A

"That's the thing about life; everything feels so permanent, but you can disappear in an instant." F. She/her. Likes to get lost in books. Introvert with a lot of opinions. Content meant for 18+. Minors DNI. :)

[nowprettybbyimrunning]

smashingkeys69 collection⭑.ᐟ

my navigation ao3 link

this is not a series per se and won't be written in a lineal timeline but there is a tiny bit of plot.

to be tagged in any upcoming parts comment this post.

my requests are open for any ideas you might have or want to read whether it be smut or why not even fluff <3

smashingkeys69 you've been talking to someone with the username smashingkeys69 on a private chat site for some weeks, oblivious to the fact that the guy behind the profile is your coworker, who you might not be too fond of.

smashingkeys 69 2.0 it's been a month since you found out that smashingkeys69 is your coworker. you have been fucking at work ever since then, and today is not the exception.

smashingkeys69 3.0 you cant sleep at night and decide to try out a web page mouser sent you, only for it to be a sexting site.

[certaimromance]

✦ Five Reasons To Date a Genius.

Spencer Reid x Secret Lover!reader

2k tea party | main masterlist

Summary: The first time you go out with the team without Spencer, they make it their mission to explain why you should absolutely date him. The problem? You already are. And have been for months.

Words: 4,4k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. secret relationship. mentions of alcohol, injuries, typical cm stuff. neither hotch nor rossi are present because it is a conversation not approved by parents. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: Welcome to the first fic of my 2k celebration! I had so much fun writing this and I really hope you enjoy it. I missed writing Spencer so badly, my beloved boy♡

Seeing the things you saw every day never got easier. It never dulled. Not truly. No matter how many cases you closed, how many reports you filed, or how many reassurances you whispered to yourself that it was “just part of the job,” the images lodged themselves stubbornly behind your eyes. They resurfaced in the fragile, half-lit space between waking and sleep, where logic dissolved, where the world felt unmoored and memory ran riot. Some nights, they came at you in jagged shards. Faces without names, eyes wide with terror, blood that would not wash from your hands, screams that looped endlessly in your mind, refusing to be silenced. Other nights, the horror didn’t take shape, didn’t insist on narrative. It simply pressed down, a dull, omnipresent ache inside your skull that pulsed with every heartbeat, dragging your thoughts through viscous fog. Hours after the case had technically concluded, you still felt it there, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness, leaving you unsteady, as if your brain itself had lost the ability to process the world normally.

Pretending you were fine, the practiced mask you showed the victims’ families as they sobbed into your shoulder, had long become second nature. But pretending you weren’t in love with your coworker required a level of discipline you could only maintain for so long.

Especially not here, wedged into a booth at a dimly lit bar with the low hum of conversation pressing in from all sides. The room was full of profilers, which somehow made everything worse. Too many observant eyes. Too many people trained to notice the smallest deviations in behavior, the slightest changes in posture or tone. You nursed your drink carefully, letting the cold glass ground you, while Emily sat close enough that her knee bumped yours every time she shifted, and Penelope hovered on your other side like a bright, determined force of nature, utterly committed to the idea that you were going to have fun, whether your nervous system agreed or not.

Morgan and JJ laughed loudly at something Penelope said, and for a moment you let yourself smile along with them, letting the music and the alcohol blur the sharp edges of the day. They kept refilling your glass, kept asking questions, kept dragging you into conversations that required just enough focus to keep your thoughts from spiraling back to the case. It was sweet, really, their way of anchoring you to the present, but it also made the knot in your chest tighten. Because Spencer wasn’t there. And without him across the room, without the subtle weight of his gaze finding you instinctively, you felt off-balance, like you’d lost a familiar point of reference.

But he had taken a few days off. A minor injury, he said, just a cut and a bruise above his eyebrow, the result of protecting you from an unsub who had come too close. Now he was away, tending to his mother, and the world felt off in his absence. It was selfish, of course, to miss him this much. And yet, every instinct in your body longed for him: the quiet presence across the table, the faint scent he left on his coat, the way his nervous energy somehow steadied your own. You traced the rim of your glass absentmindedly, wishing for him to materialize from the crowd, wishing for the familiar tilt of his head, the low hum of thought behind his eyes.

Damn.

“That guy definitely wants something,” Emily said beside you, leaning in with a grin as she gestured toward the bar. You followed her gaze to the man who had been stealing glances at you all night, confidence written into his posture. A moment later, a bartender appeared, setting a sleek, expensive-looking drink in front of you with a nod in the man’s direction.

You barely hesitated before sliding the glass away. “I’m not interested, thanks,” you said, firm but polite, pushing it back toward the bartender.

JJ raised her eyebrows, amused. “Wow. Not even a sip?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” you replied, shrugging, though your fingers curled a little tighter around your own glass.

Penelope gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Do you realize how hot you have to be for strangers to just send you drinks? You’re wasting valuable flirting potential.”

Emily laughed. “She does this every time. Completely unfazed. It’s impressive, honestly.”

“You know,” Morgan said suddenly, eyeing you over the rim of his bottle, a teasing glint in his eyes, “this would be a lot easier if you just had a boyfriend.”

JJ nodded along, grinning. “Seriously. It’d save us all the trouble of watching men strike out all night.”

You rolled your eyes, heat creeping up your neck. “I’m doing just fine without one.”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, clearly unconvinced. “Sure you are. You turn down free drinks, avoid flirting, and spend half the night staring at the door like you’re waiting for someone.”

JJ tilted her head, studying you with that calm, perceptive expression that made suspects crumble. “You know,” she said slowly, “you don’t act like someone who’s single.”

Oh.

You laughed, a little too quickly. “There’s no correct way to act single.”

Morgan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Sure there is. And you don’t fit it. You turn down drinks, avoid flirting, and spend most of the night talking about work or—” he paused, grinning, “—Reid.”

“What? I do not,” you protested.

Emily smiled into her glass. “You do. Constantly. Did you even realize you quoted one of his fun facts earlier?”

“That was relevant,” you said defensively. “And we’re friends.”

“Friends,” Penelope echoed, drawing the word out. “Interesting. Because the way you say his name is not very platonic.”

You rolled your eyes, but your face felt warm. “He’s my coworker. We work well together. That’s all.”

“Oh no,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “You don’t just work well together. You orbit each other. It’s painful to watch.”

JJ nodded. “You finish his sentences. He checks your reactions before he answers questions in briefings. And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you always end up sitting next to each other on the jet.”

“That’s coincidence,” you said immediately.

Except it wasn’t.

Not really.

Coincidence didn’t explain the way your fingers found each other in the narrow space beneath the shared blanket on long flights, skin brushing just once before intertwining. Didn’t explain the quiet weight of his hand resting against your knee when the lights dimmed and everyone else slept. Didn’t explain the chess table in hotel lobbies, the board between you like plausible deniability while his thumb traced slow circles against your knuckles. The way you both froze at the slightest sound, then smiled innocently when someone passed by.

You had learned how to hide. How to make it look accidental. How to pull away a second before it became obvious.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Because I’ve taken three different seats to test that theory, and somehow you two still end up shoulder to shoulder.”

Your stomach dipped. You forced a careless shrug, lifting your glass as if this were amusing rather than terrifying.

“The jet isn’t exactly spacious,” you said. “Statistically, proximity is inevitable.”

Penelope leaned in closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing state secrets. “Also, he brings you coffee. Not just coffee, your coffee. No one memorizes an oat-milk-to-cinnamon ratio like that for a friend.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “He’s thoughtful. That’s just how Spencer is.”

“Exactly,” JJ said gently. “Thoughtful. Kind. Loyal. And completely in love with you.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He is not.”

Morgan smirked. “Kid looks at you like you’re the only stable thing in his universe.”

Emily added, “Like you make the world quieter for him.”

Penelope sighed dreamily. “Like if the universe ever collapses, it’ll be because you weren’t holding his hand.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands for a second. “You’re all being ridiculous.”

“Are we?” JJ asked softly. “Because I’ve seen him panic when you’re hurt. He forgets procedure. He forgets everything except you.”

Morgan nodded. “I’ve never seen Reid jealous before. Then some consultant flirted with you and suddenly he’s giving me a ten-minute lecture on territorial behavior in primates.”

You stared at your drink. “We’re just friends,” you repeated, quieter now, like saying it enough times might make it true in the way they needed it to be.

Emily clinked her glass gently against yours. “Then you should start to date him.”

You smiled, a reflex more than a reaction, and let your gaze drop to your hands. If only she knew. If only she knew that “starting” had happened months ago, not with a confession or a dramatic moment, but in the slow accumulation of small things. In conversations that stretched past midnight because neither of you wanted to be the first to say goodnight. In the way Spencer learned the exact cadence of your voice when you were tired and adjusted himself accordingly, by speaking softer, moving closer, offering presence instead of solutions.

By the time the night stretched into that hazy, in-between hour where the music grew louder and the conversations looser, the team had clearly decided this was no longer casual teasing.

This was a campaign.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, lifting his bottle like he was delivering a closing argument. “Okay,” he said, grinning, “let’s be logical about this. You have to date Reid, and we have reasons. One: free lectures on literally anything. Guaranteed safety on trivia nights. And if you ever forget a birthday? He won’t. Ever. Man’s brain is a steel trap.”

You scoffed lightly, even as your heart gave an involuntary, traitorous flutter. “I don’t need to date someone for trivia night.”

What you didn’t say was that Spencer already remembered the dates that mattered, without prompts or reminders or jokes made at his expense. He remembered the day your fingers brushed for the first time, both of you startled by how electric something so small could feel. He remembered the anniversary of the case that left you hollowed out, the one that made your hands shake for days afterward. He remembered the exact time you had once texted him I can’t sleep, the message sent in the dead of night when you were sure no one would answer, and how he’d shown up at your door less than twenty minutes later, hair rumpled, jacket half-zipped, eyes dark with concern, holding two mismatched mugs of tea like they were offerings meant to ward off your fear.

And of course, he remembered the first time you kissed. That quiet moment before a case, adrenaline still buzzing under your skin, his hands trembling slightly where they rested at your waist. The way he’d paused, breath warm against your cheek, asking softly if this was okay, as if you might change your mind at the last second. The way the world had narrowed to just the two of you when you hadn’t.

Penelope leaned across the table then, bracelets chiming as her eyes sparkled with unfiltered conviction. Her voice dropped, earnest and conspiratorial all at once.

“Wrong,” she said. “You need to date someone who adores you. And Spencer Reid?” She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Worships the ground you walk on. Respectfully. With footnotes.”

You swallowed because that wasn’t exaggeration. Not even a little. Spencer loved you the way he loved knowledge: with reverence, with humility, with a kind of awe that treated you as something to be understood and safeguarded rather than claimed. He asked before touching you, even after months together, even when your body already knew the shape of his. Asked if he could hold your hand, if he could kiss your shoulder, if it was okay to stay the night. Every question spoken softly, like consent was not just a rule but a philosophy he lived by.

And when you teased him for it, when you smiled and told him he didn’t have to ask every time, he would flush, ears going pink, eyes impossibly sincere as he said, very seriously,

“I never want to assume I have the right to you.”

The memory settled heavy and warm in your chest, almost painful in its tenderness. You stared down at your drink, the ice melting slowly, and wondered how long you could keep pretending this was all just hypothetical.

JJ laughed. “Two, he’s amazing with kids.”

Oh.

Oh no.

You choked on your drink, the burn sharp as it went down the wrong way, coughing as you leaned forward, eyes watering slightly.

“Why,” you managed, setting the glass down harder than necessary, “are we talking about kids?”

Emily shrugged, smirking. “Because I’ve seen him with Henry. He kneels to talk at eye level, explains things like they matter, and somehow turns explaining space-time into a bedtime story.”

Your laughter never came.

Instead, your thoughts slipped traitorously inward, drifting to a quiet night you rarely let yourself linger on for too long. The room had been dark except for the thin spill of streetlight through the curtains. Spencer had been staring at the ceiling, hands folded tightly over his chest, voice unsteady in that way it only ever was when he let himself be vulnerable with you. He’d said he wasn’t sure he’d ever be good enough for a future like that. Not just kids, but the whole fragile idea of permanence. A house. A dog. A life where someone depended on him in ways he might fail.

You’d rolled onto your side then, traced the familiar line of his jaw with your thumb. You’d told him that he was already the gentlest person you knew. That gentleness wasn’t weakness. That it was rare. Necessary.

He’d gone quiet after that. Too quiet. When you looked at him, his eyes were shining, glassy in the dark, like no one had ever named that part of him before. Like no one had ever framed him as enough. And then, hesitantly, like he was testing the safety of the idea, he’d started talking about names with interesting meanings, about how parenting shaped a person forever, about how words and care and patience could alter the entire trajectory of a life. You’d listened, heart aching in that hopeful, terrifying way, knowing how much trust it took for him to even imagine it out loud.

Morgan snapped his fingers sharply, pulling you back to the present.

“Exactly,” he said, grinning. “That man is dad material.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead. “We are not doing this.”

“We absolutely are,” Penelope said. “So, three, picture it. Reid as a husband? He’d over-research wedding venues. Color palettes. Statistically optimal cake flavors.”

JJ nodded thoughtfully. “He’d cry during the vows. And then apologize for crying.”

Emily added, “And then quote something obscure but devastatingly romantic.”

You stared at them. “You’re all insane.”

Morgan grinned. “You’d be insane not to marry him.”

“I am not marrying Spencer Reid,” you said quickly, and stopped. Because the word yet pressed so hard against your teeth it almost slipped free.

Penelope gasped. “Wow. You didn’t even hesitate. That denial was practiced.”

Because it was. Because you’d rehearsed it in your head every time you watched Spencer fall asleep beside you, glasses carefully set on the nightstand, one hand curled loosely in your shirt like he needed proof you were real. Because you already knew what forever would look like with him, and loving him in secret felt safer than risking a world that might take him from you.

JJ smiled into her glass. “Four, you already defend him like a spouse.”

“That is not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Emily said easily. “Every time someone underestimates him, you go feral.”

Morgan laughed. “Remember that sheriff who called him ‘the kid’? You verbally disassembled that man.”

“He deserved it.”

“Exactly,” Morgan said. “Wife behavior.”

You buried your face in your hands again. “He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t memorize each other’s stress tells,” JJ said gently. “You know when he’s about to spiral before he does.”

“And he knows when you’re pretending you’re fine,” Penelope added. “He brings you books instead of asking questions.”

Emily tilted her head. “You know what that’s called?”

You peeked through your fingers. “Don’t say it.”

“Domestic,” Emily said.

The table erupted in laughter.

Morgan wasn’t done. “Five, let’s talk logistics. You’d never argue over directions. He already knows the fastest route everywhere.”

JJ laughed. “Your kids would be terrifyingly smart.”

“Okay, absolutely not,” you said quickly. “We are shutting that down right now.”

Emily smirked. “Too late. I’m picturing curly-haired little geniuses who quote Shakespeare.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “And carry FBI badges at career day.”

You shook your head, cheeks burning, heart doing something dangerously unprofessional in your chest. “This is ridiculous.” And so lovely to imagine.

“Is it?” JJ asked softly. “Because every reason we’re giving you…you already know.”

For a moment, the teasing eased, not gone, just quieter. The music filled the space between you, the bar lights blurring slightly at the edges. You took a slow sip of your drink, staring down at the condensation on the glass.

Penelope smiled at you, gentler now. “We just think you deserve someone who looks at you the way Spencer Reid looks at you.”

Morgan nodded. “Like you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.”

You nodded slowly, still silent, heart pounding.

If they only knew that you already were.

That the man they were trying to convince you to date was the one who kissed your temple before briefings, who texted you goodnight even when you were in the same building, who held your hand in the dark when the world felt too heavy. That you were already his, in every way that mattered.

You took a slow breath, forcing your expression to stay neutral, even as your chest overflowed with something secret and devastatingly sweet.

Because they could give you a thousand reasons to date Spencer Reid.

And not a single one of them would come close to the reasons you already loved him.

The night unraveled slowly, the way nights like that always did, as if no one quite wanted to be the first to admit they were tired. Laughter faded into softer smiles, jokes trailed off mid-sentence, and the table became crowded with empty glasses and half-forgotten napkins, evidence of a shared attempt at normalcy. The music blurred into something distant and indistinct, no longer demanding attention. You said your goodbyes in a haze of hugs, promised Penelope—twice, because she insisted—to text when you got home, and accepted one last lingering look from Emily and JJ. It wasn’t accusatory. Just fond. Observant. It settled in your chest like a question they didn’t ask.

The cold air outside wrapped around you immediately, clearing the last traces of alcohol from your system. You breathed it in deeply as you walked, shoulders drawing up, the city quieter now, lights reflecting softly off damp pavement. By the time you reached your apartment building, the exhaustion you’d been holding at bay finally settled in. The familiar hum of the hallway lights greeted you, and you moved on autopilot, unlocking the door, slipping inside.

Your shoes came off just past the threshold. Your keys landed in the ceramic bowl by habit. You sighed, long and deep, body sagging as if it had finally been given permission to rest.

And then you froze.

There was a light on in the living room.

Not harsh. Not alarming. Just warm and unmistakably familiar. Your heart skipped, then stuttered, then began to race in earnest as you moved further inside, steps slow, breath shallow with anticipation. You didn’t call out. You didn’t need to.

Spencer was there.

He sat on your couch, leaned forward slightly, hands clasped loosely between his knees. A book rested open beside him, forgotten, a marker of a thought interrupted. He looked up the moment you appeared, eyes softening instantly, like he’d been waiting for this exact second. His curls were more unruly than usual, falling into his eyes, and his jacket had been folded neatly over the arm of the couch, as if he’d taken care to make himself small in your space. He stood too quickly, movement a little uncoordinated, nerves evident in the way his shoulders squared.

“Hey,” he said softly.

The sound of his voice wrapped around you and your chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, even as your body betrayed you, carrying you toward him without hesitation.

“I came back early,” he said, swallowing, fingers flexing as if he didn’t know where to put them.

Your brows furrowed. “Spencer, you were supposed to be with your mom until tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said quickly, then slowed himself down, forcing a breath. “I was. But you sounded tired earlier. On the phone. And you said your head hurt.” His gaze flicked to your face, so careful. “And you paused before answering, which you only do when you’re trying not to worry me.”

You stopped in front of him, hands already reaching for his sleeves, grounding yourself in the warmth of him.

“So I changed my ticket,” he finished, voice quieter now. “I thought…statistically, after cases like this, you’re more likely to minimize how bad you’re feeling. And I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Something in you melted completely.

You stepped into him, resting your forehead against his chest, breathing him in. His arms came around you immediately, no hesitation this time, no uncertainty. One hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, fingers gentle in your hair, the other settling at your waist. He held you like he was anchoring you to the present, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, voice muffled against him.

“I know,” he murmured, pressing his cheek lightly against your hair. “I wanted to.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing tenderly beneath your eye, careful not to touch where you were still sensitive from the headache.

“I want to take care of you,” he said again, quieter this time, like a promise meant only for you.

Your chest ached. Because this was who Spencer Reid was. He loved quietly, deliberately. He showed up. He noticed. He acted.

It was the thousandth reason to love him as you already did.

He pulled back again, eyes scanning your face with practiced concern. “Did you eat something there?”

You huffed a soft, tired laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, lips twitching.

“Barely. There’s no real food in a bar.”

He nodded, already turning toward the kitchen. “Okay. I made that instant soup you like just in case. It’s…not burned.”

You watched him move through your space like he belonged there, because he did. His shoes lined up neatly by the door. His glasses case on your coffee table. His presence woven so seamlessly into your apartment it felt wrong when he wasn’t there.

While he reheated the soup, you leaned against the counter, watching the careful way he stirred, the way he tasted and adjusted, brow furrowing in concentration.

“You didn’t have to come back early,” you said again, softer now. “I know you wanted to be with your mom.”

He glanced at you, expression earnest. “I know but she was okay, probably even tired of me talking so much about you. And I wanted to be here when you got home. And I figured…after nights like this, you usually can’t sleep.”

Your throat tightened, the words sitting heavy for a moment before you let them out.

“They were talking about you all night.”

Spencer paused mid-motion.

The ladle hovered above the pot, a thin ribbon of steam curling up between you. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly, like his body had registered the information a second before his mind caught up.

“Oh,” he said.

You smiled faintly, watching the way his fingers tightened around the handle. “They think we should date.”

That did it.

His ears flushed immediately, color blooming so fast it felt almost unfair. He swallowed, blinked once, then again, like his brain was rapidly sorting through several possible responses and rejecting all of them.

“Oh,” he repeated, voice cracking just slightly, traitorously.

You stepped closer, leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder. He smelled like soup and clean cotton. His body relaxed at the contact even as his mind clearly did not.

“They gave me reasons,” you added softly. “Lots of them.”

He resumed moving, carefully this time, ladling soup into a bowl with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.

“Were they…logical?” he asked.

You laughed under your breath. “Painfully so.”

That earned you a shy smile, the corner of his mouth lifting as he set the bowl down with great care, adjusting it so it was perfectly centered on the counter.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “They’re not wrong. I mean—about the logic. Not about the…dating part. Because we already—” He gestured vaguely between the two of you, flustered. “I mean, it would be redundant.”

“I know,” you said gently, reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb brushed your knuckle automatically. “They don’t.”

He nodded, lips pressing together in thought as he handed you a spoon, making sure it wasn’t too hot.

“Maybe we should…tell them someday,” he said carefully, like he was testing the idea for structural integrity.

“When we get married,” you replied easily, absentmindedly studying your bare finger like you could already see it there. Like it was an inevitability, not a joke.

Spencer’s brain left the building.

He froze completely, eyes widening, breath catching so sharply you were genuinely concerned he might tip over. The spoon in his hand clinked softly against the counter.

“What?” he said, voice several octaves higher than usual.

You looked up at him, amused, soft, devastatingly calm. “Imagine their faces when they get the invitation.”

He stared at you like you’d just proposed rewriting the laws of physics.

“You’re drunk,” he said faintly.

“I’m in love,” you corrected, crossing your arms behind his neck, pressing yourself closer. You kissed his cheek once. Then again. And once more for good measure. “So in love.”

He made a small, helpless noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp, hands lifting instinctively to steady you at the waist. His ears were fully red now, eyes bright, and smile completely unguarded.

“Now I need to know,” he said breathlessly, “exactly what they told you, because this amount of affection is…unusual. Even for you.”

You laughed, forehead resting against his.

“Oh, Spencer,” you murmured. “You have no idea what they already know.”

[headkiss]

just for you, i let it happen

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and spencer spend long enough pining over each other, the team helps you along. or: 4 times the team tries to get you and spencer to acknowledge your feelings for each other +1 time it works.

word count: 7.1k

content: fluff, usual criminal minds talk (unsub, kidnapping, etc), probably bau-related inaccuracies, mutual pining (idiots!), team shenanigans, one fake date, and one real one <3

a/n: hill lovelies!! i know it's been so long since i've posted something but i hope u guys will enjoy <3 i had so much fun writing for my sweet boy spencer!! my first spencer longfic!!!

ᯓ★

It’s taken you a few trips to perfect your go bag. To figure out what’s really necessary and what isn’t. Today, lugging your duffel on your shoulder, you’re grateful to have left that second pair of shoes behind.

Your bags always feel a bit heavier after a case. You’re already weighed down by the events of the last few days, your body tired, feet heavy.

You’re glad to be the first one to board the plane, sinking into one of the seats and letting your bag drop at your feet. You’re glad that the case is over, glad to be going home, glad to get to sleep in your own bed tonight (though it'll most likely be morning by the time you get back to Quantico).

The rest of the team follows suit, sighing as they get into their own seats. Spencer and Hotch are the last to board, Hotch always waits until every member is inside before taking his turn, and Spencer often gets distracted telling him some statistic about planes or airports or anything really.

Today, for once, Hotch asks Spencer a follow up question and — delightedly surprised — Spencer keeps talking.

You’re sitting by the window in one of the front rows on the jet, facing away from the entrance and most of the team. You don’t see Spencer climb into the plane, but you hear the shuffling.

Spencer usually sits near the back, playing chess against himself or reading a book and then another since he finishes them so fast. Sometimes, he sits with JJ, even rarer he’ll find himself across from Morgan who likes to tease him enough that he’d rather not be there every single flight.

He wants to sit with you, but Spencer has found himself reverting back to his early BAU self where you’re concerned. Shy, fumbling, either rambling or having no clue what to say.

You’re his friend, you’re kind to him and ask about his mom often. You bring him back a coffee whenever you grab one for yourself (if he beats you to it, he does the same), and it’s always as sweet as he likes it to be. He lends you books he thinks you’ll like, and never pesters you for them back even though you know you take forever to return them.

He walks you to your car after work every day, even if he’s finished before you are. You don’t know that bit, but he waits until you’re leaving to pack up his stuff and follow you to the elevator.

All of that, and still, Spencer gets nervous around you. He can’t even bring himself to sit next to you on the jet even though you’re beside each other at the round table each time without fail.

This time, the team’s decided to help him along.

Initially, he goes for his usual seat in the back, and finds Emily sprawling files all over the small table despite the fact that she gets nauseous reading on the plane. Behind Spencer’s back, Hotch takes the seat across from her and shakes his head when she winks at him.

Then, it’s Rossi, who’s fake-arguing with his agent over the phone about his next book. JJ’s sprawled across the small couch near the snack bar, digging into a travel-sized bag of Cheetos.

Finally, there’s Derek, who kicks his feet up onto the seat across from him when Spencer heads toward him. “Sorry, pretty boy,” he says, though he doesn’t look (or sound) sorry at all, “looks like you’ll have to try your luck over there,” he nods towards where you sit across the aisle.

You, too distracted attempting to dig your thin fleece blanket from your bag, don’t notice anything until Spencer clears his throat lightly. You finally tug your blanket from your bag and sit up, looking over at Spencer standing in the aisle, rocking on his feet once.

“Do you mind if I..?” he gestures loosely to the seat next to you.

“Of course not,” you say.

You breathe in as he sits next to you, and he smells like cinnamon and the pages of a book. Warm, comforting. You try not to let it show on your face how pleased you are to have him beside you.

When you joined the team, you’d been the most anxious you’d ever been in your life, and you remember hesitating before walking into the bullpen, wiping your palms on your black pinstriped trousers.

And then, the first face to greet you was Reid’s, and he was so sweet, apologizing for not wanting to shake your hand, spewing a fact about germs and then folding his lips into his mouth like he was stopping himself from saying more. For those few seconds, you weren’t thinking about impressing everyone, weren’t focused on that pit in your stomach at the thought of so much newness.

