#yes lucas is in here sorry

[mattzerella-sticks]

Marvel, X-Men, whoever - I'm begging you.

Let these two (Wolverine and Bishop) get together.

[bluevelvt]

obikin where a good handful of padawans end up having a small crush on their master in the way of having a crush on a hot teacher where you know it can’t really go anywhere but it’s still there, anakin is one such padawan

obi-wan is somewhat aware of this, he’s not oblivious and he was once a padawan and there were definitely “who has the hottest master” talks with other teenage padawans, so he’s not judging anakin for being a little too into sparring matches where obi-wan ends up pinning him to the ground

he has also known his padawan would be and is attaractive, but it has always been in the context of “that girl we met on our mission was clearly flirting with you” and similar sorts of teasing

once the aotc kicks off and anakin reunites with padmé, he’s thinking “this could be an absolute disaster, but i really like her and i can actually be with her” and the he has crush on obi-wan fades away

skip ahead to anakin being knighted, where he is no longer obi-wan’s padawan but his equal, his brother as obi-wan says

this changes things, as much of the resentment(? don’t know how to best describe it) anakin had towards obi-wan is gone and obi-wan feels like he can truly be friends with anakin now that he doesn’t have to be his master and guide him

their bond becomes much closer and after anakin has his lada wan braid cut, grows his hair out, and starts looking like a jedi knight and not a padawan, the way obi-wan acknowledged that anakin is objectively handsome has changed into a much more subjective “fuck, he is really attractive”

and obi-wan just starts noticing more things about anakin that he found charming in him before but now it’s in a different manner and he feels like a silly teenage padawan with a crush now and not anakin

anakin has had a similar kind of realisation, where the things he loves about obi-wan haven’t really changed and has only grown to appreciate more and certain things he didn’t like before have started to grow on him now that they are equals in their relationship and he was still going to think obi-wan is hot no matter what

eventually, the crush he had on obi-wan starts to pop back up, even stronger this time and unlike before where obi-wan was unattainable, it’s slightly more possible that anakin could actually be with him

so they’re left both secretly crushing on each other, feeling like their sixteen again and trying to avoid thinking about it but hey… they’ve been a somewhat unusual pair with a very close bond so maybe, just maybe, something could happen

[kennahjune]

Steddie

I’m joining the s3 steddie train :D

…

Steve was late. He was so late and so dead. Robin was going to kill him— he’d never make it out of Scoops Ahoy alive.

This was his thought process after dropping Will Lucas and Max off at Mikes. This was also his thought process the entirety of the way to Scoops while he shoved his way through the mall.

The moment he entered the small shop Robins eyes locked on him in a glare. Steve barely gave her a second before he was going to the back room to get ready for his shift.

He heard the back room door open behind him.

“You’re—“

“24 minutes late I know,” he said as calmly as he could while trying to relax his breathing.

“Yeah and—“

“And you get an extra 25 minutes for your break, yes Robin I know!”

Steve finally closed his employee cubby and turned to look at Robin. “Look. Im sorry I was so late today but Will, Lucas and Max are assholes when they’re being petty and they needed a ride to Mikes cause all the others were busy! I’ll take closing shift today to if you’re really that mad.”

Robin stared at him angrily from the doorway. “Fine.” She uncrossed her arms. “And yes, you will be taking the closing shift tonight. I have a study date with a friend that I can’t miss.”

“It’s summer vacation?”

“Shut up!”

Steve shrugged when the door closed.

He closed the door to his employee locker with a little more force than necessary. He had a migraine building and the bright, florescent lights of the mall weren’t helping in the slightest.

He walked out and began his shift.

…

Eddie wanted to enjoy his day off. Preferably by himself. But Gareth and Jeff decided that his personal life was their personal life. So here they were.

He had wanted to spend the day away from the mall, considering that that was where everyone seemed to be nowadays. But the guys were insistent.

So they were walking around. It wasn’t too bad, considering Eddie had gotten himself a new record and tape with his newest paycheck. They were sitting at the fountain when Gareth shouted right in Eddie’s ear:

“HOLY SHIT!”

Eddie just about punched him with how hard he jumped. Jeff spit out his Pepsi all over Eddie.

While Eddie was worrying about getting the sticky drink off of his skin, Gareth continued with; “is that HARRINGTON in Scoops?”

Well. Now he has Eddie’s attention.

Sure enough, just in Eddie’s line of sight, was Steve Harrington in a sailors uniform and a dorky hat.

A dorky hat that was soon snatched up by his current customer, Billy Hargrove.

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder and leaned over him to get a better view. “Is that Hargrove?”

“Yep.” Eddie popped the P.

“It looks like he’s messing with Harrington.”

“Yep.” Another pop on the P.

“And Harrington looks like he’s gonna fucking explode.”

Eddie agreed. Harrington was red in the face and not in the cute blushy-way he usually gets (don’t ask why Eddie knows that). He was talking back to Hargrove, probably something bitchy and sarcastic in typical Harrington-fashion based on the way Hargrove seemed to recoil for a moment before jumping back.

“Should we do something?” Gareth asked skeptically. Jeff shrugged where he was pressed against Eddie’s back.

“I’m going in.” Eddie stood and nearly knocked Jeff down in the process.

“Hang on—“

“Nope! Wish me luck, boys!” Eddie yelled over his shoulder while he dashed over. He heard them both get up and follow him.

…

Steve wanted to cry.

His head hurt so fucking bad and his back was killing him and he had ran into a shelf earlier and had a killer bruise on his arm and leg from it and everything was too fucking much.

Then, in all his asshole and dick glory, in came Billy Hargrove.

At this point, Steve would rather take another plate to the head then have to deal with his annoyingly aggravating voice. Hargrove came in, probably expecting Robin to be there, but got Steve instead. And honestly Steve would rather deal with him then leave Robin with him.

So he’s been enduring it, giving his own comments and comebacks but overall hating his life and just wanting to curl up and die.

Then his savior showed up. In all his black leather and chains, Eddie fucking Munson.

Hallelujah.

Hargrove seemed to back down the moment Munson showed up. Which wasn’t too strange considering that Munson supplied over half of Hawkins’ weed supply. Including Steve’s own for a while. He hasn’t bought in a while cause of the brat brigade.

But not the point.

Hargrove nodded to Munson. “Munson.”

Wow. Real cool, Billy. Steve held back a snicker.

“Heeyyy, Hargrove!” Munson cheerily greeted. But there was something about his smile that was off, to Steve. It seemed tighter than usual, his eyes not crinkling with the motion like normal. Don’t ask why Steve knows this.

Munson’s eyes seemed darker, too. Like he was angry. Maybe Hargrove didn’t pay him? Steve couldn’t bother to care with how bad his head started to pound.

He shouldn’t be at work with this migraine. He knows that. His doctor’s told him this multiple times. But he owes it to Robin for being late so much and he needs to prove to his dad that he can take care of himself.

“So what brings you here, Billy?” Munson asks casually, stepping farther into the shop. Steve seems to finally be forgotten about, and he places his head down on the counter. The cooled surface definitely helps with the spinning room.

He hears Hargrove say something back, but he isn’t paying attention anymore. His eyes are stating to go blurry and he really needs to sit down. But then Munson says something that catches his attention:

“Just leave Harrington alone, man. Last I checked he did nothing to you.”

What the hell? Steve wished he could lift his head and see what Munson was doing. What he looked like when he said that. If he looked as mean as he sounded.

Steve only lifts his head a few moments later when he feels a hand on his back. He shoots up quicker than he intends, and nearly falls back down if not for the hands still holding him up.

“Shit,” he grumbles quietly to himself, whining even quieter at the sudden rush of pain and the black dots in his vision.

“Easy there, your highness.” Munson.

Steve blinks slowly, letting Munson set him down in a booth. He doesn’t remember walking over but he’ll take it. He puts his head back down and intertwines his fingers behind his head. He groans quietly again, the pounding slowly receding.

“Hey man, is there something we could do? Do you need anything?” He heard Munson ask.

We? Steve wants to ask, but finds himself not caring. “Water, and my bag from the back please,” he rasps out. Talking makes the pounding worse.

He hears someone rush off to the back and a moment later a hands on his back again and is helping him sit up.

“Here ya go sweetheart.” Munson slides the glass of water and bag over to him.

Steve silently reaches into his bag and pulls out his small “to-go” med-kit. He carries it around mainly for the kids. Mike tends to be clumsier than he comes off as and Max is always trying out some new skateboarding tricks. From inside the kit he pulls out a pill bottle and swallows 2 with the water and goes for another 2 before a hand stops him.

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to take more than 2.” This voice is new but familiar. Steve squints past the blurriness and makes out someone he recognizes from school; Gareth Emerson.

“4,” Steve manages past the lump in his throat. Munson, Emerson, and someone else Steve doesn’t quite know look at him. Munson continues to hold Steve’s hand on the table, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. It weirdly intimate but the comfort is very welcome.

“4 what?” The other guy asks.

“4 pills. I usually take 4.”

Munson and Emerson both wince. The third guy looks at him like he’s insane. Steve finally recognizes him as Jeff,… something. He actually never got his last name.

“Dude— are you trying to overdose!?”

Steve winced at the sudden loudness, whining quietly. Munson shushed Jeff and Steve heard him rush out an apology.

The bell over the door dinged at that moment, and Steve found himself face to face with Max, Mike, Will, Lucas, and— for some reason— Jonathan.

“Uh— hi?” Steve attempted for a greeting.

“‘Hi!?’” Mike yelled. “Hi yourself man! We called your walkie at least 4 times!! What the hell?”

“Are you ok? Why didn’t you answer?” Will asked in a much quieter tone.

Lucas and Max wasted no time before slotting themselves in the booth with Steve. Munson remained across from Steve, and Emerson and Jeff now hovered farther away, but Lucas slid right in next to Munson and Max next to Steve.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” Max demanded. But she clung to his shirt tightly.

“Language, Mayfield,” he reprimanded quietly.

Mike paused where he stood. “Why are you talking so quietly? Shit— do you have a migraine?”

Suddenly 4 pairs of little eyes were gazing at him with unmasked concern. Holy shit was this overwhelming.

“Guys—“

“Why didn’t you say that, Steve?” Lucas asked.

“Are you ok? How long has it been going on for? Asked Will.

“Why are even here if you’re not able to function properly?” Mike reprimanded in his own caring-ness.

Max clutched to him tighter. “Why aren’t you at home? You could’ve called in sick or something!”

“Shhh!” Mike shushed her.

“Don’t shush me—“

“Shut up!” He whisper shouted. “You have to be quiet and try to control your temperature while resting in a dark, quiet room to try and help with migraines. Pain killers help to but no more than 3.”

Everyone stared at him. He went a little pink under the sudden attention.

“Nancy gets migraines a lot from reading in the dark.”

Jonathan came over right then. Steve was suddenly overwhelmed by all the people surrounding him.

“Uhm—“

“Hey,” Munson called. Steve forgot about him for a good moment. “This is cute and all, but maybe we should not surround him? Poor boy looks like he’s gonna cry.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Tears had— in fact— sprung to his eyes.

“Sorry!” All the kids rushed out quietly at the same time. Max climbed out of the booth and Munson and Jonathan both assisted with helping Steve to the break room. Jeff and Emerson stayed with the kids, but Mike came with them since he seemed to know what he was doing better than the 3 of them.

On their way back to the room though, Steve’s legs nearly gave out from under him. Shit. It’s one of those days. Munson just barely managed to catch him under the armpits while Jonathan got him by the waist.

“Woah there, sweetheart.” Munson grunted.

“Careful, Steve,” Jonathan said quietly.

“Sorry. Spinning.” Steve exhaled shakily.

Mike came rushing back after realized they weren’t with him. “Damn. Spinning? Are you able to walk? Or are they gonna have to carry you?”

Jonathan looked up at the mention of having to carry Steve. “Yeah— I’m not able to carry him. I am so not strong enough for that.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

Munson chuckled quietly and the sound reverberated through his chest where Steve’s head was. It was soothing.

“Don’t worry Big Byers. I’ve got him no problem.”

Steve was given no warning before he was being picked up in a bridal carry. He winced sharply and laid his head on Munson’s shoulder. Jonathan whistled lowly from somewhere beside them and Steve blindly kicked his leg in his direction, scoring in kicking him in the arm. Jonathan snickered.

…

When Munson chased off Hargrove he didn’t expect for Harrington to all but collapse in on himself and try to fucking overdose on like 5 pain killers. He also hadn’t expected to be bombarded by 4 kids and 1 Jonathan Byers. Least of all did he expect to be carrying Harrington bridal style to the break room of Scoops Ahoy.

Somewhere behind him, Gareth turned the sign on the door to closed. Eddie silently thanked him.

The kid— who he vaguely remembers as Nancy Wheeler’s younger brother— opens the door and startles a half asleep Robin Buckley.

“Hello,” Jonathan throws her way before pulling a chair out for Eddie to sit on.

“Uh— hi? What the hell—“

Eddie takes the seat with Harrington in his lap. Robin looks dumbfounded.

“Migraine,” Jonathan helpfully supplies.

“Really, really bad migraine. Vertigo included. Full package tonight, folks.” Mike adds.

“Ok— um, is he ok? He doesn’t look ok. If it was so bad why didn’t he just call in sick?”

“That’s a good question,” Mike retorts quietly while rooting around in a freezer.

“What are you looking for”, Robin asks.

“Ice pack. The dumbass has everything in that first aid kit of his except a damn ice pack.”

“Language,” Harrington reprimanded quietly from where his cheek was against Eddie’s chest. Eddie chuckled quietly when Mike retorted with a half-assed “sorry”.

Eddie couldn’t help but admire the now sleeping Harrington in his lap. He bent in half like a shrimp, his knees just about to his chest, and his hands gripping tightly onto Eddie’s still-Pepsi-soaked t-shirt. But he looked so at peace while asleep. Like he hadn’t just had the worst migraine Eddie’s ever seen and wasn’t just about to pass out on his feet. Eddie smiled.

Mike comes over silently, managing to sneak up on Eddie and make him jump slightly and causing Harrington to whine. He’d been whining a lot today. And under “different circumstances” Eddie would’ve found it hot as fuck.

“Sorry,” Mike whispered. He seemed to be able mellow out a lot when he actually tried. He seemed like such an asshole out at the booth but now he seems quieter. These kids really cared about Harrington, huh?

“Here.” Jonathan helped him out and gently picked up Harrington’s head. Eddie caught Harrington actually kind of leaning into his touch. A strange but endearing friendship. Mike placed the ice pack— now wrapped in a cloth— on Eddie’s chest where Harrington’s head lays.

Harrington lays back down and is out like a light soon enough.

Eddie zoned out until there’s a very, very soft knock on the door. When he looks up, Jonathan is letting the other 3 kids in while Jeff and Gareth stand in the doorway.

“Is he ok?” Asks Jonathan’s little brother.

Jonathan nods and pats his head. “He’s ok, Will.”

The redhead walks over and takes a silent seat next to Eddie so she’s next to Harrington. She takes Harrington’s hand in hers and proceeds to just sit there and hold it.

“He’s ok, Max. Just a migraine,” the third kid, Lucas he thinks, reassures with a hand on Max’s shoulder.

“That’s what he said before. And then he was in the hospital.”

Woah, what?

“Hm?” Lucas looks at him.

Oh. He said that aloud.

“Wait what?” Robin asked quietly.

Jonathan’s whistled lowly. It seems to be a bit of a tic for him. “Yeah uh— funny story. Hargrove broke a plate over Steve’s head last year and nobody realized how bad it actually was until he passed out after claiming it was only a migraine.”

“He ended up in the hospital for like 2 weeks,” added Lucas.

“He needed several stitches on the side of his head.” Max unhappily supplied. Lucas squeezed her shoulder.

“It was a stage 4 concussion,” muttered Will and Mike put his head on his shoulder.

Eddie caught Gareth and Jeff’s eyes across the break room. Huh.

The Will kid came up to Eddie suddenly. “Thank you. For uh— helping with Steve. It means a lot to us. He means a lot to us.”

Mike, Max, and Lucas all nodded.

“Hang on,” Lucas piped up. “Who are you?”

…

So uh— set myself up for a part 2 there :’D

Part 2

[cuteandhughesy]

Crawling Back To You | Matthew Knies

summary: the 5 stages of realizing you're falling in love with your boyfriend’s best friend (college!au).

19.9k (…whoops)

warnings: enemies to lovers | the slowest of slow burns. like seriously buckle up | emotional cheating? kinda not really? | thoughts of infidelity | drinking | intense make out scene | kind of a unfinished ending (sorry in advance) | suggestive scenes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: this idea randomly popped into my head before bed a few weeks ago and I immediately knew I had to write it. this is for the knies girlies (like yours truly) who can’t help themselves but fantasizing about him—I see you and I got you.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Prologue

lucas' arm around your hips is a firm pressure, guiding you through the crowded frat house like he's done many times before. you let him easily, smiling at friends as you pass by them.

your boyfriend doesn't really notice anybody else—too busy looking for his friends in the chaotic crowd. his fingers flex around the dip of your hip, squeezing you reassuringly. "you look nice babe."

he's told you that already tonight—when you'd showed up to his door so you could walk to the frat party together—which, is only down the hall from your door—regardless though, it's nice to hear. you tilt you head back to look at him, eyes lingering over his too-sharp jaw and icy gaze. "thanks lucas."

he hums softly, not looking at you as he continues to make way through the sea of sweat covered bodies. you sigh gently, gnawing on your gloss coated bottom lip, gaze flickering away from your boyfriend.

you and lucas have been dating for almost half a year—which in hindsight isn't that long, but when you're in university and spending every waking minute with a person, it soon feels like a lifetime. you met him in the mailroom of your shared apartment complex during the beginning of last term, and hit it off almost immediately.

lucas was flirty, and so sweet that it felt like your teeth were decaying. he was smart and played on the universities hockey team—it was hard not to fall for him. but as your brief honeymoon phase came to a close, lucas started to get a little...dull.

he doesn't make your heart race, and he doesn't  have your stomach swooping with his stare or touch, and most of the time it feels like he doesn't have the time for you. but it's fine, because he's your boyfriend, and you care for him. it's just a bit...boring, and unfulfilling.

"babe." he starts again, glancing down at you. "were you able to book off that shift? the one during next game day?"

you frown, stopping in your shuffling steps. "lucas, I already told you that I couldn't."

your boyfriend stops as well, turning towards you with deeply furrowed eyebrows. "you did?"

you sigh, a bubble of irritation rising in your chest. "yes. this morning before class."

"seriously?" he all but huffs, dropping his hands from your waist. "I wanted you there."

"and like I told you this morning, there's nothing I can do about it." you've flushed with annoyance, looking at your boyfriend with a perplexed expression. it feels like you've been going in circles about this damn shift for days—and somehow everytime, lucas makes you feel like an asshole about it. you literally work at the arena, and as only 1 of 3 staff members for the concession stand, getting your shift covered was practically impossible.

his eyes flash with something similar to annoyance. "it feels like you don't even want to watch me play, y/n."

your eyes quickly dart around the room, gulping gently as you make sure nobody is watching the exchange between you and lucas—one that feels like it's on the tipping point of turning heated. your gaze flickers back to his, crossing your arms defensively. "are you seriously going to start this here? in front of everyone?"

despite your words, nobody is paying attention to the two of you—too drunk or high or both to have the awareness they needed to realize what's going on between you and the hockey teams assistant captain.

lucas sighs gently, eyes softening as he takes in your closed off, hard expression. "look," lucas grabs the sides of your face, holding you in place. "i'm sorry, okay?" your eyes drop, mind still reeling with annoyance about the whole situation. lucas thumb runs along your cheek, "we can talk about it later."

there's nothing to talk about, you think. i've already told you.

he leans in, searching for a kiss, but you turn your head just before your lips connect—lucas planting an unexpected peck to your cheek.

from a room over, matthew knies takes a sip of his beer, a smile pulling at his lips as his teammate loudly tells the group about his latest tinder date adventure—new flash, it went horrible. his teammate, gabe, wasn't the kind of guy you wanted to date, and after hearing all these different stories about how his dates went, matthew can't help but feel sorry for these girls.

sean, another member of the minnesota hockey team, nudges his elbow into matthew's side, subtly pulling his attention away from gabe and his loud mouth and comical expression—currently acting out how he'd opened the car door during said tinder date.

matthew's brows raise, looking at the tan complexion of his friend. "what's up?"

