wants to say it. Like the words are climbing up his throat and heâs fighting to keep them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh instead, then to your core, mouth hot and desperate.
âSorry,â he breathes. âI justââ
Youâre not stupid.
But you are, maybe, willfully stupid. Denialâs easier than everything else. Safer. You pull his head closer instead, scratch at his hair, drag him deeper into your legs feels like you're trying to climb out of your own skin.
Come inside me, come inside me, the thought, intrusive and loud and irrational, echoes in your head, even as he wrenches your first orgasm of the night from you. You watch as he licks up the remnants from between your legs, then the way his tongue darts out to catch the streaks around his stubble.
And you think, with a sense of finality, that you're fucking doomed.
.
It doesnât help that the rest of the team is starting to notice. Yelenaâs not subtleâsheâs taken to raising her brows whenever you and Bucky so much as walk in the same direction. Alexei hums under his breath sometimes, low and vaguely ominous, usually something about âstrong bloodlinesâ or âresilient genetics,â just loud enough to make your skin prickle. Even Val, smug and sharp-eyed, had that moment last week where she looked between the two of you, then at the empty supply room, and muttered, âBetter not be rearranging furniture in there.â
The thing isâyou and him have always been subtle. Always toeing the line but never stepping over.
Except now, lately, that subtlety is starting to unravel. Not in big ways, but in increments. A slip of tone. A lingering look. The way he doesnât bother disguising the softness in his voice when he says your name. Itâs like heâs decidedâquietly, firmly, permanentlyâthat youâre it. And heâs just waiting for you to catch up.
Itâs in the little things.
He starts carrying gum in his pocket âin case someoneâs kid gets antsy on a flight.â He asks if the noise-canceling headphones in your shared gear bag might work for toddlers. He watches you when you pick up a fallen pacifier at a rest stop, eyes going all soft at your hands, like heâs imprinting something in his head he doesnât quite understand.
Then, during a recon op, he nudges you awake after you dozed off in the back of a surveillance van. âYou sleep like a baby,â he says quietly.
You think he means it as a compliment, but your heart flips and your brain short-circuits, and you spend the rest of the mission wondering if heâs trying to tell you something or if youâre going insane.
(You do not, in fact, sleep like a baby. You drooled on the armrest. He said nothing.)
Weeks pass. Missions blur. The baby sightings continue like clockwork. You start to brace for them. For Buckyâs inevitable sighs. For the way his expression slips into something almost wistful.
Youâre trained to read microexpressions. He should know this. You see itâthe way his jaw softens, the way his shoulders fall just enough to say I want this. Not now, maybe. But someday.
And more terrifying: the way he keeps looking at you. Like youâre part of that someday.
And Godâhow could he?
How could he look at you like that?
Youâre good at the quiet things. The watching, the stitching-up. The banter. The fight, when you have to. But youâve never known what it means to build something that doesnât involve exit strategies or a go-bag tucked under the bed.
Bucky⊠he deserves someone solid. Someone whoâs not half a shadow. Whoâd instinctively know how to hold a baby without second-guessing. Whoâd have a laugh that sounded like Sunday mornings, and hands that were always warm. Someone who could braid a childâs hair without worrying theyâd pull too hard. Someone kind. Someone permanent.
Not someone like you.
Youâre not sure if he even sees the difference. Youâre not sure if he knows heâs dreaming with his eyes open when he looks at you like that.
But you do.
You just pretend it doesnât mean anything. Because if it doesâif heâs looking at you like he already knows, like heâs already chosenâ
Well.
Youâre not ready for that kind of fallout.
Not yet.
.
The worstâby farâis the petting zoo in Nebraska.
Youâre there under completely fabricated cover identities. Something about an eco-terrorist cell operating out of an adjacent farm-to-table cheese shop. Youâve both got sunglasses and fake names and those little earwig communicators that make you feel like youâre in Mission Impossible. Youâre trying to be inconspicuous.
But then you pass the small animal enclosure.
