wonderful-writes

[wonderful-writes]

I’ve been here from 2020 to 2025 🥲

tower fics are so back baby

[wonderful-writes]

Just a Game | Bucky Barnes

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: if anything, you and Bucky’s relationship was just a game. Who will win and who will break?

W.c: 3.9k

Context: Bucky being a little toxic, reader being a little toxic. Rough sex, degradation, small amounts of praise, p in v

Author note: dude. I don’t even know where this came from just enjoy it. I also did plan for this ending to be fluffy, it took a mind of its own by 1k words

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

It was known to everyone in the compound that Bucky's and your relationship was built on jealousy, hunger, spite, and possessiveness. None of it was inherently healthy, and sometimes whatever went on between the two of you felt more like a game than anything. And everyone knew not to interfere. Or at least… most people. 

The first time Bucky set sights on you it lit an intense fire in him, he actually felt something for the first time in 70 years. It didn’t take long for him to become addicted, everything about you drew him in. you were like a fucking drug, and Bucky was ready to destroy himself for you.

You were taunting and alluring, and Bucky was sucked in from the moment your dark eyes met his. you recognize the look in his eyes, you let yourself live in it and start to drown in those baby blues, it felt so good.

That’s when the game started.

Bucky was a possessive person at heart, you brought it out of him in a new way. It scared the fuck out of Steve. He would watch you with a shadow casing over his eyes, making him look dangerous and an aura some would only expect from the winter soldier. You’d spar with other male agents, and make a point to skillfully rub yourself against the other — knowing Bucky Barnes was lurking with his intense stare, like a wolf stalking its prey.

You would tease him in the hallway by swaying your hip a little too seductively, knowing he couldn’t do a thing about it. Brushing your hands against his elbow and looking at him through your lashes, before stepping out of the way before he could even lay a finger on you.

Once in a room together, the tension would be so thick it would choke any unsuspecting person. Challenging glances would blur your minds. And soon enough the line between just teasing and actually hurting each other was crossed. There was absolutely no going back.

You started tossing around fellow agents like playthings just to rile up Bucky, a foolproof way of getting his attention. Once the thought of another man on you got to be too much, he’d pound you into oblivion and fuck the thought of any man out of your brain. Or just any thoughts at all. you had him wrapped around your fingers.

But Bucky was adaptive, he was smart and figured your game out quickly. When he began to tear his gaze from you in the hallways, acting smug and like he didn't care you were feeling up agent Mason and giving him false hope in an attempt to get Bucky's attention.

He soon grew hungry to have you chasing after him, to be desired by you the same way he ached for you.

and it didn’t take long for him to achieve his goal.

Another one of Stark's stupid galas, he invited all the avengers and every in-combat and training agent under SHIELD. Bucky noticed you almost immediately, lingering in the corner was a drink in your hand. You wore a tight black dress that cut out on your chest and hips making you look stupidly hot. The exposed skin taunted him, he imagined grabbing you tightly there and bending you over the bed, and going at it like no tomorrow.

Bucky knew you saw him, you tried to hide the side eye, but Bucky always saw through your ploy. You were fucking ignoring him, inching closer to the short blonde across from you. Bucky clenched his fist so hard he might have drawn blood in the right. 

You would come to him, he didn’t care. it was his mission for the night, to get you begging for him.

Bucky murder strutted to Natasha, who was thankfully right in your line of sight. perfect.

“Do be a favor, Natalia, and flirt with me?'' Bucky asked and put out the most innocent smile he could muster up.

It surprised Bucky how perceptive Natasha could be at times, she’d already clocked him the moment she noticed the dark haze over his eyes — glaring at you.

“I’m not going to be put in the crosshairs of y/n just so she’ll fuck you later tonight.” She rolled her eyes.

“Nat.” Bucky pleaded. 

“No, but agent 201 has been staring you down all night.” Natasha mentioned, her eyes glancing over at the short brunette a few feet away. a little far from your eye line, but he trusted you to search him out. “Just don’t lead her on.”

“Whatever, Natalia.” Bucky scoffed, pulled away from the redhead, and straight to the brunette agent.

It didn’t take long for the game to start, Steve and Sam sat in the corner and watched you two play your cards like it was a fucking sitcom. Placing bets on who would break first and drag the other to an empty hallway.

You noticed Bucky's gaze softened on the girl, his stupid playboy smirk as he grazed his flesh hand against her arm. Bucky noticed you scowl through the corner of his eye, this would be exciting. You dragged some man to an area cleared for dancing, pressed your ass against this groan skillfully, and just waited for Bucky to pounce. 

Bucky was going to play it out, restrain himself until you cracked at the sight of his attention being on another girl. But as you pulled the blonde agent close to you, his lips grazed to the spot behind your ear. Your sweet spot, he knew it well. He was only allowed to tease you there, your knees would grow weak every time he kissed there.

“y/n is busy right now, so go fuck off, yeah?” The raspy, low voice from behind you, the harsh grasp on your wrist, and the utter fear in the blonde’s eyes in front of you had you knowing exactly who it was.

And before you could comprehend anything else, Bucky was dragging you from the crowd. The world felt slow for a moment. All you saw was broad shoulders in front of you, stealing you away to go somewhere more private. You knew you won and a small smirk graced your lips. 

A gasp left your mouth as your back hit the wall, Bucky punched the up button for the elevator. His large hands grasp around your shoulder and waist, leaning close to your ear.

Bucky’s hot breath sent a chill down your spine and pooled in your panties, “you fucking tease. How long were you planning on dragging your ass against his dick, huh?” 

“Did it turn you on?” you snarked. 

Bucky’s grip tightened around your waist, he wore his anger on his face rather than shoving it down. He bit his cheek and breathed hard. Your eyes landed on the dent in his pants, and with a shit-eating grin, you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Sure looks like it did.”

ding!

It is equally scary and fucking hot how quickly he pushed you inside the elevator. Bucky's lip attached to your neck, he had to get the scent of any other guy off of you. The man should have known not to get in between you two. Bucky drew out whines from you as he nipped and licked your skin. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure of planting his lips on yours, that sweet satisfaction.

“I'll kill anyone else for touching you like I do.” Bucky muttered against your skin, and he was serious. He was seeing red only a few moments ago. “you’re mine.”

You chucked coyly, his lips ghosted your lower neck. Bucky's head rose slowly, noses centimeters apart as he stares you down.

“You think I’m fucking joking?” Bucky growled, his metal hand gripping you right around your waist. no doubt there will be bruises tomorrow.

“I think you're being a little overdramatic, buck.” 

Bucky poked his tongue to the side of his cheek, looking you up and down slowly with lust-filled eyes. “I hope you don’t call me overdramatic when I’m fucking every coherent thought out of your pretty head, the only thing you should be thinking about is how good you feel with my cock inside of you.”

You shuttered. and Bucky sensed it, a small smirk on his lips before he hoisted you up on his waist harshly. You knew the route, the 6th floor and the 4th door to the right was Bucky's room. 

The door slammed open by Bucky's shoulders. He was growing impatient and you were slowly grinding yourself against his groin. For the third time that night, your back slams against the wall harshly, and you yelp when Bucky bites at your lip. Definitely drawing blood. 

“How do you wanna do this, princess?” Buckys spoke against your lips, noses touching and steady eye contact. You slowly unwrapped your legs from his waist and steadied yourself on the ground. Bucky followed your actions intently.

Your finger slid down his shirt, you always seem to forget just how solid he was under all the black and leather. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, bucky's hand wrapped around your wrist before you could make it to his belly. 

“I hope you don’t think you're in charge here.”

“We’ll see.” You said and looked up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck you, doll.” Bucky spits.

“Waiting for it.”

Teleportation is real – because you were against the wall a second ago and not being pushed and shoved on the bed. Bucky tore at your dress and tights, slowly undressing you and pushing your neckline down to show your chest. Two metal fingertips pinched your hard nipple, earning a loud yelp from you. His lips traveled farther down, across your collarbone, and down your sternum. Bucky was sucking hard on your exposed skin, he felt this possessive and almost primal urge to leave a mark. So you'd know the next day after looking into the mirror who was making you feel good, no one else would be able to touch you without seeing bucky's mark. He wished he could tattoo it into your skin if he could. 

“Bucky…” you whine as he ghosted his lips over your lower tummy. You felt him smirk against your skin and a soft blow as he chuckled. 

“Don’t get greedy now.” He met your back on your lips, bruises and swollen bright pink. “Show me what you want.” He growled, an order you obeyed happily. Your eyes stayed on his before you rolled on your stomach and slowly perched your ass high for him to see. He moaned, tugging your panties down by hooking them under his thumb. 

“Good girl.” You smiled at that, biting your lip as he pushed one, cold metal finger up and down your folds. Testing the waters, he scooted up further to press his groan up to you. Still wearing his dress pants and pressing his digits to your pussy. You bit back your moans, not wanting to give him that satisfaction yet. Simply toying with him until he was so desperate he just —

“Fuck.” He dragged out as his already wet tip poked at your hole, he was getting needy too. Perfect. “I don’t care who listens, I want you screaming or I won’t let you come. Want everyone to know who makes you feel good, yeah?”

You hummed, pressed against him as he still teased your cunt with his tip. You hear a low chuckle under his breath, grasping your hips and pressing his chest to your back. Bucky filled you to the brim with his cock until he bottomed out, you exhaled and felt his hot breath on your ear. 

“What’s in that pretty head, huh?” He started to make forceful and slow trust into you, his hips snapping as he spoke. “You thinking about that blonde’s dick in you? Do you think he’d fuck you like this?”

You don’t respond, only small dragged-out moans as he started to pound into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Pure ecstasy filled your body, as he filled you. You’d feel it with him deep inside you, squeezing around his cock as he found the most sensitive parts of you.

“Huh?!” He shouted, with an especially forceful snap of his hips. Right after, beginning to speed up and wrapping his flesh hand around your throat. “You thinking about his cock, honey? Be honest, baby, tell me.”

You whined, “no.” Already feeling your eyes start to lull back as you lost yourself in Bucky, he was fucking you like he couldn’t get any closer. Like he wanted to be one. 

“Who do you belong to you?”

“Mhmmm.” You drew out, “your. I’m all yours. No one can fuck me — ah! James — fuck me like you. No one.” 

“That my good girl.” He cooed, releasing his hand off your throat, and began to drill into you as if his life depended on it. Choked grunts and moans escaped his lips as you squeezed his cock, “now take it, let me fill you up and take it.”

“Oh! Fuck, James!” You shouted, his cock hitting the perfect spot. Filling you up until it felt like he was in your stomach, your eyes closed back as the world became a blur and all you felt was him, you and him. Nothing else matters. 

You feel your body grow limp, almost useless as your chest and face fall to the bed and you melt into him. His hand runs down your arch, sending a shiver down your spine as he moans out your name. Hissing as his cock continued to fill you. A dark chuckle left his lips, “they’re we go, baby. Just like that.”

“My sweet girl, you’re so tight around me, so fucking good.” He grunts, rambling on like a madman under his breath. Whines of filthy words and his name leave your throat, whimpers as you plead for more as pleasure shoots through you like a fucking lightning bolt.

Can’t even move against him anymore, you're paralyzed under his rough grasp. His fingers mark bruises on your hips. 

“Fuck Bucky! I’m - oh my god - ‘m gonna come. Baby, please.” 

It’s then you decide Bucky Barnes is the ultimate fucking asshole when he slowly slides his cock out of you, halting the hard and forceful snap of his hips and you feel empty. So goddamn empty. 

His hand goes to rub your pussy, making you ache and whine. “You’re not allowed to yet, baby girl.”

“Fuck you,” you spit. He just shows you a toothy grin and turns you around onto your back, smoothing his hands on your breast, stomach, and waist. You can feel the weight of him on your core, it’s intoxicating. 

This entire… relationship was rocky and built in mostly lust and jealous eyes. Late nights and short mornings. But sometimes, and it always took both of you by surprise, romantic gestures and sensual touches would leak through the cracks. So as Bucky leaned down close and took your lips against his, it wasn’t aggressive or dirty. A little passionate but it held an innocence that was unfamiliar to you, but by god - it lit you the fuck up. 

You breathed into his mouth, hot breaths and moans as Bucky slowly slid into you. The stretch was delicious, and Bucky was devouring you. Bit by bit. 

“Fuccckk.” You moaned, breaking the kiss to let your head lull back into his silk sheets. All you can feel is warmth and fullness as he begins to rock his hips again. Bucky’s pushing against you, his hands on your hips so he fuck you in just the way he likes.

“M’not a fuck toy, Buck.” You tease, and he doesn’t let up, still drilling into and taking pleasure from your body like a feast. 

“Aw, baby?” He teases, an almost condescending look on his face as he looks down on you. The metal of his dog tags brushed against your breast. You forgot how lovely that cold sensation was. “You don’t wanna be my little fuck toy?”

He snaps his hips so hard you cry out. 

“Let me use you until you’re all full of my cum?”

Another forceful, hard thrust. Your irises roll to the back of your head as your mouth stays wide open.

“So, I’ll fuck you how I please.” Snap. Bucky lets out a grunt before wrapping his mouth around your breast and sucking hard. Biting at your pebbled nipple until you're crying out his name so loud you're sure the party 6 floors down can hear you.

Bucky's tongue is hot and wet and is everything good on earth. You tighten around him and hear bucky wince and groan into your skin, you giggled - soon cut off by a harsh thrust as you choke. But his thrust begins to slow again, he knows you're close and he’s trying to keep you dancing over the edge as long as he can. Not letting you have the pleasure of relief. 

“Bucky, let me come, goddamnit!” You choke out, “please, please.”

You hear him chuckle, “begging? Good girl. I’m glad we figured out whos in control here.” One metal hand snakes around your waist and up your back. Pulling your flesh against his chest as he continues to drill into your cunt. Practically splitting you open and filling you with nothing except pleasure, warmth and him.

“Fuck, fuck. Bucky-“ it's so close, to the release. you squeeze around him and he feels it.

“That’s it, doll. I got you.” 

“Oh my-“ your legs shake and your body starts to lose all its strength, but Bucky holds you steady. The touch is almost sensual, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when you're slowly letting go.

He swallows your moans as you let go, his hips don’t let up and you feel him close behind you. You begin to think Bucky Barnes fucking you like this, filling you whole with his warmth is the closest thing you’ll get to a religious experience. 

Bucky begins to slow his thrust, a mixture of your juices filling you, coating both his and your thighs. 

“I got you, I got you, baby girl.” Bucky whispers into your ears, sounding breathless as his chest rises up and down. Similar to you, your head falls into the crook of his neck and stays there as you slowly ground yourself back to reality. His thumb smoothed over your back, still holding you close and inside you. 

“You’re okay,” his voice softened “where is my girl at?”

“M’tired.” You whine, Bucky smiles and slowly pulls out of you. The lack of fullness and warmth makes you chase after his touch, a really pathetic and weak attempt, too. But Bucky doesn't let go, slowly moving so he could hold you securely against his chest and lie down. 

It grows very quiet for a while, like most of the time. You’ve come down from your high, half expecting Bucky to up and leave once he knows you’re mentally okay. But he stays, his arms still wrapped securely around you and smoothing your skin. Just breathing together and in a bliss silence, naked and flush against each other. 

The pit in your stomach grows larger and larger, anticipating when he will leave the bed. And as he stays longer and longer, you know it will hurt more when he finally lets his side of the bed cold and leave you alone. You wished you could let go of these silly feelings, knowing they will never grow to be anything else besides some possessive little fuck every now and then. You wish you could be more to him than —

“Can we stop doing this?” 

Your thoughts come to halt, you can’t move, can’t speak. What does that even mean? Bucky's breathing heavily on your neck, not from the exercise of sex, no no- this is, he’s nervous. You're almost glad you can’t see his face.

“Doing what?” You ask.

Bucky gulps, “this game.” He sighs, sounding almost pained as he speaks, like some sacred confession that hurts him in the gut to say out loud. “The jealousy and the spite towards each other, only seeing each other when we want to fuck. I- I don’t like it anymore, it doesn’t feel good.”

Your eyebrows furrow, swiftly turning to face him. Bucky looks pained, and tortured. He bites his lip and you suddenly feel speechless. Trying to gauge a sense of his emotions, what he’s feeling, and trying to grasp your head around what he is saying. 

“What are you saying Bucky?”

His Atlantic blues tear holes into you, and for a second, it almost looks like he wants to cry. 

“I love you.” 

Your eyes blow wide open, a small gasp leaving your mouth. “I-“

“You don’t—“ Bucky sigh, closing in on himself as he begins to regret even opening his mouth. “You don’t have to say it back, or say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know.

You blink once, twice, maybe a third time before a small sigh leaves your lips. Looking down and away from Bucky's eyes that couldn’t let you think, you gulp.

Now or never?

Sweet lips slant against yours, swollen and pink as your hand wraps around bucky's neck, tugging at his brunette locks. You feel Bucky's signature Cheshire grin grow against yours. His hands never left your body, still rubbing at your soft skin. The kiss is so innocent and full of love that it’s almost uncomfortable for a second between you two, so unfamiliar. 

There’s a little slobber on Bucky's lips when you part, he’s smiling like a kid in a candy shop. His eyes practically twinkle and you realize he looks quite charming like this. 

“I love you, too. I think I have for a while now.”

Bucky pulls you back into a kiss, a sweet and loving kiss. 

After another much more loving round of sex, one you wouldn’t even call fucking because it was nothing close to that. No, you make love with Bucky for the first time and it was utterly liberating. His arms stayed wrapping around you as you fell asleep against his chest, as he whispered soft and sweet nothing into your ear. You fell asleep loved for the first time.

The next morning was even better, no rushing to get up and away from another. Bucky stayed with his hands around you and softly breathed, “you can sleep, doll. I’m gonna go get some breakfast.”

You hummed and let your head fall back onto the pillow, Bucky ran a hand through his tousled locks and threw his boxers and sweats on. Bare feet padded as he walked into the kitchen with sleep and love apparent on his face. 

A few avengers saw it too.

A loud and shrill whistle came from behind Bucky as he poured hot coffee into a black mug, “how’d the game end last night?”

Bucky turned to Sam, biting back a smile, and shaking his head slowly. “No more games.”

“Oh shit?” Natasha and Sam shared a look before Natasha could smirk and let the question dance off her lips. “Who confessed first?”

“I did.” Bucky smiled, god, has he ever smiled this much before?

Sam groaned loudly and slipped Natasha a 20-dollar bill from across the table, a defeated look as she quirked the end of her lip up. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?”

-

Feedback and comments are highly recommended!

Tag list:

@ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief @silverfire475

[wonderful-writes]

what's the name of the game? | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: every winter steve harrington and you fight over the frozen pond between your houses. while he loves to bring his friends to skate, you need to de-stress from the pressure of ballet practice. it’s always an entertaining game between you two until you get the lead role in the winter production, and steve sets his mind to break through your stubborn, overachieving façade.

enemies-ish to lovers | no use of y/n | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type.

word count: 25.6k

warnings: this one shot and the content i write are +18, minors do NOT interact. inexperienced!reader, mutual masturbation, oral (f receiving). reader is a bit rough with poor steve lol but there’s a good reason for it. eating disorders are mentioned discreetly but reader does NOT have one.

author’s note: omg hi angels !!! i was sooo impressed at how popular christmas affairs ended up being like !?!?! thank you so much for your comments, reblogs & asks, i’ve been working a LOT this christmas and you have literally made my whole month with your comments !!! thank you for reading and enjoy this one 🤍

[banners: @adornedwithlight & @cafekitsune ]

It all had started when the new family moved into the big house next door. Before that, every winter, the pond was yours.

It had been probably on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, a couple of hours after lunch. You had quickly taken the ice skates and ran to the frozen pond next to your house to start skating. Your parents were never too happy about this being your other hobby besides dancing, always complaining about how you could never stay still and why can’t she like something simple like building puzzles or painting with watercolours?

But at eight years of age, all you needed was a scarf, your mother’s leg warmers and the skates and you could stay there until the sun set.

Your dad was looking at you from the kitchen’s window, a humming cup of coffee in his hand while your mother was doing her weekly crossword and watched the news in the living room. He didn’t think that the distant image of a father and his son playing hockey would be a problem for you, and he would’ve never imagined that you would be a problem for them.

That’s why he didn’t put the cup down when he saw the little boy skating towards you. He was a bit taller than you, but he must’ve been around your age. Your father thought he was just going to say hi, the boy’s dad was watching from the other side of the pond too. Everything was okay. You were a spoiled only child, overprotected by everyone in your family after being the first granddaughter and niece. He needed to let you be independent sometimes, he told himself, to socialise without needing your parents there, and more than anything you needed to learn to stand up for yourself.

Those were all very logical and healthy ways of thinking about parenthood, he thought satisfied, as he kept observing the interaction between you and the boy. He felt relaxed and confident, even proud of himself. Until he saw the way you pushed the little boy to the ground.

‘Oh, shit.’ He put the cup aside before running to the door, the distant sound of your mother’s voice behind him as he took his scarf and coat to walk outside.

When he got there, you were standing in front of the boy and his father with a frown on your face, and your arms crossed under your big scarf. The dad was helping the boy stand up while you stood silently angry, the embarrassment taking over your father as he lifted a friendly hand in the air.

‘Hello.’ He said. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘She pushed me!’ The little boy screamed at you with an accusing finger once his dad managed to help him stand up. ‘You saw it, daddy! You saw it! She pushed me!’

