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g00d--m0urning · 2 months ago

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Unnamed PT. 3 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!Reader)

TW/CW: vomiting, gore and violence (not super descriptive, dw), reader is pregnant so obvi AFAB but no gendered descriptors, ex-cop!reader, swearing, no use of Y/N, grammar mistakes, mostly canon compliant

word count: 3708

Author's note: It felt like it was getting long, so I cut it short,:( next part tho, obvi also, yay! an update after forever

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Rick looks between you and the radio, confusion furrowing his brows. He wipes sweat from his brow, staring at the radio, willing the person on the other side to speak again.

“Hey, are you alive in there?” Holy shit, his mean staring worked. Your eyes blow wide, going to reach for the walkie, but Rick beats you to it.

“Hello? Hello?”

There’s a sigh of relief through the other end before he speaks again, “There you are. You had me wondering.”

You’re slowly learning Rick has little patience--not that you can blame him right now--as he clicks the button again, “Where are you? Outside? Can you see us right now?”

You have to restrain yourself from making some smartass comment about him being in the tank with you guys, figuring now’s not the time.

“Yeah, I see you. You’re surrounded by walkers. That’s the bad news.”

“There’s good news?”

“No.”

You don’t bother holding back the scoff at that; fantastic. You’re going to die, in a hot, muggy ass tank with a guy you barely know.

“Listen, whoever you are, I don’t mind telling you, we’re a little concerned here.”

How rude! You are not ‘concerned’ (you are), there is no need to be bringing you into this very odd conversation.

“Oh man, you should see it from over here. You’d be having a major freak-out.”

Your jaw drops a little; that’s comforting. Really. If you make it out of here, it’s becoming a personal mission to dropkick the little ass on the other side of this. Rick couldn’t seem to care less, running a hand down his face before speaking again.

“Got any advice for us?”

“Yeah, I’d say make a run for it.”

Is he demented!? ‘Make a run for it’!? Out there? Surrounded by cannibalistic freak-o’s? Rick seems to have the same thought process.

“That’s it? ‘Make a run for it?’” Rick scoffs, looking over at you with an annoyed expression for a split second. “My way's not as dumb as it sounds. You've got eyes on the outside here. There's one geek still up on the tank but the others have climbed down and joined the feeding frenzy where the horse went down” the guy explains and the situation is actually less worrisome than you expected, “With me so far?”

Rick looks over at you for confirmation and you nod, “So far.”

“Okay, the street on the other side of the tank is less crowded. If you move now while they're distracted, you stand a chance. Got ammo?”

“In the duffel bag I dropped out there, and guns. Can I get to it?”

You silently place a curse on Rick’s entire bloodline; what kind of jackass leaves the guns out there?

“Forget the bag, okay? It’s not an option. What do you have on you?”

Son of a bitch, this is one of the worst situations you have ever been in, period. Rick groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Hang on.” he sighs, lifting his shirt up to grab his gun and counting out his rounds. You do the same, checking your magazine and the box of ammo in your bag.

‘Glock, full mag and box of ammo.’ you mouth to Rick when he looks up at you, nodding a little.

Something seems to catch his eyes as he leans over to the dead soldier, unclipping a hand grenade from the utility belt. He presses a finger to his lips--like you’ve talked at all since Mr. Mysterious started talking over the radio and would snitch. As if.

“Yeah. Yeah. I've got a Beretta with one clip, fifteen rounds and a glock nineteen, matching ammo” Rick finally answers, disappointed in the lack of protection. That bag would be a great help.

“You two better make ‘em count. Jump off the right side of the tank, keep going in that direction. There’s an alley up the street, maybe fifty yards. Be there.” Bossy. You don’t even know if you can trust him, Rick seems to, gathering himself to pop out of the hatch. It’s either stay in here and rot or chance surviving out there. You sigh deeply through your nose, tightening your grip around the strap of your bag, ready to bolt.

Rick stands up, radio still firmly in his hand, “Hey, what’s your name?” You could smack him, it’s a good question, but not at all the right time.

“Have you been listening? You’re running out of time.” For once you agree with the idiot on the other side.

“Right!” Rick nods like the other guy can see him, dropping the radio.

Rick grabs a broken shard of metal, and you ready your knife. He turns the hatch open, pulling himself out. You follow suit, groaning with effort as you stand up on the tank. You yelp a little as Rick slashes the face of the zombie still on the tank.

He helps you off the take, shooting an undead to his right. You shoot one to his left and then the one behind it. Both of you hurry to the alleyway, Rick dropping another three zombies and you one. The sheriff knocks into something, a someone you realize after both of you aim your guns up at him.

“Whoa! Not dead! Come on! Come on! Back here! Come on! Come on!” he exclaims, gesturing to the ladder.

The young guy climbs up the ladder first, you stand by the edge, facing the alley entrance in case anything tries to wander down your way. Rick grabs your shoulder, gently shoving you to face the other way and hurriedly motioning for you to go up.

You go to argue but groans fill the air and you have no choice but to climb up. The cage further up feels claustrophobic, especially with someone in front, feet dangerously close to stomping on fingers.

“What’re you doing!? Come on!” the male exclaims, looking down at Rick, causing you to look down. The idiots only a few rungs up and shooting at the staggering zombies.

Thank god, he listens, holstering his gun and bolting up the ladder; almost bumping head first into your boot. As you reach a utility platform, Unknown offers a hand, which you’re out of breath enough to take, hauling yourself onto the little patio. Rick follows suit, folding in half and trying to catch his breath.

“Nice moves there, Bonnie and Clyde. You two come riding in to clean up the town?”

The rest of the conversation goes unheard, male voices merely muttering behind you in blurry voices. An overwhelming wave of nausea hits like a freight train, leaning over the railing and spewing your guts onto the concrete below. Both of the men turn to look at you, Rick--knowing of your condition--looks at you in concern and the other in disgust. You just scowl a little, giving a small thumbs up to reassure them of your state.

“‘M fine, the smell just--it’s rancid,” you extend as an excuse, turning to look at the pair.

The three of you climb up the ladder, the two men continue to converse. Glenn, you think the other one’s name is, if you heard properly. You get lost in your own head, worries clouding your mind; is it going to be like this the whole time? All it takes is just a sprint and you're out of commission? That’s certainly not convenient.

You lag behind the duo, letting them chat about whatever they are chatting about. It takes another ladder and a walk across a roof until you finally tune back into the conversation.

“I’m back. Got two guests plus four geeks in the alley,” Glenn speaks into the walkie he has in his hand. So, he’s not alone, makes sense.

Glenn opens a door that leads to stairs; ugh, stairs, the damnation of transportation, stairs were horrible even before pregnancy. Two zombies pop out, reflexes working quickly as you reach for your gun, but two men--alive ones this time--round the corner. They’re decked in what looks like catcher’s gear and baseball bats and begin just absolutely brutalizing the undead; well past overkill by the time they stop.

The shorter one yells at the other--Morales, you think you heard--to move and the five of you barrel into the next room. So much happens in the next three seconds. You barely have time to register that some chick has a gun in Rick’s face before yours is pointed at her.

“You son of a bitch. We ought to kill you,” she spits, shooting a look in your direction, but keeping the gun on Rick.

Morales jumps in, trying to coax her off the edge of splattering Rick’s brains over the display behind him, “Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.”

Not that you expect her to actually shoot him, you’ve seen a lot of people shoot and a lot who haven’t and she doesn’t have the ‘I’ll do it’ look to her.

Another female jumps in, “Come on, ease up,” she pleads with Andrea.

Blondie scoffs like it’s the craziest idea in the world to ‘ease up’ and lower the gun from your…friend? Acquaintance? Survival tactic?‘s face. You’re tempted to raise your gun at her, but you present self-restraint, also her safety’s on. Dumbass. That’s until the gun is in your face. “‘Ease up?’ You’re kidding me, right? We’re dead because of these assholes,” Andrea snarls, her gaze hardening as she looks between you and Rick.

“Oh, come on, blondie, lower it,” you suggest, head tipping slightly. She’s not going to shoot you and you’re willing to brave that theory.

“Yeah, listen to us, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger,” Morales insists, causing you to glare at him as he tells her to pull it. He just shrugs.

Andrea chuckles dryly, but lowers the gun. “We’re dead… All of us… Because of you,” she shudders, shaking her head.

You get what she means, clearly Rick doesn’t as he expresses his confusion. Several of them hop in to ‘politely’ tell him--and you, you just choose to stick your nose up and ignore them because you really had no choice--off.

Zombies start smashing at the double doors and that snaps you back to the current situation. You’re stuck in a building with several people you don’t know and Rick’s going on about some helicopter you didn’t see and the entire thing is just fucked. A niggling of regret pokes somewhere in your brain; maybe it’d have been better to just rot away in your apartment.

You wander around the store, vaguely listening to the conversation happening between the group when a necklace catches your attention: it’s a tiny thing, clearly meant for a child, a tiny ‘b’ hanging off the silver chain. You nick the jewelry from the display--not like the owners will miss it--tucking it into the pocket with your sonogram for the tiny bug you’ve got growing inside you.

Rounds popping off catch your attention, slipping back over to the group like you never left. Everybody groans, so it seems they know exactly who’s shooting.

“Oh no. Is that Dixon?” Andrea questions, pretty rhetorically.

Morales slaps his palm to his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose, “What is that maniac doing?”

Glenn starts herding everybody onto the roof, while you’re still reeling. The last name sparking premature hope you wish would die out. Dixon is a fairly common last name--you think--and what are the odds it’d be Daryl? Incredibly slim. The odds are incredibly slim.

The group bursts through the door, jogging over to whoever is shooting at the ground. Hopefully at the zombies, there’d be no point in wasting ammo, you’d have to be stupid to the point where you wouldn’t have to worry about getting eaten by cannibalistic undead.

You feel an insurmountable rage when you finally reach the shooter: Merle motherfucking Dixon. Of course it’s him. Why wouldn’t be him!? Why would you even think for a moment that Merle Dixon wouldn’t still be alive to screw with your existence even after the apocalypse has reigned its course on the planet.

T-Dog and Merle have a colorful conversation when Rick finally decides to play peacemaker, pushing the two apart. Merle rears up to chew Rick out when he notices you despite your best efforts to shrink into the floor.

“Well if it ain’t the town piggie,” he drawls, pointing the barrel of his gun in your direction, weaving through the group.

You ignore the insults--their practically nicknames with him--rolling your eyes and blatantly ignoring the confused glances the group is giving you.

“Been a long time since I’ve seen yer face.. Broke my brother’s heart disappearing like that, y’know?” he continues, brushing a hand over your cheek like the sleazeball he is.

It’s your turn to be confused: Daryl missed you? You figured he’d be glad you left. One less cop to fuck up his life. Merle’s mouth opens again, but you beat him to the punch--literally. You can’t stop yourself, your fist connecting with his face hard enough to send him backwards.

“Oops?” you grimace as his head bounces off a pole, knocking him out cold. Not ‘oops.’ Absolutely not ‘oops.’ “I did not mean to do that.” You did. God, that felt good.

“Eh, Someone had to do it; just wish it was me,” Morales shrugs, lips down turning as he looks at Merle’s unconscious body.

Merle’s not put very long, just long enough for Rick to get handcuffs on one of his wrists and attach him to the pole that he hit his head on. In true Merle fashion, his mouth is open the moment he wakes up, yanking the short chain on his wrist as he barks at Rick for leashing him.

Rick goes on some goody two-shoes lecture, something about how it's just the ‘living and the dead’ and ‘white meat and dark meat,’ you weren't paying much attention, more so lost in thought.

If Merle is alive, there's a large chance Daryl is too because if there's one thing you have to give Merle Dixon, it's the love he has for his brother; no matter how unconventional it might be.

By the time you start paying attention again, a plan is hatched.

Said plan fails because the sewer tunnel is gated off and zombie filled behind said off, so onto plan b.

Rick chops at the dead guy--Wayne Dunlap--and the smell is absolutely horrid, it's got everyone gagging.

“I'm so gonna hurl,” Glenn groans, a hand clutched over his stomach.

“I double that notion,” you mutter, covering your mouth with your hand as bile rises in your throat.

“Later, you two,” Rick responds, receiving glares from both you and Glenn.

Once Wayne is thoroughly mushed, Glenn and Rick start covering themselves in guts, which is probably the most repulsive thing you've ever watched.

You rush to a corner, leaning against the wall as you puke. You don't hear what T-Dog said, but it pushes Glenn over the edge.

“Scoot over,” he gasps, bumping into you and throwing up himself.

“One, fuck you, this is my puke corner,” you scowl, swallowing thickly and resting your back against the wall once you're done, “and two, at least that'll help the stench.”

Glenn mumbles out a ‘sorry,’ snorting at your second statement. Once Rick and Glenn are slathered in zombie pâté, they exit the building and miraculously, they don’t immediately become a midday snack!

That doesn’t last long because it starts to rain. Of course it does! Why wouldn’t it? They do manage to get into a truck… and drive off. Motherfuckers!

“They’re leaving us,” Andrea gasps and that sets off Merle which sets off Morales and now everyone is panicked.

“Hey! Calm the fuck down. They didn’t leave us, they just had to circle around,” you shout of the group, throwing your hands up, “No one has any chill anymore, my god.”

“How do you know that they didn’t leave us, huh? Because it sure looks like they did,” Andrea retorts, glowering at you. What a bitch, but also… you don’t know. You’re kind of putting your blind trust in men you’ve known less than twelve hours.

But somebody’s on your side today; just moments later Rick pulls up in the van, “You want me to say ‘I told you so,’ oooooor no?” you ask, smiling smugly as you all rush down the stairs.

You all get in the van, safe and sound. Except for Merle, which you can’t say you’re heartbroken about, but if Daryl is still alive, that’ll be a problem. That’s a later problem, though. You lean against the wall, resting a hand over your stomach in a way you hope is discrete.

“You’re pregnant?” Morales askes and what the fuck? How does he know? That’s two men who have caught on quickly, “My wife: she did that a lot when she was pregnant,” He clarifies because, apparently he's a mind reader too!

“Yeah, I’m pregnant,” you admit; honestly, it’s probably a good thing you don’t have to hide it, hiding a pregnancy in the apocalypse would be stupid.

There’s a mixed bag of reactions, which was expected, but the excitement wears down quickly as everyone settles, exhausted from the day. Yourself included. The drive is quiet and surprisingly peaceful, given the circumstances.

About fifteen minutes later, the van pulls to a stop, and everyone piles out of the back. You hang back for a moment, taking in the last bit of shade and peace before climbing out yourself. You catch yourself looking around camp for a certain redneck, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Rick gets out of the front seat, coming to stand by your side, giving your shoulder a squeeze. A split second later, you hear a kid calling ‘dad,’ turning to find a boy rushing towards a now teary eyed Rick. A woman wearing a shocked expression follows after and you put the dots together: his wife and son.

They share a tear jerking reunion--you do however chalk your misty eyes up to hormones--and everyone gets introduced to each other! They’re a shockingly big group and they didn’t seem mad gaining two new additions. Everyone seems nice; except for Ed, he’s a douche, and Shane, there’s nothing inherently wrong with him, but he rubs you the wrong way.

As everyone converses by the fire, you hang back, unsure where to put in, but someone brings up Daryl--Dale, you’re pretty sure, you like him, his eyebrow game is on fleek--and you snap back to attention. They’re talking about who’s going to take the blame for leaving Merle on the roof, you hardly care, you’re more focused on the fact that he’s alive.

“I’ll take the blame,” you suddenly say, ignoring the way everyone looks at you like you’re off your rocker.

“You don’t have to do that, Sunshine,” Rick argues and you definitely ignore the nasty look you get from his wife. The others chime in, agreeing with Rick.

“No, but I want to and you’re welcome because if you do it, Daryl’s gonna put an arrow in between your eyes,” you say, not budging. Dale, ever the smart man, puts the pieces together quicker than the others.

“You know Daryl?” he asks, raising his eyebrow and oh my gosh, you yearn to reach that level of judgy.

“Yes, I do and no, I’m not clarifying further,” you answer, standing up, stretching your arms above your head, “I’ll take the blame for Merle, end of conversation. Now, goodnight all.”

You don’t wait for any type of response, walking off and taking refuge in the back of the van. You get your sleeping bag unrolled, curling up underneath the fabric.

You wake up to the sound of clanging, begrudgingly getting up and changing back into real pants--as much as you love your Care Bear pjs, you think that’s more a day two outfit--rolling your sleeping bag back up and leaving the van.

“Look at ‘em. Vultures. Yeah, go on, strip it clean,” you hear Glenn grumble, finding out the source of clanging is the stripping of the sports car.

“Ah, don’t worry, I’ll let you drive my baby once I get her back,” you tell Glenn, slapping him on the shoulder, which makes him jump.

“For someone who’s pregnant, you sure are sneaky,” he gasps, setting a hand over his heart, “what’s your baby?” He asks, intrigued now that he isn’t actively dying of a heart attack.

“My baby is a ‘67 Chevy. Beautiful girl, all her original parts, and she purrs like a dream,” you say, sighing wistfully at the thought of your girl. You’re going to get her back, even if it kills you.

“Isn’t that the car from Supernatural?”

“It is, yeah. Good show.”

“I loved it, I miss it. I miss tv.”

“Me too. Jensen Ackles was so hot.

“I’m more of Sam dude, but yeah.”

You and Glenn sigh in unison, cueing both of you to crack smiles and laugh, shaking your heads. You pat Glenn’s shoulder again then head over to where Rick is.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” he greets, smiling way too brightly for…sometime early…in the morning.

“Cowboy,” you nod back, rolling your eyes at his sunny disposition; maybe he’s the one that should be called sunshine.

You go to greet his wife, but the sounds of kids screaming cuts you off. Immediately, people are running off in that direction, stupidly, yourself included. It’s just a zombie gnawing on a shot up deer… Fuck. That’s Daryl’s deer, or was, it’s not edible now.

You feel your blood go cold when a familiar drawl fills the air, yelling about something or another. He doesn’t notice you, immediately stomping his way back to camp, calling for Merle. Double fuck!

Shane tries to get him to slow down, wanting to tell him about Merle, but Daryl doesn’t let up. When he finally does register what happens, he’s got a knife to Rick’s neck and you figure now is the time to step in.

“I did it! I knocked Merle out and I locked his ass on the roof, and I enjoyed it, so get the knife off Rick and on me.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x gn!reader #the walking dead x reader #daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead x you #Daryl Dixon x AFAB!Reader #unnamed

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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🥄Ethan from Love Island the Game: Winning Hearts🥄

Oh em gee did I draw him too? Well yes I did ^w^ He a pretty boi you're welcome niche litg fandom

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: explicit language, a bit of angst (bc of some family drama), lots of fluff, smut (18+), unprotected piv sex, tiny hint of praise kink

summary: in which a family wedding makes you think about the future

author's note: i love when i randomly get hit with inspiration for this universe<33

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Summer 1986

You had been trying to stay on your parents’ good side. They hadn’t been pestering you a lot about your future— specifically college and transferring to the University of Chicago, where they had wanted you to go since you were a kid— and you wanted to keep it that way. And if that meant going to a family wedding in Illinois, then so be it.

The only bearable part about it was that Steve was coming too, and it had taken absolutely no bribing to get him to say yes.

“Is this my girlfriend privilege coming into play?” You asked him as you two sat on the couch in your apartment’s living room. “Because I swear if we were still just friends you would at least force me to do all of the driving or something.”

Steve gave you an amused smile. “Do you want me to make you do all of the driving?”

“Nope, not at all,” You shook your head. “So, actually, I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Steve laughed a little and you focused your attention back on the random sitcom playing on the TV, a small smile on your face.

“Do you think Dustin will wanna babysit Harold again?” Steve asked as he mindlessly reached out to grab your hand that was buried under the blanket draped over your laps and intertwined it with his.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” You answered with a nod, taking a look over at the brown and white hamster’s cage that was sitting on the low shelf you two had next to the TV. “Honestly, I think he’s starting to like Harold more than us.”

“I’m pretty sure that happened right when we got him.”

“Shit, you’re right,” You said as you shifted a bit and wrapped Steve’s arm around you so that you were nuzzled more comfortably in his side and then intertwined your hands once again. “I actually feel kinda offended about that. Just so you know, I love you and Harold equally.”

“Equally?” Steve said, sounding playfully shocked. “I’ve known you for basically ten years.”

“Yeah, but Harold’s our son, so…” You shrugged, trying to contain your growing smile.

“Okay, I guess I’ll share the number one spot, then,” He responded as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The four-hour drive to the town just out of Chicago where the majority of your family lived wasn’t terrible. You and Steve evenly split the driving time and spent most of it playing silly games; mainly the license plate game because it was a car ride staple, and also a game where you two had to try and think of the same word and say it at the same time, and you two were eerily good at it.

By the time you made it to the hotel that all of the out-of-town family members were staying at because of how close it was to the wedding venue, it was the middle of the night. Even though Steve didn’t have to work today— he took off the entire weekend, actually— you two still decided to leave later in the day because you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary time with your parents as possible.

Unsurprisingly, you and Steve were the only people checking in at ten o’clock at night.

“So, it looks like there are two rooms in the reservation,” The lady at the front desk told you; her name tag said Joan. “One under your name, and one under Steve Harrington.”

“Oh,” You said and then nodded after a second. “Um, okay.”

Joan seemed to take note of your slightly confused tone. “Did you not book two rooms?”

“My parents handled all of this, so I guess they did the two rooms.”

She nodded at your words. “I’m gonna go grab the room keys and I’ll be right back.”

She headed off to what you assumed was the back room and you turned to look at Steve who was standing right next to you.

He let out a quiet laugh as his arm slipped around your waist. “Did your parents forget that we live together and that we've been dating for the last five months?”

“They probably think we still sleep in our own bedrooms,” You said, leaning into his touch and realizing just how tired you were.

You truly couldn’t remember the last time you slept alone in the past few months since you and Steve got together, and even before that, you both had spent a lot of time in each other’s beds. It probably would’ve made sense for you two to downsize to a one-bedroom place, but you both loved the apartment so much that you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Should I pretend that I’m actually staying in the other room?” Steve asked and you quickly nodded.

“Yeah, just in case.”

“Bad idea that we decided to share a suitcase then, huh?”

When you came up with it, it seemed like the perfect idea for the quick weekend trip. Why bring two separate suitcases that would probably be half empty, instead of just sharing one?

You sighed now as you took a look at the black suitcase that Steve was holding the handle of. “Very bad idea.”

Joan returned a moment later. “So, good news, the rooms are right next to each other, and they’re actually connecting, so you two won’t have to be too far from each other.”

“That’s great,” You said, grabbing one of the keys from her outstretched hand, and Steve grabbed the other. “Thank you so much.”

She smiled at you both. “I hope you two enjoy your stay.”

You and Steve said another quick “Thanks” before heading toward the elevators.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Your room is so much nicer than mine,” You said as you slumped back onto Steve’s bed, head quickly finding the pillow that was actually so soft.

“Do you wanna switch?” He asked from where he stood by the suitcase, pulling on a fresh t-shirt for the night.

The door that connected your rooms was wide open and it would probably stay that way for the entire night.

“No, it’s fine, I’ll deal with my shitty shower pressure and lumpy bed.”

“You can stay in here with me tonight, y’know,” He told you, moving closer and maneuvering so that he was settled on top of you. It was a comfortable position, even though it probably shouldn’t have been. The way your bodies molded so easily for each other always felt like two pieces of a puzzle coming together.

You smiled under his gaze. “Thank you for the formal invitation.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, no problem. I wanna be a gentleman.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his words that were said very seriously, but you knew they were anything but.

You could’ve easily fallen asleep just like that if you wanted to, with his warm body pressed so comfortably against yours, pretty much equivalent to a weighted blanket. And it would’ve made sense to fall asleep after the long drive you two had to endure, but you really didn’t want to.

His head dipped down and yours tilted upward, allowing you two to meet halfway in the softest kiss.

There was something about kissing Steve that always felt so nostalgic, and also the complete opposite. Even five months into everything, there was still a newness to being with Steve in this way that you’d probably never get fully used to. Every time felt like the first one, but there was also so much comfort that had been there from the beginning and it only continued to grow.

After a moment that you considered way too short, he pulled away from your lips and his mouth started immediately trailing along the underside of your jaw and then down to your neck.

You let out the softest hum as you shifted underneath him, searching for any sort of extra friction. Steve’s low groan was the first thing you heard when you brushed against his hardness and you wished that you could pull off the few layers that separated the two of you in one quick movement.

“You still tired?” He mumbled against your neck.

“Yes, but I also really want you right now,” You whispered back as you threaded your fingers through his hair, which was slightly damp from the shower he just took. The only pro about not sharing a room was that you both got your own bathroom, even if the water pressure in yours sucked.

“Yeah?” He asked as he pulled back a bit to look at you. His voice was teasing, playful, but you also knew how much he loved the reassurance too.

“Yeah,” You nodded immediately. “Please.”

There was the sweetest smile on his face as his fingers found the bottom of your t-shirt and proceeded to pull the fabric up and off of you.

You had opted against putting on a bra after your shower, so your chest was left bare for him once your t-shirt was off and he was groaning at the sight.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” He whispered as the pad of his thumb brushed against your already hard nipple.

For the briefest moment, your eyes slipped shut and you bit your lip to hold back your moan, and then you were meeting his gaze again.

“You’re really pretty too, Stevie,” You said, smiling up at him as you reached up to softly poke his cheek.

He laughed a little and turned his head a little so that he was kissing your poking finger. “Thank you. You’re so nice.”

Your shoulders upturned in the most nonchalant shrug, but the same smile was on your face; you were always the one to bring a bit of silliness into moments like these. “I try.”

Steve was smiling back at you as he gave your nipple a quick squeeze and then his hands moved down your sides and settled at the waistband of your pajama bottoms. He pulled your shorts and underwear off in one motion and tossed them to the floor somewhere along with your shirt.

He kissed from your collarbone down to your belly button, stopping and teasing different spots along the way which made you squirm beneath him and you could feel yourself dripping onto the blanket below you with every teasing press of his mouth. He moved lower and lower, and then deliberately skipped past where you needed him to be. Instead, he started kissing your inner thighs.

Your fingers carded through his hair as you looked down at him. “You’re being very evil right now.”

“I’m sorry,” He told you, but you knew that he really wasn’t. He spread your legs further and pressed the most featherlight kiss against your clit before looking up at you again. “What do you want?”

There were a lot of things you could’ve said in answer— in that moment, you were craving his fingers and his mouth too— but after the exhaustingly long drive, you simply just wanted to be as close to him as possible as quickly as possible.

“Honestly, I really need you inside me,” You told him softly, hand moving from his hair to his cheek. “I need your cock. Please. Is that okay?”

He let out a contented groan at your honesty, head falling against the side of your thigh. “Fuck, yeah, of course that’s okay.”

Steve moved away from you then, his warmth leaving your body as he pulled back to look at you. The juxtaposition of you being naked right then and him still being completely clothed, made you pout at him.

“Well, this is very unfair,” You said, reaching out to grab at his shirt.

Steve was smiling as he leaned in to press a quick kiss against your lips. “I knew you were going to say that.”

Before you could playfully complain any further, he pulled his shirt off and your fingers quickly moved to the waistband of his sweatpants. He let you pull them down along with his boxers, revealing his hard cock that you bit your lip at the sight of, and then Steve did the rest of the work of pulling them off his legs and tossing them somewhere to the side.

When his body was once again on top of yours, his warmth enveloping you completely, he didn’t hesitate to push inside of you, your wetness making it easy for him to fill you to the hilt.

Steve’s thrusts were languid and slow, both of you simply craved the feeling of each other rather than anything else. His lips found yours in the most searing kiss that was so different from his unhurried movements above you. It was a messy clash of tongues and teeth and one of your hands came up to tangle itself in his hair.

You broke the kiss when a particularly rough stir of his hips made him push deeper inside of you and you gasped. “Shit, yes, Steve, right there.”

He hit that specific spot again and again and you were moaning louder each time, not worried about how thin the walls maybe were in this hotel. “You sound so pretty screaming for me, honey. You’re so fucking good.”

You nodded profusely, trying to keep your eyes on his, but it was too hard not to let them slip shut with every perfect snap of his hips. “Only for you.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to reach your ends— it was his thumb on your clit that triggered your orgasm, and it was the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you came that sent Steve over the edge too, pressing his face into your neck.

A quiet stillness took over as your racing hearts returned to normal and a deeper tiredness took over and made your eyelids feel heavy.

After you weren’t sure how long, Steve started to shift so that he could move off of you, but you stopped him with a hand on his back before his softening cock could slip out of you and told him that you wanted to stay like this for a bit longer. He didn’t protest your words and instead buried his face back in your neck, pressing the sweetest kiss against your pulse point. You two slowly fell asleep just like that for the time being, too spent and exhausted to make any other movements.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

If it weren’t for the incessant sound of someone knocking on the door, you were certain that you would’ve slept for a few more hours.

The sound woke you up slowly and then all at once. Your eyes opened and you got the urge to pull the blanket over your head. You weren’t even sure when exactly that had happened, but at some point, you and Steve finally made it under the covers and you had also grabbed his t-shirt and slipped it on too.

You ultimately didn’t pull the blanket over your head to muffle the noise. Instead, you pulled it off of you when you realized that the knocking was coming from your room.

“Shit.”

The door that connected your and Steve’s rooms was still open and you were suddenly so certain that the knocks you were hearing were being rapped against your room door.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked when he felt you get out of bed. He tiredly rubbed his eyes; you, on the other hand, were suddenly the complete opposite of tired.

“I’m pretty sure my mom’s right outside my door. Or my dad. Or both,” You answered him as you quickly searched for your underwear and pajama shorts and found them in different random spots on the floor. “It’s probably both of them, actually, and I’ve had no time to mentally prepare for whatever this conversation is about to be.”

“I can go answer it, if you want,” You heard Steve suggest as you hastily pulled on your bottoms.

“I think it would be better if we kept the illusion up that we don’t sleep together,” You told him. “I’m gonna go see what they want and I’ll be back in a sec.”

You rushed over to where he was now sitting up in the bed and pressed the quickest kiss against his lips before heading over to your room and pulling the door that connected your room to Steve’s shut.

You ruffled up the untouched bed so it looked like you actually slept in it last night and then went to open the door before another series of knocks were rapped against it.

“Hi, good morning, sorry,” You rushed out. It was only your mom standing in front of you, and right then it was hard to tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. “The bed’s so comfortable, it was hard to wake up.”

She nodded at your words. “The bed in your dad and I’s room is terrible, we’re gonna try to switch to a different room tonight. Anyway, what time did you and Steve make it here last night?”

“It was a little after ten.”

“And how was the drive?”

“Good,” You answered simply. “Me and Steve split the time so that made it easier.”

“That’s good,” She smiled. “Do you know if he’s still sleeping?”

“Um, yeah, he probably is,” You shrugged through your lie. “He’s right next door, but I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Okay, well, your dad and I are going to have breakfast downstairs in an hour with your Aunt Tracy and Uncle Sean, you and Steve should come too.”

Her words sounded like a suggestion, but you knew that they were actually the opposite.

You forced a smile. “Oh, okay, we’ll definitely meet you guys down there. I’ll go wake him up now.”

“Okay, great,” Your mom smiled back at you. “See you two then.”

You closed the door when she started walking away and headed back to Steve’s room.

“So, what happened?” He asked as you climbed back into bed.

You settled next to him and rested your head against his bare shoulder. “We’re having breakfast downstairs with my parents, and my aunt and uncle in an hour.”

Steve nodded at your statement. “Honestly, that sounds good. The last time we ate was right before we got here last night and it was shitty McDonald’s.”

“Yeah, those were the saddest burgers ever,” You said with a sigh.

“Wait, which aunt is gonna be there?” Steve abruptly asked. “The nice one or the one that hates me?”

You laughed a little. “The nice one. But, I feel like I should remind you again that Cheryl does not hate you.”

“You don’t remember that party the way I do,” He said and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his seriousness.

It had been a birthday party for your mom a few years back. Of course, Steve and his parents were there, and you and him spent most of the night camping out in your room, away from your mom’s friends and your overbearing family members. It had been your idea to sneak a bottle of wine from the kitchen and bring it to your room, but Steve was the one who actually went and did it. Or at least attempted to before he got caught by your aunt and, according to him, was harshly scolded by her.

“I’ve seen her a bunch of times since that party and I promise you she doesn’t think you’re a bad influence on me or whatever,” You told Steve, lifting your head from his shoulder to press a kiss against his cheek. “And she definitely doesn’t hate you.”

“We’ll see what happens at the wedding later.”

You leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Don’t worry, if she does hate you, I’ll defend you from any and all shitty comments.”

He gave you an amused smile when you pulled back to look at him. “Thank you, that’s all I ask. You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

You smiled at him as you leaned your head back on his shoulder and closed your eyes, attempting to get a little more sleep before you’d have to force yourself out of bed again.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Steve was right and he didn’t hesitate to whisper an “I told you” in your ear seconds after your Aunt Cheryl gave a warm greeting to you and the coldest hello to him.

You didn’t have time to respond to Steve’s whispered words because you two were being told by one of the ushers to find seats since the wedding was minutes away from starting. The weather was pretty much perfect; warm but not so much so that it made sitting outside entirely unbearable, which was a little surprising for the middle of August but you weren’t complaining.

Steve was on one side of you and your parents were on the other, and you smiled in thanks when your mom complimented the dress you were wearing; the long pale pink floral dress that you bought only because you knew she would like it, and you had wanted to avoid her saying anything bad about your clothing choices like she usually did.

About halfway through the ceremony, Steve’s hand found yours, and the simple action made you suddenly feel warm all over. You shouldn’t have felt so fazed by it— that was something that had happened practically a million times before— but the current circumstances made it feel a little different.

Samantha was one of your cousins that you weren’t that close with— you remembered going to the sleepover for her fifth birthday party and that was one of the last times you two hung out before you and your family moved to Indiana, and then you only saw her during random family occasions— but she looked beautiful and seemed so genuinely happy that it was hard not to feel a little emotional; it was what weddings did to people.

You tried to listen to the vows and everything else being said right then, but it was hard to fully focus when all you could think about was a future that would someday involve this with Steve, and how nice that sounded.

Maybe Steve could suddenly read your mind or the subtle smile on your face, but either way, he was giving your hand a light squeeze, as if telling you that he agreed with everything you were thinking about.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

To probably no one’s surprise, you and Steve stayed attached at the hip throughout the majority of the night. Your hand was always laced in his or his was placed at the small of your back.

You were grateful for that closeness and you were especially grateful for him because he made it a thousand times easier to deal with family members that you hadn’t seen in forever and the forced small talk that came along with that estrangement.

It quickly became a revolving door of the same topics and questions— how was graduating last year, how is college going now, what are your future plans, etc, etc— and you thought you’d be able to put up with it for the entire night. However, there were only so many times you could say, “Fine,” “Good,” and “I’m still figuring it out” before it became too annoying.

Therefore, the second the brief conversation with one of your uncles came to an end, your hand found Steve’s and you led him out of the big ballroom where the reception was happening. He didn’t question your current antics and you two ended up outside moments later— it was much cooler out now, but still comfortable— and you headed toward a little garden area with a bench that you had noticed earlier.

“Let’s just sit here for a bit,” You said to Steve, not explaining the why behind you wanting to do this right now, but you didn’t have to.

