#i was SO hesitant but unfortunately i get it now

[darkbluekies]

GOLDEN TRIAL PT2: A slippery slope

Part 1

Yandere!mafia x yandere!female!mafia x female!yandere x yandere!king x yandere!doctor x male!detective!reader

Summary: after your adventure on Normandie, you've been dealing with the consequences of the horror. Unfortunately, you start to realize that you might not be the person you think you are. It doesn't help when a certain doctor finds you again.

Warnings: lingering head trauma, identity crisis, kidnapping, mocking, dog collar (lol), syringes/drugs, forced tattooing,

Word count: 9.3k

You get off the subway in silence and push your way through the crowd, walk up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Blinking, you try to fix your blurry vision. Sometimes, even though it’s been three months since you were hit on the head with a glass bottle, you’re reminded of the events on board the liner Normandie. You had been running around over two days before going to the hospital about the blow to your head. It seems to have been too late. What could have been brushed off with some bandage and disinfection had now given you minor problems you are dealing with daily. Not enough to hurt or bother, but enough for your agency to hesitate sending you out on missions. 

These last months have been weird, to say the least. Not only have you been forced to take a break from your job, you have been lonely. So very lonely. You haven’t done anything and the only time you’ve went outside the door is when you go to your doctor’s appointments and when buying food. After the ominous note you got, you have been careful about going outside, scared that you will meet them again. How long will your life be forced to be like this? Maybe you should leave New York and start over somewhere new, where you can live a normal life. No more detective work, no more hiding, no more … fear. Perhaps a farm on the west coast? 

You open the door to the private hospital. It’s located in a house no other than any of the other houses on the street. The first time you were here, you thought that you had been given the wrong address and waked into someone’s private house. Quietly you walk into the reception. The young woman behind the desk has always been friendly. Her sparkly blue eyes and chestnut hair remind you of a squirrel.  

“Good morning”, the receptionist smiles at you. “Name?”

“Y/N L/N”, you say. “I’m here for a revisit at eleven am.”

“Ah, yes, I remember you. Your doctor is currently on sick leave, so there will be another doctor taking care of you today. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Take a seat and the doctor will see you in a moment.”

“Okay, thank you.”

You sit down in one of the wooden chairs. The clock on the wall ticks like a doomsday clock. You can’t help but shiver. 

Your eyes wander in the small room. A mother with her young son, a father with his daughter, an old couple. And you, alone. There’s paintings on the walls, as if to distract one from the horror they might have to partake in when they step through one of the three doors on the right hand side of the room. 

You’re not sure why you’re here. You have been going to this doctor for three months and all he’s done is to confirm that you do, indeed, have head trauma. As if you couldn’t figure that part out for yourself. Sometimes you wonder if you still have shards of glass stuck in your head. 

“The doctor will see you now, Mister Y/N”, the receptionist suddenly says. “It’s the middle door.”

You stand up and walk over to the doors on the other side of the room, opening the middle one. Behind the desk, a man sits. He looks up at you and you can feel your heart stop, and so does the clock. For a second, you wonder if it’s one of the side effects from the glass bottle, but you can still hear your heart pound loudly in your chest. He’s trying to hide a smile, trying so hard to make it look like you’ve never met before. What do you do? Do you close the door behind you and get into his office or do you make a scene and get away? Your hand still holds onto the door handle behind you. 

“Close the door, if you don’t mind”, Doctor Kry says and raises his eyebrows testingly when you flinch back. “Don’t even think about it. Close the door.”

With a frustrated sigh, you close it, but remain by the wall. 

“I figure that you’re not going to sit down”, Doctor Kry says and rises from his chair. 

“Don’t come closer”, you say quickly. “I will make a scene.”

“I’m fine with that. Easier for me to get you into a lunatic asylum.”

You freeze. 

“Your usual doctor is on sick leave, so I’m here today”, Doctor Kry continues as if the prior conversation never happened. “I hope that is fine with you.”

“I am not comfortable with having you anywhere near me”, you spit. “How did you even know that I went here?”

Doctor Kry leans back against his desk with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t take the credit for that, unfortunately. It was my dear friend miss Carter who managed to find you.”

“Hedwig?”

“Yeah. Who knew that a young heiress with a phenomenally large contact net and money would be able to find someone like you. Unbelievable.”

You don’t give in to his joke. 

“Sit down, Y/N”, Doctor Kry says and pulls out the chair for you, “or I will get you dragged out of here in a straightjacket.”

Involuntarily you sit down in his chair. Doctor Kry walks around you and you follow him in the corner of your eye. 

“I read your report”, Doctor Kry says. “Trauma to the head? What happened?”

“You fucking know”, you spit.

“Oh, right.”

You want to slap that smirk off of his face. He continues to smile as he puts on his gloves. 

“Let’s get it under control”, Doctor Kry says and takes your head in his hands. 

You flinch, silently praying that he won’t twist your neck and break it. 

“Don’t touch my neck”, you say. 

“How else am I going to treat you?” Doctor Kry scoffs. 

You start to wonder if he’s messing with you when he’s just touching around. He’s too close to your neck, he could snap it. 

“Can you hurry up?” The words just slip out, before you have the time to shut your mouth. 

To your horror, he chuckles. You freeze in your seat. 

“Why did you go so stiff all of a sudden?” Doctor Kry asks smugly, grabbing your shoulders. “Are you scared that I’m going to hurt you, Golden Boy?”

The familiar pet name sends a wave of nausea through your body. You feel how every hair on your body stands on edge. Terrified to meet his blue eyes, you concentrate on a point on the wall where it looks like a small bug has landed. 

“You threatened me with a tranquilizer”, you breathe out. “You could have helped me with my head that night — you’re a doctor — but you didn’t. You could have prevented me from coming here.”

“I could have”, Doctor Kry says. “But why would I? Remember what I told you? I’ve never said that I was nice.”

You stand up, shaking off his hands. 

“We’re done here”, you decide and start to move towards the door. 

“Alright, I suppose so”, Doctor Kry says. 

You grab the door handle with your shaking hand and open it forcefully. 

“I guess that I will see you soon, Y/N”, you hear his voice say behind you. “Can’t let a patient go before they’re healed, now can I?”

You ignore him. Stumbling on trembling legs, you pass the patients in the waiting room, struggle past the receptionist and out of the house. You throw up in the nearest bush.

For a few moments, the world has gone silent again. You can hear your heart thumping in your ear, feel every nerve in your body beat alongside it and you have to sit down on a nearby bench to collect your spinning head. That eerie feeling you had on board the Normandie returns … as if you’re being watched. You look around in a dizzy, blurry haze. Everyone looked like each other. Anyone could be them. If Kry had found you, what says that the others aren’t around the corner?

Going home feels wrong. What if they follow you and see where you live? Where do you go? What do you do? 

Your numb legs take you to a nearby telephone booth. With shaking fingers you call your boss and tell him about the incident. 

“You told me that I’d be safe!” you shout. “I knew that it would end like this! I knew that this would happen!”

“Y/N-”

“If I die, it’s your fucking fault, okay? You sent me out on that ship alone and now I have to deal with the consequences of your choices!”

You throw the telephone back in its hold and scream in frustration. The sound doesn’t escape the little telephone booth, which is probably for the best. You don't want to go to that mental asylum Doctor Kry threatened with.

You stand still for a few seconds, breathing heavily. You feel like crying.

The coming days can't be described as anything less than torture. You look over your shoulder for every step you take, flinch at every sound. Just as paranoid as on board the ship. Those four days will haunt you for the rest of your life … and the ones who caused it will hunt you until you're in their claws.

To calm your nerves, you've had to drink strong whiskey. Nothing else seems to work. Should you leave the country? You shiver. The thought of stepping aboard another ship again makes your skin crawl. You take another sip of the whiskey. It doesn't burn anymore.

The world started to blend together in blurry waves ages ago. It's starting to shift into black. Finally you're going to fall asleep and not have to worry about anything in this world. You’ll be safe in dreamland. 

A small sound reaches your drowsy ears, but you’re too far off to react in time, almost as if you’re drugged. The door opens slowly and a dark figure enters. Everything is fuzzy. The person says something, but you can’t hear it. A cloudy wall separates you from you and whoever has broken into your apartment. A cloud which quickly turns everything black.

When you wake up again, you feel every muscle in your body pulsating, hurting and a nauseating feeling roars in your body. You’re lying on a couch in what looks like a warehouse … or a basement. 

“He’s awake!” a familiar voice gasps. 

Hedwig jumps up from a chair right by your head and waves for someone to come over. You hear the sound of people move closer. You try to pull yourself up on your elbows. 

“You son of a bitch, Y/N”, you hear Silas say, a clear smirk in his taunting voice. “You thought that you could get away. How naive!”

“I want to put it on”, Jerry says and takes something from Edmund’s hands.

“Fuck sake, Jerry!” he hisses and pulls his hand quickly away. “I've told you to trim those nails!”

Jerry doesn't bother to answer. She walks over to you and slips something around your neck. You're too dizzy to realize what it is before it is too late. A collar and a leash. Like a dog. Just like they had promised.

“What an obedient dog”, she snickers. “Letting me put it on without protests.”

She tugs on the leash, causing your head to rip forward. The air in your throat gets abruptly cut off. Their laughter feels your aching head.

“Golden boy deserves a treat”, Edmund smirks and holds a piece of chocolate to your lips.

You turn your head away.

“Don't touch me!” you cough.

“A little too late for that”, Doctor Kry says and shrugs. “How do you think we got you here?”

You try to get up from the couch. Nausea roars through your body. Jerry pulls the leash towards her. You stumble before falling down on your knees, catching yourself with your hands on the hard cement.

“Just face it”, she says cockily. “You're too hungover to overpower us, and once you're sober enough you will already be broken. Don't bother to try anything. Hm, maybe he should stay on his knees, or what do you all think?”

“Stop fucking around”, Edmund sighs in annoyance and grabs the leash out of her hands, pulling harshly. “Stand up.”

It's on shaking legs that you manage to get on your feet. You're the same height as the king, but feel unbelievably inferior. Is it the collar around your neck, the degrading look in his eyes or the fact that you know what they're capable of that makes you terrified? You can't meet their eyes.

“This is humiliating, can you stop?” you hear Hedwig asks.

She's standing on the far end of their little line, a few steps away from them, with her arms hugging herself. Disgust covers her face.

“I feel nauseous just watching it”, she mutters. 

“Don't worry, Hedwig, we're just playing with him”, Silas smiles and ruffles your hair with his hand. “We're not hurting him.”

“Hedwig shouldn't take him”, Edmund says. “I don't trust him.”

“What do you want?” you ask, trying your best not to sound like a pathetic little puppy.

“What did you do with the list of names?” Silas asks. “The one behind the painting.”

“And where is my fucking painting?” Edmund asks.

“The painting, I don't know”, you say and meet Silas black eyes. “Your list was hidden on board the ship, but my contacts have found it. They're on the way to arrest everyone on your list.”

“Oh, are they now?” he asks deadly calmly. “And I suppose that you are still their shining Golden Boy thanks to that?”

You lower your eyes.

“Or did someone get put on an indefinite hiatus because they're a security risk?” Silas continues, moving closer, tugging ever so carefully on the leash. “Are you sure that you're their favorite? You never seem to have much protection, despite the threat against you. Don't worry, Golden Boy, we will make sure nothing ever reaches you. We will make sure you stay hidden.”

“If they don't want to give us our note, we won't give them their darling dearest”, Jerry says, shrugging.

You feel a lump in your stomach. Your contacts will never give over the note … and in that case they'll never give you. Wonderful.

A tug on the leash brings you back to reality. 

“It's healing quite nicely, don't you think?” Jerry asks, tilting her head to get a better view of the back of your neck.

“It's still fresh, it's nowhere near healing”, Doctor Kry says with his monotone voice, arms crossed over his chest.

Their eyes turn to your neck and you gulp, realizing that part of the pain isn't coming from your head, but from the back of your neck, easily mistaken as the brainstem. You lift your hand and try to touch whatever is hurting you. Hedwig picks up a pocket mirror from her pocket and hand it to you. You’re in disbelief when you see black marks on your skin, drawn in a strange symbol you have never seen before. The skin is swollen and tender to the touch. 

“What is this?” you question in pure fear. 

“We told you that you would be tattooed, didn’t we?” Silas smiles. “That tattoo is the symbol of my group. It’s somewhat of a trademark. Everyone who sees you will know that you belong to me.”

“I hate that you are the only one getting associated”, Edmund mutters. 

“Well, I am the only one with a symbol, aren’t I?”

“You are so self centered.” Edmund puts his hand on Hedwig’s shoulder. “As if we haven’t got one?”

“‘Self centered’, you absolute hypocrite”, Jerry scoffs. 

“I did not consent to this!” you shout angrily. “How could you just tattoo me when I wasn’t even conscious?!”

“It was pretty easy since you were, as you said, ‘not even conscious’”, Silas smiles teasingly. 

“Enough of this foolishness”, Doctor Kry cuts in. “We have things to do. The train leaves tomorrow morning and we still have things to do.”

Train? 

“Give the poor boy some food and make sure he sleeps”, Silas says. “It’ll be a long day for him tomorrow.”

They start to move towards the stairs of the basement, all but Hedwig who have went upstairs to get you a plate and Edmund — the man who’s holding the leash. 

“You don’t have to be here”, she says. “I can take care of him myself.”

“I don’t trust him”, Edmund mutters angrily and wraps more of the leash around his hand. “He knocked Jerry over when she was guarding him and — fuck it — she is tougher than you. I am not letting him anywhere near you alone.”

“Can you at least let go of the leash?” Hedwig asks. 

Edmund lets it go with great dramatic effect. You sit down on the couch with a thumping heartbeat. Hedwig sits down beside you, turning towards you. Edmund stands behind her, towering over the young woman like a giant, glaring at you. It reminds you of a lioness behind their cub. 

“Are you hungry?” Hedwig asks and looks down at the plate. “I’ve watched my maid cook ever since I was a little child but I don’t have much experience with it myself so I apologize if it isn’t the best.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“Then some sleep will do you good.”

“What train did he talk about? I’m not going on some train!”

“You are”, Edmund says, “and you’re doing it tomorrow morning. In a box.”

You look at him, baffled. “What?”

He looks at you with mockery in his icy blue eyes. “Nobody told you? You’re getting a first class ticket. I heard that they make those wooden boxes are quite comfortable nowadays.”

“I’m not going in some fucking box!”

