[swiftie-4-lifes-stuff]

Welcome to whatever this is

she/ her, libra, swedish, med school 😭

Honestly, I don’t even know what this blog is about anymore 

Music, books, shows, F1, trauma dumping?

Feel free to ask anything, I’m probably not gonna know the answer but you can always ask

[f1tf]

the dangling chains

[megaweeniehutjrs]

The Swan Lake AU

Pairing: Prince!Steve x Princess!FemReader

Summary: There once was a king who ruled a large and mighty kingdom, but he was growing old and had no one to inherit the throne. Until he had a daughter, a princess. Kings and queens came from all around to offer gifts to the child. Among them being a widowed queen from the neighboring kingdom, and her young son, Prince Steven.

Then the king and queen happened upon the same idea: Prince Steven and the princess would be brought together every summer in hopes they would fall in love and join their kingdoms forever.

But unknown to all was another plan. That of the evil enchanter, Edward. The princess' birth was of little concern to him. He was preparing to take the kingdom from the king, by means of forbidden arts. On the eve of his assault the King attacked, sending Edward's magic into darkness. Despite calls for his death, the enchanter was only banished. “I’m not finished with you. One day I'll get my powers back, and when I do, everything you love will be mine.” Many considered the king too kind, but with time the threat was forgotten.

All hope points to the not-so-distant summer when Prince Steven and the Princess would finally meet.

(Based on the 1994 animated film adaptation of 'Swan Lake')

Chapter One - coming soon Chapter Two - coming soon Chapter Three - coming soon

Tags: blog is 18+, still writing so will add as needed, lmk if i miss anything as i update as well! (childhood frenemies to lovers) (arranged marriage if you squint) (forced proximity) (scheming parents) (Steve is kind of clueless) (Eddie is evil :/) (parental death) (some mentions of violence) (maybe some pet name usage) (death) (mutual pining) (use of make believe magic, use ur imagination geez) (omg almost forgot reader is a swan sometimes) (no use of y/n) (there's a few kisses, unsure if it will be smut.... tbd lmk idk)

A/N: hiiiiii so this will be my first ever fan fiction i've written in adulthood lol so go easy on me (or dont u dont know what i like teehee) I'll link all of the future chapters to this post for easy viewing, take this as a preview and the series masterlist. i'll try and update soon, and with quick uploads, but i haven't really started it yet.... i've got a very detailed rough draft, i just have to add more details and whimsy

dividers by @saradika

[harringtonsb1tch]

Happy Anniversary | Steve Harrington x Byers!reader

Summary: Steve misses your anniversary dinner, then shows up at your window at midnight with rumpled flowers and a guilty face.

Warnings: ANGST! ANGST! ANGST! Some Nancy slander, sorry hehe love Nancy tho. Implied smut (nothing actually happens tho), Joyce being a bad mom to reader, sad ending :(

w.c: 2.5k

divider by @uzmacchiato

The clock struck 7 PM, and you inhaled sharply, a huge smile overtaking your features. You and Steve had planned a date night tonight for your first anniversary, and he had promised to take you to Enzo’s, the fancy Italian place that's normally too out of budget for you. So, for the occasion, you pulled out a dress from the deep, dark depths of your closet that hasn’t seen the light of day in approximately three years but somehow miraculously fits. You paired that with a stunning pair of high heels, styled your hair, which you rarely did, put on makeup and jewelry, and felt and looked quite possibly the most put-together and gorgeous you had in the entire trajectory of your relationship. 

Now, you didn’t normally care about what people thought of you. But tonight, you really wanted Steve to see you. You wanted that lovestruck, awed look to cross his features when he took you in, the one that always sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You wanted to see him floundering as he thought about what words might best convey his sentiments, and you wanted him to come up short. And at the end of the night, you wanted him to hold you like you were precious, to worship you with reverence like you were the only deity he’d bow down to while he slowly moved in and out of you. You wanted to hear the quiet praises in your ear right before he came.

You were getting giddy just thinking about it.

It's 7:15 PM now, and there are still no signs of his familiar beamer pulling up outside. Normally, this wouldn’t bother you. Steve had never been the most punctual, so you weren’t too worried. He had been late to dates in the past by 5 or 10 minutes, and he always apologized profusely afterwards, even when you said it was alright. However, lately, he had been cancelling more and more dates, missing your calls at night, and disappearing for days without an explanation, leaving you to imagine the absolute worst. 

By the time the clock struck 7:30, the heels had come off, and your feet were propped up on the coffee table. Now you were growing upset. Questions like ‘did he forget?’ were starting to swirl in your mind, but you did your best to push them aside. Steve wouldn’t forget, right?. He’d always remembered the most trivial days, like the exact date you met (he’d gotten you the teddy that sat on your bed) and your first kiss (he’d taken you to a picnic near the same spot where you kissed), so surely he’d remember your anniversary. And even if he had been acting suspicious the past few weeks, he’d show up tonight. Tonight was an important night. He wouldn’t miss it…right?

However, the more you watched the hands of the clock turn farther from 7, the less sure you became. Hurt started to rear its ugly head past the 8 PM horizon, but you refused to cry. By the time the sun had fully set on your date night excitement, you were more angry than anything. You changed into your pajamas, then played the stereo in your room while lying on your bed and staring at the ceiling. You were grateful the house was empty since Joyce was on a date with Hopper, Jonathan probably with Nancy and Will at the Wheelers’ house. You were happy to be alone. No risk of having to explain your swollen, red eyes or puffy face or tear-stained cheeks. 

Not that anyone really bothered asking even when they were home. Most days you felt like invisible in front of your own family, partially why you were so excited about tonight: being celebrated was a luxury only afforded to your brothers in this house for the past few years. Even your graduation was given minimal attention, barely acknowledged, and you’d ended up cutting a small cupcake alone in your room.

How could Steve do this? He had been talking about this date for weeks! About how he was going to treat you like a queen the way you deserved, how he’d been saving up from his job at Family Video so you’d be able to enjoy a nice dinner without having to feel guilty about the price of whatever you were ordering (of course, you had agreed to split the bill 50-50 still. “It's your anniversary too, Stevie. You deserve to be celebrated too,” you had explained, and Steve had pretended his eyes didn’t gloss over at that), and now, he’d just…forgotten. 

You had also gotten him a gift you had spent days making. A scrapbook with basically the entire trajectory of your relationship, complete with the wrapper of the gum that sparked your first conversation when he asked for a piece in class, to the tickets to the drive-in movie you two watched two weeks ago, pictures of you both taken on Jonathan’s camera, developed by you, some taken in photo booths, and some journal entries you had written when your relationship was progressing. It was the rawest, most vulnerable you had ever been with Steve, but he deserved to know how special he is to you. How being in this relationship had healed a part of you damaged by years of being sidelined by your mom in favour of your brothers. 

Tears slid down your cheeks as you looked at the scrapbook lying on your side table. You had planned to give it to him later tonight when he dropped you back home. You were going to invite him in, since it was unlikely anyone would be back until pretty late, and you two would probably celebrate some more; then you’d give him the scrapbook, explain the significance behind it, and you’d talk until he had to leave. 

That obviously wasn’t happening anymore. 

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep in the pit of your hurt and betrayal until three taps at your window roused you. You squinted, forcing your tear-stuck lashes open groggily, blinking to clear your view enough to glance at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 12 A.M. You listened for a second at the house, but the silence replied that nobody was home yet. 

The three taps demanded your attention again, and you pulled yourself out of bed to draw back the curtains. You knew who it was even before you drew the curtains. It wasn’t the first time Steve had shown up in the middle of the night for a quick make-out and cuddle session via the thick pipe running along the length of the house and through your window. You drew back your curtains to reveal a very guilty-looking Steve, but you were so incredibly angry and hurt that even his puppy eyes couldn’t thaw the ice. 

You debated for a minute whether to let him in at all. It was as if Steve could read the internal conflict on your face and somehow, his face became even more guilty, if that was even possible. He gave you his best pleading eyes to get you to open the window, and in the end, your curiosity got the better of you. You wanted to know what was more important than your anniversary, so you slowly opened the window.

Steve looked relieved for a second, then quickly squeezed through. 

You stepped back, settling on the edge of the bed with your arms crossed and glaring at him. Steve knew he was in deep shit, so the smile disappeared from his face pretty quickly. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for missing our anniversary,” he started immediately. 

The first thing you noticed was that he was still in the clothes he usually wears to work: blue jeans and a polo. Your eyes dropped to the bouquet in his hands. Rumpled, messily packaged, with blue roses and lilies – your favourite. You might have felt a flutter in your heart if it weren’t for the third, and the most gut-wrenching of it all: there was a lingering scent of perfume on him. Not his for sure. It was too flowery. Not your perfume, either. Too sweet for your taste, but perfect for someone else's. 

You looked at him in utter betrayal. Another apology had already made its way up to his lips, but you spoke before he could.

“You were with Nancy,” you stated, voice slightly catching on her name. All the fear from the past few weeks, all the missed calls and unexcused absences compounded with the betrayal of your missed anniversary, started boiling. Had he been with her all those times as well? How long had it been going on? Were you just too naive to believe someone like Steve Harrington would genuinely be interested in someone like you?

All the colour immediately drained from his face. 

He took a tentative step forward. “Doll, I can explain,” he started carefully. 

You turned your gaze away from his, unable to keep all the intrusive thoughts out of your head. You knew, realistically, that faintly smelling like her perfume didn’t necessarily mean he'd done anything with her. But you couldn’t help the dread pooling in your chest, the images that covered your field of vision. 

“We were just hanging out. That’s all,” he explained, stepping closer. 

You whipped your head around to face him, eyes wide and blazing in disbelief. “On our anniversary?! You were hanging out with another girl when you were supposed to meet me for a date?” 

Steve grimaced. “Okay, I know that sounds bad, but I swear I wouldn’t have gone if it wasn’t urgent-”

“Oh, what? She needed to be dicked down that desperately?” You knew that was a cheap shot, that Steve wouldn’t do something like that, but the anger and betrayal had created a thick cloud cover over reason and logic at the moment. 

Steve physically stepped back, eyes immediately glossing over. “That’s not fair,” he whispered, looking down. “You know I would never cheat on you.” 

“Do I?” you retorted immediately. “Because from where I’m standing, my boyfriend has been cancelling dates for the past few weeks, has been missing our calls every night, and has been disappearing for days without notice, only to come back with some bullshit excuse. And now, the cherry on top, he shows up on our anniversary five hours late, and smells like his ex-girlfriend. So tell me, Steve, how do I know you’re not fucking your ex behind my back?”

He floundered, absolutely bewildered by your accusations but not knowing how to dispute them. “We went to that drive-in movie two weeks ago!” he retorted. 

You scoffed. “You’re right,” you replied sarcastically. “One distracted movie totally makes up for all the problems we’ve been having!” 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in defeat. “I’m sorry, okay? What more do you want me to say?”

You stood up from the bed, arms falling to your sides. “I want you to tell me the truth about why you weren’t there tonight and why you’ve been acting the way you have for the past few weeks.” You looked at him as he processed this and remained silent still, which made you cock an eyebrow. “Steven Harrington, if you don’t want to be with me anymore, be a fucking man and say it. Don’t play these games with me.” 

You saw the panic in his eyes at that. “Of course I want to be with you!” and you thought you’d finally have some answers, but then Steve hung his head. “I can’t tell you,” he whispered. 

Tears welled in your eyes. He was cheating, wasn’t he? 

“Why not?” you whispered. 

“I-it’ll put you in danger. I can’t do that, doll,” he looked at you with pleading eyes, imploring you to understand. 

You furrowed your brows. “Danger? What kind of danger?” 

“The life-threatening kind,” he gulped. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. You’re the best thing in my life.” His voice was so quiet, so raw, that for a second you considered backing down. 

But he still smelled like her. 

“So she gets to be in the club, and I don’t?” you whispered. 

He was doing that thing that your mom had been doing since Will came back: leaving you out. Since his return, it was like Jonathan, Joyce, and Will were a team, and you were a spectator on the bleachers, trying out for the team every year but never making the cut. The thought made your chest hurt. You had truly thought Steve was different. That he’d never deliberately leave you out, but here you are, being left out once again.

“Baby, please,” he pleaded in a defeated voice. “This isn’t about her. This is about us, about me wanting to keep you safe.” 

You sniffled. “Well, that’s not really your decision to make, Steve,” you whispered. 

“Like hell it isn’t! I promised your mom-” he cut himself off, eyes wide.

“My mom? What does she have to do with this?” You furrowed your brows. 

He shook his head. “Forget I said that,” he waved his hand dismissively. 

“No, I will not just forget about it. Tell me, is my mom in on whatever this bullshit is?” you questioned. 

Steve didn’t meet your eyes, looking down at his shoes as he meekly nodded. 

You scoffed in disbelief, taking a step back. “Un-fucking-believable,” you shook your head. “Who else is in on it, huh? Are my brothers in it?” 

Steve didn’t respond. 

“Fucking tell me!” you yelled. 

“...yes,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t believe your ears. “So everyone’s just collectively decided I’m not what? Not good enough to join this little club you have going on?” 

“It's just to keep you from getting hurt,” Steve responded from between gritted teeth. 

“You’re hurting me right now, Steve!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in frustration. “You’ve been hurting me for weeks!”

Steve flinched when you yelled, pinching his nose. He looked away from you, unable to stand the angry tears that were rolling down your cheeks. He was well aware that he was hurting you, knew of your issues with being excluded, knew that this must be killing you right now, but all of that was still preferable to getting you mixed up in the monsters they were dealing with. Because you might hate him right now, might be angry at him and your family for deliberately keeping you out of the loop, but he would much rather that than be kneeling over your dead body because he couldn’t keep you safe. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. 

You let the tears flow freely down your face. “I’m sorry, too,” you responded, taking a step back from him.

Steve’s head snapped to you, dread filling his features. “No,” he murmured. “Doll, don’t do this, please.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t be with you if I can’t trust you not to keep things from me.”

You saw the tears escape his eyes; let yours fall with his, but your decision was final.

[theamericanstar]

i want a boyfriend but then the idea of actually having one makes me want to throw up…

[amourjane]

i miss u y/n stark and ur purple wanda maximoff powers

[lovepollution]

jack abbot + emojis

[spacejjunk]

love cant always be perfect

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: based on the wedding planner- you're desperately trying to land the biggest wedding of the season- the wheeler/harrington wedding. but when you flirt with death and then the man who SAVED you from certain death by dumpster? you're in for a real treat. how are you going to be able to plan the wedding for the man youre falling in love with?

w/c: 10.7k

warnings/tags: stancy, so much pining, angst, strangers to wedding planner to lovers, alcohol use, so much love

a/n: BIG shoutout to @moonstoneandmoonlight & @graywrenhart for hosting this steve harrington summer sleepover event! i am so honored to have been able to participate in this :)

masterlist // bonus chapter

You sat across from Nancy Wheeler in the sunlit corner booth of the upscale café, your leather portfolio open between you like a shield and a promise. Your boss’s voice still rang in your ears from that morning: “Land Nancy Wheeler and the whole firm will notice. High-profile journalist, tasteful wedding, you pull this off and you’re looking at a senior position.”

You’d dressed the part—tailored blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, heels sharp enough to make a statement but comfortable enough to chase vendors all day. You’d rehearsed your pitch until the words felt like muscle memory. But nothing prepared you for how sharp Nancy’s eyes were in person, how she listened with the same focused intensity she probably used in interviews that made politicians sweat.

She’d arrived exactly on time, offered a firm handshake, and ordered an oat milk latte without looking at the menu. You’d shown her mood boards, vendor lists, and a preliminary timeline that balanced her demanding career with the kind of wedding that felt like them. She’d nodded, asked smart questions about press access and privacy, and then—after only twenty minutes—she’d smiled, slow and genuine.

“I think you’re exactly what we need,” she said, reaching for the contract you’d already slid across the table. “David’s going to love your vision. He’s been so patient through all my deadlines and late nights. He keeps saying the wedding is the one thing that should feel like ours, not just another event.” Her cheeks flushed the faintest pink as she signed with a flourish. “He’s my calm in the storm. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

You smiled back, professional and warm, even as your pulse kicked with quiet triumph. Nancy Wheeler. Signed. This was the client that would make your boss’s jaw drop. You were already drafting the email in your head.

The meeting wrapped with promises of a follow-up call next week to lock in florals and a venue walk-through. Nancy stood, gathering her bag. “Thank you. Really. I feel like I can actually breathe now.”

“You’re in good hands,” you assured her, meaning every word.

Outside, the afternoon sun hit warm on your shoulders. You stepped onto the sidewalk feeling ten feet tall, already pulling your phone out to text your boss the good news. Nancy Wheeler is officially ours. The words were still forming when your right heel caught.

A metallic clink. A sharp tug. You stumbled, catching yourself on a lamppost, and looked down. The delicate stiletto had wedged itself between the bars of a sidewalk grate, the thin heel trapped like a bear in a trap. You muttered a curse and bent to work it free, twisting your ankle at an awkward angle. The shoe wouldn’t budge.

Then you heard it.

A low, gathering rumble. Metal on pavement. Getting louder. Faster. You cursed yourself for wearing such strappy heels.

You looked up and your stomach dropped.

A massive construction dumpster—bright orange, easily the size of a small car—was rolling down the gentle incline of the street, picking up speed. Its wheels rattled, the heavy lid clanging. It was heading straight for you. Just momentum and bad luck.

“No—no, come on—” You yanked harder at your foot. The heel stayed stuck. Panic flooded your veins, hot and electric. The rumble became a roar. You could see the shadow swallowing the sidewalk, the glint of sunlight on the metal corner that would hit you first.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a scream caught in your throat—

Strong arms slammed around your waist from the side and yanked.

The world blurred. Your foot tore free of the shoe with a painful twist. You hit your head on the ground as you crashed backward into just as the dumpster thundered past, missing you by inches. The wind of it whipped your hair across your face. The crash of metal on metal as it hit the curb echoed like thunder.

For one suspended second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the harsh breathing of the person on top of you.

“Are you okay?” The voice was low, rough with adrenaline, right against your ear. “Jesus Christ, that was close.”

You were still pressed flush against him— pinned between the ground and his muscular body. His heart hammered against your chest. You could feel every inch of him— the hard plane of his chest, the corded strength in the arms that had just saved your life, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt into yours.

He gently pulled you to your feet, steadying you with hands that didn’t let go. And the world tilted for an entirely different reason.

He was beautiful.

Not in the polished, magazine way—something warmer, more devastating. His hair was perfect in that careless, wind-tousled way that made your fingers itch to touch it. A scatter of freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks like someone had flicked paint at him, softening the strong line of his jaw. His skin was tan, sun-kissed and glowing, and his arms—God, his arms—were tan and lean with muscle, the sleeves of his henley shoved up to reveal the kind of forearms that made your mouth go dry. Veins traced under the skin where he still held you.

Concern etched every line of his face as he looked you over, those freckles shifting when his brow furrowed. “Hey. Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Your hands had landed on his chest without permission—palms flat over firm muscle, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. He smelled like clean soap and hairspray and some woodsy cologne. The adrenaline still singing in your blood mixed with something hotter, something that made your stomach flip and your cheeks flush.

A shaky, breathless laugh escaped you. The words came out before you could stop them, flirtation riding the edge of pure relief and the dizzying awareness of how good he felt against you.

“My hero,” you managed, voice husky. “Do you always go around saving women from runaway dumpsters, or did I just get extremely lucky today?”

His mouth curved—slow, surprised, a little crooked. Those freckles danced with the smile. “First time for the dumpster,” he said, voice low and warm. “But I’m really glad I was here.” His thumbs brushed once, unconsciously, over your arms where he still held you. “You’re shaking.”

