#the way she's the first one to hug him when he comes back to the team after he quits

[reilemon]

Sweet Stardust

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ synopsis: You'd never expect to be set up on a blind date with Xavier - the one man you’ve been hopelessly crushing on for months.

♡︎ pairing: Xavier x fem!reader

♡︎ tags: fluff, smut, use of 'sweetheart' 'princess' 'honey', reader has hair (at least shoulder length, didn't specify texture), fingering, creampie ofc

♡︎ word count: 6.1k

♡︎ a/n: written for @who-mentioned-rhys-larsen ♡ this fic is part of the Blind Date Matchmaking event by @unintentionalseductress

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @/anitalenia

You take a slow sip of your iced tea, the coolness doing nothing to soothe the warmth creeping up your neck.

Why did you think this was a good idea?

Your fingers find the edge of your star-shaped earring, tracing the smooth metal absentmindedly as you glance around. The restaurant is elegant but cozy, the kind of place that requires a reservation but doesn’t suffocate you with formality. Secluded tables nestle in private corners, the polished dark wood of the bar offering a sense of quiet luxury. It’s nice— a perfect spot for a first date.

The thought only makes your stomach twist tighter.

You arrived earlier than planned, too anxious to sit alone in your apartment with nothing but your thoughts. Now, perched on a barstool, you’re starting to question every decision that led you to this moment.

The worst part? You don’t even know what your date looks like.

Tara assured you she’d pick someone good. And you trust her—she’s not just a colleague but a close friend, someone who knows you well enough to understand your type, your standards, your... predicament. That is, your utterly hopeless crush on Xavier.

Your gaze drops to your lap at the thought of him, an old ache stirring in your chest. You’ve spent months pining for him—your colleague, your neighbor, the man who has occupied far too much space in your head. But nothing has ever come of it. No flirty advances, no subtle signs that he might see you as anything more than a friend and coworker. And you’ve grown tired of waiting.

So, you let Tara set you up. Maybe this mystery man will be exactly what you need—a good distraction, someone to help you move on. If that’s even possible.

Still, one small consolation eases your nerves - you know you look good. The sweater dress you chose hugs your curves just right, soft and warm, the cleavage dipping just low enough to be tempting. Your heeled boots elevate your outfit, and, miraculously, your hair cooperated today, falling just the way you like it.

Tara instructed you to wear a recognition piece—something star-shaped, she had said. You thought it was too subtle, but you were relieved you had control over your outfit. Now, though, as you anxiously toy with your earring, you wonder if your date will even notice it.

What if he saw you already and decided to leave?

Your grip tightens slightly around your drink, your pulse stuttering at the humiliating thought. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

A small speck of light floats in front of you, pulling you from your anxious thoughts. You can’t help but associate them with him, as they always appear -

“Hey.”

The soft, familiar voice shifts your attention.

You turn, blinking in surprise, and your heart nearly stumbles out of your chest.

Xavier is sitting next to you.

When did he even get here?

He’s propped against the bar, one elbow resting on the polished wood, his cheek lightly pressed against his hand. The dim glow of the restaurant catches in his deep blue eyes, glinting with something unreadable as he watches you.

Your breath falters for just a second, heat creeping up your neck. “Hi.” you manage, offering a sheepish smile, your fingers still toying with your earring.

His gaze flickers down, catching on the star-shaped piece before shifting back to your face. “Are you waiting for someone?”

You straighten instinctively, forcing yourself to stop fidgeting. “I am,” you say, glancing toward the entrance. “But I’m not sure what he looks like.”

His brows lift slightly. “A blind date?”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Yeah.”

You glance at your phone. You exhale sharply, shifting in your seat. “But I’m starting to think he won’t show up.”

Xavier hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “Maybe he’s just running late.”

You look back at him then, finally taking in the details of his outfit—he’s wearing a crisp white shirt, paired with light-colored slacks that somehow make him look even taller, more put-together, but still effortlessly him.

Your stomach twists with an uneasy realization —what if he’s waiting for someone? Swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat, you force yourself to ask, keeping your voice as casual as possible. “Are you waiting for someone?”

His eyes linger on yours for a second too long. Then, he shakes his head. “Not really.”

You barely have time to process that answer before he turns his attention toward the softly lit dining area. Without hesitation, he rises from his seat, and then—he extends his hand toward you.

“Our table is ready.” he murmurs, his voice smooth, a soft smile curving at the edges of his lips.

Your breath catches.

Oh -

He’s your date.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

After settling into a table tucked in a cozy corner, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, you and Xavier placed your orders—drinks and appetizers to start. But your mind was spinning too fast, so you excused yourself to the restroom, needing a moment to breathe.

Inside, you grip the edge of the sink, inhaling slowly as you pull out your phone.

"Tara, did you bribe Xavier into being my date?" Your heart hammers in your chest as you type the next part. "Please tell me you didn't tell him I have a crush on him!"

Within seconds, a text pops up:

"Of course not!"

You wait, staring at the screen. Then a voice note appears.

You tap play, Tara’s familiar voice filling the quiet space of the restroom.

"He immediately refused when I asked him if he wanted to be set up on a blind date." You can hear her dramatic pout, but then it shifts—lighter, giddy. "But when I told him you’d be his date, he accepted. Anyway, have fun!"

You blink.

Your reflection in the mirror catches the exact moment your anxious frown softens into something else entirely—a shy, almost disbelieving smile creeping across your lips.

He accepted because it was you.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads down to your fingertips. You clutch your phone, staring at yourself, trying to tamp down the hopeful little spark.

Does this mean he likes me?

You bite your lip, willing yourself to stay grounded, to not jump to conclusions. It just means he didn’t hate the idea. That’s all. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Still, as you slip your phone back into your purse and wash your hands, your movements feel lighter, less burdened by nerves. By the time you push open the bathroom door and step back into the dinning area, that giddy warmth is still lingering in your chest.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You step into your apartment, and turn to lock the door after Xavier enters. It feels surreal. Xavier is standing in your entryway. In your apartment. Slipping off his shoes, asking where the guest slippers are. He shrugs off his coat, and before you can even think to reach for it, he’s holding out his hands—first to take the bouquet of flowers he bought for you on the walk back, then to grab your coat.

The bouquet is filled with your favorites. Did he ask Tara? Did he just… know?

You clear your throat, mumbling a quiet thanks, and step into the kitchen to grab a vase. The sound of running water fills the space as your mind is stuck on the simple, surreal fact that he’s here. Xavier is standing in your kitchen, looking around with quiet interest, his gaze flickering over little details—your recipe books stacked on one counter, the aprons hanging next to the fridge, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

“Cozy.” he comments, his voice warm.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

You cover your lips as a chuckle escapes you, shaking your head. “I’m sorry,” you say, glancing at Xavier with an apologetic smile, “I just always assumed you were bad at cooking since there’s burning smoke coming from your apartment almost every week.”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh. “It’s not that I’m bad,” he muses, “I just have a bad habit of dozing off while waiting for something to cook.”

The low rasp in his voice makes your stomach flutter. You’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, how his knee has brushed against yours too many times to be an accident.

You clear your throat, scrambling for something to keep the conversation flowing. “I have dough at the apartment.” The words slip out. “I’m not sure what to make with it yet. Do you have any ideas?”

Xavier leans in slightly, resting his chin on his hand as he contemplates, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I bought strawberry jam today,” he murmurs. “It would be perfect with homemade bread.” His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before it settles again on yours. “I could help you with it—if that’s okay with you?”

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Your cheeks burn at the memory.

Just a few hours ago, you thought Xavier wasn’t interested in you at all. That your feelings were nothing more than a hopeless crush. But now—he’s here. He’s helping you find the perfect spot to set the vase, standing close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

And you know - he does like you.

You saw it in the way he looked at you at the restaurant, in the way his usually distant, unreadable gaze softened, locked onto you. It wasn’t the casual attention he gave to others, the absentminded focus of a man who was simply being polite. No—this was different. His eyes had lingered, had traced the curve of your lips between words, flickering down for just a second too long before finding yours again.

And you felt it, too. In the way his knee brushed against yours beneath the table. In the way his fingers found yours by the end of the night,the touch tender and grounding.

And now, here you are—just the two of you in your cozy kitchen, setting everything up to prepare homemade bread.

You move around the space, trying to keep your hands busy, trying not to focus too much on the man leaning against the counter. You reach for the aprons hanging by the hook, and a playful smile tugs at your lips as you hand Xavier the one with the bunny print. He raises an eyebrow at the design before letting out a low chuckle, shaking his head in amusement but accepting it anyway.

"You picked this on purpose, didn’t you?"

"You’ll look cute in it," you tease, already tying your own cherry-print apron around your waist.

But before you can secure the knot, his fingers brush over yours. "Let me."

His breath against the shell of your ear makes goosebumps bloom along the side of your neck. He steps in behind you, his fingers tying the knot — but he doesn’t move away immediately. For a lingering moment, his hands rest on your hips, fingers splayed lightly over the fabric of your dress, and your breath catches. It’s so subtle, so fleeting, but the touch lingers even as he steps back and moves to stand beside you.

You exhale slowly, turning your attention back to the dough in the bowl.

Xavier rolls up his sleeves, the fabric sliding up his forearms, revealing the sculpted muscle, the veins subtly lining his skin. His hands flex as he reaches for the dough, fingers sinking into the soft mixture.

"I can handle the kneading," he offers, his eyes flicking to you. "Just instruct me."

You nod, too distracted to say anything.

Xavier’s hands press into the dough with steady, practiced motions, fingers flexing as he pushes forward, the soft mixture stretching and folding beneath his palms. You watch, transfixed, as the muscles in his forearms shift with each movement, flexing beneath his skin. The dough yields to his touch, stretching between his fingers before he folds it over itself again, his knuckles pressing in, wrists rolling as he coaxes the mixture into the perfect consistency. It shouldn’t be mesmerizing. It shouldn’t be distracting. But it is.

You swallow, completely absorbed in the way his hands work—the slow push, the press, the stretch, the way his fingers curl just slightly as he pulls the dough back. Heat pools in your stomach, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

And then he stops.

Your gaze snaps up from his hands to find his face already turned toward you, amusement flickering in his deep blue eyes.

"Can you sprinkle more flour? Or are you just gonna keep staring?"

Your stomach flips.

Oops.

Heat spreads over your cheeks as you realize he caught you shamelessly ogling his arms like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You scramble to gather yourself, clearing your throat as you quickly grab the flour.

"I was just making sure you were doing it right." you lie, voice slightly higher than normal as you sprinkle a light dusting over the dough.

Xavier hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips as he kneads again, the fresh coating of flour making his hands glide easier. But just as you think you’ve escaped the moment, he shifts—his hands no longer sticky with dough, moving faster than you can react.

A soft swipe of flour brushes against your cheek.

You blink, stunned. Xavier pulls his hand back, his smirk widening, too pleased with himself.

"Focus." he teases, the mirth in his eyes makes your stomach flip all over again.

Your jaw drops in feigned offense, so you grab a pinch of flour, and tap the tip of his nose. The faint layer of white settles on the tip of his nose, an almost comical touch against his usually composed expression. His gaze locks onto yours, surprise flickering in his eyes, and then—

A low chuckle spills into a soft, genuine laugh. Your heart stumbles over itself at the sight of him like this— warm and sweet, no longer distant. The sound of it makes you grin wider, but you don’t miss the way his eyes gleam with mischief. The playful glint is all the warning you get before his hand moves as he smears another streak of flour along your cheek.

“You should really focus.” he teases, voice rich with amusement, tilting his head as if inspecting his work.

You gasp, feigning an appalled expression. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

But you don’t get a chance to launch another attack, because he moves swiftly, catching your wrist in his hand. The contact sends a small jolt through you; it’s soft but firm enough that you can feel the heat of his palm against your skin, holding you in place. You expect him to smirk, to tease. But instead, his expression softens, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes as he lifts your hand. And then—he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His lips linger for only a second, the warmth of them seeping into your skin, before he pulls away.

Your pulse is fluttering, your cheeks heating, and silence settles between you, stretching for just a beat too long.

You clear your throat, glancing toward the dough still resting on the counter, and force your voice to sound as steady as possible.

“So, what do you like to cook the most?”

Xavier hums in thought. “I like trying new things,” he muses, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing some of the tension in his muscles. “It doesn’t always turn out great, but I like the challenge.”

You tilt your head, intrigued, and then smirk. “So, you like torturing yourself with hard recipes?��

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Something like that.” His voice is a little quieter as he continues. “You make it look easy. Thought I’d try my hand at a few things.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if you heard him correctly. “Wait - have you been trying to remake my recipes?”

His fingers falter for just a second before he smooths his expression into something neutral. “Maybe.”

A slow grin spreads across your face. “Xavier.”

He exhales, shaking his head like you’ve caught him in something ridiculous, but the corners of his lips twitch. “You make good food,” he mutters. “I wanted to see if I could make it too.”

You fight the urge to squish his cheeks that have flushed a tiny bit at the revelation. He actually remembers the things you’ve brought him, the little baked goods and dishes you’d made. And not only does he remember—he tries to recreate them.

His gaze flickers to you. “Maybe you should teach me.”

It’s a casual request, but you hear what he isn’t saying. He wants to see you more, and it sends another rush of giddy warmth through you.

“Okay,” you say, pretending like your heart isn’t doing flips. “What do you want to learn?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Egg tarts.”

The answer is so unexpected that you blink, then laugh. “Really? Out of everything?”

He nods. “They’re delicious.”

Finally, the bread dough is prepped, shaped, and ready for the oven. You slide the tray inside, and after cleaning up the counter and your hands, you remove the aprons and put them back on the hook.

As you turn to face Xavier again, you catch him watching you, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, leaning against the counter.

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the way his gaze makes your stomach tighten. Then, with a teasing lilt to your voice, you ask, “Should I go get you a blanket? Since you might doze off.”

His brows lift slightly, and then he huffs a short laugh.

But then, his voice drops, smooth as silk. “I think we can find a better way to pass the time.”

A soft laugh spills from your lips at first, but as soon as you catch the look in his eyes, the warmth in your chest falters, the laughter dying on your tongue.

The teasing spark in his eyes is nowhere to be found. Instead, a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, creeping up to the tips of his ears. Then—he moves.

One step, then another, the space between you disappearing, inch by inch. The edge of the counter presses into the small of your back as he approaches, your body instinctively leaning away. His hands rest on either side of you, palms pressing flat against the cool surface of the counter.

His breath is soft, ghosting over your lips. The sheer weight of his attention wraps around you like a second heartbeat, syncing with your own, pulsing through your veins. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something—him, the counter, anything to steady yourself.

The rest of the world fades into nothing, and all that exists is him.

His lashes lower just slightly, his lips parting as he leans in, his gaze holding yours the entire time. He’s waiting, offering you one last chance to pull away, to stop this before the moment tips over into something neither of you can take back.

Then, barely above a whisper - “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t say a word.

Instead, you tilt your chin up, closing what little distance remains between you, and press your lips to his. Xavier exhales softly against your lips, the sound breaking somewhere between relief and disbelief before he finally moves.

His mouth presses more firmly against yours, molding to the shape of you, learning the way you taste, memorizing the way you feel beneath him. His fingers twitch against the counter, like he’s restraining himself from reaching for you, from pulling you against him, from letting his hands wander to the places he’s only ever dreamed of touching. But he lingers, soaking in every moment, every detail, every sigh and shiver you give him. You melt into him, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

Xavier pulls away for a moment, his breath warm against your lips. "Can I touch your hair?"

It’s such a simple question, yet it sends comforting warmth through you, and it makes you fall for him even more. You nod, your heart hammering in your chest as you tilt your head slightly in invitation. You press your lips to his again, needing to feel that warmth, needing to drown in the way he kisses you. The moment his hand settles on your hair, a slow shiver rolls down your spine. His touch is reverent, the slightest tug at the roots sending small tingles all the way down your neck. You sigh into his mouth, the sound soft and almost dazed, relishing in the way he handles you, like he wants to learn the texture of every strand under his fingers.

And then he steps closer, pressing his body fully against yours, erasing the last inch of space between you. His firm muscles shift slightly against you, the warmth of him seeping through his clothes, through yours, until you feel surrounded, consumed. And lower, against your hip, there’s something else—something hard and pressing insistently, showing just how much he wants you.

Your breath catches, your fingers faltering where they rest against his jaw.

Just a small movement—that’s all it takes, the softest drag of your hip against the unmistakable hardness straining against his pants, to draw out a reaction from him.

Xavier’s body tenses, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers twitch against your hair, tightening slightly before loosening, as if he’s reminding himself to be gentle. His jaw clenches, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest second before they open again, darker now, heavier.

He whispers your name. "If you keep doing that—"

But you don’t move away. Instead, you lift your gaze to his. "Do you want to stop?" you whisper.

The moment hangs between you, before he exhales.

"No," he murmurs, "But if we do this, I need you to be sure."

And you are sure. Your fingers tighten around his wrist, feeling the pulse thrumming just beneath your fingertips. You guide his hand from your hair down to your waist. "I want this." you whisper, your heart pounding so violently you wonder if he can hear it. "I want you."

The tension in his body dissolves, his grip tightening at your waist, holding you there, against him. His breath stutters for just a moment, his nose brushing against yours, and then he kisses you. His lips move over yours with such aching tenderness that your knees almost buckle. His hands smooth over the curve of your waist, fingertips trailing lightly along your spine, sending shivers down your back, making you arch into him. Your fingers find the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric, gripping tighter as your body melts further into his.

Then he pulls away just enough to wrap his arms around you and effortlessly lift you off the ground. You gasp softly as he positions you carefully on the counter, ensuring you're comfortable. His fingers slip beneath the soft fabric of your sweater dress, and instinctively, you part your legs in silent invitation. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, pressing into the space between your legs, his body crowding against yours. Then his hand ventures further, toward the ache pooling between your legs.

He pulls back just enough to watch you, his lips parted, his breath mingling with yours. His eyes flicker between your gaze and where his fingers now hover. Then—his fingertips graze over the damp fabric of your underwear and a sharp breath escapes you.

His voice drops to a husky murmur. “You’re already so wet for me.”

Heat licks up your spine, not just from the way he touches you, but from the way he looks at you—devouring, mesmerized. Your cheeks flush, warmth creeping up your neck, your ears. Your grip on his shirt tightens as his touch grows bolder, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your folds, teasing, coaxing.

Your lips part on a quiet whimper, and he catches it, swallowing the sound as he leans in again, capturing your mouth in another slow, intoxicating kiss. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing scrape that makes you shudder against him, makes your body arch instinctively. His fingers press firmer, brushing up, down—catching against your clit with just enough friction. You gasp softly, tightening your grip on him, your hips shifting involuntarily.

Then, his fingers hook over the waistband of your underwear, and you rest your hand against his shoulder, lifting your hips to help him slide the fabric down your legs. Heat blooms across your cheeks when you catch him tucking the lace into his pocket, and you’re even more flustered when you see the mischievous smirk on his lips.

His fingers trail back between your legs, but the first brush of his fingers against your bare folds makes you jolt.

"Relax for me, honey." His voice is soft, soothing, his lips just a breath from yours.

You nod, your breath shaky as you let your body give in. His fingers slide along your wet heat, teasing and exploring in slow, tender strokes. Your grip tightens on his shoulder as one finger circles your entrance, prodding and testing you. A quiet gasp escapes you as you tug at his shirt, pulling him closer—and you press your lips to his, your tongue tangling with his.

Then his finger pushes in slowly, making you feel every inch of that delicious stretch and every slick, teasing glide. He finds that sweet spot with ease, the one that makes your breath hitch and your toes curl. A soft curse slips from your lips as he strokes it again and again, spreading tingling warmth through you.

He savors your soft, breathy whimpers as he slides a second finger inside, curling them just right and moving them in deep strokes.

"Does that feel good?" he murmurs, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

You can only nod, unable to form words when he’s touching you so perfectly. Your gaze flickers downward—between your legs, where his fingers move, where his hand glistens with your arousal—and the sight alone sends another pulse of heat through you.

Xavier’s lips curve in a soft, knowing smile as he takes in your expression, your half-lidded eyes, your parted lips. His free hand lifts, cradling the back of your neck, tilting your head to expose your neck to him. His lips graze your skin, teasing at first, before his tongue flicks out, dragging a wet trail along the sensitive slope of your neck.

A sharp gasp escapes you as his thumb presses against your clit. He circles it in slow, lazy swirls, the pleasure deepening, pooling low in your stomach. Your thighs tremble, hips shifting involuntarily, chasing more, needing more.

"That’s it, honey." he breathes against your throat, his fingers plunging deeper, working you open. He latches onto your skin, sucking gently, his breath fanning over the damp spot.

The hand on his shoulder moves to hold onto his forearm, each precise stroke sending jolts of pleasure through you, winding that coil in your belly impossibly tight. You’re right there, trembling on the edge, every breath a shaky, desperate gasp. If you had any control left, you would be embarrassed by the broken sounds spilling from your lips—whimpers, soft cries, the only thing you can manage being his name, over and over like a plea.

Xavier groans low in his throat. “You sound so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, lips brushing your ear. “Come for me, princess. I’ve got you.”

His control is slipping—you can hear it in his voice, feel it in the way his hips press forward, seeking friction against your thigh. He’s trembling, barely holding himself back, and the thought alone sends pleasure ripping through you. You shatter against him, burying your face in his neck as your release crashes over you, your walls clenching around his fingers, slick dripping down his hand. He holds you through it, his grip firm, his breath ragged, whispering praise into your hair, your pleasure undoing him just as much.

Your lips press against his throat, muffling the last of your cries as your body trembles against him, and he’s not so sure he can hold back any longer. His hand catches your chin, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushes along your jaw, eyes locked onto yours, dark and desperate. His chest rises and falls in uneven breaths, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“I need to feel you.” His voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Your body is still pulsing with the aftershocks of release, but you know you need more.

"Yes." You whisper, wasting no time to slip one hand between your bodies, trembling slightly as you reach for his pants.

Xavier groans softly, helping you with the belt when your hands fumble, his own need evident in the way he works quickly to unfasten it. The moment he pulls himself free, your breath catches—he's so hard, flushed and aching, the sight alone making you even more wet. You can’t help but wrap your fingers around him, feeling the weight, the heat, the pulse beneath your touch. When your thumb glides over the bead of precum on his tip, smearing it over the sensitive skin, a sharp hiss leaves his lips, his grip tightening on your waist.

"Fuck—" he exhales, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist, stilling your touch before he brings your hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of it. Then, as he lowers his gaze, positioning himself between your legs, his breath stutters again. His tip nudges against your soaked entrance, and just before he presses forward, his eyes flick back up to yours.

"I don’t have— Do you—?"

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you cradle his cheek, your thumb stroking along his jaw. "I'm covered," you murmur, brushing your lips over his. "And I trust you."

His exhale is shaky, his forehead pressing to yours before he finally moves. Carefully, the thick head of his cock begins to ease in, parting you with an aching stretch that has your body tensing before melting, your nails pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. You’re already so sensitive, still pulsing from his fingers, and this only adds to your dizzying arousal.

"Fuck," he grits out, his jaw clenching as he inches deeper. "You're so—"

The words die in a low groan as he bottoms out, pressing flush against you, his pelvis catching on your clit in a way that sends sparks through every nerve in your body. Your walls flutter around him, gripping him so tightly that he shudders, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Are you okay?" he breathes against your hair, his arms tightening around you.

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding as your body adjusts. Your lips part against the crook of his neck, sucking lightly on the skin there, grounding yourself in the feel of him. His first thrust is slow, dragging — so controlled it’s almost torturous. You can feel the tremble in his muscles, the way his breath shakes as he exhales through gritted teeth.

"Look at you—so beautiful." A deep groan rumbles in his chest as you clench down around him, your walls gripping him so tight it makes his thrusts falter, his cock stroking against that perfect spot over and over.

Your hands slide up, fingers curling in his hair, tugging gently as you tilt your face up, finding his eyes.

"Xavier—ahh—" your voice is soft, pleading, "I’m so close. I need you—"

His cock twitches inside you, throbbing against your walls, slick and tight and perfect. His fingers dig into your hips, trying to hold back, but it’s no use. A desperate moan spills from your lips as his thumb returns to your clit, pressing, circling, matching the frantic stutter of his hips.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasps, voice wrecked, hoarse. "Taking me so well, honey."

Pleasure crashes into you, shattering, overwhelming. Your pussy clenches around him, pulsing, gripping, and Xavier curses under his breath, arms locking around you, holding you through it.

"That’s it—fuck—just like that,” he pants, breath shaky. “I’ve got you—haah—I'm so close."

His rhythm stutters, his hips grinding deeper, erratic, chasing the high. You’re still trembling, still lost in your high, but you don’t want him to stop—not with the way his cock throbs inside you, not with the way his breath stutters.

You tighten your legs around him, pulling him deeper. That’s all it takes.

Xavier chokes on a groan, his hands gripping you so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow. His cock pulses, his entire body tensing as his release crashes into him, his hips pressing flush against yours as hot spurts of cum spill deep inside you. His breath breaks into uneven gasps against your ear as he grinds through it, his cum slipping out, messy and warm between you.

"Can’t get enough of you," he mutters, almost delirious. His lips brush your temple, his hands roam over you, slow, reverent. Even spent, his cock twitches inside you, hips rolling in lazy, absent thrusts, as if he’s already craving more.

"Never gonna get enough of you," he breathes.

Xavier doesn’t move for a while, and you don’t want him to. His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest as his breath evens out, warm against your hair. His fingers trace light, absentminded patterns on your back, his other hand smoothing over the side of your waist, as if he can’t stop touching you. You sigh into him, boneless, completely melted in his hold, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied hum in response, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

His lips graze your forehead before pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze is warm and tender as he takes in the sight of you in the afterglow, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening slightly where they rest against his shoulder, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to say anything when all you want to do is hold onto this feeling forever.

So instead, you just nuzzle closer, in the crook of his neck where small, faint marks are forming on his skin. He smiles against your cheek, squeezing your waist before he loosens his hold, letting you shift against him.

And then your nose reminds you of something. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as you sit up straight, hands flying to Xavier’s chest.

“Oh no!”

His brows furrow, confused at the sudden change. “What?”

“The bread!”

You scramble off the counter, adjusting your dress as best as you can, legs still shaky, as you rush to the oven, already bracing yourself for disaster. But when you peek inside, miraculously, the bread is still perfect. Golden brown, fluffy, not even close to burnt.

You let out a deep, relieved sigh.

As you take off the oven mitts after placing the bread on a cooling rack, you turn back to Xavier. He’s leaning lazily against the counter, pants in place, but his shirt still rumpled, his hair thoroughly disheveled. He looks impossibly handsome like this. But instead of letting yourself get distracted, you cross your arms, feigning a small pout. "You’re bad luck in the kitchen."

"Bad luck?" He tilts his head, and you instantly regret saying anything.

He pushes off the counter, strolling toward you with that confident ease, stopping just shy of pressing against you. "Didn’t seem like you minded the distraction."

Your face burns.

You could argue. You could roll your eyes, huff, tell him off for that smug little look he’s giving you. But what’s the point? He knows he’s right. And you’re too warm, too utterly spent to even deflect.

Before you can decide on a response, he moves.

One second, you’re standing there, legs still a little wobbly, and the next—Xavier scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing at all. A startled yelp slips past your lips, but it dissolves into breathless laughter as you grab onto his shoulders.

“Xavier—!”

But he only gives you a soft smile, before pressing his lips to yours.

By the time he pulls back, your head is spinning all over again.

He smirks down at you, adjusting his hold. “Come on, princess,” he murmurs, walking toward the bathroom. “We made a mess.”

As you gaze at his face, you muse how the once-distant, untouchable Xavier—the man who felt like a star too far away—has somehow become warm and steady and impossibly close.

And you’re just a giddy, melted puddle in his arms.

[lesservillain]

baby daddy!eddie munson x mom!reader

summary: when some unfortunate news comes your way, eddie is there to pick up the pieces.

cw: lots of fluff, one bed trope

a/n: sorry this part is so short for how long it took to get out. but there will be more of these two to come!

Eddie took a long drag on his cigarette. The weather was starting to warm up, so he found it easier to enjoy his front porch compared to the colder months. He had a strict no smoking rule in his house so that Autumn wouldn’t be exposed to anything. Though it was hard in the winter when he was by himself not to just light one up in the kitchen. His big trailer was really lonely when his daughter wasn’t around.

Speaking of, your car pulled up just in time for him to put the butt out in the overflowing ashtray he had sitting out on the small table. It was something he meant to take care of, but keeping a trailer put together all the time by himself was a daunting task, tending to keep the inside as clean as he could and putting other projects on the back burner.

“Hey!” Eddie called to you as you got out of the driver seat, giving him a wave. Though, you didn’t seem all that happy to see him. There was a forlorn look on your face that he could read after so many years of friendship. Something must have happened, he thought. Hopefully it wasn’t what he was thinking it was.

Trotting down the steps, Eddie made his way to Autumn’s side of the car, pulling the door open to greet her.

“Hey there, princess!”

“Dada!” Autumn squealed from her car seat. Eddie makes quick work to undo her, pulling her tiny body from her confines and taking her in for a big hug.