You liked him immediately, and his looks only made it all worse for you. His hair disheveled, his clothes neat, his hands waving around in front of him, and his voice, so lovely and focused as he sounded off statistics. You’ve been housing a crush on him ever since.

You’d heard Morgan call him pretty boy that day, and you couldn’t help but think of how fitting it was. Derek may have been teasing, but Spencer really is pretty.

And then you got to know him, got to become a part of the team and learned about his little quirks and the way that he still wouldn’t shake hands, but doesn’t mind a hug every now and then. You learned that he was pretty inside and out.

So, as he settles in next to you on the jet, you can’t help but hide a smile. You’re on the plane before him most of the time, and he’s never joined you until now.

“I have to warn you,” you say, “I might not be the best seat buddy. I almost always fall asleep after takeoff.”

Spencer shrugs, pushing his hair behind his ear and he pulls his book into his lap, “That’s alright. I like quiet.”

“What if I snore, Reid?”

“You don’t snore,” he tells you.

“Maybe I do. How would you know?”

Rather than admit that he pays attention to you during flights, that he sometimes catches himself staring at you all peaceful in your seat while he waits for his coffee to brew, that he knows you don’t snore because he’s seen you sleeping and all you do is bunch your blanket in your fists and scrunch your brow from time to time, like you’re dreaming, he says:

“Ambiance for my reading. Like white noise. You know, having an auditory background can actually support cognitive development and emotional health.”

You smile and shake your head at him. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to the way he knows something about everything, just like that. Before you can reply, the pilot alerts you all that you’ll be taking off shortly.

Spencer opens his book in his lap, and you sink into your seat and close your eyes, squeezing them shut until the jet is up in the air steadily.

Soon enough, you’re falling asleep as promised. For a while, your head’s leaning back against your seat; Spencer can’t help but think of how your neck will be sore from the position. Just as he has the thought, the jet jolts a little bit in turbulence, and your head lolls to the side and ends up on his shoulder.

He goes still for a second, afraid you’ll wake up from the movement, but you don’t. You shift the tiniest bit, almost nuzzling into him, and then you relax again. Your breathing remains steady, and Spencer tamps down a smile as the smell of your shampoo surrounds him.

Across the aisle, Morgan raises an eyebrow, shooting Reid a pointed look. Spencer simply goes back to reading his book.

He doesn’t get up to use the bathroom at all, turns pages slower than he usually would, keeps his shoulder and arm still even though he can feel them falling asleep a little. All so that he doesn’t disturb you.

Sleep is such a vulnerable state, and although he knows you nap on nearly every flight, he feels like he’s won something by having you resting on him. Like you’re comfortable, like you trust him.

Just for a second, Reid lets himself rest his head against yours.

It isn’t until you land that you wake up, the plane hitting the pavement jostling you enough that you blink your eyes open. The first thing you register is the feel of something soft beneath your cheek. When that something soft moves a little, you realize it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Still groggy, you lift your head, “Shit. Sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to sleep on you.”

You’re a bit embarrassed, really. The one time he sits next to you on the jet and you wind up using him as a pillow without his permission.

Meanwhile Spencer doesn’t mind one bit. All he can focus on is the sleepy way you called him Spence just now. Usually, it’s Reid, occasionally, it’s Spencer, but this is the first time you’ve ever called him Spence. He wants to hear you say it again.

“Actually studies show that having weight against you can help to lower your heart rate and lessen anxiety,” he responds.

A smile ghosts across your face, because you know that’s his way of telling you not to be sorry. “So, I should be saying ‘you’re welcome,’ then?”

Yes, he thinks.

-

The team is headed to Portland this time around, and though you still don’t enjoy flying (you still need the help of a gravol-induced nap), you don’t dislike it as much.

Spencer sits with you more often than he doesn’t now. Even with you using him as a pillow half the time. He doesn’t seem to mind, which never fails to surprise you whenever you wake up.

It’s nice, though. Nice enough that you think about what it would be like to nap close to him in other ways.

You picture him on the other side of the bed in your studio apartment, picture yourself on the couch at his place (which you’ve only seen once). You imagine what he’d wear when he isn’t working, or whether he wears his glasses more often at home.

You’re snapped out of another daydream when the airport shuttle pulls over in front of the hotel you’re set to be staying at this time around. You’d landed too late to head to the police station, had left immediately after wrapping up another case, and Hotch determined at least a few hours of sleep would do you all some good.

He’s the one who goes up to the front desk when you walk inside, and comes back with only four room keys instead of seven and an apologetic Penelope on the phone.

“I’m so sorry my lovely crime fighters. They were pretty full for tonight, so you’ll have to double up, my loves.”

None of you can see her, but she’s smiling on her end of the line. She may have not booked enough rooms on purpose.

Immediately, Emily and JJ pair up and take a key from Hotch, heading to the elevators with their elbows looped together and heads bent like they’re laughing about something. Morgan snatches up another for himself saying something about needing space for “all of this.”

Rossi shrugs and pairs himself with Aaron (“for old time’s sake”), which leaves you and Spencer. Hotch hands you the room key with a simple “we’ll see you at the station at 8” before he leaves with Dave.

“Is this okay with you?” you ask Spencer. “I could always go to the desk and double check.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’d better go get some sleep while we can.”

And Spencer means it. He doesn’t mind sharing a room, it’s not like he’s never had to on a case before. It’s only that it’s you. He already doesn’t know how to act around you most of the time, and this feels like a whole new layer of intimacy and closeness he doesn’t know what to do with.

He wants it, of course he does. He would have preferred it in different circumstances, maybe where you weren’t pushed together by default, but still.

Spencer lets you lead the way to the elevators and then to the room. You open the door after fumbling with the key a couple of times and muttering about ‘stupid hotel doors.’

You’re glad (at least, you think you are) to see two beds when you step inside. Behind you, Spencer locks the door and slides the chain lock into place. Then, he slips past you and sets his things on the bed closest to the door. It’s safer for you that way, he thinks, if anything were to happen.

You try not to read into it, but you’re reminded of that time you’d been ranting to JJ about your date not taking the side of the sidewalk closest to the road and Spencer overheard.

It’s not the same thing, you tell yourself. It still makes you feel warm.

“Were you gonna have a shower before bed?” you ask, setting your go bag on your bed.

Spencer’s head flicks over to you “I don’t- uh. You go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

You grab your things quickly and head into the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind you and leaning your head against it. It isn’t until he hears the lock click shut that Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall forward.

All you’d said was the word ‘shower’ and he could barely manage a sentence.

He unpacks to keep himself busy as the sound of running water fills the room, grabbing his book from his bag and setting it onto the nightstand between beds along with his glasses and a water bottle.

He’s just finished folding his (few) clothes into a drawer of the dresser when the bathroom door opens and you walk out in nothing but a towel.

There are drops of water running down your neck and shoulders, your eyelashes still wet and thick where they frame your eyes. He tries not to, he really does, but Spencer can feel himself staring at you and he can’t seem to make himself stop.

You look beautiful. You always do, but seeing you this way — the way a boyfriend might — is making his heart thump heavier, his fingers twitching by his sides.

You clear your throat, nervous under his gaze that seems so focused and yet so soft. “Sorry. I forgot to grab my pajamas… so.”

It’s then that he realizes he’s blocking your path, and he quickly steps aside, bumping into the dresser clumsily. “Oh! Right, yeah. I’ll just-”

Spencer grabs his own change of clothes and closes himself into the bathroom. The mirror is still fogged up from the steam, but he starts up the shower again, hoping it’ll help clear his head. Snap him back into it.

When he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of plaid pants and a faded t-shirt, he sees you in bed, your own loose shirt on, legs covered by the blankets, and a book in your lap.

“What are you reading?”

“It’s silly,” you say, setting it face-down on the bed, a little embarrassed. “Just a romance. None of that smart stuff you read.”

“All reading is smart,” he tells you. “It’s not silly. It’s good for you.”

“I’m just saying it’s not, like, in Latin or anything.”

He huffs a laugh, settling into his own bed and sliding his glasses onto his face. So he does wear them more outside of work, you observe. He looks so lovely this way, too. His hair still damp and curling behind his ears, his cheeks rosy behind the frames. It feels like a privilege, getting to see him so.. unguarded.

“I’ve read romances, you know,” he says.

“What?”

“Mostly the classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës.”

You’re not sure why it surprises you so much, but it does. You suppose you’ve always thought that Spencer’s idea of reading for enjoyment was beyond romance, more complicated, scientific. But you should’ve known he’s read just about everything by now.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, have read Pride and Prejudice?”

“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul,’” is his response.

“Oh my god.” A smile stretches onto your face, slowly mirrored on Spencer’s.

You end up staying awake later than you should talking about which movie adaptation you prefer (“2005. Obviously.”), about other books you’ve both read, and then about their adaptations, too. Over time you both sink deeper and deeper into bed until you’re laying down facing each other.

You’re not even sure when you fall asleep, all you know is that Spencer’s voice is the last thing you hear, all slow and soft with his own tiredness.

When you wake up, you’re still facing each other, laying on the sides of your beds as close to the other as possible. Spencer’s arm hangs loosely over the edge, like he’d been reaching across the gap for you in his sleep.

-

The next case is only a week later, but you don’t have to fly this time around.

It’s only a 15 minute drive from Quantico, and that’s without the sirens and Morgan behind the wheel. That means you get to set up in your usual office, sleep in your bed for a couple of hours when you can. You’re never happy to have a case, because people are getting hurt, but it’s a small victory to not have to go far.

Two abductions have happened at local parks, though no bodies have turned up yet. You’ve all been working as quickly as possible, trying to keep those people alive.

Hotch gathers you all in the conference room the morning of day three on the case, delivering roles as usual. JJ to stay in the office and field calls or answer questions, Emily and Morgan to dig deeper into the victims, retracing their steps, Rossi and Hotch to scout the abduction sites again for anything they’ve missed.

You’ve found a man that has been connected to both victims, but not enough to bring him in, which is why, when he gets to you and Spencer, he says:

“You two will be following our suspect today.”

You look at each other, then back to Hotch.

Reid speaks first. “But the geographical profile isn’t done, and-”

“We don’t have anything new for the geographical profile,” Hotch responds.

“Might be good for you to go outside, pretty boy,” Morgan says. “Could use some sunlight, probably.”

“Actually it’s extremely unlikely that anyone could die from prolonged darkness,” Spencer shoots back. “Plus, we have windows.”

“This is where I need you two,” Aaron looks between you and Spencer, “alright?”

“I’ll drive,” you say as your agreement.

It’s not unusual to do stakeouts, though you don’t do them often. What’s unusual is choosing you and Reid for the job that most often goes to Morgan. You can’t bring yourself to be bothered, not when it means you’ll get to spend more time with Spencer.

Despite his putting up a fight, Spencer doesn’t really mind either. Sure, he feels like he can be more helpful doing something else, but ever since sharing a room in Portland he’s wanted to be with you alone.

There was an ease then, a comfort that didn’t come when the rest of the team was around. You’d spoken to each other before bed each night, falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s voices, and Spencer hadn’t even wanted to pack up when the case was over.

If he could have stayed one more night with you there, caught the jet in the morning instead, he would have. Happily.

Ever since that case, he does feel a little less awkward around you, though, and sometimes he wonders if you feel a little bit closer to him, too.

As promised, you drive. Instead of taking a bureau vehicle, Hotch had asked you to take your own. He’d said you’d be less noticeable that way, and that backup would always be close enough if needed.

You unlock your car in the parking lot, watching Spencer climb into your passenger seat beside you. He shuts the door behind him, buckles his seatbelt, and flicks the air freshener you have hanging over your rear view mirror.

“I can take it down if the smell bothers you,” you say.

“It’s nice,” he tells you. Birthday cake, he notices, and he wonders quickly if that’s why you sometimes smell like vanilla when you walk into the bullpen.

“Okay. Feel free to snoop.”

He smiles gently, because he’d been trying to secretly do just that. Your car is mostly clean, a few gun wrappers in the doors and a half-full water bottle in the backseat, but that’s it. Your glovebox is pretty standard, though he does find a loose figurine in it.

You notice him holding it. “That’s my car buddy. Keeps me company when nobody else is in here.”

“Won’t be needing him today,” Spencer says, putting it back and shutting the compartment.

“No, I won’t.”

The man you’re set to be following is still home when you get there, so you drive around the block and wait by the corner until he leaves.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait very long.

“He’s getting into his car,” Spencer tells you.

“And the fun begins,” you say, turning the corner once the man has pulled out of his driveway.

It turns out not to be fun, actually. It’s all very routine and normal stuff. A grocery trip, dropped back at his house before heading out again. An overpriced drive-thru coffee where he actually pays for the car behind him, which happened to be you and Spencer.

“Either he’s onto us, or he’s actually just doing a nice thing,” you say once you’ve gotten your drinks. “I didn’t think people bought other people’s coffees anymore.”

“I would have bought yours,” is Spencer’s response. Quiet and sweet and almost disappointed, like he’d wanted to spend money on you.

Eventually, your target stops at a park, which has both you and Spencer back on high alert. Both abductions happened at parks. You look at each other and get out of your car to follow him.

You notice that the man is carrying a pair of binoculars and a camera, which raises your suspicions even further. He’s equipped to scope out victims.

Spencer works easily alongside you, falling into step without question, going where he needs to without needing to say a word.

The man walks up and joins a group, some wearing cargo vests and almost all of them wearing matching hats with the same logo on them.

You sigh and dial Hotch’s number.

“What do you have?”

“Hey, this isn’t our guy,” you tell him.

“Why’s that?”

“His big secret is…” you look back at the group, “bird watching. It’s why he’s been spotted at a lot of the parks.”

“You’re sure it’s not just a cover?”

“Hotch, there’s a group of at least twenty people with him. It’s a bird watching club.”

“Actually a lot of people, especially of younger generations, just call it birding now,” Spencer chimes in.

You smile. Always something to say.

“Okay, well, why don’t you two have lunch and meet us back here after?”

You scrunch your eyebrows. “You don’t want us back now?”

“We’re not any closer than we were before, and it might be good for you two to be at the park a little longer,” Hotch tells you. “Just in case.”

“Right, okay,” you say, though you’re still not convinced. “See you later.”

You hang up and turn to Spencer. He squints in the sunlight, hair blowing over his forehead. Your hand itches to reach out and push it back for him. Spencer does it himself just as you have the thought.

You clear your throat, “Hotch says to get lunch and then head back.”

“I saw a stand back there with chili cheese fries,” he says.

Spencer doesn’t know why, for once, Hotch is encouraging a break during a case, but he’s not about to fight him on it. Without a BAU-related task to do at the moment, he gets to simply be there with you. Just you and Spencer in a park, getting food.

If he thinks about it for long enough, he can almost see the both of you like this together in more natural circumstances. Maybe then, he’d be brave enough to hold your hand.

“Daydreaming about those fries, Spence?”

He looks over at you, the sun lighting you from behind, surrounding you like a halo. “No, just… thinking.”

There’s something about the way he says it, about the way his eyes are roaming your face and his voice has gone a little bit lower, scratchier, that makes your heart beat heavier.

Before you can respond, he’s leading the way to the food stand, you not far behind. He places your order and pays before you can object.

You’re stationed at one of the picnic tables in a few minutes, a splinter of wood poking the back of your thigh through your pants, but you don’t move. Not when Spencer’s shin is resting against yours beneath the table.

The platter of chili fries sits in the middle of the table, a fork in each of your hands.

“Don’t you have a statistic in there about the dangers of sharing food?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, “but I don’t particularly.. care about that right now.”

-

You get a longer break before you’re called in for the next case, which is nice. You get to be home earlier, sleep in your sheets and spend the weekend lazily.

There’s a minuscule shift between you and Spencer since the park. An ease that wasn’t there before, a string tied in neat little bows tethering the two of you together.

He’s at his desk before you every morning, and there’s always a coffee waiting for you with a small sticky note attached. Sometimes he’ll leave you a fun fact, sometimes a simple good morning.

The last note you’d gotten before this case was just a doodle of a lopsided smiley face, which you’d stuck to the corner of your computer.

You think about those notes, those coffees as you sit in the NYPD headquarters, twirling a paper cup between your hands. Not nearly as good as when Spencer makes it.

You’re sitting beside him in a conference room where Hotch has gathered the team, your ankle leaning against his.

“We aren’t any closer to finding this unsub,” Hotch says. “We’re gonna have to draw him out.”

“Undercover, huh?” Emily asks, a subtle smirk on her face.

“Yes. We know how he hunts. He looks for couples in bars, waits for them to go outside, usually a couple that’s arguing,” Hotch says, though you all already know this. “He waits for them to split up, then takes the woman. He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s doing these women a favor. Like he’s saving them.”

“Probably because they remind him of his mother, who was abused by his father, and the unsub was too weak at the time to stop it,” Rossi adds.

“He’s been targeting the same three bars on rotation, so we know where he’ll be tonight,” Hotch tells the team.

“And you want a pair of us to go undercover.. as a couple?” you ask. It’s not like you’ve never gone undercover before, but pretending to be dating someone? You’re not the best actress.

“That’s correct.”

“I actually think you and Spencer should do it,” Emily says.

“What?” Reid speaks at the same time as you do.

“You are the unsub’s type,” Emily tells you.

“Ew,” is your response.

“And I think pretty boy over here is your best match, sweetheart,” Derek adds.

“I’m not-”

“I actually think that’s a good idea,” Hotch says.

And so, it’s been decided.

There’s a short silence, and then Spencer speaks. “Are we sure this is the best way to do this?”

“It’s okay, Spence,” you tell him, laying a hand over his forearm that lays on the table, his fingers tapping the wood. His cardigan is soft under your hand, and you give his arm a gentle squeeze.

He turns to you, speaking quietly this time, “What if something- I would rather I was the one being followed. Not you.”

Your eyes soften at his words, at the way he looks down when he says them. You run your thumb back and forth against the fabric of his sweater once, twice. “I’ll be okay. You’ll be there, and everyone else. We’ll get him.”

“I know. I just don’t want him to have time to hurt you.”

Your heart pinches. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so worried, especially not in front of other people. And he isn’t even worried about himself. His concern is you.

“He won’t,” you say.

You turn back to Hotch, and he gives you a nod, “Let’s catch him.”

“And pretty boy becomes lover boy,” Morgan says.

A few hours later you’re dressed in a black mini dress and a pair of knee-high boots, a (nonalcoholic) drink in your hand and Spencer by your side. Your entire side, from shoulder to thigh, is pressed against his where you stand at the bar, warmth sinking into you.

The unsub likes to observe the bar for a while, usually picking a couple and watching them for a couple hours before making his move. That means that you’ve spent a while being Spencer’s girlfriend.

Fake girlfriend, you remind yourself.

Still, if you let yourself forget, just for a second, that you’re on a case, it feels real enough. His hand on your lower back guiding you through the crowd, his chest brushing against your back on the dance floor.

And now, his arm wrapping itself around your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress.

You both have earpieces in, where the team’s been communicating with you (a “nice moves, lover boy” from Derek, or “look at you two” from Emily, and even a “that dress is brilliant, pumpkin” from Penelope).

“I think we have eyes on our guy,” Hotch says now.

You’re almost disappointed when he gives you the signal to head outside. You like being with Spencer like this, and despite the fact that you’re undercover and pretending, you want to stay in it a bit longer.

You obey Hotch’s orders anyway, saying something to Spencer and then slipping out the back door that opens into an alley, Spencer on your heels.

It turns out that pretending to fight with him is the hardest part.

You end up making something up about his eyes wandering, even though you don’t think he looked at anyone else the entire night.

He plays along, defending himself and using words he knows will trigger the unsub. Spencer’s demeanor changes, making himself look more intimidating. He stands up straighter, walks you backwards until you land against the wall, his hands coming up and caging you in.

Your heart races, and not because you’re afraid. Because of how close he is, how you can smell him and feel how warm he is and see that despite his facade of anger his eyes are still unfailingly kind.

Finally, you shove him off of you and storm away. As expected, the unsub emerges out of the shadows, following you down the sidewalk and out of Spencer’s sight.

His stomach sinks. He’d been doing okay when you were beside him, when he knew he could protect you even when he’s well aware that you’re strong, one of the strongest people he knows. You don’t need him to protect you, but he wants to so badly.

Spencer can’t help himself, he speaks into the microphone attached to his cuff, “Guys, what's happening?”

“She’s okay,” Emily says. “He’s definitely following her, but he hasn't tried anything yet.”

“We need to wait for him to make contact,” comes from Hotch.

“What if he-” Spencer stars.

“We have to make this stick, kid,” Morgan tells him.

Spencer knows he’s right. It still doesn’t sit well with him, the thought of a man’s hands on you when he can’t do anything about it.

Your boots click against the pavement, Hotch’s voice in your ears telling you to keep going, that the unsub is getting closer. Just as a warning sounds in your ear, there’s a hand on your wrist.

The grip is tight, pinching your skin enough to leave a mark, but you don’t show it. It’s only seconds until the team and police officers come out of hiding and arrest him, effectively pulling his hands off of you.

Your hand circles the wrist he’d grabbed, rubbing the skin. It isn’t even a minute before Spencer finds you standing by one of the cars on scene, your face lit up by red and blue. He can feel the relief wash over him like a wave. You’re okay, alive. And so, so pretty.

“Hey, Spence,” you say when you see him walk up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gesturing to where you hold your wrist.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a tight grip. I’ve been through worse.”

He nods. “Let me see.”

You hold out your arm, and he gently grabs your wrist and pushes your sleeve out of the way, his fingertips running over your skin, his eyes scanning it. His hands are warm where they hold you, and his skin on yours makes your stomach swirl.

“I’m okay, really.”

“I know,” he says. His eyes lift to your face, soft. “I just- I don’t want you to ever have to do that again.”

You give him a tiny smile. “It’s part of the job, Spence. Besides, I thought we made a pretty good team.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about you being safe. I want to know you are.”

Oh, you think. And you know, can hear it in the sound of his voice, that it has absolutely nothing to do with your abilities, he just cares.

You shift your hand to tangle your fingers with his, and for once, Spencer doesn’t even think of his aversion to shaking hands.

“I’m safe now,” you tell him.

His thumb traces a circle against your palm.

-

+1

The team tries to get together at least once a month. Sometimes trying different local restaurants, more often taking advantage of Rossi’s mansion and lovely backyard when the weather allows.

You’re all flexible, you have to be when you do what you do, so you’re used to rescheduling or switching things up last minute.

This time around, it’s a little too much switching.

A suspicious amount.

First, it’s JJ, saying that Henry is just being far too clingy tonight for her to be able to skip bedtime. “Will won’t be able to get him to sleep, he can be pretty stubborn,” she’d said.

And you understand, of course you do. You give her a quick hug when she leaves the office, and she tells you to ‘have fun tonight,’ with something shining in her eyes that you can’t quite place.

Then, it’s Morgan, who gives no explanation besides him holding up his phone saying he’s just received an ‘offer he can’t refuse’ and then strolling out with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

Weird, you think. Not entirely out of character for Morgan, but weird.

And ten minutes later, when Emily finishes up her paperwork, checks her phone, gasps dramatically, and says that she has to get back because Sergio was trapped in her curtains, or something, it’s even weirder.

“Curtains?” you ask as she collects her stuff.

“Can’t stay, Serg needs me!” is all she says and then she’s gone.

Another few minutes, and Penelope comes by, looking apologetic.

“Not you too,” you all but whine.

“Sorry, my pretty! Internet emergency. My friend’s boyfriend might be cheating, and I have to help a sister in need!”

“But-”

She smacks a kiss on your cheek and leaves, her heels clicking as she goes.

“Where’s she going?” Spencer asks, walking up to your desk, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Something about catching a cheater,” you say. “And JJ, Morgan, and Emily are all out.”

“What?” he asks, leaning against the edge of your desk. “That’s strange.”

“I know. It’s barely even a team dinner anymore. Just us and the fathers, I guess.”

“Actually, Rossi’s not coming. He said something about being on deadline, needing to finish a chapter.”

“Oh.”

“And Hotch said he’ll meet us there, so…”

“Just us and one father, then.”

Spencer leads you out of the bullpen, and you walk to the elevator, then outside. The restaurant isn’t too far from the office, and with spring settling in, the weather is nice enough to want to walk. So you do.

He walks on the side the closest to the road, one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag, the other swinging between you. Your knuckles brush every few steps, and Spencer seems to be slowing his strides just a little bit to stay right next to you.

It makes you feel warm despite the wind biting at your cheeks.

Just as you walk up to the restaurant, both you and Spencer’s phones buzz.

You pull it out of your back pocket and find a message from Hotch: ‘Jack’s not feeling well. See you tomorrow.’

“So, just us,” you say.

“Just us,” Spencer echoes.

“Do you still want to.. I’d get it if you’d rather reschedule it to be an actual team dinner.”

“I don’t want to reschedule,” he tells you.

Before you can respond or think too hard about the soft way he’d spoken, Spencer is walking up to the door and holding it for you, the bell jingling as he tugs it open.

You blink at him, and then take the hint and walk inside. “I didn’t even know Hotch knew how to make a group chat.”

“What’s a group chat?” Spencer asks.

You sigh out a little laugh. “It’s comforting to know that there are at least some things you don’t know, Dr. Reid.”

“It’s actually pretty much impossible to know everything.”

“To know I’m better than you at something, then.”

“You’re better than me at a lot of things,” he says.

And then the hostess is greeting you, leading you to a small table pressed up against one of the windows, and depositing some menus for you to look over.

Rossi had picked the place this time, a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with classic red and white tablecloths and candles sitting atop each table lighting the place in a soft glow.

It’s funny, you think, that he’d pick a place just to not show up. Even funnier that he’d choose somewhere so… romantic. With a single rose in a vase on every table, dim lighting, mostly small tables.

The thought slips out before you can really stop it, “You know, this almost feels like a date. With just the two of us here.”

Spencer looks up from the menu when you say it, his heart thumping. You look beautiful, he thinks. You do every day, even tired or with a split lip. Beautiful whenever he sees you, but it hits him harder now.

The way the candlelight flickers across your face, your eyes sparkling in it, the strap of your top slipping slowly off your shoulder. He wants to reach out and fix it for you. To let his fingers linger.

He’d thought about being brave with you that day in the park, and maybe he still isn’t as brave as he’d like to be, but he’s brave enough to say, “Would that be such a bad thing? Us on a date, I mean.”

You search his face, almost as if you don’t believe him. Like you’d imagined it, but he’s searching your face, too. Waiting for you to respond. The toe of your shoe skims his shin.

“No, Spence. Not bad at all.”

