#SCREAMING CHEWING BITING SHAKING HIM

[tearsofsaudade]

mike wheeler

[gomtangii]

oh my my my!

caleb x fem!reader wc: 1.027k (the nctzen in me is screaming) cw: minors and ageless dni, caleb is insane, cunnilingus, pet names (princess, pipsqeuak), caleb has endless stamina again, fat cock caleb, cock-drunk reader, mating press, slight breeding kink, p in v penetration, unprotected sex, unrealistic sex lol, i did not mean to write this much actually, not edited!

TIME: 11:12 PM LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, CALEB'S APARTMENT: LIVING ROOM

...what did he say? all you did was confront caleb about why the two of you haven't had sex yet, but what did he just say?

"my... penis... is too big." he mutters shyly, a blush spread across his cheeks and ears paired with an expression you've never seen on his face before. you stare at him, mouth agape. you take a moment to to process what he said before stifling a laugh, making caleb frown even more.

"that's it?"

"i'm being serious! i don't want to hurt you."

you smile at him with a sigh, a bit relieved that was his answer. you place a kiss on his cheek that he grumpily accepts, pulling you close to him.

"sounds like you're just going to have to do a better job at prepping me then," you smirk, a hint of mirth in your voice. the look in his eye changes, arousal pooling in his irises.

"is that a challenge, pipsqueak?" he cocks an eyebrow, pulling you closer to him by the waist, "i'm just not sure if you can handle it."

"is that a challenge?" you glare at him, suddenly feeling yourself get competitive too. it's not like you were going to lose, right?

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TIME: 1:39 AM LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, CALEB'S APARTMENT: YOUR BEDROOM

you were, however, indeed losing.

you blink past the stars that caleb was making you see. it's been about 2 hours since he started eating you out, his licks and bites relentless. he gives one last harsh suck to your clit before pulling away, looking at the art he's created.

you're shaking, your pussy became puffy thanks to his ministrations, and there are countless bites and marks around your thighs.

"looks like you bit off more than you could chew, hm? princess?" he kisses your temple, caressing your hair and arms to calm you down from your nth orgasm.

"can... still take more..." you mumble, gripping onto his shirt, frustrated that he's still clothed while you were stripped naked. you feels his hands drag against your arms, your abdomen, before reaching just above your mound.

"you sure? we still got a bit more before you can actually fit me." he warns, his fingers dangerously close to your entrance. you nod, but he ignores it. "words, baby, need you to say it out loud for me."

"mm—" you moan, feeling his fingers graze your clit, "i... i can take it! just fuck me already!"

he plunges two fingers into you and you cum immediately, squirting onto his palm. his hands were big, you knew that, but they were reaching places you couldn't manage to touch yourself.

"fuck, you're so wet," he groans, sucking another mark onto your neck as he fucks his hand into you, "maybe i don't need to do this—maybe you can fit me like this."

he takes his fingers out and you whine, trying to pull him back in. he ignores you, using his other hand to hold both of your wrists above your head as he licks his essence off of his fingers, not wanting to waste a single drop.

he unbuckles his belt swiftly, letting his cock spring out, the tip angry and leaking with precum. it's drenched with its own cum because he couldn't hold back, your moans and whines were enough for him to climax without being touched—if only you knew the effect you had on him. he presses his cock against your entrance and you shudder at his size, suddenly unsure if you could really take it. you try to shy away, scooting your body away from him when he catches you, caging you in his arms as he pins you down.

"aw, don't tell me you're scared now?" he laughs, being uncharacteristically mean. he pushes the tip of his dick a bit further into you, slowly stretching you out with a groan.

"if you can't take it anymore, you just gotta say the word." you glare at him, yanking on his arm to pull his face closer to yours.

"i already said 'fuck me!'"

"as you wish," he smirks, "gotta give my girl what she wants, hm?"

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

TIME: 3:54 AM, YOU THINK. LOCATION: SKYHAVEN, YOU THINK. YOUR BEDROOM... YOU THINK.

you're on all fours, trying to get away from caleb as he pounds you mercilessly, his cum spilling out of your cunt and pooling onto the sheets. his cock is so, so big, you think you're cumming with every thrust, but you're not sure. you don't know how many times you've cum tonight, but you do know that he's made you pass out a few times.

"c-can't... can't..." you cry softly, the pleasure too much for your poor pussy to handle.

"say the word, then. then we'll be at 1 - 0." he taunts, "do you even remember the word, baby?"

you gulp down a sob, nodding while humming weakly as he slows down his thrusts to give you the chance to speak.

"i-i—" you stutter, your mind hazy with cock, "caleb—"

"my name isn't a safeword," he chuckles, "it's Linkon, okay?"

you nod and he smiles sweetly, kissing your forehead before tossing you onto your back, slowly pushing your thighs up and into a mating press.

"just a bit more," he kisses you again, starting up his thrusts once more, "just one more and then it'll be your win."

he resumes the pace he had before, the sound reverberating throughout the bedroom. it's almost animalistic, the marks and bites all over your body, the way your pussy can't even hold in his cum anymore—it's almost like he's trying to breed you, trying to make it stick. you cum weakly, squirting a bit as your eyes roll back. at this point, it's not just stars you're seeing, you can see the entire deepspace tunnel thanks to him. he feels the way your cunt convulses around him and he grunts, unable to stall any longer and he fills you up one last time. his cum floods your womb and spills out, only adding to the mess below you two.

"i guess it's 0 - 1 now. too bad i lost," he says with a smile.

oopsies... caleb u r my muse... also the safeword line has been all over my tl so i couldn't help but implement it! showed up at the perfect time :3

also i actually do not have any ideas on good safewords to use for the men... if yall wanna send some my way in my ask so i can use them in future fics !!!!!

[madamechrissy]

PS5 remote Sukuna ruins your twitch career!

pairings - PS5 Remote Sukuna x gamer reader (YEP)

contents/warnings- You're a pro streamer, and your remote has broken! You dig up your old favorite remote, but it just SUCKS! - You're so mad you throw it, but that's when a sexy ass demon comes out of it! He's NOT HAPPY with being locked in your junk drawer, so he decides to give you a lesson in the form of backshots!!! Explicit sex/oral (m receiving) sukuna calling you a slut

My contribution to the unholy trifecta @indiewritesxoxo @yenayaps <3

You're trying your best but you keep losing in every match during your APEX stream. It's because your favorite remote is broken and you're stuck using this old crappy one with a joystick that keeps spinning you to the left! This was the first remote you had and shoved in a drawer forever, but you hoped it'd get you through the game.

"I know, I know! I carry you all the time, pick up my banner, shit! Yeah I'm the number one Loba so- and I'm broke!?" You're cursing with your teammates, furious as this stupid red remote keeps fucking yanking every direction.

It's an old, raggedy remote, your cat literally chewed on the toggles so the rubber is falling off. The buttons are sticky - you don't even know what from! You long ago loved this damn thing and called it your lucky remote until you bought a fancy pro one for several hundred dollars.

You even nicknamed it baby girl, and would give it a little kiss as you climbed to the top - the number one player for your main in the country. Usually, streaming made plenty of money, but you had far too many expenses this month (and a really bad Love and Deepspace addiction - oof!) and ol' reliable had to come out.

"Come on baby girl, work with me," you're biting your lip as you sit in your bright pink gamer chair, with your kitten headphones, and people are talking shit in the chat, earning you talking shit right back at them. They're tipping you a fuck ton telling you to buy another, but it's late and you'll have to order online!

You feel the damn remote vibrating against your lap as you wait for them to revive you again, cursing as it shakes your hands, you're not even sure what it's doing now. It keeps vibrating nonstop, flashing different colors over and over, and you're smacking at it, shaking it, but it's like it's possessed!

"Oh fuck this," you pick up the remote and throw it against the wall now, your name isn't crash out queen for no reason! "God, I can't wait to get paid again."

You're turning off the PlayStation now, when a hand -a huge tattooed fucking hand with black nails - grips your wrist. You scream then, looking up to see a huge man with red eyes and pink hair, naked!?!? You can't help but look and see his cock thick and huge even on soft, growing under your gaze.

"What the... who the fuck are you? A stalker?" He chuckles then, towering over you - god this dude must be seven foot tall almost!? His cock is just swinging all heavy, raising up more as his strong hands grip your arms now.

"I'm baby girl or whatever dumb fucking name you call me, insolent brat!" You gasp now, eyeing where your remote was thrown - and it's GONE!

"No way," you're shaking your head, and he smirks at you, before picking you up like you're some doll. "Hey!"

"How about I fucking throw you, huh?" He tosses you across the fucking room and you land on your bed, it bounces as he's unceremoniously tossed you. "Call you a 'cheap peace of shit' what do you think?"

"I'm sorry, fuck are you some... demon!?" He's chuckling then, the sound far too throaty and inviting, when he yanks off your cat headset, throwing them. "Hey!"

"Tired of your attitude, you're always raging - you're not even that fucking good at playing-" You smack him then, hard, and his ruby eyes glare, but the problem is you've made him hard now.

"I'll fucking exorcise you, demon!" You're shoving at him, when you notice his thick, throbbing cock, wrapped with veins and leaking pre. "Are you horny right now! Where are your clothes??"

"You think remotes fucking have clothing?"

"Go back in there then!"

"I think I'll cum inside you instead," he's yanking your panties down, ripping them in the process. "Had me shoved in your junk drawer next to your broken vibrator? Throw shit out."

"Should've thrown you out - ngh!" Sukuna's shoved two long fingers right in your hole, it gets way too wet, you're trembling, thighs shaking on either side of his hand as you cry out. "What are you doing, you can't fuck... you're a remote!"

"Hah, I was trapped in there, but finally you threw me hard enough you freed me - fuck you're wet," he's moaning now, scissoring his fingers in and out, stretching you too much. "Also, think I didn't notice how you'd set my on your lap when I vibrated? Slut."

"Am not even! You're a stupid... oh fuck, there... remote- no, don't stop!" He's yanked his fingers out then, sucking your drippy cunt off them, his cheeks hollowing.

That's when it hits you -

He's hot.

Your attitude shifts a bit as his cock gets even bigger, red tip leaking pearly drops onto your bed, and your tummy clenches. "Oh, dropped the attitude huh? Ya think I'll let you cum?"

He's shoved your thighs up now, putting his tip along your slit and rubbing, groaning as he feels a wet cunt for the first time in years. He's been sealed away for at least six years in this fucking remote, last time he was shoved in a Nintendo Gamecube! He's not going back in again.

He's determined to make sure he fucks you good enough you never send him back, also, Sukuna always missed you, locked away! He'd only see glimpses of you with new remotes, and that made him very sad. He loved you touching all of his toggles and buttons </3

"Beg for it, brat," he's talking shit even though he honestly wants to tell you you're pretty, but you're shaking your head. "Stubborn huh? Beg for it."

"Put it in! No - no not there!?" Sukuna's pressing against your ass hole instead, tip burning as you panic, he throws his head back and laughs at you.

"Can't take it up the ass? Pathetic mortal."

"Oh shut up - fine, please... what's your name? Baby girl?"

"I'm not baby girl!" He shoves his cock deep then, you're screaming out as your cunt barely takes him, drooling down his cock with each stroke as he presses deeper. He watches your tummy bulge and smirks at the sight. "Look, fucking wrecking your insides"

"You're... ah... so baby girl - your hair is so - pink and - hah!" Sukuna's fucking you hard now, for his pleasure, mean fucking strokes as he leans down, glaring and grabbing your chin, pink hair falling over his brow that you kinda wanna run your fingers through.

"My name is Sukuna, I'm the King - don't you laugh brat - of curses, okay!?" You're gasping in pain when he shoves so deep he hits your cervix now, you're so wet you hear it, the squelching wetness of your cunt, over and over. He shoves up your top, smacking your tits then, grinning as he sees them jiggle.

"Ah! Ow, baby girl!"

"I'm not baby girl!??!" He's done with your insolence! He flips you over then, using your crumpled up skirt as leverage as he starts making mean backshots. "Call me my name, now brat."

"S-Sukuna, fuck..." He's moaning then, shoving your head against your pillows, railing you as your game sits in the lobby, your character making weird NPC moves that somehow match the rhythm of Sukuna's cock.

"Beg me to cum, huh? Pathetic brat, look at you," he's talking shit because he's close, your gummy walls are gripping him too fucking good, he can't take it. He groans and leans over, shoving you in his prone position, biting your ear. "Beg me."

"Lemme cum, please... best remote ever..." He's moaning at that, it's just what he needed! He's reaching a hand around, finding your clit and running in circles, you're gripping your sheets and whining out, head falling back for more of his bites.

"Gonna fill you up s'good, won't even game without my cock inside you, huh?" That sounds great to you actually, you're so close now, whining and nodding when your - remote!? - kisses you, and drinks your moans.

His saliva drips in your mouth as he busts his hot white ropes in your cunt you're cumming with him, milking him for more, when he finally pulls back, he's standing and coming over to your drawer then, as you catch your breath. His cum is dripping out of your pussy, so much.

"What is it?" You manage to as, and he's holding up one of your mini skirts and glaring.

"This will never fit me!? You need to buy me a wardrobe."

"No, I need a new remote! I can't afford clothes too!" He's standing now, walking up to you, dick still on hard and dripping from you.

"You will have me naked all the time so you can game more!?"

"I'm a professional streamer!"

"That's it," Sukuna's shoved his cock in your mouth then, pulling at your hair, you get so fucked out you order him clothes when your direct deposit hits </3 Your pussy hurts too much to game right now anyway.

NOT EVEN SORRY anymore <3

perm tags - @cutelittlesugarfairy @kitananami @todorokiskitten @grapesandraisins @kymber96 @vamqyx @sleepykittyenergy @mistytojigetolover @jaeminsmilk @thisisew @innocent-and-angelic @amethystarchild @ohreallyfriend @raendarkfaerie @rjreins @ti-mame @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @aeeliy @yourlocalcatscammer @angelzrulez21-blog @sabztov @beereadzzz @zetianzz @gamerhere @imsuperawkward @thelightknight21 @poopooindamouf @bhocalatebhipbookies69 @whorekyuu @simp-plague @chlefnikkl @jud3thedude @inotaku-talkz @morganmorine777 @1tsleesee @tolerantxo @hoesoflamentation @lizatonix @allilovessatoru @yamadramallamaqueen @delphiakira @felix4eversun @erendipi @nazzysworld13 @tenaciousavenueavenue @lucilleheart

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: name-calling, otherwise really sweet yandere, suggestive nsfw, chewing gum

♡ GN reader

Three years of sharing the same class—he’d started doubting he’d ever get the chance, but then, in your final year, the two of you were finally paired for a project together.

And he planned to use it for all its worth—ask you over to his place, invite himself over to your place, take you out to cafes, propose you eat together, all for the sake of the project, of course, no other reason! Maybe you could take a break and catch a movie or something—he’s totally not going to pretend it’s a date or anything…

And why had he waited for school to do his match-making for him, you ask? Why hasn’t he just asked you out himself all these years? It’s a good question. Why didn’t he think of that? Only he did. He has asked you! Plenty of times, actually! 

