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You Didn't Choose Me
Pairing: Joe Keery x You
W/C: 6.1k
Summary: Your four years of friendship with Joe starts to fall apart when he gets a new girlfriend who isn't your number one fan.
The first time Joe cancelled on you, he sent 3 texts.
Please don't hate me...
Claire already booked dinner đŁ
I'll make it up to you, promise đđŒ
And then a voice note, rushed and apologetic, his laugh awkwardly at the end like he knew it wasn't enough, trying to lighten the mood. You listened to it while standing outside the tiny cinema the two of you had practically lived in for 4 years.
The employee at the ticket booth gave you a sympathetic smile, "Your friend not coming?".
You forced one back, "Something came up".
She just smiled, "Haven't seen you both here together in a while".
Something always came up now. Still, you bought two tickets out of habit, part of you hoping he would text you a few moments later saying change of plans, on my way.
Before Claire, everyone joked that you and Joe were attached at the hip. You were there before his auditions, after bad press days, during insomnia spirals at two in the morning where he'd show up at your apartment with chocolate and a lot to talk about. He knew how you took your coffee, you knew when he was lying just by the way he scratched the back of his neck or his wrist. There was never anything romantic about it. At least, not intentionally. It was Joe being Joe and you being you.
That had always been enough, until suddenly it wasn't.
Claire was beautiful in an intimidating kind of way. She walked into rooms like she already owned them. The first time Joe introduced you, she smiled too brightly and said, "Oh. You're the best friend". Not your name, just the title. You ignored the weird feeling in your stomach. At the time, you told yourself you imagined it and everything's fine, but you didn't imagine it for long.
"She's here too?"
You looked up from your drink at Claire's voice. It was Joe's birthday, everyone on some rooftop bar downtown packed with his friends, and music thumping through the floor.
Joe frowned slightly, "Yeah? Why wouldn't she be?"
Claire shrugged, sipping her cocktail, "I just thought maybe tonight could be...you know, more couple focused. So I can enjoy the birthday boy".
The conversation around you died. You laughed awkwardly, "I can leave if you guys want-"
"No" Joe interrupted quickly, but he didn't sound angry.
Claire tilted her head, "Nobody said you had to leave" and rolled her eyes at her.
The damage had already been done. You spent the rest of the night pretending not to notice the looks everyone kept exchanging, and at this point giving up with trying to communicate with anyone here. Everytime you tried to speak with somebody whether it be Joe, or Sam, literally anyone in the group, Claire would collar them for a conversation right then and there.
Then came the cancelled plans. Coffee walks replaced with "Sorry, busy right now". Movie nights replaced with silence of him not there. Your texts went unanswered for hours, then days, and when Joe did reply, it was rushed.
Crazy week
Claire's having a hard time
You know how it is...
You didn't actually because when Joe needed you, you had always made time. Always.
The breaking point happened in his apartment. Ironically, during takeout and a movie that you finally squeezed in because he wasnt working and she was out. The old routine felt almost normal again of Chinese food cartons spread across the coffee table, and some shitty hallmark movie playing in the background. For the first time in months, you felt like maybe things could go back to the way they were before, then Claire walked in.
She stopped short at the sight of you curled into Joe's sofa wearing one of his hoodies. The atmosphere shifted instantly.
"Oh" she said.
Joe muted the TV, "Hey babe".
Claire stared at the hoodie, "Seriously?"
You immediately sat up, "It's just cold and Joe gave m-"
"She has her own clothes, doesn't she?"
Joe rubbed his face, "Claire..."
"No, I'm trying to understand" She laughed sharply. "Every single person says your relationship with her is weird, and I keep trying to be chill about it".
Your chest tightened. Joe looked exhausted more than angry.
"We're friends.." you said quietly.
Claire crossed her arms, "Friends don't act like this".
You looked at Joe, waiting for him to say something, anything. Tell her she was being unfair, that you mattered, or the friendship wasn't something shameful. Instead, he sighed and said, "Maybe we have been a little too close".
The room went completely still. You actually felt your heart break, no...shatter.
Joe realised too late what he'd said, "Wait, that's not-"
"No" you interrupted softly. You stood, pulling the hoodie off immediately like it burned, chucking it down on the sofa where you sat, "No, it's okay".
"It didn't come out right"
"But you meant it right?"
His silence answered for him. Claire looked almost happy for half a second before masking it.
You grabbed your bag with shaky hands. 4 years. 4 years of memories suddenly rearranging themselves into something humiliating. "You know what the worst part is?" Your voice cracked despite your effort to keep it steady, "I kept defending you".
Joe stepped toward you, "Please don't do this".
"Do what? Finally realise I'm the only one fighting for this friendship?"
"That's not true"
"You let her take shots at me constantly"
Claire scoffed, "I never-"
"You did" you snapped, turning toward her for the first time. "And honestly? Fine. You don't have to like me" Then your eyes found Joe again, "But you were supposed to".
The pain on his face almost broke you. "I think" you whispered, "I miss who you used to be before", then you left.
Joe called you 8 times that night, ignoring every single one. Then came the texts;
I'm sorry
You know you matter to me
Please talk to me
I don't know how to fix this
That one hurt the most because neither did you.
Weeks passed from there. Mutual friends stopped mentioning him around you, the group chats grew quieter and your life adjusted around the absence of him. Some nights you would still reached for your phone to send him things before remembering what had happened. Usually it's a stupid meme, or a new movie trailer, or some new place for them to try out. Then reality hit all over again.
It rained the day you saw him again. You were ducking into a small bookstore to avoid the weather when you nearly collided with someone coming out. Joe froze but you froze harder. He looked tired. His hair was damp from rain, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn't know what to do with them. For a second, neither of you spoke, till a small "Hey" left his lips. It almost destroyed you hearing his voice again.
"Hey"
His eyes searched your face carefully, "You look good".
You let out a tiny laugh, "Yeah and you look awful".
Shock flickered across his face before he laughed too. You missed that sound whether it was over the phone, in a voice note or laid on the couch together. You missed it terribly.
The silence afterward was gentler this time. "She's gone" he admitted eventually.
"Joe..."
"I'm not telling you because I expect something" He shook his head quickly, "I just...thought you should know".
Rain hammered against the windows behind him, honestly it felt like something out of a movie. You looked at the floor, "Did you love her?".
"I think I wanted to" Joe swallowed hard, "I lost you anyway, love or no love".
You closed your eyes briefly, because that was the tragedy of it, wasn't it? The fact that somewhere Joe stopped protecting the person who had never once let him stand alone. You really thought your friendship could survive anything that got thrown your way, everything a famous person has to deal with, but abandonment?
When you finally looked back at him, his eyes were watery. "I missed you" he said quietly.
You missed him too, that was the unbearable part, but missing someone wasn't always enough to bring them back to you.
"I know" you whispered.
Joe nodded slowly like he understood exactly what you weren't saying, why you didn't say it back. Neither of you moved or spoke up, but eventually Joe gave you one last smile before walking away.
Joe made it three steps before you said his name. He stopped instantly like he didn't have to think about it, like some part of him had always been wired to respond to you, "What?"
You hated how fragile his voice sounded. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, "Did you mean it?".
Joe frowned slightly, "Mean what?".
"When you said you missed me"
"Every day" he admitted. Joe looked at you carefully, like he was afraid one wrong movement would make you disappear again. "I kept picking up my phone to text you" he said quietly, "I still do". You stared at him. "I almost called you when I saw this terrible movie last month because I knew you'd hate it too".
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it and you saw his mouth twitch faintly at the sound. "And then I remembered I wasn't allowed to do that anymore".
Wasn't allowed.
Not couldn't. It was almost like losing you had become a punishment he accepted.
"Joe..."
"I know I fucked this up" He stepped closer, "I know I let things happen that never should've happened".
"But you did"
"I know I did"
"And you stood there while she humiliated me and said things"
His face tightened immediately, "I know"
The thing was, if he'd argued back, if he'd gotten defensive, maybe you could've stayed angry but he looked devastated in a way that felt painfully genuine. "I kept trying to balance everything between her and you" he said. "I thought if I just kept everyone happy, it would settle itself and it would be okay".
You crossed your arms, "So instead you let me take the hit. Person who's been there for you everyday for over 4 years compared to some girl you've known months?".
His silence confirmed it again.Joe rubbed a hand over his mouth. "You wanna know the worst part?".
You didn't answer.
"I knew she was being unfair"
That hurt more than anything else had because somewhere deep down, you'd always wondered if maybe you were imagining it. Maybe you were too clingy, maybe too present or too much.
"I saw it happening" he continued quietly, "Every time".
Your chest ached, "Then why didn't you stop it?"
His eyes met yours, "Because I was scared"
You blinked, "Of what?"
"That if I defended you the way I wanted to..." He exhaled shakily, "She'd leave".
You stared at him in disbelief, "And?"
"And she did anyway"
You did nothing but snicker.
Joe laughed once under his breath exhausted, "Turns out pushing away the best thing in my life to save a relationship was a pretty shit plan".
Best thing in my life.
