Im Dead...

100% recommend, best to be read at 3am

this, didn't just hit a nerve. it hit my whole brain.

it captured every painful thought perfectly, in its rawest form.

as somebody who had experienced this for a very long time, i approve this.

to have any-fucking-body just be the way steve is. it alleviates the burden, enough that you can breathe again.

this feeling, it's fucked up.

it hurts you in ways that nobody can see. it isn't something you can just get over. it's not something that pops up every month like a period.

i can't say i'm fully healed. i still have relapses, i just don't let anybody see it.

whomever has gone through this or is going though it, we don't have the words that can take away all that pain instantly. but with time, therapy and the right kind of people, that pain will get easier to bear. and eventually, it will move into the back of your mind.

nobody is too much to handle or carries a lot of baggage. we're all human. we feel. we cry. we feel everything.

that's ok.

nobody in this world is actually normal. so don't worry if you don't fit in. everyone is abnormal in their own way.

take it from a psychology student 😉

All lights turned off, Can be turned on | Steve Harrington

Word Count: 17.3k,

Warnings: Angst, depression, su!cide mentioned

A/N: Found this in my docs as well, Not edited or proof read.

----

You and Steve used to tell each other everything.

You don’t remember when that stopped.

It wasn’t all at once, not like a car crash, not like the kind of thing that left broken glass and skid marks and screaming in its wake. No, it was slower than that. Something you barely noticed at first. Like a leak under the sink, dripping water into the dark, rotting the foundation of everything before you ever thought to check.

And now, here you are. Sitting in the passenger seat of Steve Harrington’s car, pretending everything is fine.

The heater is on, but you’re still shivering. The leather seat sticks to the back of your legs, and the silence between you sticks even worse.

You’re not sure why you said yes when he called you. Maybe it was easier than ignoring him again. Maybe it was the way he said your name, soft and careful, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough. Like you hadn’t already been disappearing for months.

Maybe you just missed him.

The worst part is, Steve hasn’t changed. Not really. He still drives too fast but somehow never gets caught. He still chews on the inside of his cheek when he’s thinking too hard. He still glances at you out of the corner of his eye like he’s waiting for you to say something first.

And you still don’t.

You don’t know how to explain what’s wrong. Not in a way that doesn’t sound pathetic, not in a way that doesn’t make you feel like an open wound with no skin to protect you.

How do you say, I feel like a ghost in my own body?

How do you say, Everything is heavy, even breathing?

How do you say, I miss you so much it makes me sick…when he’s right there?

Steve taps his fingers against the steering wheel. You recognize the rhythm some song he used to blast on summer nights, windows down, both of you singing at the top of your lungs. But now, he doesn’t turn on the radio. He just keeps driving, waiting.

“Robin said your voicemail is full.” His voice is soft, careful.

You don’t look at him. “That’s nice.”

“She’s worried about you.”

You bite the inside of your cheek until it hurts. You want to say she doesn’t need to be, but that would be a lie, and Steve always knows when you’re lying.

He exhales through his nose, tightening his grip on the wheel. “I’m worried about you..”

You say nothing.

Steve makes a sound, half a scoff, half a sigh. “Jesus, will you just…say something?”

You swallow. Your throat feels tight. “What do you want me to say, Steve?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “That you’re okay? That you’re not—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he’s trying to get the thought out before it can settle. “I don’t know. Something. Anything.” He pleaded

There’s something in his voice that cracks you open a little. It’s not frustration, not really. It’s fear. You hate that. You hate that he’s scared for you, hate that you’ve done this to him.

You press your forehead against the window, watching the streetlights blur past. “I’m fine.”

Steve laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “Right. Fine.” He shakes his head. “You really expect me to believe that?”

You don’t answer.

Because no, of course you don’t. Steve might be a lot of things, annoying, stubborn, entirely too attractive for his own good but he’s not stupid no matter how much he thinks he is.

The car slows to a stop at an intersection, red light bleeding into the windshield. Steve turns his head, looking at you. You can feel his gaze like a weight on your skin.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

You don’t.

He doesn’t let up. “C’mon. Just..look at me, please.”

You do and the moment your eyes meet his, your throat feels even tighter.

Because Steve is looking at you like you’re breaking. Like you’re something fragile, something precious. Like he doesn’t know how to fix you, but he wants to. Desperately.

It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to scream. It makes you want to grab his stupid, perfect face and kiss him because maybe if he knew how much you love him, maybe if he really knew, it would explain all of this. Maybe then he’d understand why it’s been so hard to breathe without him.

But you don’t.

Because Steve has a life, a future, a heart big enough to love the whole damn world, and he deserves better than someone who can barely get out of bed in the morning.

Instead, you force a smile. “I’m fine, Steve.”

He stares at you. Then his jaw tightens, and he turns back to the road. The light turns green.

He doesn’t say another word and neither do you.

You and Steve used to tell each other everything.

That’s what makes this worse.

Because if this were anyone else, you could pretend. You could fake a smile, change the subject, tell them you’ve just been busy, sorry I haven’t called, work’s been crazy, you know how it is. But Steve knows better. Steve remembers.

He remembers what your voice sounds like at 2 AM when you can’t sleep.

He remembers the way you bite your lip when you’re about to cry but don’t want anyone to notice.

He remembers the day your mom packed up and left, shoved a stack of cash in your hand like that would make up for anything, kissed you on the forehead, and walked out the door.

He remembers that you didn’t cry then, either.

Maybe that’s why he looks at you like this now, like he’s waiting for the dam to break, like he wants you to break, just a little, just enough to let him help.

But you don’t.

Because if you let one thing slip, it’s all going to come pouring out, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to shove it back inside again.

So instead, you sit there in his car, staring out the windshield like you can will yourself invisible. The heater hums, blowing warm air against your cold fingers, but you still feel frozen.

Steve’s gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles have gone white.

“She called me,” he says, voice low, tight.

You blink. “…Who?”

Steve’s jaw clenches. “Your mom.”

Your stomach drops.

Of course she did.

Not because she cares. Not because she suddenly woke up in her new life and thought, God, I miss my kid, I should check in. No, she called because the bank probably told her your rent was due soon, and she needed to make sure you hadn’t run off and died somewhere before she sent the next check.

You don’t say that out loud. You don’t say anything at all.

Steve exhales sharply through his nose. “She said you’re not picking up.”

“So?”

“So, she’s worried about you.”

You let out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “No, she’s not.”

Steve flinches. Just a little. Just enough for you to catch it.

You shake your head, turning away, pressing your fingers against the cold glass of the window. Your breath fogs up the surface, blurring the outside world into a smear of streetlights and passing cars.

“She doesn’t care, Steve,” you say, voice quieter now. “She just wants to make sure I’m still alive so she doesn’t have to feel guilty when she pays my rent.”

Silence.

“That’s bullshit.”

You glance at him. “What?”

Steve turns in his seat to face you fully. “That’s bullshit,” he repeats, firmer now. His eyes are dark, shining with something you don’t quite understand. “You think she doesn’t care? Fine. But I do.”

Your throat tightens.

Steve swallows, running a hand through his hair. “I care. Robin cares. Dustin cares. Hell, Eddie would probably kick your ass if he knew you were pulling this disappearing act.”

A weak attempt at a joke, but his voice cracks at the end, and that’s what makes your chest ache. Not the words. The way he sounds.

Like he’s scared.

Like he’s losing you.

You should say something. You should tell him he’s not. But your ribs feel like they’re caving in, pressing against your lungs until you can barely breathe, and the words won’t come.

Steve shakes his head. “Look, I get it, okay? I get it.” His voice softens, his fingers flexing against his knee. “Some days, it’s easier to just… not. Not answer the phone, not get out of bed, not deal with anything.”

You don’t ask how he knows that.

You don’t ask what his bad days look like, or how often they happen, or if he ever sits alone in his car after work, gripping the steering wheel and trying to find a reason to go home.

You don’t ask, because if you do, then this whole conversation is going to turn into something real, and you don’t know if you’re ready for that.

So you do what you always do. You deflect. “I didn’t ask you to come here,” you murmur.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah. You never do.”

It’s the same thing he said last time. The same bitter truth, thrown in your face like a reminder that you have done nothing but push him away for months and he’s still here, and you have no idea why.

You open your mouth, then close it.

Because what are you supposed to say to that? Sorry? It wouldn’t mean anything. Thank you? That would just make it worse.

Steve studies your face, eyes scanning every inch of you like he’s memorizing it, like he’s trying to understand something you’re not giving him.

Then, he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You should get inside.”

It’s not a command. Not a demand. Just… a suggestion. A tired, quiet plea.

You hesitate.

Because stepping out of this car means going back to the same four walls, the same shitty apartment that isn’t really yours, the same bed where you lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re ever going to feel like a real person again.

But if you stay, you’ll have to deal with Steve looking at you like this and that might be worse.

So you reach for the door handle, pressing your fingers against the cold metal. “Yeah. Okay.”

Steve doesn’t say anything as you step out.

He doesn’t say anything as you shut the door behind you, as you walk up the steps to your building, as you fumble for your keys with shaking hands and you don’t look back.

Because if you do, you might see him still sitting there, waiting for something you’ll never give him.

---

Steve Harrington isn’t a fixer.

Not really. Not in the way Robin is, where she tries to talk things through, tries to logic her way into making things better. Not in the way Dustin is, where he gets all loud and determined, like if he just explains enough, the universe will bend to his will.

Steve’s not like that. Never has been. But when someone he loves is hurting? He wants to fix it and he can’t.

Which is how he ends up here, slumped in the break room at Family Video, head in his hands, while Robin leans against the table with her arms crossed, looking at him like she’s not sure whether to shake him or hug him.

“She won’t talk to me,” Steve mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I mean, I knew something was wrong, obviously. But last night—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know, man. It was like she wasn’t even there.”

Robin doesn’t say anything right away. Just drums her fingers against her elbow, chewing on the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to figure out the right words.

Finally, she sighs. “Yeah.”

Steve blinks. “Yeah?”

Robin shrugs, looking away. “She won’t talk to me either.”

That makes his stomach drop.

Because Robin is…Robin. She’s the one people go to when they don’t want to talk to him. She’s the one who sees all the things he misses, the one who knows how to poke and prod until someone has to say something and if even she isn’t getting through?

Steve leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “Shit.”

Robin makes a noise in agreement, grabbing an old receipt off the table and crumpling it in her hands. “I tried stopping by the other day,” she admits. “Knocked on the door for, like, five minutes. Nothing. I thought about climbing through the window, but, y’know, didn’t want to get arrested for breaking and entering.”

Steve snorts. “Pretty sure they wouldn’t arrest you. You’d just get yelled at for falling and breaking your arm.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. My point is, she’s not just ignoring you. She’s—” She hesitates, waving her hand in the air. “Avoiding.”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

It shouldn’t make him feel better, knowing it’s not just him. But it kind of does. Because it means he didn’t do something wrong. It means it’s not personal.

It just means… you’re hurting, really hurting and Steve has no idea what the hell he’s supposed to do about it.

Robin sighs again, running a hand through her hair. “Do you think she—” She stops, frowning, like she’s not sure if she wants to say it out loud.

Steve sits up. “What?”

Robin hesitates. Then, quietly “Do you think she even wants help?”

The question settles in the air between them like smoke. Steve doesn’t know how to answer. Because of course you do. Right? Nobody actually wants to feel like this. Nobody actually wants to be alone in their shitty apartment, shutting the world out until all that’s left is the sound of their own breathing.

But you’re not trying either. You’re not reaching out, you’re not answering calls, you’re not doing anything to pull yourself out of it. So maybe… maybe Robin has a point.

Steve exhales, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I mean, she doesn’t…ask for anything. Ever. Even before all this. Even when her mom—” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. “I don’t think she even knows how to let people help her.”

Robin makes a frustrated noise, throwing the crumpled-up receipt at the wall. “Okay, well, that’s stupid.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

Robin presses her lips together, thoughtful. “We should do something.”

Steve lifts his head. “Like what?”

Robin shrugs. “I don’t know. Force her to hang out with us? Show up at her place and refuse to leave until she talks?”

Steve considers that for a second. It’s not a bad idea, necessarily. But the last time he showed up uninvited, she barely even looked at him. She just stood there, gripping the edge of the window like she wanted to slam it shut but didn’t have the energy.

He sighs. “I don’t think she wants us there.”

Robin groans, flopping dramatically against the table. “Okay, well, what does she want?”