“Daddy missed you, sweet thing. How was time with Grammy and Gramps?”

“Gammy,” Autumn said in her baby voice.

Eddie gasped, looking at you.

“I know, she just recently started saying it,” you say with a smile.

“Audy, you are so smart, you know that? If you weren’t my twin I’d think you were too smart to be mine,” Eddie says, bouncing her up and down eliciting giggles from the small girl.

“Dada.”

“That’s me,” Eddie says joyfully.

“Hey, Eddie,” you suddenly say, tone of voice grabbing Eddie’s attention.

“What’s up?”

“Can we…talk inside.”

Eddie swallows hard. “You’re not about to tell me you’re pregnant are you?”

You shake your head wildly. “No, god no.” You pause for a moment and look at him at chest level. “But I don’t know if what I have to say might be any better…”

“Okay, well, let’s go inside then,” Eddie says, turning to let you walk first. He follows behind you into the trailer, setting Autumn down and turning on Muppet Babies..

“So…?” Eddie starts, looking at you with curious eyes.

You breathe in deep, letting out a sigh that only made Eddie more anxious.

“My parents are moving.”

Eddie looks at you, waiting for you to continue, because what could be wrong with your parents moving?

“Like, an hour away.”

Oh.

“When did this happen?” Eddie asks, not sure what to feel about this.

“They said they’ve been casually looking for something more rural for a while but they finally found a house they liked and decided to go for it.”

Eddie thinks for a moment. “So…what does that mean about you and Autumn?”

“Well,” you start, “I don’t really have any other choice than to move with them. I can’t afford a two bedroom by myself on the grocery store’s salary. And I don’t want to burden anyone by asking them to be a roommate while I have Autumn.”

“No, you guys can’t move,” Eddie says, panicked. There’s no way you’d be able to keep the same schedule if you were an hour away. Eddie would have to be apart from Autumn for probably a week at a time. And there was no way he was losing you, too.

“Why don’t…why don’t you move in here? With me? It would be so much easier to have us all in one spot, and, and you would be able to work less. You can drop to part time and Wayne is right over there so he can watch Autumn while we both have work.” There’s a slight pause after Eddie finishes his ramble. He can tell the gears are working in your head by the way your eyebrows knit together in thought.

“But, it’s only a two bedroom here…” You finally say.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Eddie, no--”

“Please,” he brings his hands together and pleads. “I was just thinking about how lonely I get when Autumn isn’t here. I would love to have you both stay here with me, even if I lose my bed.”

“But you work so hard, why would you want to sleep on the couch after a long day at the shop?”

“Because that’s how much I care about you guys. I’ll say please as many times as I have to to get you to say yes. I’ll let you decorate, I’ll cook for you, I’ll--I’ll do anything.”

Silence. Eddie feels himself losing you with every second that passes and he can’t stand it. Tears start to well in his eyes the more he thinks about how much things are going to change.

“What if…” You say suddenly, and Eddie’s ears perk up.

“Yeah?”

“What if we share the bed? It’s not like we haven’t done it before. And…it might be nice to not have to drive an hour to bring Autumn to see you.”

Eddie could scream right now. Had he really convinced you to stay? To move in with him and live out the domestic fantasies he’s always had about the two of you? Even if it’s not the real thing, he would still get to come home to you like it was.

“Y-yeah, I don’t mind that,” Eddie stutters.

You nod your head, still clearly in thought. “Let me think about it and I’ll let you know. Should probably talk to my parents about it and see what they say. You should probably talk to Wayne and get his input, too.”

“Sure, I’ll see what he has to say.”

Which is exactly what Eddie did after you left.

“So she might move in with you?” The older man says, looking at his nephew carefully.

“She has to think about it, but I think so,” he says, taking a sip from his iced tea.

“Hmm, you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, why would it not be?”

“Well, for starters, you two ain’t together. Even though you want to be.”

Eddie shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, so?”

“So? So what if she meets somebody. Nothin’s stoppin’ her from running into somebody at the grocery store and hittin’ it off with ‘em.”

Eddie looks down, he hadn’t really thought about that.

“Or what if you meet someone. Do you really want to have to explain to them that you live with your child’s mother?”

“I won’t,” Eddie says, sure as day. You were the only one for him. Even if you didn’t feel the same way, he wasn’t going to be falling for anyone else any time soon. And even if by some chance he did, well, you two would just have to cross that road when you got there. Not like you and Autumn were ever going to be out of his life, so the other person would just have to deal with it.

Wayne sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not going ta tell ya not to do it, but I’m just warnin’ ya that it’s not gonna be what you think it is.”

“I’m not expecting much,” Eddie says defensively. “I just think it’ll be better for Autumn is all.”

“Whatever ya say, boy.”

The sun was bright and warm as Eddie unloaded boxes from the back of Wayne’s truck. He wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead as he set another box on the kitchen counter, the space slowly starting to look like the inside of a warehouse from the amount of boxes you had between yourself and Autumn.

“Here ya go,” you say from the other side of the counter. Eddie peers around the small tower of cardboard to see you holding an ice cold glass of lemonade. Licking his lips, Eddie takes the glass from you and downs it quickly.

“Thanks,” he says, letting out an exaggerated breath to show his satisfaction. You laugh at him, taking the glass from his hand carefully and setting it on the kitchen counter.

Eddie had been watching you carefully as you moved about his house, putting things in places that you saw fit. Every pass he made into the house felt more and more like you were taking over and he couldn’t be more happy. He didn’t know how you were going to fit everything, but you seemed determined with every box that you opened to make things work.

“I think there’s only a few more boxes left and then I’ll be done,” Eddie says to you as you refill his cup for him.

“Why don’t you take a break? The boxes aren’t going anywhere,” you say as you hand him the glass again.

“I will once I’m done. Then I’ll help you unpack stuff. You had more than I was expecting.”

“That’s because my parents gave me some of their stuff. Like decorations and all that,” you say, leaning against the counter. The angle you're leaning at is giving Eddie the perfect view down your shirt, but he’s trying to be a good friend so he distracts himself with a drink. But then he thinks about the fact that you’re going to be naked in his house sometimes, like when you change clothes and take showers. What if you forget your towel and ask Eddie to get it for you? He’ll know your bare on the other side of the door and won’t have anywhere to run to take care of himself.

Shit, Eddie really didn’t think this through.

“Well, that was nice of them,” Eddie gulps, trying to bring himself back to reality before his mind starts spiraling.

“The house they’re moving into is smaller, so they didn’t need everything anyway. Plus, I think it makes it look more homey in here. You definitely had the bare minimum going on,” you say and Eddie laughs.

“Hey, I’m just a guy and his daughter. Most of the stuff in here is hers,” he says, thumb pointing over to where Autumn was playing in her play pin.

“I guess that’s true. Most of the rest of the boxes are her stuff, so we may need to go through them and start getting rid of stuff. I’m sure there’s duplicates of things between the houses.”

“Could separate some stuff for your parents to take,” he suggests.

“True. Maybe we can do that tonight when she goes to bed?”

“Y-yeah sure,” Eddie says. Maybe the lack of privacy would be made up by the domestic activities the two of you would get to do together.

Autumn was more difficult to get down tonight than usual. Eddie just chalked it up to her excitement that mommy and daddy were in the same place at the same time tonight. Once she was finally asleep, Eddie plopped down on the couch and breathed a sigh of relief. She was a pistol today, wanting attention from the two of you non-stop. It left a lot of boxes still needing to be unpacked, but Rome wasn’t built in a day Eddie reasoned. Not like you guys were going anywhere.

The couch sank as you took a seat next to him, head resting against the back as you let out your own sigh. It lolled to the side, and he turned his head to look at you. “That was nice,” you say, smiling as your eyes meet his. Eddie chuckled, mimicking your slumped appearance.

“Easier with two people,” he says.

“Oh, for sure,” you nod. “Glad to have you as my partner in crime every night from now on.”

From now on. Your words made Eddie feel all warm inside. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. All he’s wanted was to spend nights with you like this, putting your daughter to bed and then doing fuck all for a couple hours before going to bed together. The thought that this all might be temporary still lingered in the back of his mind, but he wasn’t going to let that demon ruin this for him on day one.

“Eddie?” Your voice called his attention.

“Huh? Sorry, what?”

You laughed, “I asked if you still wanted to go through her stuff or if you were still tired.”

“Oh, sure, we can,” Eddie says, followed up by a huge yawn. That had you giggling, leaning forward in your spot on the couch.

“We can save it for another day. Not like she’s in much need for toys here.” You gesture at the small living room, toys scattered all about from Autumn’s playing today.

“Ah, yeah, better get this cleaned up,” Eddie says, shifting from the couch onto the floor, almost sitting on some of her blocks. You follow suit, sliding until you’re next to him on the carpet. The two of you quietly put toys away together while the TV plays softly in the background. You had some near miss touches as the two of you went for the same toys a couple times, Eddie’s skin lighting up like tiny bolts of lightning were zapping through his hands.

“Did you like dinner?” You asked out of the blue. Eddie looks to you like you had two heads.

“Uh, yeah, it was awesome,” Eddie says, thinking about the intricate pasta dish that you made for the three of you. “I’m definitely going to get used to having someone to take turns cooking with around here.”

“I can’t wait to see what you cook,” you say teasingly, pushing him lightly with your hand.

“Hey, I’ve learned how to make more than some spaghettios since having an extra mouth to feed.”

“I’m sure you’re a five star chef now, Munson,” you say with a chuckle. You look at him for a long minute, and Eddie feels slightly squirmy under your gaze. It wasn’t one he was familiar with from you, and it made him feel like he was under a spotlight.

“Well, we can take turns cooking,” Eddie suggests, eyes on the very interesting threads of carpet. “That way it’s fair.”

“Um, no, that’s not fair,” you say with a shake of the head.

“What? Why not?” Eddie says, brows pinched together in confusion.

“Because you work way more than me,” you say, a hand coming to your chest. “I’ll be making sure you guys are fed from now on.”

“No, you don’t have to do that--”

“You can have weekends, sometimes, if you really feel like cooking,” you offer to him before he can argue more. “Otherwise, I’m doing my part around here by cooking and cleaning.”

Okay, this is not what Eddie wanted when he said he wanted a domestic life with you. Sure, he wanted to come home to you and have dinner with you and Autumn and maybe kiss you on the lips after a long day at work. But the last thing he wanted was for you to think you had to basically be his maid. He wanted things to be equal between the two of you.

“But you’re still working. It can’t all be on you.”

“You told me I could drop down to part time. I’ll have so much free time I won’t know what to do with myself besides keep this place in ship shape.” Eddie still isn’t convinced. You turn to him, getting on your knees and bringing your hands together. Eddie both likes and dislikes this image you’re giving him, his brain fighting himself on how to feel in this moment. “If I promise to ask you for help if I need it, will that make you happy?” You give him big doe eyes and Eddie can feel himself being chipped away at.

“Alright, fine,” he says with a huff. “I’ll accept your offer. But know I’m not pleased with it.”

“Great!” You exclaim, happy with his surrender. You pounce forward, taking Eddie in a tight embrace. Eddie wasn’t expecting it, and the two of you topple over, leaving you practically laying on top of him. Eddie can feel his heart start to beat out of his chest at the sudden closeness, and he wonders if you can feel it against yours as you press yourself against him.

Eddie slowly wraps his arms around you, hugging you to him. You were surely going to be the death of him. There was no way around it. Eddie had dug himself deep into this hole and there was no way of getting out now. He decided then and there that he would do everything in his power to be perfect for you. He’d cut his hair, change his name, start working out, cover up all his tattoos. Whatever he needed to be what you were looking for. What you needed him to be.

The two of you laid there for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes. Eddie was still, not wanting to end this sooner than you were wanting it to. He did chance looking down at you, your head so close to his that he could feel your hair tickling his cheeks. But after a moment, he started to notice the slow rhythm of your breathing and got suspicious. He said your name softly, and when you didn’t respond it confirmed what he was thinking.

“Hey.” He says your name again, gently shaking you this time. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.” It was still early for him, but he was eager to share his bed with you again. It had been some of the best sleep of his life the last time you laid next to him.

You roused slightly from your sleep, head shooting up but your eyes remaining closed as you hovered over him. “What?” You said sleepily, looking around as if you’d be able to see anything in your daze. Eddie watches as you push off of him, stretching and yawning in your spot next to him. “Sorry, sleepy…” You say. Eddie chuckles at your apology, pushing himself off the ground until he can get back on his feet. He offers you a hand and you lazily take it.

Once the two of you are up, you start towards the hall and disappear around the corner, leaving Eddie in the dust. He stands there for a moment, thinking that you’d probably be getting dressed for bed in his room. Did you unpack any of your sleep clothes? You could always--

“Eddie?” He hears you call from down the hall. He heads to you, moving quickly to not keep you waiting. When he makes it to the bedroom, he sees you have some of his clothes in your hands. “Can I borrow these tonight?” You ask, exhaustion all over your features.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Eddie says, not about to tell you no to wearing his clothes. You nod slowly, moving towards him until you’ve passed by him in the doorway. You flick the light on to the bathroom and close the door, leaving him once again. Eddie gets the idea to change while you’re doing your thing, opting for just a pair of pajama pants since it was starting to get hot outside. Last thing he wanted was to get all sweaty in your shared bed.

“Goodnight.”

Eddie turns to see you walking into the room. You look so cute in his clothes Eddie can barely stand it. And he loves the way you just plop into his bed without a care in the world.

Oh, are you taking all of the covers? Eddie will just have to steal some back from you after you’ve passed out. Or he can freeze to death. Whatever makes you more comfortable.

Eddie leaves you to sleep while he does his nightly routine, getting more giddy at the idea of you being in his bed when he goes back into the room. He even brushes extra hard to try and keep the morning breath at bay for you. Wouldn’t want to give you a reason to change your mind about sharing the bed with him.

By the time he reaches the bedroom again, you’re fast asleep in his bed. He can’t get over the sight of you snoozing softly into the pillow you’ve claimed for yourself and does a little happy dance in the doorway.

Once he’s calmed down, he tip-toes to the bed and slowly climbs his way inside, doing his best not to disturb you. He gently tugs the covers from your sleeping form and covers himself with what you’ll allow him to have. Maybe the two of you would need to invest in a bigger comforter for the bed, but at least it’s warm enough that Eddie doesn’t need much to keep him comfortable.

As soon as he’s settled on his side, Eddie takes the opportunity to just look at you while you sleep. He can’t believe you’re laying next to him in your now shared bed. Circumstances be damned, Eddie knew then and there that things could only go up from here between you. He whispers a quick I love you into the air next to you before closing his eyes and allowing sleep to wash over him.

Little did he know, you had woken up when he crawled into bed, and you’d heard his little confession loud and clear…

thanks for reading!

[angelltheninth]

Hi! I was re-reading your CoD works and I saw you were taking requests, and I was wondering if you could do a CoD oneshot with Price as a dad. Something where his s/o walks in on Price holding their baby and watching as he’s marveling on how a man like him helped make this tiny human being and telling them how lucky he is to be a dad- sorry I’m just a sucker for dad!price, the mental image of Price holding a baby as they babble at him in baby talk made me melt. If you’re not comfortable with writing this I totally understand ❤️

I'm comfortable with writing this. It's cute, don't worry Anon.

Pairing: John Price x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, domestic bliss, gentle kissing, taking care of a baby, dad!Price, husband!Price

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I hope everyone had a great husband like Price.

You woke up in your bed alone, Price never to be seen. His side of the bed was slightly cold, but not too much, he must have gotten up recently. Groggy and sleepy you made your way into the hallway, drawn by the small amount of light coming from the baby room.

As you walked closer you heard Price's soft voice, his too was slightly laced with sleep. "How'd I make a cute thing like you, eh? Must have been a small miracle. Yeah, yeah? Are you my little miracle?" He cooed as he cradled your daughter in his arms and kissed her forehead.

Watching him holding your baby so carefully, like she was made of glass, you found yourself falling in love with him just a little bit more. Price was a big man, he was a soldier, and yet he was so careful when handling your daughter, no matter what it was. Even though he seemed almost scared at first, holding her, his eyes wide and full of love and wonder that he helped make something so cute.

Slowly you walked up behind him and hugged him around the middle. "Oh! Just you, dollface. Gave me a scare." Price turned his head and smiled down at you. "Something you need from me?"

"No, I woke up and came looking for you. But don't mind me, carry on." You said, pressing your face against the muscles of his broad back. "The two of you are cute."

"Wha- no, the cute ones are you and this little girly in my arms. Look at that face, look at it." He spoke in a goofy tone, getting your baby to giggle and grab at his mustache. "Strong little one, just like your old man!" He kissed her cheeks, making her laugh even more as his facial hair tickled her.

Price was a good soldier, but he was an even better husband and father.

[peanutalergy]

getting by ✮ s.r. × reader

in which fem!reader goes back to the toxic situation she's been stuck on with spencer reid. part one here . . .

tags: angst very angst but also very suggestive content, not sure if it counts as smut but this is def 18+!!! mentions of reader not eating, idrk know what else sorry i forgot

w/c: 2.4k

a/n: i hate this somehow more than pt one but whatever! i've been trying to make it better but i can't is the best it'll get it's really ooc and terrible read at your own discretion you've been warned

do i wanna know?

you're not sure how long it's been since you got to your apartment. maybe a day, maybe a few weeks. you can't think about anything else after the conversation you had. the minutes feel like hours and the days feel like seconds, every tick of the clock that sits in your bedside table sounds like spencer's voice when he calls — called? — you baby, the way you're holding the stuffed animal you've always slept with reminds you of the way you held him.

you can't help feel guilty when you remember all of your fault in this. it's not much, but your mind manages to amplify it enough to convince you that this never would've happened if only you cared a bit less. you were both happy just having things how they were, and now the two of you are suffering because you're too emotional, too sensitive.

you also feel a bit guilty whenever your thoughts wander to how spencer is doing now, how bad he is. deep down, you hope he's going through as much as you are.

you’re somewhere between the 56th and 57th consecutive hour of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling when you hear a knock on your front door. you'd think it was spencer, but it wasn't in the pattern he always knocks in. still, some part of you hopes it's him as you struggle to stand up and walk towards the living room.

but no, when you open the door, you're met with two blonde women, looking at your disheveled state empathetically. one much more colorful and bright than the other, both of which you know you've seen before, but you can't quite place when or where due to how tired your mind is.

immediately, the unicorn resembling one says your name in a pitiful tone and closes the distance between you two, her sparkly heels clacking loudly against the floor as she walks up to you. she pulls you in for a breathtaking hug (literally), and when she tugs your face to her shoulder and you smell her perfume, you remember who they are.

jj and penelope, spencer's co-workers you had met when he took you as his date to a wedding between two colleagues from another department – casually, as one does.

“oh my god, sweetheart, what did he do to you?”

you look at jj, dazed and slightly breathless as you stand there and wait for someone to pull away. “hey, penelope, she can't breathe, come on” she says awkwardly, and you let out a breath as penelope reluctantly does so.

now looking at both of them having a better idea of who they are, you can't help but feel embarrassed. this was the second time you saw them, and while they were in their work attire – as shiny as penelope's might be – you had been wearing the same outfit for the past few days, spencer's caltech t-shirt and the first pair of sweatpants you saw when you were leaving his apartment. you haven’t washed your hair in god knows how long, and your face is all puffy from all the crying and sleeping you’d been switching between.

“how are you doing?” jj asks, running her hand up and down on your arm in what is supposed to be a soothing manner, speaking in a tone so sympathetic that it almost sounds like she's the one who's hurting.

“i- uh, yeah, getting by, i guess- i’m sorry, why are you guys here, again?”

penelope brings to your attention the bag in jj's hands. “oh, spencer asked us to drop off your clothes.” of course he did.

“would you mind if we- uh, came in?” jj asks as they look you up and down for the millionth time with that pitiful look in their eyes that makes you feel like a fragile, sick, dying animal.

“yeah, sure, i guess.” you murmur under your breath as you nod and take a step back, allowing them to walk through the doorway. as soon as they're inside, you realize just how much of a mess you and the entire place actually are.

to your defense, the apartment was left empty for quite a while, since you'd been basically living with spencer for the past four months. it was dusty and there were clothes everywhere, from the times you'd stop by to pick an outfit and make a mess as you were deciding. you wouldn't get home to the clutter, though, you'd get home to spencer, so it didn't matter.

“jesus, guys, i'm so sorry, this place is so messy, i didn't-” you mumble as you pick up some of the clothes thrown around the sofa, but you get cut off by penelope's hand in yours, taking the clothes from it and shaking her head when you look up at her.

“oh, honey, don't worry. we know what you're going through” she says, already collecting the other clothes herself “we're here to help you.”

“no, no, no, please, you don't have to, i swear, i’m okay. you really don't have to”

they spend another five minutes or so convincing you that they want to help you get back on your feet, and penelope even said i like cleaning, which you're convinced cannot be a true statement but you let it slide. jj made you go take a shower while she unpacked and organized all your clothes in the closet – which you later noticed she did exactly how you do it – and penelope did a bunch of laundry along with dusting the place.

you've never received this much care before, and it's almost annoying to you. you know they're just being good people, but you can't help but feel like it's a bit patronizing, in a way. they're a few years older than you, and the way they're looking and talking to you, like you're someone who needs saving (you are, deep down, but that's not something you'd ever admit aloud), a child, a weak tiny thing. it’s embarrassing, more than anything else.

you’re mad at spencer, as well, for sending them here. not only did he not have the guts to look in your face and give your stuff back himself, but he felt the need to get his friends — people you’ve seen once before in your life — to help you get through it, as if you need it. you do, but that's also something you're in denial about. some part of you doesn’t want to be helped, either. lying in bed wearing spencer’s shirt, that still smells like him, while your mind goes over all the memories of your time together, feels a lot easier than having to forget him.

when you got out of the shower, you found out they had brought dinner along with them — your fridge was totally empty aside from the old two liter bottle of coke that sat there since october — and it's only when you smelled the pomodoro that you realized you hadn't eaten in three days and you were starving.

you had dinner together while you told them about you and him, cried a little bit, and they made sure to let you know they'd give him a huge talking to the next morning at work. they also told you about how he's doing, and the knowledge of the fact that he's also not great brought some weird sort of comfort to you.

he's not doing as bad as you are, though. of course, he feels terrible. he's depressed, and the only reason he gets up from bed when he's home is because he's too much of a germaphobe to not shower at least once a day. he's not doing good. but this comes from the fact that he's lonely, and not that the person he loves can't love him back, like it is for you.

they told you about who he used to be, as well. you knew he went to prison, but you never wanted to push him too far by asking questions about it. you didn't know how much it had affected him. maybe that's why it's harder for him to get attached, to fall in love.

one thing they didn't talk about was his ex, and you’re happy they didn't. he had told you they were together for four years, and that she was there with him through prison. maybe that's why he could love her, but not you. that thought alone was enough to get you spiraling all throughout your “relationship” (?), so you're glad they didn't tell you anything else about her.

the girls went home after a few hours, having done the dishes from the dinner and made sure you had everything you needed. despite your insistence that she didn't have to, jj promised to stop by next morning with some groceries and things you may need. you're thankful, although annoyed.

throughout the week, emily and tara also stopped by a few times to check if you were okay, and just like that, spencer's co-workers fixed up what he broke. despite not enjoying being a charity case, you can’t say it’s not helpful. of course, you weren't necessarily happy but that's a strong word, no? this time, you actually mean it when you say i’m getting by. you're getting by, for exactly three weeks.

until a number you forgot to block called you on a friday night. you were lying in bed, watching tv, when you heard it ring from where it sat atop the dresser. you knew it was him, he had a special ringtone. you knew you shouldn't pick up, shouldn't give in so easily, especially after all the work those people put into fixing you up. so you let it go to voicemail and hope he takes it as a sign you don't want to see him. but he doesn't, he calls again.

and you're not that strong.

seeing his picture on your phone screen made you want to cry, but it let the more pathetic and needy side of you take over.

“can you come over?” he says immediately after you pick up, and it's followed by a long moment of silence, where you're thinking about what to say. can you come over? yes. should you come over?

“yeah, i'll be there in ten.” and you hang up.

during the cab ride, some stupid part of you is hoping that when you get there, he'll get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness and say he loves you. although, you're not that disappointed when he opens the door and doesn't say a word before bringing his hands up to cup your face and pull you in for a kiss. you can't complain.

it's angry, at least from your side. you kiss him with all the anger you've felt for the past month. as he pulls you inside, you turn him around and press him up against the door, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt.

as for him, he's soft. passionate, but sweet. he has a gentle grip on your jaw, and it stays that way when it, after a while, moves to your waist, walking the two of you blindly onto the couch. when you sit down on his lap, straddling his hips, and loop your arms around his neck, you can feel him smiling into the kiss. and you've never been angrier.

he's never been so gentle, and that says a lot. he's always held you like the most fragile thing in the world, and especially now. you're certain he's doing it in some manipulative way to get you to stay, but it's okay. you don't care anymore. every ounce of self respect left your body as soon as you picked up the phone.

eventually, though, the sweetness coming from his lips seeps into yours, and you're reminded of the reason you love him in the first place.

his hands move away from your waist to the hem of your shirt, and he pulls away to look up at you, panting.

“is this okay? do you want…?” he whispers breathlessly, and when he's answered with an eager nod, he takes it off.

usually, he'd make you say it. he's all use your words and i know you can talk, but he doesn't want to tease you and make you even more annoyed. he'll take what he can get.

before you know it, you're naked in his bed and he's inside you again. and you've never loved him more. he has his head in your neck, where he's placing kisses as he mutters things along the lines of god, you feel so good and please, don't leave again and i missed you so much, sweet girl and you’re so perfect. you're pretty sure you must've moaned out another confession of love in the heat of the moment, but if he heard it, it didn't show. so you didn't say anything, either.

after he's cleaned you up, you lie down with your hand on his chest and head on his shoulder, and he places a kiss on your forehead. he always does. he holds you like one would hold a small child after they scrape their knee. maybe that's how he sees you, but you couldn't care less. at least he holds you.

suddenly, guilt flows over you, and you wish you could redo it all. you’re sure penelope, jj, emily, and tara would be quite disappointed to find out you did what you did. but they’re not your friends, you don’t owe them anything.

it does upset you, though, that you've undone weeks of healing just like that. you hate yourself for being so weak, and you hate spencer for taking advantage of that.

there’s so many things going through your head, but as soon as you make up your mind and decide you should leave, spencer starts running his hand through your hair, and you forget about everything you told him in the fake arguments you’ve had in front of the mirror over the past weeks. he's the love of your life, now.

“we don't have to talk about it” you whisper, your eyes fixed on your fingers tracing patterns along his bare chest.

“you know we should, this'll only hurt you more.

“no, we shouldn't. you said it yourself, let's go back to how we were. i can pretend. please. let's just forget about it. pretend i never said anything.” you say as you tilt your head to look up at him, an embarrassing almost begging expression in your face.

he nods after a beat, tucking your head back into its designated spot in the crook of his neck and pressing a kiss to your temple.

at least he holds you.

[amazingcreek]

rapid fire oathbound thoughts:

holy shit we got queer bree AND transfem zoe. is anyone in this book series straight? no? good.

natasia kane my beloveddddd you are such a bad parent but such a proud mom

Nick and Bree on the roof?!?!? I haven't seen anyone mention this and it's making me crazyyyyyyyy

also one bed, yes ma'am there's only one bed ty mrs. deonn

William having a crush on Lark and Lark having a crush on William and neither of them ~actually~ addressing it is so frustrating I can't even

LARK CALLING WILL SWEETHEART ugh my heart

bring. back. Alice.

sel's "got you" IS FROM THEIR FIRST INTERACTION. BUT ALSO A PREY THING. GODDAMNIT

Zoe was so real for forgiving Bree after learning all this had been less than a year. like yeah ok that's too much in too little to expect normal communication

Mariah and valec's opinions on the whole "powerhouse" and "point of our spear" thing is soooooo good. I love nuance tracy deonn take my money

nick talking about sel constantlyyyyyyy. oh my god these two are gonna kill me. "please tell sel that when we find him" "sel would draw and quarter me" UGH

NICK HOLDING EVERYONE ACCOUNTABLE. truly that moment at his council hearing when he says we must name them when Bree is here AND when she isn't is just. yeah. go him. AND THEN the perspective of William checking himself and going "oh shit I have NOT been doing as much as I thought" was so good. tracy you're a literal wizard and changing the world thank you.

valec calling the merlins cops. fuck yeah they are. tbh doing a whole analysis on merlins abuse of aether users/experimenting on Black bodies would be so good. maybe I'll write a paper who knows

valec and zoe. make them come back

bree knowing she's loved as she meets everyone, not being able to love them back in the same way because of her memories, BUT choosing to love and support them regardless is just like gorgeous. the amount of hugs she just accepts and goes, yeah I need this, even when she can't do the same in return is perfect

the ending. the ending. hooooollyyyyy shit the ending. "a king, a knight, and a prince" AHHHHHHHH. selwyn kane you can do no wrong in my eyes but oh my god. I am so scared someone hold me

ALSO after reading the ending going back through the book and seeing that there are several places where Bree and Nick are talking about sel and HE is the one calling her bloodmark. oh em gee.

this is not comprehensive and I'll probably think of more but yeah. how're we doing gang?