You stand up in a swift, aggressive motion. Not only will they bring you onto a train going to who-knows-where, but they’re also stuffing you in a trunk? No shame. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“My father has a house on the coast, by the beach”, Hedwig replies. “You’ll like it. Hey, If you’re not going to eat, then will you please go to sleep?” 

“I will not be able to sleep. If I have to drink myself to black out, do you really think I will be able to fall asleep here?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You don’t want to see a sympathetic look from her. It’s their fault, after all. They took everything from you … and now she’s looking at you as if she’s pitying you. 

You refuse to sleep, refuse to even sit on the couch. It doesn't take long before the door to the basement stairs open and the sound of footsteps fill the air. You look up, seeing Doctor Kry walk down. In his hand, he holds a transparent syringe.

“I suppose that you are familiar with this”, he says and looks at the needle. “I thought that it was finally time for you to get acquainted with it.”

“Don't come close”, you warn him.

He's quicker than you've anticipated. Before you know it, you're tackled onto the hard floor. It knocks the air out of your lungs. Doctor Kry is stronger than you could have imagined. He doesn't look muscular underneath his clothes, and he probably isn't as muscular as Silas, but he is strong with firm grips. You try your best to fight against the needle coming closer to your neck.

“Goodnight, Golden Boy”, Doctor Kry says and finally punctures your neck with the sharp end of the needle.

He gets off of you immediately and you try to get up and run. You manage to get a few steps forward before your legs give up and you fall down on your knees. You start to lose your hearing, and your sight start to darken. Doctor Kry grabs your shoulders and pull you over to the couch. The last thing you see before it all turns back is his blue eyes staring down at you.

You’re not sure if you have opened your eyes. You try to shut them tight, then open them again. It’s just as dark. Your knees are pressed to your chin, arms folded over your chest. Panic rises in your body, suddenly feeling every single cell of your body and what it touches. Painfully aware that you’re squashed together in a wooden box. 

“Let me out!” you shout and try to bang on the walls, floor and ceiling. 

A harsh slap on the side of the box makes you flinch. 

“Shut the fuck up”, Silas voice hisses through gritted teeth, shocking you for being too close. “Do not make a single sound, whatever you do.”

You breathe heavily and crawl together. For these past months, you’ve felt scared … but never like this. The only thing you can compare it to is that morning when you ran around the Normandie with the painting tucked under your arm. Your heart has never beaten that quickly before. And here you are now, in a wooden box with a dog collar around your throat and a tattoo in the back of your neck. The leash is gone.

They won’t kill you before they have gotten the list, right?

You hear men's voices and suddenly the box jerks. Your head slams against the side and you groan, quickly biting your lip to avoid making sound. Silas will probably punch you if you disobey his command. You form fists. 

Whoever is handling the box does not care for it. It seems to go back and forth, up and down, with you hitting your head with every jerking motion. 

Finally, finally, it stops. The moving, the sound, everything stops. You breathe out, listening. Where are you? Can you get out of the box? You try to push the top of the box, but it won’t budge. Neither will the walls. With a frustrated yell, you kick and then, in defeat, sink down again. 

Silence keeps you company for what feels like ages. Suddenly, the ground under you start to shake and move. You gasp. The train!

It takes a while before the top of the box is moved. Bright light hits your eyes and you squint. 

“Good morning”, Silas smiles and pulls you up from the box. 

Your muscles are stiff and aching, popping when you try to move. Your legs threaten to give out. 

“Ouch …”, you moan. 

“Did you have a nice time?” Jerry smiles and claps your back. 

You look around, blurry eyes being met by a cargo hold. Silas and Jerry are the only ones here. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, stressed. 

“What do you mean?” Jerry wonders.

“What do you want? Why am I out?”

“Did you think that you were going to spend the entire trip in the box?” Silas asks. 

“Edmund said-”

“And you believe a single word that stuck up manchild says?” Jerry scoffs and grabs your arm. “Come now.”

They take you out of the cargo hold and into a thin corridor. Running along your left are cabins and to your right are windows. Silas opens a door and directs you inside the cabin. It’s a suite, and a gorgeous one a that. A king sized bed, couches, big windows, drapes and your own bathroom. Hedwig and Edmund sits on the couch doctor Kry is leaning against the window. Behind him, America swooshes past. 

“Here he is”, Jerry says.

“What’s going on?” you stutter. “What do you want?”

“We are not going to let you be alone in cargo hold”, Silas says. “We are not monsters.”

I have other opinions.

“We’ve decided that you are going to be by our sides so that we can keep an eye on you”, Hedwig says and smiles. “If you are in the cargo hold you could die.”

“You’re not going to wear the leash because that will cause people to be suspicious”, Doctor Kry says. “Yes, we are not the only ones on this train.”

“You will not talk to any of them”, Jerry says. 

“You will stay here in my cabin”, Silas says. “My second in command will be in Jerry’s cabin, so don’t think that you can do anything towards me. He’ll be just on the other side of the wall.”

Why does he have to be here too? 

Everyone leaves the suite but Silas. You sink down on the bed with your head in your hands. 

“Why do you do this?” you groan.

Silas sits down beside you. “You did this to yourself”, he says, voice weirdly calm. “You put your nose into the wrong business, knowing that it could put your life in danger.”

“It was my job.”

Was. 

“I still don’t understand why they sent you on that ship without backup … or any kind of protection at all besides that pitiful gun. Almost like they wanted you to get caught.” Silas furrows his dark brows and looks at you, unreadable hint in his black eyes. “Are you even sure if they liked you at all?”

This has to be some kind of scare-tactic. Don’t fall for it.

“Of course they did”, you mumble. “I had a high position, a good salary … they liked me. They did.”

“Are you saying that to reassure me or you?”

Silas stands up and breathes out. 

“Let’s go eat lunch, I’m starving”, he says. “You must be hungry too, I heard from Hedwig that you didn’t eat dinner last night. Come now.”

Silas walks out of the room, holding the door open out to the corridor. His words ring in your mind. Who are you trying to reassure?

“I’m not waiting all day”, Silas calls out. “You’re not getting lunch if you stay in there.”

You hurry to stand up and follow him out to the corridor, having to pass him on the way. The thin corridor is big enough for one of you. He walks closely behind you, peering over your shoulder. You’re led into a restaurant car with tables of four, each having seats instead of tables. The carriage is divided in two with a with a glass wall with open space where a door normally sits. Silas chooses one of these seats. 

“Sit down”, he says. “Now. By the window.”

You give him a questionable look before sitting down in the seat closest to the window. Silas sits down beside you, blocking your escape to the middle aisle. His second in command is already sitting by the table in the seat in front of you. Silas holds three menus laying on the set table in front of you, giving you one. 

“Choose what you want”, he says. “I have money.”

“I don’t doubt that”, you mumble. “With your dirty businesses you must make a lot of money?”

Silas scoffs, but there’s a small smile tugging on his lips. “More than you can imagine, Golden Boy.”

You start to look through the menu for things you like. You are, indeed, starving and head for a grilled salmon while Silas chooses a medium rare steak. When a servant is taking your orders, you look out the big window at the blurry obstacles whooshing by. Where are they taking you? You’re not leaving much, but you can’t bring yourself to start over. New York is not for you, not anymore, but you don’t want them to force you to leave your home. What will they do to you? You can’t give them the painting, you don’t know where it is anymore, and you don’t have the list of criminal names. You’re not sure that you will be able to be switched with it. You don’t have anything to offer them, but yourself … but why would they want you? 

“Pretty quiet today, huh?” Silas says. “You usually quite quick-witted.”

You pull your eyes away from the window and look at him. It’s almost comical, how a secret agent is having lunch with a mafia leader and his second in command. You have done it before, but under much different circumstances. 

“I don't have much to say”, you answer shortly. 

Everything in your body is hurting, which isn’t weird since you’ve spent the night crammed into a wooden box. Your broken head is not a help.

Silas converses with his second in command — a man you haven’t heard talk more than necessary. 

The food is served by a servant in a spotless tuxedo and slicked back hair. You thank him. It'd be so easy to let the words slip out of your mouth. A simple ‘help me’. The words are soft and rounded, it wouldn't be hard to pronounce them, but the fact that Silas and his second in command are sitting right here makes it impossible. The words are so simple. But as soon as he arrives, he disappears. 

“I've heard that the food on board is tasty, it better be”, Silas jokes and his second in command chuckles quietly.

He has gotten beef with grilled asparagus. You pick up your knife and fork and start to eat in silence. Silas is right, it’s delicious. Better than any of the food you have aten these last few months. It makes you guilty for enjoying it. 

“I have some rules, Golden Boy”, Silas says from beside you. 

You look at him. You are not a Golden Boy. He said that himself. Silas meets your eyes. 

“If you disobey us”, Silas starts, “by either trying to talk to someone, or come up with some stupid idea to get off the train, I will handcuff you to me, got that?”

Imagining being handcuffed to him, forced to join his every step, not have a single second to yourself is enough to make you shiver. 

“Yeah”, you reply shortly. “I understand.”

You let your eyes wander through the restaurant car, at the other passengers sitting and enjoying their meals. An older man is reading the newspaper while enjoying a bowl of soup, a mother and daughter pair are eating cheeses while chatting. How many on this train belong to Silas? He wouldn’t travel with only one man.

“I’m thinking about getting another car”, Silas smiles at his second in command and shoots a fork full of steak to his lips. “Any tips of a model?”

“One of those Ford models”, he replies. “It was good enough for Bonnie and Clyde.”

The news of the infamous couple’s death broke out in May last year. Some colleagues had been working on that case, from what you remember. For years. 

“I’m not Bonnie and Clyde”, Silas says and smiles. “But I’m a bit jealous of them. Imagine having a partner in crime like that. I mean, more than just a brother in arms, a love partner. Or what do you say, Golden Boy?”

You look up from your plate. Your vision has started to blur again. 

“Don’t you want a love partner, hm?” Silas asks, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “Someone to back you up when needed?”

“I don’t want to answer personal questions.”

He exchanges a look with his second in command before smiling into his plate. “You’re shy, I see. Didn’t know that you were so cute.”

You ignore him. 

When lunch is done, Silas decides that it’s time for you to get back to the cabin. You get up, from your seat and scootch out into the middle aisle. You’re not sure if it is the moving of the carriage or your balance that causes you to stumble. Silas catches you by the arm. 

“That wine you had with lunch didn’t make you drunk, did it?” he asks. 

“No”, you reply and gulp. “It’s my head.”

“I see.”

You’re sure that it isn’t meant for you, but you can see how Silas gives his second in command a murderous look. Doctor Kry had told you that it had been Jerry and Silas’s second in command who had hit you with that glass bottle that night. 

“You should go rest, Y/N”, he says and places his hand on your back to guide you. 

He leads you back to your suite. The second in command closes the door behind him. You sit down on the couch, but Silas pulls you up again. 

“What do you think that you are doing?” he asks. “The bed is over there.”

“I’m not sharing a bed with you”, you mumble. 

“You are. Stop being childish and go to sleep.”

You’re pushed towards the bed. He’s quickly after you to pull the neatly fixed covers before you can change your mind. The mattress is softer than anything you’ve ever rested your back upon. 

“Sleep”, Silas orders. “I will get you for dinner.”

He asks his second in command to keep an eye on you. 

The gentle rocking of the train both soothes you to sleep and wakes you softly. You sit up and yawn. The second in command moves his eyes from the window. You can’t help but wonder if he ever does anything for pleasure or if he can turn off his emotions and needs whenever he wants. 

You reach for a glass of water on the bedside table and halt. After everything they’ve done, you wouldn’t be surprised if the water is contaminated. 

“It’s not dinner time”, the man says. “Back to sleep.”

“I’m not tired anymore.”

“Lay down.”

You sigh and lay down again, listen to the gentle rocking of the train against the rail. Last time you spent a night in a cabin with them was when you were tied on the floor. You should never have taken that mission. Your mind involuntarily drift to what Silas had said and feel how your heart squeezes in pain. It can’t be.

Suddenly, the door opens. 

“Time for dinner”, Silas says. “Get up, you need to eat.”

You groan and pull yourself up from the bed. The second in command follows closely to the restaurant cart. One table can only fit four passengers. They have to separate three and three, and then you’ll have to choose whichever combination is the least bad.

Hedwig, Edmund and Doctor Kry … or Silas, Jerry and the second in command. You sit down besides Hedwig. Edmund is quick to have her change seats with you, so that you’re by the window and she’s blocking the exit out to the middle aisle. The girl smiles at you and takes your hand. 

“You look much better without that inhumane leash”, she says. 

“I think he looks better with it”, Edmund mutters and inspect his silver knife. 

She ignores him. “What do you want to eat, sweetheart?”

You shrug, telling her that she can choose for you. You don’t say anything throughout dinner, even though Hedwig tries her best to spark a conversation with you. She talks about the scenery swooshing past outside the window, the beautiful interior, how much she has missed you and how happy she is to have you back. You drown it all out to the point of wondering if her voice is all just a hallucination.

You’re barely active during dinner, only being able to think about your — former — job. Heart feeling unbelievably heavy.

“I have to leave”, you whisper to Hedwig. “I have to be alone.”

“Are you okay?” Hedwig asks worriedly and watches how you stand up. 

“I need to go.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She excuses the both of you from the table. You can feel the others eyes linger on you, burn right through you. You’re sure that Edmund wants to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut for once. Hedwig takes your arm and leads you back to the cabin carriage. 

“I don’t understand why they’re so afraid of me being alone with you”, Hedwig giggles and opens the door to Silas’s suite. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

At this point you’re not sure what you would and wouldn’t do. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Hedwig asks and walks over to the bed. “I can tuck you in.”

You lay down in bed and Hedwig makes sure that none of your body parts escapes the covers. She looks pleased with herself and lets her hand caress your cheek. Her hazel eyes look down at you with immense love and for the moment that is the only thing you can believe. That kind of look can’t be mistaken. 

“Are you tired?” she asks softly, continuing to caress your cheek. 

You nod, despite not feeling the slightest bit tired. Exhausted, but not tired. 

“I will let you sleep”, she says and kisses your forehead. 

You close your eyes, hoping that she will think that you’re asleep and leave the room. You need to be alone, but Hedwig is making it impossible. As long as she knows that you’re awake, she will cling onto you like a leech. She’s like a dog, a puppy. 

But she doesn’t leave. You can feel her sit on the side of the bed, and without opening your eyes, you know that she is staring at you with that same look of extreme love. As if you are the most important thing in the world. Her sun, her solar system. 

