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0mg-bird · 5 months ago

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Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But…what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. “Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

#spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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stevie-petey · 1 month ago

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lonely hearts club

You kiss her forehead and pull Steve up from the couch, putting your jacket on and tossing him his. “Our Valentine’s day wouldn’t be the same without someone crying or throwing up. We’re going. Dinner can wait.” Steve wraps an arm around your waist. “She’s right. This is just tradition for us. A sacred thing we look forward to every year.” “You two confuse me so much.” Nancy laughs wetly, overwhelmed by your kindness. “We get that a lot.” Steve kisses your temple. “C’mon, angelface. The lesbians need us.”

Summary: ten valentines days with steve. some years it's romantic, some years it's heartbreaking, but for better or worse, he's your forever valentine.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, mentions of vomit, pregnancy, cheating (steve doesnt cheat)

Words: 11.9k

Before you swing in: happy valentines day !! is this a day late ? sure. but we're going to ignore that ! heres a cute little fic of valentines day with steve throughout the years. joe touring really influenced this because i made steve a rockstar but honestly it fit tbh. anyways, hope you enjoy !

Somehow it’s always Steve who you spend Valentine’s day with.

In high school it’s because of academic obligations. You’re student body president and Steve is the president of the key club. Each year when February rolls around, the two of you are responsible for hanging pink streamers in the gym and selling enough tickets to afford a decent DJ.

Thanks to the infectious Valentine’s day yearning for love and potential makeouts under the bleachers, the Lonely Hearts dance always manages to draw in a crowd. That, and Steve promises that anyone who buys a ticket is guaranteed a dance with him.

It’s gross and highly exploitative. And also quite brilliant.

You never cash in your ticket, though. While Steve spends the night spinning around girls dressed in pinks and reds and whites, you’re manning the punch bowl to make sure no one spikes it.

Each year, Steve finds a way to sneak gin into the cherry liquid behind your back.

“I’d stop serving little Benny there that punch of yours.” Steve slides next to you, dressed in all black with a rose pinned to his ribbed vest. He reeks, a terrible concoction of every perfume worn by the girls he’s spent all night with.

Benny, a small, frail fourteen year old with eyes too big for his comically small glasses, hiccups. His hand is extended towards you, empty cup waiting for more. His face is flushed and he sways ever so slightly.

You sigh. “How much gin did you pour in this time, Harrington?”

“An entire bottle.”

“I hate you, you know.”

Steve laughs. “Not my fault that you never catch me.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you glare at him. “I still hate you.” Then, remembering that a severely intoxicated Benny is still waiting for his drink, you gently tap the kid’s arm. “Why don’t you go sit in a corner, buddy?”

Benny hiccups again and stumbles away. Steve snickers, but his laughter turns into a yelp of pain when you kick him in the shin. “Don’t you have girls to dance with?”

“Not if you keep kicking me like that,” he winces, rubbing his quickly bruising injury. “Jesus, are those heels made of steel?”

“Why are you still talking to me?”

“Can’t a guy talk to his most consistent girl?”

A snort masks the reddening of your cheeks. “Real flattering, Harrington.”

“I’m serious!” Steve nudges his shoulder against yours. He’s smiling wide at you, charming as ever. “You realize this is like, our third year spending Valentine’s day together, right?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re only spending it together for a school dance.”

“Still makes you my longest running Valentine, Y/N.” He winks, smug, and you want to stain his pretty face with the cherry red of the punch before you. He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell his expensive cologne under all the perfume that taints it.

Suddenly your mouth goes dry. You look up at him and find that he’s already staring down at you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from the proximity that only seems to be growing smaller and smaller between you.

“Steve!” Heather Morgan stomps over, the ruffles of her lilac dress swishing with her forceful steps. She stops in front of you and him, though she doesn’t bother to acknowledge you. “I thought I was guaranteed a dance?”

Three Valentine’s days with Steve Harrington, countless prom committee meetings and club organization conferences, shared lunch periods and classes, all have led to the intimate knowledge of the lines of his face and how every miniscule twinge of muscle reveals everything he’s feeling.

The forced smile that he gives Heather, eyebrows drawn together and eyes dim, is nothing like the bright and overwhelming smile he gave you only moments ago.

“You’re absolutely right.” Steve holds his hand out to the girl and walks towards her. “With all the hard work Y/N put into this dance, it’d be a shame if I let it go to waste and not abide by my promise.”

Your cheeks burn at the indirect compliment and Heather simply rolls her eyes. She yanks Steve’s arm and he gives you one last weary, yet shy and gentle, smile that’s etched alongside his freckles and moles.

–

After graduating and moving to Chicago for college, you figure that maybe your first Valentine’s day in a big city will be spent with someone who doesn’t get freshmen drunk and dance with demanding girls.

Then, your first week in intro to philosophy, you meet Oliver.

He enters five minutes late, out of breath and frantic, and blindly throws himself into the first seat he finds. In his rush, he doesn’t see you until he’s thrown his jacket off and hears your quiet, “ouch.”

“Oh, my god.” His blue eyes are wide as he stares at you in horror, taking in the scene before him. He’s completely thrown his jacket on top of you. “I-I am so sorry!”

His British accent nearly sends your brain reeling. Oliver is tall, his black hair makes his skin appear almost luminescent, and there’s a dimple in his cheek that softens the harshness of his accented vowels.

“It’s fine,” you shrug the jacket off, too shy to say much else. He’s arguably the most perfect man you’ve ever met and it’s eight in the morning and you’re not quite sure if this is a dream. “Just… caught me by surprise?”

“Christ, I’m genuinely so sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I-I overslept and I only just switched into this class quite literally twelve hours ago and–”

“Top row,” your professor clears her throat, glaring at you and Oliver. “Is Aristotle really so interesting to you that you decide to interrupt my class in glee?”

You’re beet red, frozen in shame and fear, but Oliver simply laughs and ducks in head. “My apologies, Miss. Please, continue.”

Even the professor is charmed by his accent, and she shakes her head with a slight chuckle. She carries on with the lecture and Oliver is quiet next to you. You don’t speak for the rest of class, but during the last five minutes, a note slides across your desk.

Coffee?

– Oliver (the dunce who threw his jacket on you)

A second coffee date follows the first. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth and sixth until they slowly turn into dinner dates. Sneaking into each other’s apartments when your roommates aren’t home. Kissing as you lazily study together in bed.

Late January comes and you think that you’ve finally, finally, found someone to spend Valentine’s day with. Someone real and yours and lovely.

Oliver tells you to meet him at his apartment at 7:30 for dinner. He’s promised you homemade roast, a recipe from his mother. Valentine’s day will be a quiet dinner with only candlelight as your company. No streamers or spiked punch; it’s everything you could’ve ever wanted.

“The potatoes need a few more minutes, then we can eat.” Oliver kisses your forehead as he wipes his hands with a towel. The kitchen is warm, the smell of herbs and garlic infiltrate the air. On the counter the beef is resting, its aroma enough to make your mouth water.

You take a sip of wine. “Thank god.”

“Hungry, are we?”

“A home cooked meal by my hot boyfriend?” You raise your glass. “Of course I’m hungry!”

Oliver laughs, kissing you again. “Well, good thing I have all night to feed you–”

The front door slams, startling the two of you, and someone calls out, “Sorry! Sorry, please ignore me!”

Your fingers tighten around the stem of your wine glass hearing their voice.

Oliver groans, “one second, babe.” He leaves your side, but you don’t follow, too afraid to face what’s waiting for you on the other side of the wall.

“I thought I told you I had the apartment tonight?” You hear Oliver hiss at the intruder.

“You did! I just-I kinda left my guitar here and Robin will kill me if I–”

“Hurry up!”

“What, your date can’t wait five seconds?” A laugh, pleased with his own joke. You close your eyes, imagining the scrunch of his nose and tilt of his lips; you haven’t forgotten the details of his face, even after months of not seeing him.

Oliver mumbles something and you strain your ears to listen. He sounds upset, anxious, arguing with the other person in the room, and something akin to unease creeps into your stomach.

“Relax, man. Just go finish that bizarre British dinner for Bianca.”

Silence.

You set down the wineglass and finally walk into the living room. The click of your heels is the only evidence of life within the apartment. Oliver stands near the door. His eyes are closed, he doesn’t want to face you just yet.

Steve’s back is turned to you. His posture is relaxed, natural. He isn’t aware of what he’s just undone.

“Long time no see, Harrington.” Your arms are crossed, shielding yourself from what’s to come. Your voice sounds more confident than you feel. “I guess you’re the roommate I never got to meet.”

He spins around quickly, almost falling over, recognizing your voice immediately. His childish stumbling tells you that he almost doesn’t want to believe it. When Steve’s eyes land on you, they soften, warm brown filling with fondness once more.

“Y/N!”

Steve steps forward as if to hug you, but then seems to remember where he is, what he had previously been talking about with Oliver. He stops, the fondness in his eyes diminishing to confusion, then slowly to anger.

“You’re… not Bianca.”

“Evidently not.” Your laugh is bitter.

Steve narrows his eyes at Oliver. “What the hell, man? You told me you were dating some chic named Bianca.” He points a bewildered finger at you. “This is Y/N.”

“In my defense,” Oliver sighs tiredly, clapping his hands together in a defeated manner. “I didn’t think you’d know either one of them, so. This is just brilliant.”

“Are you dating them both?” Steve’s eyes bulge out of his head. If you weren’t on the brink of crying and throwing up, you’d laugh at his poor state of shock.

“That’s how cheating works, Steve.” You say weakly.

Oliver tries to say something, but he’s drowned out by Steve’s yelling. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Steve–” He tries again.

“No! I-I was unknowingly an accomplice in your cheating?”

“I did try to hide them both from you–”

“You’re such a jackass! I thought the British were supposed to be posh and all that-that bloody bullshit!”

You touch the back of Steve’s elbow. You’re mortified and embarrassed and you really want to cry right now. No words come out. Your mouth won’t open. All you can do is hope that your touch is enough.