Thereâs a toddler up ahead, perched on her dadâs shoulders like a giggling parrot. She squealsâdelightedâat the sight of the baby goats, then gets lowered gently down so she can feed them through the fence. Her little fingers curl around the bars, one of the goats licks her hand, and she lets out a laugh so pure and shrill and untouched by the horrors of modern living that it actually makes your chest hurt.
You donât even register it at firstâjust the absence of footsteps beside you. Then you glance back.
Heâs standing there, completely still, like heâs been struck by divine intervention. Like that baby goat and that toddler just rewired something deep in his old brain. His expression is unguarded in a way that makes your stomach tilt. Soft and stunned.
He doesn't even pretend to be focused on the mission anymore.
And thenâthenâhe turns to you. The most serious he's ever been. Eyes locked on yours.
âDo you think ours would like goats?â
You nearly choke on your lemonade. Actually choke. You cough once, twice, like your lungs are trying to escape your body. âWhat?â
And itâs not just the questionâitâs the way he says it. Our kid. Not flippant. Not ironic. Not followed by a wink or a smirk or even a shy smile. Just fact.Â
âI said,â he repeats, casually, clearly, like itâs the most normal thing in the world, âhypothetically, would our kid be into goats.â
You just stare at him. Youâve stopped trying to be cool about this. The number of times heâs said our baby with absolute, unsettling conviction has reached what can only be described as a statistically significant trend.
âI donât know, Bucky,â you say, rubbing your temples. âI think most hypothetical babies are goat neutral until proven otherwise.â
He hums. Actually hums, like heâs storing that away. âMakes sense. We'll have to test it early. Build a baseline.â
âStop,â you say, pointing a finger at him like that might restore order to the universe. âYouâre not serious.â
His eyes flick to yours. And thereâs no twinkle there. No smile. Just this steady, almost stubborn kind of affectionâso open it knocks the wind out of you.
"You said Iâd be good at it,â he says, voice low, so only you can hear. âThe whole dad thing.â
You open your mouth. Then close it. Then open it again like a very confused fish. Because you remember saying it. You remember the patio, the way the baby curled into his chest. The kitchen, the risotto, the late hour and the way heâd talked about braiding Rebeccaâs hair. You remember the quiet ache in your chest, the one thatâs back now, curling tighter.
And you donât know what the hell to say. You really donât. Because heâs looking at you like heâs already imagined the whole damn life and decided it was worth every scar. Like heâs already picked out the parts of himself he wants to give a kidâthe kindness, the patience, the rebuilt softnessâand buried the rest.
So you make a joke. Mask it. Swallow the quake in your throat and reach for levity like itâs body armor.
âWell, if the goat thing doesnât work out, we can always try hamsters,â you say. âLow stakes. Contained mess. Give Yelena's little guy a friend.â
The goat bleats behind you. Bucky doesnât flinch. Just watches you like he's still waiting for an answerâa real answerâthat you're not sure how to give.
You move on.
.
It finally breaks in a Target.
Of course it does.
Youâre on a supply run for the team. Technically, this is all mission prep and there's assistants for things like thisâmed supplies, energy bars, razors, weird thermal socks Yelena swears byâbut somehow, somewhere between the bottled water and the electrolyte tablets, you and Bucky wander into the wrong aisle.
Not wrong like âaccidental.â Wrong like fateâs playing dirty.
Now youâre standing in front of an endcap display you definitely didnât mean to find, and there it is. Tucked between pastel swaddles and soft-textured washcloths, like a landmine in the wrong aisleâa tiny cotton baby hat, pale blue with little stitched ears.
Itâs nothing. Just a hat.
But Buckyâs staring at it like it cracked his ribs open.
âHey,â you murmur, stepping closer. âYou okay?â
He doesnât answer.
Just reaches out and picks it up. Turns it over in his hands slowly, like itâs something fragile. Like it might vanish if he isnât careful. His thumb brushes over the tag. He squints at it like heâs trying to make sense of the fibers. His jawâs set hard, but thereâs something in the line of his shouldersâsomething tired.