He smiles, so gently, spreading over his face slowly, flickering like he’d been trying to suppress it and failed.

“Good. That’s— that’s good. I’d like it to be one. A date.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s customary to ask before you’re already sitting at the restaurant, but-”

You find his hand on the table, laying your palm over the back of it, cutting him off. “I’d like that, too.”

He turns his hand around and links his fingers with yours.

And just like that, you’re on a date with Spencer Reid. It feels almost natural, like this is how you’ve always been with each other, with only a small layer of nerves at the newness of it all.

You’ve been so used to keeping your crush on him to yourself that it seems like a dream to be sitting here, but it isn’t. You talk about the food, Spencer easily telling you every dish's origins. You laugh and he asks about what book you’re reading now, and you tell him and he listens.

He points out different Italian musicians playing throughout the night, you eat your food and split a dessert. He traps your ankle between his calves when your leg wanders, and you let him keep it there.

Spencer pays and you slap his wrist lightly for not letting you chip in. Then you’re walking back to the parking lot. Admittedly, you walk a lot slower this time, like you’re both dragging the evening out. This time, when your hands brush, Spencer grabs yours, and puts your joined hands in his jacket pocket.

Back at your car, you lean your back against the driver’s side door, Spencer stands not far from you.

“So we agree that they ditched us on purpose, right?” you ask him, your hand still in his now swinging between your bodies.

“Oh, absolutely.” Spencer smiles. “Though I’m not sure if we should be thanking them or getting them back for it.”

“Mmm, let ‘em sweat. I think this would have happened either way,” you say.

“Me too.” And suddenly Spencer’s face is closer to yours, only a breath away, his free hand coming up to prop himself up against your car, framing you in.

Your eyes flicker between his, and you shift a little bit closer, tugging his tie between the fingers of the hand that isn’t holding his.

“Can I?” he asks, and you simply give his tie a gentle yank and his lips are on yours.

ᯓ★

thank u so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog!! it’s what helps the most, and would mean a bunch <3

[fawnpalmer]

quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

☆ — you are in love a spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader social media au update 10 — 13th of may, 2026

spidey!steve smau intro/masterlist

a/n: ok last update is prob gonna be split into 2 parts again and they should be out in about 5/6 hours i just gotta go to work now sorry!!!

taglist: @karolinesvrsion @djopuppy @ophirei @redvelvetcupcke @notmily @jamietarttdodo @beaut1ful-stranger @kanabefairy @glittermermaid222 @glittrrx @boldlyfadingdinosaur @riddlersoupwrites @jamieexistss @marvelgirlie-4 @strangegirl26sff @dyanasaur @mortqlprojections @napofaprincess @dr0wsy-m00ns @rocklandhoax @foreverdjofan @lacywithdrawal @oohgeminii @imani4reading @angxlg0dz @sunflowergir62 @d4yanalav3nder00 @discodjo @nowprettybbyimrunning @pleasecallmeunhinged @sugartalk-ing @hutaotao @carpetmumcher @peterthehorseisinhere @laufeysvalentine @harringtondarling @marcspectorondeeznuts @strawberryloveyy @onenightafewmoonsago @beedew @jadoredjo @ilikereadinghardcoresmut  @pzxielz @dwindella @lortheswiftie @exooojongdaeee @moonjellyfishie @jinxispunk @sloppyjoesandwich @balladpoem 

[onenightafewmoonsago]

The cliffhanger? Omgggg. Things are about to get messy.

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

☆ — you are in love a spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader social media au update 9 — 10th of may, 2026

spidey!steve smau intro/masterlist

a/n: heyyyy im back and im finally posting these on here!!! sorry for the delay!! i cant make any excuses lol im just lazy but ill be posting the last few updates all tonight so i hope that makes up for it.

taglist: @karolinesvrsion @djopuppy @ophirei @redvelvetcupcke @notmily @jamietarttdodo @beaut1ful-stranger @kanabefairy @glittermermaid222 @glittrrx @boldlyfadingdinosaur @riddlersoupwrites @jamieexistss @marvelgirlie-4 @strangegirl26sff @dyanasaur @mortqlprojections @napofaprincess @dr0wsy-m00ns @rocklandhoax @foreverdjofan @lacywithdrawal @oohgeminii @imani4reading @angxlg0dz @sunflowergir62 @d4yanalav3nder00 @discodjo @nowprettybbyimrunning @plscallmeunhinged @sugartalk-ing @hutaotao @carpetmumcher @peterthehorseisinhere @laufeysvalentine @harringtondarling @marcspectorondeeznuts @strawberryloveyy @onenightafewmoonsago @beedew @jadoredjo @ilikereadinghardcoresmut  @pzxielz @dwindella @lortheswiftie @exooojongdaeee @moonjellyfishie @jinxispunk @sloppyjoesandwich @balladpoem

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

SO HIGH SCHOOL steve harrington x fem!reader

EPILOGUE – w.c. 9.8k

chapter warnings/tags: use of y/n, swearing, jealousy, season 5’s writing yikes, fluff, happy ending, discussions of marriage and kids, coach steveee, mentions of trauma, scars, steve for sure has some issues after all that head trauma.

18+ smut, just fluffy and cute, unprotected piv, oral (f recieving), fingering, morning sex, creampie, soft sex.

series masterlist

–

Sunlight filtered through the curtains early in the morning, warming the bedroom before you had really begun to wake up.

A strong arm circled its way around your middle, pulling you in closer so your back was pressed to a man's chest. You could hear his slow breathing, feel the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck, as you stirred.

Then Steve pressed his lips to the back of your neck, lacing your fingers together with a soft smile. You attempted to bury your face further into your pillow with a soft groan.

"Why're you up so early?" You mumbled out, a little incoherently, but Steve just chuckled as he kissed the back of your neck again.

"Can't I just love my girl?" He asked, tucking his chin into the space between your neck and your shoulder. Your eyes were still closed as you shook your head but gripped his hand tighter.

"Mmm, you can, just do it quieter." You slurred.

"Sorry, baby." He whispered, adjusting his position so one of his arms was beneath your head like a pillow. Then he lifted his body up to kiss your cheek.

You rolled onto your back and opened your eyes, looking up at Steve. You couldn't help but smile when you looked at him.

"Good morning, honey." He spoke softly, his eyes flitting over your features. You just squinted up at him, your eyes adjusting to the light in the room before you rubbed them in an attempt to wake up.

"What time is it?" You asked with a yawn.

"Like 5, I think." He answered and you were immediately glaring.

"Steven, why on Earth are you waking me up at 5 on a Saturday morning?" You questioned him and he winced slightly.

"Well, the shitheads are graduating today--" He started.

"Yeah, in the afternoon." You cut in, your words still a sleep-filled jumble.

"--And the Cubs have a game this morning--" He went on, ignoring you.

"Which also isn't for another three hours." You pointed out and he sighed, meeting your eyes once more.

"--And maybe I woke up just really wanting you." He stated and you rolled your eyes.

"There it is." You sighed but didn't make any attempt to pull away as Steve's large hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb gently tracing the shape of the scars over your left eye and on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful." He muttered, not tearing his eyes away from your face. "I can't believe I'm marrying you."

"And I can't believe I'm marrying King Steve himself." You teased with a sleepy giggle and Steve groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder out of embarrassment. "You know, Stevie, you don't have to get all mushy at 5 am just because you want sex."

Steve lifted his head again to pout down at you. "Hey, I'm getting all mushy at 5 am because I love you." He mumbled, leaning in to leave small kisses along your jaw. "Sex would just be a bonus."

"Uh-huh." You replied, acting as if you weren't amused, yet your arms slid their way up to wrap around his neck. "Whatever you say, babe."

Steve's mouth moved lower, leaving your jaw to instead suck and nibble small marks into your neck. One of your hands slid up into his hair and tugged lightly.

"Hey, hey, Steve, you can't leave any marks, you horndog... not before the graduation." You warned, feeling the way his tongue travelled down your skin, but your eyes fluttered closed, relishing the feeling. "Mmm..."

"Mm-hmm..." He responded, though he didn't sound too focused, still half asleep. His lips trailed back up your neck, and he lifted his head until he was looking down at you again. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You had hardly gotten the last word out before Steve's mouth was on yours, closing around your upper lip as his hand cupped the side of your face and tilted your chin up. "Steve..."

His name leaves your mouth like a whisper, soft but loud in the silence of the early morning. His lips were warm against yours, the pressure somehow still gentle as they pushed your head further back into the pillow.

"What is it, honey?" He asked you, pulling back not even a full inch, but just enough for his words to be clear.

Steve's hands move, one leaves your face and trails down your body, brushing against your waist until it slipped beneath your pajama shirt - which was technically one of Steve's shirts - while his other laced your fingers together.

You hummed against his mouth, smiling as the fingers of your free hand tangled in his messy bed hair.

"Steve, I haven't even brushed my teeth yet." You chuckled and he pulled back to look at you, brows knitting as he stared at you like you were absurd.

"I don't care." He replied before leaning in again. This kiss was deeper, more passionate, more heated. His nose was practically poking your eye as he tilted his head and let his tongue swipe its way through your mouth, tangling with your own.

He let go of your hand that he had only grabbed a moment ago to instead let his hand slip beneath the covers, then both of his hands gripped the hem of your shirt.

Steve pulled back from the kiss for just a moment, looking into your eyes, like he was trying to savor the moment, before he slowly pulled your shirt up your body.

"My beautiful wife." He mumbled as your shirt was tugged over your head, and revealing your breasts, one of Steve's hands immediately grabbing and squeezing the exposed skin, while the other tossed your shirt across the room.

You laugh softly as Steve's lips latch onto your neck, kissing down it while your fingers drag through the hair on his chest. "'M not your wife yet, Stevie."

Steve groaned and lifted his head again, giving you a rather unamused look as your hands drifted up to his shoulders. 

"Yet." He sighed, then leaned forward once more to leave wet, messy, open-mouthed kisses on your throat. "Fuck, baby, I can't wait to marry you."

You just hummed in response, a soft moan escaping from your parted lips as Steve's mouth left your neck and began kissing down your chest. Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his mouth trailing down your body.

"Steve..." You gasped out as his mouth reached the top of your panties, and his fingers hooked into the waistband, and he began tugging them down your legs.

"Shh, honey. Want you." Steve mumbled, kissing your inner thigh a few times as he lifted your legs onto his shoulders, securing his place between your legs. You could feel his warm breath ghosting your core. "Baby, you're soaked."

A whine left your lips as Steve's mouth came into contact with your folds, his tongue licking a stripe from your leaking hole to your clit. Steve gave a sound of pleasure, one that sent a vibration jolting through your body.

Steve's hands gripped onto your thighs as they bracketed his head, squeezing just a little. He mumbled something under his breath before he dove right back in, letting his tongue enter your hole still dripping with arousal.

Another moan and your hand slipped down to grip his hair, your eyes falling shut at the pleasurable feeling overtaking your body. Steve was looking up at you, watching as you writhed against the bed, feeling you tug at his hair, falling apart on his tongue, and he smiled.

Slowly, two fingers began circling your entrance, Steve having let go of one of your thighs, and they pushed inside the moment his lips closed around your clit, licking and sucking as he fingered you.

"Fuck... Stevie, babe, 'm close." Your words were still coming out as mumbles, your brain still foggy with sleep, and a moment later your back was arching at the feeling of your orgasm flooding your senses. "Fuck..."

Steve climbed back up your body so he was hovering above you, his hands pressing against the pillow on either side of your head, almost caging you in. You opened your eyes to look up at him and smiled.

"I love you." You whispered, your hands hooking around his neck to pull him closer. Steve's soft smile just widened.

"I love you too, honey." He replied, then moved in to close the gap once more. His lips closing around your top lip first, then moving lower as the kiss deepened.

As you ran a hand down his bare chest, Steve groaned into your mouth, grinding the bulge in his pajama pants against your bare thigh.

"Want you inside, Steve." You spoke against his lips, and in a flash one of Steve's hands was working the drawstring of the pants, doing his best to untie the knot. As he did so, one of your hands cupped his cheek and you kissed him again.

"Shit." He groaned, his hand moving a little more frantically, fumbling with the string, and you giggled as you left gentle kisses along his jaw.

"You need help, Stevie?" You asked and he sighed but nodded. 

The moment his pants were undone, the two of you were pushing them and his underwear down to his hairy thighs, not even bothering to take them all the way off as his cock sprung up and you were reaching for him a moment later.

You carefully dragged the leaking tip of his cock through your folds, gathering your slick just to use it as lube when you began to stroke him.

Steve dropped his head as he let out a low moan, cursing under his breath, before he reached for the base of his dick. Your hands came up to wrap around his neck again, one already twisting the ends of his hair around your fingers.

When Steve pushed inside, you were already pulling him down to your level, pressing your foreheads together and moaning into his mouth, Steve swallowing them down quickly.

His thrusts start small and slow. You pull his body in as close as possible until your chests are pressed together, hooking your legs around his back and crossing your ankles to keep him inside of you, not like he wanted to leave anyway.

Soft little "uh, uh, uh"s left your lips as Steve moved a little faster, holding you tight.

You pulled at his hair, gripped onto his shoulder like it was your lifeline, and he hid his face in the crook of your neck, placing small kisses and whispering to you.

"I love you, baby, I love you so much." He was saying, repeating it like a mantra. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

You whimpered; he did too. It's consuming, the overwhelming feeling of love. It's filled the room, it's in the air, seeping into your skin as you kissed Steve again. It's deep, passionate, and just what you needed.

Steve reaches for your hand, the one currently grabbing onto his shoulder, and he pulls it away gently. He laces your fingers together against the pillow, right beside your head, still pushing in and out of you, keeping a steady rhythm as sweat shone on both of your skin; it's in his hair as your foreheads touch again.

"Steve, oh, Ste-- Stevie, 'm so close." You moaned into the skin of his cheek, your lips grazing against the light stubble grown there. "Baby."

"Fuck, honey, y'feel so so good." Steve praised, though it was followed by a short whimper. "Always so good for me... My girl, my beautiful girl. I love you."

"I love you." You replied, squeezing his hand and pulling his head closer to kiss him again. "I love you so much."

"I'm gonna cum, fuck." Steve groaned out, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping his forehead against yours. "I love you."

And as he repeated those three words between different sounds of pleasure, you came for the second time that morning. This time, Steve was right behind you, ropes of his cum spurting from his cock and filling you up.

You both moaned at the feeling, Steve giving a few more weak thrusts before letting his body slow. You let go of his hand to wrap both your arms around his back in a hug to pull him down. He let his body relax, slumping on top of you and kissing your neck. His arms came around you to hold you tight and your fingers raked through his hair, his soft cock still inside of you.

For a moment, you both just lie there, chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath, and then you were gently tapping his shoulder.

"Baby, y'gotta move, I need to pee." You told him and Steve sighed but pulled out with a hiss and rolled off of you, now lying on his side, watching as you shuffled from the bed, picking up your discarded shirt and panties from the bedroom floor.

"Be quick." He called after you as you took the maybe five steps to the ensuite bathroom. "I miss you already."

You just shook your head with a laugh, like he was being ridiculous, but you were back in bed with him in record time, letting his arms circle your body as he pulled you close, burying your face into his bare chest.

"We can probably get away with another hour and a half of sleep before I have to get ready for work." He mumbles, eyes already closed as he held you tight. You just hummed in response, sleep already taking you back in.

Life was pretty perfect.

–

You had always loved watching Steve while he worked, even way back at Scoops four years earlier, and now you would do it any chance you got.

Steve was the coach for Hawkins Middle School's little league team, the Cubs, and he taught Sex Ed. to the older kids, and while you obviously couldn't sit in on his classes when he was teaching, you did your best to show up to the baseball games.

You just loved watching Steve in that jacket and hat, working with those kids, and knowing he was yours. And he always would be.

Sure, a lot of the moms seemed to have taken a liking to Steve the moment he got the job; apparently some of them had even heard rumors of his... escapades in the past, back in high school.

But none of it bothered you, not like it might've a couple years earlier, because you knew Steve. He loved you, and you loved him, and that was all you needed.

Occasionally, Steve would look up at you sitting on the bleachers from the dugout, and he would always smile and wave, and you'd return the gesture, the ring on your finger glinting in the morning sun.

You'd watch him talking to the kids, encouraging them when they needed it, cheering them up when they were sad, crouching down to their height and not straightening up again until the kid would crack a smile.

Sometimes you'd watch him clean up scraped knees, much like how you used to clean his bloodied and bruised face, and you'd smile at the thought of having kids of your own someday.

Of course, the topic had come up, especially now that you had been wedding planning, and the more time went on, the more you thought about it, the more you wanted it.

And the more you wanted it, the sooner you wanted it.

Once the game ended, the Cubs winning by a landslide, Steve was jogging over to you as you raised your hand to shield your face from the sun.

"Hey, baby." He adjusted the strap of his duffle bag on his shoulder and flipped his cap around before leaning in to kiss you, one arm sliding around your waist to catch you as he tilted you back.

You grinned into the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his cheeks and keep him close. Once you pulled back, Steve kept his arm wrapped around your middle as you both walked toward his truck.

"What was that for?" You asked him and he shot you a grin as he pulled his sunglasses on.

"I missed you." He stated with a shrug, like it was obvious.

"Oh, come on, it was like an hour." You chuckled and Steve leaned over to kiss the side of your head.

"Tell me about it. Longest hour of my life, honey."

"Please, you say that every time."

"Yeah, and I mean it every time." Steve shook his head playfully, acting as if you were being ridiculous. "Now, come on, we gotta get a few groceries before the graduation, right?"

"Yup." You flashed him the list you had just pulled from your pocket. "Just stuff for dinner mostly, and the stuff for tomorrow night."

"Right, right." Steve pulled out his keys, spinning them around his finger. "Alright, let's giddy up then."

"You're not a cowboy, Steven."

"Shh, don't ruin the illusion, babe."

–

Steve was pushing the shopping cart just ahead of you, looking down at the list in one hand before glancing up at the shelf beside him.

"Baby, which tomatoes do you think would be better for tomorrow night? Fancy or just store brand?" He asked, glancing back at you as you approached, dropping a packet of spaghetti into the cart.

"Go fancy, it's not every day Dustin graduates." You suggest and Steve nods in agreement, reaching for one of the tins of crushed tomatoes and handing it to you to set in the cart.

"Alright..." Steve looked back down at your shopping list, squinting a little, muttering under his breath. You sighed and reached for the list without another word. "Hey, I was reading that!"

"Were you?" You asked with a teasing tone. "Steve, you gotta wear your glasses."

He scoffed. "No, I look like a nerd."

"All of your friends are nerds." You pointed out. "In fact, Steve, your best friend is a 17-year-old nerd."

"Okay, doesn't mean I'm a nerd." He said.

"Glasses won't make you a nerd, they'll just let you see." You sighed, speaking blandly. "It's not your fault you endured five years of severe head trauma that fucked with your eyes and ears."

"My eyes and ears are fine."

"Sure, sure."

"They are, thank you very much." Steve took the shopping list back and looked down at it. "See, we just need to grab milk, condoms and then go over to the pharmacy to get your prescription. I can read just fine."

You didn't argue with him this time, instead you stayed quiet for a moment as Steve steered the cart towards the milk.

"Hey, Steve?" You spoke again after a silent pause.

"Hmm?" He glanced toward you as he reached for a carton of milk.

"What if we don't get them?" You suggested and his brows furrowed as he set the milk in the cart.

"What do you mean?"

"The... The condoms and my prescription."

Steve looked puzzled but then shrugged. "We can pick them up tomorrow or something."

"No, I mean, what if we... just don't?"

"Don't get condoms or your birth control pills? What, you wanna become abstinent?"

"No, Steve." You chuckled, then looked right into his eyes, where he still looked a little confused. "I mean, what if we have sex without birth control or condoms?"

"But then you could get pregnant." Steve chuckled and you nodded.

"Yeah."

He stilled at your response, then stared at you, his eyes searching your face before responding slowly.

"You're... serious?" He asked and you nodded. The moment you did, Steve's face lit up like a kid on Christmas. "Really?"

"I mean, yeah, unless you just wanna wait a few months until the wedd--mmph!" You were cut off by Steve swooping you into a tight hug and pressing his lips to yours.

"God, I love you so much, honey." He mumbled against your lips in the middle of the grocery store, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him kiss you deeper.

"I love you so much, Stevie." You replied with a quiet giggle.

Steve couldn't wipe the smile from his face for the rest of the afternoon.

–

Arriving at the graduation felt strange. The last time you had been at Hawkins High School was for your own graduation three years earlier, not long after the 'earthquake' and Max's coma and Eddie's death.

And now you were here to watch the kids you had known for almost their entire lives graduate high school with your fiancé by your side, the man who, back when you were a young teenager, you had once hated.

You cross the field with your left hand laced in Steve's right, heading towards the bleachers. As you did, you passed Jonathan as he was setting up a camera to film the event.

"Jonathan!" You exclaimed with a wide smile and his head shot up to look at you, a grin of his own on his face.

"Y/N, hey!" He grinned, taking a step forward to hug you. You returned the gesture with one arm, keeping your left hand in Steve's and keeping your engagement ring hidden.

Pretty much all of Hawkins knew the news by now, Steve having told Dustin the first moment he decided he was going to propose. Of course, Dustin told the rest of his friends, so Joyce and Hopper found out through Will, Steve told his students...

So the entire town knew. You had practically begged Joyce and Karen Wheeler not to tell Jonathan and Nancy just because you wanted to surprise them and Robin by telling them in person, which you would be doing tonight as long as everything goes to plan.

"And hey, Steve." Jonathan greeted.

"Yeah, hey, man." Steve gave a nod. The two of them had become much closer -- actual friends -- since everything that had happened 18 months earlier. Steve then glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, babe, Mrs. Henderson's saved us a spot."

"Alright." You smiled before turning back to Jonathan. "See you after this, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

You walked, still hand in hand, towards the bleachers and sat just ahead of Claudia Henderson, who was already gushing about Dustin and how he was valedictorian.

You and Steve were mostly nodding along, saying a few words here and there, until Claudia said, "That's two valedictorians in the family!"

"Oh, were you valedictorian in high school?" Steve asked her.

"Oh, no, of course not! I'm talking about Y/N." She said matter-of-factly, and Steve immediately squeezed your hand without even seeing your face. He knew how that would impact you.

You had never even considered the fact that the Hendersons considered you family, even though you had lived with them for close to 4 years.

But then again, while your real family had left you, you had found a new family in your friends. In the Byers', in Hopper and El, in the Hendersons, in Max and Lucas, in the rest of your friends, and in Steve. Why wouldn't they have felt the same way.

You sat there quietly for a couple minutes before you spotted Robin waving enthusiastically as she rushed over. You and Steve both jumped to your feet, greeting her with hugs before she sat on Steve's other side and the two immediately fell into conversation, Robin telling him about her WSQK broadcast from that morning (Jimmy 'Fast Hands' Lee had let her take over for the morning) and Steve told her about the Cubs' game that morning.

Your head was leaning against Steve's shoulder as he talked with Robin, your left hand still linked with his. You reached forward with your free hand to brush some of his hair behind his ear before taking the sunglasses from his eyes and sliding them onto your face.

He just shoots a short glance your way, though he didn't look upset at all. In fact, he was smiling.

Robin faked a gag.

"I didn't miss how gross you two are, you know?" She comments sarcastically and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Uh huh." Was all he said before returning to their conversation.

The Hawkins High band played as all the seniors walked out to their chairs, dressed in their orange gowns and caps. 

As the students took their seats, and the staff did the same on stage, Dustin waved towards you, his mother and Steve from his place on the stage before sitting down.

"Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to the graduation ceremony for the class of '89." Principal Higgins announced into the microphone, and everyone broke out into cheers, you, Steve and Robin all whooping loudly.

Speeches were given, as were some awards, and soon after Higgins was announcing the valedictorian's speech.

"And now it's my great pleasure to introduce someone who has truly excelled during their time here. Ladies and gentlemen, give a warm welcome for your valedictorian, Dustin Henderson."

Steve practically flew to his feet to cheer for the boy, clapping harder than ever as he exclaimed, "Yeah, buddy!"

Lucas, Will, Mike and Max had all stood up to cheer for him too as Dustin approached the microphone.

When Steve sat back down by your side, he turned to look at you with a proud smile.

"I just wanted a normal childhood." Dustin began, his voice echoing around the football field. "But that childhood was stolen from me. It was stolen from us. And this past year, if you wanna know the truth, I've been pretty pissed off about it."

You chuckled lightly at that, sliding Steve's sunglasses off of your eyes and handing them back to him. He took them in his left hand before squeezing your thigh. Then he let go to grab your hand once more, kissing the back of it.

"But then I thought back to the past six years, and I realized that, even though there was a lot of bad, there was so much good too." Dustin continued, a smile slipping onto his face. "There's this game I like to play. It's called Dungeons & Dragons. And in this game, there are two types of chaos classes, chaotic good and chaotic bad."

Steve had sighed at the mention of D&D, while Will and Lucas cheered from their seats.

"Now, bad chaos brings anarchy, destruction, war. But good chaos can bring innovation, change. And this school, frankly, it needed to change. Because we were so divided into the jocks, the nerds, freaks. And in the chaos, all those walls broke down, and I made new friends. I made friends who were never even supposed to be my friends."

You caught the way Steve looked down for a moment and seemed to blink away tears before reaching over to squeeze Robin's arm gently, and she smiled at him.

"And this wasn't just me. I saw this happen with so many others. And when you get to know people who are different from you, you begin to learn more about yourself. You change. You grow.

That time, Steve looked at you. You were already looking at him, and you smiled, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder.

"I'm a better person now. I'm a better person because of them, because of my friends. So, I'm not pissed off anymore."

You let out another quiet laugh, Robin doing the same with a sniffle and Steve just smiling.

"But I am worried. Worried, because now that the chaos is over, Principal Higgins and every square like him is gonna do their damnedest to put everything back in order."

Gasps broke out through the crowd, including from you and your friends. Steve snickered that time, and even Claudia seemed to find it more amusing than anything.

"And I don't want order, which is why it's hypocritical that I'm even wearing this thing." Dustin looks down to his robe. "I mean, we look ridiculous. What is this? We look like Roman senators. I mean, it's not who I am. I don't think it's who any of us are. So, honestly, just screw it."

Dustin unzipped his robe and ripped open his dress shirt to reveal a homemade t-shirt underneath reading 'Hellfire Lives'.

