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- the kids know what love is because they've seen it through you and steve. based of this request
- cw: family trauma, minimum mentiones of fights and the hargrove men and papa (yuck.) found family vibes
2k+ words
For a group of six kids, they really had terrible odds when it came to love. Almost unfair odds, really.
Only Lucas had grown up watching a love story survive.
Not perfect, but real. His parents still danced together in the kitchen sometimes. Still looked at each other like partners instead of burdens. Still chose each other every day in a way the others had never really seen before.
The rest of them learned early that love left. That it screamed and hurt, or disappeares.
Max Mayfield still missed California sometimes.
Not because Hawkins was awful, at least not anymore. Hawkins had become home in its own strange, haunted way.
But California had been before.
Before Neil Hargrove. Before fear becoming something that lived permanently in her chest. Before she learned to listen for footsteps and slamming doors and changing tones.
There had been a time where her mom laughed more. Where dinner didn’t feel tense. Where love hadn’t looked dangerous.
The Hargrove men ruined that.
Billy inherited Neil’s rage like it was something carved into his bones, and Max grew up watching what happened when love became ownership instead of care. It permanently altered the way she viewed family. Because in Max’s experience, love was something that eventually turned mean.
Will Byers lost two fathers.
The first one emotionally long before he physically disappeared.
Lonnie Byers had never understood him. Never protected him. Will spent most of his childhood trying to take up as little space as possible around his own dad.
Then came Bob.
Sweet, gentle Bob Newby who made their house feel warm again for a little while.
Bob who smiled easily, listened, tried. Bob who made Joyce laugh in a way Will hadn’t heard in years.
And then Bob died too.
So eventually Will stopped believing father figures stayed.
Now the closest thing he had to one was Jonathan. His exhausted older brother trying to become a man too quickly because life demanded it from him.
Dustin Henderson remembered his dad more than people expected him to.
People assumed he was too young, but Dustin remembered everything.
He remembered sitting on his father’s shoulders at the fair when he was five. Remembered family movie nights. And worst of all he remembered the leaving.
The suitcase by the door and his mother crying quietly in the kitchen for weeks afterward. The way the house suddenly became smaller and emptier all at once.
Dustin learned young that people could promise forever and still walk away.
Mike Wheeler grew up in a house filled with passive silence. His parents weren’t explosive.
Sometimes he thought that was worse. Every conversation between them sounding tired.
Karen Wheeler fought out of frustration, desperate for someone to actually see her, while Ted Wheeler responded like a man waiting for the argument to end so he could go back to his recliner and television.
There was no cruelty loud enough to point at. Just indifference.
And Mike learned that marriage could become two people surviving beside each other instead of loving each other.
And then there was Eleven.
El had been raised by a man who called himself Papa while treating children like experiments.
Love, to her, had always come with conditions.
Obedience.
Isolation.
Pain.
Performance.
Dr. Brenner taught her that affection was something earned through usefulness. That protection meant control. That caring for someone meant owning them.
Even after finding Hopper, even after finally having a home, pieces of that fear stayed lodged inside her. And Hopper loved hard—sometimes too hard.
His protectiveness wrapped around El so tightly it sometimes felt difficult to breathe inside it.
She understood why. But understanding didn’t stop the suffocation.
Given everything they’d lived through, you would think the kids would grow up cynical. That they’d decide marriage was pointless. Because what was the point? You either lost the people you loved or they abandoned you. Or they hurt you until loving them felt unbearable.
So why bother?
Why give someone the power to destroy you?
Except… love did have a point.
And somehow, impossibly, the thing that taught them that was you and Steve.
Not because your relationship was perfect. But because it was healthy. And none of them had ever truly seen that before.
Lucas realized it first.
Or at least he realized it the clearest.
It happened after a fight with Max. A bad one.
Not screaming—Max rarely screamed when she was genuinely hurt. That was the problem. She just shut down. Went cold. Looked at him like she was already preparing herself to leave before he could leave first.
Lucas hated that look.
So he showed up at Steve’s house one evening while Steve was outside cleaning pool leaves.
Steve glanced up. “You look miserable.”
“I need girl advice.”
Steve dropped the skimmer immediately. “Oh, this is serious.”
Lucas rolled his eyes but sat on the edge of the pool anyway.
“I messed up.”
“What’d you do?”
“I forgot something important.”
Steve winced. “Anniversary?”
“Worse.”
Steve looked horrified. “How is there worse than anniversary?”
“Something about her mom.”
“Oh,” Steve said immediately, expression softening. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
Lucas sighed heavily. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
Steve sat beside him quietly for a second. “You don’t fix it by defending yourself.”