Immediately Steve stops yelling. He tugs you against his chest, understanding everything the touch meant. He doesn’t care that it’s been six months since he’s seen you or that you were never particularly close in the first place. He wipes the tears that have started to fall from your eyes with a tenderness you didn’t know was innate within him.

“I’m taking you home,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Go get your things, alright?”

Weak and numb, you do as you’re told.

“Y/N, wait–” Oliver tries to reach out for you.

Steve steps between you. The look on his face is violent, almost frightening. You’ve never seen him like this. “Don’t.”

Oliver stumbles back. It’s enough of a distraction for you to quickly grab your purse and keys, vision blurry from tears as your body shakes. Every nerve, every fiber of your skeletal body is screaming at you to run.

When you’re ready, Steve uses his body to prevent Oliver from looking at you. His hands are gentle as he guides you to his car. He whispers reassurances, rubs circles into your back, and allows you to cry the entire way home.

It doesn’t surprise you when Steve doesn’t leave after parking in front of your apartment. It also doesn’t surprise you when he walks you to your door and lets himself in.

“Stay here,” he all but shoves you onto the couch before making his way to your kitchen. He walks through the apartment as if he’s done so his entire life. “I’ll be right back.”

“What are you–”

“Less talking, more crying!”

You curl yourself into a small ball, too tired to argue with Steve. While you have no idea what the hell he’s doing, you’re relieved that your roommate, Jane, is out with her boyfriend for the night.

At least someone is having a happy Valentine’s day.

Steve returns with two pints of ice cream and spoons. He’s already opened one of them and hands it to you as he plops onto the couch. “Figured you’d have a stash.”

The ice cream he hands you is your favorite flavor. You don’t remember ever telling him this. “How did you–”

“This is our fourth Valentine’s day in a row, Y/N,” Steve pokes your side. “When are you gonna stop questioning my loyalty to our sacred tradition?”

Mouth cold from ice cream and face hot from crying, Steve manages to pull a laugh out of you. It’s feeble and small and more of a grimace than something joyous, but it’s more than you ever thought was possible.

Steve laughs with you, knocking his own pint of ice cream against yours. “To Valentine's day, angelface.”

“To Valentine’s day,” you sniff, laughing again. The moment is bizarre and not at all how you envisioned spending the day, but somehow it’s wonderful and reminiscent of the years before. There’s only one thing missing. “I miss the pink streamers.”

“I’ll hang some up next year.” Steve promises, winking at you as he always seems to do, falling back in familiarity.

You rest your head against the couch, warm, and hum thoughtfully. Steve always keeps his promises, and you can almost envision the messily strewn up streamers and tacky holiday decorations he would find and insist on using. The apartment would be full of light and warmth, and the thought makes you smile.

“I’d like that.”

–

Inexplicably, Steve becomes your best friend.

He all but declares Oliver dead to him and refuses to step foot in their apartment unless it’s to eat or sleep. He cuts off all contact with the guy without even blinking. You try telling Steve that he doesn’t have to jeopardize his relationship with his roommate and he scoffs at you.

“I’m giving that motherfucker the coldest shoulder known to man, Y/N. Whether you like it or not.”

And there isn’t anything else to talk about, really.

Slowly Steve starts spending all his time at your apartment to avoid his, and you find yourself actually enjoying his company. He doesn’t stray far from your room and he always brings over extra napkins from the restaurant he works at, saving you an extra five dollars a week in household supplies.

Plus, Steve introduces you to his coworker Robin, and she’s so enthralling and chaotic and vibrant that it’s only natural that when she becomes your best friend, Steve does, too.

Spring semester ends and Jane announces that she’s moving out to live with her boyfriend come summer. The first person you call is Steve. He moves in a week later.

“Have you looked over the sheet music yet?” Robin has her legs tossed over your lap as the two of you sit on the couch. Steve sits on the floor, leaning his head against the couch, his hair tickling the bare skin of your leg.

You’re watching some movie that Steve had been dying to see. It’s Valentine’s day and he’s begged you to let him watch some cheesy romance movie he saw an ad for. He claims it’s to get into the holiday spirit, but you know it’s because he has a crush on Patrick Swayze.

Robin tagged along because she has a crush on Jennifer Grey.

“Hey, doofus!” She throws popcorn at Steve’s head when he doesn’t respond to her question.

“Can you at least aim for my face?” He flicks the popcorn out of his hair, cringing. “The butter makes my hair feel gross.”

You ruffle the locks, shaking his head in the process and he swats you away, albeit without any cruelty or malice. “Could be from all that hairspray you drown it in.”

“I’m with Y/N on this one,” Robin leans forward, invading Steve’s space with ease. “Anyways, did you read the music or not? Kelly wants your opinion before our gig tonight.”

“Why does she care what I think?”

“Because you’re the lead singer?” Robin looks at you. “Do you think all that hairspray has rotted his brain?”

You shrug. “Probably.”

Steve flips the both of you off and you giggle together at his annoyance. Ever since meeting Robin, making Steve’s life as miserable as possible has become your favorite thing to do together.

Robin then asks again about the song and she and Steve fall into a conversation about Kelly and her obsession with their other bandmate Connor and whether or not the song is actually good or if it’s just another attempt for her to win him over.

You watch them talk with a lazy smile. They become so animated when they discuss music, and you admire how well they work together. It doesn’t surprise you that they formed a band together after only being friends for two days. They take music seriously, obsess over it in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite understand, but that you will always admire.

“You’re coming to our gig tonight, right?” Steve suddenly turns to you, eyes pleading and hopeful.

“Where is it again?”

“The Vexture. We go on at ten.”

Robin has turned her hopeful eyes to you as well and you shift uncomfortably. The Vexture is a grungy club that’s always packed with people looking for someone to call their own, and given the fact that it’s currently Valentine’s day, it’ll only be worse.

The thought makes you nauseous.

Steve sees you grimace and he immediately throws himself into your lap. “No. Absolutely not. You have to come.”

“I haven’t even said anything–”

“You were going to bail!”

“I–I wasn’t!”

Robin pinches your cheek. “You’re a terrible liar, dear.”

You try to argue but Steve covers your mouth. You thrash underneath him, completely opposed to his body weight on you and his grimy hands covering your mouth, but he’s freakishly strong and Robin is a traitor who helps him hold you down.

“Look, Y/N.” Steve’s hair falls in your face. “We all know that last year was rough.”

“Fuck Oliver!” Robin shouts, wringing her hands together as if envisioning choking him.

“What she said. Anyways, you took a hard hit. It’s understandable. But I refuse to let you spend Valentine’s day all alone, alright? You haven’t dated anyone in months. You’re coming tonight.”

You want to bite him, to kick him off and pinch his skin, but you know he’s right. Deflating, you cross your arms and reluctantly nod.

Steve and Robin cheer, jostling you around, and despite the annoyance and fear you’re feeling, you can’t help but laugh at their childish joy.

“Love the enthusiasm, but can you guys get off me now?” You croak out in between laughs.

They scramble off the couch and Robin helps you up. She fixes your hair and kisses the tip of your nose. “We have three hours to make you irresistible tonight.”

“I’m not dressing up–”

“You have no free will when it comes to me.” Robin smiles wickedly and grabs your hand, pulling you to your room, having long forgotten about the movie that’s still playing in the background.

“Can I join?” Steve calls after the two of you.

Robin slams the door in his face.

The Vexture is loud and overflowing with people by the time you get there. The lights are dimmed and Robin has to hold your hand as she guides you through the crowd. Since they’re performing, they’re allowed to cut the long lines and are able to get you the best seats in the house: backstage.

“You made it!” Kelly throws her long and lithe arms around you. She smells of vanilla and honey and her hair is tied in loose knots. Glitter adorns her eyelids and pink hearts dot her cheeks.

“I’m being held against my will,” you shout into her ear, hugging her tightly. “But I’m here.”

Connor pats your back and chuckles. He’s matching Kelly’s heart theme with a pink heart painted on his own cheek. “Well, at least you’ll have a good time!”

Steve hands him a guitar and checks his hair in the mirror. Robin dressed him in a white button down and demanded that he leave the first four buttons undone. The exposed strip of skin from the base of his neck to the swell of his chest burns your lips.

“We ready?” Steve pulls you by the waist, flush against him, and winks at his bandmates.

Kelly and Robin cheer and Connor slams his drumsticks together. A cheer of your own tumbles from your lips, allowing your body to lean against Steve’s, and his fingers dig into your side as his chest rumbles with pleasure.

The crowd erupts when they get on stage. They all get into their places. Robin with her keyboard. Kelly and the bass. Connor behind his drum set. And Steve, front and center of the stage, smiling into the mic as his fingers pick at his guitar.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” He’s a natural on stage. People scream his name and he plays into it with such confidence and charm. Steve smirks, knowing he has the audience in the palm of his hand. “That’s what I like to hear!”

He plays the first few notes of the song they’re starting with tonight. Easy and light. He’s setting the audience up, tempting them, leaving them wanting more.

Steve grabs the base of the microphone and tilts his head at the crowd. “Who’s here with their Valentine tonight?”

Almost everyone cheers and whistles. Hands get thrown into the air and lovers kiss the smiles off each other’s face.

“Hell yeah!” Steve laughs, high on the energy in the room. He plays a few more notes, turns his head away from the crowd as he does so. You watch him, curious, and find that he’s looking at you.

When he has your attention, Steve laughs again and goes back to the mic. He’s smiling wide, cheeks pink. “You know, I’m also here with a Valentine tonight.”

The audience gasps and cheers and claps for him. Robin wolf whistles, loud and obnoxious, teasing eyes looking only at you. Kelly snickers and Connor points one of his drum sticks at you, clutching his heart dramatically.

The apples of your cheeks pinch together a glorious red and Steve can’t take his eyes off you. His eyes, soft as they always are when he looks at you, are like molten earth. He smiles into the mic again, unable to look away from you.