It makes no sense. When a popular, good-looking guy like him asks a bookworm like you out, there really is no sane reason to turn him down, but that’s what you do. Always! You always say no, followed by something about wanting to focus on your studies or whatever.

Well, you’re not escaping him this time. You can’t. Not when half your grade depends on him.

And so here you are. At his place, sitting opposite each other with books out and pens in hand, scribbling notes in silence.

He’s tried making conversation a couple of times, but you always answer curtly, killing him. He cleaned his room for you and everything. In fact, he tidied up the entire place! And you’re just sitting there, reading and writing, not even looking at him!

He sighs and pulls a packet of gum out of his pocket, taking two in his mouth as if they were aspirin or something stronger. Maybe he ought to cut his losses and let you go. Plenty of others like him, and you shouldn’t really even be his type, and from the looks of it, he’s not even close to being yours.

Or, wait… maybe you’ve just been shy? Well, it must have been something in any case 'cause you’re looking at him now. Peeking up from your textbook with those big eyes, looking straight at him, or no, his lips.

You’re looking at his lips!

You sigh and look down into your book again, clicking your pen—but you'd definitely just stared at his lips! And now, you're even biting your own lip. Oh my god! You're imagining kissing his stupid face, aren't you? 

He’s reached it—finally, the moment when opposites attract—the moment when you’ve spent too much time with him, you can no longer help but fall in love with him despite how much you don't want to. Oh, and to think he was just about to give up on the whole idea, here you are, daydreaming about him right in front of him!

You keep sneaking glances. He sees it. You’re very obvious. Staring right at his mouth. My, what a brazen thing you are. How unexpected, he for sure thought you’d be more blushy and shy than this, but with those bedroom eyes you’re giving him, it’s as if you’re about to leap right over the table, grab him by the collar, and crash your lips onto his—and holy shit, he can’t take it anymore.

“Like what you see?” he asks. Smirking that flirty smirk that has everyone make giggling fools of themselves, flashing his pearly whites with half-mast eyes so suggestive he might as well be screaming out from the top of his lungs how badly he wants to shove his tongue down your throat.

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” you answer, shaking your head, then scoff with a laugh. 

Okay… not the reaction he was expecting.

“You’re just, uh…” you continue, and he nearly falls out of his seat, leaning across the table in eager wait for your words. “Chewing gum really loudly.” 

What? Gum? Chewing?

“And it’s kind of, uhm…” You look around a bit awkwardly as if looking for the right word before giving up. “Distracting.”

Yeah… that was definitely not the word you wanted to use—he could tell. Distractions are sexy, and you were definitely not turned on. No, you’d wanted to say annoying. But you didn’t have to. It was written plainly on your face instead, in the way you forced your lips into a polite smile that made your eyes crease, looking like an unconvincing wax figure, unable to portray the emotion the sculptor had wanted. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” it all he has the mind to say, picking the gum out and tossing it in the trashcan beneath the table.

Sitting awkwardly in his chair, now, burning from embarrassment, he glares into his book but can't seem to read a single word. Head too busy spiraling in thought. You weren’t even going to say anything, were you? No, you just held your tongue and gritted your teeth through it, until he all but forced it out of you—with the sleaziest pick-up line in existence, no less.

Fuck! He almost groans out loud, but manages to keep it internal.

“No, no,” you say, waving your hand in dismissal. “My ears are just sensitive. It’s totally fine, don’t worry.”

Oh god, now you’re even making excuses for him. Could it get any worse?

Yes. Yes, it can. Because he can’t focus. You’ve written about two pages worth of notes and ideas for what the two of you can base your project on, meanwhile, he hasn’t done a single thing! Fuck, you’re going to drop him as your project partner because of what a total academic disgrace he is and he’s going to fail in both his pursuit of you and the class altogether.

“Will it help you focus if we have sex?” you ask after a moment.

He’s still spiraling and doesn’t have the capacity to listen, so all he answers is a weak and worried, “Maybe…”

But then your words catch up to his thoughts, and his head whips up, looking at you frantically, almost yelling, “Wait, what?! What did you just say?”

You sigh, “Alright then, guess it can’t be helped. But you have to promise me you’ll work after.”

Then you click your pen, placing it neatly between the pages of your textbook before pushing yourself out of your seat and standing up.

Walking towards the hallway where you’d earlier spotted a door with his name on, you turn around to look at him, still sitting at the table, gaping at you, all frozen like a picture.

“Well?” you ask, brow quirked at him. “You gonna sit there, or are you gonna show me your room?”

♡ BNHA – Touya, Hawks, Natsuo ♡ JJK – Gojo ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins, Oikawa ♡ BLLK – Nagi ♡ WB – Kiryu

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[mercvry-glow]

you, me, and empty space between us

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

warnings. widower!jack, age gap as always (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), jack literally talks reader off the ledge, undefined relationship but they're clearly in love and going through something, unspecified mental health issues, panic attacks, possible suicidal ideation, talks of losing people, bittersweet ending though.

notes. ever since we learned jack was a widower i've been cursed with angsty thoughts. I think this one is really hard as we see both the reader and jack struggle with each other. I love them your honor, and I'm really in my noah kahan loneliness era for this man. as always any feedback is appreciated and I love all of you!

wc. 2700+

You don’t know when it had become so hard to breathe.

It wasn’t after the first patient death, or even the fourth or fifth. That was just life in the Pitt, and you had grown accustomed to it long ago… at least that’s what you thought.

It certainly wasn’t when he had walked in—Jack Abbot, all swagger and scruff, fresh on shift while you were finishing yours. You truly don’t know when you came to love him as more than a mentor. Maybe it was in the quiet, exhausted nights on his couch, or the rare mornings when your coffee mugs clinked in place of words.

Never open, always tucked away.

And maybe that’s why it hits you like a punch to the chest—because it’s something so small, something that you have no business caring about.

A glint of gold as he reaches for his first chart of the night.

His wedding band.

Still there. Still shining. Still hers.

And your breath just… goes. Like someone pulled the air from your lungs and replaced it with something heavy and wet and cruel.

You don’t even remember walking to the lockers. Just the click of the door behind you, the fluorescent lights buzzing too loud, and the burn behind your eyes as your hands shook, held tight against your sides. Everything became too much all at once. 

God, you're so tired.

Tired of the codes and the screaming and the silence that follows. Tired of watching children and parents die and pretending you’re not breaking a little more each time. Tired of watching your friends break each and every day more and more as this job steals their youth like it’s doing to yours. Tired of giving your heart to a man who, no matter how gently he touches you, will never touch you like you’re loved by him.

Not like he touched her.

You don't even cry. Not at first. You just run up the stairs, heart hammering like it's trying to escape, destination both known and unknown to your frazzled brain. Then you do cry—loud, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs that don't stop. Not even when someone passes. Not even when your pager buzzes again.

You make it up to the roof before anyone sees you.

The cold Pittsburgh wind bites at your cheeks, but at least here, you can breathe again. 

Kind of.

 You wrap your arms around yourself, eyes burning as you stare out over the city like it's supposed to give you some kind of answer.

But it doesn't.

It never does.

You’re not even sure how long you’ve been up here.

The city stretches out below, distant and indifferent—cars moving like blood cells in some great, uncaring artery. You’ve spent your whole life trying to keep things alive, and now, standing here, arms wrapped around yourself in the wind, you’re not sure how to keep yourself going.

It’s not just Jack.

 It’s everything.

You’re tired in your bones. In your soul, if that’s a thing people really have.

Tired of the endless codes that ring like alarms in your dreams. Tired of holding hands that go cold while families scream down the hall. Tired of smiling when you’re empty. Laughing when your throat aches from swallowing everything you can’t say.

Tired of being second. 

To a memory. 

To a career.

 To a system that chews you up and spits you back out with new scars and fewer tears left to give.

You love your job. God, you do. But lately it feels like it’s eating you alive. And no one sees it. No one wants to see it.  Because you're the one who keeps it together. The calm in the storm. The smile at the desk. The one who always says, “I’m fine. Go. I’ve got this.”

But you don’t.

You don’t got this. Not anymore

You’re drowning.

And Jack—Jack is just the wound you thought you could bandage, only to realize it was deeper than you ever let yourself admit.

You see the way he softens when he talks about her, the few times you got to hear. 

The weight in his voice when he says her name.

And you? You’re the comfort. The quiet. The body he falls into when his ghosts get too loud, too much to handle alone.

But not the one he chooses.

Never the one he chooses.

A sob claws its way up your throat, and this time you don’t stop it. You sink, knees scraped by the roof's edge, standing past the metal railing and let it all go—the grief, the love, the years of being almost enough in every aspect of your life.

You cry until you’re raw. Until your breath hitches like a broken record.

Until you feel like there’s nothing left inside you. 

And still, the world keeps turning. The city lights don’t flicker. The wind doesn’t pause.

You are so deeply, achingly alone.

And in this moment, you don't even want to be saved. You just want to rest. 

To be done. 

“You know,” comes a familiar voice behind you, easy and low, “if you wanted to get me alone on the rooftop , all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you coffee.”

You flinch. Just barely. But he sees it.

Jack steps closer, hands tucked in his cargo pockets like he’s just wandered up here on a whim, not after checking every paitent room and hallway trying to find you. There’s that half-smile tugging at his mouth, the one he uses like armor—dry wit and soft hazel eyes, his whole coping mechanism wrapped in a single expression.

But the smile falters when you don’t answer.

When he really looks at you.

You’re standing with your hands pulled to your chest, fingers white-knuckled in your scrubs, eyes red and swollen. Shoulders shaking just enough to make him stop in his tracks after realizing you’re past the guard rail. 

“Hey,” he says again, quieter this time. “What happened?”

You shake your head. A tiny, useless motion. You can't even bring yourself to look at him, back still turned.

He steps toward you, trying to search your face. “Talk to me. Did something happen with a patient? Was it that kid from earlier? Or—”

“No,” you whisper, barely audible. “It’s nothing.”

“That,” he says, voice a touch sharper, “is a lie. And a bad one, kid.”

You let out a bitter little laugh that turns into another sob. “Everything’s just… too much.”

Jack doesn’t speak right away. Just watches you, the tension in his jaw building slowly. “You’re scaring me,” he admits, quietly.

“Fuck,” you snap through the tears. “Now you actually see me?.”

That stuns him. You can sense it—how his shoulders tighten, how his eyes scanning like they’ve missed something right in front of them.

You wobble, or try to move—your knees tremble under you, and Jack moves instantly, hands ready to grab you. 

You pull away.

“I’m tired, Jack,” you say, voice breaking. “So goddamn tired. Of being here. Of being overworked. Of watching people die. Of pretending I don’t care that you still wear her ring when you’re in my bed.”

Silence slams between you.

He swallows hard, words clearly stuck in his throat.

“I know she meant everything to you,” you say, softer now. “And I would never try to take her place. But it’s killing me. Being your person… Being the one you come to… but never for.”

His mouth opens, then closes again.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And look, now I’m making my issues about you again. God, I’m tired of that too.”

Jack steps forward, hesitant, like he’s approaching something fragile. Or dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you whisper. “Because if I said it out loud, I’d have to admit that I’m not okay. That this job—this place—you—are breaking me.”

He’s quiet for a long time. The wind whistles around you both, cold and uncaring.

“I didn’t know,” he finally says. “I should’ve. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

You look up at him, exhausted and open and completely undone. “I don’t want you to say sorry. I just… I wanted to matter.”

“You do,” he says, quick and firm. “You matter to me,”

You shake your head again, biting back another sob.

He doesn’t try to touch you this time. He just stands there in the silence you’ve created, eyes on yours like they’re the only thing he sees now.

And maybe—for the first time—they are.

Jack exhales slowly, like he’s trying to steady his own heart before he reaches for yours.

“You wanna know something?” he says, his voice rough but quiet. “First week I met you, I thought you weren’t cut out for this. All business, too rigid, straight spine, soft. Honestly? Scared the hell out of me, I thought you’d be gone by the end of the week.”

You huff, tired, but something like a breath of a laugh escapes you.

“But then you stayed two hours after your shift because a twelve-year-old was afraid of needles,” he continues. “And I saw it. That heart of yours—the one you hide behind clipped words and all that damn competence. You care so much it hurts you.”

He pauses, lets that sink in. You turn your face slightly toward him, just enough for him to see your profile in the wind.

“I know you think nobody sees you,” Jack says. “That you’re just some extra in other people’s stories. But I see you. I always see you.”

Your lips part, but no words come.

“You’re the one holding the line when everyone else is cracking. You’re the one who stays up on nights like this, falling apart where no one can find you. But I found you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He steps forward again, slowly, cautiously. Like he’s giving you every chance to step back under the rails and hoping you don’t choose the other way down.

“I don’t wear this ring because I’m not over her,” he says, tugging at the band absently. “I wear it because she made me better. And you… you keep me better.”

That stops your breath cold.

“I never meant to make you feel like you were just something temporary,” he says. “You’re not. Not to me.”

“Then why not just say it?” you choke, voice trembling.

He looks at you like he wants to. Like the words are right there on his tongue—but something stops him. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the weight of everything this moment holds.

“I’m saying what I can,” he says instead. “Until I can say it all.”

He steps closer, right in front of you now, eyes searching yours.

“You matter, okay? Not just as my best resident. Not just as a damn good doctor. You matter to me. You’re not alone in this. Even if you feel like you are.”

Silence again. Heavy, but different this time.

“I don’t know what happens next,” he adds, quieter now. “But I know I don’t want to face it without you.”

You feel something give inside you—something that’s been clinging to the edge for weeks, maybe months. You don’t fall apart again, not this time. But you do lean forward. Just a little. Just enough.

Jack reaches out to touch you, wanting to pull you in. Standing right there on the other side of the guard rails, steady as gravity.

 Letting you decide.

You stand there for a second, barely breathing. His words echo in your chest, ringing against all the places that have been cracked and hollowed out.

You matter to me.

It shouldn't be enough. Not after all this. But somehow, it is. Or maybe it’s just enough to stop the bleeding.

Your shoulders slump as the tension you’ve carried finally starts to unwind. You don’t fall into him, not dramatically. You just… lean. Your forehead comes to rest against his chest, tentative, uncertain. But you stay there.

And Jack? He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms move around you with a kind of quiet reverence—gentle but solid, like he’s anchoring you to the hospital roof. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other against the back of your head, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll break again.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he murmurs against your hair.

“I scared myself,” you whisper back, voice hoarse.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, not accusing—just brokenhearted.

“I didn’t know how,” you admit. “I thought if I said it out loud, I’d lose everything and never come back together.”

Jack pulls back just enough to look at you. His thumb brushes gently along your wind bitten cheeks, catching a stray tear you didn’t even feel fall.