Lucas frowned. “What?”
“You listen first. Like really listen. Don’t argue about intention when she’s trying to explain impact, you know,” Steve mentioned with shrug, like it was common sense to him.
Lucas stared at him.
Because no adult man had ever said something like that to him before.
Steve let out a sigh seeing as he wasn't following. “Sometimes people don’t need you to be right. They need you to care that they’re hurting.”
“And Y/N taught you that?”
Steve snorted. “Repeatedly.”
Lucas laughed despite himself.
Then Steve nudged his shoulder.
“If you love her, act like it when things are hard too. Anybody can love someone when it’s easy.”
Lucas carried that sentence with him for years.
Max had realized accidentally.
One evening she’d gone downstairs looking for water while staying over at your place.
Then she heard your voices in the kitchen.
Immediately she froze.
Instinct.
Years of listening carefully for danger.
You and Steve were arguing quietly about bills.
Max’s stomach tightened automatically, already bracing herself for sharp words and blame and the kind of tension that made your chest feel too tight. Something she understood too well.
Instead she heard you say softly, “you don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Steve.”
Steve exhaled shakily. “I know, I just— I like taking care of you.”
“And who takes care of you?”
Silence.
Then quieter, “you do.”
Max stood there in the hallway for a long time afterward. Because nobody had ever spoken like that in her house.
Not gently.
Not during a fight.
Not with concern instead of cruelty.
It genuinely unsettled her at first—the realization that conflict didn’t have to become violence.
That loving someone could mean trying to understand them instead of win against them.
Will noticed it in the smallest ways. Of course he did. Will noticed everything.
One rainy afternoon, the kids were all crowded inside Steve’s house after plans got ruined by a storm. Thunder rattled the windows while Dustin complained dramatically about boredom.
You weren’t there yet. Still at work. But Steve glanced outside once and immediately stood up.
Will watched him quietly.
Steve grabbed blankets from the hallway closet, tossed popcorn in the microwave, then started setting up the VCR in the living room.
Dustin blinked. “What’re you doing?”
“Movie night.”
“You hate rainy movie nights.”
“I do not.”
“You literally said they make you sleepy and depressed.”
Steve ignored him.
Then Will understood.
You loved rain.
Loved movies during storms specifically. Said rain made everything feel softer somehow.
Steve remembered without you even being there.
Will watched him dim the lights before casually saying you had rough shift today. And something in Will’s chest ached unexpectedly. Because Steve paid attention.
Not performatively, but naturally.
Like caring about you had become instinct.
Will had spent most of his life watching people miss each other completely. But you and Steve saw each other constantly.
Mike realized it late at night.
The Wheeler basement was loud that evening, everyone spread around after another near-disaster.
Eventually exhaustion took over.
At some point during the movie, you fell asleep curled against Steve on the couch.
Mike barely noticed until the credits rolled and Steve carefully shifted underneath you.
Not annoyed.
Just gentle.
He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stirred slightly.
Steve immediately whispered in your ear. “Go back to sleep, baby. I got you.”
And you did.
Trusted him enough to instantly relax again.
Mike watched Steve carry you upstairs slowly so he wouldn’t wake you.
And suddenly he thought about his own parents. About how his mom would’ve loudly shaken Ted awake instead. About how Ted would complain. About how affection in his house always seemed inconvenient.
But Steve looked at caring for you like it was an honor.
That realization stayed with Mike long after everyone else fell asleep.
El always knew. She was observant like that.
Always watching.
Always learning.
And there was no way she couldn’t notice the calmness surrounding you and Steve when the rest of the world constantly felt like it was moving too fast.
One afternoon she and Max had wanted to go to the arcade alone.
Steve immediately said no.
“Absolutely not.”
El crossed her arms instantly. “Why?”
“Because last time you two disappeared for six hours and nearly got arrested.”
“That was one time.”
“Yeah, it was one very long two month ago.”
You tried not to laugh while making coffee.
El expected the conversation to become a fight.
That’s what she knew. That's what Hopper would do.
Instead Steve crouched slightly to meet her eye level.
“I know you’re smart,” he said gently. “That’s not the issue.”
“Then why no?”
“Because something bad happens to you guys constantly and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
El frowned slightly.
Steve sighed. “I’m not trying to control you, El. I just… worry.”
You stepped beside him carefully.
“He wants you safe,” you explained softly. “He's not trying to limit you”
El looked between you both.
No anger or manipulation behind your words.
Just pure honesty.
Finally Steve added “if I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight at all.”
That made El smile a little. And for maybe the first time in her life, protectiveness didn’t feel suffocating.
It felt like love.
Without realizing it, you and Steve became something sacred to the kids.