He nodded, understanding just how exhausting this entire day had been for you, and sat down with you. Things fell into a comfortable quiet, the first silence all night, and you reveled in it. You shifted around after a few moments so your head was in his lap and your legs dangled off the side of the bench.

“Do you wanna leave? I think we’ve been here for a reasonable amount of time,” Steve said, breaking the quiet after a few minutes of you simply holding his hand and looking at all of the flowers in the garden. “We can go to that Dairy Queen we saw when we were driving here last night, if you want. I think it’s only like ten minutes away.”

You knew what he was trying to do— make things light in any way that he could, and in this case, it meant offering up ice cream— and once again you were reminded of just how fucking grateful you were to have him here with you in this moment.

“I love you,” You said instead of answering his question. “Like, a lot, a lot, a lot.”

You immediately noticed the smile spread across his face as he looked down at you. “Hm, you’re not drunk right now, so where is this sappiness coming from?”

“Shh, don’t question it. Just let me get disgustingly cheesy with you right now, Harrington.”

“Okay, sorry, continue,” He told you, but then he abruptly kept going before you could start talking. “And I love you too, by the way.”

You smiled up at him. “Aside from all of the family stuff I had to deal with today, this wedding was actually really nice and it made me think about you and us a lot.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” He was so obviously teasing you because you were certain that he knew the answer to his own question.

You shook your head at him. “I don’t even want to dignify that insane question with a response.”

He laughed a bit as he pulled your intertwined hands up and pressed a soft kiss to the back of yours, and it was hard not to smile at the action.

“This entire day made me realize that when we eventually, one day down the road, do this, I don’t want it to be anything like this,” You told him.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want all of this huge fanfare and I don’t want a bunch of people that I don’t ever talk to, to be there either. If we just have the kids, and Robin and Eddie, and Nancy and Jonathan too. Oh, and Harold, of course. That’s more than enough for me. Is that okay? Does that even make sense?” You looked up at him to see if he understood what you meant, and of course he did. He always did.

Steve nodded immediately. “That sounds perfect, honestly.”

“I know that probably won’t be able to happen because of how involved our moms are gonna want to be with everything, but I just think the thought is nice,” You said with a halfhearted shrug.

“We can do a small thing with just everyone that we want to be there and then let our moms take the reins on the huge fancy thing that they’ll force us to do.”

“God, you’re so smart,” You said and you wanted to sit up so that you could kiss him— you’d been craving it all night, actually— but you felt too comfortable to move right then. “So, is this a proposal, Steven?”

You were the one doing the teasing now, a smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him and he looked down and met your eyes again.

He shook his head as he smiled at you. “Give me some time to plan the most elaborate one ever.”

“Take all the time you need,” You told him, and you genuinely meant that. In your eyes, there wasn’t any rush to get to that place. Even though you loved talking about the future with him, you didn't feel the need to make it happen before it was meant to. You two were already happy and in love and you felt so certain that that would never change, so you felt content being in this place with him. “Thank you again for coming with me to this, by the way.”

He lightly poked your side, making you let out the quietest breath of a laugh, before speaking. “You know I’d never say no to you.”

“Aw, I love it when you also get sappy with me,” You sat up then and finally leaned in to slot your lips against his. You hummed in contentment the second he eagerly reciprocated the kiss and your hand instinctually moved to the nape of his neck as you pushed yourself closer to him.

You savored the moment for as long as you could before you had to pull away to take a breath. “Okay, now let’s get out of here and get ice cream.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

Text

Now I'm Missing Your Smile

|| ao3 || an: im gonna be so honest, i wrote this cause of the set pics of steve's new truck. also, this is based on tis the damn season by taylor swift! ||

summary: When you come home from college for your winter break, you find yourself missing your ex boyfriend Steve Harrington. (wc: 2808)

You weren’t planning on visiting him on your trip back home. You were back from college on your two-week break to celebrate Christmas and the New Year with your family and friends, as well as finally finishing your finals. Steve was never supposed to be part of your plans. Not after he broke up with you in fear of doing long distance. Even though Indiana University was only an hour and a half drive away from Hawkins. Even though you had both originally promised to visit each other every long weekend.

So, when you ran into him at the grocery store, picking up some last-minute ingredients for your mom’s Christmas feast, you were less than thrilled. You felt your blood go cold when he called your name and turned around to be met with his warm brown eyes. You missed those eyes.

“Hi, Steve,” you reply, gaze quickly moving to the floor. You really didn’t want to see him. Not when Christmas was a few days away. Not when you were still getting over him. Not when you looked like this.

“I didn’t realize you were back in town,” he said, taking a step towards you, then quickly retreating, as if he didn’t know whether or not he could hug you. He could not.

“Well it’s winter break,” you say with a shrug and half smile. You had promised him when you first brought up going to a school away from Hawkins that you’d be home for every break. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, spring, and summer break. “It’s not like I’ll have to pay for a plane ticket, I just gotta drive for like an hour,” you had told him at the time.

“How’s college?” He asked, eyeing your hoodie that had your school’s name embroidered across it.

“It’s good,” you reply as you both nod. You couldn’t do this. Not today, not ever. “Gotta go!” You reply, quickly turning around as you push the shopping cart to the next aisle. Away from him.

“Wait, I’m having a little Christmas get-together if you wanna pass by! I’m sure the kids would love to see you!” He yelled as you yelled back an “I’ll think about it!” You had already known about the party. Robin had told you about it the day before when she went to visit you on your first night back in Hawkins. You just didn’t know if you could step back into the Harrington house. Back in the house where you and Steve shared so many memories. Back where he broke your heart last October when you had last visited him.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore,” he had told you.

“Do what?”

“Long distance…”

“You said you wanted to try. It’s barely been two months, Steve-“

“I’m sorry,”

***

You don’t know what convinced you to attend Steve’s Christmas get-together. Maybe it was so you could see all your old friends from high school again. Maybe it was because Robin kept (lovingly) pestering you about how she wanted to spend as much time with you as possible while you were home. Maybe it was because part of you missed Steve. Missed his smell, his smile, his stupid hair, missed him.

As you pulled into his driveway, you briefly questioned if Steve had moved, as his maroon BMW was now replaced with a blue pickup truck. However, that thought was quickly diminished when you caught sight of a certain red-headed girl through the window. Since when did Steve become a truck guy?

As you knocked on the door of the house that once felt so familiar, but now so cold and distant, you were welcomed by a beaming Steve. “You made it!” He exclaimed, moving aside to let you in the house. Wow, did you miss his smile. And how he sounded when he was truly happy about something.

“Hey guys,” you say, greeting your old hometown friends as you place a Christmas cake on the coffee table, smiling as they all eagerly welcome you back.

***

Hours later, after the party had ended and everyone went home, you stayed to help Steve. Not because you missed him,but because you had always stayed to help him clean up back when the two of you were still together. It wouldn’t make sense to break tradition now, right?

“So, you got a new car?” You ask, breaking the tense silence between the two of you.

“Yeah,” he nods, brown hair flopping back and forth as he sweeps the floor. “The BMW finally gave out, so...” He concludes with a shrug.

“Never took you for a truck guy,” you reply as he glances up, meeting your gaze with a smile.

“Wanna go for a drive?”

***

Twenty minutes later, after all the trash was thrown out, and the party’s mess was cleaned up, Steve took you for an aimless drive around Hawkins. Just like you both used to do to kill time. To spend time together, just because.

And just like last time, he was ever the gentleman. Opening the passenger side door for you, offering you a hand as you climbed inside the truck, asking if the AC was too cold or if you’d prefer the heater. Ever the gentleman.

“Sorry, it’s a little dirty,” he had mumbled as he fumbled with the radio station. Though it was messy, there was mud on the tires, a few old receipts in the cup holders, and far too many sweaters in the back seat than one person would ever need, it was all so Steve. The truck smelled so much like his cologne, one that you’ve grown to miss, it had a picture of him and Robin and one of him and the kids taped to the dashboard, and even a hairbrush in the cup holders, because of course there was.

“It’s okay,” you replied with a shrug. “It’s a nice truck,” you say, noting his smile.

“It’s my baby,” he joked, tapping the wheel before pulling out of the driveway.

“Y’know, it feels like everything and nothing has changed since I left,” you whisper halfway through the drive, laughing at Steve’s confused look. “I mean, like you got a new truck, Joyce and Hopper are married now, thats different, but in the end, you guys are all still the same,” you explain with a shrug.

“I feel like time’s been standing still since you left,” he replied quietly, avoiding your gaze, whether to keep his eyes on the road or because he regrets what he said, you can’t decide.

“What do you mean?” You ask as he lets out a sigh. You could see the air escape his mouth as the temperature slowly drops.

“It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he mutters, giving you a sheepish smile as you continue to stare at him. Could he have regretted breaking up with you? Did he miss you like you missed him?

“It’s not stupid,” you reassured him with a smile, glancing out the window to see the Christmas lights people put up outside their homes.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, voice just above a whisper. “And I’m sorry about,” he pauses, putting a hand up in the air, waving it around the empty space, “everything.”

“I missed you too,” you confess just as quietly.

“I should’ve never broken up with you,” he replied, voice somehow quieter, barely loud enough to hear over the truck’s engine and the music playing from the radio.

***

“Steve,” you whisper so as not to disturb him. He looked nice when he was asleep. Peaceful, pretty.

He just grumbled in response, tightening his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. You hadn’t meant to spend the night at his place, but as the weather got colder, and as the two of you exchanged more words with one another, how could you not spend the night? How could you not sleep in the arms of the boy you missed? Back in what felt like the warmest bed you’ve ever known.

“Steve, it’s 10 am,” you whisper as he lets out another grumble. “We can’t sleep in the whole day,” you tell him, despite how much you would love to stay in his arms all day. In his warm bed, against his warm body, instead of facing the cold, freezing day.

He opens his eyes, smiling when his meets yours, squeezing you once more. “How’d you sleep?” He asks through a yawn.

“Good. Your bed’s very cozy,” you reply, smiling at his laugh. “How’d you sleep?”

“Perfect, best sleep I’ve had in months,” he says, tightening his arm around you again. If it were up to him, the two of you would stay cuddling in his bed all day. For forever, and then some.

“I never asked,” he starts through another yawn, “but how’s college going?”

“It’s good,” you reply with a non-comital shrug.

“Real convincing,” he teased, poking your side with a smile, one that you easily returned. You missed how easy it was for him to get you to smile.

“Well, it’s no Hawkins,” you tell him, “there’s no one I know there. There’s no Robin, or Enzo’s, or you.”

“No me?” He asks, raising his eyebrows with a smile. “I am pretty irresistible, aren’t I?” He asks in a faux cocky tone, one that never failed to make you laugh.

“Why did you break up with me?” You suddenly ask, effectively ruining the previous light-hearted mood between the two of you. As soon as the question left your lips, as soon as you saw Steve’s smile drop, you regretted the words. Regretted why you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for once, and just be happy, in the moment, with Steve.

“I was scared you’d find someone better than me,” he quietly confessed, staring at the blanket that still lay atop you both. “I mean, I’m working at a stupid video store, I’m not even in community college, I was scared you were gonna meet some Einstein out there and realize he could give you everything I couldn’t.”

“And what changed now?” You ask, sitting up.

“I realized how much I miss you. How I’m more scared of losing my chance with you cause I gave you up.” His gaze finally turning upwards, finally meeting yours with a sorrowful look.

“How do I know you’re not gonna break up with me again?” You ask, watching as Steve’s gaze turns to the blanket again.

“Now I’m not as stupid.”

“But how do I know that? How do I know that the minute I get back to school, you’re not gonna call it off again cause you’re scared?” Again, you regretted your words. It’s not like you weren’t scared that while you were gone, Steve would find a different girl that he liked more than you. But at least you didn’t break up with him over that fear. At least you had stayed. At least you had tried.

“Why is it so hard to believe that I’m not the same idiot you left behind and that I want to make this work?” He asks, finally meeting your gaze, only to be met with an upset look on your face. Left behind? Is that really how he saw it? Did he really think you going to college to pursue your dreams meant you wanted to *leave him* behind?

It’s as if the same thought hit him when it hit you because not even a second later, he’s sitting up, trying to explain himself. “Wait, that’s not what I meant,” he tries to explain at the same time that you’re getting out of his bed and putting on your shoes.

“This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come to your stupid party,” you say, getting up as he lightly grabs your wrist.

“Wait, please,”

“I should’ve stayed at school, then I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit,”

“You would’ve been alone on Christmas-“ he quietly says, eyes looking sad. He knows firsthand that being alone on Christmas wasn’t easy. He knew it sucked. He knew he would never want that for you and that he’d avoid you for the rest of your life if it meant you’d still come home to Hawkins every Christmas just to have people to celebrate it with.

“I wouldn’t have had my boyfriend- my ex boyfriend think I left him here because I wanted a fucking degree,”

“That’s not what I think!”

“Then, what, Steve? What is it that you think, hm?”

He just stares at you, taking in your features as if it’s the last time he’ll get to see them in person. Because, honestly? He’s worried that this is the last time he’ll get to see you. He’s worried that this time, he’s screwed up things far beyond repair. That he might lose you for good, with no second chance.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, he quietly says, “I never thought you left me. I thought you were doing everything you could to get out of this hell-hole. Which, if I had the brains that you do, I would’ve done too. This whole time, even while we were broken up, I’ve been saving up some money to move near your school, so I could be closer to you. So we could both get out of here. I’ve never wanted anything but for us to work. Even if I sometimes have a shitty way of showing it.”

“What was your plan then? Move to Bloomington and try to win me back?” You ask as he begins lightly rubbing the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

“I never said it was a smart plan,” he responds with a weak smile. “I could show you the money if you want,” he replies, gesturing to his nightstand, where you presumed he had stored said money.

“You’re a really big idiot sometimes, you know that?” You ask as he lets out a small chuckle.

“I kind of figured that out when I broke up with you.”

You take a small step towards him. “You’re not gonna break up with me again when I go back to school?”

He shakes his head no, looking at you with those warm brown eyes that you’ve missed so much. “I don’t make the same mistake twice,” he jokes, smiling at your small smile. He missed your smile. He missed waking up in the same bed as you, your presence, your voice, your laugh, you.

You take another step towards him with a sigh. “Okay,” you whisper, smiling at his confused look.

“Okay, you want to get back together?” He asks, furrowing his brows in confusion, yet still hopeful. Hopeful he didn’t screw everything up again. Hopeful you’ll take him back.

You nod. “Yeah. But if you mess up again, we’re done.”

“Please,” he starts with a laugh. “You really think Robin and Dustin are gonna let me make the same stupid decision twice?” He asks with a smile. A smile that grows bigger when you move to kiss him. You missed his kisses. He missed yours as well.

“How long are you staying in Hawkins?” He asks, reluctantly breaking from the kiss.

“Until next Saturday,” you reply as he smiles.

“Y’know, we can go to Lover’s Lake, sometime while you’re here. In the new truck,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows with a smile. Instead of replying, you just kissed him again. Not that he minded. You truly missed your idiot of a boyfriend.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbles in between kisses, “you haven’t experienced Hawkins in the truck yet. It’s its own experience, babe. And, now I can visit you in the truck!”

“I’m starting to think you like that truck more than me,” you tease, breaking away from the kiss. You can’t help but smile as he tries to chase your lips.

“Excuse you, she has a name,” he says with a smile. You just raise your eyebrows as he tells you her name is Sally.

Of course, the dingus named his truck.

“You’re an idiot,” you reply in feign annoyance.

“I’m your idiot,” he says with a smile, moving to kiss you again, hand carefully cradling your face. Holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Which, to him, you were.

Maybe this time, everything would work out. Maybe in a few years, Steve would move to Bloomington, you moving in with him, and he could get a job there while you finish up your degree. And after, you could both start a life there after you graduate. Or maybe you could both start a life together somewhere else.

But for now, visiting him every break would have to suffice. Because in the end, everything would always lead back to the boy you loved. Back to Steve Harrington, and back to your hometown. And his stupid truck.

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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Christmas Party

Steve Harrington x Reader

Ficmas Day 9

Summary: When your best friend Steve overhears you joking with Nancy it changes the course of your friendship forever.

Words: 1.2k

A/N: Happy last day of ficmas. I wanted to write 12 stories but that never happened. Honestly, though, I'm really happy with writing 9 becuase I never intended to do ficmas at all this year. Divider by @saradika-graphics

“Are we sure this is a good idea, what if someone calls the cops?” You ask, still not fully onboard with the idea of throwing a Christmas party.

“Don’t worry it’s just for our group of friends plus if the cops get called we’re fine. Remember Chief Hopper is Jonathan and Will’s stepdad and he’d never bust them for having a party,” Steve reassures you as he hands you another box of decorations.

Removing the lid from the box you grab out a couple strands of garland and begin to place them around the living room. Steve follows behind you stringing up lights as he goes.

“You’re sure we won’t get in trouble?”

“It’s just a casual Christmas party, not a rager I promise. Plus half the people coming are practically children. It’s just gonna be us hanging out and eating snacks for a few hours.”

You knew Steve put his old habits behind him years ago but you were always nervous he would revert to his old ways. That this party would snap him back to who he used to be and what would start as an innocent group hang out would spiral into the party of the century. The fears that if he went back to his old ways he would drop you and you would be without a best friend once more rattled around your brain. As his words finally sink in you let your shoulders relax.

“Plus, Dustin is bringing Suzie and I don’t want to scare her off. He seems to really like her so as surrogate mom I need to make a good impression,” Steve jokes and the last of your reservations disappear.

You continue to joke and talk as you finish putting up the last of the decorations. Every so often stopping to sneak a glance at your best friend wondering if there would ever be a chance for the two of you to be more.

The doorbell rings right at seven and you make your way to the entryway. You open the door for Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin ushering them in from the cold. Nancy pulls you into a quick hug as Jonathan offers a quiet hello.

“So where is the dingus?” Robin asks as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Pushing her shoulder lightly you respond, “He’s in the kitchen finishing up getting snacks ready.”

“I’ll go help him,” Robin announces before rushing off to the kitchen.

“I’m guessing this means you haven’t talked to him about how you feel yet,” Nancy says as she loops her arm with yours and pulls you into the living room leaving Jonathan to get the door for the kids.

You take a seat next to her on the couch. “I don’t wanna screw up what we have. He’s my best friend. Why risk losing him when I can just stay his friend forever and at least have him in my life.”

Nancy pats your arm giving you the same sad look her and Robin use everytime they bring up the topic and you and Steve being something more. You reach out and tap her nose breaking the awkward tension forming. Just then the kids, Jonathan, and Eddie file into the living room taking up all the available seats.

Glancing over your shoulder you look for any sign of Steve or Robin, wondering what is taking them so long. Turning your attention back to the room you smile at Eddie as he tries to mediate a fight between Lucas and Dustin about what Christmas movie everyone should watch.

Steve and Robin make their way toward the living room right as Nancy leans over, “Maybe some alone time with Eddie could help you forget about your feelings for Steve,” she jokes.

“I don’t doubt that, he could probably make me forget my own name,” you joke back, bumping your shoulder into hers and you both laugh.

Behind you Steve shoves the tray of snacks he’s holding into Robin’s hands and rushes back into the kitchen needing some time to think. Robin takes it in stride and sets it on the coffee table with a loud thud.

“I think I hurt my wrist carrying the tray. Do you think you can go help Steve with the rest?” Robin asks as she plops down on the couch between you and Nancy. Before you can even answer her and Nancy are already chatting away about something one of the kids said.

Pushing off the couch you make your way into the kitchen to find Steve with his palms pushed against the countertop. His head hangs and his eyes are screwed shut. The sight of him sends a pang of panic to your chest.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as you place a hand on his back.

“Do you actually wanna fuck Munson?” he bites out as he curls a hand into a fist.

Your hand drops to your side as quickly as your mouth falls open. You hadn’t realized that he heard your joke. If you knew he was standing there you never would have said anything.

You take a moment to assess the situation before settling on your response, “It was just a dumb joke between me and Nancy. Plus I never said that I wanted to fuck him, just that he would probably be good at it.”

“So you don’t wanna get under him?” His tone is gentler this time as he turns to look at you.

“No, never. It was just a joke.” You run a hand along his arm hoping to calm him down so you can head back to the party in the other room.

His hand reaches out and grabs your free hand holding you in place. “So do you still want to forget about your feelings for me?” His eyes search yours as if he’s trying to figure out what you are going to say.

“Only if you want me to,” you whisper, now realizing the space between you had lessened.

He drops your hand, stepping in to cup your cheek. “That’s the last thing I want baby” he mumbles before crashing his lips to yours. Your hands tangle in his hair as your lips move in sync. Taking a step back he presses you into the counter. The cool press against your back sends a shiver down your spine and you tug at his hair in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

He pulls back and you drop your hands to his shoulders. You both take a moment to catch your breaths. He shoots you a smile before hoisting you onto the counter. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist and he wastes no time diving back in for another kiss.

This time when he pulls away it’s to trail a line of kisses down your neck. He works his way back up and gently nips at your earlobe causing you to let out a moan that you try to muffle with your hand. His lips press against your ear and he whispers, “The only one who is allowed to make you forget your name from now on is me.” You pull him back into another searing kiss completely forgetting about the party in the other room.

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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Sixth Times the Charm

|| ao3 || requests are open!! ||

summary: It seems like every time Steve tries to kiss you, something or someone interrupts him. (5 times Steve tries to kiss you for the first time, and the one time he finally got to.) (wc: 2,165)

warnings: brief mentions steve's bad parents. brief mention of a toddler throwing up. I think thats it!!

You and Steve had been dating for a little over a month when he decided tonight was the night he was going to kiss you. After you agree, of course. He never wanted to pressure you into doing things you weren’t ready for. He would wait a year, longer even, to kiss you if you so much as asked. But, he knew that tonight was the night.

He had taken you to the movie theaters that night to watch “Pretty in Pink,” and everything had gone perfectly. The theater was practically empty, he got to have his arm around your shoulder the entire night, and your hands brushed as you both reached for popcorn at the same time. Repeatedly. In his mind, nothing could have made the night better. That is until he drove you home later that night.

After the movie had ended, he parked in your driveway, and the two of you got to talking. He noticed the slight nervous stutter you let out when he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and couldn’t help but smile.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered as you whispered back a “yes.” And as he held your chin and leaned forward, the porch light in front of your house turned on. He sighed, almost immediately letting go of your chin, putting some space between the two of you as you both let out a nervous laugh.

“Guess you should head inside, huh?” He asked, nodding his head to your house.

“Guess so,” you replied with a sheepish smile, quickly kissing his cheek before exiting the car. “Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered as you walked to your front door. Though, Steve was too giddy to notice. A stupid smile plastered on his face from the kiss on his cheek. It may not be what he was aiming for, but hey, he’ll take what he can get.

***

The following day, you had paid Steve a visit during his lunch break at his job at Family Video, as you usually did.

“Why do you never let me pay for the rentals?” You asked with a smile as he scanned a VHS copy of "Top Gun," the first one to come in stock since it arrived at the Video Store.

“Because you’re my girlfriend, and it’s only fair that you get to use my discount too,” he replies, smiling back at you as he snuck a few of your favorite chocolates into a bag for you. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he says with a wink.

“Whatever can I do to make it up to you?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him with a smile.

A kiss. If you want, he thinks. “Well, your company’s a great start,” he says while leaning over the counter, face nowcloser to yours. “I love it when you visit me, even if you end up putting me to work cause of your movie requests,” he says in faux annoyance, smiling at your laughter.

And just as he was about to ask if he could kiss you, Robin came running out of the break room.

“Steve, there’s a really gross bug in the break room, and I’d really appreciate it if you killed it,” she says, eyes wide with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, dropping his head and walking off to the break room. But not before giving your shoulder a quick squeeze and an apologetic smile.

“Thanks a lot, Robin,” he says after killing the bug the girl was too scared to do herself.

“You’re gonna see her later anyways,” she replies, laughing at his huff of annoyance.

“I was this close to kissing her,” he replies, leaning on the wall and raising his hand to show a small gap between his thumb and index finger.

“Isn’t this the second time?” Robin asks with a laugh as Steve huffs again, already moving to leave the break room.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replies with a small smile. "Third times the charm though, right?"

***

It was one of the few times Steve’s parents were home. And, though he wanted nothing more than to be out of the house, whether at your place, the movies, hell, he’d even go to work today if it meant he didn’t have to be here, his parents wanted him to spend the day at home. In order to “spend some time together.” Even though they've barely spoken to him the whole day.

So, you had come over to spend some time with him, which he had greatly appreciated. Though the two of you hadn’texactly been doing anything too exciting, you were on his bed reading a book and he was flipping through a Batman comic Dustin had forced him to read, on the other side of the bed, he was still glad to be in your company.

“You know, I really don’t get why the kids are so obsessed with a bunch of guys in spandex,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence between you two as he tossed the comic to the floor.

“I think that Spider-Man's pretty neat,” you reply, setting your book on his nightstand as he moved to lie next to you.

“I’m way better than some spider guy,” Steve said, smiling at the way your face lit up when you laughed. He couldn’thelp but brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

“Would it be alright if-“ he whispered before being interrupted by an over-exaggerated scream.

“My eyes!” Dustin yells, covering his eyes with his hands as Steve lets out a long groan.

“How did you get in my house, Henderson?” Steve asks, reluctantly letting go of your face, turning his attention to Dustin to fix him with an annoyed glare.

“Your mom let me in. Is it safe to look?” Dustin asked, still covering his eyes.

“We weren’t doing anything,” you reply at the same time Steve mumbles “kid needs his ego checked. Can't even knock on a fucking door.”

“Hey, why’s my comic on the floor?” Dustin asks, finally removing his hands from his eyes, moving to pick up the discarded comic.

“It was boring,” Steve replies with a shrug. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted a ride to the arcade,” the younger boy simply replied.

“How’d you get here?” Steve asks with a sigh, glancing at you to see if you would be okay with the two of you making a trip to the arcade.

“I biked.”

“You couldn’t bike over there?”

“Your house is closer.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh as you squeeze his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he whispers to you with a smile, before returning his gaze to Dustin. “Alright, alright, I’ll take you to the stupid arcade.” Dustin was already walking out of Steve’s room before Steve could even finish his sentence.

***

You had decided to join Steve and Dustin as they made their way to the arcade, as you had nothing else to do for the day. And what better way to spend it than with your boyfriend?

“I’m sorry we had to spend our day here,” Steve told you, leaning against one of the games as you played Pac-Man.

“It’s fine,” you shrug with a smile. “I haven’t been here in forever, so I guess it’s nice to come and revisit it.”

“I’m gonna try and win you something from that claw machine,” Steve suddenly announces as you lose your last life in the game.

“You don’t have to-“ you start before he wraps an arm around your shoulder, already pulling you to the machine.

“Oh, but I want to, baby,” he says, nodding his head to the stuffed animals. “Which is your favorite?” He asks, smiling as you choose your pick.

About $4 later, he had finally won you a teddy bear, squeezing your shoulder as he asked “what are you gonna name it?”

“Mr. Snuffles, obviously,” you reply in a faux serious tone, smile as bright as can be.

“Hey, Mr. Snuffles,” he replies, putting a hand out to shake the bear’s paw.

“You’re an idiot,” you tease with a smile.

“I’m your idiot,” he replies, lightly poking your cheek. And just as he was about to make his move and ask if he could kiss you, a toddler a few feet away from the two of you threw up, effectively killing the mood.

“Great,” Steve muttered under his breath, putting an arm around your waist and pulling you away from the crying toddler and his mom. “Let’s look for Dustin so we can take him home,” he says.

Two failed kiss attempts in one day? That had to be some sort of world record. And of course, Steve had to be the one to break it.

***

Steve had decided to pay you a visit at your job at the record store during his break. He had brought you some popcorn from Family Video, which, conveniently enough, was just a block away from your job. Which meant the two of you frequently visited each other on your breaks.

As “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper played through the speakers, Steve glanced around the empty store before an idea hit him. He quickly took your hands in his, raising them to be wrapped around his neck, then settling his own hands on your waist.

“What are you doing?” You asked with a laugh as he began to sway the two of you.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m dancing with you.” He replied.

“Okay, well, why?” You ask, smiling at him. He just shrugs, continuing to dance with you.

“Because I can,” he teases, smiling back at you.

“This is nice,” you whisper after a few moments of silence as he moves one hand to cup your face.

“Can I-“ he whispers, before being interrupted by the bell above the door ringing, indicating someone has entered the store. Reluctantly, you both let go, moving away from each other so you wouldn’t get written up for PDA on company time.

Maybe another day, he thought.

***

Steve was starting to believe he may never get to kiss you. After so many interruptions, he was beginning to believe the world was playing some kind of cruel trick on him. One that resulted in him losing his goddamn mind because he couldn’tkiss his pretty girlfriend.

But tonight, he had a plan. One that would ensure he wouldn’t get interrupted before he got to kiss you. No parents, no friends, no customers, and no throwing-up toddlers to interrupt.

“Wow, you’re really taking me to your old hook-up spot?” You ask teasingly as Steve rolls his eyes. Yes, he was taking you to Lover’s Lake, but not with the intention of hooking up.

“I’m taking you to see the stars,” he replies, smiling at your brief look of shock. “I heard you telling Robin how much you love the stars, so I thought, why not take my beautiful girlfriend to go look at them?”

“That’s really sweet,” you whisper as he puts the car in park.

“That’s my middle name,” he replies with a wink. “Steve Sweet Harrington.”

“I thought it was Joseph,” you reply, smiling as he rolls his eyes. He walks around the car, opening the passenger side door and putting a hand out for yours to help you out of the car.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, closing the door, and retrieving blankets from the back seat to lay on the grass. “Just make yourself comfortable, babe.”

“I read a book,” he starts, arm around your shoulder as you both sit on the grass, looking up at the starry night sky. “And that right there,” he points to a cluster of stars, “is called Orion.”

“You read a book about stars?” You ask, looking at him with a smile.

“Wanted to seem smart in front of you,” he replied with a shrug, as if reading a book to impress you was no big deal.

“That’s so sweet,” you quietly reply, repeating your earlier sentiment.

“I told you it was my middle name,” he teases, lightly nudging your shoulder with his.

“I’m starting to think it actually might be,” you reply, still smiling at him. You looked so pretty under the stars.

“Can I kiss you?” He quietly asks, as your smile somehow grows even more

“Yeah,” you whisper back as he cups the side of your face, before leaning in to finally kiss you.

“I’ve been waiting forever to do that,” he half-jokes, smiling at your laughter.

“I kind of figured,” you reply with a shrug as he rolls his eyes with a smile.

“I’m not that obvious,” he says with a faux scowl that quickly melts away when you move to kiss him again.

Steve couldn’t help but punch a fist in the air at the fact that he finally got to kiss you. And he couldn’t wait to do it over and over again.

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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Too Late: Part 3 (Final Part)

SUMMARY: You find yourself at a crossroads, reflecting on your fears and the love that once defined your relationship with Tyler. After a heartfelt conversation with your mother, you reach out to Tyler, who agrees to meet, unsure of what to expect. What begins as a casual meal at the local diner evolves into a candid, emotional discussion where both of you confront your past mistakes, vulnerabilities, and hopes for the future. As walls come down and trust begins to rebuild, an unspoken connection blossoms once more.

OTHER PARTS: PART 1 I PART 2

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support this story/series has received! This is the third and final part of the story that I have planned. I hope you guys enjoy it! xx

WARNINGS: None really. Mentions of past trust issues (what happened in the 1st part)

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

The last of the plates clinked as Tyler set it into the drying rack. His hands moved automatically, a practiced rhythm that mirrored yours as you worked side by side in the kitchen. The early morning sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, casting soft golden streaks across the countertop. The silence between you was no longer heavy or awkward. Instead, it felt easy, almost peaceful—an unspoken truce forged over breakfast and stolen moments.

You rinsed the final dish, turning it over in your hands to ensure it was spotless before passing it to Tyler. He dried it with deliberate care, his fingers brushing the edges of the plate before placing it neatly in the cupboard. Neither of you spoke, but the weight of unspoken words lingered between you, quiet but persistent.

When the dishes were done, Tyler folded the towel and hung it neatly on the oven handle. “I can drive you over to your mom’s if you want,” he offered, his voice low but steady. “So you can grab your car.”

You nodded, wiping your damp hands on the front of your jeans. “Yeah… thanks.”

The drive to your house passed in near silence, the faint hum of the truck’s engine the only sound between you. Tyler kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other draped across the armrest. You found yourself stealing glances at him, your gaze lingering on the set of his jaw and the way the morning light danced across his profile.

It wasn’t until Tyler pulled into the driveway of your mom’s house and shifted the truck into park that you realized how tightly you’d been gripping your seatbelt. The familiar sight of the front porch with its white railing and your mom’s potted plants brought a strange mix of comfort and unease. You stared at the door, your stomach twisting with a sudden, inexplicable knot of anxiety.

Your thoughts drifted to your mom. The doctors had said they’d call if there was any change, and there hadn’t been. No news is good news, you reminded yourself, but the knot in your stomach refused to loosen. Something about stepping into that house, uncertain whether your mom was going to make it, left you frozen with hesitation.

“You okay?” Tyler’s voice was quiet, but it carried enough concern to pull you out of your thoughts.

You blinked and glanced over at him. His steady gaze was on you, his brows slightly furrowed as he tried to read your expression.

You took a deep breath, nodding once. “Yeah,” you said, but the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

Tyler didn’t look convinced.

Your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve as you stared back at the house. After a moment, you turned to him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Would you... come inside with me? I don’t really want to be alone in there right now.”

The words hung in the air, and you braced yourself for some kind of resistance. But Tyler just nodded, his expression softening. “Of course.”

He turned the truck off and climbed out, waiting for you to join him before the two of you walked to the front door together. You unlocked it and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards under your feet stirring a wave of memories. Tyler lingered just inside the doorway, his hands shoved into his jean pockets as his eyes scanned the room.

“I’ll be right here,” he said gently.

You gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Climbing the stairs to your old bedroom felt surreal, like stepping back into a time capsule. The walls were still painted the same pale yellow you’d chosen in high school, and the mismatched furniture you’d left behind was exactly where it had always been.

You grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the dresser, quickly changing out of the borrowed clothes. After running a brush through your hair, you tied it back into a ponytail, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked tired—more tired than you wanted to admit—but there was no time to dwell on that now.

When you made your way back downstairs, Tyler was still standing by the door, just as he’d said. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his shoulders relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on the floor as if lost in thought.

“Ready?” he asked as you approached, his voice quiet but steady.

You nodded, offering a faint smile. “Yeah.”

He held the door open for you as you stepped outside, the morning air crisp against your skin. Something about his presence steadied the unease still twisting in your chest. For now, it was enough.

The two of you stepped outside, and you locked the house behind you. Tyler was already back at his truck, standing by the driver’s side door. His hand rested on the handle, but instead of climbing in, he turned to look at you.

There was something hesitant in his expression, like he was trying to muster up the right words but couldn’t quite find them. His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak.

You took a deep breath, hugging your arms across your chest as the morning air nipped at your skin. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Tyler at the hospital yesterday had been comforting. He’d been a steady presence in a moment when everything felt like it was spiraling. And the thought of walking back into that hospital room alone right now made your chest tighten.

Your dad’s last update replayed in your mind. The earliest he could get there would be later tonight. He’d been out of town on business when the accident happened and was scrambling to book last-minute flights and make the long journey back.