Eventually, she leaves. You wait a few seconds before opening your eyes and letting out a sigh. Lying down makes it hard to breathe. You try sitting up, but the pressure over your chest remains. You pull at your tie to open your airways, but neither that or buttoning up the first buttons on your shirt help. Your fingers claw at the window lock, but it remains in place. God, how badly you need air. You hurry over to the door and open it, exiting out to the corridor. They can get you, you don’t care. You need air and you need it now. 

You walk through the claustrophobic corridor in the opposite direction of the dining hall. You reach a door with a window. The rails run away from the train, towards the horizon. You rip the door open and find yourself on a balcony. Fresh air roams around you and you grab onto the oval railing, breathing in deeply until your lungs can’t take anymore, welcoming the pleasurable feeling of light headiness. You sink down on the floor with your back towards the train’s wall, watching the surroundings disappear further away. The sun is setting in the horizon, like in a painting. 

The thoughts return. Was everything a lie? Were you nothing more than a pawn? Why were you put on that mission? Did they know that you would be taken? Broken? Damaged? They didn’t bother give you any security or backup, and when you weren’t killed or taken, they use the trauma they caused to put you on hiatus and made you look at fault. You have worked for them since you left school, given them your everything. Did they want to get rid of you? Were you worth nothing more? Did they ever care about you?

Suddenly you’re aware of the tears running down your cheeks.

“There you are”, a voice sighs. 

You flinch and look over your shoulder. Jerry is standing in the doorframe, holding her hands on either side.  Out of all the people who could find you, why did it have to be just Jerry?

“Everyone is looking for you”, Jerry says. 

“Didn’t mean to”, you mumble. 

“You better have a good explanation.” 

She sits down on the other side of the door, in arms reach of you. The door closes behind her, leaving the two of you on the balcony platform. It’s first now that she seems to notice that you’re crying. 

“Oh, what’s wrong?” she asks in a sarcastic tone, clearly mocking you. “Feeling homesick?”

“No”, you sigh and look down at your hands. “Just leave me alone.”

“Can’t do, princess. You are not allowed to be alone, you know that very well. But sure, I can leave. I can tell the other that you have attempted to escape.”

Your hand shoots forward to stop her from leaving. “No, don’t say that!”

“Then tell me. Hurry up, princess, I don’t got all night!”

You sigh and rest your head back against the wall. She’s doing it on purpose, you think, riling you up to the breaking point so that she has something to punish you for. 

“Jerry, stop”, you plead and hold your head in your hands. “I’m asking you nicely. Don’t do that.”

“In what position do you think you are to speak to me like that? Do I need to go get the leash to remind you who you are? Hm? Is that what you want, Golden Boy?”

The name breaks something in you. You feel so stupid. Like an absolute fool!

“Don’t call me that!” you shout. “I never was a fucking ‘Golden Boy’! They just used me! And I just let them do it! Like the idiot I am!”

Your head pounds worse than ever. You’re afraid that it is going to rip out of your skull. You can feel how Jerry moves closer. 

“They never fucking cared about me”, you hiss. “No one does!”

“Now, who told you that?” Jerry sighs.

“It’s obvious! Just look at how they’re treating me! They wanted to get rid of me, that’s why they sent me on that ship, wasn’t it …?”

Jerry sighs heavily and runs her hand through her black hair. “Well, fuck … I don’t know what the fuck to say.”

“Be quiet, then.”

You don’t want to hear her ‘I told you so’ mantra. You’ve understood how much of an idiot you are, you don’t need her to remind you. She removes your hands and forces you to look at her. 

“It does not fucking matter what they thought of you, okay?” she says. “I get that they tricked you but you’re never going back there, so drop them. They’re not worthy of your attention. Just look at what a mess you become when you think of them! And I don’t want to hear that shit again, about no one caring about you. We have looked for you day and night since that last night on the ship!”

“That’s different. You know that. You won’t get the list or the painting. If they wanted me gone, they won’t trade me for it. I’m useless to you.”

She sighs frustratedly and runs her hand through her black hair again. 

“Fuck, I am not made for this”, she mutters and looks around for help, but the only thing nearby are the passing landscape. “Listen, Y/N, we could have done things a whole lot differently. We didn’t actually need you, alright? Not for business. Hell, we don’t even want the same things! Me and Silas are the only ones wanting the list. Edmund wants his painting. I don’t even know what the doctor and Hedwig want, but do you know the only reason why the five of us stay together? Because of you, dumbass.”

She grabs your head and holds it to her chest, letting you cry. 

“The term ‘Golden Boy’ isn’t just because of your job, it’s more than that. Don’t take it the wrong way. Now stop talking like that, it is getting on my nerves. Pity yourself to someone else.”

Silence. You listen to the rattling sound, the wind and Jerry's irregular breathing.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask quietly, emotionlessly. “Why did they do that to me?”

“I don’t know, Y/N”, Jerry answers softly. “Some people are horrible. There is a difference between people who's openly bad, and those that pretend to be good but are rotting on the inside. I can’t stand those people. If you’re going to be a bad person, at least stand for it.”

“I feel like a fool.”

“You are a fool, but it isn’t your fault. You did what you had been told, like everyone else.”

“I wish that I knew why they decided to let me go … I mean, that way I could have prevented it … or fixed it.”

“Stop thinking about it. I told you that you’ll never deal with those people again. You’re with us now.”

You sigh. Listening to Jerry’s heart beat makes you want to laugh at how hard it is beating when she has acted like she doesn’t have one. 

“Get up”, she says after a while. “We can’t sit here the entire night. It’s starting to get cold.”

You drag yourself up on your feet. Jerry takes your hand and leads you back inside. Warmth hugs you the second you reenter the thin corridor. She takes you back to Silas’s cabin where you find him arguing with his second in command. You catch something along the lines of ‘you hit him so hard he’s lost his mind’ and don’t have to think twice to know who he is talking about. A new punch in the chest. Does everyone view you that way? As a loser who can’t take care of himself after what happened? As a dog?

“Where have you been?” Silas asks angrily. “Wasn’t I very clear what would happen if you tried to leave?”

“I didn’t fucking try to leave!” you burst out, unable to do anything else beside matching his energy. “How could I when the train is moving at two hundred kilometers per hour?!”

“Yeah? What were you doing then?”

How dense is he?

“I tried to get one second to myself to try to think! My life is falling apart and no one is caring! Everyone is just mocking me!” Tears blur your vision. “Why is no one treating me like an actual human being?! No one respects me!”

Your knees give out. The carpeted floor does nothing when you fall. A few seconds pass where you’re left to sob in silence before a pair of arms wrap around you. They’re too muscular to be Jerry’s and the second in command would never touch you. It has to be Silas. 

“Get up, Y/N”, Silas says. “You need to sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

He tells Jerry to get the doctor and she disappears out of the room. Doctor Kry comes in two minutes later. In his hands he holds an identical syringe to the one he injected you with before you got onto the train. Silas holds you down as the sharp needle pricks your arm. You can feel the foreign — yet painfully familiar — substance enters your bloodstream. Damn them, you think before the darkness swallows you, damn all of them.

You wake up with him sitting by the round table. He’s already dressed. You wonder how long that syringe makes you sleep. 

“Good morning”, Silas says. 

“Hi”, you mumble as memories from yesterday wash over you, like an ice cold shower. 

“I thought that you’ll stay here for breakfast. I’ve already ordered room service.”

Your eyes lay upon the silver tray with coffee, toast and waffles on the table, when you sit up. 

“Jerry filled me in about what you talked about”, Silas says. “I don’t want more of that, got it? You don’t get to run around causing havoc like that. You need to tell us instead of getting a melt down. Surprise, we might actually help you.”

You scoff and roll your head against the headboard. “You don't want to help. You just want to hurt me.”

Silas sighs. 

“Is that why I have tattooed my symbol on you?” he asks. “To hurt you?”

You don’t answer. How should you know?

“It never crossed your mind that I tattooed that on you so that you wouldn’t leave?” Silas asks. “Maybe because I want you here?”

“It doesn’t excuse what you have done.”

“Okay, maybe not, but ask yourself something, Y/N: where would you go if not here?”

You try to avoid his dark eyes. They burn right through you, confirming everything you have been thinking. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. Nowhere where you are safe, nowhere where you feel like home. Not anymore. The only thing that kept you in New York was the pride in your job and now, if you go back, the only thing that is associated with that city is shame and hurt. With Silas tattoo on your neck, no one will want to have anything to do with you, for fear of him. 

Silas leaves you be. He doesn’t ask you questions, doesn’t try to get you on better thoughts or distract you. He lets you sit by the table with him, lets you feel your feelings. Lets you try to sort out the fog in your head. 

“How long do we have until we reach Hedwig’s house?” you ask after a while. “I’m getting tired of people.”

“Two days”, Silas answers. “You’ll like it. It’s far away from everyone and everything. You’ll be able to go somewhere quiet, where you can rest for once.”

The thought of resting makes you almost tear up. You can’t recall the last time you actually had a moment of peace. 

“I don’t know what you want, I don’t have anything more to give you”, you mumble. “I don’t have the painting, or the list of names, or any contacts. You can’t trade me for the list, and it’s too late now. They’ve already seen the names.”

“We don’t care about the list anymore”, Silas says. “When are you going to realize that?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to … think.”

Silas grabs your neck and pushes your head onto his shoulder. You let him. And there it rests until you’re feeling better. 

You decide to get out of the cabin before it’s going to swallow you whole. You make your way down the carriages until you get to the lounge. People sit chit-chatting in their seats, drinking tea. You wonder how many of them belong to Silas, how many eyes he has on board. You do your best not to stare at any of them. Instead, you walk towards an empty table and sit down by the window, staring out towards the horizon. You’ve never been so … lost before. And yet, you feel better — just a tad bit. One day at a time. Things will be fine. Hopefully. 

“Good afternoon”, you hear a voice. 

You look up to see Edmund carrying a deck of cards. 

“ Have you finished sulking now?” he asks. 

You don’t answer. Not even these kinds of stupid questions deserve stupid answers.

“If you have, why don’t we play a game of cards?” Edmund asks and sits down in front of you. 

“Sure”, you sigh. “What do you want to play?”

“What can you play?”

“A little poker, I suppose.”

“Good. Let’s play.”

Edmund starts to sort the cards. He shuffles them skillfully. 

“What do we play about?” he asks. “What do i get if I win?”

“What do i get if I win?” you conquer. 

A spark ignites in Edmund’s eyes and for once, it gives him a human touch. He leans forward, over the table, and smirks. 

“What do you want, Golden Boy?” he asks. 

You think about it. What do you want? 

“I don’t know”, you reply and when he rolls his eyes, you add: “I actually don’t know. A bit more freedom, maybe.”

“Oh, as in?” Edmund asks. 

“Be able to walk around freely without anyone going insane, like yesterday. I can’t run anywhere on here, now can I? Just being able to go wherever I want on the train whenever I want would be a comfort.”

“Alright, I can work with that. And if I win?”

“What do you want?”

Edmund leans back in his seat and looks out the window, thinking. 

“You need to call me ‘your majesty’ or ‘your royal highness’ from now on”, he says, looking pleased. 

Any traces of humbleness is gone. 

“Haven’t I been humiliated enough?” slips out of you before you have the time to stop yourself. 

Edmund smiles boyishly. “Nope. Not nearly enough.”

There’s a small tug at your heart, and your first instinct is to feel offended … but you can’t help but feel relieved that, while the others are trying to keep you from breaking down, Edmund is still the same. 

You smile slightly. 

“Alright, let’s start”, you say. 

He’s a skillful player with sharp eyes. You wonder who he has trained with. 

“Oh, you’re an idiot, Y/N.”

Doctor Kry stands by the table, watching the table amusedly with his arms crossed over his chest. Edmund grins up at him. 

“Aren’t I smart?” he asks and nods at you. “This dumbass has to call me by my title — as he should have from the start — from now on.”

“The game isn’t over yet”, you remind him.

“Just throw the towel in and die a hero. That way you’ll have some dignity left.”

“No.”

Edmund shrugs. “Alright.”

You’re not sure how, but you manage to beat him. Doctor Kry laughs behind his hand. Edmund glares at him.

“Beginner's luck”, he insists.

“Good job, your majesty, now you've given him free roam over the entire train”, the doctor says.

“Don't get so fucking happy, doc, I can still have you executed”, Edmund warns him with dark eyes. “I don't care if Silas has you under his protection.”

Doctor Kry doesn’t seem affected. “It’s just a day.”

“This motherfucker did quite much in a day last time.”

“I’d like to see our friend Axel Ainsworth trying to do his stunts here.”

You rise from your chair and bid farewell to the two men, happy to show that you are allowed to walk away. Your last day on board won’t be too bad, you reckon. 

You take the time to sort out your thoughts and think. Sitting in the lounge, looking out the window with a glass of whiskey, listening to the sounds of the train moving and the other guests chitchatting. Your head starts to make sense, for the first time in months. Your heart beats in your chest. You hate them, hate what they did to you. How they played you. How they used you for bait. 

“Can I sit down?”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts. Hedwig stands by the armchair in front of you, wearing a sweet pink dress. You nod. She squeals and sits down, looking giddy. 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” she asks. “Maybe something to dilute the whiskey with? Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t good, you know?”

“What do you know about that?” you ask. “Are you a heavy drinker?”

“No, but Edmund is … and I guess that you can imagine how ha is when he is drunk.”

“I’m not drunk … but yes, i can imagine how he would be. He’s not the politest sober either.”

“He’s nice, in his own way.” She shakes her head, as if she’s shaking herself free from thoughts. “How are you feeling? I heard that you had some troubles. Do you want to share them with me?”

“No, I’m okay, I think I got it now. It’s been nice to sit and think … to deal with it myself.”

“What have you come up with?”

“That I don’t want anything to do with those bastards in New York anymore. If I had the list, I’d give it to Silas and Jerry. I wish I had written down the names.”

“You remember some of them, don’t you?”

She picks up a notebook out of her purse and places it on the table. A golden pen is connected to it. 

“Write them down”, she says. 

You stare at the notebook, questioning if you really should give away the little information you know. You would never have done that before. An old saying pops into your head — my enemie’s enemy is my friend. 

You pick up the pen.