âBucky,â you say again, gentler this time.
He doesnât look at you. âDid you know their heads are soft?â His voice is quiet. Almost reverent. âBabies. Their skulls donât even come together for a while. You have to be real careful.â
You blink. âHave you⊠been reading about this?â
He swallows, shrugs. âI don't know. I justâI see stuff. I look it up.â He sets the hat down too fast. It doesnât bounce. It just flattens there on the shelf like itâs watching him back.
You donât speak. Neither does he. You just stand there for a second, like the airâs been drained from the aisle.
Thereâs a baby crying somewhere in another aisleâhigh-pitched and sputtering. A lull, then a hiccuping wail. A mother murmurs something gentle in response. The sound floats over the shelves and then disappears.
Eventually, you both walk.
Wordless. Past rows of seasonal candy wrapped in rustling orange plastic. Discount school supplies. Travel-sized deodorant and decorative lint rollers. Your cart is still half full, but you donât look at it. Your eyes keep tracking him instead. His steps are slower than usual, like each one is being dragged out of him. His shoulders slope in that particular way youâve started to recognizeâlike heâs still holding that hat in his mind, careful and afraid.
The automatic doors swish open and spill you into the afternoon like youâve been exiled.
Outside, the parking lotâs too bright. The sun glares off windshields and the pavement radiates that late-summer kind of heatâbaked rubber and exhaust fumes and burnt asphalt. A shopping cart wheel squeals in the distance, sharp and whiny. The plastic Target bags crackle like theyâre judging you.
You lean against the car. Itâs hot through your shirt. The silence settles againâheavier now. Thicker. Like itâs pressing into your ribcage and asking for something neither of you are sure youâre ready to give.
You look at him. Not just glanceâlook.
Heâs standing with his back half-turned, metal hand flexing and unflexing at his side, like heâs trying to let something out but doesnât trust whatâll happen if he does. His vibranium arm glints in the sunlightâcharcoal black veined with gold, all matte finish and unforgiving elegance. It doesnât belong here, not really. Not in this mundane little parking lot, not against a backdrop of SUVs and clearance bins.
But neither does he.
You let the silence stretch a little longer. Let the heat sweat on your back, the wind tousle your hair, the tension between you wind tighter like thread pulled taut.
Then, finally, like youâre testing a live wire. âWhatâre you thinking about?â
He breathes in slow. Shaky.
And then, finally, he speaksâvoice soft, too soft for someone built to survive war. âDo you have any guesses?â
Thatâs new.
You blink. Look down at your shoes. Your reflection warps in the car door.
âI donât want to guess wrong,â you say. Even though you know fully well.
He huffs something between a sigh and a laugh. Itâs not bitter. Just⊠tired. Then he gestures loosely, not at anything in particular. Just out. Broadly. Helplessly.
âWe keep running into this,â he says, quieter now. âNot just here. Everywhere. At the grocery store. On recon. That billboard downtown with the giggling baby and the diaper brand weâll never have enough time to run and grab from the store. That kid last week with the tiny shoes, remember that one?â
You do. You remember too well.
âThere was this moment,â he continues, voice cracking, not looking at you yet, âwhen I saw that kidâand I thought, heâs going to walk into your arms someday. And I realizedâI already want that."
Heâs pacing now, one hand on his hip, the other dragging through his hair like heâs trying to pull something out of his skull. The sleeve of his hoodie is shoved up to the elbow. His dog tags are visible. His metal hand flexes open and closed like he needs something to grab onto.
âI just couldn't stop thinking about it.â He laughs, breathless and small. âWhich is stupid, right? I meanâlook at me. Who the hell am I to want something like that?â
âBuckyâŠâ You trail off. Because he deserves it. He deserved all of it and you want to give him everything.
âBut this? You?â he says again, shaking his head like he still canât believe he has to say it out loud. âThis isnât hollow. This is wanting. Real wanting. Not some half-dead echo of need or distraction orâGodâforgiveness. I donât want you because I think youâre gonna fix something in me. Or because I think thisâll be easy. I want you because itâs you.â
His eyes find yours againâsteady, burning.