“This is our fifth Valentine’s day together,” he tells the crowd, smiling so much he’s almost slurring his words. “I kinda hope that this angelface will always be my Valentine.”

Robin whistles again and the roar of the Vexture is so loud now that you can’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in your head. Steve screams along with the crowd and Connor counts the band in and there’s music all around you and dancing and Steve’s sweat drips down his chest and there’s a burning deep within your stomach.

He’s beautiful.

You hope that he’ll always be your Valentine, too.

–

Sophia enters your life early junior year. You find her in your kitchen one morning wearing one of Steve’s old t-shirts, and you make her a cup of coffee.

She’s nice. Her hair is bronzy and she has incredible green eyes and an angelic laugh. She studies English and she’s the only other person besides your classmates who has read Plato, so you’re honestly quite fond of her, and you can see how Steve falls for her hard and fast.

Robin, however, has other thoughts.

“I don’t trust her.” She says one day in January. Steve is at Sophia’s, so you invited Robin over to bake cookies and watch the latest episode of a show you both enjoy.

You frown at her. “Why not? I think Sophia is nice.”

“Ever notice how the only way we can all collectively describe her as is nice?” Robin shivers. “What kind of psycho only has one personality trait?”

Well. There isn’t a lot you can argue with there. Sure, everyone who has met Sophia has liked her, but when you think about it, Robin’s right. They’ve all described her as nice, maybe quiet, but always nice.

“I think you’re just overprotective of Steve.” You try to defend. You like Sophia. She’s become a very loose, very distant, acquaintance. “Just give her some time.”

“They’ve been dating for months now, Y/N. She creeps me out.”

“Sophia isn’t some off putting creature, Robin–”

“Guys!” Steve barrels through the front door. You and Robin both scream, but he ignores your terror and throws himself at the two of you. “How much do you guys love me?”

Robin responds with, “how much money do you want?” while you reply, “depends on the day.”

Steve breathes heavily, grasping your hand. “I need you guys to please, please do me the biggest favor.”

“Did you kill someone?” You pull your hand away, weary of the scene before you.

“What? No! I just–” Steve inhales sharply. “It’s Sophia.”

“I knew it!” Robins screeches, but you jump and cover her mouth. She tries to scream through your silencing, but her words are muffled and jumbled.

You smile at Steve awkwardly. “Don’t mind her. What’s going on with Sophia?”

“She wants to go on a double date for Valentine’s day.” You and Robin stare at him as if he’s insane, and Steve groans. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, alright? But she-uh. I guess she’s had some shitty Valentine’s days in the past and thought it’d be better if we had other people with us? As a safeguard?”

“That’s…” Concerning, you want to say, but Steve is staring at you, pleading, and you really don’t feel like dealing with his anxious monologues. “Interesting.”

He rubs his face. “It’s insane, I know, but I just… I really like this girl, you know? So if one of you could just–”

“I’m out.” Robin raises her hands and you shoot her an incredulous look. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I actually have plans this year and I really don’t feel like spending them with Steve.”

“And you think I don’t have plans?” You ask them, offended, and Steve looks at the ground and Robin suddenly finds the tile very interesting. “Okay. At least pretend that I have some dignity.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of dignity, angelface.” Steve tries to amend. “And you’d have even more dignity if you went on a double date with me and Sophia. I’ll even find someone to be your date!”

In theory, it sounds like your worst nightmare. Spending a night with a loved up Steve and Sophia while you’re with some guy you met only hours ago. All because Steve’s girlfriend doesn’t feel comfortable enough spending Valentine’s day alone with him.

But Steve has had to hold your hand through a nasty breakup and other horrific dating exploits since then. He’s held your hair up when you’ve been sick. Makes you your favorite snacks during busy exam seasons. He cleans your room when he knows you’re exhausted.

Steve is your best friend. The least you can do is this.

“Fine,” you finally give in. “But the guy better be hot.”

The guy Steve finds you is, in fact, incredibly hot. His name is Max and he meets you and Steve outside the restaurant dressed in a well tailored suit.

“Where’d you find this guy?” You whisper to Steve while Max isn’t looking.

“He knew Connor in high school.” He whispers back. “Makes a lot of money. Works in finance.”

Your mouth drops, but you quickly cover it up when Max opens the door for you and Steve. He’s a perfect gentleman and rests his hand on the small of your back. “You guys been to this restaurant before?”

“A few times together, but I don’t think my girlfriend Sophia has been here yet.” Steve sits down and grabs a menu before checking his watch. “Actually, she should be here by now.”

Max’s face twists slightly. “Her name is Sophia?”

“Max?” Sophia, rushing towards your table, stops and gasps out his name as if she’s been stabbed.

“Oh, dear.” You set down your menu. Something tells you that there won’t be any eating tonight.

“Sophia?” Max nearly falls to his knees in front of her, eyes shining at the girl as if she’s hung all the moon and stars with her delicate fingers.

They stare at one another, neither moving, and Steve looks between them with a bitter taste in his mouth. “So… you guys know each other?”

Sophia winces and Max coughs.

You grab your purse. “Steve, why don’t we head home–”

“What’s going on here?” His voice is strained. He looks at Sophia and you see the upset he tries to suppress. The clench of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. “Soph, who is this guy?”

“He’s no one, I promise–”

Max steps forward. “We dated for a few years.”

“Years?” Steve exclaims.

“Broke up on Valentine’s day last year, actually.” He looks at Sophia with a pained expression. “I… I missed you.”

Steve falls against his seat in disbelief. Sophia holds the base of her throat in a weak attempt to soothe herself.

“You’re really not helping, Max.” You glare at him, rubbing your friend’s shoulder as he sits at the table, mourning. Steve’s mouth doesn’t seem to be able to close and he’s looking at Sophia as if trying to silently plead with her to tell him that none of this is real.

Except is it, and Sophia closes her eyes. “I-I can’t do this, Steve.”

Her apology sends the chair flying back as he stands abruptly, desperately reaching for her in the crowded restaurant while you and Max remain silent. “Wait, can’t we just–”

“I should go.” She’s crying and the green of her eyes are a startling shade of brilliance. She really is quite lovely; the beauty breaks your heart. Steve calls after her as she leaves.

You hold him back. He screams at you to let him go, but you know that this time you have to be the one to break his fall. To catch him as he caught you the year Oliver broke your heart. There are tears in his eyes and his hoarse voice begs the girl to stay, but she’s long gone.

Max stands there in the wreckage. He doesn’t know what to do or who to follow.

“Just go,” you tell him, pulling Steve back down to sit. He collapses into your side, too ashamed to cry and too exhausted to care. He’s weak against you and your arms encase him. Max doesn’t move, and your voice raises before you can stop it. “Go!”

He listens, and the other patrons in the restaurant watch as yet another person runs from your table. A waitress gives you a pitying smile that you don’t reciprocate.

Steve hides his face in your neck and you gently cup his cheek to make him look at you. “Hey,” you say when his eyes finally focus on you. “Let’s get you a drink, okay?”

He drops his head on the table with a defeated sigh. “Give me whatever liquor they got.”

“The stronger the better?”

“Yes.”

“Coming right up.” You wave a waiter down and order four shots and two beers. Steve doesn’t say anything while you order, but he does shift closer to you once the waiter is gone.

The buzz of the restaurant is low, though full of laughter and conversation. You sit with Steve, fingers stroking through his hair as his head remains on the table. He lost all sense of pride the moment he begged Sophia to stay, so he allows your nails to scratch his scalp.

Drinks get set on the table and Steve throws both of his shots back before you can even pick one of yours up. He wipes his mouth and cringes at the taste. You stare at him, slightly concerned. “Alright over there?”

“Need more liquor.”

You stroke his cheek. “How cute. You think I’m going to let you drink your sorrows away.”

He bats your hand away. “I don’t know if you’re all caught up, but I just got dumped on Valentine’s day, Y/N.”

“And?” You laugh at him. “That happened to me too, buddy. You’re officially a part of the lonely hearts club. How’s it feel?”

Steve drops his head back onto the table. “It feels like we’re fucking cursed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you clink your beer against his. “Cheers.”

It’s quiet for a while. You finish your shots and sip slowly at your beer. Steve remains hidden away at the table, refusing to sit up and face the reality of heartbreak. You allow him to take all the time he needs, replenishing his drinks when he runs low. He’s quiet, but he knocks his knee against yours every time you squeeze his hand.

I’m here.

Thank you.

The chatter in the restaurant dies down and you pay the tab and help carry Steve home. He’s significantly more drunk than you are, and you’re relieved that you chose to eat somewhere close enough to walk. He stumbles the entire way home and you have to cling onto his hand so that he doesn’t fall.

Steve drags your body onto the couch the second you open the apartment door. He collapses on top of you. His arms hold your waist and his nose presses against your neck. You bring your hands to his hair and sync your breathing with his.

“Think it’ll always be like this?” Steve murmurs after a while. “You and me and goddamn Valentine’s day?”

Six years of sharing the holiday together. Six years of being each other’s person to spend the day with and draw cheesy cards for. Six years of laughter and tears and secret glances and inside jokes.

Six years, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“We’re best friends, Steve.” You whisper into his ear, lips brushing skin. “Of course it’ll always be like this.”

He shivers at the sensation of your lips. Alcohol burns through his system. He finds himself upset that he drank tonight. He wonders what would’ve happened had he not met Sophia. If he had taken you to the restaurant alone and left sober.

Steve wonders if he would’ve kissed you then. If you would’ve let him.

But he had met Sophia. He’d taken you to the restaurant to have dinner with her. He got drunk tonight to forget the way she tasted. You walked him home because you couldn’t trust him to take care of himself. And now he’s too afraid to kiss you because he knows it could ruin everything he’s so carefully built with you.

He falls asleep to your heartbeat.

–

“Who gets married on Valentine’s day?” Robin tugs at her dress in disgust. “I mean, that should just be illegal.”

You help her fix her dress and shrug. “I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.”

“That’s because Steve’s walking you down the aisle tonight. You’re biased.”

