#half the time he feels like a stranger to himself

[freezerbrldes]

no nut november - s.r.

PAIRING. Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY. Spencer is confident he can win a bet against Morgan… what he didn’t account for was having to share a room with you…

WARNINGS. smut, brief mention of male masturbation, unprotected sex, breeding kink if you squint

AUTHOR’S NOTE. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually written something and it’s also the first time I’ve ever written smut so hopefully this turned out okay. This is based on one of the bots I’ve made on character.ai/spicychat. I know it’s January but let’s pretend I posted this in November.

wc: 2.1k

credit to @cafekitsune for dividers

also on ao3

Spencer was beginning to regret agreeing to this bet. He thought it’d be easy, but after 3 and a half weeks, he felt so frustrated he could passed out from just the slightest touch.

Him and Morgan made a bet. Morgan was positive that Spencer wouldn’t be able to survive No Nut November. Spencer was not the competitive type, but he definitely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to prove Morgan wrong.

Spencer is no stranger to getting himself off every so often. While he may be a genius with a high IQ, he is still a man with needs. He isn’t into hook up culture— he’s too much of a germaphobe for that. His right hand became his closest companion when alone after a stressful case.

The first week wasn’t bad at all. He began to think he might actually make it, but once the second and third week hit, that’s when thoughts about you were constantly on his mind…

Spencer has always found you attractive— like really attractive. So attractive that he often finds himself thinking about you while he pleasures himself late at night. He doesn’t want to think about you this way, but his mind always wanders to thoughts of you underneath him.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, you were sharing a hotel room with Spencer during the new case. He tries to distract himself with a book as you lay on your bed in an oversized tshirt and very short shorts.

You are reading over some case files, looking for any connections between the last two victims. Spencer could feel his pants get tighter at the mere thought of you just a few feet away from him.

You must’ve notice he has been particularly quiet today, because the sound of shuffling paper pulls his attention away from his book.

“Are you okay? you’ve been acting weird for the last week,” You ask, rolling over onto your side to look at him on the other bed.

“I-I’m fine, the cases have just been very, uh— draining — recently,” Spencer lies, shifting awkwardly on the bed to hide the evidence of his arousal.

“Right,” you chuckle, not buying his excuse. You walk over to his bed and sit across from him, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. “C’mon Spence, what’s really bothering you?”

Spencer feels his heart rate increase. He fidgets with the hem of his sweater vest, avoiding direct eye contact.

"I...I'm just tired, okay? These cases take a toll on me," he says, trying to maintain a calm tone despite the growing tension between you.

His gaze drifts to your legs, which were crossed and showcased more of that smooth skin he'd been fantasizing about. He quickly looks away, focusing on the stack of psychology journals on his nightstand instead.

"Look,” Spencer sighs, “I appreciate you checking in, but I promise I’m fine. The sooner we crack this case, the sooner we can head back to Quantico."

Despite his words, Spencer found himself leaning slightly towards you, drawn in by your presence.

He feels his resolve weakening as your warm presence drew closer. Your scent fills his nostrils— a tantalizing mix of vanilla and something uniquely you. It stirs feelings within him he hadn't acknowledged before.

"I know you're just trying to help, but please, let me handle this," he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't meet your eyes, fearing the intensity he knew would be there.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his face as he recalls the countless nights spent pleasuring himself, always picturing your body in his mind, but now you’re inches away from him.

“Spencer,” you say, pulling his attention away from his wandering mind. “You’re one of my best friends, I can tell there is something else bothering you other than this case. Please— let me help you.”

Spencer's chest tightens at the word "friend". Despite the strong attraction he harbors for you, he had never allowed himself to hope for anything more. You deserve someone better, someone who could give you the love and affection you craved.

Spencer brain scrambles to come up with another excuse, as he gazes into your empathetic eyes, he finally caved.

"Okay, fine, There is something I've been struggling with," he admits, his voice barely audible. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

"I made this stupid bet with Morgan, I’m supposed to go the entire month of November without having sex or masturbating. At first, it was easy but now, being in the same room as you, I’m having a hard time controlling my thoughts.”

Spencer closes his eyes, bracing himself for your reaction. He opens them again when he didn’t hear you laughing and making fun of him.

Relief washes over him as he saw an understanding expression rather than disgust. He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"You're not mad?" he ask, his voice laced with vulnerability. In that moment, Spencer felt like he could finally exhale, like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Of course not,” you reply, “why would I be mad?”

"Well, because even if I wasn't doing this bet, I still...I still think about you," he confesses, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red.

"I know it's wrong, but I can't help how I feel. You're amazing. You’re smart, funny, beautiful..." Spencer’s words trailed off as he realizes where they were headed.

"I shouldn't say these things, but I can't keep pretending anymore." Spencer closes the space in between the two of you, his heart pounding in his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, His lips finally met yours in a passionate kiss.

Spencer felt a rush of emotions overwhelm him— excitement, nervousness, joy, and most of all, relief. This was what he had secretly longed for— dreamed about in the dark of night, and now it was finally happening.

His arms wrap around yours instinctively, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. His tongue dances with yours, exploring every inch of your mouth with a hunger he hadn't known he possessed.

When you finally broke apart for air, Spencer's breathing was ragged. He gazes into your eyes, seeing the same desire reflected back at him.

"You know, um, we should probably talk about this— about us," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper.

“How about we talk about it after?” you chuckle, your lips meeting his in another steamy kiss.

Spencer melts into the kiss, his body responding eagerly to your touch. He knew they needed to discuss the their growing feelings, but right now all he wanted was to lose himself in your touch.

Spencer's hands roams over your curves, mapping your body through your clothes. Breaking the kiss again, Spencer looked at you with a mix of adoration and longing.

"I want you,” he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "More than I've ever wanted anyone."

His lips trail from yours down your neck before reaching the hem of your tshirt, pulling it out of the way to plant kisses onto your collar bone. Spencer sucks on the sensitive skin before pulling the shirt over your head, carelessly tossing it onto the motel floor.

He kisses a path up your throat, pausing to nibble on your earlobe before pulling away just enough to admire the view. His gaze drank in the sight, the air thick with tension.

"You're stunning," he breathes, reaching out to trace the curve of your bare breast.

You moan softly as he gently caresses your body. Spencer dips his head to capture a nipple between his lips, sucking gently as his hand cups and kneads the other.

Spencer groans into your breast, the sound muffled by your soft flesh. He suckled harder, his thumb pinching and teasing the neglected nipple.

His other hand slides down your side before dipping lower to brush against the waistband of your shorts. He could feel heat emanating from your core, fueling his growing arousal.

He pushed the fabric of your panties aside to slip a finger along your slick folds as his mouth returned to your neck.

“You’re so wet already, is this all for me?” Spencer sighed, nibbling at your earlobe.

Before you could even respond, you moan loudly as he pushes a digit inside you, groaning at the tight clench of your walls.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," Spencer gasped, pumping his finger slowly in and out of you.

He adds a second finger, scissoring them gently to stretch you open, leaning back slightly to watch your face contort in pleasure.

Spencer watched intently as your body arches off the bed to meet his thrusting fingers. He curls them inside you, rubbing against that sweet spot that made your legs quiver.

He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans as he picked up the pace, driving his fingers deeper.

His own arousal grew unbearable, it demands attention. With a growl, Spencer broke the kiss and hastily removed his clothes, throwing them in a pile with your discarded tshirt as you whimper at the loss of contact.

“I need to be inside you,” He pants as the last of his clothing is removed. He makes quick work of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

Spencer's hazel eyes are dark with lust as he positions himself between your thighs, the tip of his cock nudges against your entrance.

With a deep breath, he pushes forward, sinking inch by inch into your welcoming heat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the feeling of your tight walls hugging his length.

Once fully sheathed, Spencer pauses, his forehead resting against yours as he savors the moment.

“God, you're perfect," he whispers, then begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm.

You moan loudly as he begins to pick up the pace, your nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders.

“Please don’t stop, you feel so good inside me,” you beg.

Spencer's grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

His fingers tug your hair lightly as he angles his thrusts to hit that spongy spot deep inside you over and over again.

"Shit, you feel so fucking amazing, so wet and tight," he pants, his voice strained with pleasure. “I'm going to cum so hard inside you."

One of your hands move from his shoulder down to where your bodies connect, rubbing hard circles over your throbbing clit.

Spencer's thrusts falter as he feels your fingers working on your sensitive nub. The sight pushes him even closer to the edge.

"Oh god, yes! You’re so fucking hot!" he cries out, his hips snapping against yours with renewed vigor.

He reaches down and replaces your hand with his own, rubbing harsh circles as he chases his high.

“Fuck yes, I'm gonna..." Spencer's words trail off into a guttural moan as his orgasm crashes over him, his cock pulsing and twitching inside you as he fills you up. The feeling pushes you over the edge with him.

Spencer collapses onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he tries to catch his breath. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, still racing from the intensity of his orgasm.

After a moment, he lifts his head to look at you, his usually bright hazel eyes now heavy-lidded.

“That was...incredible," he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips, he places a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose.

He slowly pulls out of you and rolls onto his side, he reaches out to brush a strand of dampened hair from your forehead. You both lay in silence as your breathing returned to normal.

“Well,” you break the silence with a smug grin, “it would appear you have failed No Nut November,”

“Yeah, but it was worth it,” Spencer chuckles, his thumb rubbing circles onto your flushed cheek. “I’m starting to think you and Morgan set me up.”

“You really think I seduced you to help Morgan win a bet?” You laugh in disbelief.

“I mean, that would be a very Morgan thing for him to do,” Spencer says, his hand now caressing your arm, “That man always plays dirty.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I saw Morgan flirting with one of the motel staff, she left his room about two hours ago, so I’m sure you probably did beat him.”

“Of course he did, Morgan can’t go 5 minutes without sleeping with someone,” Spencer laughs as he pulls you into his arms.

You lay like that for a while before both of you drift off into a deep sleep, excited to see what the future holds for you two.

[arafilez]

AFTER NEW YEAR ㅤㅤㅤ☆ ㅤ — ﹙ C.SN ﹚

WHERE to on the night of 1st Jan ㅤ,ㅤ to an empty café !

ㅤㅤ ᶻzㅤ( san x reader ) 𓂃 ㅤ barista au, strangers to ??, pg13 ㅤ oneshotㅤ warnings n.a. ㅤ⋆ ( 1k ) ㅤ❟❟ㅤ dear @biaswreckme i'm your secret santaㅤ .ㅤ library ㅤ atz shelfㅤ navi

The doorbell rings as San looks up at a figure slowly entering the shop when he is about to close up. He considers for a moment to tell the person it is closed but thinking back about how the sells have been for the day he decides to keep it open.

You look around the quiet café spotting the guy who is currently staring at you and feel awkward knowing perfectly the cause of his weird staring. Which person on their right minds come to a café on the 1st night of January?

People are flooding clubs and bars and here you are, walking in a small café with cottage-core aesthetic painted on the walls. You stand still, knowing there is a guy wanting to take your order but something is making you be more awkward than usual.

“Uhm, your order?” you snap out of your trance when a voice interrupts you as you stare at him. The awkwardness increases as he licks his lips and then hurriedly adds, “Ma’am.”

“Sorry, right a café latte please and the Christmas tree shaped donut,” you hurriedly reply as he nods and starts typing in the register and you stand in the warm air inside. San keeps stealing glances at you fiddling on the paying app on your phone before he types out and hands you the final bill and moves to the back to make your coffee.

You quietly pay and move to the back and sit down in one of the swiveling chairs. A few moments later you see your order slide across to you making you look up at him. San stares back for a moment before slipping into the chair opposite to you much to your surprise.

“Hi, I am Choi San,” he smiles and you stay quiet for a while before your brain kicks in and you reply, “Oh, hi I am y/n.” the air goes back to being awkward as you quietly sip on your coffee while San looks around to the walls he has grown sick of seeing.

Your eyes slowly go up to his face, making out his chiseled jaw and cat-like eyes and you had to admit the guy sitting in front of you was gorgeous. You stare shamelessly for a while, blindly munching on your donut and thinking what such a handsome guy like him was working in a café on a new-year night.

“So what brings you here on a new year night?” you jump lightly hearing his voice and look up at San’s eyes which are as wide as they can be. He was not expecting to blurt it out himself as he stutters out, “No, I mean-“

“Felt better than half-binging something while lying on my bed,” you reply nodding your head and point at the donut as you continue, “This is really good.” San nods wordlessly as you continue, “Very cliché? Okay fine, I partied last night and tonight I was just too tired today.”

You stop, wondering if you have overshared, which you probably have but you don’t care anymore as you continue, “You?” San blinks for a while before replying, “Me? I just like working.”

“So much that you are even working on new-year night?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself making him chuckle. He nods lightly replying, “Just a second.”

You watch him get up, bring out a snowman shaped donut from the display and bite it before he comes back and sits down again. “Yes, I like working that much, also I don’t want to party without my friends and they all are not available.”

“Both of our stories are pretty cliché, isn’t it?” you laugh as he replies, “Hey, not everyone’s year starts with a party.”

“True,” you nod before the silence falls again but this time it takes a comfortable hue inside the warm café. Your mind half wonders on the fact if you should take his number frankly because the guy is too cute but then again you think he probably has someone. Then it bounces onto the fact that maybe he doesn’t and that is why he is working on a café on the 1st night of January.

“Why did you come to this café?” San asks feeling a bit stupid instantly as he realises probably other cafés are not even open. You answer exactly what he is thinking- “Other cafés around here are not open.”

“Makes sense,” he replies, feeling the embarrassment flow in his veins as you watch his face get redder with each passing second. “Do you always get this much red?” you giggle as his face gets into another state of shock for the nth time that night and he nods quickly.

“Usually when I am very drunk or when well, I ask stupid questions,” he blabbers before poking his donut which seems like the most interesting thing in the world.

You murmur out “cute” hoping he didn’t catch it before sipping on your almost finished latte. San gets up after a while, putting his money in the registrar and cleaning as you bite on the remaining donut crumbs before getting up. He watches you wordlessly as you clean your hands with a napkin before voluntarily asking, “Are you a regular?”

You look at the slight red face of the guy with the tiniest ray of hope in your mind. He smiles back and you find yourself biting your tongue feeling shy as you tap your feet and look down. Looking up you find him still smiling and decide to give him an answer sufficing for now anyways.

“Not yet,” you smile a little and then nod replying, “See you again, Choi San.” He nods back grinning at the ‘yet’ as he watches you go out the door with a little skip on your step. He bobs his head lightly to the background music of the café as he does the final closing of everything. Start of a new year with a little hope in find, of everything, and maybe you in there somewhere.

Maybe he did well picking on the last shift!

ARA'S NOTES ㅤ,ㅤ hi, so i don't know how much of this worst piece of writing you will like, uhm idk you a lot, but stalking your profile i came up with piece i hope you will like. actually this is my first time even writing a barista au i don't usually write those. i hope you have a very great year of 2025. i was really happy to be your secret santa !

ㅤㅤ ᶻzㅤ( TAGLIST ) ㅤ𓂃ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added.

@haneagerr @aaa-sia @yeosayang

@weird-bookworm @gong-fourz @lucid-galaxys-world

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[miriamladyvoid]

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Always an Angel, Never a God

"Sometimes, she felt as if her heart were a dying star, flickering weakly in the vast darkness of the sky. Always present, but barely noticeable among so many other, brighter lights, beautiful in its light, but always seeming to be just a heartbeat away from going out".

✧I will no longer write something so ambitious again; it was so complicated to cohere all of this because I didn't want to discard any character from each dorm. So I hope the pace of the reading doesn't feel weird. The tone was supposed to be more hopeful, but I started to feel a little sad at the end.

✧Fem Prefect, the reader is the Ramshackle prefect.

The nights in Twisted Wonderland had always been a refuge; from the window of the Ramshackle Dorm, the prefect watched the firmament with a mixture of longing and melancholy. It was in those moments of stillness, under the immense night sky, that she could allow herself to breathe. The stars always seemed to offer her a companionship her friends could never fully provide. Not because they didn't love her, but because, at the end of the day, she was different. Twisted Wonderland, with all its magic and twisted wonders, was a fascinating place, but it was not her home. Her days passed in silent repetition.

First there was Ace, always quick with a joke, but his words sometimes hurt her more than he knew. "Prefect, what would we do without you?" he said half-jokingly and half-seriously. But those words, they hurt. What would they do without me? But what am I beyond solving their problems? Riddle, with his severe look and devotion to order, came to her when Heartslabyul fell apart under the weight of his own rules. "You're reasonable; I'd rather trust you," he said, like it was a compliment. However, in his eyes, she was only another piece in his perfect order, a resource to use when the rules were not enough to maintain the order.

Trey, always kind and calm, offered her small comforts in the form of candy and kind words. “Don’t worry so much,” he would say as he handed her a freshly baked cookie, as if sugar could sweeten the bitterness she felt. It was as if Trey treated her with the same kindness one gives to a stranger, someone you want to please but not let get too close to. Cater, always smiling and with the phone ready, seemed to see her in a brighter light, at least on the surface. “This is going straight to Magicam, but make sure you give your best smile, okay?” he exclaimed while making sure she was well framed in his selfies. But once the photo is taken, she becomes a memory that faded away among filters and irrelevant comments.

Deuce was different, and maybe that's why it hurt her more. "Prefect, I'll do better next time," he'd say after some disaster, his eyes filled with determination and guilt. In his clumsy way, he always wanted to prove to her that he could be better, that he could be up to it. But in those desperate attempts to prove himself, she couldn't help but feel responsible for the insecurity he carried. It was as if, instead of supporting each other, he was running after a difficult goal, looking for validation in a place where she herself couldn't find it.

The moments with Leona were like shooting stars: brief flashes of connection that illuminated the darkness, only to quickly fade away. He was a dying star, exhausted and unwilling to shine for anyone else. Sometimes, it seemed she managed to truly see him, glimpsing something beyond his usual indifference. His distant gaze made her feel like a powerless spectator, unable to stop his inevitable collapse. "Don't try so hard," he would tell her, yawning with squinted eyes. "You don't belong here anyway." His carefree words always cut deeper than intended. Jack, despite his loyal and protective nature, saw her as someone he always had to take care of. "You're strong, but sometimes you get into too dangerous situations," he would say, his tone full of concern. His protection was comforting, but also a chain that kept her anchored to a dependency she didn't want. By his side, she felt like a star whose shine depended on the protection of others, trapped in an orbit that eclipsed her independence.

Ruggie, on the other hand, viewed her through a more pragmatic lens. "If you ever need anything, you know, just ask," he would tell her with a mischievous grin. But there was always a transaction behind his words, as if she was just one more on his list of favors, something he could cash in when it was convenient. To him, she was like a distant star, useful insofar as she could offer something, but always interchangeable. "Don't take things so personally, Prefect. We're all looking out for ourselves here." That raw truth, stripped of sentimentality, was a brutal reminder that, in this world, no one shone without a price to pay.