You were. From fear. From the crash of adrenaline. From the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world right now. You opened your mouth to say something else—maybe ask his name, maybe actually suggest that coffee you suddenly wanted very badly—but the ground chose that moment to tilt.

The throb in your head, the leftover terror, the overwhelming closeness of this beautiful stranger—it all crashed together. Your vision tunneled at the edges. The world went soft and gray.

“I think I…” The words slurred. Your knees buckled.

His arms tightened instantly, catching you before you could fall. “Whoa—hey, easy. I’ve got you.” His voice dropped, urgent and soothing at once. One hand cradled the back of your head as he guided you down, but the darkness was already pulling you under, warm and heavy.

The last thing you felt was the solid safety of his chest and the faint, worried brush of his fingers against your cheek before everything went black.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

You woke slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was the soft, persistent beep of a heart monitor somewhere to your left and the faint, sweet smell of crayons and antiseptic. Your mouth was dry. Your ankle and head throbbed together with a dull, insistent ache. Everything felt slightly off-kilter, like the world had tilted a few degrees while you were out.

A children’s hospital. That much was obvious from the cheerful murals on the walls—cartoon animals in scrubs, rainbows arching over the doorframe, a big window letting in honeyed light that painted everything in soft pastels. You were in a private room, propped on crisp white pillows, a light blanket pulled up to your waist. Your bare foot was elevated on a pillow, wrapped in a soft brace. Someone had taken off your other shoe too.

Confusion prickled at the edges of your mind. The dumpster. The arms around you. That face—those freckles, that perfect hair—then nothing.

The door opened with a quiet click.

He stepped inside, and your stomach did a slow, warm flip.

He was in navy scrubs now, a white coat draped over his shoulders, a stethoscope looped around his neck. The coat somehow made the tan of his forearms even more noticeable where he’d pushed the sleeves up. His hair was still stupidly perfect, a little tousled like he’d run his hands through it. The freckles across his nose and cheeks stood out under the clinical lights, and when he saw you awake, his whole face softened into a smile that hit you right in the chest.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm, the same one that had been in your ear when he pulled you out of the way. “There she is. You gave me a pretty good scare back there.”

He crossed the room in a few easy strides, picking up the chart at the end of your bed like it was second nature. “I’m Dr. Steve. Peds. I was the one who… well, who caught you before the dumpster could. Brought you in here after you passed out on me. Nothing serious,” he added quickly, seeing the flicker of worry on your face. “Mild bump on the head, twisted ankle, dehydration from the adrenaline crash. You’ll be sore tomorrow, but you’re okay. I’ve got you on some fluids and pain meds if you need them.”

You managed a weak laugh, still a little foggy. “So you’re not just a professional dumpster-rescuer. You’re an actual doctor.”

Steve’s smile widened, a dimple flashing in one cheek. He leaned a hip against the side of your bed, close enough that you could smell that clean, woodsy scent again. “Guilty. I was actually heading to grab lunch when I saw you. Lucky timing, I guess.”

The way he looked at you—steady, warm, with that undercurrent of something brighter—made the hospital room feel smaller. You were hitting it off stupidly fast. The banter came easy, like you’d known each other longer than twenty minutes of insanity.

“You make a habit of sweeping women off their feet in the middle of the street, Dr.Steve?” you teased, voice still a little raspy.

He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Only the ones whose shoes pick fights with sidewalk grates. And only when they flirt with me while they’re still catching their breath.” His gaze lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary. “You were pretty smooth, by the way. Even while concussed.”

You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn’t look away. The chemistry was immediate, crackling between you like static. Every time he shifted, you caught another detail—the way the stethoscope rested against his chest, the faint tan line on his wrist where a watch usually sat, the soft concern in his eyes that kept melting into something playful.

After a quick neuro check and confirming your ankle wasn’t broken, he helped you sit up. His hands were gentle but sure—one at your elbow, the other steadying your lower back as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. The contact sent a spark straight through you, the same electric awareness from when he’d held you on the sidewalk.

“You should probably take it easy tonight,” he said, but there was no real doctor-voice coldness in it. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can show you my office while we wait on the discharge paperwork. It’s quieter than the ER. Less… cartoon animals.”

You nodded, and he stayed close as you stood, letting you lean on him just a little. His arm stayed around your waist longer than strictly necessary as he guided you down the short hallway to a corner office with his name plate replaced by a child's drawing of 'Dr.Steve'.

The office was exactly what you’d expect and somehow more. Sunlight slanted through half-open blinds, catching on colorful crayon drawings taped to the walls—some signed To Dr. Steve, you’re my favorite in wobbly kid handwriting. A couple of framed photos sat on the desk— one of him with a group of laughing kids in a park, another with a woman who looked like his mom. Medical books lined one shelf, but there was also a well-worn baseball on the windowsill and a little potted succulent that looked like it was thriving under his care. The air smelled faintly like him—clean and warm—and something like the hand sanitizer they used everywhere, but softer.

You moved slowly around the space, fingertips brushing the edge of his desk, taking it all in. “This is… really nice. You can tell the kids love you.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that same easy smile. “They’re the best part of the job. Makes the hard days worth it.” His eyes followed you as you picked up a small framed drawing of a stick-figure doctor with a big red heart. “You’re welcome to sit if your ankle’s bothering you. Or… I can grab you something to drink. Water? Juice box? I’ve got the good ones with the straws.”

You laughed, the sound lighter now. The flirtation was easy, natural. “Juice box might be pushing it. But water would be great. And… thank you. Again. For everything.”

He pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, handing you a bottle from a mini-fridge in the corner. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.

“Anytime,” he said quietly. The air between you felt charged again, that same pull from the sidewalk.

Before either of you could say more, the door burst open.

“Oh my God—” Robin Buckley stood there, your assistant, looking like she’d run the whole way from the office. Her cheeks were flushed, curls wild, eyes wide with a mix of panic and pure relief. She was clutching her phone in one hand and a half-empty iced coffee in the other. “You scared the absolute shit out of me! I got the call from the hospital and I thought— I don’t even know what I thought, but it was bad. Are you okay? Is your foot okay? Do you need anything? I brought your backup flats from the office—”

She stopped mid-ramble when she noticed Steve standing there, her gaze flicking between the two of you. A slow, knowing grin started to form.

Steve straightened a little but didn’t move away from you. “She’s okay,” he said, voice warm. “Just a sprain and a mild concussion. I’m keeping an eye on her.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up, but she recovered fast, stepping in to hug you carefully. “Thank God. Seriously. I was two seconds from calling your boss and telling her you got flattened by a trash can.” She pulled back, still fussing with your hair like a worried big sister. Then her eyes lit up with that classic Robin energy. “Okay, but hear me out—there’s that outdoor movie in the park tonight. The rom-com one? Starts at eight. You should come. Both of you.” She looked pointedly at Steve. “Doctor’s orders, right? Fresh air, low stress, good company. It’ll be fun. I’ll even bring snacks so you don’t have to move much.”

Steve glanced at you, that dimple flashing again, a spark of something hopeful in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said, soft but sure. “I’d like that. If you’re up for it.”

The three of you stood there in his sunlit office—Robin still buzzing with relieved energy, you balanced between them with your wrapped ankle, Steve close enough that you could feel the warmth of him again—and for the first time since the grate and the dumpster and the blackout, the day felt like it was tilting toward something good.

Something that felt a lot like the start of more.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

Robin bailed.

The text came in right as you were finishing up at the office, your ankle still wrapped but feeling better after a day of rest and Steve’s careful instructions.

Robin: Emergency!! I have to help my sisters boyfriends godmother bake an emergency birthday cake. I’m SO sorry. But you should still go!! Steve’s already on his way. Have fun you two 😉

You stared at the winky face for a long second, then laughed under your breath. Classic Robin. She’d been suspiciously enthusiastic about the plan earlier.

When you arrived at the park, the outdoor movie was already setting up—big inflatable screen glowing against the twilight sky, string lights crisscrossing between the trees, the smell of popcorn and fresh-cut grass in the cool evening air. People were spreading blankets on the lawn, couples claiming spots close to the screen, families with kids in folding chairs.

Steve was waiting near the entrance, hands in the pockets of a light jacket, that perfect hair catching the last of the sunset. He looked up when he saw you and smiled like he’d been hoping you’d still show.

“Robin texted me too,” he said as you approached, voice warm with a hint of amusement. “Something about a cake emergency. I figured we could still make it work… if you’re okay with it just being us.”

You were more than okay with it.

He offered his arm without making a big deal of it, and you took it, letting him steady you as you walked toward the quieter side of the park where the big oak tree stood. This had been your spot for as long as you came here—a thick, padded cushion nestled in the wide, low branch, string lights already woven through the leaves like someone had strung stars just for this. It gave you a perfect, slightly elevated view of the screen while keeping you tucked away from the main crowd. Private. Cozy. Yours.

Steve helped you up first, one strong hand at your waist, the other guiding your good foot onto the wide branch. His touch was steady and warm even through your jacket. Once you were settled on the cushion, he climbed up after you with easy grace, settling beside you close enough that your shoulders brushed when you both leaned back against the trunk.

For a while you just watched the opening credits roll, the park settling into that soft, anticipatory quiet. Then the conversation started—easy, unforced, the way it had been in his office.

Eventually you told him about the puzzling club you went to every other Thursday night.

“It started because of my mom,” you said, smiling at the memory. “When I was little she used to spread these giant jigsaw puzzles out on the dining room table every weekend. We’d work on them for hours—sometimes days. No TV, no distractions, just us and a thousand tiny pieces. She always said it was the best way to learn patience and how to see the bigger picture when everything feels scattered.” You glanced over at him. “I still go. Every other week. Same group of people, same folding tables in the community center basement. It’s kind of my reset button.”

Steve listened like he actually wanted to hear it, eyes soft in the glow from the string lights above you. “That’s really nice,” he said quietly. “You don'treally seem like the puzzle master type” He shrugged, a small, fond smile tugging at his mouth. “But I kind of get it.”

You talked more—about his worst stories from the hospital, the ridiculous things kids say when they’re hopped up on juice boxes and pain killers, the way the park looked in the fall when the leaves turned. No questions about whether either of you were seeing someone. It just… didn’t come up. The night felt like its own little bubble.

The movie played on in the background—some sweet, nostalgic rom-com with sweeping music and lingering glances. At one point the two leads found themselves at a small-town dance, the kind with a slow song that made everyone else in the scene fade away. On screen, the couple swayed together, foreheads almost touching, completely wrapped up in each other.

Steve was quiet for a beat. Then he turned to you, that dimple flashing.

“You know,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t carry, “I’ve always thought slow dancing looks better in real life than in movies.”

Before you could answer, he reached over and took your hand—gentle, asking without words. His palm was warm and a little callused in the best way. He hopped down from the wide branch, helping you up with him, mindful of your wrapped ankle.

He pulled you in slowly, one hand settling lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours. You rested your free hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him through his jacket. The music from the movie drifted up to you, soft and romantic, and you started to sway.

It was sweet. Uncomplicated. Romantic in the way that made your chest feel light. His thumb brushed once over the back of your hand. Your bodies stayed close but respectful, the way two people do when they’re still figuring each other out but really, really want to keep figuring. Every time the breeze moved the leaves, the string lights shifted and highlighted the freckles scattered across his cheeks. He smelled like clean cotton and that faint woodsy note you were already starting to associate with him.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The dance said enough—the way he looked at you, the way his hand flexed gently at your waist when you leaned in a little closer, the soft smile that never quite left his mouth.

When the song on screen faded into the next scene, he didn’t let go right away. Just held you there a second longer, eyes searching yours like he was memorizing something. Then he helped you sit back down, careful with your ankle, and settled beside you again. His hand stayed loosely linked with yours on the cushion between you for the rest of the movie.

The credits rolled. The park slowly emptied. Steve walked you to your car, his jacket draped over your shoulders because the night had gotten cooler and he’d noticed you shiver once. He opened your door for you, then paused.

“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, quiet and sincere. “Even with the cake emergency.”

You smiled up at him, heart doing that same flutter it had since the sidewalk. “Me too.”

“Text me when you get home? So I know your ankle survived the night.”

You promised you would.

As you drove away, the park lights fading in your rearview mirror, you caught yourself smiling at nothing. The memory of his hand in yours, the way he’d looked at you under those string lights, the easy rhythm of dancing with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Robin was going to lose her mind when you told her.

You met her for coffee the next morning before the dance lesson appointment Nancy had asked you to meet her at. She was already at the little corner table when you walked in, two oat milk lattes waiting, her curls pulled up in a messy bun and that knowing grin already on her face.

You barely sat down before it all came spilling out.

“I think he might be the one, Robin,” you said, voice low but glowing. Your cheeks were warm just thinking about it. “Last night was… God, it was perfect. The tree, the lights, the way he danced with me? It wasn’t even a real date and it still felt like the best one I’ve ever had. He’s funny and kind and he actually listened when I talked about my mom and the puzzles. And the way he looks at me…” You shook your head, smiling helplessly into your cup. “I don’t know. It just felt easy. Like I could see myself doing that again. A lot.”

Robin’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with pure delight. “I knew it. I knew the second I saw you two in his office. You were both doing that thing. The heart-eyes thing.” She reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you gush like this. Steve seems like good people.”

You left the café floating, already mentally replaying the feel of his hand at your waist. By the time you pulled up to the dance studio, you were still smiling to yourself.

Nancy was already inside when you arrived, looking effortlessly chic in a flowy blouse and leggings, her planner open on a nearby bench. She waved you over with a bright smile.

“I’m so glad you could make it! David’s already here warming up. I want the first dance to feel natural, you know? He's not the best when it comes to dancing." She let out a giggle, "Come meet him.”

You followed her across the polished floor toward the tall figure stretching near the mirror wall, his back to you. Nancy’s voice was warm and proud.

“David, this is the wedding planner I was telling you about. She’s been incredible already.”

The man turned.

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Steve.

Steve Harrington.

His eyes met yours and widened for half a second before he caught himself. The same perfect hair. The same freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. The same warm tan skin and strong arms you’d had wrapped around you less than twenty-four hours ago. He was in a simple black t-shirt and joggers, looking unfairly good even in dance clothes.

For one suspended heartbeat the world went silent.

Then professional instinct kicked in. You forced your face into a polite, pleasant smile even as your brain screamed.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand like you’d never felt those fingers laced with yours under fairy lights. “I’m really looking forward to helping make your day perfect.”

Steve’s grip was warm and familiar. He shook your hand once, firm but careful, his expression carefully neutral even though his eyes flicked over your face like he was checking if you were okay.

“Likewise,” he said, voice steady. “Nancy’s been raving about you.”

Nancy beamed between you, completely oblivious to the silent earthquake happening right in front of her. “Isn’t she the best? Okay, so the instructor wants us to run through the first part of the waltz. Would you mind dancing with David for a minute so I can see how the steps actually look with a partner? I’m terrible at visualizing without a visual.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You nodded, because what else could you do? “Of course.”

The music started — soft, romantic, the same kind of melody that had played while you swayed together in the tree. Steve stepped in, one hand settling at your waist exactly where it had been last night, the other taking your hand. His palm was warm. Steady. The same hands that had pulled you out of danger and then held you like you were something precious.

You began to move.

The second you were close enough that Nancy couldn’t hear, your smile stayed fixed for her benefit but your voice dropped to a sharp, furious whisper.

“You lied to me.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. He kept the steps smooth, turning you gently so it still looked like a normal demonstration. “I didn’t lie.”

“You told me your name was Steve.”

“It is,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to Nancy for a split second before coming back to yours. “David’s my middle name. Everyone calls me David. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think what?” Your voice stayed low, but the anger was real now, simmering under the surface. Your body stayed loose and graceful for Nancy’s sake, but your grip on his shoulder was tighter than it needed to be. “You didn’t think maybe you should mention that the woman you were slow-dancing with in a tree was planning your wedding?”

His hand flexed at your waist. “I didn’t know who you were. Do you know how many people have your first name? And then last night…” He swallowed, voice dropping even lower. “Last night was real. I wasn’t thinking about any of this. I was just thinking about you.”

You hated how that made something in your chest twist. You were furious — at the situation, at the lie by omission, at the fact that the man who’d made you feel like maybe this could be something was the same man Nancy had been gushing about as her rock, her calm in the storm, her fiancé.

You kept dancing. Kept smiling like everything was fine. But inside you were quietly seething, every turn making the betrayal sharper.

Steve’s eyes stayed on yours, guilty and conflicted and still warm in that same way that had undone you last night. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as the music swelled. “I should’ve said something. I just… didn’t know how.”

The song ended. You stepped back the second it was polite to do so, your smile still in place even though your pulse was racing for all the wrong reasons now.

Nancy clapped, delighted. “That looked beautiful! You two have great chemistry on the floor.”

You and Steve both froze for half a second.

Then he cleared his throat and looked away first.

You forced a laugh that sounded almost normal. “Just doing my job.”

But when your eyes met his again across the studio, the air between you crackled with everything unsaid.

Nancy was already pulling out her phone to check something, oblivious.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, quiet and heavy with apology and something else you didn’t want to name.

You looked away first.

You called Robin the second you got to your car after the dance lesson. Your hands were still shaking.

“I can’t do this,” you said the moment she picked up. “I’m quitting. I’m calling Nancy tonight and telling her I have a conflict of interest or a family emergency or that I joined the fucking circus. I don’t care. I cannot keep planning this wedding. Steve? Dr.Steve? Is David. They're the same fucking person.”

Robin was quiet for two full seconds. Then—

“Absolutely not.”

“Robin—”

“No. Listen to me.” Her voice was firm in that way she only used when she was done being the fun best friend and had switched into serious mode. “This is the biggest client we’ve ever landed. Your boss is already talking about putting you on the senior track if this goes well. You do not get to throw that away because the groom happens to be the guy who made you feel butterflies under a tree. Suck it up. Be a big girl. Put on your professional face, finish the job, and then you can fall apart in my apartment with ice cream and terrible reality TV. But you are not walking away from this.”

You hated that she was right.

So you stayed.

The next few days were a special kind of torture.

Venue showing number one was a historic ballroom downtown. Nancy gushed over the crystal chandeliers while you and Steve stood three feet apart pretending the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on. Every time you had to address him as “David” your jaw clenched. Every time his hand brushed yours while reaching for a brochure the same spark from the park shot up your arm and you hated yourself for still feeling it.

Venue showing number two was a lakeside garden estate. Worse. Open air, golden light, romantic as hell. Nancy kept asking your opinion on ceremony arches while Steve watched you with that careful, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. You answered every question with perfect professionalism and refused to meet his eyes for longer than two seconds.

By the third showing you were running on pure spite and coffee.

It was an old converted warehouse on the edge of town—exposed brick, high ceilings, industrial-chic that somehow still felt warm with the right lighting. You were mid-sentence explaining capacity and catering options when the heavy metal door at the far end of the space slammed open.

“There you are, baby.”

You froze.

Eddie Munson strode in like he owned the place, long hair half-tied back, rings glinting on every finger, a battered leather jacket thrown over a black band tee. He made a beeline straight for you, completely ignoring Nancy and Steve, and slid an arm around your waist like it belonged there.

“Missed you this morning,” he said, loud enough for the whole warehouse to hear, then leaned in and pressed a quick, deliberate kiss to your temple. “You ran out before I could even make you coffee.”

Your brain short-circuited for half a second.

Then pure survival instinct kicked in.