âBecause when I think about a future without you in it, it feels wrong. Like my bones know it. Like every damn instinct Iâve got wants to drag me back to wherever you are and justâstay.â
Your throat tightens. He presses on.
âAnd donât get it twistedâI see you. I see the way you move through missions. The way you think six steps ahead, the way you take hits like theyâre nothing and still check on everyone else first. Youâre not some fragile thing I wanna put behind glass. Youâre steel. Youâre tougher than half the people Iâve fought beside. You donât need anyone. Hell, you donât need me.â
He steps forward. Lowers his voice.
âBut I want to be needed by you. I want to be the guy who gets to hold you when the worldâs too loud. I want us. A home. A babyâmaybe two. One of âem likes goats. I don't know. Maybe we argue about preschool names and you yell at me for lettinâ them eat cereal off the floor. You're person I want to be a disaster in front of at 3 a.m. because our hypothetical child wonât sleep unless you sing that dumb Fleetwood Mac songââÂ
âFleetwood Mac isnât dumb.âÂ
âSee? Thatâs exactly the tone youâd use,â he says, as if that proves a point.Â
You blink hard. Your chest aches in that quiet, painful way reserved for things that are almost too good to believe.
âAnd Iâve been trying to be subtle,â he says, a rough laugh in his throat. âPointing at strollers like a moron. Buying those damn pouches with the resealable caps. I kept hopinâ maybe youâd see it. Maybe youâd say somethinâ first. I didnât wanna scare you off. I know what weâve been through. What youâve been through.â
He looks down for a second, then back at youâgentle now, gentler than youâve ever seen him.
âBut Iâll wait. As long as you need. Iâm not going anywhere. And if youâre scared? Good. Me too. Means weâre not makinâ this decision with our eyes closed. But donât pretend itâs not real. Donât tell me Iâm imagining this, because I know what this feels like. Iâve spent too long not feeling anything to mistake this for anything else.â
His vibranium hand curls into a loose fist at his side. Not clenched. Just steady. Anchored.
âI want this. With you. All of it. Even the hard parts. Especially those. I want the missions and the night shifts and the baby who wonât stop crying and the mess and the fear and the way you look at me like I might still be good. I want all of that, and I want it with you.â
And there it is againâthat feeling like your ribs are about to crack open from the pressure of it all. From the weight of being seen this clearly. This completely.
You step closer, close enough now that the heat from him leaks into your skin. You stare up at him, eyes burning.
âYou really want all that with me?â
He nods. âMore than Iâve ever wanted anything.â
âAnd youâre really not afraid Iâll mess it up?â
His smile is small, painedâlike heâs trying to hold it together with fraying thread. âYouâll mess it up. So will I. Weâll accidentally teach them to swear. Maybe we let Alexei babysit and they come back speaking fluent Russian and craving vodka. Iâll still want you. Even when weâre sleep-deprived and overwhelmed and knee-deep in goldfish crackers. Especially then.â
Your voice cracks open without warning. Raw. Bare.
âBuckyâwhat the hell am I supposed to say to top that?â
âYou donât have to say anything,â he says softly, hand cupping your cheek with the kind of conviction that makes your knees go weak. âJust⊠donât walk away. DonâtâGod, pleaseâdonât say no. Not to this. Not to me.â
You nuzzle closer into his hand. Slowly. Your voice, when it comes, is paper thin. âYou really think Iâd say no to goat-loving, minivan driving Bucky Barnes?â
His mouth twitches. âYou making fun of me?â
You smile. Youâre shaking a little. âOnly a little.â
He laughs, and itâs a real oneâwet around the edges, but honest.
And thatâGod. That lands like a sucker punch.
You take a breath. Step closer. Your heart is a drumbeat in your ears but your voiceâyour voice is iron and sunrise. âOkay. Letâs say, hypothetically, we make our first one now. What then?â
Buckyâs entire body stills.