You hesitated, the rational part of your brain warning you this was a bad idea. But you couldn’t help it. You glanced over at Tyler.

“Would you…” You paused, swallowing hard. “Would you come sit with me at the hospital? Just until my dad gets there?”

You braced yourself for some kind of resistance, but Tyler didn’t even hesitate. He nodded without a second thought. “Of course.”

Relief flooded through you, and though you tried to hide it, you were pretty sure he saw it in your face. You climbed into the truck, and Tyler started the engine, pulling out of the driveway. The hum of the tires on the pavement filled the quiet between you, but this silence felt different—less heavy, more comfortable.

When you reached the hospital, Tyler parked and cut the engine. You both made your way through the sliding glass doors and up the elevator to your mom’s room. As you reached the floor, Tyler slowed his steps, glancing at the small waiting area near the elevators.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” he asked, his voice quiet and careful, as if he didn’t want to overstep.

You hesitated, looking back toward the hallway that led to your mom’s room. For a moment, the idea of walking in alone made your stomach churn.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “You can come in.”

Tyler nodded, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the way the two of you moved in tandem—and the fleeting contact sent a strange mix of comfort and nerves through you.

When you reached your mom’s room, you hesitated again, your hand hovering over the door handle. Tyler didn’t say anything, but his presence at your side was enough to make you feel steady.

You and Tyler stepped into the room, the soft hum of machines filling the air. Your mom’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of the door, and when she saw you, a tired but genuine smile spread across her face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

You moved to her bedside, leaning down to give her a gentle hug. As you embraced her, you felt her gaze shift over your shoulder.

“Tyler,” she said warmly, catching sight of him lingering near the door. “Come in, honey. Don’t just stand there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tyler replied, nodding as he stepped further into the room.

He seemed hesitant, unsure of how much space to take up. After a moment, he settled into a chair in the corner, his broad frame somehow making the small hospital chair look even smaller.

You pulled a chair closer to your mom’s bed, taking her hand in yours. Her skin was cool and fragile beneath your fingers, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

For a while, the room was filled with quiet conversation between you and your mom. You told her about the house, reassured her that everything was in order, and avoided bringing up anything that might worry her further. Tyler stayed silent, his presence steady but unobtrusive, watching the two of you with a quiet attentiveness.

When the nurses came in to administer pain medicine, your mom began to fade into drowsiness. You smoothed her blanket over her, watching as her breathing evened out and her eyes fluttered shut. The room grew quiet again, a stillness settling over everything.

You glanced over at Tyler. He’d leaned back in his chair, his phone in hand, occasionally responding to a text or scrolling through something. But for the most part, he just sat there, a calming presence you hadn’t realized you’d needed.

Hours passed in that comfortable silence. At some point, you noticed Tyler’s head start to dip forward, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his head tilting slightly as he drifted off to sleep.

It was around then that your mom stirred. You turned your attention back to her as she opened her eyes and smiled at you.

“How are you holding up, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice still a little groggy.

You hesitated before nodding. “I’m okay,” you said, though the words didn’t feel entirely convincing.

Your mom glanced past you, her smile growing a little wider when she saw Tyler sleeping in the corner. “Are you two talking again?” she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Not really. He’s just… trying to help right now.”

Your mom let out a quiet laugh, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and knowing. “Which one of you is being stubborn?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, the kind of expression only a mother could manage, equal parts teasing and serious. “I mean, Tyler’s here, isn’t he? Sitting in a hospital room with you for hours, even though you two aren’t together anymore.” She tilted her head slightly, studying your face. “That boy cares about you. He always has.”

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “Mom, you’re forgetting why we broke up in the first place. He was never around. He missed birthdays, holidays… even our anniversary once. How do you think that made me feel?”

Your mom sighed, her expression softening. “I know it hurt, sweetheart. I know it did. But have you ever thought about why he worked so much? Why he was gone so often?”

You frowned, crossing your arms. “Because his job was more important than I was.”

“No,” she said firmly, her tone gentle but unwavering. “Because he wanted to give you the world. Tyler would do anything to make you happy, and the way he thought he could do that was by working hard and making sure you had everything you could ever want.”

You started to argue, but she held up a hand.

“He wasn’t gone because he didn’t care,” she continued. “He was gone because he cared too much. That YouTube channel, the storm chasing—it’s how he made his money. It’s how he provided for the two of you. Do you know how many times he called me, asking what he could do to make things better for you? How many times he worried he wasn’t enough for you?”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest. You opened your mouth to respond but found yourself at a loss.

“I’m not saying he was perfect,” she said softly. “And I’m not saying it didn’t hurt you when he missed things. But he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. He was doing it because he thought it was the best way to take care of you. And maybe he didn’t always get it right, but his heart was in the right place.”

You looked down at your hands, her words circling in your mind.

“Don’t let fear or pride keep you from giving him another chance, sweetheart,” she said gently. “People make mistakes. They grow. And from what I’ve seen, that boy would do anything to make things right with you.”

You glanced over at Tyler, still asleep in the chair, his head tilted at an awkward angle. Despite everything, his presence here—just being here—had been more comforting than you’d expected.

Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes love means letting go of the hurt and giving someone the chance to show you they’ve changed.”

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Tyler proved to be a steady presence in ways you hadn’t expected. It started with small gestures—things that felt almost too thoughtful to be coincidental.

The first time, it was coffee. You’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning as you worried about your mom, your dad still trying to make it home, and the ever-present weight of Tyler being sort of back in your life. You’d shown up at the hospital bleary-eyed and running on fumes, only to find Tyler already there, leaning casually against the wall outside your mom’s room.

“Morning,” he’d said, holding out a cup of your favorite coffee. “Figured you could use this.”

You’d blinked at him, caught off guard. “How’d you—”

“You’ve been ordering the same thing since I met you,” he said with a small smile.

The warmth that spread through you at his thoughtfulness was immediate, but you tamped it down, nodding as you took the cup from his hand. “Thanks,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

But that wasn’t the only time.

The next day, you’d mentioned offhandedly that you needed to grab a few groceries before heading back to the hospital. By the time you made it to the store after your visit, Tyler was already there, leaning against his truck in the parking lot with a bag in hand.

“Saved you a trip,” he’d said simply, handing you the groceries you needed.

“Tyler,” you started, a mixture of gratitude and frustration bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his tone calm and even. “But I wanted to.”

And then there were the texts.

How’s your mom doing today?Did you get some rest last night?Let me know if you need anything.

They came consistently, never pushy but always there, like a quiet reminder that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

At first, you told yourself it didn’t mean anything—that he was just being polite, trying to make up for the past. But the more it happened, the harder it became to ignore.

One evening, after another long day at the hospital, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, Tyler’s latest text lighting up your phone.

Did you eat today?

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. He wasn’t asking out of obligation. He wasn’t trying to win points. He was just… there. Consistent.

It felt foreign—this version of Tyler who wasn’t promising the moon and stars but showing up in small, meaningful ways instead.

You typed out a quick reply, trying to keep it casual. Yeah, grabbed something at the cafeteria. Thanks for checking in.

His response came almost immediately. Good. You need anything?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you wanted to tell him no, to keep him at arm’s length where it felt safe. But another part of you—the part that had started noticing the way he remembered your coffee order, the way he didn’t hesitate to pick up groceries, the way his presence made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter—wanted to say yes.

Instead, you settled on something in between. I’m good. Thanks, though.

You set your phone down, your emotions swirling in a way that felt impossible to untangle. You could see the effort he was making, the consistency you once doubted in him. And yet, the fear of repeating past mistakes loomed large, a wall you weren’t sure you were ready to let down.

As you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but wonder: Could you let yourself trust him again? Or was holding back the only way to keep from getting hurt?

The answer felt as distant and elusive as ever, but one thing was clear—Tyler wasn’t going anywhere. And that scared you as much as it comforted you.

* * * * *

You weren’t sure what had compelled you to say yes when Tyler offered to have you over for a few hours. Maybe it was his reasoning—that you needed a break after days at the hospital. Maybe it was the fact that your dad was finally back, sitting with your mom as she started to regain her strength. Or maybe, deep down, you knew you wanted to be here, in his space, no matter how much it scared you.

Tyler’s house was just as you remembered—cozy, and filled with small touches that made it unmistakably his. The scent of cedarwood lingered faintly in the air, and the shelves were dotted with framed photos and little souvenirs from his storm-chasing adventures.

“Make yourself at home,” he’d said, heading into the kitchen to grab drinks. “I’ll be right back.”

You wandered aimlessly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that settled over you. It felt too easy to picture yourself here again, and that thought sent a pang of unease through you.

As you drifted toward the small desk in the corner of the living room, something caught your eye. The drawer was slightly ajar, and within it, a glint of gold and a small velvet box peeked out. Your curiosity got the better of you, and before you knew it, you were reaching for it.

When you opened the box, your breath caught.

It was the ring. The family ring. The delicate gold band with the intricate etching you’d admired since you were a little girl. The one your mom always said she’d pass down when the time was right.

Your fingers trembled as you held it, a dozen emotions colliding in your chest—shock, confusion, hurt. You didn’t hear Tyler’s footsteps until he was already in the doorway.

He froze when he saw you, his expression unreadable.

“What…” Your voice came out in a whisper, shaking as much as your hands. “How do you have this?”

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I—” He stopped, as if weighing his words. “I didn’t think you’d find that.”

“That’s not an answer.” You looked up at him, your voice sharper now. “How do you have this? This is my family’s ring. My grandmother’s ring.”

Tyler’s jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might deflect or brush it off, but then he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had it because… I was going to ask you,” he admitted quietly. “Before we broke up.”

The room felt like it tilted beneath you. “You… what?”

“I’d talked to your parents. Asked for their blessing,” he continued, his voice steady but softer now. “Your mom gave me the ring. She said it was tradition, that it would mean something to you. And I thought—” He swallowed hard. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I loved you enough to want to make you mine forever.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “Tyler… why didn’t you tell me?”

His brows furrowed, his frustration evident. “How was I supposed to bring that up? ‘Hey, by the way, I was planning to propose before you ripped my heart out’? It wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation we were having when you left.”

Your chest tightened at the bitterness in his tone. “I didn’t just leave for no reason, Tyler. You were never there. You were always off chasing storms or working on the channel. I felt like I was just… waiting for you to choose me over everything else.”

Tyler’s expression hardened, but his voice didn��t rise. “I wasn’t gone because I didn’t care. I was gone because I was trying to build something for us. To give you the life you deserved. Do you think I wanted to spend all that time away from you?”

“You could’ve told me that!” you shot back, your voice cracking. “Instead, you just kept pushing forward like I was supposed to read your mind. How was I supposed to know you were doing it for me when you never said anything?”

“I thought you knew!” he countered, his voice finally rising. “I thought you understood. I thought what we had was strong enough to get through it. But instead, you walked away without even giving me a chance to explain.”

The room felt unbearably small, the air thick with unspoken pain. Tyler took a step closer, his eyes locking with yours.

“I didn’t know how to fight for someone who had already made it clear she didn’t want me,” he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through the tension.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. The emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, regret—left you feeling raw and exposed.

Tyler reached for the ring, picking it up from where it rested on the desk. He held it out to you, his hand steady despite the tension in his jaw.

“Take it,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “It’s yours anyway. Keep it, or take it back to your mom’s—I shouldn’t have it anymore.”

You stared at the ring, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his words, the pain in his eyes, the ring that symbolized everything you’d lost and didn’t know if you could get back—it was all too much.

“I can’t do-,” you whispered, stepping back. “I… I need time to think.”

Tyler’s hand lowered, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But then he nodded, slipping the ring back into the box and tucking it away in the drawer.

The argument had left you both emotionally drained, the air in the room thick with all the things unsaid. Tyler had retreated, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone with the silence. You could hear his footsteps as he made his way out the front door and onto the porch. After that, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It felt like a heavy kind of stillness—almost suffocating in its weight.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the drawer where the ring had been returned, now hidden away again. Your fingers reached out, pulling open the drawer and picking up the box. You didn’t open the box or look at the ring. You just quietly put the box into your purse. You told yourself you’d give it back to your mom.

Tyler’s house had always held a special place in your heart. The old farmhouse, weathered but sturdy, had been his dream long before you moved in. He’d poured himself into this place, building it up, making it his own. His grandparents’ house, the land that had been in his family for generations—he’d often told you how much it meant to him. The memories of the two of you walking through the fields, sitting on the porch at dusk, talking about the future… it was all a part of him. And yet, it didn’t feel like home in the way it used to. Not anymore.

You’d moved here together once, a promise of a new chapter, a future side by side. And in many ways, it had been your home. A place where you’d shared laughter, arguments, and everything in between. But now, as you stood in the familiar space, everything felt different.

You moved through the house slowly, almost instinctively, as if searching for something—some sign that the past could be healed, that the love you once had could still be found in the cracks of this place. But every room seemed to hold its own kind of sadness, a reminder of what had been lost.

When you reached the kitchen, you ran your hand over the counter, feeling the familiar grooves of the old wood. This was where you used to stand while Tyler cooked dinner, teasing him about his “experimental” dishes, laughing at how he always burned something. He’d smile and tell you that’s why he had you, to make sure you guys didn’t starve. Then he’d pull you into a kiss, the kind of kiss that made you forget about everything else. The kind of kiss that made you feel like nothing could ever tear you apart.

But then, as you stood by the window, your gaze naturally fell outside. The view from here was familiar, the long stretch of land with the barn at the far edge of the property.

And that’s when you saw him. Tyler.

He was standing outside by the old barn, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up, the axe gripped firmly in his hands. You watched, your heart dropping a little in your chest. He was splitting wood—heavy, deliberate swings with a rhythm that seemed almost mechanical. You had seen him do this before. It was his way of working out whatever was on his mind, his way of channeling anger or frustration. It was a pattern you knew all too well, one that had been there even before you left.

When he split wood like this, you knew better than to interrupt. It was his space, his time, his way of dealing with things. He didn’t want anyone there. He didn’t want to talk. It was his silent, solitary method of pushing everything down, of pretending that the world around him didn’t hurt.

You felt a sharp pang in your chest as you watched him swing the axe, each strike carrying the weight of things unsaid. Your eyes burned slightly, the tears you hadn’t realized were threatening to fall welling up.

The sight of him like this—the man you still cared about, the man who had been so much a part of your life—hurt in a way you hadn’t prepared for. You’d hoped that seeing him here, in this space, would make things clearer. But instead, it made you question everything.

Was this your fault? Was he out there, splitting wood because of you? Because of the things you’d said, the things you’d walked away from?

You could almost feel the tension in his every movement, the frustration he was releasing with each swing. He wasn’t angry at the wood. He was angry at everything that had happened between you two—at the distance that had grown, at the things left unsaid. He was angry at himself for not being able to fix it, and maybe, just maybe, angry at you for walking away.

You stood there for a long time, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter, your breath shallow. You wanted to go outside, wanted to talk to him, to ask him to stop. But you knew better. You’d learned that lesson a long time ago. When Tyler was like this, the best thing you could do was give him space. He would come to you when he was ready. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.

You blinked, trying to clear your eyes, but the image of him out there—alone, working through his pain in silence—stayed with you, heavy and haunting.

You sighed, picking up your bag and making your way to the door. As you stepped out into the cool afternoon air, the weight of the ring seemed to grow heavier in your bag. Walking down the front steps, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had with Tyler was still there, just waiting for you to reach out and claim it. But you were scared. Scared of reopening old wounds, scared of trusting again, scared of letting yourself believe that it could work out this time.

As you drove away from the house, the ring resting silently in your bag, you couldn’t help but think about what Tyler had said. For the first time, you started to wonder if you’d been too afraid to face your feelings for him.

* * * * *

The house was quiet when you finally got back to your parents’ place, the weight of the past few days pressing down on you. The hours spent at the hospital, the conversations with your mom, the raw argument with Tyler—it all swirled in your mind, and you couldn’t seem to escape the echoes of the past.

You were sitting in the living room now, curled up in the old armchair. The dim light from the lamp beside you cast long shadows on the walls, and the soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the house. Your mind was running through everything that had happened. Your mom’s voice rang in your head, reminding you that you were likely pushing Tyler away because you were afraid of getting hurt again. But even as you replayed her words, it was hard to shake the feeling of uncertainty.

It wasn’t love you were lacking. That much was clear to you. The memories of your time together—both the good and the bad—flooded your thoughts, and the love you once shared was still there, even if it was buried under layers of hurt. You could still feel the way your heart had raced when Tyler kissed you, the way he had held you close on the coldest nights. You had loved him with everything you had, and a part of you still did. But now? Now, it felt like you were standing on the edge of a cliff, too scared to take the leap, too unsure of where it might lead.

Your thoughts drifted to the last few days—Tyler’s quiet presence when you needed him, the way he had shown up, consistently and without hesitation. He brought you coffee when you needed it most, offered to run errands, texted you just to check in. Every little thing he did was a reminder of the person he had become, the one who wanted to be there for you, no matter how hard it might have been for him.

You couldn’t ignore the changes. He wasn’t the same as he had been before. He’d made mistakes, but he’d also shown you that he was willing to work on himself. The way he had apologized, the way he had acknowledged his faults—it was all part of the healing process.

And yet, even now, as you sat there in the silence, your heart was heavy. You were scared to trust again. Scared to believe that this time, things would be different. The fear of repeating past mistakes loomed over you, a constant companion in your thoughts. How could you know for sure that Tyler wouldn’t hurt you again?

You thought back to the day you broke up—how Tyler had tried so hard to be what you needed but had failed, leaving you to feel abandoned. You remembered the words he said, the frustration in his voice as he admitted he didn’t know how to fix things. But now, you knew he was trying. He wasn’t perfect, but he was showing you he cared in a way that mattered.

Maybe it wasn’t about being perfect. Maybe it was about being willing to try. And for the first time in a long while, you started to wonder if you were ready to take the risk.

As you sat there, you felt the weight of the ring in your pocket, still a physical reminder of what could have been. The family ring. The one Tyler had almost given you. He’d wanted to give you everything, to make you his forever. It stung, thinking about how close he had been to doing that, and how you had walked away before you could even see what might have been.

But maybe now was the time to face what had been left unsaid. Maybe now was the time to acknowledge that you weren’t as afraid of him as you were of what it would mean to trust him again. Maybe it was time to stop holding onto the past and to start letting yourself heal, to start letting him back in.

Your thoughts lingered there for a moment, wondering where things might go if you took that next step, if you allowed yourself to be vulnerable enough to take the chance on him again.

* * * * *

You took a deep breath, staring at the screen of your phone, your finger hovering over the “Send” button. You’d thought about this moment a hundred times, but now that it was here, the weight of it was almost too much.

Tyler. You hadn’t really spoken since that painful argument over the ring. But something in you had shifted. The clarity that came after your reflection—the understanding that your hesitation wasn’t about love, but about trust—had led you to this point. You weren’t ready to give up on him, not yet. You needed to talk, to lay everything out, and to figure out if there was a way forward.

With one last deep breath, you typed out a quick message: Can we talk?

You stared at it for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, and then hit send.

The response came a few minutes later, fast and blunt: Sure. What about?

You hesitated, your mind racing. Can you meet me?

There was a long pause before his reply. You could almost feel his hesitation through the screen: Why can’t we talk now?

You chewed on your bottom lip, heart racing again. I just think we need to talk in person.

Okay. Where?

You agreed on a quiet spot at a local diner, one you used to go to together when things were easier. The diner was just as you remembered it—faded red booths, a flickering neon sign in the window, and the faint smell of coffee and fried food hanging in the air. It had been weeks since you’d sat here with Tyler, sharing laughs over milkshakes and fries. Now, as you pushed open the door, the memories hit you like a wave, bittersweet and unrelenting.

Tyler was already there, seated in the far corner by the window. His back was to you, his shoulders hunched slightly as he stared out at the parking lot. He didn’t look tense—just tired, like someone who had long since stopped hoping for something he knew wasn’t coming.

When he turned at the sound of your footsteps, his expression softened, and he offered a small, polite smile.

“Hey,” he said, standing as you approached the booth.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you added, unsure of how to start.

Tyler waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. Everything okay? Is this about your mom or... something else?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his assumption. He thought this was about your mom—or maybe something unrelated entirely. You realized he hadn’t even considered that this might be about him. That hit you harder than you expected.

“No, she’s fine,” you said quickly. “It’s not about her.”

A waitress appeared with two menus, setting them down before taking your drink orders. Once she walked away, Tyler leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed loosely. “So, what’s on your mind?”

You traced the edge of the menu with your finger, searching for the right words. “I’ve just... been thinking a lot lately,” you started, your voice steady but quiet. “About everything. About us.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. When he did, his tone was careful, like he didn’t want to assume too much. “Us?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Us.”

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something in his expression—hope, maybe, though he tried to mask it. “Okay,” he said slowly, leaning forward now, his elbows resting on the table. “I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I’ve been thinking about why I’ve been so hesitant... why I haven’t been able to just move on or figure out what I want. And I realized it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s not because I don’t... love you.”

Tyler’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“It’s because I’m scared,” you continued, pushing through the lump in your throat. “I’m scared of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again. And I know that’s not fair to you, because you’ve done so much to show me you’ve changed. But it’s the truth.”

Tyler leaned back slightly, his hands dropping to the table. His voice, when he spoke, was soft but firm. “I can’t blame you for being scared,” he said. “I don’t. And if I could go back and change the way I handled things back then, I would in a heartbeat. But I can’t. All I can do is try to show you now that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You nodded, your heart pounding. “I see that,” you admitted. “And I want to believe it. I do. But this is going to take time, Tyler. If we do this—if we try again—I need to know we’re on the same page.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his voice full of sincerity. “Whatever you need. Time, space, anything.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and fear, but you pushed past it, meeting his gaze. “I need honesty. Communication. Consistency. If I’m going to trust you again, I need to know you’re not going to disappear or pull away.”

Tyler reached across the table, his hand stopping just short of yours, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, he covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady.

“You have my word,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open inside you, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—this could work.

“I’m willing to try,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to give you away. “But we have to start over. From scratch. No rushing, no expectations. We figure this out one step at a time.”

Tyler’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile, the kind that reached his eyes. “One step at a time,” he echoed.

The conversation between you and Tyler drifted into lighter topics as the waitress returned to take your order. You both opted for the diner’s signature cheeseburgers, a choice that made Tyler chuckle.

“Some things never change,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You always did love their fries.”

“And you always managed to steal half of them,” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

For a while, it felt easy—almost normal. The tension that had weighed so heavily at the start of the conversation seemed to fade as you reminisced about old times. Tyler told you about the farm and the projects he’d been working on, and you found yourself laughing at his stories about the chickens escaping their pen and wreaking havoc in the garden.

When the food arrived, Tyler immediately reached across the table and snagged one of your fries, grinning mischievously as he popped it into his mouth.

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Consider it interest,” he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

As the meal wound down, the check arrived, and Tyler reached for it without hesitation.

“Oh, no you don’t,” you said, grabbing for the small black folder.

“I got it,” Tyler said firmly, holding it just out of your reach.

“Tyler, I can pay for mine,” you insisted, leaning across the table in a futile attempt to snatch it.

He shook his head, his grin widening. “You can get the next one.”

“Next one?” you echoed, your cheeks flushing slightly.

He froze for a split second, realizing what he’d said. But instead of backtracking, he leaned forward, his expression softening. “Yeah. Next one.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t argue. Tyler slid his card into the folder and handed it to the waitress, who returned moments later with a receipt for him to sign.

As you stepped outside into the cool evening air, the world felt quieter. The neon sign buzzed faintly above you, casting a soft glow on the sidewalk.

Tyler walked beside you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. You fell into step together, the sound of your footsteps the only noise between you.

When you reached your car, you paused, turning to face him. He stopped too, standing so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the chill in the air.

“Thanks for dinner,” you said softly.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice low and steady.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, Tyler reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before curling gently around your hand.

The simple gesture sent a warmth through you that you hadn’t felt in years. You squeezed his hand, your heart swelling at the unspoken promise in his touch.

As you started to pull away, Tyler hesitated. His other hand lifted, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and when his eyes met yours, they were filled with something quiet and certain.

“Can I—” he started, his voice catching, but you didn’t let him finish.

Instead, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if you were both testing the waters. But as Tyler tilted his head, his free hand moving gently to your waist, it deepened just enough to make your heart race.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were still close, your breath mingling in the cool night air. Tyler’s eyes searched yours, his expression a mixture of wonder and relief.

“Drive safe,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though it carried the weight of so much more.

“You too,” you replied, your voice steady even as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

As you climbed into your car and drove away, you couldn’t stop glancing in the rearview mirror. Tyler stood there on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching until your taillights disappeared into the night.

For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel quite so uncertain.

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

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g00d--m0urning · 4 months ago

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Clark: Are you okay Bruce? Your heart sounds weird, do I need to take you the hospital? Bruce, sweating profusely, losing consciousness, organs shutting down as he uses his insane amount of body control to make his heartbeat spell out "i love you" in morse code: h-r n n

#superbat #gay people do anything but say i love you #i swear

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g00d--m0urning · 5 months ago

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maybe this is all I'm destined to be

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g00d--m0urning · 5 months ago

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Lucky

Summary: Based on this request! Reader encourages Penelope to go on a date, which ends in tragedy. This event shakes the team, leading to conflict, particularly between reader and Spencer, who blames her for what happened.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: gun mention, Penelope gets shot, typical BAU crime stuff, people getting mad at reader/blaming reader, Spencer icing reader out, Spencer being questionable boyfriend, Spencer saying mean things about reader, happy ending, Penelope is okay, self doubt/blaming

Word count: 16.7k

a/n: Spencer is kind of an ass for a while but it will make sense ! He is still an angel baby

main masterlist

“So,” Derek says with that familiar smirk, “who’s the lucky guy?”

Penelope's eyes sparkle as she smiles, her fingers toying with a brightly colored pen on her desk. “His name is James. Just this sweet guy I met at the coffee shop. You know... normal, stable. No dark criminal past.” She tries to sound casual, but the happiness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Uh-huh...” Morgan leans in, tilting his head as if scrutinizing her every word. “And you’re sure you want to go out with him?”

A slight defensiveness takes over as Penelope puts her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Yes! Why not? Am I not allowed to date now, Derek Morgan?”

Morgan's grin widens, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say that. Just... be careful, alright?”

Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, Penelope can’t help but huff. “Yes, Dad,” she quips, wondering why Derek is being so weird about this.

But then Morgan’s expression shifts, softening into something deeper, more earnest. “No, seriously.” His voice drops, gentle but firm. “Just... be careful, Baby Girl. Don’t give away your heart to some guy who hasn’t earned it.”

Penelope hardens slightly, feeling slightly hurt that Derek feels the need to lecture her. “I know, Derek. But... he seems nice. Really.”

Morgan nods slowly and walks away, still caught in the cloud of his concern and overprotectiveness. She lets out a soft sigh, looking down at the pile of case files on her desk, feeling a little bit deflated despite her earlier excitement. She loves that Derek cares, but sometimes he can be a bit... much. She starts to drum her fingers nervously against her desk, mulling over their conversation.

That's when you come in. You'd been passing by and couldn't help but notice the tense exchange. Taking a quick survey of Penelope's expression—anxiousness and longing—you decide to step in, offering a soft but encouraging smile.

"Hey, Pen," you say gently, leaning against the edge of her desk, careful not to crowd her. "You doing okay? I saw the little showdown with Morgan. He can be a bit... intense sometimes, huh?"

Penelope chuckles softly, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You could say that. I mean, I know he means well, but... I just want to do normal things, like go out with a guy. And James... he seems so sweet, you know?”

“James?” you say, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you lean a bit closer. “Who is this James?”

Penelope's eyes dart to yours, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her surprise quickly melting into a flustered smile. “Oh, he’s... just this guy,” she says, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to sound nonchalant. “Met him at the coffee shop. He's sweet, you know... normal.”

Your grin widens, clearly unconvinced by her attempt to play it cool. “Normal, huh? And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this ‘normal’ guy?”

Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a playful huff. “Oh, come on. It’s just a date... no big deal.” But the glint in her eyes says otherwise, and you know it’s a big deal to her. And that’s exactly why you’re going to keep teasing.

“Well, it’s still a deal!” you exclaim, leaning forward in your seat, eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me all about it!”

Penelope laughs, the warmth of your enthusiasm easing away the hesitation she’s been holding onto. She fidgets with the edge of her sweater, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she starts to talk. “So... I was at my usual coffee shop, you know, the one with the really good chai lattes,” she begins, her voice picking up speed as she gets lost in the memory. “And then, out of nowhere, this ridiculously attractive man just... walks up to me, like he’s in some kind of rom-com or something. And he... he asked me out.”

You lean back, eyes wide, soaking in every detail of her story. “No way,” you whisper, your excitement infectious. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“Well, I said yes, obviously!” she chuckles, though there's an underlying nervousness. “But... I felt so... I don't know. Conflicted. This just doesn’t happen to girls like me.”

“Girls like you?” Your expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, brow furrowing as you try to make sense of her words. “Penelope Garcia, you are one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted, brilliant people I have ever met in my life.” You lean in, your voice gentle but insistent, making sure she understands every word. “ ‘Girls like you’ deserve the world and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, your words hitting her like a warm, unexpected wave. Her smile softens, and she blinks a few times, trying to brush off the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispers, her voice almost breaking with vulnerability.

“Are you kidding?” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you reach out to squeeze her hand. “James is the lucky one here, Penelope. Trust me on that.”

She squeezes your hand back, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she ducks her head a little. “So, you’re saying I should go on this date?” she asks, the nervousness wavering just slightly in her voice. “Because... Derek didn’t seem so sure.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “Derek is a man, and men are weird,” you say with a knowing smirk. “I bet he’s got some strange alpha-male possessive thing going on. It’s like, in his DNA or something, to protect his pack. Don’t listen to him. You should absolutely go on this date.”

Penelope’s smile widens, and she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Well, when you put it like that... maybe you’re right. I mean, he is just one guy. And he did buy me a coffee...”

“Exactly!” you exclaim, nodding fervently. “You’ve got a very attractive guy who bought you coffee and wants to spend time with you. And, Penelope, you deserve to have fun. So don’t overthink it, okay? Go on the date, be your amazing self, and if Derek has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

She chuckles at that, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and the smile that spreads across her face is brighter than ever. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.”

“Good!” you say, beaming. “And when he inevitably falls head over heels for you, I expect a full play-by-play report.”

“Deal,” Penelope says, grinning, the confidence returning to her eyes as she envisions a night filled with possibilities.

When you walked out of Penelope’s office, a spring in your step from the lighthearted conversation, you made your way back to your desk in the bullpen. As you approached your workspace, something immediately caught your eye — a fresh mug of hot coffee sitting on your desk, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. A secret smile spread across your face as you set your things down and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, the scent of your favorite brew filling the air.

You didn’t need to guess who’d placed it there. Glancing up, your eyes found Spencer across the bullpen, and sure enough, he was looking at you with that sweet, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. The quiet gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes about the thoughtful, caring man he was.

You mouthed a silent “thank you,” lifting the mug slightly as a toast of gratitude, and playfully blew him a kiss. Spencer’s cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink that always surfaced whenever you flirted with him, and he shyly ducked his head for a moment before glancing back up to meet your eyes. With a wink and a barely contained grin, he turned back to his work, trying — and failing — to hide just how pleased he was to have made your morning a little brighter.

The sweetness of the morning, with its light teasing and the comfort of Spencer’s coffee, was short-lived. The moment Hotch called everyone into the conference room, a palpable shift in energy settled over the team. You quickly gathered your things and followed the others into the room, the coffee that had moments ago been a small joy now forgotten as you braced yourself for the case that awaited.

On the screen in the conference room was the face of a young woman — a bright, smiling 19-year-old with curly brown hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks. The smile in her photo seemed hauntingly out of place for what followed. Abby Connors, the name beneath the picture read. Hotch stepped forward, his face grave, and began the briefing.

“Abby Connors was a 19-year-old freshman at the University of Florida,” he explained. “She left home a little over a week ago to move into her dorm, but she never made it back. Her parents reported her missing, and after three days of searching, joggers found her body near a park in the Everglades, near an area the locals refer to as 'Alligator Alley.'”

A murmur rippled through the room as the next image appeared — a crime scene photo, one that showed just half of Abby’s body. You instinctively held your breath as you took in the gruesome details: everything beneath her waist was missing, consumed by the predators that roamed the swampy area. But it was the condition of the remaining part of her body that made the room go eerily silent.

“She was found with an inverted pentagram carved into her chest,” Hotch continued grimly, pointing to the markings on her torso. “Her fingers were all cut off at the second knuckle, and her throat was slit cleanly.”

You exchanged uneasy glances with your teammates, the horrifying nature of the crime setting in as you processed each detail. “So what are we dealing with?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some kind of satanic cult?”

Rossi, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shook his head. “It's not as simple as that. The idea of satanic cults operating as organized serial killer groups has been widely debunked.” He sat up, his expression thoughtful but firm. “The satanic panic of the ‘80s and ‘90s sensationalized a lot of things, but ritualistic killings like this? They don’t happen often in the way people think.”

“So, not a cult,” JJ mused aloud. “But this is still a ritualistic killing, right? The pentagram, the mutilation... it’s not random.”

“Absolutely ritualistic,” Spencer added, nodding in agreement. “The precision of the throat slitting, the removal of the fingers, the inverted pentagram... they all suggest that this was premeditated, and that the unsub wanted to send a specific message with Abby’s murder.”

“This type of ritualistic behavior can escalate,” Derek said, leaning over the table, a serious look in his eyes. “It’s got all the hallmarks of a kill that’s part of a larger motive. If we don’t catch this guy, he’s likely to do it again.”

“Which means we’re looking at a potential serial killer in the making,” Emily concluded, her voice grim. “Someone with a specific set of rituals and a willingness to mutilate and kill.”

Rossi cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him as he spoke with an almost reverent gravity. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” he quoted in a low voice, his Italian rolling off his tongue smoothly. Seeing the questioning looks on some of your faces, he translated: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

A silence fell over the room as the weight of those words hung in the air. You knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this case was going to be dark, disturbing, and an all-consuming race to catch a killer who seemed to find something meaningful — perhaps even sacred — in the brutality of his crimes.

And with that, the team set into motion, knowing that every second mattered if they were going to save another girl from meeting the same fate as Abby Connors.

—

After the team closes the case, the team sits in relative silence on the jet, each member deep in thought, processing the horrors. The soft hum of the plane’s engine provides a strange comfort, and the tension of the day slowly begins to ease. Morgan sits across from Rossi, resting his elbows on his knees, staring off into the distance. Rossi watches him for a moment before speaking up.

“You did good work out there,” Rossi says, his voice steady and calm, the kind of voice that always has a way of grounding everyone.

Morgan looks up, giving a half-smile, but there’s a heaviness behind his eyes. “Yeah... but you know how it is, man. No matter how many of these cases we close, it never feels like it’s enough.” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as if to brush away the exhaustion. “I just keep thinking about Abby’s family. They’ll never be the same.”

Rossi leans back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, it’s tough. But we gave them answers. And sometimes, that’s all we can do. You know as well as I do, it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about making sure we fight it.”

Morgan nods, his jaw tightening as he absorbs Rossi’s words. “I know,” he says, voice a little softer now. “It’s just... there’s so much darkness out there. And some days, it feels like it’s winning.”