You forced a tight smile and leaned into him just enough to sell it. “Eddie. I didn’t think you were coming today.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” His grin was pure chaos as he finally looked at Nancy and Steve, eyes sparkling with something sharp and amused. “Hi. Eddie Munson. Her fiancé.” He stuck out his free hand toward Steve like a challenge. “You must be the lucky guy. Congratulations, man.”

Steve’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. He shook Eddie’s hand with just a little too much force.

“David,” he said evenly. “Nice to meet you.”

Nancy blinked, clearly surprised but recovering fast with a warm smile. “Oh! I had no idea. Congratulations to you both as well.” She glanced between you and Eddie, then at Steve, sensing the sudden shift in temperature even if she didn’t understand it. “We were just looking at the space for the reception…”

Eddie kept his arm firmly around your waist, thumb stroking once over your hip in a way that felt both protective and deeply irritating. You were going to kill him later. Slowly. He was supposed to be back in Hawkins. What he was doing here? Of all places? You had no fucking idea.

“Looks nice,” Eddie said, glancing around with theatrical interest. “Very… exposed brick. Romantic. You into this industrial vibe, baby? I always figured you’d want something more girly. You know, like something in a castle or some cutesy shit.”

Steve’s jaw ticked.

You felt it.

“The warehouse has a lot of flexibility for lighting,” you said tightly, trying to steer everything back to business. “We can do string lights, uplighting, whatever the couple prefers—”

“Whatever she prefers, right?” Eddie cut in, looking at Steve with a lazy, pointed smile. “Since you’re the groom and all. Gotta make sure your bride’s happy. And your wedding planner too, I guess. She’s been working so hard on this. Barely has time for her own fiancé these days.”

Steve’s smile was pure ice. “She’s excellent at her job. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Oh I know.” Eddie’s fingers flexed against your side. “I’m the lucky one though.”

Nancy laughed a little awkwardly, clearly picking up on the weird undercurrent but choosing to ignore it. “Well, why don’t we keep looking around? I’d love to see the outdoor patio area…”

She started walking. You moved to follow, but Eddie kept his arm around you, forcing Steve to walk on your other side. The three of you moved through the space in a tense little triangle.

Every time Steve asked a quiet, professional question about logistics, Eddie answered for you with some overly confident comment. Every time Eddie made a joke or made some sarcastic comment— Steve’s answers got shorter and cooler. The passive aggression was so thick you could taste it.

You were pissed at both of them.

Pissed at Steve for being engaged to Nancy while looking at you like that.

Pissed at Eddie for showing up out of nowhere and claiming a relationship that didn’t exist just to… what? Stir the pot? Protect you? You hadn't spoken to him in years. You know your dad still spoke with him but he wouldn't be involved in this, right?

But most of all you were pissed at yourself for the tiny, traitorous part of you that noticed the way Steve’s eyes kept flicking to Eddie’s hand on your waist like he wanted to remove it.

By the time Nancy finally checked her phone and announced she had a call she needed to take outside, the air in the warehouse felt combustible.

Eddie waited until the door closed behind her before dropping the smile.

“Miss me?” he muttered under his breath.

You didn’t even look at him. Your voice was pure venom.

“We are going to have a very long conversation later.”

Steve stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the two of you with an expression that was equal parts jealous and carefully blank.

“Everything okay?” he asked, voice deceptively mild.

Eddie grinned again, all teeth this time. “Peachy. Just talking about our own wedding plans. You know how it is.”

Steve’s eyes met yours for one charged second.

You looked away first.

Nancy came back a minute later, oblivious and smiling, and the rest of the showing passed in a haze of forced professionalism and barely restrained tension that crackled every time Steve and Eddie were forced to stand near each other.

You had never wanted a venue tour to end more in your life.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

Nancy left on a Monday morning for a week-long assignment in D.C. She hugged you both at the studio door, already half in work mode, and said, “I trust you two with everything. Just… don’t let David pick all white roses, okay? He’ll try.”

Steve had given her a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and promised they’d handle it.

And just like that, it was the two of you.

The first couple of days were still stiff. You kept everything strictly professional—emails, shared calendars, clipped conversations about linens and guest lists. But something shifted somewhere between the third seating-chart revision at 10 p.m. and the night you both ended up on the floor of the planning office surrounded by sample menus, laughing until your sides hurt over a caterer who had somehow misspelled “filet mignon” as “filet minion.”

After that, the edges softened.

You started talking like normal people. About stupid things at first—worst wedding disasters you’d witnessed, the ridiculous amount of tulle currently living in your storage closet, how neither of you could stand the sound of a violin being tuned. Then quieter things. Steve admitted he was terrified of public speaking and had already rewritten his vows four times. You told him about the first wedding you’d ever planned and how the bride’s veil had caught fire during the unity candle. You told him that Eddie wasn't really your fiancé. That your father is trying to force a fucked up arranged marriage. Steve's mask broke for a fraction of a second— showing relief instead of anger when Eddie was brought up. The stories got longer. The silences got easier. By Thursday you were finishing each other’s sentences over coffee and arguing about playlist order.

It felt dangerously close to friendship.

Friday afternoon you met at the florist’s for the final flower walkthrough. The shop was small and overflowing—buckets of peonies and garden roses and trailing eucalyptus everywhere, the air thick with sweet, green scent. Steve held the door for you out of habit now. You’d stopped flinching when his hand brushed your lower back as he guided you past a display of cascading orchids.

You were deep in debate over whether the centerpieces should be low and lush or tall and dramatic when the little bell over the door chimed again.

You looked up.

And the floor dropped out from under you.

Jake stood just inside the entrance, one hand resting on the small of the pretty brunette’s back. Her hand was curved protectively over a very obvious baby bump. She was laughing at something he’d said, face soft and glowing in that way only very happy, very pregnant women managed.

Jake’s eyes landed on you and the laugh died mid-breath.

For a second nobody moved.

Then the brunette noticed the sudden tension and glanced between the three of you, the color draining from her face.

“Jake?” she said quietly. “Everything okay?”

Steve, who had been examining a stem of a white rose, looked up at the shift in the air. His gaze flicked from your frozen expression to the couple by the door and back again. Something careful and assessing settled over his face.

Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Hey.” His eyes stayed on you. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You felt Steve step half a pace closer without making it obvious.

“Jake,” you managed. Your voice came out flatter than you wanted. “Hi.”

The woman offered a polite, slightly terrified smile. “We were just looking at some arrangements for the baby shower.” She rested her hand more firmly on her stomach, the diamond on her left hand catching the light.

Steve’s voice was mild when he spoke, but there was steel underneath. “I’m Steve. We’re here for wedding flowers.” He didn’t specify whose. “Nice to meet you both.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction at the protective edge in Steve’s tone. “Yeah. Likewise.”

Another beat of heavy quiet. Lauren murmured something about checking the peonies and gently steered Jake toward the back of the shop. He went, but not before glancing at you one last time with an expression that was half apology, half something uglier.

The second they were out of earshot Steve turned fully toward you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You stared at a bucket of blush garden roses like they held the secrets of the universe. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He kept his voice low. “How do you know him?”

You let out a short, humorless breath. “That’s my ex-fiancé. Jake.” The name still tasted bitter. “We were together almost three years. Engaged for eight months. I came home early from a venue walkthrough one day and found him in our bed with her.” You tipped your chin toward where Lauren was now examining a display of baby’s breath, one hand still on her stomach. “She was his coworker. They’d been sleeping together for six months. He told me he was ‘in love for real this time’ and moved out the next week. They got married four months later. And now…” You gestured vaguely at the baby bump. “I guess they’re starting a family.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment. When you finally risked a glance at him, his jaw was tight and his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them.

“He cheated on you,” he said, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“And left you for her.”

“Yeah.”

Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s fucked up.”

A startled little laugh escaped you. “Eloquent.”

“I’m serious.” He shifted so his body partially blocked the view of Jake and Lauren across the shop. “You didn’t deserve that. Anyone who does that to someone doesn’t deserve a second of your energy.”

You swallowed. The flowers suddenly smelled too strong. “It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when you run into them.” His voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”

You looked at him then—really looked. At the freckles across his nose, the concerned furrow between his brows, the way he was standing just close enough that you could feel the steady warmth of him without it being overwhelming. Somewhere over the past week the sharp edges of your anger toward him had worn down into something more complicated. Something that felt a lot like friendship. And something else you were still refusing to name.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Steve’s expression gentled. “Anytime.”

Across the shop, Jake laughed at something Lauren said. The sound made your shoulders tighten automatically.

Steve noticed.

Without a word he reached past you, plucked a single stem of white peony from the nearest bucket, and held it out.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think your taste in flowers is better than your taste in ex-fiancés.”

You took the peony. Your fingers brushed his.

For the first time all week, the smile you gave him was real.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

You didn’t even make it all the way home before the first tear slipped free.

By the time you unlocked your apartment door the pressure behind your ribs had turned sharp and mean. Jake’s face. Lauren’s hand on that rounded stomach. The easy way they’d stood there like the last three years of your life had never happened. You dropped your bag, kicked off your shoes, and went straight for the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf of the fridge—the one you only ever opened when things got bad.

It got bad fast.

Two glasses in and the apartment felt too quiet. Three and the memories started replaying on a loop—walking in on them, the way Jake had looked at you like you were the inconvenience, the empty side of the bed for months afterward. Four glasses and you were on the floor of the living room with your phone in your hand, trying and failing to text Robin something coherent. The screen swam. Your thumbs wouldn’t cooperate.

You didn’t hear the knock the first time.

The second time it was louder, followed by Steve’s voice through the door, low and careful.

“Hey. It’s me. Robin called—said you weren’t answering and she was worried. Can you open up?”

You somehow made it to the door. The second it swung open Steve took one look at you—red eyes, whiskey glass still in your hand, mascara smudged—and the soft concern on his face deepened into something more urgent.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.

He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, gently took the glass from your fingers, and set it on the counter. One warm hand came up to steady your elbow when you swayed.

“How much did you drink?”

“Enough,” you managed, the word thick. Then the tears started again, hot and sudden. “I saw them and it just—everything came back. I thought I was over it. I really thought I was. But I’m not. I’m still just… alone. And miserable. And I keep pretending I’m fine and I’m not. I fucking hate this.”

Steve didn’t try to fix it with empty words. He guided you to the couch, sat beside you, and let you fall apart against his shoulder. One of his hands rubbed slow circles between your shoulder blades while the other held a glass of water to your lips every so often, coaxing you to drink. You cried about Jake. About the way it had felt to be replaced so easily. About how planning other people’s forever made the quiet of your own apartment feel louder every single night. About how tired you were of being the strong one.

He listened to all of it. Never once looked impatient. Never once made you feel dramatic.

When the worst of the shaking stopped he helped you stand, walked you to the bathroom so you could wash your face, then steered you toward the bedroom. You were still in your work clothes. He found an oversized T-shirt in your drawer, turned around while you changed, then waited until you crawled under the covers before sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m going to leave some water and Advil right here,” he said quietly, setting both on the nightstand. “Text me when you wake up, okay? Even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive.”

He stood. Took two steps toward the door.

Stopped.

For a long second he just stood there with his back to you, one hand braced on the doorframe. Then he turned around, walked back to the bed, and sank down onto the edge again. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them.

“I can’t leave like this,” he said, voice rough. “Not without saying it.”

Your stomach dropped.

Steve dragged a hand through his perfect hair, making it stick up in a way that should have looked ridiculous and somehow only made him look more wrecked. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the night in the park. Probably since the dumpster, if I’m being honest. This whole week—working with you, laughing with you—I keep falling harder. And I know the timing is shit. I know I’m engaged. I know I have no right. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”

The words landed like a physical blow. For one dizzy second you wanted nothing more than to reach for him. Instead you sat up against the headboard, heart slamming, and forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that.”

“I already did.”

“Then take it back.” Your voice cracked. “I’m not going to be the other woman, Steve. I won’t do that to Nancy. She doesn’t deserve it. And neither do I. I’ve already been the girl who got left. I’m not going to be the girl who helps someone else do the leaving.”

Steve’s face twisted like the words physically hurt. He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded once—slow and defeated.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

He stood again. This time he made it all the way to the door. His hand lingered on the knob for a second longer than necessary.

“Get some sleep,” he said without turning around. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You stared at the ceiling until the whiskey and the tears finally pulled you under, the ghost of his confession still sitting heavy in the middle of your chest.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

Nancy showed up at your apartment the next afternoon looking pale and exhausted, still in her travel clothes. She didn’t even wait for you to offer coffee before the words spilled out.

“I don’t know if I’m still in love with him.”

You froze with the coffee pot in your hand.

Nancy sank onto your couch, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I was gone. The wedding, the vows, the rest of our lives… and I keep waiting to feel that certainty I used to have. It’s just not there the way it used to be. And I don’t know what to do.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it. Every selfish part of you wanted to say Then don’t. Call it off. He’s in love with me and I’m in love with him and maybe this is the universe giving us a chance.

Instead you set the coffee pot down, sat beside her, and took her hand.

“Nancy. Look at me.”

She did.

“Steve is a good man,” you said, voice steady even though something inside you was cracking open. “He’s kind. He’s steady. You can't see the way he looks at you when you walk in a room. I’ve watched him these past weeks. He is all in. And people like that—people who love that hard and that consistently—don’t come around twice. Doubt is normal. Cold feet are normal. But throwing away a man like him because you’re scared of forever? That’s the kind of regret that doesn’t go away.”

You squeezed her hand tighter, forcing every ounce of conviction you didn’t fully feel into the words.

“Go through with the wedding. Choose him. Choose the life you’ve already started building. He’s worth it. And you’re going to be so happy once you’re on the other side of this fear. I really believe that.”

Nancy’s eyes filled. She pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, “Thank you. I needed to hear that from someone who isn’t him.”

You held her and smiled and hated yourself a little more with every second that passed.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

Two days later you were at your dad’s house for your cousin’s birthday cookout. The backyard was full of aunts in folding chairs, uncles arguing about sports, little kids chasing each other with water guns, the smell of charcoal and sun-warmed grass. Your dad kept bringing it up to distant relatives that you weren't married yet— the horror settling on their faces.

You were standing by the dessert table nursing a soda when Eddie appeared at the edge of the yard.

He looked uncharacteristically nervous. Hair tied back, nice black button-down instead of a band tee, rings still on every finger but somehow more put together. The second your eyes met he started walking toward you like a man on a mission.

Conversation around you gradually quieted.

Eddie stopped a few feet away, swallowed hard, and dropped to one knee right there on the grass.

Your heart stopped.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he said, voice carrying across the suddenly silent backyard. “But I’m done thinking. I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I should admit out loud. And I know the timing is messy and I know you’re scared and I know you’ve been hurt before—but I want to spend the rest of my life proving I’m not going anywhere. Marry me.”

He opened a small black box. A simple gold band with a dark stone sat inside.

Every relative was staring. Your dad’s face had gone soft with something that looked a lot like relief but with something knowing hidden underneath— like he expected this.

You could feel the weight of all those eyes. The quiet hope in your father’s expression. The ghost of Jake’s betrayal still sitting heavy in your chest. The knowledge that the man you actually wanted was currently planning a wedding with someone else because you had told his fiancée to go through with it.

Cynicism settled over you like a familiar coat.

Maybe this was as good as it got. Maybe safe and real and right in front of you was better than wanting someone you could never have.

Your dad stepped closer, voice low and thick. “Honey… it’s time. Let yourself be happy. Say yes.”

Eddie’s eyes never left yours. Waiting. Hopeful. Steady in a way you hadn’t expected.

You heard yourself speak before you fully decided.

“…Okay.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then the backyard erupted in cheers and applause. Your aunts were crying. Your dad pulled you into a crushing hug. Eddie slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands and kissed your cheek like he couldn’t quite believe it had worked.

You smiled for the photos.

You laughed when your cousins started chanting for a toast.

And the entire time the new ring felt like a beautiful, heavy lie against your skin.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

A week later—

City Hall, 2:47 p.m.

You stood in the small waiting area outside the clerk’s office in a simple ivory dress that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie was beside you in a black shirt and slacks, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. Your dad kept checking his watch.

Robin was across town handling the Wheeler-Harrington wedding so you wouldn’t have to. You’d handed everything over two days ago with a tight smile and a “You’ve got this.” You hadn’t let yourself think about the ballroom or the flowers or the man who was supposed to be standing at the end of that aisle.

The clerk called your names.

Eddie squeezed your hand. “Last chance to run,” he tried to joke. It came out soft.

You managed a thin smile. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Your dad stepped forward before either of you could move.

“No.”

The single word cut through the hallway. Everyone turned.

Your father looked older than usual, eyes glossy but steady. “I can’t let you do this, sweetheart. Not like this. Not because you’re scared or because I pushed or because it feels safer than wanting something bigger. You deserve an epic love story. The kind that knocks the wind out of you. Not- Not just doing this because you’re tired of being alone.”

Eddie stared at him for a long second. Then he let out a shaky breath and actually laughed—quiet and a little broken.

“He’s right,” Eddie said, turning to you. He took both of your hands. “You don’t look at me the way you look when you talk about him. And I care about you too much to let you settle for a backup plan. Even if the backup plan is me.”

The ring suddenly felt unbearable on your finger.

You slipped it off and pressed it into his palm. Eddie closed his fingers around it, kissed your forehead once, and stepped back.

Your dad wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the three of you walked out of city hall into the afternoon sun, the marriage license unsigned on the clerk’s desk behind you.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

The Ballroom Venue, 2:47 p.m.

Steve stood in the small room just off the ceremony space, already in the tux, boutonnière pinned, heart hammering against his ribs. Guests were seated. Music was about to start. Nancy was on the other side of the door in her dress.

She slipped into the room without knocking, still holding her bouquet. For a moment they just looked at each other.

“I can’t do this,” Nancy said quietly.

Steve’s shoulders sagged with something that felt dangerously like relief.

“I know,” he answered.

Nancy let out a watery little laugh. “We’re really bad at this, huh?”

“The worst.” He stepped closer, gentle. “I care about you. So much. You’re one of my best friends. But I’m not in love with you the way a husband should be. And I don’t think you’re in love with me that way either. Not anymore.”

Nancy’s eyes filled, but she was nodding. “I’ve been trying to force it because it looked right on paper. Because everyone expected it. Because were good together. But good isn’t the same as right.”

Steve reached out and carefully took the bouquet from her hands, setting it on the side table.

“We can still walk out there and tell them together,” he said. “No blame. No big scene. Just… the truth.”

Nancy wiped under her eyes, careful of the makeup. “What about the planner? All the work she put in—”

“She’ll understand,” Steve said, and the way his voice softened on the words made Nancy look at him more closely. She didn’t ask. She just squeezed his hand once.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go be honest.”

They walked out of the room side by side, not as a bride and groom, but as two people who had finally stopped pretending. The string quartet faltered. Guests turned. Steve found Robin near the front and gave her a small, apologetic shake of his head.

Across the city, at almost the exact same moment, two almost-weddings quietly ended.

And somewhere in the middle of both of them, the same unspoken name sat heavy in two different chests.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

Robin found Steve still in his tux, standing alone near the empty ceremony arch while the last confused guests filtered out.

She grabbed his arm, eyes wide and urgent.

“Holy shit—I can't believe you two did that. I have to tell you something important though. She went to city hall today. With Eddie. They were getting married. Like, for real this time. I didn’t know until an hour ago and I couldn’t reach her and I—”

Steve didn’t let her finish.

He was already running.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

City hall was quiet when he burst through the doors. The clerk’s office was empty. The only people left in the hallway were Eddie Munson, slumped on a bench with his head in his hands, and your father sitting beside him looking equally gutted.

Steve skidded to a stop in front of them, breathing hard.