Azul saw her as an opportunity. He always had a deal or contract at hand, waiting for her to fall. “You can always count on me for a fair price,” he would say, with that calculating smile that never revealed his true interest. Like the ocean that reflects the stars but never touches them, she never felt like more than a surface he turned to when he needed something. She was not an equal. And though she knew his words were double-edged, there was a strange comfort in being valued, even if it was for her usefulness. Floyd was a fickle tide; he was unpredictable, and his light always seemed to flicker between whim and disdain. “Shrimpy, you’re fun! You don’t bore me as easily as the others!” he would say with a smile that failed to disguise his capricious nature. Sometimes he would smother her with his attention, with brusque hugs and laughter that lashed like a violent tide, but his effervescence had an edge; when he grew bored of her company, he would abandon her without hesitation.

Jade, always his brother’s elegant shadow, would approach with his serpentine calm and eyes that seemed to unravel secrets. “It’s always a pleasure having you around, Prefect,” he would comment with that polite smile that never reached his eyes. His tone was always wrapped in impeccable politeness; she felt like his words were more of an assessment than a compliment. At his side, she felt like a star trapped in a jar, admired only as long as it served to feed his curiosity.

Kalim, with his bright optimism, was perhaps the one who treated her with overflowing kindness, but even warmth could be blinding. "You're a great friend," he would say sincerely, but something in those words made her hesitate. He would seek her out when he wanted to share her joy, but he could never quite grasp her sadness. Sometimes, being by his side was like floating in a sky lit by fireworks, dazzling and joyful but a light that fades when the sun makes its appearance. With Jamil, the connection was more complicated, a precarious balance like that of a star orbiting dangerously close to a black hole. Always trapped in Kalim's shadow, his own struggles overshadowed any support she might need. “It is better that you do not get too involved,” he warned her with his cold tone, his gaze fixed on a point beyond her, as if she weren't even there. Despite that, she sometimes lent him a hand in his duties with Kalim. But she knew that, for him, it was nothing more than a satellite, a secondary star without its own brightness, destined to revolve around something bigger and more important than itself.

Vil was a supernova, bright and blinding, consuming himself in his quest for perfection. “Beauty takes effort, Prefect,” he told her with brutal frankness, his critical eyes seeing each of her imperfections as something that needed to be corrected. His words, wrapped in the confidence of someone who had always been admired, only reminded her how imperfect she felt around him; his words, though well-intentioned, left her feeling more dulled than enlightened. Rook, the hunter whose love for beauty was as great as life itself, saw the prefect as a masterpiece. “You are so fascinating, my dear Trickster,” he exclaimed, his poetry as intoxicating as it was confusing. His words were a hymn to her uniqueness, but behind his admiration was a disturbing curiosity, as if he wanted to decipher her and reduce her to a simple piece of his endless collection of discoveries and beauties.

Epel, determined to prove his strength, kept her at a distance. “I don’t need you to babysit me like a child,” he insisted. She admired his determination, but she couldn’t ignore the pain his words left behind. His distance was a reminder that even among the lost, vulnerability was a burden few were willing to share.

Idia kept to himself, always hidden behind the screen of his tablet. “I like having you around,” he had once told her. They shared the strangeness of not fitting in, but even in that shared solitude, she felt a distance. “We’re like NPCs, you know? The ones on the outside, the ones who don’t count,” he had once joked. Despite his isolation, Idia shone, albeit in a dim, reserved way. He took refuge in his solitude; she desperately sought to be seen, to be understood. Ortho, on the other hand, was always an unwavering warmth. His innocence and curiosity radiated a light reminiscent of a young star: bright, pure, and free of the shadows of a life that never came to be. “You’re my brother’s friend, so you’re my friend too!” he would say enthusiastically, in that tone that made his every word seem like a gift. She knew that, in Ortho’s eyes, she was someone special. Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if her worth depended solely on the connection she shared with Idia. Would he still view her with the same affection if her bond with his brother disappeared? Would she still matter if that thread unraveled?

Lilia was like a dying star, its light still shining brightly, but hiding the imminence of its extinction. "Ah, Prefect, you still have much to learn," he would say with a soft smile, as if he knew something she could not understand. To him, she was a curious flicker in time, something to cherish while it lasted, but without the depth to leave a real mark on his long-lived existence. Like a reminder of what is fleeting, an echo of the lights he had seen go out countless times. Sebek, with his fiery passion, treated her as if she were a star that had strayed from its course, something that needed to be guided back into place. “Though you are a human without magic, you have some worth!” Though his words often carried reproach, beneath was a misplaced devotion that she could not ignore. To Sebek, she was a lesser star, one that existed only to reflect the greatness of her lord. Even his attempts to protect her felt like an extension of his own obsession, leaving her trapped in his shadow. Silver was the stillness of a dawn before the sun rose, a soft glow that always seemed on the verge of fully awakening. “Prefect, your presence always brings peace,” he said in a sleepy tone, as if he saw her more as a whisper in the background of his reality than as a clear voice. Yet his perpetual drowsiness created a barrier between them, as if he were trapped in a dream from which he could not wake. To him, she was a star that illuminated his path, but whose light barely managed to penetrate his own lethargy.

Finally, on one of her darkest nights, when the weight of her isolation was almost unbearable, she found Malleus on the outskirts of Ramshackle. He was there, like a majestic shadow under the starry sky, the king of the firmament, an imposing force that always seemed on the verge of consuming everything.

“Why do you think the stars stay there, so distant, instead of falling and disappearing?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the infinite. His voice was quiet, with an echo of melancholy that resonated in the cold night air.

She hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because… they have nowhere else to go.”

For an instant, he wanted to say something, anything, to fill the void her words had left. But he didn’t. Because, although Malleus would never say it directly, there was something in his voice that seemed like an invitation. As if, in the midst of that immensity that always separated them, he was telling her that her light was enough, too, even if she didn’t see it yet. But there was always a chasm between them, a constant reminder that her light would never be as eternal as his.

The weight of all those glances, of all those words, was building up in her chest as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart. It had been a long journey, one filled with unforgettable moments, but also marked by a loneliness that no one seemed to notice. Memories of each interaction passed through her mind like a cruel parade. She forced herself to breathe deeply, her trembling hands touching the window glass as her eyes sought solace in the stars again. Yet her mind, treacherous, found one last wound to open. One sentence, cold and implacable, echoed in her memory like a definitive sentence:

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs. NONE.”

The words of the Mirror echoed in her mind, an irrevocable sentence that pierced her heart with the precision of a dagger. She had wanted to prove him wrong. She had tried to fit in, tried to find a place among the people she had come to love and admire, even as each interaction reinforced the truth she so feared. The thought cut through her like a knife, and with it came a single certainty: her presence here had never been wanted. She was no heroine, no savior. She was just a nobody who had fallen into this world at the whim of a mirror.

The sentence continued to echo in her head, stealing the air from her lungs. Her chest tightened, her throat closed, and before she could stop herself, tears began to flow from her eyes. The crying began as a silent tremor, a muffled gasp as she buried her face in her hands. She covered her mouth, desperate not to wake Grim, her little companion, who slept peacefully in the bed. Cruel irony that he, her faithful friend, was not there to notice the sadness of his henchman. The same sadness that she had always hidden behind a smile and an ill-timed joke. Her breathing was irregular, ragged by the effort to contain the sobs that threatened to break the silence of the night. The world seemed to have shrunk to that small corner of her bedroom, where only the stars were witnesses to her vulnerability. Sometimes, she felt as if her heart were a dying star, flickering weakly in the vast darkness of the sky. Always present, but barely noticeable among so many other, brighter lights, beautiful in its light, but always seeming to be just a heartbeat away from going out.

The crying continued, each tear falling in a desperate, muffled silence. For once, she couldn't even find solace in the stars. Only curses. She cursed her weakness, her loneliness, but most of all, she cursed the day that damn mirror had made her fall into Twisted Wonderland.

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Banners created by miriamladyvoid© Feel free to use; please, reblog, and credit banners.

©Miriamladyvoid 2024. do not steal my work plz…☕︎

Language of the flowers of each Banner:

First Banner: Cyclamen: Resignation. Second Banner: Bramble, Rose: Envy. Third Banner: Lobelia: Splendid Misery.

[fuctacles]

"You said you weren't dating"

Happy New Year @stevesjockstrap <3 I'm sorry this is late, this is def not what you (or I) had in mind and I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, I will coontinue this soon :')

Also fill for my @fourormore bingo "Didn't know they were dating"

Ships: Corroded Coffin, Steve/Gareth | 2.6k | M | CC living together (AND THEY WERE ROOMMMATES), pre-relationship, Jealousy, Jealous and confused Eddie, confused Steve, some flavor of a/demi-sexuality happening

"Gaaaareeeeeth!"

"Eeeeedieeeeeeeee!"

Jeff sighs. Every day he questions his choice in friends. Did he really have to pick the ones that use echolocation to find each other? It's not like the apartment is that big anyway. 

Eddie jumps off the last few steps with a thud, and not for the first time, he worries one day he's going to break a leg doing so. And how a lead guitarist on a wheelchair will look in a metal band?

"Could you not jump like that?" he asks, knowing full well it will have no impact on Eddie's behaviour. But at least his conscience will be silent. 

"I could, but where's the fun in that?" Eddie grins at him as he passes, trying to pat his head but Jeff ducks out of the way. He just started growing it out. 

"Yeah, walking in a cast will be hella fun too," he mumbles, but gets completely ignored as Eddie has already entered the kitchen. 

"What is it that I'm hearing of you hogging the garage this Thursday?" he asks as soon as he sees Gareth.

His answer is a loud sniffle and a choked voice. 

"What's it to you? I just need it."

Eddie furrows his brows, suddenly worried.

"You okay, man?"

But as he steps closer he can see it's just the loads of onions Gareth's been trying to chop all by himself. He rolls his eyes. 

"Outta the way, nerd," he commands as he hip-checks his friend away from the counter. "Wash your hands and face, I don't want no snot in my food."

Gareth snorts softly, but goes to the sink to do as he was told. 

"You have at least three extra pairs of hands on deck, you should learn how to use them," Eddie half-heartedly scolds him.

"I know, I know," Gareth groans like an exasperated teenager, making Eddie smile. He was the youngest of the group and sometimes fell into that role way too easily.

"So, what do you need the garage for that doesn't involve your band? Working on a solo project already?" Eddie tries prying again. He can already feel the sting of his eyes, but keeps chopping. 

Gareth hums. 

"Yes and no," he says eventually. "It is a solo project, but I'm doing it with another person."

Eddie turns to him, blinking slowly while a singular tear rolls down his cheek. 

"What?"

His friend tears off a paper towel to dab at his face.

"I saw an ad that someone is looking for a musician to help with a personal project. And I answered it," he explains simply. 

Eddie leans away from his touch, his eyes wide in shock. 

"You're inviting a stranger into our metal haven to play their boring personal shit?" 

"Yes," Gareth deadpans. "Well, I haven't met him yet, so I don't know how boring it is. I just thought it would be fun to do something different."

"What's wrong with our thing?" Eddie bristles. 

"Nothing?" Gareth frowns. "I just wanted to try something else?"

"Traitor!" his guitarist slams the knife on the counter. "Betrayer of bands! Of sacred blood brother bond!" he seethes, escaping the kitchen. 

Gareth sighs. 

"You never did the blood pact," he murmurs to himself. He grabs the abandoned knife to drop it into the sink. At least all the onion has been chopped. 

"Hey, Gar?" Doug enters the kitchen with a confused frown. "Why is Eddie crying and telling me you're ditching us for some guy?"

===

It's Thursday and Eddie is seething. Faint sound of drums is coming from the garage, short, sharp, and unprofessional. Why is Gareth wasting his time on this guy? He didn't even come through the front door to properly introduce himself. What a jerk.

"Are you gonna just sit there like that?" Jeff asks him with a raised eyebrow, spotting him as he flies down the stairs. 

"He has to come up here at some point," Eddie roundaboutly answers that 'yes, absolutely'.

"And what then?" Jeff crosses his arms. "You're gonna give him a shovel talk? For paying our drummer for music lessons?"

Eddie's eyes widen.

"He's paying him?" 

"Obviously?" his friend scoffs.

"Gareth's a whore," Eddie gasps in mortified realization. 

Jeff shakes his head with a tired sigh, heading for the door.

"Honestly, you could follow his example, the rent isn't going to pay itself," he says, lacing up his boots.

"I am looking!" Eddie seethes.

"And I," Jeff stands back up and throws on his jacket. "Am off to work. Look harder." He salutes his friend before going out.

Eddie shakes his middle finger at the closed door. But then, he deflates. Jeff is right, he hasn't been very successful in finding a job, but he didn't want to do something that was completely meaningless and sucked the joy out of his soul. Nevertheless, he grabs the freshest issue of the local paper and flips it to the ad section.

At the very least it's a good pass-time for his stake-out mission.

His willing a pen to fly into his hand when the basement door opens to the sound of laughter.

"—all wrapped up in the shower curtain, yelling for me to kill a spider. He—Oh, hi Eddie! This is our lead guitar, Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."

Eddie gapes at his friend and the stranger in his house. 

Well, not exactly a stranger. Everybody from his year, and his second year, and half of his third year, knew of Steve fucking Harrington. The one and the same now waggling his fingers at him with an awkward smile. 

"Hi," he says like he hasn't been tainting Eddie's drummer with his whole jock thing.

"You're telling him our story," he goes ignored so Eddie can seethe with accusations at his friend. 

"Yeah?" Gareth raises an eyebrow at him. "I have half the rights to it?" he points out. He motions to Steve. "Bathroom is right under the staircase."

"Thanks," Steve skitters away, relieved to be out of eyesight. 

Eddie is ready to tear Gareth a new one about telling a random guy the story he always tells, but he's beaten to it by his friend's furious glare.

"Why are you rude to him?" he grits out quietly so his voice doesn't carry all the way to the bathroom. "He's our guest."

"He's your guest," Eddie corrects. "I didn't invite him."

"Well, he's also paying me to come up with music for his songs, so you could at least not make him leave and find a friendlier place to do so."

Eddie scoffs. 

"And what are these songs about? Boobs and parties?"

Gareth takes a fleeting glance at the bathroom door, before hurrying to the couch to lean over it and get closer to Eddie.

"They are actually so depressing, dude," he whispers. "Like, I'm kind of worried about the guy."

"I'm kind of not believing you," Eddie pulls a skeptical face. 

"Remember the song Jeff wrote after Toffee died? They're all like that."

"Oh shit."

The bathroom doors open and they jump away from each other so they wouldn't look like they were whispering behind his back.

"Hi, uh," Eddie swallows his pride for the time being. "Sorry for being a dick, guess I just don't like when someone steals my favorite drummer." He shrugs with an awkward smile.

Steve, thank gods, laughs good-naturedly. 

"Ah no worries. I promise I'll give him back in perfect condition."

He smiles, but not at Eddie, at Gareth, who gives an awkward chuckle. Eddie looks between them, the interaction blasting alarm bells in his head. 

"Want something to drink?" Gareth ask his paying guest. 

"Oh I'm parched." The infuriating smile, no, a smirk, turns up a notch. 

Suddenly, Eddie loathes the idea of these two being out of public eye for even a second. 

===

"Okay, but like, why a drummer?"

Doug shrugs.

"Because it's a less popular, in demand instrument? It's easy to find a guitar," he pointedly motions to the three of them. 

"But why—"

"Eds!" Jeff interrupts him with annoyance in his voice. "Because Steve offered to pay and Gareth answered the ad? It's quite simple."

Eddie bites his lip. He's running out of reasonable arguments on why he doesn't like that his friend is hanging one on one behind closed doors with a former king of jocks. 

"So you guys are okay with that?" he asks, a bit petulantly. When only silence answers him, he looks around his friends. They're both crossing their arms with a sour expression. He raises his eyebrows. "Well?"

"Not really," admits Doug. 

"Yeah, no," agrees Jeff. 

Doug uncrosses his arms only to cross them the other way.

"I just don't— I'm not angry that he took an extra gig."

"I'm kind of proud, actually," Jeff pipes up. 

"Yeah," Doug nods. "But I don't trust Steve. He gives off this vibe like he's going to snatch Gareth from us at any moment, which is ridiculous," he snorts. "But it's how it feels."

"I can see that, yeah," Eddie nods eagerly, relieved that he's not the only one to feel weird about this thing. "I just don't like how he looks at Gareth, like he's just..."

"Like he's another person to bend to his will."

"Yeah, with this prince charming smile of his!"

"Yeah!" 

"What if he's an evil sorcerer—"

"—a wannabe bard with maxed out Charisma—"

"Oh yeah, yeah, totally—!"

They cut off suddenly when the garage door opens. 

"Hi, guys!"

Eddie squints with distrust at Steve's Prince Charming smile. 

"Hi, Steve."

"Mind if I..." He motions towards the bathroom."

"Not at all, be our guest. Want something to drink?" 

Both Eddie and Jeff glare at Doug after his offer. 

"Oh, if you have some tea, that would be nice." Steve rubs his neck in a very un-jock way. Probably to lower their defenses. "I didn't know singing dries your mouth this much," he chuckles awkwardly. 

"You sing?" Eddie raises his eyebrow in surprise. 

"Well, I'm trying to."

"And he's doing it really good," Gareth picks up, emerging from the basement as well. He pushes Steve gently towards the bathroom, and he goes with a small laugh.

Eddie doesn't like this familiarity between them. When he looks around, the others don't seem thrilled either. 

"Speaking of," Gareth slumps between his friends on the couch, seemingly unaware of the energy in the room. "I'd like him to use his voice properly, but he's hella self conscious you'll hear him, so could you leave for a bit next week?"

His friends gape at him.

"Just an hour," he adds.

"You want us..."

"...to leave our house..."

"...so Harrington can abduct you and steal our gear?"

Everyone turns to look at Eddie.

"Okay, man, I think you're exaggerating, just a little bit."

"I admit he makes me a bit paranoid," he crosses his arms, scrunching his nose in distaste. 

"Guys, don't be assholes," Gareth sighs. "He's a cool guy, I think we even could be friends."

Now everyone's eyes turn to him.

"We are your friends," Jeff points out. He's offended, aghast. Eddie nods vigorously to show he's also offended and aghast. 

"I can't have an extra friend outside of the band?" Gareth crosses his arms, his expression turning stormy. 

"You can," Doug hurries to placate him. "But you know how he's been in high school."

"High school was years ago," he points out. "He's chill now."

The door to the bathroom open and everyone go silent. Steve, caught under their stares, seems to shrink in on himself. 

"I'll wait in the garage," he points to the door before skittering off. 

Gareth turns back to his bandmates, arms falling at his sides with a sigh.

"You don't have to trust him, but you could trust me, at least."

They're silent for a beat, until Jeff sighs and nudges him in the arm. 

"You're right, sorry. We'll give you guys some space."

"For the vocal lessons," Doug adds, like there was anything else they could be talking about. "I'll go make that tea." He stands up to make a tactical escape to the kitchen.

Gareth turns to Eddie, the last one to say anything. 

"Fine!" he throws his hands in the air with a pained expression. "But only because you're using," he makes a vague gesture in Gareth's general direction. "Those eyes of yours."

"Eyes of mine?" his friend seems amused, for better or worse.

"Ugh, you know what I'm talking about!" Eddie stands up and storms off to his room, followed by confused stares.

"He'll come around," Jeff pats Gareth's knee. 

"I fucking hope so."