A safe place.
The place they escaped to after bad nights at home. The people they called when things hurt too much. The proof that love could survive softness.
That it could be patient and kind.
The kids even started measuring relationships by you two without even meaning to.
One afternoon at lunch Lucas said casually that “if my future relationship isn’t like Steve and Y/N’s, I don’t want it.”
Max immediately threw a tater tot at his forehead.
But she didn’t disagree.
None of them did.
By summer, the Harrington pool unofficially became theirs again.
One Saturday afternoon the kids invited themselves over without warning. Not that you minded. Or weren't used to it.
You stepped outside carrying lemonade only to find complete chaos.
Dustin doing cannonballs (after being banned from backflips). Lucas and Max arguing over the singular pool floatie they had yet to pop. Mike was pretending not to splash El while very obviously splashing El. Will floating peacefully near the deep end with his eyes closed.
And Steve.
Steve standing in the middle of it all laughing so hard he could barely breathe after Dustin slid off the floatie Lucas finally managed steal from Max.
You leaned against the patio doorway watching them.
Your people.
Your strange little family stitched together through trauma and monsters and survival.
Steve looked over eventually, smiling immediately when he saw you.
That smile never changed after all these years. Still soft and certain.
“Babe,” he called. “Tell Dustin he’s banned from doing backflips.”
“I landed it!”
“You landed near it,” Steve argued.
It seemed as the world had finally decided to be gentle with all of you for once. As the sun dipped lower the kids laughed louder.
Somewhere between the pool water, the fading sunlight, and the warmth of everyone gathered together, the kids finally understood something they’d spent years trying to learn:
Love was never the thing that ruined people.
The absence of it was.
likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
Dain Aetos
When you are the only one in love.
Warnings: nsfw. unrequited love. fwb. angst. fem reader. wc:3,8k
You look at everyone around you, like the riders and pilots arguing. You let out a sigh, tired of so much violence. Why do we always have to be fighting when the real enemy is outside the protections? It's stupid and tiring.
《If you're looking for peace you're in the wrong Quadrant, Little Flower》 the voice of Flosig, your brown dragon, murmurs in your mind with sarcasm. You ignore it.
You turn your attention back to the protagonists of this new fight. Amber, your Wing Leader, is trying to challenge a pilot to a duel. You know she's a great fighter and her seal, fire, is dangerous, but she's reckless and impulsive. The pilot is, from what you've seen before, a great fighter and manipulates mental images. It would be an interesting fight for some, unnecessary for all. But your eyes are fixed on the one Amber keeps yelling traitor at. Dain might be able to beat the rider if avoids the fire, but he’s too proper to physically fight a mate. Less one with he shared a bed with regularly. Just the memory of it turns your stomach and you can’t help but compare. Violet, the other woman who’s ever had room in his heart, and Amber are different in so many ways, but they both share that wild spirit, that fire in their eyes. And they both had enchanted Dain. And you look absolutely nothing like them. You can’t help but wonder how you could please him if you’re nothing more than a wilted flower in the middle of a fire?
When the discussion is over, Dain walks past you without a glance. He doesn’t recognize you in a crowd. He doesn’t recognize you anywhere. Except in his bed. Except when you’re the only one who lets him touch. Because you don’t fear his power, no matter how foolish and irresponsible it is. You’d discovered his seal by accident one of the first nights you shared, but you didn’t run away even though his seal could be dangerous. Flosig had stopped warning you about it when he took a look inside you. It was useless. Don’t learn it until it’s too late, because you’re hard-headed and don’t respect yourself enough. Or so the dragon said.
That night at dinner, those hazel eyes that caused you so many mixed feelings stared at you from the other end of the building. You didn't need him to say anything, the darkness in his eyes was clear. You just nodded before focusing back on the food. You couldn't eat, your stomach has been shutting down for weeks. Everything has you reeling. The war, especially. The fear of your family being in danger, the increasing losses, the fear of uncertainty, your friends, the dragons, what will happen next. And your chaotic feelings don't help you stay standing. Are you really worthy of being a third-year rider?
《Don't be silly,》 Flosig growls like every time your mind travels that shaky path. 《I wouldn't have joined you if you weren't worthy. Don't insult me and eat something.》
As much as you find it hard to believe how you got there, you don't know what you'd do without Flosig now that you've bonded. You still remember arriving at the presentation day less excited than you had been months ago. You were no longer sure that being a rider was the best thing for you, sure that you had gotten this far by pure luck. You wouldn't be surprised if you died there, no matter how much you refused to let that happen. But it was hard to stay confident and secure when everyone seemed to think you wouldn't make it. You were, and still are, the youngest of your generation. And your no aggressive, violent or competitive personality contrasted with the Rider Quadrant. Your classmates underestimated you and the teachers looked at you with a certain pity every time they suggested that the Quadrant of Curators would be happy to receive you. It was shame that drove you to walk alone through the forest, looking for a dragon that sees in you something that no one else has seen, something that would drive it to bond with you. Something that you yourself didn't know you had, but you wanted with all your being to have.