Like heâs been hit center massânot by a bullet, but by possibility. Like your words cracked open a vault somewhere deep in him and heâs still trying to process what came out. His breath hitches. His brows lift just slightly. You can almost see itâeach implication of what you just said unfurling in real time: first one, meaning more than one. Meaning permanence. Meaning forever.
His eyes go wideâlike, really wide. Like heâs just been handed the Infinity Gauntlet and told to babysit it. His mouth opens, then closes again. Then opens. A soft, stunned âNow?â escapes.
You nod. Slowly. âYes. Now.â
And itâs like a switch flips. Whatever gears were turning in his head just snap into place, and then heâs grabbing youâgently, desperatelyâand kissing you like he hasn't kissed you thousands of times before. Itâs all hands and breath and something that tastes like joy, wild and uncontainable. You laugh into it, half-giddy, half-overwhelmed, and then someone leans out of a passing minivan and honks.
You both jump. Bucky flips the guy off without looking. âKeep driving, asshole!â
Youâre laughing so hard your ribs hurt, and you have to clutch his arm just to stay upright. He looks at you like youâve personally realigned his entire future.
Then itâs a race. You barely make it through the parking lot without tripping over yourselves, bumping shoulders and brushing hands and laughing like lunatics. Bucky opens the car door for you like heâs being timed for a rescue op, and the moment your ass hits the passenger seat, his hand is on your thighâfirm, possessive, fingers warm even through the denim.
He doesnât even pretend to drive normally. The car peels out like youâre being chased, tires screeching as he swerves onto the freeway with all the caution of a man on fire.
His other hand clenches the wheel, knuckles pale. âYou sure youâre not gonna regret it?â he asks, voice low, like itâs been scraped out of him. Like heâs terrified this is a dream and one wrong word will wake him up.
You glance over. Heâs flushed down to his collar, eyes flicking from the road to your face and back like he canât decide which is more dangerous. Youâre smiling so wide it hurts your cheeks.
âIf you keep asking questions like that,â you murmur, âI might pull you over and climb on top of you right here.â
He chokes. Visibly swerves. âYouâyouâre not joking.â
âI am, Bucky. We're at a fucking Target.â
He lets out a groan like it physically pains him. âYouâre evil.â
You lean your head back against the seat, breathless with laughter. But then you glance sideways andâyeah. That look on his face? Thatâs love. Thatâs a man about to commit several felonies in your name.
âIâm gonna treat you so fuckinâ good,â he mutters, almost to himself. âGonna make you feel safe and spoiled and full of me. Gonna worship you every damn night. You donât even know.â
âOh, I know,â you say, suddenly a little breathless. His grip on your thigh tightens, just for a second.
His foot presses harder on the gas.
The car hums like itâs picking up on the tension. Buckyâs jaw is set, eyes dark, every red light a personal affront to his timeline. At one point he actually mutters ânoâ at a yellow light and runs it anyway. Another person flips both of you off until they squint and see who's in the car. Bucky doesnât blink.
When the Watchtower finally comes into view, he exhales like heâs just crossed a finish line. The tires screech again as he parks, but you barely register it. Because the second the engine cuts, he turns to you, all flushed cheeks and unholy devotion, and whispers, âUpstairs. Now.â
And thenâ
He lifts you like itâs muscle memory, like your body belongs there, bracketed against him. Your legs wrap around his waist. Somehow, some way, he finds the bedroom with barely a glance, kicks the door shut behind him, and lays you down like youâre breakable.
Not fragile. Important.
He hovers above you for a beat, breath uneven, gaze raking over your face like itâs the first time heâs really let himself look. Like heâs memorizing thisâjust in case the world tilts sideways again.
He bends down, his voice rasping against your mouth. âYou still sure about this?â
You pull him back to you by the waistband of his jeans. âI said I wanted all of it. The house. The minivans. The goats. I meant it.â
Something in him loosens. Not all the way, not yetâbut enough to soften his edges. He exhales through his nose and kisses you like itâs a vow, mouth warm and open and aching. His hands find your thighs, settle there like theyâve always known the shape of you. Thumbs brushing slow circles like heâs grounding himself on your skin.