====

"He said an hour," Eddie points out for the fifth time, while fishing for his set of keys. 

"Pretty much he didn't mean one hour from the moment you leave."

"Yeah, more like an hour of their actual session."

"Well, he didn't specify, so that's on him," Eddie scoffs, before triumphantly pulling out the keys from the pocket he's already searched. 

They open the door and push each other inside to escape the chilly winter air as soon as possible. 

Eddie, being the first to stumble into the foyer slash corridor amalgamation opening into their living room, gasps. Someone else makes a startled sound, Jeff bumps into him, and they almost trip when the full picture in front of them gains clarity. 

Gareth leaning against Steve Harrington, lips bruised from kisses and hair sticking out at weird angles, the other's hand on his hip. He quickly pushes it off and backs away form Steve. 

"Why are you guys back so early?" he bristles at his friends. 

"Apparently to catch you cheating?!" Eddie yells out, scrambling out of his jacket because the sudden spike in anger made him feel like he was boiling from the inside. 

Steve's head snaps towards Gareth. 

"You said you weren't dating."

"We're not!" he groans, tired and exasperated. "Eddie is just being dramatic."

"I'm dramatic?!"

"Yes!"

"I think you should leave, Steve," Doug pipes up, falsely calm. His voice is unsteady, when he speaks, so Jeff sends him a cursory glance to find him just looking sad. Betrayed, even.

"Yeah. Leave, Steve," Eddie picks up happily.

Steve looks to Gareth, and he gives him a nod. 

"I've got this. I'll see you later."

"Okay," Steve gives him a nod and hesitates like he's about to give him a goodbye kiss, but thinks better of it. "See you," he simply says, disappearing into the garage. 

They wait in tense silence until the sound of closing garage doors is followed by the start of an engine outside. 

"What the fuck, Gareth?!" Jeff bursts out.

"Yeah, what the fuck?! Harrington?! Really?!"

"What the fuck you guys!" Gareth bristles back. "I can't even kiss a guy in my own home?!"

"It's our home," Doug corrects him.

"So? Do we have a no-boyfriends policy now?" 

"Boyfriend?" 

They all recoil at the word. Even Gareth seems surprised by using it himself. 

"I mean, he's not, but if he was," he fumbles. "You know what I mean!"

"What do you even need a boyfriend for?!" Eddie bristles, making more than one pair of eyes turn to him with confusion. 

"Sex? Kissing? Dates?" Gareth offers incredulously.

Eddie waves his hands.

"So? We're here! You should have just asked!"

"I should have asked," Gareth repeats at him slowly, so he understands what he has just said. "To have sex with you."

Eddie falters a little bit. 

"Yeah? We're friends, right?" he says, suddenly less sure of himself. "We trust each other. Right?"

"Right," Jeff parrots him, sounding a bit doubtful. "But like..."

"Okay," Doug pipes up suddenly. 

"Huh?" 

They all turn to him now. He shrugs.

"Let's have sex."

tags: @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @wheneverfeasible

[riinniies]

RIN ITOSHI X FEM! READER

Plot : Soulmate AU, Red string of fate.

Fluff! This is PART TWOOO!! I've done my assignment hours ago (like 4 hours ago), btw, idk why i'd like to skip things.. hehe, Tsundere! Rin, Calm reader, Strangers to friends and then to loverrr <333!!

Words count : 2717

PART ONEE ! !

BONUS CHAPP ! !

My writings

Hope you like itt!!

After the awkward but honest conversation, Rin finally gave in. Bachira, who had kept teasing and almost forcing him, made Rin feel like there was no other option but to surrender. "I’ll send the message, right?" Rin said in a flat tone, trying not to show the awkwardness taking over him.

You just nodded, letting out a small laugh. "Yeah, sure."

Bachira, now standing next to Rin, flashed a wide smile. "What are you waiting for, Rin? You don’t even need to wait. Just send the message now!"

Rin shot Bachira a sharp look before reluctantly pulling out his phone. "This is just a formality," he said, though his fingers were already typing your number.

You received the message, and instantly, that strange feeling filled your chest again. There was an unexplainable tension—an emotion that blended hope and fear.

"I’ve sent a message," Rin said, his voice softer than before, though still uncertain. "Don’t contact me too often."

You gave a small smile. "Of course,"

After that, you and Rin exchanged goodbyes. You walked back toward your father and family, while Rin and Bachira continued their carefree conversation by the beach.

You felt a bit relieved, though your heart was still adrift with emotions you couldn’t quite explain. That thread, which once felt so heavy, now seemed like a thread leading toward an uncertain direction.

••••

Your family was sitting at the dining table, seemingly ready to head to the beach. Your father greeted you with a wide smile. "Did you rest well? Don’t forget to enjoy your time, okay?"

You nodded, offering a faint smile, trying to hide your mixed emotions. "Of course, Dad. I feel better."

However, inside, something still troubled you. What should you do now? Fully accept fate? Or should you pull back and forget everything?

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you immediately checked the sender—Rin.

Rin: "Maybe we can talk more later. But I really don’t know how this will turn out. Just… don’t expect too much."

You stared at the message, feeling a mix of emotions that were hard to describe. Even though Rin said that, there were things that couldn’t be denied. There was a pull, a connection, and it would remain between you two, even if there were no guarantees.

With slightly trembling hands, you replied:

You: "I’ll be patient, Rin. I don’t expect much, but I want to get to know you better."

You looked at the phone screen for a moment before slipping it back into your pocket. It felt strange, but also relieving. Perhaps this was a slow start, but it was the first step in this unexpected journey.

••••

Rin sat on the sand, still thinking about the message he had just sent. Bachira sat beside him, seemingly enjoying the relaxed beach atmosphere.

"So, how’s it going?"

Bachira asked with a big smile.

Rin stared at the sea, slightly annoyed by Bachira’s question.

"I don’t know. I just don’t want things to get more complicated."

Bachira chuckled. "Hah, you’re hard to read. But don’t worry, Rin. If she’s your soulmate, you can’t run from her. Try to be more open."

Rin shot Bachira a half-pessimistic glance. "I’m not the type to open up to strangers."

Bachira shrugged. "We’ll see. I’m sure, even if you’re not ready, you’ll find a way to accept this."

Rin fell silent, staring far out at the sea, his mind swirling. What was he supposed to do with this sudden fate?

• A Week Later

Over the past week, your communication with Rin still felt awkward. The messages exchanged were often short and to the point, more like formalities than casual chats. Still, you felt a little progress. At least Rin wasn’t completely closing himself off.

One morning, while enjoying some time alone at a café near your house, your phone vibrated. A message from Rin appeared.

Rin: "Do you often draw in the park?"

You smiled a little, surprised that he was actually showing some interest. Quickly, you typed a response.

You: "Yeah, the park is my favorite place. Sometimes I draw, sometimes I just sit and enjoy the atmosphere. Why?"

A few minutes later, his reply came.

Rin: "It’s nothing. I was just trying to imagine it."

That short message left you momentarily speechless. Rin may not have said it clearly, but you knew he was trying to get to know you better, even if his approach was still a bit stiff.

• 3 Months Later

Your relationship with Rin had slowly progressed. You started talking more often, though most of your conversations were still through messages. Rin, who was usually cold and distant, had begun to show another side of himself—a softer side, even though he still tried to hide it behind his short words and formal demeanor.

One night, after an important match, Rin sent an unexpected message.

Rin: "I’ll be in your town for a match next week. If you're not busy, come watch."

That message made you pause for a moment. It was the first time he invited you to meet again after the encounter at the beach. Cautiously, you typed your reply.

You: "Of course. I’ll be there. Thanks for inviting me."

You then went to bed with mixed feelings—nervous yet excited. As you were about to go to sleep, you felt your phone vibrate again, you raised your eyebrows and then smiled a little when you read the incoming message.

Rin : "i'm not inviting you."

Somehow, you felt funny to read his chat.

••••

The stadium was packed with fans. The electric atmosphere made you even more nervous, but you tried to enjoy the moment. After getting settled in your seat, you looked toward the field. When Rin appeared with his team, your heart raced.

He seemed focused, every move reflecting dedication and incredible skill. Throughout the match, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. He truly dominated the game, and you felt proud for reasons you couldn’t explain.

When the match ended, and Rin’s team won, you received a message from him.

Rin: "I have some time. Wait outside the stadium."

You waited where he mentioned, feeling nervous but also excited. When Rin finally appeared, still in his uniform, you found it hard to stop yourself from smiling.

Rin: "You came," he said, his voice sounding more relaxed than usual.

You: "Of course. I wanted to see you play."

He nodded, looking at you for a moment before glancing away. "What did you think?"

You: "You were amazing. I can see how hard you work."

Rin seemed a little surprised by your compliment, but he just nodded quietly. "Thanks," he muttered.

Your conversation was simple, but there was something different this time. It felt like the distance between you was slowly shrinking, little by little.

• Months Later

Your relationship had continued to grow. Even though Rin was still stiff, he had started opening up in his own way. He often messaged first, though the messages were usually short or consisted of pictures of places he visited during his matches.

One day, he sent a photo of a green field with a beautiful blue sky.

Rin: "This is where I trained today. It reminds me of the park where you draw."

You smiled and quickly typed a response.

You: "Thanks for thinking of me. I’m drawing right now, in the park."

Not long after, Rin sent another message.

Rin: "I'm not thinking of you, i'm thinking of the park. And.. If you have time, show me your drawing. I want to see it."

You were surprised, but also happy. Rin had never shown interest in your hobby before. Carefully, you took a picture of your drawing and sent it to him.

Rin: "..It’s good. I didn’t know you were this good."

You chuckled a little reading his message, feeling your bond with him grow warmer.

• A Year Later

Your relationship had become much stronger. You talked more frequently, both through messages and phone calls. Rin had even started sharing more about his dreams and the challenges he faced as an athlete.

One night, while you were talking on the phone, Rin suddenly said:

Rin: "I know I’m not an easy person. And I don’t know if I’m a good soulmate. But… I want to try."

You paused, feeling warmth fill your chest.

You: "Me too, Rin. We have plenty of time to learn together, right?"

That night, you felt like your relationship had finally reached a new stage. The thread that had connected you no longer felt like a burden, but a promise that you would keep moving forward together, no matter what happened.

• A Month After the Phone Conversation

Rin had slowly started to show his true personality, well, he shows it before. But now, he shows it more often. Even though he still often appeared cold, there were moments when his tsundere nature would surface, especially when he felt embarrassed or didn’t know how to express himself.

One day, after sending a message about your latest drawing, you decided to tease Rin a little.

You: "I drew something today. Guess who inspired it?"

His response came quickly.

Rin: "It’s not me, right? Don’t do anything weird."

You chuckled as you read his message and quickly sent a photo of your drawing—a simple sketch of him on the field.

You: "Actually, it’s you. Sorry if it doesn’t look like you."

A few minutes passed without a reply. You almost thought he didn’t like it, but eventually, your phone vibrated.

Rin: "...It’s okay. But don’t draw me too often. You have other things to do, right?"

You knew this was his way of hiding his embarrassment, so you just smiled and typed a reply.

You: "I just wanted to draw something that inspired me. If you don’t like it, I won’t do it again."

Rin: "I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Just... don’t show it to others."

You just smiled a little when you read the message, he's so cute—wait what?

••••

A few weeks later, Rin came to your town again for another match. This time, he made a request that surprised you.

Rin : "I have a few hours before practice. If you’re not busy, meet me at the café near the stadium,"

Without hesitation, you agreed. When you arrived at the café, Rin was already sitting in a corner with a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked a little nervous, though he tried to hide it.

"You’re fast," he said without looking directly at you.

"You invited me, so I didn’t want to keep you waiting," you replied with a smile.

He huffed softly, sipping his coffee before speaking again. "I just don’t want Bachira to know about this. He’d tease me relentlessly."

You chuckled softly, imagining Bachira’s reaction if he found out about this meeting. "Why are you scared of Bachira? Don’t you always put on a cold face in front of him?"

Rin shrugged, his eyes finally meeting yours. "He’s too loud. And I don’t like complicated things."

You chatted for a while, light conversation, but there was a moment when he suddenly said awkwardly:

"You don’t have to think too much about this. I just... I think we need to meet more often. But not because I want to. It’s just that—" he pointed at his pinky finger, which was connected to the red thread—"this makes me curious."

You smiled slightly, feeling he was trying to hide his true intentions. "Of course. I understand. After all, it’s not because you care, right?" you teased.

Rin immediately looked away, his face slightly flushed. "Don’t get too confident."

• 6 Months Later

Rin’s tsundere side became more evident as your relationship grew closer. Although he often denied his feelings, his actions often spoke louder.

One day, when you were having a bad day, Rin suddenly called you.

"You sounded strange in your last message. What’s wrong?" he asked bluntly.

You tried to reassure him that you were fine, but he didn’t easily believe you.

"Don’t lie. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t force you. But if you keep acting like this, I’ll come over right now," he said firmly.

You knew he was serious, so you finally opened up about what was bothering you. After listening patiently, he said :

"You don’t have to bear everything alone. If you need help, just say it. Doesn’t mean I care or anything, but... that’s what soulmates are supposed to do, right?"

Although his words sounded cold, you knew he cared in his own way. And that was enough to make you feel better. When you were about to answer his question, you heard the sound of the call being disconnected. You smiled, he was really cute.

••••

Rin wasn’t as stiff anymore, though his tsundere nature remained. He had started getting used to your relationship, though occasionally, he still felt awkward.

When you met again to celebrate your birthday, he brought a small gift—something you never expected.

"This is just... a small thing. Don’t think I spent too much time on it," he said as he handed you a small box containing high-quality colored pencils.

You smiled widely, feeling touched. "Thank you, Rin. I really like it."

He looked away, his face a little flushed. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t talk too much about it. I just thought you might need them to draw better."

You both laughed together, and for the first time, Rin didn’t try to deny the small smile on his face. Even though he still struggled to express his feelings, you knew that he cared for you in his own way—and that was more than enough.

••••

Time had passed, and your relationship with Rin had gone through many phases. From awkwardness and confusion to moments where you both understood each other without needing many words. Rin, although still not adept at showing his emotions directly, had grown into someone who was never hesitant to be by your side when you needed him.

Rin's career in football had been shining brighter than ever. He often moved from country to country for matches and training, but you both maintained your communication. Despite the physical distance, there was always a sense of calm whenever you looked at the red thread on your pinky finger.

One day, Rin sent a message that felt different from the usual.

Rin: "I have some free time next week. There’s something I want to talk about. Meet me at the place where we first met."

Your heart fluttered as you read his message. Although he didn’t explain more, you knew this wasn’t just a regular meeting.

When the day arrived, you went to the beach where you first met. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the sand, making the scene look almost like a painting. In the distance, you saw Rin standing with his hands in his pockets.

"You’re right on time," he said, turning to face you.

"Of course. I knew this was important," you replied with a smile.

He nodded slowly, gazing at the sea for a moment before finally speaking. "I often think... about how my life changed since I met you."

His words made you pause. He rarely spoke like this, and you knew that every word he said carried weight.

"At first, I hated it. I thought this thread would only be an obstacle. But... I was wrong. Because every time I look at this thread, I feel at peace. I feel like there’s someone in this world who always understands me, even when I don’t understand myself."

He paused, taking a deep breath before looking at you again.

"You’ve changed so much in my life. And I want to keep walking forward with you. I don’t know if I can be the perfect person for you, but I’ll try... if you want."

You smiled softly, feeling tears well up in your eyes. "Rin... I never needed perfection. I just need you."

He smiled faintly—a smile that only appeared in certain moments. "Good. Because I’m not letting you go."

••••

• Bonus

A few years later, your lives were filled with simple happiness. Rin remained focused on his career, while you continued your journey as an artist. Every time he returned from a match, you always made time to be together, whether it was strolling in the park or simply chatting at home over a warm cup of tea.

The red thread on your fingers remained, a reminder that this relationship was something fate had chosen for you both. Although it had been difficult and full of challenges in the beginning, you had proven that love wasn’t about perfection—it was about the effort to understand and support each other.

And with every step you took together, you knew that fate had never been wrong in bringing together two hearts that were meant to be.

THE END ! !

|| ugh, why is it so cheesy.. dammit😭😭 I'm actually making a bonus chapter, where Rin and (name) are married<333

THANKS FOR READING!! <333

[fresh-new-yoik-watah]

Fault Lines

CHAPTER FOUR: gene-ius at work

a/n: actually this was so fun to write

pairing: Viktor x OC

word count: 3.2k

MASTERLIST

——————————

183…

185…

187.

Viktor’s gaze settled on the emerald-colored door, his eyes landing on the brass plaque fixed beside it, reading the gold, cursive script. He withdrew a crumpled scrap of paper from his vest pocket, its edges softened from having been folded and unfolded too many times. The numbers scrawled in his writing matched the ones before him, yet the confirmation brought him little ease, still prepared for the awkwardness of having to potentially explain himself to a stranger. 

His fingers tightened around the note and slipped it back into his pocket, exhaling through his nose. He raised his left hand, knuckles hovering just above the wood.

He hesitated. 

Was this worth it? Worth all this effort?

He could leave, pull his arm back, turn on his heel, and allow time to do the work of softening a temper and misunderstanding. His brows pinched together, lines deepening between them. He reminded himself that he was there because this had grown into another distraction for him, and he couldn’t afford to let it fester, to allow her to take up permanent residence in his mind. Address the problem, fix it, move on.

He knocked.

For a moment, there was nothing but the dull echo of his bone against wood. Then came a sudden thud, something slamming followed by a clatter of hurried movement. A muffled, irritated voice filtered through.

“I told you! No more—oh!”

The door swung open, revealing Rosie framed by the threshold, her hair pinned back loosely with a few red strands slipping free around her faintly flushed face. Her annoyance melted almost instantly as her blue eyes locked onto him, widening in surprise. 

Before she could muster a coherent response, Viktor stepped fully into the room, his cane tapping against hardwood as he moved past her, deliberately unbothered by the impropriety of his actions. 

She blinked, her cheek muscles twitching as she processed what just transpired, her hand still hovering near the door frame. 

“Oh, sure,” she muttered, shutting the door with more force than necessary, resulting in a thud that reverberated through the room. “Come right in.” Her voice climbed into a bitterly singsong inflection. “No need for ‘Hello, how are you? Sorry for barging in.’ Absolutely delightful manners.”

He pivoted to face her, his expression calm, though a flicker of irritation passed through his amber eyes. “Yes, apologies,” he replied curtly, devoid of any real remorse. “I’m here to see your work.”

Rosie frowned. “Right now?”

“I have an hour,” he said with a slight shrug.

Her lips parted slightly, a scoff escaping. “How kind of you, sparing me an hour of your precious time.”

Viktor ignored the barb, his gaze already wandering across the room. It was much smaller than his lab with Jayce, which while was often chaotic, at least was well-equipped and intentional in design. This felt like a repurposed storage room. Unopened boxes lined the space in uneven stacks, threatening to spill their contents with the slightest disturbance. A narrow desk pressed against the left wall, bearing the burden of more disorder: another box, tweezers, and loose sheets of paper that fluttered slightly under the draft. Beside it laid a chair in pieces, half-heartedly assembled before being abandoned on the floor. 