“He’s the best man and I’m the maid of honor,” you poke her stomach. “It’s quite literally tradition to walk down the aisle as a pair.”

Kelly, who has been fixing her makeup the entire conversation, peeks her head from behind the mirror. “To be honest, Connor and I did intentionally plan for Steve to walk you down the aisle.”

Your jaw drops. “Kelly!”

“The two of you are just so cute!” She laughs. “You’re two of our closest friends. We want what’s best for you, so Connor and I figured we’d just give you guys a little push.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Believe me. I’ve been trying to get them together for years now. What is this, your eighth year of being each other’s Valentine’s?”

Your head whips to her. “It’s only our seventh. And what do you mean you’ve been trying for years?”

“I’m practically the reason Steve moved in with you. He wanted to live with me months before you asked him to move in. Naturally, I’m a prophet, and I told him no. Now here you guys are, walking down the aisle together. Tada!”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean, it worked!” Robin frowns. “Well. Sort of.”

You’re speechless and Kelly takes pity on you. She walks over and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, I love you. Connor and Robin love you. Steve loves you. You know that, right?”

“I…” You’d be a liar if you said the thought never crossed your mind. Especially after the breakup with Sophia. You’ve always been close with Steve, but in the last year there’s been this shift that you haven’t been able to describe.

There’s coffee waiting for you every morning. He holds your hand and strokes his thumb against your palm. Steve ends up falling asleep in your bed most nights now, wrapped around you as his breath warms your skin. His own room has slowly been turned into a makeshift studio for his music.

Sometimes you catch Steve staring at you, and sometimes the heat of his gaze doesn’t scare you.

But sometimes it does.

“Why are we even talking about this?” You deflect, setting your eyes on Kelly and her gorgeous veil. “You’re getting married in less than an hour. Can’t we talk about that?”

“Babe, all I’ve done for the last year is talk about this goddamn wedding. I’m the bride and right now I demand that we gossip.”

Robin laughs at you and you’re about to make up some excuse about needing to go organize the roses again when the bride’s door opens. Kelly yelps and covers her dress as you and Robin step in front of her to block the intruder’s view.

“Relax,” Steve holds his hands up. “It’s just me. Unfortunately, I’m not the groom.”

Kelly shakes his head at him fondly. “What do you want, Steve?”

“Connor sent me here because apparently I lack the ability to shut the fuck up and it was stressing him out.”

You snort and Robin hunches over as she giggles. Kelly smirks. “Yeah. I believe that.”

Steve sticks his tongue out at the three of you, and the conversation from earlier gets dropped. He helps you and Robin with the rest of Kelly’s makeup. He irons her dress, showers her with compliments, and your heart constricts every time he touches the edge of your silk dress with childlike wonder.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” He whispers when it’s just the two of you. The door to the aisle hasn’t opened yet. The rest of the wedding party stands behind you, waiting.

A blush coats your cheeks. You loop your arm through his and bask in his fondness. “Thank you,” your hand rests on his chest. “You look quite handsome yourself.”

And he does. Steve is cruelly beautiful in his suit. His tie matches the lace of your dress and you want to pull the end of it and bring his lips to yours. He stares down at your lips and you wonder if he’s thinking about yours, before the music starts.

The door opens. Down the long, carpeted length of the church stands Connor. There are flowers everywhere and Steve grabs the hand that rests against his forearm. He squeezes it, takes a deep breath, and together you walk down the aisle.

During the wedding Robin cries. The vows are exchanged and she has to cover her mouth to contain the sobs that spill from her. Steve catches your eye from across the pew and the two of you smile at your friend, your love for her forming into one.

Sometime late into the night Steve finds you. He hands you a drink before promptly dragging you to the dancefloor. You protest, shy, but he doesn’t listen.

“I told myself I’d dance with the prettiest girl at this wedding, angelface. And it just so happens that that girl is you.”

You laugh at him, following his hands as he guides you through the motions of dancing. “Don’t let Kelly hear you, otherwise she’ll strangle you.”

“Let her,” Steve spins you, eliciting more giggles to fall from your pretty lips. “I’ll die a happy man now that I’ve danced with you.”

“That was disgusting.”

“And charming. Don’t forget charming.” He spins you again before bringing your bodies even closer together. “You know what this reminds me of?”

You gaze up at Steve. “What?”

“The Lonely Hearts dance.”

Exasperated laughter follows his confession. “You’re really thinking about our high school dance right now?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Every year I was dying to dance with you.” Steve’s thumbs stroke up and down the sides of your waist. His grip on you tightens. His voice lowers and you recognize the adoration that paints his brown eyes. The air between you stills. Steve dips his head, his forehead brushes yours. “And now I finally got that dance.”

You don’t breathe. If you do, you’re afraid that the exhale would shatter the fragility of this moment.

“Was it worth it?” You don’t recognize your own voice and the breathy way it comes out. Your hands move up Steve’s chest and snake around his neck. His head knocks against yours, your noses centimeters apart, lips separated by inches.

You feel Steve’s smile more than you really see it. “You tell me.”

He kisses you, cradling your body as if it were made to fit into the crevices of his palms. Lips move against lips and your skin hums at the sensation of finally welcoming him home. His skin greets you with a soft tenderness and your lips coat his mouth with sugary sweetness.

“Get a room!” Robin throws a napkin at the two of you, forcing you apart, and when you come up for air you see the biggest smile on her face.

You hide in Steve’s neck, embarrassed, though not enough to not leave small, fluttery kisses on every mole your lips can find. You’re already addicted to feeling him shiver beneath you.

“Seems we have a wedding to plan for next year!” Connor raises his beer and points at you and Steve, cackling loudly.

Kelly is next to him and she kisses her husband’s cheek and beams at him. “It took ‘em long enough!”

“Do you guys mind?” Steve pulls you away from the dancefloor, glaring at his closest friends who all love him endlessly and whom he loves even more, and basks in your giggling as he whisks you away. “I’m trying to kiss Y/N here!”

“Use protection!” Robin calls out while Connor and Kelly whistle and cat call.

Steve finds an empty closet and no one can find you for the rest of the night. Kelly never lets you live it down, Connor commends you for the bravery, and Robin has to wipe away her tears.

–

Your first semester of senior year, Steve and Robin’s band gets signed. The record label is apparently legendary because they collapse onto the ground screaming when they get the phone call. Twenty minutes later, Connor and Kelly are at your apartment screaming alongside them.

Two weeks later they book tickets to New York and you help Steve pack his bags. Everything happens so quickly and it’s almost nauseating trying to keep up.

“We’re in the studio from nine to five every weekday, so I’ll call you every day at six.” Steve folds a pair of jeans and hands them for you to place in his suitcase. “Weekends I’ll call you at five so that we can eat dinner together.”

You give him an odd look. “Don’t you want to go explore the city while you’re there?”

“I mean, sure. But I can do that during the day. The moment the clock strikes five or six, it’s my girl’s time.”

“Steve…” You’re so stupidly in love with him sometimes. “I don’t want you worrying about me while you’re there. This is a huge opportunity for you.”

“Who said anything about worrying about you?” Steve walks up behind you and kisses your neck. “Angelface, I’m worried I might die after the first week without you.”

Your hands brush through his hair. “You’ll be fine, Stevie. I guarantee that in five days tops you’ll be having too much fun to miss me.”

“Wrong. I will be talking everyone’s ears off about you and will probably get banned from a lot of bars because of it.”

Sighing, you turn and face him, pressing a soft kiss to his brow. “Steve, it’s only for a few months. Each day we’re apart will be one day closer to being together.”

“How about no days apart and every day together?”

You kiss him, slowly and drawn out, as if time is on your side and you’re in excess of it. Steve hums against you, tightening his arms in a lazy hug, and you know that you’ll miss him forever.

The first few weeks are hard without Steve. You’ve never lived on your own before and you’ve never really spent a day without him since you were eighteen. Now you’re twenty-one and there’s no one to kiss you awake or make faces in the mirror with you as you brush your teeth.

What’s worse is that Robin is gone, too. And Kelly. And Connor.

Their absence makes you realize that you direly need other friends who aren’t in a literal band together.

Steve keeps his promise and calls you every day. He always asks about how your day has been, he tells you every detail about his. He tells you that he’s started writing all his thoughts down in a notebook that he wants to tell you so that he doesn’t forget, and it makes you ache even more.

The months pass by slowly. December drips into January and then February greets you with her winter’s kiss. There’s snow in Chicago and even more to come, and you know Steve will be excited to see it when he gets back.

Which coincidentally happens to be Valentine’s day.

And also the day you get violent food poisoning.

After months of being apart, the first time Steve sees you again is with your head in the toilet bowl, hacking up your lungs and dying.

“Oh, Jesus.” He drops his bags and comes running over, immediately gathering your hair so that you don’t get it dirty as yet another wave of nausea hits you.

“Welcome home.” you say in between bouts of bile. Truly, you think this is a new low that you’ve reached. Here you are, deathly ill and incredibly sweaty, while your lovely boyfriend has just arrived home after months of missing each other. “Sorry that you have to see this.”

Steve rubs your back and sits with you on the ground. “Don’t be ridiculous. Even spilling your guts out I think you’re hot.”

“That’s sweet,” you throw up again. “Would you be a dear and kill me now?”

He laughs, massaging your tender body, and doesn’t once leave your side. He flushes the toilet for you when needed. He gets a rag and soaks it in cold water and rubs it across your forehead to help regulate your fever. He hums to you when your stomach twists in pain.

Eventually the nausea settles enough for you to ask Steve to carry you to bed. He does, and he sets you down gently before crawling in next to you. He fits your body against his, hand on your stomach as if he himself can ease its ache.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is raspy, the acidic bile still lingering. “I’m sure this isn’t the grand reunion and Valentine’s day that you had in mind.”

“I’m laying in bed with you and you love me.” Steve kisses your overheated forehead. “That’s all I ever want for Valentine’s day.”