Then Flosig, one of the oldest dragons in the Valley, saw you. The dragon had not appeared before humans for almost fifty (50) years, because he considered them greedy, destructive and reckless beings. But then the great enemy appeared once again, and as much as he hated the idea, he needed a rider to fight with. His idea was to look among the new cadets for a strong, intelligent, brave and wise human like him, but instead he saw you. Flosig will say that it was only because he felt sorry for you, that he chose you because you didn't look delicious for a bite. But in reality, a dragon of his age and experience could see through humans with a ease and precision that many dragons would envy. No other cadet would have stopped to help a small wounded deer. You had seen how two idiots from Wing One injured the animal just for fun and you rushed to help, but it was useless. Wounds like those were irreversible. Flosig saw your eyes fill with tears as you tried to calm the animal's screams of pain. How your hand shake, tightly gripping the dagger, before ending the poor creature's suffering. He witnessed how your hands caressed the body and the flowers grew around it. It was a noble and beautiful act. Your pure, bleeding heart was what led him to choose you as his human. His.
《Don't be silly,》 he repeated again. Sometimes, just sometimes, he regretted choosing someone so sensitive. Or so he told you, because was sure he would choose you back if he could. But he is too old to deal with such a young and inexperienced heart. He kept any further comments on the situation to himself, especially about Cath's rider. The orange dragon was one of the few dragons Flosig respected, a brave and intelligent creature, but he was still a rebel, qualities that Flosig valued in all beings. And he knew that his rider, the leader Aetos, was a man of solid moral, intelligent, cunning and brave, but also an idiot. Especially with his little Flower. Flosig hated what he saw in his human's mind every time the man used her as an outlet for frustrations. He had learned that it was better to close their bond when his beautiful flower met the cretin leader. Otherwise he would have devoured him a long time ago. His human, you, felt everything too strongly.
《Don't go if you don't want to,》 found himself saying, even though he knew it was useless.
The doubt in your gave him a little hope, hope that you would put yourself before the rest. Flosig had learned that in your pyramid of priorities there was him, your dragon, above all. Then there was your family, for a reason stupid to him. And then everyone else. He could tell that even the venin had a higher place than you. You ruled the world over you. Flosig hates how selfless you are. That you don't recognize the power in you. You could shake the world if you wanted to, but instead you create huge, beautiful flower crowns for him.
《It's okay,》 you tell him in that soft sweet tone that makes him hate you and love you a little more. 《I want him too.》
Want. That was the point. You want him. The man. The Leader. You wanted him as more than just a casual lover. You wanted him so much that Flosig found it hard to block out your pain at times. But he never looked at you the way you looked at him. To Dain you're none of them, of the women who have reached his strict heart. You will never be. You know it and yet you accept every crumb he gives you. You cannot blame him. He is not aware of your feelings, and you hope he never will be. If Dain knew that you see him with eyes of love he would apologize and try to cut all ties with you. You don't know what would hurt more. So you fill your stomach with crumbs.
As he attacks your neck with an almost burning need, his hands on your sides squeezing your breasts with a so sweet force and you hear him sigh and growl, you can’t help but think of the past year.
You like have sex with Dain. You like seeing that wild, less rigid side of him. You like the way you feel more like a wild flower under his hands than a wilted and delicate flower. You like the idea that for a moment in time Dain could see you as more than a mate. That he could see you as a woman, with the eyes of a man. And for a while it seemed that way, until she came along. You couldn’t blame her: Violet is iridescent. She’s smart, cunning, kind, and beautiful. She’d gotten through the first year with two dragons and a unique seal. It was obvious that Dain would fall for her. No one knew Violet like Dain knew her. Being aware of that didn’t help you at all. Not when you know how strong his feelings for her were.
It was one night, a year ago. You were in a position like this: with him on top of you, devouring your neck and touching every inch of your skin. You were in his big, comfortable bed, Wing Leader privileges, and you could feel every part of his body buried deep inside you. You were about to reach heaven when you heard it.