“You asked me to come by,” he said as his eyes found hers again.

“Not after you feel guilty,” she snapped. “That offer was two weeks ago.”

She wasn’t ready. The room wasn’t ready. Whatever work she claimed to be doing wasn’t yet in a state worth presenting. Perhaps he’ll do better than presume the universe has something meaningful to communicate next time. 

“Two weeks, and you have yet to assemble a chair?”

Rosie exhaled loudly, a sound less of annoyance and more of a barely contained growl. “Some of us didn’t receive furniture builders with our lab.” 

“We already had furniture,” he replied evenly, taking a step toward one of the boxes piled along the far wall, his attention shifting to a set of books resting on top, fingers hovering over the edge of the stack as he tilted his head and read their spines. Genetic Codex Studies: An Overview, Advancing Beyond Mendelian Patterns, and Adaptive Evolution in Controlled Environments.

He paused, his voice quieter, though no less pointed. “You have a house full of empty chairs.”

She shook her head as she straightened her posture, arms falling back to her side. “I’m not lugging those pieces of brick over here,” she gestured vaguely with one hand, her green sleeve that had been pushed up to her elbow slipping down with the movement. “Nor am I forcing my downstairs neighbor to endure the sound of them scraping across the floor each time I get up.”

Viktor’s patience thinned, though he masked it well, the slowly growing crease between his brows the only tell. He never understood the appeal of this kind of petty bickering, the endless volley of words that she and Jayce so often found themselves enjoying. To him, it was a waste of time and energy—resources better spent elsewhere. 

“Do you have anything set up?” he asked.

She threw her head back with a flair of exaggerated frustration. “Gods, you expect progress to happen in a day.”

“Two weeks,” he quipped, meeting her gaze without flinching.

Her lips tightened, a flash of something—irritation, indignation—crossing her face. They stood there, locked in a silent standoff, neither moving, both impassive, daring the other to back down first. 

The seconds ticked by like minutes.

It was Rosie who relented. With a grumble, she stormed past him, the weight of her steps amplified by the thick soles of her boots, and approached the desk. She pulled back a cloth that had been draped over what Viktor had assumed was another box.

But it wasn’t a box, instead a glass enclosure, walls clear and gleaming under the dim overhead lighting, inside it, shredded paper-like material and a tuft of white fur peeking out from within. 

Viktor tilted his head, his brows furrowing as he stepped closer, leaning on his cane. “What is that?” he asked. 

She didn’t immediately answer, resting her index finger lightly against the glass, pointing toward where the fur stirred, revealing a twitching tiny pink nose and beady black eyes as it wriggled free from the bedding. 

“Gushiken,” she said curtly.

“Gushiken?” he repeated, the unfamiliar syllables rolling off his tongue awkwardly.

She pointed again. “That’s her name.”

He blinked. “It’s a mouse.”

“A mouse named Gushiken.”

“You have a pet?” he asked, utterly nonplussed. 

“No,” Rosie said emphatically, spinning to face him fully. “This is what I’m working on.”

Viktor frowned, his gaze flicking between her and the enclosure. “I do not follow.”

She brought her face close to the glass, her breath faintly fogging the surface as she pointed to a pair of nearly indistinguishable gray lumps. “Those are her babies, and they cannot carry rabies. See what I did there? It rhymes.”

He scoffed, straightening. “All mammals can carry rabies.” He didn’t need to be a pathologist to state that was practically common knowledge. 

“Not these two.” She remained undeterred by his doubt. “I thought about antibodies, about the theory of introducing diseases to our immune systems—I read all about it. So I thought, what if it’s not about exposing ourselves to antibodies, but reconstructing our DNA to already carry them?” Her fingers reached for the edge of the cloth, pulling it back and concealing the mice once more beneath the fabric. 

His gaze snapped back to her, catching on her words like a gear misaligned. “You mutated their DNA?”

“Gushiken’s DNA,” Rosie corrected, “or rather, what she passes along.”

“Forced evolution?” His voice was harder now.

“To eliminate needless suffering,” she said, voice quickening with the fervor of someone desperate to be understood. “So many diseases—this isn’t about rabies—they could be preventable, easy to get rid of. Why not build our genetics stronger? Create immunity that’s inherited?” 

Viktor was silent, his lips pressing together as he tugged one corner between his teeth, absorbing her words.

“The catch,” she continued, enthusiasm now dimmed by pragmatism, “is that it only works for offspring. I can’t change an already existing mouse. And I still need to find out if it’ll even carry forward. If Gushiken’s grandmice, great-grandmice, will still inherit the immunity without intervention.”

He should’ve been shocked, wanted to feel shocked. But instead, he was incredibly confused. Confused about the mouse, confused about her, confused about how.

“You know genetic biology,” he said at last, not a question, but a statement, an observation.

“Yes,” she replied simply. “It was my focus at the Academy.” 

His brow furrowed. “But you became a singer?” 

Rosie shrugged one shoulder. “I have to pay bills somehow.”

He glanced at the enclosure before returning to her. “How long have you been working on this?”

“Since I graduated,” she said. 

Viktor’s mind reeled, mapping the timeline. Since before the Hexgates at least. 

“And you became a singer.” he repeated, the words slipping out again before he could stop himself.

Her lip quirked faintly upward, movement that didn’t quite lift the skin under her eyes. “People can be multifaceted.” She opened her arm broadly to the room around them. “Realistically, this isn’t cheap.”

His gaze hardened, tone firm. “You could’ve easily been funded.”

Her humorless laugh was brittle and brief. “No,” she shook her head. “The Council denied my thesis then.”

“This isn’t approved by the Council?”

Of course it wasn’t. Why would the Council approve such radical work as genetic modification? And now, by standing there, by even entertaining this conversation, he had been unwittingly dragged in as an accomplice. 

“Gene-editing, all that,” Rosie said, throwing her arm up dismissively, though her voice was bitter. “People want to alter appearances, pick out their hair color, eye color—what they always fixate on. You tell people you can change the thing that makes them sick, instead they want everyone to look the same.”

“And Jayce knows this?” Viktor asked.

She tilted her head. “What part?”

“All of it,” he hissed.

“Yes,” she answered simply, the lack of hesitation both reassuring and infuriating.

A sigh left Viktor slowly, incredulous. “And he gave you a lab to continue your banish-worthy study.”

Part of him was in awe—had she truly discovered a potential to eliminate human susceptibility and capacity for disease? A kind of ambition he would have admired under different circumstances. But another part of him was deeply afraid—what this could mean for them, for Hextech—should this spiral out of control. Especially Jayce Talis being the name of the purchaser, intertwining them like strands in a braided rope

And there was the most insidious part of all: now that he knew—presumed—it could be done, he would never be able to leave it alone. 

“Your work was ‘banish-worthy’ once,” she said.

“That was different,” Viktor snapped, sharper than he intended. 

“How?” Rosie demanded, stepping closer. “You saw an opportunity to help people, and at some point, you decided the reward of doing so outweigh the risk. How is this any different?”

His fingers tightened around the handle of his cane. He wanted to argue—to tell her it was not the same, to put into words the chasm that separated him from her. 

“What if someone reports you?” he asked instead. What happened when something that fit within the confines of a broom closet grew to need the space of a house, and that something was against the Ethos?

She lifted her chin slightly. “The only people I’ve shared this with are Jayce, and now you. Hardly anyone knows I even attended the Academy.”

He scoffed. “You are a public figure. It is inevitable that someone will notice you here.”

“It’s not criminal to have an office.” Her tone was resolute. “You are welcome to read my notes, but I’ve been meticulous—about everything. My tracks are covered. At worst, this proves to be an impossible dream. But at best, humanity might never get sick again.”

He inhaled slowly, processing the enormity of her claim, that kind that sounded folly until it didn’t. It was bold--terrifyingly so—but not unfamiliar. He recognized the same fire in her eyes that he had seen in his own reflection, the desire—need—for pursuit. 

“It seems,” Viktor finally spoke, “that I am the only one with a modicum of sense between the three of us.”

Rosie’s shoulders dropped, not quite in defeat, but something close to exhausted resignation. Yet her gaze held steady, defiance tempered with an echo of hope not extinguished. “Give me a chance,” she begged, quieter now, almost pleading. “You gave Jayce a chance.”

Viktor stiffened, the tip of his cane pressing harder against the floor as he scrutinized her. Her appeal was simple, almost childlike in its sincerity, but she shared the same naivety that had often exasperated him in Jayce. Tampering with the building blocks of life, the script of existence—would it lead to salvation or ruin? Was she brilliant or reckless?

But Hextech itself had begun as an equally audacious notion. Harnessing magic, bending the fabric of reality to human will—it was as godly a pursuit as her own; a spark, a gamble, intended to reshape Piltover and the world beyond it. 

“You are aware of what could happen to you?” he asked, amber eyes bearing into hers. The question wasn’t rhetorical; he already knew the answer. He needed to hear her say it.

“Of course I am,” she said. There was no bravado, no arrogance or martyrdom. Only unshakable conviction, having already weighed the risks and chosen her path. “But the alternative is do nothing. And I can’t let people continue to suffer when I know I can help. You understand that.” 

He did understand, too well, in fact. He believed—had always believed—that the weight of capability came with an obligation. Because you could, was precisely why you should, a moral imperative. Progress demanded risk, demanded action, even when the path forward was uncertain. To possess the means to enact change and to choose inaction instead—what could be more damning? In a world where innovation was as much a weapon as it was a tool, the question was never if someone would act, but who. And that who might wield it without regard for consequence. 

It felt ironic to him. How many times Heimerdinger issued similar warnings to him and Jayce? That calculated risk wasn’t immunity and careful wasn’t always enough. Warnings they dismissed, brushing his concerns as relics of a bygone era, from a Professor grown comfortable in stagnancy. Was this what it was like to stand on the other side of the argument?

“Are those your notes?” Viktor asked, nodding toward a stack of books on the floor with his cane, their spines haphazardly aligned, bent from wear. 

“Some.”

There were far too many for him to parse in the remaining time he had. “I will read one,” he said. 

It seemed fair enough, Jayce had convinced him with one notebook, so he’d allow her the same opportunity to prove whether the gamble was worth it. 

Rosie’s eyes widened, as though she hadn’t expected him to agree. Without a word, she crouched down, rifled through the pile and plucked a book from the stack.

She held it out to him, hesitating for a moment before extending her arm fully. 

“You can—uh—do you prefer box or desk?” she asked, her gaze darting around the room as she searched for a place he could settle, her brows pinching as she glanced at her chair still lying in pieces. 

Viktor leaned back slightly against the desk’s edge, propping his cane by his side, and rested himself there, the back of his legs pressing firmly against the surface, half-sitting. “You will finish that?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, brushing her hair back with one hand. “Just read.”

Her boots scraped softly against the floor as she moved to the opposite side of the room, busying herself with the task of dismantling empty boxes, the sound of cardboard collapsing filling the space with an occasional dull thud as she stacked the flattened pieces into a pile. 

He opened the notebook, the pages worn and ink-smudged, brushing his fingers against the textured paper absently as he glanced over the first few tightly written lines, his mind wavering between present and distant. 

“I do not believe you have ‘nothing worthwhile to offer,’” he said suddenly.

Rosie’s hands faltered mid-air, the box she had been folding slipping from her grasp. She turned her head toward him, though not fully facing him, her brows knitting together. “What?” 

Viktor glanced up briefly. “Your statement,” he clarified. “It is false.”

She straightened her posture, leaning back on her heels as realization settled across her face. Her lips pressed together, and she didn’t say anything. 

He found himself unable to decide whether her silence should be interpreted as good or bad, but the tension in her shoulders seemed to have softened as she returned back to the boxes. Viktor, for his part, tried not to dwell on the change. He had gone there with a purpose, determined to see it through. He just hoped his words had found their mark, that they might linger in her mind the ways hers had in his. 

If he hadn’t been in a rush to return before Jayce did from his lunch, he would have stayed and pored himself over the remainder of her notes. The trolley ride back to the Academy provided him just enough time for his mind to brew questions, each one that arose splintering into more. What were the long-term ramifications of altering DNA, predetermining intrinsic characteristics of a life before it even began? How would one even measure the ripple effect of such a change? Would they unfold chaotically, unknowable until it was too late? How could one find out?

The long and hard way.

What even constituted sickness in her framework? Who decided what was worth erasing from humanity? And why had she chosen to pursue such a fraught venture in the first place? Her father certainly hadn’t seemed like the sort to inspire scientific ambition, nor had she exhibited her interest a part of her public persona. So why?

Viktor’s steps echoed as he made his way down the long dimly lit hall, approaching dark, wide triangular doors. He slid his hand into his pocket, fingers brushing against cool metal, and pulled his keys free, the lock clicking as he twisted his wrist. 

Jayce had managed to beat him, broad shoulders blocking part of the board mounted on the side wall, a large sheet of parchment pinned against it, covering the typically green surface. He turned his head at the sound of Viktor’s cane, eyebrows held slightly higher than usual. 

“Where’d you go?” he asked casually.

Viktor limped toward his desk, sliding his keys back into his pocket. “A walk,” he replied as he lowered himself into his chair with a faint huff, the ache in his leg reminding him of the toll the day had already taken, setting his cane beside him.

“Long walk,” Jayce remarked, a hint of a grin tugging the corner of his lips. 

Without looking up, Viktor reached for his toolbox, bringing it toward him. “I was unaware there existed restrictions to the lengths of my walks.” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” Jayce said breezily, turning back toward the board.

Viktor chose not to indulge further, already pulling a small hammer and graver from the box, bringing the chiseled point toward the base of the Hexclaw, positioning the graver in his hand like a pen, ready to deepen the rune engravings. 

“So…” Jayce’s voice cut through the silence. “What’d you think of the mouse?”

Viktor’s hand slipped. 

[soulsxng]

[ 🤪 ] what is your muse’s sense of humour like? are they known for being joking, or serious?

[ 👶 ] is your muse good with kids, or do they prefer to avoid them?

[ 👻 ] does your muse have regrets? what are some of their deepest ones?

Sivel

@arcxnumvitae | Headcanon asks | Not accepting!

[ 🤪 ] what is your muse’s sense of humour like? are they known for being joking, or serious?

Sivel is generally known for being a very serious person, but that's mostly just how he tries to make himself appear. He's really good at it by now, so it works out, but really he's a lot more lighthearted than he seems. Especially with people that he enjoys being around, (or people that he hates, ironically) a lot of his humor and joking is of the teasing or sarcastic variety.

Other big ones for him are the sly little comments that click after the conversation is over, and then have the person laughing to themselves-- or, Sivel giving big, dramatic reactions to totally normal things.

A friend teases him back after he started it? Blasphemy! Betrayal of the highest order! He will now die, thank you very much!

If he considers the other person a good enough friend, he'll even start playing little tricks on them here and there. Harmless ones, designed to make them smile, but tricks none-the-less!

[ 👶 ] is your muse good with kids, or do they prefer to avoid them?

Sivvie's actually really good with kids! He didn't have the chance to raise his own, but he was old enough when Naya, his younger sister, was born, that he was able to learn and help take care of her! And when Naya eventually had her son, Sivan, Sivel was around constantly to help her raise him until he was the equivalent of 5-7 years old, since Sivan's father wasn't in the picture.

Still, nowadays especially, he's the type to "play" with babies that are watching him. Making faces, fluttering his wings at them, using little bits of magic-- whatever he can to get them to smile. He's pretty comfortable with children of all ages, and they tend to respond well to him overall, too!

The thought of having another kid of his own and raising them is frightening to him, though. He staunchly believes that a big part of why Ania turned out so well, is because it was Naya that primarily raised her. Mostly because of things he's done in the past, enemies he's made, etc, he's afraid that if he tries to raise a kid, that he's going to mess up, no matter how hard he tries to do right by them.

[ 👻 ] does your muse have regrets? what are some of their deepest ones?

He has many, but listen. Like many of his fears, pain, and dread, he buries that shit! The epitome of "If I ran as much in real life as I run from my problems, I would be a gold medal athlete", I swear to you.

But anyway! Right off the top of my head, there's three that come up most often.

He regrets not being there to raise Ania. Pretty self-explanatory. He died literally within a few hours of her being born, and actually never even got to see her before he was killed. Even if he's afraid he might not have been as great a father as she deserved, not being able to be there for her at all wins over that fear without contest.

He regrets what happened between he and his brother, Nesimah. TO A POINT. Yes, he's still angry with Nesimah. No, he hasn't forgiven him for everything that happened. But he also knows now, that he let his rage get the best of him, and Nesimah is unable to get rid of the scars from that to this day. Sivel is still angry with him, but he still regrets that he let himself get so carried away, because in doing so, he pretty much threw away his relationship with Nesimah, as well as any chance at repairing said relationship even to the point of simple neutrality.

This one is a newer one, that popped up since he and Quella divorced. A lot of his young adult life, up until 2 or maaaybe 3 years ago, when they split up, he lived for her. Though she never asked him to, he lived a life with her that was as close to what she wanted, as possible. The way he held himself, the way he dressed and presented himself, the way he acted, the way he thought about things, what they did together, where they went, even his becoming king? All for Quella-- as much as he could manage-- and the singular pursuit of making her happy, and being the man she deserved. He was literally obsessed with her, and may as well have worshipped the ground she walked on. He's not sure when he got that bad, nor exactly why, but he regrets not noticing it sooner. Not doing more for himself, and because it was something he wanted...because even now, he doesn't really know how. Doesn't really know who he's supposed to be, anymore. Yes, he's learning, and he's much better off now, than he was at first...but it's still an uphill battle for him.

[flowercrowngods]

on topic of my emotions regarding Idiot Steve…

He should be terrified, but he isn't, not in that moment. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything as he stares at himself in the mirror of his en suite bathroom. He doesn’t know where the panic went, seeing as nothing has been resolved, nothing has changed. Except, well, he has a plan now. A plan that got derailed the very second he saw himself and another piece of reality has settled. Or unsettled. He’s not sure yet.

He gets stuck like this sometimes. Is fully aware of it, but that doesn’t make it any easier to stop, doesn’t make the comments any easier that get flung his way, sniding words from the genius kids or his genius soulmate — Platonic with a capital P. Just one more thing in the Idiot Steve Harrington collection, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s his fault. Actually, it never really does.

this one doesn’t feel like it’s his fault. it never really does

Now, though, it’s staring him in the face. It’s almost comical. We expect you to be great, Mother said where other parents would have written words of love and kindness. 'We expect you to be great. The next few years will leave you traumatised to all hells and back, you will almost die several times and find friends who let you care for them but maybe don’t entirely reciprocate that. We will never hear about any of that and we don’t really care. The last hug you got from me was April 1979, and that was only because I was grieving and you were there. Be great, Steven. And have a pizza for your troubles.'

and find friends who let you care for them but maybe don’t entirely reciprocate that

me writing the time travel au, or just about anything steve-centric:

[boogiewoogieweeb]

#he's good at his job! #crozier likes him! crozier chose him! #and any enabling of crozier happens because he lives and works in one of the most strictly hierarchical systems to ever exist #where dissidence can be a hanging offence! #and he's so! fucking! angry! about it #also having to deal with a spirit bear on top of everything #that makes you question the very fabric of the assumptions you once had about the world #also his cabin door is stuck!! #we talk a lot about jopson finally snapping and beginning to bite and kick #i really think he should invite edward to the inevitable breakdown - @maedhrus

listen i don't think edward little was actually a bad first lieutenant. when we see him in the first episode he's calm and confident. he does not say much but he's amiable enough. crozier likes him, and i don't think crozier would like anyone he doesn't think capable in some way. generally he's dependable and knows what he's doing. however unfortunately for edward he has these qualities because he has a major case of eldest daughter syndrome, which means he both wants to please his mum (crozier) and has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility for his younger siblings (crew), so when they get stuck in the ice and crozier starts going (more) alcoholic, he enables his mum bc he doesn't want to disappoint her even if he doesn't agree with her, and he has to pick up the tasks and care for his siblings she's not doing, but he can't let his siblings know about their mum's situation because they'll get worried and restless. and like a true eldest daughter he has to bear the brunt of mummy's anger for being a disappointment but he also doesn't want to seek refuge with the man she divorced (fitzjames) because that feels like a betrayal. also while this is going on there is a giant bear who hunts his siblings for sport so they're dying left and right and also a changeling master manipulator who's making his siblings mad at their mum and who wants to fuck said mum before eating her like some sort of praying mantis. anyway i think i would start being miserable and anxious too.