“You are coming back together,” he says, firm but soft. “Right now. Piece by piece. You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

You nod, barely, like you’re still trying to believe him.

“I don’t need you to be okay all the time,” he continues. “You don’t have to be strong for anyone. You get to fall apart. You get to feel this.”

“But what if it doesn’t stop?” you whisper, voice cracking. “What if it just keeps coming?”

“Then we’ll face it together,” he says, without missing a beat. “Shift by shift. day by day. As long as it takes.”

Your eyes search his, and for once, there’s no hiding behind sarcasm or guarded silences. Just truth. And maybe something deeper behind it—something he’s still not quite ready to name, but it’s there. Burning steady like a soft fire.

You close your eyes, letting yourself rest in the warmth of him, in the safety of this rooftop moment.

And for the first time in weeks—maybe longer—you take a full, deep breath.

You both stand like that for a long time—no words, just breath and heartbeat and wind. The hum of the city below feels miles away, like a different world. Up here, it's just the two of you.

Eventually, Jack shifts a little, his arms still around you. His voice is soft, barely above the wind.

“Hey,” he says gently. “How about we get back on the safer side of the rail, yeah?”

You realize, with a sudden twist in your stomach, that you’re still on the wrong side. Still too close to the edge, with nothing but cold air and steel keeping you tethered.

You don’t move right away. Your fingers grip the rail, not because you want to jump—God, no—but because the world still feels unsteady. Like if you let go, you might float off into something you can't control.

Jack doesn’t rush you.

He stays with you, warm and steady at your side, hands never leaving you. “One step,” he says softly. “Just one. I’ve got you.”

You look at him, and there’s nothing performative in his expression. No pity. No fear. Just calm, unwavering care.

You nod once. Then slowly, carefully, you swing your leg over the first bar. He helps you the rest of the way, hands guiding you gently, like you’re something precious. When both feet land solidly on the rooftop again, you don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until it finally releases in a shaky exhale.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Safe and sound. Mostly.”

You laugh, barely. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look like someone who’s been through hell,” Jack says. “And is still standing. That’s not a mess. That’s a goddamn miracle.”

You look up at him, eyes glassy, and something flickers between you. Quiet. Heavy. Unspoken.

His hand lifts slowly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, then lingering—fingertips grazing your jaw, gentle as rain. He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Can I…” he starts, then stops, catching himself. “I’m not asking to fix it. I just—”

You answer by leaning in.

It’s not rushed. Not desperate. Just soft. Slow. Like an exhale. Like the kind of kiss that says I’m still here. I still want this.

His lips meet yours, warm and steady, one hand still at your waist, the other against your cheek. There’s no fire in it—not tonight. Just light. Just steady comfort.

When you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing a little easier now.

“You sure about this?” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”

You nod. You believe him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe in yourself again, too.

mercvry-glow 2025

[r66dusthewriter]

Hiii! I love your works so much — they’re so amazingly written. I was wondering if I can request you do the Hot Ones interview for Drew Starkey with the Outer Banks cast — only if you want to!

I hope you have a great day!!

‘Big news for the unemployed’ | Hot ones versus

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I started my little (a casual 11h first day shift) side/summer student job a few days ago. I filed a complaint to HR and had a screaming match with my supervisor the same night. I have never longed for unemployment the way I do now.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.5k

When Drew spun the bottle, it landed squarely on Maddie, signaling that your team would kick off the first round.

“As the only kook here” Drew began, a grin playing on his lips as he read from the card, “I’m pitting pogue against pogue in a three on three challenge. Lose a game or fail to answer a question and your entire team must eat a deathwing. However, if you pass my test, then I will suffer the wrath of the last dab” 

He glanced up and smiled at Maddie “Madelyn, the bottle landed on you, so your team will answer the question first”

You sat closest to Drew, your legs intertwined beneath the table with his, a comforting reminder of what the two of you had.

“Alright, Y/n” Drew said, nodding toward you.

“Shoot,” you replied confidently.

“Outer Banks has hooked viewers for four seasons with its countless twists and turns,” Drew continued, eyes twinkling “However, name one storyline you think should've never made it out of the writers’ room”

The entire cast gasped dramatically.

“Is this your way of trying to get me fired?” you joked, laughter bubbling through the group.

Jonathan turned to you, a grin on his face “Do you want to eat that wing?” he asked, his eyes searching yours. You shook your head rapidly.

“Oh I know!” you said with a confident tone “Sarah getting shot where she did and literally being able to sprint the next morning. Like, give my girl a break” 

“That’s why I love you!” Madelyn shouted, laughter rippling around the room.

“That’s a solid one,” Chase agreed, nodding appreciatively.

Meanwhile, Drew slipped off his rings, mentally preparing to take on the dreaded deathwing. 

“Oh, now I feel bad” you murmured, worry flickering in your chest.

“You worry too much about him,” Jonathan said with a smile. “He’ll be alright.”

Chase chuckled, watching Drew carefully pull apart the wing. “Oh you’re shaking” 

Then Drew took his first confident bite, a big one, causing you to gasp.

“Just relax,” Madison advised Drew “Oh my god. Big bite!” 

“Baby, no!” you whispered, soon covering your mouth, hoping the mic hadn’t caught that. “He doesn’t have to eat the whole thing, does he?” you asked, turning to the producers.

“Yes, he does. Yes, he does,” Jonathan repeated with a smirk.

“It’s okay baby. I want to” Drew nodded and assured mouth full, the pet name barely audible.

“He does.” Jonathan assured further “He’ll want me to do it and i’d respect that”

Once Drew finished, the chewing looked agonizing. His fist covered his mouth as he fought through it, and you looked at him with concern while the rest laughed and cheered him on.

“It’s getting hot” he coughed, face warming up but proud.

By the time round three rolled around, Drew picked up the next card with a dramatic flair, eyes scanning the words before he read aloud.

“After five years of long shoot days in remote locations, our cast has become like a family. So now, it’s time to see how well you know your co-stars in the game of ‘Who posted it’, you’ll be shown a series of Instagram photos and must correctly identify whose account it is from. The losing team must eat a death wing”

Groans and nervous laughter erupted around the table as the challenge began. Despite a strong start, your team stumbled through the last few images. The final buzzer sounded and the opposing team cheered as the loss was confirmed.

You let out a dramatic sigh, then confidently picked up one of the fiery wings from the tray. 

“I’m usually really good with spice,” you said, squinting at it skeptically, “but why do I feel like this is not gonna go well for me?”

“No, no, no, you got this ba–” Drew began, but was cut off by Jonathn, who grinned and shouted  “Eat that wing baby!” taking Drew’s words right out of his mouth. 

The table burst out laughing as you gave Drew a playful glare and took a bite. At first, your expression stayed neutral. You chewed, shrugged. “That’s actually really good, it’s not that—oh”

The second wave hit. Your eyes widened slightly as the burn kicked in, creeping across your tongue. The opposite team laughed as you blinked through the rising heat.

“I take that back!” you gasped, fanning your mouth. “That’s warm… but good” 

“Look at us!” Madelyn clapped, looking at both you and Carlacia as she chewed. “Taking it like champs…it is really hot though”

Drew leaned over with a smug smile and whispered just loud enough for your mic to catch it faintly, “Knew you’d make me proud”

You grinned, mouth burning but your pride fully intact.

For the final round, the stakes were turned up, quite literally, as each of you added a dollop of the infamous Last Dab hot sauce on your next wing. 

Drew read the final challenge with mock gravity in his voice, holding up the card like it was a royal decree.

“The treasure of the Royal Merchant has caused many to betray their closest allies. This game is no different as we have come to a final ‘Winner Takes All’ challenge. That’s right. No more teams, it’s everyone for themselves in the most cutthroat party game of the seven seas ‘Musical Chairs’” Drew read.

Groans, laughter and a few exaggerated threats echoed around the table as you all stood and the crew prepared the game.

You soon found yourself circling the chairs just behind Drew, tension high and competitive glints in everyone’s eyes. The music stopped suddenly and chaos ensued. You and Drew dove for the same chair at the exact same time. He ended on your lap as the others looked around for who lost. With your arms around him, you patted his chest and he chuckled as he stood up.

“Oh, it’s me,” he announced with chivalry, stepping aside and reaching for his wing

“What a gentleman,” Carlacia teased with a smirk.

“He just didn’t want to sleep on the couch tonight,” JD added under his breath, which you barely heard, making the ones who did erupt in laughter.

Drew shot you a wink, high fived you with a grin and took his wing like a champ, downing it as applause rang out.

“You gotta get outta here” Madison told him, waving dramatically.

“Alright, fuck y’all,” Drew said with a grin, stepping off set as the others booed him playfully. 

The game whittled down quickly, with chairs disappearing and cast members losing left and right. When it came down to you and Chase in the final showdown, adrenaline surged. The music cut out, and with lingering reflexes, you claimed the last seat.

The cast cheered off-frame, someone yelling, “Attagirl!” 

“I told y’all to put your money on that girl!” Madison added proudly.

Once the clapping died down, the cast re-emerged and Drew held out the trophy with dramatic reverence. 

“And here we have it…the wing of champions,” he declared, handing it to you.

You took it with a grin, and held it up, turning toward the camera as the rest of the cast rallied around you. 

“Thank you all for this.” you began in mock sincerity. “The wings were really hot and I’m just honored to survive this. But more importantly, I’m really hoping I can take home the ones we didn’t eat” 

You glanced pointedly at a producer off-camera.  

The cast and crew burst into laughter as you finished “Outer Banks Season 4 is now streaming on Netflix, please watch it… . But seriously though…I’m dead serious about the wings—can i? I have ziplock bags in my purse.”

The screen faded to black as the entire set cracked up behind you.

—--

The "First We Feast” Instagram post announcing the video with the cast blew up almost instantly, but after the full video dropped, the internet practically caught on fire.

Clips were reposted across Tiktok, fan accounts captioned everything from your teary-eyed wing victory to Drew handing you the trophy but what really set the comments section ablaze was the chemistry. 

drewdorabl3 I counted three ‘baby’s’ and two babes’. I am NOT okay.

obxsuperfan1 Just checking if I’m having auditory hallucinations…did anyone else hear Y/n call Drew ‘baby’?

rafesleftsock And Drew too! If you’re wrong then I need my hearing checked too.

mells134 I turned on the captions. They definitely said it!

drewswife.09 here y'all go again. they’re bestfriends 🙄

ikervt Me when i’m delusional

89kovcg Jobs people. JOBS

p0gu3l0v3r Ughhhh the way he looks at her

yenakls445 anyone else hear JD talk about how Drew didn’t want to sleep on the couch? 😭

dellaos.cc yes omg! 

89kovcg Huge news for the unemployed.

c3rtifiedpoguecollector who’s gonna tell them we heard everything?

y/n/y/l/n tell what to who? I’m so lost y’all

madelyncline babe just go ahead and log out

Speculation turned into full-on obsession as fans began dissecting every glance and laugh. Someone even made a compilation called “Every time they forgot they weren’t alone” on TikTok. It had a million views in a couple of hours and naturally, more chaos ensued yet you and Drew, thanks to your lack of social media presence, remained mostly unaware.

[heartless-tate]

Notice me! | Azriel X Freader

summary; Azriel courting an oblivious reader.

a/n; Heyy! Just a little fic of being courted by Azriel. And you not being very aware of it. Hope you enjoy!

content/trigger warnings; knife, food, meat?, cussing, kissing, no use y/n, hint towards lust feeling, Azriel pining, Armen being sassy, FEM reader (if you’d like me to make a another post with male reader, message me!) she/her pronouns for reader, thunderstorm mention and I think that’s it. If I missed something, feel free to message me on it! 💝

word count: 3.1k. |. Part two

A plate clattered against the table causing your attention to turn to the man in front of you.

You met his gaze as he waited for you to try his new dish, his eyes seeming to shine as the sun hit his eyes. You swear he always seemed to be effortlessly beautiful. It was angering in some ways, you had even seen him wake up looking like a god. No. Better than a god. It didn’t matter if you spent an hour in the mirror, swiping various products of different expenses on your face; the result would be the same. The same boring face you saw everyday.

A wonderful smell wafted from the plate, causing your empty stomach to growl loud enough to shake the mountains. The shadowsinger smirked, pushing the plate of food closer to you with a gentleness most men didn’t have. Your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands instinctively coming to paw at your stomach, hoping it would stop. Your eyes wandered down to the plate where a meal sat.

“I haven’t made this before. I wanted you to be the first to try it.” He spoke with every ounce of grace and elegance a god would have. His hands grasped the seat across from you, pulling it out and taking a seat. His wings shifted until finding a comfortable position in the chair. You nodded in response, picking the fork up before taking in the rather- gracious portion of food he had made for you.

A ribeye steak bigger than your hand sat on the plate. Seasoning of different kinds were smothered on it, and the smell of butter consumed your senses. Your mouth watered in response. Beside it were two sides. Your favorites.

Armen smirked from where she sat beside you, watching as you lifted the steak knife and fork. You were so oblivious. She had been watching for the last few years as Azriel desperately chased after you, and you never seemed to even notice. It was amusing. He has spent hours staring at you, and you never realized. And if she pointed it out, you just assumed you had something on your face. She knew he was growing restless. Not tired of you, but tired of your complete oblivion. These days he seemed ready to scream from the top of the roof that he loved you.

Azriel’s scarred hand clutched at your wrist. He gently took the knife and fork away from you, before grabbing your plate and proceeding to cut your steak into bite sized pieces. Armen snickered from where she sat, resulting in a glare from Azriel.

“Oh- Azriel I can do that-“ You started.

“I know you can.” He responded. He didn’t give back your plate until your steak was cut into bite sized pieces for you. He watched you place the first bite of steak into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back and you let out a hum of approval, chewing the food. The flavor was delicious, and it was quite easily the best steak you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn’t too buttery. Or too seasoned. It was just right. The meat was tender.

Azriel’s wings rustled at your hum. His face shined with pure male pride. His eyes never left you once while you chewed and swallowed. He stood, taking the steak knife that was no longer needed into the kitchen.

Armen followed after him. He sat the knife in the sink, letting the house do its magic before turning his attention to Armen.

“You’re like a love sick puppy.”

“My love life isn’t your business.” Azriel responded, his face tight. His words were low, ensuring you couldn’t hear.

“Hm. All I’m saying is your ‘courting’ isn’t going to work.” Armen said, picking at her nail leisurely. She was like a cat. Her piercing eyes watched as Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her with a scowl. Before he could comment more, Armen spoke again.

“She’s oblivious. It doesn’t matter if you fix her food, or leave her favorite pastries everywhere so she finds them, she won’t get the hint. Literally. I’m getting seasonal allergies from the amount of flowers you’ve left for her everywhere in this house.Seriously, this place is covered in flowers. Either start professing love or drop this little crush.” She growled out, walking out of the kitchen.