“Violet,” he had growled against your shoulder, so lost in the emotion of the moment, in reaching his own climax. You realized it was an unconscious act, that hadn’t even realized what he had called you. Only you, and therefore Flosig, heard him. Your world fallen apart in that instant. Dain never called you by your first name, always by your last name. You doubted he even knew your name. And yet, for the first time you faked an orgasm, because like the fool you’reyou didn’t want to make him feel bad. But as he collapsed on top of you, exhausted and satisfied, your heart broke beneath his chest.
It was that night that you knew there would never be a place for you in his heart. And yet, there you were again. Again and again and again.
“Shit,” you hear him growl against your neck now, he’s desperate to rip your flight jacket off, but you don’t want to sew, so you push his hands away gently and you pull off most of the layers yourself as quickly as you can. Dain can only watch you with a dark glint in his eyes, it’s the only time he really sees you.
But he can’t hold back, you know his body perfectly. His jaw tenses behind his beard, his eyes become slits and the veins in his neck stand out. It doesn’t surprise you when he rips the rest of your clothes off, ready to attack your body like he knows you both would enjoy. You have to admit that Dain is not a selfish lover, he always wants you to feel as good as he does. You’ve both been in this arrangement for almost two years, you both know every inch of each other’s body. Dain knows the exact spot where to kiss and bite to melt you. You know that kissing his jaw, right above his scar, will be the end for him. You two know each other so well, it's almost funny that you don't talk to each other outside of this room.
"You're so beautiful," his words sound almost sweet against your ear as he and you become one. You so wanted to believe that.
You opened your mouth to say something in response, but nothing came out and you were thankful that he was too drunk with pleasure to mistake your silly stutter for a sigh of pleasure. You weren't sure that you should speak at a time like this, fearing what might escape your lips. Dain didn't talk much either, he was more a man of grunts and deep sounds. Thankful for that too. Zinhal knows the foolish things you'd do if you heard his voice spoken between your bodies. It would be impossible to get out of it if he did. And maybe that was why you weren't devoted to any God or Goddess.
"So good," Dain murmurs again between deep breaths and you kiss him to shut him up as push him closer to you, but then, again, the gods are never merciful to you. "So good to me," he keeps letting out as if you're not the one lying beneath him, pressed into the mattress. The position doesn't help either, your chests rubbing together with each thrust and you can swear there's not even room for a breeze between your bodies. His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle and it's almost painful to see how attractive he is. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep from having a heart attack. "I can't get enough," he murmurs against your lips, biting, licking, and kissing. And you can't take those lies anymore. Your deluded heart thrills. You push him away a little, but you don't open your eyes.
“Shut up,” you say in a high pitched cry of desperation. “Don’t say anything,” you almost plead and welcome the cry he draws out of you to avoid the subject. Then your eyes fly open and you gasp at the sight before you.
Dain is sweating, his breathing ragged, those full lips parted and a frown drawn in confusion. He couldn’t look any more charming. You’re going to die if you get another one of his deadly words.
《I’m not going to let you die for some idiot human and have your corpse found at a time like this,》 you’re forced to put your shields back up when you hear your dragon’s bored and sarcastic tone. You know he’s going to talk to you about self-worth and pride, but you push it to the back of your mind. You can’t focus on that right now. Not when Dain looks like this. When he sees you like this.
“Are you okay?” he asks in that sweet tone, genuinely concerned, and you hate it because makes you squeeze him tighter. His hips slow down and you fear you’ll cry at the change of rhythm. Apparently you don’t hide your feelings that well because his calloused hand grabs your chin, forcing to open your eyes and see his face. He looks incredibly angry. You nod but that’s not enough of an answer for Dain. He loosens his grip a little and stills inside you. “Words. Use your words,” he orders, not aware—or maybe too aware—of the impact he has on you. Your lips stutter before you can take a deep breath.
“I’m okay,” you say as confidently as you can. It’s not like he can see behind you. He can only see you in a way you’re not too proud of. “Move,” you find yourself saying and pray to any God who hears you that he doesn’t think of stopping right now. You don't trust yourself to face his gaze. Which is ironic when all you want is to be seen by Dain.
You should be grateful, swear you’ll light a candle for every God and Goddess on the Continent. Dain doubts it for sure, you know because you recognize the doubt crossing his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, picks up the rhythm and with a determination straight out of your deepest dreams he brings you to a point of ecstasy, only to follow you shortly after on your stomach. Never mind the contraceptive supplement, he wasn’t that much of an idiot and it came naturally to him to be a gentleman even with his sexual partners. Normally Dain would clean you both up before you could even process what just happened, then both would get dressed in silence and, maybe, kiss each other goodbye. Once you leave his room, you go back to being nothing more than another third-year cadet.