"Screw the school." Dustin went on, despite the way Principal Higgins was attempting to stop him, taking the mic from its stand. You, Steve and Robin all let out whooping cheers from the stands. "Screw the system. Screw conformity. Screw everyone and everything trying to hold you back and tear us apart, because this, this is our year!"

The last line of Dustin's speech made your breath catch in your throat while the seniors and your friends were all cheering, and you watched as he dropped the microphone, snatched his diploma from Principal Higgins' hands and flipped him off.

"I'm gonna walk that stage next month, I'm gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I'm gonna flip him the bird, I'm gonna snatch that diploma and I'm gonna run like hell outta here." Eddie had said that in the cafeteria, you had overheard him. This was Dustin's way of honoring Eddie. "This year is my year. I can feel it. '86, baby."

You couldn't help but tear up as Principal Higgins yelled at the students to settle down while confetti blew through the air.

Steve noticed once you sniffled, and he reached forward with his free hand to wipe the tears from your eyes, running his thumb over the scar around your left eye, before leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

Then you just smiled before facing forward for the rest of the ceremony.

–

Laughter filled the air surrounding the Squawk rooftop as the sun began to set around you all.

"I'm just saying, I think you guys would really dig New York." Jonathan stated.

"Yeah, okay." Robin chuckled.

"How much is rent in New York?" Steve asked.

"Thinking about moving?" Nancy teased.

"Yeah, you wanna come live with me?" Jonathan questioned him, making you snort.

"Please, I'm not living with both of you." You scoffed, only for Jonathan to give you a look.

"Um, the invite was only extended to Steve." He joked and you rolled your eyes.

"You're serious? Come on." Steve lifted his arms and turned his back to you all to gesture around. "I mean, look at this place. The sunset, the view. Whoo!"

You shake your head with an amused smile and Nancy gives you a look.

"You guys are seriously telling me you don't miss any of this?" Steve asked, turning to face where the rest of you were sitting again.

"No..." Jonathan, Nancy and Robin all answered.

"The forest, the quarry, Family Video, the Hawk?" He went on.

"No!" They all exclaimed and you laughed as you took another sip of your drink before sitting up in your chair and waving Steve over to you.

"No, I couldn't come back here if you paid me a million bucks." Jonathan stated.

"Well, that's a little dramatic." You commented and Jonathan squinted at you.

"Mm." Steve hummed as he finished his beer, squeezing your shoulder with his free hand before leaning down to grab another bottle from the cooler beside you. "You'd need a lot less than a million, I'll tell you that. Prices are still way down."

He continued talking as he opened his new bottle of beer, and you watched him fondly as he spoke. The suit he had decided to wear to the graduation made him look really good, and you were just so incredibly in love with him.

"There's actually this rad place over in Forest Hills. We can't quite afford it yet, but we're close." Steve continued, taking a seat on the cooler, and you reached out to tangle your fingers in the ends of his hair. "And that is on a coach's salary."

"Don't forget sex ed teacher." Robin added and you grinned.

"That's true." Steve replied.

"They have you teaching sex ed?" Nancy asked and you nodded.

"Oh yeah." You chuckled.

"It's part of the gig." Steve shrugged and everyone laughed.

"If I had a question about an STD, you'd be the first person I'd come to." Robin said.

"Thank you?" Steve responded, resulting in more laughter.

"If I had a question about sex, you'd be the first person I'd come to." You said, taking a sip of your drink, and your friends groaned.

"Well, I'd hope so." Steve leaned in to kiss you, making your friends groan again.

"God, you two are so gross." Robin said and Steve just shook his head before returning to the topic at hand.

"No, but I love it." He continued. "I love teaching these kids, you know? I get to teach them about the miracle of life, and how to not start it accidentally. And this time, I'm in control of the grades."

"And why do I feel like you go pretty easy there?" Nancy asked.

"I have a strict A policy." Steve explained and you shared a look with Jonathan as you sipped your drink again.

"Uh-huh."

"B, if you're a real knucklehead. That's about as low as I go."

"Hell, man, can you come and teach at NYU?" Jonathan asked and you all laughed.

"I mean, what, I'm gonna grade your movie about capitalism, cannibalism, or whatever?" Steve asked and Jonathan threw his head back in his chair.

"No, it's anti-capitalist. The Consumer." Jonathan explained. "It's a metaphor. The more she eats, the hungrier she gets."

"Right." Nancy answered first, meeting your eyes with a glint of amusement.

"Okay..." Robin looked away and Jonathan immediately jumped to his own defense.

"Well, I mean, it's a working... That's the working title."

"It's good." Nancy told him and you all broke out into another fit of giggles.

"Mm-hmm." Steve hummed before laughing, then looked at Robin. "Now, Smith. Smith, I... I would consider."

"Oh, really? Is it the lectures on Steinem that draw you or the high concentration of women?" Robin asked and you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Steve, which one is it?" You asked and he turned to face you.

"Uh, neither, I just meant because... you know, 'cause Robin's there." He insisted and you nodded, sharing an amused glance with Robin.

"Right, right." You replied.

"Babe, come on." Steve sighed, though more playfully than anything. "Fine, I take it back. If I were to teach at any college, it would be Indiana State so I could see you all day."

"Aw, baby." You put on a pout. "That's so sweet."

Every morning, Steve drove you an hour out of Hawkins to take you to school, then drove the hour trip back alone so he could go to work, then would repeat the trip again after work to pick you up, all so you wouldn't have to drive yourself alone or take the bus.

It was nice, but it was exhausting for both of you.

"What about you, Nance?" Robin asked and you all looked over at Nancy. "How are the babes at Emerson?"

You couldn't help but notice how Jonathan suddenly seemed much more interested, tilting his head to look at Nancy.

"Oh, um... I wouldn't know." She answered, shaking her head. "I dropped out."

"No way. What?" Steve asked and your brows shot up.

"Ho, ho, ho! I knew it. You became a Navy SEAL." Robin said before leaning back in her chair to sip her drink.

"Oh no, not quite. I, um... I took a job at the Herald. Which... It sounds fancier like that." Nancy told you all. "It's a trainee position. But I don't know. I was just sick of school and thought I'd maybe get out there and... try the real world."

You nodded in understanding. For someone who had spent most of high school hellbent on going to college and getting the hell out of Hawkins, you had found that maybe college wasn't for you after all.

But, then again, people change when they spend five years fighting interdimensional monsters.

"Nancy Wheeler. Still full of surprises." Robin spoke affectionately and Nancy shared a look with Jonathan. "You know, there actually is something that I miss about this place. I miss this. Just... us. Hanging out. I miss you guys."

Robin had started to tear up while she was talking and so had the rest of you just listening to her. Steve had to turn away to try and blink away tears before reaching out to hold your hand.

"I mean, I really like my new friends. But it's..." Robin stopped.

"It's not the same." Nancy finished and Robin nodded.

Jonathan looked over at you. "I don't think it ever will be."

"Definitely not." You agreed with a sniffle, and then for a moment the five of you sat there in silence, crying softly.

"Okay, Jesus." Steve spoke loudly and suddenly, causing the rest of you to laugh. "Let's do something about it."

He stood up, then offered you a hand to pull you to your feet beside him, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"I don't know, we could... meet up." Steve suggested. "Once a month, here."

"Yeah, or... or maybe somewhere just more neutral." Nancy spoke up. "Like... What's a city between Hawkins, and Massachusetts, New York?"

"Louisville." Jonathan answered first, which seemed to get a negative response from Robin.

"Uh, Philly." You said instead.

"Philly." Robin perked up. "I have an uncle who lives in Philly. He's kinda weird, but he's got a really big house."

"Does it have a basement?" Jonathan inquired.

"Yeah." Robin replied, sounding confused.

"And a boiler room?" Jonathan continued.

"A boiler room?" Steve repeated, giving you a look.

"Yeah." Robin answered again.

"Oh my God, it's perfect." Jonathan said. "You know, for the hideout. You know, where she traps all the men and then burns their bodies."

"Uh... The Consumer." Nancy clarified.

"The Consumer." Jonathan nodded. "What do you think I'm talking about?"

"I thought you were trying to kill us." Robin laughed.

"Oh no." Jonathan said and you shook your head.

"Okay, okay. It's settled." You decided.

"Yeah, so we'll meet at Robin's weird uncle's house, and we'll drink and we'll reminisce and make Jonathan's anti-capitalist cannibal movie. Starting next month." Nancy stated.

"Yeah, I'm in." Robin spoke first.

"I'm in." Jonathan agreed.

Steve raised the bottle in his hand, glancing to you before looking around at your friends. "To nothing ever keeping us apart."

"Including overbearing significant others." Robin said first, standing up with her cup.

"School." Nancy went on, standing with her own cup.

"Mortgages." Jonathan added, putting his bottle into the mix.

"And kids." You spoke, adding your cup, and three heads snapped towards you.

"What?" Jonathan asked, but Steve just grinned.

"Cheers." He spoke.

"Cheers?" Robin repeated with a raised brow as glasses and plastic collided in the middle before you all took sips of your respective drinks.

"Wait, so, what do you mean by kids?" Jonathan asked. "Are you...?"

"Jon, I love you, buddy, but if I were pregnant, I wouldn't be drinking alcohol right now." You pointed out, earning a chuckle from Nancy. "No, but we were just talking... earlier about if I should maybe stop taking birth control."

Nancy gasped, and you grinned into your cup as you took a sip. Steve slid his arm around your shoulder.

"Yeah, but then we were thinking maybe we should just wait until after the wedding, you know?" He spoke casually, and you didn't miss the way all three of your friends froze.

"Wait, what wedding?" Jonathan asked and you raised your left hand to show off the engagement ring on your finger.

Robin slapped her hands over her mouth in shock before hitting Steve's arm. "You proposed and you didn't tell me?!"

"We wanted to tell you in person!" He laughed as Nancy moved forward to hug you.

"Oh my God!" She gushed, hugging you tight, and you giggled again.

When she pulled away, Jonathan was hugging you next, then Robin.

"Congratulations, you guys." Nancy said.

"Thanks, Nance." Steve nodded and Jonathan chuckled before looking towards you.

"Remember like eight years ago when you, like, vowed to always hate Steve Harrington?" Jonathan asked you, making you roll your eyes while the others laughed. Steve wrapped his arms around your middle and leant down so his head was on your shoulder. "Now you're marrying the guy."

"We were in middle school, Jonathan!" You groaned, just for the others to laugh. "And, for the record, I definitely still hate him."

"That's not what you were saying this morning when--" You clamped your hand over his mouth and your friends started laughing again.

"Shut up, Steven." You frowned, removing your hand.

"No." He grinned. "Come on, honey, you love me."

"Yeah, for some reason." You shook your head with a smile.

"So, when's the wedding?" Robin asked. "Have you set a date yet?"

"The end of the summer, right before school goes back... Actually, most of our plans are already set." Steve told them.

"Yeah, we just have to give out the invites...." You agreed.

The conversation went on for a little longer as the sun set lower and lower. Topics shifted, more drinks were shared until soon it was just the five of you sitting on that rooftop, half-drunk and staring up at the starry night sky.

Steve had stolen your lawn chair at some point and tugged you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, his lips brushing against your neck every so often.

It was quiet and calm -- peaceful -- and it was just you and your friends all together.

And you had Steve, and he had you, and you were finally free to do whatever you'd like.

No more monsters, no more Vecna, no more Upside Down. Just life together.

And maybe that's all you needed.

–

a/n: and that’s the end of so high school!!! tysm to everyone who’s been reading over the last month or so i really appreciate it!! i love ur comments and everything ur all so funny and sweet. idk what im gonna work on next but im sooo excited for u guys to read the stuff i have planned for you all!!! thank you again.

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[onenightafewmoonsago]

This series was so good! ❤️

[harringtonsdiary]

It's Not Over Until it's Done

steve harrington x f!reader words: 23,232 warnings: reader has commitment issues. mentions of underaged sex. mentions of sex. mentions of blood. two idiots who love one another. angst. hurt and comfort. fluff. friends with benefits summary: You and Steve have always been a little doomed. All longing looks and almosts, circling each other for years without ever landing in the same place at the same time. a/n: I cannot get “It’s Over” by Djo out of my head. This is very much unedited. And it’s very much the first fic I’ve done in a year.

It was the kind of late summer night that hummed with static. It was warm, soft-edged, and slow. The air in  Steve Harrington’s room smelled like dryer sheets and drugstore cologne, like something trying too hard to be grown-up.The ceiling fan spun lazily, making his posters ripple against the wall.

You were licking your teeth, feeling the ghost of braces that had been taken off a few weeks ago. You were sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a mess of playing cards between you, a pile of candy wrappers and loose change serving as your winnings. 

Steve squinted at his cards like he was doing something serious. His hair flopped a little too much over his forehead,curls curling the wrong way because of the heat. He laid his hand down carefully, slow and smug. “Full house.” He said, and grinned like he’d just won the big basketball game. 

You slumped, dramatic. “You’ve gotta be kidding me” 

He reached for the pile, fingers already scooping up his victory, but you were faster. You pressed your cards over his hand. “Sorry Harrington,” You fanned your cards, all hearts, right up to the ace. “Royal flush.”

His jaw dropped. “Shit,” He fell back on his elbows, like the weight of defeat was too much. 

You smirked. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” 

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No, ‘cause I don’t kiss anyone, apparently.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

He sat up, expression crumpled between embarrassment and frustration. “Nothing. It’s just…” He looked away again. He brought his knees to his chest and laid his arms on top. You knew he did that when he was flustered, hoping it would hide that he cared what people thought of him. ”We’re starting high school next week, and I’m gonna die before I ever kiss a girl. Everyone else has done it, even Tommy freakin’ Hagan.” 

You tilted your head, studying him.. “You’re not gonna die, Steve. It’s just a kiss.” 

“Yeah, easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’ve kissed, like, half of our class.” 

“Not half,” you said defensively, then shrugged. “Maybe a quarter.” 

He laughed, shaking his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Great. So maybe you can tell me what I’m doing wrong. What if I mess it up? Like, what if I’m terrible at it and everyone knows?” 

Something about the way he said it. It was too soft, making you pause. He often wasn’t serious. When he was, it always caught you off guard. His hands were restless, picking at the corner of a card.

You titled your head. “You wanna know how not to mess it up?” 

He glanced at you, wary. “You’re going to say something mean, aren’t you?” 

You nudged his knee with yours. “No,” you said, with a not so convincing tone and a threatening grin. “I’m gonna teach you, doofus.” 

That got a laugh, but it faltered when he saw your face. It was the realization that you were being serious. “Oh. You’re… serious.” 

“It doesn’t have to be weird.” You assured him. “It’s only practice.” You leaned back, licking your lips. 

Steve looked like he was ready to bolt out of the room but another part of him, the way his eyes gleamed with a certain curiosity told you he would stay. Steve was notoriously known as the trouble maker, getting into things, and making teachers think about retirement. It wasn’t until the last couple of months of eighth grade that he started to find girls interesting. You knew Tommy gave him a hard time and that’s why it was bothering him so much. To be truthful, you wanted his first kiss to be with someone he trusted. 

In a way. You had always hoped you were each other’s first kiss. 

The room felt smaller all of a sudden. The fan kept spinning but utterly useless. Steve scratched the back of his neck, then nodded slowly. “Okay.” 

You were a little too eager to stand up and sit on his bed. You patted the space next to you, smiling. He rolled his eyes like it was the worst idea he’d ever agreed to, but he joined you anyway. The mattress dipped under his weight. Your knees brushed.

“So,” he said awkwardly. “How do I even know when to… do it? Do I just ask?”

You bit back a smile. “You can,” you said slowly. “Or you can give them the look.”

He blinked. “The look?” 

“Yeah,” you teased, your knee pushing into his. “You know, like the movies. You look her in the eye and then at her lips and then back into her eyes.” You said it like it was simple. 

He scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

”Steve,” you said, patient and exasperated all at once. “It works.” 

He muttered something under his breath but turned to face you anyway. Then he did it. It was exactly like you described. Eyes, lips, eyes. It was a little hesitant, but you still were annoyed how perfect it already was. You almost thought it was cute. Almost.  

You felt your pulse skip. “Good,” you whispered. “See? Now if a girl wants you to kiss her, she’ll lean in too. Like this.” 

You leaned in closer. 

He mirrored you, hesitating only a moment before closing the last inch of space. His lips brushed yours, soft and uncertain.. But when he pulled back, mouth parted like he wanted to go again. 

Your lips tingled lightly at the lingering warmth he left behind. “M’kay,” you said, keeping your tone even. “Not bad for a first try.” 

“Not bad?” He echoed, eyes narrowing. 

You laughed quietly. “Could be better.” You took his hands, moved them to your waist. His palms were warm. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how big his hands were, how close he was. You never noticed them whenever he picked you up and threw you in the pool. “Like this,” you murmured. “And then I put my hands here.” Your fingers on his shoulders, ignoring how solid they felt. 

He breathed out slow. “Okay,” he said again, voice barely a whisper.

He looked at you for a long second before he did it again. The look. Eyes, lips, eyes. Then he leaned in. 

The first brush of his mouth was soft. His thumb grazed your hip. You felt him exhale against your skin, the tremor of it making you pulse stumble. And then, like he couldn’t help himself, he tilted his head and kissed you again. Deeper this time. 

Every time his fingers shifted against you, the space between you seemed to shrink. You could smell his shampoo, that faint clean scent you’d come to recognize as him. The world outside blurred into gold light and the sound of your own breath. 

You parted you lips, just barely, and felt the smallest spark when your tongue brushed his. Your hands had moved on their own, up the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His hands found your back, sliding up until you were almost pressed against him. 

You were supposed to be teaching him. But now you were kissing him like you’d been waiting to. Like this was something inevitable. 

You were kissing your best friend. 

You were making out with Steve Harrington. 

You pulled back first, breathless, throat tight. He followed, almost. His lips chased yours until he caught himself. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Your foreheads hovered close, his hands still fisted in the back of your shirt before he slowly let go. 

You both stared forward, the silence too fragile to touch. 

“Well,” you managed finally, voice thin, “you’re definitely ready.” 

He licked his swollen lips, trying for casual and failing. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess so.” 

You patted his chest, the gesture light but clumsy. “Just… don’t use your new skills to break a girl’s heart, okay?” 

His grin was crooked. “Promise.” 

Then, after a beat, with the air between you still charged, he cleared his throat. “You’re not, uh… uh gonna show me anything else, right? Like—“ 

“Oh my god, Steve.” You cut in, laughing, too loud, too quick. “No. I’m not teaching you how sex works.” 

He laughed too, that easy nervous kind. “Yeah. No. Totally.. That’d be… really weird.” 

You both tried to stop laughing, but it lingered. The kind that lived in your chest more than your mouth. When it finally faded, there was just quiet again. 

He looked at you. You looked at him. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like kids pretending to be older. You felt like something had changed. It was something that neither of you could take back. Crickets began to sing and the room bowed with the last breath of summer light. 

.-.-.-.

The world had shifted between that summer and now. Or maybe it was only Steve who had.

By the time sophomore year came around, he’d grown into someone that hallways seemed to bend toward. Taller, louder. Hair somehow even bigger. He leaned against lockers like he’d invented them, flashing that grin that made girls bite their lips and giggle behind spiral notebooks. 

You were still his best friend. 

Mostly. 

He spent too much time with Tommy and Carol. He spent too much time acting like he didn’t care about anything. Carol didn’t like you much. It might because you didn’t laugh when they were mean, or maybe because she could tell that if it came down to it, Steve would still pick you. He always did. Movie nights. Lunch tables. The quiet walk home when you wanted to leave a party early. 

You told yourself that meant something. 

You told yourself that when you stormed down the hall after last period, backpack thumping, heart thrumming hot against your ribs. 

Beth Parker had been crying in the girls’ bathroom, mascara bleeding down her face. Whispering something about Steve. Your Steve. 

By the time you made it to his house, your anger had settled into something colder. A quiet, steady pulse. You didn’t bother knocking. 

He was at his desk when you found him. His hair was a mess, pen tapping against a math book like it might start answering the questions for him. When he looked up, his smile came easy. Too easy. 

“Hey,” he said. “You just break in now or—“

”Why was Beth Parker crying in the bathroom?” 

He froze for a second, then groaned. “Jesus. You heard about that?” 

You dropped your bag, arms crossing over your chest. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do anything.”

”Steve.” 

He avoided your eyes, staring at the book like it might save him. “She’s mad because I didn’t call her after our date. No big deal.”

Your voice sharpened. “Did you sleep with her?” 

He blinked, startled. “What? No.” His hands went up fast, defensive. “We just kissed. A lot. And maybe… there was some touching. But nothing more.” His ears went red, the way they always did when he got caught. 

You exhaled hard through your nose. “Steve, you can’t do that. You used her.”

”I didn’t use her,” he said, turning in his chair to face you. “I went on a date. Like a normal person. We had fun. I just didn’t think it was going anywhere.” 

“Then tell her that,” you said, voice low. “Don’t promise something you don’t mean.” 

He sighed, long and annoyed, turning back toward his desk. “Whatever.” 

You sat down on the edge of his bed. The air between you went still. It was quiet except for the faint scratch of pencil against paper. You could feel him looking. 

When you finally glanced up, he was half-turned in his chair again, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The one that meant trouble. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.” 

He leaned back, lips curling. “You know, you’re kinds hot when you’re mad at me.” 

“Steve.” 

He shrugged. 

“Your parents are home,” you warned. 

“Hasn’t stopped us before.” 

You wanted to roll your eyes, to laugh, to tell him he was ridiculous, but your stomach flipped because he wasn’t wrong. 

It hadn’t stopped you before. 

What started as one kiss. One stupid accidental kiss. Was not a pattern. Nights when you shouldn’t have come over. Morning where you left before his parents woke. It was supposed to be simple. Secret. An agreement between friends who didn’t talk about it in daylight. 

But it never felt simple. 

He was still watching you now, that lazy smirk softening at the edges, waiting for you to give in. He knew you too well. 

You sighed, standing. “You’re ridiculous.” 

You shut his bedroom door gently, the click of it sounding louder than it should have. 

He didn’t move. Just watched under his heady gaze as you crossed the room, stopping between his knees. The air was charged, the kind of quiet that made you aware of every breath. 

“Just so you know,” you said softly, “I have to leave by seven. I actually plan on graduating.” 

Steve’s grin was slow. “I’ll make it worth your time.” 

You didn’t even get a chance to roll your eyes before his hand found your hip. The kiss came fast and it was familiar and hungry. The kind that made you forget you were supposed to be mad. 

His fingers tightened against your waist, as his mouth moved against yours, you realized what you’d never say our loud. 

He always did. 

.-.-.-.

Steve’s freckles were one of your favorite things about him. Tiny constellations scattered across his skin, like a map only you could read. You traced them absentmindedly, circles on his shoulder, the dip of his collarbone, watching the way goosebumps followed your touch. 

The fan above hummed lazy rotations. The light from his bedside lamp was soft and golden, tinting everything honey. His skin, the sheets tangled around your legs, the air itself. It was quiet except for the small sounds of the room, your breathing, the shift of linen, the faint creak of the house settling. That hazy space where everything felt tender and close. 

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, your voice somewhere between a whisper and a sigh. “What’re thinking about?” 

Steve hesitated, eyes fixed somewhere near your elbow instead of your face. “Nothing important.” 

You hummed, though the sound came out skeptical. You knew him well enough to hear the difference between silence and avoidance. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, because he leaned in and kissed you once, but it was chaste and apologetic. Then he was gone. 

You watched as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants, the movement too deliberate to be casual. The bathroom door clicked shut behind him. 

The bed felt colder without him.

So did you. 

You lay there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the fan filling up the space where his voice should’ve been. You tried to tell yourself it was fine, that maybe he just needed air, that maybe he’d had another fight with his dad. That has been happening more lately. It was always sharp words about Steve’s future. 

You got up slowly, gathering your clothes from the floor. It was Saturday. Normally, you’d stay the night, steal one of his shirts, wake up to him making burnt toast and pretending it was breakfast. But something in your chest told you this wasn’t one of those nights. 

When he came back out, you were sitting cross-legged on his bed, knees pulled to your chest. His hair was damp at the edges. He didn’t look at you. Just sat down at the edge of the mattress, shoulders curved forward, elbows on his knees. 

The silence stretched thin. You could feel the question burning between your ribs before you spoke it. “What’s wrong?” 

He let out a breath that didn’t sound like it helped much. His voice was low, uneven. “I was just thinking about… what we do when we start dating other people.” 

You froze. The words hung there, heavy and delicate, like glass about to slip. “Oh.” You swallowed, forcing a small nod. “You mean… like going steady with someone?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not really. “Yeah.” 

You picked at the edge of his comforter, pretending it was easier to look at that than him. Your throat felt tight, like the room had gotten smaller. “I guess we’d stop doing this.”

He nodded slowly, still not facing you. “Yeah,” he said after a long beat. “That’s what I figured.” 

The fan hummed, a low, steady whir that felt too loud against the quiet between you. The golden light from his bedside lamp had dimmed, thinning into something colder. You could see the slope of his back, the rise and fall of his shoulders. It was too quick, too uneven. Like he was trying to breathe through something heavy. 

“Is that… what you want?” Your voice cracked on the last word. 

He then turned, eyes finding yours. For a moment, he looked almost scared. The kind of scared that made your chest hurt, like he wanted to tell you the truth but didn’t know how to survive it. 

“I don’t know what I want,” he admitted quietly. His gaze flickered toward the wall again, his hands clasping together in his lap. “What do you know about Nancy Wheeler?” 

It felt like someone had opened a window in the middle of winter. All the warmth in the room escaped at once. 

“Nancy Wheeler,” you echoed, forcing a breath of a laugh. “She’s… nice.” 

Steve smiled. It was small, almost sheepish. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Nice.” He rubbed a hand over his face, his voice turning rough around the edges. “It’s not like that. I mean, it could be. We’ve just been talking. On the phone, for a couple weeks now. I’m just—“ he hesitated, searching for words, “trying to figure it out. What I’m supposed to be doing.” 

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “You don’t have to figure anything out, Steve.” You looked down at your hands. “It’s not like we’re anything.” 

His head snapped toward you, brows pulled tight, like he hadn’t expected that. His voice came out softer than you were ready for. “But we are something,” he said. “Aren’t we?” 

You wanted to tell him yes. That he was your something , had been for a long time. That the way he touched you, the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching. It was impossible to believe this wasn’t real. But the words wouldn’t come. They sat in your chest like stones. 

“No,” you said instead. It barely came out. 

You straightened your back, forced yourself to breathe. You remembered the promise he’d made once. He promised he wouldn’t break a girl’s heart. And somehow, here you were, sitting in the ruins of that promise. Maybe that was on you for letting it get this far. For thinking he’d never aim the hurt in your direction. 

