#do you know how being in a dark room hurts? like physically hurts

[jabberamongthetrees]

Dear Vera,

good grief…

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been nice, you get…

────────────────── 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. ──

summary: your boyfriend’s return from one of the meetings with his father is always a gamble, a shot it the dark. this time, he simply needs you close.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

cw: 18+ smut, established relationship, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, cockwarming, praise, cursing

wc: 1.8k

a/n: soft smut with mattheo always has a place in my heart <3 enjoy!

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; mattheo m.list ; kinkmas 2024

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A knock on the door of your dorm in the middle of the night was not a surprise – ever since Mattheo left a few hours ago, you’d been waiting, waiting and waiting. He did tell you to get some sleep, as usual, and as usual, you didn’t listen; not that you deliberately tried to go against him, you just couldn’t sleep at all. You never could – not when he was possibly being hurt by his maniac of a father while you were comfortable in a warm but very lonely bed. So, when a quiet thump echoed through the room from the other side of the door, you felt your heart fluttering and dropping to your stomach at the same time.

Mattheo was back. But you didn’t know if he was back in one piece.

You nearly bolted out of the bed, hurrying to open the door – the last thing you wanted was making Mattheo wait. As soon as you turned the handle, he stumbled into the room, his arms wrapping tightly around you. You could almost feel the anxiety radiating off him, evident in the slight tremble of his hands caressing your back, in the shaky exhales fanning the crook of your neck, in the way his foot punched the door close behind him with way more force than needed.

“Baby,” you murmured, your own arms sliding up to embrace him as well. You felt up his back and sides, unconsciously searching for any signs of wounds or bruises, your ears tuned to hear the faintest hiss that could potentially escape his mouth. When you, thankfully, didn’t hear anything like that, you allowed yourself to pull away a bit, searching his face with a relieved yet still worried look in your eyes. “How–”

Mattheo didn’t let you finish, crashing your lips together in a kiss filled with nothing but pure desperation, as if he was trying to reassure himself that you were real, that you were physically there, in front of him, in his arms. You closed your eyes, letting him feel your presence and enjoying his, your hands soothingly moving up and down his back and shoulders. His right hand cupped your cheek as the kiss started losing its intensity, the movements of his lips mellowing out into tenderness.

“Need you close, princess. Please,” Mattheo whispered into your mouth, continuing to kiss you right after. You didn’t need words to understand him at the moment, but his pleading voice painfully tugged at your heartstrings, and you immediately understood everything he was trying to say.

“You have me, baby. I promise,” you whispered back, keeping the tremble out of your voice as best as you possibly could. Mattheo couldn’t do that, letting out a shaky breath through his parted lips. His hands moved down your body, a firm touch remembering each and every single inch of it, before he lifted you up, squeezing the back of your thighs. He carried you towards the bed, his steps urgent yet soft at the same time, gently lowering you onto the sheets.

His fingers hooked under the edge of your sleeping shirt, pulling it up to bare your skin – the contact Mattheo craved like a starved man would crave a crumb of bread after years of famine. His lips moved from yours down your jawline, latching onto your neck in a second, his tongue flicking out to taste the sweetness of it. He wasn’t leaving marks this time, like he usually did, as if he didn’t have enough strength to do it – he simply needed to know that your skin was still there, available for him to taste, that no one had taken away the privilege of being this close to you yet. His hands caressed your stomach, your waist, your chest, kneading the soft flesh of your breasts as if it was the last time he would be able to touch them. He was constantly afraid that it would be, especially right now, which made him savour each moment spent doing what he loved most in this world.

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered, lavishing your collarbones with wet, sloppy kisses. His eyes flicked up to your face for a moment, and you saw desperation still written all over his features, manifesting in the time he took to make sure not a single millimeter of you remained unloved. “The sweetest little thing in this entire fucking world.”

The trail he left all over your body, down your torso, to the waistband of your pajama pants made you shiver from anticipation. You wanted him in more ways than one, but you knew that he needed to feel all of you, which made you hold back on begging him to take you already. Although you couldn’t suppress the moans and whines that left your lips in a delightful string, the sound being angel’s music to Mattheo’s ears. He needed to hear you, to have proof that he was the one making you feel good, giving you pleasure – the only state he wanted to see you in that moment, lost in him and his touch.

Your pants were pulled down and discarded in a gentle yet somewhat hurried manner, Mattheo’s lips instantly attaching to your inner thighs. He kissed his way up, nuzzling his nose into your already dripping pussy before diving in. He had no intention to tease you right now, his aching heart screaming for him to be buried between your legs, the place he was sure he belonged in; and you were letting him, your needy sighs and pretty moans filling the quietness of the dimly lit dorm. It was all he asked for, and he got even more than that – your fingers tangled into his curls, your nails lightly scratching his head, making him moan right into you. Mattheo felt your wetness dripping down his chin and onto the silky sheets, but it didn’t matter – nothing mattered other than being completely and utterly consumed by you.

His fingers eagerly slipped into your entrance, curling and pressing into the spot he knew made you moan louder, relishing the feeling of your walls squeezing him – a sign that you were close, close to coming undone because of him.

“Need you to cum for me, sweet girl,” he murmured against your folds, his voice muffled, desperate, wanting. He felt a burning need to make you his, even though you already were, in every sense of the word – but he needed to reaffirm that.

“God, Matty, I-” Your words died down, turning into a whimper when he started pumping his fingers faster, his tongue swirling around your throbbing clit. Your release was accompanied by a tug at his hair, which nearly made him sob – he lapped everything up, slurping sounds riling you up all over again.

The path of Mattheo’s lips up your body, straight to your lips, was marked by your juices trickling out of the corners of his mouth that he made no effort to wipe away. You tasted yourself when he kissed you once more, one of your hands wrapping around his shoulders to pull him close. Mattheo pulled away the tiniest bit, just enough to take off his sweatshirt and pull down his jeans and boxers, tightly pressing against your right after. The skin-to-skin burned into both of you, your body still warm from lying in bed before he came, and his being the flaming heater it usually was.

“Please, love,” he muttered, his voice hoarse after everything he was doing just a minute ago. You felt his cock pressing between your thighs, the slight overstimulation of your sensitive pussy making them clench around his hips and lift up, searching for the friction you never had enough of. “I need you so bad.” His voice cracked at the last word as he felt your heat against him, his length twitching at the contact.

“You have me,” you whispered, reassuring him once again that you were his, and he could get what he so fiercely wanted. He took in a sharp breath as you shifted beneath him again, urging him to finally take you – and he was more than willing to show you how important you were to him, how he’d give you everything he had and then some.

Mattheo’s cock slid inside of you in a slow and gentle way, filling you up inch by inch until his crotch was firmly pressed against you. You gasped, pulling him down for another kiss, and he easily obliged, his lips moving against yours in a gentle but eager way. He started thrusting his hips back and forth, your walls squeezing him in a way that made him groan into your mouth, the satisfaction of being buried in you making its way to his brain and heart.

“Love you so fucking much, baby,” he nearly whimpered out, the air growing hot between your faces as both of you panted, the pleasure enveloping you in a warm, tingly blanket. “I can’t lose you. Ever. You hear me, sweet thing?”

“You won’t– Ah, fuck…! You won’t lose me,” you replied in an equally wanton voice, your words breaking up as the tip of his cock hit the spots that sent your mind into the kind of overdrive that chased all thoughts away, leaving the feeling of him, just him. Mattheo cupped your cheek, gazing at you with that intense affection that only he was capable of, his deeply brown eyes vulnerable, unable, unwilling to hide the entirety of his emotions, the love he felt just for you.

“Never letting you go, baby. Never in my goddamn life.”

You came together, the moment a manifestation of the connection you shared, the climax bringing you closer than ever, which was barely possible. Mattheo lowered himself onto the bed next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and bringing you to him, his hands mindlessly tracing circles on your back. You felt his cock softening inside of you, but he made no effort to pull out, drops of his release seeping out and onto your inner thighs.

“Can I stay inside? Please?” he asked, his eyes pleading as he looked at you, searching your face for, hopefully, an agreement. “I’ll wash the sheets tomorrow, just… please, love?”

You smiled, not entirely surprised by his request – it wasn’t the first time he needed to be as close to you as possible, which meant being inside of you in the most literal sense.

“Of course, baby,” you replied, giving him a small kiss on the lips. How could you deny him anything when he was looking at you like that?

Mattheo let out a satisfied hum and snuggled up to you, burying his face in your hair. As you dozed off, he felt his anxiety melting away just a bit – it never truly left, but at least in that moment, he could feel your warm body next to him and know that he got to love you and keep you.

[julymusings]

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight, you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—” 

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear what you're not saying. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which is decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but rather several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise which covers his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth. 

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him? 

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3

divider is from here

[pathologicalreid]

all the debts i owe | s.r.

in which Spencer takes your kids into account when deciding whether or not he should take a plea deal, and it doesn't go the way you expect

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: prison reid, takes place during 12x14 "collision course", i love my little reid family so much word count: 1.29k a/n: caamp song fic caamp song fic caamp song fic everyone cheered!!!!

Somehow, you felt like you were invading a conversation that you shouldn’t be a part of. Emily and Spencer knew this world much better than you did, and you were nothing more than a fly on the wall, grateful to be in close proximity to your husband after a few days of him being in jail.

You’d stopped by yesterday, dropping off a bag of his belongings and leaving them with Emily. You had wanted to see him then, if for nothing more than a confirmation that he was still breathing, but he was finally getting some sleep. The comfort of knowing that he had Emily watching over him had to be enough.

Spencer wasn’t allowed to keep his wedding band on. It was something that the jail was going to hold on to, but Emily had intervened and arranged for you to keep it.

The gold band weighed heavy against your chest, suspended by a chain around your neck for safe keeping, you kept it tucked into the collar of your sweater while you watched Spencer and Emily talk. “Please, just think about it,” Emily pleaded with him. “Think about the evidence.”

“I know,” Spencer assured her. “Scratch dots his Is and crosses his Ts. We know that,” he responded, brown eyes flickering over to yours for just a moment.

Leaning heavily against the wall for support, Emily shook her head, “But a jury won’t. A jury will only see what Scratch wants them to see.”

You shifted on your chair, resting your elbows on the table and propping your head in your hands. “You think they’ll convict me?” Spencer asked, a string of hurt threaded through his voice as if the thought of a jury of his peers thinking he was a killer caused him physical pain.

“I don’t know,” Emily answered, her voice barely above a whisper, “But if they do. Five years—that’s doable. You are young. You can have a life after that.” You were grateful for Emily; it seemed like she was doing the begging that you didn’t have the energy for.

“Not as an FBI agent,” Spencer rebutted, “I’d be a convicted felon.”

Her face softened as you watched, “Yes,” she acquiesced, “but you’d be free.”

At the first sign of tears in Spencer’s eyes, you felt water lining your own, “The FBI is my home. It’s where I belong.”

Emily looked at you for help, but you couldn’t get yourself to speak. You understood Spencer in a way few people ever could, the idea of him not being a part of the BAU made your chest ache as much as it did his. “You don’t belong in prison, and if you play Russian roulette with this… twenty-five years. That is a lifetime.”

Your husband lifts his chin in a display of false confidence, “If Scratch is framing me, you guys will get him. I know you will.”

“Yes, we will. I promise you we will never give up, and we will exonerate you.” Familiar silver started to line Emily’s eyes as well, “But what if we can’t do that this week? Or this year? Or this… decade? Because I know we can’t do it before your arraignment.”

Spencer turned to look at you, fully facing you for the first time since you arrived at the conference room this morning. “Thirty, twenty-seven, and twenty-five.”

Emily shook her head, confused. “What? What is that?” Her dark brows were knit together, looking between the two of you as she waited for an explanation.

You faced the two of them, wiping your sweaty palms across your jeans, “That’s how old our kids would be when he gets released.”

“They won’t even know who I am,” he said miserably, looking up at the ceiling to stop tears from gathering in his eyes.

Standing up from the chair, you stepped over to him, taking your rightful place at his side. “You could take the new deal, Spence,” you reminded him. “Five to ten—”

“I need to see them grow up,” he pleaded, brown eyes boring into you as he begged you to understand. Spencer always accounted for every possible outcome. Despite the haze of the past few days, you were sure that he knew what he was getting himself into.

You nodded up at him, taking one of his hands in yours before glancing over at Emily, “Can you give us a minute?”

Prentiss sighed and gave the both of you an understanding look before she slipped out of the room. “I need to see them grow up,” he repeated himself, dragging his free hand down his face while you squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“I know,” you whispered, “but with the deal… five years.”

“Or ten,” he countered. “Ten years… Nell would be in high school.”

Your stomach flipped at the idea, your oldest baby in high school, and just like that, you understood Spencer’s decision. You’d be there, outside in the world with your kids for those five to ten years; you’d see all of the in-between. Spencer would miss everything, learning about his own children through phone calls and letters, he’d play a passive role in their lives. If there was even the slightest chance that he would plead not guilty and win, then this whole nightmare would be over. “You have to fight,” you said, announcing the conclusion that he had already come to.

He nodded in confirmation, “Angel,” he whispered, “I don’t want you to come to the arraignment.”

Your breathing hitched, “What?”

“I want you to be with the kids. You’re the only parent they’ll have for who knows how long,” he explained himself.

You hadn’t worked out what you were going to tell the kids. They were too young to understand. Finn was barely out of the newborn phase, Livvy’s vocabulary was expanding every day, and Nell… Spencer was Nell’s best friend. Steeling your expression, you nodded once, “Okay, I won’t go.”

His lips parted and closed like he wanted to say something but stopped himself, you squeezed his hand in an attempt to be encouraging. “Just in case things don’t go the way we want… don’t wait for me.”

You dropped his hand, shaking your head in horror. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing from him, without a second thought, you reached into your shirt and pulled his wedding band out, leaving it on the chain, “For better or for worse, Spencer.”

“This is far worse than anything we could have ever thought of,” he continued, trying to give you an out. You could leave and he wouldn’t fault you, but you’d fault yourself.

Instead, you waved away his offer, “It would be an honor to wait for you. If that’s what it takes for me to see you again.”

He kissed you. Ducking his head until his lips met yours, there was nothing chaste about it. You both knew it was the last kiss, and it had to be good enough to last a lifetime. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before, fueled purely by emotion; you kissed him like you’d never see him again. You gripped the collar of his sweater to discourage him from pulling away, and you tried to memorize the feeling of his hands on your waist.

A hollow feeling filled your chest when he pulled away, “I love you,” you breathed.

He nodded, resting his forehead against yours, “I love you too.” He pressed another small kiss to your lips, “I’ll make this up to you.”

You let yourself be pulled into his embrace, burying your face in his chest. You held onto him because this moment couldn’t last forever, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to drag it out.

[debonairprincesposts]

Burn out

(Jason Todd x Reader)

Summary: Jason comes home and finds reader passed out in the bathroom

Words: 1.7k

As Jason stepped through the door of his apartment, the familiar scent of leather and faint traces of gun oil greeted him. The day had been long, filled with the usual patrols and skirmishes that left him both physically and mentally drained. Yet, as he closed the door behind him, a sense of relief washed over him. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place where he could let the weight of the world slip away.

But as he walked deeper into the dimly lit space, something felt off. The silence hung heavy in the air, and an unsettling instinct prickled at the back of his mind. He called out for you, his girlfriend, but the only response was the echo of his own voice.

"Babe? You here?"

No answer.

His heart began to race as he moved through the living room, a creeping sense of dread pooling in his stomach. He checked the kitchen; no sign of you. The soft light from the bathroom was slightly ajar, casting a warm glow that felt at odds with the chill creeping up his spine.

"Chipmunk?" he called again, his voice tightening.

Pushing the bathroom door open, he was met with a sight that froze him in place. There, on the cold tile floor, lay you, unconscious. Panic surged through him like a tidal wave, and his heart pounded against his ribcage. He rushed to your side, kneeling beside you, his hands trembling as he reached out to check for any signs of life.

He called out your name in panic, his voice a mix of urgency and fear. He gently shook your shoulder, trying to rouse you, but there was no response. The sight of your pale face, framed by disheveled hair, sent a jolt of anxiety coursing through him. Why were you here? Why weren’t you in bed?

He quickly scanned the bathroom, searching for clues. Had you been sick? Were you hurt? His mind raced with scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. He couldn't lose you—not like this. Not after everything they had fought through together.

With a swift motion, he gathered you in his arms, cradling you against his chest. The warmth of your body contrasted sharply with the coldness of the tiles beneath them. His heart ached as he felt your fragile weight. For a moment, he simply held you, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, trying to anchor himself in the chaos of his thoughts.

"Come on, sweetheart, wake up," he murmured, desperation creeping into his voice. He could feel his panic rising, his mind flashing back to the times he had lost people he loved. "You can't do this to me."

He gently brushed your hair back from your face, his fingers shaking with worry. Jason had always been the tough one, the one who faced danger head-on, but this—this was different. This was vulnerability, and it terrified him. The thought of you being in pain, of you suffering alone while he was out fighting crime, clawed at his insides.

"Please, just open your eyes," he pleaded, his throat tightening. The memories of their laughter, their late-night talks, and the way you made the darkness feel a little less suffocating flooded his mind. He couldn't imagine his life without you.

After what felt like an eternity, you stirred. Your eyelids fluttered, and you groaned softly, the sound like a balm to his frayed nerves. Relief flooded through him, yet he felt anger bubbling beneath the surface. How could you let yourself get to this point? Did you not know how much you meant to him?

"Baby, hey, it's me," he said softly, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "You're going to be okay. Just stay with me."

As your eyes slowly opened, confusion clouded your gaze. Jason felt his heart leap at the sight of you, but the worry didn't dissipate. He needed to know why this had happened, why you had collapsed like this.

"I... what happened?" You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You scared the hell out of me," he replied, his voice firm yet laced with tenderness. "You passed out. We need to get you checked out."

He helped you sit up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders for support. The concern etched across his face mirrored the tumult of emotions inside him—relief mingled with anger and an overwhelming need to protect.

"Let's get you to bed," he said, his tone softening. He couldn't bear to see you so vulnerable, so fragile. You needed him now more than ever, and he vowed to be there for you, to ensure you never felt alone in your struggles again.

As he guided you to your feet, he held you close, arm around your waist as he helped you to your room.

Once Jason got you to your bedroom, the warm, inviting space felt like a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the day. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the room, casting gentle shadows on the walls. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands steadying you as you swayed slightly.

"Just take a moment," he said, his voice low and reassuring. He knelt down in front of you, searching your eyes for any sign of lingering confusion or distress. "You scared me back there."

You nodded slowly, your brow furrowing slightly as you took in your surroundings. Jason's heart ached at the sight of you looking so lost. He brushed his fingers over your cheek, the warmth of his hand a comforting contrast to the worry that gnawed at him.

"Let's get you some water," he said, standing up and moving toward the bedside table. He poured a glass from the pitcher he always kept filled, his movements deliberate and careful. He could feel the tension in his body, a lingering anxiety that wouldn't easily dissipate.

Returning to your side, he handed you the glass, watching intently as you took small sips. "Easy, don't rush it," he instructed gently, the protective instinct in him flaring up. He couldn't help but wonder if you had been pushing yourself too hard again.

As you finished, he took the glass from you, placing it back on the table. He sat beside you on the bed, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. "Do you feel any better?" he asked, his tone softer now, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his usual bravado.

"Yeah, just a bit dizzy," you admitted, your voice still shaky. "I didn't mean to worry you."

His heart softened at your words. "You don't have to apologize. I just... I hate seeing you like this," he confessed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I wish you would let me in more when you're feeling overwhelmed."

You looked down, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I didn't think it was that bad. I guess I just pushed myself too far."

Jason sighed, feeling the weight of your words. He wanted to fix everything for you, to protect you from the world's harsh realities. "You don't have to do everything alone, you know? I'm here for you, always. Just let me help."

He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against him. The warmth of your body against his felt grounding, and he breathed out slowly, trying to calm the storm of emotions within him. "What can I do to help you right now?" he asked, his voice low and steady.

"Honestly? Just sit with me for a bit," you replied, leaning your head against his shoulder. The simple request tugged at his heartstrings, and he nodded, grateful for the opportunity to be close to you.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the building settling. Jason's mind raced with thoughts of how he could support you better in the future, how he could help you navigate the struggles you faced. But for now, he focused on being present, feeling the comforting rhythm of your breathing against him.

After a while, he pulled away slightly to look into your eyes. "Do you want something to eat? Maybe some soup or something light? I can whip up something quick," he offered, eager to take care of you in any way he could.

You smiled faintly, your eyes sparkling with gratitude. "That sounds nice, actually. I'd love some soup."

"Alright, stay put," he said, rising from the bed and heading to the kitchen. As he moved through the familiar space, he felt a surge of purpose. He opened the cupboard, pulling out a can of soup—comfort food that reminded him of simpler times.

While the soup heated on the stove, he couldn't shake the feeling of protectiveness that enveloped him. He considered how he could make you feel more secure in your relationship, how he could encourage you to lean on him rather than carry your burdens alone.

Minutes later, he returned to the bedroom with a steaming bowl of soup, the scent filling the air with warmth. "Here you go," he said, setting the bowl on your lap. "Just take small bites, okay?"

You laughed softly, the sound lifting his spirits. "Yes, sir," you replied, picking up the spoon and taking a cautious sip. He watched you closely, a smile breaking through his earlier worry as you visibly relaxed.

"See? Not so bad," he said, leaning back against the headboard, enjoying the sight of you slowly regaining your strength.

After a few more bites, you looked at him, your expression serious. "Jason, thank you for being here. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your words. "I'll always be here. Just promise me you'll talk to me when things get tough, okay? I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

You nodded, your eyes reflecting sincerity. "I promise. I'll try."

As the two of them settled into a comfortable silence, Jason couldn't shake the feeling that this moment, this simple act of caring, was what made everything worthwhile. He was determined to protect you—not just from the dangers outside but from the struggles within. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least you’re okay.

Hope y’all liked it ∠(ᐛ 」∠)

[mournthebird]

Cold Metal.

summary: Soldat's arm gets cold. You are the solution.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Bucky is still in the mindset of Soldat | Medical treatment | IVs & needles | Malnutrition/re-feeding | PTSD | Post!HTP | Brief mentions of past SA and abuse | Past S/H & Scars | Trauma | Roughly translated Russian, might not be accurate

a/n: Yeah so this turned into a lot, I wrote more than I expected to. This is also my first 'fic' of him wooo. I always had this hc that his arm gets cold and it hurts him. The scars being more sensitive to the cold and cause tension around his arm. So I thought something like this would be nice. He deserves it okay ;; wc: 3.6k

At first, it was hard. Harboring a literal assassin from the government was not an easy task, especially with one as unstable and deadly as the fucking Winter Soldier.