But this time it’s different. Dain slumps down on top of you, breathing still ragged, not moving as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. His beard tickles you, but you don’t have the energy to laugh. You don’t really know how to act. You lay there, lying under his weight, staring at the ceiling and praying he’d attribute your wayward heart to the adrenaline of the act. Is this what it would feel like after making love to Dain? Because you know that was sex, it’s never been more than that. But your mind has always been a trapdoor, leading you to think of what it would be like to make love to Dain, what it would feel like to be kissed with more than lust, what it would be like afterward, how… You close your eyes and rest your hands on his shoulders. The sun has gifted him with splashes of freckles on his tanned skin.
《You should tell him, Florecilla,》 Flosig's voice comes through much softer than the old dragon would normally speak.
《He doesn't like me,》 you reply and feel that tightness in your chest. 《Not like that. I don't want to embarrass myself.》
《Don't be silly. If you don't ask, you'll never know,》 that schoolteacher tone that always causes you tenderness, now bothers you a little. Flosig seems to have sensed it. 《I can always eat him, of course. Although I hate humans teast and Cath is a good friend》 , adds and you can't help but smile at his attempt to make you feel better. Your dragon is an adorable old one.
《Thank you, Flo,》 you smile at him through the bond and feel lighter.
“Dain,” you say in a calmer voice, pushing him away slightly when he doesn’t move off of you. For a moment you think he’s passed out, but he quickly raises his head to look at you when he hears you call out to him. “I need to breathe,” you add, ignoring his eyes.
Dain plops down beside you, but doesn’t move away. It’s not unusual really, sometimes Dain would open up to you. He’d tell you about his job as a Leader, about the cadets under his protection, sometimes you'd chat about classes or a book he’d recently read, rarely about his childhood. He’d say it was great to talk to you, probably because you were the only one who would really listen to him. But Dain wasn’t talking, he wasn’t moving to get dressed, he wasn’t doing anything. He was just watching you. Lying on his side, with his head on his hand, his eyes were fixed on you. Completely naked, to emphasize the strange situation. Now that was new ground in your relationship. So you're the one moving slowly, a little sore, searching the room for your clothes. You find your underwear next to the bed.
“Are you really okay?” his question stops you in the middle of searching for your pants. You turn around ready to see him sat on the edge of the bed and you’re thankful he’s wearing his boxers. You try to smile at him as you nod and go back to your search.
“I am. Don’t worry,” you say and rush to get dressed. There’s a tense silence as you get dressed, like it’s the first time you’ve slept together. The silence is suffocating you.
“I’m leaving,” Dain breaks the silence as you lace up your boots. “I’m going with Violet and the crew on a classified mission,” explains when you don’t answer, you see him moving out of the corner of your eye as you fix your hair. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to: pretending nothing has happened. You’re so good at it that you’ve never heard a rumor about the two of you.
“Success,” you say why: what can you say? You’re not one to say anything, you don’t know what to say to him either. It’s strange.
《Maybe he’s waiting for you to beg him to stay,》 you ignore the sarcastic comment. The tense silence grows even tenser.
“Thank you,” he says as moves in front of you. He’s still barefoot, but the rest of his uniform is already perfectly covering his body. If he didn’t have swollen lips and a kiss mark on his chin, you could swear that none of what just happened actually happened. You hate how good you both are pretending.
“Great,” you sway on your feet, your gaze locked on his brow. “See you when you get back… maybe,” only if he wanted to be with you again. You doubt it now. There was a bittersweet taste on your lips. Your eyes and throat began to sting. “May Zinhal be with you,” and there’s no lie in your words despite your ambiguous relationship with the gods. You don’t want anything to happen to none of them. You want them to come back healthy and victorious.
“Thank you,” Dain repeats again, but there’s no expression in his voice. His eyes never leave your figure. For a moment you think he’ll say something, but it’s gone as quickly as extends his hand to you. You get the signal.
You take his hand and open the door, crossing the magically protected, wetlands threshold. You feel a slight tug on your hand and turn around ready to see him, but again you're either too slow or it's your imagination playing tricks on you. Dain let go your hand before you can say anything. And for another torturous moment you both can only stand there, facing each other, the door separating you in more ways than one. It feels like goodbye. The thought makes you think that maybe you should do it: confess your love. But his eyes move to the laughter coming down the hall. His second year friends. You feel your heart fall heavily inside you. No, confessing would be stupid. You smile at him as best you can and just turn and walk away.
《Little Flower》 Flosig can feel your pain. Your disappointment. He doesn't say anything else, but the warmth he transmits through the bond feels like the warmest hug. You refuse to cry for a man who doesn't love you. War is drawing ever closer. With a heavy heart you had to wrap your heart in a glass box and throw it to the deep ocean. There is no room for sentimentality in war. Maybe everyone was right. You weren't made to be a rider. And for the first time, Flosig doesn't object. Not when he could feel the weight of your pain. Not when with every step you give, a dry leaf fell from your hair.