Your jaw tensed. “So what is this, then?” You asked, voice sharper now. “One last bachelor night before you tie yourself down?”

He let out a small laugh, almost disbelieving. “Come on. Maybe nothing’ll come out of it.” 

You scoffed. “You’re Steve Harrington. Something always comes out of it.” 

He shifted, leaning forward a little, hand reaching for you like he could smooth this over. “Here,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be my closest friend.” 

That invisible thread between you. The one that had always tugged, gentle but constant, snapping clean. You could almost feel it. 

You stood, rubbing at the bridge of your nose to keep from crying. “Steve, you slept with me while liking someone else. That’s kind of messed up.” 

He blinked, confusion flashing across his face. “What do you want me to say? You just said this wasn’t a thing.” 

“It isn’t,” you bit out. “That’s not the point. It still sucks. You have any idea what kind of position that put me in when you and Nancy inevitably start dating?” 

He exhaled hard through his nose, fingers running through his hair. “I said we talked on the phone, not planning a damn wedding.” 

You let out a frustrated sound, hands in the air. “That’s not the point, Steve! You never call girls on the phone. You’ve never brought this up about any of them. So yeah, something’s different.” 

He looked down at his hands for a long second, then reached for his sweatshirt and pulled it on. The sound of cotton dragging over skin filled the space between you. “It’s late,” he said finally. “Let me drive you home.” 

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it. I can walk.” 

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Just stood there, still half in shadow, watching you pull on your jacket, gathering the last bits of yourself before you walked out the door. 

You paused, hand on the knob. The air was heavy with things you hadn’t said. 

“For what it’s worth,” you said quietly, not turning around, “Nancy’s lucky.” You managed a weak smile over your shoulder. “You’re a good guy, Steve. Even if you don’t know it yet.” 

Then you opened the door and stepped into the dark. 

.-.-.-.

About a month had passed. Enough time for the bruises on your heart to scab over but not quite heal.

You’d kept your distance from Steve. 

He had made his choice, and you’d seen it for yourself. The way he and Nancy Wheeler slipped into empty classrooms, the way their laughter followed after them like a secret. Every time, jealousy twisted low in your stomach, and you hated yourself for it. 

It was after midnight when you heard it. It was a faint tap against your window. 

You’d switched off your lamp, your room dim and soft with moonlight. At first, you thought it was a branch brushing against the siding. Then came another tap. It was quick, deliberate, almost urgent. 

When you pulled back the curtain, you froze. Steve was outside, face half-lit by the streetlight. His lip was split, one cheek bruised, a small cut on his brow. He looked wrecked. 

You sighed, already hating how quickly you move to unlatch the window. 

He didn’t say anything. Not a single word, before climbing through. Then his mouth was on yours. It was messy, desperate. The taste of blood and salt. His hands came up to frame your face, holding you like he’d been drowning and finally found air. 

You stumbled back, heart lurching, your palms pressing against his chest. “Steve… hey, wait,” you gasped. “What happened?” 

He just shook his head, breathing hard, eyes wide and frantic. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, voice low. “We’ve never asked why before.” He leaned in again, but you stepped back. 

“Yeah,” you said sharply, “but that was before Nancy.” 

He let out a short, butter laugh. “Jesus, that whole thing’s over. She’s having a real fun time getting to know Byers.” 

You blinked. “What… like Jonathan Byers?” Your eyes swept over his bruises, the ugly cut near his temple. “He’s the one who did that to you?” 

Steve’s mouth twitched into something between a smirk and a wince. “He’s mad that I told him the truth.” 

You folded your arms across your chest. “God, what is it like to be so completely self-involved?” 

His eyes flickered up, and you didn’t stop. 

“Unlike you, Nancy actually cares about other people. She wasn’t two-timing you, Steve. She’s been spending time with Jonathan because his brother’s missing.” You could feel your voice shaking. “Her best friend is missing too. And instead of giving a damn about that, you’re too busy worrying about whether she wants to sleep with you.” 

His jaw flexed, eyes dark. He didn’t look at you. 

The realization came slow, but when it hit, it hollowed you out. “You already slept with her, didn’t you?” you asked quietly. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. 

Something snapped. 

“You’re such a dick,” you said, the words trembling out of you. You put your finger into his chest. “You can’t just come running here every time something blows up in your face. I’m not your backup plan, Steve. I’m not the person you crawl to when the world stops giving you what you want.” 

He stared at you. He was wide-eyed and stunned. For a second, you almost saw guilt there. But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar, stubborn fire. “You act like you never did the same thing,” he said. 

You froze. It hit like a slap. “Excuse me?” 

He gave a small, humorless shake of his head. “You used me just as much as I used you.” 

You took a step forward, heart pounding. “You know what, Steve? I really wish we’d never kissed.” 

He let out a sharp, hollow laugh. “Yeah. Me too.” 

The air between you thinned. Every ounce of anger you had curdled into something that felt like grief. You didn’t understand why it hurt this much. You both knew what this was. You’d told yourselves it meant nothing. But somehow it had become everything. 

You looked at him then, really look. The split lips, the exhausted eyes, the quiet kind of hurt buried under his anger and your throat burned with regret. “We’re not friends anymore, Steve,” you whispered. “Just… leave me alone.” 

You turned before he could see your eyes shine. 

You felt it. His fingers ghosting against the back of your arm. Just a brush, light enough to make you stop breathing. The floor creaked behind you, and for a moment, you waited. You wanted him to argue. To say anything. 

He didn’t. 

When you looked back, the window was open again. The curtain lifted in the night air. And he was gone. 

Outside, his car door slammed. The engine started, a hollow sound in the quiet street. 

You stood there, staring at the empty space where he’d been. The reflection of your own face looked back at you in the glass, tired, angry, heartbroken, and for the first time, you let yourself admit it. 

You’d lost him long before tonight. 

.-.-.-.

The annual Fourth of July fair stretched across the Hawkins fairground like a fever dream of lights and noise. The air smelled of popcorn and smoke, a haze of fireworks already threatening to stain the sky. 

You spotted Steve before he saw you. He stood behind Nancy by the lemonade stand, his hand loosely on her shoulder. He was laughing, head tilted just enough that you could see the dimples you’d spent too many summers memorizing. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were here to have fun. That you didn’t care if he was happy. 

Him and Nancy had made up, you assumed, after the last time you had spoken to him. They were now the couple everyone in school couldn’t shut up about.

”Three shots for a dollar!” Called a voice, snapping you out of it. 

You turned toward the bowling pin booth. The attendant was a guy about your age and the kind of grin that came prepackaged with confidence. He waved you over, flashing you a charming and convincing smile. “Come on,” he teased, “let’s see if you’ve got an arm.” 

You giggled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “What do I win if I do?” You batted your eyes innocently. They flashed across his name tag which read, Sam. 

“Anything on the top shelf,” he said. He looked you up and down, smirking. “Or maybe my number.” 

You felt the heat on your cheeks rise. ”Very tempting, but I’m afraid I don’t have the money.” 

It was then, someone next to you, slammed a dollar bill on the counter, startling you. You turned, frowning. It was Steve with Nancy lingering beside him. She smiled politely and Steve had an unamused look on his face. He motioned to the game, “Go ahead.” 

You weren’t sure what he was doing but the attendant set three baseballs in front of you, winking. You cleared your throat, picking up one of the balls, and throwing it. Completely Missing. Steve blew out a puff of air that sounded like a laugh. You saw Nancy elbow him out the corner of your eye. 

To prove a point, you threw the second ball, only managing to hit two pins down. You nearly felt defeated but then Sam put the final ball in your hand. “May I?” He asked. 

You glanced over at Steve and Nancy. You knew you should feel insulted or embarrassed but you found a sort of satisfaction in the way Steve’s jaw clenched, eyes burning at how Sam held your arm. 

You smiled shyly, nodding. Sam took the opportunity to hold your arm. His touch didn’t make you tingle but you did find it attractive how gentle he was. He counted down and you released the ball, hitting it right where he told you to. They clattered to the ground from the stand. Sam let out a low whistle, leaning towards. “Damn, that was a good throw.” 

You bit your lip. “It helps when you have a good teacher.” 

He chuckled. “Alright then. I don’t suppose you made up your mind what you want your prize to be?” 

The presence of Steve was even stronger beside you, his silence sharp as glass. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand flexed once against his thigh. There was a vindictive urge to let him see that he didn’t own the part of you that used to ache for him. 

So you smiled at Sam, all teeth and mischief. “I have a better offer. You free to watch the fireworks later?” 

He laughed, clearly delighted, and grabbed a small plush bear from the shelf. “I can make that work.” 

You felt the burn of Steve’s stare like sunlight on the back of your neck. 

You gave Sam one last smile before turning to face Steve and Nancy. “Thanks for the dollar.” You wanted to make a really low blow. “And I guess for the impromptu date.” It was fueled with sarcasm that only Steve would recognize. 

His mouth twitched like he wanted to make a remark. Instead, he grinned. “Anytime. I always look out for my friends.” He then pulled Nancy closer. “Come on, Nance. We should get to the Ferris wheel before the line gets too long.” 

Nancy hesitated, then glanced back at you, her tone gentler. “Do you want to join us? We have plenty of tickets.” 

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. You looked from Nancy, who had a soft expression on her face to Steve, who wouldn’t meet your eyes. You expected her to hate you. You had believed Steve told her that they were to steer clear from you. “That’s sweet, but… I’m good. Thank you.” You rubbed your finger on the stuffed bear’s fur. You held it out to her. “Here, it was your boyfriend’s dollar after all.” 

“Thanks,” Nancy gave you a small nod, taking the bear from you. She turned and laced her fingers through Steve’s. “See you later!” She called out. Steve followed wordlessly, his free hand shoved in his pocket. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t look after them, but when you did, you caught him in the act. Steve had stopped a few paces away, turning his head just slightly. His eyes found you in the crush of carnival lights. It was brief but fierce and it lingered. It was only a second. But it was enough to stir your stomach like you were on the tilt-a-whirl. 

.-.-.-.

Halloween really wasn’t your thing anymore. 

Sure, it was cute. The kids running around in plastic masks, the sound of leaves crunching under tiny sneakers. Okay, fine. It was really cute. 

It wasn’t like you had bad memories attached to it. You and Steve used to spend the whole night racing from door to door, pillowcases dragging against the pavement, and then the next morning you’d sit in front of the TV watching some horror movie you definitely weren’t allowed to see, eating your way though the entire pile of candy. 

But high school had a way of killing simple things. Somewhere between eighth grade and freshman year, it became “uncool” to trick-or-treat. You were supposed to party instead. 

That first year, Steve threw the Halloween party. Hawkins High still talked about it. It was the night “King Steve” was born, crowned by the longest keg stand anyone had ever seen. It was also the night you’d kissed him again. 

You remembered sneaking into his room because everywhere you turned, there were couples pressed up against walls and you couldn’t breathe through the noise. You found him sitting on the floor, staring at nothing, and it was stupid. The two of you, drunk and lonely. But that’s how it happened. 

Anyway, tonight was just another night you didn’t want to think about. 

Tina’s party was happening across town, and she’d invited you out of pity, probably. Senior year charity. You weren’t going. You had school tomorrow, and you weren’t about to show up hungover. 

So you say on your bed, eating stolen candy out of the bowl your mom had left for trick-or-treaters. The wrappers made little paper sighs each time you reached for another. The house was quiet except for the muffled hum of your heater. 

Then came the knock. 

Soft, hesitant. Familiar. 

You froze mid-bite. Told yourself it was the wind. Then another tap. 

You sighed, crossing the room. Pulled the curtain back. And there he was. 

Steve Harrington. 

Half of him caught in the glow of the streetlight, eyes rimmed red. His hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He was wearing a black jacket and a black shirt tucked into his jeans. It made him look older. If you two were friends, you’d make a joke about how he looked like a knock-off Tom Cruise. But you didn’t. He already looked ruined enough. 

“Hey,” he rasped.

You stepped back a little. “Are you drunk?” 

He shook his head, too quickly. “No. I didn’t drink anything.” 

You folded your arms. “Then why are you here?” 

Steve rubbed both hands over his face, and when he dropped them, his eyes were wet. “Nancy,” he said, voice cracking. “She got drunk, and… I think we broke up.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

He laughed, a dry, broken sound. “Yeah. She said—“ He stopped, swallowed hard. “She said we were bullshit.” 

Your stomach sank. “Where is she now?” 

He looked up at you like the question physically hurt. “Jonathan took her home, I guess.” 

Something in your chest pulled tight. His lip trembled before he bit down on it, sitting heavily on the edge of your bed. He dragged his hands through his hair and let out a shaky breath. “I don’t even know why I came here. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t want to go home. My parents are gone, and the house is too quiet and I just…” 

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek, before sitting beside him. Not too close. Just enough. “It’s okay that you came here, Steve.”

Silence settled like dust. The clock on your wall ticked, slow and even, the sound impossibly loud. 

Outside, the wind rattled the windowpane, and you thought about how it always used to be you and him. Sugar high and laughing. You thought about how different he looked now, sitting there in the half-dark, hands shaking. You thought about how unfair it was that no one had told you growing up meant losing people before they were even gone. 

Then, without warning, Steve leaned forward. 

You braced for the kiss. You always did. But it never came. Instead, he pressed his forehead to your shoulder. His fingers caught the fabric of your sweater, knuckles white, like he needed something solid to hold him up. His voice was rough when it finally broke the silence. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “For how I treated you. For everything.” 

The breath in your throat snagged. For a long second, you just sat there, unsure what to do with your hands, with the ache that spread through your chest. Then instinct won out. You slid your arms around him, felt the sharp inhale he took, the way his whole body trembled under your touch. He was exhausted. Not just tired, but wrung out. 

When his head dropped into your lap, your heart lurched. This wasn’t the same boy who used to climb through your window for a kiss or a fight or both. This was someone stripped bare. The same messy hair, the same heartbeat under your hands, but something softer now, broken in all the quiet places you used to avoid. 

“Hey,” you murmured, fingers threading through his hair. The motion felt old, like a song you hadn’t realized you still knew. “We can talk about us later, okay? That’s not important.” 

His voice was barely a breath. “It’s important to me.” 

You pretended not to hear it. “You should get some sleep.” 

He nodded, slow and shaky, pulling himself upright. The light caught the wet shine in his eyes, the way he tried to swallow down whatever was left of the night. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

You reached out, brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. The gesture made your throat ache. “Do you… want to stay?” 

For a moment, it looked like he might. 

His gaze found yours, heavy-lidded, soft around the edges. Then he gave you a small smile, tired and almost shy. “No,” he said quietly. “I should probably head home.” 

You nodded, but your chest burned when he stood, when he turned toward the window again. The cool air slipped in from outside, carrying the sound of kids still running down the street, their laughter thin and far away. 

He hesitated halfway out. Looked back at you. “Thank you,” he said. “Can I… call you later?” 

You just nodded. Words didn’t feel like they’d fit right now. 

When he disappeared into the dark, the room felt too still. You stood there for a while, listening. You listened for his car, for the echo of his footsteps, for anything. But all that was left was the faint him of the streetlight and the hollow stick of your clock. 

Your eyes drifted to the bed. The sheets were still rumpled from where he’d sat, the fabric warm, a faint impression left behind. You hovered your hand over the spot like touching it might make him come back. 

You didn’t. You just stood there, feeling the ghost of him pressed into your skin. The weight of his head on your legs, the warmth still trapped in the cotton. And you realized how dangerous it was to open the wound. 

He did end up calling. Two days later.

You’d seen him that afternoon, across the quad, sunlight catching in his hair, sweat still drying on his temples after practice. He was in his basketball uniform, jaw tight, expression thunderous. Nancy stood a few feet away, arms folded, eyes glassy, and when she finally turned to leave, she spotted you. There was a flicker of something soft. It looked like pity maybe, or regret, before she disappeared into the crowd. 

By the time the phone rang that night, the sky outside your window was ink-black. You were halfway through an essay when your mom called up the stairs, “It’s for you!” 

You picked up the receiver, notebook still open beside you. There was a small click, then nothing. Just a breath. It was shaky, familiar, like muscle memory. 

“Hey,” Steve said finally, voice low. “Didn’t wake you, did I?” 

Your lips curved before you could stop them. “No. I was studying.” 

You could hear the faint rustle of sheets, the soft drag of fabric. You imagined him sitting cross-legged on his bed, hair still damp from a shower, one hand twisted in the phone cord. 

“Oh,” he said. The word was awkward, small. For a second you could almost see the smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can I be honest?” 

“Sure.” 

You stood, tucking the phone against your shoulder as you moved to the window. The air was cool when you cracked it open. Down the street, a few kids were still dressed in leftover Halloween costumes, the kind of stragglers who didn’t know it was already over. The latch on your window was still loose from the night Steve climbed through it. 

“I’m not really sure what to talk about,” he admitted. 

That made you laugh. It was a quiet, surprising sound. “Then why’d you call?” 

There was a beat, and then, “Because I didn’t realize how much I missed talking to you.” His voice dropped lower, softer. “Especially about nothing. With Nancy it was always… serious. Every conversation had to mean something. Made me feel like an idiot half the time.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. You wanted to feel special, but instead it hurt. Like he was reaching for comfort, not you. 

“I don’t really know what to say,” you murmured. 

He exhaled, long and heavy. “Yeah. I didn't blame you. I kind of screwed our friendship up, didn't I?” 

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. It was full of every summer afternoon, every secret whispered between turns at the pool, every Christmas gift that didn’t quite make sense but meant everything. The night he kissed you for the first time. The hundred that followed. 

“I don’t know,” you said finally. “I think we both did.” 

He hummed, a sound so low it barely made it through the line. “Yeah. Maybe.” But you could hear it, the edge of guilt he always carried when he talked about his dad. 

You leaned your forehead against the glass, eyes on the streetlight. You could almost see him, lying back on his bed, eyes unfocused, mouth set in the soft, crooked way he had when he was thinking too hard. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “it’s weird. When Nancy said what she said at the party, I didn’t even feel mad. Not really.I thought I would. But even today, when I found out her and Jonathan skipped school together, I didn’t feel angry. I just…” His voice broke into a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “God, I sound like an asshole. I felt hollow.” 

You rubbed a hand over your face. “Steve, you love her. Of course it hurts. That doesn’t make you a bad person.” 

There was a pause. Then the soft thud of his head hitting the headboard. “That’s the thing,” he said, voice cracking on the edges. “She told me I was pretending to love her too.” 

A breath. A small, unsteady one. 

“I think she was right.” 

Your throat went dry. You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything. You listened to him breathing, the soft sound of him trying not to cry. 

A tear slipped down your own cheek before you even noticed. You wiped it away quickly, like if you could just erase it, none of this would feel so heavy. You climbed into bed, curling under the covers, the phone pressed close against your ear. 

“I think I’m broken,” he said quietly. 

You stared up at the ceiling, heart hammering, unable to find words that could meet that kind of confession. The line was silent except for his breathing. It was slow and uneven. For a moment, it felt like being fifteen again, whispering secrets through the receiver until one of you fell asleep mid-sentence. 

His voice came aforesaid. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. For what I did. For what I said. But I meant it when I said I’m sorry.” 

“I know, Steve.” Your voice wavered, but you steadied it. “I forgive you.” 

There was a small pause, and you could hear the smile in his exhale. It was quiet, disbelieving. “Do you want to hang out sometime?” 

You bit your thumb, trying not to smile, trying not to give in. “I’m not sure, Steve. I’ll have to see.” 

“Okay.” A beat. Then, gentler, “And if I call again?” 

You laughed, soft and tired and fond. “Guess we’ll find out.”

”Atta girl.” His voice dropped low, the edges warm and teasing in a way that made something inside you ache. “I suppose that’s goodnight then.” 

“I never said yes.” You hated how much you didn’t want to hang up. 

He laughed, really laughed, and it was the first time in what felt like forever that it didn’t sound heavy. Just Steve. Just you and him again, the way it used to be before everything got complicated.

He said your name, and you closed your eyes, the sound of it humming through the line, through you. It made you feel weightless. 

You smiled into the dark. “Goodnight, Steve.” 

The click of the line ending came too soon. You stayed there, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the soft hum of the dial tone. 

Broken things, you thought, can always be fixed. 

.-.-.-.

You didn’t exactly know how you got roped into a Saturday night involving monsters. 

Or how “monsters” turned out to be something Steve apparently had a history with demogorgons? Demodogs? An alternate universe called the Upside Down? You still weren’t sure. What you did know was that Steve Harrington, your Steve, had shown up bloodied and bruised, and you’d nearly passed out at the sight of him. 

He hadn’t wanted you there. Said it was dangerous. Said you should go back home. You didn’t listen.

Now, the chaos was over. Whatever had been lurking in the dark was gone, at least for now. Everyone had gathered back at the Byers’ house, voices low, the air thick with relief and exhaustion. You were in the kitchen, standing over Steve while he sat slumped in a chair. His face was a patchwork of cuts and purpling bruises. 

“Ouch,” he hissed when you dabbed at the corner of his mouth. 

“Then sit still,” you said, sipping the washcloth back into a bowl of water that had long since turned a murky pink. “If you stopped flinching, it wouldn’t hurt.” 

He gave you a weak grin, the kind that always managed to twist your stomach, even now. “Bossy.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t answer, focusing instead on cleaning the dried blood off his cheek. His hair was sticking up in every direction, matted with dirt and streaks of red. You reached up, brushing some of it back from his forehead, your fingers lingering a second too long. 

When you followed his gaze, you caught what he was looking at. In the living room, Nancy and Jonathan stood in the corner, whispering. Jonathan handed her a glass of water, and she smiled, soft and small. 

Steve’s voice was rough when he said, “Guess they make a good team.” 

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. The cloth in your hand stilled for a moment before you wrung it out again. The water dropped red into the bowl. 

“How bad does it look?” He asked, trying to catch his reflection in the window beside him. 

You tilted his chin toward you, pretending to study the damage, though your heart squeezed at how tired he looked. “You’ll live,” you said finally. “Might even win some sympathy points from all the moms at the grocery story.” 

That got a laugh out of him. It was real, soft, and a little hoarse. His good eye crinkled at the corner. “Great. Always been my dream.” 

You smiled despite yourself. “Sure it has.” 

For a moment, it was quiet. You could hear the muffled hum of voices in the other room, the tick of the kitchen clock, the steady sound of your own breathing. When you looked back, his eyes were already on you. 

“Maybe you should talk to her,” you said quietly, still pretending to concentrate on the cut on his jaw. “You did get in a fight to protect her brother and his friends. That has to mean something.” 

He licked his split lip, shook his head. “Yeah. No. I think I’m okay.” 

You turned, following his gaze just as Jonathan leaned in, whispering something that made Nancy laugh. 

Steve looked away first. 

You pressed the cloth to his cheek again, gentle this time. He didn’t look at the petite girl again. He just kept watching you. A breath caught in your throat when he reached up and brushed your hair back, fingers skimming over the scratch on your cheek. The touch was feather-light, careful in a way that made your pulse stutter. 

You brushed him off, mumbling, “I’m fine,” before he could turn it into something. 

So you changed the subject. “For what it’s worth,” you said, wringing out the cloth, “I thought it was sweet. You protecting the kids, I mean. Even if I don’t really understand all of it. I’m sure some girl at school will think it’s hot.” 

That pulled a hoarse laugh out of him. “Girls are not gonna find a one-night babysitter attractive.” 

“Oh yea they will.” You smiled faintly, dabbing at a scrape along his jaw. “Seeing a guy take care of kids does something to us. You think your list is long now? Imagine the possibilities if you use this to your advantage.” 

His brow lifted, then immediately furrowed in pain. “Long list?” 

“You know,” you said, clearing your throat, “like… the list of girls you’ve been with.”

”Girls I’ve been with?” The corner of his mouth twitched, half amusement, half challenge. 

You huffed, cheeks burning. “Sex, Steve. The girls you’ve slept with.” You kept your tone clipped, your eyes fixed on the butterfly bandage in your hand. 

He went very still. The pause stretched just long enough to make your stomach twist. You pressed the bandage gently to the cut on his cheek, but your thumb grazed his skin and the air between you shifted, suddenly thicker and charged. 

“There’s only two people on this so-called list,” he said quietly. His tone was soft, teasing, but there was something else underneath. Something like honesty. Like he wanted you to believe him. 

You froze. If there were only two… then that meant Nancy and— 

“What about Sarah? At homecoming? Or Tommy’s cousin that one summer and spring break?” You asked, the words tumbling out faster than you meant. 

He shook his head, wincing as he did. “Never happened.” 

“But you told me—“

”No,” he said, looking up at you. “You assumed.” 

Your lips parted, breath catching. “You never corrected me. You let Tommy and Carol and everyone think—“ 

He shrugged. ‘Guess I didn’t really care.” 

You arched a brow, unconvinced. ‘Sure.” 

A sheepish grin crept over his mouth. “Okay, maybe I cared. But not anymore.” 

You stared at him, the cloth forgotten in your hands. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know what to feel. Relief, maybe. Or anger, for all the times you’d thought you were second best. 

“Why tell me now?” You asked softly. 

He looked down, shoulders curling in like he was trying to make himself smaller. When his eyes lifted again, there was no smirk left. “I care what you think of me,” he said simply. 

His finger reached out, ghosting over your knuckle. Just a brush, so light it might’ve been imagined. You felt his name rising up your throat, hovering there, unspoken. 

And then—

“Steve!” 

Dustin’s voice slides through the air. The moment scattered, slipping through your fingers before you could hold onto it. 

”Damn,” Dustin said, skidding to a stop in the doorway. “You look even worse than before.” 

You laughed, stepping back as Steve shot him a deadpan look. “Thanks,” he muttered, voice dry as dust. “You come here just to insult me, or was there an actual reason?” 

Dustin grinned, eyes darting between you and Steve. Then he leaned in, whispering something in Steve’s ear. You didn’t catch it, but you saw the way Steve’s jaw clenched, the faint pink creeping up his neck before he gave Dustin a half-hearted shove. 

“Electricity!” Dustin hissed dramatically, stepping just out of reach like he’d been waiting for the retaliation. He was grinning so wide it was almost painful to look at. 

“Shut up, or I’ll kill you,” Steve mumbled, rubbing his temple. 

Dustin wasn’t even a little scared. “Oh sure. Because you’ve got such a great rapport when it comes to winning fights.” 

Steve shot up, snatching the kid’s hat right off his head. Dustin yelped, immediately jumping to snatch it back. 