Steve doesn’t answer. Because if he knew that, he wouldn’t feel like this. Wouldn’t feel like he’s standing outside a locked door, banging his fists against it, waiting for her to open it just a little.

Wouldn’t feel so goddamn helpless. Robin sits up, narrowing her eyes at him. “You love her.”

Steve freezes. His heartbeat stutters, then picks up, hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. “I—”

Robin raises a hand. “And before you start with the ‘what, no, shut up, Robin’ thing, dude, come on.”

Steve stares at the table. His hands curl into fists in his lap. “It’s not like that.”

Robin snorts. “Bullshit.”

He clenches his jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

Robin’s expression softens. “Steve.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t.” His voice is flat. “She’s dealing with enough already. The last thing she needs is—” He gestures vaguely at himself. “—this.”

Robin sighs, tapping her fingers against the table. “You know, sometimes I forget you used to be an actual dumbass in high school. But then you say shit like that, and it all comes rushing back.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

Robin ignores him. “Listen, I don’t know what the right thing to do is, okay? I don’t know if we’re supposed to wait for her to come to us, or if we’re supposed to force her to let us in, or if we’re just supposed to—” She waves her hands around. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that you giving up? Not an option.”

Steve lets out a slow breath. Because she’s right. Of course she is.

Robin stands, grabbing her coat. “C’mon. We’re taking a break.”

Steve frowns. “A break from what?”

Robin shrugs. “I don’t know. Thinking. Worrying. Feeling like shit. Take your pick.” She nods toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Steve hesitates. Because it feels wrong. Feels like walking away, like leaving something unfinished. Like giving up.

But Robin’s already halfway out the door, and he knows she won’t take no for an answer, so he follows.

---

You don’t remember when it started.

Not exactly.

You used to. You used to be able to point to a day, an hour, a moment, like that’s when it happened, that’s when things shifted. Like you could pinpoint the exact second something cracked inside you, like there was ever just one reason.

But the truth is, it wasn’t a moment. It was slow, like falling asleep.

One minute, you were fine. Maybe not happy, maybe not okay in the way other people seemed to be, but you were moving, at least. Breathing, laughing, living and then…then, one day, you woke up, and everything was heavy and it hasn’t stopped being heavy since.

You try to remember the last time you didn’t feel like this. Try to think back to a version of yourself that wasn’t always tired, that didn’t feel like they were made of lead and regret.

But it’s all so blurry. The last few years, hell, maybe the last decade just bleeding together. Like your brain pressed a thumb against the edges of your memories and smeared them into nothing.

You remember childhood. You remember Hawkins before everything went to hell. Long summers, scraped knees, riding bikes through the woods like you were invincible. Before you knew the things that lived underneath. Before you knew what it meant to lose.

You remember Steve. Always Steve.

You remember growing up with him, watching him turn from the loud-mouthed, cocky kid next door into this. The Steve who worries too much. The Steve who never lets people see that he worries too much. The Steve who never lets anyone go, even when they try to slip through his fingers.

You don’t remember when you started slipping. You don’t remember when you stopped wanting to be around anyone but him.

It wasn’t a choice, not really. It just…happened. One day, the thought of being around people became exhausting. One day, the idea of leaving your apartment, of talking, of pretending you were still the same person who cracked jokes with Robin and argued with Dustin and letting Lucus play horrible music in your car, One day, it all just felt like too much. But Steve never did. Steve was the only thing that still felt safe and maybe that’s why you hate this so much. Because if he’s starting to feel heavy too, if being around him hurts now, if even Steve is slipping away….then what’s left?

The sun has barely started setting when the knock comes. You already know who it is.

Steve knocks like he means it. Like if he just knocks loud enough, long enough, you have to answer. You don’t move.

You stare at the wall, curled up in a blanket that doesn’t feel warm enough, willing him to go away.

Another knock. “Come on,” his voice filters through the door, muffled. “I know you’re in there.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

He sighs. You hear the rustling of fabric, the shift of weight as he leans against the door. He’s not going anywhere. He never does.

There’s a long pause. Then, quieter. “You don’t have to talk. I just… I don’t wanna leave you alone.”

You swallow, pressing your face into the fabric of your sleeve.

Because you should want that. You should want him here, should want someone here, should want anything other than this emptiness sitting in your chest like an open grave.

But you don’t know how to reach for him. You don’t know how to say stay. So you just don’t.

You just stay there, curled up in your blanket, waiting for him to give up. Eventually, he does.

You listen to the sound of him exhaling, of his footsteps fading away, of the silence settling in again.

You tell yourself this is what you want, but then why do you feel worse?

---

The voicemail is waiting when you wake up.

You don’t check it at first. Just roll onto your side, staring at the dust collecting on your nightstand, willing yourself to go back to sleep even though you know it won’t happen.

Then another one comes in and another. You don’t have to listen to know who they’re from.

You’ve ignored enough of Steve’s calls to recognize the sound of him trying anyway. You cleared your voicemail box a few days ago, more out of boredom than anything…so now he and Robin have free reign to leave you messages that you won’t listen to.

Except, you do eventually.

Robin’s comes first.

“Hey, loser. It’s my birthday, and you’re supposed to be here. You better not be pulling that ‘oh, I forgot’ bullshit, because I know you didn’t. I told you like, twenty times. Anyway, I miss you. And not in the sad, dramatic way you probably think…just in the normal, regular way. So… come over, okay?”A pause. “Please.”

Then Steve’s, his voice is softer. Tired.

“I don’t know if you’re even checking these, but… it’s Robin’s birthday. She wants you here. I want you here. You don’t have to stay long. You don’t have to talk. Just… come, okay? It’s at my place.”

You sit with that for a while. Roll it over in your head.

Think about how much easier it would be to ignore them. Think about how nice it would be to just sink further into this, this in-between state, where you don’t have to deal with anything, don’t have to pretend.

But then you think about Robin waiting for you and Steve. And how bad it will be if you don’t go. If they start knocking on your door again, if they start pushing even harder, if you finally push them away the same way you have with everything else and you don’t want that.

Not really. So you go. Late, though. Hours past the time Robin said to come. If you show up late enough, most people will already be gone. If you time it right, you can show your face, hand over the gift, and leave before anyone really sees you.

One foot in, one foot out, always.

Steve’s house is lit up when you get there. The driveway is mostly empty, but you can still hear laughter from the backyard, Robin’s unmistakable cackle, Dustin’s high-pitched wheeze, the sound of clinking bottles and the buzz of conversation. You hesitate at the curb, shifting the weight of the gift bag in your hands.

A few records. Some Robin has been talking about for months, saying she’s too broke to afford. You bought it weeks ago, back when you were still trying to convince yourself you were going to get better, when you thought maybe you’d show up and hand it to her with a smile and everything would feel normal again.

But nothing feels normal anymore. You make it to the porch. Stand in front of the door. Your fingers twitch toward the handle, but you don’t move. The laughter from the backyard drifts through the air. They all sound happy. You should turn around. You should leave before anyone notices before you dull their happiness.

The side gate opens, you don't notice, too busy in your own head and Steve steps out, holding a trash bag in one hand, looking half-exasperated, half-something else. But the moment he sees you…really sees you, he freezes.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you, watches the way you stand there, stiff and uncertain, your arm twitching like you’re about to knock, then dropping back down. Watches the way your grip tightens around the gift bag, how you shift from foot to foot like you’re debating running.

Ten minutes.

He realizes, suddenly, that he's just being watching you for 10 minutes, and you’ve just been standing there in your own world.

He swallows. “Hey. You came.”

You don’t jump. Don’t flinch. You just look at him, expression unreadable. “Yeah,” you say after a moment. “I… I bought her this a while ago. She deserves to have it.”

Steve’s chest tightens. Because fuck, you sound, you sound tired. Not just physically, not like you didn’t get enough sleep, but the kind of tired that sits inside you. The kind of tired he doesn’t know how to fix.

He clears his throat. “Come on,” he says, nodding toward the backyard. “We’re all back here.”

You hesitate and Steve knows, knows, that this is it. That you’re going to back out, that you’re going to make some excuse, that you’re going to disappear again.

“Please.” It comes out quiet. Not demanding. Not pushing. Almost desperate, you nod. Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, stepping aside so you can follow.

As you walk behind him, he risks a glance back and that’s when he notices it.

The weight loss. The way your clothes hang just a little looser than they used to. The way your shoulders curve inward, like you’re trying to make yourself smaller, like you’re bracing for something. But more than that, your eyes. He’s seen you tired before. Seen you scared. Seen you cry. But he’s never seen you like this.

It makes something sharp twist in his chest, something angry, not at you, never at you, but at the way things got this bad without him noticing. Right before you step into the backyard, he watches it happen.

The shift.

Your back straightens, your shoulders roll back, and suddenly, it’s like you’re on. Like you’ve flipped a switch, turned into some version of yourself that’s passable enough to make it through the night.

Steve clenches his jaw. Because he knows you and this, this isn’t you.

Robin looks up from her spot at the table, eyes widening when she sees you. “Holy shit.”

And you, you smile.

But Steve doesn’t. Because now that he’s seen the difference, now that he’s really looking,he doesn’t think he can pretend anymore, either.

The backyard feels too big.

Too open, too bright, even with the sun dipping below the trees. The string lights Steve put up years ago glow softly, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. People are spread out in clusters Dustin and Mike playfully shoving each other near the fire pit, Max sitting with Lucus on the porch swing and a few other people you don’t know, don’t recognize.

It should feel familiar. These are your friends. Your people. But instead, you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

You hover near the back, close enough to look like you’re part of it, far enough to not actually be part of it. The laughter and voices blend together into something distant, something that doesn’t quite reach you.

“I’ll get you a drink, pop?” He asks quietly, you just nod.

Steve moves through the small crowd easily, the way he always has. It’s different now, he’s not King Steve anymore, hasn’t been for a long time but he still has this way of fitting, like he belongs and for a long time, you thought you did too.

But now, standing here, watching everyone from a few feet away, you wonder if you ever really did, or if you just convinced yourself you did because you were always next to him.

Across the yard, Nancy is watching.

Not in an obvious way, but you can feel it. The occasional glances, the way her brow furrows slightly when she looks at you. She’s never been one to miss details. You know she’s going to say something before she even moves.

Nancy finds Steve in the kitchen.

He’s leaning against the counter, half-distracted, sipping a beer. There’s already a pile of empty bottles in the sink, a testament to the night slowly winding down.

“Hey,” she says, stepping beside him.

Steve glances at her. “Hey.”

Nancy tilts her head toward the back door. “So… what’s going on?”

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?”

Nancy sighs. “You know what I mean.”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter beside him. “She looks… bad, Steve.”

Steve stiffens. “Nance…”

“I mean it.” She gives him a pointed look. “She's barely spoken to anyone at all lately, She looks like she hasn’t been sleeping and I saw the way she was standing by the gate when you let her in like she was debating leaving.”

Steve exhales sharply, setting his drink down. “Yeah. I know.”

Nancy watches him. “How long has this been going on?”

Steve rubs a hand over his face. “A while.”

Nancy doesn’t say why didn’t you tell me? but Steve hears it anyway.

It’s not that he didn’t want to. He just didn’t know how. How do you explain something that isn’t one thing? How do you explain the slow, sinking feeling of watching someone you love slip further away, even when they’re standing right in front of you?

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve admits quietly. “I keep trying, and she just—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Nancy presses her lips together, thinking. “She came, though.”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s something.”

Steve exhales. “I guess.”

Nancy nudges him gently. “She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t want to.”

Steve isn’t sure if that’s true. But he wants it to be.

Robin is sitting cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by wrapping paper and a growing pile of gifts.

You hover nearby, fingers curling around the handle of the gift bag, heart hammering against your ribs. This shouldn’t feel so big. It’s just a gift. Just a stupid birthday present.

But somehow, it does. You don’t remember the last time you gave someone a gift.

Not like this. Not something you put thought into, something you picked out because you knew they’d love it.

Your stomach twists. Maybe she won’t. Maybe this is stupid. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

Steves suddenly beside you, handing you your drink and he nudges your arm. It’s light, barely there, but you feel it. The reminder. The push.

So you step forward. Clear your throat. Robin looks up.

Her eyes widen slightly, like she’s still surprised you’re here.

You swallow. Hold out the bag. “Uh. This is for you.”

Robin blinks. Then, without hesitation, she grabs it.

Rips the tissue paper apart and she freezes. Her mouth falls open.

For a long moment, she just stares down at the records in her lap, like she doesn’t quite believe they’re real. Then she looks back at you, eyes wide.

“Holy shit.”

