#interaction ➹ (never greet a stranger in the night.) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cordeliawhohung · 1 month

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anyway, say thanks to the brain worms in the discord server for this one

dark!gaz/soap x fem!reader

Kyle and Johnny catch sight of you in a bar, and decide that you're much better off with them.

cw: non-con, dark content, alcohol, roofies, kidnapping, the boys are not very nice

Bars weren’t your usual haunt, yet your date for that night managed to make you comfortable despite the crowded and stuffy building. Tucked in a booth in some out-of-the-way corner, the two of you nursed your drinks as you got to know one another, slowly testing the waters to see if it was worth seeing one another again. Though he had been a stranger at the beginning of the night, you found yourself sincerely enjoying his company. He was a bit of a nerd, whose eyes lit up when talking about the storyline to his favorite games, and you found it cute the way he had to keep adjusting his thick-lensed glasses while they slid down his nose.

It wasn’t until he got up to use the bathroom that your eyes started to wander. Not on purpose, of course, as you would never be rude enough to abandon a date for someone else while the two of you were actively out. No, your eyes only wandered because someone else approached you, and it would be a lie to say he wasn’t the most goddamn beautiful human you had ever laid eyes on. His complexion was impeccable with smooth skin save for a small scar on his cheek, and the slight stubble made his polite smile more alluring. What really got you were his eyes. They were an enchanting dark brown that glistened in the dull yellow lights that lit the area, and you found your throat growing tight at the sight of him.

“Evening,” he greeted. Fuck, even his voice was nice, and his tone was smoky and suave. All you could do was sit in your seat and stare up at him as he leaned a hand on the table, almost as if silently begging you to allow him in. “You look a little lonely. You haven’t been left high and dry, I hope?”

Chuckling, you shook your head as you adjusted your attire, a little self conscious about having a specimen such as that stranger look at you. “No, no my date’s just in the bathroom.”

Though there was a flicker of disappointment in his gaze, he did a good job at obscuring it for the most part. Instead, his smile widened, and he nodded his head in understanding.

“Ah, so you’re tellin’ me I’m too late, then,” he chuckled. “Everythin’ going good, then? He’s not a nutter?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his concern, his sincere concern. Not only was he perhaps the most beautiful man you had ever seen, but he was a gentleman as well? Didn’t take rejection poorly at all and confirmed that you were safe? You wished your date had chosen some other pub to go to that night, because you were certain this man was attempting to put a spell on you.

“Everything’s all good, thank you,” you confirmed with a smile.

“Great. Well, if things start going south…” The man paused to look over his shoulder and gesture towards the bar. Among the other patrons, you quickly caught sight of the man he pointed out, as his mohawk stood out like a sore thumb. Then again, he was probably one of the largest — dare you say, beefiest? — people there, and it would have been impossible not to tell him apart in a crowd. “My friend and I will be here for a few hours still, in case you need us.”

Once again you gave him a polite smile as you thanked him for his offer, and he sauntered back over to his friend with a courteous farewell. It was perhaps the kindest interaction you had ever experienced with a stranger in a pub before, yet it left you flustered all the same, so much so that you hardly realized that your date had returned until he sat across from you in the booth once more. Praying he didn’t notice your state of mind, you quickly raised your drink to your lips where you downed a few big gulps with the silent hope that you would forget all about that handsome stranger lest you looked like a whore to your date.

Luckily the two of you picked up where you had left off, and for a while you had forgotten all about that man. You listened to your date talk about his studies in computer science, and an indie game he helped design, and you watched as everything began to tilt. Lights flashed in your face and when you tried to blink them away they wouldn’t leave, and you found your chest needing to heave in order to get a good breath in. Something felt wrong, yet you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of your date, so you tried to hide it by taking another gulp of your drink.

Nothing soothed your dizzy vision or your fuzzy mind, and it got so bad you couldn’t even understand what your date said anymore. All your energy focused on trying to keep yourself upright in that booth, but you wanted nothing more than to lay down. You were certain the cool wood of the table would feel intoxicating against your feverish skin, maybe you could do it, just for a moment…

“What’s going on here?”

That voice was one you didn’t recognize, and when you looked up to see who spoke, you could vaguely make out the fuzzy features of a large man with his hands leaned on the table. He was angry, with a sharp voice and a thick Scottish accent, but you didn’t know who he was. You felt like you should know, but you couldn’t place a name to his face.

“Did you drug her?” the man questioned further.

“No! I didn’t do anything!” your date attempted to defend.

“Bull-fucking-shit, look at her!”

Something grazed your arm, and usually you would jump at sudden sensations like that, but it felt so disconnected from your body that you didn’t even realize something had touched you until a voice prompted your attention.

“You alright, doll?”

It was that kind man from earlier, and his voice was just as calm and polite as it was when he spoke to you before. You felt a response flit across your tongue, but you couldn’t make any sense of the words you said. A fit of shouting erupted from somewhere in the bar, and you felt the table shake, but you couldn’t find the emotions within you to care.

Suddenly, things felt too heavy, as if the gravity of the earth increased tenfold. You realized you were standing, though you didn’t remember getting up from the booth, and the only reason why you hadn’t collapsed was because of the firm arm around your waist. Eventually cold air hit your face, and you felt your feet stumble along the pavement before you were gently placed into the back seat of someone’s car. You didn’t even bother trying to keep sitting upright, and instead laid yourself across the seats as you curled in on yourself.

“Don’t worry, doll,” you were assured, “Soap and I will take good care of you.”

A strange sort of darkness enveloped you after that, and it was the closest thing to death you had ever experienced. There were no dreams, or images that attempted to comfort you as your mind rotted away; there was nothing. Just an emptiness where you didn’t exist for a while.

When your mind slowly started to drift into consciousness again, the first thing you noticed was the sound of smacking. It was as if someone consumed a meal without worrying about slurping too much, and the noises were loud and obscene. Your vision flickered back to life, and you were met with an unfamiliar scene. The ceiling above your head was not the ceiling to your bedroom, nor did it look like any ceiling you’d find in a hospital. Your head rested against something too firm to be a pillow, yet too soft to be the floor, and you did your best to get a better glance at your surroundings.

You looked down at yourself only to realize you were completely naked. No underwear, no bra, not even your socks; every single article of clothing had been removed, and you were given nothing to cover yourself with. Two firm arms wrapped around your midsection from behind, and you realized that semi-soft surface you leaned against was a person who had you held in their embrace. All of that was bad enough, but you felt your stomach lurch and your still fuzzy mind scream when you saw what happened between your legs.

That mohawked man you had seen at the bar earlier that night laid sprawled out on the bed in front of you with his mouth greedily devouring your cunt. You watched in pure horror as his tongue lapped at you, dancing along your clit and down to your tense hole, yet the sensation didn’t feel pleasant. It all felt muted, like you weren’t really there. He grunted into your heat as his hands gripped your hips like he was afraid his meal would run off without him, and he continued to devour you like it was the only thing that brought him pleasure.

As if suddenly regaining control of your body, your hips bucked forward with a whine in some sort of odd attempt at escape, only to be held down by the man shamelessly eating you out. A dark chuckle reverberated in the body behind you, rattling your spine with the sensation, and you felt a pair of lips press against your bare shoulder. The man between your legs paused his assault on your cunt in order to look up at you with a wet-faced grin.

“Have a good nap, bonnie?” he teased.

Panic attempted to rise into your chest, but there was some sort of emptiness that prevented it from fully manifesting. This was wrong, really wrong, you knew because of the tight feeling in your core and your breath hitching in your throat. You couldn’t fully recall how you got there, stuck between two men, but you knew that the haziness of your mind must have had something to do with it.

“What…?” Once more your mouth tried to form words but they would leave your lips half finished. The hands wrapped around your center slowly wandered up to your tits where you felt yourself being squeezed at, which prompted you to further stutter. “I… don’t…”

“Remember what I said?” the man behind you spoke up. That beautiful, dastardly man. “Soap and I are taking care of you, so just relax, yeah?”

The man between your legs, Soap, pulled away from you and sat back on his haunches as he assessed you. His eyes were a pretty shade of blue, and had he not just violated your unconscious body, you might have considered him handsome. Instead, the sight of him made you close your eyes and twist your face away as if you couldn't stand the sight of him. You wanted to vanish, to turn into mist and drift away into the stale, sweaty air that threatened to suffocate you, and right when you thought you almost managed that feat, you were painfully brought back to reality when you felt two thick fingers force their way into your cunt.

The stretch burned, your body not yet fully prepared for it, yet you had already gotten so slick with Soap’s spit that it didn’t matter, he was able to do it with ease anyway. Your legs strived to flail and squirm, yet you hardly had the energy or ability to do so, and failed miserably. Soap’s fingers danced around inside of you accompanied by a symphony of lewd squelches and a throaty laugh.

“Nice and wet, she is,” Soap crooned. “What’dya say, Garrick? Wanna have a go at her?”

Whatever his response was, you were unable to make it out, but you did feel him wiggle out from behind you. Every muscle in your body spasmed as you were lowered onto the mattress, and your eyes flickered open just in time to watch Soap slip off of the bed and for the other man — Garrick? — take his place. Warm hands gripped the exposed flesh of your thighs, and you felt yourself get yanked closer to him, and the sudden movement nearly made you puke.

“Please- I-” you gasped, still incapable of expressing yourself.

“What a sweet girl,” Garrick cooed while one of his hands reached up to undo the button and zipper on his pants. “Hear that, MacTavish? Hear her begging?”

Dull pain blossomed at the base of your skull as you felt your head lift off the bed. Soap held you by your hair, insisting that you look down at yourself as Garrick’s cock sprung free from the confines of his jeans. It was impossible for your eyes to fully focus on anything, to make sense of it, but you were able to comprehend the sheer size of him, his length much too long to fit into you unprepared. You tried to turn away, to ignore it and pray it would all stop, but you couldn’t with Soap’s firm grip.

“‘Course she is,” he chuckled, lips brushing against your ear. “Sweet and naughty always go hand in hand.”

A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt the tip of Garrick’s cock press against your cunt, and you had no choice but to stare down at the vulgar scene between your legs. His hands slid along your hips until they were under your thighs, and he gently lifted your legs up, adjusting the angle of your hips.

“Please, I don’t… think I want this,” you said with a cry. They were the first coherent words you were able to speak, and they were met with a laugh.

“You don’t think so?” Soap teased. “A bit too late for that now, bonnie. GOt the man all worked up, and I don’t think he wants’ta stop.”

When Garrick sunk himself into you, your cunt nearly choked him from how tight and unprepared you were, yet his brute force was enough to overcome your body’s resistance. Your mouth fell open in a silent sob, and your back arched off the bed as if that movement alone would save you. Instead of beginning his thrusts, Garrick stayed still, completely buried inside of you as he let out a hiss.

“Christ, you’re so damn tight,” he cursed.

Soap’s fingers suddenly slipped out of your hair, and without his strength supporting your head, it crashed back onto the mattress. A throb reverberated throughout your body, and the blood gushed in your ears so loudly you almost didn’t notice the sound of him undoing his belt next to your face. While Soap fished his own cock from his pants, Garrick gently rocked his hips forwards as if to test the waters and grind his fat tip against the rubbery surface of your cervix.

“Open,” Soap urged.

Your brain didn’t comprehend his command, and so you continued to lay there as you attempted to hold back your groans. Deciding to assist you, Soap reached a hand for your jaw, turning your head towards him, and giving it a good squeeze until your mouth fell open.

“There we are,” he chuckled as he tapped your lower lip with his tip. “Now, no biting, else I’ll bite back.”

When Soap pushed his cock into your mouth, there was an emptiness that enveloped your mind. There was no more fuzz, no haze or confusion, just nothing, but it only lasted for a short moment before reality barreled back at you. Garrick thrust into you with what started as a lazy pace, but then quickly turned into something more demanding, more snapping. All the while, Soap’s cock pressed so far into your mouth and down your throat you coughed to keep yourself from choking. When you reached up to try and push him away, the man took it as a compliment instead, and rested his hand over yours where it laid against his hip.

Their groans were undignifying. You wanted to wail, wanted to thrash around and get them to stop using you for their pleasure, but whatever drugs that had been slipped into your drink rendered your body completely useless except for fulfilling their desires. So you laid there, stoic and limp with your eyes closed as you took it. If you could just get through it, it would be over eventually. It had to be.

A sharp pinch to your nipple had you nearly yelping, and you were certain you would have burst their eardrums with your sob had your mouth not been occupied. Garrick’s pace slowed only slightly as he adjusted your legs a little with a huff.

“Well don’t go breaking her,” he grumbled.

“Just tryna keep her awake,” Soap defended. “Besides…”

Once again his fingers came up to pinch your nipple, and it was impossible to hold back the tears welling in your eyes as you cried out once more. He grinned down at you as he used his thumb to wipe at the tears, almost as if he refused to acknowledge their existence.

“She sounds so perfect squealing, especially with my cock in her mouth.”

The pace at which Soap then abused your mouth was so brutal you completely lost the ability to breathe. Ignoring the tension in your throat, he pressed himself as far as he could go with so much force you were certain you would bruise. More tears continued to stream down your face as you held back the urge to puke, but eventually you were offered solace as he suddenly yanked himself out of your mouth.

You coughed and sputtered on the build up of spit in your throat, and you powerlessly laid there with a burning neck and throat. Judging by his guttural groaning and the heavy throbbing of his cock, Soap had edged himself pretty bad, and you tried not to grimace at the sight of his reddened tip. Your mouth wasn’t able to rest for long, though, as you quickly found a few fingers pressed against your tongue, just as brutal and unforgiving as everything else he did to you.

“Steamin’ jesus,” he groaned. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth where they dripped your spit along your bare chest. It left you feeling sticky and gross, and you whined as you felt those wet fingers begin to toy with your clit. “Good at everything, arent’cha bonnie?”

Panting like a bitch in heat, you felt a terrible pressure build up in your stomach. Between Garrick’s thrusts, which had only started to grow more ruthless, and Soap’s fingers rubbing annoyingly pleasurable circles against your abused cunt, you knew you were going to come undone. It was terribly unfortunate to know that you were going to give them that satisfaction, that your fucked out and drugged up brain would give into them so easily, and you found your face wrenching with a sob.

“Oh fuck,” Garrick huffed as his hips stuttered. “K-Keep that up. Bloody hell, she’s so fuckin’ close I can feel it.”

Soap didn’t let up at all, nor did he speed up either. It was like he knew how to push your buttons all too well, knew exactly what he needed to do in order to coax your orgasm out of you. You felt it build and build until it crashed so hard it stole your breath, searing you from the inside out. Garrick let out a wanton groan as your cunt fluttered around him, and he pounded into you more roughly than he had been until he suddenly held himself inside of you.

He leaned his head back as he came and gave a few more lazy thrusts into your cunt. Your mind reeled at the realization that he came inside of you, and your thoughts buzzed as you knew there was no protection involved, that these sick fucks might get you pregnant. When he pulled out of you, your hands instinctively reached down between your legs as if scooping his cum out of you would save you from whatever fate they had written for you.

“What’s wrong, not enough for you, doll?” Garrick chuckled as he slid off the bed.

Your legs limply fell onto the bed without his hands there to hold them up, and your eyes fluttered shut as you bit into your bottom lip. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you broken, and you certainly wouldn’t give into their jests, either. Yet, as the mattress sunk in once more, you came to the painful realization that things were not over.

A new pair of hands slipped underneath your knees, and your legs were pushed so close to your chest, you could nearly kiss them. Soap got a bit more intimate with you than Garrick had, and before his cock even brushed against your cum-soaked hole his lips were on yours, smothering out any protest. You could taste the pint he had at the bar earlier that night, along with the vague taste of your heat, and it only grew stronger when he slipped his tongue into your mouth, wet and nasty.

When he finally pushed into you, he ate up your gasp as you quickly realized he was much girthier than Garrick was. The stretch was unfamiliar, and burned, yet there was virtually no friction; nothing to hold him back from bottoming out. He hummed into your mouth before pulling away and allowing you to take a proper breath, but even then you could still feel his grin against your lips.

“I know you’re tired, so I’ll make it quick, bonnie. Promise,” he claimed.

He said those words as if you should have thanked him for being so considerate, and yet it ignited a sort of anger inside of you that you were unable to feel before. The drugs they had given you must have started to wear off, because every emotion and sensation suddenly increased tenfold as he began to snap his hips against yours. Every ache burned like you were on fire, which only raged more as you reached up and pressed your hands against his chest as if you actually had a chance of pushing that broad monster off of you.

“Now, now,” Garrick tsked, “be nice.”

Kneeling next to the bed, the man grabbed your wrists and pulled them above your head, and you hated just how vulnerable it left you. As if you hadn’t been vulnerable that entire night. Those sick freaks certainly had planned it all out. Slipping a roofie into your drink during your conversation while your date was away, blaming it on your date, and taking you back to their place to have their way with you. You didn’t even want to think about how many other girls they had in that bed before you.

“No, just- just stop,” you squirmed.

“Soon, love,” Garrick cooed. “Soap’s getting close, I can tell. You know, he’s always been one for praise. I’m sure he’ll show you a little mercy if you say thank you.”

As Soap’s face buried into your neck, you could feel his breath hit your skin, and you couldn’t help but grimace at the feeling. What the hell was he trying to recommend you do? Thank him?

“No,” you replied, your tone biting.

It wasn’t long after you defied him that a squeaky gasp left you as Garrick grabbed a hold of your jaw. His grip was not kind, nor was it relenting, and he turned your head to face him with a slight jerk.

“I’m not asking, doll. You’re gonna say thank you. Thank you Johnny. Don’t make me tell you again,” he said with a tone you had yet to hear from him. Between the biting grip on your face and his threat, you couldn’t help but sob and give in, lest they do something worse.

“T-Thank you, Johnny,” you mumbled.

“Can’t hear you,” Garrick warned.

“Thank you, Johnny!” you cried.

Your second attempt was what finally did the man in. Though his thrusts continued at their same, brutish pace, he came long and loud with pathetic grunts in your ear. Garrick finally relinquished your face and hands, and you automatically held onto the man filling you with his cum as if you’d fall through the bed without him. Once Soap — or were you really supposed to call him Johnny? — gave you the last of his spend, he planted a quick kiss against your cheek before rolling off of you, pulling himself out of you in the process.

“Christ, Kyle. Wasn’t sure you knew how to pick ‘em but goddamn… should keep her around, aye?” Johnny chuckled as he fastened his pants.

Aching, sore, and exhausted, you rolled onto your side as you watched the two men straighten out their clothes. A quick glance at the floor around you revealed yours weren’t to be found, and you couldn’t remember just when they had ripped them off of you. A terrible pounding ravaged your head, and all you wanted to do was sleep.

“I wanna go home,” you spoke up, voice small.

Kyle, grinned as he ran a hand over your hair. “This is home, doll. Rest up, yeah? Gotta save up your energy for tomorrow.”

His words had wiped all sense from your mind, and you weren’t able to come up with a response as he rose from the floor and turned his back towards you. Tomorrow? No, no they couldn’t keep you here, locked up like some animal, some fucking toy to play with whenever they wanted. And yet still, all you could do was lay there as you watched them saunter out of the room, completely fulfilled as you laid empty and broken in that bed.

The door closed and locked behind them with a simple click, and that’s when you finally allowed your tears to flow freely. Keeping quiet, you slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the pathetic sounds as best as you could, refusing to let them hear just the effect they had on you. That night, you had nothing to lull you to sleep except for the sounds of whatever video game they had started up in the living room, and their joyous laughter as they continued on with their lives with no concern for their new toy.

#kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick smut #gaz smut #soap smut #john mactavish smut #cod smut #cw: noncon #dark fic #f!reader

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incognit0slut · 11 months

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Right Kind of Wrong (5)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye

Part summary: Spencer’s lack of experience on the female anatomy is educated by her. wc: 4,7k

Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murder

a/n: sorry it took me longer to update, kind of went through a writer’s block but finally got back the vibe

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER WAS A MAN ON A MISSION. His steps echoed on the marble floor the next morning as he entered the mundane space of the bureau, hand gripping the strap of his bag. The glass door separating the familiarity of his disorganized desk greeted him, but before he could enter the room, his heels turned towards a certain part of the office he was accustomed to.

He pushed the door at the end of the hallway to find Garcia typing away on her keyboard, her eyes fixated on the screen in front of her. The sudden sound of his arrival startled her before she swiveled in her chair, because the man standing by the door hardly visited her this early, especially when he still had his bag thrown over his shoulder.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the good doctor." She leaned back in her chair and gave him a grin. "What do I owe the pleasure of your presence in the safety of my lair?"

Spencer took a cautious step into the room as he closed the door behind him. "I need you to find me an address."

"That is my specialty." She turned back to her monitors. "Hit me."

"Y/n L/n."

There was a heavy pause as her fingers hovered above the keyboard. The familiarity of the name had her eying him as he stepped into her line of vision. "Isn't she one of the witnesses you talked to last night?"

He awkwardly cleared his throat. "Yes, she is."

"And you need her address because...?"

"I..." A sense of dread and anxiety hit him as he felt the intensity of her scrutinizing gaze. "I—I have further questions to ask."

Garcia wasn't an expert in profiling, unlike most of her teammates, but she wasn't blind when it came to picking out other people's sudden change of composure. Spencer's usually calm demeanor was suddenly replaced with discomfort, something that rarely occurred unless the topic of conversation extremely flustered him.

"You know," she started, slightly twisting her body. "Morgan told me something interesting happened last night, and I'm usually not one to gossip—" She rolled her eyes at the look he gave her. "Alright, fine, maybe I am. But it's not gossip if it's true."

His face twisted into a frown. "What did he tell you?"

"That the pretty witness lady may or may not know you personally." When he didn't respond, she urged on, "So? Is it true?"

Spencer quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. He considered himself to be a very private person, one that didn't share much about their personal life. The introverted trait in him preferred the comfort of spending his time engrossed with his own thoughts than engaging in unnecessary, awkward conversations with others. So whenever he received attention regarding his private matters, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable under the spotlight.

"I cannot confirm nor deny that."

She scoffed. "You do realize you're not making it any less suspicious, right?"

She then proceeded in typing the name of the woman he had met the previous night but immediately stopped, her eyes piercing back at him. "What?"

"I will give you the address if you tell me whether you need it for work or personal reasons."

This was why he disliked human interaction. Couldn't one go on with their own lifestyle without questioning another person's way of life?

He let out an irritated sigh. "Garcia."

"Reid."

He pondered whether he could get away without explaining the intention of his request. But this was Penelope Garcia, known to be relentless with an interest in exchanging information about the personal lives of the team members. There was no other choice than to cave in if he wanted to avoid her persistent persuasion, so he answered—although reluctantly—in a very low voice, "Personal reasons.”

"I knew it!" She gleefully laughed. She focused her attention back onto her monitor, her fingers working their wonders before a passport picture of a woman stared back at them through the screen. "Ooh, she's pretty."

She really was. The person staring back at him was smiling, something he hadn't seen the last time he saw her. Her smile was an incredibly beautiful thing to behold. It was also incredibly contagious as he found his lips curling into a smile of his own, his eyes scanning across every feature on her radiant face. He was completely enthralled, it was as if her beauty had a grip on him, putting him in some sort of trance.

She was absolutely beautiful.

"Do you want me to save her picture? Send it to your phone?"

He felt the warmth spreading along his cheeks. "No." He turned his gaze towards the address printed on the left side of the screen, memorizing the exact street and the number of her residential.

"When I said you were a Casanova, I didn't think it would come to this extent." He threw her a frown as she explained, "A few days ago you had a lady friend at your place, and now this."

Spencer pursed his lips together. His palms immediately began to sweat as she sent him a wicked grin. His silence was all that it took for her to bounce in her chair, hands clapping at the irony of the situation. "No way. Are you telling me this is the same woman you met at the bar? The same stranger you spent the night with is the exact witness you talked to last night?"

He turned on his heels. "Goodbye, Garcia."

"Wait—no!" She grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to face her again. "Oh my god, I am so invested. This is way more entertaining than the show I'm currently watching!"

He heaved out a sigh. "I'm glad you can find amusement in my misery."

"Misery? This isn't misery, sweetheart, this is amazing. When was the last time you were involved with someone?" Far too long, he thought to himself, but his answer must've shown across his face. "Exactly. Now, aren't you glad I didn't show up that night?"

He shook his head, deciding not to answer her question, and crossed his arms instead. "This stays between us, okay?"

She nodded eagerly. "Of course."

"And you can't even mention this to Morgan."

"What?" She groaned as he proceeded to scowl at her. "Alright, alright. He will not hear any of this."

He assessed her one last time, cautiously weighing any possibility of her bluff. But when she returned his gaze with a suddenly concerned stare, he had to double-check whether he was seeing right. The mischievous glint in her eyes was replaced by a deep sense of worry, her face melting into the familiar solemn look she flashed whenever she had something important to say.

"Hey, Reid." She leaned back in her chair, tilting her head to the side. "You'll be careful, right?"

The sudden grimness of her tone caught him by surprise. "What do you mean?"

She paused for a moment, trying to sort out her words without wanting to offend him. "I just want to remind you that we're currently in the middle of investigating a case that involves her."

"She's only a witness," he pointed out.

"Doesn't make her any less important. Reid, when you're emotionally involved with anyone who is linked to a case we're working on, there's a high chance it can get messy. You know that."

Oh, how he knew that all too well. He knew how very unhealthy it could be, and how getting emotionally attached to someone involved in a case could lead to irrational or compromised decision-making. It could be a potential source of bias and it could make anyone put their personal feelings above what was best for the investigation. It could cloud people’s judgment. This was something that he would never recommend, something that he would urge anyone on the team to avoid doing.

So was he being rational now? Was running a background check on someone for personal reasons deemed appropriate?

Probably not. It was a very risky thing to consider, but Spencer was smart enough to understand how important it was to keep his emotions intact. The possibility of things getting out of hand would only happen if he couldn't keep it under control, which he was certain that he could, and he would never let anything stop him from doing his job.

"I'll be careful," he finally responded. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You are most definitely welcome, lover boy." She gave him a genuine smile before turning back toward her devices. "Now go and get your girl so I can go back to my work."

His body tensed. "She's not my girl."

She threw him a look that told him she didn't believe a word he said, something he was starting to question himself. He quickly shook his head and strode out of the room, completely denying Garcia's admission, because in his mind, Y/n was merely the stranger he met on one random night. She was simply the woman who ended up in his bed. She was the mysterious enigma who slipped into the night with nothing but a nod. She was the one who looked at him in disbelief at their unexpected encounter.

She was all of the things above, but she was definitely not his girl.

"You need to install a security camera."

Tapping her fingers lightly against the mug in her hands, eyes fixed on the black liquid of the freshly brewed coffee, Y/n blew out a rough breath. "Please worry about yourself."

"Or better yet, get a dog," the man across from her suggested. "Those big hound dogs that would scare people off. They can easily sense danger when they see one."

"Why would I need a dog when I have you?"

He frowned at her. "I'm being serious."

"And you think I'm not?"

He went completely still, his eyes trailing across her face. "Is that a trick question?"

She took a sip of the warm coffee, letting it calm her frustration as she pondered whether kicking him out of her own house was a better option than dragging him out through the door.

"Oliver," she muttered, her voice laced with annoyance while she carefully put down her mug on the countertop. "You have practically stationed yourself in my house, barking at anyone you think might be a potential danger."

"Y/n," he followed her gesture, leaning closer into the small space of her kitchen. "It's for your safety."

"You shouted at my mailman!"

"He took an awful lot of time talking to you."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to cause a scene in the sanctuary of her own home. She had woken up this morning, limbs tangled in her sheet and body aching from all the emotions she went through the previous night, and decided she would spend the day relaxing the tension in her nerves. Do some grocery shopping, head to the beauty salon to get a manicure and a nice haircut that was long overdue, and ravish herself with a delicious meal at the new restaurant she had been wanting to visit.

But all her plans went down the drain when she heard a loud knock the moment she opened her eyes. She found Oliver standing on her front porch, holding his trademark smile and amiable posture, before lunging at her with concern while asking a bunch of questions related to what had happened.

At first, she accepted his worry, what was she to do when a friend came to her house to make sure she was doing alright? But the longer he stayed the more she wondered whether letting him inside her home was the smartest thing to do. She knew Oliver was a very persistent person, but she wasn't aware of him being this insufferable.

"You know what would make me feel safe?" She walked out of the kitchen, expecting him to follow her, something he had been doing throughout the day. "For you to stop breathing down my neck and let me enjoy my weekend in peace."

Her plan worked, he was already hot on her heels as he watched her stalk toward the front area of her house. "I came by to check in on you."

"Since the morning, it's almost 5 PM." She tugged the door open before stepping to the side. "I'm sure I can manage on my own now—"

"Who’s that?"

Shd followed his line of sight and frowned when a black vehicle stopped right at her curb, its engine cutting off a moment later. She watched as the door wrenched open and felt her heart drop as a familiar face stared directly back. The shock of seeing someone unexpected took her by surprise, it was an incredibly powerful feeling that left her pretty shaken up and even a little bit stunned, because right on her driveway was none other than Spencer-fucking-Reid.

Seeing him in action for his job last night was enough to captivate her. But watching him in a tight FBI vest over a button-down with his sleeves rolled up, showing off firm arms and veins running along the back of his hands, mesmerized her in a way that had her weak in the knees.

Suits had become the sexiest thing she'd ever seen on a man after she saw him last night—firmly replacing uniforms, she had always been a sucker for military men... until now. The authority he held wearing that vest easily became her favorite clothing on a man. On him precisely, including the gun strapped to the side of his hip. How the sight of a dangerous weapon on him could be so attractive was beyond her.

She felt Oliver inching closer, his voice extremely low, "Do you want me to bark?"

She heard his words perfectly, but her attention was too focused on the other man as he stepped onto her porch. She wasn't questioning how he got her address—because authorities could easily search any citizen's information, right?—but she was curious why he bothered coming to her house. "What are you doing here?"

Sensing the recognition in her voice, Oliver addressed the unknown man with a hard stare. "Who are you again?"

"Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid," he introduced himself, flashing his badge. "I have further questions for Ms. L/n regarding a certain case."

"You mean Jamison's murder?"

Spencer nodded, leveling his gaze with the man who stood too close to her for his liking. "I need to talk to her personally."

It was another way for him to urge Oliver out of her house, Y/n noted, which was something she didn't oppose. Oliver tensed beside her, throwing her a doubtful look. "Will you be fine?"

Would she be fine being left alone with someone she wanted nothing to do after everything that happened? Maybe not. But it was better than to have Oliver gluing himself in her home. "I’ll be fine. You can go, Oliver."

The two men addressed one another, and the mood suddenly turned intense. Spencer was very cautious and deliberate with each of his movements, trying to be intuitive and on alert for any possible threat or danger. But then Oliver nodded his head and smiled at him, shrugging away any tension that lingered in the air.

He turned towards her. "Call me if you need anything."

She stepped aside and let him pass, breathing out a grateful sigh as she finally watched him walk down the street.

"Boyfriend?"

"No," she quickly replied, frowning at the idea of Oliver being her partner. Then she shot Spencer a look. "Not that it's any of your business."

He probably deserved that. He nodded behind her as his eyes scanned the entrance of her house. "Can I come in?"

There was something about letting the man into her home. It was a very special and sacred place that brought peace and joy after a long day of work. Letting him into the comfort of her house meant letting him into a personal part of herself.

She opened the door further before he stepped inside, his eyes scanning every nook and corner. She cleared her throat and closed the door behind her. "So, you wanted to ask me more questions?"

There was a moment of silence as he turned around. "I actually came here to apologize." When she didn't respond, he added, "About last night."

She narrowed her eyes. "What exactly are you apologizing for?"

"It seemed we got off the wrong foot yesterday and I want to apologize if I offended you in any way."

The memory of last night's encounter flashed before her eyes; their unexpected encounter, the way he acted as if he had never held her naked, and how he wanted no one else to know their tryst, keeping it as a mere rendezvous between two strangers. There was some truth in that, but there was also another truth in her disappointment, and suddenly she was extremely tired of all these emotions.

"Last night was... it was awkward for both of us,” she decided to say. "Why don't we forget it ever happened?"

"Forget what?"

"Everything?" She crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "About last night, about—" She mentally winced. "About what happened the first night we met.”

She noticed the way his shoulders tensed. His eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly as he studied her quietly in return. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?”

"Why do you want to forget that night?"

There was something unnerving about the way he looked at her. One of her hands nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she eyed him. She felt her heart rate pick up slightly—there could only be one reason he was asking this, right?

"Do you not want to forget it?"

She could see the way his cheeks were twitching, the muscles working as if he was weighing his next words. He took a step forward, cautiously scanning his eyes across her face. Staring wasn't quite the word for what he was doing. His eyes rested on her, not unblinking but slowed; yet the effect was soft and inviting instead of harsh or demanding. Perhaps it was his lips that give away his intention, like a ghost of a smile peeking through his features in the stillness of the room.

"What if I want a repeat of it?"

She is nhaled a sharp breath, her heart rate drastically climbing in her chest she could feel her pulse vibrating through her entire body. His unvoiced suggestion hung heavily in the air. She felt that first warm flood of arousal struck her, the blood in her body abruptly shifting south.

A shiver ran down her spine, goosebumps abruptly rising along her forearms. "What are you trying to say?"

His mouth pulled back into a slow smile before she watched him inch forward, carefully closing the distance between them. A moment later he was leaning towards her, reaching his hands out deliberately slow. Her eyes followed their movements, her breathing increasing as his hands found her own. Carefully, he started to pull her, moving extremely slow, as if giving her plenty of time to register what was happening and a chance for her to pull away.

But she didn't, instead, her body followed his direction, letting him tug her across the small gap separating them.

"I grew up in Las Vegas," he suddenly said, hands moving up her arms. "I was a child prodigy in a public school, and believe it or not, I've suffered worse things growing up than in my line of work now."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Last night you didn't know the city I grew up in." A smile stretched across his lip. "And now you do."

The hands on her arms gripped a bit tighter, carefully urging her to move closer. The warmth radiating from his body was already driving her wild. How was it possible for one person to make her feel like she was completely losing her mind?

He was playing with fire, and she was practically a moth to a flame.

Her hands cautiously slid along his shoulders and up the length of his neck. She felt a faint rumble in his throat as her fingertips slid over the skin of it. Her eyes focused on the way he was watching her, eyes fluttering in a haze, mouth slightly parted. Biting her lip, she slipped her hand into his disheveled hair, carefully raking her fingers through the softness of it. He instantly leaned into the touch as she felt the growing need in her rising.

"Is this even allowed?" She breathed out, shuddering at the way the firmness of his vest pressed against her chest. "Fornicating with the witness?"

"It's probably not the wisest thing to do," was his honest reply.

She pulled him closer as she felt his arms settling around her waist. "Yet you still want to break the rules?"

Eyes dropping down to her mouth, his gaze lingered on her luscious lips. Gradually he leaned down towards her, his own lips parting as their breaths mingled in the small space between them. He shifted his forehead against hers, his nose lightly bumping into her own.

"Wouldn't be here if I didn't want to."

And then he closed the gap, caressing his lips just barely against hers, before thrusting himself into her open mouth, an obvious level of hungry desperation in the way he devoured her whole. He'd wanted this—wanted to taste her again ever since she stood unexpectedly in front of him. Sucking the entirety of her bottom lip into his mouth, she let out a moan. That glorious, soft, perfect, bit of flesh fit entirely into his mouth. His tongue danced along the length of it, a deep grunt coming from his throat as she melted further in his arms.

Spencer’s hands grabbed her hard by the hips as he tugged her into his body so tight she could feel his arousal pressing into her. She gasped in surprise, and he took the moment to lunge deeper into her mouth, feverishly in a flurry of tongue and teeth, his mouth only riling her further. The feeling of his tongue colliding against hers sent her into a nose dive of indescribable sensation. The longer the kiss lasted, the hotter she felt, and the warmer her skin got.

She breathed out another moan, fingers carding through the lengthier parts of his hair. The more his mouth moved against hers, the harder it was becoming to hold back. She was pouncing on him, kissing him back with as much fervor, and slightly let out a whimper when he pulled back. His mouth broke from hers, slipping down to place kisses along her jawline. She bit her lip, head tilting back just as he muttered, "Tell me how you want to be touched."

The request had her pulling back, staring at him in disbelief. "What?"

"What you said last night..." He explained, a sudden insecurity weighing in his eyes. "It got to my head."

Mouth opening and closing, she stared at him in stunned silence. Then the realization hit her on what he was implying. "I said that out of the heat of the moment," she assured him. "I was simply mad at you."

Although the way she was trying to avoid his gaze told him otherwise. "I'm a profiler. I can tell if you're lying."

She couldn't stop the amused laugh slipping through her lips. "Look," she started, slightly tugging his hair. "It wasn't that you were bad. But you could've been, I don't know—better, perhaps?"

"You do know how to bruise a man's ego," he muttered, more to himself than to her. He let out a sigh as she stared at him in amusement. "Let me be honest with you, I don't have that much experience with women, but..." he trailed off, pressing a soft kiss at the corner of her lips. "I do want to know how you want to be touched."

She could feel her amusement slipping away as she struggled to wrap her mind around what was happening, breath coming in short, her body filled with a warmth that wasn't just from her growing arousal. "You're being serious, aren't you?"

"Very." His nose intentionally bumped against hers this time, the hand on her lower back somehow holding her tighter to him. “I have three bachelor's degrees and completed three doctorate programs, learning and excelling in new subjects is engraved deep in my blood."

She playfully shoved him. "Show off."

He simply smiled, slightly pulling away. His head turned just a fraction towards her, hands sliding along her hips. “Tell me how I can be better for you.”

She stared at him, completely enthralled with the way his eyes lingered across her face—her eyes, her nose, her mouth. This was dangerous, letting herself fall deeper into this lust, but somehow it felt right. It felt incredibly right to feel his arms around her. It felt perfectly right as she snaked her arms behind her, grabbed onto his hand, and pulled him deeper into her home.

Her mind was too clouded with a desire to think clearly, and even when a little voice at the back of her head reminded her how wrong getting tangled with an authority in this situation was, she simply decided not to listen. Instead, she guided him toward her living room and walked him over to the single-seated sofa before placing her hands on his chest.

Spencer’s brows drew together, a small crease forming between them. She gently pushed him back, the back of his legs hitting the furniture as he settled himself between the soft cushions. He sat there, staring expectantly at her standing before him. Ignoring any self-conscious thoughts, she gripped the bottom of her blouse and swiftly pulled it over her head.

His eyes went wide. “What are you doing?"