"looks like there's some trouble in paradise, huh?" sean then shifts his eyes out of the room, down into the even more crowded foyer and kitchen. matthew's eyes can't help but follow, landing upon his roommate, and another teammate of his, lucas.

but he's not alone—you're with him. matthew swallows roughly, eyes narrowing at the sight of you. he watches as lucas grabs your face, stroking the highest part of your cheek with his calloused thumb. there's a few rushed words exchanged between you, ones that matthew has no chance of hearing over the bustling party.

sean continues, rubbing his hand over his stubble. "what do you think they're fighting about?"

matthew watches as you dodge his friends kiss, your expression full of exhaustion and annoyance. he looks away from you, eyes finding sean's deep chocolate ones  "probably something lucas started."

sean snorts. "probably—dude doesn't know what he's got."

matthew hums dismissively, taking an aggressive sip from his beer bottle. the tangy liquid fizzles against his tastebuds, the alcohol already making him feel lighter. he can't help the way his eyes find you again, watching the tail end of whatever argument you'd been in the midst of.

lucas pulls off you, a tiny roll of his eyes. but he wraps his arm around you again, pulling you further into the house and in the direction of the living room.

at the sight of lucas, a few of the guys get distracted, attention pulled from gabe and his ridiculous performance—all of them hollering in the blondes direction. the smile comes easy, and he releases you in favour of greeting everyone, bringing them into a side hug before slapping the muscle on their back.

you do your best to plaster on a smile as a couple of the guys girlfriends greet you warmly—madison, you closest WAG friend squeezes your arm from the couch beside you. you briefly wonder if she's seen the tiff you've just had with lucas.

but no, you can't think like that, if you do it'll just make you more anxious than usual. you gently shake your head, snapping yourself out of your own pity. you stand awkwardly beside the couch while lucas completely disappears into his friends, cheering and laughing as they all talk about their latest win. you blink again, this time to hold back unshed tears.

"hey girl, you wanna sit down?" another one of the wags asks you, her gentle, honey laced voice filtering through the noisy room. "you look a little out of it."

you laugh gently, blinking rapidly. "I don't think there's anywhere to sit." your words stem from truth, and as you glance around the collection of mangled, worn leather couches and stained lazy boys, the space is limited. you desperately wish lucas was a doting boyfriend—pulling you into his lap and pressing a reassuring kiss against the junction of your neck.

"you can sit here." his voice cuts through the air like a knife, sending a usual shiver through your body. you hadn't even realized matthew knies was here—but you should've suspected it when you didn't hear his usual rerun of new girl in his and lucas' shared apartment.

your eyes flicker to his, and then towards the sliver of space between him and sean. the couch is most definitely sticky, and the foam is practically spilling out the cushion—the sight has you squirming. parties have never been your thing, and you've never been one to be overly social—much preferring the silence and comfortability of your own space. if you were to go out on your own terms, you'd often opt for local bars or eateries, which usually provide a more relaxed and tone downed party atmosphere.

but lucas likes frats—so here you are. your eyes find matthew's again, and immediately you're feeling a familiar pull in your chest—one that always seems to tug in the presence of your boyfriends best friend. it's not that you hated matthew knies...it's just....he is one of your least favourite people to be around.

you're not sure when it started, but the combination of his cocky attitude and the way he seemed to always be pushing your buttons with that stupid smirk on his face, just has your blood boiling.

and you really try your best to ignore him, but as soon as his pestering starts, you just can't help but bite back.

he's looking at you with that slinky pull to his plump lips, likes he's expecting you to decline his offer and just turn tail and leave—which you are desperately trying not to do.

matthew's one eyebrow raises, almost like a challenge. "you scared or somethin', y/l/n?" he takes a slow sip of his beer, adam's apple bobbing roughly under his clean shaven throat. he licks his lips, catching the lingering liquid. "I dont bite."

the use of your last name—how it so easily slips through his lips like a song—has you biting down, your teeth practically cracking under the intense pressure. all your earlier irritation has been quickly redirected to matthew, and you eye him pointedly. "doubtful."

his smirk widens.

you shoot a glance towards lucas, but to your disappointment he still hasn't realized you're standing alone—sitting comfortably between teammates and sipping from a mysterious seltzer can. slowly, you look back towards matthew, who's grin has yet to falter.

he pats the space between himself and sean, two slaps against the leather as he wordlessly invites you over.

you can't help the way your eyes roll.

sean watches the entire ordeal like a damn soap-opera, eyes darting between you and his friend next to him—hiding his amused smile behind the neck of his beer bottle.

with a gentle sigh, you make your way towards them, wordlessly taking a seat between the two athletes with an awkward cough. immediately you're warm, the combination of the crowded house and being squished between two large men sending you into a heat flash.

although, matthew may be more of a boy than a man, but you digress.

"want a drink?" he asks you—the smirk evident simply in his tone. your eyes dart to the side, finding his flushed face.

"of what?" you question sharply.

his brows raise in amusement. "anything you want." matthew laughs once, a breathy sound that has you squinting. "there's lots of options—this is a party, y/l/n."

there's that nickname again—the condescending tone dripping from his tongue as he calls you by your last name. you grit your teeth, "that's not my name."

"I mean...It is." his eyes flicker with something you don't recognize, lip twitching as his smile widens. "you're always so wound up."

you stiffen, and you can hear sean hiss quietly beside you. matthew's looking as smug as ever, fiddling with the damp, shredded label of his drink. you let out a scoff, "no i'm not—you're just annoying."

"sure." he nods condescendingly just as he lifts the neck of his bottle back towards his mouth, plump lips expertly caressing the opening and tipping the liquid into his mouth.

you watch him move—your bubbling annoyance clear. you watch behind the rim of the bottle as his smirk returns, and that has you blinking, quickly averting your gaze. "don't you have other people to bother?"

you hear his beer hit the table as he places it down, clearly done with it. "am I bothering you?" matthew chooses to avoid your question, like usual, which has you rolling your eyes for the umpteenth time.

"I personally find this really entertaining." sean interrupts, leaning closer towards you. a half smile takes over his dark complexion, and he gets further into your space, wide, amused eyes dancing between his teammate and you. "you guys fight like you're a married couple."

you head snaps his his direction so fast you neck muscles tighten up. "what does that mean?"

matthew snickers, which immediately has you attention again. "seriously, have a drink or something — you fucking need one."

"excuse me?" your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you're too far gone to care. you're really not in the mood to deal with your boyfriends best friends cocky personality, or his infuriating mannerisms and ridiculous smirk. "literally what makes you think you can say things like that to me? god, what's crawled up your ass."

"alright, alright," he interrupts, one of his large hands raised in a mock surrender. "just chill out, I'm not trying to ruin your night."

without knowing what else to say in that moment, you look away—eyes pinched and lips held together tightly. you grab sean's half full can of cherry liquor—right out of his loose grip—and down the rest of it.

he makes a noise of protest, but you don't even care. the alcohol already has you feeling better, the affects settling deep in your belly and further warming your exposed skin—you've always been a light weight. you cringe at the flavour, letting the last sip linger on your tastebuds before fully swallowing.

"fuckin jesus, y/n." sean grumbles like he's annoyed, but his eyes tell a different story. "that rilled up huh?"

you turn your back towards matthew, facing sean and his girlfriend completely. the latter is talking intently with another one of the girls—completely oblivious to the tension brewing next her.

matthew's eyes linger on your exposed back, your cream silky top dipping low enough to expose the base of your spine. he tongues his cheek to mask the grin, slowly trailing his eyes back upwards. "you're such a baby." he says knowingly, leaning in close enough that his words tickle your neck. "turnin' your back to me."

without looking at him, you huff. "you're so insufferable." you break composure, turning back in his direction. your irritated expression is still lingering, looking at matthew like you're trying to incinerate him with your eyes. "you suddenly care about me or something?"

"you wish." his response is quick—teasing.

sean snorts, clearly enjoying this much more than you could ever.

"do you seriously think you have that much of an impact on my life?"

"I know I do." matthew laughs. "you're really cranky today."

"and you need to shut the fuck up-"

"alright, you two." sean speaks again, looking almost scared as he eyes the both of you curiously. "better stop before people start getting the wrong idea."

you don't even have the brain capacity to think about what he could mean with that insinuation. you shoot off the couch, "i'm done here anyway." you mumble hastily, immediately making your way across the small living room. you weave your way through the few people standing in the middle of the space, lingering and chatting too enthusiastically for your liking.

the other couch comes into view quickly, and you spot lucas just as fast. your arms are crossed as you walk up to your boyfriend, lips already pulling in a irritated pout. the silk of your top suddenly feels too cold—too exposing—and you just want to go.

"lucas." you get his attention, "I'm going home."

his attention is pulled away from his teammates, eyes flickering over your figure once. "you okay?"

"ask your roommate." you spit. "he's fucking infuriating."

lucas grin, rolling his eyes. "you are so dramatic, babe. just come sit with me."

a couple of his teammates snicker at his words, attempting to cover their amused smirks behind their drinks—but you catch them.

"i'm not dramatic." you start, exasperated. "and no, I'm going home."

he runs a hand over his face. "kay, i'll see you later."

"whatever." you grumble, turning away from your boyfriend. you make your way back through the sticky frat house, narrowly missing the beer spilling over solo cups as drunk university students slosh around, smashing drinks together in cheers.

the early spring chill sends you into a shivering state almost instantly—the night cold stinging your skin harshly. it's only when the noise and echoing bass fade into a dull hum that you start to cry, sluggishly walking down the sidewalk as you continue the short walk to your apartment complex.

thoughts of matthew's snarky remarks and stupid smirk are plaguing your mind—sending you into a flurry of anger and vexation. replaying the interaction in your head has you scoffing out loud, muttering irritatedly like a clinically insane person.

and then there's lucas and his rude dismissal of you—his girlfriend for fucks sake. that and the way his teammates snickered at the brief moment of bickering between you just has you spiraling even deeper.

you close your apartment door louder than you intended, kicking off your shoes quickly.

your roommate, cora, looks up from her spot on the kitchen barstool, slowly slurping her mouthful of cheap ramen noodles with her brows raised in concern. "how was the party?"

all you can muster is a growl, opening to cupboard above the sink in search of a glass. your grab the first one you see, immediately filling it up with absurd flavoured tap water.

she snorts into her bowl, shoving some more noodles into her mouth. "what happened?" she questions between her chews.

you finish the water with a loud gulp, placing the empty glassware on the counter. "matthew happened."

his name alone makes cora roll her eyes, but there's a tiny grin that she can't even hide. your roommate is well used to the hostility that lingers between you and your down the hall neighbour. "just ignore him."

it's something that's been said by cora hundreds of times—it seems that anytime you're with lucas, you're coming back with a scowl and a new story about his roommate instead. "you know he only messes with you because you give him a good reaction."

you huff, stealing the fork out of cora's bowl and serving yourself a bite of her beef favoured noodles. they're not long made, and the heat slightly burns your tongue. you hiss through your teeth, "he's hard to ignore when he's up my ass whispering in my ear about how i'm 'such a baby'" you attempt at lowering you voice to mimick the athletes, and that has her grinning, taking back her fork for another bite.

"you two are so weird." she slurps a noddle noisily, "like there's some weird sexual tension or something."

"cora!" you huff, eyes comically wide as you look at her with nothing short of perplexity.

"what?" she laughs, all but innocent. "he's hot!"

"I have a boyfriend." snatching the utensil again, you twirl the prongs through the lingering food. your face begins to heat up, something that feels like embarrassment crawling at your chest. you clear your throat, praying that cora doesn't catch your burning cheeks as you chew some more food. "besides, even If I was single i'd never date someone so...arrogant."

"whatever you say." cora teases further, tucking herself further under her extra large hoodie. you know your friend is only playing around, and there's no malicious intent with her digs—so you let it slide, even though the mere thought of dating matthew knies has your stomach dropping, making you feel nothing less than nauseous. 

"I need to take these jeans off before I explode." you whine, quickly changing the subject. you already start unbuttoning the denim as you make your way down the hall, rounding into your warmly lit bedroom in search of your favourite pyjamas.

you soon swap your party, beer smelling attire for an oversized, stained hoodie and sleep shorts—throwing your hair back and popping your glasses on. already, you're feeling much more relaxed than when you first got home. "wanna watch an episode of stranger things?" you call through the apartment, already grabbing your throw blanket.

"yeah!" cora calls back, "can you bring me the niall horan blanket from your room?"

you snort a laugh, doubling back to your bed and pulling the fuzzy, 2011 one direction throw into your arms. it's been a staple piece ever since you met cora in your freshman dorm, and you learned your new roommate from wisconsin was just as obsessed with the former boyband as you are.

you make your way back into the living area of the small student apartment, your slippers slapping the floor obnoxiously as you do. "can you grab me a coke?" you ask cora as you pass the kitchen nook.

two knocks interrupt you, the sound echoing through the wooden door that separates your apartment from the hall. you jump slightly, the unexpecting thumping catching you off guard and making your heart leap.

cora eyes the clock—almost 1 a.m. her gaze skips back to you, frozen in place with the fridge wide open. "are you expecting anyone?"

"no." you swallow, making you way to the door. "are you?"

she almost snorts. "definitely not."

skeptical, but curious, you grasp the chipping bronze handle. you're hoping it's lucas—lucas who has hopefully come to his senses and has left the party in favour of giving you an apology. with a gentle shrug, you turn the handle and pull the door open in one swift motion.

matthew is there, leaning against the door frame in all his smug, infuriating glory. at the sight of you opening the door, a small smirk grows on his face, and in that moment you think the universe must be against you—because what the actual fuck.

"hey." he says simply, his stupid smirk growing impossibly wide. "glad to see you're not dead in a ditch." your brows begin to furrow, and he continues — much to your dismay. "saw you leave the party all stompy."

you're almost speechless, at a loss for words as you blink up at him. "it's almost 1."

"very good." he snickers, like he's congratulating you for knowing the time. you want to punch him in the mouth and get rid of that insufferable grin.

"can I like, help you or something?" you question roughly, crossing your arms over your hoodie. it's a bit awkward considering the mountain of blankets in your arms, but you manage. "i'm kind of busy."

matthew peers behind you, looking into your very much empty apartment. he sees cora, still lingering in the kitchen—watching the exchange like it's a SNL skit with a tiny, amused smile on her face.

he meets your hard eyes one again. "I don't think you are, actually." he licks his bottom lip slowly, an action that seems instinctual. "are you going to be neighborly and invite me in? or just keep standing and staring."

a scoff leaves your mouth, but before you can protest, cora speaks up, her cheery voice making your heart drop. "come on in, matthew—don't mind the mess." she kicks some loose shoes out of the way, subtly pushing you to the side as well.

matthew smirks at you again, stepping into the small foyer of your apartment. you tear your gaze away from the tall boy, sending your roommate a slightly panicked look.

she just shrugs, looking back at matthew quickly. "i'll let you two chat—i've gotta get the pillows..and...stuff, from my room."

pillows and stuff? her excuse is just sad, but before you can stop her, cora is turning on her heels, practically skipping down the hall and into her messy bedroom.

now alone, you look back at your boyfriend's friend with raised brows. "so? what is it?"

something flickers across his face, and before you can register it, he sighs. "listen, i've come to say i'm sorry for tonight. I was an asshole."

"an asshole is one way of putting it." you scoff, arms crossing tighter. you pause, eyeing his seemingly sincere expression. with a sigh, you falter slightly, "but thanks."

his smirk is back. "welcome." the formality is mumbled through his plump lips, and you swallow roughly at the lazy grin.

"anything else?" you hum pointedly.

matthew shakes his head. "nope." he reaches behind his broad back, grabbing the doorknob and turning it. "i'll be seeing you around i'm sure."

you watch as he opens the door, the fluorescent lights of the hallway illuminating your dim apartment. you kiss your teeth, a reluctant nod following suit. "oh, i'm sure."

he snickers. "goodnight, y/l/n."

your face falls—a bubble of irritation quickly rising once again. you don't say anything, watching through the corner of your eyes as matthew walks down the hall to his and lucas' shared apartment.

he shoves the key in the lock, and just before he walks inside, matthew shoots you one more stupid smirk that sends your head reeling.

you click your apartment door shut, and as soon as it does, your forehead hits the flat surface, an angry groan leaving your chest.

STAGE 1: Confusion

"can I get three tequila sunrises, please?"

the burly bartender behind the counter sends you a curt nod, turning on his heels as he grabs three empty glasses to begin making your drinks.

the bar is crowded, more crowded than your usual visits, but it is a saturday night and this is the closest place to drink from campus—so it’s business doesn’t come as a shock. you look around the room, eyeing the sea of students and young adults alike—all smiling and dancing together as they down shots and sip their respective drinks.

your eyes find your small table, seeing cora chat happily with your mutual friend, rachel. you'd all been in a deep conversation about your psychology midterm results when you'd slurped up the last bit of your drink—cora already fiddling with the ice cubes at the bottom of her glass.

with a pout from rachel and a plea from your roommate, you slid off the high stool and begin sneaking your way through the bar. you sigh gently, turning your attention back to the busy bar, watching as the bartender works around his co-workers in their hectic environment.

"hey." his voice has you stiffening. slowly, your gaze flickers to your right and that's where you see matthew, leaning against the sticky bar top in his usual stupid way.

you frown, glancing over your opposite shoulder to see if he's talking to somebody that's not you—maybe a teammate or your boyfriend who has magically decided to show up tonight.

matthew snickers. "yeah. i'm talking to you."

you look back at him sharply. "why?"

he shrugs, his index finger tracing one of the raised splits on the wooden bar top. "just saying hi to a friend."

"a friend?" you question, one breathy laugh passing through your stained lips. your gaze turns pointed, looking at matthew with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "we're not friends."

"no?" he hums lightly.

you shake your head once, firmly. "I think you're forgetting how you know me."

"we live in the same apartment complex." his smile has returned at full strength, sending your chest contorting in a way that makes you angry. he's trying to rile you up, you know that by now, and even if you didn't, that grin on his stupid chiseled face gives him away—he's up to no good.

you make a face of faux innocent, mouth falling open to form a small, perfected 'o'. "oh, so that's how you know me?" your face falls, and you grab your wallet off the bar top. your hands are slightly shaky, and definitely clammy due to the adrenaline and irritation running through your veins—it's all so infuriating.

you turn to leave, but matthew's hand encloses around your wrist, stopping you. your head snaps back so fast that for a moment your vision blurs—and you have to blink quickly to clear it.

"c'mon, y/l/n, i'm trying to play nice." his grin falters slightly, looking down at you with a gentle expression.

it makes you even angrier. "well, I don't want you to play nice."

matthew squints playfully, leaning further down into your space. "kinky."

your eyes widen to unfathomable size, and your skin flushes all over. it's exactly the reaction matthew wanted to pull from you, and his eyes twinkle with amusement as he watches your face further contort into an expression of disbelief and frustration.

you take a few shaky, shallow breathes, trying your best to not yank your hand away and high tail out of the bar completely. "I have a boyfriend." despite the firm town of your voice, your words are quiet, only for the two of you to hear.

matthew's brows shoot up. "okay, I don't know how stupid you think I am, but I know you have a boyfriend—I live with him. i'm just being a dick."

you can't help the way your eyes roll. no shit. it's like matthew finally realizes the gentle grip he's still got around your wrist, and he drops your arm rather quickly upon realization. matthew brings his hand back to his side, fingers flexing as he tries to shake off the unknowing sensation. he clears his throat, eyes not leaving yours as he continues. "speaking of, where is lucas? thought you'd be up his ass tonight."

you hesitantly tuck your wallet under your arm, holding it to your side. after all, you're still waiting for drinks, and you're not going to let matthew drive you out of the bar before you can deliver them. "like you said," you huff, "you live with him, so you should've noticed he was home tonight."

matthew's lips drop in a small frown at your words, because no, he doesn't remember seeing lucas after they passed each other on the way to the bathroom that morning.

the tattooed arm of the bartender comes back into your peripheral vision, and he slides theee glasses in your direction. "here's your drinks."

you quickly menover your black wallet back into your hands, pulling out a $20 bill and passing it to the rather attractive tender. "thanks." he nods, tucking the money into his waist apron before turning away, attending to one of the many awaiting customers.

you look back towards the athlete at your side, who still hasn't taken his gaze off of you, and send him a sarcastic smirk. "wish I could say it was nice seeing you matthew, but i've never been a liar." you grab two of the glasses, frowning gently as you realize you can't quite grip the third. you place them down, attempting another time.

"oh wow good one, y/l/n." matthew laughs breathily, watching as you continue to struggle with three, condensation coated glasses. "are you going to ask for help now?"

you snort, "i'd rather eat glass than ask for your help."

you look like a lost puppy—one of the glasses pressed between your arm and boob, and the other one clutched awkwardly in your hand. your fingers barley reach around it, and it looks like a disaster waiting to happen.

"jesus christ, just—" matthew mumbles, reaching towards you and taking both glasses from you. and because he's annoying and has the hands of a giant, he scoops the third glass off the bar, holding the three together.

he looks at you triumphantly, which makes you want to kick him. "must you be so proud?"

"I must." he chimes. matthew finally looks away from you, which has you letting out a breath you hadn't realized you've been harbouring. his eyes filter through the crowd, brows pinched together. "where's your table?"

on cue, cora's distinctive laughter fills the room. "never mind I can hear your roommate." he begins walking in the direction of the table, maneuvering through the room like he owns it—which induces an annoyed eye roll from you. watching the crowd practically part as they see him coming through is even more infuriating.

you follow behind him, trying your best to keep up with his long strides. "her mouth is almost as loud as yours!" you smile with faux enjoyment, looking up at his side.

you merely miss getting bumped by some hammered frat guy, too busy yelling and terribly singing along to the shitty (but addictive) pop music. you miss the glare matthew sends the strangers way before he looks down at you, a smirk on his face. "seems like a match made in heaven then."

"or hell." you hum.

he laughs tauntingly. "don't be jealous."

"why would I be jealous?"

"took you long enough!" cora shouts, teetering on hammered—she's been pregaming since 5.

you watch rachel's eyes trail to your side, and immediately she's lighting up. "oh and you've brought a friend."