You couldn’t stop laughing, the sound escaping before you could swallow it. It felt light. Stupidly, wonderfully light. 

“Give it back!” Dustin said, jabbing a finger into Steve’s bruised side. Steve doubled over with a groan, and Dustin plucked the hat from his hand like a magician reclaiming his prize before darting off down the hall. 

Steve straightened up slowly, wincing, muttering a few choice words under his breath. When his eyes flicked up to yours, you were still smiling, too openly, probably. The kind of smile that said more than you wanted it to. 

The kind of smile that said it is attractive being a one-night babysitter. 

He gave you a look that was half warning, half plea. Don’t start.

You bit back another laugh. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.” 

But your eyes said otherwise. 

“I’m gonna take Max home before Billy comes back to give you round two,” you teased, grabbing your jacket from the back of a chair. “See you later?” 

He raked his fingers through his hair, the gesture a little self-conscious, a little too practiced. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds good.” 

You turned to leave, but your feet hesitated, traitorous, dragging you back around. “For the record,” you said, scratching your arm, eyes skimming the floor. “I’ve only been with one other person too.” 

His good eyebrow lifted. “Was it the carnival guy?” 

You laughed, because of course that’s where his brain went. “No. I left before the fireworks even started.” 

“Then who?”

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Remember when my family went to North Carolina for Thanksgiving? Sophomore year?” 

The corner of his mouth twitched, already smug. “I knew something happened between you and that guy! You wouldn’t shut up about him for like two weeks.” His voice lifted in a terrible impression of yours. “Eric says that smoking is bad for you.” 

“Smoking is bad for you.” You peeked at him through your fingers, shaking your head. “Didn’t realize you were paying attention.” 

He spoke to himself, “Didn’t realize I could hate a guy I’ve never met.” 

You smirked, pulse doing that traitorous flutter thing again. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” 

“Only because I was stuck wearing that ugly turkey sweater my Nan made,” he muttered, pretending to pout. “And my dad spent the whole dinner talking about how I needed to bulk up if I wanted to make varsity. Meanwhile, you were eating lobster with Eric.” 

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide the way your laugh cracked through the air. It was light and easy. 

And even after you left the kitchen, even when you were driving Max home through the quiet streets, that stupid smile wouldn’t fade. Your cheeks ached. Your chest buzzed. It was something close, something bright and dangerous and warm, humming under your skin. 

Electricity.

.-.-.-.

The smell of popcorn and pretzels from the food court had gone stale/ Kids ran past clutching strings of arcade tickets, teenagers swung shopping bags from their wrists, and the neon lights bled across the white tile like melted candy. 

You told yourself you were being ridiculous. Still, your stomach had that fluttery, nervous ache anyway. 

You adjusted your grip on the paper bag in your hands, the one holding the new dress you definitely didn’t need, and took a slow breath before walking toward Scoops Ahoy. 

Through the glass, Robin Buckley was leaning against the counter, looking bored out of her mind. You’d made it your unofficial mission all summer to get her to actually smile at you. She never did. Sometimes you wanted to tell her that nothing was happening between you and Steve. That you saw the way she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. That you weren’t competition, not really. 

You told yourself it didn’t bother you. That you and Steve were just friends. Just two people who went on a few late-night drives, who talked about nothing and everything like old times. 

When you stepped inside, the smell of waffle cones and sugar hit you. Robin glanced up, clocked you, and her expression shifted from mild boredom to complete exasperation. She didn’t even bother hiding it. 

She turned toward the back, voice flat. “Dingus, she’s here.” 

A second later, the partition to the back swung open and Steve propped his head through, the ridiculous sailor hat slightly crooked on his hair. “Ahoy!” He winced immediately. “Jesus, sorry… hey!” 

You tried not to smile but failed miserably. It didn’t matter how many times you’d seen him in that uniform. It always did something to you. The shorts, the ridiculous collar, the way his sleeves showed off the tan line on his arms. Over the summer, you’d noticed how much hairier he’d gotten. His arms, his legs, and especially his chest. God, his chest. When he stretched or leaned on the counter, his shirt would lift just enough to reveal that line of hair under his navel, and you were always the idiot who noticed.

Whenever he’d invite you to come over and swim, you had to keep your sunglasses on and pretend you weren’t staring at how the golden light melted on his skin. 

He came out from behind the counter, slinging an arm across your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Robin, I’m—”

“Yeah, I know the drill,” Robin cut in, not looking up. “Forty-five minutes. You went over last time.” 

She glanced at you, quick and unreadable. She then turned back around, pretending to clean the counter. 

Steve didn’t even seem to notice. He was grinning at you, his voice softening in that way it did when he talked to you. “Double scoop chocolate chip?” 

You smiled. “Surprise me, sailor.” 

He froze for half a second, like the word hit differently this time. He cleared his throat and ducked back behind the counter. “Go take a seat,” he said, suddenly busying himself with the ice cream scoops. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You nodded and found your usual spot by the window, pretending not to notice the way Robin was still very obviously not looking at you. You traced the edge of the table with your fingertip, pretending to look bored. 

You weren’t. 

Your eyes kept wandering, to where Steve was bent over the row of ice cream tubs, his stupid little sleeves hugging his biceps too well as he scooped. The muscles in his arms flexed when he switched hands. You hated that you noticed. 

Then Robin appeared beside him, sliding in like she belonged there. Elbows on the counter, voice low. She whispered something that made his jaw drop. Her grin was sharp, her teeth catching her lip as if to keep the laugh in. You could’ve sworn her eyes flitted toward you for a second. 

You looked away, your pulse jumping. When you glanced back, Steve was pointing his scooper at her like a weapon, pretending to be mad. He wasn’t. You could see it in the wat his shoulders relaxed. It was the kind of ease he only had when he was happy. 

That stupid pathetic thing— something— twisted in your chest again. 

You stared down at your hands. You told yourself it didn’t matter. Like you’d said a hundred time before. It didn’t matter if his touches were longer than necessary, or sometimes, when you were talking, and your hair would fall in your face, he’d be the one to brush it back and act like it was nothing. 

You were just friends. 

A minute later, the seat dipped beside you. Steve slid in, his shoulder brushing yours, holding out a cone. “One Harrington Special.” 

You took it, smiling despite yourself. The first lick told you he’d know exactly what you liked. You made the mistake of telling him that when he first started working, and his smile was crooked, his eyes gleamed mischief, and his tone was dangerous when he answered, “We both know I do.” Then he grinned like he’d won something. He probably had. 

“She doesn’t like me, does she?” You asked suddenly. 

He blinked, spook halfway to his mouth. “Who?” He swallowed, following your gaze toward the counter. “Robin?” 

You didn’t answer, focusing hard on your cone. 

Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t worry about it. She doesn’t like anyone.” 

You let out a small laugh that didn’t should like one. “She seems to like you.” 

He looked genuinely confused. “She’s got this board in the back room. Two columns, You Rule and You Suck. She’s running out of space on the You Suck side.” 

You looked up at him, half-smiling. “That’s mean.”

”She gives me hell all the time,” he said between bites. “Very hyper know-it-all. Tells me I scoop ice cream wrong. Calls me a dinguse especially when I won’t—“ He stopped midsentence, eyes flicking to yours. “Never mind. Point is, you’re fine. She hates everyone equally.” 

“Equal opportunity loathing,” you murmured, your smile loosening. 

“Exactly.” He scooped up another bite. 

You wanted that warmth to settle you, but it didn’t. It just made the ache worse. You’d seen how fast he smiled at Robin. How she made him laugh. How she was bold and funny and painted her nails strange colors. You pictured them closing the shop together, the way he probably walked her to the bus after. You remembered that one night he’d driven her home, and you you’d wondered for days what they’d talked about. 

Steve must’ve felt that shift in you. He tilted his head, his hand finding the small of your back. His touch burned through the fabric. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just tired.” 

He didn’t buy it, but he didn’t push. His hand stayed where it was, warm and steady, thumb tracing lazy circles over your shirt. It was the kind of absentminded gesture that didn’t mean anything. Except it did. 

Your body went still. Your breath caught somewhere in your chest. 

He kept eating his sundae with his free hand, completely unaware, licking whipped cream from his spoon while you sat there, pretending to eat your cone, trying not to melt in the booth beside him. 

You saw it happen, the flicker across his face when he realized what he was doing. His thumb stilled. Then the warmth left your back, replaced by the cool sweep of air as his hand slipped away, fingers grazing you in apology. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scratching his face with the same hand. “Didn’t mean to…” His throat bobbed. The flush climbing his neck made your stomach twist. You shouldn’t have wanted to kiss him for it, that nervous, pink lipped stutter, but you did. 

You smiled faintly, nudging him with your shoulder. “Relax, Steve. I would’ve said something if I minded.” Then, before you could stop yourself, “You’re kind of cute when you get nervous.” 

His head tilted, skeptical. “Cute?” 

The silence that followed was heavier than it should’ve been, humming beneath the soft mall soundtrack and the scent of popcorn and sugar. 

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes tracing the collar of his stupid sailor uniform. “Especially in that thing.” 

He looked down at himself, feigning outrage. “In what thing?” 

You gestured lazily. “Your uniform. You pull it off.” 

His mouth twitched. “You making fun of me right now?” 

You held up your fingers, thumb and forefinger a breath apart. “Maybe a little.” 

“Uh-huh.” He leaned in closer, voice dipping low enough that you felt it in your spine. “So just to clarify, you think I’m cute and I look good?” 

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat creeping the back of your neck. “I said you pull it off. Don’t let it get to your head.” 

He clutched his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You wound me, sweetheart.” 

The word hit harder than it should have. Sweetheart. He only ever used it to tease, but it still made your pulse stumble. You hid your smile behind your shopping bad, clutching it to your chest like it could muffle your heartbeat. The air between you smelled like vanilla and something else, warm skin, detergent, his aftershave maybe, His knee brushed yours again, another “accident.” 

To your relief, he nodded toward the bag. ‘What’s that?” 

“Oh.” You blinked down. “A dress. Found it in one the stores before I came here.” 

He tried to peek inside, and you swatted his hand away. He grinned, leaning back against the booth with one arm over the top. “What’s it look like?” 

“Blue. Hand stitched white flowers.” You shrugged like it wasn’t worth mentioning. “I dunno, I probably won’t wear it.” 

“Why not?” His gaze flicked between the bag and your face. “I bet you’ll look really pretty in it.” 

The words landed soft but sure, and they stole the air right out of your lungs. You didn’t trust yourself to meet his eyes. “Guess I’ll have to find an excuse to wear it to find out.” 

He scratched the back of his neck, glancing toward Robin behind the counter. She was watching him with that same sharp smirk. Steve caught her look and cleared his throat, the arm behind you brushing the top of your shoulder. 

“I, uh… two weeks is the Fourth of July,” he said. 

“Mhm.” You tried not to think about Robin. About how easy their rhythm looked from the outside. Once upon a time, that used to be you and him. 

“That means the fair’s be going on,” he added. 

“Yeah.” You saw Robin glance over again and, for reasons you didn’t want to name, you scooted an inch away. Purely platonic, you told yourself. 

“I could probably take off that night,” he said. His tone was casual, but his eyes gave him away, nervous, dancing between yours like he was trying to hand you something invisible. 

Your brow furrowed. “Oh, like you want to go?” 

He shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing. “Yeah. It’d be fun. Be nice to go with someone, too.” 

You forced a smile, glancing at Robin. “Right. I’m sure it’ll be easy to ask her. Maybe wait ‘til after your shift, in case she says no. Wouldn’t want to make it awkward.” 

He looked at you like he was trying to read a language he used to know by heart. “What? No—” He leaned forward, earnest and stumbling. “I meant you. I’m asking you.” His voice softened. “If that’s something you’d wanna do. Could be fun. You did say you missed the fireworks last year.” 

Suddenly, you saw the rope. It had been dangling there whole time, invisible until now, and you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to grab it. Heat flushed through you, bright and reckless. Still, it didn’t have to mean anything. You’d gone to the fair with him before, as only friends. 

You tilted your head, keeping your voice light. “And do you want me to wear the dress then?” 

His brows lifted, and in the light you could still see the faint scar Billy Hargrove had left six months ago. The tips of his ears went pink. He tried for casual, but his voice betrayed him. “If you want. I mean… I won’t complain.” 

You smiled, looking down at your hands. “We haven’t gone to the fair together since the summer before sophomore year.” That summer still lived in your bones, before vacation in Maine, before Nancy, before everything shifted. 

Steve laughed softly, eyes somewhere far away. “Jesus, you’re right. That feels like forever ago. Hey, wasn’t that when you you…uh…” He trailed off, giving you that sheepish half-grin. 

Your face warmed. You already knew where he was going. “Yeah. When I taught you how to make out on the Ferris wheel because you were supposed to take Tommy’s cousin on it.” 

His lip curved, grimacing. “Right. He was pissed at me for running out of tickets.” 

You couldn’t help laughing, clutching your sides. “Because you wasted them all on multiple trips! You were so nervous you were going to get it wrong that you made me go up with you over and over again." 

He was laughing too, head thrown back. People glanced over, even Robin, who paused mid motion behind the counter. Her expression wasn’t jealousy exactly. Curiosity? 

When the laughter died down, Steve blinked away a tear, his grin fading into something softer. “Yeah. I really was an idiot. Should’ve just been honest back then. I wasn’t even nervous.” He hesitated. “I just didn’t want to kiss anyone.” 

You snorted. “Oh, so you just wanted to kiss me?” It came out teasing, sharp enough to make him flustered. 

But he didn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he said simply. 

The air shifted. You froze, breath catching as the noise of the mall blurred into static, the carousel music, the hum of the fountain, a kid shouting down the corridor. It all faded, leaving only him. His freckle dotted throat. The memory of your lips against his skin that summer, or maybe just the wish for it. 

You smiled then, small and trembling, pressing your knee into his. You nudged his hand. “So… is it just going to be us?” 

He hesitated. You saw it happen, that flicker of uncertainty, like he wanted to say something else. But then he blinked, retreating behind the familiar wall of nonchalance. His hand fell to his lap. 

“Oh, uh…Dustin.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Before he left for camp, he said he wanted to go when he got back, so I’ll probably have to drive him. And the other kids.” 

You watched him, searching for something that might still be there. That warmth that had just been between you, the rope you’d been ready to grab. But all you found was the quiet thud of your own pulse. 

Your eyes dropped, your mouth curving faintly. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” 

He shifted beside you, restless. You could tell he knew he’d said the wrong thing. His lips parted like he was about to fix it, but the words never came. He only took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and put it back on like he could hide behind it. 

“Yeah,” he said finally, weak and unsure. “It’ll be fun.” 

You nodded, smiling just enough to keep from unraveling. “Sure.” 

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of kids running through the mall filled the silence, the mechanical whir of the cotton candy machine somewhere in the distance. Then, Steve’s watch beeped two short chirps that cut through the air like a reminder that time was up. 

Robin was already watching from behind the counter, arms crossed, the kind of glare that said don’t you dare take another minute. 

He motioned with his head, no words, just that apologetic smile that never quite reached his eyes. You nodded, but before he could slide out of the booth, you caught his wrist. 

“Hey,” you said softly. 

He turned back. That small crease appeared between his brows, threaded with curiosity and hope. 

“You’ve got something,” you murmured. You leaned in before he could react, brushing your thumb across the corner of his mouth. It was quick, hardly anything at all, but it felt like a secret. 

His body went still. His breath hitched. For a second, neither of you moved. His eyes found yours and stayed there, unguarded. 

You pulled back, your thumb glinting under the fluorescent light. You licked the taste from it like it was nothing. ‘Whipped cream.” 

He swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “Thanks.” 

The sound vibrated between you. 

You nodded, the corner of your mouth threatening to betray you. He stood, adjusting his ridiculous sailor top, and you followed, collecting the napkins and empty cups from the table. He tried to take the trash from you, but you shook your head. You told him the bin was on the way out. 

He let you, though you could feel his gaze burn into your back as you walked away. You didn’t turn around, not until you reached the door. Through the glass, you saw him again. Robin had appeared beside him, sliding the window open, marker in hand. You watched as she drew a line beneath the You Suck column. 

Steve dropped his head, a sheepish smile plastered on his face. It shouldn’t have hurt but it did. 

You stepped out into the mall. The air was different out here, colder. You exhaled, the sound lost under the chatter of passing strangers. Maybe you were right all along. Maybe you really were just friends. 

Still, as you walked toward the exit, you licked your lips and tasted the faintest trace of sweetness, the ghost of whipped cream… and him. 

You hadn’t gone to the fair after all. Something in you had felt off like the universe had pulled a thread loose and was waiting for you to notice. That’s how you got roped into the business of the Upside Down once again. You didn’t hesitate. You just followed like it was now your job. 

You were at Chief Hopper’s cabin, watching El use her powers to find the one and only Billy Hargrove, who apparently was a new host to the mind flayer. Sweat and dirt streaked across your face, the tang of burnt ozone still in your mouth. The strange smell of gasoline. Blood. Fear. 

Nancy was in the kitchen, reloading a gun with quiet precision. You hovered near the counter, drinking a glass of water, trying not to notice how her hands didn’t shake. 

For a while, there was only the sound of shells clinking against the wood. Then Nancy glanced up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re pretty good at staying calm for someone who wasn’t supposed to be involved.” 

You smirked, shrugging, taking another gulp of your water, finishing it. 

Another shell clicked into place. Then, after a pause, “You know… I always wanted you to like me.” 

You blinked. “What?” 

She laughed softly, not meeting your eyes. ‘When Steve and I started dating, there were rumors. That no girl could flirt with him unless you gave the stamp of approval.” 

You laughed outright, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s absurd. Steve’s his own person.” 

“I know,” Nancy said, smiling faintly. “But I still wanted you to like me.” 

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the first aid kit. “I did. I mean, I do. I liked you. I just…” You exhaled, the admission heavy on your tongue. “I wished we could’ve been friends.” 

Nancy looked up from the gun. Her expression softened. “Me too.” 

There was a quiet stretch between you. A truce hanging in the air. Then Nancy’s voice was quieter, careful. “You know, I broke up with Steve because I couldn’t love him the way he wanted me to.” 

You nodded, eyes on your hands. “Yeah. He told me.” 

But Nancy’s next words made you look up. “Did he tell you that I didn’t love him because not all of him could love me? That there was always a part of him that belonged somewhere else?” 

You froze, your mouth parting, pretending you didn’t know what she meant. “No. He didn’t say that.” 

Nancy just watched you. Her gaze wasn’t cruel, just knowing. 

You scoffed lightly, trying to shake it off. “Steve and I are just friends.” 

She almost smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He would always talk about you, you know. He told me everything.” 

You forced a small laugh. “We’ve known each other since grade school. Guess he told all the stories where I pushed his face into mud when we were seven?” 

Nancy’s head tilted slightly. “No, I mean everything. What you two were like before we started dating. And how you two weren’t speaking because of it.” 

The air thinned. You blinked at her, heat rising in your chest. “Oh.” 

She nodded once, as if that explained everything. 

You pretended to mess with some supplies on the counter, acting unbothered. Because, you told yourself, it didn’t bother you. Or maybe it did. Why would Steve tell Nancy about you and him? It was nothing. It meant nothing. 

“He likes you,” she said simply. 

You guffawed, looking up sharply. “Why would you say that?” Your tone came out like it was the most ridiculous, scandalous thing she could ever say.  There was a spark… hope? It traveled from your heart, throughout your veins, electricity buzzing at the thought that Steve Harrington… has a crush on you. Or was it beyond a crush? 

She smiled faintly. “Don’t look at me like that. I remember the fair. The carnival guy. How badly you wanted him to be jealous.” 

Your face fell, an apologetic look. Nancy quickly put a hand up and shook her head, like a silent It’s okay. But it wasn’t okay. “It’s Steve. He’s handsome and charming. He can smile at a brick wall and get what he wants. He isn’t the type to hesitate, with anyone. You’re proof of that.” 

Nancy studied you, tilting her head. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Because there wasn’t anything to lose with the rest of us.” 

The words settled like dust between you, impossible to ignore. 

There was commotion in the living room. You both jumped into action, moving as if the conversation hadn’t just cracked something open. But even as you game planned with the others, the echo of Nancy’s last sentence followed you like a heartbeat. 

You hadn’t expected to end up back at Starcourt Mall, everything was going wrong already. But there you were again, standing in the fluorescent ruin of it all. The place that used to hum with laughter and cheap pop songs was now filled with the scent of smoke and melted plastic. Sirens in the distance, lights flickering like a dying heartbeat. 

You found him sitting on the curb outside, a bag of ice pressed against his face. Robin sat next to him, laughing at something she had said, it was a delirious, adrenaline high way people do when they survive something they shouldn’t have. 

You cleared your throat, standing on the other side of Steve, the two of them, in sync, looking at you. Steve turned to Robin, motioning his head slightly. Robin gave him an awkward tight lipped smile… and you swore… she winked at him. And you swore Steve muttered, “Shut up.” 

He didn’t look back up you, but he scooted over as if it was an invitation. You stood there for a moment before sitting down beside him. You winced at the sight of him. His hair was matted, streaked with blood and only God knows what. One eye was swollen half-shut, his lip split, his uniform torn. You could make a joke that his face can’t catch a break. But he probably knew that already. 

“How are you feeling?” You asked softly. 

He let out a low groan that was almost a laugh. “Like shit,” he said honestly. “I might have to start wearing glasses after this.” 

You didn’t mean to, but your brain immediately conjured the image. Steve Harrington in glasses, looking unfairly handsome. You pressed your lips together, keeping the thought to yourself, unsure what to say that wouldn’t sound too much like what it was. 

He shifted the ice pack, glancing down at the asphalt. “M’sorry about the fair,” he said after a beat. 

You shrugged, keeping your tone light. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have been that fun anyway.” 

He huffed a short laugh. “It would’ve beaten this by a landslide.” 

That pulled a real smile from you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The flashing lights painted his face red, then blue, the red again. You could see every freckle, every scar, every cut. He looked older somehow. 

“We’re you scared?” You asked quietly. 

He shrugged, but it wasn’t casual. “Yeah,” he admitted. “The entire time I was like— wow, this is it. This is how I go out. Russians beating me and drugging me, with damn ice cream stains on my shorts.” He gave a soft snort, then hesitated. “Then I was scared I’d never see…” His voice trailed off. His eyes flicked toward you for half a second before darting away again. 

Your heart skipped. “Never see what?” 

He shook his head, the wall going up before your eyes. “Nothing. I’m exhausted. Just waiting for my mom to come pick me up. Embarrassing, right?” He gave out a weak laugh. “They said they might be able to recover my car keys in a week.” 

“Let me wait with you,” you said. 

He didn’t even look at you when he answered. “No, go home. I’ll be fine.” 

He was so guarded. So unlike him. But then again, Steve had grown up a lot since you met him. He was notorious for withholding information from you. You wondered if that had changed because of Robin. Was it that he was afraid he’d never see someone again? Was it Robin? Or… was Nancy right? That maybe you were the reason he could never give himself away. 

The thought hurt in a way you couldn’t explain. 

“I lied,” you said suddenly. 

That got his attention. His head tilted, one brow lifting, expression soft but wary. “‘Bout what?” 

You drew in a breath, meeting his eyes. “About not being sad. About the fair.” You forced a small smile. “It would’ve been nice to have gone on the Ferris wheel with you.” 

His gaze lingered on you then, something unreadable flickering behind it. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile or trying not to say something he’d regret. 

You leaned in closer, silently begging him to make the reckless choice to destroy your friendship. If you were to regret anything, it was convincing yourself you only wanted to be his friend. 

But all he said was, “Get home safe, will you?” 

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. You too, Harrington.” 

When you stood, the space between you felt impossibly heavy. You wanted him to stop you, to say something, anything that would let you know you hadn’t imagined all the things that ever lived between you two. But he didn’t. 

You walked toward your car, the air sticky with smoke and sugar. When you glanced back, he was still sitting there under the flashing lights, his head tilted up toward the ruined skylight like he could still see the fireworks through the smoke. Your eyes glossed over, wiping hot tears off your cheeks. You followed his gaze, a silent sob, almost believing he could. 

.-.-.-.

Mrs. Harrington looked startled when she opened the door. Like she wasn’t sure whether to invite you in or pretend she hadn’t heard the bell. Her lipstick was too red for mid-afternoon, her perfume thick and powdery in the air. Still, she smiled politely. 

“He’s out back,” she said, her voice soft and unsure. “Hasn’t really done much since he got home.” 

You nodded, murmured a thank you, and stepped inside. The Harrington house looked the same as it always had. It was too big, too quiet, a place built for hosting parties but not to be lived in. 

When you slid open the back door, sunlight hit you square in the face. It was too bright for how heavy everything felt. The pool shimmered, the water a lazy, perfect blue. And there he was, Steve Harrington, floating on his back, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Bruises still mapped his ribs and shoulders, a fading constellation of purples and yellows. 

You hadn’t seen him since that night. Since Starcourt. You’d thought about calling a dozen times, but every version of hey, how are you felt too small. You felt too small. 

You crossed to the edge of the pool and sat down. The concrete burned lightly against your palms. You slipped off your shoes, rolled up your jeans, and dipped your feet into the water. 

The small disturbance sent ripples across the surface, brushing against him. Steve tilted his head, squinting over the rim of his sunglasses. He didn’t smile or move closer, just let his head fall back again, the water cradling him. 

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. 

You looked at him, the cut on his jaw catching a flash of sun. “Hey,” you answered. 

A sprinkler hissed on somewhere nearby. A leaf drifted across the pool. 

You wanted to ask if he was okay. You wanted to tell him you had nightmares every night about fire and glass. Him being dragged into the Upside Down and never seeing him again. You wanted to ask if he did too. 

Instead, you just watched him float, weightless, untethered. The sunlight glimmered across his tanned skin, and for a fleeting second, he looked like he might dissolve into the water entirely. 

The water lapped lazily against the sides of the pool. Cicadas hummed in the trees. Somewhere beneath the deck, the filter ticked and hummed, steady and indifferent. 

Neither of you spoke for a long while. The sun had slipped low enough to paint the yard in gold and shadows before Steve finally moved. The sound of him shifting, the water breaking around him, felt too loud in the stillness. 

He swam to the opposite edge and pulled himself out, the muscles in his arms trembling faintly from the effort. Water rolled off him in thin sheets, splattering the concrete. He sat down a few feet away, elbows braced on his knees, sunglasses still on like a shield. The bruises were worse up close, deep violet along his ribs, soft yellow fading at his collarbone, a healing split at the corner of his mouth. 