[stevie-petey]

track one: i wanna get off

“Yeah, well,” you throw your leg over his. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a rockstar.” Steve rubs your thigh now. Up and down, slowly, in soothing rhythms. He turns to you, close enough that your noses brush. Your breaths mix, his air becomes yours, and Steve squeezes the skin beneath his palm.  “I could never forget you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost don’t hear it. But you’re watching his lips. Your ear is pressed over his heart. The swell of his chest anchors your chin. You hear Steve’s promise because it would be impossible not to, and you believe him for these very same reasons as well. 

Summary: a friend from college offers you a job and a place to live. its pretty hard to turn down. free concerts, you get to do what you love, and steve harrington will be your roommate. its a shame hes too pretty for his own good.

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: swearing, fem!reader, use of y/n, steve is a slut (endearing), mentions of drugs (argyle)

Words: 15.4k

Before you swing in: SHES HERE !!! MY BABY !!!! ever since writing lonely hearts club ive been craving more band aus and then joe covered gasoline by haim fundamentally altered my brain so naturally i blacked out and outlined an entire series surrounding rockstar!steve so ,,, here we are lmao. this series is different from come home. steve is a bit edgier, more rough and mean but also still the same charming asshole. later there will be some excessive alcohol use and this is a slowburn of weird twisted feelings and messy situationship so ,,, prepare for that !

enjoy :)

-

The usual Sunday morning crowd has staked its claim in the cafe by the time your boots click softly on its tiled floors. Baristas call out names belonging to men in wool jackets and women with small children bundled beneath layers of scarves. 

Freshly fallen snow lines your own wool jacket and falls to the tiled floor when you take it off, draping it across the chair of the first empty table you find. It’s a bit further back in the shop than you would’ve preferred, but it will have to do. Setting your scarf across the other seat in front of you, claiming the chair for yourself, you catch a barista’s eye and smile as you walk to the register. 

You order a black coffee, no milk, only sugar, and a simple vanilla coffee for yourself. The barista tells you the drinks will be ready in a few minutes and you thank her. Heading back to your seat, you hope that you’ve correctly remembered Jonathan’s coffee order.

The last time you saw the man had been at your graduation back in May. You’ve loosely kept in touch since then through sporadic phone calls and gallery openings. Both having majored in photography and the visual arts, your friendship had been built upon red rooms and empty film canisters gallery halls. 

Now, as snow falls and coats New York in pristine white, he’s asked you to meet for coffee. The sudden proposal admittedly confused you, though you accepted the invitation without any hesitation. 

The barista calls your name right as Jonathan stumbles through the cafe’s door. His skin is flushed from the cold and snowflakes ravage his messy brown hair. Hearing your name, Jonathan grabs the drinks from the pick-up counter, spots you sitting in the corner, and quickly makes his way over to you. 

He places the drinks down, wincing when a few drops spill onto the table. “Sorry.”

You wave his apology away and stand, pulling him into a quick hug. “Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “I got you black coffee with sugar. I hope that’s alright?”

“God, of course it is.” Jonathan sits down and takes his scarf off. “You didn’t need to get me anything, you know.”

“Figured you’d be running a little late.” You tease gently, fiddling with the straps of your camera. 

“I’m only five minutes late. I’d consider that a new record in my book.”

“And would Nancy agree?” 

You have fond memories of Nancy from your few interactions with her. She had been majoring in journalism and was in the running for a position at the New York Post the last time you spoke with her. 

“No, probably not.” Jonathan snorts, now taking a sip of coffee. He sets the cup down and then leans over the table, arms bracing his weight. He raises his eyebrows at you. Smiles. “So, catch me up. What’ve I missed?”

“Nothing much,” you admit. “Still doing freelancing.”

“I thought you hated freelancing?”

“Oh, I do. The pay is shit and the clients are almost always shittier. Theater majors are really annoying about ‘capturing their good side’.”

Jonathan frowns. “You’re way too talented to be stuck photographing wannabe actors.”

Now it’s your turn to snort. “We live in New York, Jonathan. We’re surrounded by wannabe actors desperate for camera time.”

“It still feels like a waste of your talent.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” You wink at him playfully. “What about you, though? I think you were everyone’s favorite street photographer at the studio.”

Jonathan blushes at the praise and looks down at his coffee. “Well,” he clears his throat and looks back up. “I’m actually in a band now. A drummer.”

Your mouth falls open. “You’re kidding, right?”

It’s hard to imagine Jonathan Byers as anything other than a photographer. He was arguably one of the best in your class. His work was beautiful with such a natural edginess to offset the delicate scenery. Your professors raved about him whenever they could. His senior thesis gallery was such a success that the school had to prolong its exhibition dates an extra week. 

Jonathan laughs at your disbelief. He’d been expecting it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Sure, I love photography, I always will, but…”

“Music was your first love.” You finish for him, remembering the times you were in his apartment with soft rock records filling the silence as the two of you developed film together. 

“And I don’t regret it.” Jonathan’s fingers tap against the table. A nervous habit he was never able to break, and now you suppose that maybe he was never meant to break it. He shifts slightly in his seat, coughs as a sudden unease settles over him. 

You tilt your head at him. “Why do you look like you’re about to walk into a confessional with a priest?” 

“Christ, Y/N.”

“Correct. He’s who you usually confess your sins to.”

Jonathan sputters out a laugh and his shoulders fall, relaxed after being drawn tightly together moments prior. “Alright, you got me. I didn’t ask you to coffee just to catch up.”

Intrigued, you forward. “If you’re about to ask me to take engagement photos for you and Nancy, please know that I’m too broke to offer you a friend’s discount.”

“We aren’t engaged,” Jonathan’s face is even more red now. “Not yet, at least. But what if I asked if you were interested in being my band’s photographer?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “I’d ask you to elaborate.”

“Look, my band, we’re good, Y/N.” Jonathan tells you, eyes alight more than you’ve ever seen them before. “Sure, we’re still relatively small and you definitely haven’t heard any of our music, but we’re consistently booking three gigs a week. I mean, we can’t pay you any better than freelancing can, but we’d definitely be less shitty than your other clients.”

“Jonathan…”

“I’m not just asking you because you’re painfully talented.” Jonathan shakes his head. “I’m asking you because you were my closest friend in college and we always had fun working together. You have to admit, we made a good team.”

You throw a napkin at him. “Way to guilt trip.”

“I’ll say whatever if it means you say yes.” 

And Jonathan’s sincerity is almost overwhelming. You’re hesitant, but not because you don’t believe him or the offer doesn’t interest you. If anything, you’re actually incredibly interested in being a band’s photographer. Portrait photography was never your favorite medium, and the mundanity of it is slowly driving you insane. 

You’re hesitant because you really, really need money. Freelancing, as unreliable and shitty as it is, at least guarantees enough money to cover rent. But being a photographer for a band no one’s heard of? Not so much. 

“As much as I want to say yes, I meant what I said earlier. I’m too broke, Jonathan. I have to sneak out the backdoor of my apartment building to avoid my landlord because she’s days away from evicting me.” Your head rests in your palm, sighing. “It’s grim.” 

Jonathan, however, doesn’t seem to think that your current financial situation is bleak. If anything, he perks up and fucking smiles at what you’ve said. 

“I’m sorry,” your eyes narrow at him. “But why are you smiling while I’m talking about getting evicted?”

Jonathan flinches at your brewing anger and quickly tries to explain himself. “Sorry, I just-it’s kinda a perfect dilemma?”

“You have five seconds to explain before hot coffee falls in your lap.”

“My bandmates are looking for a roommate!” Jonathan blurts out, unconsciously covering his lap with his hands. Surprised by his own outburst, he clears his throat and lowers his voice to a more neutral tone. “That’s why your dilemma is so perfect. I can talk to them for you, set up a time for you to meet them.”

Seeing that he has your attention now, Jonathan holds a finger up. “But only if you agree to be our photographer.”

Your head spins. It’s almost too perfect of a circumstance. The flesh on your lip stings as you bite down on it, uncertain. You’re tempted. Unbelievably tempted, but you don’t want to say yes just yet.

“Did I mention that they live in the same building as me?” Jonathan smirks, knowing the effect his words will have on you.

His apartment building is gorgeous. Positioned perfectly in the East Village with Tompkins Square a block away and lush green grass in the communal outdoor area reserved only for residents. You’ve complained to him a million times about how you’d kill to have as much outdoor space as he does in your own apartment building. 

That, and it’s one of the few remaining goddamn rent controlled buildings in Manhattan. 

“You’re evil, Jonathan Byers.” You stick your hand out and he laughs, knowing he already has you before you’ve shaken on the deal. “I better not regret this.”

“You won’t.” He promises. 

– 

A few days later you’re checking your watch nervously every few seconds. The silver on your wrist reflects in the moonlight. Small hand on the seven and long hand on the five, you curse under your breath. They’re still not here.

“Y/N!” A feminine voice, familiar, surprises you as two bodies round the corner. 

Recognizing Nancy’s lithe figure and Jonathan’s awkward footsteps, you greet them, relief flooding through you. “Oh, thank god. Thought I was getting stood up.”

Nancy looks pointedly at her boyfriend. “Blame him. We would’ve been here ten minutes earlier had he not insisted on popping into a record store on the way home.”

“It was worth it.” Jonathan holds the record up. The Talking Heads bright and alive in the dim dusk light. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“Save the apologies for later. We still aren’t sure if I have a place to live after tonight.” You remind him. 

Nancy rolls her eyes at the two of you before grabbing your hand. “C’mon,” she says, now opening the apartment building’s door. “In less than twenty-four hours this will be your home, too.”

“Don’t jinx it.”

Jonathan pokes your side to shut you up and you swat his hand away. A doorman tips his hat at you and the others as you walk past, his smile kind and warm. The apartment’s lobby is the same as you remember it being. Plush sofas pushed against a soft white wall. A grand mirror across from the elevator that has a few scuffs in it, yet is charming nonetheless. Simple, though elevated enough that you can’t help but feel that you don’t belong here.

Inside the elevator Nancy presses the sixth floor. When she sees your slight confusion, she laughs. “We may live in the same building, but they’re two floors below us.”

“Mike says it’s physical proof that he’s better than Dustin.” 

You turn to Jonathan with a slight frown. “Mike is Nancy’s brother, right? And he lives with you guys?” 

Nancy nods encouragingly. “And Dustin is one of his friends from high school”

Jonathan pokes his head between the two of you. “And soon to be your roommate.”

“Hopefully.” Your tight lipped smile looks more like a grimace. Your stomach twists with every floor you ascend. You try to remember all the names you’ve been told. There’s Dustin, Mike’s friend. Then there’s… Rachel? Robbie? You think you remember Jonathan mentioning someone named Stephen.

Already the names are floating around your head. There are so many of them to remember. New faces you’ll be meeting tonight and desperately trying to impress. And you’ve already forgotten half of them. 

The elevator comes to a stop. Nancy and Jonathan step off, but you’re rooted to the floor, unable to move. “Please tell me this is a good idea.”

“It’s a wonderful idea, Y/N.” Nancy reassures you, grabbing your hand and gently pulling you from the elevator’s closing doors. Her eyes trace over your tense figure and she smiles sympathetically. The hand she isn’t using to hold yours plucks lint from your jacket, smoothing over its folds. “I promise you’ll love them.”

You really want to believe her. “And ‘them’ being…?”

“Dustin, Robin, and Steve.” Jonathan supplies. He’s smoothing your jacket down as well. The couple frets over your appearance in the narrow hallway and you almost feel like a lost child under their nurturing gaze. 

“Dustin, Robin, and Steve,” you repeat under your breath, over and over again. Their names roll over your tongue and you like how the weight of it feels. “Okay, I can do this. I’m fine. This will be totally fine.”

Jonathan nods eagerly and then shoves you towards a door at the end of the hall. In faded gold plating reads 6B on the door’s purple frame. There’s a cheesy floor mat that greets you in cursive lettering.

“Ready?” Nancy asks you.

You inhale, close your eyes, and exhale the remaining fear from your bones. Opening your eyes, you nod at her. 

Three soft raps against the door. There’s shuffling on the other side. Voices talking to one another. A set of footsteps running towards the door before a girl your age swings it open and lunges into your arms as if you’re lifelong friends.

“You’re here!” She exclaims happily, arms clasped tightly over your neck. You stumble back at the sudden embrace.

Jonathan sees your obvious overwhelm. “Ease up there, Robin. You can’t kill Y/N yet.”

The girl, Robin, you remind yourself, quickly releases you. Her freckled cheeks blush a pretty pink that matches the faded pink streaks in her choppy hair. “Sorry,” her blue eyes are wide and youthful. “I just-Jonathan and Nancy have been blabbing about you for weeks now and it’s just crazy that this is finally happening! I mean, you’re real! You’re here!”

She’s speaking a mile a minute and you’re trying your best to keep up with her, but you’re still nervous and deeply overwhelmed now and all you can say is, “Your hair is really pretty.”

“Thanks,” Robin’s bashful smile is beautiful. Her fingers tangle through her shoulder-length hair. “It was Steve’s idea. He helped me dye it.”

“Steve sounds nice,” you say, trying to keep the conversation going as Nancy and Jonathan watch the two of you quietly.

Robin laughs as if you’ve said something funny. She doesn’t say anything, though, and instead grabs your arm to pull you inside. She hardly gives you any time to look around the apartment before she’s talking a mile a minute once again.

“This is the kitchen,” she waves her arms out with a flourish, giggling when your jaw drops. There’s more counter space than you ever thought possible in a New York apartment. A kid, maybe a few years younger than you, is taking pizza out of the oven. “And that, my dear and new friend, is Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dustin sets the pizza down before giving you a thumbs up. “Pizza?”

Jonathan and his brother Will are already grabbing plates and cutting into the still hot food before you can even say yes. Jonathan hands a slice to Nancy while Will passes a plate to you. You thank him kindly, recognizing him from Jonathan’s senior thesis photos.

The moment you have your food, Robin yanks you away again.

“This is the living room.” Giant floor to ceiling windows that you definitely can’t afford replace the walls that should be in their place. The entire skyline of lower Manhattan winks back at you. 

“No fucking way…” 

A scrawny kid, maybe Dustin’s age, who looks a lot like Nancy snorts from the sage green couch that wraps around the area. “Isn’t it obnoxiously nice? I hate it.”

Robin flicks his head. “Ignore him. He isn’t relevant to our tour.”

“I take it he’s Mike?” You ask, again being at the will of Robin’s strong grip as she parades you through the apartment. 

The decorations, though minimal, make the place feel like a home. There’s art hanging on the walls. Photographs of faces you recognize, though most are people you don’t. Belongings strewn throughout the space that tell you there’s stories and love within these walls. 

“Unfortunately,” Robin stops in front of a set of doors. “We only keep him around because we like Nancy. Anyways, here’s the bathroom.”

Though small, it’s nice, and you nod appreciatively. Satisfied with your response, Robin flings open another door. Inside are piles of screws and wires belonging to various unfinished technical exploits and it takes you a moment to realize that there’s even a bed in this room. 

“Dustin’s room?” You guess, remembering the City College of Technology logo that was on his hat. 

“Correct,” Robin then opens another door, this time revealing a room full of rosie pinks and deep purples and blues. A keyboard rests on a bed. There are vinyls everywhere and pink hair dye spilled on the small desk. “My room. Admire her while you can. I deeply hate people in my space.”

You laugh. “Noted.”

Robin slams the door and turns to the next one, though she hesitates. “Technically, Steve also really hates people in his room, but the douchebag is late even though he promised he’d be here on time so,” she opens the door. “Voila.”

While you want to respect the wishes of the roommate you still have yet to meet, curiosity wins. You peek inside. The room is a mess of guitar picks littering the floor. You see a dark blue acoustic guitar in the corner, its edges almost midnight black, and an unmade bed full of vinyls. On the walls are photos. Some are of bands that you’re familiar with. Most aren’t. In between it all, however, are photos who you can only assume are Robin and his other friends. 

There’s a desk shoved to a corner that has pen marks and papers with messy writing scrawled on them. Everything inside the room is used, worn, though somehow there’s still a sense of calm within the chaos of it all. 

“None of you are neat freaks, huh?” 

Robin winces. “No, but I promise we’re clean. Scout’s honor. Please just ignore the blatant oxymoron of our rooms.”

You laugh and shake your head, telling her it’s fine. Robin beams once again and takes your hand one last time to guide you back to the kitchen. Everyone is gathered around the counter, pizza in their hands as lazy conversation fills the room. 

And even though an hour prior you were afraid that you were in way over your head, you fall into conversation easily with everyone else. Dustin is charismatic and asks for your thoughts on the apartment. Will’s soft spoken nature is comforting. Mike is witty and enjoys that you play into his jokes. A little later a young girl named Max appears and she’s just as enigmatic as her red hair and asks you a million questions about photography.

Robin doesn’t stop poking your skin and clothes and fretting over you the entire time. You adore her within minutes. 

“Alright,” you say after finishing the last of the pizza. “Tell me. Who’s in this alleged band I’m putting all my blind faith in?”

Dustin throws his head back and groans. “God, don’t get them started.”

Mike hits his shoulder. “Dude, shut up.”

“We call ourselves the Februarys.” Jonathan ignores the boys bickering. 

“The Februarys?”

“Guess which rocket scientist thought of it.” Dustin snarks. 

Mike hits him again and you raise your hands in surrender. “Hey, I like it. It’s a bit odd, but interesting. Unique.”

“You’re perfect. Have I ever told you how perfect you are?” Robin throws her arm over your shoulders. “Anyways, I play the keyboard. I’m good with my fingers,” she wiggles them at you with a sly wink, “and sometimes lend my voice to songs if Steve allows it.”

“He’s the lead vocalist,” Jonathan explains. “He also plays the guitar, but he mostly just likes how cool it makes him look.”

“It doesn’t, by the way.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Not unless it’s an electric guitar, which I do play.”

You raise your eyebrows in shock. “Aren’t you a little… young to be in a band?”

Loud cackles tumble out of Dustin and Robin while Jonathan tries to hide his own snickers behind Nancy’s amused smile and Will’s soft laughs. You look around with wide eyes, terrified you’ve said the wrong thing, when Max crosses her arms at you. 

“Find someone who can play the bass as well as I can. I dare you.”

Her unwavering confidence in her ability leaves you breathless. Your uncertainty crumbles the moment her knowing smirk spreads across her face. She knows she’s good. She doesn’t need your approval.

“My apologies, Mayfield.” You nudge your shoulder against hers. 

Mike scowls. “Do I get an apology, too?”

“No,” you and Max say at the same time. 

This time everyone laughs and you’re amazed by how easy this is. Talking to them, laughing and teasing them with the shared understanding of respect. You’ve been welcomed into something warm and precious, friends who seem to have years stretching between them. 

A series of clicks and the scraping of metal before the front door swings open. A man stumbles inside, cursing and swearing under his breath when his foot catches on a stray shoe and he nearly falls. It’s a cacophony of sound and discarded energy and Robin watches it all with a bored frown.

“You’re late.” She greets the intruder.

He hunches over, hands on his knees. “Give me a second,” his breaths are heavy and brown hair falls in his face. He brushes it aside haphazardly with a practiced habitual ease. “Christ, I ran ten blocks to make it here on time.”

“And yet you’re still late.” Robin turns to you, frown etching her soft features. “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

Hearing your name, the guy’s body suddenly snaps up from its prior hunched posture. Brown eyes land on you. Curious, excited, and then slowly interested. They travel up your body once, twice, then a third time. He fixes his hair again and smiles at you. “Is this our new roommate?”

“Possible roommate.” You correct him, a hint of a smile back at him. “You must be Steve.”

His smile widens. “The one and only.”

Strong jawline, doe eyes that are soft enough to be vulnerable, yet teasing. Hair that’s just long enough to curl over the nape of his neck. Classically handsome, Steve’s delicate features are juxtaposed by the silver nose ring that catches the light, by the matching latch earrings that parallel the moles that line his neck and jaw. 

Steve knows he’s beautiful. And he knows how to use it to his advantage as he drapes an arm over you, grabs a piece of pizza from your plate, and sits in your chair that is already too small for one person. It forces him to be pressed tightly against you. His jeans dig into your waist, his thick silver bracelet on his wrist cools your heated skin. 

“Hi, beautiful,” he winks at you, taking a bite of the food he’s stolen. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Robin gags and everyone else rolls their eyes at Steve’s exaggerated charm. They’ve seen this before. They’re used to his theatrics and need to be the center of attention for every girl he meets.

“Steve’s a bit of a flirt, if you couldn’t tell.” Jonathan shoves his friend away from you with a slight eye roll. “If he gets too much, just spray him like a cat.”

You watch Steve, studying him. He’s charming and beautiful, putting on a show for you, and underneath the performance is a shallow surface. He’s exalted by the attention. It’s not that his actions aren’t genuine, but they border on fictitious. 

The fictitiousness is intriguing. 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” to everyone’s surprise, you pull Steve back into the chair. He makes a startled sound, caught off guard by your forceful hands, and completely infatuated with them already. Pleased, you pinch Steve’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, handsome?”

You feel him lean into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s studying you the same way you’ve been studying him. A pause, your fingers linger on his cheek. Just before you exhale, Steve grabs the hand that strokes his face. His grip is loose on your wrist. He kisses the inside skin that’s the thinnest, veins beating. 

“You’ll move in tomorrow.” He murmurs against your skin. “And your first gig with us is Friday.”

It isn’t a question, and you don’t correct him. 

Already it’s been decided. 

– 

The heater in your apartment broke a year after you moved in. Your landlord promised she would fix it come winter, but as pockets of snow fill the window’s ledge, your hands are numb from the brisk air and lack of heat. 

Packing is easy enough, though seeing your small assortment of belongings piled into boxes causes a tug of longing in your stomach. The brick walls of your apartment are worn and scuffed from previous tenants and the floorboards creak with every breath you take. It’s an awful, old and frigid apartment, but it was also the first place you ever called home in New York.

“This really all you have?” Steve looks at the handful of boxes with skepticism. Being the only one who doesn’t have classes or a day job, he happily volunteered to help you move your things to the new apartment. 

You tape the final box shut. “For the most part, but there’s a box or two in the bedroom.”

“I get to see your bedroom?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you throw a balled up wad of tape at him. He dodges easily, laughing. “Want me to go get them?”

“Yes, please.”

“Be right back, gorgeous.”

Gorgeous. Beautiful. Babe. All compliments Steve has showered you in since meeting him fifteen hours prior. They fall from his lips without any hesitation, always accompanied by a charming smile or sly wink. 

If it were anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off by now. But with Steve there’s no weight behind his praise. No expectation of you to return them. He praises you because he wants to, compliments you because he likes the way you blush afterwards. 

You’ve only known Steve for fifteen hours, and yet you’ve never felt this comfortable alone with anyone else. 

“I know this may sound like I’m sucking up considering I’m trusting you to make my band look cool, but,” Steve carries two boxes, arms straining under the weight and you watch as his biceps ripple under his tanned skin. He sets them down, opens the top one, and then pulls out a collection of your photographs from within it. “You’re insanely talented, Y/N.”

“I sent you to get my boxes, not go through them.” You try to take the photos away, but Steve is fast and holds them out of your reach. 

“No, I’m serious. I mean, Jonathan is cool and all and we all cried seeing his thesis show, but you?” He holds up one of your favorite photographs. He huffs in disbelief, eyes roaming over the image with a hunger of amazement and awe. “I almost feel bad that we can’t pay you what you’re worth.”

The photo is one you took when you first moved to Manhattan. Eighteen and naive, you viewed the city through your lens greedily. Your first few months in the city all you did was carry your camera around with you and use up canister after canister of film. The images were fine, nothing monumental, until one day, somehow, they were. 

An older woman sitting on a park bench. There is no one sitting next to her. Her head is down, hands clasped in her lap. There is a bird mimicking her downward posture beside her. Almost out of view, almost a shadow, and there’s something tender in the image that you’ve never quite managed to capture again. 

“The apartment makes up for it. I mean, floor to ceiling windows? Fucking insane.”

Steve chuckles, agreeing silently. “How’d you get into photography, anyways?” He picks through some more of your pictures, uncaring of the fact that you’re shy of your work.

“My mom was a photographer and gave me my first film camera when I was nine.” You shrug, a nostalgic smile on your face. “I didn’t stand a chance.”

“I get it,” Steve hums, still admiring every image of yours that he finds. “That’s how music was for me. I was eleven and my parents weren’t home so I snuck into their room. They had this giant record player. I remember being so amazed by it, but God forbid I touch it.”

Steve looks down at his hands, tight smile and narrowed eyes. “Anyways, one day they weren’t home, so I ran right up to their room, laid my head right next to the record player, and played the first record I found.” 

“What was it?” You ask softly, curious. 

“The Velvet Underground. I inherited a lot of things from my father, but thank god he gave me my music taste. The moment I heard Sterling Morrison’s guitar strings in Heroin, I was a goner. Begged the old man for my own guitar the very next day.”

“And did you get it?” The question is more to keep the delicate look on Steve’s face. He unravels when he talks about music, almost softens at its melodies. He’s beautiful, he always is, but music only makes him glow. 

“I did,” Steve nods, proud. He walks up behind you, arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you in, his chest solid and warm. He kisses your hairline, smiling into your skin. “Want to know a secret?”

“Tell me,” your body leans closer to his.

“I’m going to be a rockstar. Me and everyone else in the Februarys. One day, everyone will know our name.”

Steve’s childish declaration mirrors every other young boy’s dream. Every artist’s dream since they were a child. Dreams of grandeur, recognition, of creation and passion and freedom. You twist your head around, wanting to look at the man holding you. His face is calm, open and unapologetic. He believes what he’s said. There isn’t a hint of uncertainty or hesitancy within the lines of his cheeks. 

And you believe him, too. Steve has the charisma to set the city on fire, an ease to his movements and beauty that’s addicting. Devastatingly handsome. It’s inevitable that the world falls to its knees before him one day. 

“Think you’ll ever write a song about me?” It’s meant to be a joke, a tease, but when you turn to face him your nose brushes his cheek. This close, you can count his freckles. The proximity catches your breath. 

Steve wraps his entire body around you. The kiss he places at the base of your neck burns. “I think all my songs will be about you, angelface.”

And yet another name, this time accompanied by his fingers digging into your ribcage to get you to squeal out laughter. You twist in his grasp, shrieking at Steve to stop, but he has you right where he wants you.

“Ow!” Steve rips his body away from yours after you land a particularly hard pinch to his arm. He rubs the forming bruise, glaring at you. “Was that really necessary?”

“You’re the one who started it!”

He sticks his tongue out and all you can do is roll your eyes at him. Catching your breath, you remember where you are. There are still boxes everywhere. You sigh, bend down, and start sliding them against the wall.

“What are you doing? Don’t do that.” Steve swats you away, offended you’ve even considered moving the boxes yourself. 

You blink at him. “Did you just hit me?”

Steve ignores you, focusing on the boxes instead. He stacks them one by one in front of the door. Hair falls in his face and you have to remind yourself to look away. After he’s done, Steve studies the boxes before him, their appearance deceptively multiplied when piled all together. 

Dropping his head, he groans, “This is going to suck.” 

The two of you will have to carry all the boxes down five flights of stairs and into a taxi that will almost definitely be too small to sit in. In the February snow and midday commute. 

“Yup,” you pat Steve’s chest. “It’s a good thing you’re so strong, right?”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Is that how you’re supposed to talk to your subordinate? I mean, I am working for you now, right?”

“Please pick up a box and shut up.”

– 

Robin helps you unpack everything in your room. The space itself is beautiful, arguably the biggest room in the apartment. Wood flooring, cream walls, and even a window that overlooks the park. You ask her who died for you to be able to live here, and she confesses that the only reason she and the others didn’t claim your room when their old roommate moved out is because they didn’t feel like keeping the large space clean. 

Who knew laziness could get you a giant room with a view?

Except Steve’s room is next to yours, and after a few days of sharing a wall, you quickly realize that one: he brings a new girl over every night, and two: Robin is a liar. Her and Dustin weren’t lazy, they just didn’t want to share a wall with Steve.

And you can’t blame them. The first night it’s jarring hearing the subtle thuds and moans that leak through the thin plaster. The second night, you roll over, hit the wall once to signal to Steve to keep it down, before grabbing your walkman and slipping on headphones.

Soon you learn the signs. The slam of a door, feminine giggles, his breathy voice as he guides them past your room to his. After the second night and your annoyed thud, Steve starts playing music to drown out the unwanted sounds. 

The third night, you’re in the kitchen working on some film when the front door slams. You look up at the clock, cursing the late hour. You’d been so engrossed in your work that you forgot that any minute Steve would be home with yet another girl.

They don’t see you at first. Her face is buried in Steve’s neck and he’s caressing her bare skin that her small top doesn’t cover. They’re laughing, slightly intoxicated as they stumble through the living room. 

“Wore this just for you,” the girl murmurs against his lips. Her hands yank her top down, to bring his attention to it. “I remember you said you liked green.”

Maybe they aren’t new girls every night, you think. Then, promptly remembering that you aren’t supposed to be here right now you then think, oh God, do I need to duck behind the counter?