"not a friend—just a nuisance."

matthew laughs, too loudly for your liking, brushing past you to step onto the platform where your friends sit. "think that's the nicest thing you've said about me, y/l/n."

if your eyes roll one more time tonight they're surely to get stuck. "don't you have something else to do, knies?"

cora takes the glass from matthew's large hand, batting her lashes up at him like a damn cartoon character. she immediately takes the straw into her mouth, chewing on the plastic. "thank you matthew."

he turns back to you with a smug expression. "see, y/l/n, that's how you're supposed to respond when someone does something nice for you."

"oh well— I can't wait for the day you do something nice for me!" you clap your hands together like an exaggerated cheer, stepping up the the platform as well. you almost bump into his chest, underestimating just how close matthew was.

he just smirks, eyes slowly flickering down your body.

you swallow. "okay, you can go now."

"anything else?" matthew questions, brows raised expectantly.

"what?" you breathe through your teeth.

his smirk grows. "i'm waiting for a thank you."

you exhale through your nose, eyes briefly flickering closed for a passing moment. when they re-open, matthew doesn't falter, if anything he looks even more cheerful. "thanks." you grit out.

"you're so welcome." he shoots you a quick wink, waving goodbye to your friends before he steps off the platform, making his way back to whichever group of loud cronies he'd been with before he started pestering you.

"you two are so ridiculous." rachel laughs into her glass before taking a hearty sip—her eyes not once leaving you.

you whine, taking your original seat next to cora. "i'm one more interaction away from transferring schools."

cora groans loudly. "oh my god."

the conversation thankfully shifts after your dramatic remark, and the rest of the night seemingly goes by in a flash. you actually end up dancing for most of the evening, sandwiched between cora and rachel as you all scream song lyrics and laugh with one another. it's nice and refreshing—thankfully taking your mind of him.

you end up feeling more tired than you expected soon after, the combination of drinking, dancing and being at school since 10 that morning is taking its toll on you. "i'm gunna head out." you tell cora, leaning in close so she can hear you over the bassy one direction throwback.

"what?" she pouts, her hazy eyes wide. "I don't want you to go!"

you laugh gently, accepting the hug as she throws herself at you—stumbling over her own two feet in the process. "i'm tired." you admit. "do you and rachel wanna come with me?"

"no! the night is still young." cora looks at you like you're crazy for even suggesting that.

"okay party animals." you bid another goodbye to both of your friends, ordering and uber for yourself before stepping outside. you're hoping the chilled air will sober you up a little bit—because the last thing you need is to fall asleep in an uber, or worse, get sick.

you sigh gently, swaying on your feet as you stand outside the bustling bar. strangers and traffic are steady, providing a surprisingly comforting atmosphere.

the door creaks open behind you, the inside chaos growing louder for a split second until the threshold is closed once more. instinctively, you glance over your shoulder, and the sight has you groaning. the universe must be praying on your downfall, because there he is. "seriously? are you stalking me or something?"

matthew's brows raise, his hands shoved in his jean pockets as he walks towards you. "that doesn't even make sense—you've already seen me tonight…”

his words have you scoffing, and you turn your head away from him as you grumble frustratedly. "fucking...whatever."

he doesn't respond immediately, and the night life is the only sounds heard. ever impatiently, you check the uber app again, praying your ride is almost here—but they're still 5 minutes out.

"where are your friends?" matthew's voice interrupts your peace.

"why?" you question with hesitance, your glare pointed as you look towards him.

he laughs briefly, although it sounds more like a scoff. "god, you're so tightly wound! i'm just trying to make conversation."

you're taken aback for a moment, blinking quickly as you take in his words. with a quiet, irritated sigh, you look away from him once again. "you really don't need to."

you peer down the road, praying you see the uber that somehow has magically sped through time. matthew scoffs again. "why don't you like me?"

"besides the obvious?" you question condescendingly, eyes not leaving the road in front of you.

"sure, besides the obvious."

you spin on your heels, which in hindsight isn't the smartest decision because your stumbling dangerously. matthew's eyes widen in concern for a moment, but you catch yourself before he has the chance to reach out. you eye his flexing hands with anger, a grumble leaving your stained lips. "you're just, ugh! insufferable."

his brows raise. "i'm insufferable?"

you nod. "yes."

"really?"

"yes, matthew! god this, what you're doing right now is quite literally the definition of insufferable. like, if you looked up the definition a video of this interaction would play." you breathe roughly, gesturing between the two of you like a crazy person. at some point during your rant, you'd stepped closer to him—close enough that you have to tilt your head back to properly look at him.

matthew's lips slowly contorts into a smirk, one that sends your blood boiling. "you're such a nerd ."

you laugh in disbelief. "que the insults!"

his eyes change then, his smirk dissolving as a more serious and intense expression takes over his face. matthew licks onto his bottom lip, gaze pointed. "it's wasn't an insult."

your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you watch him…watch you. before you can say anything—do anything—the sound of tires screeching to the curb has you pulling away.

the passenger window rolls down, and a middle aged man come into sight. "uber for y/n?"

"yeah, that's me." you say quickly, walking away from matthew as fast as your feet allow you, and practically jumping into the running car, as soon as the seatbelt is clicked into place, the uber is moving, sending you falling back against the seat.

you watch through the window as matthew looks at the retreating car—not talking his eyes off the vehicle until you're nothing but a set of break lights in the distance. you swallow roughly, blinking away the flurry of emotions pulling and pushing at your chest.

STAGE 2: Shifting

almost a week has passed since your...interesting? annoying? pointless? conversation with matthew outside the bar, and you thankfully haven't seen him since.

which is surprising considering you've been at his apartment almost every night with lucas. as much as you hate to admit it, and as much as it makes you angry, you were curious about his whereabouts. anytime you'd been cuddling with lucas on the couch, watching some shitty show he liked—your mind would wander, and anytime there'd be any noise in the hall, you'd wonder if it was him.

where was he? what's was he doing? is he avoiding you? but no, because matthew loves pissing you off too much to just avoid you...right?

you curse yourself everytime matthew pops into your mind, quickly distracting yourself with whatever task you could get your hands on. like right now, ruffling through the snack display on top of the counter at work.

the arena is extra cold today, and as your arms touch the metal basket containing the various chips and crackers, you shiver—not even the team branded zip up around your torso is helping.

"y/n," the floor manager, jason pops into the booth. "we need some more pineapple. can you get some from the players kitchen please? just the frozen stuff for smoothies." his voice is hopeful, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

you sigh gently, kissing your teeth as you turn to look at him. "sure."

he smiles in your direction, but just before he leaves, jason doubles back. "oh! and a few protein bars, i'm starving."

"sure." you nod curtly.

"and while you're there, grab me a green juice?" this time at least jason manages to look somewhat guilty, his grin almost doubtful.

you almost find it amusing, and you raise your brows as so. "why not."

jason cheers. "you're the best."

with that you make your way out of the room, not fully shutting the door behind yourself as you know your arms will be too full to use a handle when you come back. the walk to the players section of the facility isn't a long one, and it's only a few minutes until you're entering the 'smoothie room' — as you like to call it.

it's always in pristine condition, and you almost feel guilty for simply breathing in there. quickly, you grab everything you need from the room, including the bag you'd filled with frozen pineapple and some nasty smelling green drink for jason.

with your arms full, you leave the room and begin making your way back to the snack bar. you round the corner into the most open part of the corridor, expect this time it's not empty, and around 10 of the guys have started kicking the ball around—a pre-game warmup that a lot of them liked to participate in.

you plan to just sneak through, keep your head down and try to not too badly interrupt the ritual—for lack of a better word. timidly, you begin making your way towards the rowdy group, eyes focused as their voices get closer and closer.

the sound of the soccer ball smacking against the wall has you freezing, and before you know it the inflated ball is soaring towards you. you don’t have a chance to react, and it hits you right in the chest, sending everything you'd been previously holding scattering to the floor.

embarrassed and irritated, you sigh, crouching down as you begin to attempt and salvage the mess at your feet. an all too familiar pair of running shoes appear in your vision, coming to a squeaky stop as they approach. "damn, you alright?"

you look up, squinting from the glow of the fluorescent lights lining the corridors. like you thought, it's matthew. his expression almost resembles one of concern, which has you pulling a disgruntled face.

he's slightly breathless, running around and kicking a soccer ball at you must be the cause. he's alive, you think reluctantly.

you look away from him, grabbing the two bottles of green juice and tucking them under your arm. thankfully, neither plastic bottle cracked when they hit the tile.

he sighs roughly, and you can practically hear the roll of his eyes. matthew slowly bends down as well, grabbing the astray protein bars from the ground. "good talk." he mutters condescendingly.

your eyes dart up, a scoff tumbling past your lips. the audacity of matthew to be annoyed with you is just beyond comprehension. "sorry i'm not in the mood for small talk with you matthew after you just kicked the ball at my chest—i'm going to have to throw this fruit out now, thanks."

the pineapple is a wet, spilled mess across the floor. the bag had split when it dropped, and the ball has smooshed the fruit as it fell with it. you're not even sure what to do about the mess—looking at it hopelessly.

"I didn't kick anything at you, but sure it's my fault." he grumbles, looking at you once again.

"really? then who did?" you tone is dripping with doubt, looking at matthew with nothing but exasperation.

"ask your perfect little boyfriend." matthew immediately looks like he regrets his words, eyes widening momentarily before his gaze darts away from your face.

"my perfect little boyfriend who's also your friend?" you scoff.  "god, touch some grass matthew." you know it's a terrible rebuke, and the way matthew smirks in disbelief following your insult has you feeling even more irritated with your choice of comeback.

you don't dwell on it much longer as the sound of somebody else approaching you both captures your attention. you look up just as lucas joins you, standing behind matthew with a tiny grin. "hey! babe you okay?"

you stand up, clutching the drinks to your chest. "fine." you nod.

lucas smiles again, moving to wrap you in a hug. it’s awkward, with your arms pushed against your chest and the green juice pressing into your boob uncomfortably. he kisses your head quickly. "sorry, we were all just messing around and I didn't see you."

your face falls, and you pull back from your boyfriend. "it was you?"

"yeah." he repeats, looking anything but guilty. "said I was sorry."

you unwrap yourself from his hug, stepping back. the whole conversation with your boyfriend has rubbed you the wrong way, and even if he didn't mean to kick you with the ball, his apology wasn't enough of a sincere gesture as you would expect from someone who supposedly loves you.

"I gotta get back." you say quietly, eyes downcast as you further back away from your boyfriend. instinctively, your eyes flicker towards matthew's tall stature. you both hold eye contact for a moment, unknown words lingering in the air between you.

you blink, picking up pace as you walk through the hall.

jason beams as he spots the pile of protein bars in your hands, taking two along with his green juice before skipping out the room. trying to shake off the weird feeling from the interaction with matthew in the corridor, you get back to work, organizing the fridge in preparation for tonight's game—you know how much the minnesota students love their alanis, and you need to make sure that fridge is fully stalked.

there's a good 5 minutes of silence, nothing but you, your thoughts and the loading of the fridge—until there's a knock at the open door.

you look over you shoulder, and there matthew is again. you don't know what to say because you don't know why he's here or what he wants. is he here to gloat? to apologize? to taunt?

matthew takes your silence as an invitation, stepping into the snack booth with a neutral expression. he's still dressed in his sports clothes—a team branded sweatshirt with matching shorts overtop compression pants, completed with his backward basball cap. it oddly suits him, and your stomach drops at the realization of what you've just done.

you kinda sorta checked him out.

"here." matthew interrupts your thoughts, clearly unaware of your wandering eyes and the inner turmoil happening in your brain. he walks further into the room, and that's when you see it—a bag of pineapple clutched in his hand.

in your rush to leave the corridor, you'd completely forgotten to run back and get more fruit.

"where do you want me to put it?" he questions.

"uh," you hum lightly, eyes moving around the room for some available space. it's kind of a mess in here, and you really need to get your shit together before you open. "just beside the coffee machine for now."

matthew does what you ask, putting the frozen ziploc beside the kureig on the side counter. he doesn't say anything else, and walks out the room without so much a second glance in your direction.

you bite your inner lip, knawing the soft skin as you blink furiously— trying to collect your whirlwind of thoughts. above all, you're angry. angry that you were hit with a ball, angry that matthew was right about who kicked it, angry that lucas gave you a shit apology, and that matthew didn't even attempt to annoy you when he'd brought you the pineapple.

—

lucas presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, pulling you into his chest on the outskirts of the lit up courtyard. around you is busy, lingering students and staff members alike chat and walk through the space with an upbeat pace.

every year since you've been attending the university of minnesota, the hockey team and staff members would host a barbecue and movie night in the schools courtyard. it was always an amazing turnout, and for only $5 dollars to get in and get something to eat and watch a throwback film (this year being freaky friday), it was quite the rage. plus, the money went to a fundraiser that helped public schools in the area have breakfast. so it’s a win win.

so not only do you go with the intent of supporting the youth of neighbouring schools, but your boyfriend is one of the co-organizers of the event. so of course you show your face.

which brings you back to the current moment, pouting up at lucas with the best puppy-dog eyes you can manage. lucas sighs gently, running his hands over your jean jacket covered arms. "don't give me that look."

you don't let up, but your lips begin to form into a grin. "what look?"

"the look you're doing right now." he laughs once, squeezing your biceps tightly. "you know I have to be all over the place, babe. I can't just stand with you."

your exaggerated, playful pout quickly changes into a real frown—even though you don't want to show that emotion. because lucas is one of the co-organizers of the event, he's got lots of duties to attend to while the event is happening. so although you're technically here to spend time with your boyfriend, you'll barley get to see him.

plus, cora is sick and had no choice but to stay back at the apartment and watch re-runs of friends, and rachel wouldn't be able to come until the movie starts—coinciding with when her shift at work ends.

"I know but..." you trial off, taking your bottom lip into your mouth anxiously. you've never been a huge fan of crowds—especially when it's tightly gathered in a confined space—and the idea of having to be alone right now is rather daunting. "can't I just help you? like just go with you?"

lucas sighs again, eyes flickering out to the crowd around you. the smell of cheap burgers and hotdogs are already filtering through the air, providing the most perfect early spring atmosphere for the evening. he meets your eyes once more, "it just won't work like that. hey, you'll be okay."

he kisses your cheek, doing his best to reassure you, but you still feel down. "right, okay."

"get yourself a drink and just chill—i'll find you when I can, okay?"

you send him a closed mouth smile, breathing through your nose in a gentle exhale. "okay."

with that he turns away, quickly moving through the lingering crowd as he makes his way into the courtyard. you huff lightly, looking around the sea of people to see if you recognize anyone—literally anyone you can stick with until rachel gets there. but nobody is there.

you eventually follow the crowd, entering the lit-up courtyard. it's decorated in various streamers and balloons representing school colours, along with a spread of beanbags and camping chairs set up for the movie. it looks really good, and even though it's not the warmest temperature due to the night sky, the collection of bodies and decor have the place feeling cozy.

you spot a long table through students, full of what seems to be drinks—various waters, juice and sodas lining the gray fold away surface. you sneak your way through, eyeing the options before inevitably deciding on water. caffeine will just make you anxious, and your favourite juice flavour wasn't an option.

in your peripheral vision, you see a member of the hockey team standing on the other side the table—presumably keeping track of beverages and taking payments. without properly looking up you begin shuffling through your clutch, "how much for the water?"

"it's free."

the all too familiar and cocky voice of matthew knies has you freezing. slowly, your eyes creep upwards, only to be met with the light eyes of his. he'd been the hockey player in your peripheral, and you curse yourself for not noticing sooner.

his brows raise, anticipating a snarky remark. but much to his dismay you turn away, walking back through the crowd and away from him.

he turns to mitchell, one of his teammates, patting his shoulder quickly. "mind watching the table for a sec—gotta do something." matthew doesn't even wait for a response before he's following you, easily making his way between the bodies crowded around.

matthew catches sight of you off to the side, seemingly unaware that he’s hot on your trail. he approaches you swiftly, getting your attention as he speaks. "you're like really bad at the whole socialization thing."

your eyes widen briefly, watching as he casually leans against the nearest table.

"maybe I just don't want to socialize with you." you retort, eyeing him pointedly before taking a slow sip from your water bottle.

matthew smirks. "that's mean."

"don't care." you answer, looking back out into the yard.

a beat passes. "you come alone?" matthew questions, seemingly curious.

you cross your arms. "sort of."

"sort of?" matthew parrots, eyes briefly scanning the crowd. "what's does sort of mean?"

you look at him again. "well I came with lucas, but he's busy so now i'm here...with you." the last part has you pulling a face, scrunching your noise is displeasure.

he snorts. "don't pretend like you don't enjoy my company."

"enjoying isn't quite the word i'd use to describe how I feel about you and your company." you retort lightly, brows pulling tightly.

matthew sucks his bottom lip, containing his grin. "okay, so why aren't you mingling? this is supposed to be a event of socializing."

"I'm not a fan of mingling." you tell him earnestly, clearing your throat in a moment of venerability. "or crowds. besides the fundraiser, I only come for lucas."

"yeah crowds aren't for everyone." matthew's genuine tone has you taken back, and you eye with an almost shock like gaze. "sorry that you're dealing with it alone."

you feel weird—why does the sincerity in his voice make you tingly? "well," you begin. "i'm not alone because you've insisted on coming over here to annoy me."

his smirk is back. "it is my specialty."

you laugh a real laugh, a very brief moment of quiet joy that takes you by surprise. the way his eyes twinkle and smirk widens at the sound of your giggle goes unnoticed by you.

"babe." lucas voice calls out, jogging up to you and matthew. "hey." he greets, pulling you into his side and kissing your temple. "I got a minute, thought i'd see what you were up to." his eyes flicker to matthew's. "see you've found a friend."

matthew's eyes don't leave you, waiting and watching for your reaction to your boyfriends words. you swallow gently, "he was just keeping me company."

"she's not a fan of crowds—thought i'd take a few minutes from work to make sure she's settled." this time when matthew speaks, he's only looking at lucas, and you don't miss the underlying message in his words.

lucas seems oblivious to the hostility underlying his teammates admission, a smile overtaking his face. "anyways, I gotta get back. gunner was telling me about this new club out on main—i'll catch you guys later."

as soon as your boyfriend is out of ear shot, you send matthew a furious glare. "what was that?"

"what was what?" he questions innocently, eyes yet to meet yours again.

"i'm not stupid, matthew, you were trying to..I don't know? like one up lucas by insinuating he's a bad boyfriend for not spending time with me. what the fuck." you spit angrily, gaze tinted with fury.

"I'm not insinuating anything, i'm simply just calling it as I see it." matthew retorts.

you breath a shocked laugh. "what the fuck is wrong with you? you're lucky he didn't catch on to your stupid little coded message." you take a breath, arms tightening over your chest. "he's your friend—why are you trying to ruin that?"

matthew takes a step towards you. "like I said, i'm just calling it as I see it."

"bullshit." you chime. "what's it to you that lucas is busy tonight and he's not able to spend time with me? seriously."

his brows raise, an amused expression on his face. he knows he shouldn’t argue with you, especially when what he wants to say will only further upset you—but he can’t help himself. "he's too busy to spend time with you, yeah? but tell me why we're in the same job position and I haven't left your side since I saw you. so call whatever you want bullshit, but the real bullshit is the guy standing next to his teammate doing absolutely nothing but making you look stupid."

matthew's words have you pulling back, face faltering. you feel emotion clawing at your chest, flushing your skin a rosey pink as the embarrassment and anger about the situation hits you all at once.

his face flashes with remorse, looking down at you with a lingering guilty gaze. his mouth opens slightly, as if to speak—but nothing comes out.

"fuck you." you hiss quietly before turning on your heels and leaving. everything in your body feels like it's on fire, walking through the courtyard with a determination you didn't even realized you had. you can feel matthew's eyes boring into your retreating figure, but you don't dare turn around and look.

he's right—god, he's fucking right. matthew not only calling out your boyfriends shitty behaviour but your obliviousness to the truth about the situation, stings you hard, and you didn't know what else to say or how to react besides the way you did.

you’re even angrier about the fact that even within the little attention matthew had given you tonight, was more than lucas had all day—and the time matthew spent at your side in the bustling courtyard, had your anxiety about the crowds fizzling.

STAGE 3: Denial

the sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the polished wood of a court has always been one of your least favourite things. it's a high pitched, constant sound that has you cringing every time.

you eyes flicker up towards the scoreboard—it's almost half time. it's a relief, and you are almost giddy at the fact that the stupid squeaking while be on a momentary pause.

lucas squeezes your thigh, right over your jeans. you look over at his gently, met with the sight of his curious grin. "what's up babe?"

you shrug, "just watching the timberdogs!"