You didn't feel like the best thing in his life. Thats for sure. 4 years of friendship suddenly crashed into you all at once. Midnight cinema trips, his terrible attempts at cooking, coffee walks where neither of you actually drank the coffee before it got cold because you talked too much. All of the couch naps, the inside jokes, the stupid arguments over movies. All of it.
You looked at him and realised the anger had never fully replaced the grief. Losing Joe hadn't felt like a friendship ending, it felt like part of you.
Joe's voice softened, "I don't expect you to forgive me".
"You keep saying that"
"Because I don't. I just..." He swallowed hard. "I needed you to know that none of it was because you didn't matter".
You laughed quietly then, tears suddenly burning behind your eyes, "That's the problem, Joe". His brows pulled together. "You acted like I mattered until someone asked you to prove it. You decided to think with your dick before your head. Do you know how fucked that is?"
The words visibly hit him. You saw it happen. Saw the exact moment he realised there was no defense for that. Joe looked down at the floor, "You're right".
You wiped quickly at your eyes, annoyed with yourself, "I was so angry at you" you admitted. "But mostly I just missed my friend and doing things with who I thought was my best friend".
Joe looked up immediately, "I'm still here".
The answer came too quickly from you, "No. You're not. You disappeared months ago". His face fell. "You were my person" you whispered. "And then one day you just...stopped choosing me".
Joe's eyes shut briefly, like it physically hurt him hearing you speak like that. When he opened them again, they were glassy, "I'd choose you now".
"That's the problem. Now. Not then"
Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Then quietly, Joe said, "I kept your mug".
You blinked, "What?"
"The ugly yellow one at my apartment" His lips twitched faintly, "The one you said made coffee taste better".
A startled laugh escaped you through your tears, "You hate that mug".
"I know"
"And you kept it?"
Joe finally smiled properly for the first time all evening, "I've spent the week reorganising the apartment, I couldn't throw it away".
Your heart betrayed you completely, part of you just wished none of this happened and you could just reach over and hug him.
The rain outside softened slightly, becoming gentler now.
Joe took one careful step closer. "If I asked you to get coffee with me" he said softly, "Would you say no?"
You should have. Probably, maybe definitely. But then you looked at him standing there soaked from rain, exhausted, hopeful in the smallest and saddest way and all you could see was your best friend. The one you lost, the one who hurt you, the one you still loved anyway. Not romantically, maybe, but still loved.
You exhaled shakily, "One coffee"
"One coffee" he repeated carefully.
"And if you cancel-"
"I won't"
"You don't know that"
"I do" The certainty in his voice made something shift inside you.
The next day, Joe opened the coffee shop door for you. For the first time in months, you walked beside him again. It wasn't quite the same, but close enough to remember what it felt like. The coffee shop wasn't one of your usual places but maybe that was a good thing. Too many memories lived in the old ones, too many corners where Joe had sat across from you, stealing the rest of your sandwich or talking about whatever ridiculous thing had happened that week. This place was an attempt at a fresh start. He sat opposite you, hands wrapped around his coffee cup and for a while, neither of you really knew where to begin. 4 years of friendship with 6 months of silence. There wasn't exactly a roadmap for that.
"So" Joe said eventually.
"So"
Then you talked, really talked. None of it was surface level conversation or careful small talk, it was the ugly, honest stuff that made you weep once or twice, "You made me feel disposable Joe".
Joe visibly flinched, "I'm sorry".
"I kept waiting for you to stand up for me"
"I know"
"You never did"
His eyes dropped to the table, "I know, and I'm sorry".
The repetition should have annoyed you, but for some reason it made your chest ache. He wasn't arguing, or defending himself. He accepted every hurtful thing exchanged between the two of you because he knew he earned them.
"I felt stupid" you admitted quietly.
Joe looked up, "Why?"
"Because everyone saw it. Hell, I even know some of the boys even fought for me yet it all still happened"
Your throat tightened, "Everyone saw what she was doing except you".
His expression twisted immediately, "No..."
You frowned, "No?"
"I saw it" Joe swallowed. "I just kept pretending I could fix it without confronting it".
You laughed bitterly, "Because that worked out well".
"No" His voice cracked slightly, "It didn't".
Silence settled between you.
Joe rubbed at his jaw, "You know what I missed most?" You raised an eyebrow, "Besides having somebody who actually answers my texts?".
You rolled your eyes, a smile flickering across his face, "What?".
"That look"
You frowned, "What look?"
"The one that says I'm an idiot". Joe's smile widened slightly, "I missed making you laugh".
You missed it too. More than you'd ever admitted out loud and definitely more than you'd wanted to. The conversation drifted after that to movies, friends, work, life, just normal things, and for the first time all afternoon, it started to feel easy. Nothing was fixed, but it started feeling familiar again.
Then Joe's phone lit up. You barely glanced at it, but you saw her name. A text. The screen went black and conversation continued, pretending it didn't matter. Then the phone lit up again with another text, Joe stared at it longer this time, followed by it ringing. Her. Neither of you spoke, Joe looked at the phone, then at you, then back at the phone. The familiar dread started crawling through your chest. You knew this feeling all too well. That feeling of being second, of waiting whilst someone else got chosen, but the fact he hadn't answered it yet thought maybe there was some hope to it all.
It wasn't until Joe sighed heavily, then stood. Your stomach sank. Part of him hesitated, you could see it in his posture, but he answered and walked away, "Hello?". He walked towards the far corner of the cafe, away from the table, away from you, away from you hearing whatever he spoke about. Your eyes fixed on your coffee suddenly unable to look anywhere else. The warmth of the situation as well as the coffee disappeared, maybe this had been a mistake, maybe you let yourself believe something impossible would happen. But in fact, people didn't really change and apologies didn't undo choices which happened.
Across the room Joe turned slightly away, still talking, and suddenly you were back in every cancelled plan, every ignored text and every moment you spent waiting for him to pick you up and never showed.
Your chest tightened painfully because maybe this wasn't fair and maybe he genuinely needed to take the call and there was context you didn't know. But none of that changed how it felt and feelings didn't care for logic in situations like this. You looked at him one last time, still completely distracted and wrapped up in whatever she had to say.
The decision came quietly. You stood, grabbed your coat and pulled your bag onto your shoulder, walked towards the door with nobody there to stop you. The bell above the entrance chimed softly and the cold hit you again. As soon as the door closed behind you, you faintly heard your name being called through it from inside. "Wait-".
You didn't turn around because you already knew what you'd see. You'd seen him standing there with his phone in hand trying to stop you leaving and explain, trying to fix something after it had already broken. You kept walking, hearing that same chime and your name being called again. A tear shed from your eye, you wiped and continued to walk. The hurt of it all was loud, and the memories were deafening. And that's when for the second time in your life, you walked away from Joe. Only this time, it hurt even more than the first.
The photos appeared 6 days later. You weren't looking for them, a friend who knew about the situation sent you a screenshot of them. No caption, or comment, just the images of Joe and Claire walking through New York, side by side, coffee cups in hand, looking exactly like a couple that had never broken up.
Your stomach dropped so hard it physically hurt.
You stared at the photo for a long time that somehow another appeared, then another. Someone had clearly spotted them and posted them online. You locked your phone and tossed it onto the sofa, a strange numbness settled over you. You thought about that coffee shop and how he said he missed you every day, standing and talking to you drenched from the rain, her name on his phone. You never heard his explanation for the call, you never gave him the chance to but seeing those photos made you realise that maybe you didn't want the explanation. The result was going to still the same either way, he chose her, again.
A month later there was a knock at your door around 8pm. You weren't expecting anyone, but the second knock came louder. You walked over quietly and slid the little cover on the door viewer to look who it was. Joe. You immediately froze and held your breath thinking you was breathing too loud and he wouldn't hear you. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets with slightly messy hair and tired looking. You slid the cover back on and stepped back silently. A second later his voice came through the door, "I heard that".
You squeezed your eyes shut.
"I know you're in there"
You held your hand over your mouth.
"Please..."
The single word almost got you but you stayed exactly where you were. Minutes passed and eventually you heard him exhale, "Okay", "I'm sorry" and footsteps followed. When you looked through the viewer again he was gone.
Two months. Two whole months. No texts, no calls, no random appearances. You spent your birthday quietly, usually you spent your birthdays together, dinner, going out, sometimes just a night in depending on what you wanted. You'd get each other a funny card and a gift you knew each other had been eyeing up for ages but never bought themselves. Joe didn't call, text or acknowledge it. Part of you noticed and the other half wished you didn't.
A week later you found yourself standing inside Kate's studio. The space smelled faintly of paint and coffee, canvases leant against the walls and half-finished pieces occupied every available surface. It was chaotic, yet creative. Very Kate. During the time of becoming friends with Joe, his sisters would sometimes tag along on occasions and before you knew it, you and Kate were almost as inseparable as you and Joe were.
"You can finally stop complaining now" she announced dramatically while uncovering the painting.
Your jaw dropped, "Oh my god it's...stunning"
Kate grinned.