Your dad looked down at you as you rolled your eyes and looked to your side.

‘She did push him.’ Said the boy’s dad gravely. The tension between the two parents started to arise the more you refused to acknowledge what you had done or apologise quickly.

‘I saw.’ You dad finally said, kneeling down next to you and cursing the day he told your mother he wished you were like him. You were just as proud. ‘Snowflake, would you please explain to me why did you push…?’

‘Steve.’ The other man said, wrapping his arm around his boy before he started brushing the snow off him. Steve’s bravado had disappeared, and he couldn’t help but lean into his father’s touch, processing what had just happened.

‘Why did you push Steve, snowflake?’ Your dad said as he looked for your eyes.

You looked back at your father, very careful not to look back at Steve’s dad to avoid feeling intimidated. He wasn’t happy, and though most times he was patient and indulging with you, you had a feeling this time none of those things would help you.

‘He called me the B word.’

Both men frowned at your accusation, the atmosphere suddenly changing before they looked back at Steve, whose cheeks had recovered colour and were turning even redder now.

‘I called her a brat.’ He simply said.

‘That’s a bad word!’ You pointed at him.

‘It’s not as bad as bitch!’ He argued.

‘Hey!’ Steve’s dad took him by the shoulders. ‘Don’t say that word.’

‘I am not a brat.’ You said between your teeth to Steve as you stood there, ready to push him again if it was necessary. ‘And this is my pond.’

‘Okay, Snowflake, why don’t we—’

‘What happened?’ Your mother’s voice suddenly made them all look up. She had wrapped herself in one of those beautiful cosy shawls you loved to fall asleep on sometimes. ‘Oh, you must be the Harrington’s. I’m so glad to finally meet you.’

Mr Harrington didn’t refuse your mother’s hand as he stood up and gave her an awkward smile before looking at Steve.

‘This is Steve.’ He said putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We just had a bit of a misunderstanding.’

‘Oh, no.’ You mother said gravely, looking at you before she bent a little in front of the boy. ‘W-What happened?’

‘Your daughter’s a brat.’ Steve said.

And that was it, you were on him again. You heard your mother let out an Oh my god as you both fell on the floor, and you started to scream at him.

‘I told you I’m not a brat!’ Your hands gripped at his hockey shirt.

‘You are a brat!’ He screamed. ‘Get off me!’

You were taken away by a pair of arms that you’d recognise as your dad’s while he swore under his breath, and Mr Harrington had to help little Steve stand up once again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You mother said mortified as she helped Mr Harrington with Steve. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie. We’ve tried— She’s just not really good at sharing yet.’

‘This is my—’ Your started saying.

‘Hush!’ Your mother employed a severe tone you had rarely heard her use with you. Her eyes shut blades at you when she looked behind, and that was the day you learned that if there was something your parents couldn’t handle, was public humiliation. ‘Come here and tell Steve you are sorry.’

You crossed your arms, getting rid of you dad’s embrace as you looked from him to the scene in front of you. Steve swallowed hard when your eyes fell on him, and it should’ve given you some sense of satisfaction to know he was now scared of you, but it didn’t. You were too embarrassed by the warmth that ran to your cheeks at the sight of his pretty pink cheeks and his messy brown hair.

‘No.’ You finally said.

Your mom took a deep breath, looking from Steve to Mr Harrington as she offered them an apologetic smile.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said defeated. ‘Give us a few minutes with her. I am so embarrassed about her behaviour.’ She laughed nervously as she stood up, looking from father to son and cursing the day she said she wished to have an opinionated daughter.

‘She’s not usually like this, Steve.’ She proceeded as she smiled to the little boy. ‘I promise.’

‘Please come for dinner this evening.’ Said your dad then. You looked up at him with a frown on your face. Today was supposed to be pizza night. Another thing that this stupid Steve had taken from you. ‘We’ve been living in this neighbourhood since we got married, I wouldn’t like you to feel unwelcomed just because… Well…’

Your dad looked down at you, still with your arms crossed and determined not to apologise for what you had done.

Mr Harrington’s laugh made you all look back at him. Steve looked at his father too, shaking his head with a smile of the defeat before giving your parents an understanding look.

‘She’s got character, your little one.’ He said looking at you for the first time. You finally grew shy then, moving to hide behind your dad’s legs as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘She’s gonna make it far.’

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Not between you and Steve, no. No matter how many playdates your parents arranged, or how many times you were invited to the Harrington’s and Steve to yours, you never seemed to get along and you’d probably never will. But the more your despise for each other grew, the closer your families became.

Every winter there were fights about the pond. At first, they were appeased by your dad, who offered to play hockey with Steve while you skated when his parents couldn’t. On other occasions, it was Mr Harrington who agreed to arrange a new routine for you as long as you remained polite and respectful of Steve’s time on the pond.

Through the years you heard him tell your father many times during dinner, that you should go professional, that you had potential. But you never failed to interject in the conversation and remind Mr Harrington that your mind was set on dancing, and though skating was a beautiful discipline, you weren’t interested in the elitism of sports. Steve’s dad would take a deep breath and give you a smile of defeat, as he had always done, before asking his son to pass him the salad.

It worked like that all through primary and middle school. Until you and Steve became too old to push each other every time there were disputes about the coveted body of water. But then ambition brought subtle changes: Steve started waking up extra early to practice before school, then you’d come back from rehearsals in the evening and changed your ballet shoes for the skates. Peace had been restored, and despite the occasional quarrel, it worked. Until Steve got injured.

It didn’t happen in the pond, but one Friday evening in Hawkin’s ice rink while he was at hockey practice. A bad fall, a crack and suddenly there was a femur fracture, a knee dislocation and three months in bed that cost him his place at college. He couldn’t play anymore.

So, the pond ended up being all yours that winter, just like you predicted years ago, and the tension faded away, almost forgotten. The forced interactions decreased as Steve started working in Starcourt on the weekends and you had to train harder in the dance studio. Then he moved to Family Video and you saw him even less, only when you’d walk into the Harrington’s house when his parents had invited yours for dinner, and he’d be kissing his mom goodbye.

Other times you simply didn’t have the energy to join anyone downstairs, or you stayed at the studio until late. Life got in the way sometimes, but you always, without exception, found some time to put your skates on and go on the ice for a while.

And despite his injury, so did Steve.

‘Look who’s here.’ He said that evening when you appeared still wearing your baby blue leotard and your translucent skirt, only a scarf and legwarmers to protect you from the early December cold.

He wasn’t on his own, and you hated that even more, giving him an unwelcoming smile as you started sliding casually around the ice. While you had always been consistent with your friendships, Steve seemed to change friends every damn season.

First it was Carol and Tommy, sometime around that he started dating Nancy Wheeler. After the incident, he started hanging around with this Robin that somehow needed to be invited to every single family dinner, and along with her there was a group of pre-teens that idolized him. Then it was Eddie Munson, and somewhere along the way there was Nancy again with Jonathan Byers. And today they all seemed happy to come to your pound to smoke weed or skate mediocrely or whatever thing they had planned. And all you needed was some time alone to think.

‘Hey Ice Princess!’ Nancy greeted you from her place next to Jonathan’s car. She was more enthusiastic than usual, and you assumed by her heavy eyelids that she was either drunk or high.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly as you slowed your pace.

‘Hey, do you want a beer?’ Eddie Munson’s voice made you stop in your tracks. You looked from him to Steve before giving him a polite smile and shaking your head.

‘No, thanks.’ You said. ‘I just had rehearsals and I’m tired.’

‘How’s the dancing going?’ Nancy asked, taking a sip of the glass bottle before cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘It’s going okay.’ You shrugged before smiling and resuming your workout, thinking that maybe now they’d leave you in peace.

It didn’t last long until you heard a very distinctive noise behind you, the familiar scratch of a pair of skates that you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Hey, bratty.’ Steve said as you both kept skating at comfortable distance. ‘What are you doin’ tonight?’

‘This.’ You simply said as you kept skating without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the nickname or even look at him.

‘I’m having a party at mine.’ He said catching up with you and skating besides you. ‘Do you wanna come?’

‘Not really.’ You said still looking at the ice in front of you before you looked over your shoulder. ‘Slow down.’

‘I’m fine.’ He brushed it off, but he still had to put one of his hands on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got training to do tomorrow, and I don’t like dancing hungover.’ You finally stopped when you started hearing his agitated breathing, rolling onto your skates to finally face him. ‘Steve, you could hurt yourself like this.’

A smile slowly formed on his face as he looked back at you.

‘What’s up with you tonight?’ He said amused.

‘Nothing’s up with me.’ You crossed your arms, studying his face. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Are you drunk?’ He mocked you. ‘D’you ever hear yourself?’

‘Right.’ You started skating away, but though Steve wasn’t as agile as before, you remembered how strong he still was when he caught your forearm.

‘Wait.’ He said, laughing as he softly pulled you backwards. ‘Okay,okay,okay. I wanna know how your audition was.’

You stood still as you looked back at him, curious brown eyes searching for an answer in yours, the heat rushing to your cheeks in a matter of seconds as you fixed your skirt.

‘How do you know about that?’ You said more shyly than you intended.

‘Your mom doesn’t stop talking about it.’ He rolled his eyes with a silly smile that fell from his face the more his eyes studied you. He swallowed hard for a second, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath then, his semblance turning serious out of sudden. ‘Nobody fucking stops talking about you.’

You nodded once, looking away from him as he let go of your arm, or you slowly pull it away, you weren’t sure.

‘Have fun, Steve.’ You said softly before skating away.

‘Jesus, mom!’ You screamed as soon as you walked through the threshold of your home. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?’

Your mother stood on the entrance, wearing her pyjamas and holding a pair of jeans and one of your favourite tops while she looked apologetically at you.

‘I’m holding the clothes I need you to change to so you can go and stay at the Harrington’s tonight.’

It took you a second to process her words before you could speak again.

‘What?’

‘Well, Steve came here earlier…’

‘Of course he did.’ You rolled your eyes as you walked past her.

‘He said his parents are away tonight and he’s having a little party! And he was so sweet and polite about it as usual. He asked if I could keep an eye on them and told me he wanted to invite you too.’

You let out a scoff-like laugh as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of juice.

‘Wow. He’s good.’ You said bitterly to yourself. ‘He’s really good.’

‘Honey,’ Your mother said with an accusing tone as she rested against the kitchen’s door. ‘You’ve been training a lot lately, and I think it’d do you some good to hang out with friends—People your age.’ She corrected herself as soon as you gave her an annoyed look.

‘Listen, mom.’ You said pouring some juice on a glass. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, but Steve didn’t invite me because he’s sweet and polite. He invited me so you wouldn’t tell his parents. They’re getting high, and drunk and—’

‘And you’re here talking to your mother.’

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before drinking the juice.

‘I’m not going.’ You said before leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs. ‘Oh, and by the way, auditions were good. Thanks for asking.’

You heard your mom sigh behind you as you made you way to your room.

‘I told Linda.’

‘What?’ Your peeked over the banister to look back at her. ‘You called his mom?’

‘Of course I did.’ She said. ‘What kind of mother do you think I am? I’d like her to call me if you were having a party while I’m away.’

‘That’s dirty, mom.’ You accused her as you walked down the few steps you climbed, standing in front of her with a face of disbelief. ‘That’s mean as fuck even if it’s Steve we’re talking about.’

‘Which is why I promised her you would stay with them tonight.’  She said stroking your arms.

‘Cause I’m so responsible.’ You mocked her with disbelief all over your face.

‘Well…’

You couldn’t say anything, your jaw open and a hysterical frown taking over your face as you looked back at her.

‘You’re a psycho.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘You are. A psycho.’ You took a step back as you moved your hands in the air. ‘Why do you need this woman’s approval so badly?’

‘Now don’t be mean, honey.’ She said putting a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Linda and I are just really good friends. Like you and Barb before she moved away. We want the same for you and Steve.’

‘Well, that’s not really easy, is it!’ You said lifting your hands in the air, feeling suddenly hurt at the name of your best friend. ‘Not with all the ass kissing that goes on in this house!’

‘Honey!’

‘Oh. My god.’ You said taking another step back. ‘Like, really. Joint dinners every week, Mr Harrington practically living on our couch to watch the baseball, and then it’s football at theirs every Sunday. Labor’s Day, 4th of July, Thanksgiving. Like every fucking thing is with the Harrington’s involved! Are guys like swingers or something? Can’t you do something normal like having a book club where nobody reads and get drunk every now and then at the diner?’

Your mom stood quietly in front of you, shocked and processing your words before the sound of the bell dissipated the tension. You stood on the bottom of the stairs, clenching your jaw as she walked to open the door.

He had changed, and probably sprayed something to cover the scent of weed and beer, because you could smell bergamot from where you were.

‘Just came to pick up the Ice Princess.’ Steve said.

‘Ew, don’t call me that.’ You said stepping down. You gave your mom a severe stare as she got lost on the living room with a smile painted all over her face.

‘I like it, ‘s got a ring to it, you know? Nancy’s really good with nicknames.’

‘Do you need a toothbrush, honey?’ She asked offering your dance bag. ‘I put the change of clothes inside for you.’

‘No, I’ve got one, thanks.’ You said with a straight face before looking at Steve. ‘Come on. I need to get out of here.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so mean to your mom.’  He said as you walked past the pond together. He had sobered up somehow, the weird mood he had shown earlier completely gone, leaving the indifferent Steve you knew so well behind.

‘It’s a mother-daughter thing.’ You shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘C’mon.’ He pushed your arm with his, and you frowned just a little at his sudden friendliness, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘She adores you. Everyone in this town does.’

You looked down to the snowy ground, not particularly flattered by his comment, but thoughtful about what he had said before. Apparently, people in Hawkins talked about you, saw you. This wasn’t a big town, but with the results of the auditions coming out tomorrow, you wished for once to be tiny and invisible.

‘I just can’t stand her sometimes.’ You admitted out loud. ‘She’s too friendly.’

He let out a snorty laugh. Dry, and so very spiteful that you couldn’t help but look back at him with a frown.

‘Or you’re too cold.’ He concluded as you made it to his front porch.

You didn’t say anything else while he opened the door, following behind. Without Steve’s parents around, the house acquired a desolated, almost ghostly atmosphere. Linda Harrington always made sure that there were flowers in the vases, that there was lightning everywhere, that the kitchen always smelled like raisin bread and coffee.

You peeped through the living room’s entrance to find Steve’s friends all curled up on the couch, hypnotised by the TV while cans of beer and boxes of pizza were scattered on the floor. Nancy’s blue eyes found yours and her lips lifted softly in a drunken smile.

‘You came!’ She said softly.

‘Hi, guys.’ You said shyly as you took a step inside. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Uhm,’ Nancy stretched on the couch before she realised Robin was fully asleep on her shoulder. ‘The Exorcist?’

‘That’s over now.’ Said Eddie amused at Nancy’s state of drunkenness. ‘We’re watching The Nanny now.’

‘The Nanny.’ You repeated as you looked at the TV before your eyes fell back on them.

‘Ya wanna join’ us?’ Said Nancy as she tried to sit down properly. ‘Uhm, tell Steve to bring you a blanket.’

‘She gets really affectionate when she’s high.’ Said Jonathan with a smile.

You opened your mouth to say something, when you heard an unusual thud upstairs. You looked back at them, wondering if only you had heard it, but they all seemed too high and sleepy to even notice.

‘I see.’ You looked down to your shoes before taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long night. ‘I’m gonna check on Steve. To see where ‘m sleeping and stuff.’

‘Sure, Ice Princess.’ Nancy said with a giggle. It should’ve tendered you or you should’ve at least found it funny, but somewhere inside you felt bad. As if she was mocking you in some way you weren’t aware of.

You climbed the stairs quietly, having been in this house so many times before since you were a child. Knowing exactly where they kept towels, what step cracked if you pressed on the right spot, what colours the walls were five years ago before they modernised the place.

You made it upstairs with your bag still on you, wondering if you should just sneak into the guests’ room or maybe remind Steve that you had to wake up early for practice tomorrow. Your train of thought was about to take you somewhere else when you heard another thud, this time less loud, followed by a whine.

‘Steve?’ You softly called before pushing the door of his room to find him sitting on the floor, a painful frown taking over his face as he held his knee against his chest.

‘Jesus, are you okay?’ You said kneeling next to him. ‘What do you need? Where does it hurt?’

‘S just my knee.’ He said under his breath. ‘It’s fine. It’ll go away.’

‘Let me help—’

‘Get the fuck out of here.’ He said clenching his jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said sitting better. ‘This was your idea, remember? Now shut up and let me handle this.’

‘I don’t need you to handle— Uh.’ He moaned in pain again. ‘F-Fuck.’

You started to feel hot under your layers, but you still found the nerve to put Steve’s arm around your neck and squat next to him.

‘Put your weight on your other foot.’ You instructed. ‘I’m lifting you in …1 …2 …’

And then swiftly, you lifted him so he could sit on the bed. You heard him complain under his breath again, but at least he wasn’t on the floor anymore and you could help him more easily from here.

He observed you as you breathed heavily by the effort, lifting his other leg along the bed and as a result, making his whole body move until he was safely laying on the bed. Steve stood silently, a bit in shock, looking at you as you got rid of your scarf and jacket, before walking towards the door.

‘M just gonna get some ice.’

You blinked away your tears on the way downstairs, feeling flushed and a bit confused about why you were this emotional. But there was this recurring thought, echoing through your head saying Steve, Steve, Steve. He was supposed to go places.

You poured a glass of water in the kitchen, hearing the distant sounds of the TV in the living room while you drank it slowly. In the freezer you found not one, but about three different types of compresses, and you took the biggest one.

Something took over you then, and you were suddenly moving automatically. You checked that the back door was locked as well as the front door. You took an extra blanket from the cupboard and covered an asleep Eddie with it before taking the remote from his hand and turning the TV off. You did the same with the lights and climbed upstairs, before taking a clean towel to wrap the icy compress with.

Steve’s leg was still flat on the bed, but he was now sitting more comfortably against the headrest, waiting for you. He wasn’t particularly grateful or relieved to see you come back, but you weren’t happy to be here anyways.

He took the compress you offered and leaned in to place it on his knee, and another hissing sound of pain came out from his lips when he did. You stood there for a second until you realised you were staring, and before he realised too, you started to untie your hair.

‘Am I sleeping here?’ You said taking a wool sweater out of your bag and pulling it down over your leotard.

He shrugged.

‘Your friends don’t mind?’ You pressed, looking at him with a straight face. ‘Your little girlfriend?’

‘Nancy’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with indifference.

‘M talking ‘bout the other one.’ You said walking around the bed to find a place on the opposite side.

‘Robin’s not my girlfriend either.’ He said in the same tone as you got inside the sheets.

‘Wow.’ You said sarcastically as you made yourself comfortable. ‘Talk about being bitchless.’

‘They actually think we’re sleeping together.’ You heard him say as you closed your eyes.

‘As if.’ You replied, trying to get cosy in this bed that smelled like bergamot and boy, and Steve.

‘Wouldn’t kill you to moan a little for the sake of my reputation.’ He joked, and this time you actually laughed. It was a subtle thing, but loud enough to make him smile to himself.

Steve stood there, waiting for the pain to pass as you dozed off. It had been a long day, after all. Training from five, then driving to the city and waiting the whole day to be seen for the audition.

‘I’ll drive you to the studio tomorrow morning.’ He said.

You stayed quiet for a while, and he thought maybe you had fallen asleep already. But really you were wondering why he couldn’t just give up and say thank you like a normal person. Thank you for staying. Thank you for helping. Things always had to be so complicated with Steve.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ You said after a while.

‘I want to.’ He simply said before turning the light of his bedside table off and placing his back against the wall to sleep like he had so many times before.

A few hours later you were woken up by something warm on your face. You leaned in for a second, giving in to the soft fingertips that brushed your cheekbone, before they were gone too soon.

‘C’mon.’ Something pushed your leg softly. ‘You don’t wanna be late.’

You growled softly, feeling your body aching in ways it hadn’t in months. Maybe you should’ve left the studio a bit earlier yesterday, or maybe you should’ve skipped skating after such a long day.

Stretching, you opened your eyes slowly to find Steve standing next to you, his eyebrows lifting softly at the sight in front of him. You stayed there for a while, looking at each other, before you looked to your side to find the sky was still dark.

‘What time is it?’

‘Four.’ He said. ‘Where are you training today?’

You took your hands to your face, growling softly before you decided to sit down properly.

‘In the city.’ You said still quite sleepy.

He nodded once. ‘I’ll get the car ready.’

‘Kay.’ You said trying to convince yourself to get up. Only then you noticed he had changed already, and his hair was wet as if he had just taken a shower. ‘How’s your knee?’

Your question seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he scratched the back of his neck looking away from you. But that was normal, Steve’s injury had always been a forbidden subject. Only then you thought that he had probably been drunker than he had let on last night.

‘S good now.’ He simply said before moving to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs, yeah?’

‘Sure.’ You said, before he left you all alone in his room.

Hawkins was beautifully quiet in a way it could only be during this time of the year, showered by the atmosphere of sadness, nostalgia and desolation that winter often hid during Christmas time. Steve seemed to understand this pretty well, because he didn’t speak or even turned the radio on as you left the town behind, and the sun started rising.

‘When do you find out if you got the role?’ He said as he parked outside the theatre. You saw the way his eyes lingered on the intimidating building behind you as you opened the door.