"it's the timberwolves." he corrects you, eyes twinkling with amusement. you laugh it off, looking back out into the basketball court, eyes following the players as they zip back and forth on the length of the floor.

lucas' dad has always been super into basketball—like more that the average person. he's got a room in his childhood home that's designed to resemble the minnesota timberwolves court, as well as a plethora of jerseys and seasons tickets for every year.

you're not sure why his dad couldn't make it to this game—lucas had told you in the car on the way to the game but you'd been too distracted with everything else going on inside the vehicle to truly pay attention. maybe he was sick? it also could've had something to do with his car breaking down? you don't recall—but regardless, the tickets weren't being used, and they were offered to lucas.

you assumed it was just two—because lucas didn't have any siblings, and you would think it was just his parents attending these games. but no, there's four tickets, because it was always a group of 50 year old men attending together.

so what you hoped was a date night between you quickly turned into a little group outing with your respective roommates. which wouldn't of been such a problem if you weren't still reeling about the last conversation you had with matthew—in the courtyard when he practically called out your entire relationship.

the reminder makes you shift in your chair, angling yourself away from matthew even further. you can hear him sigh to himself, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as his leg bounces up and down with a feverish pace.

it's annoying—more than the shoes on the court. you huff, turning to look at him. "can you stop moving, it's distracting."

he turns to his head. "how is it distracting?"

"i'm trying to watch the game." you retort.

matthew's brows raise incredulously. "you've been watching anything but the game since it started."

"that's not true." it is true, and his call out has you feeling even more infuriated than when you first got to the arena. "I love basketball."

"sure you do." he nods, unconvinced. "instead of watching me then, get back to watching your timberdogs." matthew messes up the name of the NBA team on purpose, teasing you with your own fuck-up.

you huff. "you are so-" the sound of the buzzer echoing loudly throughout the court silences you, whatever insult you'd been conjuring up dying on your tongue. the players begin filling off the court as halftime begins, leaving the crowd to begin freely moving and walking throughout the stands and hallways—replenishing snacks and/or drinks.

on the opposite side of matthew, cora leans forward, looking at you with wide eyes. "hey! i'm going to get another coke. do you want one?" her voice is loud, and even still it's barley heard over the rowdy crowd.

"yes please." you smile. your roommate nods in understanding before getting up, making her way down the row of seats before disappearing out of sight—leaving you with only lucas and matthew.

matthew snickers—mostly to himself—eyes downcast as he fiddles with a loose thread on the knee rip of his jeans. "didn't think you were capable of such manners."

"didn't think you were capable of such big words! woah, i'm impressed." your face falls, words dripping with sarcasm as your annoyance builds higher and higher.

you shoot a look towards lucas, but are only met with the sight of him engaged in his phone—playing fucking candy crush of all things—completely unaware of the tension rising between you and his friend.

"of course your impressed." matthew insists, "everything I do impresses you."

the lingering crowd around you seems even more roudy than before, but your too enthralled with matthew to even look away and glance around. despite the noise, you can hear him fine—too fine, if you're getting specific. 

your mouth drops, a tiny puff of disbelieved laughter leaving you. "oh so we're back on the 'y/n is obsessed with matthew train.'"

matthew slowly leans closer to you, his elbow nudging yours on the tiny shared armrest between your seats. his cologne invades your space—something clean like fresh laundry mixed with a spicy cinnamon. it's almost intoxicating, and you're left frozen in place.

"we never got off that train." his words are dripping with a teasing undertone, licking his bottom lip slowly.

a hand nudges matthew shoulder from the row of seats behind yours—gathering his attention. curious, you turn as well, finding a guy seemingly only a few years older than you, looking down at you both with a sheepish grin. "you guys are on the jumbotron."

both your heads whip back around, darting up towards the jumbotron hanging from the exposed ceiling of the court. much to your horror, you and matthew are on the screen—the image framed in a heart filter with 'kiss cam' scribbled across the bottom.

you and matthew both flush—although your heat is definitely more visible, trailing down your neck and appearing in splotches over your exposed chest. "no." you say, making a cut off motion beside your neck with your perfectly manicured nails. "we're not together."

it's no use— the jumbotron can't hear your pleas. matthew shakes his head, joining in on your attempt to get the camera off you both. through the screen you see matthew shift his attention to you, which has you whipping around to look at him. his gaze is almost soft—curious, maybe.

suddenly the crowd gets louder, their unison chants echoing through the building. "kiss kiss kiss!"

the commotion finally has lucas looking away from his phone, and at the sight of what's happening in front of him—his face falls. his brows furrow slightly, gaze switching between the jumbotron and the both of you—staring at one another.

lucas quickly grabs your face, turning you away from his roommate and planting a messy kiss on your lips. your eyes widen slightly, but eventually flutter closed—allowing your boyfriend to move his lips along yours.

matthew swallows roughly, looking away and back towards the screen. the camera has since shifted, showcasing you and lucas in the last lingering moments of the bruising kiss. the crowd cheers, but as soon as you pull away from him, the couple on the jumbotron changes.

lucas expression shifts, lips pulling into a frown as he pulls away from you—his hand quickly retreating back into his lap. "why didn't you nudge me?"

your mouth open and closed quickly, "I-I don't know."

"you don't know?" lucas's tone is quite, but firm, clearly unhappy with the situation that just transpired—even though nothing really happened.

you shrug, and blush once again, but this time is purely from embarrassment about the scolding from your boyfriend. "no, the crowd was looking and I just, I tried to say no but the camera wasn't hearing me. are you seriously mad at me?"

your eyes quickly flicker around the immediate area, making sure nobody is outwardly eavesdropping on your hushed argument.

"should I be?" lucas retorts, pulling your attention back to him. he's looking at you curiously, tinged with something that seems like hope as he waits for your response.

you swallow roughly, once shake of your head following. "no."

lucas exhales shakily, the corner of his mouth sliding into a grin. "okay," he mumbles, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "then i'm not mad."

you allow yourself lean into him easily, but your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and a million unknown feelings, and when you try and even begin to understand them, you're just left more confused.

the crowd begins filtering back into the arena, finding their original seats as the halftime clock begins winding down—the third quarter approaching quickly. cora comes back down the isle, squeezing past outstretched legs as small apologies spew past her lips.

you catch her eye, and her smile grows. "a coke for you." the posh, royal tone she often uses comes to a slow halt, passing you your drink as she eyes your somber expression.

you take the plastic cup. "thanks."

cora gives you a knowing look—one that says your sudden shift in mood will be discussed later in the comfort of your shared apartment. you're not sure why you're dreading that so much.

just as the buzzer sounds throughout the arena again, signaling the resumption of the game, your eyes flicker back towards matthew again. his jaw is tight, and you can see the tendons moving under his skin as he grinds his teeth together. matthew's leg is bouncing again, faster than before—his gaze locked on the court.

it's a longer glance than you intended, but you can't help yourself—something inside you is unwilling to look away.

that dreadful noise of shoes on the polished floor pulls you away, your nose scrunching as you inwardly cringe at the sound.

quickly, matthew's eyes flicker to you—only to be met with the side of your face. he watches gently as your face drops from the previous tight pull, your smooth skin stretching over your perfectly shaped nose.

the puffiness of your lips and the lingering blush on your cheeks, and the way your hair cascades down your back in the most delicate blowout...matthew can't help the way the faintest grin ghosts over his face.

the rest of the game thankfully goes by quickly, and before you know it you're all back in lucas’ car, making the drive back to your apartment located near campus. thankfully cora and lucas fill the lingering silence with pointless conversation—you and matthew only chiming in when necessary.

you don't know what exactly happened, but you know something has shifted. you don't know what it means, or what will happen because of it—and that has you feeling really weird.

as soon as you're back in the comfort of your own apartment, cora smacks her purse down on the counter, gathering your attention with the harsh sound. "what's going on with you?"

your shoulder deflate. "I don't know."

she frowns, walking further into the apartment where you've decided to flop dramatically on the couch. your pants pull uncomfortably around your waist, and the button is digging into your belly pouch like nobodies business.

cora sits down beside you, facing you with curious eyes. "did something happen at the game? it felt like when I went to get the drinks, I missed something."

"I was on the kiss cam." you breathe.

"okay?"

"with matthew."

"oh." she is momentarily taken back, blinking three times quick as she digests your words. cora is very much used to your and matthew's supposed hatred for one another, even though she's never believed it. but the look on your face at the game isn't adding up to just 'being on the kiss cam with matthew'.

cora's brows pull tightly, creating a deep wrinkle between them. "what else happened?"

"I think," you start, voice dropping as if you weren't the only two people in the room. "I think matthew wanted to kiss me."

her eyes widen to an unfathomable size. "what?! how do you know?"

your mouth opens, a sharp breath passing through your lips. "I just....I don't know, there was something about the way he looked at me. am I being crazy?"

instantly cora shakes her head, a gentle frown on her face. "no. the eyes never lie."

your expression droops in a mixture of confusion and fear, eyes beginning to glaze with emotion as you look at cora.

she continues, "and if he tried to kiss you, what would you have done?"

"I don't know." you exhale shakily.

you hear your roommate coo gently, wrapping her arms around you in a much needed hug. your eyes pinch shut, holding onto cora's arm as you continue the embrace.

you are so screwed.

—

how lucas managed to drag you to another loud and obnoxious frat party is honestly beyond you, but there you were—doing your best at mingling and letting loose while lucas was off doing god knows what with his teammates.

rachel thankfully ended up being at the party, and as soon as she ran up to you and made herself known—you didn't leave her side. which in hindsight maybe wasn't the best idea.

you love rachel, truly, but she's never been the best influence—especially when alcohol is involved. one minute your sipping your first seltzer, and the next you're stumbling over, 10 drinks in and screaming chappell roan lyrics like nobodies business.

which means right now you're hammered, sluggishly walking through the busy frat house as you attempt in finding your boyfriend. because drunk you is clingy—and a little horny—and all you want is the warm touch and attention of a man.

unaware, drunk bodies bump into from both sides—too caught up in the party atmosphere to even notice you. it makes the journey a bit harder, but somehow you haven't managed to fall on your ass, so you'll count that as a win.

"y/n?"

the sound of your name has you blinking, looking around the room until you locate the culprit. matthew's hand touches your exposed shoulder, grabbing your attention. his brows pull together, and he bends his knees slightly so he's able to properly look into your eyes. "hey are you with me?"

you blink. "your eyes are like really pretty." a fit of giggles follows your slurred admission, tumbling forward slightly as you clutch your belly.

matthew's hands steady you easily. the combination of your shitty balance and surprisingly playful and kind words tells him all he needs to know about your current state—you're drunk.

"where's lucas?" he asks you, beer can abandoned on a side table beside one of the terribly stained couches lining the makeshift sitting area. matthew eyes you again, "or did you come with cora?"

you shake your head. "cora's a loser and had to work—so here I am."

he can barley understand you due to the slurred, sluggish string of words, but he catches the jist of it. "so you're alone."

"no..." you retort, huffing like you're annoyed. "lucas is here. wait! have you seen him?"

"not for hours." matthew tells you. "I think you need to go home though."

you whine a protest, shaking off the hand he'd still had on your shoulder. matthew isn't having it, and before you can register what's going on, he's grabbing the meat of your biceps, guiding you to the couch before sitting you down.

"hey!" you huff, falling back against the cushions—wow, for a frat couch it's really comfortable.

"i'm going to find lucas, okay? stay here." matthew tells you firmly before walking back into the heart of the crowd, on a mission to find your boyfriend. it's actually not a hard task, and he's only looking for a minute or two before he spots lucas—in the back corner with a couple guys from the team and some mystery girls, all laughing and passing around a joint.

"hey," matthew starts firmly, grabbing the groups attention. lucas brows pull, taking a slow drag from the joint resting between two loose fingers.

"lucas man, y/n needs to go home—she's practically black out."

lucas groans, passing off the joint to the blonde girl closest to matthew—the same girl who's been eyeing him since he walked up to the group a few moments ago.

"fuck, man. I forgot she was here."

his word have matthew's jaw ticking, eyes squinting pointedly. "you forgot your girlfriend was here?"

lucas, ever oblivious, doesn't catch the irritation lacing his roommates words, and he only shrugs nonchalantly before taking a hearty sip of beer. he looks at matthew, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. "listen, I'm still having a good time. can you like, take her home?"

matthew can barley hold back a scoff. "seriously?"

"i'd really appreciate it." lucas says. "I can trust you, right?"

that really rubs matthew the wrong way, because what the actual fuck is he even trying to insinuate with that comment. before he can bite his tongue, matthew's anger comes boiling to a point. "yeah, because i'm not some no good boyfriend who's spending his time doing drugs and flirting with 18 year olds while my girlfriend is alone and vulnerable."

lucas blinks, taken back—but matthew doesn't care. matthew sends one more harsh glare towards him before leaving the area, weaving back through the party.

when he reaches you again you're practically sleeping, holding your knees to your chest and using them as a pillow. your face is squished, your blinks slow.

"we're going." matthew tells you, gently nudging your knee.

you groan, lifting your head. "where's lucas?"

"he's not coming."

"oh." you sigh, blinking with unshed emotion. your hair is wild, like you've been sweating and running your fingers through it all night—which you have. and if matthew wasn't so frustrated with his roommate right now, he'd probably tease you about it.

matthew helps you off the couch, wrapping his arm around your waist to provide you with some stability as he guides you both outside.

the fresh air is shocking, sending you into a fit of shivers almost immediately—despite the mid may warmth. thankfully it's not a long walk back to the apartment, and matthew only has to stop with you twice because you claim you're going to throw up—spoiler alert, you don't.

you stumble out the elevator, tripping over your own two feet. matthew grabs the back of your tank top, halting you back up. "okay, slow down."

"but i'm tired." you whine, head falling back dramatically.

"you're gunna be real tired when you smack your face off the ground and end up in the ER." matthew let's go of your shirt, but takes ahold of your wrist, practically pulling you down the hall towards your apartment door.

"I don't want to go to the ER." you tell him, eyes widening with panic.

matthew's almost amused, sending you a small smirk over his shoulder. "okay, then let's get you inside."

"okay." you nod in agreement. thankfully the door is unlocked, because matthew didn't even want to start asking you about the whereabouts of your keys while you're this obliterated.

you sigh happily, kicking off your shoes messily before stumbling through your dark apartment. blindly, matthew finds the switch beside the door, flickering on the overhead light.

as soon as the room becomes illuminated he located you again, lounging half on the couch. he moves towards you, his smirk growing. "that's not your bed."

"it's not?"

he stifles a laugh. "no."

you whine again, head lolling to the side dramatically. "can you take me there?" your arms extend out towards him, resembling a mummy. "please. don't be mean."

matthew gulps gently, but takes ahold of your hands, pulling you back into unstable feet. "i'm not mean." he tells you, letting go of your hands. it proves to be a mistake because your immediately falling backwards.

matthew curses, grabbing you before you hit the couch and pulling you back up. you laugh, feeling very much like a ragdoll. you look up into his eyes, "you are too."

"you're mean too." he says, wrapping an arm around your hips and looping his fingers through your belt loop. he begins walking you both down the hall, "you're the one who calls me names."

you gawk loudly. "i'm only defending myself, matthew."

"whatever you say, y/n." he hums playfully. "which room is yours?"

you tell him that it's the room at the end of the hall, and allow matthew to continue guiding you to your bedroom. he nudges the half open door with hip, opening the threshold completely.

he drops you to the bed, and you go easily, falling against the unmade pile of blankets with a smile on your face. "where are your pyjamas?"

you lazily point towards the tall dresser next to the door. "top drawer."

matthew nods, pulling it open and immediately stifling through the jam packed drawer. he manages to pull out a t-shirt and plaid pants—ones he's seen you wearing at his place before. he tosses the items beside you. "think you can manage that?"

you sit up quickly, a lazy scoff falling past your lips. "yes." you grab onto the pyjamas, and before anything else your eyes widen, glancing back to matthew. "turn around."

matthew snickers at your tone—obviously he was going to turn around, but seeing you get so worked up over it has him left amused. he turns on his feet, broad back facing you as he looks into the dark hallway—patiently waiting for you to change.

you begin taking off your tight, alcohol sticky clothes, desperate to get into something comfortable and climb under the blankets. you lift your shirt over your head, and the momentary lack of vision has you stumbling, falling into the chair beside your vanity.

you hear matthew's quiet snicker. "shut up." you grumble, pulling on the pyjama shirt.

"didn't say anything."

"you thought it." you retort. eventually you get into the pants as well, and immediately climb into your bed. the sound of your delightful sigh and ruffling sheets have matthew peeking over his shoulder, making sure you were decent.

once he sees that you are in fact dressed, he faces you again. "do you need to be sick?"

you pause, is if you were assessing yourself to find an answer. a beat passes, "don't think so."

he hums doubtfully, walking towards your vanity and taking ahold of your tiny trash bin sitting underneath. you'd emptied it that morning, so there was nothing but a makeup wipe and a few q-tips in the bottom from when you'd gotten ready. matthew puts it beside your bed. "just in case you're lying."

"excuse me," you huff, squinting pointedly. "I don't lie."

he ignores you, picking up the stuffed zebra sitting on your bed, wedged between the pillow and the headboard. matthew snorts, examining the matted fur and scratched button eyes of your most prized possession. "awh, who's this little guy?"

you push up, snatching your zebra from his hands and bringing it to your chest. "don't touch ross with your filthy hands."

"his name is ross?" matthew snickers as you cuddle the stuffed animal, rubbing your cheek against the top of its head.

you nod. "yes."

"cute." he hums.

your eyes feel heavy with sleep, and it has you falling back towards the pillows, your beloved ross smooshed against your face. matthew swallows gently, watching the way your breath begins to even out and your blinks become slower.

"goodnight, y/n." he whispers.

matthew walks out your room, slowly shutting the door behind him—but just before the latch click, you mumble his name. it has him pausing, slowly pushing the door open once more.

you're looking towards the door lazily. "can you stay with me.”

matthew's face falls, swallowing roughly at the sight of you—laid out on your bed, completely relaxed and pretty. you don't even know what you do to him, and it drives him insane. he sighs. "no. I can't."

you pout, a breathy wind blowing past your dry lips. "pleaseee...lucas never stays with me."

the mention of your boyfriend has matthew scoffing, the conversation they'd had earlier coming back to him in a angry wave. "lucas is a dick."

he's expecting your to scold him, so matthew is surprised when your gentle giggles float through the room. "such a dick." you slur in agreement.

a moment passes, and your quiet giggles slowly die. wordlessly, your hand comes out fromunder the covers and pats the spot beside you—inviting him on your bed.

matthew's breath hitches, but he doesn't walk away. matthew softly shuts the door before walking back through your room, stepping over stray shoes and your discarded party clothes on the way to your bed.

"I don't bite." you grin teasingly.

matthew can't help the smirk that makes its way onto his face. "doubt it."

your smile mimics his, and that has matthew getting onto your bed, sitting atop the covers and leaning his upper body against your plush headboard.

it's only a few more minutes before your gentle snoring is heard throughout the room, a tell tale sign that you've fallen into a deep sleep. matthew watches you for a moment, letting the peace linger between you—a peace that has never been between you before.

matthew's eyes begin to feel heavy, and before he knows it, your soft snores are lulling him to sleep.

STAGE 4: Ignorance

when you woke up the following morning, you were in a state of confusion, still dealing with the lingering affects of alcohol and trying to re-collect your memories from the night before.

with a groan, you got out of bed, shuffling down the hall and into the living room. thankfully, cora is still sleeping after he late night shift—so you're in complete silence as you pour yourself a hefty glass of ice water.

it comes back to you in flashes, each blurry memory worse than the last—rachel convincing you to have another drink, followed by another, the loosing rachel at the party and having to walk through the house while hammered. then matthew is bringing you home, without lucas for a reason you don't recall—matthew in your room, changing behind his back, him touching ross...you pleading for him to stay.

your breath hitches—a mixture of embarrassment and hangxiety hitting you at full force. then you feel yourself panic, your stomach dropping. had you even checked beside you this morning? was your boyfriends best friend still in your bed?

you quickly—much quicker than you should be moving when you're that hungover—make your way back down the wall, sheepishly peeking into your bedroom.

he's gone. and that makes you feel worse than before.

you don't see him for the whole day, and then the next day comes and you still don't run into matthew knies. not in the hallway of your apartment building, and certainly not in the elevator. you don't see him at school, or even at the hockey rink. the one time you spend the night at your boyfriends, matthew is nowhere to be found. almost two weeks pass, and you haven't seen him at all.

it's making you anxious, and not only can cora tell—sending you looks of pity anytime you're making dinner together—but lucas can tell something is up with you too.

anytime he'd ask, you'd brush it off with a easy excuse—you're tired, or you have a headache—but it was never believable, and it was becoming repetitive.

did you say something to him? did you do something to him? you're reeling with possibilities of what could've happened between you and matthew knies to have him actively avoiding you.

but honestly, you're no better, and after a few days the anxiety of it all was getting to you—and you begin actively avoiding him as well. you  call in sick to work anytime your shift is during a game, and you've only spent time with lucas if it's at your apartment. you leave early for class with the hopes of avoiding running into him, and you stay behind late for the same reason.

it was exhausting but you couldn't help it.

so when cora texted you this afternoon about meeting up for lunch between her classes, you easily agreed. wednesday's were your free days, with no classes to take up your schedule—moping around your apartment while dealing with the mess of emotions in your head wasn't your most ideal choice of productivity.

so with only an hour until cora's lunch gap, you strip out of your pyjamas, tossing on your robe before making your way to the bathroom. you throw your hair up, only intending to wash your body and hopefully clean off any lingering lazy and anxious energy from your skin.

you sigh, pulling back the floral printed shower curtain. immediately, you scream, jumping backwards as the sight of a large, brown spider that greets you—scurrying up the walls before slipping back down.

your eyes begin welling up with tears as dry sobs rack your body—of course there's a fucking gigantic spider in your bathtub.

you rush out the bathroom and make a beeline for the front door, pulling it open with the upmost urgency. you don't even close it, speed walking down the dimly lit hallway until you're at your boyfriends apartment.

your knocks are frantic, perfectly capturing the emotions your feeling. thankfully it's only a few moments of your panic stricken knocking before the handle turns, the door opening to reveal not lucas.

matthew's taken back at the sight of you—hair piled on top of your head with a makeup stained robe around you, bare feet on display. quickly, his eyes land upon your face, and the sight of your tears and pale skin has him faltering. "what's wrong?"

you swallow roughly, a few tears trailing down your blotchy cheeks. "I went to take a shower, and there's a huge fucking spider and i'm so scared of bugs—I don't know what to do, I need help." you're a babbling, sniffling mess, eyes darting between matthew and back down the hall.