Rossi’s expression shifts into something more reflective, a small, wise smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it feels like that,” he admits, “but the fact that it bothers you — the fact that it bothers all of us — that’s what makes the difference, Morgan. It means we’re still out there, shining a light in the darkness.”

Morgan's shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep fighting, right?”

Rossi raises a glass of bourbon from his side table, offering a silent toast. “To fighting the good fight.”

Morgan grins, and they clink glasses in a quiet, shared moment of understanding. The jet continues its journey through the night, a small point of light against the vast expanse of sky.

—

Meanwhile, Penelope walks arm-in-arm with James, her laughter bright and infectious as it echoes down the sidewalk. They reach the front steps of her apartment building, and she turns to face him. “Well, this was... really nice,” she says, giving him a genuine smile.

James grins back at her, and for a second, he leans in as if he’s about to kiss her. But at the last second, he pulls back, laughing playfully. “Sorry,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”

Garcia giggles, shaking her head at his little fake-out. “You almost had me there,” she teases, turning to fish for her keys in her bag. “Well, goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says, stepping back and starting to walk away, giving her one last wave.

As she turns to unlock her door, James suddenly stops, a strange stillness in the way he holds himself. He calls out to her over his shoulder, voice casual but loud enough to make her pause. “Hey, Garcia?”

Penelope looks up, smiling as she begins to open her door. “Yeah?”

James turns fully toward her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with an unsettling calm. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Before Garcia can even process what’s happening, James pulls out a gun, his movements quick and fluid. The world seems to slow down around her — her eyes widen, her mouth opens to scream, but the sound never comes.

And then, in an instant, the gun fires. The crack of the shot echoes through the empty street, and Penelope’s body jerks back, eyes wide with shock and pain as she collapses to the ground, her keys scattering across the pavement.

James stands there for a moment, the smoke from the barrel of his gun curling into the night air. He watches as she gasps for breath, a cruel smile curling on his lips before he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Penelope lying there, her life slipping away on the cold, unforgiving ground.

—

Back on the jet, you lean back in your seat, facing Spencer with a thoughtful look. “You know, I keep wondering what Penelope’s date is like,” you muse aloud, spinning your half-empty cup of coffee between your hands. “I hope she’s having fun. She deserves it.”

Spencer’s brows knit in mild surprise, his mouth opening to respond, but before he can even utter a word, Derek’s voice cuts across the cabin. “Wait — hold up.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Garcia actually went on that date?”

“Yeah, she did.” You nod, meeting his incredulous stare with a small smile. “I told her to go for it. She’s gotta put herself out there, right? No reason for her to hold back just because you’re all... alpha about it.”

“Alpha?” Derek echoes, looking around at the others as if searching for an ally. “I’m not... okay, look, I just want to make sure she’s safe. And how do you even know if this guy’s legit? Did you see him? Talk to him?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “No, but she deserves to have fun, Derek. She seemed excited, and it’s not like she doesn’t have a good head on her shoulders. I think it’s great that she’s taking a chance on something new.”

Emily nods along in agreement, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “I think it’s sweet. And Penelope isn’t some naïve kid — she’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

JJ chimes in with a bright smile, “Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she’s going to let someone walk all over her. She’ll know if something’s up. And if he treats her right, then it’s all the better for her. Maybe it’ll turn into something special.”

Rossi, watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, adds, “Sometimes people surprise you. And sometimes that surprise is exactly what someone needs to get out of their comfort zone. Our girl deserves someone to treat her well.”

Derek’s shoulders stay tense, and he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I get that, but... I just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s all. You know Garcia — she’s got a big heart, and I don’t want some guy messing with it.”

You reach over and pat Derek on the shoulder, a soft smile on your lips. “I get it, really. But maybe you should trust her on this. Penelope’s stronger than you think, and she’s allowed to take some risks. It’s not always about protecting her, Derek — sometimes it’s about letting her live.”

Spencer, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up. “She’ll be fine, Derek. And she’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do. But I think what she really needs right now is support... and maybe for us to just be happy for her.”

Derek looks around at everyone, the tension in his expression easing as he sees the genuine support in the eyes of his teammates. He lets out a reluctant chuckle, running a hand over his shaved head. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m just overprotective.”

“Just a bit,” you tease with a playful nudge.

“Fine,” Derek relents, lifting his hands in surrender. “But if this guy hurts her...”

“Then we’ll all be there to kick his ass,” Emily assures with a wink, and the team laughs, the conversation flowing into lighter banter, the tension dissipating as they talk about how much they hope Penelope enjoys her date — all of them unknowingly letting go of their worry while the truth of the night's events remains just out of reach.

You leaned into Spencer, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer until your head rested comfortably against him. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support and affection.

The chatter of your teammates surrounded you, playful jokes about first-date jitters and guesses about how Penelope’s night might be going. It was one of those rare lighthearted moments that made the job feel less heavy. And as you closed your eyes for just a moment, feeling the calm of Spencer’s presence, everything felt okay.

The jet touched down smoothly, and you straightened up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Spencer’s side as everyone prepared to disembark. But as soon as the wheels hit the ground, Hotch’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. He picked it up immediately, his expression going from relaxed to steely in an instant as he answered.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice flat and professional.

The team began to gather their things, their attention still mostly on wrapping up the casual conversation, until Hotch’s face went stark white, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw the shock in his eyes before he steeled himself again.

“What happened?” he demanded, his tone shifting from its usual calm to something far more urgent. He stood up abruptly, stepping away from the team, but you could all still hear him as the rest of the plane went silent, each of you glancing at one another with rising concern. Spencer’s hand instinctively found yours, and you squeezed it, anxiety blooming in your chest.

“Where was she?” Hotch’s voice was clipped, a mixture of alarm and anger. “When?”

You exchanged quick glances with your teammates. It wasn’t normal to see Hotch like this, and that fear in his voice made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Is she...?” Hotch stopped, and there was a pause, a terrible pause that seemed to stretch on forever. You held your breath, waiting, every second feeling like a lifetime.

“Understood. We’re on our way.” Hotch’s voice was low, tight with a struggle to maintain control. He hung up without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his muscles.

He turned back to the team, his expression grim, and you knew, you just knew, that whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s voice was like ice, cutting through the stunned silence of the jet as he delivered the news that seemed impossible to process: “Garcia’s been shot. She’s in the hospital, in surgery.”

The world seemed to tilt, a rush of chaos and confusion drowning out everything else. In an instant, you and the rest of the team scrambled to grab your bags, shock and fear flashing in everyone’s eyes. It was like all at once, the air was sucked out of the room, and before anyone could fully understand what was happening, you were rushing down the steps of the jet. The roar of the engines and the slap of your feet against the tarmac seemed distant, muffled, as adrenaline took over.

Within seconds, you piled into the SUVs, slamming the doors shut as the engines roared to life, and the cars sped off toward the hospital. The journey felt agonizingly long, despite the breakneck speed. No one spoke, but the tension in the car was palpable — every breath was shallow, every heartbeat loud in your ears. Your hand was clasped tightly in Spencer’s, and he held on as if anchoring you to reality, but all you could think about was Garcia and the thought of losing her.

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everyone practically flew out of the cars, running toward the entrance. The white lights of the waiting room were harsh and sterile, amplifying the dread that hung over the team. Hotch was the first to speak to the receptionist, his voice firm and demanding answers, but the only thing they knew was that Penelope was in surgery — no word on her condition, no updates, and, most importantly, no word on who had done this to her.

And so you waited.

The team paced, hands running through hair, fists clenching and unclenching as they tried to contain the storm of emotions within. The minutes stretched into hours, and the silence felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on each of you. Spencer held you close, one arm wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face. He murmured gentle reassurances, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, but his own eyes were red-rimmed and his voice strained, betraying his fear.

Across the room, Derek’s frustration finally boiled over, and he lashed out, yelling at a nurse who could provide no new information. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know anything? That’s our friend in there! You have to know something!” His voice was raw, the anger masking his pain, but before he could cause more of a scene, Hotch intervened, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him outside.

The tension in the room didn't lessen, only growing heavier in Derek’s absence. Emily sat with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if willing time to move faster. Rossi paced back and forth, his jaw tight, not a word leaving his mouth, but the anger and sorrow on his face spoke volumes. JJ stood near you, hugging her arms to her chest, eyes fixed on the swinging doors that led to the surgery wing, willing them to open with some kind of good news.

Hours passed in that awful purgatory, time stretching and distorting until it seemed like you’d been waiting an eternity. And then, finally, a nurse came out and told you that one person could go back to see her. As a unit, the decision was made for Hotch to go — Garcia had named him her emergency contact, and he was the steady hand, the one who would be able to bring back the information without being overwhelmed by the storm of emotions all of you were feeling.

The waiting resumed, and all you could do was cling to Spencer tighter, the fear and worry seeming to squeeze the breath from your lungs.

When Hotch emerged from behind the doors some time later, his face was unreadable, a mask of professionalism over whatever emotions he was truly feeling. The rest of you gathered around him quickly, every muscle tensed as you waited for him to say something, anything, about Garcia.

“Garcia’s going to make it,” he said, his voice low but firm. You let out a shuddering breath of relief, and the room seemed to collectively exhale. “She’s stable, but...” He paused, glancing at each of you, and in his eyes, you saw a darkness that made your stomach drop.

“It was her date who shot her,” he said quietly. “James. But his real name... is Jason Clark Battle.”

The name seemed to hang in the air like a curse, and it took a moment for the shock to register. And when it did, Derek’s expression twisted with a rage so violent it was almost frightening. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. “No, no, no—” His voice rose to a shout, and before anyone could react, he lunged toward you, face twisted with anger and pain. “You told her to go! You told her to go with him!”

His hands reached out to grab you, but before he could touch you, Rossi and Emily were on him, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Derek, stop!” Rossi’s voice was sharp, his grip firm as he held Morgan in place. “This isn’t their fault!”

“Let go of me!” Derek struggled against their hold, his voice hoarse with fury, his eyes wild and filled with a grief that had no outlet. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve...”

Hotch stepped between you and Derek, his face set in a stern, controlled mask. “Enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “This is not how we handle this. We find this man, and we make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

It felt like everything around you was falling apart, the walls closing in as the weight of the world crashed down on you, pressing in from all sides. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to the one person who could always make things feel right — Spencer. You reached out to him, seeking his comfort, his steady reassurance. But instead of the familiar warmth of his embrace, you were met with a coldness that hit you like a blow to the chest.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on you with a look you’d never seen before — something between shock, hurt, and a kind of betrayal that cut deep. The warmth was gone, replaced by an expression that made your stomach drop.

“Spence?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a whimper. You felt your world spiraling, desperately trying to grasp onto something to steady yourself.

Spencer’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment, then back to you, and he shook his head, his expression clouded with confusion and anger. “You told her to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite, but it felt like one all the same. He kept backing away from you, his face crumpling into an anguish you’d never seen before, like he was fighting to hold himself together. And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the waiting room, his footsteps echoing.

“Spencer!” JJ called after him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, she rushed to follow him, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you tried to piece together what had just happened, a sob choking in your throat. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were falling, tumbling into a void. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own body, trying to stave off the cold emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones. You wanted to scream, to cry out and make sense of the look in Spencer’s eyes, the pain in his voice. But all that came out was a soft, broken whisper.

“Spencer...”

Rossi was there in an instant, a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to a nearby chair as the reality of the situation crashed over you in relentless waves. Emily crouched down in front of you, her face tight with concern as she spoke softly, her words trying to break through the fog in your mind. But you could hardly hear her. The only thing echoing in your head were Spencer’s words — “You told her to go” — a statement that seemed to slice through your heart, over and over again.

—

You left the hospital soon after Spencer did. The cold night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but the chill did little to clear your head. Everything felt like a blur — Spencer’s words, the look on his face, Derek’s anger — it all played on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with sharper edges, digging deeper into your heart. You didn’t know how to feel, how to process the whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion. But one thing was clear: you had to find the man who hurt Penelope.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise when you arrived at the BAU. The bullpen was already a flurry of activity, the team moving with a frantic energy that matched your own desperate need to do something, anything, that could bring justice for Penelope. But as soon as you stepped inside, the adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the raw pain that hit you when you saw Spencer.

He sat at his desk, fingers typing furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn tight with concentration. You stood there for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for him to look up — to give you some sign, any sign, that you could start to fix whatever had broken between you the night before. But Spencer wouldn’t look at you. It was as if you didn’t exist, like he’d built an invisible wall around himself, and you couldn’t break through. The red puffiness around your eyes was the only outward sign of the sleepless night you’d had, but the exhaustion in your soul ran much deeper.

When you walked past JJ’s desk, she reached out and touched your arm gently, her eyes full of concern, the pity unmistakable. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort, but you shook your head, swallowing hard. The last thing you could bear right now was pity. Not when you had to keep it together for Penelope.

The rest of the team looked at you with the same expressions — sympathetic, worried, but no one knew what to say. And the truth was, neither did you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise in your throat, and forced yourself to look away, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was time to work, and that was something you could still do. Something you could control.

Well, the whole team except for Derek.

Every time he walked by, you could feel his eyes burning into you, his anger practically crackling like static in the air between you. And he didn’t hold back, either. With each passing hour, he took every chance to let you know exactly what he thought, throwing thinly-veiled digs and outright accusations whenever he could.

“This is your fault, you know,” he muttered under his breath when you passed each other in the hallway. “You’re the one who pushed her into going out with that psychopath. If she’d just listened to me, she’d be safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed into you like a knife, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You just kept walking, heading back to your desk with that guilt clawing up your throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no time to argue, no room to let Derek’s words take over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shut them out.

And then there were the moments when Derek couldn’t hold it in, when his anger boiled over and his voice rose loud enough for the whole team to hear. “You know that if she dies... if she dies, it’s on you,” he spat, his eyes burning with a fury so sharp it left you feeling gutted. “Her blood’s on your hands. Because you thought it was a good idea to let her go out with some random guy.”

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you whenever it happened, the tension in the room growing thick and heavy as they tried to balance the grief for Penelope and the pain of watching their family fall apart. JJ would try to step in, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “Derek, now’s not the time—” or Hotch would give him a stern look, that unspoken command to drop it. But nothing seemed to get through to him, and each word he threw at you landed like a punch, his grief and fear bleeding out as anger directed at you.

You couldn’t argue with him. You didn’t know how to defend yourself. How could you, when deep down, a part of you agreed with every word he said?

So you did the only thing you could — you kept your head down and worked, staring at files until your eyes burned, listening to updates and following every lead until you were numb to everything except the hope that finding Jason Clark Battle would somehow make it right. You tried to drown out Derek’s voice, drown out the guilt, drown out the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t encouraged Penelope, things wouldn’t have gone this way. But no matter how hard you tried to bury it, Derek’s words followed you, hanging over you like a dark shadow.

And the work continued, relentless and desperate, with everyone pushing forward to find the man who’d hurt Penelope. But the team was fractured, split between their grief and their anger, and the chasm between you and Derek seemed to widen with every word he threw your way.

Even as you worked, though, you could feel Spencer nearby — that familiar presence that you could always sense, whether you were looking at him or not. But this time, it felt different, like an ache just below the surface, a heavy, unspoken rift. He still wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak to you, even as you shared the same space, both working to the same goal. And no one pushed him. No one had the time or the energy to force him to talk through his emotions, not when there was a dangerous man on the loose and a life hanging in the balance.

But every time you heard Spencer’s voice — every rapid-fire observation, every note of urgency — it felt like a reminder of how things had changed in the space of a night. You worked side by side, but worlds apart, both desperate to save Garcia, but more than that, desperate to find your way back to each other.

And so, the hours wore on, a relentless, all-consuming search for Jason Clark Battle, with every member of the team driven by the same furious need to bring him to justice. Because in the midst of all the uncertainty and hurt, one thing was clear: no one was going to let him get away with what he’d done to Penelope. Not while any of you still had breath left to fight.

The team found Jason Clark Battle quickly, all things considered. The determination to bring him to justice — to make him pay for what he'd done to Penelope — fueled every moment, every step, every search through records and combing of evidence. But as the moment of his arrest neared, it became a new kind of challenge: keeping Derek Morgan away.

Hotch had to physically block him from joining the takedown, knowing all too well that if Derek got his hands on the man who shot Penelope, it wouldn’t end in an arrest. “Stand down, Morgan,” Hotch had ordered, his voice like a steel blade, cutting through the thick fog of Derek’s rage. It took Rossi and Emily to finally pull him back, their hands firm on his shoulders as Derek cursed and seethed, every inch of his body vibrating with the need to rip Battle apart. But they couldn't afford to lose two team members to the fallout, and Morgan was forced to stay back, simmering with fury as the rest of the team moved in.

When Jason Clark Battle was finally caught, subdued, and taken into custody, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that the man who hurt Penelope would face justice. But the victory was bitter, the relief tainted by the damage left in the wake of what had happened. The case might have been closed, but for all of you, it didn’t feel like a win — not when someone you loved was still lying in a hospital bed, healing from wounds she never should have gotten.

Once the reports were turned in and the team was officially dismissed, you watched as everyone else gathered to visit Penelope. There was a sort of reverence in how they spoke of her, quiet smiles and gentle jokes exchanged as they planned to bring flowers, chocolate, and anything else that would bring a smile to her face. But you couldn't go. The thought of stepping into that hospital room, of meeting her eyes, of seeing the pain and understanding what your advice had led to... it felt unbearable. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t let her see how broken you felt, knowing how close you’d come to losing her because you thought you were doing something good.

So, while your teammates headed to the hospital, ready to surround Penelope with love and support, you went home. The silence of your apartment was suffocating, and it took everything in you to not collapse under the weight of your own regret. The emptiness of being away from the team, from Penelope, only deepened your guilt. But it was better than showing up and making things worse — better than her having to see your face and be reminded of everything that happened.

Instead, you did what little you could from afar. You sent gift baskets filled with all of her favorite snacks — crunchy caramel popcorn, brightly wrapped candies, a couple of silly trinkets you hoped would make her laugh. You sent care packages with magazines, crossword puzzles, and soft blankets she could curl up with while she healed. You tried to send all the comfort you couldn’t bring yourself to give in person, every basket and letter a quiet apology you weren’t sure you deserved to offer. You only hoped she knew that, despite the distance, you were thinking of her. That you were sorry.

And as the days went on, and Penelope stayed in that hospital, you wondered if she could ever forgive you — if one day, when she was better and things returned to some semblance of normalcy, she might understand that all you wanted was for her to find happiness. That, even though your advice had gone so terribly wrong, it had come from a place of love. But the uncertainty of her forgiveness lingered, hanging over you like a cloud, and all you could do was hope that, in time, the rift could be healed.

Until then, you stayed away, waiting for the moment you could finally make amends — if that moment ever came.

—

The next workday, you sat at your desk, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, but your mind felt miles away. The sound of your own heartbeat seemed loud in the quiet of the bullpen, pounding relentlessly in your ears as you willed yourself to focus on something — anything — other than the turmoil of the last few days. You barely slept, and the fatigue sat heavy on your shoulders, making every moment feel sluggish, disconnected from reality. The tension still hung in the air, lingering after Penelope’s shooting, and it felt like every step you took was on eggshells, threatening to crack under the weight of all you hadn’t said.

You didn't hear Derek's approach at first, lost as you were in your own thoughts. But when you did catch the sight of his broad form looming in your peripheral vision, your whole body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what you knew would be another wave of anger, another round of accusations that would leave you feeling raw and exposed.

Here it comes, you thought. The guilt clenched in your chest as you waited for the onslaught, already picturing the words he’d throw at you, the blame you knew you deserved.

But then, you looked up, and the expression on Derek's face made you pause. It wasn’t what you expected. The hard lines of anger that had been etched there were gone, replaced by something softer, something regretful. He stood before you, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“Hey.” You nodded back, your voice barely more than a whisper, your body still taut like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Derek glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, there was an apology written all over his face. “I, uh... I came to talk to you about... you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “About what I said. What I did. And... I’m sorry.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a punch you didn’t see coming. “You’re... sorry?” you repeated, trying to make sense of it, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I... I was angry, and scared, and I let it all out on you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, what happened to Garcia. You were just being a good friend.” He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath. “And I guess... in a way, I’m mad at myself. Mad that I couldn’t keep her safe, that I didn’t know who this guy was, that I couldn’t stop it... so I put all that on you. And I’m sorry.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of the rage you’d seen before, but all you saw now was sincerity, and pain, and a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to find there. Derek Morgan — the strongest person you knew — was admitting his own fear and guilt to you, and it felt like the world was tilting just a little bit on its axis.

The tightness in your throat made it hard to speak, but you forced the words out, your voice cracking around the edges. “I... I get it. I mean, I don’t blame you for being angry, Derek. And I’m sorry too. I never would’ve... I never thought something like this would happen.” You looked down, feeling your eyes burn with tears you didn’t want to shed, not here, not now. “If I could take it back, I would. All of it.”

Derek stepped closer, and before you could react, he reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t put this on yourself. Penelope’s strong. She’s gonna be okay. And you didn’t do anything wrong — you were just looking out for her, just like I was.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his voice softening. “We’re all just trying to do right by each other, you know? And sometimes we mess up. But that’s not on you.”

The tears that you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you bit down on your lip, nodding as you tried to gather yourself. “Thanks, Derek,” you whispered, managing a small, shaky smile. “I just... I just want her to be okay.”

“She will be,” he assured you, his voice full of quiet confidence. “She’s got all of us in her corner. And I know it’s hard to believe, but... we’re gonna get through this. Together.”

He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before letting go, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small sliver of relief, like the weight pressing down on you had been lifted just slightly.

“Derek...?” you said, your voice small and timid, almost afraid to ask the question that had been weighing on your heart since you’d stepped back into the bullpen.

“Yeah, baby?” he answered, his voice gentle and warm, and the nickname — your old nickname — made you smile, if only for a moment. Spencer had been the one to call you that more often lately, and hearing it from Derek felt like a return to something familiar, something safe.

You took a breath, biting down on your lip as you looked down at your hands, your fingers nervously twisting together. “Have you... have you talked to Spencer?”

Derek’s expression darkened, and he sighed deeply, the sound heavy and full of exhaustion. He ran a hand over his face, the weariness showing in the lines around his eyes, and when he looked at you again, there was a sadness there that made your heart sink even further. “No, mama,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Pretty boy hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s got something going on in that big head of his, but he’s not letting us in yet.”

You nodded slowly, trying to keep your face neutral, but you knew Derek could see the worry in your eyes. The way Spencer had looked at you — the way he’d walked away from you — it was like losing a part of yourself, and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stood made it so much worse. And now, knowing that he wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t letting anyone in... it made you feel like you were watching him slip further and further away, with no way to reach him.

Derek watched you for a moment, then reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. “Whatever’s going on with him, it’s not about you, alright? He’ll come around. You know how Spencer is — sometimes he just needs to get in his head before he can come out again.”

“But what if... what if he doesn't?” you asked, your voice breaking on the last word, the fear you’d been trying so hard to suppress finally spilling out. “What if he never forgives me, Derek? What if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Derek cut in gently but firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “You know how much you mean to him. He’s just... processing. And it might take him some time, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. Just give him space to figure it out. And when he’s ready, he’ll come to you.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding, trying to hold on to Derek’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said, though the doubt still lingered.

Derek smiled softly, a warmth in his eyes as he gave your arm one last squeeze. “Of course I’m right,” he said, his tone lightening. “And in the meantime, you’ve got me and the rest of the team. You’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, trying to believe it. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime, mama,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “Now let’s get that coffee. We’ve got a lot to do, and moping around ain’t gonna help nobody.”

And with that, he led you to the corner of the bullpen, and you did your best to push the worry from your mind, to focus on what you could do here and now, hoping that Spencer would eventually find his way back to you.

—

The day Penelope returned to work felt almost like a holiday. The bullpen was transformed, bursting with bright colors and streamers that cascaded down from the ceiling. Balloons, in every vibrant hue imaginable, were tied to the chairs, and the break room was packed with all her favorite snacks and drinks — colorful cupcakes, glittery cookies, and more caffeine than the doctor would ever allow. The team had gone all out, putting together a grand welcome fit for the one and only Penelope Garcia. The room was buzzing with laughter and excitement as she entered, everyone cheering loudly as she walked through the doors, wide-eyed and grinning.

It was exactly the kind of entrance Penelope deserved. And as she hugged each person, the joy on her face made the space feel warmer, brighter. But you stood in the back, a small smile on your lips, content to watch from a distance. You clapped along with everyone else, but you kept to yourself, too aware of the gnawing guilt that still sat in your chest. It was wonderful to see Penelope smiling, to see her back on her feet and surrounded by the love of her family. But being there, knowing what you’d encouraged her to do, left you feeling like an outsider, not quite sure where you fit in anymore.

When Penelope finally got to you, it took all your courage to step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, and you clung to her a little tighter than you’d intended. The relief of finally seeing her in person, of knowing she was safe and whole, made your throat tighten with emotion.

Penelope returned the hug with a strength that surprised you, squeezing you tightly as if she didn’t want to let go. “I’m just happy to see you, hon,” she whispered, her voice warm and forgiving. “It’s been too long.”

You pulled back, offering a small, apologetic smile, but the warmth in her eyes made it clear that there was no anger there, no bitterness — just pure gratitude and love. And for a fleeting moment, you felt the overwhelming urge to spill everything, to apologize for not visiting, to explain the guilt that had been eating away at you. But Penelope gave you a knowing look, a slight shake of her head, as if to say not now. And you understood. This moment was for her — for the joy of being back, for the healing that still needed to happen. The deeper conversation could wait.

But as the celebration continued and the week went on, you still kept your distance. You showed up, of course, participated in the day-to-day, but any time Penelope tried to engage with you beyond work matters, you found ways to cut the conversation short, to avoid anything that could bring up what happened. You didn’t want to push her; you didn’t want to burden her with the weight you were carrying, the idea that anything you say could put her in danger. And you could see she was trying to give you space, to let you come to her on your own terms. But the longer you avoided it, the harder it became to find a way back to the easy friendship you once had.

By the end of the week, it seemed Penelope had had enough. As you were leaving the office one evening, walking toward the elevators, she appeared beside you with a determined look on her face.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, planting herself firmly in your path, hands on her hips.

“Just... heading home,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“Well, change of plans,” Penelope said cheerfully, not giving you a chance to argue. “You’re coming over tonight. We need some serious girl talk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Penny, I—” You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on her face was unwavering, her smile patient but insistent, like she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t going to let you wriggle your way out of it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try it,” she said, holding up a finger in playful warning. “We’re way overdue for some quality time, and if I have to drag you to my place myself, I will. And believe me, I’ve got the strength to do it.” She gave you a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly give way. How could you say no? Penelope was right; you did need this. And no matter how afraid you were of having that conversation, of putting her in more danger, you couldn’t keep running from her. “Okay,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’ll come over.”

“Good!” she exclaimed, beaming as she linked her arm with yours, pulling you into the elevator with a bounce in her step. “I’ll see you at seven. And trust me, it’s gonna be like old times. Pinky swear.”

And just like that, with Penelope by your side, the world felt just a little bit brighter again.

Being with Penelope felt so easy, so natural — just like it had always been. From the moment you stepped into her apartment, it was as though nothing had changed, as if the heavy cloud of the last few weeks wasn’t hanging over you. She’d set up her place just the way you remembered, warm colors, quirky decor, fairy lights draped over bookshelves, and the familiar scent of lavender. And Penelope, as if sensing your hesitation, knew exactly how to guide you back into a comfortable rhythm.

It started with laughter, of course. The kind only she could pull out of you, a sound that seemed to break down the walls you’d built around your heart. She leaned back on her sofa, legs curled under her as she went on about the latest gossip in her stack of magazines, her voice rising with excitement and exaggeration.

“Okay, so tell me this,” Penelope started, waving around a magazine with glossy pages. “How is it possible that Bruce Willis can just get hotter every year? It’s like the laws of nature don’t apply to this man!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I guess some people are just blessed like that.”

“And don't even get me started on what I saw in the office last week,” she continued, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear to you, I saw a hickey on Hotch’s neck. A hickey. On. Aaron Hotchner’s. Neck.”

You nearly choked on your drink, the image catching you completely off guard. “No way!”

“Yes way!” she nodded, her eyes wide with the thrill of gossip. “I’m telling you, our stoic unit chief has a spicy side. And speaking of spicy sides, have you seen how Emily and JJ have been looking at each other lately? I mean, come on, are they not totally vibing?”

The conversation flowed easily, effortlessly, and before long, you found yourself leaning back, laughing, the warmth of Penelope’s company soothing all those frayed edges that had been gnawing away at you for so long. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. It was fun to catch up, to just be with her, to hear about all the little things you’d missed — the world outside the darkness you’d been living in. And you could see how much Penelope was thriving, back in her element, glowing with that infectious positivity you’d always loved about her.

But eventually, it happened. The laughter faded, and the unspoken truth sat between you like a presence too big to ignore. Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with that gentle understanding you’d come to know so well. “Okay, hon,” she said softly, resting her hand on yours. “We’ve gotta talk about it. About what’s been eating you up inside.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to make an excuse, but it was like the dam broke before you could stop it. All the guilt, the fear, the shame — it all came flooding out. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the trembling as you finally voiced the things you’d been holding onto for so long.

“Penny, I... I don’t know how to say this,” you started, your voice cracking. “But I’m so sorry. I... I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what was going to happen, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told you to go, if I hadn’t encouraged you to see him, then maybe you wouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Penelope said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just stop right there.” Her eyes were intense, her voice steady in a way that cut through all the panic you were feeling. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And what happened — what he did to me — that is not on you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

“But what if it happens again?” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “What if I give you bad advice? What if I invite you somewhere, or we’re just hanging out, and I somehow put you in the wrong place at the wrong time and you get hurt again? I don’t... I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

Penelope’s eyes softened, and without missing a beat, she pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Shh,” she murmured against your hair. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

You clung to her, the sobs coming freely now as all the fear and self-blame poured out of you. Penelope held you firmly, stroking your back, soothing you like only she could. “I know you’re scared,” she said gently. “But, sweetie, you can’t carry the weight of things you can’t control. What happened to me — that was on Jason. He was the one who did this. Not you. You were just being a friend, trying to help me find some happiness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should’ve known better,” you mumbled against her shoulder, the words muffled but filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go.”

“Hey, listen to me,” she said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, her hands gripping your shoulders. “You didn’t push me. I chose to go on that date. And yes, it turned out horribly. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being my friend, or stop giving me advice, or living your life like you’re walking on eggshells around me. I need you, okay? And I need you to be you, because that’s the person who’s always been there for me, the person I love. I don’t want you holding back because of fear.”

The sincerity in her voice, the love, and the forgiveness shining in her eyes broke down the last of your walls. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to believe her words. “I just... I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered again, your voice small and vulnerable.

“And you won’t,” Penelope said, her voice steady and resolute as she held your gaze. But then, her expression shifted, her eyes searching yours with a gentleness that only she could carry. “But I know that’s not all.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated, biting down on her lip before speaking, her eyes dropping to her hands as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. When she finally looked up again, there was a hint of sheepishness in her expression, like she was tiptoeing into territory she wasn’t sure she should tread. “I know you were worried about me, hon,” she said softly. “And I love you so much for that, for being there for me even when you couldn’t actually be there. But… I can tell I’m not the eye of the hurricane inside your head.”

You felt your breath catch, the truth of her words hitting you with a force that left you momentarily speechless. It was as though she had seen straight through you, through all the guilt, all the fear — to the thing that lay beneath it all. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell her that it was just about her, you knew you couldn’t lie to Penelope.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything you’d been holding onto crashing down on you again. You sniffled, trying to steady your voice as you nodded slowly. “Spencer,” you said, the name leaving your lips like an admission of a wound you hadn’t yet looked at directly. “Spencer hasn’t talked to me since we found out what happened.”

Penelope’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out to take your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, sweetie...”

“It’s like he just shut me out,” you continued, your voice trembling. “The day we found out about you, he walked out of the hospital without even looking back. He hasn’t said a word to me since, and every time I try to talk to him, he just... shuts down. I know he’s hurting. And I know he’s probably just processing everything, but...” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head as the tears welled up again. “It feels like I lost him too. Like I lost both of you. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

Penelope listened intently, her face softening with every word you spoke. She could see how much pain you were carrying, how deeply Spencer’s silence had cut you. “Have you tried talking to him? I mean, really talking to him? Not just about work or everyday stuff, but about how you’re feeling?”

You nodded, though your shoulders slumped as the hopelessness of it all settled back in. “I’ve tried, Pen. I’ve tried so many times. But every time I get close, it’s like he just... builds a wall. He won’t even look at me sometimes. And it hurts, because I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Penelope was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she processed your words. Then she sighed softly, her fingers intertwining with yours. “You know what I think?” she said gently. “I think Spencer is hurting more than he knows how to deal with. And I think he’s taking that hurt and turning it inward — or maybe even outward. But I also know that he cares about you so, so much. He wouldn’t just turn his back on you for good.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over again. “But what if he has? What if he’s blamed me for this just like everyone else did?”

“Honey, listen to me,” Penelope said, her voice firm but full of compassion. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but he’s also a human. And sometimes, humans don’t know what to do with all the pain they carry. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs time, and you might need to let yourself be okay with that. I know it’s hard, but you can’t carry both your own guilt and his.”

You sat there, taking in her words, trying to let them sink in. It was easier said than done, but hearing Penelope — wise, compassionate Penelope — tell you that it was okay to not have all the answers gave you a sliver of relief.

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability clear in your eyes.

Penelope smiled, a genuine, warm smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “I know he will. And until then, you’ve got me.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand, feeling a small, fragile hope begin to grow in your chest.

—

The kindness and warmth Penelope had shown you was not extended to Spencer when she found him in the breakroom Monday morning. You were still settling in at your desk when you saw her storm across the bullpen, determination in her eyes and anger practically sparking off of her. You didn’t think much of it at first — Penelope’s strong-willed presence was no stranger to the office. But when you saw her walk straight up to Spencer, her expression dark and unyielding, you knew something was about to happen.

Spencer, who had been stirring his coffee absently, looked up in surprise as Penelope closed the distance between them, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. And then she let him have it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Ignoring Y/N for weeks? Shutting her out like she’s some stranger? After everything you’ve been through together, and everything she’s done for you, you have the nerve to treat her like this?”

Spencer flinched at her words, his face going pale as the berating continued. He opened his mouth to respond, but Penelope wasn’t letting him get a word in.

“Y/N’s been tearing herself up over what happened, blaming herself for something that wasn’t even her fault! And you know what? Instead of being the partner she needs — the person who supports her no matter what — you’re just adding to the guilt. You don’t get to treat her like that. Not after—”

“I almost lost one of the most important people in my life because of her!” Spencer choked out suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion as he interrupted Penelope’s tirade. His eyes were wide and filled with fear and frustration, and he looked like he was unraveling with every word. “I almost lost you, Penelope, because she told you to go on that date.”

Penelope’s expression shifted then, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sympathy as she let Spencer’s words sink in. There was a silence, a heavy silence that felt like it filled every inch of the breakroom. And neither of them knew that in that very moment, you’d walked up to the door, hearing Spencer’s words, and froze. The world around you seemed to fall away as his voice echoed in your head, the raw pain in his tone seeping into your bones. You stayed there, heart pounding, unable to move.