Steve doesn’t bother looking down at her top. “Cute,” he says simply. Nothing more. Like he doesn’t care to say anything further.

He tries to kiss her instead, impatient and done with the attempt at conversation. It’s odd seeing him like this. Displaced, almost cold in a calculated way that you suppose can come off as charming. 

Only the girl pulls away, obviously displeased with the throwaway comment. Her eyes squint at him, but before she can either tell him to fuck off or to keep kissing her, her unhappy gaze lands on you. 

“Who the hell are you?”

You should’ve ducked behind the counter. “I-uh. Live here.”

“I was here last week. You weren’t.”

“Quick turnaround period?” You’re awful with confrontation and Steve isn’t helping, arms crossed and smiling like a goddamn saint while you’re drowning. You glare at him. “A little help would be nice.”

Steve grabs the girl and spins her once, twice, before pulling her into a kiss. Not at all caring that you’re watching, he slips his tongue into her wanting mouth and moans. She clutches his chest, and the second he has her pleading, he pulls away.

“Go wait in my room, I’ll be right there.” He tells her, kissing her again before she can argue. “Promise I’ll make it up to you. Don’t I always?”

The girl sighs, as if he’s taken her ability to say anything else away. She nods at him, starts walking to his room, and she’s gone without another word.

“Charming,” you shake your head at Steve, who now leans against the counter and looks at the film developing. “Not the way I would’ve handled the situation, though.”

“So I wanna get off, doesn’t everyone?” He’s coy, peering over your shoulder and his hair tickles your skin. “New project?”

“Testing aperture settings for Friday.” You point at a grainy photo, ignoring his previous words about getting off. “Too dark. I need to figure out how to get the best lighting out of a dim venue.”

“You’re cute when you try to impress me.” 

You pinch his side. “Don’t you have a girl waiting for you?”

“Do I sense jealousy, Y/N?” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, looking you up and down.

“Not in the slightest.” 

And there really isn’t any jealousy. You don’t mind that Steve has a different girl in his bed each night; you knew that he was this way before Robin even had to warn you. You saw through him the moment you met him. 

You’ve known men like Steve. Their wanting ways and sugar coated praise; he isn’t any different. 

The outline of Steve’s figure becomes blurry when he’s with these girls. A thin layer of film over how he normally is, like his words and actions aren’t quite real. Superficial, putting on a show for them that you somehow know he only reserves for the stage. 

“Anyways, I’m exhausted.” You rub your eyes, vision blurred from staring at images for hours. You ruffle Steve’s hair fondly. “Try not to keep me up tonight, please.”

He catches your hand that falls and kisses the same spot on your wrist that he’s come to inhabit. Soft eyes and honest lips, he promises you, “whatever you ask, angelface.”

Soft. Steve is always soft with you, genuine to the raw way in which he looks at you. For some reason he’s different this way with you.

“Goodnight, Steve.” Though you linger for just a second. He sees it.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Tomorrow you’ll inevitably find him in the kitchen making breakfast for the apartment. He’ll be shirtless because he gets hot when he cooks. You’ll see the scratches down his back and the hickeys on his neck and the physical reminder of the marks on Steve’s body will be a reminder to step away. 

The flirting is fine. You enjoy being adored by him and making him laugh at your quick responses. Even if the adoration is fake, even if sometimes Steve’s eyes make you wonder how you can capture them with your lens, he’s quickly becoming your best friend. Robin, too. And Dustin and Jonathan and everyone else entangled in your life now because of Steve. 

You don’t want to jeopardize this, even if you still aren’t really sure what this is. The Februarys, the apartment, the people within it. 

But whatever this is, something tells you that Steve doesn’t want to jeopardize it either. 

– 

The heat of the apartment coats the loud buzz of the people in the crowded space talking over one another the next night. It’s full capacity in the apartment. Voices mix together and there’s hardly any room to breathe. 

Steve had warned you it’d be like this. The night before a performance is always this way: bodies crammed into the apartment, all intoxicated on the rush of figuring out a setlist and chords. 

The intoxication leaks into your blood, too. Cheeks aching, you can’t stop smiling. The excitement, the giddy curiosity, now fulfilled as you finally get to see the band in action.

Steve’s curled around you on the couch, his body heat only overheating you more, but his insistence of crawling into every seat you inhabit is easier to let happen than fight. He’s talking animatedly with Robin and Jonathan as they agonize over a list of songs while you and Nancy watch, silent.

“We could play Clear and Void?” Robin suggests to the boys, pencil in her mouth with her eyebrows knit together. “Or maybe Happening New?”

Neither songs are songs you’re familiar with, though you remember Jonathan telling you that the Februarys had a working collection of four of their own songs. The problem is that most venues require a minimum of six for a gig. 

“We played both of those last week.” Steve shakes his head. “Isn’t Higgy’s more of a cover venue, anyways? Shouldn’t we just pull from our covers set?”

Jonathan bites his cheek. “I say we do Clear and Void, Happening New, and then mix in a few covers before closing with Limerick. Three of our most popular songs and three covers. Balance it out.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but a shout from the corner of the room pulls your attention. 

“I’m not crawling through a goddamn cellar to get to our gig!” Max scoffs at Mike, both of them hunched over the kitchen counter with a paper between them.

“Got any other brilliant ideas, then?” 

A girl, who you’ve been introduced to as El, places a hand on Mike’s shoulder in what you can only assume is a feeble attempt at calming him down. He tries to say more, but El shakes her head softly, so he curses again and messily erases whatever he’d been writing on the paper.

“This is stupid.” Mike spits out. “Why the hell is twenty-one the deemed age to get shitfaced?”

“Prohibition,” Dustin says, as if it’s obvious. He swings an arm around Will and grins. “What are the odds they make it in?”

“Pretty terrible.”

Lucas, who you've also met tonight, looks wearily at Max and Mike, scared they’ll overhear the taunts. He lowers his voice and turns to his other friends. “Can we not piss them off more? You’re not the ones who have to go home with them.”

Max, however, does hear this. “Insinuate I’m a pain in the ass when I’m angry again, Sinclair. Go on.”

Lucas shuts his mouth and the boys all snicker at his misfortune. Max and Mike go back to their metaphorical drawing board of figuring out how to sneak into a twenty-one and up venue. Their situation is amusing, even if you do feel slightly bad that they have to jump legal hurdles to perform. 

“What if we just get Dustin to print us fake IDs?” Mike proposes, a glint in his eyes.

“No!” Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, and Robin all shout at once.

Mike lets out an obnoxiously loud groan and Max flips off the older adults, though none of them pay them any attention. Instead, they go back to their list of songs and resume their own argument from earlier. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” 

Steve’s question surprises you. He’s turned to you and he’s expecting a response, wanting your input on a matter that you have no knowledge in. He knows you’re more interested in photography than music, he knows you’re still figuring out the music scene with the Februarys.

Yet Steve still wants to consider your input.

All eyes on you, your dry mouth swallows sticky saliva. The only thing you can think of is the length of Steve’s neck when he recounted a childhood memory to you in your snowy apartment.

“I guess, uh. Cool It Down?” You stumble slightly, worried you’ll embarrass yourself and suggest a song everyone hates.

Steve, however, is so in love with the idea that he practically crawls into your lap to take your face into his hands and kiss your cheek, loud, wet, dramatic and infatuated. “God, I’m in love with that angelface of yours.”

Robin and Nancy look at each other in disgust. 

Jonathan doesn’t share this disgust. His eyebrow jumps in interest, watching the two of you. “The Velvet Underground?”

He doesn’t ask as a way to clarify who sings the song. He asks because he knows that the band isn’t the usual music you listen to. He’s had their albums playing before and not once have you ever showed any interest. 

“Higgy's once had them play a gig there.” It could be a lie. You aren’t really sure. All you know is that Jonathan seems far too interested in your sudden change in music taste. “That’s why I suggested it.”

“I didn’t know they played there.”

Steve’s nose presses into your neck. “Leave her alone, Byers. She’s a born and bred musical genius. Don’t be jealous.”

Jonathan ducks his head, surrendering, and you exhale a shaky breath. In being a photographer, Jonathan has learned to see the smallest details that often go overlooked. It’s a quality you both share, but now, with his knowing eyes on you, you’re really pissed off he graduated top of your class. 

“How should we arrange the chords?” Robin breaks the remaining tension between you and Jonathan. You don’t think she’s even noticed it, but you’re grateful for her nonetheless. 

“Chords?” Mike’s head pops up from the crowd of his friends. “Did we get a setlist arranged?” 

Robin holds up the list. “Read it and weep, Wheeler. Help us figure out tuning.”

Mike runs over and Max isn’t far behind him. Soon they’re all talking over one another again. You’ve lost the Februarys to the lyrics and chords that swarm around them. They all come alive when they talk about their music. They’re beautiful when they talk about their music. 

Nancy catches your eye, thinking what you are. She smiles. You smile back. 

A little while later the apartment’s buzz dies down. Mike and the young teens all crowd themselves in Dustin’s room. Robin tells you that they all grew up together in Indiana. Inseparable then, inseparable now.

Steve is with her in the kitchen. She had a craving for ice cream and he had a craving for caramel. Naturally, they’re now rifling through the pantry for sundae ingredients at nearly midnight. 

You’re sorting through film cartridges on the couch with Nancy and Jonathan sitting beside you. They’re whispering to themselves, lost in their own world, and you almost forget they’re there until Jonathan’s voice reminds you. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he shifts a bit closer to you so that he can look over your camera set up. “What’s your plan for tomorrow? Do you need to borrow any of my equipment?”

You shake your head. “No, I did some test trials a few nights ago and I think I’ve finally figured out the right aperture for the venue. The photos came out pretty good, actually.”

“They were amazing!” Steve butts in, voice carrying from across the room.

Jonathan and Nancy snort and you pretend you didn’t hear him. “As for the plan, I was thinking some behind the scenes photos, you know? Take some of the band while you’re getting ready before the show and then once you’re up I just, I don’t know. Glue myself to the barricade and pray?”

Jonathan hums, pleased with what you’ve come up with, though Nancy pokes your knee. “I’ll be right next to you the whole time, so don’t worry about getting lost in the crowd.”

“Thank god.” Then an idea comes to you. “Oh, what about taking pictures of the crowd, too?”

When Jonathan and Nancy tilt their heads at you, not quite following, you’re quick to explain. “I mean, wouldn’t it be cool to have documentation of a growing crowd? Compare your earlier gigs with hopefully bigger and better ones in the future.”

“I’d kiss your face, but I’m afraid Steve might throw a spoon at me.” Nancy says, voice purposefully loud so that the intended audience will hear.

“I’m armed, Wheeler.” Steve holds a spoon up and glares at her. 

You all laugh and she reaches over to squeeze your hands excitedly. “I think documenting the crowd is a brilliant idea.”

Jonathan kisses his thumb, presses the finger to your nose as you giggle, and ruffles your hair. “A stupidly brilliant idea.”

You bat his hand away as Nancy laughs at the two of you. From the kitchen, in between your laughter, you hear Steve’s disgruntled, “What did I say about being armed, Byers?”

– 

Higgy's is a shitty venue in an even shittier location with a history so rich and complex that you can’t help but admire its delicate and stained walls as you walk around the dressing room. Signatures from artists like Hendrix and Joplin line the walls. Someone has signed the mirror in thick ink with the words, know your history and then tear it apart.

“Isn’t it incredible?” Nancy murmurs, standing next to you as you both admire the walls.

“It is,” you softly agree. Raising your camera, you take a picture of the mirror. “I can’t believe your boyfriend is performing here.”

“Neither can my boyfriend.”

A pounding noise can be heard from beneath you. You look at Nancy, silently asking her what the hell the sound could be, but she shrugs at you, also confused. The pounding happens again, this time forceful enough to rattle the floor, and you jump back and find that you’d been standing on top of a hidden hatch beneath the purple carpeting. 

The hatch’s door swings open, revealing a very angry Mike and Max.

Guess they found a way into the venue, then.

“Did you really have to stand on our escape plan?” The boy sneers, his glare deepening when he sees you and Nancy holding back laughs. “This isn’t at all funny.”

Only he looks so small down below the hidden cellar routes that remain from the prohibition days, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from laughing excessively. 

“Just help us up.” Max pleads, annoyed and sweaty and covered in god knows what. 

Taking pity on them, Nancy offers her hand and helps them crawl out from the hatch of death. “If mom ever asks,” she says to Mike. “Tell her I’m taking really good care of you here in New York.”

“Ha, ha.” He responds drily, though he shrieks in upset when a flash goes off and he realizes you’re taking pictures of his and Max’s situation. “What the fuck, Y/N?”

“Well, children.” You take another photo. “I’m capturing behind the scenes content.”

Max scoffs and steps past you, her shoulder clipping against yours, leaving Nancy to deal with her brother’s outrage so that she can help him get ready. You wish her luck and she waves you off, focusing on Mike now. 

Camera in hand, you take pictures of anything that your gaze lingers on. More signatures on the wall. The bands only sign that hangs above the door frame. Robin’s platform sneakers that lay abandoned next to her chair. Steve’s guitar next to the sneakers.

And even though there is so much history within these walls, so many intimate details that you know you want to capture forever, your lens draws you to Steve. Body turned to his, you find him through your viewfinder. 

Robin sits at the vanity. Her eyes are smudged with dark mascara and eyeliner and the blue of them shine. Steve stands next to her, styling his hair with sticky pomade and hopeless fingers. A silver chain hangs from Steve’s neck, his white t-shirt strains against his back, muscles outline faintly in the dim lighting as he bends towards Robin to tangle his fingers in her hair, too, styling it as she wants. 

They don’t see you at first. It isn’t until you’ve brought the camera back up to your face, eye squinting in the viewfinder to focus on the expanse of Steve’s taut back, do they see you. Robin winks into the mirror and Steve tips his head back, smiling lazily at you. 

Something tight grips your throat, but you swallow it down. 

In the corner Nancy is fixing Jonathan’s jacket and you take a picture of her tender hands around his waist. You photograph Mike and Max tuning their instruments; the girl’s red hair almost glows besides the boy’s fluorescent skin. As Robin and Jonathan go over the setlist for any last minute changes, you take a picture of their downcast heads, their similarly colored hair blurring into one body. 

The excitement in the room is tinged with tension, with apprehension, but still there is a breathlessness to it. 

Steve watches your every move as you walk around the room. His eyes are a pleasant warmth that simmers on your skin. You take a photo of his hands wrapped around his blue guitar neck. His fingers picking at the strings. His lips humming a song. 

He lets you. 

“Five more minutes.” A man, tall and large, knocks on the dressing room door. “Get ready.”

The static in the air multiplies at the announcement. Steve jumps up from his seat, clapping his hands. “Alright, everyone. You know the drill.”

They fall into formation. Jonathan, Mike, Max, and Robin all in a circle facing Steve. 

He brings his arms around them, forcing them into a huddle. Their eyes are bright and smiles wide and you take one final photo of them, just like this, just like little kids, grinning mischievously at one another and flushed faces. 

“It’s just us.” Steve tells them. “Just us up there on stage. No one else. Not one fucking any person but us.”

They repeat him. Just us. Just us just us just us.

Steve licks his lips at the sound, coating the cheshire smile on his face. He leans closer, impossibly closer to his bandmates, words edging his lips as they wait, dangling before them, desperate, waiting, before finally, finally–

“Showtime.”

– 

The cold metal of the barrier digs into your stomach. Nancy stands next to you, her own body flush against the railing that separates the barricade from the main stage. The small section is reserved only for you and Nancy, separate from the rest of the crowd, yet hardly big enough for the two of you to stand comfortably. 

Loud, disorienting noise surrounds you. Higgy's is one of those smaller venues that insists on cramming as many people as possible inside. Your heartbeat pounds along to the sound of drunken conversation and Nancy’s reassuring glances. 

“You ready?” She shouts into your ear, barely heard above the crowd.

“Not at all,” you admit to her. Your camera is poised in your hands. You’re anxious to see the Februarys perform, to see who exactly you’ve chanced your career on. “I swear to god, if Steve can’t sing I’m making him pay me double what he’s already–”

Your words get drowned out by a deafening wave of cheers and screams. The sound vibrates your skin, rattles your bones, and when you look up, all you see is the stage flooding with color as Steve and the others fill it. 

Jonathan sits at his drum set, its white reflecting the stage’s fluorescent purple lighting. Max plugs her bass to an amp and its deep maroon hue ignites the dark around her. Next to her Mike’s sage green electric guitar makes a small click sound as he connects it to its own powersource. Robin places herself behind her keyboard, its effervescent multitude of colors that she’s painted onto its body a commotion of everything that exudes who she is. 

And then there’s Steve, standing front and center on the stage, holding the same acoustic guitar you saw in his room the day you met him. Dark blue, its edges black, the fingers wrapped around it tanned and rough. 

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve grabs the mic, still engulfed in the colors. You think you see him smile at the crowd’s excited response. The flash of his white teeth vivid against his pink mouth. 

Steve extends his arms out towards the band. “Over here we have Robin Buckley on keyboard,” she playfully bows. “Jonathan Byers on drums,” deft fingers twirl drumsticks before colliding them onto cymbals. “Playing bass we have Max Mayfield,” the girl smiles coolly at the crowd, completely at ease. “And Mike Wheeler on electric guitar,” he twists the instrument and releases a cacophony of sound and the venue explodes into howls.

“And finally,” Steve presses his mouth against the mic again, eyes only on the crowd. He lets his words hang, the cheers become feminine, the howls become wanting. He laughs at the reaction. The sound is infectious. The flex of his arms ripples in the lighting. The beauty of his features only melts into the air, cages your lungs, and you see, in the end, just what every girl he takes to bed sees. 

Only when he has the crowd in the palm of his hand does he finally introduce himself, “I’m Steve Harrington.”

Your voice joins the screaming chorus and Steve grabs the mic with both hands and shouts, “We’re the Februarys, let’s go!”

No buildup, no anticipation, the band dives right into their first song. 

And they’re fucking incredible. They flow together well, losing themselves in the songs and chords they’ve created, and it isn’t their talent that makes you believe they’ll be a sensation one day. It’s the genuine compassion they have for one another on stage. 

Steve and Robin trade off on vocals easily, without any mixed cues or forgotten lyrics. Steve never strays away from her during the entire performance, always right next to her, always sharing his mic with her just because he can, because he enjoys her presence. 

Mike and Max harmonize and their voices mix so well together that you’re momentarily stunned. During every song Mike plays his chords to Jonathan, always looking to the older boy for a reaction, always eager to please, and Jonathan plays right back to him.

Max and Robin do an intricate handshake between the songs. The quick movement of their hands are a blur on stage but their smiles are vibrant and saturated in clarity. 

The Februarys are addicting to watch, they’re indescribable, even, but Steve is too unspoken to even capture on camera.

His body sways with the beat, singing in a whiskey colored tone that hits you like a sucker punch to the heart. The dip of his nose runs against the mic’s edge. The veins in his hands contrasted by the flash of lights. 

You take what feels like endless pictures. 

Your film roll becomes overwhelmed with images of the crowd, alive and swarming to get closer to the stage. With images of Steve, beautiful and raw. Nancy and her fondness and pride watching Jonathan. Max’s hands interlaced with Robin’s during their handshakes. Robin’s pink streaks in her hair and their vibrancy in the purple light.

More, your body screams at you, humming with the images that you’re aching to capture. More, more, more.

The lights shine down and you crawl over the security barrier, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder. Nancy doesn’t realize what you’re doing until your body is already over the railing. You think she calls out to you, but you’re gone before you can question what the hell you’re doing.

A security guard steps towards you but you quickly flash him the flimsy VIP badge you and Nancy were given when you were placed into the security area. 

You press against the edge of the stage with your camera angled up and as close as physically possible to the music. 

Steve finds you immediately.

He bends down, peers over the edge of the stage as he continues to sing. He’s dripping in sweat and his t-shirt clings to his wet skin. His chest heaves every lyric and his voice, this close, this full, makes you bite your lip to steady your shaking hands. 

“Don’t you know, honey, you can get it so fast?” He sings into the camera, silver chain dangling in front of the lens. He’s close enough for you to smell, to feel the heat of his body as he performs. “But of course, you know it makes no difference to me.” 

Steve sings into the camera, looks right through its lens, finds your eyes through its viewfinder.

He’s performing for you. 

Only for you. 

– 

In the dim, cramped hallway that connects the dressing rooms to the main stage, you wait with Nancy after the show. You’re both exhilarated and still riding the post concert high and you’re showing her all your pictures and she’s breathless and her hair is wild and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this type of adrenaline. 

A mixture of cheers and celebratory shouts echo down the hall and you hear, before you see, the Februarys returning. They’re equally drunk on the adrenaline that courses through your veins. 

“Did you see that?” Mike flies straight to Nancy, a little kid in his older sister’s arms. “I swear, the crowd was a fucking monster.”

Jonathan is by Nancy’s side in an instant, throwing his arms around her and joining Mike’s excited ramblings.

“They were singing our songs!” Robin screeches at the top of her lungs as she runs straight towards you, Max not far behind. “Y/N, did you hear them? God, please tell me you took a picture of the crowd–”

Suddenly you’re weightless, feet lifting from the ground as your body spins recklessly around. You scream, hands clutching your camera in alarm, until a rough and familiar voice kisses into your ear, “Angelface.”

“Steve!” You hit his arms playfully, belly full of laughter. “Put me down!”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you all night,” his hands slide down your waist and your feet touch the ground once more. “Christ, you look fucking amazing in the purple lights.”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you fix the messy pieces of Steve’s hair. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the entire night, I mean, look,” giddy, you shove a small camera in his face. “I shot some digital, I knew you’d be too impatient for the film to develop. And as much as I hate to admit it, the stage loves you.”

Steve’s mouth parts, momentarily surprised you’ve done this small, unnecessary thing for him. You only agreed to shoot the band in film, that was all they could afford to pay you for, and yet here you are, once again surprising him.

“God, you’re my favorite fucking person ever.” Steve hungrily grabs the device, licking his lips. He flicks through the images in a maddening frenzy and his heartbeat almost deafens his ears. “Holy shit, I look like a rockstar.”

He says it as if to gloat, to exude your talent once more, but deep down, Steve’s stomach twists a feeling he’s never felt before. Screaming crowds and late night lyrics felt cliche, ingenuine, but now looking at the pictures you’ve provided solely for him, this is the first time he’s ever truly felt like a rockstar. 

Your perfume invades Steve’s senses. Your cheek presses against his bicep and he can feel your grin. You point to his face in one of the pictures. “You get really red when you perform.”

“I’m going to pretend that’s your poor attempt at flirting with me.”

You laugh. “No, it wasn’t. You get all rosie,” you look up at him and your smile softens slightly, more tender, delicate. “I think it’s cute.”

“Rosie, huh?” Steve’s heartbeat spikes again. The haze your perfume has left him in threatens to overspill into his wandering hands. His eyes wander to your lips; you see it.

“Share with the class, Harrington,” Robin snatches the camera from him. “Quit hogging Y/N’s talent.”

Steve immediately tries to grab the camera, but Robin is fast. She runs to the others, ducks behind Jonathan, and Steve glares at her. “Buckley, I wasn’t done–”

“Let them look, Steve.” Your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently pulling him back. “You’re not the only one paying me, you know.”

Steve wants to roll his eyes, to say that actually your pay comes out of his bank account, but then he sees the pure joy in your eyes as you watch the Februarys pour over the photos. You try to suppress your obvious pride by biting your lip and all arguments die in his throat.

There aren't a lot of pictures, not nearly as many as you’re sure you took on your film camera, but watching the band’s eyes light up as they see your work is like molten chocolate coating your stomach. Syrupy and indulgent and lovely.

“I’m framing this one,” Robin announces, holding the camera up. “Because holy fuck do my tits look great from this angle.”

“Wasn’t my artistic intent, but please feel free to frame your tits.”

Max points to an image of her with her eyes closed, fingers soft and poised over the bass strings. “I look so… holy.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In a good way, right?”

“I think so.”

“Good enough for me.”

Mike smacks Jonathan’s shoulder, not even bothering to look up from the camera. “Why the hell did you hide Y/N from us for so long?”

Nancy pinches her brother and Jonathan rubs his sore skin, and while he tries to explain that no, he hadn’t been hiding you this whole time, Steve’s lips graze your head and he wraps himself around you, steadying your body that sways with amused and childish laughter. 

– 

Life becomes a blur of venues and gigs and flashing lights and developing film and Steve and his lips and soft voice humming to himself most mornings.

He’s always awake before the others. Your habit of working on your film late into the night leaves you the only one up when he rises.

It’s become a sort of tradition, spending quiet mornings together. Steve makes you coffee and goes over the film with you from the night before. When he’s done admiring your work, he prepares a lazy breakfast and you sit at the counter and listen to his soft hums.

“What do you think of the lyric, ‘left for want and wanting’?” Steve asks you one morning, the sizzle of eggs on the greased pan threatening to burn his exposed chest.

“Is it a play on ‘left for want and nothing?’” He nods and you tilt your head. “I think I like it, though Robin might say it’s redundant.” 

Steve sighs. “Every time I show her what I’ve written it’s like sophomore English all over again.”

His annoyance makes you laugh, though you do pity him. Following the gig at Higgy's, Steve and the others decided that they needed more than their four original songs. The crowds are getting bigger, demanding more than just covers and a handful of songs. 

With this demand came late night bickering between Steve and Robin over lyrics and chord progressions and, more often than not, Mike frantically running down to the apartment at odd times with a line he’s thought of to insist they write it down.

“If it’s any consolation, I like the stuff you guys are coming up with.” Steve and Robin are a good team and Mike’s sudden strikes of inspiration only add to their music. From the little you’ve heard, the new songs are already more mature, even better, than their old ones. 

“You’re biased,” Steve sets a plate down in front of you and kisses your cheek. “You’re supposed to like everything I do.”

“The only thing I like about you is your face, rosie.”

Steve snorts, going back to the stove so that Dustin and Robin have their own meals to wake up to, and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you once more. 

In the blur of gigs and venues and music comes another blur of barely legal teens and their symphony of adolescence. 

Max and Lucas stop by the apartment often with El in tow. Somehow Will and Mike are never far behind despite having their own apartment upstairs. 

“Why do you guys always take over my apartment? Why can’t you go upstairs?” You ask the teens, eyeing your kitchen counter that has been buried underneath mounds of school assignments. 

“We like it here better.” Will shrugs. “Plus, you and Dustin help us with our work.”

You and Dustin do, unfortunately, enjoy helping them figure out math problems and essays, so you can’t really argue with that logic. 

Dustin becomes your accomplice in more than just assignments, though. Being the only one not in the Februarys, he’s your solace when the apartment fills with Mike and Steve arguing with Robin over a chorus or bridge or whatever else they’re stuck on that night.

“If I didn’t enjoy the idea of knowing rockstars, I would’ve moved out by now.” Dustin pounds on his bedroom wall, connected to Robin’s, where yet another argument floods the silence, and shouts, “Knock it off!”

A thud, then a door slams, before Steve comes barreling into the room and collapses at your side. “Robin said I’m trying too hard with my lyrics.”

“Oh, sure, come right in.”

Steve ignores Dustin’s sarcasm and pouts at you. “I mean, can you believe her? Me? Trying too hard?”

Then Robin launches into the room, nearly trips on the wires that litter the floor. “He’s too in his head right now! The songs all sound like slimy poetry!”

You frown. “Isn’t that what songs are–”

“You guys got rid of my seafoam gloom line?” Mike’s agitated voice is the only warning the precedes his stumbling presence into the already overflowing bedroom and yet another argument rises between the three band members.

Dustin is pinching the bridge of his nose and you’re sympathetic to his lost cause of a room. Standing up, you grab his hand. “C’mon, let’s hide out in my room. My door at least has a lock.”

“You’re leaving me?” Steve cries out, betrayed, but his voice is muffled by the door’s closing.

A lot of nights follow a pattern like this, bickering between friends, torn scraps of paper left throughout the apartment, slamming doors and laughter that follows. Sometimes the monotony is broken by Jonathan’s comforting presence helping you develop the film as Nancy brews tea. 

Tonight is like any other night. Robin has gone to bed, Mike left with his sister and Jonathan a while ago, Dustin is in his room hunched over a project for school, and Steve is in your bed, tired fingers plucking over guitar strings as you go over your photos from a gig the night before. 

Along the walls of your room are a series of photos, some film, some digital, varying in size and shape. Though some of the images are from recent performances, most aren’t even of the Februarys themselves. 

One photo is of Dustin laughing about something with Will. There’s a few of Max, one with her hand shyly clasped in Lucas’ as they watch a movie. Multiple images are of Robin and Steve, always eager to pose for you whenever your camera is near. Nancy, her beautiful side profile admiring Jonathan. 

Your room has become a collection of images of everyone you love, and slowly, it becomes Steve’s room, too.

He tells you he prefers your room over his because it’s cleaner, though really you know it’s because he also enjoys being surrounded by everyone he loves. 

Soft acoustic notes float through the room. The silence is comfortable, as it always is with Steve. His eyes are closed and he simply plays whatever comes to mind. He’s the most at ease when he’s playing music, and truthfully, tucked in your bed with his hair framing his face, you think he’s the most beautiful this way. 