"it's okay." he says quickly, stepping out into the hallway. "i'll kill it, okay?"

you nod, blowing out a shaky breath. "okay." for as long as you can remember you've had a crippling fear of any and all creepy, crawly insects. something about the way they scurry around quickly, unable to know what it's thinking and what it's planning to do to you, never fails to leave you shaking.

your fear has completely taken over your body, and it's the only reason you're able to speak to matthew knies without remembering the past few weeks between you—or rather, the lack there of.

you follow him back to your apartment timidly, trialing behind his broad shoulders like a lost puppy. he breathes gently as he enters, grabbing one of the extra shoes at the front door—the spider killing weapon of choice, clearly.

"it's in the tub." you mutter, eyes darting down the hall. matthew nods, walking towards the bathroom like he's not about to battle the eight legged beast residing in there.

he pulls back the shower curtain further, and you peek around his bicep—locking eyes with the creature. you shiver, a disgruntled moan leaving your mouth. matthew looks back at you. "sure you wanna watch?"

in all seriousness, you nod. "I need to know it's dead."

"okay," he hums, grip tightening around your floppy, strappy sandal. the spider is still crawling around, attempting to escape over the lip of the bathtub but inevitably falling back down.

it's definitely not as big as you described it, but matthew doesn't even dare bring that up. at least, he won't until the spider is gone and you're returning back to a normal heart rate. he brings the shoe up before quickly bringing it back down, but before it can be smooshed, the spider scurries away.

you squeal once again, eyes filling with salty tears as you grip matthew's arm—hiding your face is the soft material of his sweater. "its moving!"

he has a hard time stifling his laugh, looking down at you with an amused expression. "why are you cryin?"

"i'm scared." you mutter, fingers digging into his arm muscle. "hurry up and kill it—oh my god, i'm going to be sick."

matthew rolls his eyes, the action laced with fondness rather than irritation. "well I can't kill it if you're holding onto me for dear life." he watches the way your eyes dart towards the grip on his bicep, and you quickly release him, taking a small step backwards.

now with his arm free, he approaches the tub again, and this time when he brings the sandal down, it finds the spider, smacking the unwanted insect with a sickening plat.

you practically gag, wringing out your hands in disgust at the sound.

matthew looks at you again. "you good?"

hesitantly, you nod. "yeah."

thankfully matthew cleans up the remnants of the spider from your white tub with some toilet paper, eliminating any disturbing evidence of its existence.

as he does, and your frantic state comes back down to normal, you come to the shuddering realization of what's happening—matthew, the man you haven't since since your impromptu sleepover, is standing in your bathroom—all while you cry and stand naked under a robe.

he flushes the paper down your toilet, the hallow flush echoing through your ears. matthew turns back to you, sending you a closed mouth, awkward smile.

you hate this—this isn't the matthew you know. you hadn’t realized how much you missed his annoying remarks and infuriating smirk until you no longer had them. you're panicking again, expect this time it's because you don't want him to leave and you never see him again.

you clear your throat, stepping in his path. "I haven't seen you."

his brows pull tightly, eyeing you up and down curiously. "what do you mean?"

"you've been avoiding me." you huff, nerves settling low in your belly. you’re not even worried about how desperate you sound, and you play with the string of your robe with nervous, trembling hands.

"only because you've been avoiding me." he retorts firmly.

"what?" you breathe roughly—exasperated. even though you so badly want to say that you haven't, it would be a lie. you have been avoiding him, and clearly he's caught onto the fact. so you decide to play coy, and somewhat petty, crossing your arms. "i'm literally with you right now."

matthew snickers. "not by choice."

"and since when have I ever spent time with you by choice?" you question lightly.

matthew's almost playful expression falters, and a more serious look blossoms over his features. he swallows gently, adam’s apple bobbing prominently. "since you've never decided to walk away."

your mouth opens, nothing but a hitched breath coming out. you blink once, and then again, feeling nothing less than speechless from matthew's words.

his eyes dart over your face, taking in your seemingly surprised reaction. he too blinks roughly, shaking his head slightly as if he didn't mean to say that aloud. matthew clears his throat once, "i'm sorry for being all weird these past couple weeks," he pauses, eyes finding yours, "I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

you frown. "you didn't." a gentle, shaky laugh leaves you, "if I'm remembering correctly, I begged you to stay."

his lips quirk upwards in a smile, "more like pleaded."

"okay!" you laugh in amused disbelief, covering your eyes with a still shaking hand. "don't remind me."

"but you see, this reaction is going to make me remind you at every possible opportunity." matthew teases, reaching towards you until his fingers gently brush yours, moving your hand away from your blushing face.

your eyes flicker back to his, smile falling as you blink up at him. you gulp gently, feeling your stomach swoop with a combination of emotions—nerves, confusion, fear, denial...need.

matthew's eyes slowly trace over you face, lingering on your damp lips before reluctantly tearing his gaze away. but he can't help but to drink you in further, admiring your exposed neck and collarbones—the fuzzy peach housecoat and the crazy hair—the silver initial necklace hanging around you, dangling above your sternum like the perfect accessory. it's all so new and so you.

your gazes meet again, and this time you sigh, a breathy noise that shoots right through matthew.

you blink, and without knowing what to do, you look away, back towards the shower. "how do you know there's no more spiders?" you question timidly, an awkward, unsure laugh following.

matthew holds onto his sigh, turning back to the bathtub. he puts his hands on his hips, stepping closer. "hello? anybody here?" he directs into the shower, looking around the porcelain white walls comically.

you smile fondly just as he looks back to you. "no more spiders."

something is seriously changing between you and matthew, and that makes you feel even more anxious than before. as you finally shower—speedily because you're still scared of the possibility of more creatures—and get ready for lunch, you can't help but wonder.

the what ifs and possibilities all involving your boyfriends roommate are very prevalent in your head, even as you begin to walk to a local campus cafe. as soon as you sit down, you're spilling your guts to cora.

no, you think, you can't like matthew because it's wrong—it's crazy. you're in a relationship, and a few months ago you hated him...at least, you thought you hated him.

and as you expressed it all to your friend, she listened with nothing but love and understanding. when you eventually stop your panicked ramble, cora sighs, looking at you like she just knows.

in that moment you know—the eyes never lie.

STAGE 5: Breaking

you scan the page of your textbook carefully, reading the history material in the hopes of applying it to your research assignment—but your mind is in a million other places.

since you've come to the realization 3 days ago that you have some sort of feelings for matthew, you haven't stopped thinking about him. you're still not sure what it is exactly you feel, so in all honesty you don't feel guilty about it—at least, not yet.

you blink, focusing your eyes as you attempt at reading the same paragraph again. the library is thankfully empty, meaning there's nobody to provide any type of distraction—the last thing you need is another distraction.

well, you're not completely alone, lucas is sitting across from you, typing away on his laptop as he attempts at starting his assignment that was due tomorrow. god, just thinking about that stresses you out. his legs stretch out underneath the table, invading your space, as well as his things spread across the tabletop—providing little to no breathing room.

all day there's been a lingering, awkward energy between you and lucas. he's been unusually quiet, and anytime he did talk to you it was quick and uninterested. unfortunately you've been too busy within your own head to notice the sharp glances he's been sending you, and the way his lips pull into a frown anytime you'd make a sigh of frustration or worry.

it was constant—and lucas was at his breaking point. as you have to restart the scentence again, a tiny huff leaving your lips, he shuts his laptop, the heavy click echoing throughout the library.

you look up quickly, brows pulled together as you eye him. "you okay?"

he huffs in disbelief, "your mind is like somewhere else recently—it feels like you're just a host of a body. it's like you don't even want to be with me." lucas tone is dripping with frustration, sounding nothing less then condescending and irritated.

you blink quickly, taken back from his sudden outburst. slowly, you put down the pen you'd been using to follow along with the words, eyeing lucas with a confusing tilt. is he joking? the last person who should be complaining about anything like this is lucas.

his face stays stern—looking at you like he's just watched you kill his dog. he's not joking.

you scoff quietly, but the disgusted tone is more than prevalent. "seriously? that's rich coming from you lucas. it feels like you haven't wanted to spend time with me for the past three months."

"that's not true." he retorts quickly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"is it not?" you question sarcastically.

"no!" lucas practically shouts, leaning on the table as he eyes you wildly. "you sound stupid right now."

the remark that you had dies on your tongue, mouth snapping shut. your jaw clicks as it tightens, anger coursing through you at lucas' insult. "how come you didn't take me home at that party a few weeks ago?" you question softly, a knowing look in your pointed gaze.

he wasn't expecting that, and it has him flattering slightly, leaning back as he blinks two quick times. lucas runs a hand through his unruly, light hair, tugging at the root in frustration—trying to think of answer.

"I don't know...fucking seemed like matthew had it under control." he swallows, pausing for a moment. "why does it matter?"

his admission give you confirmation you hadn't realized you'd been looking for. you laugh in disbelief, "yeah, well it seems like matthew is the only one who cares about me."

it was a low blow, one that has lucas' anger rising rapidly—but it was your truth, and you know that now.

"yeah too fucking much." he snarls.

"sorry that he cares about me—unlike you."

lucas jaw tightens, eyeing your face with a look you've never seen before. "we need to break up."

you look at him with disbelief and disappointment, your lip beginning to quiver. "so you're not even going to deny it? not even going to try and fight for me?"

this conversation has taken a turning point you weren't expecting—at least not today. there's nothing but anger between you, but yet you're not upset about being broken with. you're upset because you feel stupid, and everything you've feared about your relationship is true. lucas may love you, but he doesn't care about you.

his eyes flicker with something unknown, and he sighs, "I don't think you want me to."

you close your textbook and shove it into your bag, pushing off the table as you hastily get to your feet. "you're a dick." you don't wait for his response, leaving the library with your heart in your hands.

you push open the grand doors, and immediately you're enveloped in rain. you curse, tightening the hold on your book bag as you begin speed walking in the direction of your apartment. it seems that the rain only gets harder as you go, pelting against your skin like mini bullets and completely soaking you.

it's the cherry on top of everything, and you can't wait to get home, strip completely naked and cry in bed.

the sigh of relief is loud as you finally get back to the apartment building, walking into the lobby like a wet dog. you make a b-line to the elevators, not making your usual stop in the mail room—something that was habit anytime you'd come home.

you wring your hair out between your hands, the water hitting the elevator carpet with a small plopping noise. thankfully, it doesn't stop and you make it up to your door without any interruptions.

you sniffle away the emotion creeping up your chest, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. you only make it a few steps before a door is opening, distracting you.

it's lucas and matthew's apartment, and our steps the latter, gym bag slung over his shoulder. you come to a slow stop without meaning to, looking at him with a soft, yet curious gaze.

his eyes dart to you, but as soon as he sees the state your in he's moving, stepping closer to you with a worried expression. "woah...you okay?"

just the caring tone of his question has you welling up with tears, and it feels like everything is crashing down on you all at once. the confusion, the anger, the heartbreak, the lust, the curiosity...it's all there, drowning you.

you shake your head, mouth opening and closing unsurely. "I-I don't...i'm so." your voice is shaking, and you're borderline hyperventilating as you attempt at getting a coherent sentence out.

matthew lets his gym bag slip off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a hard thud. he takes ahold of your biceps, squeezing the fleshiest part firmly. "take a fucking breath, y/n, you're gunna make yourself sick."

closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself down from the sudden emotional attack set upon yourself. it takes a minute, but eventually you feel yourself begin to relax, your heart rate slowly creeping back down.

you let your eyes flutter back open, meeting the concerned ones of matthew. your brows pull tightly, a nervous gulp following. "why are you looking at me like that, matthew?" your question is barley above a whisper, as if you were almost scared of the response.

"like what?" he breathes, not once breaking eye contact.

it's almost intimidating, but it's also confirming of so many things. but of course, you're hesitant—heck you're scared and nervous and so unsure about what's going on between you. your brows are still drawn together, creating a tiny indent in the middle of your forehead.

matthew has to fight every urge in his body to not run his thumb over the indent to smooth it out.

"like...like you fucking care about me. like you want me." you answer firmly, eyes frantically moving around matthew's face as you attempt at gauging his reaction.

he doesn't release the hold on your biceps, his gaze turning completely soft. "y/n." he says your name knowingly, fingers gently running up your arms. that’s his answer.

"matthew." you exhale shakily, distracted by the gentle pressure of his fingers on your skin. "you're making me all..."

"all...what?"

"confused." you say honestly, looking up at him with the most vulnerable expression he's seen.

matthew swallows roughly, jerking his hands off your body like you just told him that's he's burning you. "i'm sorry"

the soft, hopeful look on his face doesn't falter, and if anything it increases. "no," you shake your head, "stop."

"what? stop apologizing?" he questions with a frown.

"no," you repeat, "stop looking at me like that."

a moment passes before he speaks again, his words laced with desire— stressing his words. "I can't."

another beat of silence, nothing but the hitching breath of both and you matthew to be heard. you lick onto your bottom lip, "lucas and I...we broke up."

"you did?"

you only get one nod out before matthew rushes forward, grasping your face like he's been waiting for the opportunity since he was put onto the earth. you tilt your head back instinctively, and it's just timed as matthew leans down to kiss you.

the kiss is instantly desperate, the clashing of lips and teeth alluding to so. your tongues glide across each others like second nature, elevating the kiss to a higher, more intense level. it's exhilarating—it's right.

you sigh into his mouth, trembling hands reaching up and grabbing onto matthew's wrists—keeping him against you. you've completely forgotten that you're soaked from head to toe, and how you've just had a fight with lucas that lead to a break up...it's all lost in matthew.

his hands slide farther back, fingers intertwining with your wet strands of hair. it's a gentle and welcoming pull, and you can't help but sigh in pleasure.

matthew follows suit, groaning into your messy kiss. it's been months and months of tip-toeing around one another, too scared to admit the truth in fear of ruining everything and everyone else along the way. but now it's just you two, and matthew can't help but moan at the thought.

the elevator doors slide open, and you’re both pulling apart instinctively at the sound.

but as lucas stands there, jaw ticking with anger as he stares at you—you know it's too late, and he's just seen you making out with his friend. or better yet, he's seen his friend making out with his newley ex-girlfriend.

"are you two fucking serious?"

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. it looks bad, you know it it does—mostly because it is bad. you've been thinking about matthew for much longer than you care to admit, and the first thing you did after getting broken up with is run into his arms—letting matthew kiss you like you're both horny teenagers.

"lucas..." matthew trails off, turning to his roommate with a guilty laced hesitation.

but lucas is only looking at you, that same disgusted smirk on his face from the library. "can't even remember the last time you kissed me, but yet the first thing you did after leaving the library was make out with my roommate. I didn't realize you were such a slut."

you inhale sharply, tears quickly welling up in your eyes.

matthew rushes forward, and before he can logically think of the consequences of his actions, he punches lucas square across the face.

"matthew!" you gasp, moving towards the two men with concern pulling at your face. "no."

he doesn't hear you, looking at lucas as he clutches his jaw. matthew's gaze narrows, shaking out his hand. "don't fucking talk to her like that."

your ex-boyfriend laughs in a mixture of shock and disbelief, stretching his jaw out before he looks back at you. lucas doesn't say anything else, turning and leaving down the buildings stair well.

you're shocked, embarrassed and guilt ridden—your watery gaze locked on the empty space lucas was only moments ago occupying.

"y/n?" matthew questions gently, snapping you out of your own head.

you blink hard, shaking your head. "i'm sorry, I just need some space." you turn away from matthew before he has the chance to answer—mostly because you're too scared that if he begins to speak you'll crawl right back into his arms.

matthew watches you walk away, and all he can do is stand there, focused on your fleeting figure as he slip into your apartment—your lip trembling without another glance in his direction.

his face is contorted, not in anger, but in a look of concern. guilt flashes across his features, and he can't help but groan, running a palm over his face in frustration. did he just loose you for good?

you shut the apartment door behind you, and the tears begin falling down your face at a rapid pace. your lips tug into a frown, a sob wracking through you as you lean back against the door.

cora rounds the corner at the sound, her eyebrows pulled in concern. "what's wrong?" she breathes, rushing towards you.

"I did something terrible." you admit through your stuttering gasps, looking at your roommate with a million different emotions.

"honey..." she coos, wrapping you in a hug. your tears intensify as cora squeezes you in the embrace, and you bury your face in her shoulder to mask your desperate cry.

Epilogue

“god miller! just kiss me already!”

“no, not like this!”

you groan, falling into the couch cushions. the scene on the tv illuminates the room, the late afternoon sun hidden behind the blackout curtains you’ve had drawn since this morning.

nick and jess from new girl have not only been giving you entertainment all day while you mope around, but they’ve also been stupid cute and in love—it makes you want to die.

you’ve only been two places since the chaotic ending to last night; your bed which you cried in all night, and the couch which obviously you also cried on. you keep running through the events of yesterday—the breakup with lucas, finding matthew in the hallway, borderline confessing your feelings to him…kissing him. it felt good—so so good.

but just like that it was snatched from you, and the guilt riddling your body is just nerve wracking and wrenching. while you were kissing matthew, the last thing you were thinking about was lucas, and the possibility of him finding you both like that wasn’t even in your mind. but it happened and now everything feels like a mess—and you feel like an awful person.

you’ve clearly hurt lucas—that much was evident in the awful things he said to you. when you told cora everything last night, eyes stinging with tears and snot dribbling from your nose, she was quick to remind you that lucas never treated you good, and that no matter what he shouldn’t of said that to you.

your phone buzzes against your thigh, making you sit up—brows furrowed in question.

lucas

are you home?

you pause the tv quickly, all while reading the text over and over again as you try and make sense of it. what does he need? does he want to talk? is he going to yell at you? is he simply just curious? does he want to fix your relationship?

you hold your breath as you shakily type your reply.

y/n

yea

you exhale as it goes through, and in habit you bring your thumb to your lips, nerves consuming you as you begin gnawing on the skin around your nail.

your phone buzzes with an incoming message again.

lucas

can I come talk?

you swallow, sitting up straighter as you read his message. this can’t be good, you think—you’ve done nothing positive in the last twenty four hours that warrants a civil talk with your ex. you desperately want to ignore him—throw your phone across the room and get back to new girl on the tv.

a show that you only started watching because it’s matthew favourite—your brain reminds you. you look down at your phone again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you contemplate.

you deserve not only closure, but happiness—not matter what.

y/n

sure

you barley have a minute of speed running the apartment, picking up the empty tub of ice cream and what feels like hundreds on snotty tissues from your crying, before there’s a knock at your door.

even if you didn’t know he was coming over, would could tell it was lucas by the weight of the knock. it was soft, almost hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually be at your door. it always sounded like that.

before you back out, you pull open the door, revealing yourself to a deadpanned face lucas who’s standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. he gulps, eyeing your figure briefly. “can I come in.”

you nod reluctantly, stepping to the side to create enough room for him to slip inside your apartment. lucas sends you a forced smile as he enters, moving through your place like he’s done many times before.

the door shuts with a gentle click, but the room is so tense and quiet it sounds like a bomb. you follow suit, walking into the living room where lucas stands stagnant—eyeing around the apartment with an unsure expression. suddenly his eyes meet yours, “did you cheat on me?”

“no.” you tell him. “I would never cheat…on anybody.”

he sniffs, the sound annoying and disgusting—it’s like he’s trying to stay calm. “but you like him, right? you like matthew?”

you’re so used to trying to please him that you want to stay quiet—because you know if you admit your feelings for his friend, everything is going to completely change…more than it already has. and as lucas looks at you now, his gaze nothing but knowing, you decide you’re done trying to hide from him.

“I do.” you confirm. “but nothing ever happens, and…I didn’t even know when these feelings started. i’ve been so confused for the longest time, and I was scared because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.” you pause, wringing out your trembling fingers as you collect your next thoughts. “but i’m sick of doing things for everyone else…and I need to let myself be happy—whatever that ends up being.”

lucas stay silent for a moment, but you can see his mind running a mile a minute. his eyes dart all over you, analyzing your face and body language—you’ve never seen him look at you so intently, and it has you wanting to shy away.

he sighs, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m sorry, y/n—for everything.”

your shoulders deflate, and you feel the emotion you’ve been suppressing since lucas texted you coming back to the surface. “thank you. i’m sorry too.”

“can I give you a hug?” his hesitance is evident, looking at you like he’s unsure of your response—how you’ll react. looking at him right now, you can’t be mad at him. not about your relationship, the breakup or the name he called you in his rage. lucas is a good guy, you know that—he’s just not the guy for you.