You shift your weight. “You, uh. You kept talking about them.” You gesture vaguely. “Figured you should have them.”

Robin’s fingers skim the covers, tracing the edges like they might disappear if she blinks. “This must’ve cost you a lot of money.” She looks up, shaking her head. “I can’t take these.”

You shake your head too, quickly, heart lurching. “Yes, you can.”

Robin’s expression softens. She studies you for a second, then nods. “Okay.” Then, quieter. “Thank you.”

And then she stands before you can stop her and she hugs you.

It’s quick, nothing dramatic, but it shocks you. You go stiff immediately, muscles locking up, breath caught in your throat.

Because fuck, you don’t remember the last time someone hugged you.

Not a casual pat on the back. Not an arm slung over your shoulder. A hug. A real, genuine, someone-wants-you-here hug.

For a second, you don’t move but slowly, hesitantly, you hug her back and it takes everything in you not to break completely.

Your throat clenches. Your arms shake. There’s something dangerously tight in your chest, something heavy behind your ribs, something overwhelming.

Steve sees it. No one else does, but he does.

The way you freeze. The way you hesitate before melting into it, before gripping Robin’s shirt just a little too tight, before squeezing your eyes shut like you might actually cry.

Robin pulls back, grinning at you. “I love them. I love you.”

You force a small smile. “Glad you like them.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “I don’t like them. I love them.”

Her voice is light, teasing.

But Steve watches the way your fingers twitch. The way you don’t respond to that. The way you glance toward the door, just for a second like you’re still half-thinking about running because you are and when everyone is busy with cake, you do.

---

Two weeks.

Two weeks since Robin’s party. Two weeks since you stepped back into them, into all of it and in those two weeks, you’ve successfully avoided everyone.

No calls. No visits. No late-night knocks on your door.

Nothing.

You should feel relieved. Should feel better. This is what you wanted, right? To be left alone?

But instead, all you feel is nothing. Like something inside you has been scraped out and hollowed, leaving you with only the dull, aching weight of emptiness.

Your apartment feels suffocating, the silence pressing in too tight. Sleep doesn’t come easy, when it does, it’s restless, fractured, full of static and half-remembered voices.

So, you get up and you walk. It’s almost midnight when you end up at the liquor store.

It’s the kind of place that doesn’t ask questions, the kind that stays open too late and doesn’t care much about who walks through the doors.

The guy at the counter barely looks at you. He takes your fake ID, glances at the picture, looks back at you, then shrugs and slides it back across the counter.

A minute later, a small brown paper bag is in your hand. You don’t know why you’re doing this. You just want to feel something.

---

Steve’s driving.

Robin is in the passenger seat, her feet up on the dashboard, flipping through a mixtape case. They’re coming back from a long shift at Family Video, Steve is exhausted, Robin is rambling about something, and everything is normal.

Then her voice high pitched, “Holy shit. Is that Y/N?”

Steve’s stomach drops. Before he can even think, his foot slams the brake. The car jerks forward, tires screeching, and Robin yelps, grabbing the dashboard.

“Jesus, Steve, warn me next time!”

But Steve doesn’t hear her. His grip tightens around the steering wheel, eyes locked on the sidewalk.

On you. You’re standing under a flickering streetlight, paper bag in hand, bottle tilted toward your lips.

There’s something about that, about seeing you, alone in the middle of the night, drinking like it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes his chest tighten with something sharp and wrong.

Robin breathes out a quiet, “Shit.”

Steve doesn’t think. He just throws the car into park, leaves the keys in the ignition, and gets out. Robin calls after him, but he doesn’t stop, how can hr when you’re right there.

You still don’t see him.

You just keep walking, one slow step after another, like you’re sleepwalking, like the whole world has blurred around the edges and you’re moving through it without really being there.

“What are you doing?”

Your steps falter, you turn and when your eyes meet his, flat, unfocused, tired…Steve’s stomach clenches.

You look wrong. Not just exhausted, not just numb, but wrong in a way that makes his skin crawl, in a way that makes his heart slam against his ribs because this isn’t you.

He takes a step forward, eyes flicking down to the brown paper bag clutched in your hand. “What is this?”

You stare at him, flatly, hollowly you speak. “I’m thirsty.”

Something inside Steve snaps. His arms fly up, frustration spilling out. “Are you kidding me?!”

You blink at him. Like you don’t get it. Like you don’t understand why he’s angry, why his chest feels like it’s about to explode.

“You have people who care about you.” His voice cracks. “People who love you, who are willing to help you through this and you’re out here doing this? What the fuck are you doing?”

Silence.

“It's nothing Steve, just drop it.”

Steve shakes his head, voice raw. “You think this is nothing? You think this is just your life to throw away? After everything we’ve been through? After everyone we’ve lost?”

You flinch.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Do you think Barb wanted to die? Do you think Billy wanted to? What about fucking Hopper? Do you think any of them got a choice?” His voice rises, filled with something sharp and desperate, something clawing its way out of him. “And now you’re out here, drinking in the middle of the fucking street like none of it matters? Like you don’t matter?”

Your stomach twists. Because that, that is exactly how it feels.

Like you don’t matter. Like you’ve been waiting to disappear for so long that maybe this is just the next step.

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “I didn’t ask for a fucking lecture, Steve.”

“Well, you’re getting one.” He exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. You think you’re the only one who’s struggling? You think you’re the only one who has to wake up every day and pretend to be fine?”

You scoff. “Oh, yeah. Poor Steve Harrington. Must be so hard for you.”

Steve stares at you. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t get it!”

Your voice rises, sharp and bitter, something ugly curling in your chest.

“You…” Your breath shudders. “You have people, Steve! You have everyone. You have Robin and Dustin, and all of them love you. You’ll never be alone!”

You shake your head, taking a step back, fingers tightening around the bag. “I don’t have anyone, Steve. Nobody stays. Nobody ever fucking stays, I’m not apart of a group, everyone has someone aside, the children all have each other, Nance has Jonathan, Robin has you, you and her! I don’t fucking have anyone! I never did because no one stays, my own Mother didn’t want to stay!” Your voice cracks.

Steve’s face twists, and for a second, something pained flashes through his expression. “I stayed.”

“Yeah?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “For how long? Until I make things too fucking hard for you? Until you finally realize I’m not worth it?”

Steve’s chest aches. “That’s not…”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” You shake your head, eyes burning. “I see it in your face, Steve. You don’t know what to do with me anymore. You’re exhausted. You’re—” Your voice wobbles. “You’re gonna leave just like everyone else.”

“I’m not leaving you.”*

“Why not?!” The words explode out of you, raw and furious, and suddenly you’re pushing at his chest, shoving him back. “Why do you even fucking care?”

Steve grabs your wrists before you can shove him again, holding you there, his grip tight but steady. “Because I love you!”

Your breath catches. But it doesn’t change anything.

Because Steve can say that all he wants, but you know, you know, that it won’t last.

Love has never lasted for you.

So you rip your arms out of his grip, stepping back. “Well, I don’t fucking want it.”

The words hit him.

Hard.

You watch something in his face break, something deep, something that looks a little too much like hope dying.

And you, you don’t know how to stop, how to stop the self sabotage, how do stop the want, the need the urge to push him away even further now after the confession.

“Maybe that’s why I’m not around anymore,” you continue, words spilling out like poison. “Maybe I don’t want to be around you. Ever thought of that, Harrington? I don’t want any of it, I don’t want you!”

Steve flinches like you hit him.

Because maybe if you push hard enough, maybe if you make this ugly enough, he’ll finally give up on you.

He swallows hard, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling too fast.

Quietly, brokenly, his voice waivers. “Fuck you.”

It cuts through the air like a gunshot. You don’t breathe.

Steve shakes his head, jaw clenched, furious. “Fine. You wanna be alone so fucking bad? Fine.”

Your chest is heaving. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Leave me the fuck alone! Finally!” The words rip out of you, loud, shaking, cutting through the night like a blade.

Steve just stands there.

His face twists, and he swipes a shaking hand over it, exhaling sharply, like he’s trying to keep himself together.

But you see it. See the way his eyes go glassy, see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too uneven.

He turns, gets back in his car, drives away and you, you stand there, watching the taillights disappear into the dark. As he watches you become small and smaller in his rearview mirror.

Robin is still in the passenger seat, staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Whoa.”

Steve grips the steering wheel, knuckles white.

He exhales, voice tight, wrecked. “I know, Robin. I know.”

---

Steve reels.

For days, he feels like he’s floating, like he’s moving through the motions of his life without actually being in it. He goes to work. He watches movies with Robin. He drives Dustin home from the arcade.

But his mind is stuck.

It keeps replaying your voice, the venom in it, the way you said maybe I don’t want to be around you, the way he told you he loves you and you acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t fucking matter and maybe it shouldn’t.

Maybe he should let it go. Move on. Forget. But that’s the thing about Steve. He doesn’t let go and he could never try and forget you.

The others keep trying, even when Steve stops, one by one, they try.

Robin knocks on your door again. Stands there for almost twenty minutes, knocking, knocking, knocking. No answer.

Nancy calls. Nothing.

Jonathan even swings by. Dustin and Lucas take turns dropping in. Even Will tries.

Nothing and then Max, Max says, Fuck this.

She stands in the parking lot of your apartment, hands on her hips, glaring up at your window like she can will you into existence.

Lucas frowns. “Uh… Max?”

“What are you doing?” Dustin asks.

She doesn’t answer.

Just rolls her shoulders, shakes out her arms, and nods toward the boys. “Lift me up.”

Lucas blinks. “What?”

“You heard me,” Max says. “You’re all freakishly tall. Get me to that balcony.”

Dustin sputters. “Are you insane? You’re gonna fall and die.”

Max gives him a look. “It’s the second floor, Dustin.”

Dustin and Lucas exchange a glance. Then, reluctantly they link their hands together, bending down slightly. Max steps up, balancing on their grip, and they push her up.

She grabs the railing. Hauls herself over. Lands with a soft thud on the balcony and then she turns toward your window.

It’s unlocked. Because of course it is.

Max sighs. “Jesus, dumbass.”

She pushes it open. Climbs inside, the apartment is dark. Quiet, too quiet.

“Y/N?”

No answer.

She steps forward, glancing around. Clothes on the floor. A half-empty glass on the counter. An unmade bed.

But no you.

Max frowns. Steps further in. Looks around the corner, into the bathroom, the closet.

“She’s not here.”

The boys freeze.

“What?” Dustin calls up.

Max peers over the balcony. “She’s not here.”

Lucas exhales. “Maybe she’s just…out?”

Dustin nods, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe she’s just out.”

Because it’s fine. It’s fine. Hawkins isn’t that big. Maybe you just needed air. Maybe you just needed space.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Dustin stops by Family Video a few days later.

Steve is behind the counter, barely paying attention, flipping through tapes.

Dustin walks in, leans against the counter, and says, “We broke in.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“Well Max did,” Dustin repeats, like that means something.

Steve frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dustin sighs, dragging a hand through his curls. “She wasn’t answering the door. So we broke in. Well, Max broke in.”

Steve straightens. “What?”

“She wasn’t there.” Dustin stares at him. “We don’t know where she is.”

Steve clenches his jaw. His heart kicks up, just a little. But he forces his expression blank, shakes his head. “Maybe she’s just out, busy.”

Dustin scoffs. “Yeah, that’s what we said. But it’s been days.” He crosses his arms. “Don’t act like you don’t care.”

Something sharp flashes in Steve’s chest. “She made it pretty fucking clear she didn’t want me to care.”

Dustin stares at him, unimpressed. “You do care, though.”

Steve doesn’t say anything.

Dustin exhales, shaking his head. “We’re family, Steve and she’s going through it. She has every right to go through it, we all do.”

Then he turns and walks out, the bell above the door ringing behind him.

Steve just stands there, alone with his thoughts, his never ending thoughts of you.

---

You haven’t been home in days.

You don’t really know where you’ve been. Mostly your car, parked in empty lots or just outside the Welcome to Hawkins sign, watching the road stretch ahead of you and wondering if you should just go.

Not that you have anywhere to go. You could see your Mother, but she wouldn't welcome you, wouldn't want you there she didn't even want you here.

But the thought lingers anyway. Maybe if you just leave, if you just drive, you’ll feel something other than this.

But you never make it past the sign.

You just sit there, engine humming beneath your hands, watching the road blur under the heat of the sun or the glow of the streetlights. You tell yourself you’ll do it tomorrow or the next day.

But tomorrow comes, and you’re still here. When you finally step inside your apartment, it feels off. You notice it immediately.