How you ended up doing this, you had no idea. Someone like him wasn't easy to just stumble upon, yet here you were. Maybe your heart was too good, but seeing him curled up in that alley a few days ago, shivering and soaked to the bone, a dislocated arm and bloodied from what you assumed was some kind of assault, you couldn't just leave him to the elements.

He had looked so scared, his eyes so full of confusion and apprehension when you initially approached him. He instinctively reached for a weapon at his side - a gun, a knife, anything - but found none, and the panic of a wild, cornered animal spread on his face. He even attempted to stand to fight you, like you bored any sort of threat to him. You just put your hands up in a manner to try to calm him, something as simple as standing caused him pain. He clearly had more injury than what your eyes could see.

You weren't sure how, but you had convinced him you were a safe person and that he could stay in your home. You were just trying to be a good person. He looked so scared, pressed into the wall of the old building and trying his best to look intimidating despite all the injuries that covered him more than the rain soaking his clothes. Ironically, you didn't know just who he was until you had began to delve into the news...a day after you let him into your house. Everything about him being wanted, his crimes, who he was. A sleeper agent, an assassin, the deadliest in the world. And you brought him into your home. Willingly.

Sure, at first you didn't know what to do, the fist of HYDRA sitting in the corner of your spare room, lashing out like feral dog if you came close, or god forbid even stand in the doorway. With how deadly the news made him seem...to you, he didn't appear that way. He just looked hurt and scared. His defensive behavior easily mistook for aggression.

But, none of it scared you away. You didn't care. You might've just been a regular civilian, but you were far from ignorant. You were sneaky, you knew a lot about both parties, SHIELD and HYDRA. You immersed yourself in research, learning as much as you could about HYDRA to get more information about this sleeper soldier.

Despite your efforts, you only scratched the surface.

Honestly, you didn't want to dig too far. You didn't want him to grow suspicious or think you couldn't be trusted for any reason. He already holed himself up like a hermit, it was literally like placing a feral animal inside a home and watching it search around curiously but anxiously, then hide away in a small, dark place for safety. Besides, what HYDRA had on him was disturbing enough.

He was quite aggressive defensive at first too, he didn't want you near him whatsoever. He had a lot of wounds and you knew he'd need to see a doctor, despite the physical ones you saw, you could also tell he was underweight and malnourished a little bit. You weren't a doctor yourself, and you didn't want to attempt to do anything without some kind of advice. Problem was, he was wanted. You couldn't just take him to see a doctor.

"Must things be so complicated with you?" You sighed as you spoke to him while he practically barricaded himself in your closet. You didn't mean anything serious, you were just a little stressed and frustrated, thinking of what you could possibly do to help.

In the midst of your thinking, you remembered you had a close friend who worked in the medical field. They might have done some...questionable things...but that's honestly what you need right now. Someone who wouldn't blabber, and all above and below, you kept some pretty serious secrets for them in the past. You didn't talk anymore, not very often anyway, but they were always down to help you out if needed. It would be much better than trying to drag him to an office where he'd be discovered and you'd have to wrestle him down, which would be a pathetic attempt to restrain him.

Long story short, a quick home visit pursued with stolen medical equipment and a basic check up, it was confirmed he was malnourished like you suspected. He wasn't terribly thin, but you could tell someone his stature shouldn't be so skinny, his ribs protruded too much for your liking. He was also dehydrated along with having an extensive amount of old and new injuries, an untreated dislocation, and some minor infections.

The soldier surprisingly didn't fight that much when he was getting checked out, his blue eyes glued to you the whole time, only averting to watch the 'doctor' as they moved around him. But nothing could be too easy, when the needles came out, he became a bit adamant and aggressive. He spoke in Russian, which you didn't understand. He shouted and sounded angry, backing himself into a corner as he prepared to fight like his life depended on it. His body trembled with adrenaline and he watched the two of you with an unblinking, cold gaze.

You realized it was bad. His treatment prior to you finding him. He acted like a needle was a raging hot blade about to cut his other arm off. Patience and waiting him out proved to be the best way to approach this. He was stubborn and stood his ground for two full hours before he slowly relinquished and he allowed the needle to go in for the IV. With a quick rundown from your comrade, some supplies, and promised confidentiality, they left you both alone.

You also learned how to place an IV, thanks to the instructions left with you and some YouTube videos, since you had to do it every day for two weeks so you could feed nutrients into his body. Everything he ate he just threw up, his body rejected food otherwise. Broths and mashed potatoes were all he could eat. Sometimes his body would tolerate bread and heavier, more filling foods like chicken. He eventually got to eating some veggies like soft carrots and zucchini if properly cooked too.

You still had to feed him carefully. Sometimes his body would still throw it all up and he'd get sick again. It was a grueling process.

You stuck it out and now he could slowly eat again, which was a relief. No IV necessary. He seemed glad about that too.

Besides refeeding, there was an array of issues that came along with being his unofficial caretaker. The Winter Soldier, or Soldat, as he referred to himself as, it was better than asset, was pretty difficult to care for. He was wary of just about everything, you specifically, he didn't know why you were so nice to him. He wondered if you had an underlying motive, his scrambled brain so torn apart tried to connect the dots.

Rewards came with good behavior, rewards being basic human decency and kindness. Good behavior meant pleasing his handlers.

You never wanted to be pleased. You never asked.

Was he supposed to do it anyway?

He watched you as you cooked something in a big pot on the stove. He saw you chopping carrots. He liked those. He liked the broth you made him too, and the potatoes. Good, this was safe food. Another reward? Was he supposed to do something?

You walked over to where he sat, his icy gaze watching you carefully. He was thinking behind them, you could tell, but he barely ever spoke besides simple Russian words that you learned either meant 'yes' or 'no,' or other things like 'please' and 'thank you.' While you set down a glass of water for him, he reached out and grabbed your waistband, leaning forward suddenly. The touch surprised you and made you bristle, your hand snatching his wrist instantly. "Soldat! No, no." you pulled his hand away, it nearly melted off you. Your sharp words startled him, her flinched back a little, his gaze still dull but now held a hint of confusion.

He tilted his head, frowning. "Позвольте мне служить вам." he grunted, his voice rough and raspy like he had swallowed broken glass, so unused, it was the most he had ever spoken to you at once. And you had no idea what he said.

"Don't do that, Soldat." you reasoned, speaking gently, you weren't angry, just a little shocked. The confusion on his face was clear, and fear that flashed in his eyes made you swallow the sudden lump in your throat. Why had he done that? He had never tried to touch you in any way before, in fact he avoided any kind of touch possible. Now he had tried to...you weren't sure. But the cool metal that hooked into your waistband made you shiver.

He leaned back into the couch, looking scolded and anticipating something, he was tense and stiff. You watched him, he said nothing else, his eyes glued to the floor, not daring to tear away from the spot on the carpet to look at you. He seemed scared.

"It's okay," you spoke up after a few silent moments, "You don't need to...do anything." You had a good idea of what he was trying to do, perhaps some sick mindset or conditioning had trained him to serving people before you. You knew HYDRA well enough, it wasn't a long shot to assume. The agents there were barbaric and inhumane.

He ate his food quickly and quietly, refusing to look at you the whole time, then retreated to the guest room like usual. He locked himself away most nights, you were fine with that. He was eating and sleeping, two things he desperately needed.

You sat on the couch watching a show you enjoyed, it was well into the evening by now. The bustling city now quieter and dark, the sun had set hours ago. The door to the guest room slowly opened, your attention drawn there and away from your show. Soldat nearly stumbled over his own two feet, he appeared visibly irritated, in pain somehow. It made you sit up, his expression wearing how he felt as obvious as day. "Hey...what's going on? Are you hurt?" You stood and padded over to him, to your surprise he hadn't backed away.

"Да..." he replied in a groggy, rough voice, the strain dominated the sleep and you felt more worried. For the most part, he looked okay, no obvious injury that you could see. You still tried to look him over just in case there was something he might be hiding, or maybe he hurt himself? He wasn't wearing a shirt, his skin looked fine, all old injuries as far as you could tell. Healing wounds and scars, nothing looked new or irritated.

His metal arm was cradled slightly, so you paid more attention to it. "Your arm hurts?" You asked gently, your eyes scanning it. You weren't entirely sure how his metal arm could hurt, but the tech was advanced so maybe there were some nerves somehow integrated in there. He gave a sharp nod, securing your suspicions.

"Okay...where?" You hoped maybe he'd give you more of an idea, but you doubted it. If he did speak, you didn't know Russian, it would be pointless.

He pointed to his shoulder, where metal met flesh. The nasty scars there were swollen, but that didn't look any different than usual. You observed the area regardless, looking over it for several minutes before you frowned and leaned back. You couldn't see anything that would give away any sort of pain. "How...does it hurt? It looks okay, is it internal?" You questioned slowly, hoping he would tell you, in English...

He shook his head sharply again, jerking side to side. His brows were tightly knit together and a hard breath huffed out of his nose. He reached up with his right hand, his fingers carefully touching the scars. He was so tentative, like the scars were scorching hot, or like he was afraid to touch them at all. "Холодный." His voice came out with underlying discomfort, he had to force himself not to wince.

You frowned. Of course not.

"Uh...-"

"Холодный," he repeated, his tone more firm this time like he thought repeating the word would make you understand. The expression on your face just made him feel frustrated, he grabbed your wrist with his right hand and pulled your hand up to his scarred shoulder. You weren't sure why you flinched or tensed like you expected some sort of pain, but you did.

Under your palm, you felt the stark contrast between the hot, irritated scars and freezing cold titanium.

Cold.

Was that what he was trying to say? That couldn't feel good.

"Is...your arm...hurting because it's cold?" You asked slowly, trying your best to read his face. He nodded once, grunting.

You felt stupid now. Damnit. "I see...okay, let me see what I can do." You pulled your hand off his shoulder, walking over to a small storage closet you had down the hall. Your eyes scanned the shelves until you spotted the heat blanket you had stored in there for the colder months. You grabbed it and walked back over to him, "Here, if you plug this in and drape it over your shoulder, it will keep you warm."

You offered the blanket to him, he stared at it for several seconds before he stepped closer to you, his hand around your wrist and pulling your palm to his shoulder again. You frowned a little and looked at him, "Your shoulder was cold...right? This will help, I promise." You didn't move your hand, you weren't sure what he wanted other than to warm up his arm. "The blanket will be warm."

"Нет." Soldat stared down at you with an empty expression, his eyes had heavy, tired bags under them and showed his clear lack of sleep. You weren't sure what he wanted other than the blanket, since he was refusing to accept it. Instead, he held your hand over his shoulder, sliding it gently down towards the front where his scar was deepest. You could feel his chest rise as he breathed evenly, his eyes almost closing completely.

Did he like how your hand felt?

You remained silent as he gently guided your hand along the length of his scar, where the unforgiving metal pierced his flesh and embedded itself beneath the surface. Your own breath hitched feeling it, the cold, rigid tissue gradually warmed under your delicate touch, responding to the gentle friction of your fingertips. As he continued moving your hand in a soothing motion, you noticed his tense features begin to soften, the lines of worry etched across his face slowly fading away.

The soft intimacy of the moment hung heavy in the air, you found yourself captivated by the subtle changes in his expression, each twitch and relaxation of his muscles didn't go unnoticed. Maybe he was finding comfort in your presence after so long. He had never been this vulnerable with you, and yet here he was, literally grabbing your hand and making you touch his most delicate wound.

"Do you like my hand there...?" The words escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible. Your eyes, fixed intently on his face, sought to decipher every nuance of his reaction. You watched closely, noting the slight parting of his lips, the flutter of his eyelids, and the almost imperceptible nod that followed your question.

He was so tired, somehow still standing. "Да..."

"Ah...I see. You like my hand there? Does it feel good to rub the scars?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes traced his features, taking in every detail as you gazed up at him. Those dark locks of his hung slightly in his face, creating a disheveled yet alluring frame around his eyes. His hair was messy and tangled, clear evidence of disturbed sleep. The dim light from the tv caught the stray strands, making them stand out against the dark.

He gave a quick nod once more, his body inching closer to you in a subtle yet deliberate shuffle. His eyes, filled with an unmistakable longing, conveyed that he desired something more from you - perhaps your touch, your warmth, or simply your continued presence. "You know," you reasoned gently, your voice soft and caring, "the blanket would help warm up your entire arm, much better than my hand. Plus, it would make you much more comfortable if you decided to rest in bed..."

Even with your logical suggestion, it was clear from his intense gaze and body language that he was far more interested in you than in any blanket or physical comfort you could offer. His focus remained fixed, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him in that moment.

You exhaled deeply, slowly withdrawing your hand from his body. A fleeting expression of panic flickered across his features before quickly fading. His gaze then fixed upon you, tracking your movement as you made your way towards the couch. You reached for the electric blanket's cord, plugging it into the nearby wall outlet. The cord snaked across the floor, a thin line connecting comfort to power. Your hand then moved to pat the cushion beside you, a silent invitation.

Maybe his earlier behavior wasn't rooted in discomfort or mistrust, but rather in a more fundamental human need.

Maybe he craved companionship, but it was hard to tell for sure, he was a stoic stature 99% of the time.

He approached with hesitation, his feet dragging across the floor as if each step required immense effort. His eyes darted around, scrutinizing the spot as though it were an elaborate trap waiting to be sprung. After a solid few minutes of tense silence, he finally lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his movements slow and calculated.

You opened your mouth, ready to suggest he cover himself with the blanket for warmth, but before the words could leave your lips, you found yourself gasping sharply as the heavy soldier unexpectedly collapsed against you.

His full weight pressed down, pinning you to the couch as he sprawled across your body. The shock of his ice-cold metal arm against your skin sent a jolt through your system, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Desperate for warmth, he burrowed his shoulder into your side, seeking out your body heat with an almost primal urgency.

The blanket, forgotten in his sudden move, lay crumpled beneath you both as he clung to you, his form trembling slightly as he absorbed your warmth through the layers of clothing between you. He certainly favored you over it.

"Ah, Soldat...-" You began to speak, but your words were abruptly cut off by a sound that was equal parts growl and whine emanating from him. His head found a comfortable resting place on your chest, and you could feel the gradual warming of his arm as it pressed against your body. He made it abundantly clear that he had no intentions of shifting his position anytime soon. Recognizing the futility of any attempt to move, you resigned yourself to your current predicament, secretly relishing the closeness.

Despite your newfound role as a human pillow, you still managed to reach for the heated blanket nearby. With careful movements, so as not to disturb his apparent comfort, you gently draped the warm fabric over his form. This additional gesture didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He sunk even further into the embrace, clearly content as long as he maintained his position pressed firmly against you. The combination of his body heat and the heated blanket created a cocoon of warmth that threatened to lull you both into a peaceful slumber.

You knew he had settled and probably wouldn't move from this spot, he had gotten too comfortable and he was asleep by now. His heavy eyelids having closed almost instantly after maneuvering into you like a demanding cat. His messy hair smelled like your shampoo, since that was all you had to use for him.

Since it was apparent that he wasn't going to get up from his spot anytime soon, you resigned yourself to sleeping on the couch with him for the rest of the night. His cold shoulder and arm were now buried against you, your body heat gradually warming the metal and soothing the sore scars he had accumulated over time. You let your arm rest gently on his back, a bit cautious at first since you weren’t sure if he was going to react, luckily he didn’t. Your head was supported by the arm of the couch, which was quite comfortable. You were happy and relieved that you had settled on the comfier set when you bought the furniture, it made the situation more bearable.

With the soft sound from the show playing, you let your eyes close and you both slept on the couch. Before sleep overtook your mind, you wondered if this was a one time thing, if he'd return to his usual behavior tomorrow, or if this would become a regular gesture he'd want from you. Had he been silently suffering from this the whole time? He's a little heavy...but he's sleeping and that's good. You're helping him sleep. You're helping his pain. If he began seeing you as a source of comfort, then so be it.

Better that than anything else.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴀɴ ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

…𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺 (𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴)

angst, fluff, suggestive, physical intimacy, emotional distress, love bites, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, crying, touch starvation, oral fixation, hint of pica, loneliness, make out (in no particular order)

word count - 4k

It wasn't like it had always been a problem. Her putting… her mouth on things. 

It started small, sucking on the tips of her fingers. Running them, one at a time, along her lips and then opening her mouth, moving the finger in and out, puckering her lips around it.

Chris noticed it before she did.

“Why are you doing that?” he’d said once, when they were barely teenagers, watching as she traced the rim of a bottle with her thumb before brushing it against her mouth.

She had only blinked at him. “Do what?”

“That.” He nodded toward her hands. “You always have to be touching your mouth.” His voice was thoughtful, almost teasing, but his eyes were dark, watching the way her lips parted around the plastic. His gaze flicked down, tracking the way her tongue darted out. Just for a second, just to wet her lips.

She hadn’t responded. Because how does she explain to someone, someone who knows her better than she knows herself, that it wasn’t just a habit? That it was something deeper, something she couldn’t name.

Her mouth around her water bottle, all day. Lollipops. Gum. Ice cubes. Nothing quite hit the spot.

She licked her cutlery clean every night. Ran her tongue along the blade, the edge of her tooth. The rose quartz she kept by her pillow, carefully and delicately held between her lips, teeth tightly shut to avoid any accidents.

And then, one day, she started to cry. For the same unknown reason. Sleepily, sadly, alone. She would hold onto her childhood teddy for dear life, cradling it like a newborn. She wound her body around it like she was a baby herself, tucking her head to her chest. The fur tickled her nose and she breathed in the comforting smell of the bear she had had since she was small.

The texture was soft but unsatisfying, the pressure grounding but never quite enough. She sucked lightly, her breath hitching. She didn’t need it, she didn’t need any of this, but the ache in her chest was quieter when she had something warm against her lips.

Slowly but surely, she would place open-mouthed kisses all over the stuffed animal. Sucking on the fur softly, she would dredge her fingers through the back of its head. She inhaled whilst doing so, breathing in the almost-human scent that had come to rest on the bear after her years of snuggling up to it.

It became a habit, the one thing to dull the urge, to make her feel that little bit less starving.

She now made sure to save herself for when she was in the comfort of her own room.

Under the soft covers, cuddling her bear, she came to realise the problem for what it was.

It wasn’t just about having something in her mouth. It was about touch. Or rather, the absence of it.

Nothing made that clearer than being here.

The house was packed—music thumping, laughter cutting through the air, dim lights casting long shadows against the walls. She stood at the edge of it all, sipping lemonade from a red cup, watching one of her best friends curl into her boyfriend’s side like she belonged there.

They had been attached at the hip all night. Still lingering in the honeymoon phase. His hand resting on her waist, fingers grazing her skin. Their bodies swaying together as they laughed, the kind of effortless, intimate touch that no one thought twice about. Except her.

She swallowed hard, looking away.

It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was something else. Something heavier.

Because if she really thought about it, if she let herself admit it, she didn’t just want to be them. She wanted to know what it felt like. To have someone’s lips on hers. Their hands on her skin. To be wanted like that.

She shifted her weight from foot to foot, feeling untethered, like a ghost hovering in the background of her own life.

And then… Chris. Her best friend, since well, forever. Since the tooth fairy first came, since he grew out of his lisp, since... always.

Christopher Owen Sturniolo, standing next to her, idly spinning a beer bottle between his fingers as he rambled on and on. He usually didn't drink much, so she was surprised he had the drink in his hands at all. He'd been sipping at it all night, and she doubted he'd drink more than two thirds before they leave.

He looks over at her, but doesn't say anything for a while. Then, he reaches over, brushing his hand on her shoulder.

She straightens up, surprised at the sudden gesture.

“Hey, I know you might just wanna head home after this…but you've been so quiet all-night and it's been ages since we've hung out just the two of us. So, if you want to, and totally okay if you don't, do you want to come over? We could just watch a movie, eat shit, and, I mean, I'll sleep on the couch if it makes you more comfortable.”

She looks over at Chris, beaming. They haven't had a sleepover in a long time, it's true. Partly due to the fact that he hogs the blanket, partly due to the fact that sharing a bed past the age of 12 just felt a little weird.

Despite herself, she nods her head, glad for a simple night between friends. Maybe spending more time with her friends, especially the single ones, will make her feel less alone.

“That sounds great”, she says to Chris.

He grins back at her, slapping his knee. “That's what I'm talking about”, he says excitedly, “Let's head past 7/11 on the way.”

Chris was relieved. She had been distant lately, lost in thought in a way that made something inside him ache. He wasn’t sure when he started feeling it—the sharp tug in his chest when she looked at other guys like they held answers he couldn’t give her. The way she drifted further away, like she was searching for something, someone, and it wasn’t him.

Maybe that was why he had grabbed a beer tonight. Not to get drunk, just to feel a little less like the guy who never got chosen. He sometimes hated the fact that he was content just loving her from afar.

When they finally make it to his house, they both tiptoe upstairs, trying not to wake anyone else up. Somehow, she still remembers which steps to skip on the staircase. It's a comforting feeling.

Chris shuts the door behind them very slowly, and then they both erupt into a fit of giggles at their spy-like adventure. Chris pokes her in the ribs, and she could tell he was still the tiniest bit tipsy. She was just the right amount of sleepy so that the atmosphere between them felt good. Natural. Right.

They both pick a movie to watch as per their childhood rules, with the guest's movie first. After forcing Chris through one of her favourite comedies, which he claimed he hated, Chris picked out a classic film from their childhood. 

She notices her teddy bear poking out of the bag she had packed. Debating on whether to pick it up, she eventually grabs it, tucking it under her arm. Chris notices, of course.

“Hey, I remember this little guy! You still have him?” he asks enthusiastically.

“Yup,” she mumbles, “can't sleep without him.” She doesn't know what it is about Chris that makes her comfortable enough to say something like that at all. 

Little does he know, she thinks, ashamed of her neediness.

Chris just smiled as she settled on the bed, but something about it stuck with him. It wasn’t just the bear… it was everything. The little things she did when she thought no one was looking. The way she pressed her lips together when watching couples. The quiet yearning in her eyes that he wasn’t sure she even recognised.

The movie starts and she immediately feels a sense of peace that she hasn't in a long, long time. Chris does too, and she can tell by the way his eyes light up at the classic animation.

About halfway through, it hits her. Really hits her. The nostalgia. The sadness. The loneliness. It doesn't matter that she's in a house full of people she's known her whole life, with Chris beside her. She still feels… so wretchedly alone. 

And so the ache begins.

She tries to subtly run her thumb across her lips and teeth. But Chris cracks a joke and she can't help but giggle, ruining the sensation that already provided little comfort. 

After ten painstaking minutes go by, she settles on her last resort. She manoeuvres her body to be laying on her side, facing Chris, with her head still pointed towards the screen. She maintains distance with the boy so as to not draw attention to herself, as she hugs the bear with both arms across her chest.