Azriel stayed silent before whispering,“It’s not little.”

“Yeah, don’t let me forget to grab a few early starfall gifts.” Mor said. You groaned loudly, rubbing your temples. Even the idea of her gifts made you want to cry. Her starfall gift for you these past few years have been a collection of ridiculously fuzzy socks. Every.Year.

Of course you were grateful, but everyone knew Mor’s gifts weren’t particularly good. You now had a drawer filled with fuzzy and odd colored socks.

Velaris was bustling today. Fae of all kids roamed the streets, some tending to their shops. Kids ran through the streets playing games. Everyone was out enjoying the sunny day. You and Mor decided to go shopping to pick up a few items. Your eyes wandered back down to your list, a few more candles, a book or two, and some lotion.

“Starfall gifts? I don’t think you need to shop this early for them-“

“Nonsense! It’s never too early to do gift shopping!” Mor said, cutting you off. You sighed and shook your head knowing it was hopeless to argue with her.

After a few trips to some stores, you both ended up getting lunch at Rita’s. You ordered a milkshake- apparently a new creation of a cold drink? None less, whatever they were, everyone had been going crazy over them in Velaris. And of course you also got your favorite meal. Mor ordered practically half the menu, content to eat her heart out. You didn’t blame her- food was good.

As your plates were sat down by the waitress, Mor eyed your food with a questioning look. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. “What? You’re looking at my food weird.”

“Oh. Well I’m just surprised to see you ordering a meal here. You know Azriel is gonna harp if you don’t eat his food.” Mor responded, shoveling food into her mouth as if she’d starve.

“Huh?” You countered.

Mor finished her food before rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as if you had troubled her. “You know..” she said, waving her hands as if that would solve your confusion. When you raised your eyebrows with a puzzled face, she put her fork down.

“You know- when you eat something someone else cooked or you’re not hungry, and he’s cooked you a meal. And you refuse it- he gets all huffy and puffy! Like a broody motherhen.” She continued.

“He doesn’t even fix me food that often-“ you argued.

“Oh please! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Full course meal on the table for you. If only someone loved me that much.” Mor said, picking her fork back up. “Those meals weren’t from the house hun. All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention.”

For the rest of the meal, you both sat in silence as you pondered over her words.

Cassian laughed  as you entered from the hallway. His eyes shined with amusement as you waddled to the counter with your shopping bags.

The sound was enough to draw a curious Azriel to the room. He immediately grabbed all your bags despite your complaints, setting them on the table. He nodded at you in response when you thanked him.

“I thought you were only shopping for a few things.” Cassian stated. He stood casually leaned against the table with a drink in his left hand. Azriel stood to your left, his wings expanded. His eyes were keen and watchful. You doubted he ever missed a single detail. His skin glistened with sweat, a musky bourbon scent coming from him. Cassian’s skin was sweaty too, evidence of them training together earlier in the day.

“Well, the candle store had a buy two get five for free deal. So I bought  four and got ten for free! Cauldron I love Velaris!” You squealed, and Azriel smirked knowingly. He had taken note of your recent obsession with buying candles. Cassian shook his head.

Cassian's face lit up with surprise as you handed him two candles. “So I got one for everyone else. This one smells like leather and the other vanilla. I figured you’d like it Cas.” You continued. He nodded in thanks. You turned to Azriel.

“I got you this candle because I know you love blueberries. And this one is supposed to smell like rainy days and lightning. And this one is books and bourbon!”

Azriel’s eyes never looked down to the candles you had shoved in his arms. His eyes stayed on your face as you happily ranted about the candles. When you finished and looked back up to his face, he had a soft look. It was one you don’t think you’ve seen him use before. His eyes were soft and looked like pools of honey, and his smile was gentle.

You watched as he sat down the candles on the table and turned back to you. “They’re perfect.” He responded. He was so memorizing. You just knew whoever he ended up with would be content. You struggled taking your eyes from him.Cassian growled playfully.

“Hey! Unfair! He got three candles! I only got-“

Cassian was cut off by Mor smacking him on the back of the head as she trotted to the kitchen. She had a lot of leftovers to put away. Azriel gave him a quick glare, silencing him.

You noticed he was wearing all his leathers, and siphons. His shadows whirled leisurely around his shoulders and wings. Azriel watched as your eyes creased in confusion. He sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of hope at the fact you had gotten him more candles than Cassian.

“Rhysand sent me on a mission, I’ll be gone for a few days most likely. I’m going to spy on the human queens and make sure all is well there.” He admitted. He watched as your face fell. You quickly smiled again and nodded. His heart thumped like a hammer in his chest. Did you care? Would you miss him like he always missed you? He wondered if you couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t when he was away from you.

“Oh. I see. Be safe.” You responded, nodding slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling in your chest. You had never felt it before. You wondered why all of a sudden you felt this way about him leaving.

His eyes softened even more. “I leave in an hour or two.” He whispered, head tilting to catch your eyes once more. Cassian had disappeared from the room all of a sudden, him and Mor talking loudly about dumb things in the kitchen. Leaving you and Azriel alone. “Let me cook you dinner before I leave.”

His eyebrows furrowed this time as you shook your head no. His smile dropped. He looked like a kicked puppy almost-

“I ate lunch with Mor.” You explained. Your explanation didn’t seem to comfort him as he shook his head in response.

“That was lunch. It’s time for dinner.” Azriel said firmly.

Your mind went back to Mor’s words. Pay more attention…what did she mean? What was there to pay attention to? Azriel cooked for everyone- right..? Your mind raced over your memories, trying to think of a single time you had seen Azriel set a plate down for one of the others.

“Alright then, fix me dinner Azriel.” You responded. Azriel smiled, pleased. His right wing flared, draping over your back. “Follow me.” He said, leading the way into the kitchen. His wing was warm against your back, as it guided you beside him. It was much larger than  you were, towering over your head. As you entered the kitchen, Cassian and Mor immediately scampered out shouting something about extra training.

You watched Azriel move around the kitchen in a graceful dance of grabbing pans and pots. He kept his wings tucked in, to keep them from banging against counters and tables. His hair was messy from training, or like he had ran his hands through it more then once. But it never failed to frame his face. You watched as a few shadows dart around, grabbing various spices and ingredients for whatever new dish he’d make tonight. He set a pan down on the stove before turning to you.

His scarred hands gently grasped your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you on an empty space on the counter. He huffed a laugh at your squeak of shock. He patted one of your thighs gently before leaving your side and returning to his pan.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He had lifted you as if you weighed nothing, showcasing his obvious strength. Everytime he touched you with his beautiful hands, it felt like everything stopped. As if the world had slowed to let you enjoy the moment. Your hands wrapped around your stomach, wondering what this weird feeling that had overcome you meant.

He moved swiftly, chopping ingredients and throwing things in various pots and pans. You quickly realized by smell alone he was making your comfort food. You remembered the night a storm had rolled in. Usually thunder and lightning didn’t scare you- but this was different. The booms and flashes were intense, shaking the ground and keeping you from sleep. You had stumbled to the house library in an attempt to distract yourself. But you only found Azriel instead. He had scented your obvious distress and took action immediately. He helped you settle on the couch with cushions and blankets before asking what a comfort food was. A good 15 minutes later he returned with a plate.

You don’t remember much pass that, you just remember becoming tired and sleepily. You remember feeling warm all of a sudden and then you woke up in your bed that morning.

“It’s almost done.” Azriel spoke, bringing you back from your memories. His eyes were distant as if he too was remembering that same night.

You smiled and thanked him as he handed you your bowl and a spoon. He made himself a bowl too. He took your bowl from his hands and sat it down, before grabbing you and setting you back on the floor. His hands stayed on your hips until he was sure you were balanced. He guided you to the sitting room with a fire.

Azriel didn’t eat until you took your first bite, ensuring you liked it. And of course, you did. It was warm, and comforting, like a hug in your mouth. It soothed your soul in ways nothing else could, the flavors easing your body from any previous aches. Azriel had never made a bad meal before. You both ate in silence together, with the comforting crackle of the fire and warming food. But as the time passed, you knew it came time for him to leave.

Your bowls sat on the coffee table. Both finished. The house made them disappear, taking care of them on its own. You were always amazed by its magic.

Your head snapped to Azriel as he stood. He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed and he almost looked like he wanted to chain himself to the wall before even considering leaving. He turned to your sitting form. His shadows seemed to move more quickly and sharper around his shoulders.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He whispered. He watched as you nodded solemnly. You smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.”

You watched as Cassian hugged Azriel in goodbye, and Mor nod as her own way of saying goodbye. Azriel had taken his candles to his room earlier, before joining everyone in the hallway. When one left for more then a day, you all said proper goodbyes.

Azriel turned to you, walking swiftly. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his big biceps practically squeezing the life out of you. He practically had to hold himself back from purring when your arms wrapped around his neck in return. Everything darkened as his wings cocooned you. His wings blocked out the noises of the others, leaving just you and him. His head found solace in your neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses in a good way. Before you had time to question Azriel being touchy, Cassian yelled,

“Ok! Ok! We get it, Azriel. Let go of her before you suffocate her.”

Azriel lifted his head, and his wings dropped. His eyes stayed latched on yours. A few seconds passed before he tore his eyes away and scowled at Cassian. His teeth bared in silent warning. Cassian backed down and turned to have conversation with the others. Azriel released you from his grip.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t starve. And I left some flowers on your nightstand. I hope you don’t mind.” He whispered to you, fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy. Your eyes lit up and you smiled gently.

“Thank you Azriel. Goodbye.” You whispered back in response. His smile turned upside down.

“I told you, call me Az. Or whatever you want- just not my full name. We’re closer than that.” He said in a growl like tone. He watched as you nodded your head.

It was time for him to leave now. He sighed deeply. The others had gone silent watching the scene with interest. But he didn’t seem to care.

He leaned down to your height, his hands grasping at your chin. He turned your head before leaving a gentle but firm kiss on the side of your cheek. “Sleep well tonight.” He whispered before pulling away. You stood in shock at the door to the balcony, as he said his last goodbyes. He waved in an almost shy way at you before taking flight.

You stood still, flabbergasted at what had happened. Slowly your hand rose to your cheek.

Realization dawned on you- he hadn’t ever fixed food for anyone else other than you.

a/n; hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want part two! 🌙

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

Ruined

Pairing: König x Reader

Summary: You’ve been testing König’s patience all day with that smart mouth of yours and now he’s going to shut you up.

Warnings: Degradation, rough sex, manhandling, size kink, choking, overstimulation, impact play, dom/sub dynamics, brat behavior, safe word implied (but not used). If you’re not into being treated like a chew toy with a smart mouth, skip this one.

MASTERLIST

This is pure filth, I had an idea and ran with it. I absolutely had no intention to post this but I thought you all might enjoy this.

Do enjoy 😉

——————

I should’ve stopped at the first eye roll.

Should’ve quit while I was ahead—before the second sigh, before the words “Big man, small temper” left my lips.

But where’s the fun in behaving?

König doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head. Slow. Calculating. That goddamn mask making it impossible to read the full storm behind his eyes—but I feel it. Vibrating off him like the low growl of a beast just before it pounces.

“Repeat that,” he says quietly.

I flash him a smile that’s all teeth. “Did I stutter, König?”

My voice is sugar-sweet and laced with venom. “Or is the altitude messing with your hearing, tall boy?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Just long enough for my smug little high to settle. And then—

I’m airborne.

No warning. One second I’m mouthing off, the next I’m lifted off the floor like I weigh nothing, thrown down hard onto the bed with a thud that knocks the breath from my lungs.

“What the—!”

“You don’t speak to me like that,” König growls, climbing over me. His weight pins me down, a massive thigh forcing mine apart like I’m just a doll beneath him.

I squirm—purely out of defiance, not fear. “Gonna crush me with that giant ass of yours?”

He chuckles. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

“I haven’t even started yet, Schatz.”

His hands are everywhere—rough, calloused fingers around my throat, pinning both wrists above my head with one palm like I’m nothing. Like I could fight him and it wouldn’t matter. He lets me squirm. For the thrill of it.

“You wanted to be a brat?” he hisses in my ear. “Then you get disciplined like one.”

He drags my panties down in one tug, rips my shirt, doesn’t even bother with finesse—and then flips me over like he owns every inch of me.

I moan into the sheets as his hand comes down hard on my ass. Once. Twice. Again.

My skin’s on fire, and he likes it. The way I arch up. The hiss of pain that bleeds into a whimper.

“Color?” he demands. His voice is tight—barely holding it together.

“Green, you bastard,” I spit.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back just enough for his voice to drop like gravel into my ear.

“Good. Then shut the fuck up and take it.”

I can barely breathe—and that’s before he tightens the hand around my throat.

My legs are shaking, body already flushed from the spanks, skin stinging, but he hasn’t even fucked me yet. König’s just watching me in that slow, calculated way like he’s studying a weapon he plans to dismantle piece by piece.

“Still got something to say?” His thumb presses against my lower lip. “Or is the little brat ready to learn her place?”

I glare. Bite his thumb.

Wrong move.

He growls—deep and guttural—and I swear my cunt clenches just from the sound.

The next second, he’s shoving two thick fingers inside me without warning, pushing deep, curling them just right. I cry out, back arching off the bed as he pumps them mercilessly, other hand pinning my throat like a threat.

“Loud now, huh?” he huffs, voice hot behind his mask. “Where’s all that attitude?”

“F-fuck you—” I choke out, and his fingers curl harder. “You’re—shit—so cocky—”

He pulls his fingers out, flips me again like I’m nothing. My legs are open before I even have time to resist.

“You think this is cocky?” he snarls.

And then he slams into me.

No warning. No mercy.

I scream—literally scream—as he bottoms out, one hand gripping my hip, the other still around my throat. My body tries to recoil, but there’s nowhere to go—he’s too big, too deep, stretching me until I feel like I’m about to break in half.

“Is that brat mouth working now?” König hisses into my ear. “Or should I fuck you until you cry for me?”

I whimper.

God, it’s too much—the stretch, the pace, the weight of him crushing me into the mattress. His hips snap against mine with brutal precision, forcing my breath out in ragged moans.

“You wanted to act up,” he growls, pace unrelenting. “Now you’ll come when I say. You’ll scream for me—not because you want to—because I make you.”

My hands claw at the sheets. He pounds into me harder, dragging the orgasm out of me like he’s claiming it. I cry out, nails digging into the mattress as I shatter, legs spasming.

But König doesn’t stop.

He grabs my face, forces me to look up at him—eyes barely visible behind the shadow of his mask. I see the heat in them. The rage. The possessiveness.

“You think I’m finished?” he growls.

I try to speak—I don’t even know what I’m trying to say—but all that comes out is a sob. My body is overstimulated, twitching. My thighs clamp around him instinctively, trying to push him out.

He laughs.

Dark. Ruthless.

“You’re crying already? Oh, Schatz…” He leans down, nose brushing mine. “We’re just getting started.”