Your eyes fall shut and you exhale shakily. “I just… I wanted our first Valentine’s to be special. I had it all planned out. I rented your favorite movie and bought all the ingredients to make the gnocchi you love so much, and then as I was folding the laundry I just-I died.”

“Food poisoning. America’s silent killer.” Your laugh rings in Steve’s ears and he smiles, kissing your face again and again and again. He runs his nose down your chin, brushes the hair out of your face. “Besides, this isn’t our first Valentine’s. I’m counting all the ones we spent together single and lonely whether you like it or not.”

“The fifth one wasn’t so bad,” you muse. You still remember the roar of the Vexture as Steve announced that you were his Valentine. “You were annoyingly charming that night.”

“That was me declaring my love for you, you know.”

You turn to him, startled. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” Steve clutches his chest. “There I was, telling the love of my life that I wanted her to be my Valentine forever, and then in the end she friendzones me. Truly brutal stuff.”

“But that was years ago! We were nineteen, there’s no way in hell you were actually in love with me.”

He grabs your hand and kisses it. “Y/N, I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen. I was just waiting for you to like me back.”

The idea of Steve being in love with you since you were kids nearly sends you back to throwing up. You’re overwhelmed by it. By the idea that someone could’ve loved you for as long as he has. That he still loves you now. For nearly a decade.

“Y/N? You got all quiet over there. You alive?” Steve pokes your cheek and it’s then that you know that there was never anyone else for you. You were his from the moment he walked into student council and demanded cleaner mirrors in the men’s bathroom.

“I love you.” You tell him. They’re the only words created for what you have.

Steve scrunches his face in an endearing manner. “I love you, too.”

“Now tell me all about New York.”

And he does.

–

Robin tells you that tour life is romanticized and that within the first week you’ll strangle her and Steve to death, but you don’t believe her. When you see the size of the bus the five of you will be staying in for months on end, you start to second guess what she’s said.

“It’s… cozy?”

Connor huffs at you. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“It’ll be fun, guys!” You try again to make light of the situation, though really you also don’t believe what you’re saying. “I mean, think about how much closer we’ll be after this.”

“Weren’t you a philosophy major?” Connor looks at you skeptically. “Isn’t the whole schtick of those old white dudes pessimism?”

Steve throws an arm around you. “She graduated top of her class, actually. And yes. Those old white dudes loved being bitter bitches.”

“I think Y/N’s right.” Kelly joins in now. “We’re a family. It can’t be that bad.”

“Famous last words.” Robin mutters.

They are, in fact, famous last words.

Connor learns that he gets car sick easily on day two. Kelly learns that she has a fear of car sickness on day three. Robin leaves her keyboard at one of the venues they play at the second week and doesn’t realize it until you’re already at the next venue an entire state away. Steve loses his voice after the sixth show and spends the entire bus ride to the next venue sulking.

You, however, are honestly having a great time. You didn’t get to travel with the band last year due to school, and now that you’ve graduated, you’re enamored with seeing places that aren’t native to Illinois or Indiana.

“Steve, if you gargle salt water in my ear one more time, I will shave your head in your sleep.” Robin threatens during week four. Her eye is twitching and you truly do believe that she has a razor hidden somewhere.

“I have to protect my voice.” He argues, pouring more warm water into a cup before mixing salt in. “I can’t lose it again!”

“That was a pretty rough show.” Connor says from his bunk. Being nearly 6’4, he barely even fits in it. His legs hang off awkwardly and he’s been complaining about his back for weeks now.

“I thought Robin sang pretty well.” Nancy, the band’s tour photographer, says quietly from the makeshift kitchenette. She joined during the third show and you think Robin’s been in love with her since the fourth one.

“Uh, thanks. I guess.” She squeaks out, hiding behind you in a not so subtle manner. You pat her hand, sympathetic.

Steve gargles and spits the water into the sink. “Robin has an incredible voice, I agree. But that’s besides the point. We’re on the clock full time, even if we don’t have a show tonight.”

“And tell me, my dear wife, why we don’t have a show tonight?” Connor sings to Kelly.

“Why, my dear husband, I do believe it’s because it’s Valentine’s day and Stevie over here demanded the night off so that he can court our beloved Y/N.”

Steve rolls his eyes at them and you laugh. “In our defense, we haven’t exactly had a normal Valentine’s day together. We’re in dire need of one normal night.”

Nancy tilts her head at you. “But aren’t you guys together?”

“Yeah, but we weren’t for a while.”

“One Valentine’s day Y/N found out her boyfriend was cheating on her, who also just so happened to be my roommate.”

Robin throws her head back and shouts, “Fuck Oliver!” And Connor and Kelly join.

“Thanks, guys.” Steve turns back to Nancy. “Another year I made Y/N go on a blind double date with me and a girl I was dating at the time. Turns out, the guy I brought for Y/N was also the ex boyfriend of my girlfriend. So that was fun.”

“One year we actually walked down the aisle together. Before we were even dating.” Nancy’s eyes widen and you shrug at her. “We were in the same wedding party.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Connor blows a kiss to Kelly and she catches it, blowing him one back.

“And last year I got horrendous food poisoning and Steve had to drive me to the hospital since I was so dehydrated. He cried filling out my paperwork.”

“I did.”

Nancy looks between you and Steve. “And this year, you guys will…?”

“I’m taking Y/N out to a nice, totally normal and totally romantic dinner. I’m going to wine and dine my girl and then we’re going to cuddle in our way too small bunk bed and sleep.”

You beam at everyone. “It’s a pretty good plan.”

Except you and Steve don’t even make it to your reservation. Later that night, right before you call a taxi, Nancy bursts through the bus door with a frantic look in her eyes. You drop the phone and rush to her. “Woah, hey. What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Robin?” There are tear stains on her delicate face.

Steve’s body tenses. “Last time we saw her was when she left with you guys, why?”

“I–” A broken sob prevents Nancy from telling him anything else, and you take her into your arms.

You soothe her, your own worry for your friend setting your body on edge. Steve shares a look with you, both wondering what the hell is happening. Robin left with Nancy and the others hours ago to go check out some local bar, and now here Nancy is, crying in your arms, with Robin nowhere to be found.

“Nance,” drying the girl’s tears, you try to get her to calm down enough to speak. “I need you to breathe with me, okay? Take a deep breath and then let it out slowly.”

You inhale, so does she, and after several seconds you exhale long and slow. Nancy’s breath stutters and her tears soak the white blouse she looks so delicate in, but still she breathes.

Steve stands over the two of you, arms crossed with his eyebrows pinched together in worry. He taps his foot and you know it’s taking everything within him not to tear down the entire town to find his best friend.

“What happened with Robin, Nance?” Steve gently asks her, crouching down to her eye level. “Is she okay? Are you okay?”

Nancy wipes her face and sniffs. She can’t look at you or Steve. Her eyes face only the ground as she picks at her nails. “We… We kissed.”

“That’s…” Steve looks at you, silently asking if he should be elated or concerned, and all you can do is shrug helplessly at him. “That’s-that’s great, right? I mean, you two were totally love at first sight. Like, Romeo and Juliet but without the, you know. Death. I mean, at least I hope there’s no death, but seeing as you’re currently crying I’m a little nervous–”

“What my boyfriend is trying to say is that we’re happy for you guys, but also a little concerned.” You interrupt Steve’s ramble. “What happened after the kiss?”

Nancy continues picking at her nails. Her crying has subsided but her face remains broken and anguished. Her eyebrows knit together and her mouth draws into a thin line. “I-I kissed her, and then she just… She ran.”

“Shit,” you sigh, dropping your head.

Steve throws his own head back and curses as well. “Another category five.”

“Yup.”

Nancy turns to you. “Category five? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You wince, grabbing her hand in hopes of quelling her sudden anger. “Look, Robin is…”

“A gem.” Steve finishes for you, and you nod at him.

“She’s my best friend, and she’s incredibly brave and charismatic and bold. I’ve seen her punch men five times her size. She always speaks her mind and never takes no for an answer, but she’s also vulnerable. She hides a lot behind her humor.”

“When I first met Robin, she was going through a pretty rough breakup.” Steve sits next to you and Nancy now. “And since then she’s become the worst person imaginable when it comes to dating. She always freaks out and leaves the relationship before they can leave her. And a category five freakout is… bad.”

“We’ve only seen it once before with some girl she met at a gig a few years back. They kissed and Robin locked herself in the bathroom and refused to leave until the girl was gone.” You tuck Nancy’s hair behind her ear. “We aren’t telling you this to scare you, we’re telling you this because you clearly love Robin, and she loves you. She’s just… she’s been hurt before.”

Nancy slouches on the couch. “But I don’t want to hurt her! I didn’t even mean to kiss her, but she looked so pretty under the purple lighting and was laughing at some stupid joke I made and-and suddenly we were kissing and it was incredible and then–”

“Category five.” Steve mimes an explosion with his hands. You glare at him.

“How about this, we’ll find Robin for you and bring her back here. I think the two of you just really need to talk about this.”

Steve raises his hand. “I personally think they just need to makeout.” You elbow his side and he groans in pain. “Yeah, okay. That was fair.”

“I can’t ask you guys to do that.” Nancy sniffs. “You were so excited for your date tonight and you’ve already done enough.”

Steve wraps an arm around your waist. “She’s right. This is just tradition for us. A sacred thing we look forward to every year.”

“You two confuse me so much.” Nancy laughs wetly, overwhelmed by your kindness.

“We get that a lot.” Steve kisses your temple. “C’mon, angelface. The lesbians need us.”

Nancy nearly chokes on her laughter and you giggle as well. The bus door closes and it’s just open road before you. You’re in the middle of Wisconsin with nothing but grass and dirt for miles ahead. Wherever Robin ended up running off to, you sincerely hope it’s close.

In the end, you and Steve end up walking nearly two miles to a nearby gas station and find Robin face deep in a pint of ice cream. Her cheeks are smeared in chocolate and her puffy eyes are red. The moment you find her, Steve throws himself into her arms and you hold them both as she starts to cry.