She rests the lower part of her mouth on the crown of the bear's head, flicking her gaze up to Chris who is still fully immersed in the film. Seeing that, she sucks idly on the fur with her mouth, trying to remain as quiet as she can manage.

Out of the corner of his eye, Chris observes her change in position. He's glad that her body language is more open now, and she seems more comfortable. She looks small there, on his bed, practically curled up. He doesn't remember when he started caring so much more about how she felt, whether she was comfortable, what she was thinking. Caring about her, about them. He didn't mind though. He appreciated just being close to her.

He glanced down at her every so often, from his position up by the headboard. He took note of her features, the soft rise and fall of her chest, trying to tell if she was still awake. She was curled up with her teddy bear, just like when they were younger.

Just as the movie only has 20 minutes to go, an especially quiet scene makes him hear it. The ever so slight sound of someone… sucking? Chris looks down at her again. He notices the subtle movement of her head as it seemingly nestles into the teddy bear.

He doesn't know why his skin suddenly feels like it's on fire.

Confused, he nonetheless opens his mouth, “Hey,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder to see if she's still awake.

She jolts at the contact, awkwardness rippling through her body. Had he noticed? Does he think she's pathetic? She removes her mouth from the bear, carefully wiping it as she does in a lame attempt to keep up appearances. 

She cranes her neck to look at him, her lips glossy from the sucking and her eyes wide and innocent despite the late hour. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“What's up?”, she asks, trying to sound casual but it just comes across as meek.

Chris stares at her, dumbfounded, before clearing his throat. “No, nothing, just wanted to see if you were still awake.” he manages, blurting words out too slow and too fast. He wasn’t sure why he lied. Maybe because seeing her like that—so vulnerable, so desperate for something—felt like looking into a mirror.

She smiles at him, and goes to turn back to the movie, but his hand on her shoulder again stops her. She trembles slightly, fearing once again that this night has taken a turn for the worst. 

“What- um, what were you doing just now? I heard like a, a weird noise?”

Instead of responding, she casts her eyes to his hand on her shoulder and then down to the bear. She bit the tip of her tongue in a desperate attempt to calm herself. Before she realises, small hot tears spurt out of her eyes, soaking her face and the teddy bear. 

Chris reacts instantly, pulling her in and cradling her against him. She whimpers into his hoodie, the teddy bear still clutched in her arms creating a physical barrier between them.

“Shhh, it's okay, it's okay. What's wrong?” he coos, patting her on the back in a smooth, circular motion.

She hates herself for crying but she hates even more that she's allowing Chris to comfort her like this. She doesn't want to take advantage of his kindness, especially not for a reason as pathetic as hers. Slowly but surely though, she calms down.

Chris loosens his grip, but she remains close to him. It feels like a dream to hold her like this, but not for this reason. He looks down at her, patting the back of her head.

“You gonna talk to me, now?” he asks tentatively.

She shook her head, unable to answer. But slowly, she spoke—haltingly, painfully. She told him everything. The habits. The loneliness. The yearning. The unbearable, gnawing need.

Chris had nothing to say. He was in shock. Disbelief. How could it be, that the girl he had loved his entire life, had felt this neglected? Alone. Touch starved.

Was he stupid? Probably.

When her rambling finally came to an end, the shame she had previously felt had melted away. Now she just felt bare. Naked. And not in a fun way.

After some time in silence, the credits of the film began to roll, and she glanced at the screen, sorry that she had missed the ending of one of their favourite films.

Chris grasps her chin spontaneously, sending shivers and jolts of electricity through her. He turns her face back to his and adjusts his grip so that he can run his thumb over her bottom Iip.

She gasps at his movement, searching his eyes only to find them a dark and deep, ocean blue. For the first time in a long time, she feels a warmth spread across her body. From just one touch. His touch. Her best friend's.

Chris continues to trace her mouth with his thumb. She stares at him, questioningly, before shyly taking the tip of his thumb in between her teeth, careful not to hurt him as she poked him with the tip of her tongue. She inhales sharply as she does so, and he makes a low humming sound.

Chris inhaled, his fingers tightening around her waist. The moment was electric. Wordless. Perfect.

He took a shaky breath, his thumb still resting against her lips. His voice was quieter when he spoke, almost like he was afraid to say it out loud.

“I don’t think I can keep this in anymore,” he admitted, his fingers tightening slightly against her waist. “I’ve liked you for so long. I don’t even know when it started. Maybe since we were kids, maybe since forever.” He huffed a soft, nervous laugh, shaking his head. “But it’s not just some dumb crush. It’s… you. You’re the only one I ever look for in a room. The only person who makes everything else feel… smaller, like it doesn’t matter as much.”

His eyes flickered across her face, searching for something, anything, that told him he hadn’t just made a mistake.

She stared back at him, breathless. “Chris…”

He swallowed hard. “You don’t have to say anything, I just-”

“It’s always been you.”

His heart stuttered.

She was smiling now, her eyes bright in the dim light, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.

They both smile at each other, a look full of adoration and praise. When he retracts his hand, she stifles a whimper at the loss of contact. But before long, he takes her face with both hands and kisses her. She's shocked for a second, and then softly, with a quiet hunger, kisses him back. She reaches her hand out to touch him, to ground herself in this moment, but hesitates.

Chris lets go of her face as he kisses her, moving his hands to her shoulders and then running them up and down her sides. He grabs her by the waist and tugs her towards his lap, and she happily wraps herself around him as they continue.

There's something about the moment that feels so perfect, so right, that both of their brains are at a complete standstill. No worry, no anxious thought, no quiet concern reaches them. He pours all of his love, pining, desire into the kiss, and she offers her endless affection, her boundless love in return. 

When they finally come up for air, Chris presses his forehead to hers, and they breathe in rhythm.

Her lips felt swollen, tingling in a way no sweet or pen cap had ever made them. She ran her tongue over them, chasing the ghost of his mouth on hers, and exhaled shakily. Nothing had ever felt like this, not the edge of a lollipop, not the stuffed bear she still tucked under her chin at night.

Chris smiles widely, and it's like something inside her snaps. She straddles him properly, and kisses him again. This time she's in control, as Chris just lies back and takes it, holding onto her for dear life.

The feeling of him this close to her, his familiar smell, his hands on her, drives her crazy. She pulls her mouth off of him and he huffs in annoyance, but she just grins. 

She nods towards his hoodie, and he complies, taking it off quickly. When the top passes over his head, he looks at her again to find her bare chest in front of him also. His jaw drops and he looks at her face, to which she tilts her head like a dog.

“Baby, you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen.” he admits, watching her blush spread across her cheek. 

“I could argue that title belongs to you.” she retorts, gazing longingly at him.

“Don't spread misinformation, sweetheart.” he says, running his hands along her sides, like before, as if to confirm she's here, solid, in front of him, like this. That it's not some kind of dream. Each time his palms reach her waist, she inhales sharply.

“Do you like that, sweetheart?”

“I love it, baby. I love everything about you.” 

“Yeah?”, it's his turn to cock his head.

She hesitates before responding. “Can I show you?”, she asks innocently.

His stomach twists at the sight of her, and he holds her even more tightly. “Please sweetheart”, he breathes.

And that's all she needs. All she's ever needed.

She traces her lips along his lips again, breathing with him. Then she kisses the side of his mouth, pecking him delicately. She drags her mouth up the right side of his mouth, sucking on his cheekbone lightly.

Chris inhaled sharply, his breath hitching at the unexpected intimacy. He murmured sweet nothings in her ear, his voice hushed but full of devotion. His hands, trembling slightly, caressed her shoulders as if she might break. When her teeth grazed his ear, his body jerked instinctively, and he groaned low in his throat. She rolled the silver earring between her teeth, teasing him and making his senses go numb.

She dragged her mouth and tongue down his neck, the heat of her breath making him shiver. She moaned quietly, the sound of it drawing a fierce response from him. His hands found her waist again, pulling her closer, but she remained focused, kissing lower, deeper.

Then, she found his sweet spot—just beneath his jaw—and the effect was immediate. Chris’ hips bucked against her involuntarily, and his grip on her tightened. His reaction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she didn’t hesitate to suck at the spot, softly grazing her teeth against it, swirling her tongue with hunger. His hands curled into her hair, urging her on, but she wasn’t done. When she felt satisfied, she kissed the rest of his neck, her lips soft and reverent as she moved, trying to convey her affection in every touch.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do all this... let me, let me help you, sweetheart.” Chris’s voice was thick with longing, almost pained. His lips brushed her ear, his breath warm against her skin as he spoke.

She shook her head, the quiet, affectionate gesture enough to communicate her feelings. Without moving her mouth from his skin, she peppered soft kisses along his collarbone, sucking gently at a spot where the bone protruded, twisting her lips in a slow, tender motion.

Chris’s breath caught, and his chest heaved slightly. His hand moved from her waist back to her shoulder blades, cradling her gently, as though holding her meant grounding himself in the moment. He kissed the top of her head softly, smoothing her hair down as he whispered words she couldn’t fully hear, but she could feel the adoration in his touch. She'd never felt so much love with so little words.

Her kisses traced upwards now, all the way from the left shoulder to the right, pausing at moments to deliver small love bites to his chest, lingering on his skin as though she couldn’t get enough of him. With every kiss, her need to touch, to taste, to savor, grew stronger. Her lips pressed into his chest with a softness that held an undeniable depth of desire. It wasn’t just a kiss anymore. It was the way she needed him, the way she sought to consume him, to lose herself in the taste of him, in the feel of him. 

Each time she moved, he responded, his breath quickening, his body shifting as though he couldn’t quite stay still. His hands wandered up and down her back, fingertips tracing the soft curve of her spine. Every touch felt desperate, a silent plea for more, but he didn’t want to rush it. She was slow, and he was impatient, aching to feel every bit of her.

When she finally stilled, it was at the center of his chest, where she placed a delicate kiss, her lips lingering as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Chris’s hand stroked her hair again, this time gently pulling her up to meet his gaze.

With a soft sigh, she pressed her lips to his mouth, kissing him gently, lingering there, not wanting to part quite yet. When she finally drew away, her lips were red and puffy from the intensity, but the love in her eyes matched his own—a quiet, profound adoration.

“I would do more, baby,” she mumbled against his lips, her voice soft with a trace of exhaustion. “But I’m really sleepy.”

Chris’s hand cradled her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. He smiled, the corners of his eyes softening. “S’more than enough, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Eventually they find a position that left them close but comfortable still. Chest to chest, both laying on their side, her legs between his, his head tucked under her chin.

She sucks on the hair on the top of his head softly, dredging her fingers through the back of his head. She inhaled whilst doing so, breathing in her new favourite scent that just happened to be oh-so-familiar after years of sleeping beside Chris as kids, as pre-pubescent teens. Now, as, well whatever, that didn't matter to her right now.

She finally had something, someone that made her feel that less starving.

In fact, Chris made her feel kind of full. Satisfied, even.

It wasn’t just about having something in her mouth. It was about touch. Or rather, the intimacy of it. The love shared between them.

And just as they were about to drift off to sleep, Chris murmured in her ear...

“I have something else you can put that mouth on.”

She giggled, “I do too.”

She drifted off thinking about all the ways they’d fit together—both in the quiet of the night and in every moment after. They didn’t need to say another word.

creds to rose for dividers @bernardsbendystraws !!! also creds to @ishasturnz for helping me edit this one,, v much appreciated!

a/n: can u believe this was meant to be a blurb. anyway this came to me in a dream i guess (the sucking not the plot). probably the closest to smut ill ever write tbh.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid comment to be added/removed from my main (non-au) taglist !

cya soon!!

[rowarn]

shadow entity!ghost part: one | two | three

cw: angry!ghost, umm he hurts u )-:, but he feels bad so it's okay, a bit shorter than other parts

the mystery surrounding ghost was driving you insane. living with a primordial entity of unfathomable horrors was already a mindfuck but now you realized it could just...erase people from existence.

no one had asked about phillip, no one had shown up to seek you out since you were the last one to see him before he vanished. you even wandered into the bar he said he frequented -- and he seemed well known in. and...nothing. no one even brought up how he went home with you and never returned. no one asked about him.

it was unnerving. had ghost somehow pulled all memory of this one human out of the world along with its physical form? where did phillip even go? all you remember was being surrounded by the shadow and how hard it was to breathe -- and the horrible, inhuman scream before silence.

it had already confirmed that it wasn't a ghost. so what was it?

"ghost?" you called into the house as you returned from the bar, "can you come out so we can talk?"

as you stepped into the living room, you took a glance at the scorch mark on the floor before your attention was diverted to it -- a shadowy manifestation across from you.

it didn't speak, simply stood there. usually you would divert your eyes from its face because something about it unsettled you, but this time you stared right at it. shapes formed and faded before your eyes, making you wonder if you were really seeing them in the first place. eyes, sometimes two sometimes dozens. a vague, fading silhouette of a skull face. you wonder if it intentionally let you see these images or if it just was.

"i-i want to know..." you swallow thickly around the nervous lump in your throat, "is phillip dead?"

it was quiet for a moment, "not quite."

"what's that mean? where is he?" you prod, furrowing your brows as you stare at it, hoping that it can understand your pleading.

"why do you care?"

"b-because..." you sputtered, licking your dry lips, "i just...want to know."

"he's in the pits," it finally supplies, sounding almost bored.

"...of hell?" you sputter, "so you're a demon?"

"your hell is a bastardization of the pits," it explains, "where i come from is not hell. it's worse, darker. that's where i put the human."

"can you...can you bring him back..?" you whisper.

ghost's shadow flickers and it falls silent for a moment before speaking again, "i could. but you don't want that."

you can't help but think you'll regret asking but you do anyway, "...why?"

"he's not the same anymore," it explains, "it's much kinder to simply leave him in the pits."

you're not sure how to take that. it doesn't answer any of your questions. what exactly are the pits? what happens in them? what is happening to phillip down there?

"ghost..." you take a small step back and you swear you see it's head cock to the side curiously, "what are you?"

"you can consider me a demon if you wish," it responded, taking a step forward to follow you.

your heart skips a beat, "but you're not."

"no," it answers with ease.

"so tell me what you are," you demand, growing tired of these mind games it's playing with you.

"i don't think your human mind can comprehend just what i am," it says.

"try me," you challenge, already mentally slapping yourself.

"no," it responds.

your temper flares, "just tell me, damn you! what the hell are you?"

suddenly, the shadow grows in size -- as do your eyes. you watch as it takes up more space in the room, that overpowering weight on your body making you wince. it makes the room feel so heavy, makes your bones ache to the marrow.

you're not sure how you know -- despite the fact it's not saying anything; you know you've made it very angry. your eyes lock onto his shadowy form, making out the horrible, unsettling images of eyeballs inside the darkness that flicker in and out of your vision.

nausea settles like a pit in your stomach and you double over, dropping to your hands and your knees to keep yourself from throwing up. your head throbs and aches, a ringing in your ears only makes the pain worse. it feels like your eyes are going to pop out of their sockets from the overwhelming pressure growing inside your skull.

"s-stop..." you manage to choke out before you slump against the floor.

then, all at once it's gone. you gasp for air once it finally feels like there's nothing coiling around your lungs and tears trickle down your cheeks. you're not sure if you're trembling from the pain or from the fear you just experienced.

you can't bring yourself to uncurl yourself from the ball you've found yourself in on the floor.

you're acutely aware that ghost hasn't left -- in fact, you can hear it's heavy footsteps on the creaky wooden floor as it approaches you. it kneels down, disturbing the air around you with the movement.

you feel a strange weight on your head and it takes your foggy mind a moment to realize that it's touching you. as if it had reached a hand out and was tenderly petting your head, consoling you.

a silent apology before it vanishes completely.

when you finally uncurl and look around, you see yet another strange, scorch mark on the ground where it had stood.

you realize instantly that those scorch marks are a manifestation of it's anger. pure, unbridled rage that leaves a physical mark on the ground where it stands.

you swallow thickly and close your eyes again, deciding that standing is much too hard for now.

do not repost to third party sites. reblogs okay!

[miley1442111]

videos and violence- a.hotchner

summary: an unsub capturing you makes for a pretty interesting love confession

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem! reader

warnings: mention of reader being hurt, violence, mental, physical, emotional abuse, regular criminal minds topics (i think that's it? PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING)

not entirely proofread

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You knew you had to take in your surroundings, try to remember what had happened before, think. 

All you knew was that one moment, you were on your way home from work, and the next you had a bruising grip on the back of your head, leading you through the hallways of this dusty, dark, shithole. 

Suddenly, he stopped. He was a man, obviously, 5’7ish, buff build, dark clothing that doesn’t fit him correctly, strong, shoes a size too big, and a balaclava. “Get in there, bitch.” American accent, deep voice, but definitely grew up in Washington. There was a chance you were still in Washington.

He shoved you down the stairs, into a basement. When you came to, your head was bleeding and you’d definitely broken a few ribs. You just hoped that Aaron would find you. You tended to your wound as best you could and allowed yourself to rest, knowing more would be to come. You had to figure out why he wanted you. Was it because he knew you worked for the FBI, or were you just the closest woman to him? 

The ground was cold and hard, but it would do for one night. You hoped this would be one night. You hoped the team could solve it. 

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“Where’s Agent Y/l/n?” Morgan asked, sitting beside Spencer in the briefing room. 

“Late,” Rossi grunted. 

“She’s never late,” Penelope argued. “She’s never been late a day in her life and she didn’t answer any of my phone calls this morning.”

Aaron Hotchner, your secure, steady, collected, and calm boss, began to sweat a little. The same thing had happened to him, you weren’t answering his calls, there was no ‘I got home safe’ text, and you didn’t answer your door when he knocked on it that morning. 

“I’m sure she’s just sick,” Rossi shot back, trying to put Penelope at ease. “She’s a big girl, you don’t need to baby her.” 

Aaron didn’t miss the way Rossi looked at him during that last part. He wasn’t babying you, he’d never do that. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe, make sure he got to see that beautiful smile everyday. 

“We have a case,” Aaron announced. “Right here in Washington.”

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No matter how loud you screamed, he didn’t stop. He kept hitting, and punching, and hurting. By the time you walked back down to your basement, you were exhausted, bruised, and scared. You were slightly losing hope that Aaron and the team were going to find you, because he was ramping up his activity. He was more violent, more attentive to you, watched you more, got closer, stayed closer. And he wasn’t feeding you. He had no intention of keeping you alive. But he was filming you. You’d noticed the hundreds of cameras all over the room, all pointing to you. 

“What do you do for work?” he asked from the darkness of the top of the stairs. 

“Paperwork,” you lied. “FBI paperwork.”

“You work for the Federal Bureau of Investigations?” he asked.

You nodded. “It’s boring.”

“How much do you make?” 

“About 90 grand a year,” you offered. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a baker,” he answered. “I work in the cafe on 14th street.”

“I like that place,” you chuckled painfully. “Makes good bread. My boyfriend loves it.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked. 

“Yeah, but he’s out of state at the minute. Work stuff,” you lied. “What about you?”

“A girlfriend? No, no,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together. It’s like he watched a movie to find out how to be a villain, I mean, come on. “No one for me.”

“What’s your boyfriend's name?” he asked. 

Well, now or never. “Aaron Hotch,” you answered calmly. 

“And what is it that you love about Aaron?”

You could feel yourself tearing up, you knew he was about to take you for another torture session, and you didn’t know if it would be your last. There was a slim chance Aaron would see this, if he ever caught the guy. Now or never. “I love Aaron because he makes me feel safe. He smiles at me all the time which is nice because he doesn’t smile often. He knows everything about me, and he’s still here. He’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met, even though he puts on a brave face everyday. He cares deeply about the people around him, and he tries to hide the way he worries about people, but he can’t. He just cares too much. He’s wonderful, if I’m being honest. He always brings me home stuff from your bakery, the one on 14 the street, it’s our favourite date night tradition.” 

“Good, very good. I know exactly who you’re talking about,” he smirked. “I’ll make sure he gets this, and the videos of the torture.”

You grimaced. 

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“He takes women of all races, hair colours, eye colour, etc. He doesn’t keep them for more than three days, he videos the torture and sends it to us. He’s had three women so far-” Morgan thought out loud. 

“A new video just came in Hotch,” Penelope burst into the room, tears in her eyes. “I-It’s-”

“No!” Morgan and Spencer both jumped up, disbelief coating their features. Aaron stayed still, a wash of rage and terror rolling over him. You’d been gone for two days, they had one more to find you. 

“Give me the laptop, the rest of you don’t need to see this,” he ordered, taking the laptop out of her hands as she ran straight to Morgan for comfort. Rossi stopped him before he left. 

“You sure you want to see this? We all know how you feel about her,” Rossi whispered, silently offering himself to watch the videos. 

“I have to find her,” Aaron whispered, his voice breaking. “I need every angle I can get.”

Rossi nodded, allowing him on his way.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You’d survived another day, but the broken bones and bruises were starting to ache more and more. He’d gone to work, and you had 8 hours to try and get out, but the cameras. You just hoped he’d gotten cocky and sent it to the FBI before you were dead. It was your only chance. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“We have a lead,” Aaron announced, rushing to put his coat on. “The bakery, on 14th, that’s where he works.”

“Let’s move out people!” Morgan shouting, rallying the cops to follow the team. 

The video of you, broken, bruised, and battered made him feel physically sick. The way you spoke about him made his heart burst, the way you gave him the message gave him hope. He could still find you. 

The car ride felt long, too long; and getting the dick to confess felt too long too. Searching the building felt too long, and getting you into his arms felt too long. 

But when he rounded a corner and went down a set of stairs, there you were. Right in front of him. Lying in a heap on the floor. He rushed to your side. “Please, please,” he begged. “Open your eyes for me baby,” he pleaded as he looked for a pulse, it was faint but there. “Ambulance, now!” he shouted up at the officers who were following him. “Come on, open your eyes for me,” he whispered. 

Somehow his shaking and his words woke you up. You stared at him for a moment, confused and scared, and then it registered. He’d found you. The video had worked. 

“Aaron,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “You found me.” 

He nodded, a relieved smile on his face. “I’ll always find you,” he promised. “And I’ll never let this happen again.”

“You saw the video?” you asked, pulling yourself into his arms. 

“I saw the video sweetheart,” he nodded. “I know.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he hooked a hand under your legs and another under your back. 