The air feels shifted, like someone else has been here. The window is cracked open, the curtain shifting slightly in the breeze.

Your stomach clenches. For a split second, your heart hammers, your body reacting on pure instinct, memories of Starcourt, of things slipping through cracks in the walls, of knowing you weren’t alone even when you should have been.

You see the fingerprints on the dusty window, they're small and then you exhale. Because, of course, it was one of the kids.

You don’t even have to think about it. Max, probably, or Dustin, probably Max. You can see it in your head, the way they must have whispered outside your door, debating who would do it, who would be the one to climb up.

You should be mad. Should be annoyed, normally you would give them shit not for breaking in but for the fact they could’ve gotten hurt, Max would roll her eyes, Dustin would steal some chips. But you’re not, and you don’t, instead you just feel tired.

You press play on your voicemail without thinking.

The first one is from Robin.

“Okay, I don’t know if you’re dead or if you’re just ignoring me, but this is, like, the eighth time I’ve called, and it’s starting to get embarrassing, so, just pick up the phone, alright? Or don’t. Whatever. Just know I miss you, you asshole.”

Click.

The next one is from Nancy.

“Hey. It’s me. I just… wanted to check in. The kids said you weren’t home, and look, just call me, okay? We can talk, I can listen or we can just watch movies, whatever you want.”

Click.

You wait and that's it, nothing from Steve. Of course not. You tell yourself you don’t care because you told Steve you didn’t care. So you don’t. Because its easier to have no one and now you don’t

Then the last voicemail plays, a voice you don’t recognize, older…tired.

“Hello… I, uh. I don’t know if this number is still good, but… this is your aunt, Marlene, we’ve never met, probably never will, anyway I’m calling because—”

A pause, a sigh.

“It’s about your mother. There was an accident. She didn’t make it.”

Silence.

“I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”

Click and that’s it.

That’s it.

No details. No information. No anything. Just a handful of words from a stranger and a deadline.

You just stand there.

Staring at the phone.

Staring at nothing.

Your mom is dead.

She’s dead.

And you should, what? Care? Be devastated? Something?

You don’t even know how to feel.

She left when you were eighteen. She walked away. You’ve spent years telling yourself she didn’t matter, that you didn’t need her, that you never had her to begin with, not really.

But now she’s gone.

Like, actually gone and the realization crashes into you all at once.

It’s not just about her. It’s not just about your so-called mom. It’s about the fact that she was the last thing connecting you to something else, to anything else.

Now there’s nobody.

Nobody but the people you keep pushing away.

Your breath stutters. Your vision blurs. Your hands tremble, then the dam breaks and you start to cry.

Not the kind of crying that sneaks up on you in the dark, not the kind that you can swallow back, shove down, ignore.

This is something else.

This is everything.

It’s every bad day, every quiet ache, every unspoken word, every time you wanted to scream but didn’t.

It’s Starcourt, it’s the Upside Down, it’s the people you lost, it’s the ones you almost lost, it’s the way you never let yourself grieve because there was never any time.

It’s Steve.

It’s the fight, the words you threw like knives, the way he looked at you, the way he walked away.

It’s all of it and now it’s pouring out of you.

You clutch your own arms, pressing your forehead against the wall, sobbing so hard it hurts and there’s no one here to see it.

No one here to stop it because you made damn sure of that.

---

The thing about loss is that it doesn’t come all at once, it comes in waves. It builds, slowly, creeping under your skin, sinking into the cracks of you, pressing against your ribs like it’s trying to make room and then it drowns you.

That’s what this feels like, you are drowning. Your mother is dead.

She is dead, and she was never a good mother, never really there, but she was something. She existed. She was a person in the world, breathing the same air as you, sharing the same blood as you, the same looks as you and now she’s gone, and it's just you.

You try to imagine her, try to remember the last time you saw her, the last time you heard her voice, but everything is blurry, like looking through a fogged-up window.

You try to imagine what it must’ve been like her last seconds, last thoughts, last breath.

Did she see it coming? Did she think of you? Did she feel afraid? Or was she just gone before she even had the chance?

And why does it matter? She left.

She walked away from you. She built a whole life somewhere else and didn’t once look back.

So why does it hurt so fucking much?

You slide down the wall, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to stop the burning, trying to stop feeling, but it’s everywhere, all at once and for the first time in your life, you understand.

You get it.

This, this weight in your chest, this endless sinking, this exhaustion that has settled into your bones like it belongs there, this was always the ending, wasn’t it?

It was always pointing here. Because what’s left? You have no family. No future.

You lost it at Starcourt. You lost pieces of yourself in the Upside Down, left them rotting between vines and monsters, left them gasping in the smoke-filled air, left them screaming in the neon glow of a mall on fire.

More importantly you lost Steve and that’s the worst part.

Because Steve was the one thing, the one fucking thing, that still felt like home. The one thing keeping you tethered to the idea that maybe, maybe, there was something else.

But you pushed him away.

You pushed all of them away and now there is nothing. There is no one, not even you and that realization shatters something inside you.

You stare at your hands, at your own fingers, at the skin and blood and bones that make up you, and you don’t know what to do with them anymore.

You don’t know what to do with yourself and maybe you don’t have to.

Maybe this is it, maybe this is where it ends. The thought should scare you, but it doesn’t.

It just feels… inevitable.

Like taking a final breath before stepping off a ledge. Like maybe you were always meant to end up here.

You should leave a note, something for Robin. Something for Nancy. Something for the kids but that would take so much work, so much effort, so much time and you don’t have that. It would be better that way for them anyway.

But there’s only one person you want to say goodbye to, only one person you want to hear one last time.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for the phone. You stare at the numbers, stare at the dial tone, at the empty silence waiting on the other end.

You call Steve.

It rings and rings.

And rings.

Just when you think it’s going to go to voicemail because that's what you deserve.

“Hello?”

---

Steve pulls up outside Robin’s house, shifting the car into park but leaving the engine running. The street is quiet, bathed in the dim glow of streetlights, the cicadas humming in the background. Robin leans back in her seat, staring out the windshield, arms crossed over her chest.

They’re both tired.

It’s been a long day. Not bad, just long. A double shift at Family Video, filled with annoying customers and late returns, followed by a long-winded discussion about whether or not The Empire Strikes Back is actually the best Star Wars movie and now, the stillness.

Robin sighs, shifting in her seat. “Sometimes I think we’re gonna work here forever.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. “You say that like it’s the worst thing ever.”

“It is,” she groans, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “This town is a black hole. People either get out, or they get stuck in the upside or worse, the upside down.”

Steve grips the steering wheel a little tighter. He knows that feeling, knows it too well.

Robin turns her head, looking at him. “You ever think about leaving?”

Steve exhales, shrugs. “Sometimes.”

It’s not a lie. He has thought about it. Thought about packing up, driving until Hawkins is just a distant memory in his rearview mirror.

But he never does.

Robin watches him for a second, then shifts. “Have you talked to her?”

Steve’s stomach clenches. He doesn’t need to ask who her is.

His fingers tighten around the wheel. “Drop it.”

Robin frowns. “Steve—”

“I mean it, Robin.” His voice comes out sharper than he intended. “Just drop it.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just watches him, eyes searching. Then… “I heard you, you know.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Robin tilts her head. “The fight. The night you two screamed at each other in the middle of the street.” She exhales, quieter now. “I heard you.”

Steve’s throat feels tight. “What are you talking about?”

Robin gives him a look. “You told her you love her.”

Steve swallows. Looks away. “As a friend.”

Robin scoffs. “Steve.”

He presses his lips together. Stares at his hands. Finally, quietly, “I know.”

Robin watches him. Something softens in her expression. “How long?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know. Forever.” A humorless laugh escapes him. “It’s always been her.”

Robin doesn’t say Jesus, Steve, or I told you so. She just nods and that’s one of the reasons why he loves her. Because she gets it.

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Robin sighs, stretching her arms. “Well. I’m gonna call her tomorrow. Call me if anything happens.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nothing’s gonna happen.” He gestures vaguely. “Nothing ever happens.”

Robin snorts. “You say that like we don’t live in the most cursed town in America.”

Steve doesn’t laugh.

Robin studies him for a second, then pats his arm. “See you tomorrow, Dingus.”

She hops out, heading inside, and Steve watches her go before pulling away.

He doesn’t know why he feels uneasy. When he gets home, the house is dark, it always is. His parents are gone, they’re always gone and he's always alone. He steps inside, kicking off his shoes, running a hand through his hair.

The phone starts ringing.

Steve frowns, shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t expecting a call. Robin just got home, Dustin’s probably passed out.

He pauses, walks over to the phone. Picks up the receiver.

“Hello?”

Silence.

But not nothing, because he hears it.

The shaky, uneven breathing. The way it hitches, like whoever’s on the other end is trying and failing to hold it together. Like they’re choking on their own sobs.

And Steve knows. “Y/N?” His voice is softer now, careful, like if he says the wrong thing, you’ll disappear.

Nothing. Just more shaky, gasping breaths.

Steve grips the phone tighter, panic creeping into his veins. “Sweetheart, you need to breathe with me, okay? Just, just match my breathing, in and out. Can you do that for me?”

No response.

“Please.” His voice breaks. “Just try.”

He starts breathing, slow and steady, hoping you’ll follow. He knows you can hear it, knows you want to listen, want to do what he’s saying.

But he also knows you’re barely holding on.

Finally, finally a sound. Your voice, small and broken. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

Steve’s heart stops then kicks into overdrive.

“Be where?” His voice is urgent now. “Are you home? I’ll come get you. You can come here, you know that, right? You’re always welcome here. No matter what. No matter what happens.”

Silence.

Steve grips the phone so tight his knuckles turn white. “Y/N.”

“My mom’s dead.”

Steve stills. His brain stutters, trying to process the words, trying to make sense of them. “What?”

Your voice wobbles. “Some aunt, Marlene, I think, called me. Said she was in an accident and that was it. That was all she said.”

Steve swallows, running a hand over his face. “Jesus.”

“She didn’t even care enough to tell me anything. Nobody did. I have nobody, Steve.”

His heart hurts.

“That’s not true,” he says immediately. “You have me. You have all of us, no matter what.”

But it’s like you don’t even hear him. Like you’ve already made up your mind and barely above a whisper you repeat, “I just don’t wanna be here anymore.”

And Steve gets it, he sees the picture clear as day now, what here is, where here is. The way you sound, the weight in your voice. It clicks.

His stomach drops. His whole body tenses, panic flooding every inch of him. “Y/N, wait—”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice breaks completely. “I didn’t mean any of it Steve, I’m sorry, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

The line clicks dead.

Steve freezes, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move. He’s in pure shock for a moment. He just stands there, the dial tone ringing in his ear, echoing inside his skull.

Then his body reacts, the phone crashes against the wall. He grabs his keys and then he’s running. Running out the door, into his car, peeling out of the driveway so fast his tires scream.

Because he has to get to you.

Now.

Steve has been scared before.

He’s been terrified.

He’s been chased by things with too many teeth, been tied to a chair in a dark basement with you bleeding beside him, been seconds away from dying more times than he can count.

But this, this is different.

This is a fear that burns, that consumes, that digs its claws into his chest and doesn’t let go.

His heart is racing, slamming against his ribs so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free. His hands are white-knuckled around the wheel as he flies down the streets of Hawkins, barely registering stop signs, barely hearing the sound of his own breathing, all he hears is you.

I don’t wanna be here anymore.

The words play on a loop inside his skull, hitting harder than anything else ever has. Because this isn’t something he can punch, isn’t something he can fight off, this isn’t a near miss, this isn’t luck.

This is you.

Because you are slipping through his fingers and you have been for a year and he cannot lose you. He presses harder on the gas, blowing through a red light, gripping the steering wheel so tightly it aches.

He doesn’t care.

He needs to get to you.

The moment he pulls up outside your apartment, he’s moving. Keys out, door slamming behind him, legs pumping.

He gets to the front entrance, but the door is locked, of course it is.. The buzzer panel is old and rusted, the names next to each button fading, barely legible.

He presses all of them.

One after another, over and over, until finally. “Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!” A loud buzz, the door clicking open.

Steve shoves inside, taking the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over his own feet in his desperation.

Your door.

His fist slams against the wood, hard enough to make it shake. “Y/N!”

Nothing.

No sound, no movement.

Panic surges up his throat, his body moving before he can even think, he throws his weight against the door.

Once.

Twice.

The wood splinters, the frame cracking.

A third time…the door bursts open.

Steve stumbles inside, chest heaving, eyes scanning the room.