“Where is she?”

Eddie looked up. His eyes were red. He didn’t even look surprised to see Steve.

“Gone,” he said simply. “Wedding didn’t happen. Her dad stopped it. I stopped it. She left about twenty minutes ago. We don’t know where.”

Your father studied Steve for a long second, something knowing and almost gentle in his expression.

“You’re the one,” he said. Not a question.

Steve didn’t answer. He just dragged a hand through his hair, already turning for the door, mind racing.

Then it hit him.

The park.

The tree.

He was gone before either of them could say another word.

─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───

You were already there.

Sitting on the wide branch of the old oak, knees pulled up, ivory dress wrinkled and dusty at the hem. You’d come straight from city hall without thinking, like the tree was the only place left that made sense.

You heard footsteps a second before you saw him.

Steve stepped into the little clearing beneath the tree, still in the tux, bow tie undone and hanging loose, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way. When his eyes found you, the relief that broke across his face was so raw it almost hurt to look at.

Neither of you spoke at first.

He climbed up carefully, the same way he had the night of the outdoor movie, and sat beside you on the cushioned branch. Close, but not touching. The air between you felt electric and fragile all at once.

“Robin told me you were at city hall,” he said quietly. “I went there. Your dad and Eddie… they told me what happened.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t do it. Any of it.”

“Me neither.” Steve’s voice was rough. “Nancy and I called it off right before the ceremony. We both knew. We’ve known for a while.”

You finally looked at him. Really looked. The freckles. The perfect hair that was a mess for once. The way his eyes were shining.

“I’m in love with you,” you said. The words came out steady, even though your hands were trembling. “I’ve been in love with you since the hospital. Since you danced with me right here. I tried so hard not to be. I pushed you away and I told Nancy to marry you and I almost married someone else just so I wouldn’t have to want you. But I do. I love you. And there’s nothing holding me back anymore.”

Steve’s breath hitched.

He reached up and cradled your face with both hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was afraid you might disappear.

“I’m in love with you too,” he said, voice breaking on the words. “So much it scares me. You’re it for me. You’re the only person I’ve ever looked at and thought, there you are. I don’t care how messy this has been. I don’t care about the timing or the almost-weddings or any of it. I just want you. However I can have you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

You leaned into his touch, eyes falling shut for a second as the weight of everything finally lifted.

When you opened them again, Steve was already leaning in.

The kiss was soft at first—careful, almost reverent—then deeper, all of the restraint and almosts and quiet longing pouring into it. His hands slid into your hair. Yours fisted in the lapels of his tux. The branch swayed gently beneath you, leaves rustling like the whole tree was exhaling with relief.

When you finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Steve let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

“Hi,” he whispered.

You smiled against his mouth, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“Hi.”

Nothing was standing between you anymore.

Just the two of you, the old oak tree, and the rest of whatever came next.

you can find a bonus spicy chapter here

[bluetimeombre]

Lover, you should've come over

Steve was not a hero, but you were and why did the hero always have to die alone?

This is pure angst. Language, character death(s), sacralises, tissues? Gif credits: go to @levanterhaze

Steve Harrington was never meant to be the hero, but he did fall in love with one.

While Mike, Dustin and Lucas were busy finding El in the woods you'd been busy building a life. You had a fake name, a fake life- a regular one.

See, when Steve met you he met you by the pretence. You'd turned up in school a year before everything that begun, settling into high school life quick, like you were trying to hide. No new girl got through without Steve's attention and he was annoyingly enamoured by you.

You weren't trying to be known by him, or anyone. You kept your head down, did your work and didn't make a sound.

Then Will Byers went missing, then the gate opened and closed and opened again and the both of you were taken into a world of monsters. Except it was always your world and kidding yourself any different was a game.

Steve always remembered when he and Dustin found you in the woods, in the small garden shed you'd made a home, sobbing because you were a monster, like them, like everything they fought against.

002.

But Steve never saw you as that, just like Mike never saw El as 011. You were a person with a name you'd made for yourself and you... you were Steve's person.

────────────────────────────

" We don't need a magic bean!"

Nobody had been listening to each other, let alone Steve as they all tried to come up with some great plan to kill Vecna. But he yelled out and got everyone's attention.

Steve bristled under the eyes watching him, looking for help. He met your gaze and found your small smile.

You nodded. You always knew Steve knew a little bit more than he let on and maybe than he knew. There was no time like the end of the world for him to figure it out.

Steve met your gaze and took a deep but shaky breath in. " We... we don't need a magic bean. We got a bean stalk right here."

No, you did not doubt your boyfriend but you wished he'd get to the point.

Steve gathered everyone around the table, grabbing a torch and a slinky.

Robin followed next to you. " Does your boyfriend think now is a good time to play with his toys?"

You shrugged. " He might yet surprise you."

" Dingus usually does," she smiled, nudging you with her elbow.

Steve placed the torch up and began: " Okay, this flashlight is the Squawk radio tower and this slinky is the bridge," he said, putting it over the torch. " We'll never reach the Abyss from the tower, right? But Max said Vecna is drawing our worlds together. So, we let him and we wait and we wait as he draws it closer and closer. When it's close enough and the tower is poking through one of the rifts and boom, my girlfriend makes her move-"

He said it so proud, throwing out an arm in your direction.

Some thought this wasn't the time for him to be bragging and flirting but few smiled.

Steve gave you one of his grins before turning to your sister. " And El, of course. I'm talking meditation things, entering Vecna's mind, ambushing him. In your face dickhead and then, stopping the spell, halting the worlds from moving and- boom! We've got a beanstalk, it's perfect."

Dustin shared an astounded impressed look with you.

That was your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who never had to be in the fight but stayed because he loved you and had made a promise that one day it'd all be over and you'd live happily ever after.

" All we gotta do is climb up it into the Abyss."

Erica nodded. " I like it."

" It's not totally insane," said Mike.

" Thank you."

" But there's a big problem, a big one."

" We can't reach into Vecna's mind when he's too far away," said El.

Steve sighed, thinking his plan had failed.

You knew it hadn't. " Maybe not," you said to El, taking Steve's side and taking the slinky. You needed to do something with your hands. You'd been avoiding El for reasons you still couldn't face. " If the Upside down is under his realm or whatever it's still frozen in time which means all of Brenner's things will be there including-"

" The bath," said El.

" If you can make it into his mind, I can walk you through it, guide you," said Max. " I know his sick mind in and out."

You looked at Max, who was as much a little sister to you as El. " You've already been through so much."

" I can do it," she insisted.

Steve's hand squeezed your shoulder, a small curve to his lips to comfort you.

" I should be there too," added Kali. 008.

You had not met her with El, you only knew her as if today. The one who wanted to kill Dr Kay for the experiments she'd done and kill Henry. The one who wanted it all to end, one way or another.

You looked to Hopper as Kali spoke. His head shaking just enough for you to tell he knew what she was doing and he didn't like it.

There was a needle at the edge of your mind, a pull for attention.

El.

You glanced at her only a little. She stared blankly at you.

You straightened up, grabbing the hand Steve had on your shoulder and held it. You banished El from your mind. She only winced enough for you to see.

" Dig it," said Steve, breaking you out of your trance. " Kill the dick, rescue kids, we're all heroes. If Lucas is right we don't have a lot of time, so we have to move fast."

" One final thing," said Dustin, walking over to the two of you with a timer in hand. " The cherry on top. On the way out we drop a bomb near the exotic matter. Set a timer, escape the Upside down. The bridge collapses and with it: the Abyss, the Demos, the Mind Flayer, all of it, gone. Game. Set. Match."

You smiled at Dustin. You hated to see the bruises, the cuts on his face but knew you were slowly getting him back. That grief was slowly becoming something for him that he could wear and not be itchy in. You ruffled his hair under his hat. " Game set match."

" Let's do it," said Nancy, nodding. She was already gearing up for the fight of their lives. " Kill Henry, save the kids get the hell out before it blows up!"

Lucas yelled an agreement, his sister following as everyone hoped. There was a chance, a high chance you did it and all got to go home.

" Did I just come up with the plan to save the world?" asked Steve as the gang started to pile up to ready themselves.

You glanced at him. " Was about time." You rose up, pecking him on the cheek.

Everyone got to business, everyone but-

Steve's arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you into him. You'd have gasped if Steve didn't slot his lips over yours, kissing you deep and pouring everything he'd ever promised you in the kiss. His arms were tight around you as you bent at the knees, arching into him as he dipped you.

He pulled the both of you up. You squealed.

Steve pulled back, gazing at you. " I love you."

You looked down at his lips, up to his eyes. Your fingers brushed his cheek bone as you brushed back his hair. You wanted to remember it all.

Steve kissed you quick before moving past. " I've got a good feeling about this!"

Your stomach was twisted into knots, un-determined if they were the good sort that came with hope.

" Hey kid, you ready?" you heard Steve ask.

" Yeah, Steve. I am." El.

You turned in time to see Steve place a comforting hand on her head. You knew he wanted to ruffle her hair as he often did with Dustin or Max but it was brushed back and gelled in place.

He left you and El alone.

El stood there like she didn't want to be where she was. " Can we talk?"

It was the talk you never wanted. The sort you'd hoped wouldn't have to be said out loud because looking at you sister, you already knew what she was going to say.

────────────────────────────

So the battle was won and all bad things must come to an end.

The Abyss had been made of sand, fire, mountains and rocks that jutted out more like talons and claws.

It had been you who took the axe to Vecna's head as he lay impaled on one of his own spikes. He had turned to you, recognising you as the closest thing he had to an ally when under Brenner. He'd spat our blood as he pleaded.

" Please... no."

You took the axe to him and in two harsh fell swoops killed him.

Still everything weighed heavy. Your talk with El, Kali's death. And Steve-

Jesus Christ, you'd almost lost him. You'd been with him when the radio tower met the crashing down sky and he pulled you to safety, tumbling down himself. You'd never been so terrified in your life, never felt your pulse race as fast as it did then.

You'd dove for him without care if you went over with him. You'd caught him in time and the both of you had collapsed holding each other. Still it wasn't enough.

Steve drove the truck with the kids in the back and the party.

As much as you wished you could sit next to him, hold him too tight you thought you might throw up if you did. Why he had to run under the belly of the beats and pop those eggs, you'll never know.

You settle for winding down the window and lie your head out. " Never thought there'd be a day I like breathing this stuff in."

" Hey, what're you doing? You're gonna get cold," he said, reaching for your hand and holding it.

" I'd rather die of frostbite then have to not have the window open," you said. " Steve, I love you but you're killing my nostrils. You stink."

He cringed, daring to look at you. " That bad, huh?"

You looked at him and slowly nodded. You squeezed his hand.

With great apprehension, Steve bowed his head and took a whiff of his jacket.

" Holy shit," he didn't even let go of your hand, driving with no hands on the wheel as he quickly cranked down his own window. " God baby, how can you even be sitting this close to me?" he gagged, fingers gripping the wheel tight.

You smiled at him. Because no matter what state, beaten up by bullies or Russians or demobats, you'd always be with him. You'd never have it any other way.

There was a sudden blare of horn and a flash of light as a military truck over took you. There was only a glimpse of Hopper and Murray's grinning faces before they cut you off.

" Assholes," you both uttered.

If Steve didn't have one hand in yours and the other on the wheel you were sure he'd have flipped them off.

But he wasn't letting go of your hand until he was.

" Hey, I know that was difficult back there but you did it," he brushed his hand through your hair, however sweaty and covered in sand it may have been.

You relaxed into his touch.

He glanced at you. " Hard parts over and now we get the rest of our lives."

Steve went back to watching the road but you watched him.

" Tell me about the rest of our lives," you said like asking for a story to send you to sleep.

Steve didn't take his eyes of the road but he licked his lips and there was a glint of excitement in his eyes. " Okay... okay, well you know about the six kids we'll be having."

Any other time you'd have kicked up a fuss about six, instead you nodded and waited for more.

" And every summer we'll go up somewhere, Yellowstone maybe. You know like a real family like we never had. But before that... I mean, I've been thinking. We get jobs, maybe sell my parents place and get somewhere smaller and save up to get that house you like Forest Hill. We'll paint the kitchen yellow cause you've always wanted a yellow kitchen. I figure Dustin won't let us off that easy, he'll be on uncle duty, heck he's probably got Godfather t-shirts ready."

You couldn't help but laugh, only turning away when a stray tear rolled your cheek.

Steve looked back, trying to get a look at you. " What? What is it?" he chuckled.

You wiped at your face quickly. " Just. sounds nice."

" It will be."

Steve was looking at you when Hopper and Murray swerved.

" Steve!"

He only knew something terrible was about to happen because of the panic in your voice.

Spikes in the road were waiting to welcome you home, piercing your tires and throwing you off. The kids in the back screamed and yelled as Steve swerved, breaking hard and trying to make as safe a stop as possible.

You'd hardly gotten to a stop when your door was thrown open.

" Out! Out! Get out now!"

You did so, hands up.

" Don't touch her!" Steve yelled, trying to get to you over the seats, but he was being pulled out the other end. " Don't you hurt her!"

With a jerk of your neck the soldiers were sent crashing into the truck. In the middle of the chaos, dozens upon dozens of soldiers pulling at you all nobody noticed you run as you tried to interfere with everyone's minds so you'd go un-noticed.

Only one saw you.

El called your name but was thrown up against the truck, next to Mike. Their hands were reaching desperately for each other but never quite touched.

El knew what you were going to do. She couldn't be there with you.

────────────────────────────

Steve lost sight of you as he was being carted away by soldiers, guns nudging into his back harshly. " Alright! Alright!" he'd comply, heck, he'd been in this situation before. All he cared about was getting a look at you. He couldn't see you in the chaos.

The military, they'd use you and El just like they had Kali. Your life of freedom was supposed to start today, not whatever this was.

" Steve!" he'd wanted it to be you calling his name but it was Robin who was pushed next to him. Their hands were made up on there, guns at their backs.

" Robin! Robin! Where is she? Can you see her?"

" No!" she sounded as panicked as he felt. She looked around but nothing other than the kids being pushed and shoved, torn apart. Holly was taken from Nancy, Joyce was trying to hold onto Will and Jonathon at once.

Dr Kay marched past them. " Sargent! Sargent, where is she? Where's zero-zero-"

There was a sickening crunch that nobody could miss as Dr Kay's neck snapped and she crumbled to the floor.

The soldiers didn't know what to do, the kids all looked around in the shouting and screaming.

Steve tried to look for El. " El?"

There she was, next to Mike. But she wasn't looking at the dead body of the Doctor that was hunting her. Neither was Mike, or Lucas.

Steve's brows furrowed, lights blinding him slightly. It was Dustin who gave it away as he looked past Steve and toward the gate to the Upside down.

" Oh no," the kid had mumbled but it reached into Steve's ears as he turned.

Oh no.

Oh god no.

You stood in the gate. No soldier in sight, no friend there either. There was only you and what any minute could be death.

Steve pushed against the soliders with all his might.

" Steve!" Robin yelled.

The solider made a grab at him.

" Get off me! Get off!" he yelled, cried, pulled or pushed he didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't stand still.

" Steve! Steve, don't-"

" I said let me go-"

Steve pitched forward but didn't land in the gravel, he landed in water, in some place dark and far away.

" Steve."

Was he dead? Had the soldier's shot him? Were the both of you dead?

He glanced up and found you walking toward him in the darkness, in the water. You were the only thing of light.

Steve got up and ran to you. " Hey, woah, baby, baby," the stress and shouting of his voice wasn't there. He coaxed you gently. He wasn't even sure he was speaking but he felt your body soften when he caressed your arms. " What are you doing? What are you doing?"

You shook your head, tears falling.

" Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying?"

" It's the only way," you chocked.

It took Steve a moment to realise the two of you couldn't just hide out in here. That this wasn't a safe space but a final goodbye in the hole of a void.

" No," he said, disappointed. " No."

" Listen to me-"

" No, I won't-"

" Listen to me!"

" Put me back! I have to be there- I have to save you!"

You grabbed his cheeks, caressing them. " You have saved me, so many times, more than you know. Let me- let me save you."

" Save me? You're killing me baby, you're killing me," he cried, gripping your arms hard enough to bruise. Good, If he hurt you you'd make him apologise to you a thousand ways. For that you had to stay.

" I know, I know it'll hurt at first-"

" Hurt? You're killing me-"

" But I need you to understand-"

" No, no I don't," he cried. " Why are you- why are you doing this?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling. " Because it's the only way. If I live there will always be a key to the gate, there will always be Henry's blood in me and there will always be a chance this happens again. To some other poor kids. To some other town with innocent lives that I can't put at risk."

" Well I can't lose you," said Steve, spitting out the words as the salt of his tears stung his cracked lips. He was losing breath. The very air that he breathed was you. " I won't lose you."

" I'll always be with you, for as long as you want me to be," you sobbed.

" Now," he said. " I want you now, here, with me, always baby, why can't you see that."

In desperation Steve grabbed your cheeks and forced your heads together, like by some divine intervention you would know his thoughts and feel his feelings and feel his very soul being ripped out of him.

" I need you," he grit out, chocking on a sob. " I need you, why can't you see that?"

" You've never needed me, Steve-"

" Yes I have- I have, I do! I am nothing without you, nothing!"

" I need you to-"

" No... no don't say it-"

" Tell the kids I'm sorry," you cried.

Steve pulled you into him, gripping you and hiding his face in your shoulder to cry. " No." How could he face them knowing he let you go? How could he even look in the mirror.

" Tell Dustin I'm sorry he had to lose another friend-"

" What about El?" asked Steve, weeping now.

" When-when this place blows I'll use the last of what I have... wipe out the soldiers. She'll have to run but we talked about this."

Steve looked back, looking at you. He couldn't quite believe his last look upon you would be blurred by tears. " We talked about it."

" Tell Hopper I'm sorry-"

" Why are you doing this to me, baby?" asked Steve, searching around you for a way to stop it all.

" Tell Robin I'm sorry-"

Steve cried. " We were gonna have kids-"

" Tell- Tell Lucas he better marry Max-"

Steve hung his head. " You were gonna be the mother of my kids-"

" You'll find someone else, Steve, you can have everything you ever wanted."

" We were- our kitchen was gonna be yellow."

You took his face again, trying to wipe away his own tears when your hands were wet with yours. " I will always love you."

Steve didn't have any time to argue. Your hands came down to his chest and he thought maybe you'd kiss him and he'd wake up from the dream- the nightmare this clearly was.

You pushed and then he heard screaming.

" Steve! Steve!"

" No, please, don't do this!" Dustin?

The soldiers picked Steve up off the ground and he was in the camp, watching you in the gate of the Upside down.

He couldn't understand, he would never understand.

Your nose was bleeding, your arm out-stretched as you kept El in her place as she screamed and writhed against whatever force stopped her reaching you.

You. You sacrificing yourself again and doing it all alone.

Because you always did things alone.

You always assumed you'd be alone, like-

Like Steve.

He wouldn't find another. You were his lover, his one and only. Steve didn't have a family he had you.

You had him.

" Steve, come back!"

What was he doing? Letting you play the hero, letting you kill all of the dreams you'd made together?

Steve was in love with you. He loved you.

And he'd made a promise when he found you crying in that hut.

You'll never be alone again.

No soldier could keep him down. No words could stop him and make him live a life without you.

" Steve! Stop!"

" Oh god, no, no!"

Steve pushed the soldiers and punched another in the face and then he ran to you.

You were so focused on keeping El back, letting the soldiers hold the rest of them that you didn't notice Steve running at you until it was too late. " What are you doing?" you yelled, blood dripping down to your lips.

Steve wasn't going to let you go down alone.