“yeah.” you breathe. “i’d like that.”

lucas takes the three steps of distance between you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he brings you into his chest. your hands find place around his waist, holding him against you in a wordless goodbye. his cheek rests on the top of your head, a comforting gesture that has your eyes flickering shut.

he takes a deep breath—his words quiet as he speaks. “I think we met for a reason, y/n. and that reason is matthew.” you feel lucas swallow against you, like he knows what he just said is the final nail in the coffin—everything starts now. “have you noticed how he looks at you?”

you pull back, and watch as the corner of his lips begin to turn upwards—the faintest smile growing. lucas may not like it, but he’s accepted it, and it’s feels better than anything you could imagine. your own smile begins to show, and you nod. “I have.”

matthew knies was an enigma—a giant, infuriating mystery that you never expected to entangle yourself in. but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that you’re easily intrigued, especially when the enigma has always cared for you, no matter how rude and stupid you acted towards him.

perhaps you never hated matthew, but rather the way he made you feel. you hated the idea of being in love with him because you had a boyfriend, so you'd turn into an easily irritated girl, who secretly wanted nothing more then the attention of the boy down the hall. the boy who was more of a boyfriend than lucas could ever be. the boy who you don't hate, but love.

of course, there’s still the lingering feelings of confusion and nervousness—because you don’t know where you and matthew will go from here.

but later in the day, on you way back from your evening class, as the elevator doors open to your floor and matthew stands there—a grin growing on both your faces at the mere sight of one another…you think you have an answer.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

every breath you take (i'll be watching you) by the police

pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine

wrong by zayn

your needs, my needs by noah kahan

do I wanna know? by hozier (cover)

each time you fall in love by cigarettes after sex

if I can't be with you by olivia obrien

I would by one direction

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 3 of the roommate idea

Steve declines the hellfire invitation from Dustin, making up a pretend date, because otherwise he was not getting out of that one. He checked the time on the wall.

2:27

Yeah, alright.

He waited a few hours before getting ready and heading to the school.

The game starts in thirty minutes so they should be-

Steve grinned as he watched the back of Dustin move into the drama room.

Perfect.

He waited a minute, listening into their conversation before deciding that he didn't need to wait for them to stop because if they stopped that meant they were starting.

He slammed open the clubs door, making a couple people in the room jump.

“Steve! What are you doing here?" Eddie asked from his place on the throne. "DnDs over, pack up your shit.” He stated, leaving no room for argument.

Well, apparently a little room.

“What!! Why?! Last campaign of the semester, Mike leaves for Cali tomorrow!"

Steve furrowed his brows, and put his hands on his hips, Gareth, Grant, and Jeff weren't arguing, they knew he was serious, good.

“It can wait till he gets back, why would you even plan this a day before he leaves?”

“Why do we need to pack our shit?!”

Steve pinched his nose, "We're going to Luca’s basketball game.”

“What?!?”

“That traitor-"

“Stevie, darling, you can't be-”

“Why?!”

“You two know each other-”

Steve grimaced, a migraine starting at the fore-front of his mind.

“Please shut up, Christ.”

Eddie winced and immediately shushed everyone.

“We're going to this game, because even if Lucas doesn't get to play, we still gotta support him. Dustin, Mike, you guys have only gone to one of his games, his first one.”

He turned the other group, "Grant, Gareth, Jeff, fuck Eddie. None of you have gone to a game, I know it's not your usual shit but you gotta come. Hell, Erica, you're his sister, I mean, you’ve done an amazing job at showing up at the rest, so I can’t really complain about you.”

Dustin winced, “ Sorry Steve, but why does this matter so much to you? It's not the end of the world.”

Steve rubbed his arm, “ He needs someone to be there for him, even if he doesn't win. You can just do the damn campaign at Eddie's when Mike comes back.”

Mike, in question, scoffs, “And since when do you make the rules.”

Steve ignores him, reaching forward and grabbing Eddie's arm, and Erica’s shoulder. "Suit yourselves, but kinda hard to play DnD without the Dungeon Master, and Eddie and Erica don't have a choice.”

They make their way to the gym, a reluctant group of Hellfire in tow, and sit across the top of the bleachers. Steve waves at Robin from where he sits and then turns to Hellfire. “ Thank you guys for being reasonable."

Gareth scrunches his nose, “You cannot just keep stealing Eddie randomly.” Steve purses his lips, and leans into the man in question.

"Not stealing if he's okay with it, right Eds?” Eddie looked between the two, “ I'm sensing I should say yes?"

Steve grinned and patted his cheek. “Good boy."

Dustin turned to them, "Was Eddie the date you were talking about earlier? You tell seem awfully friendly."

Eddie flushed, and let's out an awkward laugh. " Steve wishes he could date me."

[writerfromshikahr]

--------------------------------------------------------

A Bloody Proposal - Lucanis X Rook

--------------------------------------------------------

The contract had derailed from the very beginning. The target, a massive brute of a man, turned out to be far more resourceful than anticipated. Lucanis felt compelled to take actions he wasn’t proud of, while Rook… well, she was sitting on the cobblestones, a bloody nose and a hand pressed against her ribs, gasping with laughter.

“Will you stop laughing?” Lucanis muttered.

“I....” Rook tried to respond but dissolved into another fit of giggles, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I’m sorry! But every time we try to roll him, he just—” She gestured helplessly at the target’s oversized body, which had stubbornly refused to cooperate with gravity. “I'm pretty sure the arsehole broke my nose by the way.”

Lucanis sighed, crouching down beside her, his boots squelching in the puddle of blood they’d created. “We’re supposed to be professionals,” he muttered, grabbing the man’s shoulders again. “Help me, Rook.”

“I’ll try. But he’s so big! What was this guy eating? Wyvern steaks?”

“Dragons. He was eating dragons. Had to be,” Lucanis said in a deadpan tone, which only made her laugh harder.

They managed to shift the body a few inches closer to the edge of the canal before she lost all strength in her arms again, doubling over and clutching her stomach in laughter, again.

“Rook,” Lucanis said, his voice a mix of a growl and a sigh.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said breathlessly, wiping tears from her eyes. “Give me a second.”

Lucanis sat back on his heels, bloodied and exhausted, watching her with something between fondness and resignation. And then, the thought came to him: This is it. This is my life now. And I want her in it, always.

Before he could stop himself, the words were out. “Marry me.”

Rook froze, her eyes snapping to his. “What?”

“I’m asking you to marry me,” he said, his tone resigned to the absurdity of the moment. “Here. While we’re covered in blood, trying to dump a body into a canal.”

Her expression shifted from shock to incredulous amusement, her laugh breaking free again. “Lucanis, you can’t propose while we’re....”

“I just did.” His mouth quirked into a crooked, sheepish grin. “Perfect timing, really.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was serious. Then she shook her head, still laughing softly, and reached out to help him with the body. “Get this guy in the water first. Then we’ll talk.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You really want to marry this?” she asked him.

“Preferably with fewer bodily fluids, and no dead guy at your feet.” His voice softened slightly as he added, “Marry me, Rook.”

“We’re terrible at this, being normal.”

“You’re terrible at this,” he corrected, motioning to the body that remained stubbornly sprawled on the cobblestones. “I’ve been doing all the work.”

Rook snorted, wiping at her bloody nose with the back of her hand. “Sure, Dellamorte. You’re the one who decided to propose mid-mess.”

Lucanis sighed dramatically, planting his hands on his hips. “If I waited for a clean, quiet moment with you, I’d be waiting forever.”

“Romantic,” she said with a grin.

“You still haven’t given me your answer,” he said, his voice strained as he shoved the body again. It shifted slightly, rolling just a few more inches closer to the water’s edge.

Rook huffed, crouching down to help. “I thought my laughing and inability to function under pressure was answer enough.”

“This isn’t the clarity I was hoping for.” He glanced at her from the side, his hands tightly gripping the dead man’s shoulders.

“Well then,” she said, adjusting her grip on the target’s boots. Her expression softened for a fleeting moment before her grin returned. “Yes, Luca. I’ll marry you.”

With a final heave, they rolled the body over the edge and into the water with an unceremonious splash. Both of them stood there for a moment, catching their breath.

Lucanis exhaled sharply, though whether it was relief or exasperation, he wasn’t sure.

“Good. Because it would’ve been embarrassing to shove this guy into the canal alone after you turned me down.”

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *is now lying on the floor with a dagger at her neck after Luca accidentally mistakes her for an anomaly*

Luca: Who are you?

MC: They haven't assigned me a name as a test subject yet, so you can just call me MC. That's my name.

Luca: *his eyes widened when the realization hit* *immediately pulls away*

Luca: I'm sorry! *helps her to get up*

MC: It's fine. My head's still intact.

Professor Nicolas: M-MC... You should rest for now...

MC: You mentioned that these documents need to be completed as soon as possible.

Professor Nicolas: That's true, but you must have been shaken up by the incident earlier—

MC: Nothing can unsettle me, except my chronic back pain.

Professor Nicolas: ...

Professor Nicolas: *sighs, then smiles in defeat*

MC: Here, professor. *hands him the documents*

Professor Nicolas: Thank you, MC.

Kaito: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!! YOU ATTACKED A LADY?!!!!

Luca: I didn't mean to. And she forgave me.

Kaito: But that doesn't make it right?!! Who is it?! Is she a beauty?!! Gahh! You're stupid, Luca!

Luca: She's a test subject for curse research.

Kaito: Test subject...?

Luca: She was pretty calm, and yes—She's a beauty too.

Kaito: ...

Kaito: GAHHHH!!! I WANT TO MEET HER!

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

— POSTPONED — info

*sighs*, kinktober. what a fun excuse to actually finish all the fics i started and never finished... and start new ones... and just get motivated again. yippie! we could also call it recyletober. okay, sorry, that was so bad. anyway.

this time it's not gonna be as kink-oriented as last time... but that's okay! i just have some ideas that were brewing in my notes app and were not being attended to... also, as stated before, i am chronically addicted to character.ai. please don't download it or you will end up with 45h screentime a week JUST ON THAT APP. but it works great for inspo.... to not follow up on... until now!

also, this year we have multiple groups (3)! because hoshi (🤤) and riize have been all up in my business again. and yes, i started planning this at 5am.

also, yippie, i'm alive???

sorry, i love yapping. let's get to it:

october 1st: park wonbin (riize): read here!

october 7th: kwon soonyoung / hoshi (seventeen): read here!

october 10th: mark lee (nct 127/nct dream): pending...

october 13th: lee donghyuck / haechan (nct 127/nct dream): dick pic. thought it could be funny *shrugs*

october 16th: kim dongyoung / doyoung (nct 127) & huang renjun (nct dream): the most awkward threesome ever (?)

october 19th: wong yukhei / lucas (solo): "my ex broke up with me and i dare myself to fuck lucas" as aforementioned, it is my favorite concept. god, i love lucas so much i could die rn.

october 22nd: lee sohee & lee chanyoung / anton (riize): and they were roommates! canceled due to recent events

october 25th: huang renjun (nct dream): f-feet.. 😔 i'm so sorry...

october 28th: nakamoto yuta (nct 127): as a gender studies professor, he should really know better than to sleep with his student... but he will because this is my fic.

october 31st: lee jeno (nct dream): alpha! jeno... thank you, jeno, for ripping off your shirt on may 4th... and thank you anon for the ask... i started writing it right away and got distracted by depression. 💓

more infos tba! also, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @rjreins @meowniee @deezbin @ant-onie @ablackbtsstan @gacktsa

[prettiestgrlinthemorguexo]

Swipe (Lucifer Morningstar x reader) part 2

Description: after talking to a man name Luca for a few weeks, during your first date your greeted my a unsuspected man…

RAHHHH

Am I starting this legit like 2 hours after posting the first chapter yes

I genuinely love this story and I can’t wait for this part

Next chapter is a smut ;)

Warnings: lying, apologizing for said lying, first date, angst (like 0.0001%), make out sesh

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Lucifer’s POV

I was hesitant, why was I so nervous? I stood outside restaurant, looking at the door. This was a mistake…I was getting ready to leave when I felt a Buzz in my pocket. I pull my phone out to see a message from you.

Y/N - Hey! I just sat down! We have a really nice table, are you almost here? :)

I staired at the message Y/N sent, I didn’t realize I wasn’t breathing until I finally let out a breath, a raspy sigh left his lips “you have to do this..” i said quietly before walking inside the establishment. The moment i walked him all eyes were on me, considering I’m not out in public much so it is expected. I made my way over to hostess stand to see the host staring at me, she looked terrified.

“Hi I have a reservation, my party member should are ready be here.” She staired at me for a few seconds longer before being dragged back to reality, “of course! Come with me!” She said as the rounded the corner to the bustling dining room, almost immediately eyes are on me, now more then ever was I happy I reserved a more private area, she let me to the archway leading to a separate and smaller dinning room, “right through this door sir please enjoy!” She said as quickly as she left. I let out a breath before walking through the archway, and there they were…

It felt as if time had stop, this was really happening. All of a sudden a wave of nerves washed over me, but through the nerves I spoke. “sorry I’m late..” I said, my voice full of nerves. When I spoke their eyes left their phone, when they saw me their E/C eyes sudden slightly, their posture changing from casual to nervous.

No ones POV

Y/N looked up to see the face of the king of hell it’s self. They had a wave of nerves wash over them, the air felt thick. “Hi um,” Y/N started to say, clearly nervous. “Sorry I think they sat me at the wrong table I’m sorry your-“

“No your not” Lucifer said as he sat down at the table. Y/N still looked confused, why was Lucifer sitting across the table from them? Before they could get a word out to question him, Lucifer spoke, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, just let me explain...” he started, clearly nervous.

“I…” Lucifer stopped for a moment, hesitating, “I know this isn’t easy to explain but I need to come clean and apologize. A few weeks ago I started to reconnect with my daughter Charlie, and she wanted to help me meet someone…so she signed me up for Viva…and..” he said moving his eyes up to meet theirs, trying to read a reaction as the continued. “I lied about who I am..being the king of hell on a sight like that, who in the hell knows what would happen, so…I used a fake name.”

Lucifer was watching Y/N’s eyes, seeing a lot of shock, he understood where they were coming from. Lucifer looked at their eyes, Y/N stated quite for a few more seconds before speaking up. “So…the whole time I was talking to you?” They asked quietly. Lucifer swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

Everything clicked in Y/N’s head, it was so obvious. L.M, having a daughter named Charlie, his divorce being at the same time. As Lucifer’s and Liliths. Y/N stay quiet, the room had a uncomfortable silence before Lucifer broke it, “I know it’s wrong now and I shouldn’t have done that, and I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me again but you have a right to know.” Lucifer said quietly, clearly preparing for the worst. Y/N face went from surprised at the facts to a warm smile “I’m not mad, I’m happy you told me early on..” they said, reaching over the table taking his hand in theirs

Lucifer’s eyes widen and lit up see their hands touch his, the nerves washed away, he couldn’t help but smile. “But, everything else you said was true right?” Y/N asked with a small laugh. “It was the only thing I promise!” Lucifer almost blurred out in reassurance. Y/N laughed as his reaction, they loved how dorky he was.

The rest of the date went off without a hitch, he was such a gentleman. They talked about everything, their interest, their family and passions. Along with the amazing food, Y/N could happily say this was the best date they’ve been on, love or dead. Lucifer couldn’t help but be infatuated with every word that left their mouth, they were perfect…the apple of his eye.

Soon it turned late into the night, the red sky turning a dark crimson, soon they were both outside on the now dead street. “I had a great time tonight.” Y/N said to him turning to face him, Lucifer felt his heart skip a beat. “Anything for you dove” Y/N face got flushed at his little name. Lucifer stepped closer, their bodies inches apart. “So, you’re not mad right?” Lucifer ask them softly.

Y/N knew he needed that reassurance, Y/N took his hand his in theirs intertwining their fingers. Their face had a soft expression fully of love. “I’m not…I could never be mad at you..” Y/N said their eyes moving their eyes from their hands to his eyes, seeing the gloss in them…his eyes could illuminate a room. They staired at each other for a few seconds before he moved in closer. Lucifer’s eyes were begging for permission.

Y/N smiled before closing the distance, their lips finally connecting, It was a sweet passionate kiss. He was quick to wrap his arms around their waist, pulling them closer. Y/N’s hands made their way to both sides of his face, feeling his soft skin and perfect hair, It was all perfect.

After what felt like an eternity, their lips a few inches apart. They could feel each others breaths, Y/N pulled him in closer burying her face into his neck. “Take me home with you..” they said quietly. Lucifer’s face when crimson red and those five words. He didn’t say a word, the tighten the grip around their waist as red smoke in golfed them both…disappearing.

TAG LIST

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight

[lafleshlumpeater]

Luke Castellan x Daughter of Dionysus reader? The show version of Dionysus was funny and I just want to know how the whole interactions would go

i loved this request, thanks sm for sending it in!! i actually haven't watched the show, so if this is inaccurate i'm v sorry </3

warnings: mentions of eating and drinking (no alcohol), fem!reader, established relationship, mild PDA, nickname

luke castellan masterlist

Your boyfriend lovingly nuzzles his nose into your temple from where he's sitting next to you. “Your dad is giving me looks,” he whispers. Your lips pull upwards at Luke’s antics, rolling your eyes and looking over at your father at where he’s sitting next to Chiron. He’s trying to be subtle, you’ll give him that, but there’s nothing implicit about the way he’s eyeing your boyfriend in an attempt at being suavely menacing. With his leopard- print shirt, pot belly and an aluminium Coca- Cola can he’s gripping so hard it’s beginning to crumple, it’s not working.

You take a bite into your wrap. “He is.”

“He’s scaring me.”

This elicits a snort from you, choking slightly on a cucumber chunk. “Luke Castellan, one of the most intimidating campers at Camp Half- Blood, is scared of my dad? The god of wine?”

Luke whines in protest through a sip of water. “Yeah, the god of wine. Imagine, if, like, he got drunk and… I don’t know, whacked me around the head with a baseball bat.”

You snort. “What? Babe, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know your name.”

Your boyfriend pouts. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“Baby.” Luke rolls his eyes playfully, relishing in the banter the two of you have managed to maintain throughout your relationship. But his momentary glee is cut short when he realises Dionysus has risen from the table, disposing of his empty can and making his way over to where the two of you are sitting. Panicked, he nudges you.

“He’s coming,” Luke indiscreetly whisper- screams, as if you hadn’t noticed already.

“Relax, nothing’s gonna happen,” you murmur back. You were sure of it. Mostly.

“Luis,” your father greets, suddenly next to the two of you. Luke swallows, afraid to correct him. You’re milliseconds from letting out a laugh aloud.

“Dad, it’s Luke.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Yes. Lucas. That’s what I said.”

You can’t help but purse your lips, both from suppressing an entertained chortle and half in contempt for your father’s annoying penchant of feinting at carelessness for every camper who wasn’t you. Honestly, you were surprised he didn’t give you the same treatment sometimes.

“Well, Lucas, it has come to my attention you are dating my daughter.” He nods towards you; you cringe. If he was about to give Luke the ‘take care of my daughter or else’ talk, you were going to run away and never come back.

Luke nods, gulping. “Yes. Sir.”

Trying to save him and yourself from embarrassment, you intervene. “Dad. Please.”

“Oh no, no,” he insists. “I just wanted to have a quick word and say that… the two of you look quite happy. And I’m proud of the two of you.” He turns to the shell- shocked boy beside you. “But I have to mention, young man, if anything changes-”

“Okay dad!” You shoot him a ‘please stop’ look disguised in a beaming grin which he’s on the receiving end of too many times to be oblivious to. “Thank you! You can go now!”

Finally, he wanders off again, muttering under his breath. You catch little of it, something about how ‘teenagers nowadays’ and ‘so ungrateful’.

You turn to Luke; he’s already looking at you with an incredulous look on his face. “What… just happened?”

Like a ticking time bomb, your laughter finally escapes, Luke quickly joining you.

Dionysus looks on, back in his seat next to Chiron, hiding a satisfied smile behind a glass bottle of Coke.

taglist: @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @explosiongamora @brutal-out-here @absolutely-existing @quickslvxrr @bibliophile-dendrophile

READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

[mc-i-r]

Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

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[ataliagold]

I Just Wanna Get To Know Ya

For @astrangersummer week 9 prompt 'different meeting au.' Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (pre-relationship)

Rating: T

W/C: 1281

Tags: Pre-Steddie, alternate meeting, modern au, no upside down, Steve's an indoor climbing instructor, it's love at first sight for Eddie, flirting, fluff, Eddie's horny af

Summary: Dustin convinces Eddie to drive them to the indoor climbing gym where his old babysitter works. Eddie's reluctant at first, but changes his tune when he lays eyes on the instructor...

___

It’s barely nine am when Eddie’s phone starts vibrating beside him, buzzing along his bedside table.

He groans, slaps at it, tries to shut it the fuck up because surely it was too early for his alarm to be going off?

Looking at the display, he blinks several times, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his brain.

It isn’t his alarm - it’s Dustin calling.

“What, Henderson?” Eddie snaps into the phone, flopping back against his pillow.

“Can you take us bouldering?” Dustin’s voice, loud and imploring, hits Eddie’s ear.

“Huh?”