My legs are shaking—numb, barely responding.

I came already. Once? Twice? I don’t know anymore. Time’s slipped somewhere between the wet slap of his hips against mine and the pressure of his hand still curled loosely around my throat.

“Poor little thing,” König murmurs, voice lower now. Not soft—mocking. “Can’t even keep count. I’ve fucked the attitude right out of you.”

I try to protest, but it comes out as a broken, wet sound—half sob, half moan. My vision blurs, not from pain, but from the pleasure he keeps wringing out of me until I’m raw, wrecked, ruined.

“You asked for this,” he grunts, slamming into me again. “You wanted to run your mouth. You wanted to be tossed around like a rag doll.”

He grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me up, bending me in half, forcing my spine to arch like I’m nothing but a toy in his hands. I’m caged by his body—his size, his weight, his cock hitting a spot so deep it punches a scream from my lungs.

“Look at you,” he growls into my ear. “Crying on my cock. Pretty tears for me, hmm?”

I whimper, tears streaking my cheeks now, head swimming.

“You love this,” he says, breath hot and ragged behind his mask. “You love being ruined like this. Tell me.”

I nod frantically, gasping, words barely forming. “Y-yes—fuck—I love it—I love it—”

He lets out a low sound. Like he’s satisfied. Like that was all he needed to hear before breaking me again.

“Good girl.”

That praise—it shatters something in me.

Because his pace changes. Rougher. Deeper. Less about punishment and more about claiming. His grip bruises into my hips, dragging me back onto his cock like I belong nowhere else.

I scream when I come again—loud, desperate, choking on it as my whole body goes tight, clenched, then completely undone.

My vision whites out.

My voice is a sob.

And he doesn’t fucking stop.

“You’re mine when you cry like this,” he snarls. “Mine when you’re shaking. Mine when you’re drooling into the sheets because your brain can’t fucking think.”

My arms collapse beneath me. My body isn’t working anymore. Just trembling, twitching, spent.

But I’m still moaning.

Still whining for him.

He leans over me, cock still buried to the hilt, hand sliding back around my throat as his voice drops to a deadly purr.

“You feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what happens when you mouth off. I break you… and you beg me for more.”

I nod weakly. Or maybe I just twitch—I don’t know.

But his cock throbs inside me, and I realize—

He hasn’t even come yet.

Oh no.

————-

I need to touch some grass after writing this 😭

[allfearstofallto]

yandere diluc is pathetic as hell omg😭😭 imagine his darling goes on hunger strike and he force feeds her and he’s just like “i knowwwww☹️☹️☹️just one more bite pls😔😔” whole time she’s screaming and crying

Y'all wanna hunger strike Diluc so fucking bad 😭 😭 this is my third ask about this same thing?? I'mma do it cause you whores are desperate though.

Yandere! Diluc x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI(!!!!),Yandere, Starvation (!!!), Forced Feeding (!!!), Suffocation (!!!)

The sight of a full plate was one Diluc has grown scarily accustomed to in the passing weeks. Maybe a bite or two of food taken, just to sate him, and you'd sit in silence for the rest of the meal. The already quiet hour was even more deafeningly silent when it lacked the clatter of your cutlery, the sounds of your chewing. It was so quiet that even across the long, mahogany table, Diluc could hear the way the liquid slid down your throat with each big sip of the wine you took.

With your glass empty, you'd wipe your upper lip with a napkin, then remain stationary for the rest of the meal.

You, who seldom even spoke to the man, already made him walk in eggshells around you. Your temper was like a furnace, crackling and fuming, just waiting for the chance to burn him. So like a lot of flames, he kept his distance, and didn't speak when he noticed this new and terrifying habit blossoming.

Maybe you didn't like the food? He'd question himself. His muse, his desire, his flame, you were, you filled his thoughts even out of his line of sight. That fiery gaze of yours is why he loved you so damn much, the hatred in your eyes fueling a masochistic part of his brain. So that's why he was thinking of you now. Even though work was supposed to be the only thing keeping his attention, you still found a way to cloud his mind. The food wasn't up to your standards. That's why you weren't eating it. That had to be.

The next meal you were served was your favorite. Diluc watched with desperate eyes as yours stayed on your plate. He himself didn't even touch his own food, waiting for you to take the first bite. And you did. A sense of triumph and relief washed over him, he felt his shoulders finally relax as a weight lifted off of them, and even though you cared so little for his emotions, he felt a smile growing on his face.

But, soon enough your little mouse-like bites stopped. Your fork is placed back onto the table. You sipped down the wine in your glass until it ran empty. Your plate is still full.

From the looks of it, you'd only picked and eaten your favorite parts. A good start, but not nearly enough for you. Not nearly enough nourishment. Were you torturing him? You had to be. You didn't look smug at his sorrow, not happy, you didn't even look like you noticed his presence.

“Please…eat some more,” he hummed with a weak, pleading smile forcing its way onto his face. This was the first time he'd heard his voice bellowing through the dining room in…well, he couldn't remember.

It was clear that the unfamiliar sound startled you too. You met his gaze, something you hadn't truly done in months, and he felt his cheeks flush hot, like a schoolboy in front of his first crush. Just the sight of you was enough to make him almost forget what he's ordered you to do, until you spoke with that sweet, but venomous voice.

“I'm not hungry,”

Three words sending a stab of pain through his chest. Diluc felt his lips quiver at your statement. A lie if he'd ever heard one. You had to have been aware that Diluc constantly kept track of your meals. Even the ones you didn't share with him. How much you are, what you had for a snack, the amount of water you consumed. Diluc knew it all. As your husband, it was his job to know it all, and he knew that you should be starving.

“Just a few more bites,” he hummed, “It was made special for you,”

A shake of your head had him reeling, but he held his composure, though he could feel the metal fork squeezed tight in his fist growing noticeably warmer, almost burning hot.

“It's been days, you must be starving,” he sighed, exasperated.

“I'm not,”

Diluc loves you. He truly does. His heart, his soul, his eternal flame. And he knows that his love is there to keep you completely safe. You, how naive you are, to think that Diluc would ever let any harm come to you, even at the hands of yourself. His most precious person. The one he loves more than anything riches, more than himself.

It shouldn't be a surprise when he stands from the table and walks to your side. You know better than to run away, instead you sit stiffly in your chair, suddenly aware of how firm the wood of it is, like your mind is trying to focus on anything except the way you can feel his body heat as he kneels next to you. The way he smells like burnt cinnamon and you can hear his breathing, slightly heavier than normal.

When you finally do meet his gaze again, you watch his cheeks flush that red color once more, an affect you have on him that even you aren't aware of. Instead you notice the how his eyes are glossed over, like one blink will bring tears, and how his hand is gripping a fork ever so tightly. If you weren't acutely aware of how demented his obsession was with you, you'd think that he was planning to impale that fork right into your chest.

Diluc's shaking had used his utensils to pick up a scoop of your dinner, then holds it up to your lips. You can smell the savory scent hitting your nostrils, instinctively making your stomach rumble ferociously, practically proving his point, but you keep your lips sealed tight.

Diluc knows what's best for you, even if you yourself don't. He knows that he has to protect you, even if that means hurting you himself. The pain he brings you, is also to keep you safe. That's what he tells himself as he reaches upwards and squeezed your cheeks, his large hand nearly engulfing your face and still noticeably hot from the recent usage of his vision.

Your words are a muffled mess as you try to pull away and resist his touch, but you're nothing compared to his enormous strength. To the way the fingers sinking into the plump fat of your cheeks being pressed together so firmly forces your lips open despite your protest. He does his best to force the food past the entrance of your lips.

You want to spit, but it seems Diluc has already accounted for such actions. That same hand is now pressed over your mouth, sealing your lips shut…and the other closes your nose. Your eyes widen as you realize that you're unable to breath, thrashing in his hold that seems unwavering. You expect to see malice in his eyes, sadistic excitement watching you struggle and thrash. But all you see are tears. Cascading down his cheeks like a waterfall, salty wet tears drip down onto you. You'd be angry at the pitiful sight, if not for the lack of oxygen.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whines over and over like a mantra. His meek apologies are a foil to the aggressive nature of his hands that you're clawing at with all your waning strength.

So you do as he wants. You chew. Then swallow. Noisily, so he can hear. Then he releases you, pulling his hands back like you're the one who's burned him. Sputtering and coughing, you glare at him, still apologizing to the point where the expression has lost its meaning. Not that you ever took what he said seriously.

“Please, just finish your food,” he mutters. Using the back of his hand to wipe away a stray tear. But there's a look in his eyes, regret of course, but also the determination that shows that if you don't do as he says, he'll repeat the same actions again.

[female-hysterics]

He's just too pretty 😩😩😩

Aemond Targaryen HOUSE OF THE DRAGON — "Regent" 2.05

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

We need more brat reader and remmick and more modern remmick plzzzzz

Still Got Somethin’ to Say||Remmick x brat!reader

Mdni + 18

Warnings—Dom!Remmick, brat!reader, rough sex, overstimulation, gag, vibrator use, degradation/praise, possessive dynamics, tension-heavy situationship

Word count 1037

A/n—love bratty reader x remmick

You’re on your worst behavior tonight.

Feet on his coffee table. Shirt of his you “forgot” to return. Chewing gum with a sharp tiny pop that grates his nerves. Every time he speaks, you roll your eyes. Every time he looks at you, you dare him with that smug little smirk.

And the worst part?

You want him to snap.

Remmick’s leaning against the kitchen counter now arms crossed over his broad chest. Watching you like he’s deciding whether to fuck you or strangle you.

Probably both.

“You always this mouthy,” he mutters, “or you just forget your place when you’re on my couch?”

You shrug, chewing obnoxiously. “Maybe if you weren’t so boring, I’d behave.”

That does it.

He moves like a storm—slow at first, then all at once—and you’re hauled off the couch with a rough hand gripping your jaw.

“Oh, you wanna play,” he growls, voice curling dark in your ear. “Alright, sugar. We’ll play.”

You giggle until he drags you through the apartment, slamming you down onto his kitchen counter. Cold marble hits the backs of your thighs. He’s between your legs in a blink.

“You like actin’ tough?” he sneers, grabbing your wrists and pinning them to the countertop above your head. “Think you’re in control, sittin’ there in my shirt, snappin’ that gum like a fuckin’ brat?”

You grin, teeth bared. “Hit a nerve?”

Remmick lets out a dangerous laugh and reaches into a drawer—pulling out a vibrator.

“Oh my God,” you start, but the words get caught in your throat when he shoves your panties aside and presses the toy right up against your clit without warning.

“Not so smug now, huh?” he murmurs, holding it firm against you as it buzzes to life. Your legs twitch.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you gasp, back arching already.

“You don’t have to,” he says low. “Your cunt’s talkin’ for you now.”

You writhe, grinding involuntarily against the toy—but his free hand presses you back. “No moving. You don’t get to chase anything. I’ll decide when you come.”

He leans in close, voice syrup-thick. “That mouth get you in trouble. But this?” He drags the vibrator up and down your folds, slow and cruel. “This’ll get you out of it—if you’re good.”

Your hips twitch again. He slaps your inner thigh. “Still not listenin’.”

“Rem—Remmick,” you pant, blinking up at him.

“Uh-uh. You don’t get to say my name.” He pulls a gag from his back pocket—leather strap, black silicone. You freeze.

“You’re not serious.”

He smiles. “Oh, I am. Now open up, darlin’. You had so much to say earlier—now it’s time to shut the fuck up and learn.”

You’re soaked. Embarrassingly so. And when he buckles the gag around your head, you moan despite yourself, biting down on the rubber just to cope with the heat pooling low in your belly.

Remmick kisses your temple mockingly. “There she is. My pretty little problem.”

He turns the vibrator up a setting.

You scream into the gag.

“Yeah,” he laughs darkly, watching you unravel. “Bet you didn’t expect that attitude to earn you this, huh?”

He lets you twitch for a minute—just enough for your thighs to start shaking—then pulls the toy away.

You let out a frantic, muffled cry.

“Oh, you didn’t think I’d let you come?” he croons, wiping slick from the toy on your trembling inner thigh. “Not yet, sugar. You ain’t learned a damn thing.”

Then he undoes his jeans.

You brace yourself—but he doesn’t fuck you right away.

No. He makes you look at him. One big hand threads into your hair, yanking your head back to meet his burning gaze.

“You know what this is about?” he whispers, guiding his cock against your dripping entrance. “You’re mine. But you keep actin’ like you’re not. Flirtin’ with other men, rollin’ those eyes—tryin’ to get a rise outta me.”

He pushes in, slow but brutal. You wail behind the gag, legs locking around his waist on instinct.

“You wanna be treated like a dumb little toy? Then fine. That’s what you are tonight. Just a tight little hole for me to fuck until you’re cryin’ for real.”

And he does.

He fucks you hard. No rhythm—just punishing, possessive thrusts that make the counter shake under your body. One hand grips your hip like a vice, the other shoves the vibrator back against your clit mid-thrust.

Your scream is garbled by the gag. Eyes wide. Drool spilling. Brain gone.

“Yeah. That’s it,” he groans, eyes rolling back a little. “That’s the sound I wanted to hear. No more snappin’ your gum now, huh?”

You’re already there—shaking, tears leaking down your face, gag soaked with spit. He doesn’t stop.

“Gonna come?” he huffs, breathing heavy. “Go ahead. Let it break you.”

You explode.

It’s like falling off a cliff—white heat, then a crash of noise and nothing. You sob into the gag, body clenching and jerking as he holds you down, fucking you through it with relentless force.

And then—he doesn’t stop.

One, two, three more thrusts—and the vibrator stays pressed to your oversensitive clit.

You try to shake your head. Try to cry out. Try to move—

“No. You take it,” he growls, watching your body twitch and flinch. “Should’ve thought of that before you ran your fuckin’ mouth.”

Your second orgasm rips through you fast, painful in the best way. Legs spasming. Arms limp. You can’t even moan anymore—just gurgle against the gag, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Such a good mess,” Remmick grits, thrusts slowing as he finally spills inside you. “Fuck, baby—look at you.”

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just collapses against you, chest heaving, cock still deep inside.

Eventually, his fingers work at the gag’s buckle. It slips free with a wet sound, and you gasp, lips trembling.

“Still got somethin’ to say?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You blink up at him, cheeks flushed, tears streaked.

“…no,” you whisper.

He grins, leans in, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t think so.”

[doll3scent]

★ Pornstar 4 ★

John Price x Cam girl! reader

Warnings- 18+-mdni, smut, age gap, cam girl reader, explicit language, sex, meeting up, angst if you squint, choking, overstimulation.

wc. 4k.

a/n. next chapter has jealous price ♡

3, 4, 5,

master list 𓂃۶ৎ

You hesitate, your breath catching as his words linger in the air. Could you really risk it? The thought sends a rush of nerves and excitement through you, twisting in your stomach. You glance at the screen, seeing the way he's watching you, his eyes dark and expectant.