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Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
꒰ Damian decided to pay Jason a visit & notice how his body got softer after getting a girlfriend! ꒱
Damian didn’t usually visit his brothers of his own free will. Most of the time, he only stopped by the apartment to grab a quick snack or pick up some accessory that might be useful to him.
But, surprisingly, on that day—on that perfect day—he had decided to be an inconvenience to Todd, simply because he had nothing better to do.
You were in the kitchen, finishing plating the dessert that would accompany one of your movie nights with Jason.
Used to your boyfriend’s entrances and exits through the window and balcony, you didn’t startle when you heard one of them being opened, continuing to hum absentmindedly.
It was only when you turned to wash your hands that you remembered a small detail—Jason was in the shower.
The humming slowly died in your throat.
You dried your hands calmly—much calmer than you actually felt—and turned your head toward the living room, just enough to peek through the doorway.
And there he was, sitting on the couch like he owned the place, legs crossed as he ate popcorn. He chewed slowly, eyes focused on the turned-off television, as if he were waiting for something to start.
He stopped the moment he noticed you.
You stopped the moment you noticed him.
For a long second, neither of you moved.
His green eyes narrowed slightly, calculating, suspicious. “…You are not Todd.”
You blinked once.
“No…” you answered slowly. “And you are definitely not Jay either.”
Jason appeared in the hallway, hair dripping, but already wearing sweatpants. “You started it without me? I told ya I wanted to watch the opening too—”
He stopped mid-sentence, falling silent, his mouth parting in shock—maybe at the scene? At your calmness with the intruder? Or at the intruder’s sheer audacity?
“Just what I needed,” Jason growled, voice sharp with irritation. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
Damian didn’t answer immediately. Instead, chewing calmly. He simply shrugged—after all, how was he supposed to explain that he had only come to check if he was still alive? It had been a whole month since he last saw him. But he wasn’t worried!
“That’s mine—Damian, you should be at home. Your home.” Jason sighed, running a hand down his face. “Get off my couch. And stop eating my food.”
Damian ignored him completely. He leaned further back into the cushions, posture relaxed in a way that made Jason’s eye twitch. Then his gaze shifted slowly toward Jason.
“You look… fuller. Softer,” the younger one commented, his gaze drifting briefly toward you, who watched the argument in silence, before quickly returning to his brother.
Damian tilted his head to the side, as if evaluating a painting.
“Have you reduced your training frequency,” he continued, his voice strangely neutral, not teasing, just observational, “or simply increased your intake of nutritionally void food?”
“Did you just call me fat?”
“…No,” he replied, but then paused to think for a few seconds. “Did I? I merely commented on your body fat—“
Jason crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
“…Whatever,” he continued, tone quieter now, more thoughtful than before. “You no longer smell like cheap takeout grease and smoke. That is an improvement.”
“…That would be because he finally eats real food now,” you cut in, smiling, proud of your contribution to your boyfriend’s health.
Jason shot you a look over his shoulder, a little wounded that you had indirectly agreed with the little demon.
Damian reached out to grab more popcorn, but Jason slapped his hand away.
“Stop. Eating. My. Food. Okay. Great. Family bonding moment over.” Jason clapped his hands once, sharp and final. “You’ve seen me. Now out. Door. Window. Vent. I don’t care. Pick one.”
Damian’s attention snapped back to you, still ignoring his brother. He straightened slightly where he sat, gaze narrowing with renewed interest.
“You prepare the food?” he asked.
You nodded once. “Most of it.” You smiled. “Do you want to try the dessert?”
“…Dessert?” he repeated.
“I made chocolate cake,” you added casually. “With ganache.”
Damian’s eyes narrowed again. “…Homemade?” he asked.
“Yes.”
You disappeared into the kitchen before your boyfriend could protest.
Jason took a deep breath and dropped onto the couch, far too tired to argue any further. When the younger one opened his mouth to speak, he cut him off immediately.
“Not one more question,” Jason muttered. “Eat in silence.”
You just want to take a bath. Your boyfriend has new information to share.
Note: gn!reader. sfw. established relationships. domestic fluff.
Taking a shower while Adrian spouts misinformation about arachnids and manta rays.
It had become a habit, part of the routine. It started spontaneously, one night when you arrived home exhausted from work, wanting only to take a hot shower, crawl into bed and escape the world for a little. But Adrian had found a new book about marine animals and was eager to show you everything he had learned.
“Baby, not today,” you prayed to him in a whisper, smiling at your boyfriend's almost childlike grin.