“Spencer,” Penelope said slowly, her voice gentle but firm, trying to rein in her own anger. “That was not her fault, and you know it. Do the math, genius. Jason was targeting me from the start, whether I was on that date or not. He had me in his sights long before Y/N ever said anything. Stop blaming her for something no one could control.”

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if trying to brush off the weight of her words. “Yeah, well, you say that, but it’s not that simple. If she hadn’t—”

“No, Spencer!” Penelope’s voice cut through his, sharper now, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “You listen to me. That is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Your life partner. Your best friend. Y/N has been there for you through everything. Do you remember when you were so drugged up that you didn’t even know what you were doing, or who you were with, when you lashed out at her in the middle of the night? And did she blame you? Did she shut you out? No. She held you, she comforted you, and she made sure you got the help you needed. She has never given up on you, not once, and you’re giving up on her?”

Spencer was silent. His mouth opened as if to respond, but nothing came out. He looked at Penelope, his eyes burning with anger and anguish and something far more complicated. And for a long moment, the silence stretched between them, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, cracking with the strain of what he was feeling. “I love Y/N more than anything else in this world. But how can I trust her to make good decisions for herself, at all, if her last one almost got you killed?”

And that was all you could take. The words hit like a blow to the chest, and before you knew what was happening, you let out a sob, loud and choked and broken. The sound tore through the silence, and both Spencer and Penelope whipped around, eyes wide in shock as they realized you’d been standing there, hearing everything.

“Y/N—” Spencer started, panic flooding his voice as he took a step toward you.

But you were already moving, already running. You turned and fled, the tears blurring your vision as you rushed down the hall, away from the breakroom, away from the words that had shattered you all over again.

“Shit!” you heard Spencer yell from behind you, followed by the sharp slap of his hand hitting the cabinet in frustration, the loud bang echoing down the hall. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. All you could do was keep running, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to chase you down with every step.

“Was it worth it, Reid?” Penelope asked, her voice breaking the silence that filled the breakroom after you’d fled. There was no anger left in her tone — only a sadness, heavy and deep, that seemed to echo around them. She looked at Spencer with a sorrowful expression, searching his eyes as if she could somehow pull out an answer that would make sense of what had just happened. “Was it worth it? To get that off your chest?”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the cabinet door he’d slammed shut in frustration. The thud of it still seemed to reverberate in the air, mingling with the ghost of your sobs. His jaw clenched, his eyes staring blankly at the floor where you’d stood only moments before, now empty.

He didn't respond, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze.

“Did it help?” Penelope pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. “Did it make you feel better? Because from where I’m standing, you just broke the heart of the person you say you love more than anything else.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Penelope. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. I was just... I was so angry. So scared. And I... I took it out on her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to take it back.”

Penelope’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, aching understanding. “You can’t,” she said softly. “You can’t take back what you said. But you can make it right. You can own up to it. You can tell her the truth — that you were hurting, that you let the fear and anger get the best of you. That you don’t actually believe she’s to blame for any of this.”

Spencer finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with regret. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice raw with desperation. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Penelope took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in her touch. “Then you fight for her, Spence,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “You do everything you can to make her see how much she means to you. You remind her that you love her, that you need her, that this — all of this — was just you not knowing how to handle almost losing two of the people you care about most.”

She paused, her voice softening even more as she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “But first, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because all that anger you’ve been carrying? It’s not about Y/N. It’s about you.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right — he knew it all along. But knowing it and facing it were two different things. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly sit with the pain of it, to feel the regret for what he’d done, and the fear of what he might have just lost.

And in that moment, the truth settled in his chest like a stone: if he had any chance of making things right, he’d have to confront his demons, no matter how much they scared him. Because he loved you. And he was going to do whatever it took to get you back.

—

You found an empty office as soon as your legs carried you far enough away, stumbling inside and shutting the door behind you before you could even think of stopping the sobs that clawed their way up your throat. You leaned against the wall, your hands over your face as you let yourself cry — really cry — until the tears came freely, the weight of Spencer’s words sinking in like a stone in your chest. Every breath hurt, and the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long finally broke. It wasn’t just about what he said, but how deeply it cut.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours; you couldn’t be sure. You let it all out, every sob, every tremor that racked through you. And then, as the tears finally slowed and the pain dulled into exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. The team was counting on you. Penelope was counting on you. So you pulled yourself together as best as you could, taking slow, deep breaths and wiping your face with the sleeves of your shirt until your hands stopped shaking.

The mirror in the bathroom was unforgiving as you stood there, splashing cold water on your face. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to erase the smudges of mascara that had stained your cheeks, and did your best to fix your hair, to smooth away any evidence of your breakdown. But your eyes were still puffy, red-rimmed, the remnants of your tears clearly visible. And you knew, even as you straightened your posture, forcing a calmness you didn’t feel, that everyone would see right through it. That they’d probably all heard what happened.

But you had work to do, and you couldn’t afford to fall apart again. So, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and walked back out into the bullpen, your head held high, your shoulders squared. Even if your composure was a fragile thing, even if you felt like you could shatter with the slightest touch, you made your way to your desk, focusing on each step as if it were the only thing holding you together.

The bullpen felt different now, the energy heavier than it had been before. Conversations were hushed, the usual buzz of the office subdued as you passed by. You knew they were watching, that they’d seen or at least heard what had happened in the breakroom. But you didn’t look around; you didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. You just sat down at your desk, opened up the stack of files in front of you, and forced your focus onto the work, letting it be the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his own desk, and as soon as you walked in, he saw you. He saw the way you held yourself together — the straight line of your back, the tightness in your expression, the way you refused to let your gaze wander to his. And he hated it. He hated knowing that he had done that to you, his love, that he’d been the reason for the pain and exhaustion etched into your face. He’d never seen you like this before — so closed off, so... dim.

He watched you bury yourself in your work, your fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, your pen scribbling across the pages as if each word was a way to silence the hurt. And all Spencer could do was sit there, guilt and shame wracking his mind as he thought about what he’d done — how he’d let his anger and fear control him, how he’d let it spill out onto you, the one person he swore to protect, the one person who deserved none of it. His brilliant, loving, beautiful girlfriend, who had always stood by his side, even when he didn't deserve it.

He made you cry. He made you doubt yourself, blame yourself for something you had no power over. And the light that usually radiated from you — the brightness he loved so much, the joy you carried so effortlessly — was gone, dulled by the weight of the hurt he’d caused.

Every fiber of Spencer’s being screamed at him to get up, to walk over to you and wrap you in the biggest hug he could manage. He wanted to hold you, to whisper a thousand apologies, to promise that everything was going to be okay and that he’d never, ever make you feel this way again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move, because he knew that it would take more than that — more than a hug, more than an “I’m sorry” — to fix the damage he’d caused. It would take time, and understanding, and patience — all things he wasn’t sure he even deserved from you after what he’d said, what he’d done.

—

Later that evening, the weight of the day still clung to Spencer like a thick fog. Unable to concentrate, unable to push past the regret that gnawed at his insides, he found himself reaching for a small comfort — your favorite book. It sat on his shelf, the well-worn cover soft under his fingertips as he pulled it down. You had gifted it to him long ago, lovingly annotated with notes, doodles, and highlighted passages. Each page was filled with bits of you — your humor, your thoughts, your heart. Categories like “reminds me of you,” “our jokes,” “my favorite quotes,” and “scenes I wish I could live with you” peppered the pages, showing just how much care, time, and love you’d put into making it special for him. It had been one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received.

He settled onto the couch, the book resting heavily in his lap. And as he flipped through the pages, he let himself be pulled into the memories, letting his fingers brush over your handwriting, your underlines and notes. He read the small snippets where you’d connected a moment in the book to a joke only the two of you shared, where you’d drawn silly little hearts in the margins or underlined lines that spoke to you. And he could almost hear your voice as he read your thoughts, your teasing comments, your kind words. It felt as though you were right there with him, the warmth of you emanating from every page.

The tears came slowly, silently, at first just a sting in the back of his eyes that he tried to blink away. But as he read deeper, the notes growing more tender, the love you’d put into every word more apparent, he let them fall. He let them fall because he could feel the depth of what he’d pushed away, how much you’d loved him, how much you still loved him. And how horribly, deeply he’d hurt you.

He was reading a note that simply said, “This reminds me of the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching”. He laughed softly through his tears at your handwriting, slightly wobbly from when you’d annotated it while on a train, but the joy of that memory only made the pain sharper, cutting through him like a blade. He wished he could take everything back, go back to when things were easier and he hadn’t let his fears get the better of him.

Then his phone started ringing. Spencer’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for it, and when he saw the screen light up with your contact photo, his breath caught in his throat. It was that picture — the one he’d taken when he brought you to New York City for the first time, to the MET and the New York Public Library. You’d insisted on making a goofy growling face next to the stone lions out front, hands curled into claws as you posed, trying to match their fierce stance. He’d laughed so hard as he took the photo, snapping the picture while you were mid-roar. And now, as he stared at it, the memory made him smile, even through his tears.

His thumb hovered over the answer button for a moment, heart pounding in his chest, before he finally pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello? Y/N?” he managed, his voice cracking slightly, unsure of what to expect.

“Hi, Spence,” you sighed, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “I’m... um, I’m outside. Can I come in?”

The relief and panic hit him all at once. You were here. You’d come to him. “Y-Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, fumbling to stand as he set the book aside, the pages fluttering closed. “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, practically stumbling to the door, his heart racing with both fear and hope. And as he reached for the door handle, he tried to steady himself, knowing that whatever came next, whatever words you had to say, he was ready to listen. Because you were here, and he wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

As soon as Spencer swung the door open, he was met with the sight of you standing there, tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy, your breath coming out in shaky gasps.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you choked out, your hands trembling as they twisted together in front of you. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. I should have never told Penny to go on that date. I should have... I should have called to check on her, I should have thought about how all of it affected you. I’m—”

“What?” he whispered, his voice coming out strangled with confusion and pain as he cut you off. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours desperately, trying to make sense of your words. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I messed everything up,” you continued, the sobs making your voice tremble as you tried to hold yourself together. “I never meant to hurt you, or Penelope, or anyone, but all I did was make things worse. If I hadn’t told her to go, if I had just stayed out of it, none of this would have happened. And you—” Your voice cracked, and you struggled to find the right words, to get out everything you’d been holding inside for so long. “You wouldn’t have had to go through this, you’d still trust me, and you wouldn’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me, Spencer. Please don’t hate me.”

Spencer’s heart shattered at the sight of you breaking down in front of him, blaming yourself for something you had no control over, something that had haunted him every day since it happened. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying this burden when it was his anger, his fear, that had driven you away. And all he wanted to do in that moment was take away your pain, to make you see that you weren’t to blame, that he had been so, so wrong.

“Hey, hey, stop, stop,” he said urgently, stepping forward to close the distance between you, his hands hovering for a second before he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Please, don’t say that. Don’t be sorry.” He pressed his face into your hair, his voice desperate as he tried to find the words that would make this right. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I love you so much. I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m the one who hurt you, who shut you out when I should’ve been there for you.”

You trembled in his hold, your tears slowing down as you clung to him, and Spencer tightened his grip, trying to convey everything he felt through the warmth of his embrace. “I was scared,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I was so scared of losing both of you. And I know that’s not an excuse, but I... I let that fear control me, and I took it out on you, and it was so wrong. You were trying to help Penelope, trying to be a good friend, and I blamed you for something that was never your fault.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes filled with confusion and anguish, and Spencer could see the questions there, the doubt that still lingered. “But... but I was the one who—”

“No,” he said firmly, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked down your cheeks. “No, Y/N. What happened to Penelope — that’s on Jason. Not you. And I should have been there to tell you that, to support you, instead of shutting you out. I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away and I hurt you. And I am so, so sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice, the tears that filled his eyes as he spoke, the pain of being apart, and the love that still held you together, left you breathless.

“Please don’t apologize,” Spencer said softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “You did nothing wrong. You were just being you — the caring, loving person I fell in love with. And I am so sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t be that person.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pulled away, giving yourself some space. Grabbing a tissue from the side table, you dabbed at your nose and wiped away the tears that still clung to your lashes. Spencer watched you carefully, the anxiety on his face clear as he tried to read your silence. You didn’t speak for a long moment, your gaze fixed on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you thought through everything that had happened. He stood there, holding his breath, afraid to interrupt whatever was going through your mind.

“I love you, Spence,” you whispered finally, your voice shaking but full of truth. “I love you so much.” You finally lifted your head to look at him, letting the words hang between you like a fragile thread of hope.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, a small flicker of relief crossing his face as he stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours. “I love you too,” he murmured, the words spilling out quickly, like he was afraid you might change your mind if he didn’t say it fast enough. “More than anything. And I’m not going to let anything come between us again.” He reached out, his hands hovering just in front of yours, desperate to close the space between you. “Please... don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion as you took in the worry on his face. “Spencer, why would you say that?”

“Well, I—I treated you terribly, and we weren’t talking, and we fought, and I was so awful to you,” he stammered, his voice shaky as the fear spilled out. “I... I know what I did, and I know I hurt you, and I just... I was scared that maybe... maybe you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Spencer,” you said softly, taking his hands in yours, your fingers intertwining as you squeezed them reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean we’re breaking up. We had a fight. A really bad one. But now we have to work through it. Together.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, all you saw was vulnerability — the way he was trying to hold himself together, the way he was fighting not to let the guilt and fear overwhelm him. “But what if... what if I hurt you again?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost got lost between you. “What if I say the wrong thing, and you...”

“Then we’ll talk about it,” you said firmly, your voice steady as you spoke. “We’ll talk, we’ll talk and we’ll figure it out, and we’ll make sure we don’t let it happen again. But I’m not leaving you, Spencer. Just because we had a fight... that doesn’t mean we’re over. We’re stronger than that.” You paused, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “I know we have a lot to work through. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I love you, and I’m here. We’ll do it together, okay?”

He nodded, a flicker of hope brightening his eyes, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Okay,” he whispered, tightening his grip on your hands. “Together.”

“And, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but steady as you tilted your head to look up at him, trying to catch his eyes and make sure he really heard you.

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes meeting yours with that familiar mix of love and uncertainty, as if he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles, grounding both him and yourself in that touch. “You have to talk to me if something is bothering you,” you said, your tone gentle but firm, the words full of the honesty you both needed. “I can’t fix anything, and we can’t work on anything, if I don’t know what’s going on inside your head. If you’re hurting, or if you’re scared, or angry... you have to let me in. Okay?”

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see how hard he was trying to take in your words, to let them settle in his heart. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I... I’ll try. I promise.”

You gave him a small smile, leaning in just a little closer. “That’s all I’m asking,” you said gently. “We have to be able to talk to each other. No matter how hard it is, no matter what’s going on — we have to do it together.”

He closed his eyes, and you watched as he took a slow, deep breath, the tension in his body finally loosening as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. When he opened his eyes again, something had changed. It was subtle, but you saw it — a spark of determination that hadn’t been there before, a promise to do better, to be there for you in all the ways you both needed. But there was something else, too — a hunger, an intensity in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the way he used to look at you, that mix of need and devotion that made your heart race.

“God, I missed you so much, darling,” Spencer sighed, and before you could respond, he pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost lost your breath. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to remind himself of your scent, the comfort of your presence, the closeness he'd gone too long without. His hands gripped your back firmly, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

You melted into his hold, your own arms winding around him as he pulled you flush against him. It was a hug that spoke of all the longing and pain and love that had built up between you, a hug that was both desperate and grounding all at once. You could feel the way his breath hitched as he held you closer, the way his fingers dug gently into your back, and you knew that this was more than just an embrace of comfort — it was everything he’d held back for so long, all the love and want and need finally spilling over.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you pressed yourself closer to him. And for that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, tangled together, holding each other like you never wanted to let go.

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with a need that made your stomach flip. His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as he spoke, his voice low and breathy. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, the words full of both desire and hesitation — a question that held the weight of all that had passed between you, of all he hoped to mend.

You giggled softly, your heart swelling at the sight of him so close, so vulnerable. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” you teased, leaning into his touch, a smile tugging at your lips as you nodded.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw that light return to his eyes — that playful, loving look he always gave you before pressing his mouth to yours. And then he was kissing you, soft at first, like he was trying to remember how it felt. But as soon as his lips met yours, you felt the relief and longing melt between you, and he kissed you deeper, his lips moving against yours with all the tenderness and passion he’d been holding back.

The world around you seemed to blur, everything fading away as you sank into him, the feeling of his mouth on yours so familiar, so perfect, like coming home. You could taste the salt of tears, his and yours mingling together, and as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him — his warmth, his love, the steady rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

He kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered, like he was trying to memorize every second, every touch, making up for every painful moment you’d spent apart. There was something so intense, yet so tender about it — a kiss filled with all the love and longing, spilling over with every movement of his lips against yours. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t slow either; it was the kind of kiss that lingered and sank deep into your bones, like a promise of something stronger, something unbreakable.

It was the sweetest kiss you think the two of you had ever shared. You felt every ounce of passion and desire radiating off him, every bit of love poured into that moment. Spencer’s hands were gentle as they rubbed your back, his fingers moving in small, slow circles, not daring to roam too far but enough to make you shiver at the warmth of his touch. Each caress was careful, as if he was both holding you close and holding himself back, trying to savor every second of feeling you close again.

You clung to him, your own hands gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly your knuckles were turning white, and you couldn’t bear to let go. You didn’t want to lose even an inch of contact, afraid that if he pulled away, even for a moment, you’d lose this — lose him. The world seemed to dissolve around you, and all that existed was the pressure of his mouth on yours, the faint taste of coffee on his lips, the way his hair brushed against your forehead as he leaned in closer.

Spencer broke the kiss for just a second, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mixing with yours as he let out a soft, shaky sigh. And then he was kissing you again, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You could feel the desperation in his touch, the depth of what you meant to each other — not just words, not just promises, but something tangible and real. Something that neither of you were willing to let go.

And in that kiss, you felt the world right itself, felt the cracks begin to heal, and the pieces of both your hearts start to fall back into place. You didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but for now, this was everything. And that was enough.

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

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g00d--m0urning · 6 months ago

Text

Somewhere Between California and Texas - J.Seresin.

Summary: When your best friend and her fiance have co-bachelor parties and you thought you were going to be the only single one but one green eyed aviator saves the day - his specialty.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

a/n: this was a request I received but I received two requests that were almost identical so in summary the request was in summary this. I hope whoever they are that requested this likes it because actually I think rom-com type fics are my thing because I LOVED writing this!

The airport was jammed packed for 7am on a Tuesday morning.

You stood against the windows, watching the planes landing and taking off.

You thought booking an early flight would get you out of the San Diego International Airport a lot quicker than something later in the day.

Sighing, you notice a seat opens at the end of the row, quick to rush towards it just for someone to beat you to it and sit down. You gasp, looking at the man who grins.

“Seriously?” you scuff, looking him up and down watching the smirk grow on his lips, twirling the toothpick between his teeth.

“Mine now sweetheart” he winks.

He watches the way you sulk back over to the window and sit down. Within a few minutes the overhead speaker picked up with a screech.

“Now boarding for flight 7552 to Austin now boarding, if you need assistance or are in a wheelchair this is for you, we also invite any military personnel to make their way to the gate”

You watch as the man stands up from his seat and makes his way to the gate. You should’ve known he was military.

Finally shoving your bag in the overhead bin, you sit down in your seat with a heavy sigh, “howdy” you look over at the voice, narrowing your eyes.

There he sat, across the aisle with a smirk.

“Hello” you reply sarcastically and pull the headphones back over your ears and sit back. You can feel his eyes watching you as you adjust in the seat. This was gonna be a long flight.

“Welcome to Austin!” the flight attendant grinned as you exited the plane, quick to grab your suitcase and make your way outside.

As you are coming down the escalator you are greeted with your best friend's grin and a huge sign on a pink poster board “(Y/N)”.

You laugh, rushing to her with a squeal, hugging her tightly. “Hi!” She laughs, linking your arms together and walking towards the door.

Your best friends, Jean and Johnny, were getting married in a few weeks and it was bachelorette weekend.

“Johnny is so excited you are here” she smiles as you chuckle, squeezing her hand. “I doubt that” you grin, packing your suitcase in the back of her car.

As you close the trunk your eyes connect with Military man once again who takes two fingers and salutes towards you with a wink.

Rolling your eyes, you climb into the passenger seat of Jean’s car. “I need food and some coffee” you groan and fall back into the seat. “How was the flight?” she questions as you shrug, “a normal one, though I got sat by this guy who practically pushed me out of the way for a seat” she scoffs, “that dick!”. You laugh, nodding along with her.

“Low and behold he is on the flight in the aisle across from me” she laughs as you shake your head. “I couldn’t believe the entitlement!” she nods in agreement.

Making your way into your best friend's home, you can hear Johnny yell from upstairs. “Jeanie?!” you grin as she nods, you raise the pitch of your voice, yelling back to him, “yes sweetie?!”.

He laughs as he makes his way down the steps, a grin on his face. “Hi (y/n)!” he rushes down the steps to come and give you a hug.

Johnny was a military man himself, stationed here now for the last six years but previously in San Diego where the three of you met.

“How’re you doin Johnny?” you smile, crouching to the floor to love on the dogs who ran up to you excitedly. “Great!” he grins, looking at you and then back at his fiance who smiles. “So what's the game plan?” you ask, sipping on your coffee as you look between the two of them. “I have a couple friends coming in still” Johnny notes, sipping his own cup. You nod, smiling as you turn to Jean.

“I still have Natalie and Anna coming but other than that just you guys” you nod eagerly with a smile growing. “I haven’t seen either of them in so long” they both nod, “they are also both bringing their spouses…” Johnny trails off. “Oh” you look down at the steaming cup of coffee and nod. “No problem!” you add, plastering the smile on your face.

Attending weddings alone has become a common thing for you. A combo bachelor party was gonna be no different.

“(y/n)..” Jean speaks first after the first few minutes of silence. “It's fine jeanie!” you shake your head, sipping on the last of the coffee and standing.

“I think i am gonna catch a nap” you mumble, walking towards the kitchen as the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it” Johnny stands and makes his way to the door, as it opens you can hear the cheers of him and you guess one of his friends.

“Jeanie! Jake’s here!” Johnny states from the breezeway. You stop short coming from the kitchen as the man takes his hat off and a grin grows on his face.

“Howdy” he nodded towards you, your eyes were wide.

Jean speaks first,“This is (y/n), my best friend!” she grins as you nod slowly.

Military man was standing in your best friend's house, which now has a name, Jake. “oh we’ve met” he notes with a growing smile, you nod with a sigh. “Hello” you mumble walking past him and up the stairs. Jake grins from his place as he watches you go up the steps.

The table was full on both sides. Night had fallen and everyone for both parties arrived. The restaurant was loud as you sat secluded in a corner of the table, beside Jake, who you have now learned was also the only single person for this weekend.

“So everyone” Johnny stands, beer in hand and a grin on his face. “I am so excited to have you all here!” he continues, “the weekend plans are of course tomorrow we head to a longhorns game, it's only honorary” he grins at the cheers from his friends.

“And we will see how we feel the next few days, tomorrow is a big day for the Longhorns!” He holds his beer out as everyone else follows. You sip the water and slouch in your chair. “So, you’re the only single friend of jeans huh?” Jake questions from beside you as you sigh, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, they just call me ‘the single one’ in the friend group” he nods with a hum, “don’t worry I have the same” he chuckles. “Maybe i will find myself a nice cowboy or something” you grumble with a chuckle as he grins, “why look? I found you one” he smirks, sipping his beer as he turns to his left, continuing the conversation with Scott, another groomsman.

Jean grins from her end of the table, beside Johnny with a thumbs up. You shake your head with a sigh, smiling at the waitress who was beside you with your plate of food. You can’t help but feel Jake’s green eyes lingering as you turn to your food.

A sea of orange filled the stands of Texas Memorial Stadium. You grin as you follow behind the group as everyone who passed by had a kind smile. Jake followed beside you in his own orange jersey, brown cowboy hat perched on his head.

“Alright everyone, this is our box so we can order food and drinks everything we want here” Jean grins around the box at the group of her friends, you smile nodding and making your way to sit down on one of the couches. “So, how’re ya doin?” Jean sits beside you within a few minutes, smiling. “I’m fine” you look over at your best friend with raised brows trying to read the look on her face.

“Are you sure?” she questions, thanking Johnny as he sets a glass of wine in her hands. “Yes, I am sure” you look at her as she nods, sitting back against the cushions.

“I know this is awkward for you being ya know, the only single one” she mumbles while sipping her wine. You shrug, sitting back and watching out the windows at the team warming up.

“I’m fine Jean” you snap and stand from the couch and decide to go and look around the stadium.

You can hear the cheers of the crowds as the first whistle is heard and the game begins.

“You know it's almost disrespectful to only be wearing a plain orange shirt” you turn at the sound of the voice, smiling at Jake. He has a smirk on his lips, not condescending but almost, teasing.

“I didn’t come prepared” you smile, looking back through the merchandise table. “Pick one” he grins, watching as you look through the table of shirts and sweatshirts.

“What?” you look at him with a raised brow, shirt in hand. “Is that your pick?” he asks as you hold the orange shirt in your hand, a small longhorn logo on the front, the state of Texas on the back.

“I like this one yes” you trail off as he takes it from your hand and makes his way to the woman who grinned behind the register. “Is that all for you dear?” her southern drawl was heavy as he nodded, smiling.

“Jake!” rushing over to him you try slapping the card out of his hand as he shakes his head, handing it to the woman. “Nope, i will be purchasing your first piece of texas longhorn merchandise” he smirks, taking his card back and shoving it in his pocket.

“Would you like me to cut the tag off honey?” the older woman asks, looking at you. Nodding, you take the shirt from her once the tags are off. “Have a nice day you two” she waves as you both thank her, walking back towards the skyboxes.

“You gonna put it on?” Jake stops by the restrooms as you blush, “I will meet you upstairs”.

The room cheers as Jake, the resident Texan makes his way back in the skybox. Jean stands quickly rushing to him, ”did you see (y/n)?”.

Jake nods, reaching out to give her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Why, what's wrong?” he asks as she sighs, pushing her hair out of her face, a sign of stress for Jean.

“I sat with her, I can tell she’s a bit down in the dumps about being the only person single, other than you” Jake can’t help his eye roll but she continues, “I should know better than to press but she snapped at me and walked out” she sighs.

“She’s fine Jean” he squeezes her shoulder reassuringly as you make your way back in, t-shirt on. “There you are!” she rushes over to you, hugging you tightly. You stumble slightly, catching her and hugging her back with furrowed brows.

“I’m okay Jeanie” you mumble with a chuckle as she shakes her head. “I got worried, this is a big place, and i want you here, with me” she takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “Jeanie, it’s okay, I'm fine, I just needed to step away” she nods, noticing the smile on your lips, different than before but there.

She makes her way beside Johnny as you stand beside Jake, both sharing knowing smiles.

“So, wait what does this mean now?” you ask, standing by the window as both teams are standing on the field. “The games in overtime” Jake mumbles beside you, hands on his hips as you look over at him.

“Right, but why are they just standing there?” he chuckles, looking over at you then back out the window. “They are doing the coin toss, like at the beginning of the game” he watches the realization on your face as you nod. Jean sits behind the two of you, watching the conversation between you.

“Seems to be getting along” Anna mumbles beside her, her own husband moving to stand beside Jake. “Thank god, the beginning seemed pretty tense” Jean mumbles as she watches you two.

Slipping through the door to go out into the open seats, standing on the balcony, Jake follows behind you.

The cheers were so loud, you couldn’t believe it as you looked around you. “This is Texas” Jake grins,looking over at you,sharing the same smile, this time Jake can’t help but notice that it reaches your eyes.

The end of the game was even better than the whole experience, walking beside the group you notice all the people exiting the stadium are cheering with grins on their faces. Many smile at you as they pass. Jake is beside you then, nudging you gently. “So, did you enjoy your first Longhorns game?” he asks as you chuckle, nodding.

“I actually did, I may not have known much of what was going on but I did my best” he grins, watching as the group walks ahead of you two. “I love how” you trail off, trying to think of the right words, “it seems so homey” he nods hands in his pockets. “Are you staying with the love birds?” Jake questions as everyone gets into the packed car, thankfully you all Ubered to the stadium.

You nod, sitting in the back of the ford expedition. The car ride is then silent, Jake notices the way you shivered slightly, he pulls the orange jacket off his shoulders, putting it over yours.

Looking up at him, you smile and pull your arms through it, leaning against him as you two were the only ones sober in the vehicle.

The green numbers on the nightstand are almost haunting as they continue to softly tick. You had been home now for hours but still couldn’t sleep. The soft buzz of your phone pulls you from your fifth time counting the ceiling tiles.

Unknown: please don’t question how I got your number and please don’t find this creepy at all but I can’t sleep and wondered if you were awake?

you smile but then the three bubbles show up again.

It's Jake, should’ve clarified

You giggle.

You: thank god for the clarification I was terrified someone was haunting me down

Biting your lip before responding again,

do you know good places to eat at this hour?

You watch the bubbles pop up and back down before a message comes through,

Be ready in 15

Standing on the front porch of your best friend's home, you watch the cars pass down the street. You did not expect this to be the way this trip was going, you did not expect the man who stole your seat in the airport to be pulling up in his Ram truck and honking to pull you out of your daydream.

Skipping down the steps you rush to the passenger side door, which the driver side door opens before your hand reaches the handle.

“Negative ma’am” he grins, opening the door for you, the running boards coming down for you to step in. “We never let a lady open their own doors” Jake adds as you smile, looking him up and down in his sweatpants and long sleeve.

“Have you ever been to Texas before?” Jake asks in the dead of night, the streets are quiet but also still buzzing from the Longhorns win. “Only a few times, I came down when Jean and Johnny first moved here” you look over at him as he nods eyes back forward on the road.

“I feel like you haven’t even seen the city!” he adds enthusiastically.

The city was still bright as you and Jake drove through the streets eventually making it down back roads. “Jake!” you gasp, pointing to the horses in the fields, it was now almost 5 am, the sun rising slowly.

He pulls to the side of the road to let you out excitedly, you rush to the fence with your hand out to let the brown horse sniff it.

Jake watches from behind you, a smile on his face. “That’s Finn” He adds, arms crossed over his chest as you turn to him, “what?” you ask as he nods.

“Finnegan, he’s my horse actually” Jake smiles as the horse huffs out against your hand and lets you continue to pet him. He nuzzles his snout into your palm as you smile wider.

“What do you mean he’s your horse?” you question over your shoulder as Jake moves beside you. “This is my family's land, our ranch is just around the corner” he grins as you smile, watching the way Finn reacts to Jake, nibbling on his jacket.

“Hey now” Jake laughs, gently moving his snout away from his sleeve. “Can we go horseback riding?” you question after a few minutes of silence, “wanna?” he asks as you nod eagerly like a little kid on christmas. Jake notices the way your eyes light up at the idea. “Alright, c’mon” he grins, leading you to the truck to get back in.

The barn was quiet in the early hours of the morning, Finn stood in his stall as Jake threw the saddle over his back. Standing in the doorway of the barn you watch as the sun is slowly peeking behind the clouds.

"You gonna help me over there?” Jake questions as you turn to face him, he stands in the stall beside Finns beside another horse, all black with a hint of brown on his snout.

“This is Percy” you smile, walking to him slowly. Percy approaches you slowly as you hold your hand out to him, he happily nuzzles into your hand. “Lets saddle em up” Jake grins, walking to the tack room and grabbing a saddle for you. Rushing behind him he pulls the saddle off the shelf. “I’ve never done this before” he grins, walking back to the stall where you left Percy. He huffs as you help Jake toss the saddle over his back, reaching to put the strap under his belly.

Jake took over then as you sat back on the bale of hay. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your purse as Jake's voice pulled you from your thoughts, “You ready?” Jake asks as you turn to face him, Finn stood beside him, his reins in Jake’s hands as Percy stood on the other side of him.

You nod, walking to him, taking the reins of Percy, he begins following your lead. Jake watches as you make your way to him, hands on his hips, “you want some help up there?” he asks as you nod shyly.

Jake puts his leg out and hands out towards you, “step up on my knee and I will help you the rest of the way” you look between him and the horse before Percy huffs heavily.

“Hold onto the horn, it will help when you swing your leg over,” Jake encourages as you reach up and hold onto the horn, his hands on your waist as he hoists you up into the saddle. You giggle, adjusting in the seat and running your fingers through Percy’s mane.

The sun had fully risen by the time you and Jake made it out on the trail. You couldn’t believe it. “It's so gorgeous” you mumble beside him as he looks over at you, “yeah? A texas sunrise is perfect” he agrees as you both stop on the hillside. Percy and Finn both huffing at the standstill, “Jake?” he hums in response as you look over at him.

“Thank you for making this trip really memorable” he grins. “I need to make any Austin trip memorable” he replies, grinning as a peaceful silence falls between you both.

“I guess we should head back” you sigh as he nods.

“Race ya!” you grin, rushing by him on Percy, squealing loudly. “Hey! No fair you got a head start!” he laughs behind you, clicking his teeth to rush after you.

Sliding the shade up beside you, the sunny skies of California greets you.

Smiling shyly, you watch as the beaches slowly come into view, the world of California becoming more than just a little speck in the sky.

“Welcome to San Diego International, we hope you enjoy your stay” you smile shyly at the flight attendant, making your way through the terminal. A weekend away from San Diego was more than enough for you. Standing at baggage claim you sigh heavily. You knew the amount of work was waiting for you in the office tomorrow.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling it out, you smile,

Jeanie: did you make it home okay?

smiling, you typed a quick reply.

You: yes jeanie i did, now please go and finalize all them wedding details!

You smile at the love reaction to the message. Making your way out the airport you can’t help the lingering feeling maybe Jake was there too, collecting his baggage.

You did travel together before but your flights home were different. You made your way to the long term parking, adjusting the Texas Longhorn t-shirt on your shoulders.

After being home for a couple of days, you make your way through the office doors, briefcase in hand and you can hear the cheers of your colleagues.

“She’s back!” your assistant, Andi cheers as you smile. “Hello hello” you laugh walking past her to make your way into your office, stopping at the vase on your desk.

“What’s that?” you question, setting the briefcase in the chair,approaching your desk. “I don’t know” Andi mumbles as she smiles, “they were delivered early this morning” she adds.

Reaching for the card you pluck it off, opening it.

Have a great first day back, don’t ask how I found out where you work or that it was your first day back ;), J

you smile, shutting the card. “I know where they are from” you mumble, smiling at the wildflowers in the vase. She nods, making her way out of the office and shutting the door gently.

Reaching for your phone, you smile and quickly type out the message.

You: Stalkerish much? The flowers are beautiful, thank you

you see the little ‘read’ before the ellipsis came and went.

“You are awfully smiley” Coyote notes as Jake looks up from his phone, setting it beside him on the chair in the common room. “Eh” he shrugs as Rooster and Bob sit down on the couch across from them. “No i noticed it, it's been going on for a couple days” Bob notes as he sighs.

“He met someone” Phoenix mumbles behind her oatmeal, sitting beside Rooster with a smirk. “You did?” Coyote snaps as Jake sighs, “I mean, I did” he nods as the group oos and ah’s. “Are we gonna meet her?!” Fanboy questions as Jake shrugs with a smirk.