A coy smile stretched across her mouth as she undid her pants, noticing the way he is eyes were focused on every little move she made. His question was left unanswered as she slipped off her jeans, kicking them off as they finally slid down her legs. Then she unclasped her bra and his mouth opened, eyes narrowing as his head tilted back, his tongue slowly sweeping along his bottom lip. He instinctively reached out, his calloused pads brushed her bare skin and a shudder ran down her spine before she slipped away from his touch.

He groaned a moment later. “Where are you going?”

She shook her head, still not answering him. She then turned around with her back facing him, and because she found pleasure in the way his eyes glazed every time she teased him, her fingers grabbed the band of her underwear, slowly sliding it down her legs. He let out a strained whimper as the evidence of her slick arousal clung onto the fabric, and it took a lot of self-control for him to stay still.

And when she finally turned around, he took in the sight of her naked form standing before him. She was as beautiful as he remembered, so perfectly made—full breasts, hips, thighs—the body of a woman as a woman was meant to be. But before he could devour her naked flesh with his eyes, she took a step back before sinking herself onto the longer couch, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

There was something compelling being the one in charge, even when she seemed to be the only one naked, wearing nothing but a taunting smile while he sat there still in the confinement of his vest. Good lord—that vest. It was doing things to her. The vest. The hair. That look. The way he was watching her wrecked her and now she was wondering how much longer she could put on a show until he came undone.

"I'm not going to tell you how I want to be touched.” Her sultry voice rang in his ears as she leaned back, her knees falling apart. And when he thought she couldn’t drive him more insane than he already was, her fingers slipped between her legs painfully slow. Goosebumps rose along his skin, a shudder of anticipation running down his body.

“I think I might have to show you."

He let out a strangled sigh.

She was going to be the death of him.

>> NEXT PART

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multi-fandomfuckboy · 28 days

Text

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 27: Gifts

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 27, Part 28 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Sorry about the wait Word Count: 3,816 Warnings: none

The rest of your night is spent tossing and turning in bed. The prickling along the skin of your hand and wrist are your only reminder of what happened in the car, not to mention the memories that flood your mind every time you close your eyes. Billy’s coy smile, how his eyes devoured your every move, the hungry glint in them at the sounds you made. Your stomach writhes, flipping and swirling the more your mind lingers on the interaction.

It irritates you, the effect he has on you. Every smirk, or touch sends your heart into overdrive. It doesn't help that your experience with relationships up to this point have never gone further than hand holding. But, this electricity that exists between you and Billy seems to be short circuiting all your logic and reason.

You’ve never spent a lot of time thinking about things like this, you’re not a child, Nancy has told you plenty about her relationship with Steve. You just never took any interest in it. Until now it seems. You're plagued by thoughts of Billy pressed against you, his calloused hands holding you tightly, his lips against your skin, the feel of his hot breath mixing with yours. Fuck.

You turn your head, releasing a pent up scream into your pillow until you're out of breath.

When exhaustion finally wins out, you’re cast into another restless sleep.

———-

You’ve been here before. It’s dark and cold, familiar. Home. It’s quiet right now, for now. You’re not needed, yet. Fear twists through every tendril of your being, as much a part of you as the darkness. You can feel the shadow in your mind, waiting. Ready to bend, break if needed. You’re tired. But, there is no rest here. No peace. No hope. Forever.

———

This is different. Not cold, warmth washes over you. The sound of crashing waves is rhythmic, almost like breathing. It soothes the initial panic of being in a new place, so bright and peaceful. It’s so different from the other place. You are able to glance around, there is no one else here. An empty beach. It’s nice.

———

The sound of your mom trying to sneak out of your room wakes you the next morning.

“Mom?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow, wiping sleep from your eyes. She stops, her hand on the door. She’s still in her scrubs, the only illumination in the room is the light coming in from the hallway.

“Hey sweetie.” She greets you softly, turning to face you, an apologetic smile already on her lips. “I was just checking on you, go back to sleep.” She tries to reassure you. Your gut twists, you can barely see it in the dim light but it’s definitely there. The ever present worry you inspire in her. You were having some kind of nightmare, you can feel it in the tense in your muscles and the ache in your bones. Feeling the exhaustion that plagues you from the tension your dreams bring into reality.

“I’m sorry mom.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair feeling the dampness of sweat. Her smile falters, pulling tighter at your apology.

“Don’t be sorry love. It just takes… time.” She reminds you. You know it’s what she needs to believe. That with enough time your mind will heal, that the nightmares will eventually fade.

“It’s getting better.” The lie tastes bitter. Her shoulders sag slightly, like she can feel the lie physically. She won’t press though, both of you are happy to let it sit between you. It’s easier than facing reality.

She pads over to your bed, gently stooping to press a kiss on your brow.

“I love you.” She says softly. You can’t help the small smile that pulls from you.

“I love you too.” You reply reflexively. You always say it back, just in case. It’s an easy truth, for the both of you. She pulls away, her smile a bit more relaxed than it was. “Go back to sleep.” She says again, patting your head as she steps back towards the door. She gives you a pointed look you know she normally only reserves for unruly patients, leaving no room for argument.

“Alright. No need to pull out the nurse mom voice.” You joke, lying back down. She laughs lightly at your joke, slipping out the door.

“Goodnight kiddo.” She says softly. You roll onto your other side, your back towards the door. You watch the light narrow into a sliver of the wall opposite you as she closes the door, leaving it open only a crack. Then laying still, you focus on slowing your breathing, listening to the sounds of your mom moving around the house getting ready for bed. She’s awake for another half hour, eating leftovers, looking through the mail, showering, and finally you hear the springs of her mattress creak as she gets into bed.

You listen to the silence for a little bit. You like the quiet. Your life has been chaos for so long, from the moment you woke up in the hospital and every day since it feels like the world has erupted into too many sounds. Everyone talking, a constant low level buzz of activity. It’s sometimes enough to drive you crazy.

When you're certain your mom is asleep, you quietly slip out of bed and get dressed. Glancing at the clock on your bedside table, you note that it’s only 6AM, still early enough for your morning walk to be peaceful. The house is still dark, but you move through it easily navigating in the dim light of morning. You gather your journal, and fill your water bottle placing both into your bag. When you go to put on your shoes, the dangling remainder of your sole catches your attention. You inspect the dilapidated sneaker for a moment, trying to think of the best way to cobble it back together. You eventually settle on duct taping the pieces back together, wrapping the tape around the shoe a couple of times to make sure it's secured.

It’s not pretty, but technically it’s a whole shoe again. Satisfied that your solution is functional, you lace up your shoes and grab Steves’ jacket from the coat rack. Slinging your bag over your shoulder you head out the door. The dawn is cold, the sky a dim shade of gray, everything still cast in shadow the morning fog slowly creeping over the earth.

You pick up a steady pace, heading for your favorite sunrise spot. There is a hill about a mile east that looks out over the currently barren fields and will be the first spot in Hawkins to see the sun. It also happens to have a very comfortable rock that is perfect for sitting and writing.

By the time you reach it, the sun has just started to peak over the horizon, bathing the top of the hill in golden sunlight. You can feel its warmth on your exposed skin, the cold morning air still clinging to the shadows. You take out your water bottle and notebook, setting the empty bag down on the cold rock. You sit down, positioning yourself to face the sunrise, taking a moment to watch the earth in front of you slowly brighten, the light washing away the remaining shadows. It’s quiet here, as quiet as it can be in nature. There are still the chirps of the birds and the rustling of dead leaves as small animals pass by, but peaceful.

You know that you can’t stay out too long. You may not notice the cold but your body still has a physical response to it and it's still the middle of December. So you open your notebook and begin.

The story you’ve been working on is not peaceful. It is a terrible story about a young boy raised to fight monsters. He’s known no other life, he was born with the burden of being the only one who can see these monsters, and he can never stop. But the older he gets, and the harder he fights to protect the world from evil, he realizes that a bit of that evil has taken root in him. It starts small, a black spot behind his ear, but it grows. It digs its roots in deep, twisting its way into his soul.

In the beginning the young man starts off as the hero, but eventually the evil will consume him and he will become what he fought so hard against. You know the ending, but it’s not written yet. There is still hope in the middle of the story.

When you notice the red tinge in your fingertips brought on by the chilly December air you stop and pack up your things. Taking one last glance around at the now illuminated field, you turn and head back home.

You arrive at the same time Steve pulls into your driveway. You can see him through the window as you approach and he looks a bit worse for wear. His hair is damp, hanging loosely around his pale face. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses but are no doubt blood shot with circles under them. He cuts the engine as you approach the drivers’ side, opening the door to haul himself out with a grunt of effort.

“Alright grandpa, how’s that hangover treating you?” You ask, unable to stop your teasing smirk even for his sake. He sighs heavily, closing the door just to lean back against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What kind of friend are you?” He asks, lifting a brow. “How could you let me drink that much?” You come to a stop in front of him, crossing your arms to mirror him.

“Because according to you, you’re ‘a grown ass man’ who ‘knows how to handle his alcohol’, and because I ‘never let you have any fun’.” You say, throwing air quotes around some of the excuses he gave you when you tried to get him to slow down the night before. A bit of pink brightens his cheeks at the reminder, but he laughs good naturedly at your teasing.

“Stop holding me accountable for my own actions.” He groans. “I don’t feel good, so I’m just going to blame you to make myself feel better.” He goes on, pressing his finger tips against his temples. His small smile brings a bit of life back to his ashen face.

“Oh of course. Whatever makes your life easier Steve.” You concede, your own smile pulling at your lips. He huffs a laugh, lifting his sunglasses onto his head. There is a beat of silence before he clears his throat, his cheeks flushing a bit more.

“And- uh- thanks. For, you know, babysitting me last night.” He says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his beck. Your stomach drops at the reminder, you didn’t think Steve was sober enough to remember much but apparently he remembered enough. You wonder if he remembers how he had held you against him, crying quietly in the kitchen while you whipped his tears. How he had gently lowered his forehead to yours and held your palm against his beating heart. You don’t want to press the subject, especially if he doesn’t remember everything.

“Don’t mention it, I’ll bill your parents later.” You joke, forcing yourself to chuckle. Steve laughs lightly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looks you up and down, nodding his head towards his jacket you’re still wearing.

“The jacket looks good on you.” He says. You look down at the old bomber jacket, moving to unzip it.

“Yea sorry I just borrowed it to walk home last night. I, uh, couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, the unspoken truth behind your words not lost on him. He’s familiar with your anxious habits that don’t always make sense. That you have a tendency to walk away when your brain won’t settle down. His hand stops yours on the zipper, pulling it away.

“It’s okay, you can keep it.” He tells you. “I don’t wear it anymore anyways.” He explains, looking down at his hand encircling your wrist.

“Thanks Steve.” You beam up at him. He smiles back , his thumb running over the underside of your wrist. Your heart leaps. In that moment you wonder if he’s somehow feeling where Billy’s lips had been the night before. But that’s ridiculous.

“It will be a nice reminder of me while I’m gone. Along with this.” He says, pulling something from his pocket. Your eyes widen at the sight of a delicate gold chain, glinting in the sun, a small pendant hanging perfectly in the center.

“What is that?” You ask in confusion. Steves’ smile only grows as he drapes the shining metal over your wrist, easily clasping it in place.

“It’s your Christmas present. I’m giving it to you early cause I won’t be back until after new years.” He tells you, one hand still gently cupping your wrist. “The lady told me it’s real so it won’t leave a ring or anything.” He tells you as if it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Heat flushes your cheeks as you inspect the bracelet. You take in the intricate beauty of the simple chain, small links twisting and interlocking into a light strand of glittering gold. A simple pendant hangs from the middle. A brilliant shining sun, catching and reflecting the light, casting off its own rays as it hangs from your wrist. It’s beautiful. More elegant than anything you’ve ever owned. Something twists low in your gut.

“Steve, I can’t take this.” You tell him, moving to unclasp the chain. He instantly pushes your hand away.

“Of course you can.” He insists. Suddenly his eyes fill with worry. “Do you not like it?” He asks, his smile falling. Your stomach sinks.

“No, I- I like it, it’s really beautiful. It’s just too nice.” You try to explain. Steve sighs with relief, his smile returning in an instant.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a bracelet, it’s not like I bought you a car or something.” He laughs at his own joke. You struggle to maintain your smile. You know that money isn’t really an issue with Steve’s allowance but it doesn’t make you feel any better. He should be saving his money for school, not spending it on pretty things for you. Steve’s eyes catch on to your discomfort almost instantly. “Please accept it.” He pleads sincerely. “I saw it and immediately thought of you.” He explains, one of his fingers flicking over the sun pendant.

Your heart swells at the sentiment. It’s unbearably cheesy, and very Steve. When your eyes glance up to meet his you’re once again met with the big brown puppy eyes, the hangover makes them look especially sad. You have to suppress a groan.

“Okay.” You finally give in, earning an ear to ear grin from Steve that pulls a smile out of you as well. “Thank you, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Babysitter.” He says, pulling you into a crushing hug.

“Merry Christmas.” You reply, wrapping your arms around him. He holds you tightly, pulling you up and into him. “I didn’t get you anything.” You admit, shamefully burying your face in his shoulder. His responding laugh shakes both of you.

“Can I request an official document declaring that I’m your best friend?” He asks. Your cheeks burn at the memory of you and Steve admitting that you are each other's best friends the night before. You laugh, trying to swat at him but he keeps his arms locked around you. “Can I get it notarized as well?” He adds, still laughing.

“Oh shut up.” You groan, earning another laugh. When he finally lets you go, you take a half step back. You’re hyper aware of the bracelet, holding your arm slightly away from your body to keep it from catching on any of your clothes and potentially scuffing it.

“Aren't you flying out today? When are you supposed to head to the airport? ” You ask, glancing at your watch.

“I was supposed to leave 10 minutes ago.” He tells you flatly. You gap at him.

“You what? What are you doing here? You’re going to miss your flight you dork!” You practically yell at him, giving his arm a shot towards his car.

“I had to come say goodbye.” He says, laughing as he opens the door and allows you to shove him into the driver's seat.

“You could have just called!” You say, slamming the door closed as soon as his legs are in. You see him laugh again through the window. The engine roars to life as Steve cracks the window, still smiling.

“No I couldn’t.” He says, like it’s a fact. That gets an eye roll from you.

“Get out of here before I’m stuck with you all winter break.” You tell him, unable to stop the small smile that he always manages to drag out of you.

“I’ll call you from the resort!” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the drive. “Don’t miss me too much!” He calls from the end of the driveway. “I’ll try!” You call back, waving goodbye as Steve gives you one last smile before pulling into the street. You watch the car speed down your street and disappear around the corner before heading towards the house.

An uneasy feeling settles over you as you make your way to your door. You and Steve had quickly become inseparable since the night the gate closed, it was a seamless partnership. It made you feel like there was someone there who had your back. You know that Nancy and Jonathan are still close but the knowledge that Steve will be alone for the next two weeks fills your mind with a low level of anxiety.

A chill snakes down your spine and your hurry into the house. You feel unsettled from the thoughts of Steve being so far away and practically unprotected, your palms itch with the need to do something. Instinctively you begin checking the safety of your own home. Moving quickly and efficiently you check locks on all the doors and windows, then lay hands on all the hidden weapons in the house. When you’ve checked all of them, you settle at the table with your fathers Barretta, pulling out the cleaning kit. It's monotonous work, but cleaning the pistol always seems to ease the itch in your hands when your anxiety picks up.

Rolling up the sleeves on the jacket your attention catches on the glint of gold around your wrist. You examine it for a moment, looking at how the delicate chain contrasts against your sun damaged skin. How it stands in opposition to your calloused hands, your fingernails chewed down to the quick, cuticles picked to an angry red. Your stomach twists.

It really is a beautiful piece of jewelry, delicate and perfectly balanced. Traits you can’t see in yourself. It really is too nice for someone like you.

What if you broke it or scratched it? What if you lost it on a walk? What if you fucked it up?

It’s too good for you. You wish it wasn’t, but it is.

You carefully unclasp the chain, lying it gently on the table before you start cleaning. You lay out the cleaning supplies, setting the pistol down on a rag in front of you. Then you settle into the process of disassembling and cleaning all the small pieces of the weapon. You remember when Hopper had taught you how to properly clean a gun. He told you that he and your dad would sit in silence for hours just sipping on drinks and cleaning the small harmless parts of the deadly machines. He always stressed that it was vitally important for you to understand the inner workings of a gun before ever picking one up. How all the pieces fit together, and if even one small part was missing or broke it would alter the functionality with devastating results.

Your fingers slowly darken with the combination of CLP cleaning oil and burnt carbon. You work diligently, rubbing at any blemishes remaining. When you’re satisfied that the gun is clean, and the anxiety in your mind has lessened slightly, you reassemble your gun and pack up your cleaning kit.

You move to grab the pistol, intending to put it back where it was hidden in your nightstand but pause your eyes catching on how dirty your hands are. You go to the sink and scrub at your hands until they are rubbed raw. When you’re sure that no remnants of carbon or oil cling to your hands, you pick up the gun in one hand and the gold bracelet in the other. You walk to your room, securing the pistol to the underside of your nightstand and placing the glimmering chain on the surface.

You can’t risk accidentally damaging it. Better to keep it here, safe. Your fingers ghost along the edges of the sun pendant, still managing to catch some of the light, glimmering up at you.

The sound of a revving engine causes you to jump.

Billy.

Your eyes dart to the time. 1156. You had lost track of time and nearly forgotten that Billy told you he would pick you up at 12. Not knowing what to expect, you just grab your bag, still packed from your walk, and head out the door before Billy can make enough noise to wake your mom.

Before you step out the door, you take a deep breath, reminding yourself that you have killed monsters before and faced shady government agencies, you should not let Billy fluster you the way he does. You are going to be so calm, he’s going to get bored and stop teasing you. That’s the plan.

His eyes are on you from the moment you step out of the house, his gaze follows you all the way to the car. Climbing into the passenger seat you notice he’s playing a cassette, it’s the first time you’ve actually recognized the song. You can’t remember the name, but it’s one of the songs Max showed you that day after school.

“You didn’t have to drive me.” You tell him, buckling your seatbelt. Billy immediately rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh.

“Yea, tell that to the duct tape holding your shoes together right now, loca.” He shoots back.

“It’s only one of them.” You grumble, settling into your seat. Billy just chuckles.

“It’s just a ride crazy, don’t make a big deal about it.” He tells you, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of your driveway.

AN: sorry this took so long 😬

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yahoodarling · 2 months

Text

Yandere Thoma/Ayato X IsekaiedGN Reader

Warnings: Posted in comments to avoid spoilers, please read them if you wish to avoid potential triggers.

Word Count: 20k (Full Fic)

Chapter option: Part 1 ( 3 Chapters, +-6k ea)

It's disgusting, it is discomfort incarnate to have such foresight into the fate of the world and yet be bound to its own laws of destiny, especially when what you were sure was to take place is altered. You no longer have any ground of understanding except the uncanny feeling that things are not as they should be, to be so similar and yet be so changed. You knew things will end up alright, as long as you do not interfere then Inazumas political warfare will reach a peaceful end and it did. You watched, noted those ‘special’ to the world, those who have a story, a life, a reason and you took the responsibility of not getting involved and it worked. You became an npc, avoided any confrontation with those deemed ‘special’, avoided any influence in the ‘plot’, watched as a hero came, a nation saved and a people newly united. It worked. Your foresight was correct yet… things changed. With no base to rely on, how were you to know what the ‘future’ must be, how were you to know what to avoid, who to avoid and what minor choice may change a future? The hero has left, gone to Sumeru you guess, no, you know, you know the hero leaves for a new nation but so has your foresight and with that comes the change. The one day gathering supplies, one day speaking to a fellow npc to fill some sort of social need, one day being in the ‘dark’ and you've caused a spark.

“Oh Aoi, good morning to you!”

He didn't speak to you, it was directed to the npc shopkeep you were chatting with and yet it grabbed your attention. Thoma is ‘special’, Thoma is relevant and so he must be avoided and you failed.

Thoma spoke of how lovely the nights have been, of the soft whistles of sea, even to npcs Thoma was a gentleman starting conversation. He then noted how ‘unique’ your eyes are, a depth to them he's never seen before. That comment frightened you, made you rush to leave, to stop the change. Quickly you felt a hand on your shoulder,

“Please excuse my rudeness but how about we have a stroll? I know its unfair of me to ask a stranger such a thing but… you remind me of a home away from home, if you would grant me such a pleasure that is.” he ended with a chuckle. You have been so realistic up to this point, so good at avoiding ‘change’ but you have a heart and knew all too well that whatever feeling Thoma is experiencing is something important to him. You have a heart and so you accept. A single light hearted stroll became a weekly meet at the shop front, ‘coincidentally’, which became a personal relationship which became a friend. It's alright though, Thomas is a social guy, he's close with many npcs who never impacted the ‘plot’, you can be one such npc, that's fine. Change is fine.

It's not fine. Meeting with Thoma you eventually met with other ‘special’ individuals you knew by name before they even knew of your existence. It's a weird feeling to know a person before getting to meet them, all the private details, their worries, their joys and yet to remain oblivious.

“A formal greeting from the Kamisato Clan, I am glad to see Thoma has a new friend. Do treat him well, sadly I must make short of this meet.” and the man who is most likely the most influential to whatever ‘plot’ is to come of Inazuma greeted. Kamisato Ayato was amongst your top ‘DO NOT ENGAGE’ list other than the archon herself and yet somehow naive bliss and a VERY convincing plea(almost suspiciously good) from Thoma to have lunch by the beaches near the residence of the Kamisato Clan lead you right into his ‘life’. You have no ‘life’, you are meant to have no ‘life’, no value or effect and yet by each interaction with those deemed ‘special’ by the world your plans crumble.

Ayato then promptly bowed and walked out the residents gate, a body guard joining him as he started his track along the path you had just taken towards the city.

“Ah right, he has that meeting. A pity, if his schedule was more open I would have asked for him to join us.” Thoma turned to you with a quick hesitant smile, “he's really not as imposing as you may think he is. Ah well… maybe he still is but just in a different way then what the people expect. If you'd like, maybe I could let you know when my lord and I are doing something casual, if you would be comfortable with that of course. I forget just how intimidating the idea of being casual with a clan lord can be to someone who doesn't know him as well as I do.”

“Thank you for the offer Thoma but I'd like it if we just kept it the two of us. You are right, the idea is a little frightening right now.”

You knew what Thoma meant by all that, he means that Ayato is a genuine person underneath his political mask. Ayato is a brother, a friend and a man caring for those deemed under his protection and to those lucky enough to see under his mask they may be met with the unlucky fate of becoming a target to his mischievous nature.

Still, the idea of getting involved with someone so influential is nauseating even if just for something ‘casual' as Thoma has in mind. In truth you shouldn't even be here, here near the Kamisato Clan, here near someone like Thoma, here in Teyvat in the first place. You shouldn't be here.

“I see, that's expected haha.” Thoma smiled at you wildly, reaffirmed at the idea of something going on in his mind (if only knowing what said idea was was as easy as opening a character profile and reading a line directly out of his thoughts) “Well we are still here for a good time. Let me get that blanket and pillows for the beach quickly. You are going to love it!” Thoma quickly skipped into the yard of the clans walls while you waited outside and watched as the npcs you recognized patterned around the area. That one person at the commission board, you had forgotten his name by now after fulfilling Inazumas reputation months ago. There was the old lady sweeping in the yard, what did she comment on again? … … it never came to you, it was all forgetful anyway. A sudden feeling of envy hit you. They were forgetful, oh how lovely that would be to ease your nerves. To know that each day the sun rises you can follow your coded script without fear of altering the fate of the very universe by the time the sun goes down. Wow, you've messed up haha.

Thoma returned quickly as promised, a blanket and two pillows clutched under one arm as a basket was held in another but probably most heavy of all was the giant smile on his face, wrinkling his cheeks with a sense of genuine happiness. No wonder you messed up, it would be impossible to say no to him. It's all his fault and yet you felt you could never put the blame on him.

“Well, sorry to have starved you of your lunch for so long, we are nearly there and I can't wait to see your reaction.” Thoma then lead you through a short path of the surrounding forest and down towards the beach.

Perhaps your recollection of the game isn't accurate, you could have sworn a group of enemies should be nearby the beach here but all along the coast line was just gentle laps of the waves upon white sand. Thoma layed out the blanket with little worries evident on his face, he placed both pillows down then removed his shoes, each unclad foot stepping on the blanket to avoid spreading sand all over it, you promptly did the same, sitting down and placing the basket you had down next to his.

“This place is lovely at any time of the day but especially during sunset, I would have asked for you to join then but I feared it would make things inconvenient for you but still, spending the afternoon here is just lovely nonetheless.” he criss crossed his legs and then beamed at you.

“Come on then, don't keep me waiting, I'm dying to try out one of your baked goods.”

Right. One of the first things you did when you realised you were now living in the game was (panic, cry, internally scream in confusion as to how this has happened and if your world will keep on going and you aren't in it) actually to set up an identity for yourself. Running around and claiming to have come from another world and how you somehow know very personal details of select people and the future fate of the nation would lead to either your banishment or a future altered and possibly worse where peace was not founded, the resistance killed off and the entire plot of the ‘game’ thrown off. Not a good idea. Instead you tried to incorporate yourself into the ‘npc lifestyle’ as quickly as possible. You came up with a backstory that befit this world, you are a failed Sumeru scholar who has come to Inazuma to lead a new simple life outside of your failures. (In truth you stole inspiration for the backstory from some npc you think was on Sangonomiya Island.) It makes sense, people you tell won't ask you more about your past details in fear of being insensitive and Sumeru scholars are sometimes brought to Inazuma. You explained your (fake) predicament to a shop vendor who referenced you to the local baker who took you on. Now you bake goods behind the walls, don't face any customers and have a very npc-like backstory and job. You set yourself up well which was helped by all the knowledge you have of this world. Too bad you messed up all that work and are sat in front of someone ‘special’. Maybe you can salvage the situation, maybe it's not as bad as you think it is, you only have ‘maybes’ which isn't helpful since you had a ‘definitely’ to rely on before Inazumas ‘quest’ was finished by the hero.

You just smile at Thoma and reach your basket. “I made some simple bread rolls and brought some butter and jam but I also made some black sesame biscuits before leaving work. Thanks again for convincing my boss to let me off early today, things get busy there.”

“Not a problem, I don't often take days off either but I think I just needed a break today and imagined it would be a nice chance to get to know you more. How about you pass me one of your rolls in exchange for a serving of okonomiyaki? Sorry it's probably cold by now but should still be good.” He reached into his basket taking out some wooden containers as well as some cloths, likely for cleaning any spillages, and handed you one with you exchanging and giving him a roll and butter from your pack.

You both nibbled at each other's creations, the bread rolls were still slightly warm on the inside since you had baked them before leaving, which Thoma commented on how lovely it is with the butter. The okonomiyaki you took pieces out of was cold but packed with various spices and toppings which really highlighted Thomas skills.

“I just love that we can do this!” Thoma announced after his last bite. “I love getting to make and share things with friends, it's touching the combined effort put into it as well as the delicious outcome we get to enjoy. Haha, my lord and I do a similar thing but its outcome is not as enjoyable as warmed bread and butter, if anything it's concerning haha. Remember how earlier I said how he can be a little intimidating, our little cook outs are one such example. I really have to steel myself for those.” he chuckled and then leaned down on his elbows.

Once again, what he's trying to explain is something you already know of but need to act oblivious to. You have to convince yourself to be unaware and yet need to be aware enough to avoid ‘changing’ anything, this task has grown rather wearing but is essential to keep up your act.

“Oh? How could cooking together turn out so threatening? You two are close though.” He laughed

“It's because we are close that he feels he can torment me with his cooking. I swear, I'm surprised I haven't kneeled over and died yet. Worst part is he knows it's tomenting, it's the best part to him! Agh- I've had so many of my own treats I've made be ruined by whatever his plan is. Haha, it's amusing to look back on but just so daunting at the moment. When I said we could do something ‘casual’ with him I do not mean having one of these cook outs haha, I could never subject you to that.”

The nature of the conversation stayed light hearted, you both exchanging from your baskets while sharing stories or light hearted moments, you had altered your side of things a little, you spoke truth of personal events but under the filter to fit with your backstory, that way lies couldn't catch up with you or forgetting lots of little made up details. The outing was rather pressuring in concept, so much could go wrong since you are involved, but in reality it was very nice. You had kept yourself back a lot when it comes to building relationships with the people around you in fear of your influence potentially changing something important but you are still human and still have social needs but even people like your boss, coworkers and the shop vendors you chat with in passing never fit what it meant to have a friend, to have someone to sit next to and simply have a good time with.

Maybe you've been in this world for too long, you fear you may slip into making a ‘normal’ life here now that you've had a taste of what it means to ‘live’.

The sun started moving, waves became more rash upon the shore and the signs of the afternoon turning to evening became evident. You started packing up your basket and containers, lightly chatting on with Thoma about the seaside. To the side you heard footsteps and Thoma sat himself up straight to look at the oncomer.

“Oh! Done with the meeting my lord?”

Your hand slipped in fright, the container lid clattering as you tried to put it with its matching box. Shit, why is he here? Shouldn't Ayato be too busy? Isn't that one of his whole character points? Not once was ‘strolls on the beach’ mentioned in any of his character lines. You looked up and smiled at him in greeting, your face tugged up tensely and trying very hard to look at ease. You decided it would be easier to let Thoma handle him and just got back to packing your things away.

“Good evening to you too,” he chuckled softly and shifted his gloves, “the meet is done without any problems. When I got back home I wondered if you were still out here, seems I was right. I can now also fix a prominent mistake of mine.”

Even though you tried your hardest to avoid eye contact and look busy it's not like you had mountains to put away, you were left empty handed with a pair of well polished shoes in front of you, their sheen contrasted with the speaks of sand now defiling them. You took a breath in and looked up properly to meet his gaze.

“I do apologise for being so rash earlier, I would have liked a proper introduction. As you can surmise i am Ayato, Thoma has mentioned of you before and I am glad to have the honor of meeting you in person.” he smiled in greeting, no doubt he would have offered a hand or a bow if you both were at the same height but for now a smile would do.

“Right, it is truly an honour Lord Ayato. Thank you for extending your welcome to me.” you bowed slightly.

He laughed slightly, deeply amused.

“Do just call me Ayato in private like this and last I recall, yes my property is in the area but that doesn't warrant me the entire beach side. In truth I have not welcomed you at all.”

Thoma sighed slightly, “My lord please don't tease them so readily, I would like to eventually re invite them here but I can't do that if you've scared them away.”

“Of course, maybe then I can truly offer my welcome and they may join us to tea in the confines of the clan.”

Thoma sighed again at the slight continuation of Ayato's mischief. You took the opportunity of their exchange as an opening and stood up.

“Thank you for the food today Thoma and for bringing me to such a lovely place. I'll get going before it gets too late.”

“Oh, let me walk you back then.”

You shook your head in defiance, “No need, I know the way and it doesn't make sense for you to walk all the way just to have to return. Bringing me here was amazing in itself.”

You turned to Ayato and bowed again, less in respect and more so to keep away from eye contact.

“Thank you again Lord Ayato. Stay well.” and quickly you make your way off the sands of the beach and towards the trek back home into the outer city.

Thoma and Ayato stayed still, simply watching you go in silence until you were out of eyesight. It was Ayato that broke the silence.

“You are sure they do not carry any ill intent?” he said monotonously, still looking at the spot you disappeared to.

“I am sure. They are a decent person and I double checked, they don't have a past linked to any organisation. Sure they are rather anxious, I see it often, a little skittish at times and slightly paranoid but it's not at the prospect of the clan. Haha, if you've taught me anything it's to be aware of people's intentions, if anything they are trying to run away rather than to get close. I can assure you, they don't have an agenda against the clan.”

Ayato breathed out, then turned himself to properly look at Thoma, his face relieved. “If that's your judgement it must be true then.”

…

An odd moment of silence spread between the two of them on the beach, both looking out as the sky took on warmer hues of yellow and orange clashing with its deeper blues.

“You've been coming here a lot more recently and to have invited a friend here as well, has your mind been on your homeland?”

Thoma chuckled and leaned back out on the blanket, now dusted with sand and corners crinkled after the day's events, “I have. Thinking about the mountains of Mondstadt and all the memories just out there across the ocean. It's not in a sad sense, not at all, it's just that recently-,” he paused, looking away from the ocean and down to his lap, slightly gnawing on his lip in thought, “recently i've felt more… connected with myself. It's a nice feeling if not slightly concerning. I feel I'm getting to know myself better but it also just clearly shows how much I have yet to discover.” He sighed, closed his eyes and fully laid down on his back.

Ayato looked down on his friend, doing as he does best and figuring out just what was going on in his mind, his feelings, the reasons for such feelings and the potential catalysts that brought them about. He kneeled down onto the blanket beside his friend, form straight from a lifetime of practice.

“Does your new friend have anything to do with it?” he asks only to be met with silence, Ayato doesn't need an answer, he already knows it's true but just why that is so is still unknown.

“It isn't that you have fallen for them have you? I didn't think of you as one for love to occur after a reasonably short time.”

Thoma opened his eyes languidly and responded this time.

“I don't think it is love. Not yet but… i'd say i've definitely fallen for them haha, in whatever way that is i'm not sure but it feels… unbridled in nature.” he closed his eyes once more and shook his head at his own emotions. He tugged on a smile and relieved himself of his weighing thoughts, “So i'd appreciate it if you don't chase them away okay? I look forward to figuring out what's going on with both myself and with them.”

Ayato nodded wordlessly, not needing to disturb the quiet with a response.

…

“Ayato, did you notice the look in their eyes? It truly just- it just instantly made me feel like I was reliving my home town but also… not. It was familiar but also so foreign.”

“I hadn't gotten a good look at them in truth. They seemed rather determined in keeping their eyesight on anything but me.”

Thoma nodded in acknowledgement, “Makes sense. I do hope they warm up to the idea of the three of us doing something together eventually. Haha, once they've settled their nerves they are very comforting to talk with, I think you'd like them.”

Comfortable silence stretched along the two, the shades of yellow and orange in the sky deepening to reds and purples. In time Ayato stood up, no doubt with the intent of work to finish. He turned to leave before side glancing at Thoma.

“The nobushi that often occupy these beaches, you've disposed of them correct?”

“Did it just this morning to make sure the beach was safe for today as well as to clear out the threat they bring.”

Ayato sighed in annoyance.

“I still can't believe those ruffians believe they outwit us, thinking being close to the clan means they may spot our vulnerabilities.” he shook his head slightly, like the ‘danger’ the oathless samurai possessed was nothing but a pesky fly.

He then made his way back to the clan home leaving Thoma to steep in his own thoughts.

It was after this interaction that you decided to cut things down. At first you imagined Thoma to be the safest ‘special’ person to come across, given how social he is and loved by many you could become a face in the crowd while also tending to your social needs and appeasing Thoma who, and you still wonder why, wanted to get closer to you. Following the path you've taken recently, of course you were wrong, in fact Thoma should have been on that list of ‘DO NOT ENGAGE’ for the very reason you thought it was safe to: he's social. Very quickly you had realised in your time meeting with him that he would smile and wave to many walking by, one such instance was panic inducing when you noticed Yoimiya come over to greet him. Before she had fully skipped up to the both of you you had promptly dismissed yourself and ran back to the confines of your walls to avoid meeting someone so ‘special’.

This was Thomas' problem, he is the network that is connected to so many ‘characters’ that by staying by his side means undoubtedly meeting with the others. Today's incident was clearly that, you met Ayato, you were right there at the clan bordering the line of stepping into the grounds of one of the most impactful places of Inazuma and it was Thoma that had convinced you to do so. You had been too lenient on your rules recently, too selfish. You don't follow these rules you've written up for yourself because you want to but because you know it's for the better of the future and altering such a future because you can't stay inline is selfish to every being in Teyvat that could possibly be influenced by your choices.

To live means to influence your environment, to live means to leave an impression that proves your existence. You wish for nothing right now other than to ‘die’, be void of life and find comfort in that, to finally release the stress of what it means to have all this information of the world and not belong in it but you are still human, you have needs to fulfil and ‘dying’ is not one of them.

It was time to cut Thoma off, it hurt because you knew it would hurt him but it would be better this way. That night you closed your eyes to rest, determined on your new path but gut wrenching in a myriad of emotions, fear, pressure, uncertainty, sadness. You haven't slept well ever since coming to this world and that night was no different. You fell asleep cursing the ground you walk on, cursing the details that swamped your mind, cursing your very existence and the trouble it causes to both this world and yourself.

Separating yourself from Thoma was simple, firstly you changed your shopping time, no longer ‘coincidentally’ meeting with him like you had these last few weeks. Secondly, you asked your boss for more work, that way you have an excuse. You aren't a ‘bad person’ for suddenly leaving Thoma, no it’s because work has been busy and you just don't have the time. This system worked, you hadn't stumbled on him while in the city and the few times he did come to your workplace you simply told him that you were busy and needed to get back to work. This system went on for weeks and was perfect for devoiding your existence of ‘live’, which yes was depressive, you could feel yourself go mad at the amount of work you put on yourself and lack of outlet, but it worked. The extra work did help with the issue of mora as well (the value of mora being confusing ingame where how a single egg was 400 mora and yet 1 mora is represented as a single coin but you realised quickly it was just the ingame market system) which lightened the financial strain a little. You worked from early mornings to late nights, arms dead by the end of the day. In truth you know it isn't a healthy cycle, often coming home and skipping meals just to bathe and sleep, but it was necessary.

Inazumas rains soaked the land, luckily no thunder was present but the trek from the city to nearby village was still made difficult in the wet weather. Your eyes focusing and unfocusing, legs on autodrive walking you towards a particular customer of your workplace who the boss is very fond of. The old lady you were delivering to had been coming to the bakery for years but in her age can no longer make the walk to the city. Your boss found it mandatory to provide for such a loyal customer and so your weekly walk to deliver her breads was on the way.

In the rain was silence, just the sound of your wet shoes on the mud and the rhythmic clank of the wooden box you carried and its latch. The world began to blur, shapes and colours combining as the rain obscure your vision and the melody of your steps, the rain's patter and the wooden latch soothed your mind. Peaceful, a sleepwalk yet not unconscious.

Peace is never retained.