[curtins]

going to a cafe with the jujutsu kaisen men a/n: (based on irl experience with a wide variety of subpar men) 😭 gojo's order being my order...aurkay!

gojo — def the type to walk in and push his sunglasses down to check out the place. his order def goes something like a venti caramel macchiato with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla and two pumps of hazelnut, and a little caramel swirl at the top. smiles and is friendly to all the baristas, he's never rude to workers. tells the barista is gojo, with an o. whoever's unfortunate enough to be stuck next to him is doomed to hear him wax poetic about how coffee beans are the soul of the earth, and its 'really deep, you wouldn't get it lol'. if you order a black coffee, he'll ask if everything is okay at home. can't leave the cafe without ordering a $8.00 sweet treat and then wondering why all his purchases are adding up

geto — walks in as if he's a regular and tells the barista that he'll have his 'regular'. the barista has never seen him before. probably orders a flat white, double shot of espresso, no foam. he always says he doesn't have to pretend to like foam because he's chill like that. he'll ask for the wifi password, but only so he can show off how good he is at working in a cafe, but his ass is on coolmathsgames. will nod and pretend to care about whatever you're saying but he's still thinking about coolmathsgames. will also drop random metaphors like 'life is just like coffee. you either take it strong or with sugar.' you tell him to save the bad metaphors for his cult.

nanami — doesn't wander or hesitate when he enters the cafe. checks his watch every five minute. orders a black coffe, medium, and adds one packet of sugar. he's pretty good at ordering what he wants efficiently, and it leaves even the barista worried. he's here to relax so don't ask him any unnecessary question because this man needs a break. actually enjoys eavesdropping on people's conversations, and ends up tilting his angle to snoop on gossip better. avoids small talk like its another curse. you can't really make him react too much in a cafe, unless you spill coffee on his freshly pressed suit. will be passive aggressive and suggest that the cafe chooses better music. likes a good, dependable pastry. apple danishes are a favourite.

sukuna — prefers tea, without debate. but still orders relatively normal things. likes a good latte with chocolate syrup. but the king of curses kinda has to look cool, so he powers his way through a black coffee, with no sugar or milk. you swear his eyes are tearing up as he pretends to like it. after every sip of coffee, he sighs really loudly and it gets a bit annoying. even after you ask what's wrong, he says its nothing and continues to sigh loudly. nanami may be the one who eavesdrops, but sukuna is the one who interferes. will turn around in his chair to give unsolicited advice, but he genuinely thinks he's being helpful by telling schoolgirls to buy cleavers to chop their friends' hands off. is mildly offended when they move tables and give him weird looks. passes loud comments on other people and tells couples when he thinks they will breakup. attempts to connect to the wifi three times before threatening to burn the router.

toji — the barista asks if he wants a pastry with his drink and he asks 'do i look like the type of man to eat a muffin?' but if they're free, he'll take two. sits with his back to the wall like he's in a mob movie. god help anyone who sits too close to him, he really just doesn't trust anyone in his personal space. doesn't even acknowledge the existence of others until he's had at least three sips of his coffee. you could tell him his house is on fire, and he’d just mutter that he can't do anything about it now. types the wifi password on his phone with one finger like a caveman. tells parents to 'control their spawn' but entertains kids with coin tricks when no-one is looking. sometimes struggles to fit the lid on his go-to cup, and refuses to asks for help. wrestles with it for five minutes, getting increasingly annoyed before rushing out the door.

choso (this one is dedicated to pookie @creamflix) — frowns at the menu like it's written in an ancient language, like wtf is affogato. if someone behinds him coughs, he scolds them and says he's going as fast as he cans. spends 10 minutes deciding and then panics at the last second, tells the barista to give him whatever. if the barista asks any follow up questions (like milk preferences) he genuinely short circuits, "what kinds of milk are there?" he's genuinely baffled that there are options beyond 'cow.' he'll point at a pastry and ask what's in it. the barista explains and he replies with 'okay i trust you.' always ends up picking a wobbly table by accident and spends 15 minutes trying to fix it with folded napkins. if someone asks to share his table, he'll look like they just asked for his kidneys. if someone asks for his opinion on his pastry, its always a dumbass cryptic answer like 'its interesting.' uses his phone on full brightness and everyone can see him look up 'how to pronounce cafe au lait.' cleans up after himself because he's nice like that. if the staff get his order wrong, he never says anything even if it tastes like dirt.

[magical-reid]

The Rings We Keep Part 3 (Final Part)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 6.7K

Part 1 / Part 2

The days following your kiss with Spencer had been a whirlwind of barely contained feelings. It was unspoken but there—something unshakable between you and him. You had agreed to take things slow, to let your connection build naturally without forcing it into a label or rushing anything.

But the more time you spent together—both on and off cases—the more impossible it seemed to keep your growing bond a secret.

Growing Together

The weeks passed with surprising ease. You and Spencer began doing things together outside of work—real, honest-to-God dates. You went to that quiet café again, and Spencer insisted on getting the most obscure drink on the menu to make you laugh. You went to see a movie, and instead of just watching it, you spent the entire time discussing the plot afterward, each of you analyzing the other’s take on the characters and the themes. You cooked together more often, laughing when things went wrong, and celebrating when things went right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You realized, as your connection deepened, that it wasn’t the moments of perfection that mattered. It was the moments where you were both present. Where, even in the chaos of your careers, there was a softness between you that felt like home.

Spencer began leaving little notes for you—little reminders of things, like “don’t forget to hydrate” or “call me when you’re done with your shift so I can hear your voice.” They were small things, but they meant more than he could know. The affection was there, and it was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

One evening, as you walked out of the precinct after another long shift, Spencer stopped at the door and turned to face you. His expression was quiet, earnest.

“You know, we’re kind of doing this,” he said softly, his hand finding yours in a gesture that felt so natural. “A real relationship. No more pretending.”

You smiled back at him, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. “Yeah, we are.”

The Leak That Led to Living Together

Things between you and Spencer had only grown closer, and you were starting to feel more at ease with your relationship. But one evening, after another grueling case, you got a call from your landlord about the persistent leak in your bathroom. The water had been dripping for weeks, and no matter how many times you had contacted maintenance, nothing had been fixed.

When you’d first reported it, the landlord’s maintenance team had insisted it was just a small issue with the seal around the tub—an easy fix, or so they’d claimed. But the leak hadn’t gone away. Instead, it had grown worse, and the water had started to spread beyond the bathroom floor, staining the ceiling beneath it.

This time, the landlord called with an update, telling you that the plumber had discovered a more serious problem. After taking a closer look at the pipes, they’d realized there was extensive water damage to the plumbing, likely caused by a burst pipe that had been slowly leaking for a while. The entire system needed to be replaced, and unfortunately, the damage was so severe that the apartment was now uninhabitable.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” the landlord said over the phone. “But it’s going to take weeks to fix this, and it’s not safe for you to stay there.”

You stared at the phone, feeling an odd sense of dread creep into your chest. Your apartment, the one place you’d tried to make home, was no longer a safe place to live. And now, you had no idea where to go.

That evening, you called Spencer, you could hear the usual soft smile that sat on his face in his voice, and when you explained the situation with the apartment, you could hear it drop and the sound of concern taking its place.

“You could… move in with me,” Spencer suggested after a long pause, his voice almost hesitant. “I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I have the space. You could even have the guest bedroom if you want.”

The offer hung in the air between you, filled with the weight of a thousand unsaid words. On one hand, it felt like a natural step forward; on the other, it made everything feel even more real. You’d only just started to find your rhythm with Spencer, and now you were being asked to share more than just occasional meals or nights spent watching movies. You were being asked to share your life.

“I don’t want to impose,” you said slowly, but deep down, you knew you needed something—someone—and Spencer had always been there for you.

“It’s not an imposition. I promise. And besides,” he added with a playful tone, “you’ve already spent enough time in my apartment, you might as well move in anyway.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing. It didn’t feel like a big leap anymore. It felt like a logical step. So, with a sigh of relief, you agreed.

Living Together

The transition to living together was smoother than you expected. You slowly brought in a few of your things, mostly clothes, some books, and a few personal mementos. Spencer had insisted on helping you rearrange the guest bedroom to make it more comfortable, though you mostly ended up sharing his room. His apartment, for all its quiet, neatness, had always felt a little impersonal—a place to sleep, a place to work. But now, with your things scattered around, it felt… like home.

The first week was awkward in some ways, but those little things that had once been awkward became comforting. Like how you both gravitated toward the kitchen to cook together or how Spencer would leave a cup of coffee on the counter for you, even though he knew you’d be up hours before him. There was the gentle hum of everyday life—the kind of life you hadn’t expected to build with anyone.

As the weeks went by, there were still moments when you caught each other’s eyes, the depth of your connection reflected in the soft gaze you exchanged. Spencer was still Spencer—quirky, brilliant, and occasionally awkward—but now, there was something more. Something comforting. Something real.

The BAU's Subtle Observations

It started with a few casual glances. A look exchanged when you thought no one was watching. Spencer offering you a small, private smile after a long day. Nothing overt, nothing that would raise suspicion… or so you thought. But of course, you weren’t fooling anyone.

It was a Tuesday morning when Emily Prentiss, ever perceptive, first noticed the change.

You were at the FBI field office, surrounded by your team, sorting through case files and preparing for a briefing. Spencer was deep in conversation with Hotch, his voice low and focused, but every time you passed him to grab a file, he would offer you a look—an expression of something deeper than just professional respect.

Emily raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange. You didn’t think she caught it, but you were wrong.

After the briefing, as the team dispersed to prep for the next part of the case, Emily approached you casually, her voice light but her eyes sharp.

“Everything okay between you and Spencer?” she asked, a small, knowing smirk on her face.

You stiffened, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, why?"

Emily shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a glint of amusement in her gaze. "I don’t know, just seems like you two have... chemistry." She paused, leaning in as if to whisper. "I mean, more than usual. Like… special chemistry."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t hide the flush creeping up your neck. “We’re just… working together, Em. You know how it is.”

Emily didn’t press any further, but she wasn’t buying it. She gave you one last look—a blend of curiosity and something close to satisfaction—before moving away.

Derek’s Unsubtle Observations

The next person to pick up on it was Derek Morgan. Of course, Derek. He had a way of reading people, of catching little things that others missed. And Spencer, despite his usual oblivion, wasn’t immune to Derek’s sharp eyes.

It was during a case briefing that Derek shot you an exaggerated grin from across the table. You felt a little off balance as he did, glancing over at Spencer who, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—head down, focused on the whiteboard.

When Derek caught your eye again, he leaned toward you, his voice lowered just enough that no one else could hear.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid. He’s definitely been… extra concerned about you lately.”

You froze, trying to remain casual, but Derek wasn’t having it.

“Extra careful, extra protective,” Derek continued, a grin tugging at his lips. "I mean, I can’t blame him. But it’s cute, the way you two dance around it."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept your tone steady. “You’re reading too much into it, Derek. We’re just… working the case together.” You realized too late that saying the words out loud didn’t make it sound any more convincing.

Derek’s grin only widened. "Oh yeah? 'Cause it sure looks like you’re both trying really hard not to actually admit what’s going on here."

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. “Drop it, Derek.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be surprised if the whole office catches on sooner or later.”

Hotch and JJ’s Quiet Knowing

By the end of the week, the rumors were practically brewing behind closed doors. Even Hotch had noticed. You had no idea how, but there was something in his eyes when he looked between you and Spencer—a hint of quiet awareness.

You were in the middle of a strategy session, with the entire team gathered in the conference room. Spencer and you were standing next to each other, closer than usual, both scanning a map for clues. When you turned to point something out to Spencer, his hand brushed yours, and it was the lightest of touches, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Hotch.

Later, as the team filed out, Hotch approached you with a quiet, almost fatherly tone.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “if you and Spencer are figuring things out, just be careful. This kind of thing... it can get complicated.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected Hotch—of all people—to bring it up. But of course, he’d been around long enough to know how these things worked. He knew how the lines between work and personal life could blur, especially in an environment like this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said quickly, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound casual.

Hotch gave you a small, understanding nod. “Just remember what’s at stake. I trust both of you. But you need to be sure about what this is.”

You swallowed hard. “We’re just... getting to know each other, sir.”

Hotch didn’t press further, but his look lingered, as though he was waiting for you to come to him with the truth when you were ready.

When you walked out of the room, you saw JJ talking quietly with Emily and Derek, her eyes flicking between the two of you. You knew they were all trying to be respectful, giving you the space to sort things out. But there was no doubt in your mind now that the cat was out of the bag. They all knew.

The Unit's Observations

It wasn’t just the BAU team that was starting to piece together what was happening between you and Spencer. Your own unit had begun to notice, too—particularly when it came to your seemingly frequent visits to the BAU.

It was a Friday morning when the comments started. You had just wrapped up a case with your team and had come over to the BAU to debrief, a habit that had become almost routine since you and Spencer started spending more time together. It wasn’t unusual for you to drop by, but your colleagues had begun to raise eyebrows at how often you were around—and this time, they weren't going to let it slide.

A Casual Observation

You were sitting at your desk, chatting with a few agents from your unit about the latest case developments when one of your colleagues, Michelle, leaned against the back of your chair. She had a mischievous grin on her face, and you could tell something was coming.

"Y/N," Michelle said casually, her tone teasing, "I think I need to have a little chat with you."

You turned to look at her, pretending to look confused. "About what?"

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "About how you're always over at the BAU. And not just when you're assigned to a case with them." She paused, making it sound as casual as possible. "I mean, you’re like a permanent fixture over there now. Kind of makes a person wonder if you're spending more time with them than you are with us.”

The rest of your team, who had been quietly watching the exchange, shifted in their seats, clearly waiting for your response. You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“What can I say? I’m just a really good team player," you replied, your tone light. "We’ve got a great working relationship. You know how it is."

Michelle leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Uh-huh. A ‘working relationship.’ Sure. So, are you really just popping over there to discuss case files and not, you know, just hanging out with your ‘husband’ Reid?”

You froze, eyes widening slightly. You had thought you were being subtle, but apparently, you hadn’t been as stealthy as you’d hoped. You shot Michelle a mock glare.

“Really?” you said, trying to hide the warmth rising in your cheeks. “You’re going to start with that?”

Michelle just grinned. “You know, the team’s been talking. We’re not blind. Besides he is your “husband”, we’re just waiting for you to admit it.”

Before you could come up with a clever response, another colleague, Greg, chimed in, his tone light but unmistakably teasing.

“Yeah, Y/N, you’re always over there, like, even when you don’t have a case to work on. And when you do show up, you’re practically glued to Spencer’s side. We get it—he’s a great guy, but you don’t have to keep pretending you’re just there to consult. We can tell what's going on.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried to keep it under control. "You guys are crazy. There’s nothing going on."

But your colleagues weren’t buying it. They exchanged knowing looks, their grins widening.

“I don’t know,” Greg said, nudging Michelle playfully. “I think we’ve been more than patient. It’s time for Y/N to spill the beans. Don’t you think?”