“Who knows?” He stands and makes his way past the group, “now if you excuse me, I am gonna go start working on some flight plans” he walks out the room as the group cheers at the slight blush on his cheeks but a smirk on his face.

He had a plan.

The office was quiet. All the lights were off except for your office and Andi’s desk where she worked on her own filing of cases. The elevator doors open and she thinks nothing of it as the cleaners were on their way in for the evening.

“Excuse me” Andi looks up from her desk, eyes widening at the man in front of her. Stood in his flight suit, Jake grins, hands in his pockets as she takes her glasses off.

“Do you know where I could find (y/n) (y/l/n)?” he questions as she looks at him, blinking. “Uh, she stepped out quickly but her office is there, can I ask who you are?” she questions as he smiles. “My name's Jake, can I wait for her there?” he motions to the office doors as she nods.

He makes his way inside, smiling as he notices how homey your office was, looking through the photos. “Andi, please go home” he perks up at the sound of your voice with a grin, he stands, making his way to the middle of the room. “I have my own work” he hears Andi argue as you shake your head, “please go home, we can work more tomorrow” after a few minutes of debate, Andi sighs.

You push the door open, heels skidding on the carpet floor. Jake stands with a sheepish smile on his lips, hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he grins, “jake?” you question. “Oh my god” you rush to him, arms around his neck as you hug him tightly. “What are you doing here?!” you pull away from him with wide eyes, “I felt one weekend in Austin was not enough and needed to see you again" he smiles at the blush on your cheeks.

The bass from the bar could be heard for miles as you sat beside Jake in his Jeep. He climbs out and makes his way to your side, hand held out to help you out of the vehicle.

“Welcome to the hard deck my dear” he grins, hand on the small of your back as the two of you make your way inside.

You and Jake had been seeing each other now exclusively for a few weeks and he was ready to introduce you to the Dagger Squad.

The bar was quiet still for the early hours of the night. “Hangman!” the voice yells, Jake's hand reaches for yours, “my friends are overbearing okay?” he warns as you nod slowly, “okay” you chuckle, lacing your fingers with his and follow behind him.

“Look who finally decided to join us!” Rooster shouts with a smile, eyes falling beside Jake to you. Standing beside Jake you slightly move behind him, looking around you as you feel multiple sets of eyes on you.

“Funny Rooster” Jake comments as he looks over at you, “guys, this is (y/n)” you look over then, smiling at the group as Jake introduces each aviator one by one.

Phoenix, you learn is Natasha stands and holds a hand out to you, “we appreciate your service” you giggle, shaking her hand. “Well, I appreciate yours” you giggle, sitting between her and Jake.

Within minutes the two of you hit it off.

You feel a gentle tap on your shoulder as the song on the jukebox changes, you look up at Jake who grins. The jukebox begins playing The Righteous Brothers, You’ve lost that lovin feeling.

You giggle, looking at him with furrowed brows, “you owe me a dance” he motions you over, “c’mon” he grins as you take his outstretched hand, standing and following him.

You giggle as he begins singing along to you, “you’ve lost that lovin feelin”. You giggle, arms around his neck as his hands fall to your waist, grin on his lips. “We really need to thank Jean and Johnny” he mumbles against your forehead as you lean into him, “why's that?” he grins as the two of you sway to the music.

“They brought me you, even though you were here in San Diego right under my nose” he whispers in your ear as you blush, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

“Hey” he encourages you to look up at him, he smiles and reaches out cupping your cheek. “I mean it” he adds as you smile up at him.

“All it took was traveling 1,154 miles to Austin Texas” you smile as he chuckles, “between California or Texas, i choose to spend it with you” he grins, “even though you pushed me out of the way for a seat?” he rolls his eyes playfully, “okay beside that” you smile.

“You made texas so enjoyable and now you make my life here enjoyable” he grins, leaning down to connect your lips, pulling your face closer to him.

Standing on your tippy toes to meet him closer, his lips tasted of the michelob ultra and a hint of the mint gum he was chewing earlier.

Pulling away from him slowly you smile, forehead against his as he grins. “I’d find you again between here and texas all over again” he whispers as you smile, “you big softy” he grins connecting your lips again.

Maybe being the only single friend in the group wasn’t as horrible as you thought.

if you enjoyed this fic and would like to read anything else - you can find that here.

if you requested this fic, thank you! I hope I have done some justice to what you requested as I took FOREVER on it. I enjoy writing Jake so much - keep the requests coming I LOVE them!

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g00d--m0urning · 6 months ago

Text

The Christmas Arrangement

steve harrington x fem!reader words: 12,672 warnings: eventual smut!!! 18+ (minors dni) steve's emotions are supressed in this one.... his dad died summary: Steve Harrington thought asking his stubborn intern to play his girlfriend for the holidays would be simple. But "pretend" starts to get a little complicated when moments feel a little too real. a/n: everyone writes for summer steve... but i need more christmas steve sigh Part 1 / Part 2 (coming soon)

The office was quiet except for the low hum of the heater kicking in and the occasional rustle of cardboard boxes. You stood in the middle of the sleek, open-plan space, hands on your hips, surveying the mess of holiday decorations strewn around you. Red-and-gold garlands coiled like lazy snakes, tangled string lights blinked in erratic patterns, and a stuffed Santa Claus stared at you from his perch on the countertop, looking unimpressed.

The office smelled like old coffee and artificial pine as you adjusted the garland on the filing cabinets for the third time that morning. The decorations were your idea—an attempt to liven up the drab Harrington & Co. Advertising office.

"Corporate holiday spirit, my ass," you muttered, yanking a plastic wreath out of the chaos. The smell of fake pine hit you in the face as you tried to fluff it up, but it only ended up looking sadder.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall made you freeze mid-fluff. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. “Fantastic,” you grumbled. You purposely turned up the radio to blast Santa Baby. You were the first person in the office and you knew your boss, Steve Harrington, would make a comment about you being early for once.

Your boss was, how you say, an asshole. It took you selling your soul for him to agree to use the company credit card for these cheesy decorations.

Steve Harrington stalked past you toward his glass-walled office, shedding his coat and scarf like they were physically offending him. His dark hair was windswept in that annoyingly perfect way, and he looked like he had stepped straight out of a GQ spread, down to the polished leather shoes and a slight pout that made you want to smack him or… well, something else you weren’t going to admit.

You turned to watch him cross the room, his broad shoulders stiff under his tailored navy suit. He dumped his briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk and flopped into his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked tired. More tired than usual, which was saying something. For someone who seemed to have it all—wealth, looks, charm—Steve Harrington carried a cloud of stormy energy around him that seemed to zap the joy out of every room he entered lately.

You couldn’t help it. You strolled into his office, smirking when it was clear your presence was unwanted.

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington.” You knew he hated when you called him that.

He winced, rolling his eyes. “Morning,” he muttered.

You waltzed closer to his desk, holding an animatronic snowman, hopping on the desk, crossing your ankles. You placed the snowman in front of him, pressing the button that made it wiggle back and forth as it blared a jazz version of Frosty the Snowman. Steve gave you an unimpressed brow.

You hesitated, humming to the tune. "Bad morning or bad life?"

Steve's hazel eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. "You always this…perky, or is it just when I haven’t had coffee yet?" He pressed the button on the snowman to make it stop.

"Wow, Grinch vibes already. It’s not even eight," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "Don’t tell me you hate Christmas, Mr. Harrington. That might actually make me quit."

“That would be a Christmas miracle!” He snorted, though it was more a tired exhale. "I don’t hate Christmas. I hate…" He gestured vaguely, his mouth flattening into a grim line. "Stuff."

"Stuff," you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Very descriptive. I’ll be sure to add that to my notes: ‘Boss hates stuff.’”

Steve didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, eyes briefly flicking to the decorations scattered behind you. His gaze landed on the garlands outside, and his jaw tensed.

"Remind me why I agreed to all of this?”

You didn’t answer right away, busy adjusting the stuffed snowman that now sat precariously on the corner of his desk. It was probably a bad idea to push him this early in the morning, but it was hard to resist. Something about Steve Harrington’s thinly veiled irritation was endlessly entertaining.

“Because I wore you down,” you said finally, sitting back on his desk with a self-satisfied smile. “Persistence is a key marketing strategy. Consider yourself sold.”

"No," he replied, dragging a hand through his hair and leveling you with an exasperated look. "I agreed because it was faster than arguing with you."

This was how most of your interactions with Steve went: a series of minor battles where you, armed with stubborn optimism and just enough sarcasm to keep things interesting, chipped away at the polished, vaguely disheveled wall he called a personality. Most days, he didn’t give you much to work with—just clipped answers, unimpressed glances, and the occasional reluctant smirk when you pushed the right buttons.

Today, though, something was different. The faint crease between his eyebrows had deepened. His tie was slightly askew, like he’d thrown it on without bothering to check the mirror. He looked... off. The usual self-assured edge was dulled, replaced by a quiet tension that made you hesitate, just for a moment.

You reached over, straightening his tie and he quickly swatted your hand away. “You’re in a mood,” you huffed.

He looked at himself in the reflection of his computer, fixing the tie himself. He raised a brow. “And you’re not?”

“Mine’s the fun kind. Yours is… whatever this is. Like someone pissed in your cheerios.”

“I don’t eat cheerios.” You rolled your eyes, messing with some papers on his desk. It was obvious he didn’t want you to touch them because he snatched them from your hands.

“It’s a figure of speech, Mr. Harrington.” You paused, examining him. “What’s going on?”

"Nothing," he said too quickly, picking up a pen and tapping it against the desk. "Just tired."

It was a bad lie, and you both knew it. But if he wasn’t going to elaborate, you weren’t going to push. You learned early on that prying too much only made him retreat further into himself.

Instead, you tilted your head and let a teasing smile creep back onto your face. "You sure? Because you’ve been walking around like someone canceled your favorite TV show."

“I don’t watch TV.”

"Of course you don’t," you said, sighing. "Too busy glaring at people and sighing dramatically."

The sudden buzz of his desk phone broke the tension. Steve reached for it, but you were faster, snatching the receiver off the hook before he could stop you.

"Harrington & Co.,," you answered, saying your name brightly, giving him a look that dared him to stop you.

He didn’t care, leaning back in his seat, probably thinking, one less person I have to talk to.

"Hello, dear!" a warm, feminine voice said on the other end. "I wasn’t expecting such a cheerful voice. Who is this?"

You froze, your bravado faltering for the first time. Steve noticed your demeanor change. “Uh…” You scrambled for a response, ignoring Steve trying to reach for the receiver.

The woman answered, “This is Steve’s office? He gets on me for always calling his personal telephone. So I thought today, I would call the office. How rude of me, this is his mom. Who am I speaking to?”

“Steve’s mother?” You asked absentmindedly. You grinned cheekily when Steve’s eyes went wide.

He took a sharp intake of breath, reached out to take the receiver away, and hissed, “Don’t–”

“Mrs. Harrington!” You greeted her, pulling away from Steve. “I’ve heard so much about you from your son.”

Steve quickly stood up, standing in front of you when he saw you were going to try and jump down from the desk. You held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer. Steve’s jaw tightened, and he mouthed, Hang up.

"Oh! Are you the girlfriend he’s been hiding from me?" she asked, her voice bright with excitement.

Your stomach dropped. Girlfriend? You glanced at Steve, who looked like he was actively regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"I..." You hesitated, torn between correcting her and seeing where this was going. "Well—"

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You shrugged at Steve. You would be smarter to say no and just give him the phone, but also watching him react the way he did made you buzz.

"It’s all so new," you said vaguely, tilting your head to shoot Steve an innocent smile. You twirled the phone cord around your finger, taking far too much delight in the way he was practically vibrating with barely contained frustration. "We haven’t really put a label on things yet."

Steve’s jaw dropped, and he ran a hand down his face like he was trying to physically wipe away the situation. He mouthed again, Hang up! but you ignored him, your smirk widening.

"Oh, that makes sense," Mrs. Harrington said brightly. "Steve has always been so private. But I knew something was up! A mother knows these things."

"Of course," you said, your voice light and agreeable. "He’s such a delight to be around. I can see why you’re so proud of him."

Steve made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, pointing at the phone like it was going to combust in your hand.

"And you sound so lovely!" Mrs. Harrington continued. "You must come to Christmas. We’d love to meet you properly."

Your grip on the phone tightened. "Oh, um..." You hesitated, glancing at Steve, whose expression had shifted from exasperation to outright panic.

"It’s just a small family gathering," Mrs. Harrington added, as if sensing your hesitation. "Nothing too formal, in fact, it’s mostly his friends. Steve hasn’t brought anyone home in ages, so this will be such a treat!"

You opened your mouth, half-ready to backtrack, but Steve grabbed the phone from your hand before you could say another word.

"Mom," he said sharply, his tone strained. "Hi. Yeah. No, she’s not—"

He paused, his free hand rubbing at his temple as he listened to whatever his mom was saying on the other end. His shoulders slumped slightly, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like the weight of the world had just landed squarely on him.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Yeah. I’ll talk to you about it later. See you then. Bye."

He hung up with a sharp click and turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief, annoyance, and something you couldn’t quite place.

"You’re unbelievable," he said flatly.

"You’re welcome," you replied, hopping off the desk and dusting your hands like you’d just finished a job well done.

Steve just stared at you for a long moment, as if trying to will himself into a different dimension where this conversation had never happened. Finally, he sighed, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “Will you just go finish polluting the office with more cheap plastic while I try to write your termination letter.”

You knew he was fibbing, but you still frowned. “What? It’s not like I told her your deepest darkest secrets.” You just made his mom believe he was in a relationship.

He laughed incredulously. “You know exactly what you did. You made her believe we…” he motioned between you two. “As if.”

You crossed your arms, scowling. “Excuse me? As if? Mr. Harrington, you would be lucky to even dream about dating me.”

He held his hand up. “This is your fault,” he said, his tone sharp, “If you hadn’t answered my phone–”

“You’re seriously blaming me?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “You’re the one who didn’t tell her the truth.”

“And say what? Say, ‘No mom, that’s only my annoying pain in the ass intern who can’t stay out of my business. Not my girlfriend.’” He readjusted the items on his desk from the spot you had sat on.

“Yes, although I would leave out all the filler words, that’s not really important.” You regretted your comment immediately.

Steve’s nose flared. You looked at the clock. Wow, new record of making Steve Harrington angry enough to kick you out of his office. He shut the door in your face, the lock clicked on the other side. You tried to peer inside, but he closed his curtains so no one could look into the office.

The next morning, the office was humming with quiet activity. A few coworkers had come in early, and the sound of keyboards clacking mixed with the faint murmur of a distant phone ringing. You were nursing a cup of coffee at your desk, trying to forget about yesterday’s debacle. Steve hadn’t spoken to you since slamming his office door, and frankly, you were hoping to ride that silence out for the rest of your internship.

But peace wasn’t in the cards.

Your name was called out. Steve’s voice cut through the office like a blade. You glanced up to see him standing in his doorway, his tie slightly loosened and his jaw tight. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “In my office. Now.”

A few heads turned toward you, and you resisted the urge to groan. With a quick glance at your coffee as if it could save you, you stood and made your way to his door.

When you stepped inside, Steve closed the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment like he needed to gather himself. His office smelled faintly of coffee and cologne, and the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“You okay there, Mr. Harrington?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

His jaw tightened when you called him that. But he didn’t say anything about it. There seemed to be more pressing matters on his mind. “No,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms. “We need to talk about yesterday.” He walked past you, leaning against his desk.

“Oh, come on,” you said, throwing up your hands. “It wasn’t that bad. Your mom seemed thrilled. I bet she even slept better knowing her darling son isn’t as emotionally unavailable as he looks.”

“This isn’t funny.”

You frowned, suddenly aware of how serious he looked. “I didn’t mean—”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he interrupted, cutting you off.

Your mouth fell open. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You’re coming to Christmas,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My mom is expecting you. She’s already told everyone that I’m bringing someone.” He walked behind his desk, looking out at the busy Chicago streets. You thought he was being melodramatic.

“That’s not my problem,” you said, crossing your arms. “You could’ve told her the truth, but instead, you—”

“You’re the one who answered the phone,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re the one who decided to play along and make it worse.”

“Worse?” you scoffed. “I saved you from having to explain why you’re still single and miserable. You should be thanking me.”

Steve’s face fell. “You think I’m miserable?” He turned away, and you thought he looked almost sad.

“Don’t dodge the point,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re the one dragging me into your family drama.”

“I’m not dragging you into anything,” he said, leaning forward and planting his hands on his desk. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“A deal?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve nodded, his jaw tightening. “I’ll pay you. Whatever you want. Double your hourly rate for every day you’re there. All you have to do is show up, pretend to like me, and keep my mom happy.”

You stared at him, your brain working overtime to process what he’d just said. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

“You want to pay me to pretend to be your girlfriend for Christmas?” you asked. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“No, what’s insane,” Steve shot back, “is the fact that my mom is already planning to introduce you to half of Hawkins like we’re engaged. So unless you want to explain to her why you suddenly bailed, this is happening.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of a response. Part of you wanted to storm out and let him deal with the fallout on his own. But another part of you—the part that had seen the vulnerability in his eyes—hesitated.

This wasn’t just about avoiding an awkward conversation with his mom. Steve was clearly under a lot of pressure, and as much as you hated to admit it, you’d helped create this mess. Walking away now would feel… wrong.

“Fine,” you said finally, crossing your arms. “But I have conditions.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What kind of conditions?”

“For starters,” you said, holding up a finger, “I’m not answering any weird questions about how we ‘met.’ That’s on you.”

“Fair,” Steve said, nodding.

“And I get final veto power over all cringe-worthy PDA. In fact, minimal to no PDA unless absolutely necessary,” you added. “I’m not about to get handsy with my boss.”

Steve grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not on my list of priorities.”

“Good,” you said, ignoring the small flicker of irritation at how quickly he’d agreed. “And finally, you’re driving.”

Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Deal.”

You studied him for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around what you’d just agreed to. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Steve said, sitting down and leaning back in his chair.

You shook your head, already regretting this. What a Merry fricking Christmas to you.

***

The road stretched out ahead, flanked by frost-tipped trees and the occasional weathered fence. The closer you got to Hawkins, the quieter it became, as if the small Indiana town had been forgotten by time. Even the car seemed to absorb the silence, its heater humming softly against the chill that seeped through the windows.

You glanced at Steve, who was gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He hadn’t said much since you left Chicago, aside from the occasional grunt in response to your attempts at conversation. It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be closed off, but there was a weight to his silence now, something that settled in the car like a third passenger.

For the past few hours, you’d filled the space with music and idle chatter, throwing out observations about roadside diners and Christmas light displays in an effort to keep things light. But as the miles ticked by, your energy waned, leaving only the sound of a muted playlist in the background.

When Steve finally turned onto a narrow residential street, the tension in your chest grew. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting—some sprawling estate with a wrought-iron gate, maybe—but the house that came into view was surprisingly… ordinary.

The two-story home had a certain charm, with its neatly trimmed hedges and a string of multicolored Christmas lights hanging from the roofline. A dusting of snow covered the front yard, softening the edges of the picket fence and the stone path that led to the front door. A wreath hung crookedly from the door, its red bow slightly frayed, as if someone had pulled it out of storage at the last minute.

Steve pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, leaning back against his seat with a deep exhale. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the house like it was something he’d rather avoid. You resisted the urge to ask what was on his mind, instead focusing on the knot in your stomach that had been tightening since the trip began.

This was it. You were about to step into Steve Harrington’s world—the one he avoided talking about, even when you pried. The weight of that realization made your throat tighten.

"Home sweet home," Steve said finally, his voice flat as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

You followed suit, stepping out into the cold. The air was sharper here, biting at your cheeks and turning your breath into soft clouds. As you stood by the car, taking in the house, you couldn’t help but notice how still everything was. Hawkins felt like a far cry from the bustling chaos of Chicago, a place where time moved slower and the world seemed quieter.

Steve grabbed your bag from the trunk without a word, slinging it over his shoulder before nodding toward the house. You trailed after him, your boots crunching against the snow-dusted path.

The door opened before you reached it, revealing a petite woman with short, dark hair and a radiant smile. She stepped out onto the porch, clapping her hands together against the cold.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her voice warm and bright. "I was starting to think you got lost."

Steve’s mom, you realized. Diane Harrington was every bit as charming as her voice had suggested on the phone. She descended the steps quickly, wrapping Steve in a tight hug before pulling back to examine him.

"You look tired," she said, brushing a stray piece of lint off his coat. "Have you been eating? You look thinner."

Steve sighed. "Hi, Mom."

Her eyes shifted to you, her expression lighting up as she stepped closer. "And you must be the girlfriend," she said, taking your hands in hers before you could react. "I’m so happy to meet you. Steve said you were pretty but I wasn’t expecting you to be this gorgeous."

Pretty? Heat crept up your neck, and you shot Steve a quick glare. He looked away, suddenly very interested in the snow beneath his boots.

"Thank you, Mrs. Harrington," you said, mustering your most polite tone. "It’s, uh, really nice to meet you too."

"Diane," she corrected with a smile. "Come inside, both of you! It’s freezing out here."

Steve brushed past her into the house, leaving you to follow. The moment you stepped inside, warmth enveloped you, carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine. The interior was cozy, with polished hardwood floors, soft lighting, and a large Christmas tree dominating the living room. Ornaments dangled from its branches, reflecting the twinkling lights, while neatly wrapped presents were piled underneath.

"This is... cute," you said, glancing around. It was homier than you’d expected, filled with little touches that spoke of a family that cared about the details—a bowl of candy canes on the coffee table, stockings hanging from the mantel, and framed photos lining the walls.

"You make it sound like a dollhouse," Steve muttered, dropping your bag by the couch.

Diane bustled in behind you, already pulling off her scarf. "I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got cookies in the oven and plenty of hot cocoa if you want some."

"That sounds amazing," you said, offering her a genuine smile.

"Good! I’ll grab you both a cup," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was out of sight, you turned to Steve, your voice low. "You could’ve warned me your mom was this... friendly."

Steve let out a short laugh, leaning against the arm of the couch. "What, did you expect her to interrogate you at the door?"

"Honestly? A little," you admitted, glancing toward the kitchen.

Steve smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something guarded about him now, a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t eased since you arrived.

"You good?" you asked quietly, crossing your arms.

"Fine," he said, brushing off the question. "Just... try not to make this worse than it already is."

You frowned, about to respond, but Diane returned, balancing a tray of steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

"Here we go!" she said cheerfully, setting them down on the coffee table. "Now, sit, both of you. I want to hear everything."

You exchanged a quick glance with Steve, the unspoken weight of the situation settling between you.

This was going to be a long few days.

You weren’t sure what you had expected from Steve’s mom, but “relentless enthusiasm” wasn’t at the top of the list. Diane seemed to have a bottomless well of energy, firing off questions between sips of cocoa as you and Steve sat side by side on the couch. The way her eyes sparkled with every word made it clear she was thrilled you were here—and just as clear that Steve hadn’t prepared her for your arrival.

It was a stark contrast from her annoyingly moody son.

"So," Diane began, leaning forward with a curious tilt of her head. "How long have you two been seeing each other?"

You hesitated, sneaking a glance at Steve. He was staring straight ahead, jaw tight, doing his best impression of someone who wasn’t deeply regretting every life choice that had led to this moment.

"A little while," you said finally, keeping it vague.

Steve let out a small, sharp breath—relief, maybe—but you weren’t about to let him off the hook completely. "Steve didn’t tell you?" you added, shooting him a pointed look.

Diane’s brow furrowed slightly as she turned to Steve. "No, he didn’t."

"Must’ve slipped my mind," Steve muttered, his tone flat. He grabbed his cocoa and took a long sip, clearly hoping to disappear into the mug.

"Slipped your mind?" you repeated, incredulous. "Wow. That’s not the kind of thing you forget, Mr. Harrington."

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you, his hazel eyes narrowing. "I’ve been busy."

"Too busy to mention your girlfriend to your mom?" you shot back, the word "girlfriend" sticking to your tongue like peanut butter.

He returned a sarcastic smile. “Seems I get a bit distracted when I’m worried about my employees coming in late to work and messing with things that’s none of their business.”

Ouch, that was definitely targeted at you.

Diane’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smile turning a little more amused. "You two bicker like an old married couple," she said with a laugh.

Steve groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "We’re not—"

"That’s just how he is," you interrupted, cutting him off. "Always so cheerful and charming. It’s why we get along so well." You grabbed his hand. You suddenly became aware that you had never touched him before. It felt strange. His hands were softer than you had imagined. Not that you had imagined what they felt like… but you just assumed they were callused just like his personality.

His glare deepened, but he couldn’t exactly contradict you without blowing the whole thing wide open. Watching him squirm was deeply satisfying. He gave you an awkward smile, laying his other hand on top of yours.

"Well, it’s nice to see him with someone who keeps him on his toes," Diane said, clearly delighted.

"Trust me," you replied, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. "It’s a full-time job."

Steve didn’t respond, instead finishing off his cocoa with a pointed slam of the mug onto the table. You could feel the frustration radiating off him, but he kept his cool, probably for Diane’s sake.

"Speaking of full-time," Diane said, seamlessly steering the conversation back to you. "What do you do? Steve said you work together."

"That’s right," you said, nodding. "I’m a marketing intern at Harrington & Co."

"Oh!" Diane’s smile widened. "So you work for Steve?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. "Technically, yes."

"Technically," Steve repeated, his voice dry.

You shot him a look. "Yes. Technically."

"Interesting," Diane said, her tone growing more curious. "That must make things... complicated."

"It’s not so bad," you said quickly, plastering on a smile. "We’ve got a great dynamic."

Steve snorted, earning a sharp nudge from your elbow. "Right, dear?"

"Sure," he said, rubbing his side where you’d jabbed him. "Great dynamic."

Before Diane could ask anything else, the sound of the oven timer chimed from the kitchen. She clapped her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. "The gingerbread cookies are ready! Stay right here—I’ll bring some out."

The second she was out of earshot, Steve turned to you, his voice low and tense. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Me?" you said, feigning innocence. "I’m just being the charming, delightful girlfriend your mom thinks I am."

"Charming?" Steve repeated, his brows lifting. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

You ducked your chin into your chest, taking away your hand from his because there was no point since his mother wasn’t in the room.

You hoped he was too self-absorbed to notice the shift. But you were never that lucky. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“Just, shut up.” You snapped.

Steve shook his head, muttering something under his breath as Diane reappeared, balancing a tray of perfectly iced gingerbread men. You quickly fell back into the good girlfriend role you were hired to play.

"Here we are," she said, setting the tray down with a flourish. "Steve, be a dear and get her a blanket from the closet. I don’t want her catching a chill."

You smiled sweetly as Steve stood, his frustration barely hidden. He stalked toward the hallway, mumbling something about how "this was all a mistake."

When he was gone, Diane leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "He really likes you, you know."

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"My Steve," she said, her smile softening. "He doesn’t bring just anyone home. At least not since his father…” she sniffled. She gave you a hopeful smile. “You must mean a lot to him."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Steve reappeared before you could process what she’d said, tossing a folded blanket into your lap without a word.

"Thanks," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Don’t mention it," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The tension between you lingered as Diane handed you both cookies, her voice filling the space with cheerful chatter. You focused on nibbling the edges of your gingerbread man, trying not to think too hard about her earlier comment—and why it made your stomach flip.

“Uh… sorry. Is there a restroom I could use?” You asked shyly, biting your lip.

Diane put her hand on her cheek. “Oh dear! I got so excited I forgot to show you around. Steve, can you meet us upstairs in your room with the bags?”

Diane led you up the staircase, her steps light and quick despite her small frame. You followed behind her, gripping the railing as you took in the house. It was cozy in the way older homes often were, with creaky wood floors and framed photos lining the walls. One caught your eye—a younger Steve in a basketball uniform, his face frozen in a proud, gap-toothed grin. Another showed him with his arm slung around a shaggy-haired boy, both of them laughing mid-moment.

“This way, dear,” Diane called, pulling your attention back to the present.

She stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door, gesturing for you to step inside.

“Here we are!” she said brightly. “Steve’s room.”

You hesitated at the threshold, peering inside. The room was surprisingly neat, with a made bed covered in a navy comforter, a single wooden desk tucked into the corner, and a few sparse decorations on the walls—mostly framed posters and a few shelves of books. It was plain, a little impersonal, like the room of someone who’d stopped living here a long time ago.

"Uh, nice," you said, stepping inside awkwardly. "Where, um… where am I staying?"

Diane blinked, her expression shifting from cheerful to confused. “Here, of course.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh. Uh… here?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s plenty of space, and the bed is big enough for the both of you.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. “Oh, that’s, um… generous of you, but—”

“Mom,” Steve’s voice interrupted from behind you. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, bags in hand, his expression a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You didn’t say we’d be sharing a room.”

Diane’s brows knit together in a faint frown. “Well, where else would she sleep? The guest room hasn’t been used in years—it’s full of boxes. And the couch is far too small.” She smiled at you. “I’m sure you two don’t mind. You are a couple, after all. I’m not a naive mother, I know you had girls over back in your high school days.”

Steve coughed, “Mom!”

You glanced at Steve, your heart pounding. His jaw tightened, and he looked away, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. His cheeks were red.

“Right,” you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course. No problem.”

“See?” Diane said, beaming. “I knew you’d be fine with it.” She reached out and patted Steve’s arm. “Be a gentleman and help her settle in. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

With that, she swept out of the room, leaving the two of you standing in thick, suffocating silence.

Diane’s footsteps creaked softly down the stairs, leaving behind a silence so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin. You glanced at the door, half-expecting her to reappear and tell you it was all some kind of misunderstanding. But no—this was your life now. Sharing a room with Steve Harrington, who looked about as thrilled as you felt.

You stole a glance at him. He stood near the bed, his hands on his hips and his lips pressed into a tight line. His jaw worked like he was biting back a string of words he wasn’t quite ready to say. It was strange, seeing him out of his usual sharp suit and into something more casual. The Steve Harrington you knew from the office had a confidence that bordered on arrogance, like he could handle anything thrown his way. But here? He looked... different. Smaller, somehow.

You pushed that thought aside and forced yourself to focus on the practicalities. The bed was big, sure—but not big enough to share without bumping into each other all night. And the floor, with its thin, scuffed wood, didn’t exactly scream comfort. You could already feel the ache in your back if you tried to sleep down there.

“This is a disaster,” you said quietly, half to yourself.

Steve snorted from where he stood, arms crossed. “Tell me about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head and leaned back, letting out a long, slow breath. His hazel eyes drifted to the window, where the faint glow of the Christmas lights outside cast soft shadows across the room.

“Look,” you said finally, breaking the silence. “We have to figure this out.”

Steve turned back to you, one eyebrow raised. “Figure what out?”

You gestured at the bed, your voice sharp despite your best efforts. “The sleeping situation. Because I’m not sharing that with you.”

His brows knit together. “You think I want to?”

“Good,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Then you can take the floor.”

“Why do I have to take the floor?” Steve snapped, his voice rising slightly. “It’s my room.”

“Because you’re the one who… hired me. I can walk downstairs right now and tell her this was all a lie.” From the grunt he made let you know you had won the battle.

“Fine. Only because I don’t want my mom on the list of people who think I’m a loser,” he mumbled. He started to unpack his suitcase, mostly toiletries.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you said quietly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

Steve paused, his mouth half-open like he was about to retort. His walls crumbled for a split second before he composed himself upright, turning back around to the suitcase. “Tonight we always go downtown to the tree lighting ceremony. You’ll probably see some of my friends.” He changed the subject quickly, walking into his bathroom to put his stuff away.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The weight in his voice was unexpected, and it made your chest ache in a way you didn’t like. You wanted to poke fun at him, to say something snarky and lighthearted to cut through the tension. But the words caught in your throat, stuck behind the realization that Steve Harrington wasn’t as bulletproof as he seemed.

He came back into the room, eyeing you up and down. “Are you wearing that?”

You looked down at your denim jeans and sweater. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The corner of his lips upturned. “Nothing. Nothing…” he trailed off, pretending to be busy with something. “I just imagine if you’re dating a wealthy man then you’d wear something…” he was treading in dangerous waters. “Sophisticated.”

You scoffed. “Sophisticated? Have you tried hearing something called, humility, Mr. Harrington?”

“You know, it’s weird to call your boyfriend that.” He turned, tilting his head. His 5 o’clock shadow was becoming painfully obvious to you.

“Good thing you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Then what am I paying you for?”

You flopped on his bed, legs up, smirking. “Have you seen Pretty Woman?”

He shot you daggers. “You wish.”

“Don’t think I catch you staring when I wear that one skirt.” The statement was casual.

Steve froze for half a second, his hand lingering on the edge of his suitcase. He recovered quickly, scoffing like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed. “I wasn’t staring. I was—”

“Admiring? Appreciating? Objectifying?” you supplied, your smirk widening as you folded your arms behind your head and sank into the plush comforter. “Take your pick, Harrington.”

“Monitoring,” he retorted, zipping his bag with far more force than necessary. “Making sure you weren’t breaking the office dress code.”

“Is there a dress code?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’ve seen your ties. If we’re holding people to a standard, you might want to start there.”

Steve’s mouth opened, then closed again, as if he couldn’t decide which insult to throw at you first. He shook his head and grabbed a pair of shoes from his bag instead, sitting down on the chair to lace them up. “Unbelievable.”

“What?” you said, feigning innocence. “I’m just making sure you’re held accountable. You know, for all your staring.”

“I wasn’t—” He stopped himself with a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like your name.

You let out a laugh, leaning up on your elbows to watch him. It was too easy to get under his skin, and honestly, it was the most fun you’d had all day.

“So,” you said, shifting gears, “this tree lighting thing. Is it, like, a big deal? Or just another excuse for small-town folks to put on their Sunday best?”

Steve glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “It’s a thing. Hawkins doesn’t have much going on, so the tree lighting’s kind of... important. Everyone shows up. Friends, old classmates, people you try to avoid but somehow always run into.”

“Sounds delightful,” you said, swinging your legs off the bed. “Can’t wait to meet all your friends. Maybe I’ll find out what you were like before Chicago turned you into a grumpy corporate sellout.”

Steve gave you a flat look, tying his second shoe with more aggression than necessary. “Careful, or you’ll blow your cover.”

“Oh, please,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Your mom already thinks I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag.”

“Right,” he said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “You’re a regular Oscar winner.”

“Thank you,” you said, hopping up from the bed. “I like to think I bring a certain… authenticity to the role. But hey, if you’re worried, feel free to jump in and charm your way through the night. Oh, wait.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging into his coat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll tell everyone you begged me to hire you.”

“Joke’s on you,” you shot back, grabbing your own jacket. “They’d believe it. Who wouldn’t want to work for Mr. Harrington?”

He paused at the door, turning to look at you with an unreadable expression. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something serious, something that would shatter the rhythm of your playful back-and-forth. But then he smirked, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You ready, or do you need time to come up with more ways to embarrass me tonight?”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harrington,” you said, brushing past him with a grin. “I’ve already got a list.”

***

The drive to the town square was brisk, the chill of the evening air biting at your cheeks despite the layers you’d bundled into. Hawkins, for all its sleepy charm, had a way of making winter feel like something out of a picture book. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed overhead, illuminating the streets in a soft golden glow, while shop windows displayed carefully arranged holiday scenes. Wreaths hung on nearly every lamppost, their red bows fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.