You die. He dies.

The children cried, the others yelled.

Steve grabbed you and kissed you, the iron of your blood, the salt of his tears and the roar of the wind as the vinyl ended.

You'll never be alone again.

The upside down closed in a ball of fire, taking you and Steve with it.

um... hope you enjoyed? GIF https://levanterhaze.tumblr.com/

[reading-the-stars]

Woah… I wanted angst and I got it. It’s rare that I cry reading a fic, but this one got me. Definitely felt the emotional catharsis I was seeking

[lucyrose191]

NOBODY ELSE | A Z R I E L

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand!sister!reader

Summary: It would only ever be you, no matter how much time had passed.

Warnings: fluff, angst, reader described to have the same eyes as Rhys.

A C O T A R M A S T E R L I S T

There had been many times over the course of being chained within the depths of this cave in which you had thought yourself to have officially gone insane but the moment you felt as though the shadows in the corners of this prison began moving was when you had accepted that insanity had taken over you but the moment you began hearing them whispering to you was truly the loss of all hope.

You had long since lost count of time, with nothing but darkness surrounding you and no hope for any light to work its way into this godforsaken pit, days were passing by without your knowledge. It had been years at this point, how many, you didn’t know but long enough for the world outside to be a distant echo and for your presence to have faded into a pitiful whisper.

Years passed by with only the reminders of your old life to keep you company; you often dreamed of those times your brother carved out time in his day to braid your hair or when you would both jump out of the windows late at night to fly over Velaris together. You’d dream of your mother, how she’d let you sit and ‘help’ her make dresses or that time you were so outraged when you were learning how to fly and she pushed you straight from the balcony of the House of Wind so that you had no choice but to fly.

Your days were filled with flashes of them all; your mother, Rhysand, Mor and Cassian.

You wondered how much of life had moved on without you.

Was Rhysand High Lord yet?

If he was, how had your father died?

Had Rhysand found his mate?

Had he made her High Lady like you both always spoke about?

In those extra difficult times that your control slipped even further, those memories of the Shadowsinger would linger the harshest.

You did not like thinking of how much his life had moved on without you.

Rhysand and Feyre stood together in the kitchen of the townhouse, looking through the window into the garden where Elain was tending to the flower garden and Azriel was sprawled out nearby, sunning his wings.

“Do you think the Cauldron can make mistakes with mates?” Feyre asked him, a look of confused anguish on her face.

Rhysand looked towards his mate, surprise dancing in his eyes at her question. “Nobody truly knows what makes the cauldron put two people together. They’re not always perfectly compatible, my own parents were examples of that, they never truly loved each other. Others, like us, are lucky to find love with their mate.”

Feyre continued looking out into the garden. “Why couldn’t the cauldron have made Azriel, Elain’s mate, instead of Lucien. Lucien is good but they look good together,” Feyre pointed out to where the Shadowsinger was still sprawled on the grass.

A pulse of pain pulled through their bond causing Feyre to snap her eyes back to Rhys. She was surprised to see the pain in his eyes, it wasn’t just any pain. It was the sort of pain that lingered and dwelled, a grief that would forever remain no matter how much time passed but there was also a subtle protectiveness in his eyes that could almost be missed.

Feyre was confused.

Rhysand swallowed a lump in his throat before speaking. “Do not mistake Azriel’s kindness towards your sister as affection. He is spending time with her because I ordered him too, to try and understand her powers. You’re reading into something that isn’t there.” His voice was stern but not unkind.

Feyre’s brows furrowed at his words. “It would be an honour for Azriel to find his mate, with anyone.”

“Azriel does not want a mate, Feyre.” The sheer confidence in Rhysand’s words only confused her even more.

“But why would he not want a mate? I thought everyone dreams of having one.” She questioned, looking out at Azriel’s figure in the garden.

She thought Azriel of all people would want a mate.

“Azriel has already had his great love,” Rhysand said. “No mating bond could ever live up to that for him. There are loves that even the cauldron cannot compete with.”

“What?” Feyre asked, shock taking over her face. “Who?”

That pain appeared in Rhys’ eyes again, a quick flash but it was there. “I meant it when I said I have no secrets to keep from you but not all stories are solely mine to tell. I am not going to tell you Azriel’s secrets.”

Feyre nodded silently. She understood, it didn’t diminish her curiosity but she would not pry for answers that weren’t hers to have.

Azriel’s footsteps were silent as always, shadows licking at his heals and fingertips as he walked towards Rhys’ office.

Not bothering to knock, his gloved hand unlatched the handle as he stepped inside. “You called, brother?”

Rhys was sat back in his chair, unsurprisingly dressed in his formals but the conflicted look on his face ruffled his demeanour. “I’d like to preface by saying you haven’t done anything wrong, my mate simply is too nosey for her own good and sees things she hopes are there rather than reality at times.”

Azriel’s face remained at an impasse other than the slight narrowing of his golden, hazel eyes.

Rhysand sighed. “Feyre is under the impression that you and Elain may make for a better match than her and Lucien.”

The control Azriel had on himself immediately slipped as he stepped back, eyes widening in shock, fists clenching by his sides as his shadows fluttered around him. “No. Rhys, I would never-”

“I know” Rhys interrupted. “I am not accusing you of doing anything, Az. I just thought it best to let you know.”

Azriel shifted uncomfortably at his words. “You know there is no one else, there never has been and there will never be anyone else.” He insisted, wanting his brother to believe him.

Rhysand’s gaze softened. “I know. I have never doubted that even though it would be okay if eventually-”

“No!” Azriel’s cut him off, “There will never be another.”

“Okay,” Rhys conceded. “I just wanted to let you know, Azriel.”

Azriel nodded his head, not hesitating in taking his exit, leaving Rhys there in a suffocating silence of loss.

“You’re distracted,” Cassian dropped his stance, looking towards Feyre intently.

His High Lady sighed in frustration, leaning back against the ropes of the sparring ring.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked.

Feyre pursed her lips in contemplation before relenting. “Did you three actually used do things in the same room as each other?”

Cassian barked out a deep laugh at her question. “That’s what’s on your mind?”

Feyre shrugged sheepishly.

Cassian shook his head, a large smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, Rhys and I did. It would be a bit weird and incredibly uncomfortable for us all if Azriel did.”

Feyre tilted her head curiously, “Why?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be very nice for Rhys to see his best friend having his way with the girl he loves more than anything, would it?” He said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, Azriel has way too much respect for him to do that anyways.”

Feyre’s eyes widened in shock but there was also a sickening feeling of jealously bubbling in her stomach. “So, Azriel and Rhys loved the same girl?”

Cassian, way too focused now on stretching to acknowledge how his words had been interpreted. “We all love her but those two always have and always will love her most. She’s their number one girl.”

Number one girl.

Feyre did not like the sound of that at all. She hated it and she hated herself even more because of the jealously that gnawed at her. “They didn’t hate each other for that?” She questioned.

Cassian shook his head, mid lunge. “Azriel had no reason to hate Rhys. It was difficult for Rhys to accept in the beginning and Azriel understood that but Rhys saw how much love was there, it was impossible to miss so who was he to stand in the way of that?”

Feyre stood in thought for a moment. “So, Rhys loved her first?”

Cassian laughed. “Of course he did. It’s not really a competition though, is it?”

She didn’t answer him, she simply stood there, thoughts swirling.

Feyre hated herself, she hated that she could not stop thinking about this girl who must have been something really special for both Rhys and Azriel to both love.

She’s their number one girl.

No matter how hard she had tried to not think about it, she couldn’t help it.

“What’s on your mind, Feyre darling?” Rhys’ smooth voice slipped through the silence of their bedroom.

She looked up at him from her place at the edge of their bed. “It’s nothing,” she stated simply.

Rhys frowned at her dismissal, placing his watch on his bedside table before walking to stand in front of her. He pressed a palm to the side of her face. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”

She sighed, mostly in frustration at herself, partially in his insistence to talk about it. “Where you in love with Azriel’s mate?”

The utter bewilderment that appeared on Rhys’ face made her immediately regret her words and watch to shrink back in on herself. “What!?”

Feyre shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she tried to pull away but Rhys kept his hand on the side of her face, steadying her.

“Azriel doesn’t have a mate,” he told her, utter confusion lacing his words.

Feyre shrugged, “Were you in love with the same girl then?”

“I’m so confused, no?” Rhys said, having absolutely no idea where she could’ve gotten this from. “Where have you gotten this from?”

Feyre looked at him, frustration beginning to build within her. “I asked Cassian about how you used to do things in the same room, he said you and him did but not Azriel because it wouldn’t be nice for him to be pleasuring a girl that you loved! He said she was yours and Azriel’s number one girl.”

Rhys pulled his hand from her face and placed it over his mouth. The confusion in his eyes had faded into a an amusing sparkle as his shoulders began shaking with suppressed laughter.

“What!?” Feyre huffed. “What are you laughing at!?”

Rhysand released a full deep chuckle at her frustrations. “Cassian is an idiot and you are utterly beautiful when you’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous!” She argued.

Rhys simply raised an eyebrow at her, completely unconvinced. “You’ve completely misinterpreted Cassian’s words, Feyre darling. It is still not my story to tell but I can promise you that Azriel and I have never been in love with the same girl.”

It had been five centuries since the disappearance of you and your mother and Azriel had never been the same.

Long before he met you, Azriel had learned what it meant to live in loneliness with nothing but his shadows for company but loneliness in response to your absence was never quite something anyone could become familiar with.

It was an endless void of nothing. Normally the thread of silence would at least end somewhere; a place where you simply got used to the feeling of someone not being there; but not with you.

It had been five centuries since your last laugh and that entire time Azriel has spent sleeping in your room. The room that sat right next to his own where your beds were pushed against the shared wall so even in your own beds you would be sleeping as close as you could get to each other.

It remained exactly how you left it, the same books sat on the nightstands, the same jewellery littered across a dressing table and a beautiful dress of deep blue with glittering silver stars on the bodice hung from the door of the closet, preparing to be worn for a day that never came.

Each morning that Azriel woke and got ready for the day, his last words to the House of Wind always remained the same. Leave it exactly how she left it, please.

The House always listened.

Whilst Azriel no longer slept in his own room, it had changed. The walls that were once a basic white had been transformed into a purple so unique it could only reflect the colour of your eyes.

In those rare moments that Azriel was able to relax away from the world, he would lay in his bed and stare at the walls of his room and whilst they could never reflect the light in a sparkle the way your own eyes could, the paint would simply have to do.

The winter chill of the Illyrian Steppes bit harshly into your cheeks as you ran through the thick snow into the forests surrounding the Windhaven camp.

The males were awful here, brutal even but even they knew to leave the daughter of the High Lord alone and so you were free to wander without the risk of your wings being torn from your back.

The trees created sanctuary for you here, as you weaved in between them you thought of your brother, Rhys and how quickly he would lose his mind once he found you gone.

A deep rooted feeling of being watched suddenly stirred in your stomach causing you to pause. It was the most subtle weight you had ever felt and yet you could not help but feel it as it settled into your bones.

You cast a quick glance up into the branches of the trees above you, where their leaves and twigs clashed and combined with one another, it took a moment for you to spot them but eventually you did.

Within a particular tall tree that was shaped in all groves and turns towards the top, deep within the shadows is where you saw him.

A male.

Sitting, observing.

“Hello,” you greeted softly.

No answer.

“What are you doing up there?” You asked.

The shadows fluttered and twitched at first before melting away into a black mist behind the males shoulders, revealing his face.

“Oh,” you whispered, taking in the hard expression of his face. He had hair of a dark midnight sky, eyebrows just a shade lighter that were furrowed deeply, shadowing his eyes that, against his dark features, seemed to glow golden when they narrowed towards you. He was all sharp lines and tensed muscles.

He shifted slightly in his place against the branches of the tree before stepping forward and allowing himself to gracefully drop down in front of you, merely inches away as he stared down into your eyes.

“How did you see me?” He asked, his voice was rough and deep for his age, possibly a couple years older than you, but his tone was steady.

“I didn’t,” you admitted. “I felt your eyes on me.”

It was then that you took notice of just how tightly his wings were pulled in at his back, a complete contrast to yours that were much more relaxed; pulled in just enough to protect them but let out enough that you didn’t have to consciously hold them in all the time, “you’ll get back pain holding them in like that,” you told him, pointing briefly at his wings.

They twitched in response, shadows fluttering wildly around the tips of his wings. It wasn’t a purposeful movement, that you could tell.

“I can’t control them,” He admitted to you.

Your brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”

“I cannot fly,” he said. “I never learned how to control them.”

You stepped back at his words. “You can’t fly!?” You spluttered in outrage. “Why can’t you fly? Are you injured?”

He shrugged in a way that showed this wasn’t a big deal to him, as though it was normal. “I wasn’t allowed outside,” he stated simply.

You frowned, the idea of not being allowed outside was unfathomable to you. “You weren’t allowed?”

“My father didn’t let me,” his words remained even, unaware of the turmoil that was stirring in your gut the more he spoke, a turmoil that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I am a bastard,” he said, his tone empty and detached, as though he had long since accepted that was all he was reduced to.

You did not like how he seemed to convinced that that’s all he was worth.

“You’re a Shadowsinger,” you pointed out, remembering old tales of myths and legends you had read before. “Those are very rare.”

The shadows clinging to him fluttered and preened at the tips of his wings and over his shoulders as though they understood your words.

Azriel nodded in response, feet scuffing into the dirt often forest uncomfortably at your words.

“That’s so cool!” You whispered in awe, the admiration you felt was completely authentic but you were also hoping it comforted him a bit.

He looked at you, the only hint of confusion on his face was the soft crease between his browns and the subtlest tilt of his head. “You’re not scared?” He asked.

“Of what?” You laughed, as though the idea was absurd.

“Of me,” he raised one of his gloved hands, tapping his index finger into his chest.

“Have you given me a reason to be scared?”

He paused at your question, internally baffled at this entire interaction. “I suppose not,” he muttered to himself, the idea of you not being scared simply just from his presence was beyond him.

“What’s your name?” You abruptly changed the subject.

He was silent for a moment, contemplating whether he should tell you or not. “Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeated softly, testing how it sounded. “That’s a beautiful name,” you told him.

His shadows twitched, his wings almost flinched at your complement, Azriel shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you want to be my friend, Azriel?”

“I’ve never had a friend before,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be good at it.”

You pursed your lips in response, looking around the forest floor before speaking. “I’ve never really had a friend either, there’s my brother, Rhys, but he doesn’t count. Do you have any siblings?”

Azriel tensed at your question, his entire body stiffening, hands clenching in his gloves. “No, it’s just me.”

“Well,” you began, “I’d be honoured to be your first friend, if you’ll be mine?”

You were beyond confusing to Azriel, the first person besides his mother to not look at him with fear or disgust, to look at him and just see a person.

Azriel did not reply verbally but he didn’t need to, you didn’t mind and so he simply nodded in response earning a beaming smile from you.

“Spread your wings out wide,” you instructed softly.

“They’re heavy,” Azriel muttered, wings spreading in stuttering movements, face twisting slightly as he concentrated on holding them.

Your eyes ran along his wings now that they weren’t tucked in painfully right, taking in the large span of them, they fluttered under your gaze, completely against Azriel’s control.

“That’s because your back muscles aren’t used to holding their weight, we’ll need to strengthen them,” you explained, eyes snapping away from his wings, towards his own hazel eyes instead.

“How do we strengthen them?” He asked.

“Exercises, most are trained from babies to use their wings so it comes a lot more naturally but we can do it together.” You smiled at him encouragingly.

You knew this was hard for him, you knew he thought he wasn’t worth your help and you knew that this entire situation was uncomfortable for him but you wanted to help him and you liked spending time with him.

“I struggled with flying at first,” you admitted, hoping it would comfort him in some way.

His eyes stopped glancing to the trees around you, now focused. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Rhys was flying before he could walk but I was too scared to do it. I didn’t trust myself. I kept imagining my wings just not working one day and falling to my death.”

Azriel shifted subtly, shadows restless. “How did you do it?”

“I had no choice,” you said. “One day my mother and I were looking at the stars from the balcony of our home and she just pushed me off, I had no choice but to trust my wings or fall and I flew for the first time that day.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “She pushed you off the balcony!?”

You smiled widely. “Yeah, I was so angry, I didn’t speak to her for a week but it worked. I won’t be pushing you off ledges until you can hold your wings properly though.”

You could detect the subtle relief that reflected in the golden hazel hue of Azriel’s eyes, as though he expected you to be able to push him off of any ledge and force him to command his wings that didn’t seem willing to answer him yet.

At some point, you will take great joy in pushing him off a cliff.

Not yet though.

Only when he was ready.

“Where does my starlight keep running off to?” Your mother’s gentle voice filtered through your ears as she brushed through your hair carefully.

You were silent for a moment, contemplating whether to reveal your secret. “I made a friend.”

You felt the comb pause briefly against your head before it continued. Your mother hummed absentmindedly. “Did you? Do I get to meet this friend?”

You pursed your lips in contemplation, an unexplainable feeling of protectiveness surging through your body. “He’s shy, he doesn’t like being around people,” you told her.

You missed the amused smile that appeared on your mother’s face, no doubt intrigued at the strange protectiveness that you had for your age. “He?” She asked, almost teasingly.

You huffed in response but a smile grew on your face that you couldn’t stop. “Yes,” you said strongly before your tone shifted to pride. “He’s my friend, I’m teaching him to fly.”

Your mother paused entirely, turning your body to face her own causing your eyes to meet her own that held the same violet hue she passed down to you and your brother. “Teaching him to fly? How old is this friend?”

Your shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe Rhys’ age. His father never let him outside so he can’t fly.”

Worry clouded your mother’s face at your words. “Is he a good boy?”

A bright smile overtook your face at her question. “He’s the best! He’s very quiet but he still speaks to me and he listens to all of my complaining and his shadows play with my hair!”

“Shadows?” Your mother’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“He’s a Shadowsinger,” you whispered. “Those are very rare.”

“They are,” she repeated. “Don’t tell your father about him, starlight.”

“I would never,” you swore, your voice demonstrating the dramatic outrage of a child who couldn’t fathom sharing information like that to your father. “Mama?”

“Yes, starlight?” She asked, turning you back around so she could start braiding your hair.

“Don’t tell Rhys, okay?” You told her, your brother could get way too protective, it was embarrassing.

“I would never tell Rhys, starlight. Or Cassian.” She promised.

“Definitely not Cassian.” You agreed.

“I’m not ready!” Azriel protested, warily looking over the edge of the cliff you had pretty much dragged him too.

“You are ready!” You argued. “You’ve got great control of your wings and your muscles are as strong as can be!”

Azriel shook his head, shadows darting around him, showing his nerves. “What if I fall?”

“Then I’ll catch you!” You replied simply.

“I’m too heavy for you to catch me!” He protested.

“You are not, I’m strong!” You argued, outraged at his accusation. “I’ll hold your hands?” You proposed, already reaching out towards his own gloved hands.

Azriel looked down at your outstretched hands, hesitation clear on his face, he really wasn’t sure about this but he did really want to be able to fly.

He relented, placing his hands in yours, earning himself one of your bright smiles, stars twinkling happily in your eyes.

Your wings fluttered slowly, not enough to lift you off the ground, just enough to encourage Azriel to copy your actions.

You slowly increased the force at which your wings beat, air building with the crevice of each controlled flap of the membrane.

Azriel copied your movements, his own wings much larger in comparison to any you’ve seen on other children your age, your own were quite big for a female Illyrian so young.