You kiss him back with everything youâve got, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirtâand when you tug, itâs not subtle.
And you tug at his shirt again. âBuckyââ
âNo, justâlet meââ He peels it off over his head in one fluid motion, and fuck. Youâve seen him shirtless before. Dozens of times. Training sessions. Medical checks. Casual Sundays in sweatpants.
But not with the full breadth of him laid bare, chest heaving, dog tags glinting faintly in the low light. Thick, ropey muscle, that deep ridge where his hip cuts in and disappears under the waistband of his jeans. Heâs massive. Bigger than you can ever brace for. Every inch of him looks carved from the kind of strength that short-circuits your higher brain function.
And it hits you, all at once, how strong he really is.
Not just tactical, not just capableâbut superhuman. The kind of strength that could lift a car or crush a manâs throat or pick you up like you weigh nothing. Youâve felt it beforeâin combat, in sparring, in those accidental brushes where heâd catch your wrist or hoist you clear of an explosion.
Youâre trying to keep it togetherâyou areâbut then he grins. That slow, crooked, devastating thing like he knows exactly what heâs doing to you. âYouâre staring,â he murmurs, voice gone husky with amusement.
You shoot back, âSo are you.â
âYeah,â he says, and steps in, close enough that his chest brushes yours, heat radiating off him like a furnace. âDifference is, Iâm about to do something about it.â
Your mouth goes dry. Your brain attempts a witty reply and fails spectacularly. So you shove at his shoulder with mock offense, and he grabs your wristsâgently, easilyâand pins them to the mattress above your head.
Oh.
Itâs nothing. No pressure, no real force. But it reminds you. Reminds you exactly what heâs capable of. How easily he could break you. How carefully he never has.
âCould hold you like this forever,â he murmurs. âYouâd let me, wouldnât you?â
You squirm beneath him, flushed and wrecked and undone.
âYouâre so goddamn beautiful,â he breathes, dragging his nose down your throat. âI could carry you around all day. Pick you up, fuck you against a wall, against a table, hell, the fridge, if I wanted.â
You gasp, and his grip tightensâjust enough to feel it.
"I need to get you ready first," He pulls back slightly, meets your eyes. âThat okay?â
You nod. Hard. âYes. Fuck, yes.â
His stubble rubs along your neck, your collarbones, until he pauses at your chest, nuzzling one of your nipples with his eyes closedâreverent. His tongue darts out, sucking and pulling at the sensitive muscle, more for his sake than for yours.Â
There's a graze of his teethâthen, his other hand comes to meet your other breast, ever the multi-tasker. He murmurs your name, once, twice, the sound vibrating low against your skin.
You don't know how long he stays like that, in that blissful purgatory, his leg, between your legs, just barely giving you the stimulation you need, until his mouth, his beautiful, beautiful mouth, gets faster, more greedy, and the leg you're grinding against pushes deeper against youâ
"Come for me, sweetheart."
It's like fucking fireworks. You cum with a groan, eyes closed shut, whining low and deep and overwhelmed.
When you come to, vision returning to you in hazes, you look at him through fluttering lashes, the way he strokes his cock in front of you. Painfully hard, red, and weeping, but it's his words that make you short-circuit next.
âYouâre gonna let me put a baby in you, huh?â
Your breath catches.
He kisses you before you can answerâdeep and consuming and hungryâand when he pulls back, thereâs a look in his eyes youâve never seen before. Something molten. Something fierce.
âBeen thinkinâ about something else too,â he confesses, dragging his mouth along your jaw. âYou, round with my kid. All soft and happy. Maybe bossinâ me around with that look you get when youâre pretending not to care.â
The words stickâand it's all the warning you get before he's slotting his cock in between your cunt, slipping inside of you.
His hand settles on your stomach, low and possessive. He presses his palm there like heâs already claiming it. Like heâs asking permission to fill it. You can feel it, the pressure delicious, as his thrusts get messier, less controlled. The room's filled with the sound of it, groaning and snapping and skin slapping together.