The painting was beautiful. Not just good, beautiful. The kind of gift that immediately made your chest ache. She had painted a photo taken just over two years ago that Joe had captured of the two of you looking out towards the ocean, beach in view, you remember the both of you wearing the smallest bikinis you owned in hopes you'd attract some rich guy who lived out in the Hamptons where you was all staying. The painting focused on more of the surroundings than it did of the two of you, but it was such a memorable vacation.
"Kate..."
"I know, I know" she said, waving you off. "I'm amazing, and I know how much you love this photo".
The two of you sat talking for a while after that. Catching up on things, discussing everything and nothing all at once. Then eventually Kate tilted her head, "You and Joe doing okay? Neither of you have mentioned each other in a while".
You looked down at your cup. The question everyone had carefully avoided.
You shrugged, "He has different priorities now. You know we had that coffee that ended...badly and we haven't spoken since".
Kate went quiet. When you glanced up, something understanding had settled across her face, "Oh...".
That one word carried a lot, because she knew her brother, and she also knew you and exactly what you meant. Neither of you said anything else about it, because there wasn't really anything to add.
Then the studio door opened. You looked up automatically, immediately wishing you hadn't. Joe froze. You froze. Kate muttered something under her breath.
Joe looked between both of you, then landed on you, "Hi".
You looked at him, then turned back to Kate as if he hadn't spoken. You heard him close the door behind himself and his footsteps slowly edging forward.
You stood, carefully lifting the painting, "Thank you for this".
Kate smiled, "You're welcome".
"No, seriously" You looked down at it, "It's probably the best birthday gift I've ever received".
Kate laughed, "Only two months late but we're here finally".
"It still got here". You adjusted the painting in your arms. "Besides, it's the only thing I got for my birthday so I will treasure it with my life".
The studio went completely silent, Kate's smile disappeared. You heard something behind you, "Shit..."
Joe.
The word slipped out before he could stop it, and suddenly you knew the realisation had finally hit him. Your birthday. He forgot. You closed your eyes briefly, not because it hurt, oddly enough it didn't because it was 2 months ago, it just all felt inevitable just like the long list it already was. You didn't turn around and acknowledge him, or rescue him from the guilt flooding his face. You simply hugged Kate around the painting, mentioning meeting up for drinks later in the week for a proper catch up, "Thank you again".
The walk toward the door felt strangely calm. Joe stepped aside automatically giving you room, and you walked right past him. Close enough to hear his breathing hitch, but you never looked at him. For the first time since you'd met him 4 years ago, Joe became a stranger standing in a doorway.
The painting sat above your sofa. Every time you looked at it, you thought of Kate. Not Joe, Kate, which was probably why you loved it so much.
3 months passed, then 4. Life kept moving on, you started saying yes to things again like weekend trips with friends, work events, dinner invites, because you hadn't already made plans with Joe like usually would be the case for turning them down. During the second month you even went on a date. Not that it wasn't great, because it was, you just wasn't ready for that yet. You were enjoying the free time that you had, making the most of being young and in the city.
You stopped checking your phone hoping for a message that wasn't coming. Stopped wondering what Joe was doing. Stopped asking mutual friends questions you pretended weren't questions. Eventually, his absence became less of a wound and more of a scar. Still there but not bleeding anymore.
Kate remained in your life. That surprised neither of you. She refused to choose sides, and she shouldn't have had to. One evening you were helping her carry supplies into her studio when she suddenly sighed. A very dramatic, very Kate sigh. You immediately groaned, "What?".
"I hate this"
You frowned, "What?"
"This" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, "The fact that I have to pretend Joe doesn't exist every time you're around".
You looked away.
Kate immediately softened, "I'm sorry..."
"No, it's okay. You can talk about him, you don't have to stay clear of the subject of him. What's done is done, I'm a big girl".
She leaned against a worktable, "You know he's miserable, right?"
You laughed quietly, "Kate..."
"I'm serious"
"I don't need updates"
The subject dropped, but not before she quietly added, "He misses you".
You didn't answer because you already knew he did. The problem was that missing someone and choosing them weren't the same thing. You'd learned that lesson the hard way.
Winter soon arrived. Cold mornings, grey skies and hardly no sun. The city dressed itself in Christmas lights. One evening, after work, you found yourself walking through a small holiday market. The kind Joe would've loved and he would have dragged you to as you complained the entire time. It wasn't that you hated the holidays, it was just lonely. Loosing both your parents young and being an only child had its toll on you, but Joe made you enjoy the holidays where he could. There had been two Christmas' where he even took you back to Massachusetts with him to spend it with his family which was nice. But this year, you was completely ready to spend the day alone, watching shitty TV and probably eating some form of pasta.
Your phone buzzed. Kate, so you answered immediately, "Hey".
Her voice sounded strange, "Can you uh-come to the studio?"
You frowned, "What happened?"
"Nothing bad. Just...can you come?"
20 minutes later you pushed open the studio door, "Kate?".
No answer. You stepped inside, and the space was empty. Confused, you looked around, then noticed something sitting on her worktable. A familiar yellow mug. The ugly one that Joe had kept and beside it sat an envelope with your name written across the front.
You stared at it for several seconds before slowly picking it up. Inside was a letter. Handwritten, messy and very Joe.
I don't know if you'll finish this. Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you threw it away but Kate threatened my life if I didn't at least try.
You were right about everything. That's a terrible way to start a letter, but it's true. You were right when you said I stopped choosing you. You were right when you said I let things happen. You were right when you said I made you feel disposable and I've spent every day since wishing I'd figured that out before I lost you. I just can't believe it's been almost a year.
For a long time I thought fixing things meant convincing you to forgive me. I know now that's not something I get to ask for so this isn't me asking, this is me saying thank you.
Thank you for all the years of friendship. Thank you for every terrible movie you made me watch which I probably secretly enjoyed. Every coffee walk we shared or every midnight phone call. You showed up when I needed someone always.
Thank you for being my best friend.
You deserved better than what I gave you in the end and I know that now. And if our story ends here, then I wanted you to know that losing you changed me. Not because it hurt, because it did. But because it forced me to become someone who wouldn't make that mistake again.
I hope you're happy. I hope you're loved. And I hope one day when you think about me, it doesn't hurt anymore.
Love always, J x
You stared at the signature for a long time, then at the yellow mug, then at nothing at all. The studio was completely silent, and for the first time since everything happened, you cried.
It was full of heartbreak, relief, anger, grief, pain, hope, and endless cycles of everything gone. All that remained was love. The kind that survives disappointment and exists even when two people no longer belong in each other's lives.
When you finally left the studio, the evening air was cold against your cheeks from where the tears sat. You carried the yellow mug in one hand with Joe's letter tucked safely inside your coat.
Halfway home, your phone buzzed with a text from Kate.
You doing okay?
You looked up at the falling snow.
Yeah.
A moment later another message arrived.
You want to know something funny?
You rolled your eyes.
Always
Kate replied instantly.
That idiot still thinks coffee tastes better in that awful yellow mug
A laugh escaped before you could stop it followed by a single tear.
He's wrong.
Three dots appeared.
I know.
You slipped your phone into your pocket and continued walking. The city and the lights glowed around you, and somewhere out there was a boy who had once been your best friend, someone you would always care about and put before yourself. For years, you thought the story was about losing Joe, but walking home beneath lights, you realised it wasn't. It was about finding yourself again after he left, and for the first time in a very long while, you were finally okay.
A year later, Christmas lights hung from every available surface in Kate's studio. The place looked completely different from usual with paintings that had been pushed against walls, tables moved aside, strings of warm fairy lights draped across beams and shelves, music playing softly somewhere in the background.
People laughed, talked, drank too much wine. The kind of gathering Kate always managed to create, warm and comfortable.
It was a week before Christmas so Kate decided to throw a little party for everyone to celebrate a successful year. You couldn't believe how fast the year had gone.
You'd almost said no to coming, wasn't feeling it, but Kate had given you one of her patented guilt trips over the phone and somehow you'd found yourself standing in the middle of a Christmas party. Life was different now. Good, actually.
The past year had been quiet, peaceful, fast paced and somewhat chaotic all at the same time. You'd moved forward, maybe not completely but enough. Enough that seeing or hearing Joe's name no longer made your stomach drop, or enough that you'd finally started remembering the good parts without drowning in the bad ones.
You were talking to one of Kate's friends when she suddenly appeared beside you, "Merry Christmas!"
You laughed, "Merry Christmas"
Kate took a sip of her drink, "So what are your plans for this year?"
"Probably same as last year, treat it like another normal day. Breakfast, some TV reruns, walk round Central Park, whatever leftovers I have in the fridge and bed"
Kate's face just showed a sad smile, "You know the invites always there to come home with us".
"I know..."
Then she wandered off again leaving you standing there sipping at your wine. It was about 20 minutes later when you saw him across the room talking to somebody with his bank turned towards you but seeing he's laughing softly at something they'd said. Part of you couldn't believe it's been a year since that letter, almost 2 years since you last spoke properly. He looked different, not drastically but just older, broader, somehow more attractive. The sight of him didn't hurt, but you'd be lying if it didn't make you sad because 4 years of friendship shouldn't have ended the way yours did.