Empty.

The bed is unmade, a glass of water sits half-finished on the counter, clothes are draped over a chair, but you aren’t here.

His heart stutters, his mind is a mess but something makes him remember.

Remember the way you used to sit on the roof when you first moved in, smoking joints and staring at the sky, talking about how it felt good to finally be free.

Steve turns and runs.

The fire escape is cold against his hands as he climbs, metal biting into his palms. He moves fast, too fast, feet slipping once, barely catching himself.

His pulse is pounding in his ears, he doesn’t know what he’s about to find. He just knows it has to be you.

Steve is breathless by the time he reaches the top.

His lungs burn, his legs shake, his chest aches, but none of it matters because there you are, standing at the edge.

The wind pushes against you, lifts your hair, makes you look so small, so fragile, like one wrong step could send you tumbling down and Steve has never been this scared in his entire fucking life.

Not when he was tied to a chair in a Russian bunker, not when a monster the size of a mall came crashing through fire and wreckage, not even when he thought he was going to die in the back of a speeding car, while being chased.

Nothing, nothing has ever been as terrifying as this.

You.

Standing there, staring down at the town like you don’t belong to it anymore. Like you’re already gone.

Steve cannot let that happen. “Hey.” His voice cracks as he steps closer, slow and careful, hands shaking at his sides. “Sweetheart, I need you to step back, okay? Please.”

You don’t look at him.

Your arms are wrapped around yourself, fingers digging into the sleeves of your sweater, like you’re holding yourself together, like you have to hold yourself together because if you don’t, you’ll fall apart completely.

Your voice comes out hollow, quiet. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve exhales shakily. “Neither should you.”

Another step.

His heart is beating so fast, too fast, slamming against his ribs, but he keeps moving, keeps going, because if he stops, if he hesitates for even a second he’s afraid he’ll lose you.

“You love this roof.” His voice wobbles, desperate, full of something too big for him to name. “You used to drag me up here, remember? You’d sit up here for hours and tell me about all the places you wanted to go, all the shit you wanted to do.”

You let out a quiet laugh. But there’s no joy in it. No life. Just emptiness. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Look how that turned out.”

Steve’s stomach twists, his throat tightens. His eyes burn and suddenly, he’s angry.

Not at you, never at you but at everything else. At the way the world chewed you up and spat you out. At the way it took and took and took until there was nothing left of you but this, this wreckage of a person who doesn’t even think they deserve to stay.

“You don’t get to do this.” His voice breaks. “You don’t get to fucking leave me, Y/N. You don’t get to decide that you don’t belong here anymore, you don’t get to leave me behind, you dont get to leave us behind.”

Finally you turn to look at him and Steve almost falls apart right there. Because you’re crying, your face is crumpling, your lips are shaking, and your eyes, your beautiful, familiar eyes are so tired.

Like you’ve been carrying this for so long. Like you don’t know how to stop.

“Steve…” Your voice cracks, and something inside of him shatters.

His hands tremble at his sides. His vision blurs. His whole body shakes, and then he’s crying too.

“You can’t do this to me,” he chokes out. “You can’t.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t know how to be here anymore, Steve.”

And that’s when he loses it.

“Then let me show you!” His voice breaks, loud and raw, echoing in the empty night air. “Let me fucking show you how, because I can’t—” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots, his breath shuddering. “I can’t do this without you.”

You blink at him, startled.

He takes another step, closer now, close enough to touch.

“I don’t know how to be here without you.” His chest heaves. “Do you get that? Do you understand what you fucking mean to me? You think you have nobody? You think you don’t matter? That’s bullshit.”

His hands fly up, gesturing wildly, voice rising, full of so much desperation he feels like he might burst.

“I wake up thinking about you, I go to sleep thinking about you, I—” He lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “I have loved you my entire fucking life, and you think you don’t matter? You are the most important person I have ever fucking met, and I will not let you go, do you hear me? If you can’t stay for you, please stay for me, please I’m begging you!”

Your lip trembles, a tear slips down your cheek. “Steve…”

“Come here.” His voice cracks completely now. “Please.”

You hesitate.

For one unbearable second, you hesitate, but then you step back.

Steve moves instantly, closing the space between you, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you into his arms, holding you so tight it’s like he thinks you’ll disappear, like you’ll fall off that edge you’re no longer on if he lets go.

You break apart in his arms, you sob and so does he.

His hands clutch at your back, his face presses into your hair, his whole body shakes with the weight of everything he almost lost.

“I got you,” he whispers, over and over, like a prayer, like a promise. “I got you, I got you, I got you.”

Because he does and he always will.

Steve doesn’t let go of you.

Not when he walks you back inside your apartment, not when he eases you onto the couch like you might break, not when he kneels in front of you, hands still gripping your waist like he needs to feel that you’re here, that you’re real.

Your face is pale, eyes red and unfocused, your body limp with exhaustion, but you’re breathing. You’re here.

That’s all that matters.

Steve swallows hard, forces his voice steady. “Is there anything you need right now?”

You blink slowly. “What?”

He squeezes your knee, grounding. “I’m not leaving you alone and you’re not staying here. Not like this. You’re coming with me, okay? You’re coming to my house.*”

You don’t respond.

You just stare at him, like his words are coming from far away, like they’re slipping through cracks in your mind before they can reach you.

So Steve makes the decision for you. He pushes himself up, strides into your room. It’s quiet, untouched, like you haven’t really lived in it for a long time. Like it’s just a place you exist in.

Steve doesn’t think too hard about that.

He grabs the first duffel bag he can find, shoves in some clothes, sweatpants, a hoodie, a couple of T-shirts. Soft things. Comfortable things. Things that won’t make you feel like this. He throws in your toothbrush, doesn’t even bother with anything else.

Then he comes back to you. You haven’t moved. You’re still sitting exactly where he left you, hands resting limply in your lap, eyes distant.

Something in Steve’s chest cracks. He crouches in front of you again, sliding his hands into yours. “Come on, sweetheart.” His voice is soft, careful. “We’re going home.”

You don’t resist, you don’t do anything.

You just let him guide you up, one hand steady on your waist as he walks you down the stairs, out the front door. Your movements are slow, sluggish, like you’re walking through water, like none of this is quite real.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

He just opens the car door for you, helps you sit, pulls the seatbelt over your shoulder and buckles you in like you can’t do it yourself.

You don’t react. You just sit there, head lolling slightly against the seat, staring blankly out the window.

Steve clenches his jaw, swallows down the lump in his throat, he gets in and drives. It’s late. The roads are empty.

Steve’s hands are tight around the steering wheel, but his eyes keep flickering to you, watching your hands twitch in your lap, watching the slow, shallow rise and fall of your chest.

He doesn’t let himself think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t answered the phone. If he took the long way back to his house from Robin’s like he was planning to but eventually decided not to.

If he hadn’t gotten to you in time, if he didn’t run that red light. He can’t think about that. He just focuses on the road. When he pulls up outside his house, you still don’t move.

Steve doesn’t even hesitate. He gets out, walks around to your side, opens the door, and reaches for you. “Come on, honey.” His voice is gentle, coaxing.

You let him help. You move like you don’t know how, like your body is detached from your mind, like none of this is real.

Steve guides you inside, one hand on your back, the other still gripping the duffel bag.

For once he's truly, truly thankful his parents are never home because he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix any of this, but he knows you don’t need anyone else right now.

Just him.

You’re eventually in his room, the room is still littered with the pictures on the wall, ones of you, of Robin, of all of them.

You stop.

Your eyes land on a photo of you and Steve, from years ago, arms draped around each other, laughing. You stare at it, your lip trembles again, before you can stop it, before you even understand why a single tear slips down your cheek.

Steve sees it without thinking, without hesitating he reaches out and wipes it away. His fingers are warm, gentle against your skin.

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You don’t respond. Steve exhales, nodding like he expected that. “You hungry?”

You shake your head.

“You wanna shower?”

No.

“Sleep?”

A pause.

But then you nod, Steve moves without thinking, pulls back the covers. Helps you sit, then eases you down, hands steady on your arms.

He tucks you in, He doesn’t remember the last time he tucked you in, maybe some stupid drunken night but it feels right, it feels needed.

The second the blankets are around you, you turn on your side, staring at the closet door, silent tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

Steve watches you for a long moment, then he turns off the light and sits. There’s a chair in the corner of his room, and he sinks into it, his legs bouncing, hands gripping the arms like he needs to hold on to something.

His mind races, he should call Robin. She’ll know what to do or Nancy. Probably both.

But then a sound pulls him out of his head a small, broken gasp. Steve’s head snaps up, you’re shaking. Your body is trembling under the blankets, breath hitching, sharp and uneven.

“Y/N?”

You don’t answer, Steve doesn’t think he never really has with you, he just moves.

Crosses the room, kneels beside the bed. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay, I’m here—”

Then you reach for him. Without a word, without thinking, you turn and latch onto him, burying your face in his chest, gripping his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you here.

Steve freezes, because you don’t do this. You haven’t held him like this since last Summer, since the fire, since he started losing you.

But you’re sobbing now, whole body shaking, fingers digging into his arms, and Steve, Steve doesn’t care about anything except holding you tighter.

“I got you,” he whispers, one hand sliding into your hair, the other rubbing circles into your back. “I got you, I got you, I got you, I’ll always have you.

You cry harder and Steve stays, he always will.

He holds you, presses his cheek against the top of your head, murmuring soft reassurances, ”It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, the sobs fade and you fall asleep in his arms.

Steve exhales, tightens his grip and lets himself fall asleep holding you.

---

Steve wakes up to the sun peeking through his blinds. For a second, he forgets. For a second, it’s just morning, and everything is normal. Then he looks down, your hand is in his. Your fingers curled around his like you were afraid to let go even in sleep.

Steve exhales, throat tight, when his mind races with what happened 12 hours ago, the phone call, the drive, the roof. The way you had looked at him, like you were already gone, in a way you were.

His chest clenches. He carefully shifts his hand, running his thumb over the back of yours, grounding himself in the fact that you’re here. That you’re breathing.

The alarm clock blinks 10:02 AM.

Shit.

He was supposed to be at work two minutes ago.

Robin was opening, but he was supposed to be there and that’s obviously not happening. Steve glances at you, you’re still asleep.

He’s shocked, honestly. You never sleep this late, but judging by the dark circles under your eyes, you haven’t been sleeping much at all.

You look exhausted and the thought of waking you up, of pulling you out of whatever rest you’ve finally found, it feels wrong. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he carefully shifts out from under you, wincing when the mattress creaks, moving slowly so he doesn’t wake you. His chest aches as soon as he’s no longer touching you.

But you’re safe. You’re here. That’s all that matters. He makes sure the window is shut, leaving the bedroom door open.

Then he heads downstairs, goes straight to the phone, and dials Family Video.

It rings twice before Robin picks up. “Family Video, what do you want?”

“Robin.”

Something in his voice must tip her off, because she immediately straightens. “What?”

Steve presses a hand over his eyes. “I can’t come in today.”

Robin scoffs. “Yeah, no shit, Harrington, I figured that when you weren’t here—”

“Robin.” His voice breaks a little.

That’s when she really hears it. “Steve?” Her voice is different now. Quieter. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

Steve lets out a slow, shaky breath. “No.”

Robin’s whole demeanor shifts. “Talk to me.”

Steve grips the phone tighter. “It’s Y/N.”

A pause.

”What happened?”

Steve doesn’t even know how to say it, it hurts to think about it, he can’t even imagine saying it but It all comes spilling out, rushed, like if he doesn’t say it fast, it’ll swallow him whole.

“She called me last night. She—” His breath hitches. “Robin, she said she didn’t wanna be here anymore.”

Silence.

”In Hawkins?”

Steve swallows hard. “No, I got to her apartment, and she wasn’t there, so I ran up to the roof, and—” His voice wobbles. “She was on the edge, Robin. She was just… standing there.”

Robin exhales sharply. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” Steve lets out a humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

Robin is silent for a moment, like she’s trying to process it. ”Where is she now?”

“Sleeping upstairs.”

Robin’s breath catches. “Oh my God.”

Steve swallows. “She barely said anything, but she—she let me take her home. I—I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t leave her alone, I wouldn’t.”

Robin is quiet for a moment.”You did the right thing.”

“Did I?” His voice breaks completely. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Robin. I don’t know what to do with this. What do I do?”

Robin sighs. “We just… we just have to be there. That’s all we can do.”

Steve shakes his head. “What if it’s not enough?”

Robin’s voice is softer now. “It is.”