Michelle gave you a sideways glance. “Seriously, Y/N, you can’t fool us anymore. We’ve all seen the way Spencer looks at you. And, well... you’re always there.”

You laughed awkwardly, realizing there was no point in denying it.

"Okay, okay," you relented with a sigh, finally conceding. "You got me. It’s not just casework. Spencer and I... we’ve been spending time together."

The team’s reaction was immediate. Greg, with his usual playful grin, said, "Well, it’s about time!" while Michelle gave you a satisfied smirk. “Told you, Y/N. We can spot a love story from a mile away.”

But it was when your unit chief, Captain Harris, finally spoke up that you knew it was all over. He had been quiet during the exchange, simply observing with his arms crossed.

“I’m not one for gossip," he said, his voice low but carrying a sense of humor that you hadn’t expected. "But I gotta say, you’ve been spending a lot of time with the BAU lately. If you’re gonna keep coming around here, at least bring us some donuts next time. You know, for your ‘official work-related visits.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and for the first time in days, you found yourself relaxing. They weren’t angry, just amused. Your unit might’ve been a little surprised by the news, but they had no problem with it.

The BAU’s Silent Understanding

Back at the BAU headquarters later that day, the air was thick with unsaid words. Spencer was caught up in a phone call with Penelope, and you found yourself sitting with Emily at the desk, both of you pretending to focus on paperwork while silently trying to decipher the elephant in the room.

“So,” Emily said, finally breaking the silence. “You and Spencer…?”

You tried not to flinch, trying to maintain a cool facade. “We’re fine, Em. Really.”

Emily’s eyes softened, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m not going to push you. But... if you two are figuring it out, I just want you to know that we’re here for you. You don’t have to hide it.”

You glanced over at Spencer, still engrossed in his conversation, and your heart squeezed in your chest. Could you really keep this hidden? Could you keep him hidden? The bond you shared felt undeniable, and yet, the idea of anyone else knowing—of being out in the open—was terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s just... we’re not sure yet. I don’t want to make things complicated for the team. For us.”

Emily nodded, her smile understanding. “Yeah, I get that. But trust me, no one’s going to judge you. If you and Spencer want to take this further, you just have to trust yourselves.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, though inside, you weren’t as sure as you wanted to be. Everyone—your coworkers, the BAU—had started to catch on, and it was only a matter of time before the truth came spilling out.

The Unspoken Decision

That night, after the case had wrapped up, you found yourself alone with Spencer in the quiet of the bullpen. The weight of everything—the team’s observations, the unspoken tension, the growing closeness between you—was pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly.

Spencer was typing something on his laptop, oblivious to your thoughts. You stood in the doorway of his office, watching him, feeling a strange mix of longing and uncertainty.

Finally, Spencer looked up, sensing your presence. His expression was open, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” he said quietly.

You nodded, taking a step toward him, your heart racing.

“I think we do.”

The Slow Unraveling

Over the next few weeks, the quiet buzz around you and Spencer only grew. The teams was trying to be subtle—too subtle—but it didn’t take much to realize that they knew. The way their eyes would flicker between you and Spencer, the little smirks, the awkward attempts to cover up knowing smiles. You and Spencer tried your best to act normal, but it felt like the world was watching.

You were in the bullpen, sorting through case files, when Spencer walked up behind you, his voice soft but steady. “You find what you need?”

His presence was always comforting, but you could feel it today—there was an unspoken electricity between the two of you. You’d been careful not to make it obvious, but everything had changed since that first kiss. The way you found yourself seeking his gaze. The way your heart skipped a beat whenever his hand brushed against yours.

You nodded absently, trying to focus on the task at hand. But when Spencer leaned over to grab a file, his shoulder brushed against yours, and you could feel your pulse quicken.

“I’ll check in with Penelope about the latest report,” Spencer said, his voice steady, but you could hear the underlying warmth in it.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you let yourself feel the quiet, unspoken weight of the moment. Spencer was always careful with you, and for some reason, that mattered more than it ever had before.

“I’ll be right here,” you finally managed, turning back to your work, trying to act like you weren’t both navigating a minefield of what comes next. 

Spencer paused for just a second longer than necessary, and then he was gone, his steps light but purposeful.

And you were left behind, quietly trembling in the wake of his presence.

Emily's Subtle Prodding

It wasn’t just Spencer who was making things harder for you to ignore. Emily had, by now, practically perfected the art of nonchalantly mentioning things you could never fully ignore.

“Y/N, I was thinking we could grab lunch after this,” Emily said, her voice casual, but there was something in her tone that made you pause. You raised an eyebrow, instinctively looking toward Spencer, who was still at the other end of the bullpen, typing something on his laptop.

Emily leaned in, her voice lowering to a more conspiratorial tone. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to give me a play-by-play of the Reid Chronicles,” she teased, though there was a glimmer of something else in her eyes. “But, you know, if you and Spencer want to talk about whatever this is—whatever you are—feel free to do it over lunch. I’m just here for the ride.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t realized how much the team was piecing together—especially Emily, who was always so astute.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said with a forced laugh, though even you could hear the falter in your voice.

Emily gave you a soft smile, her expression almost too knowing. “Right,” she said, the grin still lingering. “Just thought you might want someone to talk to.”

You met her gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between the two of you. She knows, you thought. And maybe, everyone else did too.

You couldn't deny it anymore—things were no longer subtle. Emily’s knowing smile was only the beginning. The team had been dropping hints, making observations that were becoming harder to ignore. You could feel the weight of their knowing looks whenever you and Spencer exchanged a quiet glance or lingered a second too long in conversation. It was like living in a house with the walls closing in. No matter how much you tried to downplay it, the quiet buzz was building, and soon enough, it was going to explode.

The Teasing Begins

Of course, it was Derek who noticed first. He was never one to miss anything, and the way he watched the two of you in the bullpen, you could tell he had put two and two together. It was the way Spencer had kept glancing at you—his gaze filled with something new, something unspoken. The way you two had been spending more time together lately, working late into the evening, sharing quiet moments that didn’t go unnoticed.

It all came to a head one morning during a case briefing. Spencer was scribbling equations and notes on the whiteboard, and you were at the table, trying to stay focused. But Derek was looking at the two of you with that mischievous grin on his face, clearly enjoying whatever he had figured out.

"Don’t think I haven’t noticed, Reid," Derek said, his voice laced with teasing, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ve been... extra attentive to Y/N lately. Extra careful, extra protective."

"Yeah," Derek continued, turning to you. "I can see the way you two look at each other. It’s like you’re trying real hard to pretend you’re not a thing."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. "Derek, it’s not like that," you said, trying to deflect.

"Oh, come on," Derek said, his grin widening. "You’ve been hanging out a lot more, spending all this time together... and don’t get me started on how you two finish each other’s sentences."

 "What are you talking about, Derek?" Spencer asked, clearly oblivious to what Derek was implying.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You two are too cute for your own good. And I’ve got to say, it’s about time."

You groaned inwardly, glancing at Spencer again. The last thing you needed was for the whole team to catch on.

Before you could respond, Derek added with a wink, "Just make sure you two don’t get too distracted on the next case, alright? We all need you sharp, not distracted by how adorable you are together."

Hotch’s Proposition

It didn’t take long for Hotch to catch wind of the situation. He was always observant, always reading between the lines, and you had a feeling he knew something was going on with you and Spencer.

One afternoon, when the case was on hold for a moment, Hotch asked you to step into his office.

"Y/N," Hotch began, closing the door behind you. He seemed unusually serious. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

You gave a quick nod, trying not to let the nervous energy in your chest show. "Sure, Hotch. What’s up?"

"I’ve noticed you’ve been around more often," he said. "Not just on cases, but in general. Whether it's to consult or to visit Spencer, you’re practically a regular. This way, it’ll just be… more convenient. You’ll have access to all the resources here, and we can stop pretending that you’re not already basically a member of the team." Hotch shrugged, his smirk widening. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. You appreciated his directness, and in a way, his offer felt like the culmination of everything that had already been happening. You had spent more time with the BAU than any outsider in recent memory, and not just for casework.

"I’m guessing this means you don’t mind having me around permanently?" you teased, half-expecting Hotch to shut down the joke.

But Hotch surprised you again, his smile turning more genuine. "You’re one of the best agents I’ve seen, Y/N. That’s why I’m offering you a permanent spot. We could use someone like you."

You felt a rush of pride at his words, but you also felt the weight of the decision. Joining the BAU wasn’t just a job—it was a life choice. Spencer and you had already crossed the threshold from colleagues to spouses. If you took this step, there was no going back.

"Let me think about it, Hotch," you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

"Take your time, you’ve got a lot to think about." he said with a small nod, his expression softening. "I just wanted to make sure you knew the offer was on the table, we’re all in this together. And I think Spencer would be happy to have you stay—officially, but don’t take too long. I think Spencer might be getting jealous of how much time you spend here."

You nodded slowly, feeling a weight settle in your chest. "I’ll think about it,” then chucked, “and I’ll be sure to tell him to keep his distance," you said, only half-joking.

Hotch’s smile was almost affectionate as he waved you off. "Good. Because if he keeps showing up to work with a take-out coffee for you, we’re going to have to have another conversation."

The Decision: Joining the BAU

A week later, you found yourself walking into Hotch’s office once again, this time with an answer. Spencer had teased you endlessly about your long deliberations, but you had already made up your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right step for both your career and your relationship.

"I’ve thought about it," you said, standing in the doorway of Hotch’s office. "I’m in. I’ll transfer into the BAU. Just… don’t regret it."

Hotch looked pleased, but he gave you a knowing look. "Regret? Not a chance. Welcome to the team."

And with that, your new chapter truly began.

The Turning Point

Another week had gone by and you and Spencer were working late again. The case had been closed for hours, the team long gone by now, but you both had stayed behind to tie up loose ends. The quiet felt different now—calm, but charged with the weight of unspoken things. Spencer had just finished his report and was gathering his things when you caught his eye.

"You want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated for just a moment, his fingers frozen over the edge of his laptop. His gaze softened as he met your eyes, and for the first time in days, you saw the hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"I don’t think we can keep pretending that nothing’s happening," he said quietly, voice low but certain.

You felt your heart race. You had been trying to be so careful, so mindful of not making things too real too soon. But now, standing there with Spencer, the weight of everything between you finally felt like something worth acknowledging.

"I don’t want to lie anymore," you admitted. "Not to them. Not to ourselves."

Spencer’s lips curled into a small smile—tender, like a promise. "Me neither."

And just like that, in the quiet of the bullpen, the truth hung between you. You weren’t just figuring it out. You knew.

Telling the Team

The next day, after a brief but tense conversation with Spencer, you decided it was time to tell the team. It had to happen. There was no denying it anymore—they had figured it out long ago, and trying to keep it under wraps felt like an act of avoidance. It was time to own it.

You and Spencer had agreed that this would be a joint decision. It wasn’t just about you anymore—it was about both of you, navigating a new chapter in front of people you respected and trusted.

At the end of the day, as the team gathered in the break room to grab a quick bite before the next round of interviews, you stood by the door with Spencer, exchanging a glance.

"Do you think we’re ready for this?" you asked him softly.

He nodded, a small but sure gesture. "We’ve been ready since that first case."

You smiled and then walked into the room, feeling the team’s eyes immediately flicker to you both. The silence was almost oppressive as you and Spencer shared one last, unspoken look before you took a breath and spoke.

"Listen, guys…" you began, your voice steady but filled with the truth. "Spencer and I… we’ve been, well, figuring some things out. And I guess it’s time you knew—we’re together. Officially."

The room was still for a moment, and then Derek broke into a wide grin, clapping Spencer on the back. "Finally!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted. "Took you two long enough."

JJ and Emily exchanged knowing looks, while Hotch’s expression remained neutral, though there was a small flicker of approval in his eyes. Penelope practically bounced in her seat.

"I knew it!" Penelope exclaimed, grinning. "The lovebirds finally came clean!"

You and Spencer exchanged a quiet laugh at the chaos, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the team erupted into laughter and teasing. It wasn’t just about the case anymore. It was about the two of you, and you had no idea what the future held—but you were both ready to face it, together.

A Real Beginning

The days following your confession to the team were a whirlwind of adjustments. There was no more hiding between the lines or pretending that nothing had changed. Now that everyone knew, you and Spencer could finally breathe—and, more importantly, finally be.

The Subtle Shift: Something More

The team was thrilled, though their reactions were a mix of teasing and support. Derek had joked about needing to buy wedding gifts, and Emily kept giving you knowing winks whenever Spencer was around. But beneath it all, there was a sense of ease that settled over the group—a sense of understanding that allowed you and Spencer to stop hiding, to stop pretending.

The strangest thing was how quickly your relationship settled into something more. What had started as an arrangement born of circumstance and convenience slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned into something deeper. The quiet moments shared in the hallways, the soft touches that were no longer brushed off as incidental, the steady, almost intimate communication that felt like second nature now.

There was the evening when Spencer came to your apartment after a long day of casework. You were both exhausted, but he’d insisted on making you dinner. He had done this before—he’d made you pasta, insisting that it was the "quickest recipe I know," only to end up with a kitchen disaster that both of you found hilarious. This time, though, it was different. The food was actually good, and there was no need for any laughing off awkwardness.

As you sat down to eat, Spencer caught your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," he said softly, "I think we’re… actually pretty good at this. The not-pretending part."

You raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised by his bluntness. "You mean being married?"

Spencer’s expression softened. "Yeah. That."

You chewed on your lip for a second, looking at him from across the table. The way he’d said it, with such quiet sincerity, made your heart ache in a way that was becoming more and more familiar. Spencer wasn’t just your husband by law anymore. He was someone you needed, someone you wanted, in ways that went beyond the comfort of knowing him as a colleague.

"I don’t know what this is, Spencer," you admitted, feeling a bit vulnerable in the quiet of the evening, "but I think it’s something real. Something I didn’t expect."

He smiled—a slow, warm smile that made your chest tighten. "I think I’d like to see where it goes. Together."

And that was when you both realized that the line between work and personal had faded. You were no longer just co-workers trying to make the best of an unexpected situation. You were… something more.

The Proposal As the weeks passed, life with the BAU began to feel like the new normal. Your official transfer had gone through without fanfare, and suddenly, everything clicked into place. The dynamics of the team hadn’t changed—they were still as close-knit and unpredictable as ever—but now, there was a certain comfort in the way you and Spencer moved through the day. There was no need to keep your distance, no need to hide in the shadows or keep your relationship a secret. You were married. And, as the days turned into weeks, it became clear that your bond wasn’t just about paperwork—it was about something deeper, something more permanent.