You watched him for a moment, then sighed. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, maybe it was growth, or maybe you were just tired of carrying old resentment. Either way, you walked across the room, and tapped his shoulder. Joe turned automatically, his smiling disappearing straight away and eyes widening. For a second he genuinely looked like he'd seen a ghost.
You almost laughed, "Hi".
The room suddenly seemed very quiet, and Joe just stared, like he couldn't quite believe you were standing there. "...Hi" His voice cracked.
For a moment neither of you knew what to say, but you offered a small smile, "Want to talk?".
Joe nodded so quickly it almost hurt to watch, "Yeah...yeah".
You ended up finding a quiet hallway away from the party. The music and conversations became distant. It was just you and Joe standing there and facing each other properly for the first time in over a year. And the second the silence settled, Joe broke. Not dramatically or loudly, but a small sound escaped him, almost a whimper. His hand came up to cover his mouth immediately like he was embarrassed by it, and your heart shattered into a million pieces just watching him.
"I'm sorry" The words came out immediately, shaky and desperate, "I'm so sorry". His eyes filled almost instantly, "I know I already said it but I'm sorry".
"Joe"
"No" His voice cracked, "I am". Tears gathered despite his obvious attempts to stop them, "I was awful to you". You stayed quiet letting him talk because it was clear he'd been carrying all this around for a long time. "I hurt you. I let things happen I shouldn't have. I missed your birthdays". The guilt in his voice nearly made you look away.
"I know"
His eyes shut. The words clearly still haunted him from your last conversation.
"I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for everything" and suddenly he was crying properly.
Before you even thought about it, you stepped forward and hugged him. Joe froze like he couldn't believe it, then wrapped his arms round you lightly, then tighter a few seconds later when he realised you wasn't pulling away. It was the kind of hug that comes from someone terrified you'll disappear if they let go. You stood there quietly in each other's arms listening as he apologised again and again. Listening as all of this guilt finally spilled out, and you let him. Because for all the anger you'd carried, you knew he meant every word.
Eventually he pulled back, eyes red and embarrassed, looking down at the floor.
You shook your head slightly, "Joe".
His eyes lifted, and you took a breath. A long one, because this part mattered, "I need you to understand something". He immediately nodded. "I really need you to hear me".
Joe went still, "I hated what happened. I hated how you treated me, I hated the distance she caused. There were days I hated you and I missed you anyway. I missed by best friend".
His tears immediately returned, and you almost laughed. The idiot was crying again. "You don't get to cry harder than me" you muttered.
A watery laugh escaped him.
"As much as I hate everything that happened...and as much as I wish things had been different...I don't think we're done".
His eyes widened in complete shock.
You folded your arms, "What happened between us deserves more than a hallway conversation at Kate's Christmas party".
Joe actually let out a breathless laugh.
"Right?"
He nodded immediately, "Yeah..."
"So we need to talk properly"
His eyes never left yours.
"We need to discuss everything and we need to see if we can work things out"
He looked like he was going to cry again, and then quietly, almost fearfully, he asked, "You really want to?".
You stared at him. At the man who'd once been your favourite person, the man who'd hurt you, the man who'd lost you yet the man who somehow still mattered.
"I think I owe my best friend that much". Joe's eyes immediately filled again, "Oh my god, stop crying you idiot".
"I'm trying..."
"You aren't though"
"I know I'm not"
For the first time in years, you both laughed together. Not because everything was fixed but because for the first time since everything fell apart, you were finally heading in the same direction again and sometimes that was enough to start.
every breath you take
word count: 3.3k
pairing: Steve Harrington x reader
summary: when a crawl mission goes wrong, Steve and you have to find an escape. but the only way out is through the rift under lovers lake. and of the many problems you're facing, there's one that looms darker than the rest. you can't swim.
warnings: angst, descriptions of drowning, impending doom, no happy ending.
notes: I need to vent some of my personal angst and so I have unfortunately given life to this short little thing. I pumped this out in a few hours, so sorry if it's not the best. also sorry for the heart breaking I'm about to do.
enjoy reading :)
------------------------------------------------------
âRun! You have to run-âÂ
âSteve!â
âDonât worry about me- Iâm right behind you!â
Itâs funny.Â
Drowning is nothing like the movies make it out to be. When you think of it as a way of dying, you picture thrashing. Convulsing, like someone trying to crawl out of their own skin. Eyes bulging, mouth agape, trying to find oxygen.
But this.
This was different.
static fallout
pairing: season 5!steve harrington x reader
warnings: enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort (because it's me, c'mon), lots of angst, takes place pre-season 5 and will continue as it progresses, 18+, smut in later chapters, steve being steve and trying to fix the past again :'((
summary:
you escaped hawkins the moment you graduated. ran from the gossip, the memories, the high school years you couldnât wait to leave behind. college was supposed to fix all of that.Â
but life has a cruel way of circling back, and somehow you found yourself returning to the town you swore you were done with. a job at the radio station gave you purpose again, something steady to cling to in a place that no longer felt like home.
then he walked back into your life.Â
steve harrington. the bane of your high school existence. the golden boy who managed to be every bit as infuriating as you remembered.
one look at him drags up memories youâve spent years trying to bury, and the worst part? heâs truly bought into this whole âchanged manâ narrative, acting like heâs shed the version of himself who helped make your teens miserable.Â
but when home begins to unravel in ways you never believed possible, heâs the one person you keep crashing into. the one who refuses to let you slip through the cracks no matter how hard you try.
and some awful, aching part of you is beginning to wonder if steve harrington might be the only one capable of piecing you back together. right as the rest of the world threatens to break you for good.
đČđšđź đĄđđ đđš đ€đąđ„đ„ đŠđ đđźđ đąđ đ€đąđ„đ„đđ đČđšđź đŁđźđŹđ đđĄđ đŹđđŠđ. | đ.đ
WC- 5.4k
cw- henderson!reader, steve harrington the d1 yearner, you are lowkey a little brat, steve is def into it tho, mentions of drinking, mentions of starcourt trauma, breakup :(, sexual themes (ish), LMK IF I MISSED ANY!!
from jules- as always, not proofread đ fuck it we ball. anyways i originally wrote this for my conrad x oc fic but i loved the set up so i straight up stole it LMFAO. quick little oneshot ig bc im procrastinating working on the other 10 unfinished projects i have :) I MEAN IT THIS TIME WHEN I SAY I WILL COME BACK TO EDIT eventually.
Even in your most volatile, unreasonable, borderline insufferable moments, Steve Harrington would never have wished this on you.
Which was saying something, because you had given him plenty of material over the years.
He didnât want to be here.
Not anymore.
He hadnât even known you would be here.
That seemed important, somehow. If anyone ever asked, he could point to that and prove this wasnât what it looked like. He hadnât shown up hoping to run into you. He hadnât parked outside some stupid house party with your name already caught behind his teeth.
He was here because of Robin.
Robin had spent half their shift at Family Video pretending not to worry about him, which mostly meant insulting him until he accidentally understood she cared. She said he needed to get out more. Steve said he got out plenty.
Robin had stared at him over a stack of returned tapes until he realized, with some irritation, that driving Dustin to the arcade and waiting in the parking lot like a divorced dad did not count as a social life.
So now he was standing near the wall at a party full of people he either barely remembered, actively disliked, or had once tried way too hard to impress.
Recognizing faces and no longer knowing what they were supposed to mean to him. Guys he used to laugh too loudly with in kitchens. Girls he used to flirt with because flirting was easier than having an actual conversation. People who had once looked at him like he was something worth watching, back when he still knew what to do with attention.
Parties like this used to feel built for him: too much beer, too much noise, too many people pretending they were having the best night of their lives because admitting otherwise would ruin the whole thing.
Once, Steve had been good at that. Great, even. He knew where to stand, who to smile at, when to laugh like he meant it. He knew how to make a room turn toward him.
Now the whole house felt like it was breathing wrong.
Heat pressed beneath the ceiling until the air tasted like stale beer, cheap weed, and something sugary enough to sour in the back of his throat. Music rattled through the walls and climbed the soles of his shoes, every bassline knocking somewhere behind his teeth.
People filled every corner of the house, laughing too loud, moving too close, spilling into doorways and hallways like the place had taken in more bodies than it knew how to hold
Someone bumped his shoulder without looking back.
Steve glanced after him, unimpressed.
Near the kitchen, a group of girls shrieked over nothing while some guy stacked empty cans into a leaning tower with the solemn focus of someone discovering architecture. Two boys argued over whose turn it was to pick the next tape. Somebody near the stairs yelled something that made half the room laugh and the other half pretend they had heard it.
Steve stayed near the wall, arms folded loosely, his eyes moving over the room out of habit.
Front door. Windows. Staircase. Kitchen. Backyard.
He found them before anything else: before faces, before music, before the girl laughing too hard from the arm of the couch.
It wasnât a decision anymore. His body did it for him now, the same way it still tensed at sudden footsteps behind him, the same way fluorescent lights could send pain flickering behind his eyes before he remembered why.
A few weeks ago, he might have hated himself for thinking like that at a party.