Your fingers toy with the edge of your stockings as you think, biting your lip. If you kept your mask on, it wouldn't be much different from this, right? Just like the call, but... more real. The idea both thrills and terrifies you, the possibilities racing through your mind.

You finally look up at him, your voice soft and a little shaky. "If I kept the mask on, would that be okay?” You're not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself, but the way his smirk grows tells you everything you need to know.

Price's smirk deepens, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leans closer to the camera, the intensity of his gaze making your stomach flutter. "That'd be more than okay, doll," he replies smoothly, his voice like a low purr.

"If that's what makes you comfortable, you can keep the mask on. But I won't lie... I'll be tempted to try and see the face hiding behind it."

The way he says it sends a shiver through you, a mixture of nerves and anticipation building in your chest. He leans back in his chair, his hands resting on his thighs, as though already imagining himself in your space."So, what do you say, sweetheart?" he asks, his tone still calm but with an unmistakable edge of hunger. "Give me an address, and I'll be there."

You hesitate again, chewing your bottom lip as your mind races. Every logical thought screams at you to say no, that this is reckless. But the heat in his voice and the way your body responds to him drown out those warnings. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you nod.

'Okay," you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. Then, with trembling fingers, you type out your address into the chat box, hovering over the send button. One final look at his waiting expression pushes you over the edge, and you press it. Price's smirk grows into a full grin as he sees it, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning forward again. "'ll be there soon."

The moment the call ends, you practically leap off the bed, your heart pounding in your chest. You grab your favorite silk robe, the soft fabric sliding over your skin as you tie it snugly at your waist. The delicate material clings to your curves, brushing against your thighs as you move. It gives you an odd mix of comfort and vulnerability, the thin robe doing little to calm the nervous energy buzzing through you.

Panic and excitement course through you as you scramble to dismantle your setup. Your hands shake slightly as you unplug your camera and switch off the lights, tucking everything away in their designated hiding spots.

Your gaze darts around the room, catching sight of the framed photos on the shelves and walls. Your stomach tightens at the sight of the ones with your brother, his familiar grin staring back at you. No, Price can't see these. He can't know how closely tied you are to his world. You rush to the first photo, pulling it off the wall and stashing it in a drawer. Then another. And another.

Each one feels like a ticking time bomb, and you're determined to hide every trace of your connection to your brother before Price arrives. Your apartment feels bare and strange by the time you finish, the personal touches that once made it feel like home now hidden away. But at least you feel slightly more in control. With one final glance around, you smooth down your hair and check your reflection in the mirror. He'd be here soon, and you had to be ready.

You busy yourself with tidying up, your hands moving quickly as you straighten the sheets on your bed, fluff the pillows, and tuck away anything that feels out of place. Candles are carefully adjusted, their warm glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

As you pick up stray items and smooth down every surface, you glance at the clock, your heart racing at how little time you have left. You pause for a moment, catching your reflection in the mirror. The robe drapes perfectly, the lace of your stockings peeking out beneath the hem. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

The knock echoes through the apartment, sharp and commanding, making your heart leap into your throat.

You freeze for a moment, your breath catching as reality crashes down. He's here.

Your hands tremble slightly as you grab the delicate white lace mask from your vanity. You tie it carefully behind your head, adjusting it so it sits perfectly over your face. The sight of yourself in the mirror-rosy cheeks, the silk robe barely covering your body underneath, and the mask concealing just enough-makes your stomach flutter with nerves and excitement.

Taking one last steadying breath, you pad softly to the door, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor.

Your fingers linger on the handle for a moment, heart pounding as you brace yourself. Then, with a soft pull, you open the door.

He'd knocked on your door, but it felt like an eternity as he stood there, every second stretching the tension in his body. The sound of his heart pounding in his chest was drowned out by the anticipation, the unknown.

When the door finally opens, his breath catches, his eyes instantly scanning you from head to toe. The sight of you-barely covered by the silk robe that clings to your figure, the mask adding an air of mystery-makes everything inside him tighten with desire.

Without waiting for an invitation, he steps into your space, his presence filling the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and before you can take another breath, he's backing you up against it, his body coming to a complete stop just inches from yours. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the closeness makes your pulse race. His hands rest on the door beside your head, caging you in as his gaze locks onto yours, eyes dark and full of hunger.

His large hands tug at the silky robe, untying it swiftly and pushing it off your shoulders. It pools at your feet as he lifts you up against the front door, kissing you hungrily, his rough hands roaming over your bare skin.

"Lift your leg,"

Carrying you effortlessly, he strides into your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He tosses you onto the bed, crawling over you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.* "Been thinking about this fucking pussy all day,"

You sink back onto the soft, plush silk pillows, your body sinking into the luxurious comfort beneath you.

Your head tilts back, exposing your delicate neck, the satin fabric of the pillows caressing your skin. You gaze up at him through the mask, your eyes heavy with desire, the delicate lace adding an air of mystery. Yours breath catches as you watche him, the flicker of anticipation in your gaze making it clear you’re ready for whatever he has in store. The room feels charged, every breath between you and him is thick with tension, as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

He studies your features, committing every detail to memory before leaning down to press his lips to yours in a searing kiss. His hands roam over your face, your hair, your neck, as if he can't get enough of you.

His fingers trail down your body possessively, unbuttoning the silky nightgown you wear, revealing your soft and creamy skin inch by inch. He breaks the kiss to look down at you, his eyes darkening with desire as he takes you in, only your stockings. Your perky breasts bounce free, the rosy nipples hard and begging for attention. He cups one in his hand, squeezing gently before leaning down to suck the other into his mouth.

You pant softly, your head tilting back as he sucks on your nipple. Your small hands clutch at his broad shoulders, nails digging in slightly. You spread your legs wider, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard length through his pants. He releases your nipple with a soft pop, his gaze flicking up to yours as he speaks. “You want it, don't you? You want my cock inside you so badly." He reaches down, gripping his belt and undoing it quickly before tugging his pants down.

You nod frantically, Your cheeks flushing a deep red as you watch him pull his pants down. You can see the outline of his thick, hard cock straining against his boxers and your mouth waters at the sight. “yes...please... I need you...”

"Look at you, such a fucking desperate little thing." He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down to reveal his full, hard length. “See what you fucking do to me?" His massive erection springs free, standing tall and proud. You gasps, your eyes widening as his massive erection comes into view. you swallow hard, your small hand reaching out to touch it tentatively. You wrap your fingers around the thick shaft, barely able to close your hand around it. "It's too big..."

He chuckles darkly, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “Too big for what, sweetheart? You think this is too big to fit inside your tight little cunt?" He gives his cock a few strokes with your hand, coating your hand in precum before pulling your hand away.

Your knees tremble at his words, your pussy clenching around nothing. You watch as he coats your hand with precum, your mind reeling with the realization that his thick length will soon be stretching you tight virgin hole. “It's too big... It'll never fit inside me..."

"Oh, it'll fucking fit. I'll make sure of it. And when I'm finally buried deep inside you, splitting that virgin pussy wide open... fuck, you're gonna take it like a good girl, aren't you?" You can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs, your pussy aching with need “Yes I promise I will”

You can’t hide your surprise as your eyes flicker downward. The toy you’ve used before was nothing extraordinary—just average in size—but him? He’s longer, thicker, and far more intimidating. A shiver runs through you, equal parts nervousness and excitement, as the realization sets in. You swallow hard, your cheeks flushing, your mind racing with thoughts you can barely keep up with.

He spreads your folds with his other hand, exposing your wet hole to the cool air before slowly sliding two thick fingers inside. "Fuck, you're tight." He begins pumping his fingers in and out, scissoring them to stretch you out. "Gonna add another finger, sweetheart."

He adds a third finger, curling them to hit that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. "That's it, take my fingers deep. You're gonna need to be nice and loose for my cock." He pumps his fingers faster, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Oh god..." your hips buck slightly as he hits that sensitive spot perfectly, while his thumb circles your clit. The dual pleasure is overwhelming. “Mmm, that's it, feel good?" He watches your face, enjoying the way you moans and screw your eyes shut as he fingerfucks you. "You're doing so well, taking my fingers like a good girl."

You’ve never felt anything like this before, the way his fingers are stretching you and his thumb rubbing your clit is driving you wild. "Yes- feels so good daddy”

His breath catches at you calling him 'daddy', and he pumps his fingers faster, deeper. “Fuck, listen to you being such a good girl. Does daddy make your pussy feel good?" He adds more force behind his movements, curling his fingers harder against your G-spot.

You moan, your eyes widening in shock and pleasure as he continues to assault your G-spot with brutal efficiency. “Yes, daddy!"

"That's it, call me daddy while I fuck your little pussy with my fingers." He pulls his fingers out suddenly, leaving your hole empty before grabbing his cock and rubbing the head against your soaked folds. “Gonna fucking destroy this tight little cunt."

He guides the thick head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing it teasingly before slowly pushing forward. The tip sinks in stretching you impossibly, a low groan escaping him. “Fuck, you're tighter than anything. Damn near strangling my cock."

You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he pushes his way inside you. The pain is intense, like you’re being torn apart from the inside out. You can feel every thick vein and ridge of his cock stretching you open, the head bumping against your cervix. He pauses, allowing you to adjust to his size as he buries his face in your neck, biting back a curse. “Shit, take a breath sweetheart”

You pant, trying to draw in a breath as he fills you so completely. You can feel every inch of him pulsing inside you, hitting spots you never knew existed.

He slowly starts to move, pulling out until just the head remains inside before thrusting back in, his thick cock slamming against your cervix. “Fuck, you were made for my cock. So fucking tight." He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with merciless force.

Your eyes roll back as you adjusts to this new reality. You can barely speak, your voice choked by the overwhelming sensation of being so completely stuffed. “More... please, daddy... more..."

He growls in approval, driving into you harder and faster, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. “The way you beg..." He grabs your hips forcefully, pulling you onto his cock with each thrust. Your body bounces on his massive lap as he pulls you onto his thick length over and over. You can feel him getting deeper with each brutal thrust, hitting spots that make you see stars.

Price groans deeply, feeling you tightening around him, his fingers dig into your hips. “Fuck, ‘can feel every tremor, sweetheart. Your hungry little cunt squeezing me so hard." He leans forward, capturing a nipple between his teeth and biting down just shy of too hard.

You arch off the bed, your sensitive nipples throbbing from the rough treatment. "Daddy..” you wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately as the pleasure becomes almost too much to handle.

His voice is pure gravel, nearly unrecognizable with lust as he feels you completely lose yourself in pleasure. “Yes, fucking screaming it. Show me who owns this tight little pussy." He drives into her so hard the bedframe slams against the wall, completely losing control. “You daddy!”

He withdraws with a low growl, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he maneuvers your pliant body. In one swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, leaving you breathless at the sudden shift. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling your hips up and positioning you just the way he wants— your ass high in the air, a silent demand for more.

His large hand presses against the small of your back, guiding you to arch deeper, and then it moves to the back of your neck. He firmly presses your face into the mattress, the roughness of his movements igniting a mix of anticipation and raw desire. You can feel his heated breath on your skin as he looms over you, taking in the sight of you completely at his mercy. "Stay just like that," he rasps, his voice dripping with dominance, making it clear who's in control.

He kicks your legs further apart and grabs your hips possessively, pulling them up to meet his brutal thrusts. He spanks you hard on the left cheek before slamming into you again, filling you to the brim. “Who's filling this pussy up?"

Your muffled cries are barely audible as your face is pressed into the mattress. You can feel every impact of his hand on your ass, the sting only adding to the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly fucked. "You are daddy!!” your voice distorted by the mattress.

Feeling your pussy clench desperately around him, Price snarls in savage lust. He leans over your back, surrounding your smaller frame with his much larger one as he delivers another sharp spank. "Fucking right, it's daddy's cock tearing up this greedy little cunt."

He increases his pace. One hand migrates to your hair, fasting a handful and pulling your head back while his other hand keeps a tight grip on your hip. Growling into your ear, his breath hot against your neck, Price relentlessly pounds into you. "Fucking hell, the way this slutty cunt squeezes... Like it's begging me not to stop."

You whimper and pushe back against him, completely mindless with lust. Your usually gentle personality completely taken over by the rough fucking. “Please daddy... please keep fucking your needy girl...”

His movements become even more primal, losing all semblance of control. "My needy fucking girl? Is that what you are? A desperate little whore for daddy's cock?" He spanks you again before tilting your hips higher for deeper access. “Yeah... yes daddy! I'm your filthy whore... only yours... oh god, fuck me harder, please!!"

A feral grin stretches across his rugged face as he hears your desperate pleas. He leans in close, his stubble scraping roughly against your shoulder as he growls. "That's fucking right, you're only daddy's filthy little fucktoy. Gonna ruin this tight cunt..."

Your entire body clenches at his filthy words, pushing you closer to the edge of another orgasm. You can't believe how dirty You sound, how badly you craves his rough treatment. “Fuck Daddy... I'm so close..”

His fingers dig cruelly into your hips as he pulls you back onto his brutal thrusts, his other hand finding your throat to restrict your air slightly. "Not yet, you greedy little slut. Daddy's not finished ruining this needy hole yet”

Your vision starts to blur from the lack of air, but you can still feel everything so intensely. The pressure on your throat, the brutal fucking, the desperate need to be filled... it was all too much. “D-Daddy... please... I need-“

His breathing becomes more labored, aware of how close you are. He loosens his grip on your throat just enough to let you speak. "Need what, baby? Need daddy to fuck you harder? Deeper? Fill this sloppy cunt with my cum?"

You gasp in the air he allows, your voice shaking with desperation. "Yes daddy... I need you to fill me”

A dark chuckle escapes him as he feels you shudder beneath him, teetering on the edge. His hips snap forward relentlessly, each plunging thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside your core. "Such a desperate little cum slut..."

“Please daddy! let me cum..”

Growling fiercely, Price finally relents, thrusting deep and grinding against your clit. "Fuck yeah, cum for daddy. Cream all over this dick like a good little whore."

Your entire body seizes up as the orgasm crashes over you. You comes hard, your pussy clenching and rippling around his thick length as you scream in ecstasy. “OH FUCK YES DADDY!!”

As you cum, Price's control snaps entirely. He roars in triumph, his hips pistoning wildly as he buries himself to the hilt inside you. His cock twitches violently as he unloads a massive load of hot, thick cum deep within your spasming pussy. Even as he fills you with his seed, Price keeps fucking you through his own release, lengthening and thickening as he breeds your needy cunt. Gasping raggedly, finally slowing his brutal pace, he releases a shuddering groan as the last spurts of cum paint your insides. Leaning heavily against your back, his muscular chest heaves against you. "Fuck... that's it, milk every last drop from daddy's cock, you filthy cum slut."