Work was busy, as always, but there was a rhythm to your days now. Spencer, ever the brilliant mind, worked alongside you seamlessly, your roles in cases complementing each other. The team continued to tease you both, of course, but it was all lighthearted, filled with the camaraderie you had long come to expect. They had known the truth for some time, but now it was something everyone could openly acknowledge—without the lingering tension that had once colored those moments. Every stolen glance, every brush of hands, was no longer something you had to hide. It was something you could share with them, as well as with each other.

Yet, despite the ease of these days, there was an unspoken weight between you and Spencer—an unresolved feeling that neither of you had fully addressed. You’d already tied the knot in a way that felt true, but there was still something more, something unspoken that lingered in the quiet moments you shared. It wasn’t about a grand gesture or a fancy ceremony—it was about the commitment, the promise you had made to one another, in the simplest and most profound way. But Spencer was never one to leave things unsaid for long.

It all started with a case. Well, several cases, but one, in particular, brought you closer to Spencer Reid than you'd ever imagined. You had worked together on many investigations before, but this one was different. The case was grueling, and you had been called in to help, as usual. Your skillset and unique perspective had proven valuable to the team, and you had spent many late nights alongside Spencer, working through the complexities of the investigation.

One of those nights, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in the bullpen with Spencer, still poring over case files. The atmosphere in the office was quiet, almost intimate in the way you two moved around each other without saying much, both absorbed in the work.

Then, unexpectedly, Spencer stopped what he was doing and looked up at you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tentative, "can I ask you something?"

You turned toward him, still absorbed in your own thoughts but curious at the change in his demeanor. Spencer’s gaze was intense, but it held something new, something vulnerable.

"Sure," you replied, wondering what was going on in that head of his.

Spencer hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, his words coming out in a rush. "Would you... would you marry me?"

For a brief, heart-stopping moment, you just stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "What?"

He immediately regretted it. You could see it in his face as he stammered, "I mean, not like marry me, marry me, but... it just seemed like the simplest way to... well, to say it."

"Say what?" you asked, trying to make sense of his jumble of words.

Spencer flushed, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. I just—I thought... we’ve been working together so much, and I feel like we get each other, and—"

It clicked. You knew exactly what he meant. You’d felt it too—the late-night talks, the comfortable silences, the connection that had been there all along, unspoken, lingering in the air between the two of you.

You smiled softly, your voice quiet but warm. "Okay. I’ll marry you."

A Simple Wedding

The wedding that followed was everything you both wanted: small, intimate, and full of love. No big ceremony, just the team gathered around you in a quiet chapel, smiling and congratulating you. Spencer, dressed in a suit, looked more handsome than you had ever seen him. You, in a simple but elegant dress, felt like the luckiest person alive.

The vows were short but meaningful, exchanged between only the two of you, as your team stood by your side. No formal speeches, no extravagant rituals. Just love, spoken in simple words.

“I vow to always listen, always be there, and to love you, in all the ways that I can, for as long as I can,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady.

You smiled, your own vows coming out as you held his hand tightly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I vow to stand by you, through everything, and to love you in all the small moments as much as the big ones. I promise to always choose you, every single day.”

And as you walked out of the chapel hand-in-hand, you knew this was only the beginning.

No more secrets. No more pretending. Just the future you had always hoped for, finally in your grasp.

The day of the wedding arrived—quiet, intimate, and beautiful. No huge fanfare, just the people who mattered most: your closest friends, the team. Derek was there, teasing you both just as he always did, while Emily and JJ shared warm, knowing smiles. Penelope dabbed at her eyes, trying to hide her tears, and Hotch gave the kind of approving nod that you knew came from a place of true warmth.

The ceremony itself was simple—held in a small chapel, surrounded by the team, who had supported you both through the hardest and best of times. Spencer stood beside you, his hands slightly trembling as you exchanged vows.

When the officiant pronounced you both married, you kissed Spencer again—this time, without hesitation. The kiss was filled with everything you had been through together, and everything that was still to come.

The Future

Later, as you walked out of the chapel, hand-in-hand, Spencer leaned toward you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said, his hand tightening around yours.

“Me too,” you replied softly, resting your head on his shoulder. Together, you stepped out into the future, finally knowing that it wasn’t just about the wedding—it was about the life you would build together.

[sleepy0s]

creating stories

Jimmy: So, everyone, what does a story NEED?

Grian: A character! Martyn: A setting! Pearl, a gleam in their eyes, in a near-whisperL REVENGE.

 DOUBLE POST TODAY Because i'm posting a redo of an old chapter as well. These may become a common thing :>

Redo of the first chapter! Second new incorrect quote will be out later!

This is set in their highschool years, all siblings.