‘Today.’ You were trying to be a big girl and pretend you weren’t nervous, but you swallowed hard as you took the heavy bag with you, switching the subject as you stepped out of the car. ‘Thanks for driving me.’

‘Thanks for staying.’ He said in the same plain tone. ‘What time should I pick you up?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ You stood up awkwardly on the pavement while the door was still open. ‘I’ll call dad and ask him to pick me up.’

The frown that took over his face made you feel stupid out of sudden.

‘Your dad’s away fishing.’ He seemed amused at your cluelessness. ‘With my dad? For the fundraising dinner?’

‘That’s tonight?’ You complained with a whine, fighting the need of stepping your foot on the floor. ‘I thought that was next week! Why can’t they just donate some money or just buy the fish like normal people do?’

‘Well,’ He started patiently, ‘Given is an event for the Fishing Association I guess there has to be some fishing involved, you know—’

You interrupted him with a sound of irritation, climbing on the passenger’s seat again and closing the door behind you.

‘Okay. We need to talk, Steve.’

‘Talk?’ He chuckled, sitting back on his seat to have a better look at you.

‘This whole thing between our parents?’ You started. ‘This is like, toxic. It’s sickening, actually.’

‘Sickening.’ He repeated with an amused smile.

‘Why do they need to do everything together?’ You complained. ‘It’s like— God, like there’s no privacy between our families. I can’t remember when was the last time I walked into my house on a Friday evening and I had my parents all to myself.’

Steve lifted his eyebrows then, looking visibly uncomfortable as he scratched the space behind his ear.

‘Uh, have you tried having actual plans on Friday nights?’

You sighed loudly, fighting the need to roll your eyes as you sat on your side.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Actually—’

‘It’s forced.’ You said stretching the word. ‘It’s just not the fact that they can’t stay away from each other but how they force us to be there too.’

Steve took a deep breath as he sat better on the seat, looking through the windshield as he considered your words.

‘What?’ You finally said after a while.

‘I mean, you’re never really there, are you?’ He finally said.

‘What do you mean?’ You pushed his arm. Though it was demanding, it had been a soft, innocent gesture. Yet you noticed the way he sat better on the seat after it, as if your impulsiveness hadn’t pleased him very much.

‘Well, last week it was the bake sale. And the week before that we all went bowling, even Robin was there.’ 

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Steve’s friend.

‘Hey.’ His voice had turned firm as he started losing his patience with you. ‘All I’m saying is that maybe you’re exaggerating a bit. The only reason they—’ He started saying, but he seemed to be unsure of how to proceed. ‘Well, you know…’

‘What?’ You pressed, feeling the heat rush to your face and even your scalp was turning warm while you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Say it, Steve.’

‘Maybe it’s been suggested that you don’t do anything other than skating and training since Barb moved away.’

‘So I get a pity invitation because I don’t have any friends?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ He let out a frustrated sigh.

‘You didn’t have to.’ You said in the same tone. ‘Yeah, I miss Barb, whatever, but that’s not reason why I’m not willing to join the circus every weekend. I’m working. Hard. For this.’

‘You are.’ He said, looking through the windshield as you stared at him, challenging him to disagree with you. ‘But you’re… You’re too strict, I’ve seen you, you— You don’t breathe.’

‘I do. Breathe. Steve.’ You said feeling more desperate every second you entertained this argument. ‘But I’m not just competing physically, there’s— There’s the girls whose parents have contacts, the ones that went to dance school— Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by people whose lifestyle only consists of eating once a day?’

He scoffed then. You had to sit back on the seat with the sudden discomfort of feeling arrogant or vain, irritated at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

‘Get out of my car.’ He snapped.

You stayed there just for a second, wondering if he was joking. But one of the worst things about having grown up with Steve Harrington, was the involuntary understanding you both had of each other’s character.

You squinted your eyes as you tried to read him, and it took you a few seconds of studying him. Of really looking at him, to realise. The nervous movement of his leg, the way he looked through the windshield, his hand instinctively rubbing his leg over his jeans, where you knew there was a scar.

‘You, more than anyone else, know what it’s like to want something so much you get scared of losing it before you even have it.’ You felt the anger rising and the frustration growing as you spoke. ‘The difference is that you lost it, and I won’t.’

And just like that, you grabbed the bag and left his car before he could say something back.

The guilt set on your chest like a heavy rock the whole time you were warming up. It stayed there when you broke through the anxious bodies of the other determined ballerinas to have a look at the board where the roles for the winter production were displayed. It didn’t leave you when you started your training, when you switched from pirouettes to fouettes, and it certainly didn’t stop haunting you as you looked at yourself in the mirror, carefully repeating grand adages until you couldn’t feel your toes anymore.

You were late to the fundraising dinner, but you hoped, you prayed that your parents would be too drunk to reproach you. The soft roar of the taxi’s engine got lost behind you as you walked through the many cars parked outside, climbing the steps of your house and hoping for the best.

There was laughter and music coming from the living room, your cheeks going from freezing to warm as soon as you closed the door behind you. The first few seconds where nobody noticed you were comforting, until Steve’s silhouette appeared through the living room’s entrance.

He was wearing a green sweater over his shirt, and a full glass of wine was on his hand when his eyes looked at you with curious amusement. You were aware that your pride would only make things worse, but there was no part of you that wished to apologise right now.

You were about to move towards the stairs when he walked first, standing in front of the first step. Repressing a sigh, you had no other option but to face him.

‘How were rehearsals?’

‘They were good.’ You simply said before walking past him to climb the stairs.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you heard him follow behind you.

‘Did you get the part?’

‘I got a part.’ You said as you opened the door to your room. ‘I’m very pleased with it.’

You thought that would be enough to keep him away, that he would give up. But as you absentmindedly got rid of your shoes and walked towards your window to close the blind, you heard the door of your room closing.

‘Do you mind!?’ You said as you turned around, finding Steve standing against the closed door, hands inside his pockets and the same unbearably amused stare on you.

‘Not really.’

You shook your head and decided to ignore him, grabbing the dress your mother had picked for you from the closet, still feeling his eyes on you as you did so.

‘Do you want me to have a look at that?’

When you looked up his eyes were on your feet, the bloody bandages wrapped around each one of your toes making you feel way too self-aware.

‘No.’ You hid your eyes from him before walking into the bathroom.

You took another deep breath as you felt him move around your room while you quickly got rid of your leotard. Somehow his calm was frustrating you, his lack of pride had you overthinking about all the different ways in which he could get back at you tonight.

He was looking around your room when you walked out fully dressed. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way he studied your posters while you slipped on a couple of mary janes, because you couldn’t bother to change the bandages just now and nobody would want to look at those.

You sat in front of your vanity then, swiftly starting to get rid of the bobby pins around your hair bun as you kept an eye on him through the mirror. He seemed chill, he seemed unbothered, it was killing you. Your gaze lingered on him easily through the mirror, leaving his empty wine glass aside as he took a book from your shelf and eyed it casually.

The heat rushed to your cheeks when he looked back to find you staring. You looked down quickly as your hands moved clumsily, your hair tangling a bit as you kept working.

He moved without you having to ask, standing behind you to help you get rid of the tangled pins, your fingers progressively giving up until his took over delicately.

He worked in silence, and you stood there, thinking about a time where your mother used to brush your hair before practice, those days were you still had ballet classes with Miss Cécile. She had left Hawkins years ago now, to retire somewhere far, somewhere in Europe.

‘There’s no hard feelings, by the way.’ He said as he placed the last pins on top of your vanity.

‘Hm?’ Your eyes were fixed on your reflection as you brushed your hair, making sure you remained expressionless as he placed his hands on the wooden surface of the vanity. You could feel the warmth of his body, the softness of his sweater on your back as his bergamot cologne surrounded you.

‘About today.’ There seemed to be some satisfaction behind his tone, but you didn’t want to acknowledge how much his indifference annoyed you. ‘I forgive you.’

You stood then, fighting the need to clench your jaw as you walked towards the door.

‘I didn’t say I was sorry.’

The dinner started as it always did. Because your parents were hosting, your father gave a little thank you speech before everyone sat down. You and Steve sat on opposite sides of the table as people started passing the fish. He let a discreet chuckle out when you wrinkled your nose at the sight of some of the dishes, but you ignored him, focusing on acting as a good host and kindly helping the rest of the guests.

People started to talk and joke, conversations about the town, the upcoming holidays or, well, fishing dominated the table while you stayed quiet. The tiredness of the day was heavy on your shoulders and neck, even your eyelids were a bit heavy.

You tried to sit straighter in an attempt to wake up, wishing you could’ve spent at least half an hour skating outside to bring your energy back, when Mr Harrington addressed you from the other side of the table.

‘Hm!’ He cleaned his mouth with the napkin as you waited to hear what he had to say. ‘How was your audition yesterday?’

‘Uh, it was good.’ You nodded shyly.

‘Did you get a good part, honey?’ Mrs Harrington next to him asked.

You stood quiet for a second, avoiding your parents’ gaze on the other end of the table as you tried to choose your words carefully. All the guests stared at you expectantly, and for a second you were speechless, even helpless, until you felt a subtle touch on your ankle.  

You lifted your eyes to find Steve’s brown gaze already on you. A bit softer than usual, you couldn’t help but swallow hard when the tip of his leather shoe ventured upward to stroke your shin. He lifted his eyebrows subtly, an encouraging sign that brought you back to Earth quickly.

‘Yeah, uhm…’ You shyly played with the drops that fell from your wine glass before looking back at Mr Harrington. ‘Yeah, I did. I, uh… I’m going to play Odette.’ You chuckled nervously. ‘And Odile too, of course.’

‘Oh my God!’ Said Mrs Harrington. ‘Sweetie, that’s amazing.’

‘Congratulations.’ Said Mr Harrington, followed by a few more alike comments from the guests next to you.

You dad winked at you from the other side of the table. There was a sweet smile on his face, you knew he was proud. What you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just say it.

‘That’s wonderful news.’ Your mother agreed with a soft smile. ‘We shall have a little toast after dinner.’

You looked down to your plate, biting the sarcastic smile on your face as you grabbed your glass of wine.

‘After dinner.’

Maybe Steve was the only one who heard you repeat your mother’s words before you took a sip of the drink while the conversation around resumed. He was the one who saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek as the fishing subject arose again, searching for your eyes while his foot kept stroking your leg.

He abruptly lost you a few seconds after, as you crossed your legs under the table, leaning towards Mrs Miller next to you to ask her if she needed any salt for the sprouts.

There was no toast after dinner, just a dessert that you politely declined with the excuse of a headache. Wine glasses kept being refilled, Christmas music played louder, and when everyone moved onto the living room you took the opportunity to sneak away in your bedroom’s direction.

Once you made it upstairs, the sight of Steve coming out of the hallway’s toilet made you stop in your tracks for a second.

‘Downstairs was taken.’ He said before turning off the light.

You nodded once as he walked towards where you stood. He was supposed to go back to the party, and you were supposed to get in bed, but all he could do was stand in front of you with his hands inside his pockets.

‘What if,’ he said before nodding on your bedroom’s direction. You lifted your eyebrows with an unamused semblance. ‘I steal a bottle of wine, and you save me from another conversation about seabass.’

There was still a trace of the charm that had worked for him during High School on his face, his adolescent confidence always took over him after a few drinks. But now those traces faded away much more easily; he took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes and looked down at his shoes.

‘Dad just keeps introducing me to these friends of him.’ He looked up at you. ‘He wants me to beg for a job in finance.’

You chuckled before shaking your head no, but the proposal was still tempting. Your limbs were tired. You hadn’t gotten properly drunk in forever. Your eyes were still on him as you started walking towards your room.

‘Just get something stronger, would you?’

You got rid of your shoes before climbing on top of your covers. It was relieving to feel free to stretch your toes, and flex your feet soles, and crack your ankles. Looking at the ceiling, your started remembering today’s steps in your mind. The passé, the relevé and then…

‘What are you doing, you weirdo?’ Steve said when he walked into the room with a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

You shrugged when he closed the door with his foot. Sitting up, you observed in silence how he poured a bit of the dark amber liquid on the glasses.

‘Just… revising, I guess.’ You took the glass he was offering you.

You took a sip as he shook his head in disapproval. The liquid burnt your throat, but it made you warm and it awakened you, while Steve downed the drink fully before sitting next to you and pulling your legs up to his lap.

You frowned, but instead of saying something you just took another sip of the whiskey.

He carefully started to remove the bandages, frowning painfully at the sight of your poor blistered and bloody toes. You observed him in silence, completely numb to the pain on your feet but entertained by his clear distress as he piled the bandages at the end of the bed, rubbing the bridge of your feet in the process.

‘So…’ He started.

He wouldn’t look back at you as you waited for him to speak.

‘So?’ You finally said.

‘What’s the name of that character you’re playing on the show?’

‘Characters.’ You corrected. ‘Odette and Odile are traditionally played by the same ballerina.’

‘Hm.’ he said as he got lost in his thoughts. You waited for him to say something else, but he just kept massaging your feet.

‘Hm?’ You repeated searching for his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounds like quite a demanding role.’

‘It is.’ You recognised. ‘We’ve got about three weeks of rehearsals. Opening night’s on Christmas Eve.’

‘Three weeks.’ He repeated humorously. ‘That’s impressive.’

You clenched your jaw in silence before removing your legs off his lap and moving to lay on your side.

‘Hey,’ He laughed behind you as you faced the window. His hand stroked your leg playfully from your ankle upwards, but you kicked him before it could sneak under the skirt of your dress. ‘C’mon, bratty—'

‘Don’t call me that.’ You said squirming and hugging the pillow under your bed. ‘I should’ve known you’d make fun of me. You don’t understand anything.’

‘Aw, c’mon.’ You felt his body fall on the space behind you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His bergamot scent invaded your lugs, and before you could help it you were taking a deep breath. ‘Don’t get mad at me.’

You turned around on the bed, facing him with a serious frown on your face. You’d never been this close to Steve or had even touched him like this. His cheeks were so red it looked as if he had a fever, and his eyelids were heavy as he looked down at you with an amused smile.

‘You’re drunk.’ You simply said.

‘And you’re warm.’ He said with the same stupid smile, his fingers brushed the skin on your back as he pulled you towards him.

You stayed very still as his head leaned in, and for a second you thought he’d might kiss you, but instead he just innocently hid his nose on your neck.

‘You’re so warm.’ He whispered to himself. Your hands hovered on your sides before you lifted an arm and slowly rested your hand on his neck, diving your fingers on his hair to stroke his scalp softly. He seemed to like that, by the little noise that left his mouth when his body melted against yours. ‘M so proud of you.’

It was the softest thing, barely a whisper, but still you heard it. You swallowed hard as he made himself more comfortable, sighing deeply as he started dozing off and you were more awake than you’d ever been in your life.

‘Steve.’ You called as you softly pushed his shoulder to have a better look at him. ‘Don’t fall asleep. C’mon, wake up.’

‘I’m awake.’ He said lazily while his eyes remained closed. You rolled your eyes before pushing his shoulder with a bit more of strength, and that finally made him look back at you. ‘I’m awake! Fuck, I’m awake. Jesus Christ, you really like hitting me, don’t you?’

‘Well, you earn it quite easily, you stupid idiot— Why are you laughing?’

He took a deep breath as he looked back at you with the same annoying smile. The silence was tense as he stretched slowly, never taking his eyes off you while you were still so close you could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the layers.

‘Can I touch you?’ He suddenly asked. It wasn’t blunt, really, just a bit unexpected as his eyes lingered on your dress before they looked up at your face again.

The heat rushed to your cheeks immediately, and that angered you in ways that you refused to acknowledge as you looked back at him.

‘Touch me?’ You repeated softly, almost offended as you slightly moved back. ‘Touch me how?’

Your eyes never left his as he took another deep breath and the hand he rested on your waist drew a trace down the curve of your hip. You stood very still as his hand slid under your dress, fearing that any move you could possibly make would ruin the tension and spoil the excitement you were feeling right now. This was wrong, it was Steve, for God’s sake,but—

‘Like this.’ He whispered when his thumb stroked your upper thigh, so very close from your centre. Then his hand tentatively stroked the hem of your underwear, before it confidently found the warmth of your crotch over the fabric. ‘Here.’

You let out a choky breath as his fingers wandered, stroking softly, as if he was getting to know you. You remained on the same position, not quite opening your legs for him but trying to understand where was all this coming from.

‘Why?’ You asked foolishly, still not able to show your real emotions. The anticipation, the excitement. You knew you were getting wet every second that his fingers brushed over your skin, and surely he did too, because the sides of his mouth were lifting slightly.

He shrugged, looking down at you as his fingers ventured a bit more daringly, finding shelter on that little, sweetly tight gap between your thighs. ‘You seem tense.’

You swallowed hard, clenching your jaw just slightly, because you didn’t know how not to be tense. You didn’t know how to not to be this: the perfectionistic, overachiever kid that everyone in town considered an uptight prissy. Just the thought made you even more anxious.

You looked down then, maybe reconsidering why he was doing this or if you were even cool enough to enjoy it, when he searched for your eyes. You only looked up when his nose brushed against yours, encouraging and so very patient.

‘Can I help?’ He asked softly, his fingers’ touch was even gentler now, almost soothing as he rubbed his fingers against your wet underwear.

You were unable to reply, either by the heat on your cheeks, the rising temperature of the rest of your body or the wet patch that was staining your panties by his sweet yet bold proposal.

So instead, you just opened your legs slightly. It seemed like such a simple gesture had a big effect on him, because when his palm was able to cup your pussy fully, his forehead fell softly on yours while a deep sigh came out of his mouth.

He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the upper hem of your underwear. Unable to deal with the anticipation any longer, your own hand sneaked under the skirt to start pulling the soaked fabric. As if your initiative was relieving, he pulled the other side down to your knees, always keeping his eyes on you. Always careful that he was doing the right thing, that you weren’t just yielding.

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky, skin. All those nerves sensitive and tender just for him, and something impulsive took over you as your head fell back by the pleasure. A guttural, helpless sound left your mouth when his fingers stroked your clit softly. His fingers were soaked by you, and yet it seemed like that wasn’t enough, by the way he ventured further until the base of his palm was rubbing against your core too.

You were maybe too responsive, your hands found his shoulders to hold on to him, pushing down while you moved your hips.

‘Moan.’ He whispered, it wasn’t an order, but it did feel as if he was giving you permission. Maybe he had noticed how hard you were trying not to be loud, by the way he chuckled softly. ‘I won’t judge. Wanna hear you.’

You shook your head softly, shutting your eyes hard as you repressed yet another whine.

His hand started moving a bit more enthusiastically, finding a circling pattern that excited you in a completely different way. The sudden stimulus made you release a choking breath, and only then, when he saw how your lips parted and your eyebrows arched, he leaned in.

Steve’s lips were surprisingly soft. Despite the strong taste of whiskey, despite the dislike you felt from each other, despite your limited experience, he was so very tender and soft.

This was maybe what messed up with your head, because all you had ever known when it came to Steve Harrington was determined roughness. Pushing his arm, rolling your eyes, laughing at him. And yet here was his delicate tongue tingling your palate; his sloppy lips sucking on yours, while his soft fingertips were buried deep in between your legs. And all you wanted to do was bite him.

And when you did, his hand started moving faster, his lips became much greedier. You moaned shamelessly, and the thought of being unable to be tender or sweet as him was starting to haunt you. It was impossible, you’d never be able to show this much need without fucking it up in the process. Not as he was. But did you have to?

‘Slow down.’ He said with a raspy voice when you grinded more violently against his hand. You dig your nails on his shoulder wishing you’d left marks on him, hoping that you were.

You were searching for that extreme, unreachable release. Daring to open your eyes, you looked right at him to let him see what you were capable of. With Steve, things had always been about proving yourself. His eyes had turned almost absent as he looked at you, the way you were almost convulsing on his hand, the contradiction of the anticipatory ectasis taking over your innocent face.

‘Slow. Down.’ He said between his teeth. This time it did sound like an order, worse than that, his voice had taken that tint from the day you caught him skating drunk.

He was mad at you, maybe, but you couldn’t care. One of your hands dived into his hair and you dared to pull a little bit, softly at first, but the more you moved the more you wanted to turn into a sweet mess on the palm of his hand. You wanted him to feel your pussy pounding, you wanted him to keep looking at you with those lost pupils. As if you were the only thing worth looking at in this cosy room, in this boring world.

Then you pulled harder, letting out an animalistic sound as you started feeling it from your belly. Hot and nice. His fingers were soaked, his skin so warm and eyes glossy as you kept looking back at him with challenging eyes.

‘Slow down, fuck.’ He repeated, the obscene noise of your hips moving and the mattress squeaking worsened the situation. ‘M tryin’ to—’  

You finally released a chocking breath as the walls of your pussy started pulsing, your breaths got mixed with little high-pitched noises, and the sweet orgasm hit you as you pulled his hair once again. This time shamelessly, and so carelessly you heard his chocked complaint in the distance.

The embarrassment rushed to your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, looking down as he helped you lift your panties again. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as he unleashed from your embrace to lay on his back and you waited for something, anything. But he remained quiet, looking at the ceiling as a soft frown took over his face.

You licked your lips, half-confused, half-disappointed, before you turned your back towards him again. The sky was navy outside, but the snow made it all seem much brighter. You knew down there the frozen pond waited for you, and on the other side of it was Steve’s house, with his empty bed that waited for him.