“I love you too, more than anything,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[kaisaerinlover]

rin itoshi angst

you and rin are over and all you can do is sob into his stupid fucking hoodie and jersey he left behind. it’s not fair; the breakup wasn’t fair. how is this fair at all? he has soccer to distract himself at least, he has a goal and a mission. you don’t have that. how the fuck is this fair whatsoever? that he’s going to be fine and you’re going to be in shambles for months on end after - your eyes already hurt from all of the crying, your wettened lower lashes reminding you of his when you look in the mirror. your tears made them look exactly like rin’s; long and dark, clumped together a bit. everything fucking reminds you of him even your own damn eyelashes.

you’re laying in bed wearing his hoodie and hugging his jersey so tightly. it’s four in the morning and the deep ache in your heart isn’t making it easy to sleep at all. you’re not even sure if you’ll wake up, it almost feels like a physical pain each time your fragile heart throbs in your chest. you’re not even sure if you want to wake up. why did he break up with you exactly? because having a girlfriend is too draining for him. because he has to focus on his career. because he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend. because he can’t commit. but these reasons mean nothing to you; they’re worthless pathetic excuses made by him. all you can gather from this is that you weren’t good enough for him to want to change, and that’s fine. you don’t have any ego and you don’t care. well, you suppose you care a little, that’s why you’re in hysterics and clutching at your chest as if your heart is about to explode.

your room is like a fucking shrine of rin. his smell lingers on his two pieces of clothing you’re wearing and holding and it’s dominating all of your senses, polaroids you took of him and forced him to take with you are stuck onto your mirror, the wall, laying on your desk, everywhere, his old cleats are in a box under your bed, his blue lock eleven jersey is hung up in your wardrobe tauntingly, and his captain’s armband is your favourite scrunchie. all you can do is sniffle and sigh. where did it go so wrong? why did he even have to do this? is soccer that much more valuable than a real human being? no, of course it is; but not a human like you. you loved him with every single fibre of your being, your very existence feels like its only purpose is to love him and dote on him forever. how could any game be more valuable than that?

when he was breaking up with you he didn’t even look the least bit sad. god you fucking hate how much you love him; this is why you can’t trust guys. it was stupid of you to trust rin at all. why did you let such a good thing come into your life - good things are there to be taken away. but maybe you expected rin to be different. unfortunately he wasn’t. he’s so nonchalant too, god you fucking hate it. you wish he was yearning for you the way you are for him right now, but apparently all his desire lays only in football. nothing to do with you. never will be anything to do with you. you were just there for him when he started needing the attention of the opposite gender, started needing a girl to tell him how much she adores him, when he started needing a little fangirl at all of his games for his ego, when he started needing something to sink his cock into. someone to talk his ears off, someone who just loved to gossip and talk about tiktok trends that he truly never had any care for. yeah, that’s all you were to him; cheap and easy entertainment. fuck you itoshi rin, how could he be so emotionless at a breakup that is tearing you apart slowly, yet not carefully, from the inside out?

rin knows he messed up. he’s on a flight to france now, and he knows he fucking messed up - but there’s no take backsies! he wasn’t nonchalant at all, but god, he can’t fucking commit. he just can’t. he wants to so bad for you; you have your bad days but he knows what having a girlfriend entails, he doesn’t give a fuck man. he really fucking doesn’t care whatsoever. he doesn’t know why he’s like this but it’s pissing him off. he’s a fucking piece of shit. the look in your eyes when he said he was leaving you could shatter the heart of someone with the strongest will of them all. he regrets it so bad already. all he wants to do is have you sitting next to him right now looking out of the window and talking about something he knows absolutely nothing about. but you’re probably in shambles, sobbing on your bed. he flips over his phone and looks at the polaroid of the two of you that he keeps in the back of his phone case. it’s a funny one: he took the initiative for once and took the selfie with you himself whilst you weren’t looking, and you have an ice cream in your hand, with a bit of it on the tip of your nose, not even realising what your boyfriend is doing.

god he misses you, he’s longing so deeply. but he didn’t want to be emotional. he doesn’t want to stay with you when he knows it’s not fair on you. it’s not fair for him to expect you to commit to him and pamper him sweetly the way you normally do when he would sell you for the title of the world’s best striker. that’s all he really wants, yeah, to be the world’s best striker. and whilst this is what he wanted before, and he was sure of it, he’s unsure now. as he looks into the night sky through the window, taking in the stars, he just can’t help but think of your glassy eyes begging him to not go. if you would ask him before, he would say girls mean nothing. football is what he lives for. being a striker is all he wants. surpassing his brother and that shithead isagi is the closest thing akin to emotion towards another human. but right now all of those things couldn’t be more untrue; he wants you so fucking bad. he misses you so much, his heart is in agony thinking of how sad you probably are right now.

he looks at his hand resting on the arm of the expensive first class seat, and he just sighs. he wants to be holding your hand so bad right now. he really fucking does, but he’s so idiotic. he’s such a dumb guy he really is. he can’t help but think about how bad he messed up. and you can’t help but think about how he doesn’t care at all. but it couldn’t be further from the truth. rin itoshi can only keep up his act of nonchalance for so long; even his mask slips eventually. he misses you dearly. and you miss him so dearly too. your hearts are throbbing in pain in sync, your tears trickling down your cheeks match the way he runs his fingers up and down his temples to try and calm himself down and get rid of the migraine he gained from furrowing his brows so deeply at himself. you’re so in tune, two bodies yet only one soul, intertwined, unbeknownst to you both. but rin had to mess it up.

what the fuck can he do now? he was breaking up with you to focus on football, how can he focus now? when you’re all that’s on his mind? how can he be expected to keep his focus when the only thing he’s going to be doing the whole time he plays is wishing with all of his stupid, less cold than he’d like to admit, heart. wishing for something that he already had in his hands for years, yet foolishly gave it away in seconds. how can he focus when he knows he left a girl crumpled up on the bed wailing like a fucking baby over him? god, you probably hate him don’t you. his eyes tear up a bit at the thought. no, you can’t hate him. you can’t. you just can’t. he knows it’s selfish to think, but god he can’t fucking stand the idea of you hating him. despite what he did.

and you don’t hate him. you wish you did - it would be so much easier that way. but you don’t. no, you could never hate rin (unfortunately for you). all you know how to do is love him. it’s an instinct you feel like you’ve had you’re whole life, buried deep inside you until you finally met him. it’s so far ingrained within you, your love is so delicate. so intricate. so perfectly crafted for a man of rin’s calibre. and his was perfectly designed for you too. so why did he mess it up? why do you wish with all your stupid weak heart that you could hear him whispering “i love you, baby” into your ear again, after shoving his tongue in your mouth so possessively? why do you miss his little fits of jealousy he would have in public if another guy was too close? how when you went to any store and another man came up to you, rin would squeeze your hand tighter and give him a death stare? why do you miss everything about him? it’s so hard to not be pathetic over this man, it really is. it’s so fucking difficult. you miss his perfect imperfections, you couldn’t name a single thing you dislike about him.

it can’t be fair, the heavy feeling in your chest. break ups can be a fresh start, but you feel so much heavier after this one. sabrina carpenter is such a liar, you don’t feel lighter like a feather at all. you mentally laugh at your own dumb thought, but it does little to numb the pain and realisation of your situation. rin is feeling the exact same. he really thought this was for the best, maybe a bit more for him, he’s selfish he’ll admit. but maybe that came back to bite him; because this is so fucking painful. he feels extra bad. you’d been there since the very beginning, since before he went to blue lock, since before any of this shit happened. you’d always been a placeholder for sae, he supposes. all he wanted was to pursue his goals more, try harder, work harder, get everything he’s wanted, surpass everyone he has a rivalry with; he just wants to be the best. but now he thinks about it, he realises he already had something worth more than all of that. someone so patient and kind, who was willing to sit and wait for him and be paid less attention to as he poured himself completely into soccer. someone who had their own set of struggles and emotions too, yet never wanted to talk about them as to not drag rin down. someone who genuinely made his heart hurt when they cried. he realises he loves having a girlfriend as much as he loves soccer. no, scrap that, he loves you as much as he loves soccer. maybe even more. he could literally just fucking do both at one. he’d brought you to france before numerous times and every single fucking time you were so good and he enjoyed himself so much. he doesn’t know why he’s so scared of commitment, especially with you, because even though you have your moments like every girlfriend does - moments where you act erratic, emotional and cry, or just get mad at him for nothing, moments where you’re just being a girl - you make him feel good. you’ve never given him any reason to not trust you. he knows you’d never hurt him, hell, you’ve been hurt yourself various times before, and you still put trust in him. he knows he should trust you, but it’s so hard since what he did; what sae did. he doesn’t want to be emotionally dependant on anyone else anymore, but he already got himself caught up in this mess and his heart is aching so fucking badly, does it even matter anymore.

when rin arrives in france finally you’re just waking up. he even haunted your dreams, how unfair is that? that he’s probably not even thinking about you whatsoever, he only cares about football. that’s what you think anyway, of course rin thought about you the entire time. he’s begrudgingly dragging his luggage through the airport, and each shop he passes he just thinks about you even harder. he sees something on display he thinks is cute? he’s instinctively turning to nudge you to show you it and ask if you want it. he sees a starbucks? he’s turning to you to ask you what you want to order, and which cake pop you want. he sees a girl with that stupid brand of shoes you like? he’s ready to memorise whatever it is you start talking about, whichever thing from there you want, so he can buy you it as a gift later. he misses your cute mannerisms, things he’s only seen you do and nobody else. all the cute words and actions you do exclusive to you. they’re even deep sated within him now. he finds that when you’re together, he talks like you sometimes. you weren’t even from japan originally, you moved there as a child. and you stayed there because of him, and now he’s just left you. you stayed somewhere that just isn’t home to you because he made it a home to you and now he can’t possibly imagine what you’re feeling. man, everywhere he goes without you just gives him an empty feeling in his chest too, you’re his home too. though he hates admitting it. he feels weak that he’s feeling such sentiments. and as he steps on the bus pxg has waiting outside of the airport for him, he wishes you were here to entertain him for the dull ride. you’re so lively, happy, brimming with life and rainbows. you’re so girly and cute. you’re so, he doesn’t know. you’re just everything. everything to him. and he feels so fucking bad for letting it go. as he looks out of the window he feels bad for even sitting in this seat. you love the window seat, he doesn’t really care, so he���d give you it every single time. there’s other people on the bus too, of course, but he tunes them out. ignores their chatter. he misses you a lot.

he hopes you don’t get close to any other guys now that he’s gone - he knows it’s a selfish wish. he’s sorry. he really is. but he can’t have anyone else having you, he really can’t. you’re a rare catch.

you’re not talking to other guys, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to do that. not ever. not ever in your life could you do that when your heart beat spells his name out. when all that runs through your blood is vitamins and love for him. but you’re going to do something else crazy that you think he would hate you even more for, but you can’t help yourself. if you don’t take the chance now you’ll regret it forever. you won’t just sit around at home and watch his stupid fucking games on tv, knowing he’s just out of reach but still there. you’ll go to france too, love like this doesn’t come to everyone all the time. you can make him like you again, you tell yourself. though, even you aren’t sure of that. honestly you just want to have one more chance to see his face for the last time. and besides, you’ll move out of japan anyway, you have no reason to be there anymore. this can also serve as a property seeing trip. that’s what you delude yourself into anyway, but obviously it’s so much more than that.

so rin is training now. and you’re running through the airport frantically with your things all packed in a rush in your suitcase. that’s where you’re both at; rin kicking the ball hard with determination and you running for your life through the airport to make it to the front desk in time. you booked the ticket frantically, and it left a huge dent in your pocket you honestly can’t even deny it. you weren’t a gold digger so it’s not like you had a lot of money laying around from rin. honestly, you probably look like a loon to all of these airport staff. but you guess that everyone can tell somethings off, the way you’re crying even still at the airport. and you talk so fast too, you carry yourself with little to no etiquette right now and only with desperation for your love. but you aren’t being rude, just emotional. even security gives you an easy time. you run as fast as you can to the gate, 1 minute before closing time. and you’re so fucking relieved.

unfortunately for you, you don’t have the kind of money rin has at your disposal. so you don’t pay for first class, so you’re forced to sit in a cramped seat for the next 14 hours of your life. next to strangers you don’t know. you wish one of them was rin, you really do. you lean your head against the window and put your blanket around yourself and cry yourself to sleep, just hoping that the nonstop ache in your chest will go away.

unfortunately for rin, you don’t have the kind of money he has at your disposal. unfortunate for both of you for different reasons. you don’t have any internet on the plane, and you’re fast asleep against the hard window. so when rin texts you and you ignore him for hours, he’s convinced you hate him.

rin: hey

rin: i’m sorry

rin: i miss you

rin stares at his phone screen. he’s more preoccupied in his phone than ever before, everyone notices it. he stares at the delivered sign staring back up at him. you didn’t block him at least? that’s something? but what are you doing right now? are you with another guy? do you hate him? it’s been hours and you still haven’t replied. every set he finishes he checks his phone. every drill he finishes he checks his phone. he has his phone propped in the cupholder of the treadmill to see if you text back and you don’t. and it’s fucking eating him up from the inside out. but he has a game tomorrow, so he doesn’t know what to do. he prays you’re going to be watching it on tv, man, he’d make a love declaration to the world at this point just to have you back. love makes you do crazy things, he’s no exception to the rule.

neither are you, that’s why the moment you wake up and realise your flight is landing, you push your way through all of the people and rush out to dash to the airport and grab your stuff. you know where the pxg training ground is, you just have to make it there. you haven’t looked at your phone once, you forgot about it completely in your pocket. all you do is grab your small shoulder bag over your shoulder, and the small suitcase you packed in a panic, and dash out of the door. you pay one of the ubers with your card, you pay a hefty amount actually. you’re honestly surprised the payment even went through, but he takes you right to the hotel you intend to stay at. it’s a 5 minute walk from the stadium rin is going to play at tomorrow, and also a 30 minute walk from pxg’s training grounds. but god, you underestimated soccer fans, or simply didn’t take it into account; but the hotel is full. you still are yet to pick up your phone this whole time, but you’re determined still. you can’t stay at the hotel? fine, you’ll run to the pxg facility. and run you do, even in the freezing cold of the harsh french winter, you run through the snow and slip several times on the ice but you don’t care, even despite all the people watching you right now. you’re not even tired, you slept through the entire almost 15 hour flight. and you’re determined, it’s the middle of the night though, you don’t know if they’ll let you in, but you don’t care. you’re so fucking desperate to see rin one more time that you abandoned all sense of pride and self worth just to see his gorgeous stupid fucking face again. 

but now you realise how stupid you were, what the fuck are you supposed to do now? all of that indomitable spirit you just had is gone now, what the fuck did you just do? you’re stood outside and you have no idea how to get in, and you finally take your phone out of your pocket and hastily pay for data in france so you can call rin and ask him if he’ll come and open the door to the training facility. your sat on a bench in the freezing cold, sitting atop the snow, waiting for your data to register. and when it does, you’re greeted by a sight that makes your heart do somersaults; rin’s texts. you can’t even reply, your fingers shake from the cold and you call rin and pray he actually meant the texts he sent.

rin is so tired, that when he hears his phone vibrate he can’t even be bothered to check it. it’s probably nothing important; nothing is important except you. and he doubts, no, he knows for a fact it’s not you. it’s probably his stupid fucking manager, or parents, or some random fan who managed to get his number. you’d never call him in the middle of the night knowing he has a game tomorrow, so all he does is reach his arm over without even looking and silences his phone so he can sleep.

and you give up calling after what feels like an hour of going straight to voicemail. you’re not tired, what can you do? how much time do you have to kill? and did rin even mean his texts? you start crying again. your brain is stupid, you’re stupid. he obviously meant them, but you don’t realise it. all you can do is overthink a million times about all the reasons why he could have sent those texts, and not a single reason is simply that he missed you. your brain simply cannot come up with the idea that itoshi rin is longing for you the same way your heart is longing for him. all you can do is trudge around begrudgingly in the snow with your suitcase and shoulder bag, looking for a place to sit and wait. wait for rin’s stupid fucking game. god this hurts, your tears are hot when they roll down your cheeks. nice, you guess, since it’s sub zero temperatures outside right now. it’s 7am now, and some cafes have opened thank god. so you sit in one of them and mope. you mope and you don’t think the worker cares at all; he noticed you’re crying and chose not to question it. and your phone is dead. you don’t remember if you brought your charger or not, you just shoved several tickets into your bag for rin’s previous soccer matches, his jersey and some pictures of you both. you’re an idiot. but you can wait.

and when rin finally wakes up and sees it’s you who kept calling him, he beats himself up over it so hard. god, if only he’d have just answered. you probably hate him now. he tries calling you back, a trillion times he really tries, but you don’t pickup at all. you just aren’t answering the phone. he bets you hate him now and all he can do is sigh. you’re both so stupid, it’s so pathetic to see. if there was any outsider knowing what was going on in this stupid relationship, they would laugh at how dense you both are. he’s so angry at himself, his self loathing multiplied by numbers unexplainable. you probably needed him, and he didn’t even answer. and now you probably hate him and you’re off with some other guy. this stupid thought process of his doesn’t slow down, from the entire time he’s training, to heading to the stadium, to sitting in the locker room waiting for the match to begin.

and you, desperate little you, by some stroke of luck, you actually got your seat. the one rin always reserves for you at the very front. you actually managed to get it with your old tickets. everyone must have taken some pity on you or something, and probably recognised you as rin’s girlfriend who hasn’t ever disrupted anything, because things have been going your way luckily. you don’t realise that though, you don’t realise that fate is setting you two absolute fools in love up again. because you’re too busy crying again, thinking how life is so bad without your (ex) boyfriend. and rin is doing the same, he doesn’t even know what you’ve been up to, he doesn’t know you’ve been running around desperately trying to get to him. no, he thinks he knows what you’ve even doing; talking to other guys, hating him. he thinks he’s been replaced already. he thinks you’re back home in japan watching the tv and waiting for his game out of spite; maybe with a boy next to you. maybe you’re watching for one of the other players on the opposing team. maybe you replaced him with another soccer player. god, he’d hate to think that he was just your type and not more. he really fucking would. he’s on the bench sitting with his arms across his knees, legs apart and water bottle in one hand. he’s crushing it unknowingly, squeezing it so tightly that the plastic bends under his heavy fingers. his teammates don’t even bother talking to him, no one wants to talk to rin when he’s like this.

and you’re waiting so hard. your heart is beating out of your chest, your adrenaline is pumping and you’re so anxious. honestly, you don’t even know if you want rin to notice you sitting there. your hands are shaking, not from the cold this time. you feel pathetic, you feel so pathetic for being this way, but how can you care? you’re pathetic for rin; and he’s equally as pathetic for you. he’s clenching his knuckles the entire time, the moment he walks onto the field his knuckles are so white. and he’s so stiff, so much more threatening today. no one talked to him the whole time they were in the locker room, nor training. even his coach couldn’t look him in the eye. rin is freakish in nature, everyone knows not to bother him.

and when the game starts it’s so clear that something is different. he’s so much more aggressive. he can’t even care, all he’s thinking about the entire time is you, he wants to mangle all these shitty lukewarms on the field. no, he’s the shitty lukewarm. he’s the tepid one. it’s him. no one else. just him. his self hatred is amplified so much. he wants to fucking kill everyone here. wants to destroy them so bad. he’s not even playing with sound mind. he can’t even think about the game, only you. you you you you you. and every single kick of the ball, every pass, every dribble everything he does. every mechanic. every skill every goal he aims to shoot. every step. every time he devours one of these shitty washed up players on the enemy and his own team he thinks of you. he wonders if you’re watching. all the cameras are on him, not like he cares, he doesn’t give a fuck about the press, but he wonders if you’re looking. perfect view of him. all eyes on him.

and you’re watching alright. you’re watching intently from the stands. your adrenaline is racing so much, you really want to do nothing but talk to him. but as half time comes you get scared and hide your face as you see rin walking towards the locker rooms. god, you’re so fucking pathetic in love, it’s actually sad. and rin is so pathetic too, he had to stop himself from looking at the stands where you normally sit, because seeing the empty chair would shatter his heart into a million pieces. so he’s there, back where he was at the beginning right before the game, squeezing the life out of the lump of plastic in his hands. taking a sip whilst crushing it with his strong hands. from rage. from something. some instinct inside him telling him he has to destroy everything. god he wants to. he’d burn the fucking world just to see your pretty face again right now. and you would do anything for him too. anything except look at him when he’s in close proximity, that is, because when he walks out again you have to hide your head out of shyness.

god you’re both pathetic, you’re gushing over him from the stands with your heart thumping wildly inside of the ribcage of your small frame, and he’s going berserk on everyone. the game isn’t even close. how can it be close when rin is angry? he thrives from anything negative in nature, the poor boy was set up from failure right from the beginning. even his instincts as a striker are self destructive. but you were so good, something not akin to the destruction he knows at all. the opposite. and now he’s stuck hating himself for the abhorrent stupid decision he made. he really shot himself in the leg there. the game isn’t close at all, it’s really not.

you’ve seen him like this a few times, towards the ends of games. tongue out mumbling nonsense. you’ve seen this side of him when he fucks you sometimes too. when he fucks you so hard into the bed you’re worried about your spine fracturing. rin is a monster, don’t ever doubt it. it’s crazy really, and a little scary. watching him play like this; you honestly just put it down to passion for the sport. that’s why he left you after all. but you couldn’t be anymore wrong. it’s because of you, he wants to fucking obliterate this field in your name. and when he scores the winning goal, with a shocking score of 5 - 0, you can’t help but jump out of your seat and exclaim his name. and he could have swore he heard it. you think he looks beautiful, his bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat, the veins popping out of his hands, his face; you don’t know how he manages to stay nonchalant even at times like this. itoshi rin is a prodigy, a godsend to soccer and to you. it’s a shame he slipped out of your hands so fast. slipped right through your fingers. he’d say the same thing about you.

maybe you could have been together in a different life, but it’s his fault you’re not in this one. and he detests himself for that. all he can think about is you, so when all the stupid fucking tabloids come rushing over to him when all he’s trying to do is go to the locker room, he gets pissed off. so pissed, they’re asking him why he was so angry, what was his motivation for this match. he played so well, better than he’s ever played before; so in tune with the ball, with the sport. this is itoshi rin’s true essence, pure unadulterated destruction. it’s thanks to you, obviously. but he can’t tell the world that. he doesn’t want anyone else to know about you, you’re his for fuck sake. not anyone else’s.

but everyone is dying to know! it’s not like they don’t know he has a girlfriend, but they don’t know who she is. he could tell, but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the sting in his heart that remembering your sweet laugh and cute face brings. they almost give up, he’s as sour and bad mannered as his brother. the same attitude as his brother towards interviewers. the itoshi brothers are not known for their charisma, they’re renowned for their skill not their fan service. they’d never participate in something so lukewarm. they almost gave up. almost.

because when they see the girl in rin’s jersey and a coat that’s far too big on her, presumably his, running towards him with her arms stretched out for a hug, they have their answer. they have it even more when rin holds her back and looks so starstruck. looking down at her, holding her like she’s the most valuable thing he could have ever gotten from this day. from this week. month. year. lifetime. more valuable than all of the trophies and awards he’s claimed. how he holds her so tightly and kisses her forehead, cameras be damned. everyone has their answer. even rin needs a princess, he’s not immune to human emotions. no, he’s immune to those. they’re tepid. but he’s never immune to you, you are the one virus, invasive species, bacteria, germ, all of these, that runs through his bloodstream. and he doesn’t mind it.

you look up at him when you both pull away to see each other’s face for the first time in what feels like forever. you broke up a day ago, well two almost, the time zones are different. but you look at each other like you’ve been yearning for the other’s touch and affections for a lifetime.

rin knows here and now he loves you, and he was fucking stupid to let you go. he can play football and love you. he can multitask. god; you’re almost his reason to keep playing this sport, to be the best, he wants to impress you. the light in your eyes as you look up at him, big beautiful eyes. so cute. he’s holding your shoulders still. he never wants to lose skin to skin contact with you again. you look beautiful, wet lashes from crying, red nose, big puffy lips, red cheeks, tears rolling down your cheeks now. he leans in to lick one off, he truly can’t give a single fuck about the lukewarm freaks recording this moment, at everyone gawking at him, at the scolding he’s going to probably get from his pr manager later. you’re face to face, and god, he never wants to let you go again. he licks his lips to taste the remnants of your tear he just lapped up. and he almost smiles at you. you know he’d be smiling if he wasn’t itoshi rin, the softness in his eyes gives him away so bad.

he leans into your touch as you brush a piece of his hair out of his eyes. as you lift your hand to caress his cheek as if he isn’t some fucking deranged monster on the field, like he’s an angel, a petal that could bend. and you smile up at him. rin opens his mouth to speak the first word in what feels like a century to you.