“Look, a stray lamb. Ha! The rain brings fortune indeed.” a swallowed out voice but a few steps away from you got you out of your daze. A wandering samurai, perhaps 3 all together, walked from the side of the path towards you from the river. If this had been ingame the confrontation would be nothing more but an annoyance, 4 ‘characters’ to choose from to easily snuff them out or the option to just run away until they gave up chase. In reality this confrontation means little less than a deathly denouement. Heavily armed, well trained men with seemingly no morals and a thirst for sick entertainment against a human bering no vision, a basket of bread and a fatigued body leaves little wonder as to how this will end. Panic arose at the realisation, the very human phenomenon of ‘fight or flight’ kicking in, and as a baby bird strives to the air you push off your feet, adrenaline quickly awakening your senses and urged your body to a change of direction and just as a fledgling's first flight you fall. Hard. Your mind may have awoken but your body had not caught the message, instead you lay your head in the dirt, all motive diminished, just your sad existence lay bare for a bunch of hostile mobs, stupid coding of copy paste enemies, to take your life. In all honesty this is perfect, you wish to retain as accurate to an npc life as possible? What better way than to die a meaningless death. That brought enough comfort to you to allow yourself to close your eyes (disregarding the other factors such as shock, exhaustion and most likely a concussion from the fall)

Perhaps a few of your questions will be answered now, if you die here will you reawaken into your own world? Will the months of lifetime in this fictitious game be nothing but a dream or will you truly die and merely sink into the mud as nothing more than a mistake upon this world? Neither as it seems the feeling of the rain pelting on your body ended, the sounds of swords being drawn and clashing washed away and your head, though still paining, layed on something far more welcoming than wet earth.

“Are you regaining consciousness then?” you feel hands lean your body up, a hand moving you face side to side prompting your eyes to open. They are met with the analytically eyes of Ayato still looking over your features for whatever wear and tear you may have gathered.

“To have fallen so gracefully in such a life threatening moment, truly your abilities are unmatched to any I have seen before. I am surprised you garner such mud and bruising, I had expected you to be dressed in only the most comfortable of clothing by the way you so effortlessly went to rest.” Oh for fucks sake-

You properly awaken, now relying on your own balance to stay sitting upright and Ayato moving his hands away only to have his eyes peering closer to you. You swipe at your face, lumps of mud clinging to your hand in turn. You heave a sigh just to gather yourself for a moment before speaking.

“What happened? Why would you be here if it means I'm not dead? Ah- sorry,” you jumped into accusations before even giving thanks, not suspicious in the slightest, “my head is still sore. Sorry, I must thank you for rescuing me, I would be dead if not for you.”

Ayato hummed and nodded his head. “To answer your question, I was on my way to the city before the rain started, not wanting to get wet. I waited here under this shelter until I saw you stumble right into that group of noboshira and now we are sat here. As for your apology, it's accepted, you are welcome.”

Why was he acting like this? Mischievous sure but with a slight hint of pride or cockiness in vulgar terms. Sure he's a noble but usually he adores the ‘polite lord’ act rather than ‘cocky aristocrat’. His attitude reminded you of how he interacts with those he deems ‘close’ rather than a stranger he's met only once. Yes you are close with Thoma which may influence how he sees you but surely not to the extent of you two being ‘close’ in turn.

And still you must play the fool, be gracious and oblivious like you could never tell between his mask and his true face.

“Thank you so much Lord Ayato, truly you've saved my life.”

You stand to bow, to leave but he holds your wrist at the movement.

“Do not move so hastily now, the rain is still ongoing and I would not like to see a recurrence of you laying in the mud, no matter how amusing the first time may have been. Do sit back down.”

No denying that, no matter how much you wanted to make distance between the two of you, trying to run away would only cause more problems. You sit back down on the bench, a rickety structure just outside the village with hardly enough space for two. You look to the ground at your feet, watching as rain drops just a few inches away. Ayato sighs, made clear you have no intent of starting a conversation. Perhaps his political side kicks back in, going blunt and straight to the point.

“You have been avoiding Thoma these last weeks, he's become distressed at the idea he's done something wrong.” you do not reply.

“Is it because of my involvement? I understand you may be pressured by our difference in class but both Thoma and I have made it clear that should not be a problem when in private so why is it you fear me? I have seen those intimidated by my title but your anxiety runs deeper than that. I personally don't care as much but if it distracts your relation with Thoma then I suggest it should be dealt with.”

This questioning is unnerving, it is tearing right to the point where the only truth is to reveal the true origin of your situation. That cannot happen so you reply with what you usually do, not exactly a lie but a truth wrapped along with missing context.

You fake a sigh, “My Lord I am… I am an introverted person by nature. When Thoma approached me I- I accepted his conversations not to be rude and i do genuinely enjoy being with him but i- he's a social person, I knew he was and it was uncomfortable for me to get involved but I tried it's just the moment I met with someone such as yourself, someone so… powerful I realised just how large his social circle is. I can't keep it up, being with him means being with others and I can't handle that.” it was the truth, yes you played it up a bit but hopefully it's an explanation Ayato would accept.

“So you do not consider your friendship special enough to warrant such efforts?”

“No!” you lift your head to him, for once properly looking at him, “It is, he is special, he is special beyond your understanding it's just that… I don't fit in, I don't belong by his side and meeting you and others just proves that.”

Ayato looked at you for a moment, seemingly lost in your words, perhaps not understanding the phrasing you used but he quickly morphed back into his usual laid back but self assured look.

“Was that your decision to make?” He let out a soft huff of air and looked forward to the oncoming rain. Why did he wish to avoid the rain? Given his character trailer where he casually accepts it, his skills being water based and summoning quite literal rain not to mention the casual manner his attacks have him kneeling right into it, how could he act so off put by walking along when the storm was hardly harsh, a summer spray in truth, you wouldn't have accepted going on this delivery if the weather was any worse.

“It's comforting. Something I can appreciate both from a distance and up close. Water has a tendency of being both stubborn and flexible, it moves as it wishes and chips away at that it deems in its way. When in motion it is hard to stop, when stagnate it proves hard to move.”

Ayato turned back to you, eyes alight with something more than just his blue hues, they appeared with a sheen, not from the gloss of tears but of something you couldn't exactly tell what it embodied. Without a character profile to read it actually is very hard to tell what goes on in his mind.

“Such waters remind me of you. So stubborn in some label you've put yourself under and yet so quick to wash away when it is threatened. You call such a label as being ‘introverted’ but I imagine it's something more isn't it? Perhaps it is insensitive of me to get into, from Thoma I hear you've had an unfortunate past in your time as a scholar and the depths of your reason may lay there but if you truly wish to integrate into a life in Inazuma then avoiding the people you come across, myself and especially Thoma, all under the pretext of being ‘introverted’, then you will find your burdens much heavier.”

In a very storylike fashion the rains seemed to ease, droplets turning to drizzle. Ayato stood up and readjusted his coat cuffs, “At the very least explain to Thoma your reasons, I did not exaggerate when I said he has become distraught.”

You stood in turn, head buzzing but no longer in the previous pain. You nodded to Ayato, your anxieties haven't shown any actual proof and yet you hurt someone who has shown nothing but kindness and acceptance to you, it is wrong.

“I will, you are right.”

Ayato offered his hand to you for a hand shake, both as an untold promise to explain yourself to Thoma and as a simple goodbye gesture, you shook it with a strong resolve.

“I look forward to hearing more about you in the future. Do keep yourself well and avoid potential naps in the mud, it's not the most comfortable of places.” he smiled at you with a cheeky glint of amusement before turning his back and walking to the direction of the city.

You sat back down on the bench, intent on waiting out the remaining drizzle, and leaned against its wooden pillars. It's all so conflicting, when you try to do right for this world you hurt and confuse those around you, if you try to appease the people around you you risk threatening their future. You bare a cursed mind of information, a cursed existence upon this plane, it isn't right to affect others by the curse you bare but it also isn't right to devoid someone so giving as Thoma.

You sit and contemplate until the drizzle gives way, your carry box placed by your feet filled with breads untouched by dirt and still awaiting their destination.

Ayato strolls along the path to the city, it is not his usual reasoning for taking the trip but still a reason worth doing so. Along his path all threats had been eliminated, you should arrive just fine but it wasn't that which plagued his mind, rather it was a soft sense of amusement, a sense of glee that left him softly chuckling to himself. He adjusted the cuffs of his gloves, a sign to his Shuumatsuban in hiding that they are to leave him for a moment, once the soft shuffling of unseen ninja pass he turns is view to your direction, the distance hindering the sight, he needed a moment to himself, to gather all possible elements at play to give reason to his unspoken questions.

“As expected, Thoma was right, they do hold some degree of depth.”.

The words Ayato left with you clung to your mind, in all this time interacting with ‘characters’ you haven't once seen anything alter the course of the world yet. Perhaps it's a twisted Butterfly effect and your actions have changed something you cannot see but Teyvat was still intact and no news of a newly declared war has come about (for whatever reasons your actions may potentially had started a war in the first place). Perhaps the time of paranoia can finally come to an end and you can ‘live' a little, truly live here if it means spending the rest of your life in this world. You also owe it to Thoma. You've done everything in your power to avoid him when he's done nothing less but show genuine interest in getting closer to you and with Ayato's words you can confirm that you've hurt him. In your time knowing him, truly knowing him, not as a character reading lines of script, not as a collection of pixels on a screen but as a real person with flesh and feelings, it's really made you appreciate him more than anything one could feel for a fictional character. Thoma is not fictional in this world and in this world he looked to you for a friendship, you lead him on in your weakness and now he has to face the loss because of your choices. Ayato was right, you truly don't have the right to make this decision but the least you can do is make up for your mistakes and keep your promises. Teyvat isn't going to fall apart just because you want a friend, what led you to think you could change the fate of the universe in the first place? Fate is a strong thing, it will not break so easily just because you exist. The rest of the ‘plot’ will go on as normal, the ‘hero’ is most likely still in Sumeru sorting out their issues and that ‘hero’ can go on and change Teyvats fate, you can sit still, live a normal life and they can keep the story going.

You decide the best way to apologise is to show Thoma you genuinely care and the best way to do that, (other than actually talking to him) is to do what he's already established means a lot to him, make something. Thoma loves to see the effort people put into something much more than the actual execution of it. You are hardly a master baker yet he savours what you bake like it's been done by a professional, so play to your strengths. You finish your work day, inform your boss you will no longer be taking the overtime and rest for the day. Not wanting to rush into things too quickly you wait a few days and in your spare time make a batch of miso butter cookies and a simple fresh loaf of shokupan on the day you decide to meet him. It being a weekend you were off work but that also meant Thoma wouldn't be in the city, he does his trips here only during the week when he needs specific supplies for his upkeep of the clans residence. Taking a walk to the Kamisato Clan is quite the walk but you owe it to him to get this done, he can't be the one to keep chasing after you, you need to show you want to be close as well.

You arrive midday, the walls of the clan still so daunting, and walk to the entrance where the clans guards await, noticing your presence long before you could actually stand before them.

“Good day, I am here to deliver something to Thoma.”

The guard eyes you but responds, “He's out. If you have any deliveries you can leave them here where they will be checked before entering the clan.”

Thoma isn't here? Shit. That makes this whole thing a bust.

“Do you know where he's gone or when he'll come back? I'd prefer to see him in person.”

“No. Please leave any packages here and-” the guard was cut off as the man of the house walked up to the entrance, Ayato offered a slight smile, perhaps to ease your nerves at the guard's menacing stance though that is his job, before turning to said guard.

“They are a guest and are welcome to the clan. Thank you for serving your duties but they are free to enter.”

The guard bowed and uttered a small, “Yes my lord.”

Ayato then stood to the side to allow you in, his arm outstretching the direction in welcoming.

“Ayaka and I were just having tea in the break of our schedules. Please do join us.”

Well it seems you will be meeting Ayaka (for the second time), not expected, not something you were prepared for but if you are to truly let go of your worries then meeting Ayaka should not be a problem.

You follow suit and see Ayaka sitting at the table on the outside courtyard, she smiled in greeting as you and Ayato approached.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, I am Ayaka Kamisato.” she nodded in greeting. It's a little difficult to respond to people such as Ayaka and Ayato whom are so versed in proper Inazumaian etiquette but you've been in Inazuma for long enough to have picked up some things. You bow slightly in turn, “A pleasure as well Lady Ayaka, thank you for welcoming me to your home.” You responded in a similar way when first meeting Ayato though you imagine conversing with him from now on would be a lot more relaxed after your previous meetings. Said man indicated for you to sit beside his sister which you did, form a lot less refined compared to the pair of siblings.

“Ayaka, this is the person Thoma has been talking about as of late. A new friend to the Kamisato Clan.”

“Oh! It's truly wonderful to put a face to a name. Thoma has spoken only positives about you. What brings you here?”

You look down to the wooden box in your hand, your apology gift.

“I need to speak with Thoma and give him something.”

You don't even need to look at Ayato to know that he's fully aware of what your meeting with Thoma is all about.

“I see. He's gone out for a walk at the moment but should be back soon. Anyway,” it felt like ice drawn at the blunt way she changed the topic. She quickly turned back to Ayato, more specifically the paper in her hands, with a look of true delight on her face.

“The travellers' tales of Sumeru are incredible! Such a different place but the stories they are embarking on are memorising.” her eyes had a sheen to them, not the gloss of tears but of something you couldn't exactly tell what it embodied.

“Their letter details so much, the food, the culture, the people as well as all the situations they've ended up in.” she giggles, lifting her hand to cover her joy but not truly caring about it since she was in such comfortable company which is… odd considering you just met.

Ayato looks at you with a quick strained smile, almost to say, ‘sorry she's overlooking you’ but quickly returned to paying his attention to Ayaka.

“I am not surprised they often find themself in trouble haha though it is good to know they are enjoying their time there. Do they mention when they may return to Inazuma?”

Ayaka looks slightly dejected at that, “No. They say they need to stay in Sumeru for now but will come to the next major festival if they can.” she takes a deep breath in and releases it. “I hope it's soon. I want to hear all these stories from their mouth rather than just as words on a page.”

So Ayaka also has that ‘crush’ on the traveller which was very heavily implied in the game. That must be the reason she is so relaxed and open with her emotions here.

She looked back down at the letter, a soft smile developing. “I hear Yoimiya is planning on taking a trip to Sumeru in the future, perhaps I can ask her to deliver a token from me to the traveller while she is there.”

Ayato's smile remained as always listening to his sister but the small crinkle of the wrinkles by his eyes increased slightly for but a moment before relaxing. His wrinkles… a pity the game models of the characters didn't implement small details such as those. It would have been interesting to see what small features the characters had ‘realistically’ that weren't shown. Would Jean have bags around her eyes? Would Albedos skin have a slight difference of texture than normal? Perhaps Cyno has a more defined tan or Xiangling having slight burn blisters on her hands from cooking and her vision? You've only had a closer look at Thoma and he was so much more ‘real’ than just a 2D image which was slightly unsettling at first but normal now. What interesting things to think about…

“How about you join her?”

Your fascination died instantly. What? No, Ayaka will NOT be joining Yoimiya, that's not how it goes. Ayaka will deny or something will stop her.

“Really? But what of my responsibilities? I don't even know if she'd accept me joining.” Exactly.

“Do not fret, I will have your duties covered and Yoiymiya is your friend, I think she'd appreciate getting to share the trip with you. You deserve a break as well and I see no better opportunity than this.” No, no, no, no you won't because she's not going.

Ayaka stood up, elation beaming off of her while she clutched the letter closer to her.

“Thank you brother! Oh I must ask Yoimiya right away!”

She bowed and made haste out the residence not even sparing you a glance, to her you were a nobody. Her mind was solely on making this trip. You sat in shock, in the past her forgetting about you would be amazing, proof of your ‘npcness’ but you only felt stunned. Ayaka doesn't go to Sumeru, only Yoiymiya does for her second story quest, Ayaka is not involved, Ayaka does not show up, Ayaka is not part of that plot!

“I'm glad she can have a chance to experience the world outside the residence though having to cover for her duties will prove tedious.” Ayato shook his head, then chuckled. “But I'm not opposed to it for this.”

Just how- how has your involvement changed this?! It must be your fault, it can only be your fault, the story has gone on exactly as it was shown in the game so why is this different? What could you have done to make Ayaka go?

“Hmm?” Ayato noticed your silence, “Is something the matter?”

You swallow the spit that had accumulated in your mouth and regained as much composure as possible. “Yes yes I am fine I just- I just need to go have a quick walk by myself. I will be back soon.” It's all you could say. Your mind switched to autodrive in shock and walked you away, neither mind nor eyes truly focusing on anything but your legs walking you a path you've taken many times before yet never once stepped on, into the forests behind the clan house.

Walking in the tanuki filled forest may not have been the best idea, you recall ingame how Hilichurls and Fatui mages are ‘spawned’ here yet your walk was nothing but peaceful. The sound of the stream was somewhat calming, it helped you to think logically. Just because Ayaka says she's going to go on this trip doesn't mean she actually will, something will happen that will prohibit her from going to Sumeru. She is a very important character, her absence in Inazuma may cause something terrible to happen that didn't ingame. Maybe she helps a person in need ‘canonically’ but because in this existence she leaves for Sumeru she isn't there to save said person, that person dies or many people die which could upset their families which could cause them to lose faith in the (police) which could lead to disrupt in the city which could… which could… leave blood spilt?

You stopped your rambling thoughts, eyes zoning in on the pools of blood on the moss covered stones. Whatever caused this is nothing you should get involved in, until a sound of a strangled hiss, electro energy popping and fizzing in the air, a shriek of vengeance and then… nothing. The sound came from further ahead to the right behind a large mound, you watch to see the source, feet ready to run away as the slightest threat. Footsteps sounded and around the bend came a semi dirt covered Thoma, looking ahead with a solemn expression, seemingly dazed. His chest huffed out periodic breaths of air to regain himself and latestly wiped off his brow and took out a cloth and dabbed at the specks of blood on his clothes and arms, while doing so he turned and saw you standing motionless, eyes awide and still in semi shock. Almost instantly devastation fell upon his face, his eyes sunk in immediate sadness, he just looked at you for a second, whatever his thoughts were were his own, before quickly putting the cloth away and rushed to step towards you.

“Please just- i'm just doing my duty, I don't mean-, i'm not…” the more he tried to justify himself the more he seemed to sink into his own hole.

“I know this looks bad, you are the last person I'd want to see me like this but-” he took a deep breath in, steeled himself to elaborate properly, “it's to protect the clan. Fatui spies, rogue samurai, rival clans, a lot of them come here to spy on the clan or put us at risk, i'm just doing my duty and protecting the people who protect me.” he looked at you earnestly, hoping for your understanding, hoping you don't see him as a murderer, hoping to retrain the image of an amicable person but his soft smile of a plea also held the acceptance that you may not acknowledge his reasonings, that you'd turn your back and leave.

You do understand, you do know Thoma isn't a harmless friendly face, that he can and will do what must be done for the people he cares about, it's just that… it's a little hard to easily be calmed even with that notion when the very real blood and remains of that dedication is shown spewed across the forests floor, it's not something any ‘average’ person would not react to but still, this is Thoma, he has his reasons, it was done in the name of goodwill and he's trying to explain it to you.

You take a few steps towards him and offer a hesitant smile, “I get it, I don't see you as any less than before.”

Before you even regain your senses properly you feel his arms around you, tight and secure, his hand cupping the back of your head and hiding his face in your shoulder, so desperate to have the reassurance that it's okay but still hesitant to look at you, like you may change your mind.

“Thank you… archons above I was worried I've scared you. My word, that's the last thing I'd want…” she shook his head slightly, took one last deep breath and moved back up, his hands grasping your shoulders lightly, you could see his face up close now and he finally allowed himself to look at you, his face held a smile. “I am so happy to see you!” the heavy atmosphere diminished as Thomas usual radiance shone, “Haha, what are you doing here? It's been ages, the last place I thought I'd see you was all the way here.”

“Oh yeah, I actually came to apologise about that, about being distant. It wasn't right of me to just cut you off, I'm sorry.”

He stayed silent, only looking at you, his eyes softened and nose wrinkled in his genuine expression of embrace. “Dont worry about it, I was clingy, I'm just glad to know you are here now. I'm really happy about that.” he chuckled and shifted his weight to point you back up the path to the Kamisato residence.

“Let's go catch up shall we?”

On the walk back up you explained to Thoma your ‘reason’ for avoiding him (your half lie, half truth reason), the same one you told Ayato. You are shy and get intimidated by how social he is. Thoma nodded at your explanation, expressed his apologies for not noticing your discomfort and promised from now on he'll be more aware when you are together and not encourage meeting with others you aren't comfortable with. The walk was nice, a bit strained because of the topic but after all the knots had been loosened it felt good to be relaxed with him again.

You two entered the Yashiro court again, Ayato still sat at the table reading through some papers. Thoma turned to you, “Oh sorry, meeting with Ayato was one of the things that made you uncomfortable right? We could go somewhere else to catch up?”

“No it's alright, I met with him earlier when I arrived. I told him I'd return so it would be rude not to haha.”

The noise must have alerted said man, Ayato peaked his head up and greeted the both of you with a smile as you walked towards him and sat down.

“The both of you have returned safely from your walks then, it's good to see. How was it?”

Thoma hesitantly chuckled, “Haha, came across some trouble but nothing I can't iron out. Otherwise we just had a little talk.”

Ayato nodded and hummed.

You remember your carrier box filled with the apology gifts for Thoma and opened it.

“Thoma, I made some more biscuits and bread and wanted to give them to you, to further state my apology.”

“oh? Perfect then, we can have them with tea.” Ayato must have had someone refill the teapot while you were away as Thoma poured you both cups of steamed golden liquid and refilled Ayatos. Thoma took a biscuit and devoured it in delight, did he always over exaggerate when eating the things you baked or was his reaction authentic?

“Ayato, would you like one? They really are divine.”

“No thank you. It would be wrong of me to strip you of your joy haha.”

It was odd but so welcoming to be able to have a casual conversation with the two. It seemed easy to get lost in Thomas stories, he seemed fully invested in everything he spoke of and when listening he truly captured every word. Ayato, though not as vocal as Thoma when he did speak his words were like a maze you'd have to do a small mental puzzle to understand if they were a wise response or a guileful remark coming from his teasing nature. Though harder to understand, Ayato's words were still a welcoming part of the conversation as the three of you went on to drink and share.

Ayato shuffled his papers, putting them to the side, even on his supposed break he was reading through documents, Thoma hummed, took a quick look around then returned his gaze on Ayato.

“Where is Lady Ayaka? I thought you two were having this tea break to discuss something.”

Oh wait… Ayaka…

“Yes, she received a letter from the traveller today and was eager to share it, haha she truly is fascinated with that adventurer. She's not here at the moment however, she's gone to speak with Yoimiya. She says Yoimiya will be taking a trip to Sumeru in the future and has gone to ask if she may join.”

“Oh that's wonderful!-” Thoma hesitated, “Oh but doesn't she have some important meetings lined up these coming months with the shrine? There were those exchanges that need to be made, some deliberations about the upcoming festivals… as supportive as I am about her going on a trip, it doesn't seem doable with just how much is installed for these next 3 or 4 months.”

Oh Thoma you are truly a blessing, not only are you a true friend but you reestablished that the ‘plot’ wont change. You mouth a soundless thanks to him.

Ayato hummed and tapped his quill* rhythmically on the table. “That is true but I want Ayaka to enjoy her years and not only focus herself on clan affairs, this trip is a good first opportunity to see the world outside Inazuma and with Yoiymiya as her travel partner I do not doubt they will have a good time. As for the workload-” Ayato reached over to the paper stack and shifted through them, “I was busying myself with planning and rearranging the meetings and visits she had in the time I expect her departure will be. It is more work but it will be rewarding, you'll see.”

Thoma seemed confused, it seemed from the look on his face he was doing the same as you when it comes to Ayato's words, figuring out the puzzle but if there was an underlying meaning to his words you didn't detect them, Ayato was simply stating facts and expectations yet Thomas silence ment he was looking for more than just that. Whatever mental games Thoma was tackling he must have failed, he chuckled and melted back into his relaxed self.

“I'm glad then, it will be good for her.”

No… no this isn't right. There will be something, something will stop her from going, there must be.

“mhm, I only await to hear back from her and her meet with Yoiymiya, I don't see any reason why she would decline.”

Yoiymiya will decline, she will, she must.

“oh? Are you okay?” Ayato looks at you in concern, he puts his quill* down and gives you his full attention.

“Is something the matter? Whatever it is, I am sure we can address it.”

“No, no its okay I just realised- I had some serious stuff to do for work which i've forgotten.”

Ayato's face turns to mock surprise, you know he didn't believe you but he doesn't comment on it, Thoma does the same but you can detect the small quiver of his smile in disappointment that you are leaving so soon.

“Oh dear! Do you need help getting back home?”

“no no, i'll be fine thank you” you rush to stand up and then smile down to the two. “Thank you for today but I must go. Enjoy your afternoon.” you rush pleasantries and are out the gate before the two could press you further on your actions.

You've done it again, you came here to try to fix things but you've just made a mess. You can try to fix it tomorrow, for now the more pressing thoughts of the potential Sumeru trip Ayaka will go on drowned out any other thoughts. You walk home rushed, the long walk not helping much to ease your nerves, you can only hope fate will prevail and Ayaka will stay in Inazuma.

Ayato and Thoma sat in silence as you left, mutual understanding of the odd nature of your departure yet not wanting to address it.

“So… your ‘walk’ was fruitful then?”

“Just a few stray Hilichurls and a Fatui mage but it's been sorted.”

“Thoma, you know securing the perimeter is not part of your duties, you needn't lie about the reasoning for going out.”

Thoma did not respond.

Ayato breathed in deeply, “I am not opposed to you going out to release your emotions but I worry you may get caught up in them only to further feed into your obsessions.”

“I'm not obsessed! I'm just-” he grit his teeth in his own turmoil, “I don't want to label these feelings as ‘obsession’, that wouldn't be right to them. I don't know, I still don't know. When they stopped talking to me it felt like I'd lose them forever, that everyday I don’t see them with my own eyes is a day that they may disappear and I know that sounds obsessive but… but I don't want to call it that. I just don't…”

Ayato soaked up his friend's words like a sponge and as always his responses were either clear or muddled with undertone, this time Thoma could tell instantly Ayato's words were transparent.

“You need not worry yourself about labelling your feelings then, you two are back in contact and there is still a future for you to explore what the emotions you are holding mean. Just do not lose sight of your health and those around you, even obsession can be tamed. “

The next few months were both easier and harder than the times you were avoiding Thoma. Sure, you lessened your workload and your health improved, you stayed in contact with Thoma, not as much as before but still enough to bond over. It was good to have a friend again and the feeling was mutual, every time you did meet he seemed eager to enjoy it to its fullest. You had even met with Ayato a few more times, never to the extent of Thoma but at least it became comfortable to sit and have tea with the both of them in a relaxed manner but that was the positives, the looming threat of Ayaka changing the plot was a heavy cloud always looming. The few occasions she saw you she was cordial and respectful but her interest glossed right over like you didn't even exist. She and Yoimiya made plans, fulfilled the work she could and now here you stand on the beach you woke up on exactly 2 years ago, 2 years since you randomly came to be here in Teyvat, the same day fate was changed and both Yoimiya and Ayaka were set sail for Sumeru.

In blunt terms, youve fucked up. This was pure proof of your paranoia, this was proof your existence can cause the plot to change and the realisation of just how helpless you are in this situation dawned on you. The very act of your existence, whether you interact with those deemed ‘special’ or not, can and will change the story and you can only wonder if it will end well or if you've led something to doom.

It's not fair, it's not fair at all. Even though you've been friendly with Thoma recently it's not like you can truly confide in him and he's just a painful reminder of your mistakes. The burden of wearing this responsibility, one you didn't even know how to fulfil, one you failed to fulfil, it's unfair. You are only human, you have needs to fulfil and ‘dying’ isn't one of them…

But

But is it moral to be so selfish as to care about your own being when putting the risk of others on the line? Ayaka is gone from Inazuma, just how many people was she meant to interact with if she stayed? How will her presence in Sumeru affect the story? If you guess right the ‘hero' should be done with the main quest of Sumeru if it means Yoimiyas story quest can start but what if something happens that prohibits the plot for future stories? What of Ayakas presence delays the ‘hero’, even for a minute, in which that minute was originally meant for something in the greater scheme of things?

This is awful… this isn't right. Not only has living become so difficult because of the constant nagging of anxieties and worries but you also have the potential to be responsible for disaster simply by existing.

It isn't right… it isn't right you afflict this world with your existence and the threat it brings.

Two years ago when you awoke on this beach you hoped to retain a normal life, perhaps find a way back home but at the very least, set up a life for yourself, an npc life but at least something. It's only fitting that you felt you had to come here, to kneel in the sand and watch how its granules slip through your fingers, it's because you exist that this sand is moving… it's only fitting that you finally come to the conclusion that you must die while being here. This is the place of your ‘birth’ into this world, perhaps it can be the place of your death as well. Not ‘death’, not some convoluted meaning of ‘dying' and becoming a new person, no you need to die. You need to die to ensure the people of Teyvat can remain on course. You are the virus here, you are the disease you need… you need to die.

Tears ran down your cheeks at such a resolute statement, sure youve thought about it all but now and truly you've decided that this is it, that you must do this. It's not like you want to die, not on a personal scale, but on a mental and emotional scale all this is too much, too much to bear and too much to live through.

It's not fair to leave the people you've so selfishly afflicted with your presence without giving them a reason but you are too much of a coward to tell it to their face. It wouldnt go well if you were to stand infront of Thoma and tell him you were going to kill yourself, thats for sure but at the very least he could get some form of an explanation.

You decide tonight is not the night you die, that would be tomorrow, you stand up from the ground and walk home, the weight of your choice still as raw as the moment you decide it, death is no light matter after all.

You get home, a small space a person like yourself could afford, only the basics of furniture and 2 rooms. There under your door lay a letter, you pick it up and sit at your table where unblemished paper sat to become future suicide notes. Taking a look at the letter it was sealed in wax, the crest of the Kamisato Clan dug into its mass.

You open it,

‘Dearist XXXX

May this letter find you well. Both Thoma and myself wish to invite you for a stay at the Kamisato Clan as both a guest and a friend. The changing season brings a beautiful opportunity to witness it first hand as the trees take on their new hues and the oceans change their tides, you are welcomed to join us. Thoma sends his best wishes but asks for them to properly be said in person rather than in post. We eagerly await your response.

Signed

Ayato’

Haha… how casual for a man like him… haha… haha here you are preparing to write letters announcing your death to them and yet they think only of including you in their lives. Haha… how horrible, how utterly vile it is to be able to experience emotions such as these. These feelings only prove your point more. You put the letter to the side and stared blankly at the response you are going to reply with, oh of only it were as optimistic and welcoming as theirs was.

You tried to make it easy for both yourself and those intended to read it. You state that the mistakes of your past have lay heavy on you and that death is the only relief, that you are sorry you cannot return the sentiment of friendship and must lay your mistakes to rest.

To Thoma you leave a more personal note, telling him that he made your life here in Inazuma so much better, that it was only in the moments with him you forgot your ‘mistakes’ for even a moment and for that you are grateful. It's true, it's only Thoma who made you forget the fact you don't belong here when you spend time with him. Sending this letter to him is assured to rip his heart, he sees you as a friend and he's going to beat himself at the thought that he did not help you enough to make you feel you'd want to stay, that he wasn't a good friend, which is not true at all but you know there is little you can do to convince him otherwise. In a moment of distressed induced vulnerability, with tears in your eyes you state something so cliche as that perhaps in another life you two may be able to have the friendship you both craved in this life, if only there is a case of reincarnation and you may be born in the same universe as him and live that life with no burdens or guilt of your existence.

To Ayato you are more cordial, less emotional or descriptive but you tell him that he was right on that day in the rain, that there is a deeper problem than you just being ‘introverted’, otherwise you keep it professional.

After the hardest two were done it was rather simple, it's not like you have any friends or family to write to and sending a letter to the street vendor you buy from doesnt make sense. You do write a letter and tell your boss that you simply will not be returning to work, you don't say why, and that you thank him for all the opportunities and help he has given you.

For once it was easy to fall asleep, for the first time in 2 years the moment you lay your head on your pillow you were unconscious. For once you've felt the release of the burden you feel and the comfort that will come when your plague on this world is done. You are so tired and finally you can rest.

The next day went on simply, it was a weekday and you went to work, in the afternoon you submitted your letters to the post and walked back home, taking in the scenery of Inazuma. This will be the last time you walk these streets. You wait at home quietly, have a decent meal and enjoy the sounds from outside of leaves and people. You felt in an odd state all the way through the day, like your senses were hypersensitive noticing the slightest thing around you which was lovely. You got to focus on the squirrles you passed on your way to work, the smell of baked bread smelled heavenly once again like it had the first day you were in the bakery, the pink and purple blossoms of the trees were so vibrant on your way home. You had given the shop vendor a smile and a wave as you passed her, that day you felt no burden, no grief. You only had one more step to take, the hard part was already over with.

In the late evening you stood by that beach again, the view was incredible. You sat down in the sand and got comfortable leaning against a rock and letting the tide touch the tips of your toes. You were naughty today, you bought enough substances from clinics or herb stands to be sure you felt good in your last moments. You took them quickly and then rested your head back against the rock, letting the sound of waves softly crashing, leaves rustling and the odd animal chirp lull your mind. It took some effort not to fall asleep just yet, you blinked your eyes harshly and woke yourself up a bit. This part was slightly uncomfortable, the beach you woke up on had a slight cliff, nothing you'd die by jumping off of, it was just a little steep incline but it was enough. You took a large rock from nearby and rolled it closer to the edge, tying a rope around and around your ankle. Drowning didn't seem like a peaceful death but at least like this your body can be washed into the sea where it can decay in peace without traumatising a random person strolling the beach. You relaxed and took out the large knife you had brought with you. Bleeding out decreases the time by knocking yourself out and not having enough energy to wake up in the water and struggle. You should be numb enough now. You closed your eyes and cut lengthwise, both arms, a leg… you tried your neck but even drugged up that was beyond doable. You didn't even register when you had stopped, you didn't see the blood flowing or feel the pain as it pooled, slowly your will died out as everything became hazed. It was a feeling, not a good or bad one, you couldn't even think. You felt the weight on your ankle tug, your consciousness dropping and allowing the gravity to pull you away. Black.

You woke up. You woke up. Dazed, in pain but you did. Your eyes opened lightly, luckily it wasn't very bright. Slowly your mind awoke as well, you saw the walls and crest oh so familiar of the Kamisato Clan, of its low light lanterns on the floor and dark wood trims. What were you doing here? What were you even doing?

Each of your senses woke up from the shock they were in and soon your ears picked up sound, at first the static was all you could hear until it was voices. You inclined your head to where the sound came from. Thoma and Ayato sat at a table, what they were talking about was inaudible. Why? Why were you here?

Everything slowly came back to you, what you did, why you did it and mainly the fact that you should be dead right now and yet you were here. Panic arose which was enough adrenaline to push your body and mind completely awake. You shuffled up and looked at the two. Thoma turned at the movement and instantly reached out for you, arms cradling your head which he buried his to your shoulder, a grasp seeking for comfort yet trying to give support.

“Archons above you're awake. My word… oh my word…,” he softly cried into your shoulder but picked his head up to look at you, “Why?! Why did you do that? Why did you feel…” his face was morphed into true distress, his eyes red and slightly swollen from no doubt a long time of distress but renewed with fresh tears. “Please, you are here, you are here and yet you wanted to go-” he choked, “Why, I nearly lost you.” his head fell back down to rest onto you, “I nearly lost you…”

His arms held you tightly, confirming that you were there.

Ayato finally announced himself with a soft clear of his throat, he stayed sitting at a distance.

“Thoma, they are safe and alive. We confirmed this the moment we got them here. “ he took a moment, thinking over his words. “How about you go prepare us a pot of tea and eats and we can discuss this once we all have gathered ourselves?”

Thoma lifted himself back up, “yes… yes you are right” he gave you a squeeze and a haste kiss on the crown of your head before standing and giving you a very strained smile, ‘everything is going to be okay’ it read. Quickly he turned and sped walked out as if staying in the room for too long would prohibit him from ever leaving you. Now it was just you and Ayato.

“Come sit please or do you need assistance getting up?”

You look down at your body, arms and legs patched up in bandages and feeling weak but with a struggled attempt you found you could stand up and walk to him before nearly falling into a sitting position and looking at him. He knows what's happened, he knows the aftermath and you don't.

Ayato sighed and shifted at papers on his desk, 2 in particular, the ones you had sent out.

“We got these well after we had saved you from your incident,” he looked up to you with something of a harsh look, “you can thank the fact one of my shibatsu were watching and stopped you from falling and promptly brought you here.”

He sighed, closed his eyes tense for a moment then released and folded the papers neatly. He returned his gaze back to you.

“I know, or at least suspect, what elements are at play here. The identity you have made for yourself here as an ex Sumeru scholar, that is false, correct?”

How… How did he figure that out?

“You need to speak now, for your and Thomas' betterment. No more lies, no more half trues, no more hiding because after an event such as the one you pulled yesterday I will no longer allow such threats so please, speak.”

You opened your mouth, it felt hoarse and sore. This is it. No more hiding, no more rules or running away, he can see it all, he will know, he probably does already.

“Yes.” is all you say.

An odd assortment of a smile crosses his face, not happy but at least pleased for the development, he then went back to his blunt nature.

“I will even be so bold as to say you are not here from Teyvat, correct?”

“Yes” tears built at your eyes. 2 years of work gone, 2 years of struggling to keep the truth bound, the thing you tried to die for to keep all gone.

“There are matters I do not understand, such as the truth of the reason for your attempt yesterday but what I do know is that you are not of Teyvat, that the way my sister looks at the Traveller is the exact same way Thoma looks at you, bewitched by some foreign entity.”

What?

“I know that the Traveller is not of Teyvat, they themself have stated this to both Ayaka and myself and it was a stretch at first to make the claim you were the same as them for the simple reason that Thoma fell for you as Ayaka did for the traveller but what perhaps confirmed my suspicion was when I felt that pull as well. For some reason the way my sister described her fondness for the traveller it was only you I could imagine, when I saw Thomas eyes alight in excitement at seeing you I could tell exactly what it is since I feel the same. For nearly no reason this feeling appeared.”

He cleared his throat and continued, “I didn't only come to this conclusion based on feeling, I, as I do with all those who involve themself with the members of the clan, had research done into your past. There is no record of your existence in any school of Sumeru, there is no record of anything proving of your past, no family line or even record of you arriving by boat which is all recorded by name, yours were on no such documents.”

He sighs and then relaxes his shoulders, like he is glad he's gotten the hard part over.

“Do not worry, I can assure you I see you no less as I did before and I can promise that Thoma is the same, he in fact needs to know the truth. I have not told him of my own discoveries just yet but when he gets back I hope you reveal the light of truth on everything here and the burden you decided to relieve yourself of.”

It's hard to actually listen to him, you are too busy swimming through the currents of your own thoughts to really hear what he has to say, if you had you'd have noticed just how fond he really was being, the slight curve of his forehead in concern, the way he spoke in a tone confident but also reassuring. Ayato is a man who puts his family, friends and the clan first, even in this instance he was doing that, whatever his personal feelings on the matter were they were subdued.