You tried for casual. “So… how’s your day been?” The taste of regret already on your tongue. You said you wouldn’t ask that. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, droplets sliding down his arm. “Fine. Me and Robin started looking for new jobs.” 

You tried not to feel the sting in your chest. So, he was hanging out with Robin. “That’s good,” you said softly. He didn’t elaborate. The silence pressed in again, thick and uncomfortable, like something alive between you. 

You tried again. “How are you feeling?” 

He shrugged. “I’m okay.” 

It was the way he said it, empty, too easy, that made something tighten in your chest. You wanted to shake him for pretending, for saying it like it wasn’t a lie. 

You stared at him, his reflection warped in the blue water. ‘Why were you out here by yourself?” 

“I was just thinking.” His tone made it sound like the end of the conversation. 

Frustration crept up your spine. “And you can’t talk to me about it?” 

He turned slightly, the lenses of his sunglasses catching the light. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel them. “I’m not really in the mood to talk about it.” 

You blinked hard, the heat behind your eyes sharper than you wanted it to be. “I’m sure you’re in the mood to talk to Robin about it, though.” 

That earned a small, humorless laugh, one that hurt to hear. He shook his head. “Right. Okay.” 

Then he pushed himself off the edge and dropped back into the water. The splash shattered the quiet. 

“So, you don’t deny it?” You said, your voice rising. “You talk to her about everything now? Are you two—” you can’t finish it, so you don’t. “Are you?” 

Steve turned toward you, arms resting on the pool’s edge. His jaw worked as he swallowed whatever he wanted to say. When he spoke, his voice was calm, but you could hear the strain underneath. “It’s not like that, okay? Why are you even here?” 

You laughed, but it came out brittle. “Because it’s been a month, Steve. You haven’t even called me.” You look down at the water, then at him. “You used to tell me everything.” 

That lands. You can see it, the shift in his shoulders, the quiet sting in the space between breaths. He looks away, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “The phone works both ways,” he says, low. Then, after a long beat. “I don’t know what to tell you right now.” 

You swallow hard, the taste of chlorine thick in your throat. “I just want to understand, that’s all. Did I do something? Did I hurt your feelings again?” 

You want to ask the real thing. Did you move on? Was there even anything to move on from? Yet, the words don’t make it past your teeth. They just sit there, heavy and unsaid. 

He shakes his head, slow, tired. “You didn’t do anything. I just have a lot on my mind. It’s a mess right now.” 

It’s not enough. 

You pull your feet from the water, droplets sliding down your skin and darkening the concrete. You stand, every movement deliberate, like you’re afraid if you don’t keep moving, you’ll fall apart. 

“Right. Okay.” You laugh softly, but it sounds like breaking glass. “So we’re back to to this.” You bend to grab your shoes, the laces slipping through your trembling fingers. “I’ve served my purpose, your confidant, until another pretty girl like Robin comes along? I know you’ve been through hell, Steve, but you don’t get to be an asshole to me just because you’re afraid of your feelings.” 

He flinches. Just barely. Like the words hit someplace you weren’t supposed to touch. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t reach for you. 

“So, I’m gonna go,” you say quietly, forcing the knot in your throat down. “You can call me when you’re ready to talk. Or maybe don’t. It’d save us both from this stupid cycle.” 

You slip your shoes on and straighten, the world too still around you. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. You wait for him to say something, like wait, or don’t go, or even I’m sorry. 

But nothing. 

It was all the same sounds from when you arrived. The same sounds as when you thought things might still mean something. 

You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles ached, trying not to look back at the house. The air inside the car was hot, the kind that made everything feel slow and heavy. You blinked hard, willing your chest to stop tightening. 

You were about to turn the key when you heart it, your name, faint through the glass. 

Then again, louder this time. urgent. 

Through the windshield, you saw Steve, running barefoot across the driveway, shirt half on, dripping wet. The sun caught on the water flying off him, the sound of his feet slapping against the concrete filling the air. 

He stopped in front of your car, both hands pressing flat against the hood like he needed to hold it in place. His chest heaved. When he saw you weren’t moving, he came around to your door, crouching so you could see his face. 

You rolled the window down, pulse thrumming. “What?” 

He was panting, eyes wide, looking at you like you were the only solid thing in the world. “I don’t…” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this with you.” 

You blinked, throat tight. “So this is it? You don’t want to be my friend?” 

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Wait— yes! I do. I just… shit.” He rubbed a hand over his face, leaving streaks of water in his hair. “Do you know how nervous you make me?” 

You gave a disbelieving laugh, half scoff, half defense. “I have never made you nervous.” 

He looked up at you through his lashes, lips quirking despite himself. “Yes, you do. All the time. It’s pathetic how nervous I feel.” 

You didn’t know what to say. “I don’t understand.” 

He exhaled sharply, words tumbling out like they’d been waiting too long. “That night at Starcourt, remember I told you I was scared but wouldn’t say what?” 

You swallowed. “Vaguely.” You lied. You remembered. 

“I was scared I’d never see you again.” 

The words hit the air like a spark. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes burning. “So you don’t call me for a month?” 

He looked down, shoulders tense. “Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But like I said, I don’t know how to do this with you.” 

“Communicate?” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

He raked a hand through his damp hair. “Ask if you wanna do something together.” 

You frowned. “You don’t know how to ask me to hang out? We hang out all the time.” 

“No!” He groaned, half laughing, half desperate. “I mean… yes, but can you just be quiet for two seconds? I’m trying to ask you out.” 

Everything went still. 

He sighed, tightening his grip on the edge of your window. “They’re playing Fast Time tonight at the drive-in. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty sharp because I know you can never decide what snack you want.” 

You stared at him, words caught in your throat. “Just us?” 

That flicker of confidence finally slid back into place. His mouth curved, that familiar, unfair grin. “Yes. Just you and me. A date. See you tonight.” None of these were questions. It was instructions, a demand. 

He turned to walk back toward the house, water still dripping from his hair, and you say there, frozen. 

“But I never said yes!” You called after him. 

He spun on his heel, walking backward now, grin widening. “Oh,” he said, eyes glinting beneath the late sun, “and wear the dress.” 

.-.-.-.

You wore the damn dress. 

Steve showed up exactly when he said he would. Six-thirty sharp. 

You heard the crunch of tires on the driveway, the soft rumble of his car idling. Through the window, you could see him leaning against the door, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, hair still a little damp from a shower. 

You opened the door before he could knock. 

For a second, he just looked at you, and there was something unguarded in his expression, something that made your stomach twist. His mouth curved slowly. 

“So I was right,” he said, voice low, a little smug. “You do look really pretty in the dress.” 

You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t listening. 

He did all the things he always did… the Steve Harrington special. He opened your door with a flourish. He grabbed a box of chocolates from the backseat, knowing well you weren’t a flower person. At the ticket booth, he paid before you could reach for your wallet. He was right, you couldn’t decide which candy you wanted, so naturally, he bought one of everything. 

There was something different in the way he did it this time. The glimmer in his eye when you smiled, the grin that stuck even when you teased him. 

“You know,” you said as he dropped the change into his pocket, “you don’t have to try so hard to impress me.” Mostly because he had impressed you a long time ago. You weren’t ready to admit that just yet. 

He shot you a look over his shoulder, half-smile crooked. “You think this is me trying to impress you? Sweetheart, this is nothing.” 

You laughed, but it came out as a giggle. A giggle. What the hell did you become into? 

When the movie started, everything felt quieter. The giant screen flickered against the windshield, painting the car in pale golds and blues. You could hear the hum of the radio from another car nearby, the crunch of gravel as people settled in. 

It was strange how shy you felt. You’d seen him half dead and bleeding. You’d slept beside him plenty of times, close enough to feel his heartbeat against you. Yet, now, your hands were folded neatly in your lap, and you could barely look at him. 

Steve sat close, one arm draped on the door, fingers trapping along to the movie’s soundtrack. Every now and then, his gaze flicked to you. 

Halfway through, he leaned toward you slightly. “You enjoying it?” 

You nodded, your voice small. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, slow and easy, and for a moment he didn’t look back at the screen. You caught him looking at you, really looking, before he blinked and turned away, his jaw tight. He reached towards you, your heart racing, imagining him grabbing your hand to hold it. Instead, he dipped it in the popcorn between you, shoving a few pieces in his mouth and then dropped his arm back into his lap. 

You frowned, pulse thrumming with something restless. The space between you felt too big. 

You placed your hand on the console between you, your shoulder lightly brushing his. You waited, hoping he’d see the invitation. 

For a while, he didn’t move. Pretended to be focused on the movie, his expression carefully neutral. Then, like it was nothing, he slid his hand over too, resting it on top, casual, practiced. 

The minutes stretched. The world shrank to the faint buzz of the projector and the heat between your palms. 

Your pinkies brushed, barely, and the air shifted. He didn't pull away. Instead, his pinkie rubbed lightly against the side of your hand, once tentative. 

You flipped your hand over, heart pounding. 

And without looking, he interlaced his fingers with yours, a quiet, steady, motion, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen ahead, but his thumb tracing slow, small circles against your skin. 

It was like something finding its place. Like his hand had always belonged in yours. 

The movie had ended. 

The credits rolled, the screen dimmed, and still neither of you moved. The car lights from other rows flickered on one by one, the sound of gravel crunching as engines started up. You felt the ghost of Steve’s thumb against your hand before he pulled away, slow and careful, as if letting go might break something. 

The night hummed around you, windows cracked open, the smell of summer grass, the echo of laughter from cars behind. 

“Do you want to go on a walk before I take you home?” He asked finally. 

You turned to him, surprised. “A walk?” 

He smiled a little. “Yeah. There’s a trail by the lake. it’s nice this time of night.”  

You said yes before you even thought about it. 

The car rolled to a stop near the edge of Lover’s Lake. The water shimmered under the moonlight, still and glassy, the woods breathing slow around it. 

You fell into step beside him on the trail, shoulders brushing, feet scuffing against the dirt. He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the picture of casual, except for how tightly he kept his jaw clenched, like there were too many words sitting on his tongue. 

You shivered when the wind came off the water. Without missing a beat, Steve slipped off his jacket and settled it around your shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against your collarbone, a small, almost accidental touch that felt anything but. 

“Thanks,” you said softly. 

He just nodded. 

You walked in silence for a while, until you slipped your arm through his— testing. You leaned into him. His muscles tensed, then eased, and you felt him smile beside you. You swore you felt his nose brush gently into your hair. 

“Does this mean I can ask you what you’re thinking now?” You teased, your voice quiet against the rustle of trees. 

He laughed under his breath. “I’m an open book.” 

“Okay… scared you weren’t going to see me again?” 

Steve exhaled, long and deep. “You start off strong.” 

“I mean, can you blame me?” 

He pulled you a little closer as you walked, his side pressed into your shoulder. “No, I can’t. It’s… self-explanatory, really. I kept thinking about what you were doing, what our last memory together was. And, Jesus… how bad I wanted to take you to the fair. Just us. I shouldn’t have been such a coward. Should’ve been honest.” He paused, his voice softer now. “It was a lot of regrets I didn’t know what to do with.” 

You nodded. “I know you already apologized. But why didn’t you call?” 

He stopped walking. You did too. His hands slipped from his pockets, only to shove right back in, his shoulders tight. 

“I just… couldn’t talk to you without wishing for more,” he said quietly. “You’re my best friend, and you know… after everything that happened, I didn’t know what to do with that. It’s stupid.” 

You tilted your head, eyes searching his face. “So, are you saying you like me?” 

Steve huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Of course I do. For a long time.” 

He started walking again, and you followed. The night seemed to hold its breath around you. 

“So if you like me,” you asked after a beat, “then what’s with all the longing looks? The ones you give Nancy and Jonathan?” 

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I wasn’t jealous of them. I mean… okay, maybe a little. But not because of Nancy. It was because she was with the person she wanted. And I…” he glanced at you, small smile, sad at the edges. “I was barely even friends with the person I wanted.” 

You were embarrassed how easily the sharp bloom in your chest made you giddy. You let out an involuntary giggle. Your cheeks were warm. You felt full. It was better than what you had dreamed of. Your best friend liked you. Steve Harrington wanted you. 

You kicked at a stone. “I wanted the fair to be a date too,” you admitted your voice small. 

He stopped again, turning toward you. The air seemed to thicken. The moonlight hit his face, soft and silvers and eyes steady, lips parted like was about to say something but didn’t trust himself to yet. 

He looked at you the way people look when they’re trying to memorize something. Like if he blinked, you might vanish. 

Your pulse jumped. 

“What are you thinking now?” You asked, your voice trembling. 

The words landed between you, fragile and bright. 

He took a step closer. Then, for the first time in a long time, he gave you the look. His eyes slowly dragged to your lips and then back to your eyes. “I’m thinking about what you’d say if I asked if I could kiss you.” 

“Yes.” 

For a second, nothing. Just the word hanging in the air, trembling, daring him to move. 

Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually say it. Like the sound had knocked the breath out of him. 

Then he moved.

It wasn’t gentle. It was everything. 

His hand found your jaw, the other your waist, and the space between you disappeared all at once. The kiss hit hard, teeth, breath, heat. You stumbled back a step, your spine catching the rough bark of a tree, and he followed without hesitation chest pressed to yours, soaking you in. 

You gasped against his mouth and he chased the sound, kissing you deeper. His thumb slid under your chin, tilting you up until there was nowhere left to go but closer. The taste of him, mint, salt, the faintest sweetness from whatever candy he’d eaten at the drive-in. It all made your head spin. 

His mouth was everywhere, your bottom lip, the corner of your mouth, a breath against your cheek before he found you again. It was open mouthed and messy and so full of want it almost hurt. 

You fisted your hands in his hair before you realized you were doing it. He groaned when you tugged, deep and low, the sound shooting through you like a spark. His body pressed harder into yours, the solid weight of him keeping you anchored when everything else felt like it was spinning. 

You felt the scraped of bark through his jacket and your dress, the heat of his palm sliding along your thigh. You hadn’t realized your leg was hiked up until you felt Steve’s hand cup your ass. Fingertips dragging slow, like he needed proof you were really there. Every time you parted for air, he found you again, hungrier, rougher, like he was scared you’d evaporate if he didn’t keep touching you. 

It was dizzying, the way he kissed you. Like he’d been waiting years and didn’t trust he’d get another chance. 

When you finally broke apart, it wasn’t because you wanted to, it was because you had to breathe. Your chests brushed with every inhale, and his forehead dropped to yours. You could taste him still, sweet and sharp, and you couldn’t tell whose heartbeat was whose. 

You had pretty much shared a hundred kisses with Steve, but this one carried through your veins and bones. You wanted this kiss to be tattooed onto your lips forever, to remember it when you two were apart. 

“Jesus,” he murmured, voice wrecked, his breath catching on a laugh. “I don’t remember feeling like that on the Ferris wheel.” 

You felt your own laugh tumble out. It was small, shaky, completely undone. 

His hand stayed on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone, tracing the curve of your mouth like he still didn’t believe it. His eyes were darker now, but soft, careful. 

Your lips curved. “Suppose you’ve gotten a lot better.” 

He furrowed his brows, trying not to smile. “You suppose?” 

You shrugged, not answering. Just reached up and pulled him back in. 

It turned into lazy languid kisses. Your hands sneaking under, moving up and down his back until it was time to go. 

You barely made it to the car. 

His hand found yours somewhere between the trees and the parking lot, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist like he couldn’t stop himself.  The air felt electric running underneath every step. When you reached the BMW, he turned like he was going to open your door, the perfect gentleman, but then he didn’t. 

Instead, he caught you. 

Your back hit the car, his mouth already on yours, urgent, messy, like he’d been waiting for this and couldn’t risk losing it. His hands finding your hips, dragging you closer. He groaned against your mouth and it rattled something loose in you. 

He hated his hair being touched but your fingers found them, soft, damp from the humidity, and tugged. His hair wasn’t even your favorite feature of his. His crooked smile, the slight unevenness of his nose from too many fights, his hands. The way his eyes look permanently droopy, soft, and gentle. He kissed you harder for it, that maybe he never wanted you to touch his hair because it made him turn into this. 

You giggled, twirling his locks. “You need a haircut.” 

Steve looked drunk when he pulled back to look at you, his mouth going to your jaw. “…kay, I’ll get it cut tomorrow.” 

You smiled. “Just like that? You’re gonna cut it because I said something?” 

“Yeah,” he muttered. 

He tried to reach for the door handle behind you, fumbling, still half kissing you, his fingers grazing your waist.  When the latch finally clicked, it sounded deafening. 

He pulled back, just barely. His breath hit your cheek. The air between you smelled like his cologne and sweat and something new and fresh. 

You slid into the seat because you had to, because if you hadn’t, you weren’t sure either of you would stop. Steve closed your door gently, taking a long breath before walking around to his side. 

You watched him through the window, the way his hand raked through his hair, the faint lopsided grin that gave him away. He looked like he was seconds away from jumping into a heel-click. He looked flushed, dazed, still catching up to whatever just happened. 

When he got in, he didn’t look at you right away. The car filled with the low hum of the radio, some song too soft to matter, and the silence between you was bright and alive. You were both smiling like idiots, grinning into the dark like there was a secret only you two knew. 

.-.-.-.

The car idled quietly in front of your house. The headlights painted long, soft lines across the driveway. The night felt too calm for how loud your heartbeat was. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered, leaning a little closer, kissing his cheek. 

He smiled that half-smile. “Goodnight.” 

He kissed you back on the lips. Just once. Just a brush of lips, tender, sweet. But then he said it again, quieter this time, almost a dare. “Goodnight.” 

You laughed into his mouth, soft pecks, one after another, each one becoming longer, until the line between goodnight and don’t go blurred completely. His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb tracing lazy circles. 

It started soft. Then it wasn’t. 

It deepened like it had been waiting again, slow burn into something molten. His tongue brushed yours, and you gasped, and he caught it, kissing you through it. 

When your hand slid lower, to where his shirt met his belt, he froze. His hand caught yours gently, his voice barely a whisper. “Hey… wait.” 

You blinked, frowning. “Sorry. I just—“ 

He shook his head, smiling, eyes soft and so, so fond. “Don’t be sorry. Just… let’s not rush, okay?” 

You nodded. 

You kissed him again, slower this time, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, the spot just under his jaw. He exhaled shakily, a sound you felt before you heard. 

When you finally pulled back, he was grinning at you, cheeks flushed, lips pink and swollen. 

“Go inside before I change my mind,” he murmured. 

You wanted to challenge him but instead you only smiled. “Goodnight, Steve.” His name came out endearingly, blooming into a whole new meaning. 

You barely made it to the front steps when you heard him. 

“Hey! Wait!” 

Your name came out somewhere between a breath and a plea, and you turned, pulse stuttering. Steve was jogging toward you, hair a mess. 

“Changed your mind already?” You teased. 

He slowed to a stop in front of you, cheeks flushed. “No,” he said, breathless. “I just…” he gestured vaguely, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Need my jacket back.” 

You were about to laugh, but he was already reaching for it. His fingers brushed your shoulders, slow, deliberate, sliding the denim down your arms inch by inch. 

You were supposed to say goodnight one last time. Instead, you kissed him. 

It started soft, then didn’t stay that way. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer until the back of his legs hit the BMW’s bumper. 

Then you pushed. He let you. 

Steve’s hands landed on your hips as you crowded him against the hood, your body pressed tight to his, your dress skimming his jeans. The metal was warm beneath his palms, the night air heavy around you. You nipped at his bottom lip, pressing yourself into him. He groaned. 

“Backseat,” he said, voice low and wrecked, like it was pulled from somewhere deep. 

Before you could even process it, he was moving, standing, spinning you with a hand firm at your waist, the other on your ribs, thumb brushing the bottom of your breast. Your back hit his chest, his mouth dragging down your neck in a trail of open mouthed kisses that made your breath catch. 

He reached past you, opened the back door, and you turned to face him. The look in his eyes made you weak in the knees, dark, steady, head tipped slightly down as he looked up at you through his long lashes. 

You climbed in first, crawling across the seat, feeling his gaze on your backside, your heart in your throat. Your hands went to the buttons holding the straps of your dress, but his voice stopped you. 

“No.” 

You froze. He leaned in, his words barely brushing your ear. “The dress stays on.” His eyes flitted to the seat. “Lay down.” 

You’d never heard him sound like that before. A demand laced with dangerous inflection. Commanding without trying. 

You obeyed. 

The car’s interior smelled like cedar and sugar and him. He climbed in after you, filling the space instantly. The world outside the fogged windows disappeared. 

When he hovered over you, the low light from the street lamps caught his face. The curve of his jaw, the faint bruise near his temple, the softness in his eyes that didn’t match how desperate he looked. 

You helped him pull off his shirt and your lips kissed his collarbone, your hands ran up and down his chest, feeling the muscles. You kissed him softly but surely. 

He pulled back, his free hand running his thumb on your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. Quiet, like it wasn’t for you to hear. 

You blinked up at him, breath trembling. He had always called you hot or pretty once or twice, but never beautiful. The word seemed to carry a different feeling, swelling in your chest. “You’ve never called me that before.” 

He smiled, small, tender, devastating. “I’m always thinking it.” 

He kissed you. It was reverent and slow and deep and full of an eternity of all the things about the other. More things you both thought of, but never said aloud. 

.-.-.-.

The car had eventually gone quiet again. 

You were still tangled on him, skin damp, heartbeat skipping in the still heat. The faint sweetness of your shampoo, vanilla curling into the corners of the fogged up glass. His arm was heavy over your waist, anchoring you in place. Every few seconds, his thumb moved, tracing idle shapes against your hip like he couldn’t stop touching you. 

His mouth followed the path his hand made. Slow and soft. Your shoulder, your collarbone, the space just below your jaw. Not hungry this time. The kind of kiss that stayed. 

You’d been toying with his hand, the one resting near your stomach, following the veins along his wrist, the fading scab on his knuckle, the soft pulse beneath your fingers. You brought his fingertips to your mouth, kissed them. 

“So,” you muttered, your voice thinner than you meant it to be “What are you doing tomorrow?” 

He smiled against your neck, the words brushing your skin. “Hanging out with Robin.” 

The name hit fast. 

Your fingers froze against his. The air shifted. That same old ache returned. The one that used to live in your chest back when he said he had been talking to Nancy like it didn’t cost him anything. 

You’d think after him confessing he wanted to be with you, that you’d believe him. That you believed him after coming undone together. But, you didn’t. 

You sat up quickly. Hair falling forward. Dress rumpled. 

“Wait— hey,” Steve said, hand dropping to your forearm. He was half sprawled across the seat, skin glowing in the dim light, lips still kiss swollen. “What’re you doing?” 

You shook your head. “I should go in. This was… this was stupid.” 

His face changed. “What? What do you mean, stupid?” You could hear the scratch in the back of his throat. You ignored it. 

You were already fastening the button at your neckline, fingers shaking. “This was a mistake, Steve.” 

He sat up straighter, his voice climbing a notch. “Okay, hold on. Did I do something wrong?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t…” The button snapped into place, the sound like a gunshot. “I don’t know.” 

“You’re not making any sense—“ 

“This was just a quick fuck, right?” The words tore out before you could stop them, mean and wild and trembling. “Just like before Nancy. Just another distraction until someone else came along.” 

He let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, head bowing. His hand flexed against the seat. “Are you fucking serious?” His voice cracked on the edge of disbelief. “You really think that’s what this is?” 

No. But you couldn’t say anything. 

“I thought you wanted this,” he said, shoved his legs through his jeans, every motion clipped, controlled. “I thought you wanted me.” 

Your mouth opened, but no sound. 

“I thought you knew me better than that,” he went on, voice breaking around the edges. “I thought I made it clear this wasn’t just some hookup.” 

Your breath came out in fragments. “You don’t mean it. You’re just…” you were trying to find excuses. “You’re just emotionally vulnerable right now. Everything you’ve been through, the Russians and… you’re just trying to make it mean something.” 

A quiet, bitter laugh came out of him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

You blinked. “Get what?” 

“That it’s not me running scared here.” His voice was steady. Every word felt like it scraped its way out. “It’s you.” 

Your jaw twitched. Eyes burned. 

“You don’t want this to mean anything,” he said. “Because if it does, you don’t get to pretend anymore. You don’t get to hide behind your jokes, or your walls, or that thing you do where you look at me like you already know I'm gonna leave. You know, this entire night I’ve been pretty fucking bare to you but not once have you told me you like me too.” 

You were shaking your head, hands twisting in the fabric of your dress. “I— I have… I—“ 

He leaned forward, voice softer but sharper. “Sweetheart,” he said, and the word hurt, “the only one in this car who doesn’t know what they want is you.” 

You stared at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah?” He asked. “Then tell me I’m wrong.” 

The silence was its own answer. 

Another broken laugh. He looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I keep doing this because it’s the only way I can fully have you,” he said quietly. “Because you won’t let me any other way.” 

The words landed like a bruise. 

His next came slower, cracking apart halfway though. “Because it’s the only way you’ll let me love you.” 

You went rigid, your jaw slack. 

He looked at you then, eyes glassy, voice raw. “I am so fucking in love with you,” he said, almost whispering. “And I have been since freshman year. You act like I’m the one pretending, but you’re the one who keeps running every time this gets real.” 

You saw the confession curl into the car as it held its breath, sinking into you, the ache blooming behind your ribs. You wish you could take everything back, instant regret, but it was useless, you had already broken something in him. And unlike before, you had no idea if this could be fixed. 

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “But yeah, sure. Tell yourself I’m just vulnerable. That I don’t mean it. That’s easier, right?” 

Your voice barely made it past your lips. “You just love the idea of it all,” you said, shaking. “You don’t love me, Steve. You just think you do.” 

You have never seen Steve angry at you before. Sure, when you two were younger he’d be annoyed. But his eyes never looked fiery like they were now. He didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. 

You pushed the door open, the night air hitting you in the chest. You stepped out barefoot. The asphalt was warm under your feet, your shoes dangling from your hand. The streetlight painted you both in a wash of orange and shadow. 

Behind you, a thud. 

You turned just in time. 

He’d driven his fist into the back of the passenger seat. Knuckles white, shoulders trembling. 

He stayed like that, head bowed, chest heaving. 

You stood there, caught in the space between apology and escape. 

Then the car door opened. He got out, bare chested, eyes dark, something shattered but defiant in the set of his jaw. He looked at you like there were a thousand things left to say and not a single one would make a difference. 

For a long, suspended moment, neither of you moved. 

The night hung between you, bare feet, bruised hands. And then you turned. And you ran. 

.-.-.-. 

It had been two months. Two whole months of silence. 