“hey”

“hi”

[nottysnake]

like real lovers do

☆pairing: theodore nott x reader

★wc: 1.7k

☆genre: fluff, angst

★summary: theodore keeps getting into fights and you need to know why. 

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

loud. that’s all your head could process with the boosted bass coming from the speakers in the middle of the slytherin common room. 

“fuck, it stinks in here.” pansy says, sitting on my right. “mattheo threw the party this time. what do you expect, no weed?”i say. pansy snorts, “yeah right, he couldn’t last an hour without it, he’d ended up assaulting someone.” “that’s not true pans and you know it. that “someone” would be dead, not injured,” mattheo says, coming up from behind the couch we are sitting on, arm wrapped around theodore’s broad shoulders. i look up and see theo, finally seeing his face up close and not from across the room. “woah what the fuck happened to your face?” the flashing green lights can’t mask the big purple, swelling bruise forming on the bottom left of his jaw. i quickly sit up on my knees, turning to face theo while leaning against the back of the velvet dark green couch, courtesy of mr. malfoy.

 i reach up and carefully place my hand on the unaffected side of theo’s jaw. it’s a nasty looking bruise, but all i can think about is how close i am to theo and the fact that the minty gum he is chewing is causing my mouth to water. “nothing.” he says while grabbing the palm of my hand. “liaaaaaar” pansy and matt say in unison. pansy gets up “alrighty, i’m not getting involved in this one, good luck nott.” she says while leaving, quickly making her exit. i narrow my eyes at theodore, who is currently smirking. mattheo unwraps his arm from theo’s shoulder. “as much as i like when you rip him a new one, i somehow always get yelled at too, so i am just gonna…” mattheo drifts off, leaving us, and the bruise, alone. 

“why won’t you stop.” “stop what, piccolo?” his voice is raspy. i can now distinguish  the faint smell of weed and firewhisky. he must’ve started chewing gum before they came up to us, he knows i hate firewhisky.  my heart stops for a second and my eyes soften at the name he uses for me. he rounds the couch to sit on my right, never letting go of my hand. i shift towards him still on my knees, leaning towards his jaw to get a better look. “you can’t call me that when you’re in trouble” i say frowning. taking my hand back and placing them on my lap, looking down trying to figure out what to say.  yeah, i get upset when matty gets hurt when he fights someone for talking shit during a quidditch match. or when draco and potter get into it for whatever merlinforsaken reason. but when it’s theo, it's completely different. my heart feels like it physically stops and my lungs stop working. my chest tightens and my eyes blur.

“what's wrong pico-”

 “you know what’s wrong, i hate when you do this.” i whine. “it's too frequent now, you got detention for fighting with pucey the other day, you’re making them every week practically. your eye JUST healed and now you have to wait on your jaw to get better. i just don’t ge-” im swiftly cut off my being pulled into his side. maneuvering my legs to be splayed out over his instead of towards him. his left hand is now rubbing my back, while his other is holding my head, i close my eyes and sigh while i feel his lips against the top of my head “im sorry, baby”  i lean in closer, finding shelter in the crook of his neck. “then tell me why, you never tell me what happens, just that you beat the shit out of these people and that you’re sorry. don’t i deserve more than that if you're gonna continue making this a habit and making me sad every time i see another mark on you?” 

it's his turn to sigh now, “stop looking too much into it.”

 with that, i get up from the very comfy and warm seat that is his lap, and walk away. weaving in and out of people who are very drunk and probably very high. i’m getting bumped into by people and the dress i am wearing, that is already very short, is getting slowly higher and higher due to the amount of dancing drunk idiots run into me, riding it up. i can hear theo telling people to fuck off or get the fuck out of the waymeaning he is catching up. however, i am able to weave in and out faster than him. reaching the stairs, i get ready to ascend the ones to the right which leads to the girls dormitories, but i am grabbed by the waist before i can even make the first step. i gasp and tense , but a quick look down confirmed it is theo by the watch he is wearing that i got him for christmas two years ago. dang it, he caught up.

i relax, letting him now lead me up the stairs on the left, probably to his dorm room. he is still behind me, and his arm is still around my waist. each step we take, the closer i feel his body on mine, and the more im hyperaware of it. “let me go” even though i really don’t want him to. “okay” he let me go, but once we made it to his room. he opened the door and guided me through. no one was in there, draco must’ve been with pansy. lorenzo and mattheo were probably drinking, and blaise was probably hooking up with some girl who he will fall in love with for the next week and then forgets exists the next. i’d bet accuracy on that one. 

as he shuts the door behind us, he lets go of my waist. suddenly,  it;s cold, and my mouth temporarily frowns before he turns me around to face him with his arms on my shoulder. he ducks down to look into my eyes, “i am sorry piccolo. i’m not sorry for doing it, but im sorry that i upset you when i do and i still do it knowin that. i just react.” his face is genuine and his words are slow, something that happens when he is telling the truth. “please tell me why, maybe i can help.” he closes his eyes for a second and then takes a deep breath. opening his eyes, he moves his hands to my face, cradling me like i'm the most precious thing in the world. “they deserved it. adrian was telling a couple of his blokes in the courtyard that he wanted to fuck you. he was saying all the vulagar things he would do to you and i heard it and i snapped,” he starts, breathing heavily “i didn’t even think, i just went at him. his lads got scared and left, but i knew who they were and whenever i saw them i just beat the fuck out of them for laughing at what he said. that’s what happened tonight. they all deserved it for fucking with you so im not gonna say sorry for giving them what they deserved.” 

“you got hurt though”

 “i’d get beat to the brink of death to defend you and make sure you're safe. i couldnt give a fuck less if i get hurt”

 “but i do theo, i give a fuck!” i yell, my voice cracking while my tears start to well. his eyes widen, bringing me into a hug. his arms squeeze around me and i am home.  

“smettila di piangere amore mio” (stop crying my love).”he whispers.

”i dont even know what that means” i muffle against his chest. his hands soothing me, leaving a trail of heat on their wake. 

he chuckles, “why are you crying?” 

i dig deeper into his chest, “i don’t want you to hurt. i don't want you bruised. i just want you to be okay. i get stressed whenever i think about you in any state of harm and it hurts my heart. i don't care what they were saying about me. they don't matter. you do” 

i feel his lips on my forehead. “i care what they say about you. they cant just speak ill of what's mine. especially you, piccolo”. theo moves his arms to wrap around my waist once again. finding solace against him, i wrap mine around his shoulders. with instinct, theo starts to lift me and my legs find shelter around his hips. the bottom of the short black dress i wore to the party is surprisingly not exposing me, but i feel one of his hands position right under my thighs to stabilize myself against him as he moves us to his bed. he sits down against the headboard, now making it so i am sitting/laying atop him, arms still wrapped around his shoulders. “look at me” he whispers. i shake my head. “tesoro, look at me.” i sigh, tilting my head to comply. my eyes reach his, except they don't meet mine. i am looking at his eyes, while he is looking down, at my lips. i breathe shakily, and he copies.

 “fuck it” and with that, he kisses me, and i am in heaven. he grabs my face, and i feel every emotion theo is feeling right now. All for me. 

the kiss is sweet, not rough, like everything theodore nott embodies. theodore nott loves me, and i love him. and not like how best friends love each other. like real lovers do.

theo pulls away panting, and i open my eyes to meet his. “i love you piccolo. i love you and i won't let anyone speak of you like that. ever.” my heart swells at his confession.

“ i love you too theo.” i pause, then smirk. “if you really loved me, you wouldn’t get into more fights.” 

ha, now he's backed in a corner. 

my celebration is quickly turned into surprise as theo flips us, and my back collides with the soft mattress of his bed. he is leaning over me now,smirking, and my brain stops working. “shut up and let me kiss you as my apologies, i can get yelled at later. i want you now.” and so he does, and so i forget why he was in trouble. i just focus on his sweet lips on my lips, and i am euphoric.

[roosterr]

Hi idk if you're accepting requests but I literally just read the amnesia fic, and I was wondering if I could request where reader suddenly remembers everything, and sprints around base trying to find them, and just jumps on them crying and apologizing for forgetting them. Just some really fluffy comfort? It's okay if you don't want to write this lol

the 141 when you have amnesia – p2

note: i have received your therapy bills :)

wc: 5.2k

warnings: still a bit angsty I'm sorry I couldn't resist, fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injury and blood, happy endings for all I promise

ao3

[part one]

price

✹ john thought your initial reaction was a good sign. you seemed to be taking things well, considering the extent of your injuries, and it was only a matter of time before your memories returned.

✹ your spirits are high when you're reintroduced to the team, and though you don't remember them either you do say they feel familiar, which he takes as a good sign for your recovery.

✹ when you're finally discharged, he takes you home, to the house that the two of you bought together. he shows you the photos of the two of you that decorate the walls, fondly retelling the stories of each one to you even though you were there, and these are your pictures.

✹ if you notice the way he chokes up when you get to your wedding photos, you don't say anything.

✹ like the true gentleman he is, he insists on sleeping on the sofa and leaving you to take the bed, despite your protests about it being his home too. even though you were receptive, he would never risk making you uncomfortable by sleeping in the same bed when he was, essentially, a stranger.

✹ in all your years of marriage, he's never slept on the sofa before. the two of you rarely go to bed without each other, apart from the times you're separated by your job, and consequently he finds himself not getting much rest.

✹ you're still on leave while you're physically recovering from being in a coma, so john has to go to work without you every morning, something he also hasn't done since you got married. he wishes he could bring you with him anyway, just to have you near him, but he knows that's selfish and you still need time.

✹ the base is dull without you.

✹ again, he keeps up the appearance that he's okay, and maybe it's a little more true this time now that you're actually awake, but he still feels your absence like a weight on his shoulders.

✹ the other three are pleased amongst themselves about your recovery, gaz and soap constantly asking him how you are; and he knows they mean well, but it's still irritating because how could you be okay? you don't even remember your own husband, nothing about this is okay.

✹ he keeps his grievances to himself though. he's still their captain, he can't afford to fall apart when he still has a job to do.

✹ he's woken up one night by soft footsteps in the living room. his neck aches as his eyes snap open, every sense on high alert until he realises it's just you. a quiet grunt escapes him as he sits up, massaging his sore muscles from sleeping on the sofa.

✹ when the sound of muffled crying reaches his ears, he's immediately on his feet, his heart racing as he shuffles over to where you're standing with a hand covering your mouth.

✹ he presses a hand to your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. you don't look at him, your crying only increasing in volume now you're not worried about waking him.

✹ now that he's right next to you, he sees through the darkness that you're holding one of your wedding photos. it's his favourite picture, the one where he's lifting you with an arm around your waist and you're both gazing into each other's eyes with the most lovestruck expression on your faces.

✹ "i– i know i love you, so wh-why can't i just remember you?" you sputter in between sobs, and you might as well have just ripped his heart out of his chest, because he can't stop the way he breaks down at your words.

✹ john wraps both arms tightly around you, caging you to his chest and nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder while pressing his own tear-stained face into the top of your head.

✹ "it's alright, love–" his voice cracks pitifully, and he's never felt quite as hopeless as he does in this moment. "it'll be alright, you'll remember, i promise…"

✹ he's not sure who he's trying to convince, you or himself as you both sink to the floor in each other's embrace. you stay like that for hours, crying for your lost memory into the early morning.

✹ after that, he can't be bothered to pretend he's okay anymore.

✹ he starts drinking again, shamelessly in the middle of the day and grumbling at gaz and ghost when they wrestle the bottle away from him. he knows you'd disapprove, but the toll of lying to himself and everyone around him has caught up. all he wanted was his partner back, the love of his life, you.

✹ the others try to knock some sense into him, but talking to him becomes like going back and forth with a brick wall. gaz even gets kate on the phone to yell at him, but nothing seems to get through. he orders them to leave him alone, stop asking about you, and it really feels like he's lost hope.

✹ it goes on like this for a week straight, nearly a full month since you first woke up.

✹ and then one boring afternoon, there's a commotion outside his office. john hears cheers and shouts from down the corridor, but he can't bring himself to care enough to investigate.

✹ he's not in the mood to celebrate whatever it is they're cheering about anyway.

✹ john's just about to stand and yell at them to shut up, but then you're suddenly standing at his door, slamming it behind you as you rush over to his desk. his face must be the picture of surprise as he swivels in his chair to follow you as you approach, opening his legs for you to stand between them.

✹ his breath catches in his throat as you cup his face, your touch so tender it has his heart hammering against his sternum like the very first time you touched him all those years ago. he plants his hands firmly on your hips, too afraid of getting his hopes up to say a single word as he watches you get closer.

✹ your face hovers just above his, warm breath fanning over his face as you inch ever closer. he sees your eyes glistening before they flutter shut, brushing your lips against his with an anticipation that has his skin tingling.

✹ when you pull away, his eyes stay closed, but he can hear the smile in your voice when you whisper,

✹ "i remember you now."

✹ his heart might’ve actually stopped at your words, surprise shooting through him like a bolt of lightning as his eyes snap open.

✹ in a second, he's lifting you by the waist and dropping you onto his desk, uncaring for the various papers that he brushes out of the way to make room for you.

✹ he can't stop the overjoyed laugh that rumbles in his chest now he's the one standing between your legs, gripping your face and pushing his lips back against your with all the passion he's been bottling up during your recovery.

✹ you smile into the kiss too, wrapping your arms securely around his neck, running your fingers up his neck and through his hair. it feels like a weight has lifted, something heavy in the back of his mind finally dissipating and allowing him to relax into your hold.

✹ the two of you break away after a moment, keeping him close to you as you press your forehead to his. "i'm sorry that i ever forgot you."

✹ "i can think of a way you can make it up to me, love…"

gaz

✹ you're so apologetic about your amnesia, it breaks his heart all over again. what's worse is that he has no idea what to do; he doesn't want to try and force you to remember, that would just stress you out more, but he wants you to remember him so desperately he feels it ache in his bones.

✹ in the end, he decides to just let things play out. he wants you to recover at your own pace, and not just because of him and how he feels about you.

✹ he also doesn't say a word about your relationship, but with how he initially reacted, he's sure you got the idea. you don't mention it either, which admittedly hurts a little, but he's sure the confusion of waking up to having a boyfriend who's name you don't even know is worse than how he feels about it.

✹ kyle vows to take care of you the moment you're discharged. he takes you to your room, shows you where everything is, makes sure you know where he is should you ever need anything, and he even introduces you to the others again.

✹ you still remember your job and how to do it so, once you're physically well enough, you get right back to it. they carry on as normal, the rest of the taskforce – assimilating you back into their nights of drinking and fucking around as if you'd never left.

✹ kyle still doesn't feel right about it.

✹ he doesn't want to treat you like glass, because you're exactly the same as when he first met you. you're still quick-witted, stubborn, and one of the toughest people he knows, you just… don't know him.

✹ it kills him on the inside, but he stays strong for you; the last thing he wants is to become the mess of a man he was when you were out, he doesn't want you to see him like that. he sorely misses spending his nights with you, and talking endlessly about your days to each other. he sends you longing glances every time you look away, wondering if you'd ever feel the same again.

✹ if you can go back to living normally, why can't he?

✹ but as the weeks go by, kyle notices how you start to withdraw, the loneliness that blocks out the light in your eyes that he loves so much. you fade into the background of conversations, sticking to listening rather than engaging.

✹ you watch them from afar, and he still knows you well enough to know what's going through your head. feeling somehow like you belong and also like an outsider at the same time, wishing you could understand the inside jokes you were a part of.

✹ he wishes more than anything that there was something he could do – make you understand that you're wanted, and you're a valuable part of the team even without your memories, but any time he brings it up you simply brush him off with that far away look in your eyes.

✹ three weeks go by before anything changes.

✹ it's the first time in a while they finally have an afternoon off, so of course they decide to spend it playing football on one of the fields within the bounds of the base. soap and ghost on one team, gaz and the captain on the other, with you spectating and keeping score on the sidelines. 

✹ kyle offered to sit out if you wanted to play, but you'd brushed him off with the excuse of wanting to rest and read your book, laying out your jacket on the grass to sit on.

✹ he could tell you weren't all there, but he didn't know how to help you; so he just reassured you that you could call him over if you needed anything, and left you to guard his own jacket and water bottle before running off to join the game.

✹ the whole time he was sprinting around the field, he couldn't stop looking over to you over by the sidelines. he wasn't with it, he hadn't been since you woke up, really, and the others could tell.

✹ price abruptly calls half-time, clapping gaz on the shoulder and giving him a knowing look. "just talk to 'em, before it eats you alive." he chides, pushing him in your direction before he can think to protest.

✹ with a deep sigh and a glace backwards to the others, who shoo him away without a word, he jogs over to where you're sitting. the way the late afternoon sun hits you just right stops kyle dead in his tracks when he catches how it glows in your eyes. he feels a pull in his chest as he approaches you.

✹ you look up from your book as his shadow reaches you, shooting him a tiny smile as he drops himself next to you. he takes a swig from his water bottle as he catches his breath, extremely conscious of the way your teammates are pretending not to watch him while he comes up with the words.

✹ "so, who's winning then?" you ask, turning so you're facing him. he sees how your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes.

✹ "aren't you supposed to be keepin' score?" kyle chuckles, shifting slightly closer to you as you look away with a bashful expression. he allows your hands to brush, wanting nothing more than to lock your fingers together.

✹ "i'm not really paying attention."

✹ there's a beat of silence and that helpless feeling is back as he watches you look back out to the field, where the others are still kicking the ball back and forth.

✹ "how you doin'?" he asks, keeping his voice low as he leans in even closer to you. your mouth opens to respond, that slightly off smile back on your face, but before you can he places his hand fully over yours, giving it a comforting squeeze. "actually."

✹ you sigh, heavy and tired, and bring your gaze back over to his. "it's… hard." you begin, your eyes betraying the internal struggle. "and i'm… i know, before, we were–"

✹ he blinks and you're being sent over backwards by a football flying into your face with a smack that makes kyle's ears ring.

✹ immediately he's crouching over you, helping you sit back up and pressing the sleeve of his jacket to your nose, uncaring for the blood that stains it.

✹ "you alright?" he murmurs, gently holding your face as he inspects your nose. you nod, wincing at the movement, and take the sleeve of his jacket from him.

✹ once he's sure you're okay, his vision turns red with anger. it's pretty obvious who kicked the ball when he whips around to see soap kneeling on the ground with his head in his hands.

✹ "oi!" kyle shouts, sending him a deadly glare as he gets up. "soap, what the fuck!"

✹ the man in question looks up from his hands, an incredibly guilty look on his face. "i'm sorry pal! i dinnae ken what happened!"

✹ "just piss off, you prick!"

✹ kyle looks back to you, crouching down again with a concerned frown; but you're already looking at him, the silhouette of his own form reflected in your wide eyes. your nose is still dripping blood, but you drop his jacket and your hands to your lap anyway, mouth agape as you stare back at him.

✹ "what's wrong? are you–"

✹ you cut him off by tackling him to the ground with your arms around his neck, squeezing a surprised 'oof' from him as you land on top of his chest. one of his hands flies to your waist to steady you, the other carefully cradling your head.

✹ "i remember!" you cry, an elated laugh bubbling up as fresh tears wet your cheeks.

✹ kyle lets out a relieved laugh of his own, craning his neck to plant his lips firmly on yours with an infectious grin. in the background the others groan at the display of affection, but neither of you pay them any mind.

✹ eventually the two of you pull away, a wide smile still plastered on both of your faces as you get up from the grass. he pulls you in with the hand that still hasn't moved from your waist and leans to whisper in your ear,

✹ "fancy kickin' soap's arse?"

✹ "you read my mind."

soap

✹ johnny's enthusiastic with your recovery. anyone could've guessed that from the moment you woke up he'd be doting, eager to help you in any way you could need.

✹ yes, you didn't remember him, but be was just so ecstatic that you were okay – apart from the amnesia – that he couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed about it. you'd get your memories back soon enough, and then everything would go right back to the way it was.

✹ sometimes he gets a little carried away, forgets that while you are technically in a relationship, he's not much more than a stranger to you right now. more than once you end up having to ask him for some space because he's so incredibly touchy, and you're not sure how to handle it.

✹ you also request a temporary room to sleep in while you recover, separate from him. johnny's not sure how he feels about it.

✹ he feels that sinking feeling in his chest whenever you push him back with a hand on his chest, a polite smile tugging at your lips. it's disheartening, but he tries not to let it get to him. you'll remember soon, and then this will all be in the past.

✹ maybe you'll even laugh about it, how you could ever forget your wonderful boyfriend.

✹ he takes it upon himself to read up on amnesia, so he can better understand how to help you in any way you might need. once he learns that exposure to memories that you've lost can help your recovery, he eagerly convinces you to let him show you places that have meaning to you and your relationship with him.

✹ you agree, and he didn't actually need to do much convincing because you seem just as interested in the idea as him. he knocks on your door the following evening, offering you a single rose before whisking you away with a charming smile.

✹ he takes you on your first date all over again, with the same level of enthusiasm as before. he treats you to dinner at a relatively nice restaurant, telling you all about how the two of you got together in the first place, and memories you have together. he even orders you dessert, recalling with a chuckle how he accidentally guessed your favourite on your actual first date.