“I have a question.” Steve rolls his head to look at you. The song he’s playing doesn’t waver and this act of talent, albeit small, still amazes you. 

“When don’t you have a question?” 

He pokes your thigh. “Be nice, it’s a serious question.”

Placing your film down, you give him your attention. “Alright, I’m listening. What’s up?”

Steve places his guitar down and rolls onto his side. He stares up with tired eyes and he hesitates for a moment. Opens his mouth, closes it, looks away.

“Steve?” You don’t like the uncharacteristic hesitancy. 

Sighing, he faces you again. “Why did you take this job?” 

Your confusion must spill over your face because Steve inhales and tries again, tries to articulate something that you can tell has been bothering him for a while. “What I mean is, why did you decide to put your faith in the band? Work for shit pay, live with complete strangers? Aren’t you, I don’t know, worried that we’ve somehow jeopardized your career by making you stay?”

A part of you wants to deflect, to make a joke about how you never really had a career anyways. Except Steve is looking up at you and you see a flicker of insecurity in his eyes, doubt that has never been there before. 

“Because,” you tell him, easily and without any doubt yourself. “One day everyone will know your name. You’ll be known as Steve Harrington, lead member of the Februarys, a band that will be remembered for generations to come.”

You reach out, tuck Steve’s hair behind his ear. “And, selfishly, I want to be a part of the history you make. Even if only as the photographer.”

“You really believe that?” His golden smile is bashful. 

“I do,” your lips fall to his cheek, a fluttering reassurance. “The Februarys, you guys are special. There’s something in your band. Something good. I can feel it.”

Steve grabs your ankle, skims the flesh there with the pad of his thumb. He watches himself trace your skin, smiling still golden and youthful. “I can feel it, too,” he admits to you as if it’s a secret. “Thank you, you know. For believing in us.”

Removing your ankle from his grasp, you curl your body into itself, falling against his chest, forgetting about the photos and guitar and simply laying on him. Listening to his heartbeat. Music somehow innate within him. 

“Yeah, well,” you throw your leg over his. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a rockstar.”

Steve rubs your thigh now. Up and down, slowly, in soothing rhythms. He turns to you, close enough that your noses brush. Your breaths mix, his air becomes yours, and Steve squeezes the skin beneath his palm. 

“I could never forget you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost don’t hear it.

But you’re watching his lips. Your ear is pressed over his heart. The swell of his chest anchors your chin. You hear Steve’s promise because it would be impossible not to, and you believe him for these very same reasons as well. 

– 

After a month of multiple arguments, insults, tears, midnight snack runs, and emotional outbursts, the Februarys’ EP, creatively titled The Februarys, is finished. 

“You agonize over these songs for weeks on end and then you name the EP The Februarys?” Dustin makes a face. “Were you too burnt out to think of anything better?”

Robin throws a pillow at him and Steve has to leave the room before he screams. 

“Is now a bad time to ask how you guys plan on recording an EP without, you know, a studio or any connections to a studio?” The death glare Robin sends you immediately shuts you up. “Yeah, okay. Bad time.”

The dilemma of not having a studio or even a record label to help produce the EP is quickly solved by the grace of one Jonathan Byers. 

“Okay, I have a plan.” He sits everyone down a few nights later, looking like King Arthur at the head of the round table. “I can get us into a studio.”

Max tips her chair back and crosses her arms. “If it involves anything illegal, I’m out. My mom said I can’t keep abusing the family lawyer.”

“You have a family lawyer?”

“Focus, Y/N.” A pen gets thrown at you and Jonathan sets his gaze on Max. “And no, it isn’t illegal. Technically.”

“I’m listening.” Mike leans forward in his seat.

Nancy frowns. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

You nod in agreement, eyeing her brother, to which he scoffs at you both. 

Jonathan either doesn’t see this or he simply doesn’t care. “Do you guys remember my old coworker Argyle? It was back when I worked at that deli on fifth.”

Everyone nods, you included. You vaguely remember the stories Jonathan told you about his time at the deli. It was run by an old man who didn’t care about labor rights but in a way that only benefited the employees. Unlimited breaks, a disregard for public health codes, and free food if you worked overtime. 

You never set foot in that deli for obvious reasons, though Jonathan loved every second of it. 

“Well, turns out he managed to bypass mandatory state drug tests and got a job working security at Major Tom’s.”

A lot of things happen at once. 

Robin, who had taken a poorly timed sip of her water, spits it out all over Steve. Cringing at the attack, his knee hits the table, eliciting a pathetic yelp from him. Mike slams his hand on the table and screams something about fate, and Max, who had been tempting the limits of how far her chair could tip back, is so surprised by the news that she leans too far and ends up on the floor. 

“Oh, Jesus.” In dire need of damage control, you quickly stand up and help Max off the ground. On your way you toss a roll of paper towels to Steve and tell him to clean himself up. 

“Major Tom’s?” He screeches, a wet paper towel hanging from his face. 

Jonathan gulps, nods. “Yeah.”

Robin’s rapid breathing borders on hyperventilating and Mike and Max are in stunned awe. Meanwhile, you’re getting ice from the freezer to ease the sting of the girl’s fall, completely caught off guard by everyone’s startled reactions. 

“In fear of looking like a moron,” you hand the ice to Max. “What the hell is Major Tom’s?”

“Oh, it’s no big deal, just the most culturally significant recording studio in the world.” Steve sputters a laugh. “It’s where every fucking rock band who’s recorded there becomes a household legend.”

You sit back down. “Oh, so this is like. A pretty big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” Robin exclaims. She clasps her hands in front of Jonathan, goes flying to her knees before him. “Byers, light of my life, love of my beloved Nancy Wheeler, apple of my sour eye, please, for the love of god, talk to Argyle.”

He gently grabs her arm and forces her back into her seat. “I thought I told you to stop begging for things like that. It creeps me out.”

“That’s why I do it.”

“Nancy said I need to work on expressing how I’m feeling, and I really dislike that you continue to do something that makes me feel–”

Now it’s Max’s hand that slams down on the table. “Hey! Assholes! Can we go back to Argyle finally being useful?”

“I’ve always thought he was useful.”

“You’re about to be banned from this conversation, Y/N.”

Steve, who has been shockingly quiet throughout all of this, calmly says, “Byers, you need to talk to Argyle.”

“That’s the thing.” Jonathan leans his weight against the table, crosses his arms in a smug manner. He looks around at everyone and shrugs. “I already did. He agreed to sneak us into the studio for three days. For free.”

This time there’s an even bigger reaction and it isn’t until hours later, deep into night with Steve staring up at your bedroom ceiling, does the adrenaline finally die down. 

Argyle’s deal with Jonathan is simple. The Februarys get three straight days of studio time. That’s all he can afford to give them before he risks his own job. All they have to do is record, edit, and mix eight songs in three days. 

All for the price of Jonathan’s film canister so that he can sneak weed to work.

And while the three day limit seems impossible, it’s more than enough for the band. This is too big of an opportunity to fuck up. They’ll stay up those entire three days, work themselves to the brink of death, if it means that they finally have a chance.

Which is ultimately what ends up happening.

A maddening rush settles into the band’s veins and they spend the rest of the night drawing up a plan.

Day one will be recording all eight songs. Steve won’t say a single word unless needed so that he can preserve his voice. Extra guitar strings will be stashed in Robin’s bag. Bandaids. Aspirin, whatever they can possibly need. No one leaves the studio until the final lyric has been sung and the final chord has faded. 

Day two will be the production day. With Mike and Steve mixing the songs, they’ll be at the mercy of Robin, Max, and Jonathan. Everyone gets a say in what happens. Every soundbite, every amplification of bass or keyboard gets approved by everyone. If they don’t agree with each other, they get one veto each. That’s it. There won’t be any time for arguing or stale compromises. 

Day three, the final day, will be the last minute edits. They’ll re-record if needed. Change a progression or note. It has to be perfect; it has to feel perfect. There is no other option. 

“We’ll see you and Dustin in a few days.” Steve throws a few more things into his bag. He’s called a taxi that will be at the apartment any minute. “I’ll leave some cash so you guys can order out. Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

Dustin looks offended. “Why are you making it sound like Y/N is my babysitter?”

“Because technically she is.”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Which puts the ‘baby’ in ‘babysitter’.”

“Not to interrupt this groundbreaking conversation but,” your bag, which you’d been hiding behind your back since coming into Steve’s room, lands on the bed beside his. “I’m coming with you, Harrington.”

Both Steve and Dustin look at you as if you’re insane.

“You’re leaving me all alone for three days?”

“Thought you didn’t need a babysitter, Henderson?” Dustin closes his mouth and glares at you. Meanwhile, you flash Steve a wide smile. “Any complaints from you?”

“No,” there’s still an odd look on his face. “I mean, definitely not. I get you for three straight days? Heaven. I just… we can’t pay you for whatever pictures you take. It isn’t in our budget. You know that, right?”

“Keep your money,” Steve’s concern of valuing your work melts your skin. “I meant what I told you. I want to be a part of your history. And your first recording session at Major Tom’s? That’s history, rosie.”

Early morning sunlight streaks the hardwood floor of Steve’s room. His guitar is packed away in its case. His bag overflows with more than he probably needs. He’s kneeling on his bed, one leg in front of you, body angled towards yours, and the raw and vulnerable way his eyes soften when he looks at you, it’s worth more than anything he could ever pay you. 

“Taxi’s here!” Robin bangs on the doorframe. “Let’s go, wombats.”

Steve tosses your bag and grabs your hand, spinning you as he tugs you out the door. You’re used to his boyish antics by now, but still you laugh like a schoolgirl and follow him wherever. 

“So I’m really gonna be alone for three days?” Dustin calls out, following right behind. 

“I’ll call Luas and have him stay with you.” You placate. “And Steve will leave even more money for food.”

“No I won’t–”

“Bye, Dustin!” You kiss his head, ruffle his hair, and then extend your arm out towards Steve, palm facing up, expectant. “Cough it up.”

His amused smile betrays his downturned eyebrows. “Why do you treat me like the bank?” “You grew up rich. This is financial compensation for everyone who is poor.”

 Dustin nods. “Yeah. It’s economics.”

Steve sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and hands the kid an extra five dollars on top of the twenty he’s already left on the counter. “I hate you both.”

“Guys!” Robin’s scream can be heard from the street below. She’s outside the taxi now and her glare can be felt from six stories up. “Let’s. Go.”

“That’s our cue.” Steve grabs your hand, cocks his head at you. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

– 

Major Tom’s recording studio is deep in the West Village. A few blocks away resides the Hudson. The building itself is small, no more than five floors, yet it’s a maze within its lush walls. Deep red lines the velvet walls. Amber wood flooring, gold plated chandeliers, and records spanning decades. 

Similar to Higgy's, so much history can be felt within the walls. Icons from eras passed, their music transcending their vitality.

No one has time to admire the studio’s beauty, though. The second Argyle sneaks everyone inside, they scatter like bugs. Steve runs straight to the first recording booth he finds. Jonathan grabs a drum set base, Max digs through drawers for music stands, and Mike and Robin pick at a locked door to see what’s inside, hoping for at least a few mics. 

Knowing better than to get in their way, you stay back. Keep to the shadows in their chaos. All you do is silently take pictures, documenting it all. 

Before you know it the band has managed to cram their way into the booth and they’re performing the first song in minutes. Seeing them working together so fluidly is beautiful. Argyle, with limited knowledge of how music production works, monitors the soundboard. 

Despite the time constraints and the pressure to get everything right in just one take, Steve performs every song as if he has all the time in the world.

His smooth voice and dropped vowels coat the soft hums of Robin. He moves slowly, his eyes closed for every song. He gets lost in the music and you get lost watching him. 

The Februarys finish recording all their songs right as the sun starts to set. By this point, Steve’s voice is raw and the flesh of Max’s fingertips and Mike’s palms are cut up and bleeding. Jonathan has splinters from his drumsticks. Robin’s feet ache from standing.

But they’ve never been more alive.

They talk over each other and surround the soundboard, itching to hear what’s been captured and even more anxious to pick it apart and stitch it back together again. 

Throughout the night they tear over melodies and chords. They work until they can hardly keep their eyes open, and still they insist on listening over and over again to the songs. Late into night they take turns sleeping, never allowing for more than two of them to sleep at the same time in fear of losing daylight. 

The second day follows this pattern. By the end of the night, they can feel the exhaustion in their bones. And yet, despite this, there has never been more laughter, more quips and tears and sentimental smiles, between them. 

The third day is slower, easier. The final stretch. Somehow they manage to stay on track and with only a few more songs to finalize, the energy in the room shifts. The once manic, frenzied static that coated the room becomes mellow, calm, like quiet acceptance. 

“We’re really good.” Steve murmurs to you, resting his head beside yours against the wall. He was forced to take a break a while ago and sits down next to you on the ground. 

“You are.” Though you’re not sure if you’re affirming a belief of doubt or a belief of quality. “Everything you’ve done is incredible.”

“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice thick with tears. “We’re really good.”

In his brown eyes you see a dream being fulfilled. A realization that more will come from this. That years of sleepless nights and strained vocal cords has amended him this: a quiet moment between childhood friends getting everything they’ve ever wanted.

The final song plays over the speakers. There isn’t a breath released during its entirety. Robin's keynote fades. The key evokes an image of goodbye. The clapping that follows from behind you evokes terror. 

Everyone turns around. The room stills. 

Leonard Branham, manager and producer of Major Tom’s, stands in the doorway. 

He’s a short man, more belly than body. His white hair is almost translucent against his pale skin. Large sunglasses rest on his veiny head. A cigarette dangles from his wrinkled mouth and when he smiles, his teeth are yellowed, aged. 

“Well, what do we have here?” 

Steve is the first to react, scrambling to his feet. “Mr. Branham, sir, I–”

“Do not.” 

The silence turns into terror. For three days the Februarys have been using the studio without explicit permission. They snuck in through the backdoor and illegally used equipment worth thousands. 

And now, just as they’ve completed their mad dash to the finish line, the owner of Major Tom’s has caught them, quite literally, red handed. 

Maybe Max’s family lawyers will be useful. 

“Mr. Leonard, uh. Branham. Sir. Sorry, do I call you sir?” Robin’s squeaky voice of fear rings in your ears. “I-okay. Not important. Can I just ask you not to arrest us–”

“Please don’t arrest us. My sister will kill me and she’s really annoying–”

“I know a good lawyer.”

“God, my dad is an asshole and I know I’m twenty-four but he’s fucking terrifying and–”

“My step dad is a cop, I know my rights–”

Leonard hands up his hands and his loud voice booms, “Enough!”

Silence. Pure, utter silence. 

“Jesus H. Christ,” the man puffs out smoke. Flicks the ash onto the expensive carpet like it’s nothing. “You’re not getting arrested, alright? I’ve known you were using my studio since the first day your asses got here. Your little friend over here,” he waves his cigarette at Argyle. “Can’t keep a secret to save his chubby little life.”

“It’s true, dudes.”

Steve’s mouth tightens. “So we’re… fine?”

“Fine?” Leonard cackles. “I don’t know, boy. You tell me!”

“Full transparency, sir, I think I’m about to have a heart attack.”

Leonard exhales more smoke. “Now that, my boy, better be the nerves talking. I don’t sign druggies to the label. It’s a bad image when they kneel over and I’m the one managing them.”

Steve pales and for a split second you really do think he’s having a heart attack. “I-I’m sorry. Did you say sign?”

“Told you. I’ve known you were here the entire time. I have cameras. This equipment cost more than my third fucking divorce.” Leonard kicks at a speaker and huffs. “But that’s besides the point. I’m here because I like you guys. Your songs sound like the colors blue and yellow and I fucking love that they make green. You understand?”

Robin laughs nervously. “Can’t really say I do. Personally.”

“Christ, doesn’t anyone listen these days?” Leonard flicks ash off his cigarette and stares at the group. “I’m giving you guys a chance. I want you to join my label. Is that English enough for you?”

Mike screams. Full on, knees to the ground, screams. Max isn’t any better, joining him immediately and grabbing onto his body to try and support her own failing one. 

Robin’s eyes roll back and she nearly faints. Jonathan has to be the one to catch her, because Steve just stands there, eyes wide, shell shocked and unmoving. His entire body tenses up and you wouldn’t be surprised if ends up fainting as well. 

In the midst of everyone’s overwhelmed reactions, you’re the only one coherent enough to step forward and shake Leonard’s extended hand. 

“I hear you loud and clear, Lenny.” He smiles, impressed with the confidence to call him by his name. “The Februarys will happily sign with you.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Leonard clasps his hand over your intertwined ones, shaking it aggressively. 

A weight gets thrown upon you and Steve’s arms tear you from Leonard. He clings onto you from behind, nearly sending you to the floor, as he laughs and cries and screams. He’s in your arms and around your waist and in your neck and your stomach and he’s swallowed entirely by the bliss that erupts in the room. 

The beginning of it all.

-

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[fluemsiie]

ch1 : ignore till it goes away [ j. ackles ]

synopsis. you’re ignoring jensen and he gets fed up, misha takes matters into his own hand notes. 0.8k words.

you don’t waste any time running into your best friend’s arms and because you’ve been on the set so much, it doesn't faze anyone, not even when you’re interrupting a scene (though you try not to do that often).

"hey, what're you doing here? thought you had an audition?" you did, but it hadn't gone well so you decided against staying at home, instead coming to see jared.

"yeah, but i wanted to see you. it ended early anyways." you’re sure he saw through your white lie, thankfully he decided against pushing since you’re still around people. greeting misha and gen with hugs and quick ‘how are you’s is the same as it is whenever you come. 

now where's jensen, is your first thought as you lean closer to the small group, listening in to whatever they were talking about, trying some of gen’s salad. you usually try to distance myself from the older actor. 

jensen not only makes you extremely nervous, but he’s also your best friend’s ex-husband, no matter your status with danneel at the moment. it wasn’t a messy break up, but they broke up nonetheless.

it’s been years since you first met but you still can't seem to get over tour crush on him— albeit you didn’t do anything about it with him already married, but the feelings were still there. and now that he’s not danneel’s husband, it just seems like there’s really no point in hanging around him. you always come up with some stupid excuse to not be in a room he's in. you haven’t had any alone time with him ever since the break up, actually.

jared checks his phone which just pinged; "jensen's done with bob, my turn." gen groans, holding onto her boyfriend a little tighter. it makes you smile, seeing them so in love when you know how hard last year was on jared. he never thought he'd find someone like gen in his life but he did. and one year later they're still the strongest relationship you’ve ever seen.

"where’s my lunch?" that’s a voice you can recognize anywhere and it makes me freeze. now where on earth does jared think he's going? and gen hanging on his arm too? yeah, no way are you staying here alone.

"here." misha holds up a plastic bag and jensen quickly snatched it, sitting where jared was just a second ago, next to you. "don’t thank me or anything." he rolls his eyes and jensen starts opening up his burrito.

"i need to get back to school, i’ll see you all later." no one is even fazed as you throw the farewell to whoever will catch it, walking back to your car.

jensen’s pov

"i need to know what i did to her, man." jensen says, mouth full with the insanely incredible food that misha got him. he could really kiss the man right now— probably would considering this is his favorite lunch place. not that the craft team is lacking in anything, but jensen could use a full fast food meal every now and then.

"i’m sure it's nothing, she's not used to you is all." if he wasn't so busy stuffing his mouth after the longest day of stunts he would've scoffed and hit misha on his head.

"that’s bullshit and you know it," he swallows, putting down the food, "i've known her for what? five years? she’s been around jj, and I don’t even have her number. how is that possible?”

"she isn't in the cast, that's normal. you probably just don't initiate conversation on set. it’s different when she isn’t hanging out at your house, jensen."

"yeah, cause she looks like she wants to bang my head in every time i see her, she's not exactly the chatty type." misha wanted to tell jensen that he was being overdramatic but the truth is, he's right.

you’ve been very obviously ignoring jen for the whole year he's been here to witness, never mind the four before that. you and Misha are close, but he wouldn't say close enough to bring it up to you, maybe he'll tell jared. not that it’s any of misha’s business but it’s hard to watch, he’s surprised no one brought it up, honestly. he has to do something, make sure jensen doesn’t think about this more than he should.

. . . more notes !! this is a mini series. this chapter is super short but the rest are normal! okay bye bye (and tell me if u like it pls).

[thethreefaes]

Trust? One of them? He really was an odd one. So… welcoming. When they stopped at the circle, she gave him a strange look. Why wasn’t he inviting her in? All this and they weren’t even going into his circle. If his sis was so weak why not just go to her?

She eyed him but ultimately leaned against a tree to wait. Maybe it was if they decided she was a threat they could retreat into the ring. She snorted when she saw the dragon’s disappointed look.

Lyra looked between Hiccup and Astrid, shaking her head.

“I can walk out. I’m ready.” Taking a calming breath, she followed Hiccup out of the circle.

The first thing she noticed was the cold. Her wings tucked in tight behind her and she wrapped her coat close to her. After being in the ring for so long she’d forgotten how cold it was.

Then, she saw her. Leaning against the tree and looking as cocky as when they were small. Rose looked at her curiously and Lyra took a step forward. She gave a shy wave that Rose returned with a raised brow.

“H-hi.” Lyra stuttered. Her nerves coming back. Rose chuckled and pushed off the tree to come closer.

“Shy little thing, aren’t ya? Well, nice ta meet ya. You can call me Rose.” Lyra looked up at Rose. She was only a few steps away now. She… didn’t recognize her. It made sense. They both had grown, but doubt crept in. What if she didn’t remember her?

“I know. I… do you remember me? I’m Lyra.” Lyra watched Rose’s face. The taller fae looking at her confused. A weight fell into her stomach. She felt sick and wrapped her arms around herself.

“Uh… should I? I haven’t traveled around here before.” Rose looked at the strange fae. She was shivering so she let her own wings show and extended one to block the wind. Why did she look sad? These faes were strange.

“Rosie.. sis beag. Bláth tine.” Lyra muttered sadly. She looked down, missing the shock on Rose’s face.

“Whoa. Whoa. What did ya say?” Lyra looked up at the question hopefully.

“Bláth tine.” Lyra repeated louder. Realization slowly dawning on Rose.

“No way… Angel?!” Rose grabbed her shoulders and then her face. Looking over every detail of Lyra’s face.

“It’s you?!” Lyra laughed as Rose pulled her into a hug. “I can’t believe this! My angel!” She was laughing, picking up and spinning Lyra. Lyra held onto her, giggling as tears fell.

“Now don’t go cryin! You’ll get me going!” Rose set her down. Looking over the smaller fae.

The storm had come out of nowhere. The day had started out lovely and clear. Cold, yes. But Lyra had gotten good and bundling up and keeping herself warm. With clear skies the fae had wanted to gather more of the medical plants and medicinal herbs so she could work with Gothi.

She’d left Altair sunning by the house and headed out. It wasn’t suppose to be a long trip. She had learned the forests around Berk well. Knew where to go to get the specific plants. She was well into the midst of the forest when the clouds rolled in. The wind picking up and causing her cloak to whip around her. The cold air like knives across any bare skin.

Then the snow came. Lyra tried to head back towards Berk but the blizzard had quickly gotten rid of any visibility. The snow and freezing wind was quick to drain what little magic she had. The fae couldn’t even shadow step. Lyra clutched at a tree and shivered. She… she had to find shelter.

Back in Berk Altair was becoming agitated. The humans were battening down their homes as the wind picked up. The Vikings knowing what was to come. When the snow hit, the dragon had waited too long. Her rider was not home and was in danger. Altair struggled to scent the air. While the freezing temp did not bother her like other dragons, the wind and snow still affected her senses.

The only scent she could get was of her rider’s kin. The chief and alpha. So Altair trudged through the blizzard to their hut. Scratching at his door and hissing.

@dragonmasterhiccup (closed starter)

[pr3ttylittleslutt]

𝑻𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒆…

CW: social anxiety (she just like me fr)

I run down the stairs making my way down to the parking lot, looking for his car, he blinks his lights making it easier to find him I walk up to his car opening the door. “Hii” I say buckling in “Hey sweetheart, you ready?” He asks I nod my head at him with a smile and he takes of. The drive is nice we talked about ourselves and joked around I was little disappointed when we arrived at the fair. I unbuckle myself reaching for my door when he opens it for me offering his hand, I smile thanking him getting down. He holds onto my hand as we walk away entering the gates, it’s so beautiful and lively, little kids running around laughing, couples making out groups of teenagers with their friends it’s just perfect. “What do you want to do first? We can play games go on rides eat” he ask me I look around thinking “Lets play some games first?” I look up at him he smiles down at me waking over to one of the game booths, it’s one of these water gun games “Wait we need tickets I’ll be right back don’t go anywhere ok?” He lets go of my hand and takes off before my brain even registers what he just said.

I stand there waiting uncontrollably for him to come, I look around feeling like I’m being watched to my horror, I see a group of teenagers walking towards me laughing, I take a deep breath grab my phone trying to distract myself from them, they walk right by me, I look up I see a bunch people walking by looking at me, I start to get anxious checking my clothes making sure I don’t have anything on them, I lift my head looking for Chris rubbing the palm of my hand on my shorts, I lift my hand up again trying to focus on myself, I start to text Stella when I feel a hand on my shoulder I jump turning to my side seeing the person I’ve been waiting for. He holds the tickets up to my face “Ready?” I give a weak smile and nod, I Sint know how but he looks at me like he knows something is wrong “Are you ok? If you want we can just go somewhere else?” He says “No it’s ok I just got a little nervous that’s all” I say knowing damn well I was on the verge of tears just seconds ago “Sweetheart don’t lie to me.” He says sternly the masculinity radiating off of him I look into his eyes hesitating if I should tell him I sigh “No im ok I just got a bit anxious a little while ago, it’s nothing serious” I look down at my feet playing around with my nails, he lifts my chin up looking at me “Hey, it’s not nothing serious, if you feel anxious just tell me, we’ll go somewhere less crowded for a bit and if you want we could leave and go somewhere else ok?” He grabs my head holding it like it’s the most delicate thing he’s ever seen, I smile at him nodding going in for a much needed hug “Takes some deep breaths for me ok” he says smoothing his hand over my hair taking deep breaths and I follow his lead, my heart rate slows down, we pull away he ruffles my hair “CHRIS! IT TOOK ME A WGILE HOUR TO GET MY HAIR LOOKING HALF DECENT” I yelled at him taking my phone out fixing the curls he disturbed, he laughs “im sorry sweetheart I’ll make it up to you yeah?” He says I raise my eyebrow “How?” “I’ll win you a stuffed animal” my eyes light up but I calm myself down not wanting to show to much excitement “Ok fineeee but those games are rigged” I say hooking my arm around his walking up to the booth.

He plays flawlessly, I cheer him on wanting my stuffed bunny, then we hear that beautiful sound of bell ringing, he won, I unable to control the excitement start jumping around around with him holding my hand, the guy ask him which one we want and I point to the huge bunny. He hands it to me and I gladly accept it with a huge smile on my face turning to Chris, he pulls his phone out taking a few pictures of me I go over looking at them “Your so cute” he says rubbing my lower back “thank you” “You wanna go eat?” He ask I nod he grabs my hands walking to a taco station ordering our food going to sit down on a bench.

We stay out until 9 pm walking around going on rides, playing games, eating snacks even getting strangers to take pictures for us overall having a good time, we walk up to the car laughing. I get in putting my bunny in the backseat, he reached over buckling me in then staring the car “Do you want to go home or go to the movies or something?” He asked giving me the aux cord I smile plugging it into my phone looking through my playlist before choosing to one pressing play “ummm can we go home im a bit tired” I answered “of course no problem sweetheart” he grabs his phone looking for the directions and doing something else I don’t really know what,he puts it down pulling out heading to my college dorm, the ride is silent but in a comforting way “Are you ok?” He ask I raise my eyebrow trying to figure out what he’s talking about “You know with what happened a while ago” when the realization hits me I look down at my lap “Yeah I’m ok” he looks at me briefly “You wanna talk abt it? Its ok if you don’t” “Idk it kinda just happens, I’ll be in public and then all of a sudden it just feel like everyone is looking at me and judging me idk it’s silly” I shrug “No its not silly, if you ever feel like that you call me ok? I dont care what time it is just call me” he says sternly looking over at I nod my head feeling a sense of security around him, the rest of the car ride we just listen to music occasionally singing along until we reach the parking lot “thanks for tonight” I say looking at him, he smiles at me looking into my eyes like they’re the most fascinating things he has ever seen, he leans in slowly raising his hand to cradle the side of my neck “Can I?” He ask me his eyes dance between my eyes and lips, i part my lips looking down at his giving a slight nod and before I know it his lips are on mine. The kiss is soft, slow, sweet I find myself subconsciously melting into him, he does not rush it tilting my head to the side, he bites my lip shoving his tongue in my mouth gently massaging mine running his over my teeth until we hear a noise from his side of the car, it’s a security guard basically telling us to wrap it and go home. I reach in the back grabbing my bunny gathering my stuff “I’ll see you around sweetheart, text me when you get in” he says “I will” I say leaning in kissing his cheek rushing out the car into my dorm. I send him a message telling him I got safely going into my room, i look at the pictures we took today making one my wallpaper before getting ready for bed.