“But you have to know how many eggs a clownfish lays a year,” he insists, following you around the house like a puppy as you take off your boots and coat. The man rushes to help you unwrap your scarf, though he only manages to make them both get tangled up. “Oops.”
And just like that, he made you laugh. He brightened your day. Adrian always manages to bring a smile to your face, even when you're at your lowest.
“How many eggs do they lay?” you asked then.
Adrian follows you around the apartment as you start to undress, talking about how clownfish lay 200 eggs a year, manta rays curl up to sleep and hammerhead sharks build caves. You were almost certain those facts were wrong, but you asked if clownfish all lived together, if manta rays curled up together when they found mates or if only hammerhead sharks built caves. You loved the way his eyes sparkled behind his glasses when you egged him on, and in return, he helped you by choosing comfortable underwear and giving you his favorite tshirt to sleep in.
“And whales eat one shark a year,” he continues, still excited, while adjusting the shower water for you. Exactly the way you like it. “Are those my socks?”
You look at your feet, naked except for the blue stockings with goldfish. Yes, they're Adrian's socks. You probably put them on in your sleep that morning, amidst the chaos that mornings with your clingy boyfriend always were. It was hard to get out of bed with Adrian promising to make you feel great if you skipped work. And as tempting as it sounded, you had bills to pay, and he had some bloody work to do too.
“They are,” you laugh as you slip them off your feet and step into the shower. You place a soft kiss on his lips before disappearing behind the glass screen. “Sorry, baby.”
Baby.
The nickname drives him a little crazy.
“You can wear whatever you want, my lovely Glaucidium brasilianum,” he assures you, and that's saying everything.
The man was very particular and careful with his clothes, cutting off all the annoying labels and wearing only 100% cotton. Except for his boxers, those had to be made of cool silk.
And yes, Adrian Chase thought calling you by specific animal names was romantic. You had no idea what a Glaucidium brasilianum was, and you weren't sure you wanted to know.
So, as you finally relaxed under the warm water after a long and arduous day at work, Adrian began to unload all the facts he knew about marine animals. That night it was about pufferfish and clownfish.
There was something relaxing about the scent of your special soap and your boyfriend's constant chatter. Most people found Adrian a little annoying, especially when his nerdy exciting side came out, but that's precisely what made you fall in love with him. His love for (in)correct facts is just one of the ways he shows his appreciation, his boundless energy and the sweetness and innocence hidden beneath that bloody antihero exterior. The intensity of his personality was simply a reflection of the intensity with which he loved. And Adrian Chase loved you intensely.
And that's why, even as he helped you dry off after you'd already washed, he kept talking about marine animals, but they weren't facts anymore.
“You remind me of an angelfish,” he murmured, trying to pull your underwear up your legs, but he was actually tangling everything somehow. “Although with this, you look like a disco fish,” he added, looking at the pattern of your clothes.
“Thanks, baby,” you replied as always, because you understood that was his way of complimenting you.
You put on the Eggle t-shirt Adrian gave you for Christmas and fix your hair a bit, all under the watchful eye of your boyfriend, who never stops talking.
“Although you were as hypnotic as a betta fish,” Adrian remarks after an unusual moment of silence. Your gaze meets his in the mirror. You can see him frowning behind his glasses. He seems to be analyzing you, though he looks more like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head.
“What’s wrong?” you ask with a yawn, walking toward him and raising your hand to adjust his glasses, which are slipping down the bridge of his nose.
“You look tired,” he murmurs, as if it were an afterthought. You smile tenderly.
“I am, baby.”
For a moment longer, Adrian just stares at you as if he's trying to do some major mental calculation. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he picks you up, pulling your body over his shoulder. You squealed his name in surprise, but he completely ignored you.
“Did you know that fish sleep curled up?” he continues, rambling, leading you to the bedroom, gently lowering you onto the large bed. “And they cover themselves with seaweed, nestled in their little reef houses,” he says, covering you with the sheets and beginning to undress. “They decorate their houses with dead snails,” he doesn't stop, making a mess by turning off all the lights and snuggling up beside you.
And it fills your heart with something warm. When you and Adrian first met, he barely tolerated you holding his hands, but now he was the one initiating contact.
“Are we fish now?” you manage to joke, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, snuggled together. Your words make Adrian laugh.
“Don’t be silly,” he laughs, hugging you tightly. “You are you and I am me,” he states matter-of-factly, but adds: “If we were fish, we’d be wet and we’d live in…”
Perhaps Adrian wasn’t the best at comforting or keeping quiet, but he always made you feel at home. And that was the most important thing at the end of the day.
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