438 words

~~~

Jimmy’s whole class had been told by their English teacher that he had to go home and explain what made a good story to his family. For homework. And whilst most kids weren’t going to do it, Jimmy was DEFINITELY going to do it. What if the teacher asked his siblings? And they would totally rat him out. 

Anyway, Jimmy had forced all 3 of his siblings to sit in the front room and listen to him. Grian, 16, had zoned out ages ago and was just tapping his knuckles on the table. Martyn, 19, did not want to be there as he wasn’t even in school anymore, but Jimmy had threatened to cry. So. Pearl, 13, was apparently loving it.

Jimmy, 12, had been ranting about what a story needed for the past hour. And finally decided to test if his siblings had been listening. “So, can any of you tell me what a good story NEEDS?”He hummed, waving his hands around dramatically. After no one responded, he picked on the first one he saw, which unfortunately was- “Grian, you go first!”

Grian, realising he had been called upon, shot his head up, after a couple of seconds and processing the question he responded, “Ah. Characters?”

“Yes, Very good! Martyn?”

Martyn, as quick as always, had been listening the whole time, “A setting.”

Jimmy smiled, happy that at least one of his siblings was listening to him. “Ah, see it’s not that hard guys! Now, pearl-” Jimmy’s sentence stopped as he stared at the girl. “Pearl.?”

The young girl was smiling like she was on a sugar high, crouched over her paper as she doodled down what seemed to be a character plan, completely unaware of what was happening around her. “Peeaarrlll! Were you listening to me?” Jimmy complained, yelling at her.

She looked up at the yell, “Of course I was listening!”After a couple seconds, after realising they were probably waiting for her to respond to Jimmy’s earlier question. Which she had not heard, she added. “What was the question again?” 

Jimmy sighed sadly, “What does a good story need?” The girl responded immediately with no hesitation, “Oh, obviously every good story needs some REVENGE!”She giggled madly to herself. Oh yea, they definitely needed to get their sister checked out for.. Something. No way she was completely sane in that head of hers.

After a few minutes of silence Martyn stood up, “-Right, Well I think that’s enough for one day. Jimmy, we will tell your teacher you did the homework.”He patted the boy on the head as he left the room.

[clubsmarties]

Wally couldn't help the double eye roll that she elicited from him. There would never be a day where he wouldn't show her how he truly felt about her. He gave as much as he recieved and from her? That was a bunch of bullshit. She made his life harder each day and so he reciprocated that with not being a toy soldier she could so easily manipulate. He still worked on the fact she had something to do with that op gone horribly wrong for him. He just didn't have proof yet.

"Do you?" Wally retorted without a second hesitation. "You can't go back now. You wrangled me in now deal with how I go about it. I don't need your unnecessary commentary." His eyes rolled over to her and tilted his head. "Would I suggest that you would have something to hide over this case?" He would. He did. But that didn't stop him from throwing that question back at her.

He knew the calculated risk this would bring but if he could manipulate her into doing it then he couldn't actually be blamed. She was smart but he was smarter. At least when it came to thinking like she would.

Frankly, this was just a time killer. Wally knew more than he let on or had told Karina. He needed a way to get some information without her nagging at him and without her breathing his damn neck. He nodded and got out of the car. The first order of business was talk to one of the bartenders. They usually yapped about different things but saw a ton. He walked in and went over, letting his charming extroverted self out he managed to get some information about this guy. He asked different questions and switched to asl to ask what he really wanted to without having Karina overhear. Gun for hire type. Seemed like that tracked. Funny thing was that if he was a gun for hire he would already know not to draw attention to himself. Then he got the clue of a lifetime. Someone he was close to. Romantically linked as they heard it. Leave it to these guys to flaunt whatever came to mind. With a thanks he left and got back to his car. One quick glance showed Karina was distracted by looking at something. Probably her phone.

"Here," he passed her the note with the nutjobs name and started the car. "Easy enough. Your job now is to get a warrant. Oh? Little miss prissy wants to go back to the office. Not yet. We got another location as you heard in there. What's the matter? Thought you liked the excitement of the field." His mind ran a mile a minute. What did a gun for hire have to do with this victim. Luckily; this part Karina didn't hear.

"A hardware store would likely have some receipts, given that the victim had a nasty little bruise on their wrist. Dried off blood. Which tells me she had been dead for more than twenty four hours before you got called." He wasn't doing this for her benefit. Though, having her think he was playing nice was only a bonus. He'd get more bees with honey. Also, she was right. If he wanted to make detective then unfortunately he'd need her help. That request had been blocked three times already by her and he hated that she held so much power over his future.

"You know these details so well, didn't know you were such a stickler for the rules." Because, Karina hadn't forgotten how conveniently, in some cases, she was not asked to go out to the field. Some cases, Karina wasn't brought out to sign off on details, like he said. Those were the cases that intrigued her. "Hm, I always have a choice." Even being here. Sure, not expected, but Karina found silver linings in everything. It made the work fun.

"I'd say that was the one mission I miscalculated. Happens to everyone at least once.” Definitely miscalculated, just not the way everyone thought. She had been expecting…more. More injuries, more damage — anything. “Well then, aren't we all lucky you have your quick thinking? There’s no need to thank me though, just doing my job. So you see. I wouldn’t be putting myself in a position to get chewed up by the directors, and putting one of my agents out of commissions, just for kicks? Ridiculous.” Though, she had to admit to herself, those were the quietest couple of months she had, with a triumphant smile she couldn’t wipe from her face that whole time. It truly was a taste of winning. Besides, it’s not like he died.

“It sounds like you’re just eager to bring Nolan out. Anything you miss there? I did call you in with that purpose, but all resources don’t need to be deployed at once. Do you ever use your brain? You’re scrappy enough, use what’s available to you now. This fugitive doesn’t strike me as smart, so no, I will not sign off on all resources sent off just for one man. If it proves to be too much for little old you, then yeah maybe I’ll have to call in Nolan. He does look like he has more fun anyway.” His question did catch her by surprise slightly, only because she did have an answer to it. One she would not disclose. “I’ve given you what I have on this case. Are you suggesting I’m intentionally keeping details?” That, he was right about. He had been cleared for some time now, but not in her book. Not when, without realizing (or at least she figured), he had been close to pulling on the right thread. The thread that would help unravel the rest. He was smart, hm. When she agreed to hand over the badge, she had briefly considered pulling any and all footage of him using her badge. Just for a rainy day. Accusing him of stealing his chief’s badge, well that was delicious. “Yes yes you can’t get enough of me. I got it, I’ll go too. Of course, wouldn’t want an accusation like being a double agent to ruin your chances at moving up.”

Upon arrival, Karina was quick to unbuckle her seatbelt. Only to be interrupted by his idiocy. She huffed in response, knowing that he had a point. At least about one thing. “You mean I’d be an upgrade to the hobo look. But you? Looks like it was meant for you.” Begrudgingly, she took the phone, her frown in plain view. “Fine. I’ll stay here.” She could use the time to get more clarity anyways. While he was out, she was quick to pull out a phone from her bag. A variety of cryptic phone calls, all subtly asking for information on him. The man she was sure was responsible for these murders. Someone she hadn’t thought about in a while. Seeing Wally walking back through the side mirror, she dropped her phone back into the bag. “Have we heard enough to head back to the office?”

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Requests are Open!!

Sorry for the delay:) wee two week hiatus over + new requests open! A reminder about requests:

requests should be sent through the ask box! please dont send them through the chat system i WILL forget about it so to avoid this i now don't take any sent through chat as a rule

i prefer requests vague, no more than a few words. BUT if you have a more specific idea you’re just dying to see a prompt for, go ahead and shoot it my way.

ive been in the city and the new apartment for almost two weeks now! not to sound unbearably pretentious, but moving within america has been hugely weird for me. i didn't have to announce my arrival to the police and im scared of the amount of grocery options.

cleaning is done, laundry is almost done, prompts are back, peace in our time. stay weird and send cool requests!

- L

[trainingdummyrabbit]

[SURFS INSIDE OF THE ASKBOX AGAIN] hello i am Here to ask about what the Hell do magpie and luci have going on. Considering the whole Thing. magpie's watch being important to him and how luci is associated with the backwards clock. That Kind of Ordeal ^<^

hai . i am so capable of being normal about this. lie.

ok so im once again going to be At It, some mix btwn scattered notes and infodumping and me just saying words You Get It. i have Not been talking abt them as much as i think abt them, theyre another dynamic that haunts me to death. you understand. anyway; ~28 paragraphs.

so first i should Probably actually go over magpie as a character bc i. somehow. dont think i have. at all. so ^_^

magpie, our funny little manager, is introduced mostly as a negligible character. honestly? he just kind of sucked. shows up to be really annoying before dipping again, yapping just because he can, mostly. hes set up entirely to be some 'rich completely-inept asshole climbing the corporate ladder,' acting like hes So In Touch With Everyone (but still blatantly comes across as a complete and total narc). this is on purpose. magpie is a liar.

none of that is true, and he simply plays up the role so that people dont really suspect anything of him. actually, hes not supposed to be the manager at all. at his core, hes actually just. some guy from the backstreets people hire to do misc dirty work-- delivering information, just so happening to mess up in places that takes attention away from someone else, poking his nose places it doesnt belong-- hes got the look and charisma of someone who can be trusted, and he plays it up Hard. multiple times.

he has several different presentations he cycles through to get people to see him a certain way. he is Very Good at his job. he Hates his job. so much so, in fact, that after a particularly. messy. instance, he dropped off the map entirely to figure out some way-- any way at all-- to regain some sort of stability. (to stop the inevitability of harm even a little bit, even just once. (to make up for it all, maybe.))

so. yeah! magpie lies. a lot. he doesnt really care for status or the company as a whole at all-- originally it was just t cause problems for people he views as In Power, but like… fuck dude theres a LOT of people who Just Work Here, and if he went through with just Causing Problems like he thought he was going to, well. oof. so. change of plans! honestly now hes just trying to find some way to Get Everyone The Fuck Out Of Here.

he plays the part, and he snoops. he pretends not to notice shit he Definitely shouldnt be allowing (but like… if it makes shit easier for them, then yknow..) and pretty much just… lets people treat him however. because ultimately his act is Annoying and Untrustworthy yes, but also Completely Nonthreatening. people will let him get away with a LOT of shit with the excuse that he is "kinda stupid" and "doesnt know what hes doing." and well, yknow. whatever works! there is no way this can backfire <33

. so his thing with luci.

luci also generally sticks to her role as just kinda. yknow. Managerial Guide. at least to start out with. shes just figuring shit out yknow. and honestly, nobody really catches onto her being like… Conscious. except for Magpie. because he would always make dumb little quips and jokes at her out of habit-- yknow, like one talks to a particularly unruly printer or something-- and then she would respond in kind. like… snarking back enough to be like Okay Theres No Way Someone Just Programmed That In There Right. and not just that, she'd return with her Own little quips and questions, then act as though she didn't.

magpie originally takes this as a kind of "haha ok thats kind of fucked, at least thats something Super Illegal against these guys we can use if we need to" but then. unfortunately. the thing about magpie is that, against his own instincts, he cares for people. a Lot. he doesnt much enjoy watching people in danger-- and most certainly doesnt want to cause any of that Himself, he's over that.

which is to say: he Instantly gets attached. he cant really say it, but he counts her as as much of a person as anyone else is pretty much instantly, despite him knowing he really really shouldnt be doing that this is so stupid he cant just jump to conclusions like that and if anyone finds out theyre all So Dead. but he cant :( he cant help it… hes just a lil guy and luci is very obviously doing a horrible fucking job at hiding the fact that shes like… conscious. and he has a role to play up too, so its not like he can Do anything, especially since shes part of the damn facility's system and can probably get into contact with important people really easily..

so for a while, its just. luci thinking shes doing a great job at slinking around and playing the manager for a fool the whole time, and magpie fully aware but pretending not to notice and trying to just make things passively easier for her to figure herself out without anyone noticing. its insufferable. because theyre both Correct and Entirely Wrong about each other.

luci completely falls for his Dumb Manager facade and plays the part accordingly, playing around with him because its convenient and kind of funny, she also happens to be the only one who catches on that he is Not Supposed To Fucking Be Here, but plays along because, again, convenient. easy enough scapegoat if she needs it. meanwhile magpie clocks onto her Instantly, but Completely misses the fact that she isnt just innocently futzing around like he thinks she is. he somehow completely trusts her, so much so that despite being the only person who could possibly figure out her Scheming he just. completely rules it out. i really have to reiterate, they are So fucking insufferable.

it isnt until past halfway through th fucking game that luci catches on that magpie's front is . well, a front. and she is genuinely insulted she never caught on. its so fucking funny. and then things get kinda complicated bc like… [waves hands around] story events…..

luci kinda functions as a sorta "final boss" for the whole thing, in heavy quotes. ihavent decided exactly how itll go yet, but. waves hand around. the point is that shes kind of directly responsible for a LOT of people dying, and also kind of for directly threatening Them as well. but the thing is, she hinges Immensely deeply on the idea of Relevancy. because her own nature is so fickle and fragile, shes insistent on making a strong Impression of herself-- as this is what she feels like will root her into reality. something much like how abnormalities function-- ideas dont really ever die, and neither do they. and Thats what she wants more than anything.

so. while it wasnt exactly her entire Goal from the start, if she can cement herself as a Villain, then sure. whatever. it could be fun! and she plays it up. as she is wont to do.

that whole thing is important because of th fact that like.. the only person who Doesnt immediately believe that image of her IS magpie. like… yeah hes kinda had th rug pulled out from under him completely (and its kind of true that if he'd been a little more observant that he could have literally stopped all of this.. he tries not to think about it too hard.) but he also just… god, despite everything he still hates the idea of having to do anything to her.

it takes him a while to figure out why, but its because he's ALSO immediately able to call out her bluff. AGAIN. due to being pretty much the only person that talks to her directly (and.. genuinely ??? kind of??) he can tell when she is intentionally hiding something. she is very deliberately playing up the Idea of what a villain Is, goading everyone on, but he knows damn well what shes about. the issue is that it isnt wholly untrue either.

its like. yeah she intentionally hurt a lot of people, and will probably keep doing that if someone doesnt Do something about her (like everyone else wants to do…) but also… well to put it bluntly, again, she wants little more than simply to be able to Live.

shes purposefully putting herself into a role in order to get what she wants, confident that she can do whatever she wants with no consequence, and treats the entire thing as a weird little game. she doesnt really hold any malice in her heart, she just. she's just desperate and deeply, deeply confused.

shes not good, but shes not evil either. she is JUST stupid. she doesnt know what shes doing and will do just about anything to hide that fact because she hates the feeling of not having control over these things. something she Also tries to hide. honestly hes not really sure if she even notices it herself.

at this point luci has literally never had to deal with the consequences for her actions so this is quite literally the Peak of her hubris arc. to put it in a way, shes convinced she understands how the story goes and can change it how she wants, and she Does Not and Cannot. her arc is essentially trying to assign narrative significance to things in the hopes that it Fulfills something in her. it does not. instead she just has a bunch of problems she caused herself. oops. oh well <33 and its not like magpie doesnt try!! unfortunately its a little hard to talk someone down when theyre Actively Trying To Kill You, and also when theyve completely resigned themself to this sort of Only One Of Us Can Survive ultimatum.

which is to say luci keeps collecting death flags and well. oops <333 which kind of ends with magpie being literally the only person who knows that luci was ever anything other than that Antagonistic Presence she insisted on being (because she would rather have committed fully to that than to ever reveal that maybe, just a little, she was terrified of what would happen otherwise..)

but most importantly, luci ends up being Another Person that magpie couldn't help. its not like he couldve DONE anything, she would've refused anything and everything regardless, its just. man. god. ugh. that… that sucked. its not like he has a horrible track record of repeatedly failing to save people or anything… lol lmao………

so hey, the watch, right?

its something he got from one of his little jobs. last one he ever took, actually. he'd never say it was really a Moral way to make it day to day, but like, what Was, right? nothing was Really moral, everyone just kinda did what they had to; so like, no need to worry about it right? no time for all that. but then you pay a little too much attention, slip up a little, get to know someone a little too much; learn they're pretty much exactly like you are. someone with wants and hopes, little preferences and stories they get excited to share.

and then you get the guy killed. part of the plan from the start, of course, but like... he was Right There. its different when you have to look em in the eyes when you do it, yknow?

magpie's key running emotion is Guilt. he spent so long trying to avoid facing the reality of who he was and what he was doing, but unfortunately it catches up to him Big Time. he's just deceptively good at acting as though that isn't the case. no time to slow down, after all. he couldnt Afford to do anything else. honestly? his entire stunt with lcorp wasnt even something he Thought about too hard. it was stupid and impulsive and he knows it, but now he's Here, and he Has to do something. it has to be something, he can't just let it go. can't just let them go. (some part of him hopes that at the very least when it Does all backfire on him, at least it'd help somebody in the process...)

the watch is a reminder. something kind of absentmindedly tossed at him by the guy who put him on the job as a little something extra, (or in other words, something they didnt bother to want to deal with.) and then it turns out, it was just some petty fuckoff disagreement between them that started th whole thing! but its cool because he gives you the dead guy's watch "to sell for at least a little extra, as a tip." right. of course. yeah, that's... yeah, thanks. great!

he cleaned it and fixed it up and he keeps it as a memento. a little "hey dont fuck up again ok buddy?" a little "you could literally die at any time so like just remember that ok buddy?" ... an "at least let me honor this somehow before karma comes back and inevitably kicks my ass." equal parts reminder and weight to bear. sentimental piece and confession of guilt.

luci's ordeal with backwards clock is a mostly out-of-narrative subject-- assigning her abnos to thematically tie with for funsies. the clock is, wouldnt you guess it, linked with her experience with regret. its... very, very complicated to explain, especially because of the fact that 1) shes already so goddamn hard to decipher and 2) she is Also fully incapable of processing it for what it is.

which... kind of brings me to the whole Thing. magpie is plainly, fully aware that trusting luci in the way that he is is by all means a horrible, horrible idea. she's made it abundantly, repeatedly clear she will simply do whatever benefits her most at any given point. but all magpie can really see is someone struggling just a few paces behind him, exactly somewhere he has been, something he remembers incredibly clearly. as stupid as it may be, he wants to help her. he wants her to be able to find herself, confront what she refuses to acknowledge, give her a fighting chance.

he cant stand the idea of letting someone slip through his fingers like that. it's... its complicated, but its something he wants to stand by. luci just doesnt get it. she still holds a grudge towards him after everything, an odd caution knowing that he just. knows things about her. has seen her for what she is, further than she can bear to acknowledge herself, as bad of a job as she's doing hiding it. luci will continue to refuse any opening he gives to her, but he will continue to offer the option, time and time again.

. anyway heres some images.

[dandyshucks]

need Guz to hug me tightly for like an hour solid oh my god dhdjdkl I went driving for the first time in over a year and I chewed my lip raw 😭😭

I'm starting to look like a caricature of Anxiety with all these physical symptoms and signs LMAO

[nerdie-faerie]

I know people think it's hyperbole when I say I intend to sleep all day but genuinely, given half a chance and conditions permitting, I will deadass sleep 16 hours straight