Steve lets out a breath.

“You’re staying with her, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”* Robin hesitates. “I’ll stop by after my shift, okay? And Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You did good.”*

Steve exhales, pressing his forehead against the wall. “Thanks, Robs.”

They hang up.

And Steve stands there, gripping the phone, trying to remember how to breathe. Steve keeps staring at the phone for a long time before he dials again.

His hands shake, his stomach churns. He doesn’t want to call Nancy. Doesn’t want to say it out loud again. Because saying it makes it real.

He dials the Wheeler house.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Wheeler residence, where Mike Wheeler is far too cool to be answering the phone, at ten in the morning on a flipping Saturday—”

Steve exhales sharply, already done with this. “Mike—”

”—but because I’m a good son, I—”

“Mike, shut the hell up and put Nancy on the phone.”*

There’s a pause.

”Jesus, what crawled up your ass?”

Steve clenches his jaw, his voice cracks. “Mike, I swear to God—”

Mike must really hear his voice. The tightness in it. The way it’s shaking.

Because his whole attitude shifts.

“Oh, shit.”*

Steve exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just get Nancy, man.”

“Yeah, okay.” There’s a clatter on the other end, probably Mike throwing the phone down instead of setting it down like a normal person.

“NANCE! IT’S STEVE! SOMETHING’S WRONG!”

Steve closes his eyes.

Waits.

“Steve?”

Nancy’s voice is firm. No hesitation, no teasing, no bullshit, just Nancy, in that way she always is when she knows something is serious.

Steve swallows hard. “I need your help.”

“Is everything okay?”

Nancy’s voice is sharp, cutting through the haze in his head, and Steve grips the phone so tight his knuckles turn white.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Because no. No, nothing is okay.

But if he says that, if he admits it, then it’s real. Then it’s another thing he doesn’t know how to fix, another problem too big for him to hold.

Nancy exhales. “Steve.”

He swallows. “I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice softens. “What happened?”

Steve drags a hand down his face, fingers tangling in his hair, heart hammering so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free from his ribs. “I need your help, Nance. I—” His voice wobbles, cracks right down the middle, and he hates it, hates the way it makes him sound small, like he’s fucking helpless. “I don’t know what to do.”

Nancy’s quiet for a second, and he can picture her, can see the way she’s probably standing in the kitchen, hand on her hip, brows furrowed, that look she gets when she’s thinking, when she’s trying to fit all the puzzle pieces together before she says anything.

“I need more information than that, Steve.”

Her voice is firm but not impatient. Grounding.

Steve exhales, leans his forehead against the wall, and forces the words out.

“Y/N called me last night.”

He hears Nancy shift on the other end, like she’s bracing.

“She—” He stops, presses his lips together, his throat burning. “She didn’t wanna be here anymore, she said goodbye, then I went to her place. She was on the roof…she was at the edge.”

Silence.

Not the bad kind. The kind that means something. The kind that sits heavy, like a weight neither of them know how to hold.

Nancy exhales. “Jesus, Steve.”

“Yeah.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Where is she now?”

“Upstairs. In my bed. Sleeping.”

Nancy doesn’t respond right away. When she does, her voice is careful. “Is she okay?”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh, swiping at his face. “No.”

Nancy doesn’t tell him everything’s going to be fine, doesn’t try to downplay it. That’s the thing about her, she knows better.

“What happened?” she asks instead. “Start from the beginning.”

Steve tells her. Not all of it. Not the ugly parts, the parts that make his head spin and his stomach clench, the parts that feel too big to say out loud. But enough, the phone call. The way you sounded.

The way he drove like his life depended on it because it did, because yours did. Breaking down your fucking door. Running up the fire escape like a maniac. Finding you on the edge of the roof. The begging. The way he almost lost you. The way he doesn’t know what the fuck to do now.

Nancy listens, doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tell him to calm down or to breathe or to stop blaming himself, even though she probably should.

”You did the right thing, Steve.”

He laughs, shaky, rubbing at his chest. “Then why does it feel like I fucked it all up?”

“This is a traumatic event for you too Steve, it's okay to feel like this.” Nancy sighs. “Also because you’re not used to not being able to fix things.”

That shuts him up. Because yeah. Yeah, maybe that’s exactly it.

Steve has never been the smartest person in the room, never been the leader, not even with a bunch of children, never been the one with the answers.

But when it comes to his people? That’s all he has.He takes care of them. All of them.

Robin, Dustin, the rest of the kids, he makes sure they eat, makes sure they get home safe, makes sure they have someone to call when shit hits the fan. You, he never truly had to worry about you before, you were always the one looking after him, but now it's you he has to worry about and he doesn’t know how to take care of you and it’s fucking killing him.

Nancy exhales through the receiver. “She’s safe. She’s alive. That’s because of you, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head, blinking up at the ceiling. “I don’t wanna overwhelm her. But I don’t—” His voice cracks again. “I don’t know what to do, Nance. What do I do?”

Nancy is quiet for a moment. ”For now you just have to be there. I’ll talk to my Mom, vaguely for some advice to see what's best for her, okay?”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. Because that’s what Robin said.

And if they’re both saying it, if they’re both telling him that’s all he can do, maybe it’s true. Nancy sighs, softer now. “Do you want me to come over?”

Steve hesitates. He does, in a way. Wants someone else to carry this weight with him, to know what to do when he doesn’t. But then he thinks about you.

Thinks about how fragile you looked, about the way you latched onto him like you couldn’t breathe without him, like he was the only thing keeping you here and he knows you’re going to wake up soon.

He also knows that when you do, the only person you’ll be able to handle right now is him.

So he shakes his head, even though Nancy can’t see him. “No. Not yet.”

Nancy hums, understanding. “Okay.”

Another pause.

”Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing the best you can.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

Steve hangs up the phone.

Exhales.

Runs a hand down his face, trying to ground himself, trying to press himself back into reality, back into here and now, instead of spiraling down the endless, clawing tunnel of what-ifs.

He hears footsteps. Turning and there you are.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, still wrapped in the hoodie he gave you last night, sleeves too long for your hands, eyes swollen from crying, face pale with exhaustion.

Steve freezes and you freeze, too. Like neither of you know what comes next because you never planned on living another day.

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

Your voice is small. Unsteady. Like a fragile thread holding something much bigger, much darker in place.

Steve’s stomach clenches. “Don’t apologize.”

Your bottom lip wobbles, the second it does, Steve moves, stepping forward, closing the space between you, hands twitching at his sides because he wants to grab you, wants to hold you, but he doesn’t know if you’ll let him.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Steve’s heart cracks. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head harder. “Yes, there is. There has to be, because—” You swallow, breath stuttering, hands clenching at your sides. “Because normal people don’t feel like this, Steve. Normal people don’t wake up and immediately want to disappear. Normal people don’t have this…this thing inside them, this voice, this…this lingering urge in the back of their head telling them it’d be easier to just stop existing, to, to jump off a roof.”

Steve’s chest is aching. But you’re not done.

You look up at him, eyes desperate, pleading, breaking. “I don’t know what to do.” Your voice cracks. “I don’t know how to make it stop and I’ve been horrible, and I am horrible, and I hate myself, Steve, I fucking—” Your breath hitches, coming out as a choked sob. “I hate myself so much I can’t breathe sometimes.”*

Steve doesn’t know he’s crying until he feels the tears slip down his cheeks. He can’t hear you talk like this. He can’t.

Because every single word is a knife to his gut, every single syllable is a lie, and he wants to grab you and shake you and make you see what he sees.

“I know you don’t get it,” you whisper. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, because—because you’re you. You’re Steve Harrington. You’re—” You gesture vaguely, helplessly. “You’re warm, and you’re good, and you take care of people, and everybody loves you—”

You stop yourself. Let out a broken laugh, shaking your head.

“I don’t even think I know how to be loved.”

And that’s it.

That’s the thing that ruins him.

Because fuck that.

Fuck that so much.

Steve moves, grabbing you, pulling you into him so hard it knocks the breath out of both of you, wraps his arms around you tightly and then, into your hair, into your skin, into everything that makes you, you.

“I love you.”

You go rigid.

But Steve just holds you tighter.

“I love you.”

Your fingers twitch.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words pour out of him, over and over, as many times as it takes, like maybe if he says them enough, they’ll sink into your skin, they’ll push out all the other shit, they’ll replace the darkness with something real.

Your hands fist into the fabric of his shirt, your body shakes, and then you’re sobbing into his chest, shaking your head like you don’t believe him, like you can’t believe him.

“Stop,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Stop saying that.”

“No.” Steve holds you tighter, presses his lips against your temple, voice breaking. “No, because it’s true, and I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna say it until you do.”

You let out a choked noise.

“I love you,” Steve says again, firm this time, steady. “I love you, and you are not alone, and you don’t have to do this by yourself, I won't let you ever again even try to, and I swear to God, Y/N, if you ever try to leave me again, I—” His voice cracks, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, to force you to see him. “I can’t lose you.”

Your eyes are wet and wide, you stare at him like you’re searching for something, like you’re waiting for him to take it back. But he won’t, he never will. He means it.

And you must see that, must feel it, because your face crumples completely, and then you’re gripping him, burying yourself against his chest, and Steve doesn’t think he’s ever held onto something so tightly in his entire life.

He rocks you slowly, his hands smoothing over your back, his lips pressed against your temple, murmuring soft reassurances between your ragged, gasping breaths.

“I got you. I got you, sweetheart. I got you.”

----

It’s been weeks.

Weeks of slow, steady progress.

Weeks of Steve picking you up every morning, weeks of phone calls where he doesn’t hang up until he knows you’re okay, weeks of sleep overs between your apartment and his house, weeks of always having him, or Robin or Nancy with you, weeks of him refusing to let you retreat back into yourself.

Weeks of driving you all the way to the city because he found a doctor there, one that actually listens, one that doesn’t look at you like you’re broken beyond repair.

Weeks of new medication, of trying something different, of slowly, so slowly, feeling the weight in your chest start to lift.

It’s not perfect. You still have bad days. You still have moments.

But for the first time in the last year and a half, you don’t feel so alone, and you don’t want to be alone. Steve has everything to do with that.

There have been more hangouts, more time spent with the group.

Movie nights at Steve’s where Robin falls asleep halfway through and Dustin talks over the entire thing.

Arcade trips where Max beats everyone at everything.

Long afternoons at Steve’s pool, Steve sitting at the edge with his eyes never leaving you, while Lucas and Erica fight over the floaties.

You’ve started laughing again. Really laughing.

And Steve…god. Steve looks at you every time, like it’s the best sound he’s ever heard because to him it is.

Tonight, it’s just the two of you. Back on your roof. Steve had been hesitant at first, for obvious reasons but you told him it was different now. That you just wanted to be here with him, so of course he went up with you. He would go anywhere with you.

You’re lying flat on your backs, side by side, looking up at the stars. The night is warm, a soft breeze cutting through the air.

Things feel light.

Steve exhales. “We should leave.”

You blink, turning your head to look at him. “What?”

He gestures vaguely at the sky. “Hawkins. The whole damn town. Just… pack up and go. Start fresh.”

You snort. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Steve hums. “Maybe.”

You glance back up, staring at the stars. “Where would we even go?”

Steve shrugs. “Somewhere warm. Somewhere with a beach.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “You just want an excuse to wear those tiny-ass swim trunks.”

Steve grins. “Obviously.”

Silence settles between you, not uncomfortable.

Just there.

A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been able to sit in this kind of quiet without your own thoughts eating you alive. Now it’s just nice.

You turn your head again, you look at Steve. Really look at him.

The way the soft glow of the stars reflects in his eyes. The way his hair curls slightly at the ends. The way his lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something but stops himself.

And you, you know. You always have. So you sit up, take a deep breath and say it, finally say it.

“I love you.”

Steve goes completely still.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and disbelieving. “What?”

Your heart is pounding, but you don’t look away. “I love you.”

He blinks. “Like… like a friend?”

You shake your head. “No.” A slow breath. “It’s always been more.”

Steve sits up, his whole body frozen.

His voice is barely there when he says, “Then why, why didn’t you ever—”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “Because I don’t deserve you, Steve.”

His face.

God.

His whole expression crumples, like those words actually hurt him.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “Please, don’t say that.”

You swallow, glancing down at your lap. “It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.” Steve shakes his head, firm, unwavering. “You deserve the world, llease let me give it to you.”*

Your eyes snap up to meet his, he means it. You can see it all over him. Your chest aches. “How long?” you whisper. “How long have you—”

Steve laughs, shaky, rubbing a hand over his face. “As long as I can remember.” He swallows. “It’s always been you. But I didn’t think—I didn’t think I could have you.”*

Your breath catches. “I have a lot of baggage, Steve.”