But he wouldn’t make it, not tonight. A few minutes later, his arm wrapped around your waist. This time more carefully, and gentle. He pulled you in, and you let him. When his lap barely touched your ass, there wasn’t a trace of his excitement, and that somehow relieved you, confused you and offended you at the same time.

But you just stayed silent.

He took a deep breath while his nose dived in your hair and you let him. He fell asleep like this, in your bed, and you let him.

Steve was woken up by the sun on his face. He growled and stretched on the bed searching for a body that he knew had been laying next to him during the night, but the space next to him was empty.

When his eyes opened slightly, he recognised your room. The blue dress was on top of your desk and a towel drying on the chair next to the window. He took a deep breath, hugging the pillow where you head had been and rolling onto the other side to get a few more minutes of sleep.

It could’ve been a couple of hours later when he woke up out of sudden. He felt embarrassed and a bit disoriented as he sat up, realising that the sun was much lower than where it had been the first time he woke up.

You were still not in the room, but there was movement downstairs. He stood up from the bed to find the distant figure of your body skating outside. Steve stayed there, looking at you sliding around the pond elegantly, like a lonely swan swimming on a silver lake, and he thought about had happened last night.

The morning was quiet, the snow around the pond glistened and the cold winter sun tinted everything in your room with a blue hue as he stood there with his hands in his pockets, wondering how was it possible, that you could look so delicate from afar and then yet still be so rough whenever he touched you.

After a while, he made his way downstairs, feeling his stomach rumbling and his head pounding by the ghost of a hangover.

‘… Have no idea what to do with her.’ Steve heard the sound of your mother’s voice in the kitchen when he made it downstairs. ‘She doesn’t want to do things with me anymore. I feel… I feel weird. Like, I’m unwanted.’

Steve lingered on the corridor, not sure about why he was suddenly so interested in your parents’ conversation about you.

‘C’mon, honey, she’s just a bit reserved.’ Your dad started. ‘She’s always been… shy, and overly independent. Maybe you’re reading too much into this.’

‘You say that because you’ve always indulged her too much.’

‘Honey—’

‘You have. You do.’ She complained. ‘For her you’re the— the cool parent, the “chill dad”. I’m not. But what does that leave me with? She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore! No Christmas shopping, or charity activities, or salon appointments… I used to be the one who went to try tutus with her, remember? She hasn’t even mentioned anything about that and I’m pretty sure she must know already when the appointment is—’

‘Honey,’ Your dad interjected again. ‘She’s an adult. You need to let her be.’

‘She’s playing Odette!’ She snapped. ‘She’s wanted to be Odette since before she even had pointe shoes, before she could even walk. And she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me, her mother.’

‘Just give her some time.’

‘Maybe I should’ve told Linda and Ronald not to ask her about it in front of everybody.’

Steve held a breath at the mention of his parents, wondering about what to do. If he should interfere, if anything he thought about the situation was important enough to argue.

‘Honey.’

‘They put her on the spotlight.’ She said. ‘That’s not good for her, she doesn’t know how to deal with it. And… maybe it wasn’t the right time.’

‘The right time for what?’ You dad asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She pondered in silence for a second. ‘For Steve. I mean, did you see his face when they mentioned it?’

Steve started walking loudly towards the living room then, making himself heard around the house as your parents suddenly turned silent.

‘Good morning.’ He said shyly as he walked into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry I overslept; I didn’t mean to abuse my stay.’

‘Oh, good morning, honey.’ Said your mother with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘Don’t worry about it, you know this is your home.’

‘Do you want some breakfast, son?’ Asked your dad searching for a cup in the cupboard.

‘I’d, uh, love to.’ He admitted politely with a shy smile, he still didn’t know how he felt about your parents talking about him or his family. ‘But I have a shift starting in half an hour and I still need to shower and search for my vest.’

‘I’ll pack something for you, then.’ Said your dad without waiting for an answer.

Steve observed him grab a container, and before he could protest your dad was already filling it with scones.

‘Are we seeing you at dinner tonight?’ Your mother asked sweetly.

‘Uh…’ He couldn’t reject the scones that your parent handed him, feeling a bit uncomfortable out of sudden. Maybe you had been right, and all this friendship thing between them and his parents was getting a bit out of control. ‘Unfortunately, I close tonight. Robin’s taking the evening off. But I’ll be there next week.’

You dad tsked. ‘That’s a shame. It’s football night.’

‘S a pity, sir.’ Steve agreed, feeling he needed to leave the house soon, or he’d go crazy. ‘But I’ll be there next week.’

‘Have a good day, honey.’ Said your mom as he walked towards the kitchen’s door.

‘Thank you.’ He said without looking back before closing the door behind him.

You were still on the ice, and he wondered how long you had been there as he walked the distance towards his house in silence. The cold was burning his cheeks, and you were only wearing gloves and leg warmers over your leotard and tights.

He looked down at his feet when you spun on the ice flawlessly, and he couldn’t help but clench his jaw softly. Some things just came so easy to you, and he wasn’t really sure if you deserved them.

The first week of rehearsals went so quick that when you made it home on Friday night you could feel a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Training had been ruthless with your body and mind. You had thrown away your ballet shoes mid-week and replaced them with a new pair on Thursday, and no matter how long you had spent banging them against the floor, they still hadn’t been broken in. That was messing with your balance and the overall quality of your performance, it was driving you insane.

That’s why you couldn’t care less about having dinner at the Harrington’s as long as that meant that you were fed and in bed by eleven. You opened the door carefully, hearing the noise of cutlery and chatter as you dropped your bag on the entrance, got rid of your coat, and walked inside.

‘Hey!’ Mr Harrington was standing next to your parents, refilling their wine glasses with a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘Come in.’

‘Hi.’

Steve was sitting next to the only empty seat, and you were looking for Robin everywhere, but she didn’t seem to have been invited tonight. That somehow disappointed you as you stood next to your mom’s chair, smiling shyly at everyone.

‘Hi, sweetie.’ Said your father.

‘Was there lots of traffic?’ Asked your mother looking up at you. You were only about ten minutes late, but she didn’t seem very happy about it.

‘I had to make a quick stop at the mall to get some more tights.’ You explained simply without looking at her as you made your way towards the empty seat. ‘And then I went home to change.’

‘Have you tried on your costumes yet?’ Steve asked as soon as you sat down.

You placed the napkin on your lap as Mr Harrington poured some wine on your glass, wondering why he was asking that or why did he even care.

‘Not yet.’ You simply said, feeling your mother’s eyes on you. ‘They took my measurements today so the first fitting should be next week.’

‘Isn’t that too close from the show?’ Your mother asked, worried.

You shrugged as you grabbed a spoon to get some potato salad. Steve’s stare was on you, but you were too tired to indulge the awkwardness between you two. That and maybe the fact that you didn’t want to tell your mother the costumes were practically ready.

‘You need to let us know when the tickets go on sale.’ Proceeded Mrs Harrington. ‘I’d love to take my goddaughter with me, you know Maxine, right?’

You nodded politely as you took a bit of your food. ‘I know Max, yeah.’

‘We’ll she’s training with Dolly Higgens at the Hawkins theatre.’ She proceeded, putting her fork aside before she sat down better. ‘I know she’s no Miss Cécile, but I was wondering if you could give her some pointers for her Sleeping Beauty audition next Monday?’

‘Oh.’ You stayed quiet for a second before smiling. ‘I didn’t know she was auditioning for next season. She could’ve tried The Nutcracker.’

‘I think she was a bit intimidated by the idea.’ Mrs Harrington said, satisfied by your excitement. ‘But I told her about you, and she said she’d really appreciate it if you’d help her prepare for the audition. As long as that’s not a problem for you, honey. I know you’re very busy right now.’

‘It’s no problem.’ You giggled, excited for the first time in a long while. ‘Of course I’d like to.’

‘I told Steve he could drive you and Max to the city as a thank you for your help.’ She said satisfied. ‘That way I won’t feel like we’re taking time from you.’

‘Oh.’ This time you looked down, trying to conceal your discomfort. ‘That— I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just happy to help.’ You turned to Steve then. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

An uncomfortable silence took over the table then. Steve didn’t say anything as he extended a hand to grab his glass of wine. When you looked up, your dad hid his eyes from you while your mother cleaned her mouth and proceeded to ask Steve how his shift had been.

The dinner progressed as it usually did after that, but you felt a strange feeling of inadequacy as your parents talked about work and Steve complained about his manager Keith, and your mother started planning some new event for the town with Linda. Yet you still ate your food, said yes to dessert and listened absentmindedly.

‘Don’t worry about that, sweetie.’ Linda’s hands on your arms surprised you when you started taking the plates from the table. Everyone had moved to the living room, and you had thought that by helping, your parents might forgive you for leaving early. ‘I’ll get Steve to clean all this later tonight.’

You opened your mouth to say something, but she didn’t let you speak.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs to get those tapes Stevie got for you, huh? You go watch some movies together, we’re just gonna play a record and talk.’

Before you knew, you were leaving the living room feeling like she had probably dismissed you in a polite manner, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel offended.

You climbed the stairs fighting the need to roll your eyes, wondering how things would’ve been if you had chosen college rather than sticking to dancing. You’d be having a normal life away from the Harrington’s and Hawkins, maybe your parents would miss you enough to visit you on weekends and you could just spend time as a family the way everyone else did.

The door to Steve’s room was briefly open, but you still knocked before coming in. In the darkness, your eyes lingered on the wall next to the door where once there had been hockey trophies and now there were framed pictures of his friends and piles of records and VHS tapes. You’d probably missed that detail last time you were here, when you had found him struggling with his knee on the same spot where he was sitting comfortably now. His eyes lifted when you closed the door behind you before they went back to the TV in front of him.

‘Your mom said you had some tapes for me?’ You asked shyly. ‘What was that about?’

‘They’re on my desk.’ He said without looking at you.

You bit your lip as you walked to the other side of the room where the desk was. On the surface there was a copy of the 1980’s production of Swan Lake by the New York City Ballet, where Merrill Ashley had played the lead. The other one was a version from 1975 by the National English Ballet that Merle Park starred.

‘These are very hard to find.’ You admitted loudly before looking behind your shoulder with a smile, but Steve kept his eyes on the TV, ignoring your comment.

You walked back with the tapes in your hands before sitting next to him. Fixing your skirt as you rested your back on the side of the bed, you wondered how you could thank him without making things more awkward than they already were.

‘How was training today?’ He asked without looking back at you.

‘Honestly?’ You chuckled. ‘It was miserable.’

Your confession was what made him finally look back at you, but you didn’t seem stressed, just very tired. The sight of your puffed eyelids reminded him of your relaxed face when you slept, he didn’t get to see you like that as often as he wished.

‘Surely not as miserable as rewinding tapes for four hours.’ He joked before speaking softly. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, my new shoes are still breaking in and Priscilla Webber spent the whole day watching my développés like a hyena looks at a baby antelope.’

He grabbed one of the cases and took the Merle Park tape out of it.

‘Is she your understudy?’ He asked as he put the tape inside the VHS under his TV.

‘Yep. It’s usually the other way around, I’ve always been the one ready to cover for her.’ You made a short pause when the opening credits rolled up. ‘I don’t think she’s ever been anyone’s understudy.’

He chuckled as he sat back next to you.

‘Sounds like she’s having a hard time.’

‘I fucking hope she is.’ You recognised. ‘She’s unbearable.’

Steve’s eyes stayed on the TV for a few seconds, a subtle frown took over his face as he looked at the screen but didn’t really watch. The reflection fell on his face tinting his cheeks blue and purple at times. After a few seconds of silence, he finally looked back at you.

‘Do you always talk about each other like that?’

‘What do you mean?’ You laughed softly as you rested your cheek against the bed.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Aren’t you two members of the same company? Like, you’re putting a show together, right?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not friends.’ You said amused. ‘No one really is, to be honest.’

‘Well, but you’re like co-workers. Kinda. Like, in a normal situation you’d be decent with each other at the very least.’

You looked back at him with a tendered smile on your face, and he didn’t seem to like that very much by the way his cheeks were blushing under the TV glow. You weren’t really offended by his logic, just merely entertained.

‘This is not a team, Steve.’ You whispered patiently. ‘If something happens to me, Priscilla gets my spot and the world goes on.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

You shrugged. ‘People work really hard to get to dance at a professional level. It’s expensive, time consuming, and once you turn twenty-five people start treating you like you belong in a nursing home.’

‘Sounds like hell if you ask me.’ He said after a while.

‘Good thing I didn’t.’ You replied looking back at the TV.

Your eyes got lost in the beautiful silhouette of Merle Park as she appeared on the stage like a pale silver ghost. Her make up was at least ten years outdated now, but she still managed to look elegant and perfect.

‘It’s just so fleeting.’ You admitted out loud. ‘The rush of satisfaction when you’re there. There’s also the fear of not getting it right, of giving in to the pain, but, I don’t know. There’s something so humanly beautiful about attempting to reach perfection even when you know it’s impossible. And there’s something… euphoric about proving what your body is capable of.’

‘There are easier ways of doing that.’ He said resting his head against the bed next to you. His knees had flexed just enough to brush yours, and you craved for the texture of his soft fingertips under your skirt. He was smiling, softly, but still cheeky.

‘Yeah, but they’re not all beautiful.’ You murmured.

He looked back at you, studying your face seriously before whispering.

‘You don’t think what we did the other day was beautiful?’

He looked so small then, as he waited for your answer, and you wondered about what to say while your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You shrugged shyly, feeling that no answer would be good enough, because you didn’t want to tell him that you had thought about it every night this week. You had thought about it a lot.

‘Come here.’ He said patting his lap.

And you did, because somehow you were listening to the Overture for the thousandth time today, but this time it felt like that distant day where you watched the ballet when you were seven. This time it felt as if it had a meaning, as if the ethereal notes had a complete different effect on your body.

‘Tell me,’ He whispered in the dark as his fingers dived under the chiffon skirt of your dress. His greedy hands cupped your butt cheeks before he pushed you down, and your centre hit the erection under his jeans. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? Huh?’

‘We clearly have different concepts of beauty.’ You joked, but the amusement died when he started guiding your hips and your clit was being nicely pressed against his hard cock.

You released a sigh of relief when you started getting wet, throwing your head back as he was learning you did when something really excited you. He lifted one of his hands and softly pulled down the strap of your dress before kissing your shoulder. Every hair on your skin turned into a goosebump, and your fingers sneaked under his sweater, scratching the skin of his back as you rubbed yourself a bit harder against him.

You heard a distant complaint coming out of his lips, but it could’ve been a moan as you pushed yourself against him and your mouth searched for his neck. The TV started playing the familiar notes of the black swan’s pas de deux, melancholic and dark, and so frivolously complicated. He heard you take a deep breath, and you tried to kiss him there as softly as he had pecked your shoulder, but in a matter of seconds you were sucking on his skin while your hips gained speed.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say under his breath. Your hands dived in his hair, making it messy and pulling it a little like you had before. You liked that he didn’t know what to do with you, because you also didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was so hard under the warmth of your lacy underwear, and he smelled so good, and his skin was so soft you couldn’t bear it.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but you hushed him with a violent kiss. Your heart beat much faster when your tongue dived inside his mouth and he blindly searched for a dominance that you weren’t going to give him. A guttural noise left his throat then, and when your hand pulled the neck of his sweater to hold on to while you rubbed yourself on him, something changed.

Steve grabbed your waist more firmly; he pushed you harder and it all turned much clumsier and dirtier after that. The moan that left your mouth encouraged him to explore this, something melancholic and dark that hid in the unconscious corners of himself.  Now he was moving his hips with you, your breaths were getting faster, you were staining his jeans for fuck’s sake. It was as if you didn’t know the concept of patience when it came to sex.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned against his mouth; he was looking at the way you shut your eyes hard as he swallowed your breath, mesmerized by the delicacy of your features despite the violence of your body.

He observed you through it all to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you, but you responded gladly to the increasing pressure, to the hard rhythm. Then you opened your helpless eyes to look at him while he squeezed your butt cheek, his fingers wandered a bit further down to find a sticky mess in between the friction of your bodies, and you pleaded with a soft, exhausted whine.

His eyes didn’t leave your face as you came hard, almost painfully as you trembled in his arms. Your legs wrapped tightly around his sides while you panted on his shoulder, the music had been muted by a buzzing in your ears, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he spoke urgently.

‘Take them off.’ His nose stroked yours, his lips so close from yours you could almost taste every word as his hands slipped inside your underwear. ‘Please, take them off for me. Please.’

Steve’s request was urgent and needy, he couldn’t even wait for you to mutter a response as he was starting to pull down the soaked fabric and you blinked repeatedly in confusion.

It took you a couple of seconds to help him pull down the pale blue panties. His eyes lingered on the way a thin thread of wetness kept connected to your pussy, your legs getting a little bit stained with the clumsy movement. He urgently unzipped his jeans as his eyes were still lost on the mystery under your skirt and yours couldn’t leave his dumbed-out face when he pulled down his boxers.

For the first time since this started your movements were slow and delicate, your knees found a place on each side of his legs while he sat more comfortably, and you placed the fabric on his hand. You couldn’t even breath by the anticipation, and by the funny fear that sat on the pit of your stomach as your eyes fell on his veiny and hard cock.

With the same urgency as before, he wrapped your soaked underwear around his dick and started to touch himself softly, but insistently. Your cheeks couldn’t get impossibly warmer as you observed him in silence, equally fascinated and shyly flattered by his desperation.

‘Touch my face?’ He asked in between breaths, his eyelids getting heavier the more he pumped his dick. ‘Please?’

You realised then, that there was an unbearable distance between your bodies now. Sitting carefully, you lifted your shaky hands towards his face and cupped his cheeks, you thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth before you leaned in to kiss him, not knowing if you were doing it right.

But apparently you were, by the way he sighed under your mouth, by how he shut his eyes hard as you licked his lower lip. If only you’d knew how to help him release his tension, if only you weren’t you, maybe you’d be able to be sweet enough to him.

You tried though, clumsily, testing it all as you pecked the little red bite you had left on his neck minutes earlier. Then you licked it, drawing a line up to his ear with your tongue, letting out a nervous breath that he would’ve loved to swallow.

‘Tell me.’ He whispered, feeling your mouth so close from his ear, resting his cheek against yours. He was sweaty and hot against you.

‘W-What?’ You asked nervously. Somehow you felt embarrassedly naked there, even if he wasn’t touching you anymore, even if you were dressed.

‘Tell me.’ He repeated, begging in a vulnerable whisper. ‘Tell me anything, just— just say something, please. I’m so close.’

What could you say to him? What could you offer him that wasn’t rough and battered? What did he want to hear? That this was beautiful? Would it be honest if you said that? No, he’d knew you didn’t mean it.

But it was, wasn’t it? He was beautiful, you thought as your nose played with his earlobe and you pecked his cheek. His request got you feeling clueless, completely speechless for the first time.

Feeling uncomfortably embarrassed, you moved back to face him. Your nose brushed against his while your hands were still on his face, and you let out a nervous, shaky chuckle as his movements increased speed.

‘I don’t know.’ You admitted softly. ‘I-I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.’

He smiled then, equally tendered and amused by this side of you while he studied your face. Your stupidity didn’t seem to discourage him as he rested the back of his neck on the edge of the bed. His free hand stroked your thigh, still touching himself with a patient smile on his face.

‘Just somethin’ sweet.’ He murmured. ‘Anything you can think of.’

You swallowed hard, fearing that you would finally fuck this up.

‘But I’m not sweet.’ You whispered after a while, totally defeated.

He tsked then, shaking his head softly as he sat better. It had all turned much slow-paced than before, and you thought that was odd, that he couldn’t possibly not be desperate to cum. You were confused by his lack of disappointment as his free hand wrapped around your waist to sit you better on top of him. His forehead rested on yours as you looked away, feeling anxious and stupid.

‘You gave me these.’ He said looking down at the obscene yet flattering image of your lacy, wet underwear around his dick as he stroked up and down. His nose poked yours so you’d look up at him. ‘That was sweet.’

‘Hm.’ You shrugged, grabbing the neck of his sweater with your fist.

‘And you slowed down this time. A little, at least.’ He laughed softly as his lips brushed yours. ‘For me.’

‘Well, I want you to feel good too.’ You admitted softly.

‘Yeah?’ He leaned in, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, getting lost in the warm closeness between your bodies. It was overwhelming, how he managed to get so needy in such a short time. ‘Tell me. How.’

You were breathless at the fact that this was somehow working. You looked down at his fast movements before your gaze fell on his beautiful face again.

‘I just think it’s… nice.’ You giggled, and hated yourself for it, but he smiled with his eyes closed, so it couldn’t have been that bad. ‘Maybe you can keep them and use them again. If you want to think about me.’

‘Do you want me to think about you?’ He asked as his free hand sneaked under your skirt again. He squeezed your bare ass softly, fondly, releasing another deep shaky breath. ‘Huh?’

‘Yes.’ You whispered. The effect of such a simple word made him shut his eyes harder, his lips opening partly but no agony sound coming out of them as his forehead fell on your chest.

Your hands dived in his hair carefully and you couldn’t resist to leave a kiss on his head. He smelled so good, so sweet, so Steve, and the moan that left his mouth tendered you even more. It was loud, as if he was in pain, but you knew he wasn’t.

What took over you then wasn’t animalistic or primal, it was oddly human. You embraced him, hugging him against your chest, hiding his head under your neck as if you were protecting him. You had never protected anyone or anything before, and such a realisation could’ve brought tears to your eyes.