[ghostlyheart]

Happy Valentines Day!! 💝 I hope you spend the day being haunted by someone you love 👻 (or if you're like me, just eating a lot of heart-shaped candy)

Poll:

[a-dash-in-the-middle]

urgh and she is on tour, probably for her new album and i am as per usual nowhere near america

[tojigasm]

Thinking about older!Logan and how he'd definitely clock the crush you have on him as soon as you meet him.

It's amusing to him, and unfortunately for you, Logan wasn't born yesterday and he absolutely catches your long stares when you think he's not looking or the way you avert your eyes from his whenever speaking to you.

He thinks it's cute and a little stupid on your behalf – a twenty year old something kid crushing on some fifty year old man old enough to be your father.

But it's when the two of your eyes meet from across the room that he knows he's completely fucked because damn if you're not the prettiest thing he's seen in a good fifteen years or so and damn if he doesn't want to treat you the way he knows boys your age aren't

When he finally gets you alone, it escalates faster than either of you could've imagined.

"Shy little thing arent'cha?" He comments from his seat beside you, "Am I really that mean and scary?"

For a moment, you don't realize he's speaking to you until you look up to scan the room before meeting his eyes.

Logan seems to have followed your eyes, scanning each nook and crevice along with you.

"See any ghosts?"

Your eyes narrow slightly in annoyance.

"M'not shy."

Logan hums from his seat, leaning forward to pick up his cigar from the table. Settling back into his chair, he takes a long drag.

"Sure y'rnot." He replies with a smirk, smoke pooling from his lips as he exhales through his words.

You don't break eye contact with him this time, and he's got you right where he wants you.

"M'not." You repeat.

"Oh, I know you're not." Logans voice suddenly shifts to a lighter tone, laced with tease. The switch throws you off for a moment. "Don't think I haven't seen you, do you?"

And there's no need for him to elaborate. You've been caught in your school girl crush that, in reality, you know you won't get in trouble for but it's the fear of disappointing the older man that strikes a chord of anxiety through you.

You don't say anything to that, and the two of you only stare at one another before Logan's placing his cigar back down into the ashtray and motioning for you to come towards him.

You obey without question, partially in response to your training with him and partially wanting to show him how good you can be, how good you are – you have complete trust in him.

Logan seems to sense the slight of your unease, helping to lead you to straddle his lap as you sit down atop him.

His thighs spread out beneath you, helping to keep you balanced.

"That's better, huh?" He asks.

You nod, eyes drifting downwards to where your hands have begun to trace over the detailed lines of his leather suit.

There's quietness to the moment. One that seems as though it could last forever as Logan keeps a gentle hand on your thigh and the other on the arm of the chair, content on letting you distract yourself for the moment.

"Jesus," Logan comments, making you look up to meet his eyes again.

He cups a hand to your jaw, softly turning your head left and right to look you over.

"Can tell you right now," he cuts himself off with a hesitant inhale, the pads of his gloves running along your hips as he slides his hands up and down the shape of your waist to your thigh, "– When I was younger I would've been all over ya'."

Something about the image that draws your mind makes your core ache and your legs weak – imagining a younger version of the older man in the moment, the whitesh grey streaks in his hair bring you back to earth just as fast.

Logan holds your chin with two of his fingers, pad of his gloved thumb stroking your soft skin, and in the same moment, the two of you are kissing.

His lips are soft against your plush ones. His tongue is rough as he takes his time to run the wet muscle up the insides of your cheeks and around your own tongue.

You run your nails through the short of his hair, tangling your fingers in the thick of his tufts.

Logan groans into the kiss, shuffling down the seat to spread his thighs out further beneath you.

His hand comes up to cup your heat, and you gasp into the kiss before grinding your hips into his large palm.

Logan smiles into the kiss.

It only takes him a moment before the pad of his thumb is deftly pressed against your clit through the layers of your suit and you're pulling away from the kiss to moan.

Your brows furrow, and your hands drop from his hair to rest atop his shoulders, letting out soft moans and hums as his finger circles your bud.

"There we go." Logan kisses the curve of your jaw, pulling back to lean against the chair, watching as you relax into his hold.

"That feels good." You manage through a whimper, humming lightly as he shifts his movements to figure eights over your clit.

Logan gives a half chuckle, "I bet it does." His free hand holds you by your hip, keeping you still as you begin to rock into his hand.

"Right there, huh?" He asks, and you nod weakly, rolling your hips into his hand.

"M'close." You breathe.

Logan nods, "Tell Daddy where you want him."

You're quick to obey, dropping your hand from his shoulder to hold his wrist in place, letting out a choked sob when he runs his fingers over your sensitive folds through your suit.

There's not much warning besides a moan that gets caught half way up your throat as you cum.

Logan only continues to run his fingers over your cunt, stroking your folds before your pushing his hand away, swallowing soft gasps for air as you relax against him.

You can feel him kiss the top of your head, his hand stroking up and down the soft of your back while your fingers are tangled with the other.

"Y'okay?" He asks into your hair.

You nod.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Sanemi lashing out on his pregnant wife only to beg her for forgiveness later

Pairing: Sanemi x pregnant!reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Synopsis: Like every week, you find yourself on your way back from Shinobu's estate and your pregnancy check-up. Little did you know what horror awaits you at your own home with your husband almost killing two kids...

Warnings: Sanemi is mean in this one and I mean it, extreme hurt but also comfort in the end so don't worry, full Shinazugawa package regarding language and violence lol, not proofread because I have to leave now

Thank you sooo much for that cool request @itsmscoco and I'm sorry it took a while. I really hope you like what I came up with 🤍

You rub your minor belly. For a woman, a pregnancy should feel like a trip to heaven. After all, you are blessed with developing a child that is half you and half your husband. Oh, your beloved and surprisingly gentle husband who always makes sure that you get enough sleep, that you nutrition yourself properly. But even the wind hashira can’t do a single thing against your constant sickness and pain.

“Please try this out, (y/n). Don’t hesitate to come here again if you need something else. You really have an unfortunate pregnancy when it comes to nausea”, Shinobu comments gently while giving your belly a little massage.

“Don’t get me wrong, I am so excited about the honor of caring for a child in my own body. But honestly, I’m so glad when this pregnancy is over”, you huff while taking a deep breath in.

Please, don’t vomit all over the insect pillar who’s just trying to help. You’ve been here what feels like everyday since finding out you’re pregnant. Well, to be exact, Shinobu is the one who suggested that you might expect a child.

Because of your never-ending sickness.

“Oh, there’s nothing to get wrong at all! After all, your pregnancy is a rather difficult one. But I’m sure Shinazugawa is taking good care of you!”

“He definitely does. My husband is an angel”, you reply in an instant.

You can’t wait to go back home. Even though your sleep-drunken eyes won’t be able to stay open longer than maybe a few hours, even though you weren’t able to catch a proper glimpse at Sanemi’s part in the on-going hashira training until now, you can’t wait to go back home. Back into your estate, back into the arms of your beloved husband.

“Not quite the codename I’d use for him, but that’s just what love does, right? I will send a kakushi along with you. Otherwise, Shinazugawa might show up and threaten me”, Shinobu jokes while helping you to get up.

“Thank you for your help. Again.”

You pull the insect hashira into a deep hug. How lucky you should consider yourself for the opportunity to call Shinobu your friend, that Sanemi laid his eyes on you. Out of all the countless women around, the ones with faces like porcelain and bodies so well-formed you can’t hold a candle against every single one of them. But still, he chose you.

“Come on, (y/n). Why are you crying?”, Shinobo whispers into your ear while rubbing small circles onto your back.

“I’m just a little overwhelmed from everything I guess”, you mumble against her comforting shoulder.

Just a few months ago, you would have laughed at anyone who told you that your life would turn out like this. Of course, you’ve lost countless good friends and family members on the way and living with a suborn husband like Sanemi isn’t always easy. But somehow, the two of you always make it work.

Right?

-at the wind hashira estate-

“We are almost there. Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m just a little tired from walking, that’s all!”

Truth is, your feet hurt like hell. Shinobu reported about women who don’t even feel their baby until the second trimester. Why are your feet already swollen, your belly bloated, your guts constantly turning? And there’s still so much ahead.

“Looks like Shinazugawa-sama received a new bunch of trainees after the other corps members all landed in Kocho-sama’s hospital wing”, the kakushi next to you comments dryly.

“Was it really that bad?”

Of course you heard about the rather brutal training methods of your husband. After all, even the walls of his estate aren’t thick enough to stop every single scream from reaching your ears. But still…

“It was pretty bad. Some of the-“

Glass cracking. Screams from afar. Out of instinct, you pick up your pace until you dash towards your home, sweat now dripping from every pore. What happened? Is Sanemi alright? He wouldn’t leash out on one of his students like that. Something must have happened. A demon? No, it’s still daytime. But what is it?

“He’s back! He’s back! That cold-blooded man! Lie down and pretend that you’ve fainted!”, a blonde-haired boy screams while almost collapsing onto the floor.

“What are you talking about? What’s going on here?”, you press out.

Your lungs threaten to fail you, breath already tasting like pure iron.

Until your eyes find Genya.

Your guts twist and turn in every direction, almost force you to vomit all over the place. Genya shouldn’t be here. Out of all people, it shouldn’t be him. And who’s the boy next to him. That familiar scar, you’ve seen that boy before. Is it possible that…

“Kamado Tanjiro”, you breathe out.

Maybe that is even worse.

Your eyes dart around the area without an aim. Where’s Sanemi? Did he find them already? They need to leave before he finds out that they’re here, carry on with another hashira training.

“Please stop now!”, Tanjiro suddenly shouts while stretching out his arm in defence.

An uneasy feeling crawls up your spine, the dark claws of sickening foreshadowing. All you can do is standing death still right where you are and watch in sheer horror as your husband stomps out of your estate motion.

Is that your husband you love and adore, though? You know how untamed he can get especially when getting confronted with his painful past. It was never easy for him to see Genya join the demon slayer corps or realize that his mother could have been saved like Tanjiro’s sister.

But never in your entire life have you seen him like this. The empty shell of your husband, muscles tensed to the maximum and his empty orbs directed towards the two boys in front of him.

In this very moment, you’d trust him to actually kill them.

“What are you going to do? Are you planning to kill Genya?”, Tanjiro continues passionately.

Your glossy orbs are set on your husband. Would he really do something like that? What if you witness the father of your unborn child taking the life of two other human beings? Your heart can’t take it, knees threaten to fail you.

“Hell no, I’m not going to kill him. It would be easy enough to kill him, but since it’s against the rules and all…I’m going to ruin him beyond recovery!”

Until your blurry head finally makes a decision and allows your feet to run.

Straight towards the two boys.

Straight into the firing line.

Straight into the sight of your now maniac husband.

“You won’t do any of these things, you hear me?”, you jeer at him with your new-found courage.

“(y/n)”, Genya breathes behind you.

“How dare you to talk to innocent children like that, Sanemi?”

The man in front of you furrows his eyebrows, hands clenched into tight fists while taking a step towards you.

“Get lost. Right now”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

You swallow hard, all nerves now tingling in sheer horror. This is the first and last warning, without any doubt. The look on his stone-cold face tells you more than urgently that Sanemi isn’t playing, that he doesn’t want you here.

Maybe it’s best if you go back inside and pretend that nothing happened. He himself said that he won’t kill them, after all…

“I’m not leaving”, you bite back.

But that would mean leaving Genya alone. That would mean giving up all of your principles.

“Will you act out like this towards our child as well?”, you continue while growing bigger and bigger in front of the two boys.

He might be your husband, the love of your life. That doesn’t mean you’ll always have to do what he tells you, tough. Instinctively, you clench your hands into tight fists with your glossy eyes almost piercing through him. Enough is enough.

“If our child acts as dumb as you do, I sure as hell will!”

Oh.

Your heart drops to the floor when a nauseous wave of agony hits you with full force. Sanemi is and has always been a hot-headed man who never thought twice about the things he said. But never, not even once in your entire relationship he insulted you.

Until now.

“Is this really how you feel about me? We should support each other, you should listen to me as well as-“

“Spare me with that bullshit, (y/n)”, Sanemi spits at you.

“Get.out.of.the.way. Can’t you hear me?”

It’s like you stop living for a moment. All this time, you did your best to understand him and his grief. Everything Sanemi does comes with a logical reason behind it, even though it’s hard to see from time to time. But lashing out at you like that?

“Stop being so disrespectful to me right now. I am your wife-“

“Right now, you’re my problem”, he jeers back.

“And now get off my sight and let me finish this real quick-“

You don’t know what made you act the way you just did. Was it his cruel behaviour, the way his words cut through your heart like a thousand knives? Before your husband is even able to finish his sentence, your palm races towards his cheek with full force.

The world around you goes silent, frightful gazes glued onto you while you can’t stop your tears from falling anymore.

“Is this how you’re acting around your pregnant wife by now, how you’ll treat innocent children? If that’s the live you chose, I’m not a part of it anymore”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, the urge to get as far away from him as possible becomes unbearable. Your feet start sprinting towards the estate on your own, carry you into your now so empty-feeling bedroom.

And finally, you allow yourself to break down and cry.

Is this really the man you love, that you’d give your life for? Your shaky fingers caress your belly mindlessly.

You can’t stay here. Not when Sanemi showed you a completely different face today. Not when this place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

-a few hours later-

“Fuck!”, Sanemi cries out on top of his lungs while dashing towards Obanai over and over.

Why can’t he get your stupid words out of his mind? The way you stood there with tears in your eyes, how he was literally able to hear your heart crack when those damned words left his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you, to drag you into the fuckery with his little brother and that Kamado boy.

But why did he say all those dumb things, then?

“You seem off, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly, hitting the wind hashira with full force again.

“I guess I fucked up”, Sanemi mumbles.

What if you won’t forgive him for today? Your last words haunt him since the moment you left him standing in the rain.

“I bet you can talk your way out of it-“

“Hell nah. I don’t think she wants to see me tonight.”

“Did you ask her, though?”

“Who the hell do you think you are anyway? You’re the one to talk, not able to confess your feelings to Mitsuri”, Sanemi barks at the man next to him.

“But yeah, maybe I should get going…”

Coming home never fuelled him with so much fright. What if you’re still angry at him, if you refuse to even talk to him? Or even worse, what if you’ll really leave him?

Sanemi’s guts turn in an instant, feet now picking up their pace with every step. He can’t lose you. Not you, the light of his life. Not when you are the only ray of sunshine in this rotting hell. What the hell did he do? The fact that he even raised his voice at you is unforgivable.

Finally, his fingers grab the door that leads to your shared bedroom, finally he’s able to make up for his mistakes of today-

His eyes widen in sheer horror.

You’re gone.

Right there where your head should rest, there’s absolutely nothing.

Panic starts rising up his chest, forces his heart down his throat.

Did you leave?

He yanks out of your shared room, eyes roaming around each and every corner of your estate. But you aren’t there. You aren’t here.

“My lady is at the love hashira’s estate.”

Sanemi darts up immediately, greeted by the oh so familiar voice of your personal crow.

“Is she fine, why did she-“

“With all due respect, I suggest you to control yourself before making any more insensitive comments to my lady-“

“Who the hell do you even think you are you-“

“Your earlier spoken words really troubled her and my lady certainly does not deserve that.”

Without another word, your crow disappears into the darkness of night again.

Sanemi swallows hard. Fuck, did he really hurt you that badly? He never wanted you to feel bad, never wanted to hurt you. Damn, he only wanted to show Genya and that Kamado boy their places. It shouldn’t have hit you. Out of all people, why did he have to hurt you?

“I need to tell her”, he mumbles under his breath before dashing towards the love hashira estate.

-at Mitsuri’s-

“I can’t believe Shinazugawa said something like this to you, (y/n)! You are super far away from being dumb, after all! Here, eat another pancake and stay as long as you want.”, Mitsuri babbles while handing you another plate.

Your dry eyes are barely able to stay open any longer. All the grief, explaining, fighting and crying did apparently really wear you out. Good for you Mitsuri’s estate is near by and you just know she’ll always open her arms for you.

“Thank you so much for taking me in, Kanroji. I really don’t deserve your kindness”, you sniffle.

“You have to be joking, (y/n)! It’s my duty as your friend to be there for you anytime you need me! And also, I-”

Three violent knocks on Mitsuri’s wooden door almost send you over the edge. It’s past after midnight, the time closer to the morning than evening. Who would knock on Mitsuri’s door this late at night?

“Do you think that’s a demon?”, you mutter in horror, both pairs of eyes set on the door.

“I don’t think so. Let’s see!”

Before you’re able to stop Mitsuri, she rips open the door.

And reveals no other than your husband.

“Sanemi”, you breathe out.

Tears start swelling up your eyes in an instant when a flood of memories crushes you all over again. Just a few hours ago, your husband made very clear that he doesn’t want to see you again anytime soon. How did he find out that you’re here?

“(y/n), can we…have a talk?”, he mumbles with icy voice.

“Do you want to leave me?”, you blurt out.

“What?”

Is that really how you feel, what you think of him? That he’ll turn his back on you after a fight? He did say all those nasty things to you, though.

“I think I’m going out and…cook!”, Mitsuri announces while sprinting out of the door, leaving you alone in the room with all that tension and him.

Him, the man you love more than anything else in this world. And also him, who broke your heart like he never did before.

“You have to be kidding me”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

You turn away before you lose your composure completely.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?”

“Do you really think I’m here to dump you!? You, my pregnant wife!? You can’t be fucking serious about that!”

In the matter of seconds, you find yourself surrounded by his usual so comforting arms that now hurt like daggers against your skin.

“Please, let me go, I can’t do this ri-“

“(y/n), please.”

His suffocated voice forces your eyes to dart upwards.

Instantly, your heart drops to the floor.

Is this really your husband, crying against your shoulder while pressing your body against his?

“I’m sorry for all the shit I’ve said, I’m sorry for making you feel this way. I’d never leave you, not when I’m even lucky for calling you mine. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I just…I just can’t stand them…”

“Sanemi…”

“And I get that I don’t deserve you and that I’m a jerk for hurting you. I know you could’ve had every man you wanted-“

“Sanemi!”, you snap at him, holding onto his face tightly.

“But you’re the one I want”, you finally cry out.

“But your words hurt me. Is this really how you feel about me? Do you really think I’m a burden?”

“I was out of my fucking mind for saying that to you! You’re my blessing, my everything, the sunshine in this rotting hell. You’re…You’re my wife, right?”

That innocent look on his now tear-soaked face runs shivers down your spine, reminds you that even though he acted out today, this man is still the Sanemi Shinazugawa you fell in love with years ago.

“I am your wife”, you press out before a new wave of tears haunts you down.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). So so sorry”, he mutters again and again while kissing every tear away that escapes your eyes.

“And I’ll never talk to you like that again, I promise.”

“Will you promise to not treat Tanjiro and Genya like that ever again too?”

Sanemi shifts his weight underneath you, his orbs growing hard again. Was this too much to ask for? No. Even though you love Sanemi’s rough side as well, he simply can’t do something like this again. Not when you’re his wife, not when you are expecting his first very own child.

“I will. But only if these jerks leave me alone”, he grumbles before giving you a passionate kiss.

“That might be manageable. I want to go home now…”

“No problem, I’ll carry you-“

“You really don’t have to carry me-“

“Oh, but I sure as hell will.”

“HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU TWO! AND DON’T ACT LIKE A JERK AGAIN, SHINAZUGAWA!”

“Did you have to tell her everything?”

“She’s my friend, Sanemi. Of course I had to.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[iceunhie]

voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

“When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.��

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3