Azriel felt the change in gravity, the way his feet were itching to leave the ground on their own accord, as though his body was fully attuned and aware to what was currently happening even if it was unfamiliar.

“You’re doing it,” you whispered proudly, your own feet lifting off the ground before Azriel’s but your hands stayed in his as you remained stationary in the air, feet just slightly off the ground as you waited patiently for his own body to rise into the wind.

“You’re so close, just a bit more.” You encouraged him.

The second the air swept beneath Azriel’s feet for the first time, it felt as though his entire body was about to fall backwards as he had nothing to stand on but your hands tightened on his own, keeping him straight as he unsteadily rose with you, trying to focus on keeping his wings moving.

“It’ll come naturally the more you do it,” you told him. “You won’t even have to think about it.”

Azriel wasn’t so sure about that but as he felt the wind beneath his wings as he became airborne for the first time, with your hands holding his, he chose to believe you anyway.

“You’re flying Azriel!” Sheer joy and pride filled your face as you looked at him, he thought you looked beautiful like this.

The wind causing your hair to flutter around your face, eyes sparkling at the freedom that flying gave you and your smile took up your whole face as it always did.

Distracted by the sight of you in your element, Azriel lost focus of his wings causing him to quickly drop a few feet but your hands tightened on his just as his heart dropped in his chest out of panic.

He concentrated on beating his wings again, fluttering slightly higher than previously.

But even as he concentrated on flying, his mind was also on something else.

You had caught him, just like you said you would.

Wake. Wake. Wake.

Their hissing little whispers nudged you from unconsciousness. The cold concrete of the cave dug uncomfortably into your back. You groaned, shifting as your eyes opened, adjusting to the thick, clouded darkness you had been forced to endure for five centuries.

Another day it remained the same.

A sharp, slithering coldness nudged against your cheek, and again against your fingertips. You looked down in confusion, taking in the grey-black strands of darkness fluttering around your hands.

You raised your hands slightly, it was hard to see clearly but they resembled beings you had not seen in a very long time. The dark strands fluttered around your fingertips as you stared intently at them and in a movement so sharp, one lone sentient being jumped to your shoulder.

Your head snapped to the side as you looked at it, moving around, nestling into your clothes that had long since been reduced to scraps of fabric.

The beating beneath your chest stuttered as you stared at them.

Shadows.

They were shadows.

Master. Master. Master.

She hears us. She hears us.

They fluttered around you in a way that seemed to portray excitement.

Was that them talking?

“Azriel?” You whispered, broken yet that sick part of you still held a bit of hope.

Many years you had locked out memories of the Shadowsinger yet it never worked too well, you could never forget him and you would never forget the sentient beings that obeyed him either.

No.

They almost sounded like hisses.

“Not Azriel then.” You muttered. It did not surprise you, not really.

You didn’t understand.

“Another Shadowsinger?” You asked, it earned that same excited fluttering dance as before. Yes.

But who? You wondered.

It seemed they knew your thoughts too.

You. You.

Your face contorted into confusion. You weren’t a Shadowsinger.

You allowed yourself to think of Azriel again. Not of him exactly or the feeling of his love that had faded long ago but of his story.

Azriel had not been born a Shadowsinger.

How had Azriel become a Shadowsinger?

He had been locked in a dark cell for eleven years and had no choice but to find companionship within the darkness itself.

Oh.

“You’re my shadows.” You did not question this time.

Yes. They hissed again.

“But the faebane chains?” You wondered aloud.

“Shadows are not magic, they’re simply part of me.” Azriel had told you that before.

You studied them again, more intently this time and whilst they resembled the shadows of Azriel’s so very much there was the slightest hint of a difference; they weren’t just a grey-black, they had the slightest underlying tint of purple.

They truly were yours.

Release chains. They muttered, not to you, to themselves, fluttering around frantically.

“I can’t,” you whispered in long accepted defeat. “They won’t come off, someone else needs to do it.”

Your newly acquired shadows ignored you, muttering to themselves.

Shadowsinger will do it. Spymaster will do it.

But your energy was draining again, conscious slipping into darkness, your shadows slipping through the cracks of the cave without you knowing.

Azriel had been born alone and he would die alone.

He had accepted that was all life was made for him, there were those years he had you, moments were he thought he’d have you forever but you were taken, brutally slaughtered along with your mother in the spring court.

He had never and will never forgive himself for not being there to protect you. Truthfully he did not know how Rhysand could go on with life after that, not that his High Lord and brother didn’t deserve to live, he did, but how had grief not taken his sanity Azriel would never know.

He would never know how Rhys could look in the mirror and not see the shadows of his mother and sister, not when some days Azriel could not look into his eyes and see the very reflection of the young woman he lost, his woman.

It would forever just be Azriel and his shadows.

Another night that Azriel slept in your room alone, beneath your sheets, on the pillows you always hid that ridiculous stuffed bat beneath.

When he awoke this time though, it was different.

His shadows, usually fluttering lazily were muttering and batting around recklessly, their unease settling in Azriel’s chest, having the spymaster looking around the room carefully.

The only thing that seemed wrong were his shadows themselves, it was as though they were fighting each other?

Intruder. Intruder. They hissed, flying into each other as though they were in a sort of disorientated state. Azriel had never seen anything like it before.

Deep down, Azriel understood that there was no intruder in the House of Wind but he did not understand what they could be referring to.

The bond between himself and his shadows was strange. They told him things yes, but a lot of their communication came down to feelings, he felt their unease, their frustration, as though they were participating in an internal battle.

But why?

He sat up in your bed and observed them closely. He too, could see that there was something off but couldn’t quite put his mind to it.

Intruder. But where?

The shadows hissed at each other, floating around the room in distress, it was when the golden rays of the morning sunrise shone through the balcony window that he saw it.

His eyes, always so sharp, caught that difference in his shadows. Not his shadows, he concluded. Eyes widening, he reached out to that invisible thread and called his shadows back to him with a snap.

There it was.

A small cluster that did not return to him, a cluster of shadows that looked just the slightest different to his own. That underlying purple tint was not his.

He tried to reach out, tried to find that tether to them.

Nothing.

They did not seem threatening though.

They fluttered and danced around before him, as though they were trying to communicate with him but could not.

Help. His own shadows muttered.

“Help?” He questioned.

They plead help. They hissed into his ears. Another Shadowmaster. Trapped.

Azriel shook his head, he was the only shadowmaster.

No. They hissed, more stern this time, as though telling him he was wrong.

Azriel removed himself from your bed, pulling on his Illyrian leathers as quickly as possible, not even strapping his weapons to himself. Instead he simply grabbed Truthteller alone into its sheath.

He approached the bedroom door, turning to see if those other shadows would follow, they were.

He let himself out of the room, shadows, his and not his following behind closely, he barged into Rhys’ study causing the High Lord to jump, not that he would ever admit.

“Azriel?” Rhys greeted, looking up from his papers in barely concealed surprise. “A knock would be nice.”

“We have a problem.” Azriel simply responded earning Rhys’ full attention.

“What is it?”

Azriel held out a gloved hand and while Azriel had no means to communicate with these shadows, they understood him and gathered into his palm, fluttering into a rounded shape.

Rhys simply looked at them in confusion. “What am I looking at? New party trick?”

Azriel shook his head, face contorting as he studied them. “They’re not mine, I can’t communicate with them.”

“What?” Rhys uttered to himself.

“There’s another Shadowsinger out there,” Azriel responded, mostly to himself. “They communicate with my shadows but I can’t understand them myself.”

“Another Shadowsinger?” His High Lord mumbled, shaking his head. “No, you’re the only Shadowsinger alive.”

“Not anymore,” Azriel argued, his and the guest shadows beginning to flutter wildly in their own disagreement. “Apparently they’re trapped.”

Chained. His shadows corrected. Caved.

“Chained,” he spoke aloud.

“Perhaps for good reason,” Rhys argued, whilst Azriel was his brother and he trusted him beyond measures, he was well aware just how powerful Shadowsingers were, if this other Shadowsinger was locked away then perhaps it was because it was deserved.

Azriel shook his head, a sort of confused anguish taking over his features as he observed the shadows sitting in his palm. “They don’t feel threatening, or evil. They’re scared, pleading for help, for freedom.”

“How do you know they’re not pretending? That this other Shadowsinger hasn’t sent these here to play a ruse just to get their freedom?” Rhys asked.

The guest shadows in his palm shrunk down in defeat whilst his own fluttered in agitation around his shoulders and the tips of his wings.

She doesn’t know they’re here. She can’t control it yet.

Azriel listened to their whispers with widened eyes before looking at Rhys. “She cannot control them, this ability must be newly manifested, they came here on their own. Besides, shadows don’t work like that, they can’t fake feelings or emotions.”

“She?” Rhys sat up straighter in his chair at the newfound information.

“I can’t explain it, Rhys,” Azriel muttered, deep in thought. “I have this feeling that I need to free her, I don’t know why, it just feels right to.”

Those lone little shadows of yours clung to Azriel in the following days, against your knowledge. Azriel spent that time preparing himself for rescuing you, not that he knew it would be you he was rescuing, trying to gain as much information as he could through his own shadows translating messages back and forth with yours.

It was strange for Azriel, not only that there were sentient echoes of darkness that for some reason he could not communicate with but also knowing that somewhere out there, trapped and alone, there was another like him, another who could communicate with the darkness and melt into the shadows, even if it was a new manifestation.

The cave you were imprisoned in, he learned, was located somewhere in The Middle, because of course it was.

What other place would be sick enough to have trapped a person so long that the shadows had sought them out?

Trapped for centuries. The shadows had told him.

Bound by faebane chains, tormented by memories of a time that had long since faded.

Azriel, in all he had been through and in all his grief and terror over the years, could not imagine being trapped within the same four walls for hundreds of years.

He had barely lasted eleven, Rhys had hardly lasted fifty and yet out there, a poor woman had lasted hundreds of years, alone.

A woman of his kind.

The cave, as Azriel stood before it, was hardly a cave. It was more a carved hole in the ground, hidden by overgrown moss and shrubbery that even he, a spymaster, would have overlooked had he passed by without your shadows leading him to it.

He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to squeeze his overgrown body into it.

Your shadows shot forward like whips, diving into the underground cave, no doubt snapping back to you, even though your lack of control, they were drawn to you, desired to be close to your being.

Azriel crouched down, inspecting the gap in the ground, his own shadows fluttering around in agitation, some even darting ahead into the cave. He peeled off his outer layers that he strapped his weapons to, sending them down into the cave before him.

Risky, no doubt, but he felt no threat towards whatever presence was inside this cave, only an innocently, trapped Shadowsinger.

One that meant no harm, only desiring freedom.

He heaved himself through the gap, the concrete lining the underground cave scratching against his arms and shoulders as he dragged himself through, gravity doing most of the work, allowing him to drop down onto solid stone and rock.

It smelled awful; blood, dirt, faebane and a hell of a lot like someone had long since lost the will to live.

He saw the chains, loads of them, hanging from the ceiling, from the walls, even some bound to the ground with bolts.

Even as someone bound by shadows and member of the Night Court, Azriel could not see clearly in the darkness of this pit but his shadows led the way, they led him to your shadows.

Your shadows that covered just about every part of you, hiding you as though attempting to protect your presence from anyone who could possibly mean harm, leaving you just the image of a darkened, fuzzy blur.

“I will not harm her,” Azriel promised. “I only want to free her, take her back to the Night Court, help her heal and gain control.”

He saw the way they hesitated, how they debated whether they had made the right decision in finding him or not.

She trusted you. They whispered, confessed. His own shadows translating. Long time ago.

Azriel did not know what they meant by that. Had he known her once upon a time?

It was when they finally relented and made the decision to fade away from covering your body that Azriel, despite all the gore and torment he had witnessed in his life, felt like he was going to be sick as his eyes fell upon the battered figure of a young, fae woman.

His fae woman.

No. He shook his head, as though it would shake the sick illusion from his mind.

Yet you remained in his sight.

He knew that figure, that hair, those lashes. It has all haunted his every sleep and movement for the last five hundred years. The colour beneath your eyelids that he had drenched his walls in, that he would look upon every morning and every night.

Even unhealthily slimmer than you had been five hundred years ago, there would not be a single moment or a single version of you in which Azriel would not recognise.

The first person who had shown him grace, who had shown him that kindness and love does in fact exist, the person who had given him the family that he still clings to today in hopes of grasping at every last remainder of you that he had believed was long lost.

Your name was a ghost on his lips as he surged forward, shadows following, your own fluttering at his shoulders now as he unsheathed truth-teller and sliced through the chains binding you to this sick prison.

The dagger you had given him.

The first gift he had ever received.

He collapsed to his knees beside your battered, unconscious body.

Your breaths shallow, wrists and ankles raw from centuries of imprisonment, body all but skin and bones.

He smoothed a marred thumb over your cheekbone, hands shaking as he took you in, your body surrendered to his touch as though finally, it had found something safe it could relax itself in.

And though you were unaware, still in the depths of your mind, your eyes had fluttered open, a deep purple hue that he had missed for hundreds of years.

Azriel choked on a sob as he gazed upon you again, his soul shattering open at the sight of the only person he had ever loved in his five hundred years walking the lands of Prythian.

He felt the moment part of his soul tore from his chest and landed straight into yours, a golden thread deep within him keeping it tethered to himself even though it now sat with you.

Because even though Azriel had never needed the confirmation of the Cauldron to know what you were to him, why had it taken him finding you after so long to finally snap into place?

[g0ldendesiree]

Bad Idea Right | Masterlist

THE ONE WHERE you broke your brothers rules

or

THE ONE WHERE you learn what it truly means to love another.

beau maxwell x di laurentis!reader

status: ongoing taglist: open

01. bad idea right

↳ what's the worst thing that could happen when you start seeing your brothers best friend?

[aheadattheapex]

He's so good with the kids 🫠

[thatsthatbridepresso]

Red, White, and Positive

Rating: 18+ MATURE THEMES.

Warnings: mentions of medical procedures, medical terminology, nausea, vomitng, (you know where this is leading without spoiling it lol), age gap relationship, attending and nurse relationship. IF I FORGOT ANYTHING LET ME KNOW!

I think this may need a conclusion 🤔

***Dedicated to my bestie @josephs-quinns***

Part of you thought you were still dreaming when the alarm began to beep—sharp and insistent—from the bedside table. His bedside table. Jack exhaled softly and slapped it silent.

“Time for you to go already?” you murmured, voice thick with sleep as you rolled toward him. A quiet chuckle. 

“Yeah. Gotta head out. I’m helping downtown with the SWAT team.” 

You suppressed a sigh. Jack had volunteered as a SWAT physician—something you’d never quite made peace with. It put him in harm’s way, more than he already was. But you’d learned not to stand between him and the things that steadied him. He said it helped with the PTSD. Said the adrenaline kept the worst of it at bay. “

And you’re working tonight?” you asked, stifling a yawn.

 “Yeah.” 

For once, you weren’t. The plan—if things stayed quiet—was to meet him later, catch a few minutes of fireworks. A fragile plan at best. He was the night shift attending, after all. 

Jack pushed back the covers. 

“Jack.” You reached for him, fingers closing gently around his arm.

“Yes, baby?” 

“Please—be careful.”

 Even half-asleep, your tone carried weight. He stilled. For a fleeting second, he wished he hadn’t volunteered. That he could stay right here, in this bed, with you—until duty called later, on his own terms. 

“I will,” he said quietly. “You know I will.” 

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deliberate. 

You exhaled. “I just worry.” 

“I know.” 

Another soft kiss. 

“I’ll be careful.” 

Reluctantly, you let him go. He rose from the bed, reaching for his prosthetic. You watched as he fitted it into place, movements practiced and unthinking, then stood and stretched. Sleep was already slipping further out of reach. Not with where he was going. Not today. You lay there, silent, as he pulled on camo pants and a black t-shirt, then reached for his shirt. 

“I love you,” he murmured, bending to press a kiss to your head.

You looked up at him, catching his lips before he could pull away. “

I love you too.” Then he was gone. 

The bedroom felt too large without him. Too quiet. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling fan as it turned in slow, endless circles. Round and round. 

After a minute, your stomach shifted uneasily. Another minute, and the room tilted just slightly. You closed your eyes, pressing a hand to your abdomen. Maybe it would pass. It didn’t.

 The nausea surged, sudden and sharp, your mouth flooding with saliva. Oh, shit. You threw the covers aside and stumbled out of bed, moving quickly—too quickly—toward the bathroom. 

Barely making it, you dropped to your knees and flipped the lid just in time. Your body heaved, the burn rising fast, tearing through your throat as you vomited what little your stomach held. 

Not much. 

You hadn’t eaten much the night before. You hadn’t been able to, lately. You coughed, bracing yourself against the porcelain, waiting. Another wave hit—harder, faster. Then again. By the time it passed, you were left with nothing but dry heaves and shaking breaths. 

Finally, it stopped. You slumped back against the cool tile wall, eyes closed, letting the chill seep into your skin. It helped. A little. A stomach bug, maybe. Something you picked up at work. The ER was a breeding ground for that kind of thing. 

When you could stand, you forced yourself to the sink and glanced at your reflection. 

God—you looked awful. You grabbed a washcloth, ran it under cold water, and pressed it to your forehead as you made your way back to bed. The sheets were still warm from him. Maybe sleep would fix it. 

You weren’t sure how long you were out when your phone started ringing. You groaned, fumbling for it. “Hello?” 

“Jesus Christ, you sound like hell.” Dana. 

“I feel like it,” you muttered. 

Even through the phone, the ER was unmistakable—voices layered over one another, distant alarms, the constant hum of controlled chaos. 

“I’m guessing this is a bad time to ask you to come in?”

 You hesitated. “Is it that bad?” 

Dana exhaled. “Yeah. Our charting system’s down. Two nearby hospitals got hit with cyberattacks, so IT pulled us offline.” 

“Analog, huh?” You dragged a hand over your face. 

"Yeah. And we could really use the help.” 

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, pausing to steady yourself. The dizziness had dulled, but hadn’t disappeared. “I’ll be there,” you said. A beat of silence.

“Seriously? You sure?” 

“Yes. Don’t ask me again, or I might change my mind.

” Dana laughed softly. “Fair enough. Be careful coming in.”

“I will.”

 You ended the call and sat there for a moment, exhaling into the quiet. Then you pushed the covers aside. Time to go. 

Getting ready went more smoothly than you expected. The nausea that had wracked you earlier had faded to a faint, unsettled flutter low in your stomach—easy enough to ignore if you didn’t think about it too much. Still… it had been happening more often. Always in the mornings. Always on your days off. 

By evening, it vanished as if it had never been there at all. You paused for a second, hand lingering absently against your abdomen, brow faintly furrowed—then shook it off and reached for your uniform. No time to dwell on it now. 

You hesitated as you brushed your hand down your uniform, a stray thought tugging at the edge of your mind. You were probably just late. Stress did that. Long shifts, bad sleep—nothing unusual. You pushed the thought aside and kept moving. 

Grabbing your purse, you stepped outside—and were immediately hit with the thick, suffocating heat. A typical Fourth of July in Pittsburgh. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed—ambulances, police, all bleeding together into one constant, urgent noise. 

You found yourself straining to separate them, as you might somehow recognize which one belonged to Jack. Your chest tightened despite yourself. You pushed the thought away. He was fine. He had to be. 

Halfway to PTMC, you slowed. The thought from earlier—the one you’d brushed aside—pressed back in, harder this time. Mornings. The nausea. The way your appetite had shifted. The way your body just felt….different. 