Now he barely noticed himself doing it.
He hated the noise, the heat, the sticky press of bodies pretending this was fun instead of a few hundred people trying to outrun themselves for the night.
Then he heard your laugh.
It wasnât loud, or even close to the sharpest sound in the room, but it was familiar enough that Steveâs body recognized it before his mind could argue.
His stomach twisted with the kind of recognition he hated, immediate and embarrassing, like some part of him had been waiting for you before he even knew you were there.
You were near the open windows, half-turned toward a cluster of people Steve didnât recognize, your hair loose over your shoulders and catching in the porch light whenever you moved. You spun once in a slow, careless circle, laughing at something one of them said, your skirt riding higher on your thighs than you seemed to realize. The red plastic cup in your hand tipped with every gesture, close enough to spilling that Steve almost managed to focus on that instead.
Almost.
You looked bright in a way that made the rest of the room feel badly lit.
It annoyed him, how easily his mind tried to do that. Steve had seen you with pillow marks on your face, old sweatshirts swallowing your hands, and Dustinâs cereal crumbs stuck to your sock. He had watched you threaten bodily harm over the last Pop-Tart at the Hendersonsâ kitchen table. He knew the real version of you too well to turn you into some untouchable thing under a porch light, no matter how badly his brain kept trying.
Still, his eyes stayed on you.
Judging by the glances you kept pulling from across the room, Steve wasnât the only one struggling to look away.
Attention gathered around you in small, ugly increments: a pause in conversation, a glance held too long, someone laughing half a second late because they had lost track of whatever they were pretending to listen to.
The whole room wasnât watching you.
A room full of staring would have been easier for Steve to hate.
The scattered glances made it harder to dismiss, because Steve could follow each one back to a face. One guy let his eyes stay on you until Steve noticed him noticing. Another looked away only after his friend nudged him, grinning into his cup like he had been caught doing something funny instead of something that made Steveâs jaw tighten.
Someone near the hallway watched your mouth while you talked, his gaze dropping whenever you laughed and your skirt slipped higher on your thighs. You kept smiling through it, loose and unguarded, and Steve couldnât tell whether you missed the looks entirely or had simply learned to move through them without giving anyone the satisfaction of flinching.
Heat crawled up the back of Steveâs neck. Another guy didnât bother hiding it at all, watching you openly with the lazy entitlement of someone who had never once been told to look away. Steveâs fingers flexed against his own arm before he forced them still.
He tracked a few more before he could stop himself, his attention catching on every glance that lingered too long. Steve felt his expression harden before he managed to pull it back into something neutral. His breath caught high in his chest, and he looked away for half a second as if breaking eye contact with the room might keep him from doing something stupid.
Steve reached for the safest explanation first.
Feelings involving you had always been easier to handle once he gave them someone elseâs name.
Tonight, that name was Dustin.
Dustin was his best friend. Dustin trusted him with things he probably should have questioned harder. Rides home. Monster plans. Secrets too big for kids. His sister, apparently, even if Dustin had never said that part out loud.
Dustin would lose his absolute shit if he saw his sister standing in the middle of this room, drunk and bright-eyed, surrounded by guys who treated wanting you like permission.
The logic felt thin even as he tried to believe it.
Thin enough that, for one dangerous second, Steve almost had to admit Dustin had very little to do with the way he was looking at you.
Your laugh still did something strange to his chest. His eyes still found you first in any crowd. The feeling he had spent years refusing to name had only gotten meaner with time, settling deeper every time he gave it another chance to leave.
He tried Dustinâs name again anyway.
It still sounded almost believable if he didnât look too closely.
You were Dustinâs sister, and there were rules to that kind of thing, even if nobody had ever bothered writing them down. Robin would tell him this counted as normal concern. The kids would expect him to do something. Any decent person would step in.
The excuse survived for about three seconds.
He had dated other girls. He had tried to like them fairly. He had tried to stop measuring every laugh, every argument, every easy silence against you. He had told himself, over and over, that eventually he would walk into a room and stop searching for you before he even knew he was doing it.
Sometimes he managed it for a little while, which almost made the failure worse.
By now, the truth had lost the courtesy of feeling new.
Realizations were supposed to arrive once, change everything, and leave you alone. This one had stayed with him for years, patient and humiliating, waiting in the background until the sound of your laugh dragged it forward again.
Someone shouted near the kitchen. Laughter broke over the music. A shoulder clipped Steve as he stepped forward, and he barely felt it.
His attention narrowed until the rest of the room blurred around the edges.
He hated how naturally his body knew where to go.
All that effort trying to move on, and one bad party was enough for his first instinct to betray him.
Before he could remind himself how badly this usually ended, Steve started moving.
He cut through the crowd before he could talk himself out of it, slipping between bodies that shifted too slowly and shoulders that knocked into him without apology. The room smelled like sweat, stale beer, and something sour-sweet that made his head pound harder with every step.
Someone shouted near his ear, and a drink sloshed cold against his sleeve.
Steve kept moving.
When he finally reached you, his hand found your arm before he had figured out what he was allowed to say.
His grip stayed careful, just enough to steady you when you turned too quickly and your cup tipped dangerously in your other hand. Your skin was warm beneath his fingers, your pulse jumping fast enough that his grip loosened on instinct.
You were too warm, though Steve couldnât tell if it was the crowded room, the August heat still trapped under your skin, or whatever you had been drinking.
He blamed the room first, because the other possibilities made his stomach tighten.
You startled at his touch and turned too quickly, your hair slipping over one shoulder as your eyes searched his face. For a second, your gaze stayed unfocused, caught somewhere between alcohol and surprise, before recognition slowly pulled you back to him.
âSteve?â
You said his name like you werenât sure whether to believe in him or be angry that he was real. Your voice came out softer than the look in your eyes, disbelieving in a way that reached him before he could protect himself from it.
It hit a place in him he had spent the better part of the past antagonizing weeks pretending into silence. Once, hearing you say his name like that would have made something in him unclench. Your voice used to be one of the few sounds that could pull him back into himself after a bad night, after a fight, after one of those ugly stretches when his parentsâ house felt too big and too empty to survive.
Now the same sound made him feel sick.
He hated how badly he still wanted it.
He hated that your voice could still make him hope before he had time to stop it.
âCome on,â he muttered, already glancing past you toward the door. âLetâs get some air.â
Your brows pulled together. âWhat? Steve, Iâm fine.â
âYeah,â he said, failing to keep the disbelief out of his voice. âYou look super fine.â
You made a sound that might have been a laugh if it had come out less confused, but Steve was already guiding you away from the group before anyone could decide they had earned the right to comment. He didnât drag you. At least, he didnât think he did. His hand stayed around your arm, loose enough for you to pull free if you wanted, steady enough to keep you from swaying into the guy behind you when the crowd pressed too close.
That was the version he could live with.
The hallway narrowed near the front of the house, bodies closing in on both sides, and Steveâs hand moved to the small of your back before he could think better of it. The motion came from habit before thought, the kind of habit he should have broken by now.
His palm settled there for half a second too long, warm through the thin fabric of your shirt, and the familiarity of it hit so hard he almost missed a step. He remembered guiding you through movie theater aisles that way, through crowded school hallways when you walked too close on purpose and pretended you hadnât, around the Hendersonsâ kitchen when Dustin left cabinet doors hanging open and you walked backward through the mess, laughing at something Steve had said.
Touching you used to be easy. You would have noticed his hand immediately back then, then made some stupid little comment just to watch him trip over himself. Closeness had felt like a dare then, something both of you kept pretending not to start.
He should have moved his hand.
He didnât.
Moving it now would prove he had noticed where it was. Leaving it there was probably worse, but then the crowd shifted and your shoulder brushed his chest, close enough to knock every decent reason for letting go clean out of his head.
Now the same closeness made his chest ache with everything he no longer knew how to do with. Whatever the two of you had become was too careful for casual touch, and Steve knew that, which made the fact that his hand was still there feel even worse.
Your laugh slipped out again, sharper this time, carrying none of the warmth it had across the room.
âYou donât get to boss me around, Steven.â
You twisted against his hold, trying to pull free, and Steveâs stomach dropped as he realized how it must have felt from your side. He let go so quickly that you nearly stumbled from the sudden lack of resistance.
âOkay,â he said, lifting his hands where you could see them. âOkay. Iâm not trying to grab you.â
Of course you fought him on it. You had never reacted well to being handled like a problem someone else had already solved. Especially by him. By anyone, really. Your stubbornness could look almost pretty from a distance, all lifted chin and steady eyes, until someone got close enough to feel how brutal it became when you decided surrender would cost too much.
Steve had told himself he hated that about you more times than he could count.
âYouâre drunk,â Steve said.
The words landed colder than he intended. They were easier than every honest thing he refused to say. He couldnât stand the way those guys had been looking at you. You were drunk and warm and angry, still close enough for every old instinct in him to start making promises he had no right to keep. Some selfish part of him still reacted to you like you were his problem. Like you were still his person. Even after everything.