AN: what app do yall use to make the fake text msg n shit

Random tags n taglist: @trevorsgodmother @tezzzzzzzz @weirdothatwritess @dykes4chris @chrepsi @chrissfavhoe @nateismybf @bamsblooming @chrissleftshoe @chrisslluut @cams-cult @chrissturnioloslvt @chrislilcumslvt @chriscumslut @chrisshands @chriss-prettyygirll @chrissturnioloswife88 @mattztrip @mattsleftball @mattsslvtzx @mattswrinkleton @mattsturnswife @mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour @mattsturnioloarchive @matthewsturnsgf @matthewswifeyx @matthewsturniolosactualgf @nickssidewitch @nick-stuxniolos-hg @nicksbestie @adoreechxmpion @sturnshood @sturnswiftie @sturniolotripletlover @chrissturnfavlilslut @abbystromboli @sturns-mermaid

[ncssian]

Take the Long Way Home

One: Comeback

Nessian Modern AU

Summary: Cassian returns from an out-of-state business project to find that Nesta Archeron, his best friend's sister and social pariah, has returned to Velaris after years of no contact with her family. With no explanation for where she's been all this time and a frightening tension between her and Rhysand, it's clear that she's hiding secrets from their Inner Circle. Eager to find out why the woman he used to have feelings for disappeared and returned a shell of her former self, Cassian won't stop until he uncovers the truth.

tl;dr: manipulative adulterous rhysta, acosf but if nesta and rhys made way worse decisions, acosf if cassian was a real man, unconditional love nessian, kind cassian and healing romance, nesta goes through a lot but she will be loved

word count: 6576

Read on AO3

A/N: this fic is gonna be a fairly short one! probably 5-10 chapters. if you like mess with a side of redemption i hope you like this one.

***

Cassian wasn’t sure what the commotion was about when the taxi from the airport dropped him off at Rhys and Feyre’s river manor.

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed back home with champagne and a festival or anything, but he’d hoped the mood would be livelier than the thick air that suffocated him as soon as he stepped foot into the foyer.

From where he stood, he could see everyone gathered in the formal living room, spines tense as they muttered together about something serious. Dropping his bags with a loud thud, he watched as Feyre was the first one to catch sight of him.

“Oh!” She jumped up from her seat in Rhysand’s lap. “Cass, you’re back already.”

“What, no ‘good to see you’?” he joked, but his voice faded away as he stepped further into the living room and finally took notice of the extra person among their group.

Standing up and turning around to face him, Nesta Archeron met eyes with Cassian for the first time in sixteen months.

He stared at her for a long silent moment, wondering whether his dreams had finally bled out into reality. Because for Cassian, Nesta Archeron was a fictional character, an experience he’d made up in his head a long time ago.

Mor was the one to break the silence. “Welcome home, Cassian,” she said, trying to inject false cheer into her tone, right before Amren stated, “We have a guest.”

He could see that.

“You’re back?” His words, his gaze, all his attention was directed at Nesta and only Nesta.

“I’m back.” Her perfect features stayed frozen in the same expression as she said the words, but it was her voice that shook him most of all. Quiet, almost weak, like she hadn’t spoken aloud for a long time.

He tore his gaze away to look at Feyre, Elain, anybody who would have an explanation. Of course, it was Rhysand who spoke up next. “Nesta has decided that she’s bored of living away from her family. She wants to get to know Nyx— and move back in for good.” To an outsider, Rhys would have sounded calm, if not almost bored, but Cassian had known his brother for long enough to hear the twinge of fury in his words.

“Only until I find a place to stay,” Nesta corrected, which seemed to enrage Rhys even further.

But Cassian couldn’t have given less of a damn about the obvious tension in the room. He was grinning wide. “I see you’re still the sexiest Archeron sister,” he said before stepping around her chair so he could wrap her into a hug.

A few laughs broke throughout the room, and Feyre seemed relieved for Cassian’s lightness. Nesta, however, was stiff in his arms. She pulled away from him with a small smile and a whispered “Thank you” but offered nothing else.

“Feyre.” Nesta turned to her sister like she was the only safety net in the room. Cassian noticed that Elain had been studiously ignoring Nesta the entire time, sitting right next to Azriel but refusing to look at her or say a word. “Can you show me to my room?”

“Of course,” Feyre said hurriedly, coming over to take Nesta by the elbow and lead her out of the overcrowded room. Amren sank deeper into her favorite armchair, a nasty smirk plastered on her face, while everyone else carried varying degrees of bitterness and discomfort in their expressions. Even Azriel, who once had been Nesta’s closest friend, looked like he had no idea what to say about this situation.

Cassian knew Nesta was a prickly topic within their group— she had been since the moment they’d met her. But he couldn’t pretend to be as upset about this unexpected comeback as everyone else was, so he went over to Azriel and kicked him in the shin. “We’re still throwing a welcome home party for me, right?”

“Who else would it be for?” Mor snorted, pushing herself out of her seat. “Let’s just see if Feyre’s mood isn’t ruined by all this.”

They all began to disperse, with Rhysand heading straight for his study and Elain and Azriel disappearing into the back gardens. Cassian found himself back in the foyer, where he finally spied an old blue suitcase that he’d strolled by earlier in his excitement to be back home. A baggage tag hung from the handle, and he went over to it and lifted it up with a single finger.

LAX TO VEL

ARCHERON, NESTA

Los Angeles. His heart picked up a beat at this realization. Had Nesta been a mere few states away for all these years?

There had been no hints that night she’d disappeared, or any of the nights since. Just a numb Feyre relaying to everybody that Nesta had moved away and would be going no-contact with her family, and for them to not search for her.

It’d only been a few weeks that the lack of Nesta— or rather, the lack of explanation about her leaving— felt like a gaping hole in their group. But as the months passed and it became more and more clear that she wouldn’t be calling or coming back, she ended up being smoothly erased from the narrative altogether. They didn’t talk of her, think of her, bring up old photos of her. In the end, it had begun to feel like Nesta was a figment of Cassian’s imagination, like he was the only person on earth left to remember her.

There was an unbearable curiosity within him to find out everything: where Nesta had been, why she had left, why she had returned. He wanted to go to someone and demand answers, but he hardly knew who to ask without getting a knowing look in return. It was a look that implied that Cassian was too interested in Nesta for his own good, as if he was a traitor for not disliking her the way everyone else did.

Cassian made himself let go of the baggage tag. No. He couldn’t toe the line this time, not at the risk of creating a rift in their group. Feyre and Rhys had a kid now, and Nyx needed a happy family to grow up in.

What had happened to Nesta was none of his business.

***

The welcome-back party ended up being not much of a party at all, but an intimate family dinner at an upscale restaurant called The Marchesa. To Cassian’s disappointment, Nesta hadn’t come along.

“She said she didn’t want to intrude and would rather get some rest,” Feyre explained as she wrestled Nyx into a high chair.

Amren snorted. “That’s why you dragged Nyx here instead of letting her babysit him?”

Feyre’s mouth drew into a tight line, and Rhys had an expression to match. Glancing between the two of them, Cassian realized they didn’t trust Nesta with Nyx, despite her bringing toy gifts for the boy earlier and sitting in the game room to watch him play with them.

“It’ll be some time before Nesta is mature enough to watch after a baby herself, I think,” Rhys muttered.

Elain gave a sardonic huff into her wine glass. “If she’s mature enough to survive on her own for years, surely she can handle an infant.”

Already Cassian was forgetting the promise he’d made mere hours ago to not ask any questions. “What was she doing while she was gone? Does anyone know...?”

Mor shook her head, blonde curls flying everywhere. “She won’t tell anybody. That’s what we were interrogating her about before you arrived at the manor.”

“It wasn’t an interrogation,” Feyre said defensively.

“She was a stripper,” Azriel’s soft voice cut through the conversation. All chatter came to a quiet.

“Are you for real?” Mor said.

“How do you know that?” Elain demanded.

Az shrugged as he cut into his filet mignon with precision. “Feyre and Rhys told me not to look for her when she ran away, so I didn’t. It only took a few hours of research after she came back to find out what she’s been up to, though.”

“What else did you find out?” Rhys cut in.

Azriel shrugged. “That’s all there was. Clean record, renting a cheap apartment in the shadiest part of LA.”

“Goddamn.” Mor let out a low whistle.

Feyre looked stunned and upset. “I had no idea… I mean, she still won’t say a single word to me about it.” Her voice weakened on the last word.

Rhys covered her hand with his larger one. “Don’t cry for her, darling,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand. “Not when we’re here celebrating. She’s made her own decisions.”

***

It was a Sunday afternoon with only Cassian frequenting the river manor, cautiously watching baby Nyx as he gnawed on the railings of the second floor landing, when Rhys stormed through the foyer below and into the dining room.

“Look what I found in Nesta’s room.” The muffled words floated up to Cassian in Rhysand’s angry low tone, and Cassian instantly moved closer to the railing. 

An exclamation of surprise came from Feyre, but her voice was much softer and the words harder to make out. Cassian strained his ears to hear.

He’d hardly seen anything of Nesta since she’d returned home a week ago, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he was babysitting Nyx at the manor so often only for the little boy’s sake. Since hearing that Nesta had been hiding away as a dancer in LA for the past year and a half, his curiosity had only burned hotter, now impossible to put out. He wanted—needed— to know more about her.

Only whatever heated conversation that Feyre and Rhysand were having about Nesta right now was too muted for Cassian to have a chance at overhearing, and, taking a risk, he swept Nyx into his arms and stood up. Before the baby could start yowling at being taken away from the banister rails, Cassian handed him the bright glowing screen of his phone. Nyx shut up in exchange for inspecting the device in his chubby hands with a focused look of curiosity.

As they crawled down the stairs and down the hallway leading to the dining room, Feyre and Rhysand’s voices grew louder—not because of proximity but because Feyre was getting more distressed about something.

“You shouldn’t have looked through her things, Rhys. We promised we would give her a chance—”

“And look what she’s done with her chance, darling. Look at it. Tell me this is what you want to have in our home, around our baby.”

Cassian stopped several feet beyond the doorway of the dining room, his breath caught in his chest. What could they possibly have been talking about?

“I—She told me she’s never been involved with drugs,” Feyre said, sounding helpless. “How can you be sure…?”

“Adderall, oxy, xanax. You tell me what she’s doing with all these pills, Feyre. You fucking tell me.” 

A long silence, eventually broken by quiet weeping.

In his arms, Nyx had grown bored of Cassian’s phone and threw it to the ground with a shriek. Cassian froze in place for a moment before admitting defeat and stepping into the dining room. 

Neither Rhys nor Feyre would look at him as he approached, but he handed Nyx over to his father anyway. On the dining table, he finally spied what the two of them were so upset about.

Everything that Rhys had listed and more, a variety of colorful pills neatly sorted into small plastic baggies like a cop had planted them. Had she taken all of that through the airport with her or acquired it here?

Despite the severity of the situation, a disbelieving laugh was bubbling low in his chest. Once again he was reminded that he didn’t know a single thing about this woman— not her values, her life, nor her character— and for the first time he asked himself why he even cared so much. What did it matter to him if Nesta Archeron was popping or snorting or injecting every drug under the sun? Why did he feel such a strange grief right now?

Staring down at the table, he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “They could be prescription.”

An exasperated sob broke from Feyre.

“Get out, Cassian,” Rhys snarled. 

Meeting his brother’s eyes, Cassian turned somber. “I won’t tell anybody,” he promised.

Rhys looked at him for a long moment before nodding once, then turned to comfort Feyre. It was a clear dismissal.

With a sad sort of resignation, Cassian knew any mistakes made by Nesta wouldn’t be taken as kindly as they had in the past. Rhys was on an arrow-straight path to governor, and he wouldn’t let even a negative news article get in his way, much less a full-blown scandal. These days he demanded perfection from everybody in his life, and that would include Nesta.

Back in the foyer, Cassian stared up the grand staircase toward where he knew Nesta was, unaware of everything taking place in the dining room below her. 

He frowned to himself. Her room was upstairs, yet Rhys had come from his study downstairs. Cassian wondered how long his brother had been sitting on this knowledge and contemplating what to do with it.

***

Life went on as normal and Cassian didn’t hear a peep about Nesta or her drugs for the rest of the week. He stayed true to his promise not to say anything about what he’d seen, and instead fell back into his routine of working through the day and going out with his friends at night. The way everyone else was so eager to ignore Nesta’s existence, it became easy for him to forget she was living at the manor at all. 

Until Friday evening came around, and Rhysand called Cassian into his study while the Inner Circle gathered in the sitting room to share drinks and chat by the fire.

Rhys had been absent from their weekly family dinner that night with an apology about having urgent work to get done, so Cassian was wary about another business-related discussion as he followed Rhys into the study.

The heavy door snicked shut after them and Rhys went to pour each of them a finger of whiskey at his desk. He handed Cassian his tumbler and gestured for him to take a seat in the leather armchair across from him. 

“Don’t tell me you’re sending me away again,” Cassian groaned as he sat. “It’s too close to the holidays.”

Rhysand was silent for a long moment, staring down into his whiskey with a deep furrow in his brow. He twisted the crystal tumbler in his hand and watched the liquid slosh around until he finally said, “Nesta is going to go away for a while.”

At the mention of her name, Cassian felt as if he’d been tossed into a lake of chilled water. “What do you mean?”

“Feyre and I want to keep it as quiet as possible. We’ll send her off without anyone noticing, just for the next year.”

“What do you mean?” Cassian repeated again, because he had less answers now than a few seconds ago.

“What do you think I mean, Cassian?” his brother snapped, growing irritated. “She’s been spending every day under our roof high as a kite. I’m shocked she hasn’t tranq’d herself to death yet. She can’t keep living with us like this, and she certainly can’t be trusted around Nyx. She needs to go away until she’s gotten better. That’s where you come in.”

“So—so you’ve already confronted her about it? Staged an intervention and everything?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and ran two fingers across his upper lip. “Something like that,” he gritted out. “She’s agreed to take up residence in one of my properties up in the mountains for the next twelve months. Then we can reevaluate her role in the family.”

Cassian shook his head hard, still confused. “If she’s abusing drugs, she needs professional help,” he insisted. “She needs to consider a rehab—”

Rhysand’s scowl was so dangerous it cut Cassian off mid-sentence. “And risk the news getting out that Feyre’s sister is a pill-popper? Over my dead body,” he growled.

He threw back a gulp of his whiskey and glanced away. “Besides,” he muttered, “she isn’t an addict.”

Cassian’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Then what the hell is she?”

“A fucking flight risk that needs to lay low during this election season.” Rhysand’s eyes burned with a hatred Cassian had never seen before. “I will not have her fuck up everything I’ve worked so hard for right at the start of my campaign. This is my career and my family at stake, Cassian. You know better than anyone how important good PR is.”

Cassian went cold as if all the alcohol had been drained out of his veins. He swallowed without looking at Rhysand. “I do.”

“Nesta knows she fucked up. She’s consented to our plan for her, so you don’t need to get your bleeding heart twisted in knots over this. All you need to do is drive her up there and make sure she’s settled in.”

But no matter how Rhys put it, it seemed far too harsh a punishment for a woman who was clearly ill. Nesta had felt off from the very day she’d returned. After he’d seen the pills they’d found and meticulously researched the purposes and side effects of each one, the thought of leaving Nesta somewhere alone without any help made his stomach turn.

Rhys seemed to be able to read all of this on his face, because his own features softened as he said, “Cassian.”

“What.”

“You’re right that she needs help. This is the help. The plan is in my interests, yes, but it’s in hers more than anything else. The isolation won’t be a punishment. It’ll be her chance to heal.”

When Cassian didn’t say anything, Rhys went on, “My family practically owns the entire mountaintop the house is located on. She’ll be safe from any prying eyes and also will be too far from people to get her hands on any substances. All you need to do is transport her there tomorrow morning and visit twice a month to check in and do a supply restock. I’ve already cleared out your schedule.”

Rhys had clearly had this plan in place for a good while and was only now choosing to let Cassian know about it. Cassian had to clench his glass to hide the trembling of his hands. “What if she hates it up there?” he whispered. “What if she hurts herself?”

“We wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t have complete trust that she’ll be fine. This isn’t her first episode.”

He met Rhys’s gaze at that. “It isn’t?”

Rhys clenched his jaw and shook his head, the movement tight. “When she ran away two years ago… Trust me, this is nothing in comparison.”

Like he was sinking into a deep sleep, Cassian found himself nodding along to Rhysand’s words. She’s a big girl, a Rhys-sounding voice whispered in his head. She’ll thrive up in the mountains. She’ll get better and come back to you.

Feyre and Elain wouldn’t agree to this unless it was what’s best for her.

Feeling exhausted and weighed down by the endless arguments raging in his head, Cassian finally gave in and said, “You can count on me. I’ll do it.”

As if he had a choice in it.

***

Despite the aching hangover he woke up with the next morning, Cassian obediently got up before the sun had breached the horizon and packed a small bag. He was dressed and ready outside of the river manor by seven in the morning, two steaming cups of coffee waiting in the heated truck behind him. 

His foot tapped a restless beat into the ground as he waited for her. Nesta didn’t always make him this anxious, but whenever she got herself into trouble with his family, there was no other way to feel.

He couldn’t look forward to any of it the way he wanted to: the scenic drive ahead of them, being alone with her, the possibility for conversation. Because he’d been assigned to the role of security guard instead of friend, and she was a prisoner instead of a willing participant.

Not a prisoner, he chastised himself. A patient at best. 

A flight risk at worst, as Rhysand had said. 

His breath halted in his chest when the front doors opened and she finally stepped out.

It was his first time seeing her since the day she returned—not for lack of trying on his part— and she looked… different.

Her face was caked with thick makeup and heavy eyeshadow, the type of face you’d see paired with a skimpy dress against the backdrop of a pricey club. In any other context, the look would have been glamorous, but under the gloomy sky with her unwashed hair and plain jeans, it was almost comical.

Cassian didn’t feel like laughing.

His swallow was tight as he watched her come down the stairs and cross the front lawn. How quickly his joy at her return had turned into regret. The woman in front of him didn’t look like the Nesta he knew at all, and it made him wonder if his friends had been right to be wary of her.

“Where’s your luggage?” was the first thing he asked her.

Idiot. Not even a good morning?

If Nesta noticed, she didn’t care. “Feyre is bringing it.” 

Her voice was the same as before: quiet and hollow. She was looking at him without quite seeing him, as if her eyes were here but her mind was somewhere else.

Cassian wondered if the pills had done that or if this was just who Nesta was after a year and a half away. Before she’d disappeared, when she’d been drinking and fucking through every bar in the city, there was still anger in her. The depression was obvious, yes, but it hadn’t stolen her indignation or her fire. 

This Nesta made him feel like he was handling a ghost. And as one would with the dead, he moved very carefully. Pulled the car door open and gestured for her to get inside. Told her the coffee in the cupholder nearest to her seat was hers. Glanced to make sure the seat warmer was on before shutting the door.

It only occurred to him when Feyre came out a minute later lugging Nesta’s bags that Nesta should have stayed outside to say goodbye to her sister. Although seeing as how she didn’t move or even look in Feyre’s direction from inside the truck, maybe it didn’t matter either way.

Feyre seemed to read the thoughts on his face as he gathered Nesta’s stuff from her. “She isn’t speaking to me,” Feyre said tersely, lips pursed in that way they did when she was trying to hide her disappointment. “I’ve already said what I have to say.” 

Although they hadn’t talked about it, he was certain that Feyre was furious at how everything was playing out. Her sister had abandoned her family just as Feyre had gotten pregnant after years of trying, putting a damper on what should’ve been the happiest time of Feyre’s life, and had returned out of the blue just to get herself sent away again. Because she was abusing drugs apparently. Because she was unfit to be around her baby nephew, because she was deeply unwell and it would risk everything Rhysand had worked so hard to build for them.

Yes, Cassian could see why Feyre was pissed. 

He leaned in and gave his friend the biggest hug he could manage. “Everything’s gonna get better, Feyre. You just need to be patient.”

“I’ve waited years already,” she whined into the thick material of his jacket. 

He imagined the wait had been even harder for Nesta. He really hoped this plan worked, for Nesta’s sake more than Feyre’s or anyone else’s. 

Releasing Feyre, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, ruffled her hair, and promised to be back by evening. 

She didn’t stay to watch them drive off, instead turning and walking safely back into the warmth of the manor. 

Inside the truck, not even the low buzz of the radio and blast of the heaters could drown out the awkwardness in the air. Not that Nesta likely felt it, or if she did she didn’t care.

He pondered for a long time on how to break the silence as he pulled out of the manor driveway and onto the road. “You don’t want your coffee?” he finally said.

He’d made it just the way she liked it, but she hadn’t touched her thermos at all.

“I’m going to sleep,” Nesta announced, then pulled out a pair of headphones and slid them over her ears. 

Cassian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I brought a pillow and blanket; it’s in the backseat if you want to grab them.”

“I’m fine.” And then she turned her head away and closed her eyes, or at least did the best she could with her bulky headphones on.

He settled in for the six hour drive ahead of him.

Nesta slowly woke up as the sun climbed higher in the sky, dozing in and out of sleep until she finally came to full awareness around eleven. 

“You’re up,” Cassian greeted. “In the mood for an early lunch?”

He watched from the corner of his eye as she touched her ears, still red and irritated from pressing against the headphones that had clattered to the ground a while back.

Stifling a yawn, she stretched her arms out and nodded. Cassian swallowed tightly and refocused on the road, not wanting to look at her while she looked so soft and flushed.

Before her father had died, there had been— a hint of something. A mutual attraction that he might’ve been delusional enough to hope would actually lead somewhere. Until she’d crushed that delusion on that Christmas night two years ago; until her drinking had gotten worse; until she’d retreated from everyone in the Inner Circle so completely that it was as if that something had never existed at all.

It would be beyond inappropriate to remember that something now. So he kept his eyes on the road and asked where she wanted to eat.

She said she didn’t care.

He didn’t know if the untouchable Nesta Archeron even ate at fast food places, much less had a favorite place to go to, so he pulled into the first burger joint he saw on the road. Ordered through the drive-thru and ate in the parking lot, warm and cozy in the truck while the world outside them froze.

When Nesta wrapped up her half-eaten burger and fries and began to put them away, Cassian stopped her with a look. “You have to eat, Nesta,” he said gently. “I know you didn’t have breakfast.” He couldn’t exactly envision her making herself toast and cereal at the crack of dawn right before she got kicked out of the manor.

Nesta’s eyes snapped up to him with a glare. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are starving.” He almost reached out to poke one of the many bones jutting through her thin sweater. She’d looked healthier than he’d ever seen her on the day of her return, although that hadn’t been saying much. Now it was evident that the past few days had been hard on her, almost stripping her entirely of whatever progress she’d made while she was in California.

Nesta threw the rest of her food back into the bag with unnecessary force. “I’ll eat it later.”

Cassian had to bite his tongue from quipping that it would be cold by then, deciding to let it go. Besides, it was the most emotion she’d shown all day, which was a win in his book.

He took this victory back onto the road with him; as he drove he carefully contemplated what he wanted to say to her next.

“Rhys told me you agreed to all of this.” The words took their time to hang in the air before he said, “Why?”

For a minute, he was certain Nesta wasn’t going to answer. 

“What choice did I have?” she finally spoke.

Cassian worked his jaw, seriously considering her question. “You could go back to LA,” he tried.

She was looking down at her hands when she said, “No I can’t.”

“Stripper money isn’t paying the rent anymore?” He instantly regretted the words, his mouth trying to pick a fight before his brain could stop him. He clearly thought having an angry Nesta in his truck was better than having a numb one, but that was no excuse. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean…”

Only Nesta wasn’t angry or defensive or any of the things that she should have been— she just remained silent, continuing to contemplate her hands. 

His stomach dropped and guilt ratcheted into his throat, wishing he’d just left her alone. 

So his hands jerked on the steering wheel a little when he heard her whisper, “I agreed for Feyre.”

He looked over at her. She was picking the skin on her palms—did she have calluses?— looking completely disinterested despite the gravity of her statement. 

“Why?” he had to ask. From previous experience, Nesta didn’t tend to be concerned about how her actions affected her sisters, especially not Feyre.

“Because she deserves it.” Nesta’s voice was hoarse from disuse. “She deserves the beautiful house and beautiful family and a future as First Lady of the United States or whatever. I didn’t want to get in the way of that anymore.”

Cassian was at a loss for words. He never would have thought Nesta cared like that.

“You aren’t in the way,” he said after a long stretch of silence. “Feyre loves you and would rather you be home with her than anything else. It’s just…”

“Election season, right?” she muttered wryly. His stupid heart stuttered at her bitter smile even as he realized with despondency that she didn’t believe his words at all.

“It’s a complicated situation right now,” he tried to explain. “This is the solution that works best for everyone involved.” 

Well, everyone except for Cassian, who would have to make this hellish drive at least twice a month to make sure Nesta didn’t go stir-crazy a la The Shining.

The question was sudden, as if she hadn’t heard what he’d said at all: “Would you believe me if I told you they were prescription pills?” 

He gave her a look that was a cross between pitying and disbelieving. “In plastic baggies?”

She pressed her lips together and looked away, her eyes deadening once again. “That’s a no, then.”

Cassian hated that look in her eyes, like nothing and no one mattered to her. He almost backtracked and told her he believed her just to get that look to vanish.

But that would be lying, and it wouldn’t solve the root of Nesta’s problem. Not at all.

Taking in a short breath, Cassian refocused on the road. “I don’t care what you do with that stuff, Nesta. It’s Nyx that you need to think about. If you won’t do this for yourself, do it for—”

“Please,” Nesta cut him off, and it was more of a choked noise than a word. Cassian blinked in surprise at the unexpected emotion, looking between Nesta and the road.

“Stop talking,” she continued, her voice strung out and strained. “Stop talking about everything.”

The order was so raw that it wasn’t really a choice for Cassian to not follow it. “Okay,” he stuttered out, then moved to turn the radio up, just enough to drown out the tension in the truck.

They were in the final stretch of the journey now. After a while longer Cassian could see the mountain that would be Nesta’s new home, snow and ice crusting the majority of it this late into the year.  The drive to the top looked far longer than he thought it’d be, and he had a hard time imagining Nesta staying all the way up there by herself.

A rest stop came into view as they arrived at the base of the mountain. Rhysand hadn’t been lying when he said that Nesta would be far away from any people; the nearest town was maybe thirty minutes away from this isolated gas station, and it wouldn’t be a fun distance to cover on the uneven roads.

Rhysand had also assured Cassian that he’d already sent someone ahead a week ago— a week ago— to stock the mountain lodge with food and supplies, but knowing Rhys, Cassian doubted that there’d be a sizable snack collection up there. 

“Alright, break time.” Cassian turned into the small parking lot. “Use the bathroom if you have to and buy whatever you want for the next week.” That’d be the next time Cassian would drive back here to check in on her, making sure she wasn’t trying to hurt herself in her solitude.

Nesta didn’t hesitate to unbuckle her seatbelt and shove out of the truck. He jogged after her, about to hold the gas station door open for her when his eyes landed on her bare neck.

His blood ran cold.

“Who did that to you?” 

Nesta’s brow furrowed slightly at his growled question. She followed his gaze downward, to where her scarf had unraveled from her throat somewhere along the drive. Her features went stiff and she moved to rewrap the scarf, only for her wrists to be pushed back by Cassian. 

“I mean it. What the fuck happened to you?” he restated fiercely.

The clear shape of a handprint bruised her throat in splotchy red and purple. It looked fresh. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, so ugly and wrong against the rest of her fair skin.

Nesta’s mouth curved into a sneer when he wouldn’t let go of her. “Where do you think it’s from, idiot? Sex. Ever heard of it?” She jerked away from him and flung her scarf back in place to hide her throat.

Cassian felt numb, cold and confused all over. The handprint was startlingly recent and violently dark. He couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of Nesta going out and having rough, animalistic sex while her family fell apart deciding how to help her. While Feyre sobbed herself to sleep over losing her oldest sister for the second time in a row.

Nesta’s flustered anger smoothed into a cruel smirk when Cassian didn’t say anything. “Don’t tell me you still have a virgin complex about me. Does it hurt to find out I like it hard and rough?”

Cassian blinked once, twice, then shook his head slowly. “No, Nesta,” he said. “It hurts to find out that you aren’t taking this seriously at all.”

“And what is this?” She suddenly stepped into his chest, so close he could smell the faded perfume that clung to her sweater. “Say the word for what it is, Cassian. How would you describe what you’re doing to me right now? Exile? Imprisonment?”

“A sabbatical.”

She threw her head back and laughed, and the startling sound almost distracted him from again catching the purple bruise peeking out from her scarf. 

“I’m serious.” He had to be serious, because the alternative was that Rhysand and Feyre didn’t care for Nesta’s wellbeing at all, and he refused to believe that. For all the issues they had had with her, he refused to believe that.

Her laugh cut off sharply and her face went suddenly blank. “You’re blind.” She looked like she wanted to add something else, but kept her mouth shut and moved past him, entering the gas station alone.

Cassian was left standing outside in the freezing cold, wondering who the hell Nesta Archeron really was and what she was doing here.

After using the bathroom and paying for Nesta’s things (she’d left a pile of snacks and puzzle workbooks at the register for him to check out), he exited the gas station to find her leaning against the hood of his truck with her fast food leftovers.