You stopped on the sidewalk, exhaling slowly. There was a CVS pharmacy just up the street. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned and went inside. The blast of air conditioning made you shiver as you stepped in from the heat. Fluorescent light hummed overhead, too bright—too clinical. You moved quickly, waving past aisles you didn’t register, heading straight for the section you knew by heart. You’d walked friends and co-workers this before. Countless times. 

Just never yourself.

 You hand hovered for a second before you grabbed a box for a pink and white stick that would decide your fate—then another, just in case—and made your way to the register. You kept your gaze down, heartbeat loud in your ears, as if anyone here might know. 

Minutes later, you were back outside, the small plastic bag looped tightly around your fingers. Sirens were still going. Jack. Your grip tightened. You turned toward PTMC and picked up your pace; the weight of the bag suddenly felt heavier than it should’ve been. 

The waiting room was already overflowing by the time you stepped inside—voices layered over one another, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. It was going to be a long evening. You offered a quick smile to Lupe at the front desk before swiping your badge and slipping past the secured doors into the chaos everyone called The Pitt. 

The noise hit you immediately—phones ringing, voices overlapping, monitors chiming in uneven rhythms. You moved through it on instinct, weaving between frequent flyers, rushing nurses, and a handful of unfamiliar faces—day shift staff you rarely crossed paths with. “

Well, hey there, stranger. Fuck, am I glad to see you.” Dana rounded the desk and pulled you into a tight hug. A little too tight. 

Your stomach protested immediately, a sharp flicker of nausea twisting low. You forced a small laugh, carefully easing back before it had a chance to show on your face. 

“Wow. Don’t I feel special?”, you managed, your breath catching as you eased back, one hand briefly brushing your stomach. 

Dana didn’t look away. Her eyes moved over you slowly, deliberately, as if cataloging every detail—and filing it somewhere for later.

 “So,”, you said, steadying your breath. “where do you need me first?”

“There’s the turncoat.” You turned at the familiar voice, already smiling as you found Dr. Robby’s smirk. He pulled you into an easy side hug. You stiffened for just a second, then relaxed when he didn’t squeeze. 

“Easy,” you teased, easing back. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

He smirked. “Wow. I see Dr. Abbot’s charm is finally starting to rub off on you.” 

His gaze flicked over you half a second longer, like he was looking for him in you. “Should I be worried?”

 You elbowed him lightly. “Just because he’s my husband doesn’t mean he’s rubbed off on me.” You said, lifting your fingers in quick air quotes. 

“Sure,” Robby chuckled. “Keep telling yourself that. I’m just saying you’ve started sounding suspiciously like him.” If you weren’t at work, you would’ve flipped him off and kept walking.

 All the chaos, the noise—and somehow you didn’t notice Dr. Ellis until she was right there, slipping through the crowd in her casual summer wear. She had her deposition today. “

Hey,” she said, slowing as she reached you. A small, familiar smile tugged at her mouth, but her eyes flicked over you more carefully than usual. “What are you doing here on day shift? You look like you lost a bet.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Dana said they needed some reinforcements since the charting system is down.” 

Her mouth curved, but her gaze lingered on you a second longer than the joke required. 

“Reinforcements huh?”, she said lightly. “You look like you’ve already been recruited and overworked.” You grabbed a paperchart. 

“Wow, Ellis.”, you groaned. “Way to make a girl feel special.”

Her smile lingered, but her eyes stayed on you a moment longer than the joke required. “You’re doing okay, though?” she asked lightly, like it wasn’t a big deal either way. 

“I’m good,” you said, a little too quickly, offering a brief smile. “Just need some caffeine and a slower patient load. You working tonight?”, you asked, already moving on, eyes dropping to the chart in your hand. 

“Yeah, gonna try to go in an emtpy room and catch some sleep before the shift tonight.” 

You nodded. 

“Get some rest.” Ellis nodded. 

“I will.”

 With that, she was on her way to find a quiet space to sleep for a few hours. She had her deposition today regarding the child who had measles. Mel was also up for her deposition and wasn’t handling the anxiety very well. You could tell by the crunched up look on her face when you asked how she was. 

“Hey, we got a police officer, incoming trauma.”, you heard Robby behind you. 

“Coming.” 

There were patients everywhere—lined along the hallways on stretchers, slumped in wheelchairs, all waiting for beds that hadn’t opened upstairs. 

“Should be here any minute.”, you said, grabbing supplies with praticed efficiency. 

All you could do was a take a steadying breath and hope Jack was okay— wherever he was , whatever he was walking into. The ER doors burst open. You barely had time to register the movement before the stretcher came through—and then your breath caught. 

Jack. 

He was at the front, focused, already working—one hand sealing the bag valve mask, ventilating the police officer strapped to the stretcher. 

“Intubated neck wound,” he called out, voice sharp and controlled. “Sats not great. We were diverted here. Is there a trauma room open?”

Your brain caught up a second too late.

“Trauma one,” you answered, a little too quickly. 

He glanced up—just for a second.

A double take. His eyes flicked back to yours—just for a second—quietly asking what the hell you were doing here, on day shift of all things. You gave him a faint smile—small, quick—later. 

“What’s the story?”, Robby asked as he snapped on gloves, instantly falling into a quiet, repetitive rhythm like he was on autopilot.

“My buddy, Officer Hiro, high velocity GSW,” Jack said, not missing a beat as he worked the bag. “He’s getting harder to bag. Warehouse robbery gone sideways.”

No one needed to say anything else. Dr. Santos, one of Robby’s residents, jumped in to help. 

You moved in with them automatically, helping transfer Hiro from the ambulance stretcher to the trauma bed. Hands working in sync. Muscle memory already taking over. 

Jack turned briefly to the other police officers who had followed them in. “You guys wait here,” he said, firm but calm. “We’ll take care of him, I promise.” 

Then he glanced back at Robby. “I thought you left us already for the open road?”

Robby huffed a quiet laugh, not looking up from his work. “And miss seeing you in uniform?”

You rolled your eyes, a small smirk tugging at your lips despite everything. 

“You should see me as a flight attendant,” Jack mused in response.

“Did you do this intubation?” Robby asked, all business again. 

“Under active fire, yeah.”

Jack almost cursed himself after he revealed that bit of information. Your face went pale, stomach turning over immediately. 

He seemed to realize it a second too late.

Your stomach flipped—sharp, sudden. The room tilted slightly, your face draining of color as you forced yourself to stay focused.

Not now. Your stomach twisted—whether from the lingering nausea or the thought of Jack working under active fire, you couldn’t tell. 

Either way, you shoved it down. You didn’t have room for it. Not here. 

“Uh oh,” Robby drawled, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Don’t think the missus knew that one—”

He stopped.

Your expression had changed. 

Jack’s head snapped toward you, his glare shifting instantly from Robby to something sharper.

“Are you serious?” Santos chimed in. 

“I go in with the team in case there’s an injury,” Jack said, clipped, already half-distracted. 

“That’s badass.”

The word barely registered. 

“You okay?”, Robby asked easily. 

“Yeah,” you said, the word coming too easily—smooth enough that you almost wondered if either Robby or Jack would catch the lie threading through it. 

“Dr. Santos, let’s make sure these lungs are up. Could you see the chords?”, Robby asked, already turning his attention back to your husband.

Jack let out a faint, humorless breath. “Yeah, there was a great view, but it was hard to pass after I cleared them.”

“Hey guys—his sats are down to eighty-five,” you cut in, quick and steady, steering the focus away even as your stomach continued to churn. 

The room began to stretch at the edges, voices thinning, Robby, Jack, and Santos seeming to drift farther away. You gave a small shake of your head, forcing the blur back into focus.

“Dr. Santos, what could cause respiratory failure in an intubated patient?”

“There are a lot of possibilities,” she said, a hint of impatience creeping in. 

“Think DOPE.”

Santos nodded. “Displacement, Obstruction, Pneumothorax, Equipment failure. Good lung sliding, no pneumo.”

“It’s displacement,”, Robby cut in. “Okay, that’s a transected trachea.”

“Pulling out. Bag him.”, Jack ordered, his attention fixed on Hiro—deliberately fixed there, because the alternative was looking at you and confirming what he already suspected: something wasn’t right. 

He didn’t know what. Only that you were off.

You stepped in without a word, taking over the bag, freeing their hands. The motion was automatic, practiced—something to anchor yourself to. 

“But if you intubate again, won’t it just come straight out of the wound?”

“Yep, exactly. So we’re gonna need another plan.” Jack’s response was clipped. 

“Sats down to eighty-three percent,” you called, swallowing hard against the nausea rising again.

“Yeah, he’s not moving any air,” Robby agreed. “Okay, I need a neonatal mask.”

“Neonatal?”, Santos echoed. 

“Yep.”

The confusion flickered across her face, but she didn’t hesitate. She moved to the pediatric crash cart, pulled a drawer open, grabbed the mask, and had it hooked up to oxygen in seconds. 

All four of you watched the monitor, waiting. 

The number climbed. 

“Sats up to ninety-eight,”, you said, a quiet breath slipping out—relief tangled with the persistent churn in your stomach. Not gone. Just…waiting. 

“Neonatal mask is working,” Jack said, a faint smirk touching his mouth. 

“Santos, finish the FAST.”

Jack was already moving, drawing up two syringes with the ease of muscle memory. 

Santos glanced at him. “What—what are you injecting?”

“Lido with epi. It’ll clamp off any bleeders,” Jack answered, not looking up. 

“We need some skin hooks. Four Shiley?”

Jack made a low sound of dissent. “Mm. I don’t like the curve of a Shiley.”

“I didn’t know you were so picky,” Robby shot back, an edge in his voice.

“Santos, take a break. Help me cut down a 6-0 ET tube,” Jacks said, redirecting the room with practiced ease.

The rhythm shifted instantly. 

Before Santos could respond, another voice cut through the noise—cool, edged. 

“What’s going on here?”

A woman stepped in, already gloved, already assessing. “You have a field medic assisting you?”

You didn’t miss the tone—thinly veiled, sharp enough to catch. 

Robby didn’t even look up. “Dr. Abbot is an attending, and he’s also a SWAT physician.”

“My buddy Hiro here is in bad need of an airway,” Jack added, unconcerned, his focus fixed on the task. He held the tube steady, tapping a precise spot with his finger. “Cut it right here.”

Santos moved quickly, scissors flashing under the harsh trauma lights. 

“We can do this,” Dr. Al-Hashimi said, her gaze settling on Jack—measured, appraising.

But you knew that look on your husband. The set in his shoulders, the quiet narrowing of his focus. He wasn’t handing this off. 

“No, no—I got it,” Jack said, not unking, but immovable. A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “You must be Gloria’s new hire.”

“Yes. Dr. Al-Hashimi.” She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Well, I’d like to shake your hand”, Jack replied, adjusting his grip on the modified tube. “But my tube is ready.”

A faint pause—almost humor, almost not. 

“And if I could find and secure the distal trachea, we have a shot at this.”

“Okay,” she nodded, pulling her gloves snug, stepping closer to the monitor. “I’ll keep an eye on the sats.”

The numbers glowed steady—for now. 

“Excuse me,” you said, the words slipping out before you could dress them up, soften them. “I’ll be right back.” 

Your stomach lurched hard, the warning no longer subtle. Cold sweat prickled at the back of your neck, the edges of your vision threatening to blur again. 

You didn’t wait for permission. 

“In the middle of a trauma?”, Dr. Al-Hashimi questioned, the disbelief clear, cutting through the controlled urgency in the room.

Jack’s head snapped up. 

“Hey.” It wasn’t loud, but it cut clean through the room. His eyes flicked to you—quick, assessing—then back to her, sharper now. “She said she’ll be back.”

His jaw tightened just slightly. 

“We’re covered.”

It wasn’t a discussion. 

His gaze found you again for half a second longer this time—checking, tracking before he forced himself back to the task in front of him, hands steady even as something in his posture shifted, coiled tighter than before.

As soon as you cleared the doorway, you were moving fast—so fast, purposeful, just shy of a run. The noise of the emergency room fell away behind you, replaced by the hollow rush of blood in your ears. 

Your mouth flooded, sudden and unmistakable.

There was no time.

You shoved open the door to the staff bathroom, the fluorescent lights too bright, too sharp against your already swimming vision. You didn’t check if anyone else was there—didn’t care. 

You banged a stall door open. You barely got it shut before you dropped, knees hitting the cold tile harder than you felt. One hand braced against the wall, the other dragging your hair back as your stomach finally gave way. 

It was quick, violent—your body forcing out what you’d been trying to suppress since Jack opened his mouth.

When it passed, it didn’t really pass.

You stayed there, crouched low, breathing uneven, the taste bitter and clinging. A thin sheen of sweat cooled too quickly against your skin, leaving you chilled. 

For a moment, the world narrowed to the sound of your own breathing and the faint hum of the overhead lights.

Not now, you thought again—but it had already happened.

Sliding down fully onto the floor in front of the toilet, your back met the cool wall of the bathroom stall, and for a moment, you just sat there, breath uneven, vision still slightly blurry at the edges.

The bathroom hummed faintly—pipes, ventilation, the distant echo of the hospital beyond the door—but it felt sealed off, like another world entirely.

And then your mind caught on something it had been avoiding.

What if you were pregnant?

The thought didn’t arrive gently. It landed fully formed, sharp enough to make your stomach twist again. 

You’d explained it away before without even realizing you were doing it—nausea after long shifts, stress, increased sleepiness, the chaos of the ER bleeding into everything else. Even the missed period had been easy enough to dismiss. Easy enough not to look at too closely. 

But now it all made sense.

The nausea. Vomiting. Fatigue you couldn’t shake. The time you hadn’t wanted to calculate. 

Classic pregnancy symptoms. Too classic.

Your hand tightened slightly in your hair as you stared down at the tile, trying to steady yourself as if focus alone could make the thought disappear. 

The two boxes of pregnancy tests still sat in the CVS bag at the nurses’ station. The plan was simple. Wait until tonight. Get home. Breathe. Take one in private, where the result wouldn’t have to compete with alarms, trauma bays, or Jack being shot at while trying to help a police officer. 

But that version of the day already felt distant. 

Now, crouched on the bathroom floor with your pulse uneven in your ears, “later” didn’t feel like a choice so much as avoidance with a schedule. 

Your stomach tightened again, though this time, it wans’t just nausea.

Maybe you needed to know. 

Not tonight. Not after another hour of wondering. Not after another shift spent calculating symptoms you couldn’t ignore. 

Now. 

The idea settled in with uncomfortable clarity, pushing against every other thought until it was the only one that stayed put.

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling through your nose, as if that could steady anything at all.

Then you opened them again.

And stood.

You flushed the toilet, exited the stall, and made your way to the sink.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, the thought had just started to settle into something tangible when the bathroom door creaked open again.

You froze instinctively, one hand braced against the sink as you tried to pull yourself together—too late for dignity, too early for explanation.

Footsteps paused just inside.

“Santos?” you said, surprised, voice rougher than you intended.

She didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, she took the sight of you in—the posture, the pallor still lingering in your face, the way you were clearly trying to recover from something your body had already finished doing. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the stall, then back to you, measured and unreadable in the only way seasoned clinicians managed. 

“I figured I’d find you here,” she said at last, arms crossed like it wasn’t speculation at all.

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

Santos gave a quiet, almost skeptical huff—not unkind, just unconvinced. She stepped closer, lowering her voice instinctively as if the walls might be listening. “You don’t have to sell that to me.”

Your stomach dipped.

She leaned lightly against the counter across from you, arms folding, casual on the surface—but her eyes stayed sharp, focused.

“Fine doesn’t look like this,”, she added. “You’re glowing even though right now you feel like shit.”

Silence stretched between you.

The words you were trying not to think about pressed harder against the edges of your mind, suddenly less private than they had been five minutes ago.

Santos tilted her head slightly. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

Not accusatory, not prying. Just aware.

You hesitated too long, biting your lip. That was enough.

Her expression softened a fraction, as if something clicked into place that she’d already been circling. 

“I’m not going to say it out loud for you.” she said quietly. “But I think you already know what I’m thinking.”

A pause.

Then gentler: “You should probably take those tests sooner rather than later.”

“That obvious, huh?” Your voice came out thinner than you meant it to, a shaky breath of a laugh slipping through as you wiped the corner of your mouth. 

Santos didn’t smile, not really—but her expression softened at the edges.

“The CVS bag kind of gives it away,”, she said gently. Her gaze flicked to you again, steady and clinical in the only way another doctor could be. “Does Dr. Abbot know?”

“No,” you said quickly.

The world landed heavier than you intended.

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the bathroom vent above you, distant and indifferent. 

Santos nodded slowly, like she’d expected that answer too. “Okay.”

Not judgment. Not surprise. Just acceptance of the facts as they were. 

Then, after a beat, she added more quietly. “Then you don’t have to decide anything about telling him right at this second. But you probably do need to know if you are or not.”

Her eyes held yours for a second longer.

“You don’t have to do this part alone,” she said, matter-of-fact, like this was just another step in a protocol she’d run a hundred times before.

The words hung longer than you expected them to.

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Instead, your gaze dropped to the sink, the faint streak of water left. Something small and ordinary in a moment that felt anything but.

“I was going to wait,” you sighed finally, quieter now. “Until after I got off.”

Santos didn’t rush to fill the silence.

“That makes sense,” she said simply. No judgement. No insistence. Just an acknowledgement. 

You exhaled through your nose, a poor attempt at control that didn’t quite hold. “It’s just….I can’t tell if I’m overreacting or if I actually—” You stopped, swallowing hard. The rest of the sentence refused to form clearly.

Santos pushed off the counter a little, closing the distance by half a step—not enough to crowd you, just enough so you didn’t feel like you were talking into open air. 

“You’re not overreacting,”, she said simply. “You’re doing what every woman does when they suspect they might be pregnant.”

That earned a faint, humorless breath from you.

“Great,” you murmured.

“It’s pretty common,” she said. Then, a little dofter. “If it helps as a doctor, I think there’s a good chance you’re pregnant.”

The reminder set heavily but not unkindly.

Somewhere down the hall, a distant overhead page crackled to life, muffled through the walls. The hospital didn’t care what you were doing in here. It never did.

Santos glanced towards the door, then back at you. “I can grab the bag if you want. Or I can stay here while you do it. Your call.”

That landed differently than everything else had.

Not pressure. Not urgency. Just options.

Your hands tightened slightly at your sides as your stomach twisted again, not just nausea this time, but something sharper underneath it.

“Okay,” you said finally, barely audible. Then a little steadier. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Santos nodded once, already moving towards the door. “I’ll be right back.” 

The door clicked shut behind her. And suddenly, the bathroom felt too quiet. Not empty—never empty in a hospital—but it stripped down to the essentials: ventilation, flickering fluorescent light, the distant pulse of alarms that belonged to other rooms, other problems. Not yours. Not yet.

You stayed where you were. Your legs felt steadier than you expected, but your pulse didn’t match. It kept catching on itself, fast and uneven, like it couldn’t decide whether to brace for relief or impact.

A minute later—maybe less—the door opened again.

Santos reappeared with the CVS bag in hand.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just stepped in, set it gently on the counter, and looked at you.

“Alright,” she said softly. “One step at a time.”

The CVS bag sat on the counter like it weighed more than it should/

Santos didn’t rush you. She stayed where she was, giving you space that somehow still felt like company rather than distance.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Your fingers hovered over the edge of the bag for a second too long before you finally opened it. The crinkle of plastic sounded far too loud in the small bathroom. Inside, the two boxes were exactly as you remembered—impersonal, clinical, indifferent to what they meant to you.

You exhaled through your nose.

“Right,” you muttered, more to yourself than her.

The box and unpackaged test shook in your hands as you headed to the stall once more. The instructions were almost unnecessary. You’d read them before. Still, your hands weren’t quite steady as you tore the package open. 