Your eyes narrowed on him, and even through the soft blur of alcohol, the anger in your expression came through clearly enough to make his stomach sink. Beneath it was something wounded and familiar, the kind of hurt he recognized too quickly and still did not know how to face.
Steve knew that look too well to pretend it was only anger. You looked at him that way when you had already decided he was about to disappoint you and were bracing yourself to be right.
âSo you think I need saving?â you demanded, your brows drawing together as if the question itself offended you.
Your voice rose enough to draw curious glances from the people closest to you. Steve stepped closer when he noticed people pretending not to listen. The hallway had gone nosy in that awful party way, everyone glancing over while pretending their own conversations still had their attention.
He lowered his voice near your ear, close enough that no one else would hear him make the mistake he already felt coming.
âI thinkââ Steve stopped, jaw tight. âI know you deserve better than this.â
For one brief second, something in your expression shifted. The anger stayed, but it faltered long enough for him to glimpse the girl he used to know, back before every conversation between you became a contest in who could care less convincingly. The girl who used to sit beside him on quiet summer nights, talking until the streetlights hummed overhead and neither of you wanted to go home first. The girl who had trusted him once, before he gave you reasons to stop.
Before he got scared and dressed it up as honesty.
Before you believed him enough to leave.
Then you blinked, lifted your chin, and whatever he had almost reached closed off before he could touch it.
âGo to hell, Steve.â
You turned sharply and headed for the front door, pride carrying you almost three full steps before your foot caught on the bunched-up doormat. Steve reached out on instinct, then stopped when you caught yourself against the doorframe before he could touch you again.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose.
You were somehow even more stubborn when you were drunk.
Unfortunately for both of you, Steve Harrington had spent years learning how to survive stubborn Hendersons. That kind of knowledge didnât come all at once. It came from years of kitchen arguments, half-apologies in driveways, slammed bedroom doors, and Dustin shouting through walls like volume could fix emotional damage.
He had learned it from the way you stormed off mid-argument with your chin lifted high enough to make defiance look like a life raft. He had learned it from the way you refused to look at him and still somehow knew exactly where he was standing. He had learned it every time you tried to outrun your own feelings and ended up circling right back to them, furious with everyone else for noticing.
Mostly, he had learned that you didnât stop just because someone told you to. If Steve wanted you to listen, he had to give you a reason worth stopping for.
So when you pulled free with one hard twist of your wrist and spun toward the door, Steve didnât pretend to be surprised.
You moved fast, hair whipping across your shoulder as you shoved through the front door without looking back, disappearing into the night with the same furious certainty you brought to arguments you had already decided to win.
The door fell shut behind you. It barely made a sound, only a soft clap of wood against the frame, but Steve still felt it land somewhere behind his ribs.
For a second, Steve stayed in the entryway, caught between giving you space and remembering how often space had turned into silence between you.
The party swallowed him again the second you were gone. Someone shrieked near the kitchen. A bottle clinked against the counter. The music kept pulsing through the walls, thick and mindless, while the house carried on around him as if nothing important had happened.
When Steve pushed the door open and stepped outside, the night hit him all at once.
The open air should have helped. Before Starcourt, it probably would have. Now even quiet took him a second to trust.
Warm air clung to his skin, heavy with cut grass, damp pavement, and the dusty smell of the gravel road beyond the yard. Behind him, the music dulled as the door swung shut, sinking into the walls until it became a muffled thud beneath the softer sounds of the night: crickets in the tall grass, leaves shifting overhead, laughter drifting from the backyard where people lingered beneath the string lights.
The porch light spilled across the steps in a warm square and stretched his shadow across the lawn.
You were already halfway across it.
You walked like anger was the only thing holding you together. Your shoulders were tense, your posture rigid, every step aimed toward the road with enough purpose that Steve knew calling your name would only make you move faster.
For a moment, he watched you go.
Your hair moved against your back as you crossed in and out of the porch light, dark one second, gold-edged the next. From there, you looked untouchable, almost unreal against the ordinary Hawkins dark, and Steve hated how easily his mind still turned you into that. Into something distant. Something impossible. Something he had already lost before he even opened his mouth.
Steve exhaled hard through his nose and followed.
He knew calling your name would only make you move faster. He knew it before he opened his mouth, because you would cross the whole damn yard on pure spite before giving him the satisfaction of stopping.
He called after you anyway.
âY/N, wait.â
His voice carried too clearly through the quiet yard, cutting over the crickets and the muffled bass leaking from the house behind him.
You didnât look back.
Your pace quickened, your shoes brushing harshly through the grass as if you could outwalk the sound of him through sheer force of will.
Steve dragged a hand through his hair as frustration tightened behind his ribs. âYou know Iâm not just gonna let youââ
He stopped before the sentence could finish itself.
Let you what? Walk home? Be angry? Make your own choices?
The answer should have been simple. Standing there with you storming toward the road, it wasnât.
âY/N,â he called again, sharper than he meant to.
That one reached you. He saw it in the small break of your stride, in the way your shoulders tightened beneath the porch light while every part of you seemed to fight the urge to turn around.
Then you kept going. Faster, of course, because stopping would mean admitting his voice could still reach you.
Steve closed the distance in a few long strides. He cut across the lawn and got ahead of you, planting himself between you and the road.
You stopped short, your whole body pulling back as if the sight of him there offended you on principle.
âSeriously?â you snapped.
Steve lifted both hands, palms open, trying to look less like an obstacle after planting himself directly in your path.
âIâm not grabbing you,â he said, breath uneven from the quick walk across the yard. âIâm trying really hard to avoid making this worse.â
Your mouth tightened, and Steve could practically see the argument taking shape before you opened your mouth.
He got there first.
âLet me walk you home.â
You stared at him like he had said something much worse.
His voice came out lower than he meant it to, stripped down by the quiet yard and the sick feeling sitting beneath his ribs. The anger had gone out of him somewhere between the porch and the lawn. What remained sounded tired. Worried too, though Steve wished that part were less obvious. Honest enough that he knew he would regret it the second you found a way to use it against him.
âPlease,â he added, softer this time. âYou can hate me the whole way there. I donât care. Just donât walk home alone.â
His voice stayed low, stripped of the sharp edge he usually reached for when a fight started feeling too honest. The tiredness in it made you angrier. Honest Steve was always harder to argue with than defensive Steve.
âHonestly, Henderson, Iâm kind of counting on it.â He added.
Your brows pulled together.
âI donât need you,â you said, the words unsteady enough to betray the alcohol and sharp enough to pretend they hadnât. âAnd iâm glad you find this funny, asshole.â
Steve had the sudden sense that you had carried those words across the lawn like a weapon, waiting until you were close enough to make them hurt.
Steve kept his hands where they were. The instinct still pulled at him. He hated that most. Some stupid, panicked part of him still wanted to catch your wrist, hold you still, and make you listen long enough to understand that he was trying to help.
He kept his hands open at his sides and stayed planted between you and the road, like an idiot who had convinced himself that being less wrong counted as being right.
Your glare fixed on him with enough heat that Steve almost missed being ignored.
âYou donât get to do this,â you said.
He swallowed, even though he knew better than to ask. âDo what?â
âThis.â You gestured sharply between the two of you, like the word could barely hold everything you meant. âShowing up out of nowhere. Acting like nothing happened.â
Steve studied you for a moment, really looked, in the way he knew you hated because it made hiding from him almost impossible.
He saw the tight line of your jaw first, then the rigid set of your shoulders, then the way your eyes kept skimming over his face without settling for more than a second. You were trying so hard to look furious that anyone else might have missed the hurt underneath.
Steve didnât miss it.
He had never been good at missing you.
âWalking you home isnât exactly a crime,â he said quietly.
âThat is so clearly beside the point.â
âThen what is?â
That stopped you.
Steve watched the answer rise behind your eyes and get stuck before it reached your mouth. For once, your own silence seemed to catch you off guard, as if you had expected the anger to keep carrying you and hated him for finding the place where it gave out.
For all your sharp edges, all your big talk and practiced indifference, you were nowhere near ready to say it out loud.
You reached for anger again.
Your mouth tightened, and you tried to step around him, your shoulder brushing his as you made for the road.
This time, Steve let you pass. He turned with you instead, falling into step half a pace behind your shoulder, close enough to stay with you and far enough away to prove he had heard you.
Your frustration sharpened. âYouâre unbelievable.â
âSo youâve told me,â he said, because apparently self-preservation had abandoned him somewhere between the porch and the lawn.
âSteve,â you warned, and somehow his name sounded worse than an insult.
Your mouth tightened around the next words before you said them, as if some part of you knew exactly where they would land.
âI donât need you anymore.â
Steve went still.
For a second, the yard quieted around him. The crickets, the muffled music behind the door, the distant laughter from the backyard â all of it thinned until there was only your face and that sentence between you.
He could have argued. A younger version of him would have. He would have gotten defensive, said something stupid, and turned hurt into volume because volume was easier than admitting you had found the place that still bruised.
Steve swallowed once and nodded.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âI heard you.â
That threw you more than an argument would have.
He glanced toward the road, then back at you. âIâm not standing here while you walk home drunk in the dark just because youâre pissed at me. Let me get you home, and then you can slam the door in my face.â
Your eyes narrowed.