✹ once you both finish eating, he guides you by the hand to the canal for the second half of the date, a romantic moonlit stroll by the water. he pulls you close with an arm around your shoulders, meeting your eyes with a fond smile and a blush dusting his cheeks.

✹ "hold on…" you mutter, a pensive expression taking over your face as you stop walking. you turn to gaze at the water, seemingly working something out in your mind. "this… this is where gaz fell into the river that one time, right?"

✹ johnny's heart misses a beat, his eyes lighting up with renewed, excited hope as he grins at you. "you remember?"

✹ "a little, yeah," you smile, dropping your gaze and hands from his with a sorry scratch at the back of your neck. "the rest is still blank, though…"

✹ his smile falters, but he's quick to make sure you don't see his disappointment by pulling you into a reassuring hug. "that's still somethin'! you'll be good as new in nae time!"

✹ the next morning, he finds you and gaz in the rec room on one of the couches, talking animatedly with each other. that familiar shine is in your eyes, the sight johnny's been missing for the last few months. it makes his heart feel light, finally seeing you acting like your normal self again after so long.

✹ he approaches you both, watching you fondly as you talk and laugh with gaz, but his good mood is soured when you only briefly acknowledge his arrival when he sits down across from you, before resuming your conversation with gaz. his brow twitches downwards.

✹ gaz is one of your closest friends, and he’s glad you remembered him. he's happy that you got part of your memory back, even if it wasn't a part that included him.

✹ this was a good thing. you'd remember him soon, he was sure of it.

✹ a few more days pass until anything else notable happens. while you were in the gym together, you told him you felt a headache coming on, so he offered to walk you to the infirmary for some painkillers. the casual conversation you made on the way wouldn't have bothered him before, but he just couldn't shake the image of you and gaz being so comfortable, while he's still stuck on the outside.

✹ he doesn't say anything though. making you feel bad about it won't solve anything, and it's not like you're doing it on purpose, he knows you wouldn't do that to him. you were just excited to have a familiar face, that's all.

✹ while you're waiting for the medic on call, your head suddenly snaps to attention and you get that same pensive look on your face as that night by the river.

✹ "you got something?" johnny asks, bringing his hand up to rest on your upper back. he doesn't want to get his hopes up, but he can't help the way his heart flutters with optimism.

✹ you nod, a smile growing on your features. "i remember that time lt. dislocated my shoulder, and price basically forced him apologise to me," you laugh, thankfully facing away from johnny as his lips turn downwards, "god, he was pissed, it was honestly kinda funny."

✹ "what, uhm…" he lightly clears his throat, hoping you don't hear the dejection in his voice, "what about me?"

✹ you meet his eyes again with an apologetic shake of your head. "i'm sorry, soap…"

✹ "yer fine, it's–" he swallows thickly, waving you off with an exaggerated smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, "this is good, it's progress."

✹ since then, he's given you more space. it's clear to him that his efforts aren't helping you remember him, it actually feels like it's having the opposite effect. of course, he's glad you remember your friends, but you still don't remember him – your own boyfriend.

✹ it's wrong, and he knows it is, but he's jealous.

✹ he has to watch you carry on like usual, without him. you haven't set foot in the room you used to share together since before you were comatose. he's done his best to disguise how much it hurts, but it still annoys him how no one else seems to notice how wrong it all is. the others don't need you like he does, they don't lay awake at night going over every moment, treasuring the time you called him yours, yearning with every fibre of his being to go back.

✹ it's been a month and a half since you woke up, six weeks of being so close yet so unbearably far from you. he prays to any god that will listen to bring you back to him, allow him to hold you in his arms once more, but nothing ever changes.

✹ the thread he's been hanging on by ever since you went down on that mission gone wrong is one more bad day away from snapping.

✹ he's approached by gaz one morning, while waiting for the others to begin training, who takes it upon himself to ask johnny about how you're recovering. when gaz teases him about how he was the first person you remembered, and johnny thinks he might just strangle him.

✹ "careful, soap, i might steal 'em away," gaz laughs, patting his shoulder with a camaraderie soap scoffs at.

✹ "shut the fuck up." he snarls, his face bunched in a strikingly out of character scowl. his hands twitch at his sides, nails digging painfully into his palms.

✹ gaz blinks, his eyebrows shooting up, clearly taken aback by the hostility from his friend. "alright, i was only jokin', mate."

✹ "aye, well, i'm nae laughin'."

✹ the tension is stifling. he can tell gaz wants to say something more, but he holds his tongue – too worried about upsetting soap any further.

✹ they stand in silence with each other like that for a while, gaz watching him from the corner of his eye while he keeps his gaze firmly on the grass below him.

✹ thankfully, after not too long the uneasy atmosphere is interrupted by a shout from the direction of the building, "johnny!"

✹ his head snaps to attention to see you, grinning uncontrollably and sprinting towards him at full speed.

✹ "wha–" he's caught off guard by how you leap into his arms, hooking your arms around his neck as he stumbles backwards in surprise.

✹ before he has time to question your actions, you're smashing your lips against his in a searing kiss that has johnny's head spinning. he wastes no time in reciprocating, securing one arm around your waist and bringing the other to the back of your head, using it you press you impossibly closer to him as he groans into your mouth.

✹ you reluctantly pull away, just enough to take a shaky breath, but johnny's had stays put on the back of your head. "i'm sorry i forgot, i'm sorry…" you mumble against his lips, dragging your fingers through the unkempt hair of his mohawk.

✹ he drops his head into the juncture of you neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply the scent of you that he's gone so long without. he laughs into you, slightly delirious and just so overjoyed to have you in his arms again that feels his eyes sting with tears.

✹ "i've missed you, bonnie," he chuckles wetly, pressing his lips back to yours in another desperate kiss, "i've missed you so much,"

✹ "i'll never forget you again."

ghost

✹ he avoids you like the plague.

✹ or he tries to, at least. but truth be told, after spending so much time learning to be vulnerable around you and allowing you into his guarded heart, it's difficult to go back to being a stranger to you.

✹ that, and he doesn't actually want to.

✹ but he needs to. being around you, the love of his life, knowing that you don't remember him, it's like a knife stuck between his ribs. any time he's in the same room as you he finds himself fighting the urge to grab your hand, or press his forehead against you.

✹ he knows you don't want him anymore, the last thing you deserve is a giant of a man – who you're clearly afraid of, even if you won't say it – hanging around you like a shadow.

✹ you're still kind to him, because of course you are, checking in on him and trying to talk to him any opportunity you get. it's nice, sometimes he can even pretend everything is normal when he shares a laugh with you, but then he sees the hesitance in your eyes and he's brought back to the cold reality of the situation.

✹ the weeks drag like this, every fleeting look from you another bleeding wound on his heart.

✹ he keeps it together surprisingly well, all things considered, but the breaking point comes when you find him having a smoke one night, on a bench just outside the barracks.

✹ "simon?" your voice cuts through the silence, his eyes snapping to you as you sit down next to him. he takes another long drag from his cigarette as he watches you, uncertainty in your voice as you continue, "can you tell me about… me? and us?"

✹ no matter how much he thinks he should, he can't look away from your pleading gaze.

✹ "we… you're everything to me," simon mutters, dropping his cigarette and putting it out with the heel of his boot, "i've never felt the way i do with you before, you've helped me more than you could ever know…"

✹ his vision blurs with unshed tears. the sadness on your face starts and ache in his heart, the desire to take you into his arms and just hold you making his skin bristle.

✹ "you don't have to feel the same way, but…" he pulls the balaclava from his head, setting it on the bench in the space between you, bearing his face to you like he always does, "even if you never get your memory back, i'll always love you."

✹ the way you look at him makes it so incredibly difficult not to cry. your eyes are glassy and far away, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth with an expression that screams guilt – but it's not your fault, and he'd never blame you.

✹ you open your mouth to say something, but the words never materialise. the night stays silent, and simon expects it, but it still makes his bones ache with a heaviness that he knows he can't shake.

✹ he stands, picking up his balaclava, and walks quietly past you to the barracks door. there's no fleeting look, not this time. he disappears to his room without another word.

✹ he's not sure how much later it is when he hears a knock on his door. minutes, hours, it didn't matter. it all blends together now.

✹ when he doesn't bother to answer, whoever it is lets themselves in, shutting the door gently behind themselves. he sits up with the intention of chewing them out, but when he opens his eyes they land on your form, curled in on yourself and shuffling quickly over to him.

✹ you're here, in his room, with a face that looks like you've been crying for hours, puffy and tear-stained with bloodshot eyes.

✹ he almost thinks he's dreaming, but the warmth as you wrap your arms around him and bring his face to your chest is too real, too familiar. he brings his arms up  around your waist, releasing a shaky sigh into your skin as he squeezes you tighter against him.

✹ a few hot tears meet the top of his head as you whisper to him the words he's been waiting, longing to hear, rocking gently from side to side.

✹ "i remember, si."

✹ it feels like he can finally rest, like the state of being he's been living in for the last few months melts away with your touch and he feels safe again.

✹ with his grip around your waist, he hoists you onto his bed to lay back down with him, holding you tightly against his chest, your heart right beside his own racing one.

✹ you cradle his face again, pressing your lips to his face over and over, touching every inch of him with your love.

✹ "i'm sorry…" you whisper like a mantra, punctuating every kiss with an apology that makes his throat constrict with the raw emotion he feels. "i'm sorry,"

✹ "don't be…" he mirrors how you hold his face, tangling his legs with yours as he captures your mouth and pours every ounce of passion he has into the way he kisses you. "don't be, love."

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter one ⭐︎ Waiting Room

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of death and injuries, mention of physical assault (physical fight), head injuries, mention of bruises and scars, mention of Eddie's almost death. pining. allusions to unrequited love. enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort. lots and lots of tension. slow burn. also, instead of writing summaries, I will name each chapter after a song that fits the vibe of each chapter. Also, mentioning this again, her nickname has nothing to do with her hair color.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 6.9k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult you know I will mention you in every chapter, so don't even try to fight me. Thanks for coming up with all these ideas with me mwah! — This is only the beginning, guys. This story will progress into something much more intense after chapter four or five, I can’t wait to share this one with you and get into the good and spicy stuff hehe!

Read the prologue first!

series masterlist ⭐︎ next chapter

♡

Your body was aching and everything inside of you was screaming at you to not open your eyes just yet, you felt as though you were being dragged out of it. All your limbs were hurting, your skin aching, your head was pounding. You could not begin to describe the pain even if you tried, it was unlike anything you had felt before. Your memory was lost, at least that’s what it felt like for the first few seconds. 

Then they started coming back slowly. 

From the gate in the water, to Steve being pulled under.

From the bats trying to bite chunks of his skin to you doing everything in your power to save him. 

From the creepy old Creel house, to Max offering herself as the bait. 

As pictures of her flashed in your mind, you suddenly started to register the smell – the disinfectant, the disgusting smell of hospital. You heard the beeping of the machines next to you, and you felt the wires attached to your body. 

You tried to press your lips together, though tears burned in your eyes when the crack in your lip stung. 

You moved your hand as you slowly opened your eyes to bright lights shining into the room you were in. You squinted them, trying to adjust to the light and the vision in front of you, it took you a moment, everything was still so blurry. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see a mop of dark curls. You slowly moved your head to the left side, restraining a groan when you felt a flash of pain in your head. You blinked a few times, taking in the sight of a bruised and battered Eddie, who was looking down at his rings, twisting and playing with them nervously. 

“Eddie?” You said and only then you felt how dry your throat had felt, how raspy your voice had sounded and how much it was aching. 

You did not notice the movement on your right side.

He straightened up as he lifted his head so suddenly, eyes wide as he looked into yours. Relief flashed his face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“Oh thank god.. Hi sweetheart.. slept well?” 

You stared at him for a good long minute, trying to figure out what had happened to him. By the developing scars on his face and the white bandage around his neck, you had an idea of what had gotten to him. 

Was he on the brink of death just like you had been? 

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that he was. 

“Huh… I’m not dead?” 

He shook his head, eyes filled with relief, “gladly no.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, “well, shucks,” you sighed, like you didn’t fight for your life back at the Creel house. 

Eddie sighed but chuckled, understanding your dark humor better than anyone else – despite only knowing you for a few days. 

A cough finally fell from your lips when you tried to sit up, though losing the strength to, you fell back again.

Eddie instantly reached for the water bottle on the table next to you, pouring some into the plastic cup before he carefully placed it into your hand, trying not to touch the bruises on your knuckles. 

You thanked him with a small smile before you lifted the cup to your lips with shaky hands. 

“Careful,” Eddie whispered as he watched you.

You nodded and closed your eyes as you took a sip of the water, welcoming the feeling of the coldness in your dry throat, you took a few sips before you handed him back the cup. 

“How long was I out?”

The sigh from your right side startled you a little, with furrowed brows, you turned to look only to be caught off guard. 

Steve Harrington.

With his arms crossed, he stood by the window, staring at you with an unreadable look on his face. He took you in, eyes glaring at the wounds on your skin. 

“You had to have surgery. There–... There was a deep concussion in your head and a vessel popped. If they didn’t do it quickly you..” He could not bring himself to finish that sentence, he clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands. 

Your heart fluttered at the sight of him. 

Even in this current state, you could not help but smirk cheekily, though it dropped the moment it appeared when you suddenly could feel all the bruises on your face. Your eyes watered and a wince fell from your lips. 

Steve lifted his head at the sound. 

And Eddie straightened up. 

“Don’t move your face too much, sweets.. It’s…” He stopped as he felt anger and sadness hit him all at once. 

He did not want to tell you how bad it really was – how your skin was bruised, how puffy your eyes were. 

You closed your eyes again and laid your head back. 

“Ah, he got me good, didn’t he?” 

Steve swallowed harshly. 

He pushed away the pain from seeing you like this and cleared his throat. He licked his lips and leaned closer. 

“Yeah, but you got him better.” 

You frowned at his words, not quite understanding. 

Eddie glared at him, not knowing how you would take the news so soon. 

“Huh?”

Steve ignored the look in Eddie’s eyes, he kept his on you. 

“Jason’s dead. He fell onto broken wood… that impaled him.”

Oh. 

Flashes of the night came in a blur. 

The fight. 

His rough hands as he hit you, over and over again, as he held you down and wrapped his merciless fingers around your throat, aiming for the kill. 

You felt your heart beating a little faster at the memory, how scared you were when he pointed a gun at Lucas before you stepped in between them, knowing that he could have shot you, right then and there. How much it hurt when he sliced your cheek open with the stupid ring on his finger as he delivered the first punch, how close to death you were when he choked you. You saw the look in his eyes, the rage, as he called you a traitor for protecting ‘the killer’ of your friend. Tears of frustration and anger fell from your eyes when you almost lost the fight – Lucas’s screams as he called out to Max urged you to fight back, and you did, you used every last bit of your strength to throw him off of you and pushed him away. 

Pushed him into his death. 

You do not feel bad. – Max could have died because of him. He would have killed Lucas. He wanted to kill you. 

“Good,” you murmured as you blinked the tears away that formed in your eyes again, “he was going to kill the kids.. He had a gun.. He had a gun, Steve.”

It was almost weird to hear you call him by his name. 

He instantly rushed to your side and reached for your hand, something that neither of you would ever think back to again. 

“Yeah, and you saved them. Listen, you can’t talk much, you need to heal, Blondie.”

Right. The ache in your neck was not from the lack of water, it was from the bruises, from almost being strangled to death.

“Everything else is being taken care of,” he said as he squeezed your hand. 

You ignored the feeling in your chest and turned to look at Eddie. 

“And you?” 

“Well, you are looking at a free man! A free man that was targeted by Victor Creel himself after he got out of Pennhurst. I trespassed into his home many times and he had a vendetta against me or some shit.”

You felt relief rushing through you. 

Though, you saw the hurt behind his eyes, knowing he had to lie about seeing Creel killing Chrissy. 

He did not want to put the blame on somebody else, he knew what it had felt like to be accused of something he hadn’t done – but there was no other option, he had no choice, he wasn’t given one. People of power had told him what to do. In return, he got his name cleared and had been given a good amount of money for ‘the troubles’. Money that he could live off from for the rest of his life.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Eddie.” 

He smiled at your words, nodding. 

“What happened to you?” 

He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Steve. 

“He played hero when he shouldn’t have.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at him. 

Hero. There wasn’t only one hero that night. 

Almost in panic, you straightened up. 

“Where’s Max?” 

Steve put his hand on yours again, giving it a pat as he tried to calm you down, though all he gave you was shivers running down your spine from his touch. 

“Healing. He broke one arm and one leg, but she is awake. Robin is with her, she’s been waiting for you to wake up.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the weight in your shoulders fell just like that. You felt like crying, but you wouldn’t do it here, in front of them. 

“And everyone else?”

You took in the sight of him, properly this time. 

There were dark circles beneath his eyes, tiredness in his face.

You didn’t know what prompted you to do this, maybe it was the high anesthetic in your system or a spur of the moment – but you lifted your hand, reached out to him to graze your fingertips against his neck, on the mark where the tail of a demobat almost strangled him. 

He did not pull away, but he stared at you with wide eyes, blushing at your action.  

“I-I’m fine.. Everyone else is too,” he said and cleared his throat. 

A scoff on your left pulled you back and you removed your hand from Steve’s neck to look over at Eddie. 

“Speak for yourself, I have like forty stitches all over my body.”

How he managed to joke about that while he was still in so much pain? You did not know. But then again, you were just the same. 

He spared you the details when he began to talk about what happened in the upside down. Steve did not want to revive the story again, seemingly not handling the thought of his new friend dying so cruelly. He left and told you that he’d come back later. 

As Eddie was telling you about the swarm of bats, you felt the pain in your chest, just like when you had found out about Chrissy, just like when you had found out about him. 

Eddie was a new addition to your life, you two are barely even friends, though you do not know how you would handle the news of him not making it. 

“I’m happy you’re here.”

Eddie’s eyes softened, though a smirk tugged at his lips. 

“Going soft on me now, sweets?” He chuckled, surprised to hear such words from you. “Or are you still on drugs? Where’s the little ol’ meanie, I kinda liked her.” 

A pained chuckle fell from your lips. 

“She’ll be back in no time, don’t you worry.”

Your laughter died down when you thought of the way he looked at you. 

Judging by all the pain you were still feeling, you knew that you looked awful. 

“How bad do I look? Be honest, please.”

Eddie shook his head with a pained look on his face. He looked down for a moment. His eyes flashed with anger and sadness. 

“Bad, sweetheart. When we found out that Jason did this to you.. We wanted to revive him only to kill him again,” he said angrily. “Steve wanted to rip his corpse apart, that’s what Robin told me.”

For a moment, you felt cheerful and your eyes had softened. 

For a moment you had thought that he cared. 

But Eddie quickly pulled you back into reality after shattering that illusion. 

“He saw what he did to Lucas, it’s not as bad as you but.. fuck. He was going to kill Max too.”

Steve was angry at Jason because of the teens, not because of what he did to you, never because of you. He wouldn’t have cared if you bleed out on the ground in the Creel house. He wouldn’t have cared if you died. 

You focused on Eddie, on the anger in his features – it made your eyes soften, knowing that you found another friend, one that you should probably protect from the curse that you are. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I can walk now..”

You frown, tilting your head at him before you look down at yourself. 

“How long have I been out?” You asked when you realized that Steve had never answered your question. 

“You’ve been out for a whole week, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widened, you dug your hands into the mattress and pushed yourself up. 

“Whoa, whoa!” Eddie raised his hands as he tried to stop you from sitting up. 

“W-What, oh my god, my sister must be worried!” 

He put his hand on your arm, gently – you had noticed it before, how careful he had been to touch you, like he was afraid of hurting you, like you were something fragile. 

“Yeah, about that–” He never got to finish his sentence as the door burst open and your sister stormed inside the room. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of her, not because you were surprised or confused to see her here, but because it’s been two months since you had last seen her. Besides the concerned look on her face, she was glowing – maybe it was the pregnancy or maybe it was just the fact that she has been much happier since leaving Hawkins behind. 

“Hi hi, honey! Are you okay?” 

That day she had the same concern in her voice as she does now while she talks your ear off about how important it is to go to all your checkups at the Hospital. She is calling every day, just to remind you – and to check on you. 

You are fine. Just fine. 

You survived an attack, you survived surgery, you survived. You made a good recovery and you are getting better each day. Besides, Eddie and Max are on your back about the check-ups just as much, you have no choice but to go to them. 

You’re holding the telephone between your ear and your shoulder as you finish touching up your make up, applying some gloss to your lips before you pick up the brush one more time and carefully go through your hair, trying not to hurt yourself, your head starts hurting at every slightest touch and it’s beginning to frustrate you. 

“I’m telling you, this baby is going to be a little runner.” 

“Is she still kicking?” 

Your sister huffs before she laughs, “she is kicking all the time, sis.”

You smile as you take the telephone and walk towards your window, leaning against the wall as you wait for the Impala to pull up in your driveway. 

“I can’t wait to meet her. I never held a baby before.”

“Well, you’re about to – give it a few more weeks and you’ll turn into an auntie in no time.”

“I am already an auntie,” you chuckle. “How could you forget little Luna? She was your first child.” 

You remember how devastated you were when she took the black cat with her as she moved out of your parents house and left the town, for good. You begged her to leave the cat with you, put on your best puppy face but she wouldn’t have it, it was her cat, after all. 

“Right, sorry sorry.” She laughs. 

You hear rustling in the back and a moment later, a loud crunch sounds through the phone. You don’t have to ask to know what she’s eating. Chips. She is always eating salted chips, now even more so than before. 

“What are you doing today?” She asks with a mouthful. 

Looking down at your outfit, you place your palm on your new denim shorts before you slide your fingers into the pocket. 

“I’m going to a barbecue in a few,” you say. “Max basically forced me to come.”

“Wait, you’re not driving yourself, are you?”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as a huff falls from your lips. 

You’re not allowed to drive, not yet. Your vision gets blurry sometimes, and you get light headed very easily. Your doctor said that it would pass, but it’s been two weeks since you had been released from the hospital and it hasn’t passed yet. 

Jason truly did a number on you. 

“No, don’t worry. My friends would kill me if I even tried–”

“Don’t say that word,” she cuts you off with a stern voice. “But I agree with them.”

You snort. 

“Anyways, Eddie is picking me up.”

Silence follows for a good thirty seconds before she continues eating her chips. You can practically hear her thoughts, you already know what she’s about to say next. 

“Eddie. He was the cute one with the long hair, right?” She asks, innocently. “The one who brought you chocolate and magazines?” 

Rolling your eyes at her teasing voice, you push yourself away from the wall when you see the black Impala pulling up to your house. 

“Don’t even,” you sigh, scrunching up your face in annoyance. 