You look down to the table and see the fruits of your labour, sour, distasteful fruits that bore no other purpose but to make one sick on consumption: your letters. It seemed a good idea at first but now the sight of your handwriting was nauseating, you couldn't even bare properly rereading it, to see those words you meant to be comforting only being a stain and reminder to the people who had to read them of the bilious nature of your actions. Poor Thoma…

You had no words for Ayato, not out of fear or resentment but simply because it felt like you had disappointed him, the only way you could try to make this all better is to come clean about everything, he's made it clear, there is no more hiding. Now the weighting doom of changing the course of fate didn't matter, what mattered is the crestfallen frown on his face and mellow gaze, what mattered was the troubled Thoma in the other room whom grasped at you to stay so tightly even through all the torment you've lead him though. It's over, not the good kind of ‘over' like dying would have been, your life would be over and the secrets and threat you bring would have been over, no the ‘over’ you experience is the loss of hope. Its over, all the attempts and work, the secrets and efforts made to try keep this world as safe from changing as possible was all over.

Ayato let you mull in silence, he cleared his desk and closed his eyes in wait. Not long after Thoma returned, kettle in hand and cups at the ready. He seemed quiet, more collected and focused on the task of pouring tea before sitting next to you, his folded knee jutting up and down being the only show of his nerves. He took a breath, turned to you and smiled.

“I really do just want you to know I am happy you are still here, that I want to give you all the support and care I can to make sure you know you being here is just so important. I know that I don't understand everything you've gone through and that me saying all this doesn't help make it easier but-” he had to grit his teeth, his voice stirred slightly and slight beads of tears brimmed at his eyes,”but you don't have to be alone. Right now or even dealing with your past, you don't have to be alone.”

Your breathing hitched, chest lurched and fresh tears escaped, how couldn't you? You tried to cover your mouth of noises but couldn't help but curl into yourself and cry, you don't want to do this anymore, you want his support, you want to confide in him, you want to live. Thoma rubbed your back while you cried, gentle reaffirming strokes and just let you release all the build up. After regaining yourself you lifted yourself back up, swallowed the last fragments of tears and tried to secure yourself. You took some breaths and calmed down. Thoma held your shoulder, a physical display of support, you looked up and only saw Ayato watching with an unreadable expression. Right, you need to come clean. To… get it over with…

“Thoma, thank you for this, I'm sorry, I really am.” You could tell he tried to speak, to tell you it's okay or not your fault or something along those lines but he kept himself quiet and let you speak.

“I’ll… I'll come clean about it all, about everything.” This is it. “I'm not originally from Teyvat, I believe you know the Traveller and how they aren't either? Yeah I'm something like that. So no, I'm not from Sumeru or have lived here my whole life. Just woke up one day from my world into this one and… that was that. No explanation, no guide, no help…”

Ayato had no reaction, he knew, Thoma was wide eyed in shock but stayed silent, to him you shared memories of your ‘past’, to hear what you have shared with him was wrapped in falsification was… hurtful to know that what he did know of you was all a lie in his eyes but still, he remained silent and let you continue.

“I'm sorry, I am. I didn't want to lie and a lot of the stuff I did say is true. I just… I just covered it up to match my story of being from Sumeru.”

“It-It must be hard” Thoma meekly said, “to have lost everything, your home and family… I can see why things have been so hard and confusing for you.”

You nodded to his words. It is hard, it is bloody hard. All the plans you had made for your future, your loved ones and hopes… you'll never get to see them bloom, you'll never get to see the person you hoped you'd become because you had been stripped away from everything. The extra layer of knowing what world you came into and the threat you caused of course did not help lighten the load.

You've been away for 2 years and there is no hope of going back but you are here now and have to deal with the present.

“So that's basically it.”

Ayato's frown deepened, “There is more.” his words cut through the air bluntly. “There is more to the story you haven't told us, many things that don't add up-”

“Ayato please,” Thoma interrupted him, “let them say what they need and-”

“No, they said they would clear things up here and I will make sure it is so.” he moved his gaze back to you, it was penetrating into your soul nearly emotionlessly. “So I will ask, what is the truth to your ‘introvert’ label? Why distance yourself from others at random when in your position you are needing as much support as possible?”

Shit… shit shit shit, you can't even keep this? You can't even keep the fact you know this is a game secret? Whatever… he's right, you said you'd come clean.

“... I know things I really shouldn't if I was to make a life here. It may be confusing but in short the world of Teyvat is not where I was born but I know of it, I know of its people and some of its history and even select parts of its future. I was just… trying not to change the story. I was never supposed to be here, me being here goes against what's supposed to happen- I was scared I'd change something and things would go bad, that the good endings won't happen because I've done something so I tried to distance myself from it all but i've failed! I've failed and the story has changed and I don't know what's going to happen next!”

Thoma was quiet, now this was a bit too much for him to respond to but predicting the unpredictable is Ayato's strong suit, he didn't falter his questioning even at such a bizarre statement such as the one you made.

“Why? What element has changed that pushes you to believe you’ve doomed this world?”

“Ayaka left! She's not supposed to! I don't know how or why me existing changed the story but Ayaka was supposed to stay here in Inazuma and only Yoiymiya goes to Sumeru. Now its all wrong and I don't know just what else i've affected.”

Silence for a moment, Thoma still doing his best to soak in everything while Ayato shifted his gaze away from you, when he spoke he still refused to look you in the eye. “Hmm, seems your paranoia was proven right then, it is your presence that has changed the future you believe was to take place and in truth the fault is mine.” He looked back at you, “See when I heard of Ayakas excitement in the potential trip to Sumeru I thought it would be a great opportunity, not only for her to gain new experiences but also to ask you something i've had my mind on for a while.” Thoma perked at this, recognising what Ayato was referring to.

“I had hoped to ask you to extend your services to the Kamisato clan, in whatever element suited you, I assume in the kitchen though Thoma did not disagree with the idea of potentially aiding him in his duties.” What? He wanted you to join the clan? Why? Like reading your mind he answered your unspoken questions, “See I thought you being stationed here may help the issue you seemed to have about your ‘introvertness’ with Thoma as well as providing a fresh start for you to reforge your relation with him, of course this would all be a suggestion and if you didn't agree then there is no loss and you can simply continue as you were. That is why I encouraged Ayaka to go, not only for herself but to allow you some space to get used to the idea of potentially staying here.” So that's why… but still, why?!

Thoma interrupted your thoughts, a fresh wave of excitement running through him, “But it's okay now! Now you've let us know everything and sure it's a little hard for me to understand right now but things have been cleared up and everything can go back to normal! We can work on things together and you can rely on us for help so all the other stuff can just be put to the side for now.”

“I must disagree with that Thoma, things cannot go back to normal.” Both you and Thoma turned to Ayato for his explanation, “See they have brought forth an issue, if there is supposedly a prewritten fate we follow and such story has a good end, that their influence can change such story and has already proven to do so then… that is something to consider as a threat.”

“What? No, Ayato-”

“Thoma, I am not suggesting we take the route they tried, their death is not a solution but rather I suggest the best way to reduce the effect they have is to narrow the area of impact of their presence.” Thoma sat himself back down and listened, his ability to understand Ayato far surpassed your own, you only heard his words, Thoma was on the same scale as him. “Ah, so you suggest they stay here?”

Huh? No, that still doesn't solve the issue though! You are still going to change stuff, being in the clan may make it even worse!

“I'm sorry but that can't happen!” you state, you cant let them doom themselves,”I can't stay here, you've seen I change the things around me so me being here is not a solution.”

“And what do you suggest then? Death is not an answer. Wherever you go you will impact the environment around you, is it not wise to be in an area that is accustomed to handling threats and problems? To be within the vicinity and means of a place such as here with people like Ayaka and myself whom can negate such issues? That is even under the assumption you can cause damage with your existence, all we know is that you can change this supposed ‘plot’ but have you seen any actual harm come from it?”

Your silence answers him.

“Right, though it is important to be concerned and prepared. Staying here is no prison I can assure you,” his smile brightens up to a chuckle “in fact my original plan was for it to be a holiday for you. The environment is interesting to explore, there is much you can learn from the people here and most of all friends who are willing to show you support which it seems you so desperately need. To me there is no questioning it, staying here is the best course of action for you.”

You could have thought up a retort, some explanation as to why he was wrong and why going back to your ‘normal’ life was better but there is a certain air around Ayato in moments like this where doubting his reasoning is unheard of and denying them is impossible. He was right, he's always right after all.

“Are you sure? Are you sure this is all… this is all okay? Is me being here okay?”

“For further confirmation, yes it is. Thoma?”

Thoma grasped your shoulder again and leaned to your side, a great wave of support rushing from him, “I think it's an awesome plan. You don't have to worry about a thing, we’ll all have it settled for you!”

“Right, could you go make sure their room is properly prepared? I'd imagine they need some rest after all this. A proper, peaceful sleep can do wonders to soothe the soul and you will find no safer place than under my roof. “

Thoma used your shoulder for a moment to get himself back up, “I'll be back in a jiffy okay!” and made a quick pass to the backrooms.

You and Ayato watched him go in silence, when he was out of sight and out of earshot Ayato repositioned himself.

“He does not know about the foreign effect you may have on him. Once again it is only a theory to suggest that just because you and the Traveller are not of Teyvat you have some bewitching effect but there are some elements of truth to such a theory, still I think it is unwise to tell him this. To tell him his feelings are fabricated would break him…” Ayato closed his eyes and sighed, he looked tired, “And it truly would be a shame to name these-those feelings as false.”

That wouldn't be good… “Okay, I won't tell him about it. … …” you really are tired, your mind isnt working as it should anymore. The adrenaline of shock has worn down and the latent feeling of exhaustion had begun to ebb its way through your very bones, at a moment of self reflection you felt your arms so much heavier to hold, legs stiffened all while the dim pain of the wounds across your body became recognisable. A good rest is what you need…

Ayato didn't say a word after, only left you to your own musings.

“It's all set up! There are fresh towels and guest clothes if you want to bathe but otherwise it was all pretty much done!” Thoma did a slight jog to your side and offered you a hand, “You need help getting there?”

You look up at him, for a room rather dim he outshone the very sun itself. “I think I just want to rest for now, i'll bathe later.” You reach up and take his hand, do a little wobble as you reconnect with the notion of having to walk, Thoma readily supplied his elbow for you to hold onto as well as you got your balance.

“Alrighty. Just hold on and don't shy away from leaning your weight on me okay? I've got you.” you two take a few tentative steps to test it out, walking seemed doable now.

“I'll send them off to bed, i'll be back shortly my lord.”

Ayato looked back at you two and gifted a smile, “Rest well then.” you did a slight nod in return.

Even with the support of Thoma and still retaining the ability to walk the short trip down the hall seemed so much more of a struggle then it should have. Not only was your body in dull pain but your mind was simply tired, overrun and everything slowly seemed to mesh into each other. Thoma was true to his word and kept you upright, guiding you to a neatly made bed and gently easing you into the cushioning. After 2 years of a cheap bed and your most recent nap being in the sand and hardwood floor the feeling of high quality bedding was sensational, a moment of respite from feelings and thoughts.

“You all settled in?” Thomas' voice sounded muffled in your half sleep state but you registered him with a nod.

“I'm glad…”

The cushions you lay on shuffled, his weight sat nearby you. “You know you really did scare me there, when I saw- when you were brought here in the state you were I didn't know what to do, something so unlike me. I didn't know if I wanted to rush for medical care or just to slump down beside you and cover you.” He leaned down, his head lay on the mattress beside your shoulder, his one arm wrapped around you, an awkward hug of one person sitting and another laying down. “At least I can do this now, please just let me indulge in this for a little, everything is just a lot to take in still.” He sighed out his tension then shifted his head to lean slightly on yours. “I know this is wrong of me but in truth I can be rather selfish. I want to be selfish here and not only show you how much I care for you but also how much I love you which is wrong because… because I don't love you. It would be insensitive to both you and myself to label this obsessive feeling as ‘love’ and I don't want to do that… Only now, only now will I be a little selfish and join in the delusion that this is love.”

…

“but I want to make this scalding passion of deranged obsession into the soft warmth I know it can be, of genuine endearment and not just an infatuation.”

He lifted himself to finally look at you, he had tears running down his face, “So you can't go. You can't leave me until that happens. You can't leave until I can properly say I love you, okay? I'll be here every step of the way, you can lean on me, you can trust me and I'll give you my everything so please give it your all and just… keep finding the incentive to keep going.” He pursed his lips in a strained attempt of a smile, gave up on trying and instead leant back down to give the crown of your head a kiss. He got up and stood by your side. “Sleep well, I'm sure tomorrow will be the start to a beautiful new future.” He closed the door and left.

If you had been in a more stable sense of mind there was a lot you could have responded to him, the not-so love confession, the odd descriptions of desperation and just how close he got but your mind was fazed, Thoma gave you nothing but comfort as you went to bed, he hugged you and told you it will be okay and that was nice, the feeling of the linin was nice, the chance to close your eyes was nice… He left you off with a nice feeling.

“All is settled then?”

“Yep, they should have no problem falling asleep, they were practically already unconscious once we got there.”

Ayato laughed and Thoma sat back at his original position, by now Ayato had taken out some late night documents to go over while waiting.

“So, did you tell them?”

“Hmm? Which part?”

“haha, your feelings Thoma, knowing you you would have.”

Thoma on reflex scratched the back of his neck and chuckled awkwardly at being so easily caught.

“Yeah I did though with the state they were in they probably didn't hear any of it.”

“Which is why you felt you could tell them hmm?” Ayato looked up to Thoma with a knowing eye, “You are just as bad as me you know.”

“haha, have I been caught? You really can't blame me though, I learnt all my skills from you.”

“And yet at times I wonder if you are even more skilled than I when it comes to swaying one's mind.”

“yeah…” Thoma dulled off, “I'm still confused about it all. I care, that part is undoubted and all the time we spent together really means something but I just can't put my hand on all these feelings. It's not what I think love feels like, not entirely. Haaaa, all I know is that I want to be by them and I guess that will do for now until I figure it all out.” Thoma shifted his weight and got more comfortable, “What about you though? Such feelings are just disruptive to you, right?”

Ayato hummed,”Perhaps but that is nothing I can't deal with and as you can see I am dealing with it. I do hope the notion of sharing isn't distasteful to you, I know we've met a consensus about this but I want to ensure we are on the same page here. Your friendship is much too important to risk over miscommunication.”

“haha of course! Your feelings are just as valid as mine.”

“Good.” Ayato smiled fondly then returned to his papers. Thoma sighed in mock exhaustion, “That's the face you pull when you're thinking about work. Haha, I will leave you to your important papers, do not work too much and fall asleep at your desk again, okay? You don't want to be ruining your back at such a young age.”

“haha. Yes Thoma, good night.”

“Goodnight my lord, just let me know if you need anything done alright!”

“You know I will.”

Ayato shook his head at his friends teasing, it is fun when Thoma is the one responding with tauts of his own. Thoma left Ayato to his business in the slightly dimmed room.

For as much as Thoma has grown around Ayato, for being the closest person to understand him and balance the position of respectful employee and casual friend, it is still funny to Ayato how he can still be so oblivious to things. Of course his mind is not only on work, however could it be when finally you were in his home, in his care and finally he can display his… love.

Rest is crucial for recovery, on any normal day you'd let guilt swallow you for staying in bed for as long as you have this day, waking up in the late morning and simply laying in bed till afternoon, this is peak sloth behaviour but in all you deserve it, you are on ‘holiday’ you are allowed to be a little lazy here. After waking up you had gone through quite a bit of internal conflict, between failing to ‘delete’ yourself of this world, revealing everything, going through the motions and now seemingly stuck here it's all just a lot to process. There is joy brought from the relief that you no longer must carry these burdens but also disgust that you have let the situation get to the state that it is in now. Everythings changed yet at the core nothing has. When your mind tired of thinking it just wallowed in the present feelings, how lovely the bedding is, how scenic the light looks coming from the window, how lovely the atmosphere of the room is, you had been left off with such a lovely feeling last night, odd considering the nature the night took, but for some reason everything just felt so comfortable when you let your mind just dissipated and ease into the surroundings. Eventually you figured you should get up, that there was enough strength in your legs to keep you steady. You got changed into the provided clean clothes and left to find someone to ask about getting something to eat. It's rather awkward walking these halls not knowing where you are meant to be but Thoma and Ayato said you were a guest so it should be fine. You reached the main clearing where Ayato's desk sat, where you three conversed last night, and as if nothing had changed since then Ayato was sat exactly where he had been left off, his eyes scanning papers and writing or editing others, he placed his brush down as you entered.

“Good afrternoon, I hope you were able to sleep well. Shall I arrange for someone to prepare you a meal?”

It's still slightly odd to be casual with Ayato after last night but if this is how things are going to go from now on then you truly do need to get used to it.

“Yes and yes please, thank you.” you gave a slight bow, you can't help being awkward no matter how much you tell yourself otherwise.

Ayato chuckled, of course he did, he saw the world in 4D compared to you, of course he found something funny. “Then please, have a seat. Any meal requirements?”

You word off your response and Ayato relays it to a staff member he calls in. After the order was completed Ayato went back to his work while also starting the conversation, hes easily noticed a pattern when it comes to your reluctance to initiate it in your own stead.

“Now that you have some free time from work, are there any activities you'd like to try? I want you to consider your time here as a holiday and for that I will provide whatever materials you need to make that happen.”

“Oh, no. I'd just like to relax for a bit before making any plans on activities.”

“haha, I meant anything to help with that. Do let me know when you think of anything, there are very few items I cannot provide so the options are yours to demand.”

“mhm…” you nod your head but say little else. Ayato lets this slide and allows you to sit in your peace. In time a well prepared meal is brought to you, you sit to the side of the room and eat with yourself as company, as it has been for the last 2 years. 2… years… Your previous life really is just gone now, everything is gone. You don't have anything, you don't have to do anything, you don't have- no you do have some things. You have a supportive friend, Thoma, you have… Ayato perhaps? He says he will provide for you. What else do you have?

Nothing, you cant even say you have your own life to live, you cant even do that.

Quickly you swallow down both your thoughts and the least of your meal, you've brooded enough today doing it more won't help. You thank the person who takes what remains of your meal and then rejoin Ayato who, much to your surprise, has not left his spot (the surprise being sarcastic since it would shock no one to see the head of a clan swamped in governmental affairs). You walk back up to his table almost as if awaiting orders or just something to tell you what to do, where you should be just anything to help alleviate the concern of not being where you belong. Ayato let his brush lay back on the table, he closed his eyes and sighed as an indulgent smile graced his face. When he looked back up to where you so awkwardly stood he showed only adoration shortly broken as he shakes his head with a chuckle.

“This may surprise you, I know this isn't the proper setting to say this,’ he stood up and made his way to you, “but I do so enjoy being unpredictable and I can't pass up on this opportunity.” he stood right in front of you, posture poised and proper but radiating only mischief. “My dear I must confess i've come to love you.”

Huh-

You feel a hand on your cheek. “There it is, what a pretty expression.”

huh…

The hand cups around your flesh, leather to skin, chill to warmth.

“It's true. I do adore you-”

“no…”

“hmm?”

“you can't…”

“haha, really I can-”

“No. You Can't!”

You grit your teeth as you feel your hands begin to shake. He can't, he can't love you, that's too much, too much of an impact. The change, the change that could come from him LOVING you, no its too much. Your hands move to grip the arm reached to you, “you- you can't. You just- that's not how… how any, any of-” you are crying again, surprising how your body still has enough tears to shed after everything. You can't feel your legs anymore, they aren't working again, your hands are shaking, they aren't working again, you can't feel yourself breath, you are not working again. You don't register yourself fall, you only see the rise of doom again. Everything was fine, you had JUST accepted your situation but you can't accept this. This is going to change everything- it's so hard to breathe…

Ayato kneeled down with you, he held his one arm to your waist leaning you into him as his other cradled the back of your head, fingers intertwining between the strands of your hair and stroking along in a calm motion.

“I was scared of this but I felt it best to tell you now. In truth I was devastated with the events of yesterday but held on for as much as I could to secure everyone, it is only fair I am open to you as you were with us.”

no-

“The love I have for you is true and it would be my greatest honour to support you as I do with my clan, with you as a part of the clan.”

no-

“I understand your fears, whatever concerns you have of the future changing. I want you to know I am well resourced to handle them.”

You can only cry.

“It is early for me to confess but it is my sign to you that I hope for a future where we may share such a sentiment. We can grow together and face your fears together.”

why-

His hand strokes feel reassuring…

"Your tears remind me of the rain, both comforting and disturbing. How I cringe at each drop yet yearn to hear them patter against me. My dear please do remember for each storm or drizzle you bring to me I will open my arms for whichever embrace you bring."

You lean back into him, he's got you.

“To know you are here is reassurance enough, I want- I do love you.”

For as comforting as his hold is, for how easy it feels to accept his words it all feels murky. You lay in the sun-touched waters of the ocean, warm as it engulfs you in the most pleasing manner but it is sticky, it clings to you and you cannot shake the feeling of the undercurrent grasping at your ankle slowly leading you deeper into its embrace, it's easier to accept.

Ayato is right, he's always right and here he is offering you his love. You have been given the best opportunity you could ever achieve considering your situation, you have been given the freedom to finally ‘live’. With Thoma supporting you and Ayato willing to address any threat that may come you have been given a beautiful new start at a paranoid free life and not only that but to be graced as to have someone love you as well? It's amazing, you are so lucky.

“That's it my dear, I am here at your side.”

You sink into his arms, your cries can finally stop. “If we believe that tomorrow will come, we can bear a hardship today. For today, tomorrow and everyday that follows you may cry, you may hurt but you will never be alone. Alright? Do not feel pressured by my confession, I merely want to show you that you are loved.”

Ayato sighs deeply and readjusts to hold you tighter, lays his head on yours and remains quiet but the stroking of his hand never stops. The time flows by easily, your arms stop shaking, your breathing returns, you can sense your body's weight so clearly but you can feel the pillar that is Ayato keeping you up.

"Thank you." you mumble eventually

Ayato hums in question

"Thank you for everything. thank you for… loving me"

You can feel the wide smile grace Ayato, “You needn't thank me for something so natural.”

You don't clearly register the world around you while enveloped in Ayato's hold but you can hear footsteps, someone speaking, someone sitting nearby. Ayato's shoulder is cool and refreshing, the hand that holds yours at the side is cosy and tender, you are so lucky.

An explanation blurb for those who want to read some of the reasonings for how i went about this

Header done by me cause i felt like whipping up a quick pixel art

#yahooworks #genshin x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #genshin impact ayato #genshin thoma #yandere male #genshin x reader #yandere thoma x reader #yandere ayato x reader #yandere ayato #yandere thoma #genshin x female reader #genshin x male reader

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shadowseveron · 11 months

Text

Time: Who knows in this place Location: Drow Court Characters: @felandcris & @shadowseveron

He heard the wings before he saw them, the other man landing nearby as Severon looked up at the mechanical creature that he’d recently finished designing and creating. Born of both magic and machinery, the automaton reared up on it’s legs and stood at attention. The Artificer had had many prototypes of this soldier made before, but this was a more perfected version. And still, Severon was not content with it. Truthfully, he wasn’t content with anything at the moment. Nothing in the Drow Court felt right now that they’d lost their true heir and he had been nothing but fuming about it.

“I’m thinking I should make it turn into a car... Hide it better in the mortal realm,” Severon muttered dryly as Felandaris came upon him.

#interaction ➹ (never greet a stranger in the night.)#& felandaris #& felandaris 002 #// yal said autobots. you THINK THIS IS A JOKE?

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luvj4key · 24 days

Text

see you again? ──★ p.sunghoon

PAIRING: idol!sunghoon x idol!gn! reader GENRE: strangers to friends (who have feelings for each other), fluff WORD COUNT: 2.9k WARNING: drinking, sunghoon is down bad for the reader

SYNOPSIS: you've been invited to attend the prada fashion show in honor of the milan fashion week - something you never imagined to do so early in your career. you couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed with all that's happening. luckily, you meet sunghoon who happened to be attending alone. to both of your surprise, the two of you instantly click and sunghoon finds him extremely drawn to you.

REQUESTED

Milan Fashion Week. You were going to participate in the Milan Fashion Week. Yes, you.

This had to have been a mistake.

You really have no idea how you ended up here. You did not think you’d be in a situation where you out of all people be invited to attend a Prada fashion event. In Milan?! It wasn’t like you were complaining or anything, you just didn’t expect yourself, who was still to be considered a fairly new idol, to be invited to such a big event. Of course you found it unbelievable. You didn’t think you’d be in such a position so early in your career. You were in awe. Does this mean you’re doing this well?

Taking in your surrounding, you took a seat at your designated spot, nervously picking away at your nails as you waited for the show to start. It was very clear to others that this was your first time attending an event like this. You felt like a fish out of water. ‘Out of all the members, why choose me?’ you thought. Everyone looked so put together and knew what they were doing. Meanwhile, here you are, looking absolutely clueless. This is why you should never be separated from your group.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was sweating bullets. The idea of attending a fashion show alone terrified him. He was originally supposed to go with Jake but due to a last minute schedule interference, Sunghoon was forced to go alone which was honestly his worst nightmare. As an introvert, this was not his cup of tea. It wasn’t like it was his first time being alone like this but that doesn’t mean he was completely comfortable with the idea. He was just so used to having the members around so when he is out in public alone, he doesn’t feel like himself.

And for that, he had planned to get through the night without having to talk to anyone. Only doing so if he really had to. He didn’t even plan to go to the after party, something everyone looks forward to attending. But not Sunghoon, he just wanted to go home.

He was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when a staff member greeted him. They gestured to where he was supposed to sit. His eyes followed where the worker pointed and he could’ve sworn time stopped for a moment. There you were, right next to where he was supposed to sit. He immediately recognized who you were. You were a member of a rising group. You have been all over social media so it was hard not to know who you were. Sunghoon never had any interactions with your group in particular due to your comebacks and activities never lining up but that didn’t change his impression on you. You looked like such a genuine and sweet person, extremely humble and talented, and most importantly - absolutely breathtaking, the outfit you were wearing only proved his thought right. Being put next to you was like an act of fate. Guess there will be a slight change in Sunghoon’s plans after all.

Feeling a sudden wave of nervousness, Sunghoon quickly bowed and thanked the worker before walking over to his seat. The confidence he was feeling previously in order to talk to you immediately flew out the window and now he sat, completely frozen - hands placed on his thighs with his eyes glued to the ground.

Noticing a new presence next to you, you slightly glanced to your left and saw the one and only Park Sunghoon sitting next to you. Eyes widening, you quickly averted your gaze back to the stage in front of you. Out of all people, you did not expect him to be here, let alone sit next to you.

You’ve definitely heard of Sunghoon and Enhypen as they’ve been a hot topic in the k-pop industry ever since their survival show. You can even say that you’re a big fan of their music and the group themselves. So, seeing Sunghoon in the flesh triggered the inner fangirl in you. What could you do about it? You couldn’t deny that he’s even more attractive in person.

After realizing that you somewhat know someone now, the anxiety you felt slowly started to fade away. You thought it’d be a good idea to greet Sunghoon since he was your senior after all. Slightly hesitating, you slowly turned your body towards Sunghoon. Seeing you in the corner of his eye, he turned his head towards you and finally managed to make eye contact with you. Giving him a small smile, you bowed at him to which he returned, smiling back at you. You felt butterflies form in your stomach as the two of you turned away from each other.

‘Yeah no, they’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Sunghoon confirmed in his head. Seeing how you made the first move to interact with him, the confidence he lost earlier slowly started return for him to initiate an actual conversation with you. “It’s very nice to meet you by the way, I’m Sunghoon,” he started.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too, Sunghoon. I’m Y/N,” you smiled.

“Is this your first time attending a fashion show?”

“It is,” you let out an embarrassed laugh, “I’m definitely not used to something like this, it’s… different that’s for sure. But a good different.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” he reassured, there was a slight pause before he continued, “I really like your outfit by the way, you look very nice.” Realizing what just slipped out of his mouth, he couldn’t help but slightly regret it and curse to himself. Was he too bold? Did he make you uncomfortable? What if you thought he wa-

“Oh thank you,” you felt a blush creep up on your face, “You look very good too, it suits you very well.” hearing you say that literally took Sunghoon’s breath away - he had to hold back a cough. You were probably just being polite but it still made him feel some type of way.

Before he could say anything else, the lights dimmed indicating that the show is about to start. Giving each other a small smile, you turned your attention to the runway in front of you and let yourself take in the appearance of all the models. Every now and then, if a certain model caught your eyes, you and Sunghoon would turn to each other and comment on them. Every so often, he would even make small talk with you because how couldn’t he not talk to you? He has a beautiful person sitting next to him, who knows when the next time you’d see each other is? He’d find any excuse to keep talking to you.

When the show ended, everyone started to part ways, either going home or to the after party. As you were gathering your things, you hear Sunghoon ask, “Hey, are you going to the after party?” you smiled and nodded, “Do you wanna maybe…go together? I can take you back to your hotel afterwards.” Sunghoon silently prayed that you would accept his offer or else he would have felt like he embarrassed himself.

“Yeah actually, I’d like that a lot!”

Trying to hide the surprise on his face he said, “Really? Okay, let’s head off then.” he stepped aside, letting you go first.

The two of you arrived at the party absolutely in awe of the setting. It looked straight out of a movie; fancy tables and chairs set up, flutes of champagne stacked like a pyramid, lights dimmed, music blasting, people having fun socializing and dancing. It was nothing like you’ve ever experienced. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, you froze, having no idea where what to do. Sunghoon notices the slight change in your behavior and was quick to comfort you, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here with you,” you nodded, “Let’s go get some drinks yeah?” he offered his hand to which you accepted to make sure you don’t lose each other in the crowd. You felt the butterflies appear in your stomach once again and the heat returning to your cheeks. Reaching the table with champagne, Sunghoon grabs a glass for you and him. You thanked him once he handed it to you. “So what made you want to become an idol, Y/N?” he asked out of nowhere, catching you by surprise.

“I’ve always loved to sing. Ever since I was little, I would jump at any opportunity to showcase my singing. It’s something I’m really passionate about and when I found out about the K-Pop industry, I knew that it was something I wanted to be a part of. Plus, I always love the idea of being able to bring comfort to our fans through our music or just simply being ourselves. It makes me feel like I’m doing the right thing.” you explained, your smile never leaving your face. That was what Sunghoon noticed. You were never not smiling. He also noticed the sparkle in your eyes as you told your story. He found that very endearing. ’Cute’ he thought. How could he already feel so strongly about a person he just met? “Sunghoon?”

Being brought back to reality, he looked at you confused, “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was just asking how do you like idol life? Do you feel like you made the right decision?” you didn’t seem to think much of it.

“Oh right uh,” he paused for a moment to collect himself, “I like it yeah, it can be tiring sometimes and there are some bad days but I think everything played out perfectly for the group and I and honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I love doing what I doing and I really do hope to do this for a very long time.”

You let out a soft laugh - which caused Sunghoon’s heart to beat faster for the nth time tonight. “That’s amazing Sunghoon, I hope all goes well for you and the group. I’ll be cheering for you on the side!” you brought up your two fists, indicating the “fighting” gesture. Your harmless gesture allowed Sunghoon to confirm to himself that you were someone special and someone he wants in his life. He would risk everything for you - call him dramatic but he’s not kidding. He didn’t expect anything when he attended the event but when he met you and had an instant connection with you, he knew in his gut that this won’t be the last time he’ll be seeing you. It can’t.

“And I’ll be cheering for you too. I’ll be your biggest fan.” he smiled as he looked down on the ground, feeling all giddy inside.

You felt the same. Looking anywhere but at him you needed a second to collect yourself, your eyes trailed over to the dance floor, “Oh, do you want to dance? We might as well make the most of it since we’re here.” he happily agreed. Reaching the dance floor, you immediately let yourself loose. You laughed as you swayed your hips and jumped to the beat of the music causing Sunghoon to laugh along with you. His body naturally danced with you. Your laughter was like music to his ears. It was impossible not to enjoy himself when he was with you.

You were so caught up in the fun you were having that you didn’t realize you grabbed Sunghoon’s hands to get closer and dance with him. After a second of processing it all, you were about to let go until you felt Sunghoon’s grip on your hand tighten before he lifted one of your hands in the air to spin you around. Once you faced him again, your eyes met his. He had a fond smile on his face. You didn’t miss the way his gaze slightly shifted to your lips for a second. At that moment, you realized the spark between the two of you. You were sure he felt it too.

The night was coming to an end. The room started to clear out as you gathered your belongings, Sunghoon waited by your side since he offered to take you back to the hotel. “You ready?” he asked, you nodded. With that, the two of you walked out of the building to where he had his car parked. Feeling the aftereffects of dancing all night or even spending the entire night with uncomfortable shows, your feet were killing you and you were exhausted. Sunghoon seemed to notice as you slowly started trailing behind him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little tired. It’s okay.” you breathed out.

Without another word, he walked towards you, “Here, take off your shoes. I’ll carry you.” he turned his back towards you and slightly crouched down.

“What? No, no it’s okay it’s just a couple of steps.” you said, panicking.

“Y/N it’s fine, I promise. I don’t want you hurting.” he insisted. You knew that no matter how many times you decline, he won’t budge. You sighed in defeat before hopping onto his back.

Finally making it back to his car, he gently set you down to open the door for you. You thanked him and climbed in. Feeling the comfort of sitting down, you let out a sigh of content causing Sunghoon to laugh at you, “You’re really going through it, aren’t you?”

“You try wearing these shoes all night.” you scoff. “I even have a performance tomorrow.” you groaned.

“Hooray for being an idol,” he said, sarcastically to which you replied with a soft “right”. “Let’s get you back, yeah?” you hummed in response. The rest of car ride was filled with a comfortable silence. Sunghoon saw how tired you were so he decided to let you rest on the way back. Every now and then he would look over at you and noticed how you fell asleep. You looked so peaceful, like nothing could bother you. He had to fight the urge to brush the stray hair strands away from your face. You slightly shifted causing him to quickly move his eyes back onto the road. After that, there was no more movement coming from you for the rest of the ride.

Finally reaching your hotel, Sunghoon gently nudged you awake. You looked around slightly confused until you recognized where you were and who you’re with. You turned your head over to Sunghoon meeting his gentle gaze, “We’re here.” he whispered.

“We are,” you said, slightly disappointed which he noticed. A part of you didn’t want to leave, leaving would mean that the night is over. You had such a great time with Sunghoon and in such a short amount of time you’ve developed a strong liking towards him. You wanted to see him again but you knew that you couldn’t because of your careers and how the media would react. It felt like a dream that you’re being waken up from. This may be your first and last time being this close to him and being able to interact freely. This may cause you to go back to being strangers again. “Thank you for the ride Sunghoon, I had a really good time tonight and it was really nice meeting you.” you smiled sadly at him.

Just as you were about to get out of the car, Sunghoon quickly reached over to stop you, “Wait Y/N, you think I’m going to let you go just like that? I want to see you again,” in that moment, your heart melted. “Do you think I can have your number? I’d love to be able to talk to you more.” he knew the risks and possible outcomes to his actions. He knew that you knew too, seeing your hesitation. Call him selfish, but he couldn’t care less at that moment. He wanted to keep you in his life no matter what and if that meant risking his career? Then so be it. He’ll find a way to make to work, for you.

After a moment of silence, you smiled, “Of course you can, I’d love to see you more often Sunghoon. I had such a great time with you.”

You two exchanged numbers and hugged each other goodbye, already looking forward to the next time you meet. It’s safe to say that the two of you went to sleep smiling and feeling giddy inside.

Months have passed since you met Sunghoon and the two of you have been inseparable ever since. You’ve even made quite a name for yourselves amongst your fans - to which you did not plan at all.

Clips were supposedly released of the two of you talking and having a good time with each other at the Prada event and let’s just say both fandoms went absolutely nuts - as well as the whole internet. When news first got out, you had to admit you were freaking out. Even though you and Sunghoon weren’t even dating, you were still terrified because you had no idea how people would react to you and him getting close. You knew how the media could be and you were afraid that this could potentially affect your careers. But to your surprise, there were more praises than there were hate. In fact, you had people rooting for the two of you. There were many comments saying things like “this couple could have so much potential”, “imagine when they start dating” and there were even comments pointing out the way the two of you looked at each other. They found out it obvious that you had feelings for each other. You even had fans looking for every interaction between you two and when there were any, the clips would blow up.

Let’s just say, they made it pretty clear that they want the two of you to get together.

©luvj4key, all work is written by me. do not copy or repost

#luvj4key's collection💌#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon scenarios

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ethansluvbot · 1 year

Note

Hey can you do Jack Champion x Actress!Reader, Where Jack has a crush on her and he like dms her?

FLAWLESS | JACK CHAMPION

summary: jacks had a crush on you for a while now. she's a great actress that he admires. one night he decides its time to finally message her.

warnings: none just fluff :)

an: sorry this is so so so short. i’m so sick so i’ll get to the request and write extra today!! i hope this is how you expected it :)

liked by jennaortega, baileybliss, jackchampion, and others

yourusername: sending kisses from thailand!

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fan01 you’re so gorgeous, i can’t wait to see the movie!!

yourusername thank you so much!!

jackchampion are you having a good time? the view looks amazing :)

yourusername i love it, thank you!

baileybliss trying to steal my girl?

masongooding my boys trying to make a move?

fan02 you’re so stunning

fan03 THE PASTA YUM

it wasn't unnoticeable that jack has a huge crush on y/n. he was always commenting, liking and reposting her post. he watched all of the movies that she started in and rewatched the shows. he even tried to get jenna to set you two up.

he would've made a move earlier but he was afraid of rejection. maybe it was the fact that he had alcohol in his system that he messaged you.

all he said was a simple hey, "really?" he thought to himself. he should've said something to intrigue her more. he threw his phone and ran away acting like a little girl. it was probably about ten minutes later that he finally decided to check his phone.

y/n scrolled through her messages until she saw his name pop up. all he said was a simple greeting, but you still was amused by it. she tapped the message quickly thinking of the best thing to send back.

hi :)

it shocked him that he even got a reply back. he tried his best to understand what just happened to him. (he’d probably start kicking his feet like a little girl)

i’m going to be honest, i don’t know what to say because i’m still in shock

that was the only thing that could come out after 20 minutes of thinking. she replied pretty quickly to him.

ill give you time to process this ;) i’m going out to lunch, maybe you can join me?

hell yes :)

jack spent at least a half an hour trying to pick a outfit. after he still didn’t figure it out he resorted to calling his mom. which she helped him pick out a outfit quickly.

it was a understatement to say jack was nervous. this is all he wanted. he wanted her. he got into the car and drove to the panera. to be honest he wasn't the biggest fan of panera, but he did it all for her. he would do anything for her.

she sat there waiting with a fresh bowl of soup. he was at least 30 minutes late to their "date". the sound of the bell from the door made her meet the eyes of jack. she smiled waving him over to her.