[simonbrain]

getting the biggest, scariest bastard at the pub in your bed must have been one of your greatest achievements, especially after watching the way he turned down a few girls prior to you.

he glanced at you each time, disregarding the way the poor things scuttled off in embarrassment; their confidence dampened. it's like he was preening under your attention, and even underneath that silly balaclava of his, you picked up on the way he seemed to flush. his shoulders became more square, and his chest seemed to puff out more. the air around him became more charged with his cockiness rather than the pointless attempts at hiding himself from the other patrons. surely he's aware that he's the centre of the room, no matter which one.

he only grew more bold until he was right at your side, and you held his gaze the entire time.

now, he rewards you with the greatest dicking-down of your life, his fat cock stretching you impossibly thin, the thick girth bullying its way into you over and over again. he fucks you like a man starved, touches you as if he's trying to sink his hands beneath your soft skin and stroke your bones.

although nothing could have prepared you for how fucking filthy his mouth is. his voice holds the right amount of grittiness, the kind that makes your eyes roll back as he whispers the nastiest things in your ear, his accent adding to the thrill his words send down your spine. each moan that fell from his mouth, each promise of ruining you for anyone else after him, each pet name he called you had you going brainless on his cock, your sensitive bundle of nerves twitching under the pads of his fingers as he follows through with his promise. maybe if you were any more lucid, you might have realised it sounded more like a threat rather than just plain dirty talk.

the next morning, you woke up to an aching body, a bottle of water and a box of tylenol on your bedside table, and no stranger in your bed. this may be the greatest one-night stand you've ever had.

well, it was until you realised a couple of weeks later that you're still getting off to the image of him blanketing you and that damn voice of his purring low in your ear. your fingers circle your clit, your eyes unfocused as you imagine him on top of you, taking you deep right where he belongs, and when you think about how he growled at you to soak his cock like a good girl, you come all over your fingers with a humiliatingly loud whine.

it only gets worse from there. you can no longer come to porn unless the person in the video resembles the big boy who rearranged your guts, and even that is a feat of its own. you can't find anyone who has similar tattoos, similar scars, or even a similar voice. reading smut can only get you so far, and some nights, you go to bed feeling defeated because you just couldn't orgasm.

you get so desperate you start searching for those dirty little audios people post online, and for a while, you manage to make yourself come (maybe not as hard, but at this point, you'll take anything). the voices that rumble through your headphones aren't as husky as your mystery man, and their accents aren't exactly close to his, but it holds you off... until it doesn't. and now you're desperate to find him again, but he's probably long gone now.

you can't believe it; the fucker really did ruin you.

it's not until a few months later that you hear that familiar voice again, and your knees almost give out in the middle of the damn store.

(they actually do when simon, he tells you through hungry kisses, bends you in half in the dreadful alleyway, your poor cunt taking each brutal fill of that cock you've been craving so badly.

"she's fuckin' squeezin' me, sweet'art. missed me tha' much?" he chuckles hoarsely in your ear, and you would have fallen over if not for his firm hold keeping you upright.

yep, he can fuck right off again. you'll get your lick back. just as soon as your legs stop shaking and you're not seeing double.)

[ellecdc]

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends. 

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?” 

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on. 

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.” 

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue. 

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.” 

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?” 

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.” 

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.” 

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself. 

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else. 

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it. 

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly. 

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden. 

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again. 

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat. 

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes. 

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding. 

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?” 

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face. 

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes. 

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.” 

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly. 

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently. 

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him? 

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property. 

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant. 

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either. 

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too. 

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could. 

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. 

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew. 

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war. 

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed. 

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way? 

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war. 

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames. 

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this? 

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?” 

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney. 

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.” 

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.” 

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly. 

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you. 

“I love Killarney!” 

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway. 

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!” 

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you. 

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.” 

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers. 

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason. 

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by. 

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson. 

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan. 

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.” 

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room. 

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well. 

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance. 

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then. 

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?” 

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you. 

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you. 

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew. 

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.” 

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?” 

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.” 

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.” 

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.” 

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house. 

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds. 

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?” 

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended. 

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence. 

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.” 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him. 

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.” 

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror. 

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I���m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.” 

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.” 

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?” 

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump. 

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.” 

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him. 

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him. 

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically. 

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before. 

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy. 

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.” 

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.” 

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet. 

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.” 

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.” 

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you. 

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not. 

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months. 

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

[pasukiyo]

BEAUTIFUL THING

mike schmidt x f!reader word count; 2,573 warnings; smut, no plot, just porn :D summary; there was nothing in the world she wanted more than mike schmidt. but what were the chances he'd ever make a move on her?

 She wanted Mike Schmidt.

 Don’t get her wrong, she absolutely adored Abby, she was sweet, funny, and overall not a hard kid to take care of. But she knew all too well what her intentions were when she agreed to take up the babysitting job— how could she say no when he looked at her like that with those big, deep brown eyes?

 It was another late night spent at the Schmidt house— Mike had just gotten himself a new job with unholy hours, some late night security gig he had no choice but to take. Her mouth opened in a yawn and through her bleary vision, she blinked down to the watch on her wrist. 

 4:30 AM. Mike wouldn’t be back for another hour and a half or so. 

 She sighed and threw her head back against the cushions, staring absentmindedly at the television as some old cartoon played, audio soft and muffled. She wasn’t sure why she even bothered trying to stay up for Mike— she’d been babysitting for him for months, (without pay, might she add) and still, neither he nor she had made any moves. She wasn’t even sure if he ever even intended to make a move on her. 

 But she was just so certain that he felt at least some sort of attraction towards her. She could see it in the way he looked at her, how his eyes would absentmindedly trail down her body against his better judgment, how he’d pull the inside of his bottom lip between his teeth while he did. She could see it in the way his body would react when she came too close, like when she gave him a handshake or playfully shoved his shoulder.

 It was the same way she reacted when he was close. 

 Surely it couldn’t all be for nothing?

 Her eyelids were falling heavy against her eyes and she slowly slumped further into the cushions of the couch, hands tightening around the blanket around her body. Sleep was so close that she could reach out and feel it, and she would’ve slipped into the arms of slumber if it hadn’t been for the opening and closing of the front door. 

 She grumbled and furrowed her brows down at her watch. 

 4:35 AM. Mike wasn’t supposed to be home yet. 

 At the notion, she jolted and snapped her head towards the entrance, her heart thrumming against her chest as she prepared herself for the sight of a total stranger, ready to make a run straight for Abby’s room. She blinked and narrowed her eyes at the dark silhouette of the figure as it hung its coat on the rack bolted on the wall. 

 “Sorry. S’ just me.”

 She knew that voice. It was a voice she always dreamed about, a voice belonging to someone she’d seen practically everyday.

 “Mike?” Her voice came out rough, having not spoken for hours, not since Abby had gone to bed. “What are you doing home so early?” She asked as she pushed herself further up the sofa while Mike made his way towards the recliner, wiping a hand down his face before plopping down into the seat. She could only make out his face through the light from the television but even then, she could sense something was off. 

 Mike tapped his fingers against the armrest of the recliner, “I… I just… needed to leave… I guess,” he replied and she frowned, scooting to the far side of the couch closest to him. “Is… is everything alright?” She questioned, unsure whether or not he needed consoling. Mike leaned further back into his seat and let his eyelids flutter closed, inhaling deep through his nostrils. 

 “Just… is Abby asleep?” He finally asked after a moment and she nodded, humming. “She went down earlier than usual. Actually managed to get her to eat something,” she replied, her lips curving into a smile but quickly faltering again when she realized Mike wasn’t going to reciprocate. He looked almost… distraught. 

 Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she pondered her options. She’d known Mike for some time but even then, she still knew little to nothing about him. He slept a lot, that was for sure. And he loved his little sister and was trying so hard to be exactly the type of person she needed. But she knew nothing about him, Mike Schmidt himself. She didn’t know what he did in his free time, what he liked to eat, if he had hobbies, nothing. 

 Hell, she’d spent so much time fantasizing about him and filling in all the holes herself, she hardly even acknowledged that he could be somebody entirely else. She didn’t know the first thing about him.

 But she could learn to try. 

 She leaned forward, a steady hand warily finding his on the armrest of the recliner and she flinched when Mike snapped his eyelids open, looking between her and their touching hands. Their gazes surged into one another and she made no moves, as if seeking any sign that she should stop.

 Mike’s heart thrummed so hard inside his chest, it was a miracle that she couldn’t hear it. She looked at him as if she were asking permission— permission to what, he hadn’t even the slightest clue. But in spite of the voices inside of his head telling him he shouldn’t, that he shouldn’t let her, that he was wrong for her, he did. How could he say no when she looked at him like that, as if he were the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes upon?

 His silence gave her the confidence to let her fingers creep further down to the back of his hand, flipping it around until they rested against the heel of his palm. Slowly, she soothed the tips of her fingers up his palm until they fell between the cracks of his, letting her digits curl around his knuckles. Mike shuddered at the touch and let his own fingers press down against hers and he watched as she raised their intertwined hands to her mouth, their gazes molded together as she pressed her lips against his skin. His lips trembled as they fell open and he narrowed his eyes, clinging onto the last bit of restraint he had left. 

 “You can relax with me, Mike,” she whispered against his skin, pressing another soft kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger. “You don’t have to worry while I’m around.”

 Mike pressed his lips back together and fought back the urge to groan at her words, his eyes wandering from their hands, down her arm, to her chest where it pressed against the edge of the sofa. His breath shuddered when he exhaled and the rubber band stretched inside of him finally released and with it, the last of his restraint. 

 Fuck it, he thought. It’s been long enough.

 Mike tugged her closer by the hand and her lids widened, a squeal slipping from her lips, in which he was swift to eat right up, pressing his mouth against hers. With his hand not intertwined with hers, he gripped her hip, working his way up to her waist to squeeze. The sound she made was muffled inside their admittedly messy kiss and he pulled her even closer, her knees having nowhere to go but on the outside of his thighs. 

 Mike groaned and pulled away to catch his breath as her hips ground down against his, already feeling frustrated with the growing erection in his jeans. He blinked up at the woman on top of him, her arms thrown over his shoulders, her chest heaving as she chased air back into her lungs. She stared down at him with hazy irises, still bleary from lack of sleep. 

 “Sorry,” Mike finally managed to breathe out, his palms resting on either of her thighs. “Probably a little much, wasn’t it?”

 He watched as the corners of her lips curved into a grin and she chuckled breathlessly, shaking her head. “Not enough,” she tittered as she surged her lips back into his, one of her hands on his shoulders slithering their way into his mess of dark tendrils, fingers curling and tugging at his roots. He hissed inside her mouth and dug his fingernails into her skin, a whimper falling from her lips, allowing him to take control of the situation. 

 He pressed himself forward and reached for the end of her t-shirt and she briefly broke away to allow the fabric up and over her head, her own fingers already working at the buckle of his belt. Mike leaned forward to pepper kisses all across the tops of her breasts and she threw her head back as he took over in undoing his belt, ripping it from his loops and throwing open the button and zipper of his jeans. 

 She clambered off of him as he raised his hips to tug his pants and boxers down just enough to allow his erection to spring free of its restraints, feeling her stomach do a somersault at the sight as she stripped herself of her own shorts and panties. Mike fought the urge to wrap his hands around his cock as she reached behind her back to undo the clasps of her bra and time seemed to slow as the straps fell from her shoulders, the lave toppling to the floor altogether. 

 He swore he could feel his mouth water and never before this moment had he wanted something, or someone, more. He blinked up at her, following her gaze down to his lap and at his erection that stood tall, waiting for her, dripping with pre-cum. 

 Mike cocked an eyebrow, “you just gonna stand there or you gonna take it?” He asked, voice low and husky and fuck, she thought she’d drop dead right then and there. Still, this was a dangerous game they were playing. “What about Abby?” She whispered, glancing towards the hallway where Abby’s room was. “What if she wakes up?”

 Mike pressed his lips together and bucked his hips, raising a leg to softly give her calf a kick. “You can be quiet, right?” He murmured in question and she felt herself clench from his voice alone. Here Mike Schmidt was, cock out and erect, all because of her. This was something she had only dreamed of— never did she think that this would become reality. 

 Mike cocked his eyebrow again and she shook herself from her thoughts, taking his hand as he guided her back onto his lap. Her body shuddered and her bones rattled as she began to sink herself down, jolting when the tip brushed against her cunt, teeth sinking down into the plush of her bottom lip to contain her sounds. 

 “It’s okay,” Mike whispered. “I got you.”

 Her eyes about rolled in the back of her head at that as his hands kneaded at the flesh of either of her hips, guiding her further down his length, making sure to go agonizingly slow to ensure she felt every single fucking inch of cock inside of her. Tears brimmed the outskirts of her eyelids as she finally sat still on his lap, filled to the brim with cock. Mike let her head fall down against the curve of his shoulder, burying her nose into the crook of his neck as she allowed time to adjust to his size, simultaneously trying to keep her sounds to a minimum. 

 “You’re so tight,” Mike’s breath shuddered in her ear and his voice made goosebumps litter her skin, his fingertips like the icy breath of a ghost against her back. “You think you can handle moving now?” He asked in a whisper against the shell of her ear and she nodded, letting him grab her thighs and push her further up his cock until just the head remained. She cried against his neck when he sank her all the way back down his length, the lewd noise of their wet skin slapping together making her clench around him. “Fff… uuck,” he dragged his curse out as he snapped his hips up against her.

 “Shit!” She gasped as he thrusted again and again and again. And she let him. She let him use her in whatever way he pleased. 

 “Gonna be good for me?” He muttered next to her ear. “Gonna let me take care of you, hm?” She nodded, bobbing her head up and down against his shoulder as he snapped his hips up to hers again and again, daring the coil inside her belly to snap. “Think you can handle it?” He asked again and she nodded once more, crying and biting down on his collar. “Yes!” She cried, fortunately muffled against his skin. 

 So Mike thrusted again, harder and harder, chasing that high, that release he so desperately needed. He could tell she was close— it’d probably been so long since she’d been stuffed by cock like this. She’d probably been waiting for this moment just as long as he has. 

 With the pad of his thumb, he pressed down against her aching bud and Mike could feel a fresh new set of tears soak his skin as she cried, bucking her hips into his touch. His thrusts were as sloppy as they were powerful and she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. 

 “Mmm… Mike… I’m… I’m gonna…” she hardly managed to stutter out, slowly feeling the coil inside her stomach as it began to unravel. 

 “Yeah?” Mike said, his other hand wrapped around her neck and pushing her forehead down against his, gazing up at her closed eyelids. He rolled his head against hers, “look at me,” he breathed out and watched as she slowly fluttered her lids back open, just as more fat tears beaded down her cheeks. The sight was enough to get him to teeter on the edge himself. 

 “Gonna come?” He asked and she nodded, sweat-slicked forehead lolling against his. He nodded too, already feeling her release around him as she spawned around his cock, relying solely on him and his body to keep herself up. She buried her face in the crook of his neck again as she whined and cried, Mike’s thrusts speeding up as he gave himself that final push he needed to send himself reeling, spiraling and shaking with the force of his release. 

 “Fuck,” he growled into the skin just below her ear, squeezing his eyelids shut tighter as he willed himself to keep his sounds on the low, for the sake of his little sister sleeping just in the other room. 

 Silence fell over Mike and the babysitter for a good, long moment as they both recovered from their highs, chasing air back into their lungs as the realization of what they had just done began to sink in. Mike should be mortified— she was his sister’s babysitter, he doesn’t have time for this, she doesn’t deserve him, he shouldn't have done this. 

 But the woman in his lap settled herself closer into him, nuzzling her nose against the crook of his neck, her lips like a crescent moon against his skin as she placed a soft kiss to his flesh there. 

 “I hope you’re okay, Mike,” she whispered and he threw his head back, an arm thrown around her body as he stared up at the ceiling. How could he push her away now?

a/n; so yeah!!! i watched fnaf on friday and it kinda sorta just brought back my whole josh hutcherson phase so enjoy!! this was just a quick little something i wrote up and there's like no plot at all and not proofread LMAO

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

ghoap x reader. jealousy. bisexual soap. bisexual ghost. emotionally constipated ghost. manipulative soap. ghost likes em thick. lightly explicit. MDNI. ao3

When Ghost first sees you and Soap together, his jealousy is hard to parse. He doesn't quite understand what he's feeling.

On the one hand, Occam's Razor. Simple explanations usually prove the truest. Soap is his boy, has been since Las Almas, and you are an interloper in their hard-won dynamic. Ghost does not absorb others into his life lightly, even less so then he allows them to strongarm themselves beneath the mask. He doesn't particularly like people, isn't really fond of their tendency toward abject mortality.

Soap's strong arms are a rare exception. And Ghost has nearly died too many times not to admire a nice round ass when he sees one—the kind that glistens and quivers beneath the weak spray of a communal shower. Some part of him has always kind of supposed the sergeant had been showing off specifically for him, too, when he dropped trousers and moaned like a whore when the hot water started flowing.

The boy certainly dogs his steps like that's the case.

Then, you: showing up on base one day, Soap's hand spread wide and possessive on the small of your back. Jewel-bright eyes following your every move. Blush high and feverish on his boy's cheekbones every time you throw half a smile his way.

So it's envy. So it's a crush, unrequited.

Simple problem, simple solution. Getting over by getting under and all that. There are apps for every heartache, and plenty of hard-bodied gym rats out there tripping over themselves to bottom for a brute like him, who can actually throw them around.

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

a/n: I can't use arse, I know it would be more accurate but I just can't I'm sorry

[yanderedrabbles]

Two Faced -Yandere Stalker/Cop

Yandere! Cop who pulls you over for a DUI. You're barely under the legal limit and it's clear you can't hold your liquor in the slightest.

Yandere! Cop who feels his cock twitch when you blow into the breathalyser, your eyes flickering up at him all half lidded like he's just fucked you raw, teasing him that most fellas don't say please as nice as you do officer.