“Bouldering,” Dustin repeats, slowly as though talking to an imbecile. “Can you drive us? This guy Steve, he was meant to take us, he used to baby sit me and he works there and he said we’d need to do the normal climbing wall first but then we could try bouldering but he had to go in early to cover a shift and he couldn’t pick us all up in time, so…”

Eddie takes a moment to process the info dump from Dustin.

“You…want me to drive you somewhere?” He finally catches up.

“Yes,” Dustin says, exasperated. “You’re not busy, right?”

“Well…”

“Eddie, it’s a Saturday morning, I know you’re not busy.”

And ok, a little rude, but…Dustin was right.

“Fine, whatever. Where am I taking you?”

“Bouldering. In Bloomington.”

“What the fuck is bouldering?”

“Like rock climbing. But this one’s inside, it’s like a climbing wall, Lucas has been before and he convinced us it might actually be fun and Steve said he could get us in for free.”

“You want to go…climbing? In this heat?”

“It’s inside,” Dustin repeats, “and there’s good AC.”

Eddie sighs. It’s too damn early for him to have the energy to argue with Dustin. “Whatever, but you little shits are giving me gas money.”

“Thanks Eddie! See you in…twenty minutes?”

Dustin ends the call, and Eddie scrambles out of bed, cursing, barely with enough time to brush his teeth.

*****

Thank fuck he brushed his teeth, was Eddie’s first thought upon walking inside the climbing gym.

Because the kids are waving at a guy standing by one of the walls, Dustin calling “Steve!” and when he turns around and grins and gives a goofy little waggle of his fingers in greeting Eddie’s brain short-circuits.

Steve is fucking stunning, and Eddie can think of little else but getting his mouth on any part of him.

Steve is tall, he’s wearing a white tank top with those low holes that dip down and expose tanned skin over a lean torso. His hair is artfully mussed in several directions, all soft and golden and perfect for Eddie’s fingers, he thinks. He’s got a beautiful smile and enormous hands and don’t even get Eddie started on the harness clinging sinfully to his thighs and ass.

Eddie swallows before he can literally dribble.

“Hey guys, glad you could make it! Sorry about that,” Steve was saying to the kids. “Here, let me show you how to get your harnesses on, I’ll get you guys to start on the normal wall first and then we can look at moving you on to bouldering...”

Eddie forces his feet to move. Steps closer to this fucking god of a man, brings himself into his orbit and tries to kick-start his vocal chords again.

Steve looks up. Smiles wide at Eddie, eyes twinkling and Eddie thought that was something that only happened in books but this guy’s deep brown eyes are actually shining and Eddie doesn’t think any of this is very fair.

“Hey man, I’m Steve.” He sticks his hand out, and Eddie’s eyes lock on the veins in his wrist and the sheer girth of the man’s fingers, and he feels his brain stumble again. “You gave these little shrimps a ride? Appreciate it, sorry if it messed up your plans or anything.”

“No,” Eddie squeaks, writhing internally. “No plans, nope. S’fine. I’m, ah, I’m Eddie.”

Steve’s hand is still awkwardly outstretched. Eddie takes it, squeezes maybe a little too firmly and god his hand is big and warm and there’s callouses on his fingers and Eddie is fucked.

After a moment, Steve takes his hand back. Brushes it against the back of his neck, right where Eddie sort of wanted to sink his teeth in.

Get your shit together, his brain hisses.

“You, ah…you want to climb, too?” Steve asks, gesturing to the wall.

Eddie glances up, takes in the sheer height of the thing, the multi-coloured grips, watches as some kid near the top slips off and is yanked upwards by his harness. On the other side of the room, someone is scaling a wall without a damn harness, the floor beneath them soft and padded but Eddie really wasn’t sure about that…

“Eddie doesn’t do physical activity,” Mike pipes up, waiting while Lucas helps him with his harness. “He complained the whole way here, he didn’t even know what bouldering was.”

Eddie could murder the kid.

Steve smiles, a little sheepish. “That’s ok. You can watch, if you’d prefer.”

“I want to try,” Eddie blurts.

Steve’s face lights up again. “You do? Cool, let me just…yeah this one’ll do, c’mere, I’ll help you.” Steve selects a harness, briefly adjusting the straps, and then he fucking kneels down in front of Eddie.

Eddie’s heart slams in his chest. He’s only a man, a very gay man, and Steve’s crouched down there and looking up at him with liquid-honey eyes through heavy lashes and what the fuck is he supposed to do?

“Um…I need you to step into these loops,” Steve prompts, wiggling the harness a little.

Eddie breathes out. Sees Dustin a short distance away rolling his eyes at him, catches Max smirking.

Those two were going to be banished to the back seat on the way home.

Eddie does as he’s told, but then Steve’s fingers are scraping against his thighs as he pulls the harness up, delving dangerously close to the current center of Eddie’s bloodflow and fuck if he gets any closer then Eddie’s probably going to get himself permanently banned from this place because there’s children around…

Steve stands up. Places his hands over the loose straps at Eddie’s hips, yanks them tight, Eddie stumbling a little bit as he does.

Instinctively, he reaches out, grasping at Steve’s waist with one hand to steady himself and oh god that was nice – he’s firm and warm and solid under Eddie’s grip, and Eddie finds his hand lingering, thinks about how nice it would be to trace his fingers across soft skin rather than white cotton…

Steve looks down at him, throat clicking as he swallows, lips slightly parted. Is he…blushing? Just a little, Eddie thinks, Steve’s blushing with Eddie’s hand on him…

“Just gotta…tighten this last one up,” Steve breathes, and reaches around behind Eddie to tug on a buckle resting above his ass.

Eddie never thought he’d find heaven in a gym, but he thinks maybe he’s died and gone there.

“Ok, you’re all ready,” Steve says, stepping back a little, Eddie’s hand slipping mournfully from him.

Eddie’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip, wetting it.

Finally, he finds his voice.

“Maybe you could…give me a little demonstration first?” Eddie asks with a small smirk. “The wall is really high, and I just wanna see how it’s done.”

Steve bites his lip, returns Eddie’s smirk, leans in a little to say, “Sure thing, Eds.”

Steve’s halfway up the wall, Eddie’s eyes glued to his ass, when Dustin leans over and stage-whispers, “You happy you came along now?”

“Henderson,” Eddie says appreciatively, “this might be the best Saturday morning I’ve ever had.”

___

[satansapostle6]

Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One.

Part Two. Innocent Until Proven Sexy.

Johnny Bertelli, in the many long months of my murder trial, became my favorite fucking person. The jury thankfully didn’t really see it that way, but we were running circles around the prosecutors. Our claim was naturally self defense, and I have to admit, it was a fucking good one. Story goes, I entered George Randall’s house to confront him, for causing my daughter’s suicide. I got angry, and things got heated, with neighbors to attest to the fact that we were both yelling. George got angry, and attacked me. And I defended myself. The story’s so good, even I believe it.

Technically, I did come to return George’s dishes to him, and he did get pretty heated with me when we argued, so really, we weren’t telling too many lies here. As far as George’s various embellishments, this case was pretty clean. I would say the only challenge Johnny and I faced in court was spinning my obvious lack of remorse when I was arrested. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Johnny take on a real challenge. It really is funny to watch this giant Italian guy pacing about the court during his addresses to the court while he’s built like Luca Brasi.

At the moment, I’m sitting up on the stand beside the judge, while the entire courtroom scrutinizes my every move and micro expression. There are about fifty pairs of eyes on me, but right now, I only care about one. A pair of sharp green eyes, that I still recognize from when I couldn’t work that goddamn phone. But I quickly snapped out of it, bringing my attention back to Johnny, and the trial. Somehow, this felt less interesting.

“So. Nicole, I know you’ve been through a lot in the past year or so, so forgive me,” my lawyer began, evoking sympathy from the court, “But did you have any intention of murdering George Randall when you knocked on his door?”

I took a moment, almost chewing on the question as I reluctantly relished its bitter taste.

“No.”

One thing good lawyers tell you: never answer more than the question you’re being asked. Even if you think it makes you sound better.

“Now, Nicole… I’m sorry that we have to go through this… Frankly, hurtful line of questioning. If you need to, just focus on me, alright? For now, this is between us. Not the court.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Johnny nodded kindly. God, we were fucking good at this. I was so close to nominating us both for Academy Awards.

“Can you tell me what you were thinking, as you knocked on George’s door?”

I thought for a moment, calling back to our preparations for this trial.

“I… I was naturally angry, and disgusted, when I read my daughter’s suicide note, stating that George Randall had…”

I did genuinely choke on the word.

“Raped… my daughter,” I told Johnny. “I was appalled, but… More than anything, I wanted answers.”

Johnny looks at me curiously. “‘Answers’?”

I cleared my throat. “I… I just couldn’t understand how someone, a human being, could be capable of that sort of evil. I mean, to rape a child? To cause a twelve year-old girl, my little girl, to take her own life? What kind of monster does that?”

Johnny nods, agreeing with me. “Yes. It’s unthinkable. That’s what it is, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, unthinkable, and unspeakable… But unfortunately, my client, Nicole, does not have the luxury of being able to ignore what this man did… Because this man’s evil claimed two lives; not only the life of twelve year-old Isabella Carvalho, but Nicole Carvalho’s as well, if the prosecution prevails,” he says harshly. “That is the truth; if the prosecution succeeds in wrongfully convicting Nicole Carvalho of murder, she will receive a prison sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty, for defending herself against the man who attacked her, the very same man who raped and drove her daughter to suicide at only twelve years old.”

Johnny nods solemnly, looking at me gratefully before turning to the court.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I believe that this is a crucial factor in this case; George Randall may be dead today, but the fact remains, he was neither murdered, nor a victim. He raped a twelve year-old girl.”

A harsh wave of silence washes over the court, as most hold their breath.

“He raped a twelve year old-girl, driving her to the irreversible act of suicide at the young age of twelve, not even a teenager yet, and when that girl’s mother knocked on her door, he couldn’t handle it, and lashed out at her!”

The jury seemed just as disturbed as they should’ve been at this. I sat quietly on the stand, not having to say a word. Johnny was working the court. Together, we were such good liars, I think we even believed ourselves, on some level. As Johnny continued his argument, highlighting me as the victim in our perfect narrative, I looked around the room with a deep sadness in my eyes. I really was thinking about my daughter. I felt like I was living in some dystopian world, a world where my daughter was dead, and I had become a murderer.

Everything around me felt so distant and surreal, but then, I looked into his eyes. The man I had hardly noticed before, because he looked like every man. It was him, watching my trial, next to another man he’d come with, a short bald man. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it really was him, the man who had helped me with the phone at Miami Metro all those months ago. It was him, I was sure of it, sitting there lost in the crowd watching the proceedings of my court case with his eyes darting back and forth like at a basketball game. I looked right into his cold green eyes, and suddenly, reality hit me again.

I was no longer lost in my melancholic fantasy. I was brought back to real life, in all its delicious violence and passion. I didn’t believe in God, but this man had the presence of an angel. Not, like, a cartoonish cherub with tiny wings and a halo, but a real, biblically accurate angel. I looked into his cold, icy eyes that seemed to watch me with an almost inhuman precision, and I felt so strange. This feeling was like nothing I’d ever experienced before with any other stranger. I looked into his eyes, felt his austere gaze on me, and I could’ve sworn it was like all the blood drained from my body.

I looked into this man’s eyes, and I felt more things in that one millisecond than I’d ever felt in my life. This man looked to me like an angel. Not because he was so soft and comforting, but because I could’ve sworn I looked into his hawklike eyes and heard a voice tell me ‘do not be afraid’. It felt just as surreal as a human in the bible encountering a real angel, in all its terrifying glory. In that moment, I had no idea what came over me, but when our eyes met, I looked at him for a moment, no longer lying, or playing a character. I looked at him from across the room, electrified, and for a split second, I smiled. I don’t know why, I couldn’t help it.

I risked my entire court case just to look at this strange man across the room, and I just smiled, with no remorse or concern for anything but my own appetites. What was even stranger was that he looked at me, saw my flirtatious smile, and returned it, for so short of a time that afterwards, I couldn’t even be sure if it was real.

*****

After today, I left the court room with Johnny in tears. Real tears. Not many of them, but enough to warrant sunglasses. I was still emotional about Isabella, given that she was practically murdered, and it just so happened that it came out from time to time in public. After walking out of the courthouse with Johnny, with his hand on my back as we ran past the journalists trying to get interviews and photos, I wiped away the last of my tears, brushing mascara clumps off of my fingers.

“You did good, kiddo,” Johnny promises me.

I just smile, nodding. I love this man, because he talks to me like we’re on The Sopranos. I hurry down the street with him in my Jimmy Choos, rushing to our cars just as I accidentally bump into a man on the street.

“Oh, sorry—!” the man exclaims, as his companion turns.

I suddenly stop as, right there on the street, the man from Miami Metro and his bald friend stand right in front of us. Johnny is somewhat confused by my lingering, but waits with me. The bald man looks at me like he’s seen a ghost, staring at me like he’s starstruck. Fuck, I think, he must recognize me. I thought he was about to panic, or act like I have something contagious, given about half of society currently sees me as a murderer, but he seems to have a completely different reaction.

“O-Oh my God!” the little bald man exclaims, as the other man just smiles at me uncomfortably. “You’re—You’re—”

He seems incapable of finishing the sentence.

“Nicole Carvalho,” I finish the sentence for him.

“…Miami MILF!” he exclaims, before I can finish. “Murderer I’d Like to Fuck!”

I frowned, not really expecting that as Johnny chivalrously comes to my defense.

“Hey, pal…” my lawyer begins, before I cut him off.

“Johnny, it’s alright,” I turned to him, not threatened by this man.

The bald Japanese man scrambles before just handing me his coffee cup. “Do you think you could sign this?!”

As far as strange interactions after I became a household name, this honestly wasn’t the worst.

“You… want me to sign this?” I question, needing confirmation as he hands me the mostly empty coffee cup.

He nods. “Yeah!”

But before this can go any further, the man from Miami Metro intervenes, taking the coffee cup from me as an act of courtesy.

“Okay, Masuka,” he says responsibly, “I don’t think we need to do that—”

I take the cup back, smiling as I fish for a pen in my purse. “It’s alright,” I promise them, deciding to just sign the cup, “I’ve always wanted to give an autograph, albeit, under different circumstances… What’s your name?”

The bald man practically jumps for joy as I sign the cup. “Vince. It’s Vince.”

Honestly, his morbid fascination with me was somewhat… well… fascinating. I was probably a murderer, or at the very least definitely a killer, but he didn’t seem to care, because I looked good in a pencil skirt. God, the halo effect is real.

“Okay, great, I’ll make this out to Vince:”

“Thank you!” Vince says far too enthusiastically.

I nod. “Mm-hmm.”

The man from Miami Metro just stands there, awkwardly, frowning sympathetically as I sign and give back the paper cup.

“Here you go,” I say charismatically, “Just… Promise not to lift it for prints, okay?”

This makes even the sandy-haired guy from the police station chuckle, before Johnny chimes in, with perfect comedic timing.

“She’s kidding, of course,” Johnny says quickly, smiling, “You wouldn’t find much if you did.”

I smile as I seem to have made the bald man, Masuka’s, day.

“Thank you,” the sandy-haired guy says sheepishly, “And sorry…”

“Not a problem,” I offer, “At least I get to feel like a celebrity for… two seconds.”

“Oh, come on,” Vince Masuka says, “I’m sure guys ask you for autographs all the time.”

I smile awkwardly. “Surprisingly, no.”

“Really?” he thinks. “Huh. Well, they should, because… All due respect… You’re a dime piece.”

I smile. “Well, that just brightens up my day….”

He laughs a laugh that I can only describe as Beavis and Butthead-esque.

“Alright, well… Thank you for your time,” the Miami Metro guy thanks me politely and apologetically. “Vince… let’s leave the nice woman alone,” he prompted, seeming desperate to get away.

But why? Why was this man who had been watching me for days suddenly so keen on getting away? He must’ve wanted some semblance of distance from me… To watch me in the shadows, without me knowing he’s there. He was trying to get away, but I didn’t let him. I just couldn’t. He was like a fly stuck in my trap.

“I’m sorry, what was your name?” I ask him.

Forget the cat, curiosity was killing me.

“Uh, Dexter,” he says in a friendly manner, shaking my hand.

“Dexter,” I smile, as if trying it out.

Of course it had to be something like that. I considered that maybe he’d given me a fake name, but given that he had a friend with him, I supposed it probably wasn’t.

“Well, Vince, Dexter, it was nice meeting you,” I wave as I walk away with Johnny.

Vince looks at me like a lost puppy, waving hopelessly as I walk away. Dexter, on the other hand, gives me a tiny wave before the friendly smile on his face disappears, revealing a colder, smarter mind beneath the surface, if only for a second. I had no idea who this man was, or why he was really so interested in my case. Logic told me he could’ve been just as pervy of a fanboy as his friend, but something told me it certainly wasn’t that. I didn’t know what his fascination was with me, but I knew it was something dark. There was something just so present, and unnerving, in the way he looked at me, even just as he waved goodbye to me on the street.

I just couldn’t quite place it, and it was killing me. I racked my brain, but still, I couldn’t think of just one instance where somebody looked at me the exact same way this Dexter character did. It was strange. However, there was one memory of someone in particular that wasn’t exact, but a close match. The closest thing to the look I saw in Dexter’s eyes was the look in George Randall’s eyes, right before he died, somewhere between the tenth and eleventh stab wound.

-

Part Three.

[kingofthecotas]

lion's den | ao3

marc at the 100km race in 2026 | 3.4k

i have. compressed the timeline. for narrative reasons 

----

Luca catches him just before they pile out of the house, towards the changing room and the bike shed. It’s not difficult for him: Marc has been hovering, peripheral, all morning. Pecco tried his best to pull him into a conversation, but Bezzecchi turned cold and Valentino appeared from the kitchen and that was that.

Marc fixes the unsure set of his face the second he realises he’s being observed instead of politely ignored. The smile is enough to convince most people—it usually is. 

“You know…” Luca visibly picks through his words before he says them. “You don’t have to forgive him.”

Marc tries not to allow the smile to falter. 

“If you are doing this for Pecco—that is kind of you. But you do not have to forgive him.”

“I think…” And Marc tilts his head, calculating what he can afford to reveal. Luca—he likes Luca, has always found him reasonable. “Too late for that, maybe.” 

Luca’s eyes flicker for a heartbeat, too quick for him to catch even if the rest of his expression is perfectly controlled. Surprise. Marc had surprised him. 

Marc clearly isn’t as fucking obvious as he thinks he is. 

“Well, just …” Luca shrugs, looks him up and down. “It’s good you are here.”

“Good for Ducati?” Marc says, twisting Pecco’s words just enough that they sound mocking. 

“Good for Ducati. Good for the cameras, of course.” Maybe Luca—he doesn’t have blinders on, perhaps, the way Bezzecchi does. Knows Valentino, knows what he does, and loves him anyway. “Come on.”

The moment they step outside, there’s a phone in Marc’s face, wielded by someone in a VR46 hat. Good for the cameras. Good for Valentino.

He huffs out a breath that coils in the air, hangs like smoke, before following Luca to the changing rooms with something sickening in his chest, in his stomach. 

——

Pecco had suggested it first, after a particularly friendly debrief; he’d charged off into the Italian afternoon by three seconds, and Marc chased but decided the championship was close enough that twenty points was better than gravel. Things had stopped being fraught after Qatar—bizarrely, since Pecco had heard Marc behind him and locked the brakes, leaving Marc with nowhere to go but over his teammate’s sliding rear tyre. Gravel trap, Pecco helping him to his feet—and genuine shock when Marc accepted his apology without question. He’d watched Marc for an hour like he expected him to snap, before seemingly deciding he was safe. 

So things had been fine. And Pecco had been fine. So when Pecco won in Misano, clawed some points back, and suggested Tavullia—Marc had laughed. Good joke.

“No, I think it would be good,” Pecco said, his smile half-confused and half-polite—but not joking. “Good for the team.”

“Do you?” Because—Jesus, Pecco had been there. He’d been young, yes, but he was there.

“Just—you don’t have to.”

“Sorry,” Marc said. “Not a good idea, I think.”

“Okay,” Pecco said, unconcerned, and that had been that. 

——

Valentino snares him the moment he steps into the outbuilding, blinking at the same wooden walls he’d doomed himself in over a decade ago.

“Marc! Come here, come here, you need to sign.” And he’s being shepherded towards the table, towards the poster and the pens. Leaving his mark, he supposes.

Cameras. Marc smiles. “So I go right in the middle, no?”

Everyone laughs, indulgent, and Valentino even smiles in return before pointing out a spot for him. Marc does as he’s told; he’s walked himself into the lion’s den, so he may as well play before he’s torn to bloody ribbons.

“And the shirts, behind you.” Valentino is close, too close, a hot vein of lightning in the very centre of Marc’s awareness as they move together, entirely at his whim. 

Marc swallows, wonders if he shouldn’t have come. 

Valentino pulls the hem of the shirt, stretches it out taut, even though one of the hovering assistants had held her hand out to do the same thing—Valentino holds it carefully until Marc has finished, then does the same for the next one.

Then, “Allora,” and Marc is forgotten as Valentino turns to entertain, to hold court. 