She has been waiting, waiting for years for you to finally have a crush on someone, to fall in love, go on dates and get a boyfriend. 

Though, unlike her, you weren’t exactly popular – maybe it was your own fault, but that’s beside the point. Your sister loved having crushes and going on dates. She loved falling in love. 

You? Not so much. 

Love has only brought you pain. 

And you never cared much for dating – not even for fun. You don’t mind being on your own, loving someone from afar and in secret, for probably the rest of your life. 

“What’s wrong with him? Isn’t he super sweet?” She asks. “He brought you chocolate, sat by your side and you seem to like him–”

“Yeah, as a friend.” 

“Oh,” she sighs, humming. “Yeah, you never liked the nice guys, did you?” 

She got you there. Well, kind of. He is nice. He is nice to everyone, but to you. 

“What about the other guy then? What was his name again… Steve?” 

Just the mention of his name has shivers running down your spine, your heart fluttering and your skin crawling in tingles. 

You feel your cheeks glowing but you roll your eyes at the stupid giddiness that you feel, everytime you think of him.

“Mhmm, Steve.” 

“Huh.” You could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “What about him?”

If she only knew. 

Eddie honks the car horn, giving you the perfect excuse to hang up the phone. You walk back to your dresser, putting the phone down. 

“Anyways, I love you, sis. But a very hungry Eddie is waiting for me in the driveway.”

You know that he is hungry, he is always hungry, always eating away all the snacks and stealing leftover fries from everyone’s plates, no matter how much he had eaten already.

“Have fun with uh Steve! Love you, mwah, bye!”

You roll your eyes once again as you hang up the phone. 

Steve and Fun in one sentence just doesn’t sound right. That guy would rather stay miserable for the rest of his life than even try to have fun with you. 

He can’t stand you. 

And well, you can’t stand him either. – At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself, all while knowing that it’s very much a lie, but how else would you stay sane?

You quickly make your way down the stairs, reaching for your keys and your sunglasses on the way out. You skip down the porch steps. You tap the hood of his car before you get into the passenger seat. 

Eddie is already grinning at you, waving his fingers at you. 

“Hey sexy.” 

His brows shoot up and a smirk tugs at his lips. He playfully eyes you up and down. 

You close the door and sit back, greeting him with a mocking smirk. 

“Hello to you too, sweets,” he says in a low and deep voice – one that almost has you laughing. 

“Oh, I wasn’t greeting you,” you say, nonchalantly. “I was talking to Arwen,” you gesture to his beloved, new car, that he of course named after a Lord of the rings character. 

“But, hi Eddie.”

A loud laugh leaves his lips, his brown eyes twinkle with amusement. He grabs the gearstick, shaking his head at you. 

“You ready for some heavy metal heaven?” 

You put on your sunglasses and fasten the seatbelt after he points at you with a stern look on his face. 

“Sure,” you snort, knowing that the drive to the Sinclair house will be anything but uneventful. When Eddie isn’t singing and bobbing his head to the music, he’s shouting over it, telling you a story that he can’t wait to get off his chest. 

Your friendship with him is something you didn’t see coming. You tried to push him away, knowing how your friendships with people you care about usually end, but he wouldn’t have it. He kept coming back, just like Robin, just like the teens. 

You don’t understand why. 

What’s there about you that they want you around so bad? 

You’re never in a happy mood, you’re never entertaining, you don’t bring anything into the friend group. You don’t get along with most people – by most people you only mean Steve Harrington. 

You wonder if it’s because you almost died and they’d feel guilty to exclude you after helping them or if Max forces them to accept you into a friend group you never even wanted to be part of. 

“How’s your head doing?” Eddie asks as he drives on Maple Street. 

“Good, s’not hurting anymore.” You lie. 

He knows. 

Eddie sees the way you react to bright lights, the way you scrunch up your nose a little whenever the sun shines into your eyes or the way you rest your hand against the nearest wall when you seem to get dizzy. 

“When’s your next check-up?” 

He sounds just as concerned as your sister does, it makes you laugh a little. 

Who would have thought that Eddie could be so caring? 

“Tomorrow, 3pm.”

“Want me to drive you?”

You shake your head, “no, it’s fine. I’ll take the bus.”

He scoffs, shooting you a glare as he pulls up into the driveway, parking his car behind the burgundy BMW. 

“You think I’ll let you take the bus? I’ll drive you and then we’ll get burgers.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, chuckling as you turn to him, “okay, dad.” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles at you with a glare. 

Laughing at the look on his face, you get out of the car and make your way over to the house. Eddie bumps his shoulder into yours, tilting his head down, he looks at your heart shaped sunglasses. 

“Where’d you get these?” He asks, pointing at them. 

“Macy’s, why? You want some too?” 

“What if I do?” He asks, ringing the doorbell. 

“Then we’ll get you some pink ones.” 

A smirk tugs at his lips, “hell yeah.” 

Robin opens the door with an excited smile on her face, grinning when she sees you. 

“Hi!” She beams at you. “Come on in.” She steps aside, lifting her arm as she waits for you both to step inside. 

You walk in first, and as you do, Robin pulls you into a hug, greeting you once more. 

“Hey,” you mumble as you slowly lift your arms to hug her back. 

Eddie chuckles at the confused frown on your face, he follows inside and closes the door. 

“C’mon, Steve is already bitching about you two being late.” 

And just like that, your heart jumps a little. You hate yourself a little in these moments. 

Pushing your sunglasses up on your head, you and Eddie follow her out into the garden. 

You can hear the music outside, laughter and Steve’s stern voice as he scolds Dustin, as always. The smell of smoke lingers in the air and as you step outside, you catch sight of Steve, standing behind the grill, with one hand on his hip and the other pointing at Dustin with the grill tong. 

His hair is messy, a spit curl falling before his eyes. He is wearing his black sunglasses, green khaki pants, a gray tank top,– oh god. This is going to be a long day. 

You swallow as you tear your eyes away from him, looking around with squinted eyes, the sun is harsh and you instantly put your sunglasses back on.

“Are the Sinclair’s around?” You ask, meaning Lucas’s and Erica’s parents. 

Robin shakes her head, “no, they’re out in Indianapolis until tomorrow, Steve is probably gonna stay the night.”

You nod. 

You hear your name being called and you turn to your right to see Lucas waving at you with a smile on his face. He is sitting on the lounger Max is laying on, still with casts on her leg and her arm. She pushes herself up on her elbows, looking in your direction, a smile appears on her face and she greets you just as kindly as her boyfriend did. 

Robin leaves your side, walking towards Dustin who plays with his new, portable Stereo. 

As you pass by Steve, he turns around to greet Eddie with a smile and you with nothing more than a nod and low grumble, “Blondie.” 

Whenever he seems moody or pissed off, you feel the urge to make it even worse. And you do, every single time. 

You walk around him and look at the meat on the grill, whining.

“I don’t eat meat.”

He turns to you, eyes growing wide at your words. He didn’t know. And he already feels guilty for not asking you first. He pushes his sunglasses up into his hair as an apologetic look crosses his face. 

“Fuck… I-I didn’t know–” he stops when he notices the smug look on your face and hears Eddie chuckle over his shoulder. 

He should’ve known. 

With a groan, he rolls his eyes and pushes his sunglasses back down as he turns back to the grill. 

“Hey Eddie!” Dustin calls out to him, already grinning at Steve. “Check this out!” 

“Don’t you dare, Dustin–” Robin gets cut off by a scream as it blasts from the stereo. She smacks him lightly on his head, yelling at him to turn it off. 

Eddie laughs loudly, leaving yours and Steve’s side. 

“Jesus christ,” Steve mumbles, scrunching his face up at the music. “That shrimp has been doing that all day. Eddie really is a bad influence.” 

“Aw, poor Steve,” you pout at him, “are you mad that you can’t listen to Madonna?” 

He scoffs at you, though he doesn’t say anything and focuses on the sizzling burgers as he turns them over. 

You press your lips together, ignoring the tugging in your chest or the feeling in your stomach as you use his distraction to look at him. 

It’s only nearing the end of April, but it already feels like the beginning of summer. Steve’s skin is already sun kissed. You hide your eyes behind your sunglasses as you ogle him. Taking in the sight of his veiny hands, his arms that have just the perfect amount of muscle, his chest hair that you always tease him for, the silver chain around his neck. 

You swallow. 

Cursing inwardly when you feel your stomach fluttering. 

He turns to face you again, totally catching you and your staring. 

Fuck. 

“Like what you see?” He smirks down at you. 

You bite the inside of your cheeks, trying not to blush under his gaze. 

He is feeling smug. Not because he likes you staring at him, but because he’s been waiting for a moment to embarrass you with something. 

He expects you to stutter, to step back and answer his question with a shaky and squeaky voice, because that is what he must be used to, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You take a step closer to him, biting your lip as you eye him up and down. 

You can tell that it catches him off guard a little, but unlike you, he isn’t blushing. 

“Yeah, actually,” you whisper and put your hand on his shoulder as you lean closer to the small table where he left his coke. You wrap your hand around the can, it’s cold against your palm and you hum in satisfaction as you raise it up to your lips, taking a sip of his drink. “Mmmh, perfect.” 

You turn around, and walk away without another word, leaving him huffing and glaring at you. 

You fail to notice or feel his eyes on you, the way they rake down your body, the way he licks his lips before he forces his eyes away from you. 

You greet Lucas and Max properly, hugging the latter before you take a seat on the lounger next to her, choosing the one that is half in the shadow, so you can hide your face from the sun. 

You easily fall into a conversation with the teens. You had always been close with Max, even before you were dragged into all of this. 

Being friends with her, also brought Lucas into your life. Unlike Dustin, who is always somehow trying to get on your nerves by teasing you with crushes that don’t exist or annoying you like a younger brother would do, Lucas is always very kind. 

“I can’t wait for you to get your car back.” 

Chuckling at Lucas’s words, you take off your sunglasses and put them down beside you. 

“Why’s that?” 

“So you can drive us around again,” he shrugs as he flashes you a smile. 

“Are Steve and Eddie not good enough for you?” You snort. 

Max scoffs loudly, rolling her eyes as she turns to you. 

“Steve is always whining about something!” 

“Yeah, and Eddie drives like a maniac,” Lucas groans, throwing his hands up. 

Max purses her lips, looking down at her cast. 

“Yeah, like your girlfriend,” you laugh, glancing at Lucas. “I wonder who will teach her how to drive properly.” 

“First of all, I don’t drive like a maniac,” says Max. “Second, why don’t you teach me how to drive?” 

You raise your brows at her, shaking your head, “sorry girl, but I am not a good teacher.” 

“But you’re like a big sister to me, you’re supposed to teach me,” she teases, though she looks at you with her best puppy eyes. “Besides, we can take Billy’s car.”

Shaking your head at her, you lay your head back and close your eyes, “don’t even try, Max. We’ll both end up in a ditch, we barely made it out last time.” 

She snorts at your words while Lucas looks between the two of you with disapproval on his face. 

“I’m starting to think that neither of you should ever drive again.” 

“I actually agree with you,” Robin chimes in as she joins the three of you. “I’ve heard of Max’s driving skills and uh… you lady,” she points at you, moving your legs to the side as she takes a seat on your lounder, “are danger in person.” 

“Me?” You gasp, putting your hand on your chest. 

“Yeah, you!” 

Steve watches you from afar, ignoring the heavy metal music and the curly heads behind him, who are going crazy over a song he just can’t find a liking to. 

He watches you – the way you crack a smile and shake your head with an amused look on your face. 

He watches you talk to the teens and to his best friend, easily falling into conversations. He rarely sees you like this – smiling and carefree. You’re usually always tense, annoyed and wearing a permanent frown on your face. Mostly around him. 

Steve will never know what it’s like to have a normal conversation with you, to see you smiling at him, not in a teasing way, in a real way. He is not sure if he ever even saw a real smile on your face – not even the one you are wearing now is real. 

But, why does he even care? You two have never gotten along, you hated each other, at first glance. 

With a sigh, he turns off the grill. He carries the tray filled with food over to where everyone is sitting, motioning for Eddie and Dustin to follow. 

Steve walks past you, not paying attention to how close he is to you, he accidentally bumps you in the head with the corner of the tray. He doesn’t even notice that he did – not until, you duck your head down and raise your hand to touch the side of your head. 

Max snaps her head up at him with a glare on her face. Lucas freezes when he sees how angry she is. 

He looks down at you, to see you looking up at him already. 

“I’m sorry..” He murmurs. 

You don’t speak, instead you look up at him with big eyes and a pained look on your face. 

“Oh come on, I barely even touched you,” he says, nervously. 

Eddie and Robin glance at each other, confused and worried. 

He rolls his eyes at you, knowing that this is another one of your little games that you always play, whenever you get bored. 

“Are you fucking with me again?”

Max shoots out of her seat, almost falling over due to the cast on her leg, her cheeks grow red in anger as her eyes burn into Steve. 

“Her head! You hit her head, you stupid idiot!” She points at him with rage in her voice. 

Steve’s eyes widen as deep guilt rushes through him, he instantly drops the tray on the table before he crouches down in front of you, shakily laying his palm on your shoulder as Max continues to curse at him. 

He wasn’t thinking. He didn’t think of that. 

“S-Shit,” he mumbles, looking at you apologetically. 

How could he forget? The doctor told you how sensitive you would be at every slightest touch to your head, how every slightest bump could cause nausea, dizziness or even a migraine. He was there, he heard him say it loud and clearly, yet he forgot.

Only now does he notice the hurt in your eyes as you place your palm over your ear – your ear that is ringing, for a moment it feels as though you’ve been pulled under water, and still you hear Max yelling at Steve. 

It’s not his fault, it was an accident. 

“Max! It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t do it on purpose! J-Just fuck…” You curse at the pain, not even recognizing your own voice for a moment. Who would’ve thought that you would be this sensitive? You feel his hand on your shoulder, maybe it eases the pain a little, or maybe it’s just the comfort that you feel from only his touch. 

“I-I’m gonna get you some ice,” Steve mumbles and rushes into the house, with Eddie following close behind. 

He throws his sunglasses on the counter and huffs in frustration as he tugs at his hair. He opens the freezer and gets an ice pack out. 

“Steve–”

“Fuck, Eddie. I didn’t know, I thought she was fucking with me again,” he stammers, wrapping the icepack into a cloth. “She always does this a-and I wasn’t thinking of the fucking injury.”

Steve is cursing at himself and at Jason who caused all of this, who did this to you. 

Eddie takes a step closer to him, placing his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm his friend down. 

“Steve,” he sighs but he won’t look at him. “You didn’t know, i-it’s just a migraine, nothing else–”

“Nothing else?” Steve scoffs, frowning at Eddie. 

How could this be nothing else? He caused you pain with the slightest touch, something that reminded you of what you had been through, only a few weeks back. And he might have just triggered even more than a migraine, he might have triggered some thoughts to come back that you tried to not think of. 

He rushes back out to you. 

When you see him, you are already reaching for the ice pack, waving your hand at him to give it to you but he pulls it back, not handing it to you. 

You huff in annoyance, looking at him in disbelief. 

Max is standing with a hand on her hip, extending her arm as well as she glares at him in annoyance. 

Lucas and Dustin glance at each other, like they are afraid to move or even say anything as they quietly eat their food. 

“Lego head, give me the ice pack–”

He startles you a little by sitting down right behind you, “where do I press?” He asks. 

You’re taken aback by his words and his action, you’re taken aback by his touch. 

“Huh?”

“Where do I press the ice pack?” He asks again, breathing down your neck. 

You glance up at Max, she raises her eyebrows at you. Normally, she is the one who helps you, sometimes it’s Eddie or Robin, but Steve? Steve never helped you. 

She eyes Steve and the look in his eyes, the guilt and the pain from hurting someone when normally, he tries to do everything in his power to protect people, even the ones that he doesn’t like. 

With a sigh, she slowly sits down. 

Despite the pain that is pulsating in your head, you feel shivers running down your spine when Steve moves your hair to the side, his fingertips grazing your skin. 

“Where?”

“I uh–... here,” you mumble, quietly as you point to the spot where it hurts the most. 

“Okay,” he whispers and scoots even closer to you, he presses the ice pack against the back of your head. 

You sigh and relax a little, closing your eyes as you welcome the coldness. 

Your heart flutters in your chest when he presses his free hand on your shoulder, touching you gently. 

“Max, you should eat something,” Robin says, trying to smile at the angry teen. 

“Yeah, you’re gonna heal faster if you eat a burger,” Eddie grins, trying to ease the tension as he hands her the plate. 

“A burger will help me heal, really?” She scrunches her face up but grabs the plate, nonetheless. 

“Yeah, actually. It’ll give you some of the strength back,” Dustin winks at her before he takes a bite of his burger. 

She snorts, shaking her head at them. 

You listen to your friends chatter as you keep your eyes closed. Tilting your head to the side, you lean back slightly, – wishing you could just lean into him. You can sense how tense he is, you are almost certain that you can hear his thoughts, how he is cursing at himself for this, for hurting someone – even if it’s just you. 

“Stop stressing about it, Harrington. It’s nothing,” you sigh, trying to ease some of his tension. 

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, “You and Eddie, I swear if you keep saying this is nothing..” He huffs in frustration. 

Not only does he hate all of this – he also hates the feeling of your soft skin beneath his touch, the smell of your perfume, the smell of your body wash that he is close enough to smell – and fuck, does it smell good, good enough to make his stomach feel all weird again. 

You try to chuckle, though he can tell that it’s pained. 

“What, you worried about me, Lego head? Thought I didn’t affect your life at all?” You ask smugly, as though it’s a joke to you. 

Your words feel like a punch to his gut, even though he was the one who said these words to you, it hurts for some reason, because maybe, these words aren’t true in the slightest. 

You might not be someone important to him, you might not be special to him. 

Yet it doesn’t change the feeling he had felt in his gut when he found out that you were on the brink of death, that night. When he saw you in the hospital room hours after your surgery, how lost and empty he had felt when he saw the state you were in. How he sat beside you for hours before the nurses finally kicked him out and told him to go home and rest. 

He clenches his jaw.

“Yes, I’m worried,” he huffs. “So shut up because you will make it worse, Blondie.” He says with full expectation to hear some smartass comment back from you. 

But you stay quiet, fully quiet. 

You open your eyes and you look down at your hands in sadness. 

You wish he didn’t say that to you. You wish he kept the hate comments instead, that he left you with the idea of hating you completely, not showing an ounce of worry towards you. Because this is ruining you. The act of kindness is completely destroying you, and he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t feel it either. 

You really are hopeless. 

>> next chapter

[the-kr8tor]

OK SO I JUST HAD LIKE A REALLY CUTE SIMPLE REQUEST IF THATS COOL WITH YOUUUU

SO LIKE WHAT IF YOU DO ONE WHERE THE READER(Y/N) DOES LIKE THE TREND OF "PRETENDING TO BE ALSEEP TO SEE WHAT MY BOYFRIEND WOULD DO" LIKE I FEEL LIKE HOBIE WOULD BE SO CUTE AND ACTUALLY SWEET

dont mind my excitement 🥲

also ur writing is b e a u t i f u l and makes me so happy!!!

Ahhh i love how excited you are!! Thank you so much for requesting! I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The soft mattress invites you to fall asleep, but you refuse the sweet embrace of sleep until Hobie gets home safe and sound from his patrol. The book perched on your chest wobbles in your hands, eyes drifting off from the pages, you blink away sleep. The familiar sound of the window opening stirs you awake as his boots hit the wooden floors.

Smiling at his return, you can tell that he's trying his best to not make any sound on your behalf in case you're asleep. Deciding to tease him after being bored all day without him by your side, you lay the book flat on your stomach, eyes closed and evening out your breathing to disguise your wakefulness.

You hear the door creak open, “love?” He whispers into the cool and dark room. You left the bedside lamp open, a sign of your previous activity.

With his enhanced senses, he can tell from your heartbeat and calculated breaths that you're faking sleep. You can't fool him, nonetheless, he's endeared by your antics.

Smiling, he slowly makes his way towards your side, floorboards not making any sound from his silent footsteps, he intends to break you from your prank.

“Damn, couldn't even wait for me, huh?” That doesn't seem to faze you, but he saw that your pinky twitched though. Smirking, he crouches down, and takes the book from your stomach. “I should save your place, but there's no bookmarks here. I'll just fold the corner for you.” Knowing that you hate dog-eared pages, he pretends to fold it by sliding his finger down the pages, mimicking the sound of folding paper. But in truth, he took a coin from his pocket to place it in between the pages. Yet, you still don't budge. He needs to take out the big guns.

“There, saved your place.” Kissing your temple, and then bringing the blanket up to your chin, he stands up to his full height, faking a pained wince. “Fuck.” From his murmured curse, you open your eyes immediately.

“Are you hurt?” Frantic, you sit up, roaming your wide eyes over his entire form while your hands reach up to him. Before you could stand up from the bed, Hobie drops himself on top of you, face hidden on your throat as you giggle from under his weight.

You hear him chuckle lowly, and you flick your eyes down to meet with a very smug Hobie. “Made you look.” He cups your face, chin placed on your clavicle, thumbs brushing under your tired eyes.

You pout, prank thwarted. “Are you actually okay?” your hands wander all over him, checking for wounds.

“‘m fine, love.” Hobie sits up to take his vest off, showing off his almost pristine suit. He tosses the vest somewhere in the dark, “Just a few bumps and scratches. I thought I had to tickle you for you to break.” He sits on top of you, knees right next to your thighs, hands braced next to your head as he gazes softly down on you. The moonlight behind him illuminates him in silver light. And you can't help but ogle him in the soft light.

You finally sigh in relief. Hands sliding from his chest, feeling the spandex, up to his nape as you pull him closer to you. “Did you actually fold my book?” Chuckling, you feel his hand pat around your waist, palm moving under your shirt to draw circles around your hip. His hands are cold from swinging around, but you welcome it while he relaxes in your touch.

“‘course not,” he gives you an amused smile.

“Good.” You tilt his head back to kiss the underside of his jaw. “I thought you'd just walk past me towards the shower.” You murmur against his skin.

Hi pinches your side, sighing breathily from your barrage of kisses. “Never, even if you were actually asleep, I'd kiss you goodnight.”

You lean away, eyes soft for him. “And tuck the blanket around me?”

He raises a brow with a chuckle. “D’you want me to tuck you in?”

You make a face. “....maybe.”

[carbonfiction]

Soundless somethings

When logan comes home one day to absolute silence throughout your home, he knows something isnt right. He further cements that when he finds you tucked up in bed, struggling with a migraine attack.

This is something a little different for me; fluff not always being my strongest suit. But as a livelong chronic migraine suffering girlie, im always searching for comfort. This was completely self indulgent and i threw it at the wall (notes app) in the midst of getting over this very scenario. i figured I'd share in case theres anyone out there that needs some comfort the way i did when this came to be. <33

Warnings?: mention of migraine attacks, mentions of taking pills/medication, mentions of nausea (but no vomit), Logan being a sweet sweet man, Overall just fluff!