"hey! sorry i'm late, i couldn't pick out an outfit to wear." she nodded to him. why did she make him that nervous? it's not like they never interacted before. maybe only one or two times.

"i promise i'm friendly," she said brushing her hand against him. that didn't calm any of his nerves. he would just have to be himself and hope she would accept him.

an hour later they finally began to laugh together. it was almost like they had known each other for a long time. he wondered if she actually thought about him more than a friend.

"i really do like you, no matter what i'll wait for you." jack said. you both finished up your lunch and were getting ready to leave. you looked up to him meeting his puppy dog eyes. no one could say no to that.

you looked at his lips and then directly into his eyes. leaning up you attached yourself to his lips. your arm reaching up to curl in his hair.

"i'll text you later stranger," she gave him once last kiss on the lips. she never met someone like her. someone that she could spend her life laughing with. she wondered if something would actually happen between them.

#jack champion x reader #jack champion #jack champion imagine #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #avtar #atwow imagines #spider socorro #scream 6 #scream #scream 6 imagines

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wnobin · 3 months

Text

BIT BY BIT… 💭 anton lee socmed! au

pairing: college student! anton x campus crush! reader

genre: college! au, social media! au with written portions, slow burn, pining, strangers to friends to lovers.

series synopsis: in which the quiet girl in anton’s language class who seems to never sit with anyone catches his attention. anton makes it his mission to get closer to her bit by bit and break down her walls. the only issue? she’s the last to arrive and first to leave, never allowing anton the chance to approach her.

series masterlist | 09: eunseok’s toothbrush

chaewon was currently dragging you by your ear, your whines echoing in the empty corridors as eunchae rubbed her eyes, still tired from the events of last night. events, which consisted of the two of you finishing a whole container of melatonin gummies while watching monsters inc. “it’s literally 1pm and practice starts at 12! it’s your first time meeting the team and you’re gonna start off with a bad impression?”

“i already know eunseok, sungchan and shotaro so it’s not exactly my first time, is it?” you held your ear that was stinging with pain when chaewon finally let go of it, who was now choosing to now drag you and eunchae by your hands into the gymnasium. the three of you were met by the sight of the team members resting by the bleachers and downing their waters, but what caught your eye was your brother and his roommate wrestling on the ground while someone else was videoing it. “what was that about us leaving a bad impression on… them?”

“oh god, not again. y/n, can you grab your brother, i’ll get the other one.”

“how long have you been using my toothbrush?!”

“too long to remember!”

holding in your laughter, you grabbed eunseok by his shoulders and mustered all the strength you had to pry him away from sungchan, who was being held back by chaewon telling shotaro to put his phone down and help her.

“were you losing? seriously, eunseok?”

anton wasn’t paying attention to the fight that was happening in front of him, used to the sight of the two roommates bickering and eventually making up after ten minutes. until he heard a familiar voice, a voice he only ever heard during japanese 101. his head immediately snapped up, eyes no longer glued to his phone screen and instead watching a whining eunseok push your hands away while you laughed. “c’mon y/n, he was using my toothbrush! for god knows how long! let me beat him up!”

seunghan lifted his head at the same time, recognising your voice and elbowing anton’s side excitedly. the younger male simply watched the sight in silence, mouth hanging open slightly in shock.

oh my god. what are you doing here? are you dating eunseok? how do you know eunseok? you’re the new team manager and the captain’s girlfriend? oh god.

a million thoughts raced through anton’s mind, blocking out the sound of chaewon scolding the two roommates for fighting each other and also shotaro for filming and not stopping it. all he could focus on was how wide you were smiling, smiling at eunseok and sungchan.

“anton? hello, earth to anton?” sohee waved his hands in front of anton’s face, bringing him back to reality, the rest of his team going over to chaewon who was about to introduce the new team managers. as much as he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, anton had to act like everything was fine and took a deep breath before joining the rest of his friends.

“as i told you guys, you’ll be getting not one, but two team managers that’ll help you guys out after i graduate. this is eunchae, a first year majoring in early childhood education,” the shorter girl gave a lazy wave to the team, anton recognised her from some of his classes, but they had never interacted before. he turned to look at sohee who had excitedly greeted her, raising an eyebrow to which sohee simply mouthed the word ‘spanish’. “and this one over here is y/n, a first year majoring in nursing so she’ll be the one taking care of you guys when you get injured.”

“she’s also our captain’s little sister, so do be nice to her!”

eunseok’s little sister? anton couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but it didn’t sound all that unbelievable. you and eunseok were both rather tall, and the more he looked at you, he could see the resemblance between you two. same eyebrows and same nose.

you waved at the team but you were looking in anton’s direction, your eyes on him. at this point, his mind had gone blank and he was just absentmindedly waving back at you with the most dazed look on his face. “do you know anton?” eunseok asked, noticing the way you only looked at the youngest in the team. “yeah, we’re in the same japanese class.”

“japanese class? doesn’t anton have a cr—“

before sungchan could finish his sentence, wonbin clasped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away from the conversation, saying they had to go to the bathroom, before he revealed anton’s secret. seunghan who was trying to hold in his snickers eventually couldn’t hold it back anymore, erupting in laughter alongside sohee who was losing it too. everyone else seemed equally as confused as to why sungchan was dragged away mid-sentence and why seunghan and sohee were close to tears while anton looked like his soul just left his body.

he wasn’t sure if he should be thankful or not that you were his sister, and not his girlfriend. but one thing that he was thankful for was the fact that both you and your brother were just as oblivious as each other.

taglist (closed due to the limit!): @andromedawillburyyou @imsiriuslyreal @beckiiee00 @dreamiestay @babigriin @kyusqult @eumppappaswife @sserafilms @annswwa @lecheugo @llearlert @nyuoqi @thesunoosshining @yangasm @mmsriza @myizhuos @miyawakiblossoms @hyucksdelicate @ilovejungwonandhaechan @snowyseungs @soobiary @ilovejaketoomuch @cla1r20 @darlingz99 @chiiyuuvv @lilacarat @ohmykwonsoonyoung @sonjuyeonnie @nicholasluvbot @haechology @luvnicho @numberonetaleprince @addores @revehosh @jscvhs @istphanie @b-riize @miszes @shnnzsworld @ppoddorii @cowsmicwu @kiwigyuu @chuutaroo @dcvvr @delulu4soobs @l0ve-joy @ffixtionista @would-bee @renjuneoo

if i didn’t tag you, please check your account settings > visibility!

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lyramundana · 4 months

Text

No feelings involved...right?

Prologue and Part 1

Warnings❗: Implied baby trapping, dubious consent. It all happens at the end.

If their current predicament could be resumed in one sentence, it'll sound like a mother's voice saying "I told you so".

They didn't plan it. It all started with a small mishap, a consequence of their exhaustion and the amount of issues going on in their personal lives. Then the mishap repeated itself, and then they decided to turn it into a game for their own pleasure, no strings attached to her. Then the game grew beyond their control and became a mountain of lies, too big to seize them.

Jisung first met her through a friend of his, and although he found her beautiful then, she didn't catch his attention beyond that. They met frecuently, since they both ran in the same circle of friends, and after one night being left alone by their drunk friends, they spent the time talking and turned out they had more in common that he thought. They clicked, in a way it's hard to explain, but just felt like he knew her since forever. They went from mere acquaintances to suddenly having her name appear at the top of his contact list along with Minho's.

Minho met her through his boyfriend, of course. He first saw her when Jisung brought her home to hang out, without even warning him about it. Their introduction was pretty formal, quick. They shook hands, made some small talk and Jisung inmediatly stole her attention again. Minho wasn't interested in befriending her and viceversa, but Jisung was their common point and she eventually became a regular presence in their apartment, so they really had no option but get along. Forced proximity and all.

Jisung has always known a lot of people, plenty of familiar faces that tend to flock towards him wherever he goes, but few of them can say they truly know him. Jisung cracks jokes, plays long with them, but rarely speaks about himself. He keeps a careful, calculated distance, because he knows that despite all those smiles and compliments, they only see the surface, what they want to see, and don't care about the rest. Which it's okay, it comes with the job, and this facade actually helps to keep undesirable people away without being rude. But she...she's different. From the moment she spoke to him and he listened, he found there was more to her than what she showed. Like him, she never allowed people to see beyond the surface, simply letting them believe the version they liked to spare herself the headaches. She understood him. And for the first time in years, Jisung felt a genuine connection to someone besides Minho.

The funny thing is that they don't talk that much, outside those events where the whole group meets and they stick together to not get bored. And when they get to talk, it's mostly about stuff only they know and deep, phylosophical converstations where they discuss the meanings of life. Maybe, if he's in a certain mood, he complains about a recent argument with Minho and asks for advice, but that's not the norm with them. When he brings her home is to get drunk over petty drama and gossip, without the others. They just fall back in the comfortability of a quiet friendship where no small talks were needed and they could simply let go of their masks.

Things between Minho and her weren't ideal at first. The few times they interacted was when she was at their flat, usually drunk and leaving a mess, and he got mad at it. He could look past it when it was Jisung, but having a stranger doing it was something else. He made sure of letting her know after the drunk haze, barely holding back the bite in his words. He expected her to get offended or feel embarrassed, but no. She never showed an ounce of shame, instead replying him with the same snarky tones, and sometimes that small lopsided grin of hers that made his blood boil. But what started as mostly petty arguments and cold greetings turned into a sense of complicity when they realized their humour was similar and they both acted like Jisung's babysitters more often than not.

Minho is used to be misunderstood. His resting bitch face, his brutal honesty, his reserved demeanour and that perpetual indifference in his face that rarely expressed emotions. People were quick to form opinions about him and not all were good. He was considered cold, arrogant, a snob that didn't like to mingle with those he saw "beneath him", you get it. Most wondered how someone so sweet and cheerful as Jisung could fall for him. It's okay for Minho, he doesn't see the point in caring for what strangers may think. The people he loves know him for who he is and that's enough. Then she came, all carefree and playful and open-minded. Jisung only spoke good things about her, but Minho knew his boy could be biased. Until they started talking and he found out she was truly different. She wasn't intimidated by him, even though he pulled the worst of him sometimes with her around, but she never reacted on it. She was quick to stand up against him, all prideful and confident. And her lack of respect felt like a wheeze of fresh air. After being constantly misjudged, it felt nice to have someone apart from Jisung that made an effort to see through his facade.

Before they noticed it, she became a constant in their lives. Even if they didn't meet often, even if the phone calls sometimes got short, she was present and they felt it. Whenever they needed a favour, she was the safest option. When something juicy happened, she was the first person they called. Even when their fights got brutal and they had no one to seek advice from, her door appeared in front of their eyes.

She never turned down, although her complaints were very much heard. She acted as a bridge between them both when they refused to take the initiative, pushing them to apologise and communicate their problems and feelings. Minho was stubborn, but Jisung could easily win him at times, and persuade them to move past it was a pain. Nevertheless, she did it every single time, to the point the walls of her house and the natural scent that filled it became so familiar to them.

They genuinely don't know when things started to change. They talked it before and both agreed she was beautiful, easy to the eyes, but nothing more. Sure, she was a vital part of their lives now but that's all they wanted her to be. At least that's what they told themselves until that night behind that club, when they tasted her for the first time and found the missing piece they had been bothering them for so long. That annoying empty space in their sex life that have appeared coincidentally shortly after meeting her..

Of course, things couldn't be the same after that mindblowing experience, not like they wanted it to either. They planned the whole affair while she slept in their arms, dead to the world. It was easy to convince her, with her body still vibrating by the last events and her mind still waking up. Granted that wasn't exactly correct from their parts, but they were slightly desperate and the idea of letting her go after that sounded awfully wrong.

And so that was the start of their downfall.

Looking back, they asked for it. At first it was all very natural. They were still friends but now they also fucked sometimes. She was open to every kink and preference of theirs, and she also introduced them to her own tastes. No commitment, no explanations expected or needed. But when their encounters became more often it got harder to stay away from her, they had her sign an NDA to continue. Which was..okay, not something they accounted for but it wasn't necessarily a problem.

No, the problems started when their feelings began to get in the way of the commitment-free arrangement they wanted.

Their doll was a gorgeous creature, a delightful sight for sore eyes, and they knew it. She was like this when they met her and they had no problem with it, Jisung even admired it and made jokes about it, about how ridiculous easy those idiots fell for her charms, scrambling on their feet to get an ounce of her attention. But at some point, seeing such scenes evoked less amusement and more disgust. And following disgust, there was something else. Something twisted and painful and deadly that climbed to their throats when another worthless scum tried his luck with her. Minho could heard this tempting voice in his head telling him to rip their guts out and Jisung imagined a number of creative scenarios where he taught that bastard a lesson.

Sometimes, those voices told them to grab their precious doll and drag her away from those dirty hands, keep her near where they couldn't lose her, which was weird because she meant nothing to them. Just a close acquaintance they casually fucked from time to time very often. And yet...

These sudden, strange emotions were translated in their bed.

The sex with her was always rough and fast, and the only aftercare that ocurred was sharing a smoke in bed over some small talk. But suddenly, it wasn't enough. Their usual routine felt short, uncomplete, unsatisfying. The mouths started to trace her face, her body, the marks they left on her. Their movements turned slower, more gentle, more precise. They wanted to see how it was when she burst in pleasure, when she gave herself up entirely in their arms. They kissed, caressed, worshipped the entirety of her skin, and they whispered words of praise in her ears for the duration of it. And when it was done, they needed wanted her close, lulling her into sleep as their arms trapped her against them.

"You're doing so, so well, doll. Can you give us one more, please? You look lovely like this."

"Look at you, already crying and shaking. Shh, it's okay, love, we got you. Leave it to us, okay'"

But when they couldn't stand that twisted feeling in their guts, after seeing some other clown trying to steal her away, both men turned animalistic on her. They were all confused at this change, and the two of them couldn't explain where did it came from. They just felt the urgent need to cover her in bites, scratches and hickeys, in every place where those undeserving eyes feasted upon. ¿How dare those assholes? ¿Didn't they know she was with them? ¿Had they no shame? ¿Did they really think they stood a chance?

"That's it, keep looking at us, slut. That's where your eyes should always be. ¿What the fuck were you thinking, uh?"

"¿You wanted him to fuck you too? Is that it? You greedy whore. Clearly we need to fuck you more. We'll make sure you can't even talk or walk without our help."

And it didn't end just there. They started to bring her to their dates, inviting her everywhere they went, giving her their clothes. They had love-hate feelings towards her revealing dresses, because as much as they enjoyed the view, they hated seeing others do the same. She became part of their routine, outside the sex part. She was always there. And as time passed, it felt like she had been there since the beginning. They hardly remembered how things were before she came.

But they kept lying to themselves, lying to everyone. This wasn't anything. They could stop whenever they wanted to. There no other feelings involved. Of course not.

And things finally went downhill when someone asked them:

"So, that girl that's always with you two, what's the deal with her? Is there something serious going on? Because you have to introduce her to us, then."

That question struck them. Brutally.

They never thought too much about it. Things with her just...happened naturally, and they barely noticed it. They simply followed their instincts at the time, not realizing the weight those actions could hold. ¿What was the deal with her, truly? Granted, she was more than just a quick fuck, but still. And what was up with them? Why the fuck did they want to meet her? She was perfectly fine where she was.

At the end of the day, the three of them moved in different worlds. There were things about themselves they couldn't tell her, things she would never understand. Maybe that was better, they thought. To keep her away from that circus of drama and lies and dirty secrets they were part of. She didn't belong there. And to keep her far away from idiots butting their noses where they shouldn't.

So they quickly defused the situation. She was just an acquaintance, they didn't really know her, yeah. They already had each other, it had always been just each other. She meant nothing.

If she did, where did that leave them?

¿Were they supposed to know someone was going to post their answer on social media? Were they supposed to know she would see it and demand explanations too?

Yes

They never saw her so angry, so emotional. She was bursting in anger and sadness and dissapointment, and they could both feel how their hearts stopped at the sight. It didn't feel right.

When she started to speak, they sort of panicked. They couldn't control the situation this time, they couldn't control her, and they didn't have proper answers for it. At least, not the kind of answers that would help them.

Most of all, they were confused. As she confronted them with facts, about how their strange behaviour with her and their motivations, they were forced to acknowledge the reality of everything.

That she meant more than they thought. Way more than they wanted her to. It was a liability. A problem. An unexpected turn of events they weren't prepared for.

And because they weren't prepared, they simply said the words that sounded logical at the moment. Cold statements of what they all knew, of what they agreed on the beginning. They didn't truly mean it, as they would realize later, but they felt cornered. And at the moment, the only strenght they could rely on was their pride.

They foolishly thought she would stay after that. That she would see their point of view and calm down.

As expected, she didn't. When it fell on them the terrible error they made, it was late. She left the place. Emptied it of whatever part of her and blocked them from her life.

And as expected, the aftermath was fucking disastrous.

Being deprived so suddenly from her presence after getting used to have her near everyday was hellish. No more calls, no more dates, no more lazy afternoons in the couch. She was gone, leaving a gaping hole in their lives that they couldn't fill, no matter how much they tried. And god knows they did.

No vice or person could replace the feelings she invoked in them.

They turned down invitations, calls of friends, choosing to stay at home and just hang out by themselves. Staying at home too long drove them insane, but going out wasn't much better. She was everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the people. It was a nightmare.

When a close friend of theirs invited them to the opening of club, they only accepted in hopes for a distraction, and to keep appareances a bit. But the cold, boring night inmediately acquired a brilliant colour when they saw her.

More beautiful than ever, with her pretty dress and carefully done make-up. Her damned smile brightened the whole club and, for a moment, they felt in peace. Like nothing changed.

Until they saw she wasn't alone. Her warm arms, who used to be held by them, were now occupied by other men. Some they didn't know. A pair of strangers taking their rightful places, and she just laughed and danced with them like it was normal.

They spent the whole night like that, watching her and brooding, with that familiar green boiling in their stomach. She looked gorgeous, out of this world, and it wasn't fucking fair. That should be them. She should have been with them, filling their ears with her cute laugh and letting them wrap their arms over her.

Deep down, they knew they fucked up. It was solely their fault. They had their chance to make her stay, to trap her, and they messed up. ¿Why did things have to be this way? Why did they have to realize the size of their mistake in a moment of jealousy? It was stupid.

When they saw her walking outside alone, they exchanged a glance and they knew it.

They made several mistakes, but they learnt from them. Having her hating them was better than not having her at all, so they followed.

It was so easy to fall back into routine. She was already weakened by their presence, and it was the same for them too. Some yelling here and there, insults being thrown back and forth, a bit of fighting, but they ended up right where they wanted: Locked bathroom, against a wall, and the music covering their moans.

They didn't stop until she was bursting with their cum, pushing it right back inside where a drop ran down her legs. Until there wasn't a single trace of skin unmarked. Until she couldn't fucking walk without their help.

And when few weeks later, she showed up in their apartment with three positive tests, they pretended to be shocked and made her move in with them.

They could already see the picture she would make. It was going to be perfect.

(i had this shit collecting dust in my drafts for a millenia and today i had a strange burst of inspiration to finish it. sorry for the waiting to those who asked for this part)

Taglist: @hanjisunglover @queenmea604 @linlinaert @bluducky @jinnie-ret @aalexyuuuhm @noellllslut @skzms @thightswideforhanin @aliensfoundthisblogl @k-krissten @stayconnecteed @hanjibug @roseykat

#skz scenarios #skz imagine #han jisung scenarios #lee know scenarios #minsung x reader #han jisung imagine #lee know imagine #minsung imagine #minsung scenario

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say-al0e · 2 years

Text

Don’t Let Go

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend. He was the one person you swore would never hurt you. But when high school rolled around, Steve went searching for a place to fit in while you went searching for yourself. Now, years later, the universe has brought Steve Harrington back to your life and he doesn't plan on leaving again. | Ft prompt request: “I want you to be happy.” “You make me happy.” + “I think I’m in love with you.” + “You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”

Warnings: Absent parents (Steve’s parents), emotionally abusive parents (reader’s parents), Steve was kind of an asshole in high school (but not really), best friend!Eddie, Steve listens to Hall and Oates unironically.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Word Count: 17.9k (I’m so sorry. I really, truly, terribly am.)

Stranger Things Taglist | Stranger Things Masterlist

Steve Harrington, dressed in a striped polo and the garish green Family Video vest, didn’t so much as bat an eye as you approached the counter.

There was no greeting, no forced customer service voice or Harrington charm - or lack thereof, as of late. Instead, he delivered a deadpan, “Someone else rented The Evil Dead,” as he continued stacking return tapes. “You really should just buy it at this point.”

The scent of his cologne, something woody that had always made your head a little dizzy - always blurred the sharp edges of your biting jabs and warmed the ice in your chest - enveloped you as you leaned against the counter. The surface was sticky beneath your elbows, as it always seemed to be, but you ignored it and grinned at him, cloyingly sweet.

“If I did that, how would I get to annoy you weekly?”

Annoying Steve was, originally, not your goal. The first time you stepped into Family Video, you’d only wanted to rent a movie - a handful of them, actually, for a movie night with Eddie. You’d been expecting to see Keith behind the desk, prepared to deal with his wandering eyes and slightly off-putting smile, but the sight that greeted you instead was a surprise.

News of Steve’s hire had spread - Robin was a friend, she’d excitedly shared the news almost immediately - but, almost naively, you believed Keith would remain at the desk and you would, blessedly, avoid Steve’s presence. You’d been doing it for years, sidestepping him every chance you got, but your luck ran out.

Though Steve was surprised to see you - the last time you interacted, it was after your high school graduation and you’d run off the moment you were allowed - he was polite, professional, almost friendly. There was a light in his eyes when he recognized you, a genuine curiosity when he asked how you were doing, and you were baffled because Steve Harrington hadn’t been nice to you in a long while.

You weren’t sure if it was the shock of seeing him, the surprise when he made an effort to be polite to you, or maybe it was the years of repressed anger at how he’d treated you in high school. Regardless, you could admit that the interaction wasn’t your finest moment. Every nicety he shared was met with snark, bitter and biting, and he deflated almost immediately.

Guilt bubbled on your drive home but some small part of you felt glad that you’d managed to leave with your dignity in tact.

Since that day, your interactions became more frequent - there was little else to do as you spent your summer in Hawkins - and seeing the twitch of Steve’s jaw when you met his kindness with snark made you feel just a touch better before it made you feel worse.

The roll of his eyes, the quiet huff of breath as he focused on sorting tapes into genres, made you laugh. “I’m not here for The Evil Dead this time, though. I’m looking for Nightmare on Elm Street. I want to make my parents regret locking me away on a Friday night.”

In a rare moment of annoyance - directed at you, anyway - Steve scoffed. “As if you were doing anything better with your night.” He paused, hands hovering above the counter as if he’d only just realized what he said, and you huffed. When you rolled your eyes, he spared you a glance out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s about the principle, Stevie. Spiting the parents and all.” You waved a hand, silver of your rings glinting in the florescent light - drawing soft brown eyes, half-lidded in exhaustion and exasperation - and frowned as you fixed him with an accusing look. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same.”

Though it had been years since you’d last spoken about anything other than surface-level bullshit - chemistry exams and pep rallies, basketball scores and the weather, a fallen tree blocking the road to your houses - your bond had been forged in fire by commonalities few knew you shared.

The only real difference between your parents and his was that yours were occasionally racked by guilt - just enough self-awareness to demand a family night once every few months with the declaration that things would change, family time would become more important - before starting the cycle of neglect all over again.

Steve grimaced, a look that confirmed your assumption, as you shrugged. There was no need for him to confirm what you already knew to be true so you carried on. “Anyway, my brother’s coming home for the weekend so it’s time to pretend we’re a functional family.”

Another grimace - this one stemming from a place of understanding as Steve Harrington knew all too well what it was like to be forced to pretend - as he turned to face you. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest with a thoughtful frown. “I thought your brother got married. What’s he doing back here?”

He didn’t just think, he knew - he was at the first wedding, offered you a cigarette and sat with you in silence as you both sipped beer in outrageously nice outfits neither of you would wear again; a kindness you hadn’t expected from him, one that seemed to make no difference when he ignored your presence at school the following Monday - but you still smiled at him just the same, as if you knew something he didn’t.

This was the first time Steve Harrington had really looked at you - soft brown eyes fixed on your face, intent and flecked with something warm - in years. The weight of his gaze settled on your shoulders, suddenly made you feel fourteen and shy again, but you did your best to keep your hand from trembling as you reached out to straighten a stack of pamphlets.

“Haven’t you heard? He’s been married, and divorced, twice.” Steve winced - he’d looked up to your brother once upon a time, just as you had, and you knew that the trajectory of his life hit home for Steve - and you weren’t sure what possessed you to be so flippant (maybe it was payback, a sick desire to make him hurt in the same way he’d hurt you for years) but you added, “And you thought your personal life was shit.”

It was a low blow, you knew that - you regretted it the moment you said it - but it escaped before you could think twice. The flicker of good will, something more hopeful than you’d seen from Steve Harrington in years, disappeared in an instant. It was replaced with a roll of his eyes, an exasperated sigh that made your stomach turn, and you bit the inside of your cheek as he turned back to the pile of tapes.

“Nightmare’s on the horror shelf. You know where to find it. If that’s all, I’ll ring you up and you can go. I’ve got shit to do.”

As Steve focused his attention on the dwindling pile in front of him, you swallowed a heavy sigh that tasted bitter. There was no point in apologizing - neither of you had done that; him for abandoning you in pursuit of popularity, you for resenting him for wanting somewhere to belong - so you ignored the pang of regret stabbing at your chest.

“By all means, keep working, Harrington. The longer I linger, the less time I have to spend with the mirror-verse Cleaver’s. Annoying you is just a bonus.”

Though he made no effort to turn his attention back to you, you could see the way his brows furrowed in confusion. He blinked and the question was slow to escape. “Mirror-verse?”

“Yeah. From Star Trek? It’s, like, the evil twin universe.” Steve swallowed hard, a reaction that left you minutely confused, and grimaced as he shook his head. When he scoffed, you huffed. “You’re best friends with Dustin Henderson and the merry band of losers, dude. You’re, like, nerd bait. Don’t judge me.”

Steve sighed and turned back to you, ready to deny the obvious - or remind you that just because he spent time with nerds, he hadn’t exactly learned much - but before he could so much as open his mouth, the bell above the door chimed.

All too quickly, his demeanor changed. Steve smiled, his most polite, parent-pleasing grin, and you bristled. Warm brown eyes flickered to your face and away again so quick you were almost certain you imagined it but you averted your gaze, anyway, as you clenched your jaw.

Across the store, your mother stepped inside Family Video with a grimace. She looked entirely out of place, pristine and pretty in a grimy den of movies she’d hate even the thought of, but she still brightened considerably at the sight of Steve Harrington.

Once upon a time, she - like his mother - swore the pair of you were destined to be, fated to be married and spend the rest of your lives together. The only attention they ever paid to the pair of you was when you were together and, when Steve left you behind, you fleetingly wondered if that was the only reason he ever looked at you in the first place.

That wasn’t the case and you knew it.

Once upon a time, Steve was your best friend - had loved you more than anyone, spent every waking moment glued to your side - and it was because you were more alike than you were different. You lived similar lives, had similar childhoods, and complemented one another in ways that made your lives significantly better. Steve made you happy but, more impossibly, he made your parents happy.

When things changed, when your best friend Steve became King Steve and you turned invisible - became friends with Eddie Munson and tried to find yourself amongst the chaos of high school - your mother blamed you for ruining the future she’d imagined you’d have. She huffed and puffed, bitter and biting, when you started wearing black and listening to metal. And when you declared you would rather die than become a trophy wife for some rich asshole - someone like your father; someone you thought Steve would never be but could easily become, if he wasn’t careful - she refused to speak to you for a week.

When you lamented high school and all its difficulties, informed her that Steve Harrington was no longer your friend because he’d rather join Tommy and Carol in their relentless teasing than even pretend he knew you, she sniffed and reminded you that it was your own fault for choosing to be different. She told you that if you tried a little harder - put some effort into your clothes, wore a dress and fixed your hair and makeup - maybe things wouldn’t be so hard. And maybe Steve would still be your friend.

So, it was no surprise that she was happier to see him than you.

“Steve!”

She smiled, bright and brilliant, and paused just a step from the counter to take in the sight of him. Though you could both see her disdain - she’d lamented what a waste it was for him to remain in Hawkins, how awful his parents were being by cutting him off only to turn around and contemplate doing the same when you decided to attend a private university within driving distance rather than a larger school in the city - she was still glad to see him.

“What a pleasant surprise. How are you, sweetheart?”

As charming as he could be, Steve’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he spared you a fleeting glance. His shoulders were too stiff, knuckles a little too white as he held tight to the counter, but to someone like your mother - someone who didn’t bother looking any deeper into anything not entirely about her - he looked perfectly pleased to see her.

“I’m good.” Steve nodded, though you weren’t sure who he was trying to convince - her or himself - and, just as he’d been raised, politely declared, “It’s nice to see you. It’s been a while.”

The last time Steve had the (dis)pleasure of interacting with your parents was at graduation. Your mother and father showered him with praise, congratulated his barely passing GPA in a way that neglected your own straight A’s - lauded his accomplishment in a way they forgot to do for you - and didn’t bother batting an eye as he sheepishly explained away his own parents’ absence. It was fine that they were busy, your parents told him, he could just join your family for dinner at Enzo’s.

For three miserable hours, you sat pressed close to Steve - neither of you sharing so much as a single glance, picking at food neither of you really cared to eat - while your parents prattled on about nothing in particular. He shared another cigarette with you in the parking lot after but the only words you exchanged were half-hearted congratulations, a soft acknowledgement from him that your speech had been nice, uttered right before you ran from the parking lot to climb into Eddie Munson’s awaiting van.

Now, Steve spared you a tentative glance as your mother set her sights on you.

Beneath his understanding, there was something unreadable. The look in his eyes was a little sad, a little soft, but a fire blazed in them that you couldn’t quite comprehend. It wasn’t quite anger, didn’t burn that hot, but a sort of determination that you decided not to question.

Whatever Steve Harrington felt, it was no longer your business.

Still, the combined weight of their stares - hers an icy disappointment, his a warm understanding - flooded your mouth with a bitter copper. Your skin heated and heart hammered against your ribcage, battering your chest in a way that ached. And instead of chancing a glance at either of them, of meeting their eyes and being reduced to embarrassed tears, you pretended to study the tarnished metal of one of your rings.

With the pleasantries out of the way, your mother seemed to realize that you had yet to find a tape and huffed impatiently. “Why are you just standing here? And where is the movie? I told you to find something your brother would like. We should’ve been home fifteen minutes ago.” From the corner of your eye, you could’ve sworn you saw a twitch in Steve’s jaw as his gaze fell to the counter. “Next time, I’ll just find something myself.”

Another huff, one that needled at your already rubbed raw nerves and had frustrated tears prickling at the backs of your eyes, escaped your mother’s painted lips as she reached for a tape on the new release shelf. “Steve, dear, what do you think of this one? You know my son. Do you think he’d like it?”

When you finally chanced a glance at Steve, the weight on your chest grew impossibly heavier. He was never quick to anger, never outwardly volatile, but you remembered the little tells. The twitch of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the set of his mouth; he was annoyed and you were embarrassed.

Without so much as a glance at the tape, he nodded. “Definitely.” His agreement was easy, sure, but his tone was mild and disinterested. He wanted her - and you - gone. “It’s been a hit. Everyone likes it.”

Steve’s less than glowing review was more than enough for your mother. She didn’t care, not really, so she nodded and slid the tape across the counter with a satisfied smile. “Then we’ll take it.”

In her own way, you knew that your mother meant it - she did really like Steve, though most people who got to know him seemed to, irritatingly enough - but that didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered in that moment was how long it would take for you to make it out of the store and back home, how long until you could lock yourself in your bedroom and hide until your parents demanded you be sociable, how long until you could sneak out your window and ask Eddie for something to help you forget - how long until you could escape the suddenly pitying look Steve Harrington shot you as your mother dug through her bag for her wallet.

The look in Steve’s eyes - a nauseating combination of understanding and sympathy, sorrow and contempt - made it that much harder to hold yourself together. He knew your family, knew what your life was like behind the large house and rich parents, just as you knew the same about him. That mattered little, however, when you no longer knew one another.

Steve’s sympathy meant nothing to you, was more embarrassing than comforting, and he seemed to realize what you were feeling as he blinked and returned his attention to your mother. She simpered and Steve’s answering smile looked entirely artificial to you.

“Always so helpful, Steve.” She shot you a withering look then, one that clearly read ‘unlike some people,’ before offering him something a little more real. “It really has been nice seeing you, sweetheart. Don’t be a stranger.”

Then, without waiting for his reply and without so much as a word to you, she turned and headed for the door. She wouldn’t leave you - that would potentially tarnish her reputation, someone seeing you trudge home on the side of the road - but she would huff and puff the entire ride home, louder the longer you took to follow.

With a weak smile, one you knew Steve could see right through, you took the tape from the counter. “See you around, Harrington.”

If he offered a reply, it was lost to the ringing in your ears as you rushed from the store and into your mother’s idling car. And though she spent the vast majority of the drive home lamenting what could’ve been - “Steve is so handsome. If you hadn’t decided to be different, just to spite us, the two of you would’ve made such a beautiful couple. You might even be engaged by now! He’s such a nice boy. What a shame you spend all your time with those… freaks.” - you were grateful to have escaped Steve’s scrutiny.

The last person you wanted to pity you was Steve fucking Harrington.

When you arrived home, despite your mother’s sharp demands for you to stay put, you bounded up the stairs and locked yourself in your room. There was no chance she would follow - no chance anyone in your family would so much as make it halfway up the stairs to berate you - so you did little to stop the frustrated tears that fell as you took a seat on the floor beside your record player.

As you dug through the crate of records, searching for something loud your family would hate, you spotted the little white shoebox hidden behind it all. Your fingers shook as you reached for it, hesitant as you hadn’t opened it in nearly four years, but it was already difficult to catch your breath - tears already blurred your vision - so you tugged it free.

Very rarely was your mother right. In the case of Steve Harrington, however, she was rarely wrong.

Though you hadn’t decided to be different - you just were; your existence serving to spite your parents was just an added bonus of finding yourself - the decision to live the life you wanted rather than the one they wanted for you was the catalyst that destroyed your friendship with Steve.

At fourteen, Steve wanted nothing more than his parents’ approval. He was desperate, almost, in a way that you never were for them to pay attention to him. It mattered, more than almost anything else, and the thought initially made you sad.

He deserved better than a family that never really wanted him - a family that made him feel as if he had to earn their love - and you told him that. But Steve wasn’t quite ready to listen.

Steve liked sports but he pushed himself to the limit, practiced basketball and swimming in hopes of earning his father’s praise. He didn’t particularly care for Tommy or Carol or any of the other pretentious douchebags he managed to befriend, but their parents knew his and his were the most well-off, meaning he became something of a leader. His father seemed pleased he’d managed to become the leader of the pack, clapped his shoulder the first time he saw Steve take charge - grinned when someone called him ‘King Steve’ - so he kept at it, despite your declaration that he deserved better.

While he desperately tried to make his parents happy, you accepted that nothing you could ever do would be good enough for yours. There was no point in making yourself miserable seeking approval that would never come, no point in trying to be someone you weren’t. They would never be happy - even if you’d been their perfect little doll, they would’ve found some kind of flaw to fixate on - so you did what made you happy.

In the process, you and Steve lost one another.

In the beginning, Steve stood frozen whenever Tommy or Carol or one of his other friends chose you as the target of the day. He always looked conflicted, as if he was considering stepping in, but he never said a word. A few months into freshman year and he made himself scarce whenever you became the center of attention. There was always a girl he wanted to meet or a coach that needed him or a bathroom break he couldn’t wait to take and you wondered who he was really protecting - you or himself.

Though you’d known the same kids for most of your life, everyone seemed to have forgotten your friendship and you figured that, one day, Steve would, too.

The older you got, the less care Steve took to avoid being a part of Tommy or Carol’s tirades. He never instigated the attacks on you - was never the first to call you a freak or toss erasers at you in class - but he seemed almost resigned to their occurrence. Even the slight wince he once wore, a barely there twitch of his mouth whenever he realized you were the target of the day, disappeared with time. Instead, he looked on almost passively, as if he were watching something on television, not watching as his one-time best friend blinked back tears.

Eventually, he joined in on the fun.

For nearly two years, the sight of Steve filled you with as much dread as the sight of Tommy or Carol. He never took the first shot, was almost robotic in his mistreatment of you, but his jabs always managed to hurt the worst. The quips he hurled at you were never as graphic as Carol’s, never as biting as Tommy’s - always half-hearted, muttered because eyes were on him - but they cut far deeper than anything anyone else could level at you.

Steve’s insults were always performative but they chipped away at your heart each time. He knew you, had been the most important person in your life for so long, but that no longer seemed to matter.

Hellfire become your sort of protectors near the end of freshman year - Eddie Munson was never quick to violence, always had a worse bark than bite, but he ended up with his fair share of bloody noses and bruised knuckles on your behalf - and you grew to hate Steve Harrington.

Something changed in the middle of senior year - Steve came back from winter break almost resigned, deflated; seemed to become a shell of himself months later when Nancy Wheeler dumped him - and he suddenly kept his distance. He huffed orders for Tommy and Carol and the like to leave you alone, a sudden change of heart from the boy who’d been content to sit quietly for so long, but you no longer trusted him. You avoided him - turned your head any time he so much as glanced your way - and would’ve been content to forget you ever even knew him in the first place after graduation.

The universe, however, could be a bitch when provoked. Somehow, you’d managed to make a cosmic enemy and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, Steve Harrington began to worm his way back into your life.

First, he befriended Robin Buckley. For years, she’d been one of the only people outside of Hellfire you deemed safe enough to interact with at Hawkins High. Steve was once a pain in her side, too, but after a summer of working with him, she deemed him alright. Still, Steve was a forbidden topic when you spent time together - something you demanded, unfairly, you knew, but she respected - though, she did manage to sneak in a few words of praise here and there.

After that, he managed to become passively acquainted with Eddie by way of Dustin Henderson. The teenage pain was their only commonality, a shared ward who latched onto them both and received endless support in return, though both lamented their respective babysitting duties. Still, even Eddie had to give Steve credit where credit was due.

Outside of high school, away from Tommy and Carol and bullshit popularity politics, Steve Harrington wasn’t a bad guy and, as much as you hated being told, you believed it.

The Steve you remembered from a lifetime ago would’ve hated King Steve. He would’ve been horrified to see him be so complacent in your misfortune, would’ve called him pretentious and been annoyed by his very presence, and it hurt to be reminded of the past each time someone deemed Steve a nice guy. Your Steve, the Steve that was your best friend from age four to fourteen, was solidly good.