He came hard, by the way he was trying to repress his growls, by how tightly he squeezed your waist and how long he stayed there catching his breath.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as you sat back while he cleaned himself with your underwear before zipping up his jeans. You swallowed hard, feeling the need of crossing your legs as you climbed down of his lap. The TV was still playing the tape, while the soft ethereal music overtook the silence between you.

‘Honey?’ Your mom’s voice from downstairs made you stand up out of sudden.

You fixed your dress as you walked towards the door before you felt Steve’s hand wrapping around your arm. It took you out of surprise when he turned your body back, cupping your face before his lips found yours desperately. His hungry tongue tasted you, licked you, his greedy hands were squeezing your waist again.

You pushed him then, out of habit or maybe out of fear. Steve looked seriously at you, and you felt the anxiety rush to your chest as he took his jacket and walked past you towards the corridor.

‘Oh!’ Your mother’s exclamation made you walk out when she encountered Steve on the stairs. ‘Is everything okay, Steve?’

You were on the top of the stairs now, unable to look at his face as he made his towards the entrance, and your mom stood still with a worried look on her face.

‘Just remembered I forgot to lock the back door at work.’ He said taking his keys from the hook on the wall. He still didn’t look up as he shouted at his parents from the entrance. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You stood on your place, fixing your skirt once again and trying to process what you had done and what had happened before.

‘Is everything okay, sweetie?’ Your mom asked as she looked back at you.

You nodded softly.

‘Yeah. Of course.’ You chuckled as you walked down the stairs. ‘Why wouldn’t it?’

‘It just kind of seems you two got into a fight.’ She said as she followed you back downstairs.

‘Steve and I don’t get into fights, mom.’ You rolled your eyes nonchalantly when you made it to the entrance and picked your jacket and scarf from the rack. ‘We’re not eight anymore.’

‘But he seemed so upset…’

‘We just never seem to get along.’ You shrugged. There was a careless smile on your face but something inside you was unbearably breaking the more you pretended things weren’t wrong. ‘Think I’m gonna go home now, I’ve got a long day at the studio tomorrow.’

You kissed her cheek softly, ignoring the knot on your throat, and then you walked out of the house.

There was no sign of Steve’s car once you closely observed the desolated surroundings of the house. You took a shaky breath in and walked down the steps before walking home in the silent winter night. The moonlight lit the frozen pond like a glistening lighthouse, and for once you allowed yourself to feel lonely.

A snow day in the middle of the second week of rehearsals wasn’t ideal, it was fatal. You had spent the whole morning begging your dad to find an alternate route to the city for you. You promised, promised, promised that if he’d help you pay for a hotel room for the rest of the week, you’d give him the money back as soon as possible, but he reluctantly said no.

So, you had no other option than to grab your skates and spend the morning on the pond as you wondered what to do. You started as you always did, skating in loops for a while before you moved on to more complicated turns. You had just started practicing some harmless jumps that you hadn’t tried for a while, when the noise of chatter and laugh behind you startled you.

The fall was clean, and not too nasty. The heat rushed to your cheeks as you clenched your jaw and stood up while Steve and his friends looked at you from the other side of the frozen pond.

‘Are you okay?’ Max Mayfield was skating towards you now. Behind her, the other four boys that were always accompanied by Steve were putting their skates on.

You cleaned the snow off your butt as you nodded softly, skating in their direction.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said skating past her.

Steve’s eyes never left your face as he realised how that had discouraged Max from speaking to you, but he couldn’t concentrate on that for much longer when you stood in front of him.

‘Steve,’ you said. ‘Not today.’

He let out a sarcastic chuckle with a frown on his face, he was holding his own skates on his hand as he looked back at you.

‘I agree.’ He said walking around the edge of the frozen pond. ‘I’m not arguing with you today either.’

‘Steve,’ You insisted as you skated next to him. ‘I really need the place for myself today. Just give me a couple more hours and I’ll—’

‘I don’t care.’ He snapped, stopping on his tracks. The kids had lifted their gazes at his tone towards you, a few of them frowning in confusion at his sudden change of mood.

‘Steve.’ You said more stubbornly, feeling your fingers almost shaking on either side of you because of how angry and stupid you felt.

‘What!’ He screamed at you. ‘I can’t leave the fucking pond whenever you want to! What are you, five? You parents are home, you’re always complaining ‘bout how they ignore you, well then why don’t you go and leave us the fuck alone?’

You stood there, feeling ashamed under his severe stare as you tried to think about a comeback, when Max spoke softly:

‘There’s no need to be so harsh, Steve.’

‘Yeah, I can say the same.’ He said still looking at you.

‘Right.’ You said looking back at the kids, trying to pick up the last pieces of dignity you still had. ‘The pond’s all yours, guys.’

You walked out of the ice with your skates still on, too mad to even take them off yet. After a few seconds walking towards your house, you took a deep breath and stopped. This was dangerous, you could injure yourself and say goodbye to Odette and Odile if you hurt your ankles or knees. You already had a bruise forming on the side of your leg by the previous fall, and you weren’t going to fuck up things this easily.

You threw the skates away from you as you still stood on the snow barefoot, wondering where the fuck you had left your boots, when a soft tap on your shoulder startled you.

‘Jesus.’ You said turning back to find Max’s shy face in front of you.

‘I, uh, sorry.’ She said nervously. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ You said, a bit confused. Beyond her, the kids had already started skating while Steve was putting his own skates on.

‘I just wanted to tell you that Miss Dolly’s at home today, she might be able to lend you the theatre’s studio.’

‘Your ballet teacher?’ You asked excitedly before thinking about it. ‘Holy shit, you’re so right. Thank you, Max.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She smiled softly. ‘Am I still seeing you this Saturday for the audition thing?’

‘Sure.’ You nodded. ‘Right, I’ll make sure to write it down on my calendar.’

‘Cool.’ She said with a wide smile.

You weren’t able to reciprocate her excitement, but you were happy that she was so enthusiastic about getting better at dancing. It reminded you a little bit of yourself.

‘Cool.’

As Linda Harrington had said, Dolly Higgens wasn’t Miss Cécile, but she had trained in Paris and toured Asia as Coppélia. So, when you knocked the door of her house trying to catch your breath and explained everything to her, she gave you the keys to the old studio where you had once learned the transition from first position to sixth.

The place was warmer than your remembered, but the wooden tiles still creaked the same way they did when you were eight. The old curtains had been replaced, but the barres under your stretching ankle still felt the same as the first time you managed to execute a successful plié.

All your ballet clothes were in the washing machine, so you had to resort to shorts, a sports bra and your leg warmers. You were sweaty when you heard the knock on the door. The noise made you frown, so you kept on moving until you heard the knock again, grabbing your shrug from the floor and wrapping it around you before walking to the door.

‘I came to pick up Max.’ Steve said as he stood on the threshold. He was avoiding your eyes, wrapped in endless layers of wool and cotton while you still caught your breath.

‘Uh, she’s not here.’ You said.

He scoffed.

‘C’mon, just tell her I’m outside.’ He looked at you, annoyance written all over his face as he looked back at you. ‘She asked me to drive her to the movies tonight.’

‘Well maybe she meant—’ But he didn’t let you finish, he just walked into the studio to find the large room empty except for the big speakers and your bottle of water.

‘Max?’ He asked loudly. ‘Max?’

‘Maybe she meant her house?’ You crossed your arms over your waist.

‘No.’ He turned back to look at you. ‘No, she said she’d be rehearsing with you and then I could come pick her up.’

You bit the pitiful smile that was trying to form on your face before shaking your head.

‘Our rehearsal’s on Saturday.’ You simply said.

He shook his head then, growing more tense the longer he spent inside the studio, the longer you looked at him from the other side of the room.

‘She wouldn’t lie to me.’ He scoffed.

You shrugged, closing the door behind you as you walked back into the studio.

‘If you don’t mind,’ you said calmly, taking off the shrug. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

But just as you were about to play the music, he snapped again.

‘What did you tell her?’

You scoffed, knowing that he was just looking for excuses to fight with you.

‘Nothing.’ You said, looking at him seriously. ‘I didn’t have to tell her anything. Maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that Hawkin’s golden boy was treating me like shit this morning.’

‘Oh, please.’ He let out a snorty laugh. ‘You got it well deserved.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ You were more than just offended as you walked towards him, letting out a laugh of disbelief. ‘Steve, you ran away.’

‘You pushed me.’ He said between his teeth.

‘What?’

‘You fucking pushed me.’ He repeated. You could see that his cheeks were turning redder by the anger.

‘You kissed me.’ You said slowly. ‘Steve, my mom almost caught us.’

‘So what?’ He said throwing his hands in the air. ‘Who gives a shit? We’re not kids anymore.’

‘I do, Steve.’ You argued, feeling yourself more and more flushed. ‘I give a shit. I have to deal with her belittling me all the time—’

‘Oh, here we go.’ He rolled his eyes, letting out an exhausted noise before he licked his lips. ‘Seriously, don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?’

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

‘Right. I get why you’d like her to know.’ All your patience had ran out, this time all the anger and frustration were taking over you as your heart beat fast. ‘I guess you enjoy the fact she hasn’t stopped talking about you since your accident—'

‘Do you think I like the fact you’re getting everything I wanted?’ He shouted then ‘When you don’t even fucking deserve it?’

‘Yes.’ You said firmly. As firmly as you had asked him to think about you a week ago. He didn’t get to decide if you deserved this or not. ‘In fact, I think you like the pity, Steve. I think there’s no one in this fucking town that feels as sorry for that accident as I do. Because now everyone fucking pities you except me, and that’s probably why you’re doing this— Why you keep kissing me, and touching me and shit, because you want me to pity you so badly…’

You just couldn’t keep your impulses in, and your arms found his chest easily to push him again, to vent, to throw all your anger at him. But as soon as you did, and you realised he was almost flinching, you couldn’t do it. All you could do was pull him from his shirt and kiss him, you were on your tiptoes, you were sighing hard.

He hesitated, and that made you feel desperate, stupid, small. But then a few seconds after his hands were cupping your ass, his tongue was making his way inside you as he pulled you in. He was leaning in to be at same height as you, the cold surface of the mirror was against your back as his wet lips made their way from your ear to your neck. You could feel him hard against your groin, warm under all those endless layers that kept him away from you.

Your desperate hands got rid of his scarf first, before moving on to his jacket. You were squirming against the mirror, desperately trying to chase his lips, when you felt the warm breath of his laugh against your neck.

‘You’re so bratty.’ He whispered before laughing again.

‘Don’t call me that.’ You tried to said it seriously, but you were sighing, you were melting by the way his kisses were making their way down your chest.

‘Can I taste you?’ He said between kisses, slowly kneeling in front of you. His lips were warm and soft against the hem of your sports bra, and you blinked repeatedly as you looked down at him.

‘W-What?’

His hands had entwined with yours and he only stood straight again to kiss you. You were too stunned to say anything as he pulled you down softly, and you followed him, of course. Your back was against the floor, his mouth on your bare stomach as you felt a sweet, yet terrifying rush of energy run down your spine.

You lifted your waist so he could get rid of your shorts, and you were purposefully avoiding his eyes as you felt the fabric leaving your ankles. His gaze was focused on the side of your thigh, a worried frown taking over his features as his fingers brushed against the bruise.

‘Is this from this morning?’ He asked softly.

You were still trying to catch your breath so all you could do was nod.

‘God, I’m sorry, baby.’ He said before leaning in to kiss it. Just the stimulus had you repressing a moan. ‘M so sorry.’

There wasn’t a good answer you could think of, anything that could’ve left your lips would’ve sounded stupid to yourself. All you could do was shut your eyes hard as he kept repeating soft I’m sorrys while he kissed your thighs, your hipbone, the little curve of your pelvis. You weren’t sure what he was apologising for, and at this point you couldn’t even care.

‘…gentle.’

‘Huh?’ Your fingers were already diving inside his brown locks, waiting for the moment where you could pull them that way you liked to.

The warm breath of his laugh brushed against your covered pussy, and you had to fight the need to roll your eyes at it.

‘Was saying,’ He took your hands then and placed them over your breasts. ‘I’m gonna teach you how to be gentle.’

You blinked a couple of times, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks when he kissed you over your panties before his hands stared to pull them down. His eyes lingered from your face to your stomach, down the trail that led to your pussy as if he was fond of the image in front of you.

‘Lift your bra.’ He said then. ‘And touch yourself softly.’

You were too nervous to roll your eyes or get embarrassed by the fact he was telling you what to do. You did as he said, rolling up the elastic fabric and feeling quite exposed, but too needy to worry about it.

The sides of Steve’s lips lifted softly as you stroked your breasts, the tips of your nipples hardening by the stimulus, a longing sigh stuck on your throat as your eyes never left his. You thought of him the first time he touched you, his murmured I’m proud of you, was it so crazy that you wanted him to be proud of you for this too?

‘I said softly.’ He laughed when you pinched one of your nipples. And you laughed too, shrugging while you still looked at him.

‘I like it.’ You confessed shyly.

He shook his head to himself then, before his hands rested on each side of your legs. You looked down attentively, mesmerized and terrified, until he finally leaned in.

His tongue was warm. Wet. Soft. You were a mess of little noises and gulps as you arched your back while he licked your clit. Your hands softly wandered down, but then you remembered he wouldn’t let you pull his hair, and there were no bedsheets to fist as he started sucking.

You shut your eyes hard, sinking your nails on the skin of your stomach as you panted, too overwhelmed to keep the moans in.

‘Don’t do that.’ Steve said suddenly. You looked down then, finding his lips shiny and cheeks pink, his eyes focused on the harmless little half-moons on your abdomen.

One of his hands grabbed yours, kissing your fingertips before sucking them in the same sensual way he had sucked your clit before. Your eyes couldn’t leave his face as his tongue licked the bottom of your middle finger up to the top, leaving them sticky and wet for you, until he guided that same hand back to your bare, needy breasts.

You were breathless as he resumed his kisses in between your thighs, and you pushed your breasts until all his spit had been perfectly rubbed on your nipples, until you felt completely his.

‘Steve.’ You moaned as you recoiled, trying to find sweet ways to beg him to release you from this misery, but other than his name you didn’t know how to do any of this. The sweetness, the softness of it all.

The thought brought tears to your eyes, and you had to shut them hard and move your head to the side to keep him from looking at you like this. It was better if he thought your choky breaths were due to the pleasure, and not because the words you had said to him were drilling your brain.

‘Open your eyes for me.’ He asked then, and when you did, what you found was your reflection on the mirror, his lips working on you as your legs were lightly flexed, your body all exposed for him. ‘Look at us.’

‘Huh?’ You looked down at him, trying to get rid of that image but at the same time wishing you could cherish it forever.

He smiled again, tendered by your cluelessness, by the sudden shyness that sometimes overtook your face.

‘Do you still think this is not beautiful?’ He asked softly against your pussy. You threw your head back when he dived in again, this time more consistently, with the purpose of eating you, with the purpose of ruining you.

‘Cause I think we’re…’ He sighed, hearing you panting and feeling you squirming under his tongue. ‘Hmm.’

‘Shit.’ You finally moaned, as the feeling built from your stomach and you were moaning, maybe crying a little, you were laughing and cumming deliciously. ‘Fuck.’ You laughed again. ‘W-What the fuck.’

You were still catching your breath as he sat up, and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly too, his eyes falling on your uncovered breasts for a second before he looked away. You took it as a sign to pull the fabric down, finding yourself more exposed than you had ever felt in front of him.

He grabbed your underwear and the silent question of if he’d ask to keep them lingered between you. Yet your eyes stayed on his puffy lips as he pulled your panties up through your legs and you let him, lifting yourself so he could place them perfectly, then doing the same with your shorts.

The silence was awkward when the heat and the sweetness died down, tensions from the previous argument resurged in between you two. You sat down as he stood up, putting your shrug back on and playing with its sleeves. Then you felt the need of saying thank you, I’m sorry or please stay.

‘Guess I’ll see you around, bratty.’ He nodded at you. You guessed he was supposed to sound cold, but his lips were shiny, puffy, red. And you wondered if he could still taste you.

‘Sure.’ You murmured, hugging yourself as you heard the door close.

On Monday you climbed out of your car feeling achy and restless. What was supposed to be a resting weekend turned out to be a couple of days of training with Max nonstop. She was better than you thought she would be, and just as stubborn and perfectionist as you were at her age. So, when you figured that spending two days with Max at Dolly Higgens’ studio would save you from another dinner with the Harringtons, you told her you’d help her get the role no matter what.

Steve had driven her to the city for her audition. You knew this because Max had told you several times that it wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to join them on Monday morning. It shouldn’t have caught you by surprise then, when you saw him on the theatre’s lobby as you walked in with your dance bag.

Max was queuing for registration as you walked past them quickly, lifting your hand in the air as a quick, subtle hi. She waved back at you enthusiastically, while Steve looked at you with a careful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Good luck.’ You said waving again, before you got lost on the hallway that led to your studio.

A few hours later you were still achy and more tense as you sat down to have a snack.

The forecast for the last week of rehearsals didn’t seem too good. You had been shouted at before, and it was normal to have disagreements with other dancers, but it was obvious that everyone was as nervous as you.

Miss Fyodorova, the ballet mistress, had been constantly repeating you not to tremble, and the more she did the more you did, and the worse it got the easier it was to lose your balance. You had to force yourself to look at your eyes in the mirror to avoid getting distracted, but somehow you were able to see everything you were doing wrong with your pirouettes and it all got so tense and ridiculous everyone was sent to lunch earlier.

The door to the dressing room opened behind you, but you didn’t look back as you took an absent bite of your protein bar. Once again you tried to read the same paragraph from your novel when you heard Priscilla Webber’s voice behind you. 

‘And this is the dressing room. I think I can check if I can show you my costumes.’

You looked behind your shoulder then, because you knew that what she meant was your costumes, though you knew that in a normal show she played one of the Baby Swans. Priscilla was accompanied by an old woman, and the tension on your face dissipated when you noticed the way the lady was looking at the room in fascination before her eyes fell on you.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly.

‘Hi.’ Priscilla said, not too amused by your interruption. ‘This is my grandma.’

‘Hello.’ You were suddenly standing up and offering your hand and your name.

She took it kindly. ‘And who are you playing?’

You looked at Priscilla then, almost searching for her approval, or asking if you should lie. If maybe you should’ve humoured the lady a little bit and tell her that you were his granddaughter’s understudy and not the other way around.

‘She’s Odette, grandma.’ She said ignoring your gaze on her. ‘And Odile.’

‘How wonderful.’ Her grandmother said.

You were about to say thank you when she carefully placed the palm of her hand under your chin, looking at you closely.

‘You’re perfect.’ She said.

‘Excuse me?’ You chuckled.

‘For the role.’ She smiled. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘T-Thanks.’ You said softly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried not to look at Priscilla.

She didn’t seem bothered, though. Both of them stayed on the room for a little longer as you stood awkwardly next to your chair, feeling that your hands were sweating cold.

‘It was nice to meet you.’ She said before walking out, Priscilla was standing on the entrance as she looked at you behind her shoulder. ‘I will see you on the show this Friday, dear.’

‘It was nice meeting you too.’ You lifted a hand in the air.

The old lady finally got lost behind the door and you bit the inside of your cheek as you got lost in your thoughts.

‘Why are you being so weird?’ Priscilla said once her grandmother left.

‘I’m not being weird.’ You murmured. ‘I’m just… I don’t know, nervous.’

You sat down then, feeling her eyes on you through the mirror as you picked your book once again.

‘I know that you wanted to tell her.’ She walked towards you. ‘I don’t need to lie about being the understudy.’

‘Okay.’ You said after a while.

‘Specially just so you can feel better about yourself.’

‘Fine.’ You turned the page without knowing what you had just read exactly, but you were trembling again, and you couldn’t stand it.

‘Though it does makes me feel kind of good to know that you can’t even get your family to visit you.’

You shut the book then, grabbing your things to leave the dressing room.

‘I’m not doing this today, Priscilla.’

‘You should’ve seen yourself back there in the studio.’ She said frustrated. ‘Seriously, you were worse than bad, you were unprofessional.’

‘Fine, well,’ you said standing in front of her. ‘There’s a reason why I get to be bad and unprofessional and still be the lead and that’s the fact that I deserve this.’

‘I deserved this.’ She shouted, you could see her eyes getting progressively glossy as she spoke. ‘I fucking do, and it’s killing me to see you fucking it up!’

‘Well, you don’t have it.’ You said in the same tone. ‘I do. Sometimes, Priscilla, people deserve better than they have, and they still don’t get it. Get over it.’

You left the room feeling a strange sense of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t the first time you two got caught on a quarrel and it wouldn’t be the last, but something about what you said was starting to mess with your breathing pattern. You were thinking about Steve. You were thinking about his accident. Why did you care this much?

Your heart beat fast, and there was a knot on your throat the size of a fist as you walked out towards the parking lot.

It was easy to find his car, you almost had the plate memorised just by how many times you had seen it next to your house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, of course, eyeing a magazine as you made your way towards him almost stomping.

A frown took over his face when you opened the door, not worrying about anything else as you jumped into his arms, sitting on his lap and clashing your mouths as you felt yourself almost panting by the anxiety. You were trying to show him that you needed him, right now and here more than anything else. Because there was no one else that could understand what you were feeling right now as he did.