Steve nods, lips pressing together. “I know.”

You exhale. “My family—I don’t have anyone else, it would be too much.”

“You’re could never too much, you’re everything to me.”.His eyes shift, his whole body tense, voice so sure when he says, “Fuck our families. We created our own.”*

Your throat tightens.

“We have those kids.”

A pause.

“We have Robin.”*

A beat.

“We have each other.”

You suck in a breath. Your whole body feels electric, like you’re standing on the edge of something huge, something you never thought you’d let yourself have.

“Did you really mean it?” Your voice comes out small, barely there, but it’s the only thing that exists in this moment.

Steve doesn’t even hesitate.

“God, I mean it with every bone in my body.”

You blink up at him, at the way his eyes burn with it, at the way his hands shake just slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. “Okay.”

Steve’s breath catches. His lips part slightly, like he’s about to ask you to say it again, to make sure he’s not dreaming. “Okay?”

You nod, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “Okay.”

For the first time in almost two years, something settles in your chest. Something warm, something good.

Steve is still watching you like you might disappear, like he doesn’t believe this is happening, like he’s waiting for you to take it back.

Softly he asks. “Can I kiss you?” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s scared of the answer.

You let out a small, trembling laugh, feeling something inside of you crack wide open. “Nothing would make me happier.”

Then it’s happening.

Slow.

Hesitant.

Both of you leaning in, eyes fluttering shut, waiting, waiting, waiting until his lips meet yours.

It’s soft, careful, like he’s terrified of breaking you, like he’s afraid of moving too fast, of doing this wrong.

But then you melt into him and Steve sighs against your lips, like he’s been holding his breath for years and only now is he finally letting it out.

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, and you press closer, tilting your head, letting yourself fall. Steve deepens the kiss, slow and steady, and it’s….It’s everything.

Everything you didn’t think you deserved. Everything you almost let slip away. Everything you never let yourself want until now.

You pull back, just barely, enough to feel his breath against your lips, enough to see the way he’s looking at you.

Like you hung the stars in the sky, like he’s been waiting for this. Like he’s been waiting for you and well he has.

“I’ve always dreamed of this,” Steve whispers, thumb stroking your cheek, his voice thick with something that makes your chest ache. “I’ve always dreamed of you.”

Your throat tightens. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

Because fuck, you almost never had this.

You almost left this and him behind.

The thought of it makes your stomach turn, makes your fingers clench around the fabric of his shirt, because how close were you?

How close were you to never having this? To never seeing him look at you like this, to never knowing what it’s like to feel this wanted, this safe, this loved?

“Thank you Steve, for everything.”

Steve shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Don’t thank me, please.” His voice is quiet, breathless. “I’d do anything for you.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “I was scared.”

Steve blinks at you, hand still resting on your cheek. “I know.”

You shake your head. “No, I mean—” You close your eyes for a second, gathering the words, feeling them crack inside you like something fragile, something breaking open. “I was scared that if I let myself have this, if I let myself have you that I’d lose you. That one day, you’d wake up and see me the way I see myself and realize I’m not worth it and I wouldn't be able to handle that.”

Steve makes a small, wrecked noise in the back of his throat. His hands tighten their grip on you, like he’s trying to anchor you, like he’s trying to hold onto you physically the way he’s always been trying to hold onto you emotionally.

“You don’t get to say that,” he murmurs, shaking his head, voice raw. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I love you, and you don’t get to tell me that I shouldn’t.”

Your chest hurts, because you now know he means it.

“You’re not losing me, sweetheart.” His voice is so sure, so steady, like there’s not a single part of him that doubts it. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your throat is too tight. You shake your head, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “You promise?”

Steve leans in, presses his forehead against yours, breath warm against your skin. “I swear on everything I have.”

The tears slip free. You let out a small, shaky laugh. “I’m glad I stayed.”

Steve exhales sharply, almost brokenly, his whole body tensing against you. “I’m glad I made you stay.”

The weight of it all, of everything settles between you. The nights you almost didn’t make it. The fights, the pain, the loneliness and the fact that despite all of it, despite how close you were to falling off the edge, despite how many times you tried to push him away, Steve is still here.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid of ruining this moment.

You let out a trembling laugh. “Please.”

He’s kissing you again, harder this time, less hesitant, less careful because now he knows you’re not slipping away.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head, deepening it, like he’s pouring everything into this kiss, like he’s making up for all the times he didn’t do this sooner.

When he pulls back, his forehead stays pressed against yours. His breath is warm, uneven, like he’s trying to memorize this moment, like he’s afraid to move too fast and wake up from a dream he’s spent years convincing himself he’d never have.

“I love you,” he breathes, voice thick with something raw, something unshakable. His hands tremble slightly where they cradle your face, his thumbs skimming over your cheekbones like he needs proof that you’re real. “God, I love you so much.”

This time you don’t just hear it, you feel it deep in your bones, in the spaces that have always felt empty, in the cracks you were sure no one could ever fill.

You let out a breath, shaky and light, something breaking open inside you in the best possible way. You lean in, pressing your lips to his once, twice, slow and lingering, just because you can.

“I love you Steve Harrington.”

His whole body sags with relief, like those words physically hold him together, like he was holding onto a ledge and you just pulled him back up.

Steve laughs softly, shaking his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice full of something so devastatingly tender it makes your chest ache, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

You close your eyes, resting against him, breathing him in, letting the moment settle deep into your skin.

So softly it’s barely above a whisper. “I think I do.”

Steve pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you, eyes shining in the dim light, searching for something but whatever it is, he must’ve found it.

Because he smiles, slow and sure, before leaning in again, pressing his lips to yours like a vow, unspoken, unwavering, forever.

The world is quiet, the night stretching endlessly around you, but here, in this moment, there is only him. Only the warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, the way he holds you and you finally believe you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

so beautiful. the imagery, use of figurative language *chefs kiss*

I Like Your Mind - Edward Cullen x female reader

Summary: As soon as you meet Edward, you're both drawn to each other with an intensity you never expected

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None

Y/N’s POV

I step into the Cullen house, my heart racing in my chest, and my mind filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. Bella has brought me here, introducing me to the family of her new boyfriend - Jasper Hale - and I can hardly believe where I find myself. I know their secret, the one they’ve been hiding from the world, the fact they’re vampires. And I know Edward can read minds which makes the whole situation even more daunting. But, as Bella races off to find Jasper, I’m left alone I the living room, taking in the stunning surroundings. 

The Cullens’ house is unlike any place I’ve ever seen. The air is heavy with an unspoken history, and everything within is both timeless and modern. A grand piano rests against one wall, a dark mahogany masterpiece, and the soft notes of a melody linger in the air, a testament to the musical talents of the family. On the opposite wall, a massive bookshelf houses an impressive collection of novels and ancient texts. Their spines form a spectrum of human knowledge, artfully arranged. 

My gaze drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the room, offering a breathtaking view of the dense, ancient forest that surrounds the house. The trees stand tall and proud, their branches intertwined like guardians, protecting the Cullens from prying eyes. The afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that dance across the polished wooden floors. 

As my eyes linger on the tranquil forest, my imagination takes flight. I envision myself running through the woods, feeling the cool, damp earth beneath my feet. The leaves would crunch softly with each step, and the intoxicating scent of pine and damp earth would fill my senses. My heart would race, and a rush of adrenaline would surge through me as I lose myself in the untamed beauty of the wilderness. But, what captivates me the most is the idea of running through the forest in the rain. The thought of raindrops falling like liquid diamonds from the heavens, pelting the leaves and creating a gentle, rhythmic melody, sends a shiver of delight down my spine. In my daydream, I am drenched, my clothes clinging to my skin as I twirl and leap through the woods, liberated and carefree.

The rain washes away all my worries and fears, leaving only the exhilaration of the moment. It's as if the world, with all its complexities and complications, has melted away, leaving only the simplicity and purity of the rain-soaked forest. It's a feeling of utter peace, a sense of being one with nature and the world, a sensation I've longed to experience again. 

Lost in the serenity of my daydream, I sense a subtle presence to my right. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and a strange but not unwelcome shiver runs down my spine. Slowly, I turn my head to see one of the Cullen brothers standing there, a striking figure with sharp, chiseled features. He exudes an air of quiet strength and confidence, and I can't help but admire his physical appearance.

As I take in his feature, I quickly realise that this isn’t Jasper, as Bella would undoubtedly be with him if he were here. Besides, Jasper is known for his blond hair, which contrasts with the dark brunette locks of the Cullen brother beside me. His eyes, however, remain a shimmering gold, and their intensity is captivating. 

Going over Bella’s description, I recall that she mentioned Emmett to be big and buff. Emmett is tall and muscular. He has dark curly hair and dimpled cheeks. Despite his intimidating appearance, he is light-hearted and carefree. This man in front of me is almost quite the opposite with perfect and angular high cheekbones, strong jawline, a straight nose, and full lips causing my heart to quicken with a sudden realisation. In a hushed voice, I tentatively ask, “Edward?” 

The name hangs in the air between us, my uncertainty evident in the way I speak his name. The Cullen brother gives a small nod, his eyes holding a hint of amusement and there’s a small smile on his pretty lips as he says, “Hello.” His voice is a velvet whisper that sends a shiver down my spine. My cheeks heat up in response, and I can’t help but feel flustered by his presence. Turning my face away from him, I gaze out at the enchanting forest, using the breathtaking view to regain my composure. 

But just as I start to calm my racing heart, I sense his movement. Edward is moving closer, somewhat hesitantly as if he’s scared to do so but he moves so close I can feel the coolness of his chest against my back. The physical proximity is both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and I can’t help but wonder what his intention are as I continue to look out at the tranquil forest. 

The peaceful silence in the room is broken by Edward’s soft voice, barely above a whisper, “I like your mind,” he admits, his words sending a rush of warmth through me, “It’s quiet.” 

His words wash over me like a gentle caress, and I can’t deny the intrigue of his interest in my mind. It’s a compliment I could never have anticipated, coming from a vampire who can hear the thoughts of others. The intimacy of this moment is palpable, and I can sense the internal struggle within him, as if he’s torn between his desire to touch me and the realisation that we’ve only just met. 

Despite my rational thoughts screaming at me to maintain my distance, I surrender to the magnetic pull of Edward Cullen. My back leans into his cool, sculpted chest, and the sensation of his icy hands on my hips sends a shiver of anticipation coursing through me. It's as if the enchantment of the Cullen house, the breathtaking view of the forest, and Edward's irresistible presence have combined to create a spell that I am unable, and unwilling, to break. 

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to become completely enveloped in everything Edward. I’m hyperaware of how he feels behind me, the firmness of his chest pressed against my back, the subtle rise and fall of his breath against my neck as if it’s a force of habit for him despite vampires lack of need to breathe. His scent, a delicate blend of lilac, honey and sunshine, fills my senses and intoxicates me, wrapping me in a warm, inviting embrace. 

The moment feels intensely romantic, the air electric with the unspoken connection between us. I know that Edward can read my thoughts and perceive my view of him, and in this vulnerable instant, I choose not to resist. I grant him access tot he unfiltered depths of my desire, allowing him to see and feel the passion that simmers beneath the surface. 

The tension in the room crackles, the rain outside intensifying as if mirroring the fervour building within us. It's a clandestine dance of two souls drawn together by an unexplainable force. In this silent, electrifying embrace, I become an open book for Edward, my thoughts and desires laid bare, and I can only wonder what he'll make of the desires that race through my mind like wildfire

With a slow and deliberate movement, Edward turns me to face him, his eyes open and unguarded. They flicker with a hint of vulnerability, as if he, too, is uncertain of the depth of this connection. His gaze drops to my lips, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin as he hovers close. His fingers twirl my hair around them, an intimate gesture that feels like an attempt to memorise every part of me that he can reach. The air crackles with anticipation as I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my chest, The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this electrifying moment. 

Edward’s gaze remains locked on mine, a silent promise of the depths of emotions and desire that lie beneath the surface. In the hushed room, our shared anticipation and vulnerability create an electric tension that’s impossible to ignore. His lips are tantalisingly close, and I can feel the coolness of his breath as he hovers near. It’s as if he’s about to kiss me, his intentions clear in the smouldering depths of his golden eyes. But he hesitates, his voice barely a whisper as he mumbles something about not being able to stop once he starts, a confession laden with both longing and restraint. 