Sometimes, you missed him.

As your breathing grew more erratic, harder to control even as you inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth, you dumped the contents of the shoebox onto the carpet. Immediately, a handful of photos caught your eye. The pile consisted of strips from a carnival photo booth, a stack of faded Polaroids, and a few photos taken by your mother on joint family vacations. In each one, Steve had an arm wrapped tight around your shoulders and was grinning bright, smile wider than you ever remembered seeing.

Scattered among the photos were little objects, trinkets Steve had given you - a charm bracelet he chose for your eighth birthday, including each charm he’d given you every year that followed; a snow globe from his trip to New York, featuring a miniature Statue of Liberty; a baseball, the first home run he ever hit, scribbled with a message thanking you for practicing with him; a locket, the gift he gave you on your thirteenth birthday, with a photo of you both stuck inside.

The most important object was the one that made you wonder if maybe your mother was right - if you’d just given in, lived the way they’d wanted and tried to be perfect, the daughter they imagined they’d have, maybe you and Steve would be engaged, well on your way to marriage by now.

It was a small, plastic ring - plucked straight from a bubble gum machine, complete with tacked on gemstones - but you remembered thirteen-year old Steve presenting it to you with a bright grin and glowing pink cheeks. He’d kissed you on the cheek, a quick peck that made your face heat, and held your hand for the rest of the night. You wore it, stuck on the same finger as your mother’s garish wedding band, until the first week of freshman year.

Now, instead of living in that world, one of which you dreamt nightly as a child - one you continued dreaming of occasionally until age sixteen, when Steve finally joined in on the fun of making your life hell, even if it was passive - you were stuck living in a world in which Steve Harrington just barely tolerated your presence.

This world, one in which you struck down every potentially positive interaction with him, saw you still mired deep in your betrayal. You still hurt, still tasted something bitter each time you allowed yourself to wonder ‘what if’ but you had half a mind to call Family Video and apologize for lashing out.

That was out of the question, however, as Steve would likely think you were joking and hang up on you. So, instead of humiliating yourself, you shoved the objects back into the box - taking great care to avoid breaking or creasing anything - and hid it away again, locked in the past where it could no longer hurt you.

With the box safely stowed away once more, you reached for the record player and switched it on - waited a moment for it to crackle to life. When Stevie Nicks began to flood your room, you fell back against the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. If you kept still, focused on your breathing, there was a chance your thoughts might slow as the opening notes of Bella Donna replaced the ringing in your ears.

As was usually the case, you lost track of how long you spent lying on the floor. The record needed flipping - you’d been lying in silence for what could’ve been hours, could’ve been only minutes - but the sounds of life carrying on around you played on a constant loop.

Your mother’s voice carried through the large house as she brushed off your absence by describing it as a temper tantrum. Your brother lamented the end of his second marriage, though you all knew it was his infidelity that brought him here. Your father clinked bottles as he mixed himself a drink, stoic and silent through the bullshit.

It was never-ending and you hated every moment of it.

A sharp tap against your window, long after night had fallen, finally broke the feedback loop. It captured your attention almost instantly, pulled you up from the floor with a stiff groan, and you scrubbed at your eyes - no doubt swollen and bleary from frustrated tears - as you wandered over.

It was likely a branch, fluttering in the cool spring air, but it could’ve just as easily been Eddie, bored and eager to break you free for a smoke session.

To your complete surprise, it was neither.

The sight that greeted you was enough to make you blink, rub your eyes a little harder and wonder if you’d fallen asleep - if this was some sort of truly ridiculous fever dream, inspired by your afternoon. But, as you pinched your wrist and blinked away the blur in your eyes, you realized that this was no dream.

Just as he had when you were barely teenagers, Steve Harrington stood beneath your window with a handful of pebbles and the ghost of a smile. He looked almost sad, melancholy, and you swallowed hard as you slid the window open halfway. When he realized your attention was squarely on him, Steve dropped the remaining pebbles in his hand and gestured for you to climb down.

There was a moment of hesitation, a question of why, but as a round of laughter echoed through the house - raucous and enough to make your blood simmer - you decided you didn’t care. His pity was the last thing you wanted but, in that moment, it seemed like a better alternative to remaining at home. You’d take Steve Harrington laughing at you over another moment trapped in your home.

With uncoordinated limbs, you gestured for him to wait before turning to rummage through your drawer for a sweatshirt - a security blanket of sorts. With it slipped over your head and shoes jammed onto your feet, you shoved the window open the rest of the way and pushed yourself through.

Steve stepped forward to help you to the ground, hand warm even through the fabric of your sweatshirt, and nodded - uncharacteristically quiet - at your soft declaration of thanks. The second you were steady, standing on your own two feet and blinking at him in the darkness, he took a step back. He cleared his throat, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and gestured for you to follow him with a nod of his head.

A split second of hesitation and you followed.

The path you’d forged in the woods as children was still there, renewed by Steve’s trudging in the darkness, and muscle memory pulled you along the few yards that separated your backyard and his. He held back limbs for you, careful to keep from hitting you with them as he stepped steadily through the brush, and held open the gate when you finally stepped into his backyard.

When the limbs cleared, you could see that he’d prepared for your arrival. Two sodas sat on the small table by the pool - a Coke for him, a Sprite for you - and a blanket rested on the chair to the right. Steve didn’t bother looking at you as he continued on. He crossed the concrete, settled into the chair on the left, head tipping back without so much as a word, and you were grateful.

Whatever this was - whatever reason Steve had to be nice, to go out of his way to resurrect a long dead practice from your childhood - brought tears to your eyes. You scrubbed at them to keep them from falling, swallowed the emotion burning the back of your throat, and followed him.

If he noticed - and, fleetingly, you assumed he had; Steve had proven himself to be a quick study, understanding in a way you didn’t remember - Steve said nothing. He remained uncharacteristically silent, not a single witty quip, and seemed content to sit side by side, sipping sodas and staring up at the stars.

As you draped the blanket over your legs, you allowed yourself a moment to reminisce.

This was, at one point, a regular occurrence for you both. After rough days - days your parents were particularly harsh, days his parents broke another promise - Steve trudged through the woods to fetch you. He plied you with soda and candy, junk your parents never let you have, and waited - patient, quiet - for you to decompress.

When your heart began to calm, the hammering against your ribs slowing to a steady thump for the first time since leaving Family Video, you realized just how much you’d missed it.

Steve remained silent beside you for a long while, stretched out in the chair in a way that told you he’d continued this practice long after you were gone, and you took the opportunity to study him.

There were elements of your Steve still there - the depth of his eyes, brimming with a thousand different emotions so deeply felt; the slight frown as he lost himself in thought, lips curling in the corners; the flutter of his lashes as he blinked away something that could potentially truly trouble him - buried beneath the hair and the cologne.

But, just as he did when you were thirteen, Steve Harrington still made your stomach flip.

It always irked your nerves that, even when he was the bane of your existence, you still believed Steve to be the most handsome boy you’d ever seen. It was unfair, cruel, but you blamed the years you spent in love with him for your infatuation.

Now, the sight of him bathed in the moonlight - worn by the world, older and maybe wiser, but still just as handsome as ever - had you spiraling in a way that you didn’t like at all.

The longer you stared, the more desperate you felt to break the silence. And though you hated to pop the blissful bubble surrounding you, the words filled your throat and threatened to choke you. There was nothing you wanted more than to pretend - to lay in silence as if nothing was wrong, as if your lives hadn’t changed entirely since you last shared a moment like this, as if you could exist beside Steve Harrington and not panic a little - but you couldn’t.

“Steve?” Even at a whisper, you flinched at the sudden sound. Steve, however, looked unsurprised by the call of his name. He tilted his head, flashed those warm brown eyes at you - glittering with a look you couldn’t quite read - and waited as you blinked. “I’m sorry.”

Whatever he’d been expecting, your apology was clearly not it. His mouth curved into a soft, confused frown as he pushed himself up to rest on an elbow. With furrowed brows, he asked, “You’re sorry? For what?”

For shooting down his efforts at civility, for dragging him into an awkward moment with your mother, for not following his lead in high school, for falling in love with him as a child and desperately hopping he would remain your Steve, for not being a person he could’ve loved in return - for being a mess who, despite no longer being friends, still needed his saving.

Each reason you considered sounded more pathetic than the last and you regretted breathing the words aloud in the first place. But when he looked at you, imploring you to speak - to give him an answer you couldn’t give anyone else - you shrugged.

“You’ve been trying. I’ve been mean.”

Immediately, Steve shook his head. He pushed himself to sit up straight, tossed his legs over the side of the chair and rested his elbows on his knees as he looked at you - really, truly looked at you.

It felt as if Steve could see into your soul as he searched your face. Gone was the boy you knew - a little awkward, a little misplaced confidence, a lot of heart - and in his place was a man you barely recognized. He shook his head once more, eyes falling to his hands, and laughed quietly.

“That’s… Don’t apologize for that. I deserved it.” He sighed then, a sound so exhausted you wondered how you hadn’t noticed the light purple beneath his eyes before that moment, and ran a hand through his hair. “I deserved a lot worse than that, honestly. I’m the one who should apologize. I’m sorry for…” He laughed, a rueful sound that made your chest ache, and dragged his hand through his hair a little harder. “I’m sorry for high school. I was a dick. I didn’t… I never meant to -“

Steve cut himself off with a sharp breath, words running together as he searched for just the right thing to say - the words he needed to adequately convey his feelings, his remorse - and you shook your head.

“I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

It wasn’t - not really - and you both knew that.

Though you understood, to a certain degree, there were still moments that left you reeling. There were moments seared into your memory that you would likely never get, regardless of his explanation, and a sense of betrayal that would fade with time.

But hearing a real apology from him, something heartfelt and sincere - honest, raw and vulnerable in a way he once often was with you - would break the dam holding you together. It would clip the fragile thread of stability you were clinging to desperately and, though he’d seen it before, Steve was now the last person you wanted to witness you breaking into a thousand little pieces.

Steve knew, seemed to realize just how close to shattering you were, and nodded. He turned, settled back into the chair, and rested his head against the metal bar. He shifted, weighing his words, before sparing you a glance from the corner of his eye. “It wasn’t cool, though.”

Your quiet laughter, tinny and hollow, covered the soft sounds of night. “No, it wasn’t. But it is what it is.” Though you knew you should bite your tongue, accept his apology for what it was and move on, you couldn’t help yourself. “It hurt but I wasn’t surprised.”

A flash of hurt crossed Steve’s face, so quick you almost missed it, and you wished you could take it back. However, before the words could linger too long - before you could stumble through another apology - he turned to look at you. There was something sad, a little more upset than you would’ve imagined, as he searched your face. “What d’you mean, you weren’t surprised?”

“We just… we went in different directions.” You laughed again - a soft sound that lacked any humor - as you shook your head. “Everyone loved you. Star basketball player, swim captain, prom king, ladies’ man; you were the shit. I played Dungeons and Dragons with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and spent my days hiding from guys who thought it was so funny to ask me out as a joke. I didn’t expect you to, I dunno, save me, or something, just because we were friends when we were kids.” You shrugged, avoiding Steve’s eyes as you leaned back against the chair. “Our friendship was too perfect. Nothing that good lasts forever.”

Steve’s jaw twitched, the only outward sign of his frustration - not at you, something you realized the moment he sighed, the moment he dragged a rough hand through his hair - as he smiled, a rueful grin. “Pessimism looks good on you.”

A surprised laugh escaped as you shook your head. “Thank my parents. One of the many impressive things they’ve given me. I can make myself, and everyone around me, sad in two seconds flat.” You scoffed, shook your head and turned your attention away from Steve’s sudden look of understanding to the stars glimmering above you. “It’s a real gift.”

Silence lingered for a beat and you had half a mind to apologize, this time for giving in to the instinctual cynicism you used to protect yourself, but Steve spoke before you could walk back your statement. His words were careful, almost hesitant, as he began, “Your mom today…”

That explained why he’d made the effort.

Your sigh was heavy, long suffering, but Steve was not someone you had to pretend with. If anyone understood what it was like to live with parents who never really cared one way or another, it was Steve. The foundation of your relationship was built on comforting one another, swearing that you would be better than your parents someday, and it wasn’t as if this was the first time he’d witnessed something like this.

Steve had seen worse - so had you - so, despite your embarrassment, you made no effort to apologize for her behavior.

Another sigh, this one impossibly heavier, escaped as you spared Steve a glance out of the corner of your eye. He looked conflicted, his fingers twitched as if he was contemplating reaching out - offering the physical comfort he knew you once loved, once craved - but seemed to think better of it and wrapped his fingers around the nearly empty Coke can.

“They’ve gotten worse over the years,” you began, words bleeding into the dark as you tapped at the metal of your can. “I’ve been working, saving up money. I want to transfer to a school in Indy. I had a good scholarship when we graduated but I qualify for a full one now and I’ve almost got enough saved for a few months’ rent on an apartment.”

“Why’d you stay in the first place? You got into a bunch of schools, had a ton of scholarship offers.” When you spared him a cursory glance, unsure how he knew - hardly anyone knew, not even your parents - Steve smiled. “Robin told me.”

Since learning the story of your former friendship, Robin had made it her mission to reunite you and Steve. She swore he was still the guy you remembered, if only a little bruised by time, and promised to keep him in line. “It’ll be easier,” she declared once, “if we can all just hang out together. You guys are acting like divorced parents and I’m the kid in the middle.”

Steve’s searching gaze made your skin prickle. You warmed considerably beneath his scrutiny as he waited, patient as ever - genuinely curious, for your answer.

“I got a few good scholarships, but none of them were full rides. My parents would’ve paid the rest but I just… I didn’t want to owe them anything.”

Once again, Steve understood. He knew what it was like, desperately trying to avoid being indebted to parents who would hold even the smallest gift over your head, and made a quiet noise of understanding as he sipped at the remainder of his Coke.

As the conversation lulled, neither of you quite certain what to say to one another, you turned to study Steve.

There was a certain air about him that had always been there, an easy confidence that often saw him asking for forgiveness rather than permission, but he was older now. His confidence was less showy - less flash, more substance; an earned knowledge of who he was, who he had become - but beneath it, there was a softness that he no longer seemed to shy away from.

Steve was, once upon a time, vulnerable with you and only you. He trusted you, showed you a softness that no one else was privy to, but these days, he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve and you were glad. It made him more approachable, easier to truly see, and you saw flashes of him - little moments here and there as he flirted with girls at Family Video, pieces of his heart as he interacted with Dustin and Robin and Eddie - but there was a sadness beneath it all that hadn’t existed the last time you were this close.

Years had passed since you’d spoken to Steve for this long, let alone this in-depth, but you were reminded of just how easy it had always been to let him. Steve understood you and the ease with which you spoke, the way your heart calmed and your breathing grew easier, frightened you deeply.

There were still bitter feelings lingering, shards of hurt buried deep in your chest - anger, betrayal that he’d managed to forget your past in a matter of moments when it haunted you for years - but you understood. His apology would’ve explained what you already knew to be true, that he was just trying to belong, doing what he felt he had to, and that was the hardest pill to swallow.

Steve never meant to hurt you - the guilt that lingered in every glance he spared you assured you of that - but you still feared letting him into your life once more. There was no fear that he would repeat his past actions - that, you could handle, though you knew without so much as a second of doubt that he wouldn’t dream of it - but you feared the return of feelings long since buried.

Every feeling you ever harbored for him had been locked away tight, shoved into a box in the back of your mind - one that resembled the little shoe box in your room. Steve was your first love, the first boy you’d ever even considered wanting as more than a friend, and getting over him the first time had been nearly impossible.

Deep down, you knew that you’d never fully gotten over him - regardless of how awful he’d been at the time, of how earth shattering it had all seemed, he’d been your Steve for so long that it was almost denial. There was little chance you could escape a second round with your heart firmly in tact but, when he turned to look at you and offered you a small smile, eyes shining with a sort of hope you couldn’t recall ever seeing from him, you knew that you were doomed.

When he spent the next four hours plying you with embarrassing stories about Robin, about Eddie, about the children - all featuring him as the bumbling idiot, likely played up for your amusement - just to make you laugh, the impending sense of doom faded into something a little more resigned.

And when he walked you back home, shuffling in the first slivers of sunlight with a hand on your elbow to keep you upright as you blinked away sleep, your fate was sealed. As he helped you climb back to your room, standing beneath the ledge to make sure you made it safely - throwing a hand up in parting, a genuine smile on his lips - you knew that there was no use fighting it.

The universe had, without any sense of mercy, thrown Steve Harrington back into your life.

Still, change didn’t happen overnight.

Though something shifted - your world, the planets themselves - there was no expectation on your part that Steve would suddenly return to the best friend you once knew no did you want him to. You needed time, as did he, and you appreciated the little distance he kept as a week passed without any sort of contact.

There was no deluding yourself into thinking that he would become a near permanent fixture in your life again. If you were honest, you imagined his friendship would be relegated to mutual hangouts with Robin or the odd encounter as you waited for Eddie and he waited for Dustin. There was potential for a movie night, stuffed on the couch with him and other friends, or another night by his pool - both lamenting your lives.

But, as if summoned by the thought of him - the question of whether you should call and say thanks, tell him you appreciated his heroism in your hour of need - Steve popped back into your life.

You marveled as you found yourself standing in your kitchen, watching as he piled pizza onto a plate. He’d stopped by with the order you used to share weekly - half his favorite, half yours - after dropping Dustin and Robin at their respective homes. He knew your parents were out of town, as were his, and figured you hadn’t eaten yet.

Steve was almost sheepish as he explained himself, a little shy in a way you never would’ve associated with Steve Harrington previously, but you didn’t bother questioning it. Instead, you let him in and watched as he moved about your kitchen with startling ease.

It was almost surreal, watching him wander around the space as if he’d always known it - watching him gather plates and glasses, shuffle through the fridge in search of soda. But, in a way, he had. As children, Steve spent more time at your home than he did his own. Not much had changed since the last time you’d lived this exact moment - the only real difference was your age and his hair - but it still surprised you that he’d managed to remember his way around after all these years.

Another key difference, one that reminded you exactly how much time had passed, was the silence.

As children, it was nearly impossible to keep the pair of you quiet. Steve spent many nights at your house, lying in bed with you, and nearly every time, you were reprimanded time and again by your annoyed parents for being too loud. Hours were spent giggling, chatting about nothing - just listening to yourselves speak, so your parents alleged, but you’d shared everything; dreams, plans for the future, declarations that things would be different.

Now, it seemed as if neither of you knew where to start the conversation.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable - over the years, you’d both grown used to it - but, in that moment, your chest ached in a way that made you feel as if this particular silence needed filling. You’d spent the week desperately trying to avoid thinking about Steve - something that backfired and managed to turn most of your thoughts into ones about him - and what you wanted to say to him. There were years of thoughts and feelings bottled up tight, ready to be spilled, but uncorking any of that had the potential to ruin the delicate work being put into rebuilding your friendship.

So, you opted to smile at him - soft and sweet, saccharine in a way he wouldn’t expect - and play it safe.

“I think it’s nice, you know?” Steve lifted his head, glanced away from the pizza he’d been piling onto his plate, and raised an eyebrow in search of the context missing from your statement. “The time you spend with Dustin, Henderson, the kids,” you supplied as you glanced away and reached for your own plate. “Being all dependable and shit for them, being a good friend to Robin. Being civil to Eddie. It’s nice.”

Steve faltered for a brief moment, uncertain, before shaking his head. He looked ready to deny the obvious, something dismissive on the tip of his tongue, but you laughed before he could. “I’m serious. You’ve always been a good guy beneath all that hair, Steve. I’m just glad you found your way back to it, let other people see it. You got away from Tommy and Carol and all their bullshit, you left the high school rat race behind. You came back to the Stevie I knew way back when and I’m glad.”

A beat of silence, marked by Steve’s lack of response, pulled your attention away from the pizza box and back to him. His expression was unreadable, warm eyes clouded with something that made your stomach flip - something uncertain, something a little sad, a little introspective - but he covered it quickly with a half-smile when you met his eyes.

“You’re the only one who’s ever gotten to call me that, you know?” Steve’s smile grew a touch brighter when you blinked, surprised. “Stevie. It was always your name for me. It never felt right coming from anyone else.”

The declaration was soft, spoken into the warmth of your kitchen with a reverence that made your heart skip - one that made your cheeks heat and had your stomach filling with butterflies - and you swallowed the emotion gathering in your throat with a sip of soda. It was a small gesture, something that likely meant nothing, but it filled you with a blinding warmth, just the same. “I’m honored, Stevie,” you returned, smile soft, tone just as reverent.

Silence settled again - this one significantly more tolerable; less awkward, more bashful - but, as you watched Steve move, you felt no need to break this one. He stepped around you easily, moved with you, and you smothered every thought of how natural the interaction felt.

As you bother attempted to gather yourselves - you, choking down every returning teenage dream, every fantasy long since buried; Steve, swallowing the uncertainty, the guilt - you spared fleeting glances at one another. Each time your eyes met, you both turned away, suddenly shy, suddenly ashamed at being caught. The tips of Steve’s ears tinted red, burning bright when he tilted his head just so, and you knew that your face was warm to the touch.

It was strange, feeling this bashful in his presence, when a week ago, you had no problem looking him in the eye and snapping something that would hurt his feelings. Realistically, you knew that it was a safety net - a way to keep yourself safe, to guard your heart from any further damage at the hands of Steve Harrington - but before you could make a joke, return to your snark, Steve cleared his throat.

“I, uh, I know you said it was okay,” he began, voice quiet as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes, “but I’ve been thinking.” He leaned against the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and swallowed heavily as he took a moment to gather himself. “I just… I need to say this, okay?”

There was little room for you to question where the conversation was headed - there was only one topic that was relevant enough to warrant proper discussion. His apology was a long time coming, something you knew he needed more than you did, so you nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, fingers dragging through the strands a little too rough to be a casual gesture, and you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted copper as you waited with bated breath. He kept his eyes on the floor, not quite able to look you in the eye, and frowned.

“Everything that happened,” he began, words measured and clumsily falling from slightly chapped lips, “was on me. Even if we weren’t meant to be friends or whatever, I should’ve tried harder. You were always the person who believed in me, the one who was there for me, no matter what. I should’ve tried harder to stop Tommy and Carol and all the other assholes. I shouldn’t have been a dick to you, either. I was stupid,” he confessed, blinking hard against the light in the kitchen as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling - unable to meet yours as he continued on. “I was just trying to make people who didn’t matter like me. All I did was make the one person that actually did like me, hate me. And I’m sorry.”

Each word rang in your ears, repeated until you could barely hear the rest of his apology over the thudding of your heart - each beat hammering against your ribcage with enough force to leave you breathless. The acknowledgement made you want to give in to the pressure building in your chest, made you want to break apart into a thousand little pieces, but you gripped the counter and swallowed the copper flooding your mouth.

As Steve shook his head, lowered it to look at you, you could see the expression on his face. There was a guilt there, laced with something akin to awe - a reverence you’d never seen before that suddenly made your skin prickle with goosebumps - and you blinked back the tears threatening to fall.

“Steve.”

There were a million things you wanted to say, a thousand words stuck on the tip of your tongue - entire novels you could spout, devoted entirely to what you’d spent years thinking about - but nothing seemed quite right. Though you’d imagined this moment for years, desperately hoping it would come, now that it was upon you, you were stunned silent.

The acknowledgement that he’d hurt you, that you were right - he’d only been looking to belong, to fit, to find a family - and he regretted it was all you’d ever wanted. To hear it breathed aloud, spoken into the still of your kitchen from the mouth of an older, more mature Steve Harrington, was something straight out of a dream.

The apology didn’t erase everything that had happened - you both knew that - but it was a start. This was the first step, guiding you both in a new direction, and as you stood with a quivering bottom lip and shaking breath, Steve seemed to understand. He laughed, a sound that rang hollow over the blood rushing in your ears, and nodded.

“I know.” His mouth twisted into a rueful smile, something that openly displayed his regret, as he sucked in a deep breath. A shadow flickered across his face before he deflated entirely and shook his head. “You don’t have to… I know.”

Though it had been years since you’d had a meaningful conversation with Steve, he still seemed to be able to read you. He knew that you were overwhelmed, knew that your emotions were quickly getting the better of you - could see that your breathing had grown a touch shallow, that your chin quivered and your blinking grew more rapid - and that he was no longer someone you trusted with your upset.

Instead of pushing, he allowed his declaration to linger for another beat before clearing his throat. With that, he broke the spell, cracked in half by the scrubbing of his shoe against tile, and you were glad.

“I, uh, I missed you,” he confessed, a little hesitant - a little awkward - as he stepped forward to grab his plate. He spared you a glance from beneath his lashes and suddenly looked very much like the fourteen year old he had been the last time he stood in your kitchen. “Uh, hanging out with you. Being friends. I missed that.”

His explanation was rushed, clumsy in a way you weren’t used to for him, but it made you smile. It reminded you that he was human, still just some guy, and the feeling was mutual. You’d missed Steve more than you cared to admit, more than he needed to know, so you nodded. “Yeah.” Steve’s smile grew a touch more genuine as you nodded, really lit his eyes when you confessed, “I know the feeling.”

It wasn’t eloquent, nowhere near the novel you imagined spouting before you lost hope Steve would ever return to your life, but it was enough. It adequately conveyed your desire to start over and Steve seemed pleased, happy you hadn’t pushed him away entirely.

Steve smiled a little brighter before he blinked and suddenly patted the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, I brought a tape. Thought, maybe, we could watch a movie?”

From the inside pocket of his jacket, Steve produced a copy of The Evil Dead, battered and worn but clearly labeled - and marked with a Family Video sticker. It was a moment of surprise, the tape having been produced so quickly it made your head spin, but the levity helped you swallow the lump of emotion lodged in the back of your throat.

Unable to help yourself, you laughed as you grabbed your own plate and turned to guide him - needlessly, he knew the way - to the living room. “You don’t really strike me as a horror guy, Harrington.”

Steve followed close behind, his cologne clouding your senses - overwhelming in the most delightful way, a scent that made your head dizzy and your heart race; one that filled your nose and would linger in your memory as you picked apart every moment of your interaction later - and you struggled to keep your tone as light as possible as you spared him a sideways glance.

The observation was met with a laugh, a sound that confirmed your belief, as you took a seat at one end of the couch. “I’m totally not.” You tried not to laugh at his grimace, not wanting to add insult to injury, but Steve took no offense as he settled at the opposite end of the couch. “You rent it, like, twice a month, though, so I thought I should see what all the fuss is about.”

There was more space than necessary between you, your body pressed into one end of the couch while Steve pressed himself against the other, but it was understandable. Despite your history, despite the hundreds of sleepovers you had as children and the countless hours you spent pressed together, this - whatever was building, brewing between you both; whatever you’d managed to rekindle, resurrect - was new.

Regardless of how familiar some things felt - Steve’s smile, the quiet understanding you still somehow shared, the soft look in his eyes as he tilted his head to study you - everything was different. Everything had changed.

Letting Steve back into your life was a choice, one you made the moment you saw him standing beneath your window, and you knew that nothing would ever be exactly as it had been. He wasn’t the same Steve you remembered - not exactly, not quite close enough - but you weren’t the same girl he remembered, either.

The differences were glaring, more than evident as he cowered into the couch, pizza half-eaten and mouth twisted into a grimace with each bloody scene that flashed across the screen. Though the film was campy, not quite as terrifying as another horror film, Steve still seemed perturbed by the gore.

As the movie played on, you paid more attention to Steve than the familiar images flashing. He looked entirely unenthused - a far cry from Eddie, who sat with his nose pressed to the glass and watched with rapt attention and an almost childlike glee - but he never breathed a word of discontent. Each time he sensed you staring, eyes roving his face, he spared you a quick glance and the ghost of a smile. He was trying, that much was evident, and the thought was enough to make your body warm from within.

“Steve?”

A flash of relief, clearly illuminated by the light from the television, crossed his face as Steve took the opportunity to turn his attention from the television to you entirely as a particularly bloody moment unfolded. If you hadn’t been so focused, so caught up in your own thoughts, you would laughed at his sigh of relief. “Yeah?”

For a brief moment, you allowed the movie to fill the silence - allowed his eyes to rove your face in search of an answer - and frowned as his brows furrowed. He’d been gradually shifting closer, a few inches every so often, and nearly closed the gap between you as he tilted his head to get a better look at you.

As he shifted closer - just enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body - his scrutiny was enough to make your heart race. It hammered so hard against your ribcage that you feared it might crack and you hoped your voice wouldn’t shake as you tilted your head to meet his eyes.

“I never really hated you. I wanted to,” you admitted, voice soft - barely audible over the sound of the movie, but Steve heard you clearly. He inhaled sharply, the only sign of his discontent, as he waited patiently for you to continue. “I just… I couldn’t hate you. I hated Tommy and Carol and Billy and everyone else. I hated high school. I hated the circumstances. I hated our parents. But I never hated you. I don’t think I ever could. I get why everything happened the way it did. I don’t… I don’t blame you. And it’s all water under the bridge now, yeah?”

Steve swallowed hard, blinked harder, and you could see his chest rising and falling just a touch faster than normal as he searched your face. Warm brown eyes mapped your skin, wary of any hint of dishonesty - any sign that you felt forced to accept his apology - but when he found none, he nodded. The look in his eyes wasn’t quite relief, not quite joy, but a light that made it harder for you to breathe as the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

“Yeah. Okay.” Steve nodded once more, a resolute gesture that you returned easily, before tilting his head to return his attention to the television. Another spatter of blood made him grimace but that did little to stop him from breathing a quiet, “Thanks,” as he nudged your shoulder with his own.

Desperate to change the topic, to move on to something safer - something that didn’t involve feelings, something that didn’t require emotional gymnastics - you laughed quietly at his grimace. “Do you want to watch something else? I think you’ve suffered enough for one night. I’ve got Robin Hood. Only normal movie in the place, though, I’m afraid.”

The knowing smile Steve shot you was not quite what you expected. “Y’know,” Steve began as you pressed pause, “that doesn’t really surprise me.” His eyes glittered with a grateful mischief and you raised a brow as he laughed. “I remember when we were kids, you loved that movie. I think you asked your parents to get you a bow for Christmas three years in a row before you stopped.”

“It was four.” Steve hummed, waved a dismissive hand as you stood from the couch to change the film, and you shot him a teasing grin. “Imagine if they’d gone for it, though. I’d be, like, on some kind of watchlist by now, probably.”

“I hate to break it to you,” he began, grin badly concealed as he reached for the discarded pizza on the table, “but with the amount of times you rent The Evil Dead, you’re probably already there. Do you watch anything else?”

Steve’s grin was comfortable, teasing and soft in a way you hadn’t seen in years, and it sent butterflies swarming in your stomach as you slipped Robin Hood into the VCR. The taunt was in good fun, the jab of a friend, and it made you roll your eyes good-naturedly as you returned to your seat, knee knocking his as you sat.

“Just because you have bad taste, Stevie, doesn’t mean you should be concerned. I mean, look at your taste. You like Hall and Oates. No one likes Hall and Oates. That’s enough to get you put on a watchlist, not liking horror.”

His knee knocked yours, body heat radiating even through thick denim, as Steve scoffed in faux outrage. “Hall and Oates are good!” His defense was louder than he intended, a teasingly outraged roar as he turned to you, eyes glittering in the dim living room light. “They’re real music. Not like…” He frowned, eyes narrowing as he met your gaze. “I can’t even name anyone you might listen to to make fun of you.”

“Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest, Motörhead, Megadeth, Metallica?” Steve stared blankly, blinking after each name, before shaking his head when you allowed the question a moment to linger. You huffed, unsurprised but still feigning disappointment, and Steve laughed. “Okay, if this,” you waved a hand between the pair of you, “is going to work, we’ve gotta get you educated. Metallica has a new album coming out and it’s gonna be out of this world. Ozzy, from Black Sabbath, he’s gone solo and his stuff’s killer. Totally insane. That’s real music. Not fuckin’ Hall and Oates.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are,” Steve admitted, laughing quietly as he shook his head, “but I’ll take your word for it.” He paused, tilted his head to meet your eyes once more, and smiled just a little softer. "Next time, you can educate me.”

The brief consideration that you would be given nothing more than this, a few chance meetings with an old friend, had been enough to make your chest ache, and the relief you felt at realizing that would not be the case worried you. Though it warmed you considerably, made your nerves buzz in the most pleasant of ways, there was still the question of why.

So much time had passed, years had gone by without so much as a kind word shared between the two of you, that you couldn’t quite understand Steve’s motivation. There was the chance that he’d missed you in the same way you’d missed him - felt that there was a void in his life, a blank space where there was once a piece of a larger puzzle - but there was also the chance that he was simply lonely. As far as you could tell, his social circle had minimized to little more than Dustin and Robin.

There was a chance that you were all he had left.

That thought did little to comfort you - you wanted him to desire your presence the same way you’d desired his, wanted him to have missed you in the same way you’d missed him - but you decided not to dwell on it. If Steve wanted to remain in your life for whatever reason, you would allow it. You were older, had more experience dealing with the crushing blows life could deal. Steve Harrington couldn’t hurt you much more than he already had; letting him have a piece of your heart, the piece that had always belonged to him, anyway, was going to happen whether you wanted it to or not.

The only thing you could do was temper your expectations.

There was no expectation that this would be anything more than friendship - something safe, a comfortable return for the both of you; a relationship you both needed if you were to continue living in Hawkins. As beautiful as you found him, as in love with him as you’d once been, that ship had long since sailed.

Steve had been your friend once - had only ever been your friend. There was nothing more there, no matter how desperately you’d once hoped for something more. Reminding yourself of that from the beginning would make the inevitable heartbreak that much easier.

As you thought, lost yourself to questions of what could be - what had already been - and harsh reminders of why this was a line of thinking you couldn’t afford to barrel down, the sound of Disney dreams echoed through the dim living room. Steve rested at your side, head cradled by the back of the couch, and seemed more relaxed than you’d seen him in a long while.

It was easy to lose yourself in something that felt so safe. Moments like this, sheltered safely away from family and losing yourself in the presence of Steve Harrington, had always been a great source of comfort. It was easy to forget nearly everything troubling you, to delude yourself into thinking that this was a safe space, and evidently, Steve felt the same as you both began to drift.

The exhaustion of your week crept up on you slowly, muddled the mess of thoughts crowding your brain and blurred the images dancing on the screen. Work had been grueling, busier than normal, and the presence of your brother meant that you were walking on eggshells with every step you took at home. Before you realized what you were doing, your head began tilting in the direction of Steve’s shoulder.

For a moment, you rested there. It was easy, settling against Steve as you had so many times as a child, but just as you did the first time this happened - a lifetime ago now - you lifted your head when he shifted.

Steve smiled, an exhausted quirk of his mouth, as you shook yourself awake. You shot him a sheepish grin, apology on the tip of your tongue as you blinked away sleep, but he silenced it with a soft laugh. He reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and settled it over your laps, thigh pressed to yours as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. It was once a natural position, you wrapped in his arms as the world passed you by, and you blamed the exhaustion muddling your brain for the way your body melted into his instead of jolting away.

It was a reflex, you reasoned, muscle memory long forgotten. You’d had countless sleepovers with Robin, with Eddie; neither meant anything more than friendship and this, whatever it was, didn’t either.

When you made no effort to move, Steve smiled. “You’ve drooled on me before, sunshine,” he reminded you gently, voice soft in the quiet of the room, “get comfortable. I’m not going anywhere.”

The heat of his body pressed to yours, the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, the clean laundry scent of his sweatshirt, combined with the tangled web of questions - doubt and lingering resentment, baked in wariness - muddled your thoughts. The only response you deemed worthy of his declaration was a confused, “Sunshine?”

For a moment, the name lingered in the air, before realization seemed to hit you both. Just as you’d always called him Stevie - a soft nickname, not very original but always uttered with the utmost care, a sweet praise meant only for him - he called you ‘sunshine.’

It started as a joke, a nickname plucked from thin air on a warm summer day after too much time in the sun left you with a bout of heat exhaustion, but had ultimately stuck. Steve swore it was nice, a declaration that you made his days brighter, after it nearly drove you to tears. It became something soft, uttered in private and only shared between the two of you, and Steve blinked as he realized.

Then, without missing a beat, he shrugged. He offered a half smile as he rested his head on the back of the couch, tilted it just enough to meet your eyes. “If you can call me Stevie, I can call you sunshine. Equality, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie. Equality.”

The sleepy bubble of laughter that escaped you was enough to make Steve smile, lazy but pleased, as his eyes slipped shut. Instead of shrugging off his arm, retreating to your side of the couch and drifting off as you knew you should, you leaned in closer. You inhaled the scent of his cologne, his shampoo, his detergent, allowed it to dull the ache in your chest - calm the sudden racing of your heart. And as his breathing evened out, chest rising and falling rhythmically, you allowed yourself the indulgence of pressing your head to his shoulder.

Before you knew it, you’d drifted into the most peaceful sleep you’d gotten in months.

When you woke the next morning, wrapped in Steve’s embrace with your face buried in the crook of his neck - warm and content, limbs stiff with sleep but relaxed; heart calmer than it had been in months - there was no confusion. You knew, instantly, where you were and whose arms surrounded you. Even as you blinked sleep from your eyes, there was no mistaking the scent of him. Your body felt lighter, as if it were floating, and you took a moment to take stock of the moment.

There was a crackling warmth building in your chest, the spark of something you knew was better left buried - feelings you’d swallowed long ago warming the hollow of your chest - and you did your best to think about anything other than the warmth of Steve’s palm pressed to your side, fingers ghosting the sliver of skin just above the band of your shorts.

Thoughts of work, of school, of music, of Eddie, of Robin, of to-do lists, of books left unfinished all distracted you briefly but the air around you shifted the moment you woke and you were powerless to stop it.

A cursory glance at Steve proved that you were not the only one who felt it. His eyes were already on you, gaze sleepy and warm. There seemed to be fewer lines on his face, a lighter purple beneath his eyes, and he was able to hold your gaze just a moment longer as he shot you a soft smile.

“G’morning, sunshine.” His voice, rough with sleep, hit you square in the chest. It was a sound you hadn’t heard in years, one that brought a thousand memories bubbling to the surface, and you tried not to let him see how if affected you. “Your couch used to be way more comfortable.”

He looked warm, hair mussed with sleep and eyes blinking slow against the sunlight filtering in through windows, and you were powerless to stop yourself from reaching out to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. “It’s still comfortable. You’re just getting old, Stevie.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, lips parted in faux outrage, as he scoffed. The hand on your hip moved, fingers pinched lightly at the skin - not enough to hurt, just enough to feel - and you laughed as he rolled his eyes. “I’m not getting old,” he huffed, indignant. He searched your face, eyes glittering with an amused mischief, before he shook his head. “I brought you pizza and your favorite movie, just so you could bully me. Unbelievable.”