He let out a noise of protest, pushing you softly before looking back at your face.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked almost angry.

‘W-What?’ You asked confused.

‘Move, Jesus.’ He said lifting you easily as you moved absently to the co-pilot seat. ‘Somebody can see you, and then what? You lose your place as the lead for this shit?’

He closed the driver’s door then, and you were still confused, blinking a couple of times as you wondered what you were doing here, inside his car.

‘Are you stupid?’ He said then, only then you had noticed the little dot of blood in his lower lip, one that you had probably caused by how unexpectedly you had kissed him.

‘I-I’m—’

He hit the top of the wheel with his hand as he tried to check through the windshield if there was anyone around.

‘This could’ve got you fucking expelled.’

You didn’t say anything, instead you lifted a shaky hand towards his face. Your thumb brushed the bloody spot of his lip as you blinked repeatedly again.

‘Did you bite me?’ He said then, before he tried to look at himself in the rearview mirror. The heat rushed to your cheeks then as you sat back uncomfortably.

‘I-I’m sorry.’ You said. ‘I didn’t realise. I didn’t mean to.’

He chuckled, shaking his head as he cleaned his mouth with his hand.

‘Listen,’ He said after a while. ‘This thing between us can’t keep going if you don’t learn to be a little less rough, okay?’

You nodded softly then. It was so absurd that after everything, this was the one thing that was almost bringing you to tears. You felt so stupid out of sudden. Every single day since this had started you had felt stupid.

‘Like…’ He tried to find words, but all he could do was sit back and look through the windshield while he shook his head. ‘You worry me sometimes. Do any of the other guys liked this type of shit? Did they treat you like this?’

This time you felt the blood leaving your face as you hugged yourself in the seat. You looked away, towards the window, trying to remember any words but unable to find any.

‘I gotta go.’ You said softly, trying to open the door on your side, but it was locked.

‘What?’

‘I have to leave,’ Your voice was shaky and you hated yourself for it as you tried to open it again. ‘I have to go back inside, Steve.’

‘But you still have about forty minutes.’ His voice didn’t sound so harsh as he checked on his watch. Steve’s hand landed on your knee as you tried to open the door again, and then he pronounced the next word softly and sweetly, as only he could.

‘Stay.’

‘I don’t wanna stay.’ You said still hiding your face from him.

‘Why not?’ His thumb was stroking you softly and it was unbearable, you kind of preferred it when he was angry.

‘I’m not comfortable here.’ You simply said, feeling that you were losing oxygen every second that you were trapped in this car.

‘W-Why? Was it something I said?’ He tried to touch your arm, but you flinched at his touch, taking your hands to your face. ‘Hey. I’m sorry I snapped, you just caught me off guard, okay?’

‘I really need to leave.’ You repeated, massaging your temples as you felt yourself shaking.

He sat back then, pondering about what to do. You could feel his heavy breath next to you as you hid your face from him, fighting the tears that were about to leave your eyes.

‘I don’t get to ask about other guys?’ He asked softly.

‘No, Steve. You don’t.’ You snapped as your eyes kept focused on the glove compartment because you just couldn’t look back at him. Because you couldn’t tell him that there were no other guys. There had never been any because you were simply not that likable. ‘Can I leave?’

‘R-Right.’ He said, and you heard the relieving noise of the car unlocking. ‘Will I—’

You closed the door behind you, finally feeling the tears that were in your eyes rolling down your cheeks. Hugging yourself, you rubbed your hand against your cheekbone, deciding that you didn’t have time for this right now. You had to clean your face, fix your make up and go back to the studio, because the opening night was in five days.

Who would’ve thought that the secret to reach perfection was a broken heart?

As soon as you had made it inside there was no more trembling or unbalancing allegros, your face was perfectly able to enact Odette’s agony, or Odile’s malice as you blindly looked beyond your body in the mirror.

There was no doubt you deserved the role, despite what everyone else had try to make you believe. And yet when you left the theatre that night, as soon as you walked out to the desertic parking lot, you were in tears again.

In fact, you had spent the whole week crying in your bed, facing away from the sight of the glistening pond where sometimes you could hear the laugh of a few teenagers accompanied by the voice of someone you couldn’t give your heart to.

Nobody noticed, and often you were thankful while other times you wished you could scream loud enough that he could hear it from his house. But your behaviour of rejecting dinner at the Harrington’s or leaving your parents to have plans by themselves wasn’t new. You could call Barb, but last time she had mentioned she had finals on the week of the show. You were more than desolated, and angry at yourself, you were embarrassed.

On Thursday night you walked into the kitchen to find your mother weaving Christmas wreaths. She smiled at you softly as you moved inside to prepare some tea. Outside, the night was navy and illuminated by the reflection of the snow, you could hear noise coming from the pond, maybe Steve was having another party, or maybe it was just the kids.

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?’ She asked.

You turned back, resting your back against the counter as you waited for the water to boil on the kettle. She was distracted, adding glue to a little red ball that she stuck next to a fake leaf.

‘Yeah.’ You admitted. ‘Terrified, actually.’

She laughed softly, still concentrated on the design as you looked back at her.

‘You don’t need to worry, honey.’ She sounded as if she was certain of it. ‘You will be great. You always are. I never have to worry about you.’

You swallowed hard, looking down at your slippers as you bit the inside of your cheeks.

‘Sometimes I wish you did.’ You admitted then. ‘Worry. Louder.’

Your mom turned back then, looking at you for a second as she processed your words.

‘Oh, honey, that’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ You said immediately. ‘I know, mom. I just— Forget it, I just wanted to ask you if you’d do my hair tomorrow, that’s all.’

Your mother sat back then, a confused stare on her face as you bit your lip and tried to play it cool.

‘Honey, sit down.’

You did as she said, wondering if you’d be able to put your thoughts into words if you had the chance to.

‘Okay, so. First of all, of course I’ll do your hair whether you like it or not.’ You let out a small laugh as she lifted a manicured finger to distract herself with some of the supplies that were on the table. ‘Second, I need to know why, my daughter, the best ice skater in Hawkins, hasn’t gone to her favourite spot in the world not even once during the most stressful week of her life.’

‘Second best.’ You admitted under your breath.

‘He can’t be the first after his injury, honey.’

‘Mom.’

She burst out laughing, and you stayed there in shock that she was trying to joke about something so serious right now.

‘How bad was it?’ She placed her hands on yours.

She lifted her eyebrows at the way you were biting your lip, shrugging.

‘That’s it.’ She said standing up. ‘I’m going there.’

‘What?’

‘I told Linda things weren’t good, and I told your father something was definitely up with Steve, and nobody listened to me…!’

‘Mom,’ you said standing up. ‘It was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault? You’ve never had a boyfriend.’ She said taking her jacket and scarf from the counter. ‘And if they think I’m not uninviting them for Christmas after their son—’

‘Mom.’ You softly took the jacket from her. ‘You don’t need to uninvite anyone. It was my fault; I handled it terribly. Steve’s patient. And sweet. And I’m… awkward and rough, and cold—’ 

‘Stop.’ She lifted a finger at you then, her eyes had suddenly turned serious. ‘You’re going to stop now; you’re not talking about yourself that way in front of me. You’re the sweetest girl in this town. Everyone adores you.’

‘That’s not really…’

‘It is.’ She said firmly. ‘And you would know this if you ever attended anything with me. Everyone’s constantly talking about you. Half the town is going to the show tomorrow to see you.’

You stood silent as you looked down to your slippers again.

‘This is not about Steve, is it?’ You bit your lip.

‘Oh, it is about Steve.’ She said then. ‘That boy should’ve showed up with flowers and a card as soon as you two had your disagreement. But instead, he has you skipping dinners and missing daylight and exercise. I don’t like him.’

‘Mom…’

‘I am fond of him. I love that kid. But I don’t really like him right now.’

You took a deep breath, trying to hide your smile as you moved to pour the hot water inside your cup. Moving in silence, you decided that maybe you might prepare a sandwich too, given the circumstances.

‘Do you need help with that?’ You sat down next to her, grabbing the other naked wreath on the table.

She hummed for a while as you two worked together, and you drank your tea and ate your sandwich in silence.

‘I thought you’d be happy.’ You said with your mouth full as you sat more comfortably.

‘About you and Steve?’ She laughed. ‘Well, it had occurred to me before, I just thought you disliked each other way too much. You two are too competitive and I never wanted to encourage you to fight. But clearly, I always failed.’

You laughed softly, focused on the wreath because you didn’t want her to notice the way you were blushing.

‘And, well… his parents always pushed him into the whole scholarship thing, and then he had that terrible accident.’  She shook her head. ‘The poor boy’s had a terrible time trying to find his own path, I feel so sorry for him.’

You took a deep breath, thinking about all those awful things you had said back in Miss Higgens’ studio, knowing that you didn’t mean any of them. Your mind took you back to a year ago, when Steve was at the hospital and you spent the whole month skating alone.

‘It was very bad, wasn’t it?’ You murmured.

She swallowed hard before looking back at you.

‘Yes.’ Then she made a long pause before she grabbed another fake leaf, looking at it carefully. ‘It almost made me want to ask you to quit dancing.’ She sighed when she looked at your confused stare. ‘Sometimes I still want you to. I just wouldn’t be able to see you deal with that level of disappointment if something like that happened to you. I’ve got mixed feelings about it, honey, I’m sorry.’

You bit your lip then, considering her words.

‘But that doesn’t matter. You’ve always been stubborn enough to do what you want whether I like it or not.’ She shrugged. ‘As you should, that’s how I raised you. Look at me.’

A soft laugh left your lips as you looked back at her, feeling your eyes turning glossy.

‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ You admitted softly, hugging yourself. ‘Very much, but I was such an idiot. I was just… so unpleasant and so stupid, mom.’

She laughed softly then, looking back at the wreath.

‘And when have you ever been anything else when it comes to Steve Harrington?’

Steve Harrington had in fact, never felt so unpleasant and stupid in his life. He had dodged Robin’s questions the whole week, he had forgotten to pick Dustin to take him Christmas shopping to the mall, and he had snapped twice at his mom.

It came to him slowly. At first, he had just assumed you were seeing someone else at the same time, maybe some guy from the ballet company, someone from outside Hawkins.

Then he thought there must’ve been something seriously wrong with him, because you never spent this much time away from the pond unless you were sick or away on vacation. He must’ve done something awful to have you avoiding him so purposely.

His friends just assumed he was on a bad mood since soon it would be the first anniversary of the accident, that maybe Christmas had him in this gloomy mood, but when Nancy bumped his shoulder and innocently asked where was the Ice Princess, he just shook his head and started walking back to his house.

A part of him was scared to know what had he done wrong. What if all this time you had been trying hard to like him but never really managed to? What if all those instances in which you threw your head back and your back arched irresistibly at his touch had been just an attempt to please him? Steve knew you could be mean, but were you that mean?

On Friday evening, he stood inside his car longer than necessary, wondering if he should just drive back to Hawkins and throw the bouquet of white roses somewhere far, so no one would ever find out that he had been making a fool of himself.

He had told his parents he wasn’t sure if he would come to the show tonight, some lame excuse about his shifts and Keith. But Robin had made sure that Steve’s schedule was clear, she even double checked that his tank was full, that he was dressing properly. And when she said goodbye on the front porch of the Harrington house, she made him promise to bring back a programme for her.

‘There you are!’ Said his mom as soon as he walked inside the lobby. The heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight of so many acquaintances. So many people were trying to be discreet about the bouquet he held in his hand, except for Max, who was smiling widely at the sight of the white roses.

‘Hi.’ He said with an attempt of a smile.

‘We thought you had changed your mind.’ Said his dad as he put his hands inside his pockets.

‘Sorry, I was just trying to get a tie, and then I… decided I didn’t want to wear one, and… I don’t know. Thanks for waiting for me.’

Mr Harrington nodded, trying hard to repress his smile as the queue advanced and they finally made it to the entrance.

A sudden noise made him turn back, someone seemed to be rushing inside the lobby. A security guard approached the young lady that was panting next to the heavy glass doors, and it took Steve a few seconds to recognise her.

‘Miss, you can’t run in here.’ The man said.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said in between heavy breaths. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I was late; I got a ticket. Here.’

‘Barb?’ Said Steve as he walked towards here.

‘Hi?’ She said confused for a second until she recognised him too. ‘Oh, hi, Steve. God, I’m sorry, I’m all over the place. I literally ran from the train station. I couldn’t get a taxi with all this traffic. What time is it?’

‘We still got about ten minutes before the show.’ He said.

‘Great.’ She said before her eyes fell on the bouquet in his hand. ‘Oh, no. Nononono— Flowers! I forgot the flowers, fuck. I was gonna get her some on the way, but my train got delayed, and— She doesn’t even know I’m here you know?’

‘I figured.’ His face was overtaken by a pitiful smile, the internal debate taking over him as he looked back at Barbara. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you give her these? You know her better than I do, after all.’

‘Are you sure?’ She said as they started walking towards the entrance of the main theatre. Behind the young lady who was checking the tickets, Mr and Mrs Harrington waited along with Max.

‘Of course.’ He said giving his ticket to the girl as he offered Barb the flowers once again. ‘Here.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She smiled then. ‘It means a lot. Really.’

He shrugged before walking to join his family. ‘Enjoy the show.’

‘You too.’ She said offering her ticket to the girl.

‘Why did you do that?’ Max asked when he joined them.

Steve shrugged, hiding his hands inside his pockets as they walked inside the theatre. The place was full of people already chatting softly on their seats, as he followed his parents towards the row where your family was waving from.

Max let out a frustrated sigh as they sat down, and he suddenly felt nervous. He wondered if you were, somewhere behind those intimidating red curtains that kept the stage hidden from the audience.

‘Steve, sometimes you can be very stupid, you know?’ Max said before the lights started to turn dim.

‘Shhh.’ He heard his mother in the dark.

Steve didn’t reply. He curiously leaned in as the orchestra walked in, followed by the applause of the audience when the director appeared right behind them.

The was an unbearable silence then. The director lifted his baton, the curtains opened, and the music started. He could feel Max leaning in next to him too, the sight of a few male ballet dancers, the interpretation of some sort of royal scene in which the characters discussed.

‘Where’s she?’ He whispered then.

‘Shhh.’ Max said.

Steve sat back, releasing a sigh as his eyes wandered around the staging, the fairytale-like music that preluded your apparition made him feel equally anxious and inadequate inside the fancy room. He rubbed his leg as he looked at the male dancers, nervously touching that one spot where he knew there was a scar.

Then the scenery changed. The lights were cold and dim, the stage washed in shades of blue, and about thirty different figures in white tulle costumes appeared, but only you wore the delicate silver tiara on your head that granted you the title of principal dancer.

He swallowed hard at the sight of you that wasn’t you exactly, but at the same time held the innocent air that so often you tried to repress but sometimes it slipped unconsciously. It seemed than in Odette you had found a way to expose it openly though, in the ways your eyebrows arched, and you lamented the day that awful spell had turned you into a swan forever.

Steve stood still as he saw you tiptoe around the stage in elegant movements that he knew required excessive amounts of discipline and control. From the distance, his eyes lingered on your hands and arms, as you tried to hide from the price, as you blushed, as you danced. He found himself smiling at the way your movements resembled those he had seen you try on the ice sometimes, his eyes took in the perfect harmony of the choreography, the urgency of the music… and the hope in your face, that mixed with despair the more the show progressed.

He had the pleasure to just watch you for a few hours, as if you were the graceful figure inside a musical box gifted to him on Christmas day, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted. He was enjoying himself.

But then he saw you turn into something else, that was also you in a more obscure and uncomprehensible way.  Of course, he recognised the piece that played that day in his room, when you had so beautifully turned into nothing as your warmth rubbed against his. He couldn’t help to hold onto his seat when you appeared wearing a black version of your tulle dress. Your movements were still impeccable but much more calculated, hiding a certain malice he had familiarised with through glimpses you let him see, but not in such a shameless manner.

The prince lifted you and held you as if you were a leaf, while Steve thought of your mouth, of your hands in his hair, of the weight of your body on his. He swallowed hard at this other version of you, that was not scared of embodying this elegant violence that took over Odile’s body as she stole the only precious thing Odette had left.

He held his breath when he saw you appear again as the poor, desolated Odette who prepared herself to give in to the sorrow of heartache. It was as if the whole audience stayed breathless with him, while the orchestra’s symphony turned progressively darker, ethereally distressing and your own innocence mixed with a doomed melancholy that he knew was yours and only yours. He knew then that you understood loneliness in a way probably not a lot of people did. And yet you were here, selflessly descending into madness in the most delicate and artistically delicious way in front of everyone. The disturbing last notes of the Moderato echoed through the theatre and Odette fell into a painful death in front of him. And then you were gone.

He was still getting used to the lights when they all walked out towards the lobby and his mind was still trapped inside that dreary, foggy stage where your ghost had danced for about two hours. Max kept pulling his sleeve, asking him if he had liked the show and Oh, wasn’t it so sad? Wasn’t it so sad how fate kept people apart in fairytales?

All Steve could do was nod absently as he tapped his shoe against the red carpet of the lobby while everyone waited for you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he saw Barb talking to your parents next to the exit. She was still holding the flowers he should’ve given you right after you left the show; with your hair still up a bun and your sparkly make up still on. In another life, you would’ve jumped into his arms right after and he would’ve wrapped you in a hug like a precious thing. He would’ve told you how proud of you he was. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt the insides of his throat closing, the knot of his stomach growing, and the blood leaving his face.

‘I think I’ll see you guys at home.’ He turned to his dad then.

Mr Harrington stared at his son for a long beat before taking a quick glance at the place where your parents waited. Steve thought that for a second he had figured him out, he probably had already if he was smart enough, but he just couldn’t talk about it. Not here, at least.

So, all his dad could do was nod carefully. Steve returned the glance; he was saying thank you, he was saying I’m sorry. As he had so many times before during the last year.

‘Where’s he going?’ He heard the voice of his mother as he made his way out towards the parking lot, but he couldn’t stay. He knew he couldn’t.

The blanket of snow that fell on Hawkins overnight glistened in the quiet morning of Christmas Day. You woke up early, feeling rested for the first time in forever, but you still stayed in bed for a little while, looking at the way the sunlight reflected on the distant snow.

One year ago, you had woken up to the awful news of Steve’s accident. It had happened around lunch, while you slept through a hungover in the living room after spending the whole night watching movies with Barb. You heard the phone in the distance, you mother picked up, and when she gasped, loudly and urgently, you got up disoriented.

Now everything was quiet. Your parents were probably still asleep while you ate your cereal leaning on the counter. They had driven Barb to her parents’ late after dinner last night, when half the town went to Enzo’s to celebrate your success. It had been nice to be the centre of attention, to receive flowers and cards and enjoy the praise after all the hard work. Still, you had to try hard to keep your eyes away from the empty seat next to Max the whole night. Many times your eyes fell on the restaurant’s doors, hoping that maybe he’d walk in with a forgiving smile, but it didn’t happen, and you went to bed feeling in your heart that things were really over before they even began.

That feeling still accompanied you as you looked back behind your shoulder to find the white landscape of the desolated pond through the window. You hadn’t gone skating in a week, but somehow the idea still didn’t seem appealing; maybe you were just tired, maybe in the last few weeks something had changed in you. You felt much more grown, less childish and impatient than before. Sad.

The nostalgia didn’t leave you the whole day as you helped your mother with the cooking and your father lit the chimney. The snow slowly melted as you opened presents, the house filled with the smell of roast and cinnamon, and when your dad took out a bottle of his finest whiskey and the guests started arriving, you excused yourself to get changed upstairs.

It took you a while to get the courage to leave your room. You stroked the front skirt of the black dress as you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering if the hair updo was too much, if you were too much. Maybe you would avoid the drinking tonight and stay in the shadows of the living room. Maybe all that attention from the day before had left you drained.

You walked down the steps slowly, carefully trying to peek through the bannisters to see who was downstairs. A few of your father’s coworkers, some women that were part of the knitting club your mother attended, Nancy Wheeler’s parents…

No. It was too much, you were about to walk back into your room when Linda Harrington appeared through the corridor.

‘There she is!’ She seemed excited at the sight of you. Her glass of wine was half empty and most of her lipstick was gone, so you assumed she had at least downed half a bottle. You laughed shyly, making your way down as she extended a hand towards you. ‘Our little swan! I still can’t believe how wonderful you were last night.’

Mrs Harrington hugged you from your side fondly as you walked towards the living room together. You recognised a few joyful people from the Fishing Association, and you tried to smile and wave as the noise of chatter and Christmas music made you flushed and a little bit overwhelmed.

It was very warm inside, yet you still rubbed your arms as you looked around the room, maybe looking for your parents but really just looking for him. But Steve wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. He hadn’t come. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t come.

You blinked your tears away as you discreetly made your way back to your own room, passing through a few people that were chatting on the couch, until you made it back to the entrance. And then you stopped in your tracks when you saw the familiar silhouette of Steve Harrington sitting down at the bottom of the stairs with a glass in his hands.

He absentmindedly looked up to find you standing on the living room’s entrance. His eyes went to your hands when you tried to pull your sleeves over your fingers out of habit, but your dress didn’t have any. You felt naked.

Steve looked down at his glass again, and you finally got the courage to walk and sit down next to him. From here, the party sounded like a distant dream; the sound of laughter and chatter were like a forgotten memory, the clash of cutlery and glasses overshadowed by the music while the tense silence sat between you two.