——

In the end, it was Valentino who had extended the second invitation, the one that Marc felt like he couldn’t refuse. It was magnanimous, the way Valentino reached for him when he won his ninth title, perfectly positioned for the cameras to capture. Summoned, to kneel and kiss the ring: Marc could play the PR game too, and he acquiesced.

And maybe—

He’d been hot and tired from the race; high on victory; dizzy from champagne and the way his palm had burned, even through gloves, when Valentino had locked their hands together so Marc couldn’t pull away. 

But he’d known exactly what he was doing—what both of them were doing—when he said yes. 

——

Pecco watches them both, not nervous but something like it, over the top of Bezzecchi’s head. 

It’s cold, January-cold, a soft mist sitting over the track. Valentino has his hair tucked into a bright yellow hat, talking in a voice that’s clearly meant to be picked up by the ever-present phones. Marc listens, pretends to listen, smiles when he senses he should. 

“Ah,” Enea says at his shoulder, “we will be fine.” Enea—relaxed, easy. Everything is easy for him, even standing in this crowd of strangers. Marc’s selfishly glad he’s here, and quietly grateful to Pecco for orchestrating them being together. 

At the very least, Marc has something like a shield. 

“Better when you get out and practice, yes?” Valentino says. “Get the, ah, get the feel.” He’s being so attentive it’s making Marc itch, caught under the laser-beam of his focus with no escape. 

Marc swallows. Makes himself nod again. The eyes observing him narrow—and Valentino finally finally turns away. 

When Marc looks back at Pecco, he’s still staring. So is Luca. Not concern. Anticipation, maybe. 

“This was a bad idea,” he mutters to Enea, because Enea won’t care—and he doesn’t, letting out a loud laugh.

“Ah, I don’t know. Good for me. I might win this.” 

“We might win this,” Marc retorts, reflex, and Enea laughs again.

Fuck Pecco. It’s helping.

——

Valentino—fuck him—is right. As soon as the flag drops and they roll out for their practice laps, something settles, even on this plain black bike with his number stenciled in red on the front. Unfamiliar beneath his thighs, and yet he settles into it straight away. It takes a couple of laps, that’s all, before he can throw it into a corner and grin when it bites, when the rear tyre slides how he wants it to. Valentino pulls in before he does, perches on his bike to watch Luca with folded arms, but turns his head when Marc trundles down the side chute to the bike shed.

“Feels good?” Enea says, hair a frizzy halo.

“Yeah, good.”

“You hear that, Pecco? He’s going to win!”

“He usually does,” Pecco shoots back, and grins ruefully. It almost sounds like he doesn’t mind.

——

The day moves quickly: cameraphones; qualifying; a Sky crew that Marc tries his best to steer clear of. He knows he’ll be in the background, though, so he sticks close to Enea and Pecco, ignoring Bezzecchi’s glare. Valentino would be annoyed if someone caught Marc on his own, excluded.

And then—

And they’re lining up on the track, Marc steadying the bike in his hands, not looking at Valentino two spots over who’ll be swapping in the same time he does. The flag drops. Enea sprints.  

Away they go.

——

The bike feels good. Someone kind—Pecco, probably—had made some basic changes to the setup. It feels good, and it’s easy. 

Enea passed the reins over to him from second position, and Bezzecchi slid on his way out of the switch line, so Marc gritted his teeth and just—went. No one in front. A few bikes close behind, so he could throw himself at the apex of every corner, could hit the inside, could let the rear tyre kick out a warning. 

It’s heavy, all of a sudden, a thundercloud rolling in and pressing down—and plenty of people here have blue leathers with bright yellow, but Marc knows. Valentino is behind him. He pushes through the next turn a little harder. 

Corner after corner after corner, Valentino’s bike a growling hum in his ear. Hornet buzzing inside his skull. Marc almost misses the bell to start the final lap; Enea is yelling something as he streaks past that doesn’t carry.

One lap to go. One lap. He’s going to win.

And Valentino is going to look at him like he’s holding a lemon under his tongue, and even the cameras won’t be enough to stop his eyes going cold again, and—

Marc puts his foot down, as if to catch a slide. The crowd noise pitches up. Valentino pushes through on his inside.

The flag waves.

——

Valentino won’t stop glaring at him.

You won, Marc wants to howl, you won, what else do you want? He doesn’t say anything though, accepts his necklace of sausages, and tries to think of the earliest possible opportunity to leave. 

And Luca—Luca keeps glancing in his direction, eyebrows drawn together like he’s concerned, like he can sense his brother’s slow-burning anger beside him on the top step. Spark creeping down a fuse: it’s going to come to a head too soon for Marc to escape.

They let the fireworks off while Enea is pouring champagne down the back of his suit, and Marc yells, twists away, stupid fucking sausages thumping against his chest. When he opens his eyes, shivering, Valentino is still staring.

The fireworks crack. Marc blinks.

——

“This is nice,” Bezzecchi offers across the table. A harmless comment that’s like throwing a stone onto a thinly-frozen pond; the fragile peace shatters.

Everyone else is talking, laughing, eating, and it’s so loud, excruciating, against the tense bubble at the head of the table: Marc, pinned on a bench between Luca and Franky; Valentino, mouth pinched in that awful familiar way. 

“Normally it is just a barbecue,” Pecco tells Marc, gallantly ignoring the heavy silence around them. “Vale is treating us well this year.”

“To celebrate a good race,” Valentino says, voice hard. “The spirit of—competition.”

Marc stares down at his plate. 

“Was it—not a good race?” Luca says mildly. Marc wonders if kicking him is the way to go.

“I expect everyone to give their all on my track.”

“And you think I didn’t,” Marc says, too loud. Enea, further down the table, turns to look. 

Valentino huffs through his nose. “Maybe I expected too much of you.” 

“Okay.” Marc stabs his fork into a piece of salmon. “What did you expect, given that we have spoken, hm, once in the past five years?”

Pecco’s eyes widen, food abandoned as he glances between them. 

And Valentino’s lips twitch, as if to say there you are. That’s what he’d been expecting, because no one can get under Marc’s skin, splinters in nails, the way he can. “I did not expect you to fuck up on the last lap.”

“It’s happened before.” 

“It was a mistake, Vale,” Luca says quietly. 

But Pecco—Pecco stares at Marc. Pecco knows Marc. 

“A stupid mistake.”

Marc sets his jaw, something fluttering in his chest. Lion’s den. “I make mistakes all the time. I am dangerous, no?” 

Valentino ignores that. “Too stupid for you.”

Marc holds his gaze, doesn’t let it slide to the wine glass balanced elegantly in his left hand, until Valentino blinks, takes a sip, rings glinting on long fingers. Pecco exhales, as if released from a spell, and picks up his fork again; it scrapes against the plate, high and piercing, and that’s enough to break whatever hold had Marc bound to his seat. 

“Thank you,” he says, directly to Pecco. “This was nice. I think I will not be invited back.”

Pecco looks at him, then at Luca. “Marc—”

“See you at the team launch.” It’s a miracle Marc extricates himself from the bench without stumbling, feet numb from the cold. He should message Enea, apologise for leaving. Thank him for making it bearable. 

A chair scrapes behind him as he pushes through the door, out into the frigid air. Footsteps in the dirt. 

“Marc.” Valentino has been saying his name all day, and none of them have grated like this one does, this one with no one else around to hear it. “Marc!”

“I am leaving.” Marc keeps his gaze fixed on the house—he will have to ask Pecco to bring anything he forgets, will have to plead with him before the Ducati launch in ten days’ time. If he can just find the keys to his hire car—

“Why?” And even that’s sharp, like Marc failed a test. 

He groans into the night sky, breath misting, before whipping around to glare. “Why? God, I cannot fucking win, Valentino. Maybe I am leaving too early, hm? Did you want to make a speech about what a disappointment I was?”

“No.” But that expression—lips pursed like there’s something sour behind his teeth. 

“Oh, of course, I am sorry.” The laugh that escapes Marc’s throat is sharp, a barking sound. “Did you not get enough on video? To show how—what a sportsman you are. All is forgiven. How kind of you.”

“Jesus, Marc—”

“Whatever I do—” And it sticks on his tongue, stings with the threat of tears. How humiliating. “Whatever I do, you will—you will find something. I am not staying here.”

Valentino stays where he is, halfway between Marc and the outbuilding. “There are no flights until tomorrow.”

“I don’t care.”

“You threw the race.” It’s not—it’s different, this time, not probing, not sneering. 

“I made a mistake. I finished second.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know why—”

“Yes.” A few steps, and Valentino is close enough that Marc can see the house lights glint in his eyes. “You do. It was not a mistake. You are just clever enough to make it look like one.” 

Nausea almost sends him to his knees in the cold dirt, but Marc is well-practiced at ignoring his body’s cries. He folds his arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“If you were going to humiliate me by giving me the race,” Valentino says, closer again, “you should have made it more obvious.”

Marc closes his eyes, bites back the frustrated yell. “You are angry that you won?”

“I want to know why you think I need your help to beat you.”

“Fucking hell,” Marc breathes. “And what if I had won? Am I a dirty rider? What would fucking—what do you want? Because last time—” And he clamps his mouth shut, cursing his own slip.

No one can do that to him but Valentino. 

Valentino, who pounces. “What about last time?”

“You were—angry. Last time I was here. And you would have been pissed off if I had said no, or if I had qualified last and fallen off. You would have—nothing is fucking good enough. So I will leave, and then at least I am just the sore loser you always thought, yes?” He should turn now, walk towards the house. He should. 

“You threw the race,” Valentino says again, and now it’s as if he’s tasting the words, finding something new in them. 

“And I should not have bothered. Because everything I do—” Marc swallows down the sting in his throat; after all this time, he still fucking cares. “You decided who I am a long time ago. I don’t know why I thought I could do anything about that.” 

It’s silent, just puffs of breath between them, and Marc turns around. He can’t be pulled back in again: he won’t. 

“Marc.”

Just—twenty steps, and he’ll be inside. Closer to safety.

“Marc.” Like a scolding teacher, an indulgent king. 

“Don’t.”

Too late; a hand grasps his upper arm, stops him in his tracks—and then drops away like it had been scalded. “Fuck, sorry—I didn’t think—”

“My arm is fine,” Marc grinds out. “I’m going home.”

“Why did you come?”

“What?”

“You did not tell me—why did you say yes?” 

Marc scoffs. “Wouldn’t want you to look bad now you are finally feeling forgiving.” 

“Oh, so you are doing me this favour instead?” The words are hot, too close to Marc’s ear. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“No.”

In, out. Breathe. 

“You haven’t asked why I wanted you here.” 

“Pecco wanted—”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to, Marc.” He can—he knows how Valentino is standing, can feel it like a twist deep in his torso: knows how he’s leaning down, hands hovering inches from Marc’s jacket. “Ask me why.”

“I don’t care why.”

A laugh, ghosting against the back of his neck. Marc shivers. “So why did you come?”

“Good for Ducati.” 

“Of course.” Lips, pressed against the base of his skull, the first tense knot of his spine. 

Marc is so fucking tired. It would be so easy to pull away now, keep walking, never look back: even easier to close his eyes and sink back into him. He’s tired, so he says, “It should be easier for me to hate you.” 

And Valentino must be tired, or drunk, because his hands find Marc’s waist and he whispers, “I don’t want it to be easier.” 

“You never wanted anything to be easy,” Marc tells him, a little too aching. 

Silence, silence that pulls in everything around them: the breeze in the trees behind the track; the faint sound of laughter; the distant rumble of a car’s engine. Valentino’s hands are brand-hot through his clothes, different and so familiar. 

Silence, before Valentino moves, slips his way around so he’s in front of Marc, between him and the house now. His fingers slip under Marc’s hoodie, find the skin just above his hipbone, other hand on the back of his head. “I don’t. Which is why next time you will not give up the win.”

“Next time,” Marc echoes, absent, caught on the trail of fingernails across the back of his neck, through his hair. 

“You need to keep Ducati happy, no?”

“Of course.” They’re too close now, Marc knows it, knows he’s staring into the jaws of death. He wishes he cared more, wishes he weren’t leaning into Valentino’s hold. Wishes it weren’t coiling tight in his stomach. 

Ribbons of flesh: that’s all he’ll be when Valentino’s done with him this time. No need to carve new lines when the old scars still smart. 

“You are very fucking frustrating,” Valentino mutters, and it hits Marc in the corner of his mouth. Too close. Focused in. There’ll be no escape. 

“Always,” but he’s closing his eyes. Valentino was too close to do anything but lean forward, and he does, and Marc meets him with his mouth already open. 

——

The bed shifting wakes him up, makes him roll over and squint, before throwing his left arm over his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Valentino pauses, trousers halfway up his thighs, a loose hoodie already pulled on. “Well, I did not think it was that bad.”

Marc lets his arm fall away; Valentino is pouting, entirely unoffended. In a good mood, for now. “It was not bad.”

“Good.” And now there’s a vulpine grin being levelled at him. “You have not changed.”

Marc has, so he glowers and bites. “And you are old.”

Valentino just snorts. “I could set the fire alarm off. The meeting point is by the track. You could get to your car without anybody seeing you.”

Oh. Marc swallows, suddenly cold. “Is that—do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Not particularly.”

“When I go downstairs,” Valentino says, instead of answering that, “and make two coffees, there will be questions.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Don’t you?”

And Marc thinks of Pecco inviting him, Luca watching him, Franky pointedly offering him a seat at dinner near Valentino. He smirks. “No.”

“Ah. I see.” Valentino taps a long finger on his chin. “Luca was telling me it would be good for my image, Pecco was saying it was for the team—we have been—yes.”

“Yes,” Marc agrees, then, “Do you—mind?”

Valentino drags his gaze down the length of Marc’s body, then up again. “Hm. No.”

“Good.”

“You never asked, you know.”

“Asked what?” But Marc knows. Why?

“Coffee,” Valentino says, as if he’s just remembered, and leans down like he might drop a kiss on Marc’s head before he catches himself. “Into the lion’s den I go.” 

Marc waits until the bedroom door closes behind him to bury his face in his hands. He sighs.

Despite himself, he smiles. 

[turcott3]

greedy

ethan edwards x fem! reader

warnings?: alcohol, cursing, fluff fluff FLUFF, and one kiss!

masterlist

-

you found yourself dancing with a drink in your hand, in the living room of none other than, the hockey team.

of course you were looped in with them pretty well, being close with some of the girlfriends, class with some of the guys and one of them you were particularly close with.

the one who got teased for being the only singleton besides luca, but luca was mostly left out of the mess with his dating history. not that it was bad, he just dated one of their sisters and now they want him single, leaving no one else other than ethan.

you danced in the close quarters, hoping and praying that somehow the crowd would push you and ethan closer together so you could finally talk to him. almost instantly, you were pushed along running into him, like your wish was granted.

“oh hey y/n, you look amazing.” ethan says eyeing you up and down. the two of you had a little something going on that you kept a secret, almost against your will. it hadn’t been very long though, you hadn’t even kissed him before.

“hi ethan, thank you.” you reply smiling as the small talk flowed naturally for a few minutes. ethan grew irritated as the guy behind him kept stepping back and leaning on him, you could tell his annoyance was growing by the second.

“hey dude, could you fucking stop.” ethan says loudly. suddenly the guy turns, elbow flying straight into ethan’s nose.

“oh sorry didn’t see you there.” he says in a mocking tone, turning back around. once ethan finally removed his hands you saw the blood start to drip.

“fuck ed, you’re bleeding.” you say tilting his chin up to keep it from dripping onto his white shirt.

“i am?” he asks.

“yes babe, come on.” you reply as you grab onto his hand, pulling him up the stairs and into his bedroom, which conveniently had a bathroom. you shut the door behind you quickly and looked around.

“can you sit on the bed for me? and keep your chin up please.” you shout from the bathroom.

“yes maam.” he teases from a few feet away, a red blush flushing over your features. you rolled up a few sheets up toilet paper and stuck it in his nostril to soak up the mess that could’ve been made.

“that guy was such a dick, did it hurt?” you ask, standing in front of him.

“it happened too quickly i’m honestly not even sure, but it does hurt a little now.” he says, observing that it’s definitely not broken.

“he’s a pussy, he couldn’t even break it.” he laughs. a few minutes go by allowing the blood to dry. carefully you pull the tissue out and toss it to his trash can, handing him one more sheet.

“make sure you’re all done.” you say and he nods, wiping the dried blood from his nostril.

“all good.” he says, setting the tissue on his nightstand.

“good, i kept your shirt from a stain.” you smile as you place your hands on either side of his face, his arm wrapping around your hips and pulling you between his legs.

“thank you for cleaning me up y/n.” he says lowly.

“yeah of course, it’s no problem.” you reply locking eyes with him.

his face inches forward quickly with a smile on his face.

“can i kiss you?” he asks still moving forward, his grin growing wider.

“no, not here ethan, not now.” you giggle, turning your head to the side, his lips hitting the corner of your mouth.

“fuck, you’re better at this than i am.” he sighs, a glimmer in his eye. you wrap the boy up in a tight hug, one of your hands toying with the hair on the back of his head as he presses sweet kisses from your neck all the way across your collarbone to the tip of your shoulder. you smiled as you sighed, loving the intimate moments you shared with him. he kisses left hot impressions on your skin without question. they made you wish you could just make him yours in a house full of people, but you wouldn’t dare. especially not with the door unlocked.

“you’re so damn cute right now, you know that?” he says pulling away, his hands unwrapping from your back straight to your waist.

“thank you handsome.” you say, your arms wrapping back around him as you pressed a handful of kisses to his cheek. you could feel the smile on his cheeks as you hugged onto him, never wanting to let him go. his arms were now one of the few places you really felt comfortable.

“it’s getting late, should i walk you home?” he asks, pulling away for the last time.

“if we can sneak out unnoticed, yes.” you smile as he nods, opening his bedroom door for you.

the two of you made your escape with ease, everyone too drunk to realize you were even still there in the first place. you and ethan remained buzzed, but far from drunk. you walked around the neighborhood for what seems like hours before you finally made it to your front porch.

“this is it isn’t it?” he asks, dropping your hand as you walked up the steps to your front door.

“yep.” you sighs, wanting nothing more for him to just kiss you in this moment. you were alone and far from any possible spies.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, placing light hands on your waist, preparing to hug you again.

“of course.” you smile lightly as he pulls you in for one of the warmest hugs he’d ever given you. slowly, he pulls away locking eyes with you before leaning in and locking his lips onto yours.

finally.

his lips fit on yours like a perfect match. they were soft and sweet just like you’d imagined in all the fake scenarios you’d created in your head to make you feel better about your situation. his grip on your waist squeezed one last time before pulling away with a smile on his face and his eyes shut, looking straight at the ground.

“what?” you giggle.

“nothing baby, it’s nothing. god you don’t understand how long i’ve been waiting to do that.” he sighs out in relief.

“well if you were wondering, it was amazing but i think i need a few more to really give you a good review.” you smile, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as he pulled you flush against his chest for another one. this kiss more natural and loving, even better than the first.

“i guess i should be getting back now.” he frowns as the two of you pull away, pressing a kiss to your hand before turning his back to you.

“eddy wait.” you call out to him.

“yeah?”

“i don’t want you walking all that way by yourself,” you half lie, “why don’t you stay with me? my parents aren’t home.”

“are you sure?”

“yes baby, come on.” you reply waving him back, tugging him into your front door by his shirt.

the next morning, you were finally able to wake up by his side for the first time. your eyes fluttered open as the brunette laid peacefully asleep next to you. you took it all in as you both laid there, your fingers raking through his soft hair. he groans after a few strokes, yawning as his eyes flickered open

“good morning sleepy head.” you giggle.

“good morning pretty girl.” he smiles lightly, pulling you to his chest as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

if you could never leave this moment, let alone the last 24 hours, you wouldn’t. you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever if you could. and maybe you could even finally tell your friends about him.

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!chef reader | social media au - part three: living together

a/n: i know it's been a minute and i'm desperately willing myself to write the luca sequel... for now... enjoy another installation of make my heart surrender as a social media au.

you can see part one and part two here. or read the story here.

liked by marcusmakespastries, carmyberzatto and others

thesustainable.chef: james beard awards 2023

congrats to @/chefsyd, our rising star, for the win! i owe you breakfast.

marcusmakespastries: LET IT RIP

poursomesugarnatalie: cuties!!

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liked by carmyberzatto, fakattack and others

thesustainable.chef: date night at home with my love @/carmyberzatto.

carmyberzatto: love you

maya.kaz: omg YUM!

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liked by chefsyd, philipKrich and others

thesustainable.chef: some r&d with the best of the best, @/marcusmakespastries

marcusmakespastries: yes chef 🫡

chefsyd: DAMN

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liked by callmeUNC, poursomesugarnatalie and others

thesustainable.chef: 🎈 it's a boy! @/carmyberzatto and i adopted a cat and now we call him aioli. welcome to the family, sweet stinky boy.

chefsyd: LOL. not stinky baby ➡ thesustainablechef: a sweet stinky baby!! ➡ chefsyd: you're just gonna out your SON like that tho? 👀

poursomesugarnatalie: can't wait to meet my nephew!! tell carmy to return my call. ➡ thesustainable.chef: lol. sorry, nat... getting on that asap.

fakattack: hey @/carmyberzatto. think aioli and the ralphs could meet? ➡ philipKrich: fuck off

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