His mouth twitched, though the rest of his face stayed serious.
For a long moment, neither of you said anything.
The night settled closer around you, warm and humming with crickets, the music inside reduced to a muffled thud behind the door. You hated the way Steve looked at you then, like he could still tell which parts of your anger were real and which parts had been built to keep him away.
You wanted to shove past him. You wanted to say something cruel enough to make him finally stop looking at you like he understood. You wanted to burn whatever was left between you before he could find a way to touch it again.
You didnât move.
Something in you faltered, too small for anyone else to notice. Your anger stayed bright enough to hide behind, though for one brief second it lost its aim.
The silence stretched between you, crowded with everything the two of you had never learned how to say when it mattered. You could feel it in the careful space between his body and yours, in the way he held himself back, in the way your own feet stayed planted even though every sensible part of you knew they should move.
You wanted to step away. You wanted to tell him to leave you alone with enough conviction that he would have no choice but to believe you.
Instead, you stayed there, caught between anger and the part of you that still knew exactly how close he was standing.
Then you tried to move past him.
It was barely anything, just a shift of your shoulder and one stubborn step toward the road, but Steve reacted before either of you could think. His hand lifted, careful this time, catching yours for half a second when you brushed against him.
His thumb brushed once over the inside of your wrist.
Both of you went still.
His thumb had found the small birthmark there, the one he used to kiss when you were younger and reckless enough to believe tenderness could survive anything.
Steve dropped your hand almost immediately, as if the memory had burned him.
Your breath caught anyway.
The night settled around you again, warm and quiet except for the crickets and the muffled pulse of music behind the door. Whatever had opened at the brush of his thumb stayed open after he let go. It stayed there, fragile and awful, pulling the memory of your breakup into the space between you without either of you saying a word.
You broke first.
You pulled your hand back, firmly enough to remind both of you that the moment had gone soft too quickly and you were nowhere near ready to admit it.
Steve didnât stop you.
This time, he let you take the first step toward the street.
Then he followed at your side.
Neither of you said anything as you crossed the yard and stepped onto the road.
The silence had weight. It moved with you, caught in the careful distance Steve kept from your side, in the stubborn angle of your face turned toward the road, in the way you refused to look at him while still noticing every step he took.
Steve filled that silence with lies.
He told himself he did this for Dustin. For Claudia, too, because Mrs. Henderson would skin him alive if she found out he had let you walk home drunk in the dark. For Robin, who would give him that awful knowing look over the Family Video counter and ask when, exactly, he had become so committed to being an idiot.
He gathered excuses as you walked, one after another, and each one fell apart before the next driveway.
He wanted to be there.
He wanted to be the person walking beside you in the dark, close enough to catch the first unsteady step and far enough away to let you pretend his presence meant nothing. He wanted the miserable privilege of being near you after you had looked him in the face and told him there was no place left for him in your life.
He glanced over at you, at the stubborn line of your profile turned toward the road, and felt something old settle back into place with a pain so familiar it almost felt ordinary.
He had spent so long arranging his life around the loss of you that he had started calling the shape it left behind progress.
Walking beside you now, with summer pressing warm against his skin and your anger keeping pace beside him, Steve ran out of room to pretend.
He loved you.
He had built an entire life around keeping that fact quiet.
End of August
pairing: best friend!steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 3.7k words
description: the summer changed you two forever.
important warnings: 18+ content, MDNI!!, no use of y/n or descriptors but reader has a backstory, no smut just angst, this one is heavy, mentions of intense depression and ptsd, flashbacks to childhood, steve's has medical issues in the aftermath of s3, reader is mentally unstable, mentions of using alcohol to cope with it, nightmares, using medication, rejection, kissing, no happy ending (yet).
this is a multi-part series: part one - two
author's note: hank you all for the love on this series. i have so much more to share with you. I promise the love and happiness is coming soon, just gotta get them through the rough stuff. pls like, reblog, and comment <3
playlist while listening: end of august by noah kahan / the cure by olivia rodrigo / fine line by harry styles / peace by taylor swift
You were a terrible smoker.
You were always attempting to take in more smoke than your lungs could handle. The coughs and hacks were constant and guttural.
The Art of Weakness Masterlist
Summary: When you were a child you had a best friend, a little blonde boy who you used to do everything with until the reaping came and he was stolen away from you. His face is muddled in your memory now, his name a whisper on the tides you roamed in District 4 until his horrible fate became your own. Katniss Everdeen was not the first girl to volunteer for one she loved. This is the story of a girl and a boy, a tribute and a game, a victor and a rebellion;
This is your story.
Pairing(s): Finnick Odair x District 4!fem!reader
Warning(s): MDNI! Canon typical violence, descriptions of gore, a less kid-friendly take on the Hunger Games universe, mentions of SA and forced prostitution (Finnick is the love interest guys bfr), some chapters contain smut, read the hashtags for the rest!!
Word count: 54.681k
âââââââââââ Chapters đ
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
âââââââââââ Headcannons and Art đ
Y/n and Scyllaâs Reaping Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter One)
Y/n and Blytheâs Tribute Parade Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter Three)
Y/n and Blytheâs Interview Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapter Seven)
Y/n and her Allieâs Arena Outfits â (Spoilers for Chapters Eight/Nine)
THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY
he loves you through wormholes and back!
synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.
pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso
wc: 14.8k
content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair
art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333
âYouâre literally the prettiest girl on the planet.âÂ
You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, âJust this planet?âÂ
âAll of them,â he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour.Â
If he could, heâd swallow you whole and take you with him to space.Â
Pack you up and bring you with him.Â
But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldnât approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position.Â
âI donât want you to go,â you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips.Â
âI know,â he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. âItâs just six months.âÂ
A routine mission.Â
It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldnât totally drag by. He hadnât planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment.Â
Still, considering the fact that heâd only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasnât just him it was hard on.Â
âIt feels like forever,â you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That heâd give up exploring the reset of the universe if youâd be his wife. âIâm so tired of missing you.âÂ
âBaby,â he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face.Â
He didnât want to do this to you. Didnât want to be the guy that wasnât there for you.Â
But this was all just temporary. Soon heâd have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play.Â
Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his.Â
âDonât baby me,â you defensively murmured.Â
âBut youâre my baby,â he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. âAnd youâre gonna be my wife when I get back.âÂ
He liked the ring of it.Â
His wife.
All his.Â
\( á)/ gojo stands you up
Itâs his fault tonight, as is most times. He loves you. He wishes he could do whatever you asked of him. But, Jujutsu society has other plans for him sometimes.
Work. Itâs always work that takes immediate priority. Time and time again.
Itâs two in the morning. His brain feels like itâs been scrambled fifteen times over and cooked on medium heat, then refried again and finally lit on fire. The cursed spirit he spent the last eight hours exorcisingâwith a technique of immediate reincarnationâleft him to utilize hollow purple in rural-side Japan to avoid casualties, his reversed curse technique to heal himself constantly when he was exhausted, and then teleport way too far of a distance just to get back to you.
Even if it was hours after the date night you had planned for him.
It makes him wince when he tries to envision it allâcandles and rose petals decorating the penthouse. Takeout since you canât cook for the life of you. Waiting at the dining table in that pretty red dress he bought for you last month, hair and makeup done, practically begging to be ruined by him afterwards. Eating dinner by yourself when you realize that maybe he isnât showing up and heading off to bed.
He wanted to text you, really. But that fucking curse knocked his phone from his pocket mid-air and sent it into the brush of the prairieâthe screen cracked and device completely unusable.
âSweetheart,â he starts softly, his voice echoing in the uncomfortably empty space. He recalls when he left the place practically vacant aside from his mattress, not even caring to furnish the place until he met you. Made a home with you.
He toes his shoes off and tosses his uniform jacket on the couch as he passes the threshold. His bandage hangs loosely around his neck, his Six Eyes barely able to ascertain anything while a grimace of pain passes his face. His cursed energy reserves are running low, and he doesnât have the power to heal himself right now.
He can only recharge with you.
She Got Away
pairing: Frank Langdon x reader ; Dennis Whitaker x reader (not at the same time)
word count: 2.1 k
warnings: ANGST, fluff, love triangle???? This is more of a Frank Langdon story!! Mention of rehab (implied addiction - Frank), mention of divorce, kissing, jealousy, cursing, mention of falling asleep together on the same bed
a/n: I felt angsty, and typed it out. I really wanted to explore this dynamic, inspired by Frank and Dennis this season. The ending is sort of open ended (I may do a part 2đ)
Let me know if I should add more warnings
Feedback, comments and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks!
NO SMUT but Minors DNI
â~â~â~â~â
After coming back from rehab, Frank was still finding his way back to his old colleagues, some were more accepting, some well-
When Perlah and Princess planned a birthday party for Dana, and everyone pitched in, even if Frank was not in the mood for socialising he agreed, he needed to feel⊠like he belonged there.
another man's jeans masterlist
a frank langdon exes to roommates to lovers fic
this fic is COMPLETED.