It takes several conversations, many tissues, and a few threats before you’re able to convince Robin to walk back to the bus with you. She freaks out the entire two miles and Steve has to fully pick her up at one point to prevent her from fleeing, but eventually you’re standing in front of the bus door with Robin’s iron grip on your hand.

“I-I can’t do this.” She chokes out, short of breath as panic sets in again. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You can,” Steve pokes her cheek, though his hand rubs her shoulder with affection. “And you will.”

“What if she hates me now?”

You hook your chin over Robin’s shoulder, butting your head with hers. “Then we’ll be here to catch you, dummy. But we won’t need to, because Nancy is currently pacing the bus waiting to kiss your pretty face again.”

Robin’s body tenses and she gets ready to run, but Steve swoops her into his arms and you yank the door open so that he can throw her inside. She screams, but you slam the door shut and Steve helps you keep it closed as her fists pound against it.

“Let me out!” Robin screeches, throwing her body against the door.

“Kiss and make up! Those are the rules!” You scream back, clenching your teeth to keep your footing.

Robin screams again and Steve has to throw his entire body weight back to keep her inside, but eventually her anger exhausts her and soon there’s only silence within the bus. You and Steve press your ears to the door, breaths held so as not to miss anything, and faintly, very faintly, you hear Nancy’s soft voice mixing with Robin’s embarrassed tears.

Stepping back, Steve holds his hand for you to high five, which you gladly accept. “God, we’re great.”

“The best matchmakers this town has ever seen.”

Steve tugs you against him and holds you close to his chest, inhaling your scent and humming in content. You melt into him and he holds you for a while, just the two of you, swaying softly together as the gentle February wind dances around you.

“I think year nine went pretty well.” You murmur into Steve’s skin.

He buries his face in your hair. “I have a feeling year ten will be even better.”

–

The band’s breakout album, Angelface, becomes an instant success. It tops every chart, critics praise it, fans scream along to all the songs, and Steve claims that you’re the reason for it.

“I name an album after you and suddenly it sells a million copies overnight.” He nips at your neck, humming when you writhe beneath him. “You’re my good luck charm, angelface.”

You want to tease him and call him crazy, but when his hand comes up to massage your breast through its thin fabric, your moans drown out the noise in your mind.

Connor and Kelly buy a house with a studio built inside of it. The band rehearses there every day in preparation for their next album. Robin brings Nancy along, the two of them always giggling quietly to themselves in between sessions. Nancy becomes the band’s official photographer. All the photos are of Robin.

Steve surprises you one day with the keys to your own home. He tells you that the second the money from Angelface was his, he went out and bought the house the next day. The home is much bigger than the apartment you once shared together, though small enough to still feel intimate. There are mahogany floors and a bay window in your bedroom and you couldn’t be more in love with it.

February comes and Steve sits you down at the kitchen table with a pen and paper in front of him.

“Alright,” he says, setting his hands on the table with an air of authority to him. “Valentine’s day is approaching. We know what that means.”

“That disaster is ahead.” You nod solemnly, following along.

“Exactly, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to make you a fancy dinner without anything that can possibly get you sick. No eggs. No meat. No dairy. Nothing prone to yacking.”

“Not sure what that leaves you with, but I’m listening.”

Steve writes everything down. “There will be only electric candles because I’m now terrified that the only disaster left is a house fire, and I spent a concerning amount of money on this house.”

“I fear the same.”

“Perfect. I’ll get us some wine and a movie to rent. Our landline will be turned off so that absolutely no one can contact us. We’re going AWOL here, Y/N. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

You lean forward and place your head in your hand. “What if Robin tries calling, though?”

“I love her, but we landed her a girlfriend last year. She owes us this Valentine’s day.”

“Touché.”

Steve looks down at his list. “Okay. Am I missing anything?”

You think for a moment. “No, I think that’s all, just don’t forget I have a doctor’s appointment that day so I won’t be home until a bit later.”

“Already accounted for that. I’ll be buying undisclosed decorations for the house to surprise you with.”

“Undisclosed? How many spy movies did you watch before this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

True to his word, Steve does decorate the house while you’re gone. You get back from your appointment and your home is an explosion of pinks and reds. There are streamers everywhere and a small disco ball hangs from your living room ceiling. Music from your high school years plays softly in the background and the house smells of acidic tomato and garlic.

“Steve?” You call out, breathless as you walk towards the kitchen. He’s spared no expense. The floor is littered with roses and there’s wine waiting for you on the table with small electric candles flickering in the darkness.

“Do you like it?” You turn around and find Steve holding a bouquet of roses, dressed in a familiar tuxedo. It’s all black and his ribbed vest has the same rose pinned to it that it did back when you were in high school trying to stop him from pouring gin into the punch.

Your heart beats wildly and an overwhelming mix of emotions simmer in your stomach. “You’re…”

“The best boyfriend in the world? I know.” Steve grabs the wine and pops it open, pouring you a glass. He hands it to you with a wink, but you don’t accept the drink. He tilts his head in confusion. “I thought you loved red wine?”

“I-I do.” You’re quick to reassure him. “But after my doctor’s appointment today, I’m not so sure I should have any.”

Your heartbeat spikes again and Steve sets the glasses down immediately. He’s at your side a second later, worry for you written all over his handsome face. “You said it was just a regular checkup. Are you alright? Are you sick again? I-I can drive you to the hospital, just let me turn off the stove before we actually do have a house fire–”

“Steve,” your voice cracks with love and warmth. He looks up at you, pink lips parted in a small frown that you want to kiss better. “I can’t have wine for nine months.”

“Nine..? That’s an oddly specific number.” His lips turn downwards. “Is it like, some type of allergy now, or–?”

“No, Stevie.” You cup his face with a smile. Grabbing his hands, you bring them to your stomach. His palms lay flush against your abdomen, warm, and something in his face shifts. His eyes widen slightly, soft air escapes him, and your face burns from how wide you smile. “It isn’t an allergy.”

“You’re–?” He doesn’t want to say it, afraid that if he does, that if he’s wrong, his heart would be broken in an irrevocable way.

You nod, brushing his hair back. “I’m about ten weeks along.”

Steve sinks to his knees, dropping his head to your stomach and staring at it with an innocent gaze of love. His eyes fill with wonder, with tears. “Y/N.”

He whispers your name like a sacred prayer, lips pressing to the flesh over and over again as your fingers tangle in his hair and your joy coats his skin.

“I know we’re young, but…” You whisper down to him. “I want this. I really, really want this.”

“I want this, too.” Steve slides his hands up your body and stands, cradling you in his arms while his face buries itself into your neck. You can feel his tears wet your skin, the slight trembling of his body. “God, I want this.”

Your lips ghost the shell of his ear, down the veins in his neck, the crest of his collarbones and the lines of his jaw. Steve pulls you, closer and closer and closer, until your skin is his and his breath is yours.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Stevie.”

Steve smiles down at you. His face has changed since you first met ten years ago. The lines around his eyes have deepened slightly, his boyish smile is now more charming than endearing, and his jaw has become more defined.

His eyes, however, are the same eyes you fell in love with all those years ago. The toffee brown still reminiscent of the student council meetings you always bickered in. They’re still soft when he looks at you, open and lovely as they were at the Lonely Hearts dance.

There is still so much love that is embedded in Steve’s hand woven features for you. His hands stroke your stomach and your lips are against his. The excess of love is syrupy thick.

All it took was ten Valentine’s days.

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x fem #stranger things #m's writing #fluff #this is such a cheesy one #i was smiling so hard writing it my god #havent done purely fluff in so long

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beatrixst0nehill · 2 months ago

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"Please, Master, let me go out and make more money for you today! I want more! I need to please more men, ooo you can take me to that homeless shelter and drop me off for the night so I can satisfy those poor, lonely men! And maybe catch a new bug or two! ❤️"

"Tiffany, I just spent an hour cleaning all that cum and piss off you, you filthy little whore. I can't let you back out, my pet."

"Awww, please! I need cock! I want to make you lots and lots of money, it's my purpose, Master! Please, I beg you!"

"Ughhhh, so bratty. I didn't think you'd turn out this way. I guess a few years of mindless sex and pushing out kids has turned your poor brain to mush. OK, I better let you go."

"Let me go, what do you mean, Master?"

The man snapped his fingers four times in quick succession.

Tiffany blinked a few times, confused, suddenly realizing she's naked. She covered her breasts, completely horrified. "Oh my god, what the fuck is going on!? Huh? My body......? My boobs are huge! Why do I have so many tattoos? I don't under--my belly! No, no, no, no, no! I can't be pregnant, what happened!?" She looked up. "Who are you, why would you.... wait, no...... I know you. You were that magician."

He gestured like he was tipping his hat. "At the county fair. Remember how skeptical you were?"

"Wait, no way. You actually hypnotized me!? I never would've gotten on that stage if any of this was real! You monster, what did you do to me?"

"What day is it? And how old are you?"

"I'm nineteen! It's June 22nd, 2022!"

"Wrong, my pet, you're 22, it's June 16th, 2025."

Tiffany loosened her arms around her engorged breasts. "How could you..... I just thought you'd do some dumb trick, you hypnotized me for three years, into what? Your girlfriend? And did you seriously knock me up? That's disgusting!"

"You aren't my girlfriend, you're my plaything. You were so annoying on stage, not playing along at all, not flirting, not having fun with my show, you just folded your arms and acted so nasty to me and my audience, I simply had to put you in your place. And I didn't get you pregnant, you sleep with hundreds of men every week, there's simply no way of knowing who the father is. Oh, and this is your fourth pregnancy, you've already given birth to fourteen children. Triplets. Quintuplets, and sextuplets. You're actually only five months along right now so you might very well be carrying octuplets for all I know."

Tiffany was devastated, rubbing her thighs together. She felt her big pregnant belly, she looked at her breasts and tattoos. "I feel.... hot."

"Hm? The bath's probably lukewarm at best now."