As you followed Diane through the growing crowd, your gaze wandered over the scene, taking in the families, the couples, the quiet buzz of a small town coming alive for the holidays. It was… nice. Not the kind of “nice” you were used to in Chicago, where everything felt rushed and artificial, but something simpler. Quieter.

Beside you, Steve walked with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his posture a little stiff as he glanced around. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the fact that he was being dragged into a public event he clearly wasn’t thrilled about. Probably both.

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him. His hair, ruffled by the wind, still somehow managed to look effortlessly styled. The sharp lines of his jaw stood out against the glow of the lights, and the way his coat fit—broad shoulders, lean frame—was almost unfair. He was handsome in a way that felt infuriatingly natural, like he didn’t have to try.

You quickly looked away, embarrassed by your train of thought. Since when were you noticing things like that about Steve Harrington? You chalked it up to being stuck in close quarters—forced proximity was bound to mess with your head.

Before you could dwell on it any further, Steve’s pace slowed, his head turning sharply toward the sound of a voice cutting through the crowd.

“Harrington!”

The name was called with an edge of disbelief and excitement, and Steve’s expression shifted immediately. His stiff shoulders loosened, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Hawkins, a genuine smile tugged at his lips.

“Oh, no,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real irritation in his voice. “Robin.”

You turned your head, catching sight of the woman weaving her way toward you both. She was tall and lanky, with short brown hair that framed her sharp, curious features. Her grin was wide, a little lopsided, and when her eyes landed on Steve, she broke into a jog.

“Steve!” she said, launching herself at him in a hug that nearly knocked him off balance.

“Robin,” Steve said, laughing as he stumbled slightly. He hugged her back with a fondness that felt almost out of character for the grumpy boss you knew.

When Robin pulled back, her gaze flickered to you, her brow quirking as her grin shifted into something sly. “And who’s this?”

Before you could answer, Diane appeared at your side, her voice brimming with pride. She gave Robin your name. “She’s Steve’s girlfriend!”

You froze, feeling your cheeks heat as the word hung in the air. Girlfriend. It sounded so foreign—so wrong—and yet, Diane said it with such certainty that you almost believed it yourself.

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint in her eye now, a sharpness that made your stomach twist. She looked between you and Steve, her grin growing wider. “Girlfriend?”

“It’s new,” Steve said quickly, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

Robin turned to you, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm, her gaze lingering just a second too long. You forced a smile, hoping you didn’t look as awkward as you felt. “Nice to meet you too.”

Robin’s eyes flicked back to Steve, and the smile on her face turned mischievous. “Well, isn’t this interesting. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Harrington.”

Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Robin—”

“I mean, a girlfriend?” Robin interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell me? I called you three days ago and you never mentioned her.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Steve muttered, his cheeks reddening.

Robin shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Fine. But don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re talking later.”

Before Steve could respond, a loud cheer rippled through the crowd, drawing everyone’s attention to the tree in the center of the square. The mayor stood on a small platform, microphone in hand, as he began his annual speech.

You took the opportunity to lean closer to Steve, your voice low. “Your friend seems nice.”

“She’s fine,” Steve said quickly, his gaze fixed on the tree.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” you pressed, unable to keep the smirk out of your voice.

Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t know anything. Yet.”

“Right,” you said, drawing out the word. “Because she definitely didn’t look like she was onto us.”

Steve turned his head just enough to glare at you. Then he looked back at Robin, noticing the way she was still looking at you two suspiciously. “I’m going to put my arm around you,” he said, looking straight ahead.

You were taken aback. You hadn’t really been physical, but I guess it was different when it came to being around friends. They probably knew him better than his mom. So, you just stepped closer, leaning into him. His body tensed, arm wrapping around you. It was another odd feeling, but different from how it felt when you held his hand. A jolt of warm electricity buzzed through you as you relaxed into him.

The mayor’s voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the countdown, and the crowd erupted into cheers. You let yourself get swept up in the energy, your smile lingering as the tree came to life in a brilliant display of twinkling lights.

For a moment, you forgot about all the lies that were bubbling inside you. The air was filled with warmth and light, and for the first time since you arrived in Hawkins, you felt yourself start to relax.

But then you glanced at Steve, catching the way his eyes softened as he looked at the tree, and that knot in your chest tightened all over again.

As the cheers from the crowd subsided, the tree’s twinkling lights cast a warm glow over the square. People milled about, sipping cocoa and chatting, their voices blending into a low hum that filled the crisp evening air. You found yourself lingering near Steve, half-listening to Diane’s enthusiastic conversation with a neighbor while Robin hovered close, her sharp gaze bouncing between you and Steve like she was piecing together a puzzle.

“Well,” Robin said suddenly, stepping into your personal space with a grin that could only be described as trouble. “Since Steve clearly doesn’t plan to introduce us properly, I guess I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She extended her hand again, this time with exaggerated flair. “Robin Buckley, certified Steve Harrington expert and general pain in his ass.”

You laughed, taking her hand despite the slight wariness creeping up your spine. You introduced yourself again, and this time, it felt genuine. Something about Robin Buckley made things less awkward. “Nice to meet you, Robin. It’s been... an eventful few days.”

“I bet,” Robin said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she released your hand. “So, how’d you two meet? Steve’s not exactly Mr. Social these days.”

Before you could think of a plausible lie, Steve jumped in, his voice a little too quick. “Work. We met at work.” You wanted to to stomp his foot. You had given him the job to explain how you met, but you had thought he’d at least come up with something unique.

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Work, huh? And now you’re dating?”

You felt Steve tense beside you, and it took everything in you not to burst out laughing at the way he was fumbling. “It was, uh, kind of unexpected,” you said, jumping in to save him. “One of those things where we just... clicked.”

Robin’s grin widened, her eyes flicking between you and Steve with laser focus. “Clicked. Interesting choice of words.”

“Robin,” Steve said, his voice low and full of warning.

She ignored him completely, stepping a little closer to you. “So, tell me—what’s your favorite thing about Steve?”

Your heart skipped, panic rising in your chest. What was your favorite thing about Steve? His ability to get on your nerves? The way he always found new ways to irritate you at work? The fact that, despite everything, you couldn’t stop noticing how stupidly handsome he was?

“He’s...” you started, glancing at Steve, whose face had gone pale. “He’s thoughtful. In his own way.”

Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “Thoughtful? Harrington?”

“He is!” you said quickly, warming to the idea. “Like how he makes sure everyone at work has what they need, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Or how he always, uh, remembers little things—like how I like my coffee.”

Steve’s gaze snapped to yours, surprise flickering across his face. You weren’t sure why you’d said it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. And now, looking at him, you realized they weren’t entirely untrue.

Robin studied you for a moment longer, her expression unreadable, before finally shrugging. “Huh. Well, guess there’s a first time for everything.” She turned to Steve, smirking. “Look at you, Harrington. All grown up and thoughtful.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Can we drop this now?”

“Fine,” Robin said, clearly amused. “For now.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Diane reappeared, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. “Here you go,” she said brightly, pressing one into your hands.

Steve frowned. “Where’s mine?”

Diane took a sip of her hot chocolate tauntingly. “Maybe you should have been the one to bring her cocoa instead of standing around like a bump on a log.”

Steve groaned, his breath misting in the cold air. “Seriously, Mom?”

“Seriously, Steven,” Diane shot back, her tone sweet but firm. She patted his cheek with a gloved hand, clearly delighted by his irritation. “You could learn a thing or two about how to treat a lady.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, muffled slightly by the rim of your cup. Steve turned his glare on you, but it lacked his usual bite, his cheeks tinged with more than just the cold.

“Oh, come on, Steve,” you teased, swirling your cocoa for emphasis. “Maybe if you were more thoughtful, your mom wouldn’t have to show you up.”

Robin snickered, enjoying every second of the exchange. “She’s got a point. Chivalry, Harrington. It’s dead because of people like you.”

Steve threw up his hands. “Great. Gang up on me. Real festive spirit, guys.”

Diane grinned, clearly pleased with herself, before excusing herself to chat with a neighbor who waved her over.

Robin, still grinning, folded her arms and leaned closer to you. “So,” she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What’s it like working with him? Does he actually do anything? We used to work together in our younger days and I wondered if anything had changed.”

You hesitated, unsure how much to say. Robin’s sharp gaze made it clear she was fishing for something, and while you couldn’t exactly throw Steve under the bus, you also weren’t about to give her nothing. “He’s... efficient,” you said carefully. “Most of the time.”

Robin barked out a laugh. “Efficient. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone say ‘bossy.’”

“Thanks,” Steve said flatly, glaring at both of you.

Robin clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Stevie. I’m sure she’s just being polite. Take it from me, it is exhausting dealing with you all day.”

Before Steve could respond, Diane called out from across the square, waving for you all to join her by the skating rink.

As you started walking, cocoa warming your hands, Steve fell into step beside you. His usual scowl was back, but there was something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you.

“Efficient?” he said under his breath, his tone low enough that Robin wouldn’t hear.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

“That’s how you describe me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Efficient?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your cocoa. “Would you rather I say ‘thoughtful’ again? Because I think we both know that’s a stretch.”

Steve huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” you shot back, your grin widening.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the rink. “Let’s get this over with.”

For a moment, he looked younger, softer—like the weight he carried wasn’t quite so crushing under the glow of the lights.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

Steve hesitated, then shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

The square buzzed with holiday cheer as the three of you approached the rink, the glow of the Christmas lights reflecting off the ice. Families glided hand-in-hand, couples laughed as they stumbled together, and the faint sound of holiday music filled the air.

The rink was smaller than you expected, a modest oval surrounded by strings of lights and wooden benches dusted with snow. A few families skated in lazy circles, their laughter cutting through the quiet hum of Christmas music playing over the speakers.

You stood at the edge, sipping your cocoa and pretending you weren’t sneaking glances at Steve as he leaned against the railing. He looked more relaxed here, his expression softening as he watched the skaters.

“You used to skate?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Steve snorted. “Not exactly. I was more into sports that didn’t involve falling on my ass.”

“Ah, so basketball and being a high school heartthrob?” you teased, smirking.

He shot you a sideways look. “Something like that.”

Before you could press further, a group of skaters passed by, waving at Steve. One of them called out his name, laughing, and you could see his old reputation hadn’t faded entirely.

“Small-town royalty,” you said under your breath, shaking your head.

“Jealous?” he asked, his smirk returning as he straightened up.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I prefer the anonymity of city life. No one there knows me well enough to make assumptions.”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. That’s the good part, isn’t it?” The weight in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the skaters again.You wondered what memories were circling in his head, what had caused that flicker of something—regret, maybe?—to cross his face.

“You know,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, “if you want to prove Robin wrong, this would be the perfect opportunity. Show me your moves, Harrington.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, though there was the faintest hint of amusement behind them. “I don’t skate.”

“You just said you don’t fall on your ass,” you countered, grinning.

“That’s not the same thing,” he replied, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “And besides, I don’t have anything to prove to Robin.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, tilting your head. “Then why do I feel like you’re avoiding it because you know you’ll look ridiculous?”

Steve straightened, his brows knitting together in mock offense. “I do not look ridiculous.”

“Then prove it.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I’m not playing this game.”

“Scared?” you teased, stepping closer and raising an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s fine if you are. You can just admit it.”

Steve stared at you, his lips twitching as though he was trying not to smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“Efficient and insufferable,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s called versatility.”

Robin reappeared then, her grin wide as she caught the tail end of your exchange. “What’s this? Harrington getting cold feet?”

Steve groaned, running a hand down his face. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me too,” Robin said, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Stevie. Show your girlfriend how it’s done.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to remind Robin that you hadn’t actually agreed to this skating charade, but the words caught when Steve turned to you. There was something challenging in his gaze now, something that made your stomach flip.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low and even. “Let’s do this.”

You blinked, taken aback. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted proof, right?” he said, already pulling off his coat and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I’ll show you.”

Robin’s laughter rang out as she clapped her hands together. “This is going to be amazing.”

Steve stepped onto the rink, his movements deliberate and measured as he adjusted to the ice. For someone who claimed not to skate, he wasn’t half bad—his steps steady as he began to move in slow, cautious circles.

“See?” he called out, flashing you a smug grin. “No falling. No looking ridiculous.”

You crossed your arms, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re going slow enough for a toddler to keep up.”

“Keep talking,” Steve said, his grin widening as he picked up the pace.

For a moment, you just watched him, the teasing comment you’d planned dying on your lips. Under the glow of the lights, his smile was defenseless, easy—something you weren’t used to seeing from him. He moved with a kind of grace that caught you off guard, his confidence radiating as he made another smooth lap around the rink.

“Okay,” you said reluctantly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Steve echoed, stopping just in front of you. He leaned against the railing, his cheeks flushed from the cold. “That’s all you’ve got?”

You smirked, leaning closer. “Fine. It’s impressive... for someone who spends most of his day sitting behind a desk.”

Steve’s laugh was warm, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the crowd faded away. Then Robin appeared at your side, nudging you with her elbow.

“Careful,” she said with a sly grin. “Keep looking at him like that, and people might start thinking you’re into him for real.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Steve pushed away from the railing, his gaze flicking to Robin.

“Alright,” he said, his voice full of mock bravado. “You’re next, Buckley. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Robin snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Steve smirked, gesturing toward the ice. “Scared?”

“Not a chance,” Robin replied. “I just have this thing where I don’t voluntarily humiliate myself in front of an audience.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That’s a shame. Because if you’re half as bad as I remember, it would’ve been a great show.” Robin rolled her eyes, muttering something about “childhood trauma” before stepping back toward the bench.

Steve turned back to you, his grin softening. “You coming or what?”

You hesitated, your heart doing an unexpected flip. “I... don’t skate.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Really? And here I thought you were fearless.”

“Fearless,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. “Or just smart enough to know my limits?”

Steve held out his hand, his smirk fading into something gentler. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your pulse racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you reached for his hand.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over Steve’s outstretched hand. It was warm, even in the freezing air, and the way his hazel eyes held yours felt... different. For a moment, you forgot the small-town square, the hum of holiday music, and even Robin’s knowing smirks. All you could focus on was Steve.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you intended.

Steve’s smirk softened, and he tightened his grip, leading you cautiously onto the ice. Your boots wobbled the instant you stepped off the safety of solid ground, your legs feeling impossibly unsteady.

“Relax,” Steve said, glancing over his shoulder as he guided you. “You’re not going to fall.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered, clinging to his arm. “You’re not the one flailing like a newborn deer.”

Steve chuckled, and the sound sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. It wasn’t his usual scoff or the dry laugh you’d heard before��it was quieter, more genuine. “You’re doing fine,” he said, slowing his pace.

Fine wasn’t the word you’d use. Every step felt like a battle, your balance precarious as you gripped his arm like a lifeline. You caught a glimpse of Robin on the sidelines, her grin wide with amusement. “Do you think she’s buying–”

Before you could finish, your skate caught on the ice, and your legs gave out. Steve’s hand shot out to steady you, but in the process, his own balance faltered. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling down in a tangle of limbs, hitting the ice with a loud thud.

The cold bit into your palms, and for a moment, all you could do was blink up at the string lights above you, your breath fogging in the air.

“Okay,” you groaned. “This was a mistake.”

Steve’s laugh broke through the haze, full and unrestrained, and you turned your head to see him lying beside you, one hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath. It was the first time you’d ever heard him laugh like that—loud and free, without any trace of the prudent bitterness you were so used to. The sound was infectious, and before you knew it, you were laughing too, the absurdity of the situation overtaking you. Your head fell carelessly on his chest.

“You’re terrible at this,” Steve said between breaths, his voice light with amusement. You felt his hand splay against your back.

“Me?” you shot back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “You’re the one who said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“I didn’t think you’d take me down with you!”

Your laughter mingled with his, echoing across the rink. For a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered—just the two of you, lying on the ice, laughing like kids.

When you finally managed to untangle yourselves and scramble back to the railing, Diane was waiting, her expression soft. The two of you giggling as you took off your skating boots. “That laugh,” she said, her voice wistful. “You sound just like your father.”

Steve froze. The easy warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a tension that tightened his jaw and straightened his posture.

“Mom,” he said flatly, the single word carrying a warning.

Diane’s smile faltered, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—”

“I’m going to return these,” Steve cut her off, his voice clipped as he turned toward the rental booth.

You watched him walk away, the lightness from earlier evaporating with every step. The Steve Harrington who’d been laughing with you on the ice was gone, replaced by the closed-off version you’d first met.

Robin sidled up beside you, her expression unusually serious. “That’s a sore subject,” she said quietly, nodding toward Steve.

“What is?” you asked, though you already had an idea.

“His dad,” Robin replied, crossing her arms. “It’s been... hard on him. They weren’t exactly close, but, you know, losing a parent messes you up. He tries to act like he’s fine, but... well, you’ve seen how he is.”

Your stomach twisted. You had no idea. The Steve you knew from work never mentioned his father, and you hadn’t thought to ask. Now, pretending to know him—really know him—felt heavier than ever.

“Yeah,” you said softly, nodding as if you understood. “I know it’s been hard on him.”

Robin gave you a small, sad smile. “You’re good for him, you know.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “What makes you say that?”

Robin shrugged. “You make him laugh. He hasn’t done that much lately.”

Your chest tightened as you looked back toward Steve. He was at the rental counter, returning his skates with a forced politeness that didn’t reach his eyes. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself like he was bracing for a fight.

You weren’t sure what to say or do. But as you watched him retreat further into himself, one thing became clear– Steve Harrington wasn’t just your grumpy boss or the boy-next-door pretending to be your boyfriend. He was someone who carried more weight than he let on.

The drive back to the Harrington house was quieter than you expected. Diane hummed along to Christmas music on the radio, and Robin had waved goodbye at the square, promising to catch up with Steve later. You’d stolen a few glances at him in the passenger seat, his profile sharp against the faint glow of streetlights. He hadn’t said much since the rink, his jaw tight and his gaze fixed on the snowy roads ahead.

By the time you reached the house, the warmth of the living room felt almost stifling. Diane retired to her room with a cheery “Goodnight!” and Steve muttered something about getting water before disappearing into the kitchen. You lingered in the living room for a moment, trying to steel yourself for what would inevitably be an awkward bedtime arrangement.

When you finally made your way upstairs, Steve was already in the room, leaning against the dresser as he scrolled through his phone. He glanced up when you entered, his expression unreadable as you shut the door behind you.

“Uh, so,” you started, gesturing toward the bed. “How do you want to do this?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The sleeping thing,” you clarified, crossing your arms. “You’re right. It’s your room, so—”

“No.” His voice was firm, cutting you off before you could finish. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, then... I can grab some pillows or something. Make it work.”

Steve shook his head, setting his phone down on the dresser. “That’s not happening either.”

“Steve—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, his tone a little softer now. “Just take the bed.”

You frowned, feeling a twinge of guilt. “What about you? Where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said, but the way his gaze flickered to the bed made it clear he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

You let out a sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. “This is ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”

Steve hesitated, his jaw ticked as he glanced at the bed again. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual despite the heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not weird unless we make it weird.”

Steve let out a breath, nodding slightly. “Okay. But if you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”

You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Right. Because I’m the one who snores.”

He smirked faintly, grabbing a spare pillow from the closet. “Just don’t hog the blankets.”

The bed was softer than you expected, the navy comforter heavy and warm against the chill seeping in from the windows. Steve lay on his side, facing away from you, his breathing steady but not quite even enough to pass for sleep. You stared at the ceiling, the quiet stretching between you like a fragile thread.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, listening to the faint creak of the house settling, before you finally worked up the nerve to speak.

“Steve?” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted slightly but didn’t answer.

“You’re awake. I know you are,” you pressed.

After a moment, he sighed, his voice low and rough. “What?”

You hesitated, turning onto your side to face him. His back was still to you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched slightly against the pillow. “I was just... thinking about what your mom said earlier,” you ventured carefully. “About your laugh.”

Steve didn’t respond, but the silence felt heavier now, the air between you thick with something unspoken.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“No.”

The word was curt, final. But you didn’t back down.

“Sometimes it helps,” you said quietly. “Talking, I mean. You don’t have to, but—”

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted, his voice sharper now. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

You frowned, your chest tightening. You should’ve dropped it, let him have the space he clearly wanted. But something about the way he said it—like he was pushing you away out of habit, not because he didn’t need to talk—made you stay.

“Okay,” you said softly. “I just... I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. Losing your dad.”

Steve stiffened, and for a moment, you thought he’d snap at you again. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost bitter.

“You don’t have to pretend you get it,” he said, still not turning to face you. “We weren’t close.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,” you countered gently.

He let out a hollow laugh, finally rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “You don’t get it. My dad wasn’t... He wasn’t some great guy. He didn’t care about me or my mom. He only cared about what I could do for him.”

You stayed quiet, letting him find his words.

“He wanted me to follow in his footsteps,” Steve continued, his voice low and bitter. “Take over the business, be just like him. I thought... I thought maybe if I did what he wanted, he’d finally be proud of me. But it didn’t matter. Nothing I did was ever enough.”

Your chest ached at the weight in his voice, the years of frustration and hurt wrapped up in every word.

“And now he’s gone,” Steve said, his jaw tightening. “And I’m still doing this job because... I don’t know. Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Because I don’t know what the hell else I’m supposed to do.”

The room felt impossibly still, his words hanging in the air like fragile glass. You wanted to say something, anything, to make it better. But you knew there wasn’t a quick fix for something like this.

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, your voice soft.

Steve let out a breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a while, and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped. His breathing was steady, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling, and you wondered if he was retreating into himself again.

You sighed softly, turning your own gaze back to the ceiling. “For what it’s worth,” you started, your voice quiet but steady, “tonight was kind of... nice.”

Steve glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression skeptical. “Nice?”

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a small laugh. “The lights, the skating, even Robin grilling us... It was different. A good different.”

He frowned, shifting slightly. “Different from what?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. This wasn’t something you talked about often, and definitely not with people like Steve Harrington. But something about the quiet of the room, the faint hum of the heater, and the way he’d let down his walls just a little made you feel like you could.

“From how I usually spend Christmas,” you said finally, your voice soft. “If I was back in Chicago right now, I’d be on my couch. Probably eating takeout. Watching some random TV marathon.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “That’s it? No family dinner? No tree?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ve never really done the whole Christmas thing.”

His frown deepened. “Why not?”

“I was a military brat,” you explained, letting your hands rest on your stomach as you stared at the ceiling. “We moved around a lot. My dad was always deployed, my mom was always busy, and holidays just... weren’t a priority. There was no time for decorating or big dinners. Half the time, we didn’t even know where we’d be by Christmas.”

Steve’s gaze softened, his brows furrowing slightly. “That sucks.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It was what it was. I didn’t really know anything else. But nights like tonight? They’re kind of a breath of fresh air. Hawkins is... cozy. Even if it’s a little chaotic.”

Steve let out a small huff of laughter at that, and you smiled despite yourself. You thought you heard him whisper, “You have no idea.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you continued, glancing at him. “Your mom is relentless, and Robin is terrifying in the best way. But the lights, the tree, the skating... it was nice. A little overwhelming, but nice.”

Steve didn’t respond right away, his eyes flickering back to the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. “So you’ve never had a tree? Or, like, stockings or presents or any of that?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the "p." “I mean, there were a couple of years where my mom tried to make it festive, but it was always last-minute stuff. A wreath on the door, maybe some cookies if she wasn’t too busy. But the big, magical Christmas? Never had it.”

Steve turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable. “That’s... kind of depressing.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean—” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t know. Christmas was always a big deal in my house. My mom would go all out. Lights, decorations, giant tree. My dad hated it, but she didn’t care. She said it was her favorite time of year.”

You smiled faintly. “She’s good at it. Making things feel festive.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “She is. She’d approve of your atrocious office decor.”

You snorted.

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt... softer. Like the weight you’d both been carrying had eased just a little.

“You know,” you said after a moment, turning your head to look at him. “If you ever get tired of this job, you could probably make a killing as a skating instructor.”

Steve snorted, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, grinning. “You were, like, weirdly good out there. It was kind of infuriating.”

“Infuriating?” he echoed, his smirk growing.

“Yeah,” you said, rolling onto your side to face him fully. “You’re annoyingly good at things you don’t even like. It’s not fair.”

Steve chuckled, the sound warm and low, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else—the fake relationship, the awkward sleeping arrangement, even the tension lingering from earlier.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “Thanks for coming.”

You gave him a half-hearted smile before flopping over. Sleep finally took over.

386 notes · View notes

g00d--m0urning · 6 months ago

Note

hi! Could you write a Vander x male reader where Vander in his werewolf(?)/Warwick(?) form recognizes the reader, and reader also recognizes him, and is so so happy to meet his old lover again

Sorry any mistakes, English is not my first language!

𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 — (Vander/Warwick X Male Reader).

Note: Thank you for the request! No worries; English is not my first language either, and your request was very comprehensible. It turned out a bit short, but I hope it's to your liking.

Summary: The old memories of what could have been and what was haunt you, but after being called to the mines you once used to work on, you find that maybe your life won't have to be filled with regret and longing.

Warnings: Spoilers, don't read unless you've watched Arcane.

Key: (Y/n) — Your name. | (H/c) — Your hair colour. | (E/c) — Your eye colour.

Sickly green neon lights reflect on murky brown water, and a stomach-churning stench rises from the walls of the worn-down building; the grey impregnated itself in any surface it touched, like acrid sulfur. (Y/n) crouched in front of The Last Drop, (e/c) eyes squinting to make out any recognisable feature in what once was a haven to him.

He dusted off the dirt that had collected in the upper part of his pants and inhaled sharply, lungs long accustomed to the poisonous fog of his hometown. He pressed forward. The inside was empty—needless to check; he wouldn't find her inside. The paper felt like lead in his pocket, heavy and foreboding—a reminder of his failures and the grief that followed any Zaunite like a wailing shadow.

He hadn't gone to the mines in years, and he hadn't had to work there in such a long time that he wasn't sure what exactly they looked like after everything. The entrance was falling apart, and wood planks, detached and broken, littered the floor, and glass cracked underneath his shoes. He tightened his jaw and looked down, the pitch-black darkness of the cave illuminating with every step.

Thump, thump, thump. The impact of his boots against the floor echoed—the caves amplified each sound closer than it truly was—and the faint noises of water dripping reached his ears along with a low rumbling. She was deeper there, had to be. His fingers rubbed the paper note inside his pocket, hope simmering inside his chest.

Thundering footsteps started to come in his direction; something metallic scratched against the walls. He raised his guard, crouching and aiming his gun at the origin of the sound. The walls illuminated in a quick flash, and a dark shadow moved too fast for him to brace himself for it, the thing colliding into his chest and throwing him to the ground.

Mismatched eyes looked straight into his, and a gaping maw with sharp teeth stopped just short of tearing his face apart. Shivers went down his spine, and his lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes as he raised a trembling hand to the creature's face. A sharp set of footsteps entered the place, the light going up again and illuminating the monster's face further. Greyish dark fur coated a familiar face and warped it into something recognisable but not completely.

“Thought you'd want to see him.” Powder announced, her gun clanking against her belt.

Vi stepped closer, opening her mouth and closing it before finally settling on explaining it. “It's...”

“Vander.” He held the man's face in his hands, tears falling down his eyes, a thunderous storm inside his heart. The man he loved. The man he loves. He holds him tenderly but strongly, as if afraid that when he lets go, it will all dissolve and morph back into his bleak reality.

Vander softens, resting his head against the crook of the other man's neck. A content sigh leaves his nose and ruffles the hair on the (h/c)-haired man's head. “(Y/n).”

“Sheesh, even he recognised him way faster than you did.” The blue-haired woman jabbed at her sister, the corner of her mouth pulled up in a teasing smirk. Her facade breaks as she sees a hand outstretched in her direction.

(Y/n) reassuringly squeezes her hand, a wide smile on his lips as he unburies his head from Vander's fur and turns it towards his daughter. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me. You love him as much as we do,” she laughs bitterly. Her hand, albeit hesitant, holds his tighter.

“I do. I don't know how you found him or what happened, but you brought me back to him. I haven't felt like this in so long.” His voice sounds choked, and he looks back at the pair of blue and yellow eyes, his hands caressing the rough skin. He feels Vander's strong arms curl around him, and the fur tickles his neck and arms, warm and comforting. “I love you,” he whispers in the man's ear, loud enough for only them to hear it.

“Love... you.” He answers back.

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g00d--m0urning · 6 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [9.3k!!]; friends to lovers, forced proximity, mutual pining, kinda dialogue heavy, soft kisses, eventual smut, not much dirty talk bc they're really sweet about it, p in v (unprotected 😛) 18+! inspired by this beauty of a fic by @rebelfell

Your regularly scheduled movie night runs amuck when your friends ditch out because of the heavy snow. Everyone except Steve, that is. Trapped in your apartment during a freak blizzard, stuck together under a mountain of blankets with nowhere to go anytime soon, your night eventually leads to some confessions.

I don't proofread my work before posting, so please be forgiving of any mistakes.

"Can you let me in? S'fucking freezing out here".

Steve's shivering voice carries tacky through the tannoy, receiver pressed to your ear as you buzz him in to your apartment complex.

He's right, it was fucking freezing. It's not like you had left the safety of your small apartment today, but the snow had been falling heavy since around 5am. A particularly loud snow plough had awoken you in the early hours, not that it had been back around since, sheets of sparkling white caking the road outside. You didn't know where the sidewalk ended and the street began.

It had become something of a ritual, twice monthly movie nights where your friends flocked to your place on a Friday night with snacks galore in hand. It was cramped, delightful sure, but cramped. You, Robin, Steve, Nancy, Jonathon, Argyle, and Eddie, all crowded into your living room that barely had capacity to house but one visitor was something out of an SNL sketch. Your second-hand sofa wasn't big enough and despite the regularity of their company, you never quite had enough glasses to go around.

Sometimes the kids joined, sometimes they didn't. It was easier when they were absent, since space was scarce and Eddie could turn up proud as punch with an obscene amount of beers tucked tightly under his arms. Jonathon and Argyle never failed to provide generously fat pre-rolled joints of their precious Purple Palm Tree Delight. Even Nancy sometimes brought a couple bottles of wine to liven the party.

But Hawkins, Indiana had been under attack by a particularly intense snow storm the past week. Gradually with each passing day, you would receive phone calls that one of them couldn't make it, which in time lead to all but one cancelling on you. Firstly it was Jonathon and Nancy, explaining that Joyce would be frantic if either of them even attempted to trudge across town in this weather.

Argyle followed soon after, something about the biting chill giving him bad vibes. Eddie the next day, apologetically explaining that he didn't want to leave Wayne considering there was the promise of a blizzard on the horizon. Then Robin only this morning. She didn't even need to provide a reason, you let her off the hook regardless, the night was a total flop anyways.

You hadn't actually told Steve that the others had dipped, assuming that Robin would have filled him in. They were roommates after all, they shared everything with each other, and you had obviously wrongly supposed a cancelled movie night would've been included in that everything.

"Robin not tell you?" you huff at him with your arms folded, not with impatience or annoyance, more guilty with the knowledge that he had driven through mountainous reams of snowfall just to get here.

"Tell me what?" Steve glances up at you as he's dusting off his coat outside the door, melting pearlescent beads of remnant snowflakes twinkling at the tips of his hair.

"Everyone canceled," you shrug, a small tremble engulfing you as you face the icy breeze, and Steve easily picks up on the disappointment laced within the words. You had been in your comfy clothes all day, a cream long sleeved cotton shirt and some baby blue checkered pyjama bottoms, well accustomed to the snug safety of your apartment, so the bite of frost outside your front door was a bit of a shock.

His cheeks are speckled a deep candy floss blush, no doubt chilled to the bone considering the plummeting temperature outside, the tip of his nose that one shade darker.

Pretty, you think despite yourself, gaze lingering a little too long, the sensation of a heated flush spreading along your chest beneath your cotton lounge shirt.

"Haven't seen her," he shrugs back. "Since work closed until this weather lightens up, she sleeps like... all day," his eyes widen in a side glance, pausing the ruffling of his sleeves to affix his stare to you in emphasis. You chuckle, standing to the side where he shuffles past into the hallway to kick off his sneakers that were entirely inappropriate for this time of the season.

"Sorry, you travelled all this way in that shit just to go right back out there again," you cross your arms over yourself a second time, eyebrows furrowing, leaning slack against the radiator that buzzed with delightful warmth.

He eyes you then, confused, as he hangs his coat casually beside yours, clearly not in any rush the step back out into the barrage or sleet and powder white. Steve turns in your direction, his hand through his damp hair that flicks droplets of water onto the floor below him.

"You want me to go?" he responds flatly, a curious tilt of his head, and you immediately redden with panic. Jesus, did you just hurt his feelings? Was it wrong of you to presume he didn't want to stay? But why would he? The two of you never hang out alone.

"No, no. That's not what I meant at all" you assure him in a hurry, tripping over yourself with a small breathy chuckle following swiftly behind in an attempt you save yourself. Steve's lips tighten into a line, though the corners lift into the wisp of a smile nonetheless.

Your heartbeat thrums in your chest, right up into your throat so intensely you were sure that Steve could see your skin pulsing. Though he's just nodding in thought, training his gaze at anywhere but you, and you're both subdued into a terribly long beat of silence. Great, now we've fucked it. God, if you're listening, please let the ground swallow me whole.

Steve had been someone you admired from afar. Of course you considered him a friend, but that type of friend you only hung out with when others were around. You would be lying to yourself if you said that a crush wasn't mingling there at the depth of your belly, a feathered flutter of wings circling around your heart whenever he would beam all pearly white teeth and glossy lips.

Everyone but him seemed to know it, sense it, as if cupid had physically manifested themselves and shot you square in your left ass cheek. Maybe that was why Robin didn't tell him, knowing in her plotting mind that Steve would for sure turn up at your door anyways. Robin knew Steve as well as she knew herself, souls connected at the heart, and you could picture the evil smirk on her face when the lightbulb moment hit.

Steve was kind of the blueprint, not just in your book, clearly. You knew how popular he was with the ladies, and goddamn you couldn't blame them. Angled jaw and olive skin, constellations of espresso freckles that complimented him so nicely. He was also so kind, goofy and silly, bitchy when he wanted to be but mostly raw sugar and candy apple sweetness.

But it was Steve. And you were you. The feeling would not be mutual, as much as your heart swelled at the thought of any maybe's, you had come to terms with that. It was easier that way.

"Well, I brought these," He fills the suffocating gap and you're snapped from your enraptured trance, digging into a blue plastic bag that was swinging from his wrist. You're watching him fumble, a deep crease between his brows and he's frowning. At least you can stare at him that little bit longer.

Steve eventually pulls out two boxes of Nerds, shaking them enticingly in your direction. There's that flutter again, seduced by his natural charm even when he wasn't trying. "I know they're your favourite. Watermelon and cherry, right?".

You were taken aback for a moment, you didn't even know that Steve payed so much attention to you, especially to the things you like. You're a little puzzled but you take them from his grasp with grace nonetheless, your fingertips brush faintly, noting the breath that hitches at the back of your throat that you force yourself to ignore.

"Right. Thanks". Your heartbeat pumps violently beneath the skin of your cheeks that were now a fiery shade of red. You probably sound a tad ungrateful right now, but the tips of your ears were burning and your mouth had run dry and you couldn't help it when the radiator was this hot at your back.