âIâll be good,â he says, voice cracking. âIâll be so good. Youâll never have to lift a finger. Iâll make breakfast. Iâll learn lullabies. Iâll paint the damn nursery if you want me to.â
You moan, high and helpless. âKeep talking.â
He thrustsâdeep, slow, intentional. âIâll hold your hand through the appointments. Rub your back when it hurts. Run to the store at 3 a.m. for pickles, or chocolate, or whatever the hell you needââ
Then, his handâthe metal oneâmoves between you, lower and lower until his thumb's hovering right over your clit, pinching and squeezing and rolling it, and you have to fight every cell inside of you not to cum right then and there, even while he's looking at you and saying everything so, so goddamn perfectly.
You clench around him, once, twice, like a vice grip that's desperate for him to feel just the way he makes you feel.
âJesus,â he breathes. âYouâre soâfuck, I just wannaââ He shakes his head, then mutters against your collarbone, âDon't do that, not yet, I'll cum."
âYou say that like itâs a bad thing,â you whisper. "I just wannaâoh godâshow you how thankful I am."
His hips rock against yours.Â
âYou wanna thank me?â he pants, jaw trembling as he fights to hold on. âThen do it with an ultrasound. Let me hear it. Let me see it.â
You whimper, wrecked by the words alone.
âSay it,â he demands, but softer now. Frantic and obsessed. âTell me you want it too. Tell me you want to keep me forever.â
âI do,â you gasp. âI doâGod, Bucky, I doââ
Then he shifts, pushing himself deeper inside, and one brutal thrust later, raking his hands across your abdomen, you gasp. Shuddering, shaking like a leaf, finishing in his arms so hard that you nearly twist out of his grasp.
Seconds later, Bucky spills into you, and you can feel the precise moment he throbs inside you, warmth filling you up, up, up, and you can fill the drip of his cum spilling out from the sheer volume of it. You've never felt so full.
When you try to get up, he stops you with a gentle pull against your waist. He buries his face in your neck. âNeedy to stay still,â he growls, words slurred, âmake sure it takes.â
And who were you to say no to that?
You're tangled up in him, hours later. Or maybe minutes. Timeâs a blur. The sheets are kicked halfway down the bed, your leg slung over his hip, the air still thick with heat and something heavier. Sweeter. Like gravity finally decided to show up and drag you straight into the future.
Buckyâs arm is around your waist, metal plates cool against your damp skin, the weight of him grounding. Heâs curled slightly, head bowed like he canât stop looking at you. His fingers draw slow, absent circles on your bellyâlike the thought never left him. Like itâs only just beginning.
Neither of you says anything for a long time.
And then, quietly, âYou okay?â
You nod, not trusting your voice. Your heartâs still hammering like a warning bell and a love song. âYou?â
He huffs a laugh into your shoulder. Presses a kiss there. Then another, softer. His voice is hoarse when he finally answers. âIâve never been this okay.â
Thereâs a pause. You donât fill it. You just watch as his thumb drags slow and soft across your stomach again, like heâs memorizing the shape of possibility.
âI can see it,â he murmurs. âNot just a kid. Our kid. One that frowns like you and kicks like me. One whoâs smart, and stubborn, and throws food at Walker's head during holidays.â
You snort softly. âYou think weâd raise a kid that obnoxious?â
His grin is lazy and real, eyes bright with something so big it makes your chest ache. âI hope so.â
You stare at the ceiling for a beat. Let the words sink in. Let the idea grow legs.
Then you roll closer, press your palm over the hand thatâs still stroking your belly.
You whisper it this time. Fragile. Hopeful. âYou think thisâll do it?â
Bucky shuddersâactually shuddersâand shifts to kiss your jaw, your cheek, your mouth like itâs a prayer.
âSweetheart,â he says, low and wrecked, âIâll do it again. And again. All night, if thatâs what it takes.â
When You Wish Upon A Star... @iamwarrenspeace - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