‘Merry Christmas.’ You said softly after a while.

His lips lifted subtly as his eyes still stayed on the drink in his hand. He was about to take another sip, but then he seemed to have changed his mind and put it aside on the step below. You felt silly when he attempted to look back at you, your eyes fell to your hands immediately while all the blood on your body rushed to your face.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He said as well.

You both stayed silent for a while, avoiding each other’s gaze as the party progressed and everyone inside seemed to get more enthusiastic.

‘Congratulations on the show.’ He said then.

‘Oh, thanks.’ You smiled softly at him before looking away to the decorations on the front door. A few people walked out of the living room to go out smoking then, and you and Steve smiled politely at them before they closed the door behind them.

‘You know,’ You started, still looking at your hands. ‘I never said I’m sorry for not going to see you at the hospital after the accident.’

You heard him laugh softly next to you. ‘That was a year ago.’

‘Still.’ You shrugged. ‘It must’ve been hard.’

‘It was hard.’ He said after a while. ‘…It was also very frustrating to see you skate every morning while I was paralyzed in bed. But I got used to it.’ 

You nodded softly, looking at your hands while you tried to find the words to say what you wanted to say beyond your foolish apologies. You were about to open your mouth when he spoke.

‘I’m sorry.’ Your eyes looked back at him as he studied your face. ‘I never meant to upset you that day at the parking lot.’

‘You didn’t.’ You rushed to say. ‘I was just being stupid. I’m sorry, Steve.’

He frowned then, considering your words before he nodded softly. Silence took over once again and you felt your heart beating against your chest as you swallowed hard. Again, you were thinking of the right words to say what you really meant, something, anything that could mend the situation, but you felt as if thousands of invisible eyes were on you as you kept nervously playing with your hands.

‘You’re not stupid.’

‘Huh?’ You said looking back at him. You must’ve looked so clueless, feeling the back of your neck sweaty.

This time his laugh echoed in the little space you shared, as he looked back at you with a softness he had been holding back during these last agonising minutes filled with small talk.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He said again, this time smiling at you.

‘Oh.’ You said under your breath, thinking that if you looked away then maybe your insecurity wouldn’t be so obvious. You felt worse than stupid, you felt defeated. ‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling pretty stupid the last few days, if I’m honest with you. You see, I…’

His eyebrows lifted subtly as he looked back at you attentively, but your eyes couldn’t hold the sweet brown of his. You turned even more nervous when they fell on his mouth, and then you were looking away again, because your lips had forgotten the rest of the sentence. You tried to hush the voice in your head that reminded you why you sucked so much at this: because you had never done it before.

Steve was about to say something then, but you had finally found some courage, some humble remains of dignity inside you when you decided to speak again.

‘Do you remember,’ You interrupted him with an unintentional aggressiveness, feeling that you had messed up the calm, cosy atmosphere, but well. ‘Do you remember the first time you tried to skate?’  

He sat quietly, maybe remembering, but you weren’t about to let him speak now. You were too hyped to, too terrified to let yourself get carried away by cowardice.

‘I do.’ You proceeded. ‘I-I was seven. It was a year before you moved. I saw these pair of skates at Miss Vinny’s second-hand shop. You know the one that used to be ‘round the old gas station?’ You were almost swallowing every word as you kept going enthusiastically. ‘They were silver and white, and they had stars on them and I just— I went crazy. I needed them.’

Steve laughed softly at your story as you looked back at him feeling more scared every second that passed, uncertain that he knew where you were going, feeling your heart on your throat the whole time.

‘So, you know me, I can’t take no for an answer, and I begged dad, and he got them, of course.’ You kept going. ‘And well, one winter morning he and I went to the pond… I put them on. And I guess I expected to be good at it at the first try, but I had this— this feeling Steve, in my stomach. This awful, sickening vertigo that I felt inside as I stood there. Because I had never done this before.’

He stayed very still as he looked at you, and you swallowed hard as you hoped he’d understand what you meant, you hoped to God that he’d get it.

‘So, I did what I used to do sometimes, what I do still, which is basically throw myself into the unknown and hope for the best and pretend that I’m perfect at something that I’m not.’ You said looking down at your hands, feeling the tears pooling on your eyes and goddammit why were you trying to pull your sleeves again if you knew you didn’t have any? ‘And then I fell.’

You looked back at him, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks while his eyes were desperately studying your face. His soft hands found your arms and they were rubbing them so softly, as if his fingertips had a lifetime of experience stroking the arms of girls who cried on Christmas day.

‘I fell so hard.’ You admitted to yourself before looking back at him. ‘…And the ice was cold.’

And the ice was cold? You shut your eyes then, hiding your face on your hands and then placing your forehead on your knees as you felt that you had made a complete fool of yourself once again.

‘Hey.’ You knew he was smiling even without looking at him, just by the way he said it. His hands found either side of your head before you felt his mouth kissing your hairline softly. His lips still brushed against your scalp as he whispered. ‘Hey. ‘S fine, sweetheart. I think I’m getting where you’re coming from.’

‘I feel so stupid.’ You murmured.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He tried to search for your face with little kisses that started at your crown and followed down all the way to your ear and cheek. ‘You could never be.’

Your teary face came out of its hiding place then, and you looked back at him fully ashamed and flushed. Your fingers found the collar of his sweater as you tried to get distracted with something, because the hem felt just like the sleeves of your shrugs. Because it felt like him, and it smelled so much like him.

‘I hurt you.’ You said softly.

‘For a very valid reason.’ There was a shadow on his smile on his mortified face as he cupped your cheeks. ‘I should’ve done things differently. I didn’t know.’

You blinked a couple of times before rolling your eyes at him.

‘Well, you must have because I never touched you.’ You said almost annoyed.

He laughed then, throwing his head back before he brought your face close enough so his nose could brush yours.

‘I wasn’t even thinking about that.’ He whispered cheekily. ‘Was too busy looking at you.’

You pushed his chest then, like you had so many times before, but this once he was able to get back at you when he pulled you in playfully, and his lips finally crashed against yours. You melted like ice, like honey, like a little helpless snowflake. And as you deliciously sighed under his lips and your grip on his sweater slowly turned into your flat palm over his beating heart, you thought that maybe there was something deeply sweet inside you that had desperately been trying to come out for a while. It just needed a little push.

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[wonderful-writes]

you're a mean one, mr. miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: you and ellie decide the solution to joel's grinch-like approach to the holidays lies in finding him the perfect gift

warnings: jackson era, grumpy old man!joel, significant other!reader, fluff, mild angst, gift giving, christmas at the miller's, so many polaroids

word count: 3.8k

12 days of pedro masterlist - ty to @hellishjoel for organizing this project <3

The Miller household always gets a little tense around the holidays. When the days shorten and snow begins to fall, Joel throws himself into patrols and plans for winter-proofing Jackson, and it's all he'll talk about for months. It's obvious he does it on purpose. 

Christmas is basically an unspoken no-no under his roof, and there might as well be a swear jar for the word if his reaction is any indication. He refuses to acknowledge it and only tolerates the day itself because he knows it makes you and Ellie happy. 

You just wish it made him happy, too. You know it used to. Every year, Tommy regales stories about their Christmases in Austin as kids, and later with Sarah. Joel loved Christmas. 

They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.

All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time. 

Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it? 

You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.

You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.

If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.  

So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.

"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"

Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face. 

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.

"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."

"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.

You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.

"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."

She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.

"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."

"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."

She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here. 

"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.

"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."

You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple. 

He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.

But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion. 

You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.

"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"

Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.

"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."

Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember. 

Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.

"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.  

"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."

She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.

"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."

Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.

No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.

"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.

It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.

She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.

"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.

"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."

She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.

"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.

"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.

A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly. 

Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.

"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.

"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate. 

"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.

"Now." 

ONE YEAR LATER

Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day. 

You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.

In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season. 

Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too. 

Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project. 

By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.

Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment. 

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.

“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television. 

“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”

He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.

“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.

“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.

“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.

“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”

Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation. 

“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look. 

You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.

“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.

“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction. 

Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”

“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.

“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.

“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.

“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”

He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.

“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing. 

And in that moment, the flash goes off.

Yeah, this is the one.

The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.

Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.

And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.

As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter. 

"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest. 

You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.

"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."

He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.

"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.

"You wanna see it?" 

His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.

"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"

That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.

He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors. 

Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book. 

He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you. 

The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.

“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall. 

You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.

He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.

“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.

thanks for reading and happy holidays!

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[wonderful-writes]

Too real

ever since i was a small child i knew i wanted to have an unemployable skillset

[wonderful-writes]

this fear is a part of me (please don't take my hope away)

this lust is a burden that we both share - series masterlist here

pairing: din djarin x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: reader has vulnerability issues but it all works out, din is trying so so hard

a/n: new verse ok ok ok lemme know what y'all think

"It's a nice home," you admit, eyeing the house that's been given to Din, refusing to acknowledge the way he's staring at you. Your heart aches in your chest when you think of it, of him and his son and his home. It's a stark contrast to the cold, quiet, solitary metal of your ship that you know is waiting for you. You spin around to face Din fast enough that he lurches back a fraction.

"Well," you begin, chin lifted and face resolute. "It'll be good for the two of you. Reach out if you need anything," is all you say before you move to walk past him, away from him, beyond him.

Din stops you, though, a hand across your hips to pull you back with a gentleness you shouldn't be surprised by anymore. 

"It's not a home for two," he murmurs, his voice halting. Vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to either of you. "It… it doesn't have to be."

"You want me to stay?" you prompt, your voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. Din nods, his arm tightening around your waist. You look at him pointedly. He sighs.

"Yes. I want you to stay."

"You know what that means, don't you?" You step away from him. His fingers twitch as he reels himself in, stopping himself from reaching for you. "This is… commitment. This is serious. This is different."

"My love…" Din begins, a layer of hurt seeping into his voice that makes you dig your nails into your palms. Always hurting, you think to yourself. You will always hurt him. "I understand commitment more than anything else. This is what I want… with you. With our son." Din's voice is sombre as he speaks, his words prompting you to glance at where Grogu's chasing frogs in front of his new home - in front of your new home, if you let it be.

"Your son," is what you fire back, though, the panic of having something good clouding your rationality - the fear of having something that can be taken away.

"Our son," Din corrects firmly, stepping towards you. You tense like an animal ready to bolt, but you don't run. Progress, Din supposes. "This is your family as much as it's mine. This is your home, as much as it's mine. I wouldn't say that unless I understood the severity of it."

You sigh, your shoulders dropping as your fists unclench. There's a solidness about him, a resoluteness that turns him into a fixed point for his family to lean on when they need to. He has never stumbled underneath your weight, and you think it might be unfair to expect that he suddenly will now. You look at him through his helmet and let your brows furrow as you try to gauge his reaction to your snapping, to your walls closing up. He seems to take your relaxing posture as a sort of victory, though, because he steps towards you again, reaching forward to brush his gloved fingers against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, holding his hand firmly enough to convince yourself that he won't disappear from in front of you - that this good thing is here to stay.

"I'm sorry," you murmur gently, letting your head thump against his shoulder. He relaxes at the feeling of you pressing your face to his neck and breathing him in, squeezing your hand gently in his while his other strokes up and down your back.

"There is nothing to forgive, my love," he assures with a softness that's reserved for you alone. "This isn't easy for either of us. What matters is that we do it together."

"Together," you mumble in agreement, nodding as you keep your face pressed against him. He huffs out what's almost a laugh, letting you take your time in extracting yourself from him. Once you're standing tall again, chin lifted and eyes regaining their confidence, he squeezes your hand once more.

"Where do we go from here?" is all Din asks, gaze fixed on you.

"Home, I suppose," is your airy response as you stare at the little house you can now call yours. Din feels his heart thump in his chest at your declaration of home, of sharing something like that with him. He breathes deeply, steadying himself against the onslaught of emotions that are thrown at him by those simple words.

"I always had a home in the covert," he says, shifting uneasily on his feet. It's rare for him to divulge anything too personal, even this far into your relationship. You look at him earnestly, the breeze settling around the two of you as you watch Grogu chase frogs out of the corner of your eye.

"Even when I was… an apostate," Din continues, "then it was about finding a way back to that home. But it was always there - always something to fall back on. You…?" He doesn't continue, just stares at you through the slit of his helmet and you know he's giving you an out. You know he won't force you to talk about your past, about where you came from or what you left behind.

"I think it was about… finding one," you say eventually. "I never - I didn't a home to fall back to. But I wanted one, even when I couldn't really admit that to myself." You turn back towards your house - your home, now. One that you would share with your family. "Didn't think I'd ever actually get one, though," you add quietly, a confession whispered so softly Din almost doesn't hear it. 

"You have it now," he assures you, wrapping an arm around your waist and using his other hand to cup your cheek gently, turning you to face him so that he can press the cool beskar of his helmet against your forehead. "You're home now."

[wonderful-writes]

"Apple Pie Proposal" ~ S. Reid

Summary: In which You and Spencer make your yearly trip to the apple orchard an official tradition.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1,144

Content Warnings: heavy food references, honestly i think that might be it? lmk if i missed anything though!

Extra Notes: crappy summary as always, live laugh love 🤪

Originally Written: 10/16/2023 through 10/24/2023

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

Halloweek masterlist can be found here!

Apple cider was on your tongue, Spencer's oversized sweater was on your skin, and fall was in the air. Your stomach did somersaults at the feeling of joy rushing through you, wishing you could capture this moment and stay in it forever.

This was the fourth year you and Spencer had gone to the apple orchard together. Still, it never lost the same magic that it had the first time. Nothing gave you more satisfaction than spending the entire afternoon together, filling up your wicker baskets with locally grown apples, then baking the first pie of the season with them.

Many people didn't know that Spencer was quite the baker. While neither of his parents had taught him many skills in the kitchen, his Home Ec teacher had taught him how to bake up a damn good pie.

The orchard wasn't far from your shared apartment, a quaint little place just outside Mount Vernon, Virginia. Luscious trees spanned for what appeared to be miles, filled to the brim with bright green pears and apples that were every shade of red. The owners were an older couple that Gideon had known in college, whom he later introduced to Spencer and you.

After your baskets were nearly overflowing, the two of you made your way back to the car, starting the journey home, Spencer's favorite CD playing quietly as the two of you talked over it.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, insisted on you heading inside first, saying he'd grab the baskets from the car while you got started on collecting the ingredients for the pie. So, you did as asked, grabbing your apron from the hanger and getting to work.

"I think we severely overestimated the size of our pie," he chuckled as he brought in the second, heavier container of apples.

"Nonsense," you giggled from your spot at the island, where you were currently peeling and cutting the apples from the first basket. "Penelope will want a pie, Hotch will ask us to make him one for Jack, Gideon's coming over tomorrow for the football game. These apples will be gone in days."

He gave you a look of agreement, though you could see there was an unspoken emotion behind his expression. Admiration or love, you figured. And with that, Spencer was grabbing another apron, joining you at the bar and getting to work on the pie crust.

Soon, a batch of apple tartlets was in the oven, while Spencer finished up the last of the work on the pie. You sat down next to him again, giving him a similar look to the affectionate expression he'd given you earlier.

"Hey, do you remember the first year we did this?" he asked randomly a few minutes later, a faint nostalgic smile tugging at his lips.

A smile of your own crept up to your mouth. "You mean the year you threw an egg at me?" you answered, a laugh settling on the edge of your tongue.

"Hey, I only hit you with an egg in self defense. You're the one that threw flour on me," he rebutted.

The aforementioned laugh rolled off your tongue, a sound that Spencer told you almost daily was his favorite noise in the whole world. "Of course I remember. Why do you ask?"

He sat quietly for a moment, as if pondering the reason himself. Eventually, he landed on, "I guess I wonder how many years you think we'll be able to do this together."

The uncertainty in his words was almost enough to break your heart. Since the first time you'd visited the orchard, you'd hoped you'd continued the tradition every year for the rest of your lives. Maybe even eventually rope your children and then their children into it too. You weren't sure where along the line you'd led Spencer to believe otherwise, but the unsure look on his face let you know that he was nervous about your answer to the question.

"I'm hoping forever, if you'll have me that long," you answered, placing a comforting squeeze on his sweater clad arm.

He leaned over, giving you a soft and sweet kiss. "That sounds like a plan to me."

As if on cue, the oven beeped, Spencer heading to grab the pan of tartlets. While he began placing them on the cooling rack, you headed over to the oven, placing the pie inside.

It took you a moment to register what was happening as you turned to face him again. At first, you thought maybe he'd dropped something or his shoe needed to be tied. But then, you realized there was something in his hand, one of the apple tarts. And then, examining the scene further, you noticed something shiny atop the treat in his hand.

The words were shaky as they exited Spencer's mouth, his hands trembling as they held up his creation. "I really hope you were serious about your answer to my last question. Otherwise, I'm gonna look very stupid," he chuckled nervously.

Tears slipped down your cheeks at the display in front of you, your heart thumping a thousand beats per minute. "That certainly doesn't belong in dessert," you managed to laugh, your tears nearly turning to full-on waterworks.

"I suppose it doesn't," he chuckled nervously, holding the tart up further. "I'm hoping you can overlook it just this once though."

"I'll try," the joke came out weak, tears still falling from your eyes.

As if remembering why he was down there in the first place, he shook his head and gave you a more serious expression. "Y/N, I have loved you for over four and a half years. But when I think of how long I wish to love you, four years seems like the smallest sliver of time. I guess what I'm trying to say is… I want this—the orchard, the pies, all of it—every year for the rest of our lives. If you'll have me, I'd really like to be your husband."

The words came out stuttery and nervous, random breaks in his sentences, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Especially not when the prospect of spending a lifetime with Spencer was on the table. "Of course I'll marry you," you answered, your own words somehow shakier than his.

He stood from his kneeling position, sliding the ring onto your finger and leaving a delicate kiss over the digit. "Thank goodness you said yes. That would make for some awkward conversation when Gideon comes over tomorrow."

A breathy laugh escaped your lips, pulling him in for a long and romantic kiss. This time, Spencer was on your tongue, an engagement ring was on your finger, and love was in the air. And again, your stomach did absolute somersaults at the feeling of joy rushing through you, wishing you could capture this moment and stay in it forever.

-> taglist: @lowsodiumfreaks67 @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @kbakery @leigh70 @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @esposadomd @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @lunar-affection @givemeth @lavhoes @rhyanishere @cat-lockwood @danielle143 @marsmallow433 @handsupforamiracle @topguncultleader @mente-sindescanso @reverieofmgg @spencer-reids-adventures @ah-blossom @encyclo-reid-ia @reidselle @thevisionthedream @dungeons-are-too-cold @mmmeademaaa @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @annahalstead5021 @cwritesforfun @soapiebear @maelartasch @buckyyyismahhlife @cynbx @hellooitsrose @lover-of-books-and-tea @juismissing @captainchris-pike @therealrazortai

[wonderful-writes]

The SECOND I read “no happy ending” or “ambiguous ending” I am SCROLLING!!

[wonderful-writes]

The feeling is mutual | | Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader | |

A little fluffy 2 part series that I wanted to drop real quick to get back into the swing of things, I hope you like it! It feels good to be back but I’m terrified. I feel like a little deer in headlights! Feedback is most welcomed ALWAYS. ✨

Summary; You’re both profilers, analysing behaviour and making connections. So why is it so hard to read each other?

Includes; mentions of sex, mentions of being on period, mention of serial killer unsub (if you know what movie i’m referencing then I love you), fluff! ✨

Word count; 1.2k ✨ (second part will be longer! this is just a little part 1 to see what y’all think)

“I literally want nothing more right now Spencer but I can’t.”

Stood in the break room at work, you mixed the sugar into your coffee and sighed at the very eager colleague beside you.

For a few months now, you’d been having a physical relationship with Spencer. No deeper or hidden feelings had been discussed, you guys were friends who had needs, and those needs could be met by each other. Nothing but trust, friendship and safety with a side order of good sex.

However, Spencer was usually good at keeping things subtle; he’d at least wait until you were both off and out of work to pursue things further. But not today. He’d clearly woken up with a motive. Which was apparently to be inside you by the end of your shift.

Unfortunately for him it was that oh-so-wonderful time of the month and as much as you debated it in your head the second you saw the dark desperation in his eyes, you were not in the mood for all the effort of cleaning up after. Especially not at work.

“You called ME last night, Y/N. It took all of my self control to NOT to get in my car and take you until sunrise.” Spencer grew closer to you, his attitude not remotely intimidating because of the whiny tone in his voice. He was right, you’d been particularly needy the night before; calling him up and breathily whispering down the phone in an attempt to get him to come over. But you both had an early start so you eventually changed your mind.

You just giggled and sipped your drink, misjudging how hot it would be.

“Ah you - stupid fu-‘ Immediately grabbing a bottle of water from a mini fridge below the counter, you took a gulp to soothe your throat.

“I’m just saying, what’s suddenly changed in 16 hours and 42 minutes that’s so drastic?” Spencer looked down at you, ignoring the entire hot drink charade, but having a genuine concern on his face for something else.

Rolling your eyes and standing up to speak to him properly, you took a hold of your coffee cup once again and attempted your most serious face.

“First off, I’m allowed to change my mind. Secondly, I got my period this morning and - no, before you even attempt to convince me ‘oh it’s fine’ I’m not in the mood. Now get your blood rushing back to the right head because I do believe we’ve got a case.”