"No, I--oh......" Tiffany reached between her legs, to her extremely swollen, over-fucked, disease-ridden pussy. "Oh my god! It hurts! It itches so good.... wow!"

"Yeah, you probably have every STD in the book. As my pet you were quite proud of getting them."

"I can see why..... I mean, um, this is so gross! I can't believe you did this to..... mmmmmmm. Oh wow." Tiffany giggled, shamelessly rubbing her sex in the bath, right in front of her captor. "It never used to feel this good! Oh my god, oh fuck. I think...... sir, I really think I need sex. Do I take drugs, too? I think I need some....."

"Indeed, you're quite partial to taking a big dose of heroin, getting so high you're barely conscious, and letting a whole club or bar's worth of men fuck your brains out all night..... You don't seriously want to go back to any of these behaviors, right?"

"Uh-huh!" Tiffany enthusiastically nodded, licking her lips. "Am I still in college? Doesn't matter, ooooo, I can't wait to show my new body to my friends and family and show them what a whore I am! Do you think I can go out after my bath and take my new body out on a test run? I don't know how good I'll be at making money for you anymore, but I'll try, Master!"

"I knew three years was too long....." He sighed. "Poor thing, I really scrambled your independent, clever brain. I guess you're my responsibility now. I was going to do some shows and train a new girl instead...."

"Let's do it! I can be your assistant! Then I can have a slutty sister I teach to whore with me, and we can get pregnant together, and rub our swollen, diseased pussies together! Won't that be wonderful?"

The man drained the water, patting Tiffany's body. "OK, my pet, I'll get you reacclimated to your duties as my whore. And get you a sister or two to have fun with later this week."

"You're the best Master a dumb, cock-obsessed slut like me could ever ask for!"

#pregnant kink #preggophilia #preggo kink #hypnotized girl #hypnotized #hypnotism #whoring kink #bug chasing kink #birth kink

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morganski-19 · 1 year ago

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Eddie was still in the coma, attached to so many tubes it made Wayne sick to look at sometimes. But they were keeping him alive, so he’ll manage. They were making sure he got to see his boy awake again.

There was still a metal cuff that was attached to his wrist. The other end attached to the bar of the hospital bed. As if he could spring up at any moment and just escape. When he’s been half dead for days. When Wayne hasn’t seen his eyes open since before Eddie went into hiding.

He hasn’t seen his boy for over a full week. Even though he’s been lying there on the bed for the last few days. Eddie won’t be back with Wayne until he wakes up. If he wakes up.

Everyday Wayne’s been here in between his shifts. Can’t afford to take the days off, with having to get a new place and all. Part of his paycheck’s paying for the hotel room he’s staying in while trying to find somewhere new to live. Even the abandoned houses are too pricy, and the trailer park’s in shambles.

Honestly, if he could, he’d be pulling as many doubles as possible just to get a new place and soon. But that would mean not being here. Might miss when he wakes up. Wayne doesn’t want to miss that.

It’s not like he’s lonely here either. There’s been other visitors. The kid that Eddie always talked about from his dungeon game. The one that he secretly liked above the rest of the freshmen. His bandmates came by once, looking guilty as hell when they did. They haven’t been back since.

There’s been a few other people Wayne hasn’t recognized. A few more kids from the club, some he didn’t even know Eddie knew. But they always came to check in before heading across the hall to see the boy there. The Harrington boy.

Wayne recognized it was him one day when the door was left open. He was asleep, with an IV in his arm along with some other cords. Not as many as his boy, but still there. There was a girl in there too, short brown hair and wearing a baggy jacket with some patches. She was holding his hand. It never seemed like she let it go.

The same girl checked in on Eddie a few times. Tried to make small talk with Wayne but left when she realized he was disinterested. Always heading back to the Harrington boy.

All he knew is that they both came in at the same time. Got admitted one after the other, but Wayne didn’t know what order. That they both had to go through some type of surgery to deal with the injuries. Though he hears Harrington’s was more cosmetic than anything. Eddie’s was to save his life.

Not that he’s judging. People could do whatever they wanted for all he cared. There were different doctor’s for different things. Priorities and all that. He just hoped that Harringotn wasn’t higher up on the list than Eddie was. Eddie was clearly the one in the worst condition.

The kid that kept visiting Eddie went over there a lot too. Dustin, is the kid’s name. Wayne can’t remember it half the time, he’s too busy focusing on something else. And just bone tired. But after Dustin sits next to Wayne for a while, updates Eddie on everything that’s happened that day, sometimes reads to him, he heads right across the hall and does it all again. Every single time.

Wayne has no clue how this boy could possibly be close with both Eddie and the Harrington kid. It’s not like they were in the same circles. Or seemed to remotely like each other at all. Wayne can explicitly remember the Harrington boy being apart of one of Eddie’s hate filled rampages. But if he’s remembering right, there was something different that really pissed Eddie off about him. Something that’s wrapped up in the same reason Wayne’s never seen Eddie bring a girl home.

But day after day, Dustin goes to Steve’s room after stopping by Eddie. Wayne can see why Eddie liked Dustin. He’s loud and dramatic just like Eddie. Likes the same game, same books, even starting to like the same music. But Dustin and the Harrington boy. He doesn’t get it.

Until he’s walking down the hall to get a cup of coffee and hears it. The bickering that leads into laughter. Snippy comments about something filled with inside jokes. Suddenly it all makes sense. They almost seem like brothers.

It’s a few more days until Wayne meets the Harrington boy himself. A nurse coming to check Eddie’s vitals leaves the door open on accident. Harrington peaks through when he’s on a walk down the hallway.

“Why is he handcuffed?” is the first thing Wayne hears from the kid. Voice filled with anger.

Before Wayne can get annoyed at explaining the whole situation to another stranger, explain how he knows his boy is innocent, the nurse is yelling at him.

“You can’t be in here, sir.”

“I don’t give a shit. Why is he handcuffed? He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Wayne is surprised that he’s not the one making the case this time. Somehow, this kid he’s never met believes his nephew is innocent. Just like he does.

The nurse snaps her folder shut, walking up to Steve and waving for help through the door. “That is private information. Go back to your room before you’re forced to.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a snarl, undoing the buttons on the front of his hospital shirt. “He didn’t give me these. He didn’t kill those kids. I know, I was there.” He begins to pull back the bandages, revealing scarred, mauled skin that looks just like Eddies. The nurse scolds him to stop. “He’s innocent, so why is he handcuffed to the bed?”

“He is still a suspect and deemed dangerous. Now get back to your room.”

More another nurse grabs Steve’s arm to try and pull him to his room. He shakes it off.

“Dangerous,” his voice raises. “He’s been in a coma for days and you think he’s dangerous. What is he going to do, pop up out of bed like he hasn’t been fucking asleep for days and almost died just to run away? He couldn’t do that if he tried.”

Security gets involved now, physically pushing Steve out of the doorway. The nurse shuts the door to Eddie’s room, cutting Wayne off from seeing it. She apoligized for the intrusion and gets back to checking on Eddie.

“He’s right, you know,” Wayne says, still hearing the noise from the hall. “My boy didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Can’t escape even if he tried. Or attack anyone for that matter. He’s been through enough, he doesn’t need to wake up to a cuff around his wrist.”

The nurse purses her lips, strained. “This is from above me, sir. But if the news is true, the cuffs are staying on.”

When the nurse opens the door again, the hall is clear.

The next time Wayne sees Harrington is when he leaves for the day. Only able to fall asleep so many times in a shitty hospital chair before needing to go home. Security presses for him to stay in his room, warning him.

“Just going to make a fucking phone call. I’m allowed to do that right?” When the security guard crosses his arms, the kid hits him with, “Don’t want me to get my dad involved, do you? Isn’t he one of the main donors for this hospital? Be such a shame if he stopped.”

Wayne almost laughs when the security guard moves out of the way. Harrington giving him the finger with a smirk as he walks down the hall to the payphone.

Maybe Eddie and the Harrington kid had more in common than Wayne thought.

now with a part 2

#might be a part two for this idk yet #wayne munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #post season 4 #pre steddie #chills right to the marrow fic

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kaisaerinlover · 3 months ago

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tw: mention of abuse

michael kaiser’s birthday, the twelfth to be precise, marked the first time he ever did something for himself. it’s when his life really began, when he finally started the long path of living for himself instead of just to serve as a punching bag for his piece of shit dad. a day when he became more than just a remnant of everything his mother left behind after she abandoned the small family that she began to build.

and now his twenty first birthday marks a new change in his life too. nine years after the fact. christmas means nothing to kaiser, so it means nothing to you too. kaiser doesn’t like getting gifts, they’re worthless to him. he has enough money, and was never taught how to react. but you are a gift within yourself, maybe the first one that he ever received. he knows he doesn’t know to act with you either, the same sadness he feels when he receives a present from somebody washing over him every time he mistreats you, his best gift. you’re the best thing within the possession of his cold hands and even colder heart; he swears he loves you. he loves you so much, you are everything and nothing all at once, he just can’t help himself.

he never gives himself a rest; after all, holidays are worthless to him. he doesn’t do christmas festivities, maybe he’ll take you to one of the many christmas markets berlin has to offer to get yourself some nice things, a sweet outing. a weak and cowardly apology for all the bad he does to you. he’s a fucking coward, he knows it. he can’t cover your bruises and cracks with cold hard cash forever, but you won’t care, you love him too. that’s the only festivity he doesn’t refuse to participate in. no rest and no breaks - he only has time for practice on christmas.

training in the empty club facility when everyone else is at home with their families, their wives, parents, hell some of his teammates have began building families already. he could never do that though, kaiser is a vindictive man; don’t let any of these words fool you into believing he is anything but evil and manipulative. kaiser knows himself what type of person he is. he knows he’s scum of the earth, but for the most part he simply doesn’t care. one of the very small amount of considerate things he has done is decide to not have children. he doesn’t want to hurt his own child someday, doesn’t want to have you pack up and leave just like his mother. doesn’t want to subject anyone to the torment he grew up with all those years ago. he only thinks he can’t fix all of the bad caused by his brutish nature to you with cash because even after almost a decade of being away from the shithead he’s forced to call his father, he still isn’t fully healed. hell, that’s why he takes it out on you so much. he kicks the ball extra hard at the thought of that. he’s a real piece of work, and if he wasn’t so selfish, he would leave you. it’s best for you anyway.