She munched on cold fries while staring off into the distance, not even glancing Cassian’s way as he approached her. “The sun sets a lot quicker these days,” he told her, although there’d been no sun in the sky at all today. “Let’s get moving so we can get you settled in before it’s fully dark.” And so he could get home before it was too late. 

His phone chose just that moment to ring. Shuffling the bags of Nesta’s snacks around so he could dig into his pocket, he pulled out his cell and glanced at the screen. It was Azriel. 

He picked up. “What’s up?”

“You need to come home. Now.” His brother’s voice was dark over the line.

Cassian’s hackles raised. “What happened? Why?”

“I can’t say over the phone. It’s not good. Is Nesta settled at the lodge yet?”

“We aren’t even there yet,” Cassian replied. “We took a break so we’re behind on schedule.”

Azriel cursed softly. “How far behind?”

“Less than an hour.”

“That’s too far. Figure out a way to get home this instant.”

“What about—”

“I don’t care, Cassian. Feyre and the family need you. Get home now.” The shadowed threat in his tone lingered long after he hung up. 

Cassian put the phone down and looked toward Nesta, who was still picking absently at her fries. “I’m so sorry,” were his first words to her.

She looked up at that. “What is it?”

“I— I have to go now. There’s been an emergency and Az isn’t telling me what it is.”

“Is it about Feyre?” 

She was too damn perceptive. But he couldn’t let her worry, if that was something she was even planning on doing. “I don’t know anything yet,” he said honestly. “But I need to speed home now.” His brain scrambled for a way to get Nesta to the lodge and himself back to Velaris at the same time. Nesta was clearly thinking the same thing.

“I’ll call you a ride,” he decided. “Someone in the nearest town should be available to drive you up there.”

“You’re going to make me get in some random person’s car?” She didn’t sound angry or worried—just blunt— but the question pushed all the wrong buttons anyway. 

“Considering all the other ways you’re willing to endanger your life, this shouldn’t be too hard for you,” he retorted with a raised brow. “Come on, get your bags while I find somebody. Please.”

He was abandoning her. He was abandoning her and he hated it, because Cassian never left people stranded. He wouldn’t even leave a one-night stand without making her breakfast first. 

But family came first, and if Azriel had refused to speak of whatever the emergency was over the phone, that meant it was too important to risk prying ears. 

In the end, he had to watch Nesta’s figure turn smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror as he drove off. 

She was standing outside the gas station with her belongings and waiting for her rideshare to arrive.

***

A/N: im sorry i have no concept of distance or time in this fic so if something looks wack you'll just have to pretend it isn't. up next is nesta pov and a glimpse of rhysta! also, cassian will eventually stop being an asshole lol

[blissfulbluee]

hii!! can u please do a oneshot where gi-hun’s gf style is gothic and she meets his ex wife’s family for the first time and they don’t like her at first cause they think she’s satanist or something? thank you sm in advance🥹

—Gi-hun x Goth!Reader Oneshot 🖤

Thank you so much for this ask! I am so ashamed how long ago this ask was sent. I am so sorry. I am not used to writing x reader, and life gets in the way. Also, I simply just take forever to write. I really hope you enjoy this and that it makes up for it.

Also heads up! There is an age gap. Reader is 26 and Gi-hun is 47.

…

“You ready?” Gi-hun asks you, standing at the bathroom door of your shared apartment, dressed in what he called ‘casual but nice’--a less-than-perfectly-paired button down and jeans.

“Almost,” You say as you finish touching up your hair and fiddling with your outfit.

Gi-hun lovingly observes you, something he always does. He particularly seems to love watching you as you get ready. It makes him happy seeing you express yourself.

You’re finally done, but you stay in front of the mirror, peering at yourself. “Do you think they will like me?”

Gi-hun falters for a second, confused at the sudden insecurity. “Yes, of course! Who wouldn’t?”

“You can always tell me if this is too much.” You gesture at your clothes. You don’t normally feel very insecure, but when it comes to Gi-hun and his life, you feel that things are more important. You want to be yourself, but you feel maybe you could dial it down so that nothing goes wrong.

Gi-hun walks up to you, stopping close behind you. “Nonsense, Jagiya. Just be yourself. This will go smoothly, I know it.”

He looks at you in the mirror, smiling brightly as he always does. “If they have a problem with it, I’ll be there for you, you know.”

It is your first time meeting this side of his family in person. They were visiting from the U.S, and Ga-yeong had begged to meet you in person since she and his ex-wife moved before you met Gi-hun. Gi-hun frequently facetimes his daughter and visits her alone; sometimes you join in on his facetimes. His daughter and you get along very well, and Ga-yeong loves your style. However, you have never met her mom or step-dad except for briefly over the phone. There are a variety of ways they could react to you.

You think about how often you get stares, how many past partners wanted you to change before you saw their family. Some of your partners even suggested you to change for them, too. Never in your one year of dating did Gi-hun ever think your style was too much. In fact, he loves the fact you are goth. He always assures you of his thoughts—that you are pretty, unique, and he admires your confidence. You felt some of your stress leave at his reassurance.

He kisses you on your neck, bringing you out of your thoughts. “Let’s go.”

…

You arrive at a nice, but laid back restaurant. After you step out of the car, you feel a tight embrace at your waist.

“Unnie! Y/n!” Ga-yeong shouts in excitement as she hugs you.

You laugh and enthusiastically hug her back. “Hey, Ga-yeong-ah!”

After a good minute of hugging and greeting her? you look up to see Eun-ji and her husband, Jae-kwon. You watch them stare at you, looking you up and down. Eun-ji shifts uncomfortably before speaking. “Ga-yeong, let her adjust first. She just got here.”

“Where is Min-kwon?” Gi-hun asks, walking over to you to wrap an arm around your waist.

“He is with his grandmother,” says Jae-kwon. “Considering he isn’t related to you, we didn’t think he would have much interest. We wanted the focus to be on meeting Y/N, and for Ga-yeong to get some time with her.”

Gi-hun nods. “Well, you know so far this is Y/N!”

You wave and Jae-kwon and Eun-ji look at one another, then back to you and Gi-hun. You realize now that they are judging you, and your hands start to feel clammy.

Gi-hun smiles at them, not seeming to read what you are reading from them. His focus is on walking up to Ga-yeong, who he picks up and hugs tightly, not concerned with what Eun-ji may have to say about it.

While Ga-yeong and Gi-hun talk and embrace, the couple looks at you.

“You are much younger than I expected,” Eun-ji said. “I didn’t think he would feel comfortable dating you.”

You put on a smile. “Ah, yes, but I am twenty-six. It took a while for him to get used to, but I am persistent nonetheless.”

They return awkward smiles, clearly disapproving of this information. Then, the inevitable comes up. “So, you are going to a party after this?”

You quickly understand that they are referring to your outfit. “Ah,” you say, looking sheepishly to the ground. “No, this is just how I dress.”

“So, you’re..goth, as they call it?” Eun-ji asks.

You nod. Luckily, there are only a few seconds of awkward silence before Gi-hun returns to your side. “Alright, is everyone ready?”

Everyone makes their way to the table. You sit between Gi-hun and Ga-yeong, who sits on the end of the table and next to her parents. You are directly across from them.

You start to feel anxiety gnawing at you after your interaction with them. Seeing as they’re a part of Gi-hun’s family, you try to give them the benefit of the doubt. They might have seen and heard bad things about your subculture, and maybe you can show them that they’re wrong by being a good influence for Ga-yeong.

Gi-hun lovingly caresses your hand, thoroughly increasing your mood.

While everyone waits for their food and you and Ga-yeong share conversation, the topic is brought up again.

“So, Y/N, can you tell us more about you?”

You tell them about your work, hobbies, interests, and everything necessary. You can see Gi-hun and Ga-yeong smiling at your excitement and sincerity. Eun-ji and Jae-kwon fortunately have stopped with their judgey stares and show some kind of interest, but they seem to be weighing something in their minds.

“Why do you dress that way?” Eun-ji finally asks, clearly trying to keep a respectful exterior despite her cautious glare.

“Oh, it’s just something I like,” You say, “I tend to find that dark things interest me.”

They both share a look. “So, you are…”

Before anything else could be said, food arrives at your table. You look to Gi-hun to see if he has detected the increasing tension. He seems to have taken notice because he gives you a look that says ‘I’m sorry’ as he rubs his thumb across your knuckles to soothe you.

After dinner and a few more awkward, but less captious conversations, Ga-yeong hugs you goodbye. “We need to hang out again before I go back home, please Unnie!”

She is soon told to go to the car. After the door closes, all of you stand in silence.

“We don’t think it will be a good idea to do that,” Jae-kwon suggests.

Gi-hun looks at him confused. “To do what?”

“It is just…We want different influences for Ga-yeong.”

Then it clicks for him. “What do you even mean by that? Ga-yeong adores her.”

“Should you really let your daughter get in the wrong crowd and get into some kind of trouble? You know people who dress like that are usually not someone you’d want her around.” Jae-kwon gives you a pointed look when he says that.

You can see Gi-hun getting angrier as each word comes out of Jae-kwon. You quickly hold onto Gi-huns hand to stop him from doing anything stupid. You would normally not be so quiet, but you don’t want to show disrespect, despite theirs to you. Plus, you know Gi-hun has your back.

“And should you keep my daughter from someone she looks up to? Y/n is great and a perfect example for her, unlike stuck up assholes like you.” Gi-hun points at him, waving his free hand angrily as he speaks.

Jae-kwon folds his arms. “You-“

“Look, we can talk about this later, Gi-hun.” Eun-ji interjects. She then turns to Jae-kwon and they begin walking off. “Let’s go.”

“Oh, trust me. We will. You won’t insult her like this.”

You watch as the couple walks away, dumbfounded that everything went down like this.

Gi-hun quickly turns to you, bringing you close to him. “Are you okay, jagiya?”

You nod. You are a little shaken up at the drama, but it isn’t something you haven’t dealt with before. You are more worried that they might keep you and Gi-hun from Ga-yeong.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were going to be judgy like that. Assholes.” Gi-hun says, then he gives you a quick kiss. “Come on, let's get in the car.”

In the car, Gi-hun turns to you as you speak. “I’m sorry, maybe I should have dressed down.”

Gi-hun huffs and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. You look great, Jagiya. And they’re just dumb for not seeing past their prejudice.”

“I just—What if it means I can’t hang out with Ga-yeong anymore? Gi-hun, what if it means that you can’t?”

Gi-hun stares at you sincerely, seeming to contemplate. “I’ll take care of it. I promise. They won’t ruin a good thing with their bullshit.”

You sigh, not knowing what his plan was. Sometimes his decisions were impulsive and plans messy. Yet, you trust him. He isn’t going to let anything get in the way of his relationship with you or his daughter.

You lean in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

He smiles and kisses you back tenderly, running his hands through your hair and then playing with your accessories, something he loved to do. “Ice cream?”

You return it. “Of course.”

[charlessainzz]

lost and found pt. 2

oh my gosh, can't believe it's taken me this long to complete part 2. apologies!! hope you all like it. as always inbox is open for requests and here is the link to the first part.

You couldn’t believe what had just happened. You mistook Oscar Piastri for a mechanic. Watching his car get towed away to the track, your face continued to get red with the embarrassment seeping in. 

Just as he’s walking away, a member of the team, wearing papaya orange, sees you without an official pass. “Excuse me ma’am are you supposed to be here?”, they inquire already attempting to push you out. 

Almost if he had super sonic hearing, Oscar whips around, “she’s with me! It’s my fault I forgot to give her a tag”, he states using his innocent charm. He gives you a wink, and squeezes your arm. Before he walks off he whispers in the papaya man’s ear then jogs off giving you a quick wave. Oscar turns around once more and shouts, “You better be here when I get back!”.

The Mclaren member suspiciously eyes you up and down… “Alright I’ll go find you a pass”. Relief floods your body and you relax against the wall. That was a close one and Prince Piastri came to your rescue. Moments later the man throws you a lanyard, and sternly says, “Don’t touch anything, don’t talk to anyone, don’t even breathe…”

You almost burst into a laughing fit but quickly feel how serious he’s being. “Yes sir, scouts honor”, you snickered, placing your hand on your heart as if you were pledging allegiance to the Mclaren team. 

The man walks away and the race begins. It can’t be stated how little you know about F1 but Oscar was starting close to the front, so that was good, right? The race continues, and there is constant commotion and yelling in the garage. Watching the monitors you see Oscar maneuver around various colored cars. Everyone begins going crazy with excitement and you can’t help but join in. Jumping and shouting, you're hugging anyone who’s around you. Random rich people and mechanics are given equal embrace from you. As you calm down for a millisecond you look back up at the monitors and see yourself. On TV! 

Eyes wide, you give a big toothy grin and wave. Then you hear distant screams erupt from the grandstands across the garage wall. Squinting, you see three platinum blondes jumping up and down waving and screaming at you. It’s your girls! You can’t help but laugh at what they're thinking. 

You continue watching the race, and find yourself falling in love with this sport. It’s exciting, and anxiety inducing, and has very handsome drivers. What’s not to love? 

Finally, the end is near. Oscar comes P2. To you that’s exciting enough and worthy of celebration. You watch as he hugs his team, attends the podium, and finally makes his way back into the garage. 

Head down, he glances up and sees you patiently waiting. You were texting your friends all the details. “Hey… you waited”, he says with shock laced in his tone. 

You look up, smiling. “Well, duh… why wouldn’t I?”, you laugh but begin to feel nervous that he wasn’t expecting you to be there. 

“I-I just thought you would leave if I didn’t win”, he confesses scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks turn red, you can't help but give him a sweet grin. 

“Well… I saw you get a trophy so that’s kind of a win in my book”, you joke. He lets out a big laugh. You might be the perfect girl for him. 

He hooks his arm around your shoulders and leads you out of the garage. “I have so much to teach you”, he stressed. 

As you two walk out of the garage, you hear the same high-pitched screams from your three friends. Both of you snap your gaze at them. You jump up and down shouting back and pointing at the driver next to you. You’re all screaming at each other, not needing words to convey the exciting moment that was currently ongoing. 

“Um… who are they?” Oscar asks. A little weary of all the shouting and hair flying around. 

“My friends that I got separated from earlier. They’re going to be so jealous I got to spend the race in the Mclaren garage”, you boast smiling back at him. 

“Would they be even more jealous if they knew you got a date with a podium finisher?” he hinted with a big grin. 

“Maybe… they would. Or maybe they’d be more jealous if it was the race winner. Who was that guy in red?” you teased pretending to look around. 

Oscar’s hands instantly fly to his mouth, shocked at your cockiness. He liked it more than he wanted to admit. Biting his lip he grabs your hands again. “Come on y/n…”, he says and rolls his eyes. You two start walking towards an exit. 

“That was a good joke, wasn’t it”, you laugh poking his side. 

“Yeah real good, just wait till the next race. Maybe you’ll get a second date with a race winner’, he challenges. You look up at him and can’t help but place a quick peck on his cheek. 

You continue walking and both of your cheeks pool bright red. You were perfect for each other.

[cindyss]

my beautiful liar

chapter 1; as a child, and with your fathers’ dislike toward each other, you and mattheo never liked each other, he would beat up your friends every at chance he got, he would mock you and humiliate you very often. however, now that you're all grown up and in your final year in hogwarts, you've learnt to stand up for yourself and a little encounter with a troll proves just that.

3.8k words

You had mixed feelings about this year, you were ready to leave and finally be free to roam into the big world, but you were also terrified.

As you stood next to Harry, one of your closest friends, your nerves started eating at you. You were not excited to go back and had to endure the Slytherin boys' mocking. They had always found a way to make you feel lower, for your mom passing away when she gave birth to you, for your dad passing shortly after because he couldn't live without her.

After a few minutes, the Weasleys showed up late as usual alongside Hermione who was scolding Ronald while he rolled his eyes in dissatisfaction.

As soon as she saw you, Ginny ran up to you and hugged you, almost knocking the breath out of you. A few moments later, Hermione spotted you and hugged you as Ron greeted both you and Harry.

"So, who's ready for this year then?" came in Dean's voice, who was followed by Seamus and Neville who were discussing something inaudible with Luna shortly behind them, holding a book and her suitcase.

You were very fond of Dean, he had always been nice to you, and at some point you couldn't deny you had a massive crush on him. You hugged him as the others caught up, greeting you.

Shortly, you all boarded the train, you, Dean, Seamus, Harry, and Ginny shared a separate section while the rest sat in the one beside you.

As you took your seats, you heard loud laughing and stomping, you could recognize them from a whole nother continent, the Slytherin boys. They walked past your section, to theirs, which is as usual at the end of the train.

The ride to Hogwarts was mostly peaceful, apart from the first years screaming simply because they couldn’t contain their excitement.

You fell asleep after the train took off and you woke up shortly after to loud speaking. You found your head rested on Dean’s, and you raised it as he looked back at you, smiling at you.

You smiled back at him before your gaze shifted to where all the noise was coming from, Draco, Mattheo, and Theodore had been standing at your door making fun of Seamus’s accent.

Harry was trying his best to calm Seamus down as Ginny barked words at the boys telling them to “fuck off” and “get going” or she’ll use her wand.

They of course didn’t bother, “what could a weaslette like you do besides use her brother’s hand me down wand and look through his old map?” spoke Draco causing them all to chuckle.

You decided earlier that this year you’d put and end to all this bullshit and begin standing up for yourself and for your friends and so you did.

You stood up from your seat, walked over to where they were stood and spoke “you speak about any of my friends again like that and i will cut your penises off one by one and seel them shut into your mouths.”

“oh look! sleeping beauty has awakened and chosen violence,” claimed Theo sarcastically laughing as the other two joined him.

As you went to shut the door in their face, Mattheo placed his foot stopping you from completely shutting it off, “You know Haworth the new act doesn’t suit you at all, you know I'd chop your fingers off one by one and make you swallow them before i let you touch my penis right?”

You scoffed at him and kicked his foot before sliding the door closed as he flashed you one of his usual cocky grins.

Mattheo had always had a thing for you, not in a good way though. Your father, previously a Slytherin, had been a very good friend of Mattheo’s dad before he snitched on him to Hogwarts and told the school about all of the Dark Lord’s plans.

Luckily for the lord, he was able to escape on time, but he never forgave your father, even after his death, and so what caused his son to hold such a grudge against you.

You sat back down in your spot next to Dean and chatted with your friends, and in no time, you arrived at Hogwarts.

You unloaded your bags and got to your rooms, unpacking everything in the room you and Luna shared.

Unfortunately, you and Luna were the only Ravenclaws of your group, which resulted in most of the time in you being split apart from the group, but for the most part you enjoyed her chill company as you shared many similar traits.

You would talk about books and your studies, about things you found interesting and remarkable things you learnt about people throughout the day, because you were both admirers in the same way. You enjoyed observing people and their movements as to not only study them, but to learn more about them.

A few hours later, most of the students had made it to the dining hall and so did you and Luna. You greeted your friends at their table before moving to sit on your own house’s.

As the sorting ceremony came to an end, you welcomed some of the new first years at your table as everyone began feasting on the mouthwatering foods and goods on the table.

As you ate your food, your gaze admiring all the people and appreciating your last first day, your eyes spotted the Slytherins, all 5 boys gathered around your friends at the Gryffindor’s table. They were talking about something inaudible to you but it was making both parties grow only more mad with time, and before you knew it, Draco punched Harry.

After that, and in a matter of seconds, the rest of the boys broke into a fight. Theodore continuously punched Ron while Ron barely managed to throw one back.

Blaise was trying his best to hold Draco back from Potter, opposing him was Seamus, who was for the most part doing the same.

That was when you spotted Dean and Mattheo, who were only screaming but being held back by Neville and Berkshire.

Before you could get there, the teachers had separated both sides and you ran as fast as you could there.

Harry’s face was now covered in blood, and so was Ron’s. Before you said anything, you escorted both the boys to Madam Pomfrey’s to get their faces fixed.

Behind you followed Ginny, Draco, Theo, alongside Mattheo.

You got there and made Harry and Ron sit for you while you called Madam Pomfrey.

She got there and gasped at the sight of the four boys. “Oh dear, what happened?” “y/n take care of the other two boys, Ron and Harry's are more severe.”

Last year, you started helping her because you wanted to learn how to be ready incase any fight like this, or worse broke out. You would help clean wounded quidditch players after their match, or cure the spells of the younglings who were just getting started with their potions.

You turned around to find the Slytherin boys sat next to each other, waiting to be attended to. Fuck me.

You walked over to them, scoffing, and grabbed a cloth with some cleaning liquid and started with Theodore. He was not as hurt because Ron barely got to punch him, he had blood on his cheeks, a slit in his eyebrows, and his lip was swollen.

You cupped his cheek with your hand to keep him steady, to which he scoffed, and purposely, you pressed the cloth on his eyebrow where you knew it would hurt.

He hissed at you and you smirked to yourself before you began moving your hand cleaning the blood off his wounds.

After all the blood came off, you grabbed a bottle which contained a serum for bruises and opened it. “Give me your hand,” to your command, Theo opened his hand and you dropped some of the liquid on his fingers.

“Now put this on your lips so it’ll be less swollen,” he did that and in just a few seconds, his lips were just again the pink color they usually were.

After you were done with him, you moved to Draco, who, unlike Theo, was more hurt.

Once again wetting the cloth and making sure you press on the spots you know will hurt. He let out a few words cursing you as you stuck some bandages on the spots which were not to be treated with the healing liquid and moved away.

You felt a gaze boring into your skull and you found Mattheo staring into your soul. You raised your eyebrows at him and he just shook his head, not wanting to discuss the matter further with you anymore.

The 6 of you left, and you and Ginny went back to your dorms whereas the boys were called to Dumbledore's.

Luna told you that she found out that per usual, the Slytherins were making fun of some first year Gryffindors when Harry had commented, which eventually resulted in a fight.

The next day, you headed to the breakfast hall, greeted your friends, had your breakfast, and all was well. 100 points had been deducted from both the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses.

After you ate, you headed to your first class with Ginny, Hermione, Seamus, and Dean. You got to potions class and stood waiting for all the other students to arrive so that you can begin your lesson.

In a few minutes, the majority of the class showed up and you began your lesson with Professor Slughorn. As he was going on, explaining the steps and ingredients needed to create an Amortentia potion, Mattheo Riddle and Enzo Berkshire burst into the room.

"A little late are we?" Slughorn spoke, "a'ght just get in and listen to what 'm sayin'" he continued.

After he finished the instructions, he decided to split you into pairs so that you will work effectively without the distraction of each other.

"Hermione and Laura, Ginny and Seamus, Berkshire and Cho, Dean and y/n haworth, Marietta and Bridget, and Riddle and Ophelia."

You got to work on your potion, heating the cauldron, crushing the Ashwinder eggs, stirring the powdered moonstone and pearl dust until the mixture turned iridescent. Dean then helped you add the rose thorns and valerian roots slowly while you were stirring clockwise, then you added a drop of a sprig of peppermint and let the potion swirl naturally.

The both of you were the first to finish as Hermione and her partner were struggling with the mixing and Ginny and Seamus were so far behind. You called Slughorn over and then he confirmed "perfect! 10 points to Gryffindor, 10 points to Ravenclaw!"

The class clapped for you, or most of it, where Matheo just scoffed as he struggled with the measurements. "Now, what do you smell Haworth?"

You came closer to the steamy potion, sniffing "I smell cranberry juice, chalk, old notebooks, pear custard pie, it's rather a very mellow and smooth scent i'd say sir" you said, looking up at Dean, you both knew whose smell that was, his.

Dean knew you liked him, you knew he liked you too, but you had come to a mutual decision to keep things professional as to not cause discomfort to each other.

"beautiful!" he said once again, impressed by your ability to create such a potion in such a short time.

"Now who else.. Riddle! Let's see what you smell!"

Mattheo proceeded to roll his eyes from crossing the room in a few long strides. He sniffed a bit before speaking, "well, I smell vanilla, uhh.. old books maybe, sweet raspberry, freshly washed hair, I suppose."

"wonderful! Now you do know what this potion does, everyone right? no? Anyone?"

You raised your hand to speak, "When you smell the potion, it triggers a memory of smells associated with feelings of affection and comfort."

"very well, now when you drink it?" he asked.

this time, Matheo Riddle spoke, "it can cause powerful infatuation or obsession from the drinker."

"that's right riddle, bravo!" With that, the class ended and you headed to your next.

You enjoyed the rest of the day, and at the end of your classes, you showered, using your new vanilla shampoo that you'd just bought earlier from Hogsmate.

You walked alongside Luna and sat on your table, quickly finishing your food as you were suddenly not feeling well.

When you finished your food, you excused yourself and got up to the bathroom, as you walked by the Gryffindors' table, Harry grabbed your wrist, "Hey, where are you going?"

"to the bathroom, I'm not feeling so well"

"want me to come along?"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks".

You made your way to the bathroom and as soon as you got there, you couldn't help but throw up everything you had just eaten.

As you were washing your place, cleaning up, you heard footsteps coming closer, and before you could even process what was going on, Mattheo was standing in front of you. "Riddle what the-"

"Listen, don't think I don't know what you're doing, but your little stupid games won't work on me."

"what-"

"don't act stupid, you're fucking smarter than that. aren't one of your house traits like super fucking smart or whatever. don't think by sneaking a potion into my food you can make me like you even the littlest bit, you humiliated me in front of everyone today, just because i smelt your stupid fucking vanilla shampoo, doesn't make me in love with you."

"Riddle, I didn't do anything! you sound ridiculous, what are you talking about!"

"stop acting dumb, goddammit! admit you did it! admit you fucking snuck the potion into my food! It can't be a coincidence, you're the only one who got the measurements right!" he was now screaming.

"calm the hell down you are honestly unbearable-"

before you could continue, you heard loud stomps coming near you, and as the sounds got closer, the ground shook from beneath you.

Before you could process, a giant troll broke into the bathroom, you couldn't help but scream, you and Mattheo both ran into the bathroom stall, the farthest one from the troll, as you shook in fear. Mattheo, however, was surprisingly keeping his calm.

In no time, the troll had broken all the stalls and gotten to yours. He broke the top off and when he saw both of you, huddled into the corner, he tried to grab you, but before he could, Matheo had used part of the broken toilet to jab it into his hand before he could reach the both of you.

You used that time to slip out of the stall and run toward the exit, as you turned around, you saw Mattheo running to you.

But before he could get there, the troll caught him, getting him near his mouth to eat. You cursed yourself for doing what you did, but you returned to help him.

You were already smacking his leg, urging him to drop Mattheo, and so, distracted by you, he did.

Mattheo landed behind the troll, on his back, coughing and struggling to catch his breath as the troll cornered you.

"Mattheo!! Help me!" you screamed begging for his help. "Fuck you! You got us into this, handle the fucking consequences bitch!" he said as he ran out of the bathroom.

Tears began trickling down your cheeks, however the course of adrenaline gave you enough strength to think quickly, and as the troll extended its arm to catch you, you jumped causing it to hit the mirror behind you instead.

The mirror shattered and the troll groaned in pain, you took some of the glass scattered on the floor, climbed on the remains of a sink that was on the troll's right and jumped onto its back.

You could tell the troll was a baby, not only because of its features, but because it was crying, trying to pick the glass off of its skin, which gave you the chance to get to where you were.

Putting your emotions aside, you jabbed the piece of glass into its hip, pulling it out, twice, pulling it out, three times, pulling it out, until it had fallen onto its stomach.

You jumped off, feeling exhausted as the adrenaline, which was your boost of energy, wore off, and fell onto the floor next to it.

You woke up, your head hurting, you touched your hand to your forehead to feel a bandage, beside you were Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Dean.

As soon as you opened your eyes, Dean gasped, "oh my god, she's awake! Someone call Madam Pomfrey!"

Luna smiled at you before she ran to call on Madam Pomfrey.

"Are you well?" Harry asked to which you nodded in return, trying your best to give him an authentic convincing smile.

"Head hurts, a lot. but I'm fine".

"I'm sorry no one was there to help you,"

what.. wasn't Mattheo there though? He helped you.

Then, before you could think more, Madam Pomfrey came into the room, followed by Dumbledore, Snape, Slughorn, and Luna.

Your friends stood up, backing away to let you talk to the teachers.

"Ms, Haworth, how are you feeling now?" Dumbledore asked,

"I'm fine sir thank you."

"We're going to let you rest for now, but when you're ready i need answers." you smiled at him nodding in agreement before madam pomfrey approached you.

"drink this dear, i don't usually use it, but it'll help with the pain quite a lot"

“thank you" you drank what was in the cup she handed you, gagging at the taste.

Then again, your friends approached you, Harry speaking "they don't know who let the troll in yet, but you did a wonderful job killing it, stabbing it over and over again, you were wonderful!"

"Harry! She just woke up!" Hermione scolded him.

"I'm sorry, I saw you doing unwell and thought it was just a bad day or something, I should've followed you, I should've been there. you shouldn't have been there all by yourself, i'm sorry you had to endure that all alone"

alone? mattheo was with you too.

"alone?"

“yeah alone, if it wasn't for you, others could've gotten hurt, but thank god you were able to stop it before it injured other than you." this from Dean.