It's been a long ten months for Frank Langdon. Rehab, endless meetings to prove he's fit for his job, and losing you.
It's his own fault. He knows that. He couldn't handle the pressure of his entire life going to shit, and combusted, destroying your life in the process. If things had gone to plan, the two of you would've been married by now. Instead, you're near strangers, and Frank doesn't know how long he can watch you date a guy that absolutely doesn't deserve you.
Until you turn up on his doorstep, with nowhere else to go after being kicked out by your ex.
And so, Frank Langdon's second chance begins.
warnings: 18+, mdni! this fic will feature medical gore, a little bit of violence, and explicit sex. more detailed warnings on each chapter individually
prologue
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
True Blue
based on this request <3
pairing - dennis âhuckleberryâ whitaker x reader
word count - 6.9k (nice)
summary - dennis' blue eyes are the calm in your storm.
cw - workplace assault, choking, men (derogatory)
a/n - lowk wanna do something like this for all the pitt babes. already have one kind of planned for robby. happy pitt finaleđ„Č
---
đą đđđđđđ loved you.
He didn't really know what love was. Wasn't raised with it. Never understood it.
But he loved you.
The pretty servant girl who would sneak into the dreary hallways in which he would guard his brother's room. With your bright eyes and sunny smile as you prattled about your day.
His first friend, is what he called you. One of the first people to look at him and see something more than a failed attempt. Who looked him in the eye and saw more than just his brother's six.
His first friend, his first love,
And his greatest failure.
Satoshi wished he had never held your hand, that day under the moonlight when he snuck you both into the garden.
Satoshi wished he never let you fall asleep in his arms, that night where your dreams frightened you and you crawled into his bed at the far side of the Gojo Estate.
Satoshi wished he never kissed you. Dazzled in the afternoon sun, by the pond in the gardens. Where two clumsy lovers tried to be a good first for one another.
But most of all, Satoshi wished he never said those three, stupid, dangerous words. Words that someone cursed by fate should never utter.
"I love you."
So soft to your ear you almost missed it. As he cradled you close to him. Snuggling atop the roof where you'd both sneak out to watch the stars.
Because maybe if he didn't, it'd have been easier.
Maybe if he didn't, you would still be here.
"Please."
It barely sounded like him. Barely sounded like anything equating to strength as his knees thumped against the hardwood floors of the Gojo Estate. Shoulders slumped. Blood dripping from the wound slashed over his eye. Pooling on his trembling hands that laid flat on the floor. Head bowed. White hair matted, maced with blood, hung over his bleeding eyes.
"Please, god please. Please don't hurt her. It was my mistake. I was. I wasâ"
"Distracted." The elder cut in, his harsh voice the final nail in your coffin.
"So distracted by a lowly servant that you neglected your duty."
He spat. Right onto Satoshi's shaking hands. His breath felt like glass. His lungs like thorns.
"Please don't hurt her," he begged. Oh, he begged. "It was my mistake. I was the one that failed. But she had nothing toâ"
"She's dead."
His shoulders froze.
His lungs followed.
Heart froze.
Mind froze.
His very soul.
Froze.
Scarlet streaked down his pale face as he slowly, shatteredly so, rose his head. His words lost.
"What?" His whisper feared.
The elders only shook their heads. Scoffed as they walked past the failed heir kneeling before them as if he were some lowly beggar.
"She couldn't survive her own punishment. Serves her right. Maybe now, you'll focus on your duty."
Satoshi's breath ragged. Shoulders slumped. He shut his eyes that felt like a thousand needles and tried to remember your smile, as he was left alone.
Stewing in the reality that he killed.
He. Killed you.
He loved you.
Satoshi loved you.
Loved you to your death. A stain he'd carry to his.
© đđđđđđđđđđđđđđđ. no plagiarism or ai training authorised.
What almost was
Frank Langdon X fem!reader:
Warnings: graphic medical scenes, severe blood and injury, emotional trauma, intense hospital emergency, near-death experiences, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort vibes, happy ending, established relationship, suggestive language, possible inaccurate medical terms
Word count: 3.4K The Pitt masterlist
a/n: this was requested by a lovely anon
You were pulled out of your dream by the shrill screeching of your alarm. Your body flinched out of sleep, a groan escaping your lips as the noise continued to blare.
For some reason, Frank liked to be woken by what he referred to as âsounds of nature,â which meant that for the past four years youâd been waking up to the sound of roosters cawing.
Youâd tried to tell Frank that people hadnât woken up to that sound since maybe the 1800s, but he didnât seem to care.
Frank liked waking up like he was living on a farm, and you liked seeing him wake up happy, so you sacrificed your earbuds in the name of love.
It did not, however, mean you enjoyed it.
Deathmatch
Who are you?
Sypnosis: Sleep-deprived, you start imagining things that aren't there until your friends step in. Everything seems to be going fine, until one day a stranger enters your life.
Pairing: reader x Gojo
Tags/Content Warnings: MDNI/18+ only, college au, liiilll bit of fluff before everything goes to shit, heartbreak, bittersweet, angst, blood & injuries (a lot of it), depictions of wounds (not a lot but just a small warning I guess), death, (minor) character deaths, gore, stalking, feelings of going insane, psychological mind tricks, hurt/no comfort, reader is quite introverted
Word Count: 16.9k
A/N: Ty for the 1k, lovelies! đ€ Divider by @/strangergraphics art by @/3aem on x
Thereâs blood everywhere. On hands, clothes, cabinets, windowsâthere's even a bit on the ceiling. And of course, thereâs also blood pooling in thick crimson under the body. Multiple lacerations and stab wounds were oozing the red, sticky substance.
Their eyes are unfocused and hazed over, lips bloodied while they splutter out the last words before finally taking their last breath, head lolling to the side just slightly. Blood keeps pooling, getting under feet, and seeping through socks.
Red and blue lights are flashing outside, illuminating the crime scene in different colors. Standing there, heaving their chests while looking down onto the knife in their hand, which is shaking slightly. Knuckles bloodied and raw.
Blood mixes on the ground below, a mix of DNA into a raw mess thatâs undeniable to anyone who sees the scene.
Sirens cut through the night, though muffled by the adrenaline. The door bursts open, policemen with their guns already drawn telling the person to drop the knife and put their hands behind their head.
Everything is a blur, but one thing is clear. Someone was murdered, and there is no doubt who did it.
The screen illuminates your face in blue and red, casting your bedroom into shadows. The popcorn youâre eating is starting to feel slightly staleâhaving been too engrossed in the movie, you only just started eating it.
It was a good movie, honestly. You never thought she would actually kill him, but then again, you shouldâve seen it coming.
Wiping your hand on your shirt, you close the movie out, getting the track pad of your laptop slightly dirty. Turning the device off, your only source of light are the small fairy lights that are strung behind your bed, casting the room in a soft orange glow.
Out of Bounds - r.sukuna x you (non curse jjk au)
synopsis: The rise, the fall, and the silence in between. After an injury nearly cost you your passion, youâre back on campus as a third-year transfer, desperate to leave your volleyball legacy in the past. But the school league is persistent, and Ryomen Sukuna is worse. As a powerhouse in the local baseball scene, Sukuna is as rough as he is talented, and for some reason, heâs decided to make your life a living hell. You both hate each otherâs gutsâa rivalry fueled by sharp tongues and locker-room tension. But as the lines between hate and obsession begin to blur, you have to wonder: will this chaos be your saving grace, or a deeper kind of hurt?
chapter 2 out, chapter 3 OUT NOW!
Chapter 1: The kinetic friction
For most juniors, the first day of the fall semester was a victory lap. For you - it felt like a sentencing. You adjusted the strap of your north face backpack, feeling the familiar, faint pull in your left knee - a ghost of a pop that still echoed in your nightmares.
Just walk normally.
The transfer orientation packet was crumpled in your hand as you navigated the brick-lined quad of the sports science building. You were a third-year, but you felt like a freshman. People were shouting, reuniting after summer in a far away island, or just a town that felt like home before finally going back to college. Some were tossing footballs with a casual grace that made your stomach twist. You used to be the one they watched. Now, you were just a girl with a gap year and a story people whispered about in locker rooms.
You finished your rehab almost a month ago after being in a strict program for 9 months. There was no pain, but the fear was still there. Fear that your knees may give out anytime, fear of starting volleyball again, fear of the life thatâs in store for you in this new school.
âč àŁȘ Ëđ°ïžàË. á”á”đïž spy au where field agent!gojo is in love with the voice in his earpiece â mission supervisor!you.
contents. gojo x fem reader! secret service au or smth âą fluff fluff fluff âą down bad gojo âą mutual pining âą minor description of injuries âą inspired by my love for spy movies and gojo satoru <33 âą art in the header by @linobii_
part 1: for the last 2 years, gojoâs favourite thing has been hearing your voice accompany his every move on his missions. you are his guardian angel of sorts.
part 2: he gets depressed and pouty when he finds out you have been reassigned to supervise someone elseâs mission and left him stuck with ijichi.
part 3: gojo gets injured on a mission and you have to be there for him.
part 4: coming soonâŠ