Yandere! Cop who says he'll follow you home, just to make sure you're safe. You don't see anything strange about it, he's a cop after all. But now he knows where you live, he knows what car you drive, he knows that your roommates always leave for school at the same time you do.

Yandere! Cop who looks so damn good in his uniform, who has the muscles to fill it out just right.

Yandere! Cop figures out early on that you're a hard-core party girl. Different guys coming home with you every weekend. He doesn't like it, but he understands. You're probably just lonely - filling your bed with strangers to chase away the cold.

Yandere! Cop aims to fix that.

Yandere! Cop who makes sure he gets the weekend off and who makes sure to run into you at the club. You're totally wasted this time, hanging onto his arm and running your fingers up his biceps, giggling about what big muscles you have officer.

Yandere! Cop who takes you home and just let's you sleep it off in his bed. His cock is raging and he wants to fuck you more than anything, but he's a gentleman and you're hammered.

Yandere! Cop who makes you breakfast and a good ol' fashioned hangover cure all the cops swear by. He drives you home and tilts your chin up to kiss you. "How about a proper date, babydoll?"

You giggle and blush and slip away before he can get an answer.

Yandere! Cop who can never get with you in the daylight. You'll kiss him and grind up against him on the dance floor and warm his bed later that night, but you're almost always gone by morning.

Yandere! Cop who doesn't want you as just a fuck buddy. He wants you as his girlfriend, maybe his wife someday.

Yandere! Cop who'll take what you give him. He'll fuck you screaming and when you leave the next morning, he'll bury his head in your pillow and try to catch the remnants of your scent.

It goes on for months. He's becoming a neglected dog, fed on the scraps of attention you give him. He's starving, he's ravenous, he's slowly going rabbid.

Yandere! Cop who does something he didn't think himself capable of - he starts following you. Just a little at first, just so he can learn more about you. He's curious and you don't talk about yourself so it makes perfect sense, right? It's harmless.

Yandere! Cop who breaks into your apartment when you're in class. Just to make sure everything is safe. And if he jacks off into your used panties, it's just a kind of payment. He's going above and beyond for you, doesn't he deserve a little reward?

Yandere! Cop who sees you kissing another man on the walk back from school. You've got your hands on his chest and you're standing on your tip toes under the magnolia trees, like the poster of a sappy fucking romcom.

Yandere! Cop who's never been more angry in his life. And so he sends you a bloody bullet in the mail, your name carved into the steel.

And it works. You call him, terrified that you pissed off the wrong person somehow.

Yandere! Cop who loves being there to comfort you, who feels so masculine and strong when you cling onto his arm and sob about your big, scary stalker.

Yandere! Cop who takes endless pictures of you going about your day and leaves them on your doorstep.

Yandere! Cop who slowly becomes your boyfriend. Who's there the second your stalker gets too close or frightens you too badly. Who makes you feel so safe in his arms.

Yandere! Cop who carefully suggests you move in with him. He's a cop afterall, and no one would be stupid enough to break into his apartment.

Yandere! Cop who'll do something vicious everytime he feels you straying away from him.

Yandere! Stalker who leaves your pet's head in a box on your porch when you refuse to cut off your male friends.

Yandere! Cop who coos over you when you sob, as though he isn't the one scaring you.

Yandere! Cop who is extra careful with everything he does, so that you never suspect that he and your stalker are one and the same.

He's a cop afterall, and he's just keeping you safe. Even if you don't always see it that way.

[andvys]

You said you were gonna grow up (then you were gonna come find me) ⭐︎ S.H.

⭐︎ Warnings: slight angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, childhood best friends to lovers, allusions to cheating (but not really), mentions of sex, mentions of unrequited love, hurt/comfort

⭐︎ Summary: You and Steve used to be inseparable, best friends since childhood, you shared something special, something rare. You promised each other forever but... promises are never to keep... right?

⭐︎ Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

⭐︎ Word count: 10k

⭐︎ Author's note: To my Steve girlies who have read (and still mourn) I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss -- in the middle of writing this little oneshot, I noticed that Steve and reader reminded me of someone, and then I realized that it's basically Steve and Cheer in a different universe (if Steve hadn't fucked up as badly as he did). This is... what they should have been.

Also shoutout to @hellfire--cult for inspiring me to finish this oneshot (finally) and @ghost-proofbaby thank you for picking a title for me, and for your sweet words about this little piece, you're both the bestest

⭐︎ my library

divider by @saradika (I screamed when I saw the folklore dividers)

♡

The smell of weed and smoke lingers in the air, music blares through the house and bounces off the walls, laughter and giggles come from every corner, conversations he couldn’t care less about yet listens in on because what else is there to do at a party? 

Steve once found himself at home in such gatherings, now he feels nothing but bored as he watches the people instead of interacting with them like he once used to do. 

He used to be on the dancefloor, at the keg stand, pressing some girl against the wall and kissing her neck before taking her upstairs into one of the empty bedrooms – but those days are long over and they are not to be missed, not in the slightest. 

Now he is sitting out in the backyard of some stranger’s house, sipping on a lukewarm soda and waiting for Robin to get sick of this party so he can take her home before going to his empty house and crashing out on his new bed. Seeing as she’s jumping around on the dancefloor with Vickie, it doesn’t seem like she'll want to leave anytime soon. 

 A sigh falls from his lips and he slumps his shoulders in boredom. 

He could be socializing, talking to girls, flirting with them, with the ones who keep waving at him and sending him suggestive, overly sweet looks – he isn’t interested. The past few months were wasted ones, disastrous dates, one or two meaningless hookups, girls who weren’t interested in him but only in sex – that was his reality and he didn’t want that anymore, he doesn’t want that anymore, he wants something real, he wants to feel something, he wants someone to want him for more than just that one thing, he wants a connection, a bond, he wants… you. 

Steve’s lips part, his eyes lighten up, glowing just like the stars in the night sky, he sits up straighter and cranes his neck to see you better, his heart skipping in a way it hasn’t in a long time, he forgot what it feels like… but of course you are the one to remind him of the way his heart can skip and flutter when he feels something, you have always been the one, the only one. 

Not even Nancy could make him feel half of the things you could make him feel. 

But he blew his chances with you – the only chances that ever mattered. 

He hears your laughter, your beautiful giggles that he missed every day since you left, even from all the way here, he can hear the voice that accompanied him throughout most of his life… until it didn’t. 

You were his best friend, the only friend that mattered until he found Robin. You were with him from the moment your mothers introduced you both to each other, joined at the hip, you went through it all together, different hobbies, different friend groups, first crushes and rough school days, arguments with so called friends, first parties, first drunken nights, you went through so much and you did it all together, you experienced everything together. 

Steve would sneak into your room, late at night, he would use the vines on the wall as a ladder, no matter how many times you scolded him, he still climbed up because he wanted to see you so desperately, even when he spent the whole day with you, it just wasn’t enough, you’d spent the nights whispering and talking about the newest gossips, sometimes he would paint your nails or braid your hair, sometimes you would just lie next to each other and listen to some new album and sometimes you would cuddle and fall asleep in each other’s arms, it was a regular thing, it was something constant. 

But then something changed, you both got curious, you both started acting upon feelings that have been there for a long time already, feelings that were no longer innocent and childish turned into something more. 

You were each other’s first kiss, it was nothing more than a peck at first… and then it was a second and a third before you kissed for real. And then, it was just another regular thing, you started cuddling and kissing every night, smiling and giggling through it all, holding hands and pulling each other closer and closer. 

Those innocent kisses turned into makeout sessions and those turned into your first time. 

It was his first time and yours, you shared it with each other, like you shared everything else together. 

It was filled with nervous giggles, blushing cheeks and shaky touches, you were both scared to do something wrong but you assured one another and you both did your best, he took care of you and you of him. It was slow, it was soft, it was perfect. A night he will never forget. 

Nothing ever came close to this moment, nothing came ever close to how you made him feel. 

Steve should have asked you out after that night, he should’ve, but he didn’t, he chickened out, he got scared and he left the next morning without saying goodbye. That was his biggest mistake. 

To this day, he doesn’t know how you felt about it all, you never spoke of this night again, you never mentioned it again, you both acted like nothing happened, you continued your friendship like you didn’t ruin it. 

He kept coming over, everything stayed the same… but it didn’t. 

You started slipping away from him and he was too busy to notice, he became captain of the basketball team, girls started noticing him, he started going on dates even though you were all he could think about, it felt wrong to hold their hands, to kiss them, to touch them, he felt as though he was betraying you but his new friend Tommy encouraged him, spoke lies into his ear about how you went on dates on the nights you canceled on him. 

He was hurt, he was angry, and it only was a matter of time before he invited a girl who wasn’t you into his sheets. 

He hated how he felt afterwards, but he didn’t stop, he kept going and before he could even blink, he was the most popular boy in school, he was King Steve, the guy who could have anyone but still only had eyes for one. 

Though your shared nights became less frequent, you still spent time with him, even when you weren’t fond of Tommy and Carol, his big parties or the way he treated girls, you were still there and it bothered him that he couldn’t have you. 

It was clear that you didn’t feel the same, despite the many signs that he had missed at that time. He was your best friend, just your best friend, just Steve. He could’ve made a move, he could've asked you out on a date, he could’ve finally confronted you about your night together and how you felt about it, how you felt about him, but he was scared and it was ironic really, because he was good with girls, very charming and cocky, smug and arrogant but not with you, no, not with you. You made him nervous, you made his chest feel weird, his stomach too, you made his heart race and flutter, you made his skin feel hot and his mind all crazy. 

You got him bad. 

You made him fall in love. 

But he was a coward when it came to his feelings for you, he really was, he didn’t even want to admit them to himself, so he watched you slip through his fingers instead of taking action and making you his. His feelings got stronger despite the distance that slowly grew between you.

You were still there, physically, but your mind was somewhere else and you seemed so far away.

He left notes in your locker, just like he did when he was a kid. 

And you did the same to him. 

You waved at each other from afar and shared smiles, you still drove around town and sang along to your favorite songs after an occasional trip to that one diner out of town, you sometimes slept over and left your sweet scent on his pillows, driving him crazy with it. You were still each other’s best friends. 

But then Nancy stepped into his life and that was it, at that point, it was already crumbling, your friendship was hanging by a thread and it earned its final blow when you moved away for college. 

Occasional calls and letters were all that existed between you at that point, it drove him crazy, it made him sad. He suffered heartbreak when you were gone and you weren’t there to mend it, you weren’t there to hold him, to wipe his tears and tell him that he would be alright – how could you? You were the reason for that heartbreak and Nancy was the one who gave him the final push to open his eyes to the feelings he kept pushing away and feeling so scared of. 

When he realized what a mistake he had made, it was far too late to fix it and he never stopped regretting the actions he took and didn’t take. 

But now you are here, you are back. 

He hasn’t heard your voice in so long, he hasn’t seen your beauty in forever, he missed your presence so dearly. 

One year, one whole year without you. 

Are you here to stay for the summer or are you back for good? He hopes it’s the latter, this town felt anything but home without you here. 

Steve stares at you, he stares and stares without shame. His lips are curled into a soft smile, his cheeks already blushing as he takes you in. 

You are so gorgeous. 

A confident smile is lingering on your lips, your makeup is a little bolder than it used to be, back then, but it suits you, your skirt is short, your top is tight, your cleavage is showing and your skin is glowing, your hair is much longer than he remembers it to be, a few highlights added to your pretty hair color and styled into waves. 

You have always been a sight for sore eyes, he was aware of your beauty from a young age, he called you his princess, his sweet, cute and beautiful princess. But you are more than just beautiful now, you are stunning, bewitching, you are heavenly. 

His heart jumps at the sound of your giggle, his skin heating up so rapidly that it catches him off guard. 

Steve watches you, he watches for what feels like forever, you’re here with friends, girls you used to hang out with back in high school. 

The smile never leaves his lips as he keeps his eyes on you, his heart fluttering more and more each passing second, eyes continuing to light up at every sound of your giggle. 

When you step away from your friends and walk back into the house, he wastes no time to follow, grabbing the chance that he once missed, he goes after you and leaves his drink abandoned on the floor. 

He brushes past a group of guys playing beer pong, dodging the dancing people on the dancefloor, keeping his eyes on your body as he follows. Your skirt is swaying, your waves are bouncing, your hips are shaking slightly, your sweet scent lingers in the air and he can’t help but inhale it deeply, it’s still the same scent that he missed on his pillows and the hoodies you used to steal.

With your back turned to him, you stop in front of the snack table and pour yourself a cup of the overly alcoholised punch. 

Steve doesn’t approach you right away, standing by the doorway, he decides to watch you for a second longer, feeling giddy and nervous now that he is so close to you again. 

You nearly choke on the punch, the bitter taste of alcohol overpowering the fruity taste, you scrunch your brows together and swallow it down in disgust, unimpressed by this drink after all the different kind of cocktails you have tried in the past months on your night outs to bars with your girlfriends from college. 

A sigh falls from your lips and you take a second, much needed sip. 

It feels weird to be back home in Hawkins, the town is much quieter than the big city you called home for the past year and you feel that weird tingly shudder on the back of your neck, knowing that he is so close somewhere. 

Steve. 

You miss him so much, you miss him everyday, but it’s been so long, you can’t even remember the last time you have talked to him. You know that he still works at Family Video and his friend Robin moved into his house with him after his parents moved away from Hawkins, for good. 

But that’s all, you don’t know if he is single or if he is dating – you fear your heart wouldn’t take the information very well, which is ironic really, you haven’t seen him in so long, all you have are your memories, some of which you kept in a shoebox under your bed, pictures, notes, letters and little presents from him. Steve was nothing but a ghost these past months and yet it didn’t stop your heart from falling deeper in love… even with just the boy in your memory, the one that will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you look down at the red beverage in your cup, you close your eyes and take another sip and swallow it but this time in delight, you welcome the burning in your throat. 

“You still make that cute face when you don’t like something.” 

The voice you have just been thinking about sounds deeper than it did when you left. 

Those shudders at the back of your neck, run down your spine and transform into heat across your whole body, your heart skips a few beats.

You turn to face him, sloshing the drink around in your cup, you nearly spill it on the white tiles beneath you. Your breath hitches in your throat and your chest tightens when you look at him for the first time again, those hazel eyes that you have missed so much staring back at you with excitement yet nervousness and you have no doubt that your own eyes match the look in his. 

Your lips curl into a shy smile, your cheeks heat up so quickly and you nearly crush the plastic cup in your hand when you let your eyes roam his body. He somehow got even taller, his arms look stronger and his shoulders wider, his hair got longer too, a spitcurl hanging over his forehead, his cheeks are rosy, a stubble covering his jaw and chin, your eyes move down his arm, stopping at the black hair tie around his wrist that momentarily steals your breath away and fills your chest with hope. You lick your lips and swallow as you stare at the veins in his hands. 

There he stands with his stupid, still perfectly styled hair and his Levi’s that are always way too tight around his crotch, looking down at you and reminding you of how much taller he is and always was. 

“Hey,” he breathes, nervously, happily. 

“Steve,” you say with a smile on your lips, “hi.”

Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know what to say, your heart is beating so hard, he can feel it in his throat, he feels so nervous, you make him nervous. His charm, his flirtatious side still fades into nothing when he is around you and the world around him still disappears when he is with you, some things truly never change. 

He wants to take a step closer and wrap his arms around you, he wants to hug you and never let go again but he doesn’t want to overstep so he forces himself to stay in place. 

“Y-You’re back,” he smiles, trying to hide his excitement. 

You nod, probably a little too quickly. 

“Yeah, I’m back,” you nod again, feeling awkward and tense standing here before him after all the countless nights you spent thinking, dreaming about him. 

He breathes heavily and fidgets with the hair tie around his wrist, “for the summer or…?”

You shake your head, unable to look away from his beautiful eyes. 

“No, I-I transferred to uh the community college here…” You scrunch your face up when you see the surprised look on his face. “I know, lame right? Moving away from Chicago and back to your hometown is uh not the.. move.” 

Not the move? He repeats in his head. 

This might be the best day of his life – the day he had been waiting for, for your return. 

Steve’s eyes widen, he purses his lips as he starts shaking his head, raising his hand a little, he steps closer to you. 

“No! No, I’m just surprised, that’s all, I didn’t think you’d ever come back… honestly,” he chuckles nervously and brings his hand up to scratch the side of his neck. “But I’m happy to see you back here again.” 

Happy is an understatement, the feelings in him can’t be put into words, they do not exist. 

Your eyes soften at his words, your smile transforming into a soft one, hope swirling inside of you. 

Did he miss you like you missed him? 

“I’m happy to see you,” he adds, his cheeks heating up at his admission and your beauty doesn’t help his case, his eyes roam your body, your pretty features, your soft skin, the chain around your neck that looks oh so familiar, his heart starts beating faster, his hands shaking from the giddiness lingering in him. “Y-You look…” Stunning, mesmerizing, gorgeous, sexy, adorable, like an angel or a goddess. “Amazing.” He breathes, blushing red.

Your eyebrows pull together as your wide eyes fill with emotion. 

You see the way he looks at you, you see the redness in his cheeks, the shyness in his eyes that surprises you the most. 

You take a shaky breath, cursing at the way your cheeks heat up and glow so hotly. 

“Thank you,” you say without stutter, to your own surprise. “You don’t look bad yourself, Harrington,” you smirk at him, smugness taking over your blushing features when you see him looking down in nervousness. 

Did you just make Steve blush? 

You open your mouth again, feeling the urge to compliment him again when a whistle interrupts you and wipes the smirk off your face, instead a look of disgust takes over your features when you turn your head to see Tommy Hagan looking you up and down with a perverted smile on his face. 

He pushes his way between you, earning a glare from Steve, whose face turned stone cold and angry. Tommy grabs a red solo cup and pours himself some of the punch while he continues to give you nasty looks, chuckling when looks at your cleavage, “shit, now I get why Harrington always kept his favorite toy to himself,” he smirks and takes a sip of his drink before he steps back to wink at Steve, wiping his chin and looking back to you, “you really grew up.” 

Your lips curl downwards, your brows pull together in a frown. 

“Dude, what the fuck,” Steve frowns at him, giving him a disapproving look. 

Tommy always made you feel uncomfortable with his comments and his weird looks, but it was something else back then. This is new, this is disgusting. 

“If I knew back then that you were hiding these behind your sweaters, I would’ve definitely hit it,” he chuckles darkly as he stares at your boobs. 

Bile rises in your throat and your grip tightens on your cup, the urge to throw your punch into his face growing strong. 

Steve rolls his eyes, a frustrated sigh falls from his lips and he steps towards his former friend, he places his hand on his chest and pushes him back as he takes a protective stance in front of you, protecting you from Tommy’s prying eyes. 

“Alright, that’s enough, asshole,” Steve mumbles angrily. “Leave her alone or I swear to–”

“You swear to what, man? You and I both know you can’t do shit,” Tommy laughs at Steve, his eyes crinkle in amusement, irritating Steve further. 

Steve might’ve lost most of his fights, but he wouldn’t lose one if it came to you. 

He clenches his jaw and glares down at him, feeling rage burn within him. 

“Seriously dude, get lost, alright?” He demands, his voice sounding deeper, more serious than before. 