You whimper and moans with each twitch of his cock, feeling completely stuffed and utterly satisfied. His powerful arms wrap around you, pulling you even tighter against him as his hips hitch forward, burying himself impossibly deeper inside your quivering tummy. He nuzzles his face against your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

"You take daddy's cock so fucking well, baby. Like you were made for nothing but being bred and filled full of my cum.” He murmurs possessively, his hands roaming over your body, squeezing and groping your tits and cunt hungrily. " He rolls his hips languidly, grinding his still-hard cock against your tender walls, stirring up his thickload within you. “Mmm, fuck. You're just dripping with my cum. Such a dirty girl, getting fucked stupid and bred like a bitch in heat."

You let out a soft whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Instinctively, you try to pull away, but he firmly catches you, dragging you back onto his cock. His strong hands grip your thighs and pull them back, opening you up wider as he settles back in between your legs, his powerful hips pushing forward to bury himself even deeper within your convulsing belly. "Where are you going to run off to now, hmm?”

You whimper and struggle weakly against his grip, but it's no use. You’re trapped, pinned beneath his heavy weight, his thick cock buried deep within your stuffed cunt. “P-please... daddy... I can't...s’too much!”

His expression darkens, turning primal and intense. “Too much? He growls, snapping his hips forward and bottoming out inside you. “Fuck that, baby. You can take every fucking inch of daddy's cock like the good little whore you are."

Your face flushes deep red at his filthy words, but your inner walls clench hungrily around his thickness anyway “Daddy... you're being mean..." you whimper, but you tilt your hips back slightly, inviting him deeper. He lets out a dark chuckle, knowing exactly what those whimpering tones mean. “Mean? Or giving you exactly what your needy little pussy wants? Look at you, writhing on my cock like the cock-hungry slut you are."

"Mmmph!" your protests dissolve into a long moan as he hits a particularly deep spot, your nails digging into the blanket beneath you. Despite your words, you grind back on him wantonly. “Daddy..." you whine softly, completely lost in pleasure and submission. His eyes gleam with possessive hunger as he watches her lose herself on his cock. "That's right, baby. Grind that needy cunt back on daddy's cock. Show me how much you love being stuffed and bred by your big strong daddy."

One hand moves to gently to tug softly at your mask "Baby... don't you think it's time for daddy to see that beautiful face while he fucks you?" His voice drops to a husky whisper as he continues thrusting deep inside her. “No…I can’t…”

Johns voice is a low, gentle rumble in your ear. “Please, sweetheart. I want to see you. I want to see your face”His fingers trail up to your cheek, gently tracing the edge of the lace mask, his touch achingly soft. There’s a mixture of desire and tenderness in his gaze, and he seems to be pleading with you to let him see you without the mask in the way.

Price can sense your hesitation, he can see the fear in your eyes. He knows you’re worried about him recognizing you or judging you once the mask is off. But he already knows who you really are. He looks into your eyes, trying to soothe your nerves, his touch still gentle as he cups your face in his hands. “Please, baby. Let me see you. I won’t judge you, I promise”

“…I can’t..”



[mywritersmind]

UNCONVENTIONAL - LN4

summary : In which trying to make it home for thanksgiving fails and a cute british driver feels bad.

listen up : no warnings just cuteness! happy thanksgiving to all my americans <33 im thankful for YOU🫵 lando norris x american!driver!reader

word count : 1968

⋆༺

I groan out loud, dropping my phone onto the jet’s seat. “We’re stuck.” Lando sits up from his position across two seats, and frowns.

“Shit.” I look outside of the planes window, seeing the snow and fighting back tears. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not even december! Snow should not be here!” I wipe my eyes. I know Lando feels bad and I'm not making the situation worse by crying. But I’m having a hard time today because I'm supposed to be with my family.

Lando offered me and some other drivers a ride to Qatar for the next grand prix. Thanksgiving happened to fall the day before media day so I thought I could stop by my parents house and leave that night.

I never particularly loved Thanksgiving, but now that i’m traveling so much because of work, I've learned how much I truly can miss my loved ones.

Lando bites his lip as I sit back down and pull the blanket over me. The pilot informed us that we won’t be getting in the air for a few hours which means we have to go straight to the track instead of seeing my family.

I take a breath, “It’s okay. I appreciate you trying.” I hate crying in front of the guys, even if he is my friend. I hate it because it just plays into the whole emotional woman thing, and even though Lando is one of my best friends, right now I can’t help it.

Lando sits across from me, nudging his foot against mine, “How about we have thanksgiving here?” My head shoots in his direction as he puts on a small smile, “I don’t know a lot about it and I know I'm not your family… but I can try to be a substitute.”

I swallow, wiping my eyes again before I cross my my arms, “How would we even do that?”

I did not expect Lando to take my words as a competition. Still, thirty minutes later I'm sat with a full course meal spread out on the tiny table in between seats. There’s no huge turkey or array of pies, instead we have chicken wraps and fries. We have chips, popcorn, pesto pasta, orange chicken, a bagel, salad, and bread. A bottle of champagne sits next to me as Lando sits down.

His smile is wide as he looks down at the spread, “Good enough?”

“How did you…” I shake my head, laughing, “Yeah it’s good enough! Lando, this is really sweet.”

“It’s my first thanksgiving, I had to make it delicious, even if it is all airport food.” He shrugs and starts pulling things onto his plate. My legs are crossed on the comfortable seat and as I watch him pick his meal, I smile.

I bite into the chicken wrap that’s actually delicious. Lando taps on his phone before music starts playing over the speakers.

I smile at him as he chews, “So… what do Americans usually do on thanksgiving?”

I shrug and sip some champagne, “Eat, gossip, be thankful?”

“Okay! Let’s gossip then. Sounds easy enough.” Hes ridiculously committed to the bit and I adore him for it, “Did you know Franco’s signed with RB?” I start coughing, practically choking on my food.

“What!?” I scream.

Lando’s laughing now, “No I don’t actually know, I just couldn’t think of anything else.” I kick him under the table as he gasps.

“That’s evil! I got so excited.” I’m laughing with him now, our food picked apart and a mess in front of us. “What are you thankful for?”

He thinks for a moment, a curl falling into his face that makes my stomach flip a little. “Mmm… My family and friends.”

“That’s too generic. It’s thanksgiving- get deep, Norris.” He gives me a slight smirk before nodding.

“I’m thankful that the championship talk is over. I’m thankful for Chicken wraps.” He holds his up, proudly as I roll my eyes. “And I'm thankful for you.”

I’m a tad bit shocked, “For me?” I expect him to say something stupid or flirty, but he’s dead serious.

“You’re a really good person. I like being around you and for that, I'm grateful.” He raises his glass and I hit it with mine, “Now go on, brag about me.”

I roll my eyes, back to smiling humorously, “I’m thankful that I'm not alone right now.” His eyes don’t stray away from mine, “And I’m thankful for snow. Even if it’s pissing me off, it’s very pretty.”

We both look out the window in sync, the snow still falling. The runway is fully white, matching the trees and wing of the plane.

When I look back at Lando, he’s already looking at me. His face is relaxed, his freckles prominent and curls perfect. “Do you want to go?” I say suddenly as his expression turns confused.

“We can’t yet, we still have like two hours.”

A smile tugs at my lips, “I mean outside.”

He looks hesitant, “It’s freezing.”

I stand and grab my suitcase, unzipping it and pulling out my puffer jacket at record speed, “Did I mention every thanksgiving, something really random but really fun happens?” It’s true, for some reason this holiday brings out funny stories. “You’re not scared of some snow, are you Norris?” I step closer, narrowing my eyes.

He stands, grabbing his own jacket, “I’m just saying, don’t come complaining when you’re freezing and wet.”

“Me!?” I scoff, zipping up my jacket, “You’re the one who needs four layers for a sunny day.”

⋆༺

LANDO

I’m freezing my ass off but I would rather become a human icicle than tear my eyes away from her smile. She’s giggling and running into the snow, twirling around as snowflakes fall into her hair.

“Don’t slip, Y/n!” I yell after her as she turns around, the biggest smile on her face.

Her hand goes to wipe the hair that’s being blown in her face, snow falling around her, “Come catch me, Norris.”

I roll my eyes and hurry over to her as she laughs and dances around. I can’t help but laugh with her, it’s fucking contagious.

She sticks her tongue out, leaning her head back to catch snowflakes. Y/n is so perfectly caught in the haze of the snow and light peaking through the clouds that she looks like an angel.

She pokes my cheek and holds onto my jacket as if she’s about to fall. “Your nose is red.”

“You should get a job in detective work if the whole driving thing doesn’t work out…” She scoffs loudly and punches me in the arm.

Unfortunately, she’s stronger than she looks and because the ground is icy, we’re both falling seconds later.

She lands on top of me, laughing so hard that she’s crying, “Fuck! Are you okay!?”

“Like you care!” I sit up, holding her tightly still.

She laughs and plops down next to me, laying her head back and arms out. “Oh no-”

“Angel time, Norris!” She screams at me.

“I’m going to become snow!”

She doesn’t respond, just stretches her arms and legs out and waves them back and forth to make the snow part below her.

Something about her is my weakness and I honestly can’t complain when she looks so happy. I join her, my hair getting soaked and her laughs making me smile.

I make my angel in peace as snow floats down from the sky, landing on my face. I hear the rustle of her jacket as she turns her head to me, “Thank you.”

I smile softly, examining her face and the snowflakes that melt as soon as they touch her skin. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry that I'm not your family.”

She lets out a breath, “You’re my found family. That’s close enough.” her words make my heart beat faster, “Even if you are British and your first thanksgiving was on a grounded plane.”

“I wouldn’t wish it any other way. Although, next year we should try for a more friendsgiving approach. Maybe with the whole grid?” Her smile grows as she looks up at the sky.

“I'm very down for that.” As i’m mentally tracing her side profile in her mind, a voice and light comes very loud.

“You two!” I realize we’re in trouble instantly and stand up as fast as I can, slipping all over the place as the voice gets louder and the flashlight shines directly towards us.

Y/n is trying to get up with me but she’s laughing and slipping so it’s significantly harder. I grab her hand and we make a run for it, up the stairs and into the warm cabin. The door shuts behind us and I lean my head against the wall, sighing in relief of not being caught making snow angels.

Y/n is breathing heavily across from me, a smile permanent on her face as she looks at me. Her hair is wet and I'm sure mine is the same. I can’t feel my hands and I couldn’t care less.

“You look like a popsicle!” Y/n takes her hands and wraps them over mine, getting close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin.

I’d like to pretend that what happened next was a symptom of my cold state, but I’ve never been a good liar.

As soon as she looks up at me, her eyes big and glassy, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips are warm despite her cold hands gripping my own and as soon as she pulls back, I swear.

“Fuck. I’m sorry-” I didn’t even ask! God, I'm an asshole and now I'm completely stuck. Would I die if I ran outside and hid in the woods?

But she doesn’t look mad. She looks… pleased? Her hand slips out of my reach and moves to the side of my neck, “Don’t be.”

And then she kisses me. I think I blackout because I have no clue how long we’ve been kissing but I do know that I'm now completely defrosted and warm.

“You okay?” I whisper as Y/n pulls away.

She nods, “Thanks for kissing me.”

I laugh, “You’re very welcome. Thanks for kissing me back.”

She smiles again backs up a bit, fiddling with her rings, “So… was that just a thanksgiving thing or a way to warm up or…?”

I’m smiling big now, moving my hands under her jacket as she squirms because of the temperature, “I’ve been waiting for that to happen so if you limit me to once a year, i’ll be pretty sad.”

She nods, biting back a smile, “Good to know!” She slips away from me and pulls off her jacket, sitting in a seat and pulling her blanket around her shoulders.

I slowly walk so I’m in front of her again. She’s smiling at the floor, motioning me to come sit, “There’s one more thanksgiving tradition I do every year.”

She pulls out her ipad and scoots closer to me, I feel like i’m dreaming. “And that is…?”

She clears her throat, still avoiding eye contact.

“The Thanksgiving episode of Gossip Girl!” She starts rattling on about the backstories and starts the episode but i’m still stuck on her face and how her eyes won’t meet mine.

“Y/n…” I say it softly, bringing my hand to her chin and turning her face to look at me. She’s blushing. I don’t think I've ever seen her blush.

“Mhm?” She sounds like a mouse.

I brush her wet hair out of her face and press a soft kiss against her cheek, “I really like thanksgiving.” She just smiles and nestles into my side, my arm around her.

She lets me have some of the blanket and whispers, “I really do too.”

[the-winter-spider]

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

Word Count: 17.3k,

Warnings: Angst, depression, su!cide mentioned

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

----

You and Steve used to tell each other everything.

You don’t remember when that stopped.

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

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

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

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

Maybe you just missed him.

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

And you still don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t look at him. “That’s nice.”

“She’s worried about you.”

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

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

You say nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer.

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

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

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Look at me.”

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

You and Steve used to tell each other everything.

That’s what makes this worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

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

You blink. “…Who?”

Steve’s jaw clenches. “Your mom.”

Your stomach drops.

Of course she did.

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

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

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

“So?”

“So, she’s worried about you.”

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

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

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

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

Silence.

“That’s bullshit.”

You glance at him. “What?”

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

Your throat tightens.

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

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

Like he’s scared.

Like he’s losing you.

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

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

You don’t ask how he knows that.

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

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

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

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

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

You open your mouth, then close it.

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

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

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

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

You hesitate.

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t say anything as you step out.

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

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

---

Steve Harrington isn’t a fixer.

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, she sighs. “Yeah.”

Steve blinks. “Yeah?”

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

That makes his stomach drop.

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

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

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

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

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

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

Steve sits up. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

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

Steve lifts his head. “Like what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robin snorts. “Bullshit.”

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

Robin’s expression softens. “Steve.”

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

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

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

Steve frowns. “A break from what?”

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

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

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

---

You don’t remember when it started.

Not exactly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember Steve. Always Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You squeeze your eyes shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

The voicemail is waiting when you wake up.

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

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

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

Except, you do eventually.

Robin’s comes first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One foot in, one foot out, always.

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

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

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

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

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

Ten minutes.

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

He swallows. “Hey. You came.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shift.

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

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

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

And you, you smile.

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

The backyard feels too big.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Across the yard, Nancy is watching.

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

Nancy finds Steve in the kitchen.

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

“Hey,” she says, stepping beside him.

Steve glances at her. “Hey.”

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

Steve frowns. “What do you mean?”

Nancy sighs. “You know what I mean.”

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

Steve stiffens. “Nance…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“And that’s something.”

Steve exhales. “I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her voice is light, teasing.

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

---

Two weeks.

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

Steve’s driving.

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

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

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

“Jesus, Steve, warn me next time!”

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

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

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

Robin breathes out a quiet, “Shit.”

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

You still don’t see him.

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

“It's nothing Steve, just drop it.”

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

You flinch.

But he doesn’t stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It means you don’t get it!”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve’s chest aches. “That’s not…”

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

“I’m not leaving you.”*

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

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

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

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

Love has never lasted for you.