“Was there someone else?” asked Hermione.

“No that i remember no.. i think i just need to rest and i’ll remember more clearly” you smiled at her and lay to sleep.

You could swear Mattheo was there, or maybe you were imagining?

It took you a few days to recover, and when you did, you were now sure that Matheo had been there but chose not to tell anyone.

How did you know? Well, he avoided your gaze, although he knew you were staring at him, he would avoid you completely when making fun of your friends, and no one mentioned his name alongside the incident.

If the others had known Matheo had been involved in this, his big ego would take all the pride and praise to himself.

As you were in the library, catching up on the studies you missed, Cho came to check on you and tell you that Dumbledore had called for you.

As you were headed to Dumbledore's office, you bumped into someone, you looked up to find the infamous Mattheo Riddle staring down at you, as he tried to run past you, you grabbed his wrist hard, "we need to talk" and you shoved him into an empty classroom.

He was taken by surprise by your strength but didn't complain as you locked the door, your back facing him.

Just as you turned around, you were suddenly taken back as he had caged you between his arms now, his hand on either side of your head.

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you brought me in here to kiss me," he chuckled coldly.

"Don't flatter yourself riddle, why the fuck aren't you telling people you were there! Dumbledore is asking to meet up with me right now and I will tell him that you were there. And what were you even talking about! You think I put a potion in your food?"

Just then, his eyes widened, and his hands were now wrapped around your throat, choking you slightly.

"Listen, for both your sake and mine, you will not tell Dumbledore I was there. What do you think it's going to look like? The Dark Lord's son was coincidentally there and managed to escape by chance! No! They're going to blame me, put it on me! They're going to say I let it in!"

You were now barely breathing and decided it was enough, you raised your knee, kicking Riddle in his stomach, and got away from him.

"Fuck you, you hit like a bitch Haworth”

“Maybe you did let in the troll! After all you did run away and were going to let me die! I came back for you i could’ve run away!"

"No body fucking asked you to! I swear to fucking Salazar this gets to Dumbledore and i will make sure a full grown fucking troll gets you!"

“Fine, I won't tell, on one condition, you find out who did and tell me".

"As if i would do such a thing"

"You don't have a choice do you though"

"fucking fine, i'll do that!"

"okay then, we have a deal" you said as you left the classroom.

You made your way to Dumbledore's and sat as you waited for him.

Once he entered the room, he once again wished you a speedy recovery before taking a seat opposite to you.

"So, I'm going to need you to tell me about exactly what happened."

"I was in the bathroom, not feeling very well, I mean sir it was a very tiring first day and my trip from home to here is quite long so.. anyway, I was there washing my face and hands after i'd just thrown up when I heard loud stomps.."

"okay go ahead"

"and well then suddenly he was here"

"who was?"

"uhh"

"do you need some time?"

"no i'm fine, the troll sir, he was there and i ran to the furthest stall to hide. And when he eventually destroyed all the others and got to me, he extended his hand to grab me and so i used a piece of the broken toilet to stab him in his hand and took the chance to hide under the sink"

"why didn't you run for the exit?"

"He was blocking it sir, and then he tried to grab me and instead punched the mirror, so i used part of it while he was busy crying, jumped on the sink, then on him and well stabbed him."

"and what happened after that?"

"Well, i remember him falling to his knees with me still on top, he hit the floor hard, then i rolled off onto the floor"

“Alright, one more question, how did you know it was a he?"

"Well, obviously sir, i'm one of the top students, hagrid taught us about trolls and i payed attention. You're not accusing me of letting the troll in are you?!"

"No, no, of course not. Would you like to add anything else?"

"No sir, that's all".

tags:

@aur0ral1ghts

[violettwritess]

I hate that i still care pt.2 c.s?

Part 1

Summary: After the unexpected visit y/n finally realizes that she needed to look out for herself instead of waiting for someone who isn’t there

Warnings: angst, slight fluff at the end

Wc: 1.6k

English is not my first language

A knock on the door startled her, she sat up, her heart pounding in her chest, for a brief, fleeting second, she thought hoped it was Matt. That maybe he had come to fix things, to explain, to tell her he was sorry.

But when she opened the door…

It wasn’t him.

Chris stood there, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, a hesitant look in his eyes.

“Hey” he said softly.

Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “Chris? What are you doing here?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know, I just… had a feeling you might need someone to talk to”

Her grip tightened on the door handle, and she felt the ache creeping in, exhaustion from holding everything inside.

“Did Matt tell you to check on me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Chris shook his head. “No. He… he hasn’t really said anything.” He paused. “Which is kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

That was all it took. The wall she had built inside her finally broke, and a shaky breath left her lips. She stepped aside, silently letting him in.

Chris walked in quietly, as if he knew that too much noise would shatter the fragile hold Y/n had on herself, she shut the door behind him and turned, wrapping her arms around herself, as if trying to hold everything in.

He didn’t say anything at first, he just looked at her, really looked, like he could see the exhaustion in her shoulders, the quiet hurt in her eyes. Then, with a sigh, he sank onto the couch, his expression softened in a way she hadn’t expected, he didn’t push, didn’t rush her to speak, he was just there, offering her space to process everything, and somehow, that made her throat tighten even more.

Y/n hesitated for a moment, still standing by the couch, her hand gripping her phone like it was the only thing keeping her grounded, the silence stretched between them. Finally, she sank down beside Chris, her legs curled up to her chest, her arms hugging her knees tightly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to just breathe.

She closed her eyes for a second laying her head on her knees, letting the weight of everything settle around her, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt like everything that had been left unsaid was hanging in the air, she had expected something different, maybe a fight, or even just Matt caring enough to apologize. But there was nothing, and that nothing had left her reeling. Finally, Chris spoke, his voice low and careful.

“You deserve better than this, you know?”

Y/n’s head snapped up to look at him, her chest ached at the kindness in his tone.

“I know” she whispered. “But it’s like… I’ve been fighting for something that doesn’t even want to be fought for” She swallowed hard.

“I kept telling myself that he’d change, that maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, but… it was always me, always me trying to make things work”

Chris nodded slowly, his hand resting gently on the cushion between them, but he didn’t try to close the distance, he was just there, steady, his words settling over her like a quiet comfort.

“You can’t keep giving when there’s nothing coming back, it’s not fair to you.” He paused. “You don’t deserve to feel invisible, especially not from someone who’s supposed to be there for you”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, the tears threatening to spill again, but she forced them back.

“I thought… I thought if I just kept going, things would get better. But it’s like I’m fading, Chris. I feel like I’m fading from his life, and he doesn’t even care”

Chris’s expression softened even more, and he leaned a little closer. The space between them was almost imperceptible now.

“That’s the thing, Y/n. You’re not fading, you’re just waking up, and if he can’t see that, if he can’t see you, then that’s on him, not you”

Y/n bit her lip, the weight of his words sinking in, she had tried for so long to make it work, to make herself believe that Matt cared, even when his actions said otherwise, but hearing it from Chris, hearing someone see her felt like a crack in the wall she’d been building around herself.

Silence settled between them again, but this time, it felt different, like an understanding had passed between them, something unspoken but deeply known. Y/n wiped at her eyes, exhaling shakily.

“I wanted him to fight for me, Chris. Just once”

Chris hesitated before speaking. “Do you want me to be honest?”

She looked at him, waiting.

“I don’t think he knew how,” he admitted. “And I don’t think he ever realized he needed to until it was too late”

The lump in her throat grew heavier. “So that’s it? He just lets me go?”

Chris hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t think it’s that simple. He’s been off since earlier, he’s not talking about it, but I know him, y/n, he’s feeling this, he just doesn’t know what to do with it”

Her chest tightened. “That’s the problem, he never knew what to do with it. With me”

Chris didn’t argue. He just watched her, his expression unreadable.

And then, softly, “I’m sorry, Y/n”

That was all it took, the weight of everything came crashing down, and before she could stop herself, a sob broke free, she pressed a hand over her mouth, like she could keep it in, but it was useless.

Chris moved closer, not saying anything, just pulling her into a hug, she didn’t resist, she clung to him, letting herself feel it really feel it for the first time.

Y/n clung to him, the sobs coming in waves, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything else, the hurt, the confusion, the exhaustion, disappeared, it was just Chris, steady and warm, his presence grounding her when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, her voice muffled against his hoodie. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to fall apart”

Chris tightened his hold on her slightly, his hand running up and down her back in a soothing motion.

“You don’t have to apologize for that” he said softly. “It’s okay to fall apart, Y/n, it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling”

Y/n shook her head, pulling back slightly to look up at him, though she didn’t let go.

“It’s just… I thought I could handle it, I thought I could keep holding everything together, but now I don’t know what to do anymore”

Chris gently cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, his eyes were soft, understanding, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with a sincerity that hit her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, no one expects you to” He paused, meeting her gaze. “But you don’t have to carry this alone, either”

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Chris”

Chris shook his head, the expression on his face unwavering.

“You’re not a burden. You’re my friend, you matter, and I’ll be here for you, no matter what.”

Y/n blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in her chest, it was so simple, but it was exactly what she needed to hear, she’d spent so long waiting for someone, anyone to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she wasn’t invisible, and now, here was Chris, offering that without hesitation, without asking for anything in return.

She leaned into him once more, closing her eyes as she let the quiet comfort of his words and presence surround her, for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel so alone.

The tension in her chest began to ease, the tears slowing as she let herself relax against him, she couldn’t say everything she needed to say yet, couldn’t unravel the mess of emotions swirling inside her, but for now, this was enough, for now, she had someone who understood.

Chris held her a little longer, his arms still wrapped around her, offering the unspoken comfort that only someone who truly understood could give, the rhythm of his breathing was steady, calming, and Y/n found herself clinging to it, as if his stability could somehow stabilize her own emotions.

“I’ve been so caught up in trying to make sense of everything” Y/n murmured after a while, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start”

“You don’t have to have all the answers right now” Chris replied softly, his voice a low murmur against her hair. “You’re allowed to not know, you’ve been through a lot, Y/n, it’s okay to not have it all figured out”

Y/n nodded, tears still threatening but somehow no longer as overwhelming, she didn’t feel so heavy anymore, not with Chris there, not with him just listening and offering his quiet presence. She let out a shaky breath, pulling back slightly to look at him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to move on from everything yet, I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of… him”

Chris’s gaze softened, his hand brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. “You don’t have to do it all at once. And you don’t have to do it alone”

The honesty in his voice, so open and real, helped ease the pain of her emotions, Y/n let herself feel it, let herself feel what she hadn’t allowed herself to in the last few weeks.

“Thank you” she whispered, her voice breaking a little as she met his soft blue eyes. “Thank you for not walking away, for not… letting me disappear”

Chris smiled softly, a small, reassuring smile that held more warmth than words could convey.

“You’re not invisible, Y/N. You never were. I see you.”

And in that moment, as her emotions finally started to quiet, Y/n realized something. She didn’t need to have everything figured out, she didn’t need all the answers, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t alone in the dark, she had Chris, and that was enough for now.

Matt’s version

[azari-31]

All my secrets away - Joaquin Torres x fem!OC

Summary: When Joaquin was transported to the hospital, Izzy found herself at a crossroads. Would she run, as she always had? Or would she finally admit her feelings and stay?

Word count: 2700

Warnings: none :) maybe a little ooc Joaquin

A/n: First, see the hashtags. Second note - Secrets by OneRepublic was playing on loop while writing this. Also, I wrote another version of this part. Feel free to check it

Part 1 - Back to you

Part 2 - The one who left

Part 3.2 - What have they done to us

Enjoy!

Izzy Deveroux sat on the bench outside the hospital, unmoving. Bag with Joaquin’s clothes laying beside her. Brutal reminder of his last mission. She had been there for a while now, staring at the ground, trying to convince herself to walk inside. But she couldn’t. He was awake now, and with that came the inevitable confrontation — with her feelings and the weight of their last argument.

Her mind was consumed by Joaquin. His last mission played in an endless loop — their fight, the moment the missile struck, the way his body plummeted into the ocean. She had been frozen, paralyzed by fear. Even if there had been something she could do, she hadn’t moved. After that, everything was a blur. The helicopter transporting him. The emergency surgery. But when the doctors had to restart his heart… she broke.

At that moment, she regretted being only human. Regretted every harsh word she had thrown at him before his mission and ever leaving him. Joaquin was a hero, with or without the suit. And she… she was just an agent. A scared, pathetic excuse for one.

With shaking hands, she unlocked her phone, scrolling until she found the photo from three years ago. It was the last one she took before leaving. The only one she saved after her escape. Memories from that night flooded her mind instantly.

A club, dimly lit and buzzing with music. Joaquin’s arm draped lazily around her shoulder, both of them flushed from the tequila and the warmth of laughter.

"Come on, Quino!" Izzy giggled, leaning into him as she held up her phone.

Joaquin groaned, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "Iz, you already have, like, dozens of pictures of my stupid face."

"Yeah, but this one’s gonna be my favourite. Come on! You're the Falcon now!"

The camera clicked just as he rolled his eyes, dimples showing, while she grinned like she had the whole world in her hands.

She had laughed, tequila warm in her veins, as she leaned into Joaquin’s side. He hugged her and smiled. The bar lights flickered gold and red, casting shadows over his sharp jawline, the playful glint in his eyes. The camera clicked again.

And then it hit her.

It wasn't the tequila. It wasn’t the rush of the night or the music vibrating through the floor. It was him. The way he looked at her, like she was his favorite story. The way his arm stayed around her shoulders even after the picture was taken and how it made her feel. How he made her feel. The way her heart tripped over itself when he laughed, completely unguarded, completely him. 

She was his friend, nothing more. But she wanted to be more than his friend. And yet she couldn't bring herself to say something out of fear of rejection. 

That was the night she left him. To protect their friendship and her heart. Because in the end, someone would be hurt and Deveroux couldn't afford to lose him. 

She had spent years calling him her best friend. But in that moment — staring at the photo, feeling the warmth of him beside her — Izzy knew.

From that moment on, Joaquin Torres wasn’t just her best friend. He was more. And instead of admitting it, she locked those feelings away.  For her, their friendship meant more than her own feelings.  

"—You okay, kid?" Izzy jumped, startled by the familiar voice. Sam Wilson had appeared beside her, sinking onto the bench with a weary sigh. He looked just as exhausted as she felt. Joaquin was his friend and Sam almost lost him the same way he lost Riley.

"Kinda." she murmured. "I think."

Sam studied her for a beat before shaking his head. "Nobody will say it out loud, so I have to. I know you care about him. Probably more than you want to admit."

A dry chuckle escaped her lips, but it didn’t stop the tears. She swiped at them quickly. "Nothing gets past you, huh?"

Sam just pulled her into a one-armed hug, letting her lean into him."I saw the way you looked at him," he said gently. "You love him."

Izzy swallowed. And then she spilled her heart's darkest secret. 

"I love him so much I would leave if his happiness depended on it."

"But do you love him enough to stay?" Sam's question left her speechless. He saw her internal turmoil. "Tell him."

She let out a shaky breath. "I don’t think he’d want to talk to me after… you know." She twisted her fingers nervously. Sam sighed. 

"Izzy, that kid loves you. Last fight didn't change that."

"He hates me, Sam. You didn't see the way he looked at me on the ship." 

"Trust me, Izzy. Tell him everything, no half truths, no lies. You both need each other now. More than ever." 

===⭐===

As the conversation about his new wings wrapped up, Joaquin leaned back in his bed, arms crossed. Sam could tell there was something else on his mind.

"So," Sam started, watching him carefully, "what is it?"

Joaquin hesitated for a moment, then exhaled. "You said you’re putting a team together."

Sam nodded slowly. "I am."

Joaquin exhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering. "It’s not about that. It’s about getting someone who can get the job done, no matter what. The team could use her skills."

Because having her in his life, even as an enemy or a stranger, was still better than those three years without her — better than the silence, the unanswered questions, the hollow ache of missing someone who was still alive but was impossibly out of reach. 

At least with her close, he could learn how to love her in silence, keeping his feelings hidden in a way that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable being around him. At least she would be close, near him. But those years without her? That kind of loneliness was something he never wanted to feel again.

Sam let out a thoughtful hum. Wilson knew his partner was lying, but he decided to play along with Torres, just to see his reaction."She’s got baggage."

"Who doesn’t in this line of work?" Joaquin shot back. "If you trust me to be part of this, then you can trust her too."

Sam smirked, shaking his head. "You’re really vouching for her, huh?"

"With my life."

Sam exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Alright." He stood up, giving Joaquin a knowing look. "Good thing she’s already waiting outside."

Joaquin stiffened. His heart stuttered for a second, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral.

"I thought she had somewhere else to run." he muttered, more to himself.

Sam barely smiled. "She didn’t run this time."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. A little spark of hope ignited in Torres’s heart. Then, softer, Sam added, 

"She wanted to, hell, she was close to do this. But she stayed by your side every day."

Joaquin’s breath caught, his gaze flickering to the door. The weight in his chest shifted, something uncertain yet undeniable settling in its place.

She was still here, to Joaquin's shock, fighting against every instinct telling her to run. Maybe that meant he should fight too—not just for her, but for them. For whatever future they still had. He just wanted her to be close to him, whether if she was his girlfriend, friend or just a stranger.

Joaquin’s jaw clenched. "Last time we talked, she made it pretty damn clear she didn’t want to be my friend anymore. I wasn’t without fault either."

Sam hesitated, then spoke carefully. 

"I won’t say much, but… she cares about you, kid. So much that it scared her. Let her explain."

Wilson silently opened the door and left Torres alone. Deveroux looked up at him and stood up in a second. 

"You can do this." Sam said and left her all alone with her thoughts. Deveroux took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. And then, she made a first step towards Joaquin's room.

When Izzy finally stepped inside, her heart lurched.

Joaquin looked pale, weak — but he was alive. Burn marks scarred his neck and possibly some parts of his body too. Barely breathing, she sat beside him, her fingers gripping the hem of her shirt.

"How are you feeling, Quino?"

His eyes flickered toward her, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I felt better, but it’s good for now."

“I brought you clothes, so you wouldn't parade in this hospital gown.” Deveroux pointed at the bag she put down beside his bed. 

“Thanks.”

"You scared the shit out of Sam," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

Joaquin exhaled, wincing as he shifted. Even now, he smirked. "Yeah, but you can’t kill the cockroach."

A strangled laugh escaped her. But then — silence came. Thick, suffocating. Izzy swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, to find the words that had been clawing at her for years.

"Joaquin, I'm sorry for—"

He cut her off with a tired shake of his head. "You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who screwed up. You warned me I could die, and I almost did."

"That’s not —" she exhaled sharply, frustrated. "That’s not what I wanted to say."

Joaquin scoffed, looking away. "Maybe not, but I saw it in your eyes."

Her stomach twisted. He thought he knew. Thought he had her figured out. And maybe, once, he did. But not now. Not like this.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Joaquin beat her to it.

"Sam’s planning to reactivate the Avengers." His voice was steady, casual — like this was just another conversation, like nothing had shifted between them.

Izzy blinked, caught off guard. "He is?"

Joaquin nodded. "Yeah. Said the world needs a team that can handle the impossible again." He hesitated. "I told him about you."

She stilled, fingers curling slightly against her jeans. "You — what?"

"You’re one of the best fighters and agents I know, Izzy." He let out a breath, studying her. 

Her heart pounded. There was a time she would have run from this. From him. From everything. But not anymore.

Still, she wasn’t ready for what came next.

"I figured you’d say no, though," Joaquin added, forcing a smirk. "You always did have a habit of walking away."

It was meant to be light, maybe even teasing, but Izzy felt the weight beneath his words. Her stomach twisted.

"That’s not fair," she muttered.

Joaquin exhaled sharply, his smirk fading. "Isn't it?" His voice softened, but there was something raw beneath it. "Tell me something, Iz. If I hadn’t gotten hurt, would you have even come back?"

Izzy swallowed hard, looking away.

"I don’t know."

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something unreadable. Anger? Hurt? Maybe both.

"Of course you don’t," he murmured, shaking his head. He let out a humorless chuckle. "That’s all you ever do, isn’t it? Run when it gets too real?"

Her breath caught in her throat.

"I—" She hesitated. What was she supposed to say? That he was wrong? That she hadn’t been running for years? Deny that everything told her to run? 

Because they both knew the truth. Noone said it out loud, but they knew because of Sam. Izzy fought through her thoughts, grounding herself onto the floor. 

Joaquin watched her carefully, his expression unreadable. Then, his voice dropped lower, quieter.

"How long?"

Izzy frowned. "What?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "How long did you hide that you loved me more than a friend?" His voice was steady, but his fingers curled against the sheets like he was bracing himself.

Then, softer. "Don’t even deny it. Sam told me."

Her breath hitched. Joaquin knew — and it terrified her.

"Three years. Since the night you got the Falcon suit."

Joaquin exhaled harshly, shaking his head. "Why?"

Izzy clenched her jaw. "I was scared, Quino. That’s why I took the offer S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me. I knew being close to you would finally destroy our friendship. And I didn't want that."

"So you ran?"

She let out a shaky breath. "I needed to," she admitted. "I thought if you weren’t close, my feelings would disappear. If I kept my distance, it wouldn’t hurt."

Joaquin scoffed. "That’s some messy logic."

"It was the only logic I had."

Joaquin stiffened.

Izzy forced herself to meet his gaze. "You were the only constant in my life. The only person who had my back, who was there with me every step of the way. You were my friend, and I didn’t know what to do." Her voice broke, but she pressed on. "I love you, Joaquin. I just—I needed you to know that. Because I know I won’t be able to say it again."

Joaquin stared at her, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. Then, slowly, he reached for her.

Before she could even process it, he pulled her in — closer than she had ever let herself imagine. And then he kissed her. Something she had dreamed of, hoped for — prayed he would do one day. One day, when she finally would find the courage to stay.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant. It was years of silence crashing down all at once. A mixture of anger, relief, and every emotion they had suffocated until now. His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping like she was something he couldn’t lose again. He had wasted enough time pushing this down. He wasn’t about to waste another second.

Joaquin’s fingers brushed against her cheek, his touch featherlight, as if he was afraid she might disappear. Izzy melted into him, her hands gripping the front of his hospital gown like an anchor, grounding herself in the reality of him—of this.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breathless and unsteady. Izzy let out a choked sob, tears slipping down her cheeks. 

Joaquin cupped her face, his eyes dark with something raw, something desperate. “Promise me,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “Promise me you’ll never leave me again. That you won’t run.”

Her breath hitched, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his gown. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a shaky laugh, brushing away her tears with his thumb. “I’m sorry it took us so long.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Te amo, princesa.”

The moment the words sank in, something inside her cracked open. The weight, the fear, the wasted time — it all suddenly disappeared.

Joaquin exhaled, shifting against the hospital bed. His fingers trailed down her arm before finding her hand, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against her skin. Izzy swallowed hard, the warmth of his touch grounding her, steadying the whirlwind of emotions still settling inside her.

For years, she had kept this love locked away, too afraid to want it, too afraid to hope for more. But now, with his hand on her and his voice still lingering in the air, there was no more running, no more denying. Joaquin loved her. He had always loved her.

And finally — finally — she could love him the way she had wanted to for so long.

Her fingers tightened around his, a silent declaration of everything she felt, everything she had never been able to say.

Joaquin smiled softly, as if he understood. His grip on her hand firmed, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he kissed her again.

This time, it wasn’t desperate or reckless. It was slow, lingering—filled with everything they had been too afraid to say. A silent promise woven between them, stronger than words.

Four years of Joaquin’s aching silence. Three years of Izzy’s pretending. And now, finally, it was over.

Joaquin was hers.

And Izzy was never going to run. Not when she was finally home.

"So tell me what you want to hear

Something that will light those ears

Sick of all the insincere

So I'm gonna give all my secrets away

This time, don't need another perfect lie

Don't care if critics ever jump in line

I'm gonna give all my secrets away

All my secrets away,

All my secrets away"

[toasttt11]

fake

December 8, 2023

Hayden was rebranding her hair as she waited in her car for Matt to come out of his hotel. Matt had got in late last night from Vancouver and unfortunately had to leave early in the morning tomorrow so they didn’t get a lot of time together but he would be able to stay the night after their game.

Hayden had a morning skate in the morning and came to pick up Matt after her practice.

Hayden was tying off her hair when she heard the door open and she looked over and her face immediately softened seeing Matt.

Matt put his bags in the back quickly before getting in the passenger seat smiling at his favorite girl as he leaned over and pulled her into a gentle hug.

Hayden’s shoulder loosened as she eagerly leaned into Matt’s warm and comforting touch. She has missed him.

“Hi.” Matt softly spoke rubbing her back softly and getting a mumbled hi back.

They both pulled back but Matt grabbed her hand making her let out a fond soft chuckle but kept her hand in his hand as she started the car and started driving them back to her home.

Matt got his bags and followed Hayden into her house, he set his things by the stairs and laughed as he kneeled down and started petting Archie.

Hayden waited till Matt finished saying hi to Archie before she quickly grabbed his hand again and started pulling him to her library. It’s been too long since they have gotten to read together.

Matt just smiled knowing what Hayden wanted them to do and he has no arguments.

Matt plopped down on one of her big reading chairs knowing Hayden has a book for him.

Hayden sat in the chair next to him and handed him a new book she has annotated for him.

Matt gave her a nod as she stretched her legs out and she rested her legs over his lap and put the blanket over both of them.

Hayden and Matt started reading enjoying their reading time that they don’t get often during the season. Matt’s thumb was gently rubbing back and forth on her ankle.

And that’s exactly how the two spent the next few hours hair reading in comfortable silence and doing what thru both loved.

Eventually they both had to get up and headed to their separate rooms getting ready for the game.

Hayden just put on a purple plaid suit pants, black sweater, black trench coat and purple converse.

Hayden kept her hair in her normal french braid with her baby hairs falling out.

She headed down the stairs seeing Matt just petting Archie as he waited for her.

Matt looked up and smiled at Hayden, “You look beautiful.” Matt let his eyes linger on Hayden, purple has always been a color he loves on Hayden.

Hayden blinked feeling her stomach tighten and just shook her head, “Thanks Matty, you look great.” Matt had on his grey coat that is Hayden’s favorite.

Matt flashed her a smile and they walked out of her house together and into Hayden’s car.

Hayden drove them the short drive to the rink and they shared a smile before they spilt off and headed to their own locker room.

Hayden got ready for the game and eventually was heading on to the ice and warming up with Ryan and Ryan waved at Matt and Matt smiled waving back.

Hayden had the puck skating down the ice and she glanced around seeing Matt right on her heels and she completely slowed down and turned skating a different way and grinned hearing Matt slip and stumble and she brought the puck across the front to the net and backhanded the puck into the net.

Hayden made eye contact with Matt and grinned and he shook his laughing softly at her.

Hayden’s goal was the only goal of the first period.

Hayden was sitting on the bench for the first play of the second period and she shook her head softly ignoring how proud she felt seeing Matt score fifteen seconds into the second period.

Matt gave her a little smirk as he skated by her bench and she shook her head but her eyes followed him as he skated away making Ryan snort from next to her and gently elbow her to snap her out of it.

Hayden got off the ice and sat down on the bench right as she watched Matt get the puck and passed to his teammate who scored.

Matt gave her other annoying attractive smirk as he skated by making her blink confused why she was thinking that and she quickly shook her head ignoring how her cheeks were tin turning pink and it was not because of the ice.

Matt glanced over at Hayden from his bench making them make eye contact and he was still smirking softly making Hayden narrowed her eyes and she was going to score next.

Hayden jumped over the boards and started her shift, she was out there for almost a minute but than Connor got the puck and passed right in front of the net and Hayden quickly flicked it into the net.

Hayden gave Matt a smirk back as she skated by and he just eagerly watched her making Brock jokingly gag and elbow Matt.

Oilers and Wild both scored once more before the end of the second period.

Hayden assisted on the goal in the first minute of the third period.

There was only a few minutes left and the Wild were down one goal and the game was starting to turn more physical.

Hayden quickly skated to the net and she shoved a Wild player away who was standing way too close to their Goalie. She stood protectively in front of Skinner as the rest of the players started pushing each other.

The referees broke up the little scrum and Hayden glanced over seeing Matt throwing a fake little punch at Zach and she snorted watching that.

She gave Matt a look as he glanced over and he just grinned shrugging.

Oilers win 4-3.

Hayden headed out of the locker room after getting back in her suit and saw Bri holding Lennon in the hallway and she gasped quickly walking over.

“Ducky!” Hayden beamed easily scooping Lennon into her arms and kissing her face making Lennon giggle.

Matt walked out with Brock and froze seeing Hayden holding a baby and cooing, Brock shook his head and pushed Matt forward.

“Matt! This is Lennon!” Hayden beamed seeing Matt and Brock, The boys walked over to her and Matt waved softly at the baby.

Brock gave Hayden a little side hug, “Good seeing you Blake.” Hayden smiled at Brock and Brock patted Matt’s shoulder before walking away and to the bus.

Bri watched with a knowing smirk as Matt was introduced to Lennon.

Eventually Hayden had to say bye to Lennon and she started walking with Matt out of the rink.

Matt threw his arm over her shoulder pulling her close to him as they walked out together.