“I’m just trying to keep you humble, Harrington.”

“Yeah? Oh, well, someone has to do it,” he agreed, nodding as he lifted a hand to rake through sleep mussed hair. “Might as well be you, huh?” Steve grinned and so did you. You’d never humbled him, never even dreamed of it - you were the one to build him up, to make him smile and remind him of his worth after his parents cut him down - and you wouldn’t begin now.

Still, you nodded, somber-faced and fighting a grin. “Might as well.”

There was something electric that thrummed just beneath the surface, a steady warmth that underlined the conversation, and suddenly, it felt as if you were fourteen again. You were reminded of the mornings you spent together, laughing at nothing before the reality of life set in. It made your chest ache, made your lungs burn, but you desperately wanted to bottle the moment, just in case you never lived it again.

Over the course of the teasing, Steve’s face had drawn closer - mouth close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning your skin as he laughed - and you blinked, surprised, when you realized how little distance remained. It took Steve a moment, his smile slowly fading into something a touch more serious, but when he seemed to realize, he looked almost reluctant to release his hold on you.

“Robin will help if I’m late again.” He laughed, though it rang a touch hollow, as he moved, placed a little bit of distance between the pair of you.

“Oh, yeah. Might not want to risk that. She can humble you in, like, a really accurate way.”

Steve grimaced, though laughter was quick to follow, as he stood from the couch. Subconsciously, your eyes fell to his stomach - traced the dark trail of hair that flashed as he lifted his arms above his head to stretch - and felt your face heat as he caught you. Instead of teasing, however, Steve’s own cheeks tinged pink, a soft dusting that warmed his face, as he reached for the plates still sitting on the coffee table.

“She almost made Keith cry once,” he revealed as you stood and followed him to the kitchen, carrying the empty soda cans. "Not on purpose, she just started talking and couldn’t stop. She apologized a thousand times but I still got dragged into a month of Saturday night shifts, just because I laughed.”

“She said something about our history teacher once, I can’t remember what, but I laughed and we both got detention. That’s actually how we became friends,” you revealed, smile soft when Steve turned to you. “It’s, like, one of those word vomit things. She says it before she can really think about it. It’s not mean, just really accurate.”

“Oh, yeah. For someone who claims she can’t read people, Robin’s usually pretty right about most things.”

The observation lingered, was met with your hum of acknowledgement, and the conversation tapered off. Steve spared the clock in the kitchen a glance, sighed as he realized the time, and offered you a hesitant smile. “Thanks,” he began, voice going quiet once more as he glanced at you from beneath his lashes. “For, uh, not kicking me out, I guess. And not making me finish The Evil Dead.”

It was sweet, an endearing quip that made you grin, and you shook your head to keep from flustering as you folded your arms over your chest. “Anytime, Stevie. You know where I live if you ever want to do it again.”

Steve grinned, a little easier than before, as he walked by your side to the front door. “Careful what you wish for, sunshine. I might just take you up on that.” Then, for the first time in a long while, you saw Steve hesitate. He blinked, unsure, before he offered you a tight smile instead of the hug he seemed to be contemplating. “I’ll see you later.”

“Later, Harrington.”

And, just like that, the moment was over. Steve left with a glance thrown over his shoulder - a few glances spared out of his window, eyes stuck on you as you stood in the doorway and waited until he’d made it down your driveway - and you wandered back into the house with an overwhelming flurry of emotions filling the pit of your stomach.

You wondered if this would be a one time thing, a mistake on his part - an effort to clear a guilty conscious, a way to absolve himself of any lingering guilt he felt after uncovering old wounds the week prior - or if it would become a regular effort. You wondered if it would continue being this easy, allowing Steve back into your life when you’d run from him for so long. You wondered if he even wanted back into your life, if he felt the same conflicting emotions you felt as you cleared the reminders of his presence from your home.

However, your worries were soothed as you realized the moment you shared - one you worried would be a fluke, something to be forgotten and never considered again - became the spark that reignited your friendship with Steve.

It started gradually, with you and Steve spending one night a week together. Most weeks, your time together was limited to a few hours - usually on days Dustin and Eddie had Hellfire and Robin had band - and filled with food and laughter as you made use of the nearly untouched kitchen in his home. Others, you found yourselves wrapped up in one another, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets, after another accidental sleepover that got less awkward each time it happened.

Slowly but surely, once a week turned into twice a week. Then, it became three. Soon, and before you could really think too much about it, most of your days included at least a few moments of Steve Harrington’s time. Steve became a fixture in your nights with Robin - not always, you still reveled in your alone time, but more often than not - and, on a few separate occasions, joined you and Eddie for a night of music and horror movies that made his stomach turn.

It was strange, going from avoiding Steve at every turn to seeing him almost daily in what felt like the blink of an eye, but, in a way, it felt like coming home. Steve had, for so long, been such a large part of your life. Welcoming him back into the chaos of your life was easy, almost too easy, but he fit like a missing puzzle piece.

There were moments that you thought too much about it - where you wondered if you were clinging to a past that no longer existed, trying to delude yourself into thinking that nothing had changed. There were moments you poured your heart out to Eddie, wondering if you were doing the wrong thing in allowing Steve back into your life without so much as blinking. There were moments that you struggled, questioning every decision you’d made in relation to Steve Harrington. But, at the end of the day, each moment you spent with him felt right.

Still, there was a weight to your friendship that hadn’t existed as children. As his presence in your life grew greater, more obvious, there was a realization that now - as adults, or as close as you could be - every action, every word, carried a consequence it hadn’t years ago. Each move you made meant something, each step you took mattered, and you were careful to keep yourself in line as you navigated the return of Steve Harrington.

Regardless, things were going well. You were happy, Steve seemed to be happy, and your friendship seemed to pick up exactly where it left off - bitterness soothed by Steve’s continued effort to make you smile, his selflessness when it came to anticipating your desires.

The only question that lingered, that kept you awake at night, was how long you could continue holding yourself together. It was easy to pretend that you weren’t madly in love with Steve in his presence - you’d done it before, spent years madly in love with someone who you were supposed to hate - but everyone else could see right through you as your feelings eclipsed their pre-high school predecessor.

Robin saw it first, cheered so loud her mother had to tell you both to keep it down, and grinned every time Steve so much as nudged your shoulder. Eddie was next, groaned and grimaced and wrinkled his nose, but ultimately proved to be the more helpful of the two as he tried to listen and understand the mess of feelings tumbling around your brain. He picked apart the pieces of your frazzled thoughts, made sense of the feelings you were too afraid to untangle with anyone else, and ultimately kept you tied together as the months ticked by.

But as you stepped into Family Video, greeted by Steve with a hug and a bright smile, you wondered just how long the brittle thread wrapped around your fragile feelings would hold.

As Steve stepped away, drew to his full height and reached for the stack of tapes he’d dropped onto the counter to embrace you, he ignored the look Robin shot you both. He pointedly brushed past her without so much as a glance in her direction, ignored your snicker when she stuck her tongue out at him, and offered you a small smile as he placed a return on the shelf.

“You up for a movie tonight? I’ve heard Top Gun’s good.”

Behind him, Robin’s eyebrows winged up in surprise and it took every ounce of self control for yours not to do the same. Though your friendship had grown, had returned to something resembling your past relationship, there was little time spent together outside the comfort of a private space. Most of your time spent together was at his place, hidden away from your family and abandoned by his, or at the home of a friend - Robin or Eddie, the Wheeler residence, once. Family Video was the only public space you occupied together and that was only deemed safe as it was, almost always, empty.

The decision to remain hidden was not a conscious one - there was never a conversation in which you decided to hide, to avoid going to the movies or to dinner - but you’d been under the assumption that it was something unspoken, understood.

Now, as Steve raised an eyebrow at you, you wondered if the time just hadn’t been right.

“Tom Cruise is in it. Of course it’s going to be good.” Steve made a face, wrinkled his nose in faux disgust and rolled his eyes, but laughed as you reached out to nudge his shoulder. The reply was a touch brittle, a little stilted, but he seemed none the wiser as he waited patiently for your answer. “Can we do tomorrow night? Corroded Coffin is playing at The Hideout tonight. I promised Eddie I’d come ‘cause they’re playing a new song. You can come with, if you want. Though, I’m not sure how much fun you’ll have. They play metal covers and drink shitty beer with grumpy old dudes.”

Steve grimaced again, this one genuine, and shook his head. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass, but thanks.” He spared you a sideways glance, eyes roving the black jeans and Hellfire shirt you wore, before returning his attention to the shelf in front of him. “I get off at five tomorrow. Maybe we can make it to the six o’clock showing?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When Robin retreated, muttering something about needing to clean shelves or stack boxes, Steve spared you a glance from the corner of his eye. His fingers tapped against the shelf - something of a nervous tic - as he schooled his features into a look of nonchalance that you saw through immediately.

There was something bothering him, a flicker of something sad - something hurt - but he hid it well as he shelved another return. “You should go for it.” When you raised a brow, unsure of what he meant, he continued, “Munson. You should go for it. You guys would be a good couple.” The declaration was quiet, as if he didn’t want to breathe it aloud, and your eyes widened.

“Eddie?” You nearly choked on your laughter as you shook your head, unable to help yourself, even as the tips of Steve’s ears tinted pink.

Plenty of rumors followed you in high school but that - the whisper that you were dating Eddie, that you were at least sleeping together - was the most pervasive. There’d never been anything more than friendship between you and you shook your head as you spared Steve an incredulous glance. “He’s not really my type.”

At this, Steve seemed to perk up, if only momentarily. A look of intrigue flashed so quick that you were almost certain you’d imagined it as he suddenly stared at the shelf as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Steve hadn’t displayed any interested in your love life, left that as the one topic untouched between the two of you, and you wondered where the change of heart had come from as you studied him.

“You trying to play matchmaker, Stevie? I can give you a list of what I like, might make it easier for you.”

The list would be short - compiled of one name, underlined for emphasis - and you had no plans to share it with him. Steve was the one who got away, always would be, and you had no interest in allowing him into your love life. And, as you anticipated, he scoffed.

Steve’s huff was wholly unconvincing, lacked the emphasis needed to convince you his advice stemmed from a totally selfless place, and you frowned as he shook his head. “I just want you to be happy,” he declared, voice going soft as he traced the spine of a tape. “You’re spending all your time with me, can’t be good for you,” he teased, though it sounded half-hearted, a self-deprecating joke that made you sigh.

You remained uncertain of where the sudden interest was coming from, what had brought about this sudden doubt, but before you could dig deeper, you saw Eddie’s van pull into the parking lot.

For the best, you decided to leave well enough alone and ask after the movie, in the safety of Steve’s car. With a roll of your eyes, you squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “You make me happy, Stevie. Spending time with you is good for me and I’m looking forward to doing it again tomorrow night. You picking me up?” Steve nodded, half-dazed by your response, and you laughed as you shook your head. “Perfect. See you tomorrow night, Harrington.”

As you rushed out of the store, eager to supply Eddie with the latest - and to hear his latest opinion; so far, he had alternated on his stance, oscillating wildly between encouragement and near begging for you to forget Steve Harrington - you swore you could hear Robin loudly ask, “So, are we going to talk about the ginormous elephant in the room or are we just going to pretend that you’re not totally in love with her?”

Followed instantly by a deadpan, “Shut up, Robin.”

Eddie seemed less enthusiastic - certain you were imagining the entire exchange, maybe hearing what you wanted instead of what was actually said - but nodded anyway, encouraging, this time. And as he drove to pick up the rest of Corroded Coffin, Black Sabbath blaring and cigarette smoke filling the interior of his van, you wondered.

Steve had sworn Robin was a good judge of character, could read people significantly better than she let on. Was this one of those cases - had she figured out something you hadn’t - or was this a case of her not being able to differentiate between platonic and romantic love? It had happened, she’d also believed you and Eddie to be hiding a romantic relationship but the interaction played on a loop as you sat amongst the crowd of drunks filling The Hideout.

He seemed anxious, worried, a little clipped when asking about Eddie - jealous, almost, if you were to believe the spark of hope ignited in your chest - but there was always the chance that it had nothing to do with romantic love. Steve, like you, now had few friends. You were the only one his age, the only one who’d known him longer than a handful of years, and he likely wanted to keep you in his life. Eddie was destined to leave Hawkins the moment he could; maybe Steve was worried you’d follow.

The time that you spent together was fleeting; there was a chance Steve worried a romantic relationship would impede your few moments of bliss. He might’ve been worried that you falling in love would destroy your desire to remain in his life, no longer interested in a friend like him when someone like Eddie existed.

Whatever the case, the interaction with Steve played on a loop until his car pulled into your driveway the next afternoon. He’d clearly been home, showered - removed the stale scent of Family Video, tapes and old popcorn - and smiled as you bounded across the driveway to his car before he could completely stop.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of his car, the sound of Metallica’s The Thing That Should Not Be made you pause. Steve noticed, flushed a brilliant pink, but said nothing as he pulled out of your driveway and began the journey to the theater.

When he remained quiet, you asked, “Stevie, are you listening to Metallica?”

Steve had been educated - played tape after tape by you and Eddie, schooled in the art of heavy metal as you smoked in the metalhead’s bedroom - but he hadn’t shown much of an interest in any of the bands you loved. He didn’t openly scoff, not anymore, but metal wasn’t exactly the genre of music Steve Harrington listened to on repeat.

To say that it was a surprise would be an understatement.

Still, he shrugged. “Eddie let me borrow the tape,” he admitted, unable to look at you. “You kept going on about it, figured I should give it a listen.” He made no effort to stop you from turning up the volume and, when you glanced at him expectantly, he rolled his eyes. “It’s not Hall and Oates, but it’ll do.”

You laughed, a bright sound that filled the car, and Steve grinned - glad to have made you smile. He made a few observations about the tape - mostly that he couldn’t really hear a difference in the songs, something that you knew he’d struggled with in your metal education sessions - and you assured him that it was alright if he truly didn’t like it. Regardless, he kept the tape playing in the background and you swore he smiled each time you bobbed your head and hummed along to the songs you were already so familiar with.

Despite how normal the night seemed - Steve rambling about work, mutter about Robin and the kids - there was something slightly off. It could’ve been your imagination, the effort you put into overthinking Steve’s every motivation for waltzing back into your life, but everything felt muted.

Steve’s energy as he bought popcorn and tickets - waved you off, asserted that you could get him back next time, though you both knew he wouldn’t allow it - was low and he remained uncharacteristically quiet as he guided you through the lobby to the theater. It was almost as if he were nervous, watching his hands as he pressed one to the small of your back, weighing his words as he leaned over to whisper thoughts about the trailers.

There were moments of pure Steve, bright energy where he pondered what his call sign would be - easily declared yours to be sunshine, no need changing it now - and shoveled popcorn into his mouth. But you could tell his attention wasn’t entirely on the film.

For you, it was difficult to focus on anything other than his presence - the scent of his hair products, the warmth of his body pressed to yours, the spice of his cologne, the soft brush of his short against your skin - and the questions that had echoed since leaving Family Video the day before.

The movie passed in a blur - a mess of pilot jargon you didn’t understand, a handful of scenes that made you roll your eyes - but Steve seemed to enjoy himself. He laughed, grinned a little in places, and frowned at all the right scenes. To you, however, the only thing worth note was the way he remained glued to your side, arm slung over your shoulders and knee pressed to yours.

And as you left the theater, though his chatter was a little more scattered than normal - less focused, a little more erratic, a little louder - Steve dominated the conversation and seemed not to notice your silence. He debated his call sign, shot out ideas before immediately scrapping them, and tapped the wheel as he drove along quiet roads back to your home.

Instead of joining, you sat quietly and wondered how badly you would destroy the fragile new bond of your relationship if you simply asked Steve what the hell you were doing together.

When Steve pulled into the driveway of your home, placed the car in park and turned down the radio, he shifted to face you. Warm brown eyes searched your face, desperate for an answer to a question he had yet to ask and you knew that now was the time you’d been waiting for. “You’ve been quiet,” he pointed out, eyebrows pinched. “What’s on your mind?”

The thought of playing coy, of beating around the bush and pretending that you had no idea what he was referring to, was tempting. Asking the question that had been plaguing you for weeks - months, even - had the potential to ruin whatever delicate thing you’d been building.

At the same time, there was no point in maintaining a relationship that made you afraid to speak. Steve was a friend - a good one, at that, having proven himself in the short time you’d been reacquainted - and he deserved an honest answer.

“I guess I’ve just been wondering why.” Steve tilted his head, searching for the missing context, and you sighed as you twisted one of the silver rings adorning your fingers. “I’m glad that we’re… us again. I’m glad that we’re trying to go back to what we had. I just… It’s been so long. I can’t help but wonder, why now.”

Steve sighed, long suffering and far too serious for someone who had less than an hour earlier wondered what his call sign might be, as he raked a hand through his hair. “I tried,” Steve admitted, voice quiet as he turned to face you. “Not hard enough, but I tried. After… After I got my ass kicked, things kind of fell into perspective. I realized what mattered, what didn’t. You always mattered to me, sunshine. Even when I had my head up my ass. I was… disappointed in myself, I think. For treating you the way I did. And I guess I was selfish, hoping enough time had passed that it would be easier for you to forgive me now. I never forgot about you, about us.”

The explanation was more than you’d imagined it would be, something heavier than you expected, and you swallowed the emotion bubbling in the back of your throat as Steve offered you a half smile.

“Even when I didn’t want to understand, I did. I knew what you were doing, why you were doing it. If I hadn’t been so pissed at my parents, I probably would’ve been right there with you,” you admitted, voice melding with the quiet sound of Metallica. “I never forgot about you, either. And I think I would’ve accepted the apology a long time ago.” You paused for a moment, desperate to give yourself a little room to breathe, before you added, “I’m kind of glad you waited, though. Don’t think Hellfire would’ve let me back in if I’d been hanging out with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

It was a necessary moment of levity, a laugh you both needed, and Steve shook his head fondly as he met your eyes. “I think I’ve got Eddie’s approval now,” he teased, smiling softly as he reached for your hand. His fingers brushed the metal of one of your rings - one that had replaced his tiny plastic ring years ago - as he lifted his head to meet your eyes. “He can see right through people. Realized how I felt before I did, I think.”

Your breath caught in your throat, slightly confused and anxious as to how Steve would answer your question. Your hand shook in his grasp, fingers trembling even as he brushed soothing circles over your heated skin, and he smiled encouragingly as he waited for your response. “And how do you feel?”

Steve’s smile faltered slightly, just enough to make you wrap your fingers around his in an encouraging squeeze, as he laughed. “I feel like an idiot. I’ve wasted so much time, searching for someone to love me for me, when you’ve been there all along. I… I had a crush on you, when we were kids,” he admitted, eyes meeting yours - warm brown glittering in the dim light from your porch. “I used to tell my mom that I was going to marry you someday. You were my first love and I don’t think my feelings have changed.” Time seemed to crawl to a stop, the universe seemed to cease existing, as Steve lifted a hand to your cheek. Soft fingers brushed your skin as he whispered, “I think I’m still in love with you.”

The hammering of your heart echoed loudly in your ears, beat wildly against your ribcage and threatened to shatter the little pieces holding you in place. It was difficult to focus on Steve’s confession, difficult to make sense of it, and you wondered if this was all some sort of dream.

As his fingers tangled with yours, warm hand encompassing your trembling fingers, you knew that it was real. He was patient, waited with a ghost of a smile for you to speak, and you foundered to find something adequate to say.

“Steve.”

This time, as the words stuck in your throat - so close to breaking free, so easy to say, admit just as he’d admitted his own love - Steve nodded, smile bright. “I know,” he assured you, voice soft as his hand lifted to your cheek. “I know, sunshine.”

Steve leaned forward, crossed the gap between your seats, and waited patiently for you to make the final decision. It was up to you - this whole process had been up to you, on your terms, and you realized that Steve was handing over control without a moment of hesitation. Whatever happened, he wanted it to be on your terms, and you were grateful for that as you closed the distance and pressed your mouth to his.

Steve’s fingers pressed into the apple of your cheek, splayed across your jawline and held you tight - as if he were afraid you might disappear if he let go. When you broke apart to breathe, he pressed his forehead to yours and grinned.

“I love you, sunshine. I know it hasn’t always seemed that way but I promise, you’ll never have to question it again.”

The declaration was strong, certain, and you believed wholeheartedly that Steve was telling the truth. Regardless of how things had changed, of how your lives had drifted only to return to each others’ orbit, Steve’s promise meant something.

This time, when Steve swore that he wouldn’t let go - that you would never question his love again - you believed him.

____________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry. This got so out of hand. I just had a lot of Steve thoughts. Back to your regularly scheduled Eddie now, though.

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #v's fics

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wayfaringhoax · 1 year

Text

Riddles

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Female Reader

Click here for part two

Word count: 12k+

Summary: You and Frankie become ‘friends with benefits’ until you evolve into something more. But when you can’t seem to communicate your needs, you find yourselves in uncharted territory.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact

Explicit sexual content (p in v, female receiving oral, dirty talk, semi-public sex, sexting, sending nude photos), references to sex scattered throughout, swearing, unhealthy relationships, making each other jealous, communication issues, discussions of low self-esteem, conflicted emotions, angst, possessive! Frankie, reader wears Frankie’s t-shirt, consumption of alcohol, references to religion and drugs (purely for metaphorical purposes), public discussions of sex, reader is described as having a vagina and breasts.

This is a reader insert fic, but there are a few plot details that lean towards an OFC. Reader's mentioned as having two parents, letting their hair 'down' after work, and one of their friends is given a name. If any of these details make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading.

New to the community, so this hasn’t been beta’d.

Been working on this for a few weeks, please let me know if you enjoy it!

Get coffee, meeting, reply to emails, meeting, lunch, marketing proposal, planning period, meeting.

As you opened your planner that morning, you were greeted by your responsibilities for the day. However, each damn meeting brought you one step closer to the end of the work day, and subsequently one step closer to leaving your office and heading to Benny’s Fight Night.

Due to your busy schedule, you hadn’t been able to make it to one of his fights for a while so you often resorted to wishing him luck via a text message. Having the chance to actually be there and support him in person was therefore a big deal for you. Plus, you’d also have the chance to grill the eldest Miller brother, having set him up on a date with your friend a few weeks ago, only to have her tell you it didn’t work out. You knew Will would be prepared for you to press him, and being as stoic as he was, you anticipated that he wouldn’t reveal much.

How many times had they reprimanded you for attempting to play matchmaker?

You couldn’t help it. It was only natural for you to want the best for them, you’d shared so much of your life with them, and they’d been by your side when it counted.

Of course, you were only a kid when you first met the Miller brothers. When your parents had befriended theirs, you were quick to latch on to them, glad to have two little friends to annoy. You often spent holidays chasing them around their home, and they enjoyed bringing their LEGO to yours, much to the dismay of your poor mother, who wasn’t prepared for how much mess they’d bring.

Sure, shit got real when you got older.

After you graduated from college, you threw yourself into work. You successfully climbed up the ranks, securing enough money to live comfortably. Though you admit, you had to sacrifice a lot in the process, regularly denying yourself the chance to be happy - to be loved - in the name of prioritising your career.

Every time you wake up in the middle of the night, yearning for the comfort of another body, you’re reminded of the loneliness that sometimes plagues you.

Benny and Will weren’t strangers to the feeling either. You’d been around to see the darkness that followed them home from deployment. The darkness that tarnished some of their ability to accept love. The same darkness that made them hold on to you that little bit tighter, now very much acquainted with the feeling of loss.

You would never be able to understand what it was like for them. Never be able to fully comprehend the extent of their trauma. Some part of you knew that for Benny and Will, relationships weren’t as simple as they used to be.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to set them up. You appreciated that your attempts were futile, they were just gestures of good faith, really. They communicated that you cared. That you wanted them to be happy - and they saw that for what it was: their friend looking out for them.

On the other hand, Benny and Will rarely tried to set you up on dates, understanding that the guys they knew wouldn’t be the right fit for you.

Despite this, they made sure to constantly remind you that you weren’t getting laid.

An issue you were sure they’d raise again, at some point this evening.

It wasn’t as though you weren’t looking.

Respectfully, you’d found most of the boys’ friends attractive, and perhaps, there was one man from their Delta Force squad, in particular, who’d caught your eye.

A man with a serious attachment to his baseball cap.

A man who seems burdened by his affliction, shouldering the weight of it all by himself.

A man who was just so gorgeous, yet often chose to play it safe, hanging back when in the presence of the other boys.

Yes, Francisco Morales. Or Frankie, as the boys called him.

You had looked at Frankie. Many times. He’d definitely caused you to lose your train of thought more than once, having been mesmerised by his features; strong yet with a particular softness.

Whilst you acknowledged your attraction to this man, you got the sense that he wasn’t available.

Benny had never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend when he spoke about Frankie, but you still felt as though there was some kind of invisible wall up, preventing you from getting any closer.

Besides, you were going to support Benny tonight, not ogle his friend. You could keep it under control.

Or at least you tried, yet the way Frankie let out a soft chuckle as Benny teased you about becoming a crazy cat lady, was testing your patience.

Now, you were avoiding his gaze, afraid of having to confront your attraction to the man across the locker room. This was proving to be quite easy, as Benny’s enquiry into your (lack of a) sex life had you staring up at the ceiling in embarrassment, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

“C’mon, I’m only looking out for you here. You gotta break the dry spell soon, else it’ll become even harder to get back out there.”

Benny continues his onslaught, deciding to raise the point that if he didn’t fight for a while, he’d simply have no skill when he got back in the ring.

Frustrated, you roll your eyes at his comparison before telling him, “That’s unfair, Benny.”

Santiago chooses this moment to weigh in, reassuring you, “Bonita, you could have any guy you wanted, huh? What’s stopping you?”, and before you have the chance to speak, Benny jumps in on your behalf.

“That’s what I keep telling her, but she keeps making up all these issues. Worrying too much.”

“Well these issues are real concerns for me. I don’t want a relationship right now, but one-night stands aren’t for me either. There’s too many unknowns with hookups. Do you know how many married guys take their rings off just so they can take girls home for a night?”, you tell Benny incredulously, trying to communicate the extent of your concern.

Benny senses your ire, beginning to back off slightly, yet not before proposing, “Why don’t you just get a fuck buddy? Then you can get laid all you want. Problem solved.”

Sure, the prospect was very appealing to you. Someone you could count on to give you orgasms and not have to worry about the strings attached?

You’d sign yourself up right now.

The problem was, where would you find such a man? You shuddered at the thought of returning to the dating apps, having had enough interesting encounters on there to put you off using them again.

Turns out Benny had his own solution to that problem, choosing this moment to turn his attention to his friend who was currently leaning against the lockers, arms folded against his chest. It was almost as though Frankie could sense what was coming next, as he retreated further back into himself, looking down at the floor in a futile attempt to avoid being targeted by his younger friend.

“Hey, Fish is right there. He’s been hard up for god knows how long now. Why don’t you scratch each other’s backs, huh?”

Right now, he was cursing himself for having one too many beers that night at Santi's house, when he’d opened up to the guys about his sexual frustration.

“Jesus Christ”, groans Frankie, his eyes looking at Benny disapprovingly.

Turns out you two did have something in common, as you both looked as though you could kill Benny with your stares. The younger Miller, however, was sporting a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat’s, thoroughly pleased with himself.

With the attention span of an excitable puppy, Benny was quick to move on. You guess it had something to do with the way Will was looking at him, the subtle tilt of his head gesturing to Benny that he needed to get his head back in the game.

But that didn’t stop you from wanting to die of embarrassment.

Sure, Benny had a fight to focus on, but you had to survive a couple more hours in Frankie’s presence.

You pushed the strap of your bag further up your shoulder, hoping that having something to hold on to would quell the anxiety bubbling in your stomach. Straightening your posture, you hazard a glance over at where Frankie’s stood, only to realise he’s not there.

Pushing open the double doors, you exit the locker room and spot Frankie, way ahead of you, and his steps are somewhat urgent as he catches up to Santi.

Shrugging it off, you find your seat and wait for the fight to commence.

****

He’s struggling.

Frankie’s still reeling from Benny’s comment. He knows the only reason Benny said that was to rile you up, and he knows he shouldn’t still be thinking about it now. But he just can’t get the way you looked tonight out of his head.

He grabs himself a beer and settles onto his couch, before allowing images of you to flood his head; the late-night news report swiftly forgotten.

He imagines your hair, slightly tousled after a long day at work. It was extremely sexy, to him; the image of you letting your hair down as you leave the office. It signified you letting loose, and he could only imagine what it would be like to have you lose control around him. God, he’d give anything to run his hands through it as you looked up at him with those eyes.

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

Frankie’s got it bad for you. Has done for quite some time now. Ever since he was introduced to you at Benny’s birthday party last year, you had taken over all of his fantasies. Being around you consumed all of his energy, as he often fought hard enough to play it cool whenever you spoke to him; always worrying he’d scare you off with his dark wit.

And for Benny to joke that he had a chance with you? Well, that was cruel.

He managed to make an escape from the locker room before you noticed, latching onto Pope in an attempt to recompose himself.

You were far too good for him.

He had baggage; struggles he was still working through.

You, on the other hand, were stable. With a successful career, a solid group of friends and a pretty house at the end of the block, you intimidated him.

Frankie often wondered how you had spent so much of your adult life around the Millers, seen the damage that had been done to them, and yet you still had a certain innocence about you. It was like you had seen first-hand just how unforgiving the universe could be, but you still saw purpose beyond the pain.

Yep, he needed to stay away from you.

Deciding to push his demons aside for the moment, Frankie casts his mind back to the times he’d tried, and clearly failed, to put the moves on you.

There had been the brush of his hand on your waist as you walked by him in Will’s kitchen to get another beer. And the time you fell asleep on Benny’s sofa, he had shuffled closer, allowing your head to rest ever so slightly in his lap. Frankie also recalls each time he’d driven you home from the bar, only driving away when he saw you head inside. As you sat in his passenger seat, Frankie came to the conclusion that your presence was downright intoxicating. Therefore, he always volunteered to be the designated driver in the hopes he could drink up more of you.

It was getting late. Late enough that he could put all this down to being some kind of a fever dream.

Frankie’s about to head up to bed, when his phone lights up with a text message.

A text message from you.

Yeah, this was definitely feeling like a surreal experience.

He decides to bite the bullet and glances down at your message.

Hey, Frankie. Just wanna say sorry about before. We all know Benny loves to tease, but I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable. Hopefully see you soon! x

Frankie’s not quite sure what you have to apologise for, and frankly, his attention was elsewhere; on the last four words of your text. God, he hoped to see you again.

He sends his reply swiftly.

Hey, you don’t need to be sorry. I’ve definitely had worse thrown at me by the boys. Don’t worry about it. Hope you enjoyed the fight?

Frankie knows he’s pushing his luck, but he adds that little question mark hoping you’d take the bait to talk to him for a little longer.

You reply almost instantaneously, much to Frankie’s delight.

Yeah, it was great! Once I stopped wanting to kill Benny. Until then I was kinda rooting for the other guy. Promise you won’t tell him?

Can’t promise anything, Cariño, came Frankie’s response.

Your humour almost seemed like flirting, and Frankie would be a fool not to try, so after hitting send, he relaxes back into the couch whilst awaiting your response.

Huh. Knew I couldn’t trust a man with the name Francisco.

Fuck. Frankie was immediately consumed by visions of you - saying his name.

Imagining how his name would sound coming from those perfect lips of yours caused something to stir deep down in his gut.

Get it together, Frankie. Get it together.

He found it a little harder to type his next words.

Not many men you can trust these days. But you deserve to be with one who takes good care of you.

He hadn’t intended to get so deep so quickly, but the thought of you being hurt in the past caused an unpleasant feeling to grow in his chest. You were so beautiful, so good. You had your whole life ahead of you. Whichever asshole had broken your trust in the past didn’t deserve to be breathing right now, Frankie was certain.

You take a little longer to reply, causing Frankie to doubt himself for a moment before his phone lights up again.

Thanks, Frankie. I feel like I really needed to hear that. You deserve to be loved, too.

The sincerity of your words almost knocked the wind right out of him. Pleasantly surprised at the turn his evening took, Frankie longed to draw more of those confessions from you.

Pope’s right, you know. You could have any guy you wanted, Bonita.

The Frankie who hadn’t gotten anywhere with you before was not expecting the response you gave.

Any guy, huh?

And before he has time to process your insinuation, you send another text.

Even you?

Oh, he wasn’t prepared for you to say that. So understandably, his response is delayed.

Shit, he needs to tread carefully here, he thinks, as he eventually composes his next few words.

Cariño, you need to be careful what you say to me. I don’t do well with riddles.

On edge, Frankie’s composure is wavering. He’s definitely not prepared when he spots an incoming call from you yet he doesn’t hesitate to pick up.

“Hi…I, uh…I don’t even know what I’m doing Frankie.”, your words are soon followed by a soft, yet nervous, laugh.

“Do you wanna come over?”

Frankie swears he hears the breath leave his lungs, before all but moaning out, “Yeah.”

“Be there in 15.”

****

Of all the things you thought you’d be doing at 2 am on a Friday night, giving Frankie directions to your house wouldn’t have been your first guess.

What were you thinking? You became a woman possessed. The dark timbre of his voice had caused a warm, fuzzy feeling to grow in your tummy, and before you knew it, you had invited him over for a late-night booty call.

You keep your hands busy, clearing up some of the mess in your bedroom when the realisation hits you. You were going to have sex with Frankie.

Is this really happening?

The doorbell rings and you soon realise that - yes - this does seem to be happening, and it’s happening right now.

Like the cat about to get its cream, you slink to the door to let him in. You’re hoping your face doesn’t betray your eagerness as you greet Frankie with a smile.

He takes a moment to assess your features, apprehensive that you may have changed your mind whilst he was driving over. Finding only a hint of shyness in your otherwise confident persona, he knows he’s made the right call. Frankie needs to see you move first. He’s not going to enter your apartment until he knows you want him in there.

Luckily for him, you turn your body to the side slightly, allowing him to see further into your apartment. You take a step back; it’s an invitation that needs no words - it simply says, chase me. See what you’ll find.

And he does. But not before looking away from you and rolling his eyes ever so slightly. You don’t know if he’s amused or frustrated, but you know you’ve got him right where you need him when he crosses your welcome mat.

His eyes return to you, then, and he gives you an assured nod. It’s Frankie’s way of asking you what your next move is. After all, he’s on your turf right now.

Desperate to break the silence, you tell him, “Thanks for coming, I know it’s late.”. Choosing that moment to head to your bedroom, you lead the way. Hoping. Wanting. Praying he’ll follow you.

Frankie follows. He follows you blindly - like a disciple on a mission - trusting that wherever he’ll end up, it will be worth it.

When he reaches your doorway, he’s greeted by a sight so divine, he’s forced to rethink his stance as an agnostic.

You’re kneeling on the bed, stretching over to switch on the light, when he admires the way your back is arched like a feline wanting to play. He sees your mischief. And, as your shoulders dip low, he becomes hung up on the view of your ass in this position. He definitely wants to play, too.

The tension gets thicker and thicker as Frankie advances forward. He wants to test the waters; see what you do next. But he also wants to dive in headfirst and lap up your sweetness like a man starved. Frankie is a man starved, and he’s losing resolve with every passing second in your presence.

Of course, he’s delighted when you turn to face him again. You kneel on the bed, right in front of him this time, sitting back on your legs with your hands behind your back. You push your chest forward and sit up tall in a way that almost short-circuits Frankie’s brain. You look so submissive; preening and proud to put your body on display for him. So eager to learn, to please him.

He knows you’re toying with him. You look so innocent sitting like that, but Frankie also knows you’re playing naughty.

He wouldn’t have it any other way, though. Your moxie had his cock aching in his pants.

Cautiously, Frankie rakes his eyes over your body, trying to figure out your next move. The soft glow of light in the room gives you an advantage, however, and you manage to catch him off guard.

He’s too focused on the way you bite your bottom lip to notice your hands on his belt buckle.

Frankie thinks you’ll unbuckle it, yet you surprise him again as you use it to pull his body flush to yours. You’re on the bed and he’s stood up, and you adore the way he’s making you feel so small and pliant right now.

Sporting a mischievous grin of his own now, Frankie moves his lips to your neck.

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. Not until you’re cumming all over my tongue.”

How’s a girl supposed to respond to that?

By some miracle, you manage to stay upright on the bed, and you decide you need to regain control of the situation before Franke dirty-talks you to death.

“Francisco…”, you purr devilishly, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Frankie lets out a sinful groan; with just enough impatience to let you know he’s yours. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be right now than hanging on to every word you say. He can tell you’re being bratty. He loves it. Loves the way you’re taunting him, waiting for the moment he snaps and fucks you how you need to be fucked.

You repeat Frankie’s earlier words to you. “So…I could have any guy I wanted, huh? You really think so?”

Frankie thinks your smile looks a little bashful, for a second, before he notices the way you’re running your tongue across your bottom lip as you toy with the neck of his t-shirt. There’s a glint of something in your eyes. Your smile. That tells him he’s clueless as to the game you’re playing tonight, yet you’re definitely playing him.

And, well, Frankie’s down for the ride. At this point, he’d promise you the world just to get a taste of the heaven between your thighs.

Refocusing, he decides that’s what he needs to do.

“Cariño… so needy. You got my attention. All of it. No need to play up.”, says Frankie in a heady whisper.

You realise, then, that you may have underestimated the man in front of you.

But you definitely aren’t prepared for what he says next.

“On your back, baby. Panties off. Let’s see if you’re still an impatient little brat after you get your pussy eaten.”

Unable to form words, you get to the task at hand, dragging your lacy panties down your legs. You swear you can feel your skin throbbing as your hands skim your thighs. There’s nothing he could ask of you right now that would be too much, you decide, as you settle onto your back.

He’s still fully clothed, and it’s almost like he senses your concern as he suddenly begins to undress. Starting with his t-shirt, he moves with urgency; afraid he’ll miss something if he takes his eye off you for a second. His hands reach for his belt, and you’re trying your best not to drool at the way he looks right now. Hair ruffled from your touch, chest heaving in anticipation of the pleasure you’re teasing of, and eyes glossy and wide. You’re simply mesmerised by the way this man looks when he’s affected. You’ve only ever seen him composed, playing it cool. You’ve never witnessed Frankie lose it, but you’re hoping that’s subject to change. Soon.

“Frankie…”, you beg. “Don’t keep me waiting, baby.”

Despite the way your impatience amuses Frankie, he decides he can’t wait any longer and dives down, using his hands to pry your legs open.

He nips the inside of your thigh, just far enough from where you need him to have you arching your back already; like a creature in heat.