***************

The unsub was suspected to be a woman in her mid to late 30’s, using a technique similar to that of Ted Bundy and Aileen Wuornos. So far the team had deduced she would lure the victims with seduction at local bars in the area, pretend to be extremely drunk in order to attract creeps and when they took her home she would kill them.

The plan would be for Derek to go undercover at a bar that all the victims had attended and hopefully find the unsub. But first they all needed rest. They’d been working from 8am, after landing at 7am, and now it was 11pm.

Hotch had agreed everybody needed to recuperate and get together around midday the next day, as he knew the unsub would only be out and preying from late evening.

The hotel you guys were staying at was actually pretty luxurious considering the urgency and location. Hoping to share a room with Tara or Emily so you knew you would get some sleep, you grabbed your bags and headed up to see your roommate.

Keying the card and gaining entry with a jolly beep, you noticed it was still dark. Had you been lucky and scored your own room? Flicking the lights on, you let out a frustrated groan when you saw him sitting against the headboard.

A smug grin stretched across his face before it dropped back into that familiar pursed concern look.

“I didn’t do this to annoy you Y/N, I just wanted to spend more time with you. I can switch with JJ.” Spencer began to shuffle off the bed and you just tutted and put your bag down.

“No, stay. I’m not mad. At least not annoyed mad. I’m frustrated. But not with you. I’m just-“

“Y/N.”

Tiredly dragging your palms down your face, you opened your eyes to finally make eye contact with the poor man who was victim to your hormones.

“I’m sorry. I’m just miserable.” you walked around to the side of the bed where Spencer sat on the edge. His eyes followed you, watching your face in an attempt to profile whatever you were thinking. His hands came up to rest at your sides, thumbs stroking lightly across your hips.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some rest? You’re tired, I can tell.”

“Don’t profile me Spencer.” you chucked lightly, your own hands coming to rest over his. He smiled softly up at you, waiting for your answer.

“Stay please.” Matching his gentle smile, you looked over at your bag before looking back at him. “I need to shower and then I’ll be right in okay?”

Spencer nodded and leant to reach just beside you, where his bag sat on a chair. You knew he was getting a book out, so that he would distract himself while waiting up for you; the one thing you admired and got excited about was falling asleep next to him.

******************

“Do you always do that? I’ve never noticed it before?” Spencer asked quietly into your ear.

You were cozily tucked into his neck, one hand resting against his chest and the other squished between your bodies. Legs entwined with one another, you were absentmindedly rubbing your foot up and down along his. It was a comfort for you, you mostly did it to yourself when you were sleepy.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s cute. Are you anxious? Or stressed? It’s actually a very common limbic response to anxiety, it releases endorphins so you know, you’re essentially giving yourself a massage.” Spencer rambled onto the top of your head, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine.

“ ‘M not stressed. Not anymore.” you hummed into his neck, snuggling in closer than you thought possible. You could feel his pulse quickening slightly against your cheek, hear him swallowing with nervousness as you readjusted yourself; throwing a leg over his hip and latching onto him like a little koala. “Calm down Spence, I’m just getting comfy.”

“Sleep well Y/N.” He spoke so softly it almost lulled you into sleep. His breathing settled as yours did, the arm he had wrapped around your shoulder holding you tight. His other hand drawing lazy lines up and down your spine as he too adapted a comforting stimulation that was going to send him off too.

Spencer couldn’t help but think about how perfectly you slotted against his body, how much you felt like home. The sharp but sweet scent of your shampoo overloaded his senses and bypassed the oestrogen-filled attitude, the drop in energy and the rise in other types of tension. He would do anything you asked him to. But he was sure you didn’t know that. He was even surer that he wouldn’t tell you. Instead, he would appreciate the seconds, minutes and hours you spent together and let his mind drift off onto what the next day would bring him.

[wonderful-writes]

i want pedro pascal to rail me into the next century

[wonderful-writes]

I didn’t know Cindy, but may she rest in peace

Ficlet: Kindness

Pairing: Din x gn!reader* Fandom: The Mandalorian Words: 645 Rating: Teen ...maybe? Content/Warnings:  One (1) very oblique reference to sexual arousal/yearning. *A Note about the Reader's gender: This fic is technically gender neutral—(I think? let me know if you spot any gendered language that I missed)—but it was written with a specific (female) "reader" in mind]

Summary: A Mandalorian (ficlet) for Cindy ✨

Notes: This is a short little thing that I wrote for Cindy (@keeper0fthestars) once upon a time in response to an ask game she posted asking who we would ship her with and why. I considered expanding or reworking this before posting, but somehow it doesn't seem fair to take it any further now that C's no longer around to share it with. So here it is, exactly as I shared it with her. It's not my best work ever or terribly polished—it was never intended to be anything more than a silly little blurb for a silly little ask game—but it was fun to write, and sharing it with Cindy brought us both joy.  In the end, I think that's enough. In the end, I think that was everything.

[ twp’s Masterlist ]

—— 

Din doesn't quite know what to make of you at first.

You are…. Kind.  Consistently and deliberately thoughtful in a way that’s unfamiliar to him.  You’re other things too: funny and pretty and smart, and so much braver than he gave you credit for at first.  But somehow it’s your kindness that always catches him off-guard.  He’s not used to people offering to help him without strings attached or being kind just for the sake of kindness.

He hires you to take care of the kid, and you do, but somehow you wind up taking care of him as well.

When he returns to the ship with a bounty, you’re there to greet him, always checking in to make sure he's okay.  The first time it happens, the attention makes him feel uncomfortable—oddly… exposed—and he brushes off your inquiries with a brusque, "I'm fine; save it for the kid,” before ingrained politeness makes him follow up with a soft, "thank you" a few moments later.  You smile at him, and he has to look away.

You are kind, always smiling at him or offering him a share of the meal you made for yourself and the kid.  He thinks at first that it's the unfamiliarity of being cared for that makes his breath catch.  And if his heart beats a little faster when you lay a concerned hand on his arm, it's just the novelty of a gentle, non-threatening touch.

The problem is that it doesn't stop happening. 

The warm smiles, the kindness, the gentle touches, the sharing of food and stories and space eventually become routine.  But it never stops affecting him.  If anything, it gets worse or maybe better.  A look from you is enough to leave him flushed, skin prickling under his armor.  The smallest interactions make his heart beat fast like he’s chasing down a bounty in full armor.  Even just watching you with the kid—loving yet firm in a way that somehow, miraculously works—leaves him breathless, yearning for something he doesn’t fully understand.

You are kind, and he grows greedy for that kindness.  Cataloging every smile and touch and glance from you. He hoards them away in his memory like precious treasures, reliving each one alone in his bunk at night and savoring the remembered warmth of your attention.  But still he wants more. Can’t help but think of all the different ways you might touch or look upon each other. Dreams of your eyes on him, your hands, your bare skin against his, unstymied by armor or helmet, and wakes hard and aching.  Wonders if he could make you ache for him in return.

You are kind.

You are kind. 

You are kind, but it feels like more. Like something half-remembered from another life, from before the culvert and the mandalorians and the droid attack.  He wants it to be more.  He wants that feeling, that life… with you. He thinks sometimes that you might want the same.  But you're so good.  So thoughtful.  So consistently nice to everyone you meet.  No matter how long he watches you, he can't tell if he is special to you or just one of many.  (Maker, he wants to be special.)

You are kind, and he cannot find the words to tell you how much that means to him, so he gives you the ones he has.  He says, “thank you” and “you’re good with the kid” and “let me help you, please” and tries his best to repay a little of that kindness, to give you back some small part of the happiness and peace you bring to him.  He hopes he’s managing it.  His heart soars like a rising phoenix every time he manages to make you smile.

Maybe someday he'll find the right words and the courage to say them, but for now?  You are kind, and it’s enough.

.

The Beginning.

.

——

Want more to read? [ twp’s Masterlist  |  Author, Fic & Fanwork Recs ]

——

End Notes & More About Cindy:

Cindy (@keeper0fthestars) passed away on December 25th, 2022—one month ago today. She was a bright light in this fandom, and she was my friend. You can read the announcement posts here & here; and more here (w link to her obituary), here (w link to donate in her memory), here (w her eulogy), and here (soliciting t-shirt design ideas to raise money in her memory).

This is probably as close to a memorial post for her as I’ll get, so I guess I better say what I need to say.

...And what can I say about Cindy?

Only a few weeks after she and I first traded shy DMs full of mutually admiring fangirl flailing, she spotted a single panicked post of mine (about not being able to get in touch with my seriously ill husband who I'd sent to the ER alone at the height of the pandemic because there was no one else to watch the kids).

I honestly don't remember anymore why he wasn't returning my texts and calls, but what I do remember is that Cindy was one of two people to reach out, and she spent hours chatting with me, distracting me, and keeping me company while I waited to hear from him. I remember she stayed up long past both our bedtimes so that I wouldn’t have to be alone with my worry. 

That right there tells you what sort of person Cindy was, and I doubt that story would surprise anyone who knew her.

Cindy was smart and wickedly funny. She was humble and so, so very brave. And I think anyone who’s read her amazing stories knows that she possessed both mind-boggling talent and a gloriously debauched imagination.  But what always stood out to me was the way she was unfailingly thoughtful, supportive and kind, even in the midst of her own struggles.

It was Cindy's kindness that I thought of when I first sat down to write out some thoughts in response to that long-ago ask game request. In typical hot mess™ twp fashion, it quickly got out of hand, morphing into this little ficlet, which then languished, mostly complete, in my drafts for quite a while.

I finally, belatedly, got around to finishing and sharing it with her months and months (and months) after the fact, in an attempt to cheer her up after yet another round of bad news. By that point it had been so long since the original post that I felt silly and even a bit embarrassed to show it to her, but of course, feelings like that could never survive an encounter with Cindy. Somehow, despite the fact that I was trying to do something nice for her, she was so enthusiastic and effusively grateful that I somehow wound up feeling special too. 

Cindy was just... like that.

You know that Maya Angelou quote? The one that ends with, "People will never forget how you made them feel." Well Cindy was a master of that: she had a way of making everyone she talked to feel heard and welcome and supported. She made you feel special.... Because to her, you were. We were. Each and every one of us.

She never stopped saying how much she loved this fandom. How glad she was to have found a place in it. How grateful she was for the friendships she made here.

And I will never stop being grateful for hers.

Rest in peace, my friend 💕

[wonderful-writes]

sweetness! i’ve got the episode “derek” & i got to thinking when the figment of his father says “there’s a moment when you realize you love a woman & the moment you realize you’re gonna marry her” & was curious, what do you think those moments are for spencer? & bonus (if you’d be down to write it obviously) the same concept but vice versa? like when the “i <3 spencer” switch flipped & knew they’d be life partners? 🫶🏻

aw this makes me sad but in a good way. also i only did spencer's because i feel like they vary by person, hope that's okay

When he knows he loves you

"What do you mean you've never had frozen yogurt!?" You ask Spencer in total shock.

You've been playing what's become a regular back-and-forth game of confessions on those increasingly frequent occasions when you can't sleep. The BAU, or more specifically, the east-west time zone difference, wreaks havoc with your sleep schedules. Tonight, the sleepover is at his place.

Spencer's not complaining. Not being able to sleep isn't as bad when he has someone to talk to and doesn't have to stare at the walls and think about the case.

"Never." He laughs a little at your shocked reaction. "The germs on the little spoons put me off."

"You're missing out." You inform him, getting up from where you've been laying in bed and holding hands.

He frowns, sitting up and watching you walk around his bedroom like you know where everything is. You practically do. "What are you doing?" He inquires.

"It's what we're doing." You say, turning to look back at him after you open his bedroom door. He's still frowning. "Going to get frozen yogurt."

He stands up and follows you, still unsure. "You're serious?"

"Completely." You assure him, grabbing your keys and slipping your shoes on. "And I'll make yours for you."

You hover by the door on your phone, figuring out where the nearest shop is, he presumes while he slips his shoes on. "Should we at least get changed?" He asks, looking in the mirror by the door at his messy hair and pajamas.

"There's no time." You announce. "You cannot go an extra ten minutes not having had frozen yogurt."

Spencer holds the door open for you, reaching for your hand before turning back to lock it. "You're crazy, you know?"

You nod. "That's why you like me."

He smiles the entire car ride, head against the leather headrest as he asks you what toppings are best, and you tell him about all the good memories of getting frozen yogurt with your friends and family.

The looks you get are odd. Being the only customers in the store, your loud giggling doesn't go unnoticed by the bored cashier who's probably wishing they were somewhere else.

"Okay, what do you think?" You ask once you're back in the car, parked on the side of the road.

He hears the excitement in your voice, how you anxiously hold your cup and anticipate his reaction. Dramatically, he tries it, scooping ice cream, toppings, and sauce at the same time, and taste tests it like he's a judge on Masterchef.

"Good." His judgment comes.

You scoff. Your face shows pure joy, a wide grin, and the sparkling eyes he adores. "Spencer, just good? Come on, don't you know a million words?"

"Marvelous, delectable, exquisite." He offers, returning your smirk.

"Much better." You approve, sticking your spoon out to try some of his. He gasps, pulling it away. "You have to share. That's the rules of frozen yogurt."

He relents, holding it out for you to take some, and taking some of yours in exchange. "Wow, I'm so thankful I didn't let you pick for me." He teases you once he's tried what you like.

You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully. "You're so mean."

"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, leaning forward to kiss you to make up for it. You kiss him back, making out with him like you're fifteen again, but he pulls back before it can get too heavy. "You've got to brush your teeth first."

You giggle at him. "Alright, we have to get home then because that's the plan for the rest of the night." You say, winking at him.

Spencer avoids choking on his ice cream at the proposition. "I mean, you're in charge, so I have to do whatever you say."

You grin at him, turning the car on. "I like this color on you." You say, and you're not just talking about the underlying sexual remarks. It's the way he's almost carefree with you, a side of him only you get to see.

You squeeze in conversation on the drive, but it's more eating than joking. He looks over at you while you drive back through the city, the warm summer wind in your hair, some frozen yogurt on your upper lip while you laugh at him. You're the first person to do that genuinely and so much.

It's how you inspire him to be who he wants to be. After being stuck in a box of seriousness for so long, he can just have fun and be a young adult for once. That's what he loves about you. And it hits him just like that, all at once, but in a way that's not overwhelming.

"Just take a picture." You joke, noticing his eyes transfixed on you. "Or you'll get more on your shirt."

He hadn't realized he'd missed his mouth until you point it out. "Just keep your eyes on the road." He quips.

"Can't help it." You tell him. "You're too perfect and really pretty."

He's even cuter when he blushes, and that's what you achieve with your compliment. "I think you're perfect." He replies quietly.

When he knows he wants to marry you

He's a little bit nervous about introducing you to his mom, wanting to make sure she's having a good day before he takes a very important step in your relationship.

He knows it has to go well. He needs his mom's approval, and it will kill him if he doesn't get it because of how much he loves you.

It seems like fate is working in his favor because you're in Las Vegas for a case, and Hotch agrees the team can have the night to blow off some steam.

For you, that means going to meet his mom. You can tell Spencer's freaking out about it on the way, gripping the steering wheel too tightly.

"Baby, it'll be okay." You assure him, squeezing his hand.

He's not sure why you're doing the comforting, but he's glad one of you is calm. That's the way it's often been with his overthinking nature.

"I know." He agrees. "I just hope she's having a good day."

You know about his past by how after one nightmare he had about it. "Either way, we'll be fine."

You distract him with a different conversation after that, playing with his hair between the headrest. When you get to his mom's facility, his phone rings almost as soon as you walk in the door hand-in-hand.

"It's Hotch." He announces, reading the caller ID. He knows your boss wouldn't be calling without a reason, and that means he has to pick up. "Just wait here and I'll be back in a minute." He instructs you, nodding to a bench in the reception area.

You don't, he realizes, when he comes back in after answering Hotch's questions about the case, and he anxiously walks through the facility to find you and his mom talking like you've known each other for years.

"Hey." You notice him, shuffling over so he can sit next to you.

He hugs his mom first, whispering about how much he's missed her. She shoots him a look that he knows means she approves, that she's impressed even before sitting next to you.

You run your hand over his back comfortingly. "Your mom was just telling me about baby Spencer." You fill him in.

That's enough to do it for him, knowing that in the five minutes he's been away, you've managed to make a connection with his mom without him being there. He's talked about how important she is, but he really can't believe you care so much that you put that over any anxiety you had about meeting his mom. It hits him then that it shouldn't be such a surprise: you would put his worries in front of him a million times. He sees you going extra steps for him all the time, and he's still wowed by how big your heart is.

But he has to play those big feelings off quickly. "Oh no." He groans playfully. "That means the photo albums are about to come out."

"Come on." You encourage him. "I bet you were so cute."

"He was." Diana agrees.

You hold his chin, grinning at him. "He still is."

It's a while after sharing childhood stories and memories that you excuse yourself to use the restroom, and he's left with his mom for the first time on that visit.

He doesn't bother asking her what she thinks. That answer is clear from her persistent smile. "You have to talk me down." He says. "Because I'm about to run off to a wedding chapel and marry her right now."

"While I think she deserves more than a tacky strip wedding, I'm going to be there." She assures him. "And this is everything I've ever wanted for you."

[wonderful-writes]

Do you think you could write a blurb of Spencer secretly taking off guard photos of reader and one on the team members sees him doing it and he just goes on a giant rant on how much he loves her?? 💗🥹🥹🥺

"You are such a stalker," Emily says, hitting Spencer on the head as she takes a seat next to him on the jet.

Spencer's not subtle in the way he slides his phone into his pocket, pretending he wasn't doing anything wrong. "What?" He asks.

Emily scoffs. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. All those pictures."

He knows he's been caught, cheeks bright red. He barely even uses his phone, but he's been trying to take candid photos of you like you do of him, and he has the perfect opportunity while you laugh with JJ. "She's my girlfriend. I'm allowed," Spencer claims. Emily just raises her eyebrows, and he continues. "What? She's really pretty."

"And you really like her." She adds, teasing him a little. It's her job as his nonbiological older sister.

"I think I love her." He admits shyly. "When I'm with her, it's like I finally feel good. I mean... we see a lot of bad stuff here, but I don't have to think about it when I'm with her. My brain just doesn't go to that place because I have her to talk to. I didn't know it would be so easy to spend so much time with someone and still want more, but I genuinely don't think I could ever get sick of her company. Being around her makes me feel warm inside, and I've never had that before. I didn't even know what it was or that I wanted it so badly before I met her. She doesn't care when I talk for hours or that sometimes I'm difficult to deal with. She's just so perfect, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Is that crazy?"

Emily has been hanging on his every word, listening intently to him. She's never seen him so happy, and it's clearly because of you. "No, I don't think it's crazy." She answers. "I don't think it would be crazy to tell her either."

"Yeah." Spencer nods. "I think I might do that."

[wonderful-writes]

The Right Time

Summary: Right person, right time…

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (mostly fluff)

Content Warning: implied sex, alcohol consumption but it’s just a lil

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist | Navigation <- part one

Spencer goes to the park. Not for the scenery, but to see JJ because when he needs advice, she’s the best person to give it.

He’s learned that the ‘single dad’ thing attracts a lot of attention, the wedding ring on his finger and the wedding rings on their fingers not deterring them. It’s for comfort, he tells himself, like when he’s stressed, he can twist it.

Once he’s dragged himself away, he finds JJ and Henry near the playground, and he takes Bea out of her stroller, handing her over to her godmother, who’s always thrilled to see her.

“What have you done now?"JJ asks once he’s hugged Henry and sent him back to play on the jungle gym. She knows the look on his face, the way he longingly looks at the clouds like he’s not focused.

Keep reading

[wonderful-writes]

Istg my unconscious mind comes up with the most creative, elaborate stories that I could never even imagine writing in the waking world

[wonderful-writes]

Everything you write is beautiful

listening ears 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary: in which peter is terrible at keeping secrets. and socks. 

warnings: idiots to friends to lovers, no angst just pining, arguments, fluff, ahhhh

a/n: heres the link to the playlist. for a real time experience, listen. (this makes it sound like an amusement park which i think is funny)

word count: 10k

Keep reading

[wonderful-writes]

Another adorable story from one of my favorite writers !!

The Bet

summary: The agents at SHIELD have not taken well to Bucky’s pardon. When he’s injured on a mission under suspicious circumstances, you take matters into your own hands.  

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 7.7k

warnings: canon level violence, bucky’s internalized self-punishing issues, shield agents being real pieces of shit, badass reader who would defend bucky to the death

a/n: I know I’ve been really inactive lately (life’s actually been going well so I’ve been busier but that leaves me less time to write unfortunately), but I’m still lurking here! This is a fic I wrote several months ago but finally got around to editing it. Hope you enjoy!

Bucky wasn’t sure how you managed it – the punch to his gut every time you walked in the room. You were dressed in your tactical suit; black fabric draped over every inch of your body, protective layers of Kevlar and technology beyond Bucky’s years, a weapon strapped to your thigh and knives hidden in your belt and at your ankle. Your hair was tugged out of place, sweat beaded on your temple from the sparring match in the gym moments before the two of you were called to service. In your right hand, you carried your combat boots, the laces hanging low enough to touch the ground.  

And still, Bucky held his breath as you approached. Stomach in knots, chest tightening until his heart threatened to stop entirely.

“My offer is fifty this time,” you announced, winking in his direction before you turned to head for the landing bay. “Take it or leave it, Barnes.”

Keep reading