on the walk home in the snow he ponders hard. he didn’t want kids, so why did he allow himself a girlfriend. kaiser is a selfish man, he’s a really fucking disgusting person (don’t doubt it, seriously) so why is he indulging himself with you? he’s not quite sure himself, he also refuses to acknowledge the warmth that grew and expanded since he met you and passed time with you. he didn’t drive today, the streets are cold and quiet and he likes the alone time. the winter is cold and lonely, a fitting sentiment for him. solitude matches him the best, which again leads to the question, why does he indulge himself in you so much? he’s trudging through the snow on the path, fresh snow. pure white and innocent snow. it reminds him of you. you’re so sweet, pliable, innocent. everything he isn’t. every crunch he hears from under his boots, every piece of dirt he imagines he’s leaving in his trail; it reminds him of you. how he’s so scared to corrupt you. but he only thinks of the negatives and never the positives. stupid micha, doesn’t he realise the snow is still falling? fresh snow covering his tracks, covering the dirt and cleansing all of the bad - of course he doesn’t think of that, this man is so in his head!

stepping into the warmth of his lavish house is liberating. a stark contrast from the cold nonstop nipping at his nose. the man is white as the snow outside, his face probably looks ridiculously red. he lazily kicks off his boots and unzips his coat and tosses it across one of the stools for the kitchen island; you’ll clean it up anyway, you always do.

he glances at your empty cup on the island. it’s cute and pink, like you. you’re so sweet. but he’s a little disheartened, you’re probably asleep already. he glances at the grandiose clock you insisted you had to buy for the kitchen which sits on the wall above a picture of you two sitting next to each other. it’s 11pm, he didn’t realise it was so late. no wonder he’s so worn out. he lazily crosses off the 24th before he trudges upstairs and goes to bed. he smiled a bit when he did, you decorated the 25th with such cute stickers and a big pink heart drawn around it. you’d never forget his birthday, even if he wanted you to oh so desperately. sweet angel that you are.

he strips and flops into bed next to you, feeling your warmth and gentle breathing is enough to lull him to sleep instantaneously. he’ll shower in the morning, he can’t be fucking bothered right now; cut him some slack too, it’s his birthday!

as soon as you hear him snore you jolt up. michael kaiser you will not escape your birthday, you promise him that in your head. missing christmas is a crime in itself that maybe you can let slide (well not really, he always indulges you and lets you put up a few decorations around the house. but you digress.)

you work yourself tirelessly putting up birthday decorations and getting the food you had baked by a pretty expensive baker a few days ago for him, and you also baked him a cake yourself. you’re surprised he didn’t notice the white boxes in the fridge, but honestly christmas season is when he stresses himself out the most with soccer; so it doesn’t surprise you the more you think about it. he must be really tired ‘cause you almost fell down trying to hang up the big ribbon banner at least five times and not once was he awoken by the nuances of the night caused by your sub par decorating abilities.

kaiser is awoken suddenly, and he jolts up confused and (embarrassingly) a bit frightened. but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees your big eyes in front of his face blinking. he’d be a bit alarmed if it was anyone else but you’ve always been a bit of an odd one, so he just brings his hand up to lightly pet your cheek as he yawns. “morning engel, why are you all up in my face, it’s too early” his voice is really hot after he’s just woken up, you observe. “micha, it’s your birthday” you say in an oh so monotone voice. he knows it’s his birthday, so why are you telling him this?

his question is answered when you throw yourself on the bed out of his face in exhaustion and he sees what you’ve done to your shared room. balloons and a nice happy birthday banner across the wall directly infront of your bed, ribbons everywhere, sweetly wrapped gift boxes and a bowl of his favourite garlic bread rust sitting next to a birthday cake and cupcakes. he’s actually in awe, like, really. he doesn’t know how to react at all. he just looks at your form flopped down on the bed in exhaustion and feels even worse seeing the bruises he’s left on you before, feels even more guilty for all the harsh obscenities he’s shouted at you more times than any normal person would like to admit. he swallows the build up of saliva caught in his mouth he didn’t even realise was there.

“das alles ist für mich...? du hast das getan...?” he swallows again. his throat is so dry, his voice shakes a little. he really can’t believe it. he is showered in love every day by adoring fans and the whole nation of germany. the whole world for that matter, he’s one of the best players of today. he’s a prodigy, a gem, a talent and everything else synonymous to this. yet all the love and adoration thrown at him by all of these people cannot even compare even by a tiny fraction to your love. your adoration. the way you cherish him. he’s so blessed, he never believed in gods before, he believes in the impossible but not those types of things. he’s not a follower he’s a leader, he is the only god. but jesus fucking christ, god has to be real. you must be one of his angels, he swears it. you’re way too fucking good to be true.

you prop yourself up on your elbows to answer him, “ja, who else?” and kaiser’s eyes seriously water, he’s not even the emotional type, but he’s a bit moved. he also tries to uphold that stoic front of his, but man, he’s just so affected by this. in a good way; at least he thinks it’s good. he just can’t hold it anymore and shifts to pin you down to the bed and kiss your face all over. he feels even more bad about the black eye he gave you too. you’re too good for him, you really are. he feels his heart clench a bit; an unknown sensation. he loves you so much, he really does, and he knows he’s so disgusting sometimes and he doesn’t show it, but he promises he does. he shoves his tongue down your throat and grips your wrists so tight they could shatter, but he doesn’t care. he’s so fucking in love with you, you’re so fucking sweet. you’re panting for air and you’re seriously in pain from his rough display of love, but when are you not hurt by this man? you are light and he is dark, you are an angel and he’s the sin of man embodied. you are every single good thing in this universe and he is the complete opposite. you both acknowledge this, and usually he relishes in the dynamic. but he feels so guilty. you’re as sweet as sugar. he’s kissing you so hungrily; as if he wants to eat you.

when he finally pulls away, he’s hovering over you. his hair is so beautiful, he’s so beautiful like this. you have to blow a piece of his hair out of your eye, and he laughs. you’re priceless, you really are. you’re so cute. so special. you’re everything. holidays and birthdays were always foreign to him. he doesn’t care for them at all - or didn’t. he does now, he really fucking does. love does that to you. he’s so glad he took the risk, took a risk of dating you, found someone so angelic. so perfect for him. he can’t help but think about what his 12 year old self would think of this. if he would have even believed he would have someone so loving and compliant by his side ever in his life. believed that he was anything other than a worthless piece of shit.

all the years of pain and longing for a love which he believed could never be bestowed upon a man of his caricature paid off. all the time he (begrudgingly) yearned for love. for a partner. a princess to call his own. the lonely emperor who wanted nothing more than to be treated as if he was someone special and meant something. he’s so emotional, very rare for him. he’s so emotional seeing how much he means to you. how much you’re willing to do. and for the first time in his life, he feels joy on his birthday. “prinzessin, i love you” he leans down to whisper in your ear. and you giggle and kick your legs as much as you can beneath him like a giddy schoolgirl. “love you too micha, you deserve the world”

he doesn’t know how you do it, how you can act like this despite the way he treats you. he knows he’s a manipulative asshole, but he never took the time to care about anything other than himself and maybe you. but now he almost feels sorry. almost feels like his heart could open up into a black hole and swallow him up for doing this to someone so sweet. but he told you before, if you didn’t like this you could just leave (he’d never let that). you also told yourself something, you would fix this man. you’re an empath. a pure soul full of compassion. you’re as broken as he is. maybe that’s why you stayed, why you grew to like the toxicity, why you believed you could fix him. and it’s paying off.

you did get up eventually, to sit on the floor and open the gifts he got from yours truly. you’re in pink panties a pink bra and his jersey, currently getting frosting all over it from a slice of cake he cut for you. isn’t it funny, this jersey would go for thousands on the internet, so many fangirls would kill to be wearing this. and you’re messing it all up. his piece is sitting next to him as he holds a particularly sentimental gift from you in his hands and stares down at it. he doesn’t know how to react. he never did know how to react to gifts. but he wishes you knew how grateful he is for you. so grateful that you stay through all of this.

you do know, you really do.

hours later and his pure unbridled joy is yet to die down. you’re spoon feeding him cake as you’re both sat on the floor laughing. the pains that his birthday brought him are forgotten for now, as are the injuries he inflicted upon you. the holes in the wall he leaves when he’s angry are covered with decorations. the small specks of blood adorning the floor from a particularly nasty nosebleed you had caused by his fist are hidden by the wrapping paper from all of the thoughtful gifts you bought for him. his tattooed hand is on the floor ontop of your smaller one. the crown covering your own. his princess.

michael kaiser was born on christmas, he was a gift his parents neglected. weren’t grateful for. a gift to his parents that they didn’t even realise. a gift to the soccer world. a gift for you. special gift for you. the best gift you could ever receive. so you’ll treat him like that, despite the violence. you are so empathetic to him. so sweet. kaiser deserves the world he really does.

and as he watches you giggle as you feed him cake and eat spoonfuls for yourself too, he realises you’re a gift too. you’re not born on any particularly noticeable holiday the way he is. but your birthday is the biggest celebration in itself. he’s so thankful to whatever god decided to grace the world with your presence and then send you in his direction. his eyes are so soft for once and he wears a small smile. let’s forget about all of the violence and anger, all of the sadness, the shattered and messily glued back pieces of the little boy he truly is for once. let’s just have fun.

he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear as he looks into your eyes so deeply. “you are the best gift i could ever ask for, mein schatz”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #dark content #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #kaiser birthday #Christmas #kaiser angst #blue lock angst

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