"No problem. Oh and this too". It sounds like he didn't notice your tone, either that or he chose to not pay it much mind. He's handing you a VHS tape then, surely one he had taken from work without hiring it out as he was supposed to. Fast Times at Ridgemont High. You hadn't seem it, four years late to the hype, but this works for you.

You smile back at him, those growing embers of fondness stoke a little wilder in your tummy, and Steve returns the grin just as kindly. The small pause of discomfort fizzled out as quickly as it came, no longer looming when Steve's eyes lifted with affection, platonically of course, glinting handsomely at the corners.

"Perfect. Come in, make yourself at home". You're ushering him inside, socked feet pattering down the hallway with Steve following a pace behind. He knew your apartment like the back of his hand, which wasn't exactly hard. If your group had an assigned headquarters, it would be your place that only had two windows and a bathroom so miniature you could barely take a shower in it.

Your evening set in motion like clockwork. Steve was busying himself with setting up the VHS player, proudly stationing your couch cushions just right on each end, a generous selection of candy littering your coffee table.

Nerds, red vines, milk duds, and cherry sours. The only thing missing was popcorn, which you were hastily shoving into your microwave that would pick and choose when to work. Thankfully, it was on your side tonight. It must have known you were a nervous wreck as it was, which feels dumb to think of in the moment afterwards.

"Uh... No alcohol tonight, though. That okay?" you call to Steve through the walkway after searching through the fridge, twinging with guilt again when you pull out a half empty bottle of cherry soda, as if it was difficult for him to hear you from the next room.

"You think I need alcohol to have a good time with you?" Steve chirps, a cocky eyebrow quirking as he appears through the kitchen doorway, and damn him you were scorching something sickening again.

Steve had turned up in some well fitting grey sweats and a navy blue-black sweater, with some mismatched socks to complete. An attire you couldn't miss when you first opened the door to him merely fifteen minutes earlier. You try not to stare, honestly you do. But those sweats fit him so well in all the right places and he was leaning so slack against the door frame, sleeves shifted up a quarter with his arms criss crossed. Damn him, damn him, damn him.

"I didn't mean it like that," you have to turn away from him before the staring became too apparent, focusing your attention on the dwindling pop pop popping in the microwave. "You warmed up enough yet?", you ask in desperation to change the topic.

It was only half a lie, that you didn't mean it in that way. The majority of social situations you had experienced with Steve involved alcohol; hangouts, parties, afternoons lounging around at community pool, that one summer where you all took a spontaneous day trip to Michigan City beach.

Where a set of sunburst hazelnut eyes peered at you fondly over the lip of a beer bottle, cheesy grin dripping in admiration that you had only taken in chaste. Steve had let it linger too, comfortable enough in your presence around friends, observing your doting smile and sing-songy laugh. But the thought of being alone with you made his heart skip, enjoying your company at arms length because of course he didn't like you like that, right?

Of course you wouldn't feel the same even if he did... right?

"I don't know, have I?" he's trialing, voice carrying closer the longer he speaks, and with your back turned, head bubbling over in thought and vulnerable to his actions, Steve presses the frozen back of his hand to the nape of your neck. His fingers hook absentmindedly beneath the collar of your shirt, and you yelp loud in response to his icy touch.

"You jerk!" A shrill floods his ears as you jump away from him, mouth agape and hands flying to swat him away. Steve is laughing, really laughing, and it's so chocolatey rich and sickly sweet and fucking intoxicating.

"Jesus christ, your hands are purple," you announce when you calm, discreet alarm hidden beneath your swift once over of him, chuckling with half the heart since your spine had ricocheted in a white-hot tremor. You reach for him then and he lets you, stepping into his space to encompass all eight fingers and two thumbs around his.

Steve watches you with a kind of intensity you weren't used to, the soft swipe of your fingertips kindling where you were burning, ice to your fire.

You nibble at your bottom lip, the corner of it dipping where you're gnawing at the skin on the inside. A tender dip atop the bridge of your nose, and Steve could count every blemish, every freckle, and every smile line this close up.

You couldn't look at him, losing your nerve at the mere thought of meeting his honeysuckle gaze, and he's thankful for it. Because now he can stare a little longer at you, too.

"Anyway..." you trail off distractedly, a brief glance up at Steve then back to your intertwined hands again. He clears his throat, a harsh swallow then he’s dropping away from where you linked. The room was colder when he took one step back into his own space, purposefully creating that distance.

"Popcorn?" he adds with a breath of finality and a small smile, mentally challenging himself to pay no mind to the lingering warmth of your touch. He shoos you out of the kitchen once you nod, eyes a little sparkly and rounded at the edges.

Steve finishes up in the kitchen as you collect an extra blanket from your bedroom, grabbing two full glasses he had filled with a generous helping of ice and soda in each on your way past again.

Dimming the lights in the living room like you do every movie night, you stand back to admire the sheer cosiness of it all with the snow flurrying down through the window above the television.

It still felt strange, collapsing onto the couch as Steve follows shortly after with a rather large bowl cupped in both hands, towering with buttery popcorn. Though you relax a little in each other's company rather swiftly, cosying a respectable width apart with the bowl secured between the side of your thigh and his.

You settle back into the couch once the movie develops full swing, revelling in the opportunity to steal greedy glances at Steve from the corner of your eye. Mocha blemishes and eyes flashing sparkly with the reflection of the television screen. Your gaze flits to where his silken lips stretch wide absentmindedly, chitters of laughter through his teeth and huffs through his nose.

You don't think you have ever watched him this long, especially not in in the security of nobody else clocking your ogling. Your head lolls back, attention flicking back to the movie when he would readjust or reach for more popcorn.

You didn't stare at him too long, just in calculated intervals. But you revel in him despite yourself; his left arm is stretched along the top of the sofa, fingertips a mere inch or so from the tilt of your scalp in his direction, thighs spread wide beneath the blanket, taking up far too much room, and the back of your neck prickles with some sort of ferocious heat.

You concentrate on the movie again, the possibility of Steve catching you mouth parted and lids heavy, blatantly undressing him with your eyes made your stomach twist. He's just a friend.

Neither of you had said a word in about 40 minutes, not that you had to. The silence was comfortable enough and the copious amount of snacks before you kept your hands occupied.

Though Steve snook at few peaks your way too, soft features and fluttering lashes, fingers twitching when he studies the strands of hair that illuminate silver and blue. He knows he shouldn't, and he curses himself as he surveys the cushioned push and pull of your lips as you chew on a red vine.

Another couple minutes pass, reaching into the bowl beside you to grab a fistful of popcorn, fully engrossed in the flicking scenes in front of you at this point. Steve's hand was digging into the pile too, though his movements considerably slow when his fingertips brush with yours.

You pull back with a clipped "Oop", darting a glance that meets his, and you blush where he pales. Steve's skin is alight, all firing nerve endings and dancing senses.

You're leaning forward then to grab a sweating glass of soda from the coffee table, shuffling to the edge of the couch and shifting yourself unintentionally further into his space. The plush of your hip nudges a fraction into his kneecap, enough for you to both notice, but neither of you move away this time.

You picture Robin beaming down at the scene, the air electric and thick with an unspoken eagerness to be close, so close, closer. Whether this was a wicked plan or not, you knew that the rest of your group would be sighing in relief that the two of you were even just alone together, for goodness sake. Because if you both stewed long enough in this growing familiarity, this growing fondness, face to face with temptation, maybe then these seemingly unrequited feelings would come to a head. At last.

50 minutes in and Steve knows the scene that's about to flash up, literally, because who doesn't pause Fast Times at 53 minutes and 5 seconds? The pool scene. Red bikinis, dripping wet hair and bare tanned skin, you can't look away. Your eyes are fixated on the screen but Steve's are glued to your face, noticing the way your lips part wet at the centre and you grip your glass that tiny bit tighter.

Though as fate allows, it never reaches the crescendo, the iconic segment coming to a close and just as Phoebe Cates goes to undo the front of her bikini top, the screen cuts to black. The lights do the same, no warning, just complete darkness with the only saving grace being the amber streams of light cutting through your window from the street lamps outside.

"What?!" you exhale harder than you meant to, glancing up at the ceiling where the filament of the bulb still glows bronze at the centre as it dies out. Steve rests his head back, a short laugh rattling in his chest in disbelief.

"Goddamn, haven't seen a tit in at least 6 months and this is how I'm treated?" he's rubbing the space between his eyebrows, harshly wiping his palm down the centre of his face and stalling over his mouth.

"Fuck, sorry," you heard him but weren't exactly listening, though you're apologising and he's confused by it, knees knocking with his when you shimmy forward and stand with purpose.

"This happened before?" Steve asks gently without judgement, trained on your movements as you pace over to the light switch to flick it up and down once, twice, three times, to no avail.

"Once," you glower, immediately grumpy and frustrated. "And my dumbass landlord never got the backup generator fixed either, so I doubt that'll save us". Steve grins at the way your expression crumples, petulant and stroppy but he wants to iron the creases out with his thumbs.

"You're laughing" you tell him pointedly, hands on your hips and one brow raised in a terrible display of sternness. Steve holds up his hands in surrender, voice as smooth as silk, "I would never laugh at you".

You believe him and feel your shoulders relax, running your hands over your face amidst a heavy sigh as you collapse back on the couch with him again. "Sorry that this has been a lame movie night," you're apologising once more and Steve is already sick of it, not in a irritated way, he just doesn't like the fact that you're clearly stressed.

"What?" Steve turns himself toward you, left leg triangled underneath him. You're pouting, shiny bottom lip pressed forward with your arms crossed over yourself. "No it's not. Honestly, I don't know why we don't hang out more."

"We hang out all the time, Steve" you remind him.

He rolls his eyes, head craning around and back onto his shoulders without any meanness in it, and you know him well enough to realise there was no intended hostility. "Yeah, but I mean... like, just the two of us," he corrects as if his initial intent was obvious, hands gesturing between the two of you.

Your hand reaches up to scratch at your cheek, concealing your giddy expression from him, skin warmer than the baking sun during mid July. God, your heart was in your throat. Just chill out.

"Did you only choose Fast Times so you could see a fucking tit?" you direct the conversation elsewhere before the iron grip of nerves rusts you beyond compare, like tin in a rainstorm. Your arms are still folded, the corners of your mouth twitched upwards in feigned disgust.

"Listen, I know that's on brand for me. But it was the first thing I saw on the shelf before I closed up the other day, okay?". Liar.

His cheeks are painted beetroot, that kind of dusting of deep rouge he got whilst four beers deep, a look you were familiar with at least two friends apart with music or blurred chatter overtaking any opportunity to absorb the sheer handsomeness of him.

Your skin prickles all over and the hairs on your arms stand on end, whether that be from the quickly dwindling heat in the cramped space, or from feeling like a organism under Steve's microscope, you weren't sure. Probably both. Definitely both.

Frost had now crystallised and diamond-dotted around the corners of the window, not helping any that it was merely single-paned. So the heat that did collect declined twice as fast.

"Okay, slick. I'll let you off easy," you prod, matching his eye-roll, nails scraping up and under your sleeves in an attempt to smooth out the goosebumps taking over. Steve follows your hands, a dip in his expression, a very illustrated sort of look.

"You cold?" he asks, then continues before you could answer, "You not got any candles or something?".

Your eyes light up at first, back straightening when you realise that you in fact do have some candles, ones you had collected over the years from birthdays and Christmas gifts. Though the hope is short lived, slumping back down even further into the cushions when you remember, "Fuck, I don't have a light though".

"I have some matches in my car," Steve sticks a thumb to the door, and the way you beam up at him from your turtled position has him heating up from the inside out.

"Wait there, I'll be right back," he's stumbling up off the couch, trudging down the hallway with a purpose, completely skipping his coat. He was a man on a mission.

It was the couple minutes that you were alone where you could finally fucking breathe. An ant under a magnifying glass being singed till your antennas smoked this entire time. It wasn't awkward, it was something in-between, like you couldn't exhale all the way out but also couldn't inhale all the way in either.

Two flights of stairs separate your front doorway and the complex lobby, therefore you were unable to hear Steve barging himself into an extremely stiff, absolutely without a doubt, frozen solid plexiglass. The at least two feet of snow that had collected in a pile-up right outside was no help either.

So Steve trudges back upstairs where you wait for him criss-cross applesauce, just as he had asked, chin ducked to his chest and hands running across his clammy face. Sweaty and exacerbated, he breaks the news that you were positively, doubtlessly, maybe or maybe not unfortunately, snowed in. Together. Trapped. With Steve. Alone.

"So what now?" you ask him when your face drops, no electricity and no heat with no way to get out of the building made your heart leap up into your throat for all of the wrong reasons.

"We uhhhh, we wait," Steve declares with a flair of certainty, trying to offer that sense of security you were gasping for in that moment. Though you didn't quite like that answer, no offence to him of course but you just couldn't accept waiting. So you hop up off the couch and call your landlord so that he could get his sorry ass up and actually call a goddamn snowplough or something.

"No answer. Of course he doesn't fucking answer," the last two words are accentuated by a pitiful slam of the receiver into the wall beside your telephone, a tilt into the more dramatic side but Steve kept his mouth firmly closed with that one. It was well past nine o'clock at night at this point, so neither of you expected to be able to leave until the early hours of the morning at the very least.

How utterly unfortunate.

You position yourself closer to Steve this time, swallowing over the nerves that wad up good and tight in your throat. He's sitting spread eagle as per usual, head leaning into the heel of his palm where his elbow is propped up on the arm of the couch, the other crossed over his lap.

"It's cold," you tell him bluntly as you bite the bullet and cosy yourself into his side, head on his shoulder, softening when he's peering down at you a little too skittishly. "Too close?" you question, then you're lifting your head up, a small gut punch when he doesn't respond immediately but it was one that you could probably manage.

"No! No, you're fine," Steve rushes to say and you were glad of it, unsure you could take the sting of rejection now that it didn't come, not when you had been shoulder to shoulder all evening.

You slip into silence then, one where neither of you were compelled to fill the gap.

His head is dizzy with you when you ease into him, floating into a dreamlike place when the smell of you overwhelms him. Vanilla and honey, a buttermilk richness that makes him want to press his nose into your hair. He won't though, that'd be weird. Since you were friends and all.

You could smell him too, bergamot and sage. Masculine and expensive, a scent you had picked up on before, but not one that filled your nostrils and sent you dumb with every inhale. Steve could undoubtably say that your breathing had changed, deepened. His mouth perks up into a faint smile.

Just friends.

Explicitly friends, even when Steve's hot palm skates over the back of your hand, fingers splaying out and catching at your wrist. Your pulse ramps up and you gawk up at him doe-eyed and pliant. He's swift with it, ensuring that you weren't caressing him in any way, just a quick slip up the shirt where your skin meets the forest of chest hair.

Steve must feel the bob of your throat as you swallow, because the sensation of his heart clattering under his ribs vibrates your nerves. "This too much? Sorry, I shouldn't've-" he grips your hand again but you resist him, pads of your fingers anchoring into his thatch of hair.

"No, no, it's okay. I'm fine with it if you are," You whisper to him in earnest, as if sharing a secret, scooting your head down so the shell of your ear closes right over where his heart sits. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Each beat comes in rapid succession, especially so when your fingertips flex inattentively against his balmy skin.

"You're so warm," you mutter tenderly into the sanctuary that was his sweater, and Steve's breath almost hitches. Your voice is caramel smooth, comforting like a hot bath after a long day, as soft as feather-down pillows and fresh cotton sheets.

"And your hands aren't so purple anymore," you're thinking out loud at this point but Steve is listening, extending his arm you were leaning on once more so that you dropped into his side, head cradled at the dip where his armpit begins.

"Think you've helped me warm up just fine," he's speaking low, the verbalisation mulling over his tongue and purring at the back of his throat. It was enough to make you tremble, the deepness of it when he shushes to match you.

Despite the tip of your nose numbing from the chill, the intimacy of your circumstance cancelled out any bitter altitude. Never in a million years did you think you would be cuddling up to Steve Harrington like this. The Steve Harrington you admired from at least six feet away, the Steve Harrington that you were only in the presence of, at the very least, in the company of his shadow, Robin.

"It's late," you comment after a few minutes, charting the rise and fall of his chest, the steadiness of his heart that fell back into a somewhat regular pace once he acclimated to the weight of your palm.

"You wanna head to bed? I can sleep out here," he's asking with sincerity, but you wish he wouldn't. Steve huffs out a laugh through the nose that strokes at the climbing butterflies begging to fly out from that space between the cage of your ribs and the plummet of your stomach.

You shake your head, eyebrows dipping with two harsh tucks of skin that he has to hold back a laugh against, forced to restrain himself when all he wanted was to keep you this close for as long as humanly possible.

"Steve?" the mutter of his name climbs higher at the end.

"Hm?"

"You really think we should hang out more?" your voice errs on the side of doubt, as if you didn't believe him the first time round, and Steve takes in a stunted breath as he mulls over the question.

He stills for a moment, then takes a more even inhale through his parted lips, and you can hear the grin that accompanies his answer. "Duh. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it".

You perk your head up to peek at him for the first time in a little while, chin prodding sharp into his breastbone but he doesn't say, not when you're so wide-eyed and breathtakingly beautiful in a way that would put Gia Carangi to shame.

"You're full of shit," you're chuckling and Steve wants to swallow every breeze of it, the whites of your teeth twinkling and eyes shining twice as bright. He can't fasten his attention to one specific part of your face, flitting down to the pull of your lips, watching the rosy hue flood over your cheeks, back up again to where you peer at him almost expectantly.

Your stares interlocked then, his golden gaze outpouring with the heat of a bonfire, pressed this close you could both feel the kick up of your hearts. Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump. Quadruple the speed as before and double the ferocity, your ears burned with it. Neither of you made a move to look away, not a chance.

"I uhm... I really wanna do something right now, but-" Steve cuts himself short when you stretch your neck up toward him, moving up as he's leaning down. Jesus christ, you feel sick with the nerves. Sick with the intimacy of him, sick with the scorching brush of his fingers behind your ear along the curve of your neck.

"It's okay," you're mumbling, the wash of your permission running over his lips that were so close you could already taste him. Steve's mouth twists up at the corners, the satin stroke of where he's teasing you with the promise of a kiss he's not giving you just yet.

But only for a couple seconds, unable to hold back for long when you suck in a desperate sort of noise, and your grip solidifies at his chest to the point where your nails are casting crescent moons in his skin.

The seal of your lips is courteous, joint satisfied and relieved exhales a tsunami over the flesh of your cheeks and lower jaw. It's nothing more than one long press, nothing too crazy, an ebbing wave of give and take.

"Sorry..." he mutters when you part, merely an inch or so, and you're almost compelled to punch him. The main thing you had been doing all evening was apologising to each other.

"Why are you sorry?" you're whispering and he's desperate to kiss you again, longing to erase that hint of disappointment in your eyes that squashes your pretty features.

"I dunno," his laugh has an edge to it, shy, and you never thought the boy had any capability of being shy of all things.

"You don't want to do it again?" you squint at him, loaded with insincere scrutiny that has his fingers clasping fully to the back of your neck to reel you right back in. A breathy laugh escapes him, his intent as clear as the blooming sunrise shedding light upon a tangerine coloured sky.

The second bump of your lips has more purpose behind it, teetering on the edge of unforgiving, brimming with unspoken truths and wordless confessions. You heave through the nose at this harsher descent onto one another, slipping your hand from under his shirt to bury your nails into the mess of hair behind his ear instead.

He really tastes you then when you open up to him with a muted smack of your lips, artificial cherries and candied watermelon. You can taste him too, lingering milk chocolate and sickly sweet berries. The sweep of his tongue over yours crack fireworks behind your eyes, nothing too hot and heavy just yet, still gentlemanly in his approach, knowing you can cut this short whenever you wanted.

You push yourself up after a minute of wet sloven kisses, begrudgingly having to separate yourselves so that you can shift onto your knees. Steve is watching, grilling you with the fire of his blown out pupils.

The timidness remains deep within the barren of your chest, swallowed by your determination to bring to life all of these wants and desires that had loomed over you for as long as you had known him. Of course the fear is still seated within you, especially when it comes to Steve. Because it's Steve. Handsome, charming, just out of reach Steve who carried a torch for you at the back of a crowd.

He's contemplating you as you move, not entirely certain of where to look; your dreamy expression, already swollen lips that are now twice as inviting, the warm spread of your doughy thighs as you position yourself over him.

He decides then to spread his palms over the fall of your waist, fingers binding to the hills of flesh hidden beneath cotton. You encapsulate his face in your hands, thumbing over his cheekbones, burning up again when his tongue dips out to wet his bottom lip.

Slick, pink and polished with your mixed fervour, noses bumping somewhat clumsy when you take this time to just drink each other in for a second. You chased where he dipped, the curve of your lower lip skating up over his cupid's bow.

It was deafeningly quiet without the blare of the movie in the background, sounds of dreamy sighs and lovesick panting permeating the air and drowning out the whistling howl of the blizzard wind. You were smothered under the safety of the night, cast in raven shadows and the silvery glows of the moon being your only witness.

You can feel it, the growing tent of him under those goddamn grey sweats. You test the waters, weighting yourself down further to nudge your centre right over his lap. Steve's mouth dries up almost immediately at the contact, fingers digging into you with a sudden cruelty and it is the first time you hear him moan.

God, you wish you could capture it on tape, and you choke on a breath when he does it. The richness of it, testosterone and roughness that demands you to press down on him again. Steve rolls his hips as you squirm above him, gasping into his waiting mouth as you ramp each other up into one giant needy mess.

"You're on fire. You wanna stop?" His question comes to you through the thick smog of want eventually, noticing that he's pulled back to inspect you like a bird with a broken wing, palm cupping the underside of your jaw, tipping your head from side to side as your bated breaths mingle into a simultaneous heave.

"You just made a noise like that and you're asking if I wanna stop?"

He swallows, swears at himself then his lashes are fluttering when he meets your eye. He's stumbling over a response, totally disbelieving that he's finally in this situation in the first place. So many fantasies and wet dreams come to life at long last.

"I don't want you to think-" almost combusting when you lean forward again and tread your lips along his jawline. "Fuck- that I just came here to, to..." he whines into your hair as he succumbs to the slide of your teeth at his pulse point, arms wrapping around your back now to force you closer into him.

"Shut up, I don't think that," you display your honesty with a feathery kinder press of your mouth to the bulge of a vein in his throat. Steve releases a pleased sort of sound, grateful and comforted in the clarity that you wanted this just as much as he did.

"But if you don't want to anymore then that's okay," you're sad when you murmur it into his collar, not in a pressuring manner, and Steve knows you well enough to realise you would never pressure him.

His hands are searching for your face, revealing you from your hiding place of the clammy skin of his neck. Your forehead shines from the outpouring of sheer want and need, shining eyes glazed over and gem-like.

He traces the outer corner of your lip with his thumb, dipping into the crease when you part them slightly for him. He tugs lightly at the pillow of your lower lip, focusing entirely on the way it bounces back and leaves a sheen on his thumb in it's wake.

"Shut up," his abdomen shakes with laughter when he tugs you back to him, and a wrecked sigh overcomes you when your hot mouths meet again. You lick over his tongue with urgency, wild strands of his har wadded up in your fists so tight it almost hurts.

Steve shifts beneath you, arms cascading up and around you, fingers tracing down the curve of your spine and back up again. The delicate touch of skin on skin juxtaposed the meanness of his kisses, noses bruised in a crush together, not even leaning back when you close and part your lips over and over again.

It was like a well oiled machine, accustomed automatically to the seam of his mouth and where you slot perfectly against him. You rock your hips over him again and wish that you could drag this out further, but the way that he's stuttering under you, his movements becoming messier and less calculated, you had to tear his clothes off and get this done with before you both erupted.

You were the first to tug off your shirt, escalating this further and curse you, your hands are shaking as you do so. Steve's ministrations follow your lead, large hot hands spreading flat to take in this new exposed skin.

He treads over the pillow of soft tummy, revels in the feel of the cushion of fat over your ribs under his thumbs, up further until his knuckles are brushing at the underside of your breasts. He hadn't even looked, his eyes are squeezed firmly closed and his features overcome with a look of pure anguish.

Because it was almost too much; the see-saw of your hips over where he was straining in his pants, the softness and heat of your tongue in his mouth, the furnace of your skin in this freezing room, and those fucking sick sounds you were making. You were breaking his will, crumbling chalk beneath your fingers.

"Jesus christ" Steve groans into your open mouth, and you finally pull back so he can eat up your naked torso, feasting on your mouthwatering form. That's it, he's died and gone to heaven. There's no way that this was real.

You’ve seen a tit now, haven’t you, Harrington? You keep that one to yourself, he didn’t need to be embarrassed about it.

But damn you it is real, made even more apparent when you take his hands in yours and guide him to the perk of your breasts. He stills there for a moment, mouth agape and hips grinding up into you without meaning to.

You push his mess of hair away from his face, heart skipping a beat of two, lurching up into your throat when he beams up at you. Full ear to ear grin, teeth and all, large hands kneading into you. Another shift underneath you and your eyes are rolling back, cotton on cotton, the height of your clit prodding right over the grooves of his tip.

Steve slouches from the back of the couch, burying his face into the glossy juncture of your neck, you have to glue your nails into the nape of his hairline to trap him there.

You can't remember the last time you had been kissed like this, or ever in fact, greedy and harsh yet he was only give give give.

He's clumsy as he fondles you, suffocated under the bareness of you but it still wasn't quite enough. His tongue works over where your artery is screaming for him, groaning and tilting your head to the side to jam his mouth even further into you. You arch your back when his teeth ghost over you, not fully biting, just there to tease and make you want him more.

"Steve. Take this off, for fuck sake" you're mewling a plea, scampering to hook your fingers under the hem of his sweater. Steve is more than compliant, anything for you to keep sighing his name just like that. He's chuckling at your urgency, cock kicking up to meet your centre for another countless time. He needs to get these fucking sweats off like five minutes ago.

Your hands are trembling twice as hard as you undress him, and Steve takes laces your fingers in his once he's shirtless.

"It's okay," he soothes, rich and buttery smooth and your heart lurches up into your throat again. "You're okay," he tugs your interlocked hands up to his mouth, stippling one two three kisses across every knuckle and back again. He tucks your fists into his chest, that same soft thatch on full display and you never could have guessed that he was this hairy. It was a pleasant surprise.

"You wanna lay down? Hm?" he's cooing at you, forehead to forehead, but you don't feel chastised by it. You nod, nose bumping with his when you go to tease his lips again. A flush strikes you right from the crown of your head to the tip of your toes when Steve shimmies to the edge of the couch, grip strong as he holds you to him, not once hit with a falling sensation when you glides you to the side to settle you on your back.

He's on top of you then, crowding into your space and you're struggling for breath. He's so close and you still can't quite believe it. Can't believe that he feels this way, can't believe you're about to fuck on the couch where you've spent countless evenings admiring him like a lovesick puppy dog.

"If you wanna stop, you can tell me, 'kay?" your chest concaves and you could actually cry right now, the sweetness of him, so tentative and gentle and alluring.

"'Kay" you mirror back, swaddling his hair in your fist again as you tug him down to your waiting mouth, "Same goes for you". Your knees spread wide to allow him access, lowering himself onto you further, abdomen pinning to yours.

The sweep of his cock hiccups a gasp in your chest that Steve devours in earnest, lips enclosing around your tongue and he sucks. You keen something vicious, any remnants of self control now shattered glass beneath your feet. Steve moans twice as loud, abandoning pleasantries when you're mewling so good for him.

He releases you with a sickly pop, not even giving you a beat to recover before he's kissing you deeply again. Steve rocks the length of his cock along your clothed slit, and when you look down between your sandwiched bodies, there's a darkened patch of grey where he's beading with want.

"Steve, please, just -" but he's already fumbling for your pyjama bottoms, manhandling your hips up without you even needing to do anything. His stare bores into you when he slots his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, honey molten eyes replaced by a marbled inky black.

You whimper at the sight of him, lustful and without restraint, a demeanour you couldn't even conjure up in your daydreams with your hand tucked between your legs. You couldn't get enough of it.

Steve peels back your bottoms and panties in tow, achingly slow and methodical. He breaks eye contact to peak down at where you're fully exposed to him, an etch crumpling between his brows when he Ooh's out loud. You could scream you were so pent up.

"Look at you," he purrs, and your stomach twists with an aching need. He takes your ankle in his hand to pry one leg up and out, your lips blossoming open with the stickiness of your arousal.

"So fucking ready, huh?" he drags his pointer finger over your slit, spreading the mess you had already made of yourself. But you don't let him play for long, you can't, beckoning him up with a curve of your two fingers.

Then you're swallowing each others sounds for another time, Steve's biceps are tensing as he scoops one arm under you, arching your back and bearing your chest to smoosh into his. He's all over you all at once, the underside of his cock rutting through the seeping folds of your cunt.

He kisses at your jaw, murmuring curses and sweet nothings into your blazing skin as he travels down to suck on your neck. There's those teeth he had promised earlier, bruising a spot right beneath your earlobe ivy and plum. He laves over the area in apology, hot mouth softening the blow.

You hiss through the teeth and sway yourself back and forth to meet him, the tip of his cock probing into your aching clit with each overwhelming sweep.

He wanted to love on you more, take his sweet time with you, but the way you were near ripping his hair from the roots and sobbing his name, he was nearing his end much quicker than he intended.

"You ready?" he asks wholeheartedly, waiting on your reply before he did anything else.

"Yeah. Please," your eyes are wet and glassy when they sear into his, and he wasn't a man that would deny the pleas of a beautiful woman.

"Okay, baby. I got you," there was that gentleness again, that practiced well-polished dance of sweet and sour. Rough around the edges with a caramelised sugary centre. Steve grasps himself at the base, angling your hips up so that your opening meets his tip.

The first push of his length into you was easy, of course it was, you were dripping like a fucking faucet. You open up to him no problem, and it only took two thrusts before he bottomed out completely.

You're suspended in time then, the falling snow coming to a halt, the stars cease their twinkling, just so you can bask in this ultimate intimacy for as long as possible. Sucking in his exhale, foreheads leaning together, all either of you can do is just stare and smile.

The kindness resumes, still unmoving, Steve descends his lips back onto yours and the world begins to turn again. "Okay?" he whispers against your lips.

"Okay"

Then you squeeze your gummy walls around him and his angelic exterior shatters a little. Steve plants his hands on either side of your head before he's moving again, dragging his entire length out before sliding right back in to the hilt.

You gasp when he knocks his weight into you right at the end of his thrust, your body prodding upwards into the arm of the couch. It wasn't mean, or cruel, just pleading, carving the shape of himself so he fit perfectly and then some.

"More," you plead, unable to catch the breath it takes to tell him what you want and Steve doesn't half oblige. Your mewling spurs him on, retreating half as much this time but he ruts back into you twice as fast.

He pants out your name, eyes saucered and bottom lashes kissing the skin beneath. One leg is hiked up over the back of the couch, the back of your other knee resting in the crook of Steve's elbow where he's spreading you wide.

It was downright pornographic, the way you opened up for him without shame, but he adjusts his angle the faintest amount and then he's hitting that spot that erupts white light behind your eyes.

Steve mouth drops open when you squeal. "There?" he accentuates with a particularly hard snap of his hips and you almost black out. Tears brim at your waterline, stuffed to the brink of him, overrun with the sensation of having Steve fucking Harrington everywhere. He's watching you like you've hung the moon, tongue drawn between his teeth as he charts every reaction you bestow on him.

If he weaves his fingers with yours again, what would you do? You're grasping onto him as if you would fall into the abyss if you let go, is what you did.

If he bent your leg up that little bit higher and slowed his rhythm, what would you do? You cry his name and crush his fingers between yours until they're contusing indigo, is what you did.

He committed it all to memory, condemning your body to scripture that he would keep under lock and key, tucked snugly into the corner of his mind that he would dig out another time. Maybe even add another page or two, if you'd let him. Please, God, will you let him?

Steve kisses you firmly, with a finality that tells you the end was in sight. With you way you rotate your lap against him, chasing your high, head fuzzy and drifting into a euphoric peak that Steve is climbing to right along with you.

"You feel so, fuck, so good" he praises, pinching the tip of your chin, thumb swiping along your bottom lip. You have half a mind to take it into your mouth, though you can't help but be a little selfish when you can taste your orgasm on the horizon. You just needed one final push.

"I'm really close," you admit, releasing one of his hands to snake your fingers down where your middles meet. Steve's brain completely shuts down as he follows your movement, straightening his back so he has a better view of where you're rubbing tight circles into the bead of your clit.

He's ignited with a new sense of determination, your moans becoming a quiet mess of jumbled pleas and his name, cascading as fluidly as a waterfall. Steve is one for eye contact, you note, pocketing that confidential piece of him just for you.

Your stomach is billowing with pleasure, knot tightening and you swear you can feel Steve's cock swell inside you the closer you get to the edge.

"You gonna cum? Please cum, i'm right fucking there. Goddammit" he's seething through his teeth, another snap of his hips, a second third and fourth, so deep that it aches all the way into your chest. Your fingers are furious the way you tune yourself with the pace he had set, less forgiving and drowned in pure animalistic need.

His name slips off your tongue in prayer, kicking up at the last letters when you fall over that edge for him, exactly in tune to the final drives of his cock, scoring the throbbing veins of his shaft into the grip of your walls.

Steve slows as you both unravel, buried deep where his head nuzzles to the opening of your womb. You close those few inches where his lips sat just out of reach from yours, throaty moans echoing into open mouths, so sloppy that your teeth clack together.

"You are fucking insane," Steve chuckles when he stops twitching, his release already dripping around the base of his cock that's still seated inside you. You kiss him in turn, that wash of shyness overtaking you once more when the buzzing in your head starts to die down.

Steve goes to shift backwards because he knows you're ruining the couch right now, but you make a sort of pathetic sound from the overstimulation, and he settles right back down over you.

You didn't really care about the sore ache in your legs, or the cold globules of cum that were gliding down your ass onto the material below you. You just wanted to lay here with him for a little longer.

When it was all said and done, the rise and fall of your chests steadying, the gravity of the situation catching up with you in the post-coital haze, Steve buries his nose into your hair, lax fingers twirling three quarter circles into your bare shoulder.

He's still hovering over you as his hushes absorb into your scalp, his next words soak into your skin so they can live and breathe as a part of you. Seeping into your pores, coagulating with the warmth of your blood that rushes in and out of your heart.

"I really like you" he confesses, mouth curled into a giddy grin and you can feel it.

"I couldn't tell," you grin when he does, adding, "I really like you too, Steve".

"I'm glad we got snowed in together", he presses a small kiss to your temple and you beckon him down so he's laying on top of you full weight, the shake in his forearms subsiding when he does.

You expect the skin over your ribs to unfold and stitch back together again, sealing him with you for good. Now wouldn't that be lovely.

"Me too"

The flurry slows outside the window, a closing curtain on your first night together, one of many, the sky swirling with amber and lavender hues.

The morning came much sooner than you expected.

holy fuck i'm so sorry this took longer than intended. but ahhh!!!! I loved writing this, II can't tell you how many hours i've put into this, I just have very limited time :( hope you enjoyed regardless <3

gonna tag a couple peeps who have been waiting for this 🫶🏻 @losingmygrasponreality @professionalpromqueen

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