Pictured with origins!Logan in mind but feel free to imagine any version!

Masterlist Words: little over 1.3k

Logan could tell something was off the moment he stepped through the door. the lights are off, all the curtains drawn, enveloping the house in pitch darkness despite the earlier hour.

the sound of the tv doesn't play out, nor the usual music that would softly serenade throughout the house. Instead a deafening silence replaces it all.

His steps are quiet despite his weight; rushed yet carefull- calculated- as he treads to find you. He knows your home, the steady beat of your heart hushed in his ears as he strains to listen. He checks the kitchen and then the bathroom but he doesnt find you in either.

Instead, he finds you bundled up in your shared bed, blanket pulled up to your chin, a bag lined trashcan resting on the floor besides your bedside table.

There's a gentle sigh of relief; that your home and safe, as he pads over. A crease wedging its way between his brows as he Looks your bundled frame over. Your expression- that he can see anyway- is pained as he kneels carefully besides the bed. Slow and gentle to not jostle your body as his hands stabilize themselves on the plush mattress. Logan opens his mouth, question poised on his tongue, but you beat him to it.

"Logan?" you croak quietly, eyes squinted open, like the words hurt you to verbalize. In a way, they do.

"Yea baby s' just me." Logan keeps his voice low as he reassures you. His hand gently coming up and over your covered body to rest atop of your forehead and he smiles softly as you try to snuggle into it without much movement; his palm feeling cool and reliving from his time outside against your skin . "What's goin on hm? M' girl not feeling good?"

"Mhm" you hum back, eyelids falling shut again to block out the dimmed light. "'nother migraine attack".

Ah.. So that explains the quiet darkness filling, what is usually, your bustling home.

"Have you taken your pills baby?" Logan enquires with a sigh, voice low and careful to not hurt your head further as he stands as quiet as he can- save for the clicking of his knees that you'd usually tease him about- instead he finds himself apologizing.

Logan knows how bad these attacks can get, how they can range from a dull ache behind your eyes to a debilitating thump that pains every movement. That the trashcan besides your side of the bed often has a second purpose; for the days when you physically cannot move for the pain and nausea.

He knows how, when these attacks happen, even the quietest noise can make you unconsciously flinch in pain. That sometimes even the sound of your own heartbeat worsens the matching throb in your head. It breaks part of his heart every time, seeing you struggling so hard in your own body, but he'll do anything, often wordlessly to ensure you get through each attack supported with anything you need.

"Took em' earlier.. Didn't help much" you mumble, hushed and so sadly it makes logans heart clench in his broad chest. You hear logans steps retreat from the room, and you shift fractionally in bed. The movement deliberately slow as to not highten the nausea that floats over you in waves.

Tugging the cool side of one of logans pillows atop of your forehead, Its just enough to cover your eyes; to stop any extra brightness breaching your eyelids. The scent of him embedded in the fabric is comforting; but you find yourself thankful for the way it slightly muffles sound too as you listen to logan rooting around in the kitchen.

You know he's trying his best- he always does- his large heavy hands delicately struggling to maneuver around items much smaller. You just barley catch the muttered way he swears to himself as he grabs a glass out, accidentally clinking it next to another other, to fill with cold water.

When logan comes back he does so with his arms full. in one a condensation covered glass filled with water, crisp and cool from the fridge. The other is pressed to his chest and holds a box of crackers- simple and plain- and a packaged strip of ginger cookies to settle your stomach; your medicine carton then sitting atop of both.

You crack an eye at the sound of the packets as he places them down on the bed; apologizing for the rustling as you whimper. The idea of food not being over appetizing in your current state.

logan hides a smile, knowing and apologetic, seeing the grimace that rests on your lips.. "I know baby, i know.." he hushes gently, as he carefully sits himself beside you, dipping the bed as it groans. "but we gotta get something in your stomach before your next meds, y'know that."

You whimper again, pained and utterly miserable because you know hes right. You do need to eat before your next dose; otherwise you know it'll make the nausea worse. He sighs softly again as you whine, helping you rest up against the headboard.

The throb in your skull is louder as you sit straight, your eyes fully open now. the room is dimmed but light still filters golden through the fabric of the curtains. You make a mental note to purchase some blackouts when you feel more yourself.

Theres silence then, as logan watches your every move, occasionally handing you another cracker or cookie depending on what you mumble for. By the third cracker and second cookie a small protesting sound passes your lips, nausea flooding your bloodstream mid bite. Logan's hand finds your back, rubbing up and down softly hushing you through the wave, also ready to grab the trashcan if you need it.

"Just a couple more bites baby, you can do it.." he pushes quietly after a while of helping you steady your breath; urging you to just finish the last half of the ginger cookie sat in your hand. He grins slightly when you continue, bites small and almost sheepish as he places a kiss on your head before muttering into your hair "yea there you go. Good girl, proud of you baby."

For a while then, theres no movement; you sitting against the headboard and him resting besides you. His hand rubbing soothing shapes on your back.

Theres a panicked noise when he shifts, your fingers grasping at his shirt, but like always, Logans quick to reassure you. "Shh s' okay, just grabbing your pills, m' not goin anywhere, Promise"

You hum gingerly in understanding as his free arm reaches to the table, pulling your medicine packet into his lap before stretching again for the water.

You grimace, fingers wrapping around the glass as you bring it up to your forehead, resting it against your warm skin. Its cool and damp against you, making a sound of delight slip from your throat. Logan smiles at it, un-popping the little pills and handing you the correct dose.

He helps tip your head back, his hand resting over yours on the glass, guiding and gentle. Once swallowed he praises you again; lips pressing feather light kisses against your temple when you shift closer to his body.

"Love you lo" he just manages to hear you mumble into his neck. Your tone is still slightly sad; no doubt filled with fatigue as he helps you rest comfortable atop of him, head resting in the crook of his neck.

Usually you'd giggle at the tickle of his facial hair against your skin but for now you settle for an amused huff; too pained for laughter as you nuzzle closer to his scent with your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. akin to how a child clutches a stuffed toy.

"Love you too baby.." he replies softly, palm coming to rest under your- his- shirt. He smiles, heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your lashes fluttering shut. His cool hand soothing up and down your spine until he feels your breathing slow. Soft snores falling from your lips as his motions never cease. "Now, get that pretty little head to snoozin' hm?"

lemme know whatcha think? is fluff something you'd like to see more of?? bc i actually really enjoyed creating this <333

[pullupinarari]

Love you ‘til I don’t [LH]

author’s note: I’m finally back with full fics and I was so excited to write this one! Thank you to the anons who dropped these thoughts on my inbox 🫂 This is angsty, sad and has a sad ending. Ps: let’s please pretend that Abu Dhabi 2021 was actually last year, I didn’t wanted to write this with years apart 🙏🏻 hope you enjoy this!! Mwah 🩷

Read part two here!

• masterlist

wc: 3981 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

Anger, confusion, pain, doubt: Lewis’ mind has been a mess since the day he lost the opportunity to hold his 8th world title. That fateful day has changed him in some way: It has made him more cold, more thoughtful, questioning his life and all the decisions he has made so far, wondering if this is all worth it. 

Being so close to winning, just to have the trophy almost yanked from his hands at the end of the last race, devastated him, and you know that. It felt like a hurricane hitting him, making him lose his senses, taking a toll on his confidence. Since that day, Lewis grew quiet, he stopped showing up at your door with flowers and a lovely smile spreading along his face, like he used to. From that moment, he would just rather be alone with his thoughts all the time, until they would devour his whole being, drowning his brain in destructive ideas. 

In the three years that you’ve been dating, you have never seen him act this way. During the two month break after the end of the season, he wouldn’t leave his house, he wouldn’t pick up your calls. Whenever you showed up at his place, actually trying to see him, to talk to him, he would give you two word sentences in reply, his eyes fixated on the blank wall in front of him the whole time, as if he wasn’t even there, at that moment. 

And he wasn’t. At least, that’s how he felt. After what happened, Lewis didn’t want to be seen, didn't want to talk or to even hear anyone. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, rethinking his entire life.

In the middle of the silence that he decided to merge himself in, there was this question that never ceased, no matter how hard he would try to shake it off. Was it really worth the effort to balance his two most intense passions? On one hand, he has racing - his passion since he can remember, the one thing he loves more than life, the adrenaline that makes his blood rush in his veins. But on the other hand, there’s you: the best surprise he had received from life in a long time. The light that would erupt through his bones in days surrounded by darkness, the one he sees his future with. 

But the obsession related to getting his 8th title - the one that was stolen from him, keeps growing in Lewis’ mind, becoming the only thing he can focus on. And it makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he needs to give up on other things, in order to get what he wishes for so much. 

After two entire months filled with distance, Lewis is back at work. He’s currently in Bahrain for the start of the season, his body lying on the bed of his hotel room, while his mind makes him feel physically sore, not allowing him to get any rest while he doesn’t make a decision. 

He keeps overthinking everything, and he might try to shut his senses, but deep down, he knows he can’t complete another season by your side. He can’t do it - he can’t put all his effort on the line again, he can’t allow himself to have any more distractions this season.

He knows he needs to do this - no matter how badly it might hurt the both of you, he needs to let you go. He can’t continue having to choose between his career or his love life, and he knows that this might sound mean, but Lewis is very well aware that racing will never leave him, it’s the only constant that he has ever known in his life. 

So he takes a deep breath, grabbing his phone to type a quick text to you. He can’t help but feel his heart shrinking when he reads the amount of messages that you have sent him, to which he hasn’t replied.

“Hope you have a safe flight, love”, “I wish I could be there to support you in person, but I understand that you'd rather do this one by yourself. I will still cheer you on from here”, “I love you so, so much. You will always be my champion, Lew ❤”

You know that he has been struggling a lot lately, the end of last season really destroyed him completely, wrecked all his beliefs, everything that made it possible for him to keep going. It hurts you, of course it does. Of course it pains you to see your boyfriend pushing you away, closing all the walls of his life around himself, not even cracking a bit to let you in, to allow himself to share this dark period with his other half - that’s what you’re with him for: to help him, to pull him from the ground, back to his feet. But you love him too much, so you decide to be patient and to not give up on him, keeping your faith up, trusting that your boyfriend will come back to you once he gets his confidence back.

It’s not you, it really isn’t. It’s a problem that Lewis has with himself right now. During the past few months, he realized that he doesn’t want to be a half anymore. He doesn’t want to share his life with anyone right now, he wants to feel complete with his own company and achievements. And for that, he needs to get rid of this feeling of unsureness, of feeling like he isn’t enough, like he needs to give more and more to reach his goal - and he can’t do it while trying to balance so many different sides of his life.

Lewis really loves you, though - even if it might seem like he doesn’t, right now. His feelings are a mess but he has no doubt that you were the one for him. The one that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, sharing his dream of having kids with you, of growing older together, keeping you safe and sound by his side through the years. But he simply can’t focus on that anymore - at least not for now. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want things to go this way, but I can’t do this anymore. This is the end of us” - he sends, immediately turning off his phone so he won’t read your messages, falling into the temptation of answering your calls. 

He is acting like a dick, yes. He is a coward, absolutely. You didn’t deserve any of this, and Lewis knows it. He hates to admit it, but he just doesn’t have the courage in himself to break your heart in person. He doesn’t have the strength to let the words leave his mouth, to watch your face fall while he destroys you emotionally, pulling the rug from under your feet, admiring your fall into a dark hole, surrounded by your own old ghosts - welcoming the new ones that he just created with his actions.

You are left speechless, your mouth agape while you read his text over and over again. No matter how many times you try to text Lewis, call him, try to talk to him about all this - in need to understand what happened, what triggered this reaction in him. He never replied, he never picked up. 

Leaving you alone to pick up all the pieces that he broke inside of you, silence is the only thing stringing you two along. All the questions are loud in your mind, making you hold your breath until the thoughts quiet down. Wondering what’s the point of trying anymore, of waking up everyday to a tear stained pillow, to an aching heart, stealing all the will you had to live. 

You’re not just sad. You are disappointed, devastated, wrecked. Everyday you read that message, everyday you try to call his phone, only to no avail. He doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore - and you don’t know why. “Maybe you’re just not good enough for him anymore, maybe he met someone else, someone who gives him things that you could never give. Or maybe, he got bored and you’re just not what he wants anymore” - your brain tells you. 

It’s a never ending train of self-destructive thoughts, leading you to tear down your own walls, your skin, your feelings - blaming yourself and your actions for what happened, being unable to accept what happened. 

Maybe you should have insisted more during those two months that he locked himself inside his house. Maybe you should have showed up more, maybe you should have pushed him to open up, maybe you should have made a bigger effort to help him more. Instead, you gave him space, time, distance. You let him slip through your fingers.

But Lewis knows that there was nothing that you could do to prevent this. Since that night in Abu Dhabi, he could feel it inside of him - the rollercoaster ready to fall off the abyss, destroying everyone around him. And that’s what happened: he finally crashed, breaking you and everything you represented for him. 

Cutting your thread loose, leaving you holding on to nothing, he still thinks about you everyday. He misses you, and he blames himself for all the suffering that he knows that you are going through. This situation kills him as well - fuck, he still loves you. He shouldn’t have to choose between you or his job. He shouldn’t have to cut off such an important part of his life to give his all to the sport. He shouldn’t have to die to feel alive. 

He still wishes he could pick up your calls, some tears leaving his eyes whenever he opens your conversations, reading all the messages you still leave him. All the questions you pour into your texts, the way you beg him to talk to you. He desperately wishes he was able to do it, but he can't. He is the only person holding himself back from talking to you, but in his mind, he needs to keep strong, he has to resist the urge to see you. 

He will try his best to let you go, for good. He will try to forget you and every single detail that he knows about you. He is determined to forget about everything that reminds him of you. But until he is able to do all that, he is still going to continue loving you. Lewis is going to love you until he doesn’t feel it anymore. 

Your love for Lewis was replaced by a cold ice stone, placed above your heart to freeze your feelings for him. The lack of sleep, the lack of self care that you endure on yourself is enough to make you seem unrecognizable to everyone around you. The dark bags under your swollen eyes, the sadness painting your lids, the way tiredness spreads through your body, making it impossible for you to show the most minimal reaction to anything that is happening around you. 

You’re sure of one thing: after this, you don’t want anything to do with love anymore. And while you try to recover from the biggest heartbreak you have ever been through, you decide to keep the lowest of profiles, not daring to pass near Lewis’ house anymore, not walking inside the same spots that you know that he often goes to. Trying your best for neither him nor his close ones to ever land their eyes on you ever again.

Lewis thought he would be alright, though. He firmly believed that he would overcome this situation after some weeks, and that his focus on the season would be enough. 

Turns out it’s not. Lewis never predicted that this season would be equally hard on him - from uncountable problems with his car, to struggles related to different points of view when it comes to strategies within the team, the waves of miscommunication washing over Mercedes, making everything so much harder for Lewis. 

If last season he already had his hands on the championship, this year he isn’t even close to getting a glimpse of it. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it, he can’t understand and accept the anger and frustration growing in his chest, the sensation of failure surrounding his brain making it impossible for him to keep a clear mind. 

The truth is: he isn’t used to doing all this alone anymore. It’s been months since the last text he sent you, but the more he struggles, the more he thinks of you. Having to go through such difficult times during the season without having you by his side is destroying him. 

You were his biggest support. You were the one who would put up with him through the good and the bad. You would hear his complaints, deal with his moodiness - and God knows how hard it is to deal with a moody Lewis. You would cheer him up, being the only one who had the power to put a smile on his face when he was feeling down. You would hold him, caress his skin softly while he hugged you, nestling his body closer to yours, in such need of your affection - and you would never say no to his pleas of help. 

Lewis can’t, for the life of him, forget you. He can’t let you go, no matter how tough he might act - he is still struggling and suffering from the choice he made. Some tears run down his features every night when he lays down, the bed feeling way too cold without your body next to his. His skin misses the goosebumps that your giggles would make erupt, his eyes miss all the times that he would spend analyzing all your details, he misses holding you close, pouring all the love from his heart into you. He misses you terribly, and he can’t stop denying: none of this makes sense without you by his side. 

He knows that he shouldn’t, but he decides to reach out to you, trying his luck - even after knowing damn well that he ripped your heart apart, that he acted like a total douchebag to you. But he is hoping that you will give him one last chance, he needs to make everything right again. 

“Hey, Y/N… I know that I am probably the last person on earth that you want to talk to now, but I would like to know how you’ve been?” - sent at 10:32 pm. read at 10:32 pm.

The way you almost immediately opened his message as soon as Lewis pressed “send”, made his eyes widen. He waits a few minutes, hoping to get a reply back from you, but nothing reaches his end. Not even the three dots on the corner of the screen threaten him to get an answer, because they never appear.

A sigh escapes his lips, leaving the texting to try and actually call your number now. You didn’t answer the call, and Lewis let it ring until it reached your voicemail. 

His fingers move to type again. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the way to make up for all the shit I’ve done. But I genuinely want to talk to you, so I can explain everything that happened and why I acted like a dick to you” sent at 10:37 pm. read at 10:38 pm.

Still no sight of a possible response from you, so Lewis decides to just open the game now. You might not reply to him, but as long as you keep reading his messages, he has an opportunity to actually explain his side to you. So he doesn’t give up.

“I was dumb, very dumb. I thought I wasn’t capable of reconciling our relationship with my career, and I thought that putting an end to what we had was the right decision. Please, I hope you don’t think that I had found someone else, or that I’ve been with other girls since I left you. I haven’t. In fact, I’ve been alone, trying to deal with everything on my own. And the truth is, everything is getting too much. I don’t even feel real anymore. And you might not believe me right now, but as much as I try, I can’t forget you, baby. Fuck, I miss you so, so fucking much. I can’t do any of this without you by my side anymore. I miss your touch, I miss your scent, I miss your laughs. I just want to see you again, I want to make it right again. Please, just give me a chance. Whenever you are ready, please. Just reply to my messages or call me back, no matter the day or the time. I would blow all my plans to have the chance to talk to you again.” sent at 10:43 pm. read at 10:45 pm.

The silence he gets from your side lets him know that you really don’t want to talk to him. But you’re still reading his messages, you haven’t blocked his number yet, so maybe there’s still some hope.

“I’m racing at home, next week. You know how special Silverstone is for me, so if you’re willing to give me another chance, please show up. I’ll save you your favorite seat, hoping that the love of my life might come out to enlighten my senses again. Please, I need you so badly, baby. This doesn’t make sense without you. I love you, and please believe me when I tell you this: I never stopped loving you” sent at 10:52 pm. read at 10:55 pm.

You weren’t expecting to see Lewis’ name popping on your screen, one text after the other. Four months have passed by since he broke your heart, since that fateful night when he left you through a text, not even having the nerve to reply to your calls anymore. 

Tears paint your features while you curl your body in between the sheets of your bed, feeling all the pain coming back after reading all his words. It hurts to know why he broke up with you, it hurts to realize that he isn’t doing well either, but you are too shattered to bring yourself to talk to him again. You miss him like crazy, you would do anything to see him again, to touch him, to kiss him again - but you could never forgive him for all the things that he put you through. You’re unable to forget the immense pain that he caused to erupt in your life. 

You wish you could give him a piece of your mind, though. You wish you could let him realize how he doesn’t know how to step outside himself. And how it really isn’t your fault that he can’t deal with his problems like an adult. 

At the same time, you know that you would give in immediately. Looking into his chocolate eyes, you would confess to him about how you would give him all of you. How you would save your soul just for him, so he could be the only one able to navigate through you. 

But you decide to give him the exact same response that he gave you when you were crying your eyes out, your soul hurting as you sobbed at the loss of him without an explanation: silence.

When the weekend arrives, Lewis can’t help but feel ecstatic with anxiety at the possibility of you showing up. His eyes scan through all the seats, smiling softly as he sees his family and his close friends right above his garage, cheering him on. 

His heart grows at the sight, but he can’t help but frown when he realizes that you’re not there yet. But maybe you’ll arrive later. Or maybe you are only showing up on Sunday to watch the actual race. So Lewis decides to patiently wait until you decide to show yourself.

He waits the entire weekend. But he can’t help himself when his fingers are typing on your chat again. “Hey, today was practice day. I know you didn’t come here, but I hope you’ll change your mind and still show up. I am praying to see you. I will wait until Sunday, but even after that, I will wait the rest of my life for you, if I have to” sent at 9:53 pm. read at 10:11 pm.

“Just please, be honest with me. I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, since I wasn’t honest to you. But if you don’t plan on showing up, just tell me. Because I keep feeding myself off of the illusion that I’ll see you anytime now, and your absence is killing me. Please” sent at 10:15 pm. read at 10:27 pm.

All of the sudden, the three dots show up on your corner of the conversation, making Lewis’ heart race, sensing how his hands feel shaky as he sees the dots moving on his screen - anticipating a reply for you. 

You almost gave in. You almost reply, but after a while of you writing something to send him, you decide to delete your message, leaving him to deal with the deafening silence once again. Your action breaks his heart a little more, putting his phone to the side, realizing that there’s no point in insisting any more. 

At the end of qualification, Lewis leaves his car, celebrating his P2 with his family, a half smile showing up on his face while he looks around, his eyes wandering through the seats, the space around him - but still, nothing. 

“She didn’t even show up for like, only a bit? And then left?” - he asks his father, only to notice his apologetic look while he shakes his head at his son’s question. Lewis sighs, all the regret of his own actions pooling through his blood now, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he notes how his dad’s answer bothers him so much. The fact that you’re not there bothers him, hurts him. 

And with your seat being empty for the whole weekend, Lewis’ victory at his home track doesn’t feel the same. He is happy to win, yes. He is happy to celebrate with his family, yes. But his family is incomplete, because you’re not there. You are the only one that he was truly hoping to have by his side today, to celebrate this special day with. You are the reason for everything he does, but the void that you left in him, makes it all worthless now. 

Holding the trophy doesn’t feel the same if he is not hugging you close when he steps out off the podium. And while the national anthem is playing, he can’t help but let some tears show while he looks at his close ones, wishing you could just show up out of nowhere, like a magic trick, bringing you back into his life.

Lewis can’t be happy without you, his life isn’t the same without you - it’s not as bright, as bubbly. And while he holds the trophy close to his chest, he notices how cold he feels. In this moment, in front of thousands of people that are here to see him, to celebrate his victory, he realizes that when you get what you wished for, you might not want it anymore. 

And he would give up all his career, all his trophies, to just have the mere chance to look you in the eyes again. Because physically, we inhabit a space, but sentimentally, we are inhabited by a memory - and the memory of everything you and Lewis had will forever haunt him, constantly reminding him that he lost the love of his life, forever.