You look over Steve’s shoulder, feeling safe and protected by him, the way you always did, just even more now. Your stomach flutters with warmth, your heart swelling in your chest. 

To your surprise, Tommy steps away without another word, continuing to chuckle at Steve and the glare on his face. He gives you another look. 

“Call me if you–”

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve says through gritted teeth, feeling hot rage flushing through him. 

Tommy takes another sip as he walks backwards, winking at you before he finally turns around and leaves the kitchen, allowing you to finally breathe. 

Steve runs his fingers through his hair and huffs, turning back to you, his features instantly soften. 

“I’m sorry about him.” 

You shake your head, your smile reappearing again, “it’s not your fault,” you shrug, “some people just never change.” 

“Yeah…” He mumbles, wondering if you changed at all, “did you?”

Did you change? You ask yourself. Maybe, surely college has shaped you in some way, being away from home, being independent and all alone, meeting new people and being pushed into situations you would have never allowed as a teenager, did change something in you. 

You got more confident, a little bolder too, you tried new things and did them without shame, something that was once impossible when you were still here and an insecure teen. 

You tilt your head to the side and give him a sly smirk, “why don’t you find out?” 

The anger Tommy left him with fades away, the flirtatious tone in your voice catching him by surprise and you take it even further when you take a step closer to him after placing your drink on the counter, you look up at him with your big eyes that still drive him crazy. 

He doesn’t remember you to be this flirty… this bold but he can’t complain, it makes the fluttering in his stomach feel so much more intense. 

Steve’s lips curl back into a smile, he blinks at you, looking into your eyes intensely, with want and need – nothing changed, if anything, the magnetic force between you has intensified, even when there was mostly only radio silence between you both in these past months. 

Steve licks his lips, a sliver of his confidence slipping back in when he sees the way you look at him, eyes roaming his face and his body. Though his cheeks are still burning and his heart is still racing, no matter how much confidence he can find within himself, you are still you, you are still the girl that holds his heart in the palm of her hand, the one who has him captivated in every way possible, the one who has had him wrapped around her finger, from a very young age. You aren’t just a girl to woo and impress for a single date, you aren’t someone he would forget if a conversation or a date went wrong, you are the one he always wanted to grow old with, to experience everything with, to spend a life with the one who is his everything – one wrong move and he loses it all… again. 

He doesn’t bother to ask if you are with someone, if you are dating and taken, the thought is disturbing to his heart. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks as he slowly reaches for your hand and you allow him to take it when you slip your palm against his and give his hand a squeeze.

He nearly crumbles to his knees when he feels your soft touch again, it’s been too long. Your hand always fit into his so perfectly, like it was made to be held by him. 

You nod, whispering a sweet ‘yes, please’. That’s all he needs to hear before he pulls you closer to his body, pushing you in front of him slightly, keeping a protective stance right behind you as he never lets go of your hand, basking in the feeling of having you so close again, of being able to smell your perfume again and the sweet scent of your body wash. 

He rubs circles on the top of your hand, pressing his other hand on the small of your back as he pushes through the crowds of people. He leads you to Robin first, needing to make sure that she will get home safe without him. He finds her playing beer pong with Vickie and a few of their former bandmates from high school. He taps on her shoulder and when she turns around, Steve grows more nervous than before, because her eyes grow wide when she sees you next to him, excitement flashing in them and a big grin appearing on her face after a long moment of staring at you. 

She knows all about you. 

She knows all about his feelings and his regrets. 

She knows how much he missed you. 

She was there when he cried and never stopped talking about you. 

So after greeting you, probably a little too enthusiastically, she moves closer to Steve, raising her eyebrows at him and giving him a teasing, yet pointed look. 

“Go and don’t worry about me, Vickie can drive, she’s not drinking tonight.”

“You sure?” 

She nods, her waves bouncing as she moves her head a little too quickly. 

“Steve I’m fine, go and get your girl,” she winks at him, squeezing his shoulder before she moves back, giving him another look that says nothing but ‘i mean it, don’t fuck it up this time, this is your chance.’ 

Steve nods at her, smiling and feeling reassured by her. He holds your hand tighter and pulls you away before you can properly say goodbye to his friend that you only know from your days in high school. You look back at her to find her staring at the two of you, grinning from ear to ear, she raises her eyebrows at you, eyes glowing as she gives you a smirk and a small wave of her hand. 

You feel a little confused by the teasing look on her face but smile and wave back at her nonetheless before Steve whisks you away and out of the room.

It isn’t weird to hold each other’s hand, to be back together in his car like nothing ever happened, like you never stopped doing this, like things are still normal between you. He makes small talk, it’s not awkward or weird, it’s… nice, anything is as long as you’re with him, even the silly jokes makes or how he tries to quote Shakespeare but fails miserably, he makes you laugh and you… you make him smile. 

You stop by the gas station to grab a six pack and some snacks to share before you drive to the lookout, to the place you always went to when you wanted to be alone together. 

You get comfortable on the hood of his car, as comfortable as you can get on the rough surface. It’s a little chillier out here in the woods, the wind that blows through the trees makes goosebumps arise on your skin. Steve, of course, has to use the opportunity to throw his jacket around your shoulders, rubbing your arms to warm you up as he moves close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. 

You feel something stir within you, something only ever he could make you feel. 

You grab the denim and pull it tighter around you, glancing at him through your lashes, you feel your cheeks heat up when you find him staring at you already, a soft smile playing on his lips that you can see, even in this darkness. 

“Thanks Stevie.” A grin tugs at your lips when his smile moves into a flustered one. 

Steve licks his lips, he removes his hands from your body and busies himself with opening the beer bottles for you and him, “you’re welcome, honey,” he whispers, winking at you. 

You look away from him with blushing cheeks, hiding the smile on your face as you tilt your head down but nothing goes unnoticed by him, he sees the flustered expression in your features, the cute smile you’re trying to hold back. 

He scoots closer to you until his shoulder is pressed against yours, he offers you the opened bottle. You glance at his hand, taking in the size of it, how big it is, how his veins pop, how long his fingers are – it makes you squirm and clench your thighs together and he notices it, he looks down and he almost regrets it, almost. Your skirt has ridden up, it nearly covers nothing, at this point. Your skin looks so smooth, thighs so soft, he wants to touch them, kiss them, feel them wrapped around his head. 

His skin heats up, his lower stomach tingles, he craves you, in every way possible, he just wants to… feel you, he wants to feel you close, he wants your skin on his, he needs to know that you are truly back. 

Your touch sends shivers down his spine, it makes his stomach flip. 

He blinks, looking down at the bottle he is still holding, watching the way your hand curls around it, fingers grazing his own. Your hand is so much smaller than his, the urge to compare the size of his own to yours growing strong. 

“Steve?” 

Your soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, he blushes, cheeks burning maroon. He shakes his head a little, squeezing his eyes shut as he furrows his eyebrows, he removes his hand from your bottle, already missing the touch of your hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he runs his fingers through his hair, “I got a little uh… distracted.” 

He instantly regrets it when his eyes fall back on your lap again, your giggle makes him blush even deeper, he eyes you from the side, watching the way you press your lips against the bottle, you take a sip, trying to hide the smirk on your lips. 

He feels a sudden sense of nervousness rushing through him – here he is, in the presence of the girl of his dreams, the girl that slipped through his fingers, the girl that should be his and he is messing up. He begins to stutter, trying to distract himself once again, this time from your legs, from your soft skin, from how much he wants to touch and kiss you, from how beautiful you are but you make him stutter, you make it difficult for him to talk, you make it impossible for him to be smooth, to flirt with you the way he always did with other girls and suddenly, he is reminded of why he was always so scared of revealings his feelings to you, there was too much at stake, he didn’t want to lose you. 

He always felt so pathetic around you, like a stupid kid in love, one that can’t talk to his crush without blushing, without stuttering. 

And this is exactly what you always adored about him. 

But he doesn't know it, he doesn’t even realize it, he doesn’t even see the way your eyes always light up, the way they soften as you look at him, the way you admire him. 

Before he even takes a sip of his beer, he already feels like he is drunk, his skin is hot, his mind hazy, he feels happy, at ease, like he is floating, all because of you, you make him feel so… light. 

He is drunk on you, without having touched you properly, your presence is enough. 

He wonders how you are holding up, what emotions linger inside of you — you look so calm, relaxed. 

You fall into a comfortable conversation, catching up on the things you have missed in each other's lives, since being separated. And while your eyes stay glued on the night sky, only glancing at him every once in a while, he watches you, with a fluttering feeling in his chest and a smile on his lips. 

You laugh with each other, getting lost in the memories that you both start bringing up, joking and slapping each other’s shoulders softly as you start to tease one another about the stupid things that you both have done in the past. 

You have changed, not only physically did you get even more beautiful, you got something that you didn’t have before, a boldness that you always admired others for. You used to be so shy, anxious to ask the simplest questions, too nervous to hold eye contact for longer than two seconds, even with him, sometimes. But now, despite you choosing to look at the sky instead of him, he can tell that you are not that shy girl anymore, who was afraid to look into his eyes. You are confident, comfortable in your own skin, not afraid to be you, not afraid to gaze into his eyes when you tilt your head to look at him. 

He wonders what or… who caused it, the change in you. 

Was it just the circumstances? The big city that pushed you out of your comfort zone? 

New friends? Being on your own? Or… was it the experiences you have made in these past few months that have shaped you from an innocent, shy teenager into a confident, young woman? 

His stomach churns at the thought of the things you have done while being away from home, or better yet, who you have done them with. He has no right to be upset about it, he knows it, yet he can’t stop the sinking feeling inside of him as he thinks of the hands that have touched your body or the lips that kissed yours, if you had dated someone, if you are someone else’s right now. 

The question tumbles from his lips before he can even stop himself. 

“Do you have anyone?” 

The storm that was just raging in his mind, the string of questions that followed now silenced as he stares at you, waiting for your answer with a racing heart and clammy hands. 

The sound of crickets and the rustling of the trees are the only sounds now filling the space around you.

“You mean… a boyfriend?” 

He nods and you shake your head at that. You bring the bottle up to your lips, taking a much needed sip. 

“No, I don’t,” you murmur as your eyes roam his face, “why?”

You notice the frown on his face, the way his lips are curled down and his eyebrows are tightly scrunched together. 

“Just wondering… someone like you still single?” 

“What do you mean…?” You ask slowly.

Steve huffs, shaking his head with a smile on his face. 

“I mean… Come on, honey. You’re funny, you’re smart and you’re just… you’re amazing,” he sighs adoringly, hazel eyes running up down and your face and your body. “You’re beautiful, a fucking catch.”

You almost want to scoff at his words, you want to roll your eyes and look the other way. A catch, right. A catch he never wanted. Your heart betrays you when it flutters and prompts a girlish giggle to fall from your lips. 

“Stop.”

He nudges his shoulder against yours, grinning at your flustered face, “it’s the truth.”

Steve feels relieved to know that you don’t have anyone waiting on you, that there isn’t some guy out there that got the girl he always wanted. 

“You have to say that,” you shake your head and drink the last drop of your beer before you throw the bottle down on the grass, making a mental note to pick it up later. 

Because he is your best friend, because he was always your best friend, no matter what – so of course, he has to say these words to you. 

He rolls his eyes at you, huffing, “I’m not just saying that.” 

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, the way his words can make you feel like that shy teenage girl again, you try to steer the attention away from you. 

You press your palm against the cold, almost icy hood, leaning back, you tilt your head to the side and gaze at him, loving how long his hair grew, how his features are more… manly now, though the boyish grin still lingers. 

“What about you?” You whisper, swallowing the bitterness on your tongue. “Got anybody, Stevie?”

He shakes his head quickly, almost frowning at your question. 

“Me? No… no one really… felt right.” He says with a look of longing in his eyes, the one that is only reserved for you. 

The tension in your chest disappears, almost instantly, you have an idea of what you would feel like had the answer been a different one. 

“I was seeing a girl… for a while but uh… like I said, it… she didn’t feel right,” he admits with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

You nod, swallowing harshly. 

“Why didn’t she feel right?” You’re aware of how small, how shaky your voice sounds. 

You wait, wait and wait for him to answer your question, the answer he tries to find in your eyes as it seems because he won’t stop looking at you, it’s like he is searching for something, like he is trying to figure you out, like he is trying to make sense of the question you just asked. 

He doesn’t give you what you want, as always, Steve Harrington pretends like nothing happened, like nothing had been asked. 

But you know what he means, you know exactly what he means, you had someone too, back in Chicago. 

He was nice, he was good to you, in more ways than just one but no matter how much you tried not to think of him, you always failed. He was always there, always in the back of your mind, always ready to haunt you and remind you that he is and will always be the only one that your heart will belong to. 

Your relationship was only short lived, and you left him the moment you realized how unfair it was to stay with him when your heart was somewhere else, when you couldn’t stop thinking about Steve. 

Something rustles in the bushes, something echoes loudly through the woods, something that would have normally made you flinch, doesn’t even faze you now because he is here. You feel safe in his presence, you always did, not even the darkest night or the loudest storm could make you feel afraid as long as he was by your side. 

And yet, you scoot closer to him, not even noticing that you do until his fingers brush against yours and sparks shoot through your entire body. 

And through his. 

You clear your throat and take a deep breath, “yeah… I had someone… but he didn’t feel right either.” You say softly, vulnerably as you meet his eyes again. 

A soft ‘oh’ leaves his mouth and he nods, looking down at the bottle in his hand, he brings it up to his lips and downs the rest of it. He feels his stomach churning, his insides crawling at the mere thought of you with someone who isn’t him and it makes him feel awful, it makes him feel ridiculous because wasn’t that his own fault? He blew his chances with you. He let you go, hell, he didn’t even fight for you. 

He puts the bottle down, wipes his mouth and runs his fingers through his hair before he turns back to you to find you staring at him just the way you always did, with your big doe eyes, those pleading and begging looks you never stopped throwing at him. 

He’d have to be blind to not see it – he always did, he just never allowed himself to admit it, not even to himself, not even when you were all he ever wanted. 

“Why didn’t he feel right?” 

Steve watches the way your lips curl downwards, the way you squint your eyes at him, the softness fleeing as you glare at him instead.

And suddenly, the air around you feels different, tense for another reason, heavy and filled with something neither of you ever addressed before. 

While you take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself – Steve tries to mend the aching in his chest, the hammering that feels just too strong. 

“Why didn’t she feel right, huh?” You ask, scooting away from him and getting off the hood, placing your feet back on the ground, you don’t even bother to smooth down your skirt. You cross your arms over your chest and stand in front of him, demanding the answer you tried to ask softly before. 

Steve sighs, growing fearful and anxious, feeling like he is messing up yet again, like he is about to lose again. 

But you are close, so goddamn close, even through the anger in your eyes, you still stand in reach, your knees now brush against his. He straightens his back, fighting the urge to reach for your hands and just pull you into him, showing you why no one ever felt right. 

He promised Robin, he promised her that if you ever came back, he would go and get you, he would come clean about it all, he would make it all right again. 

“This goes both ways, Steve. You can’t just ask me and then–”

“Because no one is you.”

He won’t fail this again, no matter how scared he is, he just can’t. 

Your lips part in surprise, a painful look crosses your eyes, though the anger doesn’t fade away just yet. You uncross your arms, and shake your head at him. 

His words should bring you joy, shouldn’t they? 

But as you stand here before him, his knees brushing your own, his golden brown eyes staring at you with nothing but love, you can’t help but feel your heart aching because why now? Why not then? 

“So… it took me to leave town… go to college… for you to say this?” You whisper, holding back a choke as your eyes well up with unwanted tears. 

His own eyes panic when he sees just how much pain there is inside of you, how much you hid it. He reaches forward, taking your hand in his, he sighs in relief when you don’t push him away like he thought you would. 

“It was always there. Before our first kiss, before our first time, and then it never stopped. But you were… you were scary. Feeling love that strong at such a young age– it wasn’t in my plans. I was scared… I was scared of loving you and losing you. It happened before.” 

His parents. 

He loved them unconditionally, he loved them no matter what they did and didn’t do, he loved them and he lost them – they abandoned him and then they forgot about him. 

Your eyes show nothing but pain, your heart breaks, all over again, for him. 

And you’re stunned, so goddamn shocked because that word fell from his lips. Love. He loved you. 

You curl your hand around his, squeezing them tightly as he gets off his car, standing tall before you again. 

“You… still could have–”

“Risked it?” Steve interrupts you, furrowing his brows as he looks down at you. “No… I wasn’t going to risk it. Risk losing you…” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself, “now I see how stupid that was because I lost you anyways.” 

His eyes well up with tears, his voice almost cracks and you finally… finally get to see a glimpse into his heart, how much pain he was always hiding.

“No… I don’t think you lost me.”

“Honey, we haven’t talked in–”

“What you felt for me… Is it… Is it past tense?” 

Steve should see the hope in your eyes, he should hear it in your voice too, but he is so scared, so nervous at this moment. 

Everything he had always been afraid of was losing you because of his feelings and he can’t help but wonder, what if he confesses his love to you now and his saddest fear creeps in and he will lose you for good, forever? 

“Why do you want to know?” He asks, shakily. 

You hold his hands tighter, taking another step closer until you are chest to chest. You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, you look up at him, begging with your eyes, yet again. “Because I deserve to know, Steve, do you still have feelings for me?”

He takes a long pause, feeling like his heart might explode, feeling like the ground might disappear beneath him if he doesn’t finally give you the whole truth. 

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the ones he craved to feel on his own for years, his body aches for you just the way his heart does, desire running deep but love taking full control, driving both his heart and his mind insane over you. He feels the pounding from his chest to his throat, his eyes glossy with tears he shed so many times over you, over his regrets. 

“Yes,” he whispers, already feeling his chest deflating as the pressure slowly sinks away, “like I said, they never stopped.”

Tears spill down yours and his cheeks, his shoulders slump in relief and you, you finally breathe. You sniffle and a giggle falls from your lips, one that makes him furrow his brows but smile because now he can see the happiness in your eyes, the joy from hearing this from him. 

“Oh, thank god,” you whisper and throw your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest, you hug him tightly, catching him off guard. 

It takes him a moment, it takes him a very long moment. 

His glassy eyes are wide, his heart is threatening to break free from his chest. He wanted this, he wanted you for so long, he feels like this is too good to be true but when he feels your tears seeping through his shirt and how you cling to his body, like you are afraid that he might disappear if you let go, he finally relaxes. His eyes close gently, tears spilling down his cheeks, he melts into your touch and curls his arms around you, cupping the back of your head, he holds you closely, tightly. 

“I missed you so much,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head, he gives a first kiss again. 

“I missed you, Stevie,” you murmur into his chest, holding onto his shirt. 

He moves even closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you rise to your tippy toes, wanting to feel more of him, as though he isn’t close enough already, not even when your chest to chest. 

Steve breathes in your scent, the one he used to sink his face into when it still lingered on his pillows, when he longed to feel you in his arms, when he craved you so badly but felt too cowardly to make the move he just made now. 

You cling to one another, like you never have before, not even when he held you during nights you needed him the most, when you were both so convinced that you were nothing more than friends… when just friendship was never something possible between you. 

Steve’s eyes are shut tightly, he is so lost in the feeling of you, feeling so warm, so safe, so loved in your embrace. 