Santos patted the door to the stall lightly. Not leaving, just giving you the illusion of privacy in a room that didn’t really allow for it. Her voice stayed low.

“You don’t have to talk while you do it.”

That helped more than it should have.

Minutes passed in fragments: the sound of you urinating, the faint rustle of paper, the sterile plastic clicking into place. You tried not to think about timing, about outcomes, about what Jack would be doing right now if he knew—

No. Not yet.

You came out of the stall, holding the pink and white test before setting it down on the counter, face down.

Then waited.

The silence stretched in a way that made every second feel intentional. 

Santos didn’t look at the test. She looked at you.

“You want me to check it?” she asked gently.

Your throat tightened. You nodded once before you could talk yourself out of it. 

She reached forward, calm and efficient, like she was reading any other result in any other chart. But there was a softness in the way she paused before turning it over.

A second.

Then another.

She didn’t say it right away.

She just looked at you for a second longer than before.

Then, carefully, quietly. “It’s positive.”

The words didn’t echo. 

They just settled.

Your breath left in a slow, uneven exhale. Not shock exactly—more like your body had been bracing for impact and finally let go.

Santos stepped a little closer, voice still steady. 

“Okay,” she said. “We’re going to figure this out. But first—are you alright?”

And for the first time since you’d walked into that bathroom, the question actually felt like it mattered more than anything else in the room. 

“I’m pregnant….with Jack’s baby.” Your lips trembled as the words left you, the realization that your suspicion had been confirmed.

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Remember Me (Part 8/9)

a/n- I didn't forget about this one, I just couldn't work out how to get from where we left off to where I wanted it to be!

I hope you guys like this one.... and also I love Dr Shark and no one can take him away from me.

Time heals all wounds.

part seven

“Twenty-eight days until Paris!” You exclaimed loudly, grabbing at your boyfriend's arm as you walked down the street.

“I know, I just told you that.” he quipped back, trying to hide his smile.

“I haven’t been counting the days,” you said leaning further into his side, “I didn’t want to get too excited too early.”

Jack looked at you, his eyes creasing at the edges as you both fell into a comfortable silence towards the brunch spot you had found a couple of days after moving into the neighbourhood.

Everything was finally settling into place between yourself and Jack, after your turbulent start, and finally finding a house that you could make a home, you couldn’t help but sigh with contentment at how lovely your life was turning out.

The cafe was just ahead and you excitedly went to walk across the road, not waiting for the green man to say it was safe to go.

Quickly you feel Jack's hand grab at your wrist pulling you back onto the sidewalk.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed, baby?” he hissed as you glared at him.

“There were no cars!” You gestured to the completely empty street, and to the strangers on the other side of the road, currently jay-walking.

“Do you know how many people come into work in ambulances because there were ‘no cars’?” He finger quoted the no cars, which made you glare even more. You had taught him that and now he was using it back on you.

You turned away, huffing a little at his pedanticness, tapping your foot as you waited for the green crossing. 

“If I get you a cheese croissant will you stop huffing?” he whispered into your ear, his voice curling around your spine and instantly changing your mood. 

“Maybe.” you say, leaning back into his touch, “If you throw in a strudel as well.”

Jack's laugh was interrupted by the blaring of the rapid tick-tock of the walk now signal.

You step out together, his hand linked with yours as you mused out loud of which baked good he should buy you.

“Oh one with blueberries!” you exclaim halfway across the road, half turning to look back at Jack who had stopped for half a second, his eyes widening before grabbing you again and throwing you to the floor.

The road hits you hard and a gasp is ripped from your lips as the air is knocked from your chest and tears swell as your knee grazes the gravel.

“What the f-” you try to explain as you looked up at Jack, who was standing there one moment and the next…not.

A car speeds through him, sending him up into the sky and clips your shoulder as they try to manoeuvre the speeding vehicle. Jack seems to take hours to land back onto the ground as you lay unmoving on the pavement, your whole body in shock. 

He hits the floor near you and the last thing you see as you lose consciousness is Jack.

Your beautiful Jack lying face down on the pavement, his face turned to yours, and blood.

So much blood.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re returned to your wall and suddenly it takes no time at all for someone from Ortho to come down to the ER.

You can’t help but stare at the massive and handsome man in front of you.

Dr Park stood tall, one arm raised and holding himself up with the wall you had been wheeled back to, his back to you as he looked over the results of your x-rays.

You wanted to say something, but between the fire brewing in your belly from the fight with Jack, and the vision of this adonis in scrubs you were failing at the English language.

You also noted that out of the corner of your eye, Jack leaned against the nurses station, he too unable to take his eyes from the God of Orthopedics.

Which was how Dr Park had introduced himself to you. 

“Is it broken?” you managed to squeak out, wincing not at how pathetic you sound.

Dr Shark turned a little, and threw a crooked smile.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

You swallowed and threw a look over your shoulder at Jack.

“I’ve had enough bad news today.” you admit.

“Well then, the good news is that it isn’t broken, so I can strap it and get you on your way.”

Oh thank god you whisper to yourself. 

“Wait?”

“Yes?” Dr Park's smile was almost a snarl as he looked behind you.

You knew what- or who- he was looking at, and now the flirting attitude made a lot of sense.

This was the Dr Shark, who Jack had complained about being an asshole many, many, times. 

And obviously Dr Park knew who you were, and shared the same feelings towards Jack as Jack shared about him.

“What is the bad news?”

“Well, the bad news is that you don’t get to spend more time with me.”

Each of his words were a direct dig at Jack but you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Well that would be a shame.” 

You knew Jack was watching and you knew that his hands would be curled into fists as you raised your good hand and straightened Dr Parks badge.

“Lets get me strapped and out of here please.” 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time your wrist is strapped and you have your discharge orders the morning was quickly turning into the afternoon and you were sitting patiently now in a wheelchair waiting for an orderly to collect Abby from chairs.

“I’ve missed you Kid.” You are pulled from your dissociation to look up at Dana.

The Charge Nurse looked down at you with the soft smile you had grown accustomed too. 

“I’ve missed you too.” You admit.

“You don’t write, you don’t call.”

“I could say the same.” you quip back, forcing away a smile before breaking and pulling the nurse down to your level for an awkward one armed hug.

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t been a great friend lately.” Dana admitted, and you nodded but then broke into a smile and shrugged up.

“I mean I don’t think they teach the right way to deal with your friend forgetting his girlfriend, then remembering her but then getting the wrong idea and fucking it all up.” Dana smiled and went to say something when she looked up and was cut off.

“WHAT?” 

You know that voice- Abby had arrived.

“He remembers you?”

“Yeah-”

“I thought he just got to come back to work- he remembers you!?” Her voice was getting louder and louder as she furiously looked around the Emergency Room.

“Abby!” you tried to grab her attention but her eyes finally found what they sought.

Jack emerged from one of the private rooms, his head down as he spoke to Princess about something, showing her something on the Ipad. 

Abby stormed over to him, still dressed for a night of clubbing, with crease marks on her legs from the uncomfortable waiting room chairs and her hair extensions half hanging out, she was a real sight.

No one moved to stop her as she stormed up to Jack and you couldn’t help but enjoy the fear that flickered across his face for half a moment before he schooled his face.

You couldn't hear what was being said but from Jack’s face whitening and Princess looking like she had just won the lotto, you knew Abby was not holding back.

Dana flinched before you did as you watched Abby lift her hand and slap Jack straight across the cheek.

Princess's eyes widened as she smiled broadly.

It wasn’t a punch, so you knew she wasn’t getting her money, but you were a little glad that the slap still brought her joy.

“Princess and Perlah split their bets between a punch and a slap, to hedge their bets.” Dana said, ignoring the fact one of her doctors had just been assaulted.

“Smart.” was your only retort before calling Abby back to your side and demanding she take you home.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There is a mourning period that comes with the end of a relationship.

And while you had spent months now thinking it was over, the finality after the hospital restarted the process.

Denial came first.

After months of sleeping alone, you still searched for Jack on his side of the bed. You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about him more and more as the days passed. Of how he looked standing over your bed, his small smile as you looked back at him and the grief that washed over him when you told him loving him wasn’t enough.

But the more you thought of him, the more mistakes you made. After months of making yourself just one cup of coffee in the morning you were once again pulling out two.

You asked for a table of two at a cafe one morning before pretending to look at a message on your phone and changing it to one. 

Anger comes next.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to be angry in the days and weeks after the accident. 

Instead you let it all fester inside of you, as months and months went by and the future you had planned was suddenly so far behind you, you could barely remember the address of the home you had once owned. 

The anger bubbled in you until you finally let it all out, tears and screams echoing around you as you pulled at your garden. After fighting the root system of a long gone tree on your hands and knees, all it took was one stubborn root for you to lose the tether of your emotions as your hands hit the dirt over and over again.

You wanted to laugh against the tears as something as dull and boring as gardening had been the thing to finally crack your perfectly formed facade. 

Bargaining was the third stage of grief and you didn’t wallow long there in the waking world anyway.

So many nights you woke from dreams of what if.

What if you had just stepped out and jaywalked, making Jack follow you?

What if you both had slept in that morning and decided to make breakfast at home?

What if you hadn’t blocked his number?

What if you had stayed by his side even if he hadn’t remembered you?

What if-

What if-

What if-

Every morning you woke with another what if twisting in your gut.

And every morning, you let yourself feel it, feel and sit in the what if for one cup of coffee. 

Before shaking it off and moving on with your morning routine, piece of toast with butter, brush teeth, dress, hair, coffee in a keep cup and out the door.

Throughout it all, from the moment you had heard the doctors say there was nothing they could do for Jack, there was a dull ache in your soul. A shadow that clung to you, unable to shake and unable to shift as you went about every day.

You had thought it would be with you forever, a sadness that would never see the sunshine. 

Depression.

But like the old proverb, ‘Time heals old wounds’, you get better- well with time and some lovely therapy sessions.

Therapy allowed you to understand everything you were feeling, the loss of a future, the loss of a partner and the understanding that all of it was not your fault.

It wasn’t Jack's fault either, though he didn’t make it easier (even your therapist agreed with you there),  it was just how it was.

No great plans of the universe.

Nothing out to get you.

It was just how it goes.

And everything you went through with him. All the joy.

All the pain. All the love.

And all the suffering.

All of it was worth it, because you got to be loved and got to love in return.

And that was how you finally got to acceptance.

You had mourned the relationship, found peace with an ending that didn’t include Jack and the future you had planned.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were in your therapist's office when the email came through.

Last chance to use your Pittsburgh to Paris tickets!

You sat there, staring down at your phone barely hearing your name being called and jumping a mile high as the friendly face of your therapist had appeared before you.

“Everything ok?”

You nod and follow her into the room.

It takes a full one hour session to make up your mind.

You’re going to Paris!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was shining as you settled into your seat on the plane, you settled your hands under your bouncing legs trying to gather your nerves.

Flying wasn’t your favourite thing and even after taking a mild antianxiety pill, you were a bundle of nerves. 

You liked the window seat, you once told Jack it gave you a sense of control, being able to see the wings and to make sure they were still there.

“Where would the wings go?” he had mocked her, laughing as he spoke.

“Who knows! Planes go missing all the time, and maybe it's because the wings disappear!”

“Ok- no more coffee for you.”

The memory of that conversation made you smile, and grounded you, like so many memories of the relationship did now. No longer did they tighten your chest or bring tears to your eyes.

You buckled your seat belt and made sure your book, water bottle and chewing gum were tucked in tightly to the chair in front before settling your head back, your headphones resting above your ears.

More people shuffle through the plane and you hope for a moment no one would be sitting besides you as the stream of people went down to a trickle.

The doors would be shut soon, and then take off.

“Is this seat taken?” a voice said, pulling you from your dissociating stare.

You look up, about to explain the concept of assigned seating when your breath is taken away and your heart jumps into your throat.

Jack.

taglist:

@ahopelessromanticwritersworld @secretgardens-inmymind @clocksonthewall79 @barcelonaaababe @nerdgirljen @utterlyhopeful-fics @cerberus101 @lumpypoll @bruher @dizzybee03 @mauvesmax @robinavitchswhore @madprincessinabox @almostpurplelady @tess3802 @deeninadream @chubbgal @thedreamer77sword @marleyindapitt @themoviefangirl-blog @michasia24 @tlc3802 @karlawithacapitalk @cosmosnkaz @youngflower @perkyjackon @thefrostbandit @innercalderastarlight @ghostgirlwrites @outofstyles3 @imonmykneessir @kishie8 @rocketqueen @isus

pectitwasthenargles @l0vergirlwrites @outpostsworld @woodxtock @brilliantinsultsgalore @comicsandfanfics @be-bap @annabethboleyn @lleahhhhhh @neonpurplestars89-blog @swifth0lic @sayitlikethecheese @rocketqueen @fujo4eva @thefrostbandit @jojodojo02 @b8211na @happyendingarentreal @stillinraccooncity @michasia24 @amnatreal @angelbunny222 @palomavz @yourbane @moonz33 @astraealupinblack @natashamea18 @laurenyas @onlyheretowastetime @generation-zero @jeshomie @ozwriterchick @thedamnqueenofhell @mylifeasaidoitfangirl @thewillowarchive @fallinallinmendes @littlejxoxo18 @mafercita101 @xoxabs88xox @dramaticpandabear @womankissersworld @rwaves @nyxmoretti @hiphopdancer101universe @catchmeupimgettingout @telepathay 

[0-0baybay0-0]

new trend thingy ig, i just haven't posted in a while and wanna get back into things :P

Look up into pintrest: Lyric, city, flower, style, season, animal and instrument

@randomslinky @rip-my-heart-out-and-eat-it @noahher @d3lt4c0 @the-sun-personified-arts @laniebugx @moonlovedxx + anyone else i forgot (also no pressure if u dont wanna respond)

[laniebugzz]

oooo tyyy!!

honestly very fitting + i used to play the violin

@rayvedd @ketchup-is-green @joey-regrets-nothing @whatthefuck1200 + anyone else!!

[ketchup-is-green]

thank you! this is so me

@around-the-venom @mikeywayimdykeygay @scoopstroopog @deftism @several-mice @alighttoburnalltheempires @intellectualspacecowboy @welcometoh0rr0rwood and open tag

[scoopstroopog]

oooo tyyy!!

@arboreal-stop @mikewhoreler @theannoyeddragon82 @sadiesinkobsessedsstuff @sheilakijawaanii @impossiblekittydelusion @skeelly @coco6420 @camcamino @the-bogginses-are-gay @soliss-occasus @mqstermindswift @cityofstarsx @elliedafish @phoebephoebia @moonlight-froggy @august-shops @emmasdillema @sufferingfrommoodpoisoning @effervescent-sapphic @ghosts-starrstuf @bulionzkury @bylrndgm @stars-and-leather @starshapedana @icedcoffee2809 @dearfut-ureself @sstar-struck @mystuffynose @loserbaby66 @weirdo09 @ballad-of-a-teenage-girl @conanssummerchild @willzardthewise @crunchie-morris @smalltown--byler @shadowyyyidk @maradarlow @rain-on-the-moon @riverx0x0x @apjofan @thoraelrlffnem @isawyourgreenhair @mikeandwillsweddingofficiant @vickysnowpawz @bewitchingomen

[vickysnowpawz]

I guess this kinda makes sense a little. I wanted to play the guitar a while back and I like red pandas a lot. So makes sense in a way

tags under cut + open tags

@iicor @sunshine-snake @sunsetrose877 @sunsetdoesstuff @st4ry3mi @lilmushroom779 @yourlocalavian @potatoanarchist @merthaevelynk @mellowphilosephersword @silvertheindignantfox @lunalillian @lunathetunaaa @rainbowfeather314 @shadey-rper @relinquished-roses-offical @reaperinthemirror @solarstrange @solangelo-s-epic-daughter @phoenixrainsfire413 @eb-or-echo-part-2 @cosmoseyekon @bucket-of-axilotl @beanzdabean @lilonceleriscool124 @nerd-alerts @nevergonnagiveyaup @the-one-and-only-piper-offical @therollypolly @thedogbard @ducknamedcocoa @unablebagel @xx-ollieskyes-xx

[volume-down]

hmm...i've always loved the city. that flower and fit is just gorgeous, I love weather like that, red pandas are underrated as fuck, and little fact about xaosix: I used to play the violin. I probably still can, shit

@formulaparkolympian @trafficcat @mustard-in-a-bottle @iamsriiiiiiii @vulpyabby @epichermesholymoly @elizabethmdejess @thescrollkeeperswife @soda-sprite @jaybirddrawsthings7 @snarkysnack09 @ludwigwormwood @rusty-spooooooooon @randomperson2009 @hailey1972 @lunathetunaaa @nicoscoffee @maybemarz @kirapjo0818 @rlinnl @burnttoast7272 @coisinha1-14-1 @temisjanaina @orcaraminga @kaihasmoreswagthanyou3 @lexi-arts @tehizel @theblackberryhimself @vixiestarfrost @lmanburglogs @obsidiansandwich @one-million-beers @vickysnowpawz @novnovv @l-zah1ra and uhh open tags ^^

[legokrys]

Thank uuuu potater

@potatoanarchist

Lying From You. Such a great fucking song. I love it it’s my fav. I love clean but still kinda unclean. If you know what I mean. So New York City. As much as I say I hate it I love it. It just feels like a weird home to me. That could be cos I grew up there but whateverrrr. I love roses for obvious reasons @rose-thornzz

My dream style is 2012 era Synyster Gates. If you don’t know who he is ur missing out. Winter is my fav season. I love LOVE sharks. They’re so freaking cuteeeeee. Sea puppies :)

And that’s my dream guitar. I play electric. Mostly heavy metal. :)

@strawrelia @samsam8123 @selenegoldsmith @shad0w-jump3r @pizz1994 @pisghettio @ilovewomensbasketball @envyshipper2011 @whosmh @whipthorn @aliceverstappen1 @aikaisdyingwithstrawberries @ace-of-5pades @annabeth-chase-enjoyer @hazardousracer @hyperfixaredweirdo @joannte @krakenstay29 @katarinaek @longlive-thegoatking @lyricsandvenom @meerman28 @choliosus @calico-kattt @c0sm1c-love

Love u guys!

[katarinaek]

Thanks @formulaparkolympian !

Love the aesthetic❤️

Tagging @anakasiatenggara @bcollisons63 @dessashippr @gr12026 @i-put-the-hyper-in-hyperfixated @passing-through-bd @thatacefrog @karlmarxverstappen @synthesixia

[bcollisons63]

thank youuu @katarinaek

here's mineee

tagging:

@laulilut @flingslingo @halmilton44 @ryuinthepaddock @russthappen @regina-george-russell @a-simp-20 @nicorosbergsgoodgirl @pucksandpower

[sidneycrosbysprincess]

ty so much again @bcollisons63

Here’s mine!!!

I’ll tag: @sainzzreputaticn @honeyandarcana @ver-lane @drs-and-daisies @gearboxgremlin @pucksandpower @maxineverstappen @liafics << some of my moots and favs

[sainzzreputaticn]

thank you sm for the tag 💗💗

tagging: @hugleclerc @stevestappen @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff

[swiftie-4-lifes-stuff]

Thank you so much for the tag darling 🩷

Tagging: @martys-corner @nocasdatsgay @formulamar

[nanamisfae]

Love when younger me had a crush on the younger version of a character and the creators ages them up so older me can continue the obsession.

And yes this is about Zuko, Sokka and most definitely Yuji

[stargirlsuicide]

'why r you smiling at your phone' cool girls from tumblr interacting with me mind ur business