You’re dying to express that you disapprove of his teasing, but you figure you should probably be a good girl considering he’s about to take care of you.

However, Frankie’s not done. His kisses trail higher, and as he reaches your knee, he places kisses there too, as he huffs out a demand.

“You’re gonna be a good girl and give me all those pretty moans of yours. Take what I give you. Be grateful.” The way he emphasises those final two words tells you he’s not messing around, and you’re ashamed of the way you moan at the authority in his voice.

“Yes, baby. I’ll try to be good…. for you.”, you say.

“Try, huh?”, is his response, as he reaches for a pillow, tapping your hip as a signal for you to lift them up. He places the pillow underneath your hips, and you’re ready to melt as he uses his thumb to rub firm circles into the spot just beneath your right breast. He applies a good amount of pressure, and all you can think about is how completely at his mercy you are right now; squirming underneath him in desperation.

Frankie finally uses that tongue of his. But it’s not where you need it…yet.

He draws your nipple into his mouth, sporting a smug grin as he does so. You want to scream. You can feel just how puffy and swollen your pussy is from the lack of attention it's receiving. As you feel it clench around nothing, you buck up against him whilst he continues to tease you. He’s sucking the peak into his mouth, drawing his tongue around in torturously slow circles, before releasing it with an audible pop. Frankie moves to continue his ministrations with your other breast, and in your petulance, you make the mistake of fighting him.

You hook your left leg around the back of his, trying to position your aching centre against the rough denim of his jeans; desperate for some friction.

But Frankie had been expecting you to challenge him. He’s seen your spark when you’d both been out with the other guys, it was one of the things that drew him to you in the first place. He recalls how you’d light up when you became competitive, you’d find ways to provoke your opponent yet you were able to mask it well. You’d get all giggly and cute, playing it off like you just got a bit over excited, and Santi, or whatever poor schmuck had gone up against you, would give in to you. Often letting you win.

Well, Frankie wasn’t giving in that easily.

His hand shoots out to hold your left thigh open, whilst he uses his leg to pin down the other one; keeping you splayed out just how he wanted. You’re taken aback by his strength and you can’t deny it makes your pussy even needier. You need him, and your frustration has made you bold enough to tell him.

“Frankie, baby.”, you whine. “Need your mouth on it. On my pussy.”

He lets out a dark chuckle at that. And he decides to punish your brattiness with silence. You’re easy to read, to him, and he knows you’re liking the way he’s running his mouth whilst in your bed. But you’re reaching for too much, and he’s got to show some resistance for both of your sakes.

Of course, Frankie would give you anything, but he’s not sure what your intentions were for inviting him into your bed. He assumes you’re after a no-strings-attached arrangement, and he’s gonna need to keep you wanting more if he’s to keep you.

Pushing the thought aside for now, he focuses on his next move: giving you what you need.

After what feels like a century, Frankie finally dips his head down to where you’re dripping for him. He’s sure he’s never seen a pussy so sweet and so responsive. He’s not even touched you there and he can see you clenching around nothing.

His thick fingers part your folds and the way his breath ghosts over you has you crying out to him.

“Ngghhh…fuck. Need it.”, you draw out in a frustrated giggle, and at this moment, Frankie thinks - no he knows - that you’ve ruined all other women for him. You sound so sexy, like a little vixen, but at the same time, there’s a sweetness about you that’s humbling.

Frankie decides he needs to reassure you. “Shhhh, Cariño. I’ve got you. You’ll get what you need.”

And you do get what you need, as Frankie forces your legs open even wider before licking a thick stripe all the way from your fluttering hole to your throbbing clit with his tongue - and the noise you make is untamed.

He takes his time, opening you up on his tongue. He knows you need his fingers inside but he’s not sure you deserve it just yet.

Frankie admires the way your pretty pussy is shy at first - like you - as he uses soft kitten licks to loosen you up. Your juices taste heavenly, and he laps up every ounce that flows from the core of you. Eventually, you relax into his mouth and your moans become more desperate. You need more and you communicate this by pulling Frankie in even deeper, your hands tight in his hair.

“Jesus Christ”, he groans. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

“Fingers, Frankie. I need your fingers.”, you plead, hoping he’ll take pity on you.

And he does, by some miracle, pressing two inside you and immediately curling them up. You’re soon ready for another, and he adds a third, causing you to pout at him as your orgasm grows closer. The way you’re trying your best to ride his fingers, yet also sink further back into the bed like a pillow princess, is endearing to Frankie, as he can’t help but watch how you take him. Fuck, you’re beautiful like this. Underneath him. He needs you to come on his fingers and his tongue and he decides he can’t wait much longer.

“There you go, pretty girl. You’ve got something to clench down on. Something to cum on.”, says Frankie, and his words have your eyes rolling back. He’s got a dirty mouth and it’s doing all the right things to you.

He moves his mouth back to your clit, sucking it into his mouth. Applying the perfect amount of pressure, he’s got you whining out his name as you stretch your arms above your head, gripping the pillow you find there to anchor you - otherwise, you’re sure you’ll float away.

It doesn’t take Frankie much longer to push you to the edge, and he gets a little rougher, much to your delight. You’re suddenly thankful for the pillow you’re grabbing onto, as his hands grip both of your ass cheeks, pulling your cunt up to his mouth and there’s nowhere for you to run. His grip is unrelenting; all you can do is lie there and take it as his tongue lashes against your clit. The absence of his fingers leaves you feeling empty, though you’re not complaining, as the way he’s clutching your hips allows him to really wreck you with his mouth. And what a mouth that man has.

You’re writhing on the bed, your orgasm so close that your body’s going crazy; arching and stretching as it tries to hit that spot to send you over the edge. It comes as no surprise, however, that Frankie’s words finish you off.

“That’s it, baby. Know you need to cum. Need it so bad you’re whimpering for it.”

“Come on now, give it to me. I know you can. Cum and I’ll give you my fingers to ride it out on.”, he says, and you cum. Hard.

“Frankie. Oh my god, Frankie”, you moan out like a madwoman and Frankie plunges his fingers back into your pussy as you cum all over his face.

You can’t help but chase every wave of your high, and you push your cunt down on his fingers like you can’t get enough of what he’s giving you. Somehow, you’re able to remember what Frankie told you before, and you begin to chant “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” as you ride out your orgasm.

There’s a cheeky smile playing on your lips and Frankie lets out his own throaty chuckle at your sass. And that’s when it hits him.

One time isn’t enough.

He can’t give you up just yet.

****

The two of you soon get into a rhythm.

You alternate between your place and his, spending most nights together each week. It’s after a few weeks of this routine that you realise: you’ve got yourself a ‘fuck buddy’ after all.

But you wouldn’t dream of telling Benny. Or Will. Or Santi. You weren’t ready to burst the bubble and face reality yet. You were perfectly happy indulging in each other’s bodies, sheltered from the pressures of the outside world.

The sex is incredible. You know it, and Frankie most definitely knows it too.

You’ve come to know Frankie’s body so intimately, it sends a shiver down your spine just from thinking about it. You know what makes him tick. What makes him abandon his resolve and cum for you. You know how to draw particular sounds from him; his moans, his whimpers, his shouts, even. You had become a Frankie connoisseur in what seemed like no time.

Actually, it had only been a few weeks, yet things seemed to be moving at pace.

Having been friends before all this began, neither of you was inclined to kick the other person out after you were done rolling around in the sheets. So, naturally, then came the lingering.

You both had taken to lingering a little while longer after the post-coital high faded.

One time, you had hopped in the shower, and when you were done, you found Frankie on the phone to your local pizzeria. You hadn’t even questioned how he knew your order, putting it down to the fact you were friends before this. Still, it caused an unfamiliar feeling to stir in your chest, and some small part of you didn’t hate the gesture.

You start showering together, too.

The first time it happened, you were still giggling over something Frankie had said. You’d riled him up and he’d taken you on, finding it way too easy to laugh with you. You’d been poking fun at him after he’d shared quite an embarrassing story from his days in service and he had decided to take a shower to escape your teasing. However, you didn’t want to let the moment go, just yet - so you followed him into the bathroom.

He had just stepped under the spray of water when he heard your girlish giggle getting louder. Frankie tried his hardest to steel himself, but your happiness was infectious and he couldn’t help but be affected, dropping his head forward with a content smile as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. And since then, this became a frequent part of your routine.

On several occasions, you slept over at Frankie’s place and he drove you to work the next day.

You struggled with this. You weren’t going to lie. The thought of one of your colleagues spotting you, and the gossip that would ensue, concerned you. But you brushed it off each time.

After all, it meant that Frankie would take you home as well - and that came with its own benefits.

You’d gotten into the habit of getting him all worked up on those days he was due to pick you up, deciding it was fun to have him show up wrecked and so hard for you. Sometimes he drove a little faster, gripped your thigh a little tighter, and braked a little harder as he rushed to get the two of you to someplace private. Whilst other times he’d take to finding a discreet place to park his car.

Yeah, those were the days you’d texted him something filthy.

You figured out quite early that you were both into dirty talk, but you weren’t expecting it to escalate in the way it did.

An incident occurred at the Millers’ BBQ, where everyone in the neighbourhood appeared to be out in full force. Despite you and Frankie pledging to behave yourselves, you couldn’t help but sneak off upstairs when the moment presented itself. You had to remind yourself that Benny had probably done the same, if not much worse, in your own bathroom as you let Frankie sit you up on the counter; his broad frame crowding you against the mirror and your heels digging into his back. He had come to love when you’d communicate how much you needed him by sinking your stilettos into him like a vice. It was a kind of foreplay and he was very much here for it.

It was at that moment when he said it, as he had you spread out on the counter in your friend’s bathroom, fucking you good.

You could’ve blamed it on the slight buzz of alcohol running through his veins. Or the fact you had been fucking each other a lot. The latter was more rational, you realised, yet you didn’t want to dwell on how you two got to this point. The anxiety and regret would creep back in, and you were having way too much to let yourself ruin it by overthinking.

“Fuck…Cariño. Feels so good. You like that, huh?”, he said.

You’d mewled out a “Yeah”, knowing Frankie needed to hear the praise, needed you to use your words.

What followed then, was a veiled threat to your dynamic. “Yeah…”, he groaned out. “You like it, huh? Letting me fuck you like this tight little pussy is mine.”

Frankie loved the way you whined at that, and he was perfectly content to watch you go wild as you took his cock like a champion, but you were getting too loud, so he covered your mouth with his; swallowing your cries of pleasure.

You should’ve noticed then that things were changing between the two of you, but you were too far gone at the time to pay it the attention it needed.

However, Frankie had been paying close attention to you. Specifically, you in his t-shirts, wearing only your panties and pottering around his place like you belonged there.

You were blissfully unaware of how much this particular sight drove him crazy, but each time you wore one, Frankie died a little inside. He was overcome with the need to possess you. To make you his girl, have everyone know you warmed his bed.

This feeling also reared its head whenever you called him baby.

He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and he was definitely not one to overestimate a woman’s feelings towards him. But, against all odds, and because this was you, Frankie found himself desperately clinging to the pet name. He latched onto the idea that, maybe, he was your man and there was nobody else. Of course, Frankie knew what he signed up for. But he could still imagine what it would be like if things were different.

But, afraid it would scare you off, Frankie subdued these urges every time. He’d often shut down when it all got to be too much for him to contemplate, rushing to another room where he’d make himself look busy. Unfortunately, you interpreted his struggle as him being distant. Closed-off. Emotionally unavailable. And in your eyes, this was the reason why you couldn’t let yourself fall for this man.

Despite the doubts you harboured, neither of you was prepared to stop.

The pace at which things were evolving terrified you, if you were being honest. It was as though you were heading towards a cliff edge, but you had taken the scenic route.

The views were breathtaking, so you went along for the ride; paying no mind to where you were going.

You hated being unable to control the situation and part of you wanted to turn it around and go back to when you were just friends. Back then, you didn’t owe him anything. You could control the version of yourself you presented to him. But in this arrangement, Frankie was able to catch you off guard, sometimes. When he looked at you like you hung the moon, you felt as though you could fall into him with no parachute - give him more. And that scared you.

Frankie was scared, too.

In fact, he’s worried.

You’re currently enjoying a night out with your girlfriends whilst he’s home alone with his anxiety.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’s itching to hear from you. You’re having fun and you don’t need him, but he can’t help but keep glancing at his phone, thinking of texting you. Truthfully, Frankie’s afraid he’ll fade into your background. Every second you spend without him - untethered - is a chance for you to find something better and leave him behind.

He wants to be missed. Needs you to miss him.

However, Frankie’s not prepared to get this deep in a text message to you, so he settles for something a bit lighter.

Releasing a strained sigh, he decides to bite the bullet and so begins to type out a message.

Meanwhile, in the club, you’re nursing your third margarita of the evening when the text comes through.

Luckily, you’d agreed to watch the booth whilst your friends went to the bar for more drinks, meaning you were able to take a quick peek at your phone, away from prying eyes.

You hated the way you doted on his every word, yet still, you ran your eyes over the text a few more times than necessary.

Hope you’re having fun. You know there’s a space in my bed if you want to crash here later.

Slightly buzzed from the cocktails you’d had so far, you aren’t sure whether this new sensation you’re feeling is down to the alcohol, or something else entirely.

Being your usual flirtatious self, your instinct is to tease Frankie a little.

Your bed? Benny usually lets me crash with him after a girls night. Why should it be your bed, Francisco? X

It’s true. Benny did always offer you a place to stay at the end of the night, but it wasn’t like that. Yet Frankie doesn’t need to know that Benny always takes the couch, letting you sleep like a baby in privacy. Besides, you think it’s fun to rile him up. After all, you’re not sure how far he’ll go, to earn your company tonight.

He doesn’t respond for a while, and you’re tapping your nails against the back of your phone, thankful that the bar service is slow tonight, delaying your friends’ return.

Fuck…is what comes to mind when Frankie reads your message. He’s driven wild by the thought of you in another man’s bed, even if it’s his friend who he knows has only ever been platonic with you. He’s not proud of his jealousy, as he knows what he signed up for. But he can’t help himself - he needs to give you a reason to end the night in his bed. He needs something that will reassure him: he’s not losing you. Thinking on his feet, despite having spent a solid ten minutes figuring out what to say, he replies.

Come on, baby. You know I can give you what you need tonight. Not sure Benny’s going to cut it.

Kicking himself as he reads over his words, he knows he needs to give you more, so he sends another.

You think I can’t see through your games, Cariño. When you wake up needy in the middle of the night, it’s my cock you’ll be coming on.

Oh. He’s playing dirty, you realise. You grab your drink and take a generous taste, needing something to cool you down desperately.

Is he jealous? Your mind is racing with the possibilities of what this could mean for your relationship.

Panic swirls in your stomach, letting you know that you may be heading into uncharted territory here. And to make matters worse, a glance to your left alerts you to the fact your friends are on their way back to the table.

You intended to reply with something equally as dirty as what he’d been sending you, yet as you spot your friends getting closer, you freak out and lock your phone, hoping they’re tipsy enough to gloss over the way you’re breathing a little harsher, right now.

You couldn’t deny it, Frankie’s way with words had you feeling hot. Heat pools between your thighs as you dwell on the delicious implications of ending the night in his bed, but you remind yourself that you need to appear unaffected or else you’ll be subject to interrogation.

It didn’t work, judging by Cami’s expression, and you take a moment to prepare yourself for the questions. Yet, there’s a look of real understanding on your friend’s face, like she senses your inner turmoil and feels for you. She assumes you’re tearing yourself apart over something, or someone, and she’s not sure that a crowded club is the right place to bring it up. Deciding to buy you some time, Cami suggests you accompany her to the bathroom.

Shooting her a look of gratitude, you let her lead you into a cubicle, before she turns to face you whilst leaning back against the door.

You stare up at her from where you’re perched on the toilet, and you know she’s waiting for you to fill her in.

After a few seconds, you succumb.

“I think I’m in too deep. Shit, Cami. Things are changing, and I don’t know if I like it.”

She doesn’t need you to elaborate. She knows you’re referring to a guy, and from the sounds of it, she can assume it’s casual. Well, supposed to be casual. The way you’re frantically chewing on your lip suggests otherwise.

Always in your corner, yet still firm enough to call you out when it’s needed, Cami’s been by your side long enough to tell when a man’s made a serious impression on you. Deciding it’s time to be firm, she weighs in on the situation.

“Being comfortable has never been enough for you. Change can be good. I know you know that, babe.”, she tells you.

“Who is he?”

You figure there’s no point in delaying the inevitable, so you reveal that it’s “A friend of Benny and Will. Uh…Frankie, the pilot.”

It’s hard to miss the proud smirk that Cami gives you. “Well-played.”, she says, chuckling slightly. “And that’s who you were sexting whilst we were at the bar, right?”

You nod, feeling less overwhelmed after opening up to her.

“Are you planning on showing me, then? I can’t help you blow his mind if you don’t let me see the texts.”, she adds smugly. Instantly putting you at ease.

You don’t need to ask her how she knew you were sexting Frankie, you’re just grateful that she’s a girls’ girl through and through, and you welcome her expertise in the matter.

Cami’s about to suggest that you send him a flirty picture, with an even flirtier caption, until you scroll further down the conversation and you notice two new messages from the man in question.

It turns out that whilst you were stewing over your lover’s salacious messages, Frankie had gone through the motions, ten times over. He thought he’d pushed you too far. Pushed you away with his jealousy.

He let himself simmer in his frustration before concluding that your lack of a response signified rejection. Frankie knew he’d shown his hand too soon. He’d fallen at your feet like all the other men, acting like a golden retriever in the way he fought for your attention.

But still, your rejection hurt. It hurt enough for him to become defensive, trying to regain some of the control he’d forfeited to you. He shouldn’t have said what he said, but he let his emotions get the better of him.

You can’t quite believe what you’re reading, and even Cami appears to be shocked at the words staring back at you.

I get it. You don’t owe me anything, huh?

And after he hadn’t heard from you for fifteen minutes, he sent another text.

You should stay at Benny’s tonight. Wherever you choose to go, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of options.

All you see is red. All you feel is the unmistakable tinge of betrayal. You hadn’t expected Frankie to jump to conclusions, and you definitely hadn’t expected your Frankie - who was always so sweet and respectful - to degrade you like this.

Some part of your brain is able to register Cami’s words and you hear her cursing Frankie with some very colourful language. You’re left feeling blindsided, unable to process his sudden resentment towards you, but nonetheless, you can’t allow yourself to get hung up on it, not when you were surrounded by such remarkable friends.

You switch your phone off, determined to salvage the rest of your night, before letting Cami drag you to the dancefloor for some much needed release.

It’s no surprise, then, when Frankie’s 3 am apology text fails to come through.

****

Frankie becomes an expert at jumping to conclusions when it comes to you.

After you didn’t reply to his apology, and subsequently screened all of his calls, Frankie didn’t know what else he could do.

He couldn’t reach you and you hadn’t made an effort to contact him. Hell, he knew he’d fucked up; he shouldn’t have spoken to you in the way he did, but he’d tried to make amends and yet you didn’t seem willing to hear him out.

Frankie doesn’t see you for a while. Eight days, to be exact.

He knows you’re alright, thank god, as he hears from Will that you’d been offered a promotion at work and that he’d taken you out to dinner to celebrate.

And yet, it doesn’t get easier, he comes to accept, and he finds himself wanting to call you on multiple occasions, and he almost does, but something always stops him in his tracks.

Unable to stop replaying your words over in his head, Frankie’s overthought and overanalysed until the point of exhaustion. You were both to blame, considering neither of you had been willing to speak about your relationship. Expectations, boundaries and outcomes had all been forgotten. You’d gotten swept up in the pleasure and failed to address these crucial concerns, and now you were both reaping what you had sewed.

It was supposed to be casual. It was supposed to be just sex.

That’s what Frankie told himself when Benny revealed that he had set him up on a blind date with a mutual friend.

Neither of you had told Benny, or Will and Santi for that matter, about the two of you and Frankie couldn’t have declined the invitation without arousing suspicion from the youngest of the group. He didn’t know where he stood with you, but he wasn’t going to drop you in it with the boys. He was way too protective of you to let that happen.

So, begrudgingly, Frankie agreed to the date.

The first you heard of the date was through Instagram, and Frankie and Imelda were well into their second drink of the evening by the time you’d found out.

Turns out, Benny had crashed it around forty-five minutes in, having gotten a text from his friend revealing he wasn’t ‘feeling it’. Taking his wingman duties seriously, Benny wasn’t prepared to let Frankie give in just yet, so had shown up in an attempt to encourage him, and to salvage what was left of the night. Benny had brought a girl friend - whom you both had met whilst at college - hoping the double date vibes would put Frankie at ease, and as she had taken to posting on her story, you were able to poke your nose in.

It wasn’t spying, and you weren’t jealous. But when Stacey posted a picture of the group, you couldn’t help but fixate on the way Frankie had his arm around his date, leaning into her ear, and it looked as though she’d caught them during an intimate moment.

Due to the angle at which the photo had been taken, you couldn’t tell whether Frankie’s lips were just hovering over her ear, or whether they were pressed tight against her skin. His baseball cap cleverly hid the majority of his face from view, but you couldn’t deny what was plain to see. And it drove you mad. Though, you knew your anger wasn’t justified.

Preparing for the worst, you conclude that Frankie’s ready to move on from you.

You wish you could put your phone aside and let it be. You wish you didn’t care. You wish that the thought of Frankie touching another woman didn’t make you want to die, and you wish you could stop yourself from doing what you were planning to do next.

There’s a fire in your eyes and you realise that, perhaps, you are jealous, though you don’t waste time dwelling on it. If you were going to keep Frankie’s interest, you needed to do something that would throw him off balance and you needed to do it soon. And you knew just what would do the trick.

You practically run to the bedroom, pulling out one of Frankie’s old army t-shirts that you’d snagged from his place. Getting comfy on your bed, you slip the shirt up your skin until it exposes enough skin to drive your man wild. There was no doubt about it. Frankie adored your breasts, and he also adored the way you loved to tease. You are hoping that this sexy little underboob shot would make him forget all about his date. No disrespect to her, as any woman would be crazy to turn down a date with Francisco Morales, and you feel bad - honestly, you really do. But the anxiety in your chest is pulling you towards the action. Your body’s screaming at you to do something, like it senses that it’s about to lose Frankie’s touch, for good.

You angle your phone just right, so the camera focuses on the way your breasts peek out from under his t-shirt. Whilst you make sure to get your face in the shot, too, as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth and widen your eyes; looking all cute and innocent as you look up at the camera positioned above you. You know you’re anything but innocent right now, but you’re anticipating that Frankie will play right into your trap. As you have it on good authority that the man loves how you play coy, only to whine pathetically when he finally stretches you out with his cock. And by good authority, you’re referring to the way he grips your hips like your body gives him oxygen, or the way his big hands cup the back of your neck, fingers skimming over the side of your throat in a way that says, you’re staying right where I’ve got you.

Throwing caution to the wind, you press send on the photo and you make sure to add a fitting caption.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

And you’ve got him.

Hook, line and sinker; Frankie’s ready to come crawling back to you like a dog.

When he sees your name light up on his phone, notifying him that you’d sent him a photo, he needs to get somewhere private. And fast.

He gives Imelda, as well as the other couple, some lame excuse about needing to get his jacket from the truck - just in case they decide to go somewhere with outdoor seating later on - and before he even reaches for his keys, he’s got his phone out ready. Somehow, he manages to hold off on opening your message, wanting to give you his full attention from the comfort of his driver’s seat. And he’s glad he did, as he pulls up the text and is greeted with what could only be described as a treat. Your eyes. Those lips. Your tits in… wait. Is that his shirt? Fuck, he doesn’t know where to look. His eyes rapidly move from each focal point in a frenzy to soak up everything you’d given him. You’d bestowed upon him a gift, and he needed to treasure it. Besides, he hadn’t heard from you in a while and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to touch you, or even look at you, in this way again.

And then, he casts his eyes down to the text that follows.

Your girl’s feeling a little lonely. Lucky she’s got your shirt to play in. Would be a shame for you to miss out, tonight. x

He takes a minute to process your words, but he’s unable to move past your girl and your shirt. Did you want him dead? Surely, that was your goal in pushing those exact buttons of his. You’d seen his possessiveness, and until now, Frankie was certain it had pushed you away; overwhelmed you. Were you now encouraging it?

Not wanting to miss his chance, Frankie recomposes himself, just enough for him to be able to send a semi-coherent reply. He also texted Benny, asking him to apologise to Imelda on his behalf and tell her he had to head home, as he wasn’t feeling well. Home wasn’t on the cards tonight, however, as he geared up to head to your place.

Don’t play too hard without me, baby. On my way over now.

Somewhere on the drive over to yours, Frankie finds himself able to reflect on your relationship.

Relationship. That word felt foreign on his tongue, but he didn’t hate it, he realised, as he allowed himself to fantasise about a version of you two where you dated, held hands, and openly expressed your affection in front of your friends.

You’d never given him any indication that you wanted more. Until tonight.

Frankie’s aware that you’ve given him a crumb, and he’s already dreaming about the whole damn thing, but he can’t help himself from pushing forward.

His attraction, and his appreciation for you had grown, and he often found himself doting on the way you held your coffee in the morning like it was precious cargo, just as much as he doted on the way you went all cock-dumb in his bed after he’d worn you out for hours and hours. He’d begun to notice the little things that made you, you. And he knew he could fall in love with you. It would be so easy.

Frankie considers how he’s probably ruined it for himself, already. He spoke to you in a derogatory way, that night you were out with the girls, and you’d somehow found out he’d been on a date with another woman. He knows that, on paper, the date isn’t something he should feel guilty for, as you two weren’t exclusive. But you were still involved and he has to admit he hasn't handled things in the best way.

As he turns onto your street, he concludes that he wants you.

Frankie wants to be with you, and he’s willing to have you in whatever capacity you’re prepared to offer him. If you’re not ready. If you can’t give him what he needs, like the self-sabotaging martyr, he’s willing to take whatever he can get if it means he doesn’t have to give this feeling up.

Then he’s at your door, trying his hardest to stop the tapping of his foot, which would surely give him away.

You appear from behind it, and he’s a fool not to notice the tears staining your cheeks as he makes his way past you.

He bounds on you, the force of his kisses backing you up against the kitchen counter. And there are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you haven’t seen this man in over a week and it’s so easy to fall back in again.

After he’s somewhat satisfied that you’re real, and you’re here in his arms, he pulls back to address you with a needy tone of voice. One that was unfamiliar to both of you.

“What was that, huh?” he demands. Looking anywhere but at your face, it’s no surprise that he misses the anguish that clouds your usual playful expression.

After a beat of silence, he pushes again.

“You couldn’t let me try to get over you.”, says Frankie, and this time, you notice the pain in his voice.

It’s like you’re frozen. Paralysed by the weight of everything that’s gone unsaid between you.

Silence follows. It’s the kind of quiet before a storm, and neither of you knows what to do to protect yourselves.

He’s holding onto your hips like they’re his altar, and he’s staring down at your body like it will lead him to enlightenment; give him the answers he needs.

When he moves his gaze back to your face, that’s when he sees the absence of light in your eyes. You look troubled. Uncertain. And Frankie’s kicking himself for not noticing the tears that are streaking your soft skin earlier. What had happened between sending him the photo and now?

Cupping your face with a tenderness unlike the way he had just kissed you so roughly, Frankie’s at a loss for what to do. He just knows he wants to soothe the pain; your pain and his, and make it all better.

Your silence feels like another dose of rejection, so Frankie takes a step back from you.

He’s amazed at his own courage, as he finds himself needing to communicate what he needs, right now.

“You know what I want.”, he says.

The look in your eyes tells him you were expecting this conversation. And it crushes him, because he needs you to fight for him. But you won’t. He can see that much from your pained expression and the way your body is curling in on itself. You’re retreating.

And you are retreating. You want so badly to run to him; to hold him in your arms and promise that you’ll try, you’ll give him what he needs.

You know you could love him right. Some mature part of you wants you to acknowledge that you are falling for him, and have been since the first night. But you’re confused, driven by heightened, raw emotion and you haven’t taken the time to process what you’re feeling for him.

His rejection still stings you, and you struggle to bounce back when you’ve been hurt. You know the adult thing to do is to talk about it - patch things up and move past it. But you’re a creature of habit and what you actually did was stew in your irrational anger, before closing yourself off to him. He’d tried to reach out and you’d crawled deeper into your pit of self-sabotage. Yeah, it wasn’t healthy and perhaps Frankie was better off without the hurt you’d most likely cause him if you gave this thing a chance to grow into something more.

A lot of self-work needed to happen before you’d be ready to let him in; let him sink deeper underneath your skin.

So you stayed put, whilst your words failed you.

Frankie’s eyes are raking over you so intensely, awaiting your next move, and all you can do is look anywhere but at him.

The tension in your body has been stretched too far, and so it snaps. And you’re sure that both of you can hear the way the energy in the room shifts just like that.

“Francisco… I -”, is all that you manage.

And Frankie feels as though he can read your mind.

What you meant to say, he thinks, was I can’t give you what you want.

And he gives you a moment to finish your admission. But nothing comes.

Wanting to be anywhere but here - facing your rejection, again, Frankie pivots towards the front door, ready to leave.

“I shouldn’t have come here.”, he says.

Then as he darts towards the exit, you call out his name, and his movements still completely.

You continue. “I - … “, before releasing a sigh.

“Frankie”, you whine, though it’s not like he’s used to hearing. It’s a broken whine, telling him all he needs to know.

You’re not ready.

“Tell me to stay. Tell me you want me.”, he pleads.

And you think it’s kinder to let him go now. As it’s only a matter of time before you break his heart anyway.

This arrangement was supposed to be casual. It wasn’t supposed to evolve this way, but you had both fallen in a little too deep, with too little communication.

Fuck, he’s a good guy. Why won’t you let yourself have this? Have him?

By now, your delicate tears have given way to distressed sobs, and you need him to walk away from you, so you can let it all out.

After what feels like an age, Frankie leaves. He realises that he’s powerless. He’d handed over all of his control, to you, and you now held the advantage.

As you watch the door close behind him, you release the hand that’s covering your mouth and unleash your heartache.

****

It’s not a secret that you miss him.

Your body feels the loss, as you regress into the shell of your hurt.

You can’t eat or sleep for the first few days, and when your appetite returns, you’re too anxious to make a run for some groceries. You’d called in sick to work, and that should’ve been a sign that Frankie meant more to you than a ‘fuck buddy’.

You were grieving him. And as cliché as it sounds, you didn’t know what you had until it was gone. Or more so, you didn’t know that you wanted more until you had nothing.

The days that followed that fateful night in your kitchen were filled with longing. You yearned for the comfort of his body: the softness of his hair underneath your fingers, the sound of his voice over the phone, the way he held you like his favourite memory. You couldn’t bring yourself to wash his clothes that appeared in your laundry; you weren’t ready to erase his scent. It was somehow calm and untamed at the same time. Like Frankie.

You also missed the way he made you feel so needed when he’d beg for your touch.

But physical touch aside, you missed his mind, too.

You found yourself wanting to bask in his dark humour; the way he was often quiet and observant in social situations, only to cut in with something downright philosophical when it counted. Truthfully, you thought a lot about the way he’d listen, hands on his hips and mouth slightly ajar, looking like he was sizing you up, though you knew he held nothing but empathy and respect for those he cared about.

It was down to you now. You needed to be the one to show up, for him. You needed to reach out to him, tell him what he means to you, but you were worried you’d missed your chance. That night in your kitchen couldn’t have been more poetic; he’d come running to you and it would’ve been perfect had you crashed into him with open arms and an open mind. But you didn’t. And that left you playing out scenarios in your head, thinking of all the ways you could confess the depth of your affection to your lover.

What would he say?

Would he take you in his arms and vow to forget the past?

Would he be forgiving? Or would he be guarded, detached?

You imagined the latter was more likely, though you had come to accept that you were the one responsible for the limbo you were both existing in.

And of all the ways you’d imagined seeing Frankie again, you never expected it to be in the grocery store; dressed for comfort and definitely not to impress.

He’s got a six-pack of beers in his hand as you let your eyes soak him up. He looks good, but also exhausted, and although your heart aches at the thought of him struggling, the needy part of you latches onto it as evidence of him missing you.

Frankie had once revealed that he loved sharing a bottle of wine with a woman, as he enjoyed getting comfortable enough with a partner to share the pleasant buzz it gave. And that was something you had delighted in, too, before taking it for granted. Though as you glanced back down at the beers he was holding, you were so thankful for his choice of beverage, as it signified there wasn’t someone waiting on him tonight.

You found yourself wanting to be the one waiting on him. Being the one he came home to every night, and the thought sent a gentle thrill through your body.

So you held on tighter to your tub of ice-cream, channeling your trepidation into the object in question as it gave your hands something to do and slightly quelled the urge to reach out and touch Frankie.

As you pluck up just enough courage to walk over to him, he reaches for a bag of chips, and you believe he's blissfully unaware of the baggage you’re bringing him.

The distance between you is not enough, as you know you’re only a few steps away from having to confront this thing. Tail between your legs, you slowly move closer to him.

Of course, as an ex-veteran, Frankie had clocked you before you even considered approaching him. He’s grateful for this, though, as it gave him a sliver of time to compose himself before you had eyes on his weary form. However, he can’t help but think the way you’re slinking towards him, in an attempt to appear discreet, is cute. Despite how much he wishes he could refrain from becoming even more infatuated with you.

Arguably, the anxiety in his stomach tells Frankie he’s not ready to face you. Though he doubts he could ever feel completely ready. So, at the moment when you become too close to ignore, he lifts his head, knowing his time’s up.

Words aren’t exchanged for a while. Rather, you’re preoccupied with assessing each other; devouring with your eyes what you’ve been deprived of for over a week.

Frankie knows he can’t be the one to break the silence. It has to be you, and if he gives you this, he’ll never know whether you mean to fight for him. He needs to see you step outside your comfort zone and give him the words you’ve held hostage.

And you do, after a poignant pause.

“Hi, uh - … you look…good, Frankie.” is all you manage to say. You find a little more confidence as you go on, and the way you breathe out his name with poise gives Frankie hope for what’s to come.

He doesn’t think it’s the right time for him to speak, though, and he doesn’t want to spook you should you be preparing to speak candidly. So, he doesn’t say anything.

You gesture towards the beers and chips in his basket, “Oh, are you seeing the boys tonight?”

Frankie puts the basket down, then, and folds his arms over his chest. He gives you a quick shake of the head, before telling you “No.”

He’s trying to appear unbothered, but the way his laboured breaths are visible through his chest tells you otherwise.

You’re fighting the instinct to run but you somehow manage to continue.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you.”, you admit, and then you tell him, “I’ve been thinking about everything. About you. A lot.”

Frankie can’t help himself, and he jumps in, craving your honest disclosure.

“What do you want. Really?”, he says, and he looks so tired - exhausted by your indecision, and it makes you loathe how avoidant you’ve been with him.

Oh, you think. We’re getting to this now.

“I- I’m not used to… used to letting someone in. Y-You-” and Frankie cuts you off.

“Cariño.”, he says sternly. “I need an answer.”, and he’s begging you.

“Francisco!”, you whine petulantly. And if he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face, he’d be offended. You’re conflicted, and he wants to believe that you’re trying.

“You want me to tell you how I feel, then listen.”, you assert, before adding a softer “Please”, as you look at him like he could break your heart with any sudden moves.

“Frankie… y-you saw me, like actually took the time to learn it all. I couldn’t hide. I thought you’d find something that would make you leave me alone, and I wasn’t prepared to l-lose it.”

He leans closer, ever so slightly and it’s the encouragement you need to continue.

“Didn’t want to lose you, Frankie. You’re a good man. A man I could love, and… and I was happy but I was afraid it couldn’t last. S-so I kept going back and forth, daring you to stay. Seeing if you’d give up.”, you say, and the last five words come out sounding more uncertain than the rest.

Meanwhile, Frankie’s processing. He inhales every word out of your mouth like he’s gasping for breath. He’s needed to hear this - hear you - and it feels long overdue.

Your strength doesn’t fade, as you continue.

“I don’t know if I deserve you.”, you confess softly, before revealing, “You could be better off with someone else.”, and you can’t look him in the eye as you share such a deep-rooted insecurity with the man you’d come to adore.

It’s genuine, everything you’re saying, and Frankie sees that you’re trying, for him. He’s finding it hard not to say fuck mature communication and comfort you, knowing you could do with some physical touch to ground you. He wants to kiss you until all your worries dissipate, hating the thought that you could ever underestimate yourself in this way. If only you saw what Frankie saw when he looked at you, you’d be walking on air.

But he knows he needs to tread carefully. You’re giving him an inch, and he wants a mile, but he knows you. Knows the vulnerability you’re slowly welcoming is a lot for you, right now, and he’s appreciative regardless.

Then, you go and throw him a curveball.

Taking a risk, you move in even closer, until your feet are practically covering his, and you’re looking up at him with an innocence and vulnerability in your eyes that you reserve for him, only.

And your voice wobbles as you say, “Shit, Frankie. I need you.”

He looks down at you and you appear so small and fragile beneath his gaze. There’s no trace of your usual playfulness or moxie on your expression. And in your voice, there’s no trace of the pretence you sometimes hide behind when forced to confront your emotions. And Frankie registers that you must really mean it this time.

He needs to believe that you mean it. That you really need him, as the alternative is something he’s not prepared to brave.

Arguably, you’ve put yourself out there this time, and Frankie would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you reverting back to reticence, should he give you another chance. Who’s to say you’ll maintain this level of communication with him? He can’t go through this again if you aren’t truly invested in moving forward.

“Fuck, I never thought we’d be stood in a grocery store having this conversation.”, you add to ease the tension, and the way Frankie lets out a breathy chuckle tells you he’s just as grateful for the relief from the heaviness.

After a moment of intense deliberation, Frankie arrives at his choice.

He understands that acknowledgement is only the start, and he needs to see that you’re willing to commit to something more, whatever that may be.

But right there on the confectionery aisle, as the artificial lighting of the store illuminates every emotion on your face - and he sees the fear, the concern, and the tenderness that gives you away, Frankie decides that he needs you.

And, like an addict, he swears to have you in whatever capacity he can get.

You can’t read him, and you’re on edge awaiting his response.

Then with a newfound sense of ease, Frankie picks up the six-pack from the basket beside you, as you watch his every move; afraid you’ll miss something.

He gestures to the beers, before the slightest hint of a smirk greets you from beneath his baseball cap.

“How about we swap these for some of that wine you like? Then we can head back to my place. Talk some more.” he says.

And he knows those last three words could scare you off.

Yet as you take his hand, pulling him over to the aisle you need, Frankie feels hopeful.

It’s a kind of hope that simultaneously scares and excites him, and right now, he’s okay with that.

Thank you for reading! Please consider commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed it. <3

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