Unable to resist any longer, I tangle my fingers in his tousled hair, an intimate gesture that communicates my desire and intent. With a gentle, yet urgent push, I guide his face the rest of the way down until his lips finally meet mine. 

As our lips meet in a hesitant and guarded kiss, a complex swirl of emotions and desires floods the space between us. Edward, despite his initial restraint, can’t help but respond to the fiery connection we share. His lips, cool and soft, brush against mine with a caution born of a lifetime of self-control. The kiss begins with a tentative exploration, as if he’s testing the boundaries of this newfound intimacy. 

The initial hesitancy slowly gives way to a growing intensity, and I can sense his need for more. His grip on me tightens ever so slightly, fingers digging into my hips, a delicate balance between desire and restraint. His response is careful, as if he’s constantly aware of his vampire strength, wary of causing any harm to me. The kiss deepens, his passion building, and the chemistry between us becomes an irresistible force that pushes us further into uncharted territory. 

With a slow and deliberate movement, he begins to walk me backwards, his lips never leaving mine, until my back makes contact with the cool glass of the windows, drawing a gasp from me. It has Edward smiling softly, golden eyes a little glazed as if in a trance of disbelief this is happening before his cold nose bumps my neck, making my pulse jump. I should be scared by how close he is to my jugular but I don’t feel any fear or anything, especially when Edward places a soft kiss on my jugular, a silent acknowledgement of the temptation that throbs beneath my skin. His lips are cold, but their touch is gentle, sending shivers of desire coursing through me. 

My hands tangle back in his soft locks, guiding his lips back to mine, their coldness a stark contrast to the burning passion that courses between us. In that moment, I am both vulnerable and empowered, willingly allowing myself to be drawn further into this intoxicating dance of desire. 

Each kiss makes me feel more alive, more connected to a world I never knew existed. The world outside may be drenched in rain, but in this electrifying embrace, a different kind of storm rages, a tempest of emotions and desires that we can’t control. His lips, cool and velvety soft, meet mine over and over again in a symphony of fire and ice, a fusion of elements that ignite a burning desire deep within me. 

His body presses against mine, a solid and unyielding presence that leaves me feeling both vulnerable and empowered. The contrast between his cool skin and the heat of my own sets my senses ablaze. As we deepen our connection, the room seems to spin around us, and I lose myself in the feeling of everything Edward. 

The room is charged with our passion, and I can feel it deep in my core. Every kiss is like a secret, a stolen moment in a world that is entirely our own. We lose track of time and space, our lips locked in an intimate dance that only intensifies the fever that has drawn us together in the first place. 

But then, like a bolt of lightning in our own private storm, I hear Bella’s joyful squeal. Edward pulling away from me, and I let my face fall into the warmth of his chest, overwhelmed by embarrassment. As I hide from the world, I can feel the soft rumble of amused laughter in Edward’s chest, a sound that both soothes and electrifies me in equal measure. 

“Fuck yeah!” Bells shrieks with joy and I flip her off over Edward’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around me, stifling a laugh as he can probably hear all of my silent insults and embarrassed thoughts thrown Bella’s way. 

“It’s okay.” He murmurs, fingers carding through my hair and I just hum, letting my eyes flutter closed in contentment. I don’t care how quick this is happening, all I know is I need Edward and no-one else so I’ll live with the embarrassment if it means I can have Edward. 

“You have me.” 

                           ┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

Twilight Masterlist

reinforcing how much i love this man and his puppy brown eyes 😩

IM SORRY HES SO HOT MARCUS CLAIM ME NOT THE CITY

I want...

Lee Soo Hyuk as dracula Park Joong Gil 

Tomorrow (2022) – Episode 12

Demon Slayer x Studio Ghibli

i had to reblog, couldn't help myself

Baby gojo reacts to: megumi!🖤🐺

“just for three hours, can you do it?”

“…yeah.”

megumi stares at the blinking miniature of his sensei quietly, as the baby looks back at him too in silence.

“well then!” gojo claps his hands before turning to you. “let’s go, sweets! we have a willing, trusty babysitter to take care of him!”

you shoot your husband a glare before turning to megumi. “sorry, megumi. we have to go to school and investigate the recent cursed spirits outbreak, and it doesn’t feel right to bring him there.”

“i don’t mind, nee-san,” megumi replies to you almost nonchalantly, throwing a glance at your baby in his hold. “i’ll keep an eye on him.”

that’s what megumi said, but even he doesn’t know what he’ll do with a baby in his apartment. at first, he puts the kid on his bed and he immediately sits up straight and turns to him.

“what?” he questions the baby as if he could answer him. “do you feel cold?”

the munchkin is dressed in a frog onesie with little ears, so maybe he doesn’t feel cold, megumi thinks. in the next half an hour, he and the baby are in staring match, as he doesn’t even squeak once.

“you must be bored here,” megumi sighs, starting to feel bad that he can’t entertain him. “maybe i should ask her to accompany me next time…” his thoughts flit to the chirpy girl in his class, whom he knows will have many ideas to humor a baby.

maybe it can also be an excuse to spend time with her too.

suddenly, baby scoots closer to his side and leans to him, closing his eyes— and megumi feels warm inside.

“ah,” a small smile lights his face at the sight of this cute creature depending on him so trustingly. he pulls him closer and pats his back, before wrapping his arms around him to keep him in place.

“okay, let’s sleep together then.”

👆every time i read a fic with an Indian oc

Sukuna bringin in a Hindu bride 💳💥💳💥 DO YOU SEE THE VISION???

wait wait wait I SEEE hold awn i got you

Ryomen Sukuna and his Hindu!Bride

a/n: beyond my idea of loving this dynamic, i think this would fit so perfectly. plus that's his damn aesthetic iyk?!

It's the moment you, his pretty pretty Hindu!Bride walks down the petal aisle, Ryomen Sukuna sees the goddess of his very own eudaimonia in your ethereal beauty of jewel covered figure. Holding a garland as if reins to his power.

Hindu!Bride who addresses him as “Swami” which means 'master of self' (master, in general) —he's enthralled. Way to fuel your husband I guess.

Husband!Sukuna learns the word “Ardhangini” is how a husband calls his wife, connoting 'the better half' of him.

“Indeed you are” Sukuna coos internally, looking at his beautiful wife who touches his feet gently as a sign of respect and humility, to seek his blessings.

His grinch little heart would flutter at the sight of his woman blushing about the smallest of his acts, or whenever he complies to your request, big tender fingers putting vermillion on her parted hairline—the very sign of her wifehood.

-

Husband!Sukuna never liked a cooked meal; he used to eat the raw flesh each day, until enters his new wife in the godforsaken scullery. It's a first that a queen enters the kitchen to serve, first time he tasted something entirely different to his taste... saporous, still ended up liking it. There are a lot of firsts he experiences with you by his side.

“Not... bad” he grumbles, his lips betraying and twitching into a slight grin. Delicious... he thinks, because Sukuna can get used to this flavour rich meal already. Just how perfect can his little Miss perfect get?

-

Husband!Sukuna who allows you to put pretty earings on him, he'd spend a little more time looking at himself in the mirror. Maybe he loves your compliments too much.

But nothing parallels his Hindu!Bride clad in golden jewelleries head to toe. Your long hair and the forehead, honey toned face, the arms and wrists, your plump waist and even your lotus like feet... that all makes him a poet whose favourite genre is your jewelled guise.

Maybe that's why he calls you a treasure. His treasure. There's a sort of pride filling his chest when he walks with you with the way you dress; you need high maintenance and lot of care that no man but he can provide.

-

And their goes a saying that a woman acts like a mom to the one in love with—that's so true with you and your Husband!Sukuna cause you literally baby him whenever the chance. Feeding him the first bite with your henna decorated pretty palm, he loves that so much. Likes the smell it adds to whatever you make him eat.

But can you blame yourself? He is a baby. A sulky big baby at that. Sulking when he finds his other side of the bed empty, sulking when you leave his chambers without permission, sulking cause you were too busy to give him kisses or just purely to get your attention.

He makes sure you see him sulk.

-

It's just you who can walk in on him when he's throwing and thrashing things around in rage—unaffected. Everyone in this palace knows that's a privilege only you get, because you're his only one.

No one dares hold his face and look him in the eyes like his Hindu!Bride. No one dares order him to “calm the fuck down” like his queen. Literally none in the three worlds would cradle the big soft-haired head of the King of Curses in their lap to tell him he's a grumpy little child.

That's how it has always been between you two, completing and fitting each other's pieces like Yin & Yang. You couldn't be happier anywhere out of this trance of love you're in for him and he couldn't even imagine to successfully manage a day without his treasure. There couldn't have been a better pair, never could have he met a woman to match his devotion for her.

TAGS: @anubisisthebomb @dianagracesworld @stellagrangerreads12 @momochina-sama @xxkay15xx @whodoesthatanymore @heresan @nanamikentoseyebags @4sat0ruu

been thinking abt @xxnghtclls 's fic Permission & this ♡

No thoughts, just him...

the art style is refreshing, the characters are great, the story is brilliant, and okarun is such a sweetheart *i want him*

i want more okarun fics 😚

i want...😫

Hi there! I saw your post about a Kishibe request. I have one...How about a OS with Kishibe x Younger! Fem! Reader (like 25 maybe). Where Kishibe is training with Denji and Power. Reader is a beautiful and kind woman, Denji finds it so hard to believe that Kishibe is dating a beautiful woman. She decides to bring a lunch for his students and for him on their break. Being a flirt with him, being completely in love with each other but the students are kind of gross out for all the mushy love.

Lunch Break {Kishibe}

A/n: my first Kishibe request!!! Thank you so much for requesting and hopefully you will like this!! Though I had no idea whether the reader is supposed to be a civilian or not so I wrote it so she is a devil hunter.

Pairing: Kishibe x younger!fem!reader

Trigger Warnings: age gap relationship (reader is early 20s and Kishibe is his canon age which means probably early 50s), mentions of blood

Kishibe was never a man who cared enough to get lunch with him. Most of the time he barely even has time to take a piss break, let alone eat. Though, if he were to be completely honest, the fridge at his apartment is almost always empty.

So eventually, especially after getting in a relationship with him, you took it upon yourself to prepare food for him because there would be times when he would come home to his apartment and he would immediately fall asleep.

"Time for lunch." The sound of your voice made both Denji and Power turn their heads, mid air, completely ruining their attack on Kishibe. Whether you had interrupted them or not, of course they wouldn't have landed the attack. Kishibe had most probably seen through them already.

The two teenagers fell on the ground, wincing at their asses bumping on the cold ground. Yet their eyes never left your form. They had heard about you, one of the top devil hunters in the organisation. If their shared braincell wasn't deceiving them, they had seen you before, passing by them whenever their training finished.

And your image was so deceiving. Your black suit hugging your curves perfectly, and that somewhat blank expression on your face? Yet you were holding two bags filled to the brink with food. And you were so pretty. A blessing to Denji's tired eyes. He would have eagerly dated you if you weren't with Kishibe. Whether he actually had a chance with you or not, is another story.

"Food." Denji growled, reaching out a hand towards you as you walked towards them. A threatening glare from Kishibe was enough to have both Denji and Power on their knees in front of you, their backs straightened and the warmest smiles on their faces.

Setting both bags down in front of them, you returned their smiles with one of yours and hugged Kishibe. The older man loosely wrapped his arms around your waist, his much bigger frame almost hiding yours. He wasn't one to show much affection in public, and especially in front of his students, so the small and loose hug didn't bother you at all.

"You can eat." Your soft words were like music to Power and Denji's ears, a vocal reward for doing their best during today's training. The two kids immediately dived in.

And for the most part, their attention was focused on the food in front of them until Power caught something from the corner of her eyes. "Ew." She muttered under her breath, partially afraid that Kishibe would hear it and make her train more.

Upon hearing her mumble, Denji turned his head in question and there you were, sitting on Kishibe's lap. His arms were wrapped around your waist, holding you in place so you could feed him your homemade sushi. And Kishibe was eagerly eating it, not a single complain leaving his mouth or even entering his brain.

"Keep your eyes to your food." Kishibe said, the tone of his voice more than threatening. Maybe it was on purpose so he could hear the melodic giggle coming out of your lips.

Power and Denji quickly averted their gaze and Kishibe turned his attention back on you, a small and almost barely visible smile on his aged face, the wrinkles being the only sign that he was actually smiling. You snuggled closer to him, offering him another roll which he gladly ate, thankful that he at least had you in this corrputed organisation and in this ruined world.