How can his heart race so fast yet feel so… calm? 

You don’t know how much time passes as you stand there in each other’s arms, you are so lost in the moment, you couldn’t care less about anything around you, about the time, about your surroundings, about the world – only you and him matter, nothing more. 

He cups the side of your face when you begin to pull away to look at one another, glossy eyes gazing into each other, lips begging to be connected. His fingers brush through your hair, he tucks your front pieces behind your ears and caresses your cheeks. His hazel eyes flash with adoration. You are so beautiful. It makes his heart clench in his chest.  

You slide your hands up his chest, moving up to his neck and cupping his cheeks, your stomach growing with anticipation the closer you both move to each other. 

No words are spoken, there is no need for them, your eyes tell everything, just like your touch when your lips finally connect. 

Your hearts stop beating, time stops ticking, the world stops moving. 

Everything around you stops. 

Just absolutely everything. 

Your eyes flutter shut, just like his. 

A kiss you both never stopped craving finally happening, not only in your minds, but in reality. 

Steve sighs in contentment, a whimper following close behind, your lips move slowly, softly with each other, you savor each and every second, even when you know that this is only the beginning of it all. 

Nothing and no one could ever compare to this, no one could ever come between you, you are two puzzle pieces, ones that were made for only each other, no one else to match you both. It’s only you and him. Your hearts know, you know, he knows. 

The way he kisses you so gently, so sensually, makes your stomach flip in ways it never did before, not even back then when you shared first and second kisses. 

And Steve, he feels like he is in a dream that he never wants to wake from again, he is too scared to open his eyes and find himself in his lonely bed, surrounded by the scent of you that he only imagines, that forever lingers like a kiss upon his skin. 

But your whimper is real, your lips are real, you are real, your lips taste just like they did before, sweet and peachy, like home. 

You only pull away to catch your breath, smiling when Steve chases your lips with his own, nuzzling his nose against yours as a soft giggle falls from his puffy lips, “god… I missed you, princess.” He murmurs against your lips, knowing that he will keep repeating these words, over and over again, he feels like he has been blessed by the universe. 

Your best friend’s eyes shine so brightly, the love in them that you always craved to see, is so evident, it’s all out in the open now, all in reach, all there for the taking – when not even a few hours ago, you didn’t even know where he was, if he still thought of you, if he still cared for you… 

Tears escape your eyes and he wastes not second to catch them, to wipe them away and kiss your wet cheek. 

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, feeling like his heart might break, knowing that you have suffered just the way he did, when he thought that you moved on, that you had forgotten all about him just like everyone else did when that was never even the case, when all you did was long for him, love him, even from afar. 

“I love you,” he whispers in relief, feeling like the weight of the world is off his shoulders, “I love you so fucking much, you’re my–”

You cup his cheeks and pull him down once again, kissing him deeply. “You.” Kiss. “Don’t.” Kiss. “Know.” Kiss. “How.” Kiss. “Much.” Kiss. “I.” Kiss. “Dreamed.” Kiss. “Of.” Kiss. “This.” Kiss. “Moment.” 

Steve's heart flutters the way it never did before, butterflies go wild in his stomach, his eyes crinkle and he smiles so brightly, his cheeks hurt. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips, “I love you so much, Steve Harrington, you have no idea how much–”

His lips are on yours, pressed against them so strongly as he pulls you into another deep, passionate kiss before you can even finish your sentence. He kisses you in a way no one ever did before. 

His thumbs linger on your cheekbones, his tongue parts your lips so effortlessly, your own clashing against his as the softness of your feelings disappears and transforms into something needy, hungry. This kiss is much faster, much rougher, much more passionate than the first, you get lost in it so quickly. 

When he takes a step back and he sits back down on the hood of his car, he moves his hands down to your waist, pulling you in between his legs. 

Your arms move around his shoulders, your hands get lost in his hair, fingers gripping it tightly as moans escape you. The kiss makes you feel so hot, your stomach burns, your skin feels like it’s on fire as his hands move up and down your back, slipping underneath his jacket that is still around your shoulders, under your shirt and then, he touches your soft skin with his cold hand, something that makes you shiver yet lean closer against him. 

He moans against your lips, he is so intoxicated by you, needing more and more, like you’re his own personal drug. He could keep doing this, he could take you right here, right now. He could taste you, unravel you with his tongue, with his fingers, he could hold your hands and make love to you like he always wanted to, like he hoped he’d get to tonight – because he thought that this might be all he would get, a night with you, only that and no more, because how could you ever want anything more than this with him after all the times he messed up with you? After he let you slip through his fingers like it was nothing?

But this won’t stay a single night, this won’t be one that will haunt him for the rest of his life. 

This will turn into more, so much more. 

He doesn’t want to mess it up again, he wants to take it slow, he wants to give you everything you deserve, everything he craved to give you, all these years, everything he dreamed about, during the day and the night. 

So as much as he wants this, you, your bare skin on his and your whimpers blessing his ears, you deserve more, you deserve to be taken on a date first. 

“Hang on,” he whispers against your lips, cupping your cheeks again, his lips curl into an amused smile when he opens his eyes to see your smudged lipstick that is no doubt on his face now too, your hair a mess just like his own, “I want to… fuck… I want you so bad, I couldn’t stop thinking about this, about you. But I want to take it slow, I-I want to do it right this time, I want to take you on a date and–”

You cut him off with a kiss, once more. Pressing your lips against his plush ones, over and over again until it makes you both giggle. He grabs your waist and pulls you down on his lap, grabbing your cheeks, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Slow is good,” you whisper, caressing his cheek as his fingers run up and down your spine underneath the denim jacket. “I like slow.”

“Yeah?” He smiles.

You nod, though an almost sad smile makes its way on your lips, “you know, I kinda thought you forgot about me until all of this.” You wave your hand around, wiping at your wet cheek as a soft laugh tumbles from your lips. 

You weren’t the only one who stopped calling, who stopped sending letters, he did too, but not for the reasons you thought, clearly. 

A deep frown appears on his face, he tightens his hold on you, raising his hand up towards your face, he cups your cheek. Despite everything he just said, despite the kiss, you still don’t understand just how deep his feelings for you are, how his heart isn’t even his own because it is completely, devotedly yours. 

“I could never forget you,” he whispers with a sad smile on his face, “you’re all I ever think about, now and then, even when we were kids, even when I was… King Steve,” he rolls his eyes at the nickname he used to be so proud of. “You never once left my mind, not once.” 

The smile that makes his way to your lips makes his heart skip a beat, he kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger for a moment. 

“So please, let me make it right, let me fix everything… go on a date with me?” He asks with nothing but hope in giddiness in his voice. 

You squint your eyes and tilt your head, giving him a teasing smile as you pretend to think but his soft eyes make your teasing an impossible task at this moment, you wipe the lipstick off his mouth and nuzzle your nose back against his. 

“I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie,” you whisper, feeling your heart burst from joy and love. 

The one thing you always wanted, you always craved now finally happening, at a moment when you least expected it. 

Coming back home made you so nervous, knowing that you would see him again after all this time of being apart, knowing that your feelings will only continue to grow, no matter the tie between you, filled you with a sense of… dread, because you couldn’t help but wonder – does he even want to see you? 

But, to find out that he had spent every passing moment, thinking about you, about your past, wanting you back and willing you to come running back into his arms lights up everything inside you again – flames you have tried to put out, burning stronger than ever. 

Steve’s eyes well up with tears of joy again, he cups the back of your neck, his lips brush against yours, he can’t even describe his feelings with words, so he doesn’t even try, but he shows you the happiness you brought back into his life, the happiness that was just gone when you were… gone. He kisses you, once, twice… He keeps kissing you, over and over again, unable to stop himself from going back in for more, consumed by love, by gratitude and happiness to know that you came back. 

To know that you won’t haunt his what if’s. 

He won’t chase your shadows wherever he will go. 

Your scent won’t linger from just his memory alone. 

He waited and waited, and he let the lamp burn and now… now you are here, you came back, you came back to him. 

Here, at the lookout where you used to sit on your saddest days, you find your way back to one another again. 

As you embrace the future written for you, you know that the rings on your fingers won't only be imaginary ones like the ones from your childhood. 

[rafelandia]

In the Middle of the Night (Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, little bit of cum play, unprotected sex

Summary: Rafe can't sleep. Luckily, the antidote to his ailment is laying in bed right next to him.

Author's Note: I can't stop thinking about Rafe waking Y/N up in the middle of the night for sex. I am addicted to the trope of Rafe being an asshole to everyone except his girl, but this is more of a soft!Rafe moment than anything. If you enjoy, please give a like or reblog. And any requests for blurbs/one shots/etc. are always welcome in my inbox!

Before Y/N came along, there were many ways in which Rafe would conquer the restlessness that crept up on him in the middle of the night. He would go for a run on the beach with nothing but the moonlight to guide him, hunker down in his home office and crunch numbers, read a few chapters in his current favorite non-fiction. There were dozens of outlets Rafe had conditioned himself to do when he just couldn’t fall asleep despite knowing that he should. He was older now and staying up all night like he would as a teenager just wasn’t good for him in any capacity anymore.

All of these outlets, but they suddenly went out of the window when he met Y/N. She was unlike any other woman he had ever been with or even met before, but he supposed that’s how it always was when you were in love with someone. He swore he could stare at her features for forever, that she was more intoxicating than any substance or drink. But looking at her in the glimmering moonlight that shone through the cracked shades was not what put him to bed whenever that frustrating feeling of not being able to close his eyes came insidiously creeping into his head.

There was something about the way her hair was mussed about her head like a halo around her pillow, or maybe it was the way that she was sleeping on her stomach so that the swell of her breast peaked through the comforter. Either way, Rafe couldn’t help but feel his boxers growing tighter the longer he traced his eyes over the shape of her sleeping body next to his.

He slid his body over towards her, turning her and wrapping his arms around her body so that his front was flush with her backside. Warmth radiated from her sleeping form and his hands found their way to her breasts. Rafe began gently kneading them in aim to draw her from her slumber, but the most he got out of her was a shift in her bum on the mattress. A low rumble escaped from his chest at the way she unknowingly ground herself against his cock.

His next attempt was to go for her neck. Rafe always teased her for being so sensitive there but at the same time, there was nothing more that he loved than feeling her turn to putty in his hands when his lips roamed about the column of her throat. He started nipping at her skin with his plush, pink lips, just barely meeting his skin with hers. Goosebumps raised in response to his touch as his kisses grew sloppier. It was when he’d hit her sweet spot with his tongue that he heard the sound he’d been searching for. Rafe swears he’s never heard anything more heavenly in his entire life, that soft, half-moan half-groan that fell from her parted lips. It brought his neediness to the forefront.

“Baby,” Rafe grumbled against the crook of her neck, tickling her with his outgrown stubble.

Amidst her hazy state she was able to hum back at him, though it sounded once more like a broken moan.

“Need you to wake up,” he hoarsely whispered as he began working himself against her backside, slowly but surely rutting his hips into the skin of her bum to ease some of the tension that had built up in his cock.

He couldn’t see the way the corners of her lips turned up knowingly. She was no stranger to this Rafe, the Rafe that woke her in the middle of the night with an itch that he just couldn’t seem to scratch. It was almost comical to her, the way that he’d do just about everything in the book besides coming right out and telling her that he was in the mood. Sometimes, she’d tease him and pretend to be asleep longer than she actually was before turning over and giving him what he wanted, but not tonight. Unbeknownst to Rafe, he had stirred her from quite the dream, so there was no need to dance around the ledge this time.

With a sigh, she resituated herself in the bed, turning in Rafe's arms so that their faces sat mere inches from each other.

“Hi,” she sang through her sleep-ridden voice.

“Hi,” Rafe repeated back to her in the same groggy tone. "Can't sleep?" she asked, a tinge of playfulness in her voice.

He gave no response - just a lazy smirk in return. Even in the darkness, Y/N noticed a flush rising up his neck and cheeks. He'd been caught.

“Need some help?” she quirked her brow and gestured downwards to the tent in his boxers.

“Maybe,” he answered with a sleepy chuckle.

She knocked him on his back so that she was straddling his waist and sitting on his now painfully hard cock; the feathered duvet now pooled at their knees. Rafe hissed at the commotion, but the feeling soon turned to bliss when her hands snuck into the waistband of his boxers and she took his length in her fingers. It felt heavy in her grip as she smeared the silky beads of precum along his tip, coating him in preparation to make home within her tight, warm walls.

“I was dreamin’ about you,” she spoke lowly as she gently twisted her wrist around his cock, reveling in the way Rafe's brows were furrowing together in response to her touch.

“Yeah?” he jested.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, “We were kinda like how we are now. But this is much better,” she finished with a tantilizing pump of her hand.

Rafe's hips jutted into her fist, wanting more than just her teasing touches. It almost made her laugh aloud, how needy he could be in the middle of the night like this. She wanted him just as much, only due to her still-drowsy state, she was able to control it.

She leaned down and laid her body flush with Rafe's as she kissed him for the first time since he’d woke her. They tasted of the remnants of their minty toothpaste and mostly of morning breath, but that was the furthest thing from their minds. Rafe held her close to him as his tongue slipped between her lips, aching to get her going as quickly as he could. His arms slid under the ratty Kildare High School t-shirt of his that she slept in so he could lift it off of her frame, breaking the kiss for only a fraction of a second before they were intertwined again.

Once her chest was free of clothing, Rafe ran his hands along the sides of her breasts and spine, chilling her skin with his cold hands. He ducked his head down to kiss the center of her chest and then outwards to her wrap his plump lips around her erect nipples. Those velvety, smooth sighs of hers turned into the moans that Rafe adored oh-so dearly. Y/N began to feel the wetness from her core pool at the front of her panties. One of her hands cradled his neck, snugly but not tightly as she kissed him, but she was able to move the other down to grip his cock in her digits once more.

“Y/N," Rafe pleaded, his hazy, hungry eyes peering up at her. He needed her to do something, anything before he lost his whits.

She locked eyes with Rafe as she sank down slowly, splitting herself on top of him. Rafe always swore that the way the wrinkle between her brows reared itself and her lips parted just slightly when she first felt his cock first enter her was by far his favorite face of hers. Well, his second favorite, apart from the face she made when she came, he supposed. He gripped onto her hips tightly as she lowered herself fully onto him, exhaling a sigh of relief when she made it all of the way down to the base of his cock.

They soon found their rhythm, Y/n bouncing and rolling her hips against his while they chased their highs. Her early morning sensitivity caused her to melt in Rafe's arms with the way his tip was able to brush against all of the sweetest spots that made her eyes roll back into her head and a shiver run down her spine.

All that was heard in the otherwise silent room were sounds of wet skin meeting harshly each time she pushed herself back onto Rafe. Their lips chased each other in between thrusts, eager to be as close to each other as they possibly could. Sweat pooled in the dip of her back and in the grooves of Rafe's toned stomach, the two of them yearning to reach their ends.

Y/n's bouncing soon turned to lazy, barely motivated rocking as she found herself almost physically unable to continue. The tendons in her thighs were screaming for relief and the heat that surrounded her made her feel like she was trapped in a sauna. She could feel herself right there, right on the brink of getting to where she needed to be, but she was growing frustrated that she wouldn't be able to get them both there on her own.

“Rafe,” Y/N whined as she gripped both of Rafe's shoulders tightly, knuckles growing white from the hold she had on them.

He sensed her weariness, but he was waiting to see how long it would take her to beg for him to take control of the two of them.

She raised her eyes from being buried in Rafe's neck to look at him.

“Please,” she moaned.

“I've got you, baby,” he huffed, barely able to spit the words out between each manual breath.

With one fluid motion, he had her flipped over onto her back and plunged back into her soaking cunt once more. Y/N cried out at the new angle of Rafe on top of her, watching his dainty, silver chain dangle inches away from her face.

“Gonna make me cum if you keep looking at me like that," Rafe muttered into her ear as he mouthed against her neck, “You gonna cum for me first though. Right angel?”

He continued to drill his cock into her heat, each time brushing against the spongey part of her walls that made her thighs shake and reflexively want to close. Rafe caught wind of her trembling and forced her legs open with one of his strong, veiny hands, pressing it even deeper into her chest with his other arm pressed deep into the mattress to balance his body on top of hers. Their stomachs brushed against each other with every thrust, only adding to the overwhelming sensations that they were both feeling.

“Your pussy's so perfect. Like it was made for me," Rafe moaned. "Gonna fuck you like this every night for the rest of my life."

His words of encouragement took her right back to where she was before, right at the brink of breaking. Her moans went up an octave and Rafe could tell by the way she had started to clench around him that she wasn’t going to last much longer. He knew for certain that with the way that her cunt was so expertly gripping his cock that he wasn’t that far behind her.

"Need you to cum, baby. Need to feel it," Rafe was nearing his breaking point, but knew he couldn't be satisfied without feeling her clench around him first.

Unable to speak due to the way he was pounding into her, Y/N gripped Rafe's shoulders even harder than he was fucking her in response. This made Rafe cockily smile and only pushed him to fuck her more fervently and deeper. His hips would certainly leave light purple bruises on hers come morning.

Her release sprung on her quickly, her walls spasming around Rafe's thick, pulsing cock. Y/N let out a sound akin to a high-pitched whine blended perfectly with a scream - it was so beautiful to him. Her orgasm came so suddenly that it caught Rafe off guard as well; he had but mere moments before he found himself filling her up with his warm, milky seed. It was so sudden and intense that it seeped out from around his cock and onto the plush, silky sheets.

They rode it out together, Rafe pumping into her slower and sloppier than just minutes before. Y/N was becoming overwhelmed with the sensation and he was quick to pick up on it. Rafe pulled out slowly, watching Y/N wince as her now-swollen heat contracted around nothing but emptiness. He ran his fingers along her pussy, collecting her wetness and his cum on his digits before gently pressing the mixture back into her core. She hissed at the feeling of him inside of her again and it made Rafe's dick twitch. He could easily go again, but he knew that she couldn't. It was intoxicating to watch her squirm. Next time he thought to himself. He loved to drive her crazy.

They both laid there, Rafe resting his full weight on top of her while they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeats return back to their resting rate. She twiddled with the clasp of Rafe's chain while he pecked soft kisses on her sweat-slick breast with his lips.

"I love you," Y/N sighed, her eyes beginning to close as she teetered the line of consciousness.

"I love you, too," Rafe was just as exhausted as she was. Finally.

When they regained their bearings, Rafe reached across the bed for the shirt he’d pulled off of her body. With caring hands, he cleaned the two of them, tossing the soiled garment somewhere off into the floor to be dealt with in the morning.

“Thank you,” Rafe mumbled into her skin as he crawled back into the covers with her and pulled her into his arms once more.

“Anytime,” she laughed, still somewhat out of breath.

“But will you please go to sleep now? You have a presentation in the morning and you only wake me up to fuck when you can’t sleep so I’m assuming you’ve been awake this whole time,” she sounded like a parent talking to Rafe, which while he would never admit, he adored.

She felt Rafe's laugh reverberate off her chest and shake her body, to which he then promised her he’d be good and go to bed.

Rafe could go on midnight runs and read as much as he could, but nothing could put him to sleep as easily as this.