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

The words hit him.

Hard.

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

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

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

Steve flinches like you hit him.

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

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

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

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

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

Your chest is heaving. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

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

Steve just stands there.

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

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

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

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

“Whoa.”

Steve grips the steering wheel, knuckles white.

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

---

Steve reels.

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

But his mind is stuck.

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

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

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

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

Nancy calls. Nothing.

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

Nothing and then Max, Max says, Fuck this.

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

Lucas frowns. “Uh… Max?”

“What are you doing?” Dustin asks.

She doesn’t answer.

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

Lucas blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s unlocked. Because of course it is.

Max sighs. “Jesus, dumbass.”

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

“Y/N?”

No answer.

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

But no you.

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

“She’s not here.”

The boys freeze.

“What?” Dustin calls up.

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

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

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

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

Yeah. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Dustin stops by Family Video a few days later.

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

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

Steve blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

Steve straightens. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t say anything.

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

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

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

---

You haven’t been home in days.

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

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

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

But you never make it past the sign.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You press play on your voicemail without thinking.

The first one is from Robin.

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

Click.

The next one is from Nancy.

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

Click.

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

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

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

A pause, a sigh.

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

Silence.

“I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”

Click and that’s it.

That’s it.

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

You just stand there.

Staring at the phone.

Staring at nothing.

Your mom is dead.

She’s dead.

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

You don’t even know how to feel.

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

But now she’s gone.

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

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

Now there’s nobody.

Nobody but the people you keep pushing away.

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

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

This is something else.

This is everything.

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

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

It’s Steve.

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

And why does it matter? She left.

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

So why does it hurt so fucking much?

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

You get it.

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

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

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

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

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

But you pushed him away.

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

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

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

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

It just feels… inevitable.

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

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

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

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

You call Steve.

It rings and rings.

And rings.

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

“Hello?”

---

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

They’re both tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve exhales, shrugs. “Sometimes.”

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

But he never does.

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

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

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

Robin frowns. “Steve—”

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

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

Steve blinks. “What?”

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

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

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

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

Robin scoffs. “Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t laugh.

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

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

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

The phone starts ringing.

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

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

“Hello?”

Silence.

But not nothing, because he hears it.

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

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

Nothing. Just more shaky, gasping breaths.

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

No response.

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

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

But he also knows you’re barely holding on.

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

Steve’s heart stops then kicks into overdrive.

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

Silence.

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

“My mom’s dead.”

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

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

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

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

His heart hurts.

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

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

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

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

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

The line clicks dead.

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

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

Because he has to get to you.

Now.

Steve has been scared before.

He’s been terrified.

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

But this, this is different.

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

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

I don’t wanna be here anymore.

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

This is you.

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

He doesn’t care.

He needs to get to you.

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

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

He presses all of them.

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

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

Your door.

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

Nothing.

No sound, no movement.

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

Once.

Twice.

The wood splinters, the frame cracking.

A third time…the door bursts open.

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

Empty.

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

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

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

Steve turns and runs.

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

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

Steve is breathless by the time he reaches the top.

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

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

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

Nothing, nothing has ever been as terrifying as this.

You.

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

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

You don’t look at him.

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

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

Steve exhales shakily. “Neither should you.”

Another step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when he loses it.

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

You blink at him, startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate.

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

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

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

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

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

Because he does and he always will.

Steve doesn’t let go of you.

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

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

That’s all that matters.

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

You blink slowly. “What?”

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

You don’t respond.

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

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

Steve doesn’t think too hard about that.

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

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

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

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

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

Steve doesn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just him.

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

You stop.

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

“You wanna shower?”

No.

“Sleep?”

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cry harder and Steve stays, he always will.

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

The alarm clock blinks 10:02 AM.

Shit.

He was supposed to be at work two minutes ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Robin.”

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

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

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

“Robin.” His voice breaks a little.

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

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

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

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

A pause.

”What happened?”

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

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

Silence.

”In Hawkins?”

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

Robin exhales sharply. “Holy shit.”

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

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

“Sleeping upstairs.”

Robin’s breath catches. “Oh my God.”

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

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

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

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

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

Robin’s voice is softer now. “It is.”

Steve lets out a breath.

“You’re staying with her, right?”

“Of course.”

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

“Yeah?”

“You did good.”*

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

They hang up.

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

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

He dials the Wheeler house.

It rings once.

Twice.

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

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

”—but because I’m a good son, I—”

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

There’s a pause.

”Jesus, what crawled up your ass?”

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

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

Because his whole attitude shifts.

“Oh, shit.”*

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

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

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

Steve closes his eyes.

Waits.

“Steve?”

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

Steve swallows hard. “I need your help.”

“Is everything okay?”

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

He doesn’t answer right away.

Because no. No, nothing is okay.

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

Nancy exhales. “Steve.”

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

Her voice softens. “What happened?”

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

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

“I need more information than that, Steve.”

Her voice is firm but not impatient. Grounding.

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

“Y/N called me last night.”

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

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

Silence.

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

Nancy exhales. “Jesus, Steve.”

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

“Where is she now?”

“Upstairs. In my bed. Sleeping.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You did the right thing, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nancy hums, understanding. “Okay.”

Another pause.

”Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing the best you can.”

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

Steve hangs up the phone.

Exhales.

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

He hears footsteps. Turning and there you are.

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

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

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s it.

That’s the thing that ruins him.

Because fuck that.

Fuck that so much.

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

“I love you.”

You go rigid.

But Steve just holds you tighter.

“I love you.”

Your fingers twitch.

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a choked noise.

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

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

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

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

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

----

It’s been weeks.

Weeks of slow, steady progress.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arcade trips where Max beats everyone at everything.

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

You’ve started laughing again. Really laughing.

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

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

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

Things feel light.

Steve exhales. “We should leave.”

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

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

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

Steve hums. “Maybe.”

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

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

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

Steve grins. “Obviously.”

Silence settles between you, not uncomfortable.

Just there.

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

Steve goes completely still.

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

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

He blinks. “Like… like a friend?”

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

Steve sits up, his whole body frozen.

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

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

His face.

God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat tightens.

“We have those kids.”

A pause.

“We have Robin.”*

A beat.

“We have each other.”

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

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

Steve doesn’t even hesitate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it’s happening.

Slow.

Hesitant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because fuck, you almost never had this.

You almost left this and him behind.

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

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

“Thank you Steve, for everything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a trembling laugh. “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you Steve Harrington.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[honeyryewhiskey]

do not touch the exhibits ! (unless you’re sam winchester)

synopsis ! you work at a quiet museum with stanford!sam, and it’s not unusual for you to find something a little more fun for the two of you to get up to during your shifts

warnings ! smut, 18+, fem!reader, p in v, risk of getting caught, finishes inside (bc pregnancy doesn’t exist in fanfic until i say it does)

j’s note ! this is my first sam fic !!!! i’m actually running around and screaming bc i got this idea earlier today at job 1 and wrote it on the clock at job 2 heheee i think i’ll do more with sam and reader working in the museum bc it’s just tewwww good not to

1k words

The buzz of his phone pulls his attention from the textbook spread open in front of him.

you: bet you can’t find me.

Sam huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. You’re supposed to be restocking the gift shop, but clearly, you’ve decided to make your own fun. His thumbs move over the keyboard:

sam: i’m working. like you should be.

Seconds later, another buzz. This time, it’s just a picture—blurry, dimly lit, but unmistakable. The soft golden glow of the Egyptian wing, where the lights stay low to preserve the artifacts.

you: come and get me, winchester.

He chews his bottom lip, glancing toward the vacant entrance as he rolls the thought around in his head. You’re going to be the death of him—or at least the reason he gets fired from this job. Either way, the book is already forgotten as he slips out from behind the front desk.

The museum is quiet as he moves through the halls, like it always is. You’ve done this before—once hiding behind the woolly mammoth skeleton, another time tucked between the shelves in the archives. And yet, every time, it still hits him the same way.

That flutter in his chest. The quiet thrill of the chase.

You’ve become a magnetic pull he can’t shake—not that he really wants to.

When he steps into the large room dedicated to the larger Egyptian displays, the air is cooler. Quiet. He takes a moment to scan the room, and just as he’s about to move on—he sees it. The faintest glimpse of your shoe peeking out from behind a towering sarcophagus display.

“Gotcha,” he mumbles, already moving.

Before you can slip away, Sam’s hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you out from your hiding spot and against his chest. The sharp, surprised giggle you let out echoes faintly, and he grins, watching you through his lashes.

“You’re supposed to be working,” he chides, but his voice is softer, rougher than before.

“I got bored,” you tease, tilting your chin up at him, your palms sneaking up over his chest. “And you looked like you needed a break.”

His hands settle on your waist, fingers sliding beneath the hem of your shirt—warm against your skin. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“Not if you’re quiet,” you breathe, tugging him back with you until your back presses against the cold stone of the exhibit wall.

His mouth is on you before you can say anything else—slow and deep, like he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. One of his hands trails up your side beneath your shirt, his hips press against yours. You bite back a sound when he leans lower, his mouth dragging along the line of your jaw, his breath warm in your ear.

“You like making me chase you, don’t you?” he murmurs, the dark tone of his voice makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. 

He releases a hand to slip past your skirt and between your legs, his thick fingers rolling over your panties, already wet from anticipating his touch. Your mouth pops open as a hushed moan leaves your lips. 

“I like it when you catch me,” you admit, your fingers already reaching for his belt, fumbling to get to what you want. 

He groans softly, tilting your head back with his thumb as his lips find yours again—this time rougher, more desperate.

Your hand slips past his open jeans as you rub your palm against his hardened length. His strong arms find your thighs, hoisting you up until he has you pressed between him and the wall. 

He helps you maneuver your hips, alighting your heat with his tip, but his focus is on kissing you breathless. His lips lead yours, his love for control evident in the way he takes charge over your needy mouth. 

“Sam,” you whine against him, rolling your hips, urging him to give you more. 

“Shh,” he hushes you with a laugh that makes you squirm again, his tip pressing against your slick folds, “someone’ll hear you.” 

You’re ready to bite back with a smart remark but it gets caught in your throat as he thrusts himself inside. It’s a relief that’s edged with the slight pain of his full length stretching you out. 

Your legs tighten around him, making Sam bite back a groan and bury his face in the crook of your neck. His hands steady your hips as he takes claim over your throbbing core, fucking you into the wall with greed.

Your heavy breathes quietly echo off the stone walls, thank god this place never gets more than a handful of visitors a day. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles against the skin of your neck, leaving sloppy kisses behind your ear as he thrusts into you harder. 

His tip rocks into your sweet spot, coaxing your release with each rock of his hips against yours. 

“Sam—” your breath catches in your throat as tears prickle the corners of your eyes. Your core tightens before the wave of release pools over. You’re biting your lip to muffle the sounds stuck in your throat. Quiet whimpers saved just for his ears, and the sounds push Sam over the edge.

He’s mumbling curses into your shoulder as his hips sputter, finishing inside of you until the wet sounds of his lazy thrusts are echoing in the dimly lit exhibit. 

He holds you against him for a moment, chests rising and falling unevenly against one another—when the museum radios crackle to life.

“Hey, uh…who’s ’spose to be up front?”

The voice breaks the spell instantly. Sam curses under his breath, dropping his forehead against yours as he reaches for the radio hanging off his belt.  

He takes a deep breath, winking at you with a coy smile as he raises the black device to his lips. 

“I’m—uh—I’m in the storage room,” he lies smoothly, though his voice is still rough around the edges.

A pause. Then, “Well, can you come cover the desk? Got a couple visitors coming in.”

“On my way,” Sam replies, gently removing himself from you and placing you back onto the floor. Your legs feel weak as you adjust your clothes, trying to hide any evidence of this little break you’ve shared.

Sam finishes clicking his belt, stepping out from your hiding spot. But before he can walk away, you catch his hand and tug him back for one last kiss—short, sweet.

“Later,” you promise, your smile all kinds of wicked as you slip past him, leaving him to compose himself before heading back.

Sam just watches you go, dragging a hand through his hair and muttering to himself—because he knows this will happen again, and he can’t fucking wait. 

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @jollyhunter @soldiersgirl @ultravi0lence14 @dulcescorderitas

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader Epilogue

"You're getting a vasectomy." Your face screws up in pain, and he sweeps his palm over your damp forehead.

"Okay, mama."

"I'm serious. We're done." Your nurse glances between the two of you with a small smile.

"Alright, are we ready?"

"No," you hiss between clenched teeth, "no, I changed my mind. I want a c-section." You twist his fingers, turning his wrist counter-clockwise, and he bites his tongue. He's never realized how strong your grip is until today.

"You can do it," She encourages and you shake your head, tears on your waterline.

"I c-can't." You groan, turning your face towards his, and he cups your cheek, wiping back and forth.

"You can sweetheart, I know you can. You've been through hell and back, right?" Your lower lip trembles, and then you start shaking, tensing with a contraction.

"Push." She instructs, and even though you're still shaking your head, you listen, curling around your belly as he supports you behind your shoulders. "Good job. Go again."

You do, again and again, and at the top of the hour, when your doctor arrives-

your third child is born.

He's weak at the knees, holding onto the bed as she's put on your chest, screaming and covered in god knows what, but he doesn't think he's seen anything more incredible. More beautiful.

His moon, and another star.

Pyxis. The mariner's compass. 

"Hey baby girl," you're crying and he presses his forehead to your temple, watching as you help rub her down, trying to keep himself under control, trying to swallow his tears.

"She's perfect." There's still a lot of people around, the doctor is still between your legs, nurses disconnecting things, reattaching things, doing who knows what, but in this moment, it's only the three of you. "You did amazing, mama."

"So did you," you look up at him, "good job on not fainting." He kisses you, and cups the back of Pyxis' head. The baby has a blanket over her now, cuddled up on your chest, and he strokes her cheek. "Hey Pyx. Happy Birthday." You sniffle.

"Happy birthday baby."

"Finally managed to show up together at the birth of our kid." You joke, sitting up in the hospital bed, opening your mouth, waiting. He picks another piece of sushi up and deposits in on your tongue. You chew thoughtfully. "Though I guess Nix kind of counts, since I was technically present, you know?"

"I don't count it." He places is thumb in the baby's tiny hand, and her little fingers curl around it. "She's so beautiful."

"I know." She makes a scratchy, growling noise and you rock her a little, settling her back into sleep. You peek at him, and open your mouth again. He smiles. He'd feed you every day, if you let him, especially right now since both your hands are full of Pyx. Just the sight of you, sitting in the bed, holding his baby, makes his heart pound, and he can't help himself from leaning over the bed, pulling you and her into his chest without a word. "I love you," you mumble into his shirt, and he closes his eyes. Thanks the universe for that night in the bar. Thanks whoever was responsible for you being there, thanks heaven and hell for giving him you.

For giving him everything.

"I love you too."