You’d countered every one. Every sunrise that bled into another day you didn’t see him. Every night that ended without his voice on the phone, without the familiar warmth pressed against the edges of your thoughts. 

You missed Steve. God, you missed him so much it made your chest ache. But you couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not until you figured out what this was, what you were. It was pathetic, really, how long you’d been waiting for clarity that refused to come. Because Steve wasn’t wrong. You were the one running. 

You had been the one to tell him it meant nothing junior year. You had been so obsessed with wanting to be in control. You wanted to control how people thought of you, wanting the people in his life to like you, but never giving them an actual chance. You’d wanted him to choose you since before you even knew what that meant. And he had, in all the ways that mattered. But your small, sharp, predictable jealousy had turned something good into something cruel. 

You got word that he and Robin had finally found a new job.

Family Video. 

And of course, that’s where you ended up on a Saturday afternoon in October. 

The bell above the door chimed softly as you stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of plastic cases, popcorn butter, and industrial carpet cleaner. Rows of VHS tapes stretched out like a time capsule. Behind the counter, Robin Buckley. 

She looked up, blinking in surprise. “He’s not here,” she said immediately. 

You froze mid-step. “Good,” you managed, too fast. “I’m not here to see him.” 

Robin’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes sharpened a little. “I’m not getting in the middle of whatever’s going on between you two.” 

“I know.” You rubbed your palms against your jeans, nerves humming. “I’m not here to talk about him.” 

Robin tilted her head, skeptical but curious. 

“I’m here because…” you started, then stopped. The words tangled in your throat, coming out softer than you meant. “Because I’ve spent all summer making excuses not to properly talk to you. And that’s shitty. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Her brow furrowed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. 

“And now that you and Steve are…” you waved a vague hand. “Friends, I think I need to stop being an asshole. So. Hello.” You stuck your hand out, awkward and sincere. 

Robin blinked, then smiled. It was small. She took your hand, her peacock blue nails contrasting against skin. “Hello,” she said, her grip warm. 

You nodded, already stepping back, ready to flee before you ruined the moment. “Okay. That’s all I wanted to say. I’ll… uh, I’ll get out of your hair.” 

Before you reached the door, Robin called out, “Keith, I’m taking my lunch!” 

From somewhere in the back, a groan. “Again?” 

Robin ignored him, grabbing her bag. “Come on,” she said, motioning to the door. “You like turkey sandwiches?” 

You blinked. “Sure?” 

Outside, the heat hit you instantly. The two of you sat on the curb, the pavement warm beneath your jeans. The air smelled like asphalt and cut grass. Neither of you spoke for a while, just the soft crinkle of wax paper. 

Finally, you said, “So. You’re in the band?” 

Robin arched a brow. “How’d you know?” 

You smiled faintly. “Don’t underestimate a jealous woman. I did a lot of yearbook research.” 

Robin laughed, shaking her head. “That’s both flattering and mildly terrifying.” 

“Yeah” you said, grinning despite yourself. 

She took a bite of her sandwich, still smiling. “Well, yeah. I’m in a band. We’re not terrible. I used to be on saxophone until last year I started playing the trumpet. I can pick up most instruments pretty fast. Used to play piano at church when I was a kid.” 

You now understood why Steve said Robin was hyper. She talked fast, and you had to pay attention or you’d missed what she was speaking about. “That’s awesome,” you said, and you meant it. “Do you really love music?” 

She shrugged, offering you some of her chips. “I do. But it’s not what I’m passionate about.” 

You shoved the salty chips in your mouth, motioning for her to go on. 

Robin’s face lit up, almost instantly. Her body turned to you, her shoulders upright, hands dramatically moving. “Linguistics,” she said, the word like a spark. “I love breaking down languages. Patterns, syntax, hidden meaning. I didn’t realize how much until Steve and Henderson roped me into cracking that Russian code.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your mouth. Any type of bitterness, resentment, jealousy, evaporated. “That’s incredible.” 

Robin looked at you for a long moment, then sighed softly. “Look,” she said, gentle but direct. “I know he’s told you a thousand times, but there’s nothing going on between Steve and me.” 

Something inside loosened. The tight knot that had been living in your chest for months started to give. “I know,” you said quietly. “I’m just… scared.” 

Robin picked at the crust of her sandwich, voice low now. “I can’t deny Steve and I are close, but he won’t really let anyone be his best friend except you. He doesn’t even try.” She gave you a look. “You know at Scoop, he refused to take breaks until you showed up?” 

Your head lifted. “What?” 

Robin laughed under her breath. “And now, here, it’s the same thing. Doesn’t matter where he is. If that bell chimes, he’s out front in two seconds flat. Always with this stupid, hopeful look on his face.” She smiled a little. “And when we hang out, he only wants to stay at his house. Says he doesn’t want to ‘miss any important calls.’” 

Your throat tightened. 

“I gave him so much shit about it,” Robin said. “Even before we were friends, I knew he was into you. I just thought he was y’now, King Steve Harrington. Flirting to flirt.” 

You laughed weakly, but unable to say anything. 

“But then you came into Scoops that one time,” Robin went on. “You were upset. You had spilled coffee on yourself before an interview. And when you weren’t looking, he looked like someone had kicked his puppy. Like it physically hurt him to see you sad.” 

Heat climbed your neck. You could picture it too clearly. 

Robin leaned back on her hands, squinting up at the sun. “And don’t even get me started on the number of times you practically threw yourself at him and he didn’t do shit about it. I had an actual board in the back that said You Suck for every time he chickened out.” 

You laughed, really laughed, and Robin joined you, your heads tipping back, the sound echoing across the empty parking lot. 

The air shimmered in the cool breeze. It was that awkward time of year where the air would be cool, but the sun still blared. Robin brushed crumbs from her lap and squinted at you through the sunlight, her hair haloed gold. The silence between you had stretched thin, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. 

Before you could stop yourself, you said. “Are you doing anything next weekend?” 

Robin blinked. “Uh, not really. Why?” 

“Do you wanna hang out?” You asked, trying for casual but tripping over it halfway through. “Is it… lame to ask someone to have a sleepover at our age?” 

Robin stared for a second, then laughed, bright and startled, the kind that cracked open the air. “A sleepover?” 

You winced. “Yeah. I know. I just… I want to get to know you. Like, really know you. Because I kind of have this problem where I want people to like me but won’t let them know me. I’d like to talk about things that aren’t Steve.” 

Robin grinned, her eyes crinkling. “Yeah. I’d really like that.” 

You smiled, a small breath of relief catching in our throat. “Good. Because I think we’d actually be good friends if I wasn’t, you know, perpetually terrible at being one.” 

“You’re not terrible,” Robin said easily. “Just… catastrophically bad at timing.” 

You snorted, because there was no argument there. You bit your lip, voice soft. “But I do want you to promise me something.” 

She made a humming noise, finishing the last of her sandwich. 

“If you ever do end up having feelings for Steve. Please just tell me. Don’t hide it. I can handle that. I just… don’t want to be that jealous person anymore.” 

Robin froze, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face, discomfort, maybe, or amusement. Then she shook her head, smiling faintly. “Trust me,” she said, leaning back on her palms. “Steve is so not my type. No offense.” 

“None taken,” you said, half laughing. 

Robin’s lips parted, probably to make some sarcastic follow up, but her eyes flicked past your shoulder and she went suddenly still. “Oh my god,” she muttered, sitting up straighter, her voice caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. 

You turned just as a red headed girl with soft eyes and an armful of library books crossed the lot. 

“Robin!” She called, her smile bright. “I was hoping you were working today.” 

Robin nearly dropped her soda. “Hey, Vickie! Yeah, I’m uh… working. Yep.” Her voice cracked on working. 

You blinked once. Then again. 

Because the look on her face, the wide eyes, the stammer, the shy, almost smile was unmistakable. 

Vickie’s gaze flicked to you, polite but curious, assessing in that instinctive way. You knew that look, too. You’d worn it more times than you could count, when someone stood too close to the person you were quietly, hopelessly gone for. 

You turned back to Robin, who was doing a spectacular job of pretending she was totally fine. 

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Oh.” 

Robin’s face went scarlet. She gave the smallest shrug, guilty and sheepish at once. 

You stood, brushing crumbs from your jeans. “hi,” you said brightly to Vickie. “We were just catching up, but I should get going. Enjoy the rest of your break, Robin.” 

“Yeah,” Robin said quickly, eyes still wide. “You too.” 

You waved and started for your car. 

Behind you, Vickie’s voice floated across the lot. “Who was that?” 

Robin hesitated for a heartbeat, then said softly, “Oh… she’s a friend of mine.” 

You paused. 

A friend of mine. 

It wasn’t the words. It was the way she said them. It was warm and sure. Like she meant it. 

Your throat went tight. Something inside you cracked open, slow and aching. Because for the first time, it hit you. You’d had it all wrong. All of it. 

You’d spent so long clutching your jealousy like armor, convinced people would leave, that you hadn’t noticed the ones who stayed. Who’d always stayed. 

And suddenly, you could see it, every quiet proof of it. Steve showing up when you called. Steve remembering what you’d forgotten. Steve looking at you like you hung the stars over his stupid BMW. 

Your breath caught. 

The air around you seemed to hum, something electric sparking low in your chest, running through your veins, familiar as your own heartbeat. 

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t confusion. 

It was love. 

And it had been there all along. 

.-.-.-.

The sun was still high when you pulled up to Steve’s house. It looked the same, a little too perfect, a little too lonely. The grass lay in clean stripes, and the air held the kind of heat that didn’t belong to October. You stood on the porch for a moment, listening for footsteps that never came. 

Then you heard it, the low, steady hum of a lawnmower from the backyard. 

You followed the sound, sandals scuffed through dust, the air smelled like cut grass and gasoline. And there he was. 

Steve Harrington. Shirtless. Tanned. Moving slow and methodical behind the wheel of a riding mower. 

The sun caught the line of his shoulders, the shimmer of sweat sliding down his spine. His Walkman hung from the waistband of his shorts, the headphone wire trailing down his chest. He was mouthing words, singing, maybe, lost to whatever song was loud enough to drown out everything else. 

You should’ve called his name. Instead, you watched. 

It was embarrassingly easy to fall back into it, the quiet pull he had, the kind that tugged at the air around him. The gravity of him. The stillness that made you ache. 

When he turned and finally saw you, his brows drew together in confusion. 

He slowed the mower, rolled closer, and cut the engine. The silence that followed made everything louder. Your pulse, the small tick of the cooling metal. 

He climbed off, pulled the headphones down around his neck. A faint song, something old and fast, leaked out. He grabbed a glass from the porch rail, drank deep, then wiped the back of his neck before tugging on a faded T-shirt. 

“Hi,” you swallowed. 

“Hey,” he said, voice rough with effort. 

For a beat, neither of you moved. The air hung heavy. 

He crossed his arms, guarded but not cold. “You, uh… need something?”

”Yeah, uh…” you said, fidgeting. “I came by to tell you… I saw Robin today.” 

Steve’s jaw tensed, unreadable. “Okay.” 

“Oh, uh… we’re having a sleepover next weekend. I think. We’re at least hanging out.” 

“Okay…” He softened a little, his arms still folded across his chest. 

You noticed then, his hair was shorter. You had to fight back the smile tugging at the corner of your lips, thinking about how two months ago you told him he needed a haircut. Did he keep it short because maybe he was waiting for you? 

The faint shadow of facial hair above his upper lip. He looked leaner too, stronger, like summer had burned the softness out of him. 

“Right, okay. Yeah,” you said, nodding too quickly. 

Steve’s mouth twitched. “So you came here after three months of silence to tell you’re singing Kumbaya with my friend, the one, if I recall correctly,” he lifted his finger in the air like a physical lightbulb went off. “Oh, yeah! The one you think I secretly have a thing for?” 

“Yes. Well, no. I never actually thought… I mean, I was jealous. But it’s because…” you groaned, raking a hand through your hair. “Ugh. I realized I hate not being in control, Steve. I hate changes. I get scared when new people enter my life because you’re right… I’m already anticipating them leaving. I have no idea why, but I do.” 

You inhaled shakily, words tumbling faster now. “God, Steve. I’m so sorry. I kept pretending to blame you for everything when really I’m the crazy jealous girl who’s kind of bitchy to everyone and too stubborn to admit how I feel.” 

You ran out of air halfway through it, standing there, breathless. 

Steve just looked at you. Blank expression, unreadable. 

You sighed. “Right. That’s about it. I’ll see you… shit, wait.” 

You drew in a deep breath. 

“Steve, you’re my best friend. Even though I’m a mess, the one thing that’s always made sense to me is you. You’re right. I kept running away. But if you’ll let me, I don’t want to do that anymore. I couldn’t tell you I liked you too, because I love you. I love you that it hurts and saying I only like you felt like a lie.” 

You waited, heart pounding, every second dragging. “Okay, now I’m done.” 

All you got was the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“Well then,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I should be done mowing in the next hour. Then I could stop by Family Video and be by your house by, let’s say… five?” 

You blinked. ‘You want to come over? Like, just us?” 

“Yeah,” he said easily, the grin growing. “I’d hope my girlfriend would want to hang out with me. Especially after that very declaration of love. You already had me at ‘hi.’”

You fought the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re an asshole.” Then belatedly, “Wait. Girlfriend?” 

He made a face, shrugged one shoulder. “Yes, my girlfriend. So… what are we thinking tonight? You know we got that new Michael J. Fox movie in. The one where he turns into a werewolf.” 

“Teen Wolf?” You said, shaking your head. “Wait, I never even said yes to being your girlfriend.” 

He ignored you, already grinning. “Right, okay. Teen Wolf at five.” 

You laughed then, a real, hopeless laugh, bubbling up before you could stop it. You were still only a few feet apart when you gave him a playful shove. 

“I do hope you plan on taking a shower,” you teased, wrinkling your nose. 

He grinned. “What, you don’t like the sweat?” 

He hunted toward you, reaching, and you squealed, trying to escape. “No!” You shouted through laughter, running, but he caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind. He lifted you off your feet, laughing as he shook his damp hair against your cheek. 

You shrieked, breathless, twisting in his hold. “Steve!” 

He laughed harder, then pressed a flurry of quick, ridiculous kisses to your cheek before finally setting you down.

He looked at you, flushed, smiling, alive, and his voice softened. “See you later?” 

You tilted your head, teasing. “Mmm, I think I’m gonna stay and watch my boyfriend mow his lawn.” 

He raised a brow. “Okay. But I’m keeping my shirt on, you perv.”  

You laughed, caught, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. He brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, eyes crinkling at the corners, and kissed your nose. 

“I love you,” he murmured. 

You felt it settle somewhere deep. 

Your lips found his, tender and sweet. He had picked you up, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Small chaste pecks between innocent chuckles. 

You loved him too. 

Not just in the summer, when the air was golden and the world felt easy. But in the fall, when the air turned sharp and the leaves browned at their edges. You loved him when he was wrong. When he was tired. When he tied your shoelaces because you never double knotted it right. 

You loved him in every version of the year, when the cicadas fell quiet, when frost crept across the glass, when spring cracked open the cold. 

You loved him when it wasn’t simple. When it wasn’t perfect. 

You loved him when the world changed and he stayed.

[dirtylittlediary]

seven minutes - spencer reid

pairing : spencer reid x hotch's daughter!reader

summary : when you're taken by an unsub who holds a peculiar grudge against your father, seven minutes make a hell of a difference between life and death.

warnings : angst with maybe -45% comfort, kidnapping, torture, mentions of harm being done to other people, completely made up plot btw so no spoilers for the actual show, spencer losing his shit, established relationship

word count : 9.5 k

a/n : as usual, not proofread ! probably about season 10-11!reid as in looks reference but the plotline is all over the place so uhm sorry abt that i was legit js pulling shit from my criminal minds memory bank and shoved them all together... so yeah defo not season-wise accuracy. (the crash is based on s13 so lil spoilers on that... and i also looked up every technical term i could think of to make spencer sound accurate so uh) enjoy !

Spencer's hands are careful as he fastens your bulletproof vest over your chest, his brows furrowed. The fluorescent lights of the bullpen wash him pale, catching the faint shadows under his eyes from too many nights spent buried in files.

“You tightened it too much,” you mumble, wincing as he tugs the straps.

“It’s supposed to be tight,” he says automatically, not looking up.

“Pretty sure breathing is also supposed to happen.” That finally earns you a glance. Not amused. Just worried.

“You joke when you’re nervous.”

“And you lecture when you are.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. My lungs would like to file a formal complaint.” His mouth twitches despite himself, but it disappears almost immediately. Spencer smooths his hand over the front of the vest one last time, checking for gaps like he doesn’t trust the fabric to do its job properly. You study him for a second.

“You know,” you say quietly, “most people just say ‘be careful.’”

“I did say that.”

“Three times.”

“Because you ignored me the first two.” A snort escapes you, but it fades when you notice the way his fingers linger near your ribs. Restless. Anxious.The case had gotten ugly fast.Three victims in four days. All connected to the Bureau in some way. Retired agents. Informants. One federal prosecutor. And now the unsub had escalated from taunting the BAU to targeting your father directly. Aaron Hotchner had made enemies before. Plenty of them. But this one felt different.

Personal.

The unsub had been sending photographs for weeks now. Grainy shots of Hotch entering Quantico. Jack at soccer practice. You grabbing coffee outside the bullpen with Spencer. Watching. Waiting. The latest message had arrived that morning.

Tick tock, Hotchner.

And underneath it:

What hurts worse? Losing your team… or your daughter?

Hotch had gone frighteningly still when Garcia read it aloud. You’d watched the muscle in his jaw tick once before he started assigning teams like the world wasn’t tilting beneath his feet. Now the bullpen buzzes around you—agents moving quickly, radios crackling, Emily and JJ arguing quietly over routes—but Spencer still hasn’t stepped back.

“Spence,” you say softly. His eyes flick to yours immediately. “I’ll be okay.” The problem is he doesn’t answer. Because Spencer Reid has seen too many people promise that before bleeding out anyway. Behind you, your father emerges from his office already shrugging into his jacket.

“We hit the road in two,” Hotch says. The entire room shifts instantly into motion. Spencer finally lets go of your vest, though reluctantly, like peeling his hands away from something important.

“You stay with Luke,” he says firmly. “Don’t split up. Don’t go anywhere alone." You blink at him.

“Wow. You and my dad should start a podcast.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

“That’s statistically inaccurate.” That almost gets a real smile out of you.Almost. Then Hotch’s voice cuts through the bullpen again.

“Let’s move.” You reach up and pull Spencer down towards you, catching his lips in a quick kiss as your dad, Luke, Walker and Emily all walk towards the black SUV's waiting for you downstairs.

The kiss barely lasts two seconds.

Still, Spencer chases it for half a heartbeat when you pull away, his hand catching briefly at your wrist like he’s fighting the urge to keep you there.

“Be careful,” he says quietly. You soften a little at the look on his face.

“Spence, we’re literally just surveilling a warehouse.”

“That statement significantly increases the statistical likelihood something catastrophic is about to happen.” Luke snorts from beside the elevators.

“He’s got a point.” You roll your eyes, backing toward the bullpen doors.

“You’re all dramatic.” Hotch appears behind you, expression unreadable but tired in the way only your father can manage.

“Move.”And just like that, the moment’s over. Everyone scatters into motion.

The unsub’s name is Daniel Kessler.

Former paramedic. Former military. Smart enough to stay ahead of the BAU for six weeks and angry enough to make mistakes.

More specifically: angry at Aaron Hotchner.

Three years ago, Hotch testified in a corruption case involving Kessler’s brother. The brother went to prison. Died there eleven months later.

Kessler blamed Hotch.

And now bodies were piling up across Virginia with surgical precision and handwritten messages left behind at each scene.

The latest lead had come fast—a possible location tied to one of Kessler’s shell companies just outside Quantico. Which was why the team was mobilizing so quickly. Three SUVs. Hotch and Rossi in the first. JJ and Tara in the second. You, Luke, Emily, and Walker in the third. Spencer stayed behind with Garcia to monitor incoming intel. He looked miserable about it.

At first, the drive is almost painfully normal. Walker’s driving. Emily sits shotgun flipping through case notes while Luke scrolls through updates on his phone beside you in the backseat. Rain taps softly against the windows. The highway stretches dark and endless ahead of you. Your phone buzzes.

SPENCE You forgot your scarf.

You smile despite yourself.

YOU Tragic. I’ll hold a funeral later.

Three dots appear immediately.

Then:

SPENCE Funny people are statistically more likely to survive traumatic situations.

You bark out a laugh. Luke glances over.

“Pretty Boy?”

“Unfortunately.” Emily sighs dramatically from the front seat.

“You two are disgusting.”

“You say that like you haven’t watched them stare at each other for ten straight minutes in briefing rooms,” Walker says.

“I have,” Emily replies. “That’s why I said it. I've also watched them pine for each other for years. This sudden shift in dynamics is weird. I honestly liked it better when Reid was all stuttery and shy around her."

"We didn't pine." You grumble, shifting in your seat. Four separate looks immediately get directed at you. Luke actually lowers his phone.

“Be serious.”

“He wrote you a six-page apology because he accidentally snapped at you once,” Emily says to absolutely no one’s surprise.

Walker snorts from the driver’s seat.

“Reid used to look like he was being held hostage every time she touched him.”

“He still does sometimes,” Luke says.

“Okay, wow,” you mutter. Emily twists slightly in her seat to look back at you.

“Sweetheart, he once walked into the glass conference room wall because you smiled at him.”

“That happened one time.”

“Twice,” Luke corrects. Walker laughs.

“Nah, my favorite was the coffee thing.” You narrow your eyes.

“What coffee thing?”

“You brought him coffee every morning for like eight months,” Walker says.

“Because he forgets to eat when he’s working.”

“And Reid started memorizing your coffee order after day two,” Emily adds smugly. Luke points between all of you.

“See, this is why none of us were shocked when they finally got together.”

“You were all shocked,” you argue.

“We were shocked it took this long,” Emily corrects. Emily cackles. “You're dating a textbook.”

“A very pretty textbook,” you mumble before thinking better of it. Unfortunately the entire car hears you. Walker makes a wounded sound.

“Oh, that’s disgusting.” Emily clutches her chest dramatically.

“No, let her continue. This is healing me.” You flip her off from the backseat. Rain continues tapping softly against the windshield as the SUV speeds down the dark stretch of highway. The radio crackles quietly every few seconds with updates from the other cars. Somewhere ahead, Hotch and Rossi are already discussing entry routes. JJ’s voice cuts in briefly over comms before fading back out. For a moment, everything feels strangely normal.

Easy.

Luke elbows you lightly.

“You know Reid almost called Hotch Sr when he asked permission to ask you out.” Your head whips toward him.

“What?” Emily bursts into delighted laughter.

“He did.” Walker nearly misses the curve in the road because he’s laughing too hard now.

“No he did not.”

“Oh, he absolutely did,” Emily says. “Hotch just stared at him for like ten full seconds while Reid visibly aged.” Luke deepens his voice badly in imitation. “‘Agent Hotchner, respectfully, I was wondering if—’”

“Stop talking,” you groan.

“—if your daughter would potentially—’”

“You’re all dead to me.” Emily wipes tears from under her eyes.

“Your father looked so uncomfortable.” Walker grins into the rearview mirror.

“Honestly brave of Reid. I’d rather fistfight a bear than ask Hotch for dating permission.”

“He didn’t ask permission,” you defend automatically. Luke raises an eyebrow.

“He absolutely did.” Luke laughs. And for one perfect, stupid second, everything feels fine.

Then you see it. Up ahead. Small. Sharp. Metal glinting beneath the headlights. Your stomach drops instantly.

“Walker—” Too late. The SUV hits the spike strips hard. The sound is explosive. All four tires blow at once.

"Shit !" Walker jerks the wheel violently as the vehicle fishtails across the slick highway. Emily shouts something.

"Everybody hold on !" Luke grabs for the handle above the door. Your seatbelt locks brutally across your chest as the world spins sideways.

Then— Headlights. Blinding. A truck horn screaming— And impact. Metal shrieks. Glass detonates. Your body whips sideways so hard your vision whites out completely. Something slams into your ribs.

When you wake up, you can’t breathe. Pain hits first. Not sharp. Everywhere. Burning agony flooding through every inch of your body like someone poured gasoline into your veins. A broken sound leaves your throat. Smoke curls through the crushed SUV. Your head lolls sideways. Everything looks wrong. The windshield is gone. The dashboard is crumpled inward. Blood streaks the windows. Your seatbelt digs painfully into your chest. For a second you can’t understand why your left arm won’t move properly. Then feeling rushes back all at once and you nearly black out again.

“Fuck—” Your voice comes out shredded. You force your head up. Emily’s slumped against the passenger door, unmoving, blood running down the side of her face. Luke’s crumpled awkwardly beside you.

Walker— Walker’s head hangs at an angle that makes your stomach twist violently. Too still. Far too still.

“Walker,” you croak. No response. You try again, panic climbing your throat. You reach forward, wincing at the pull of your seat belt, shaking him. “Walker!” His entire body slumps forward, head landing on the steering wheel with a deafening thud. You bite back the bile threatening to spew out of you, your vision tunneling as you jerk back. Your chest caves inward.

Oh God. Smoke thickens around you. The car groans. Somewhere outside, people are shouting. You fumble clumsily for the seatbelt release with trembling fingers. It finally clicks. The second it unlatches, your body pitches forward violently and agony tears through your side hard enough to make you scream. Something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong. You look down. Blood. So much blood. A jagged piece of metal protrudes from beneath your ribs. Your vision flickers.

“No no no—” The driver-side door suddenly jerks open. Cold rain floods in. A man appears beside the wreckage wearing EMT gear. Reflective jacket. Medical gloves. Calm eyes. Relief crashes through you so hard you almost cry.

“Ma'am,” he says firmly. “Stay still.” You nod weakly.

“My-My friends - Please you have to-” Your eyes dart around, trying to catch a glimpse of the other cars. You can see smoke and fire from somewhere behind you, and panic claws up your throat. "Oh, god- my-my dad is in- please, you have to-"

“We’ll get them,” he says quickly. “I need to move you first.” Your brain feels slow. Foggy. He cuts through your vest with terrifying efficiency. Strong hands slide beneath your arms. Pain explodes through your abdomen as he pulls you free from the wreckage. You scream.

“I know,” he says soothingly. “I know. I got you.” Rain pours down around you. Lights flash red and blue across the highway. Your head lolls weakly against his shoulder as he carries you toward the ambulance. You can barely keep your eyes open. Your body feels heavy.

Wrong.

“Dad,” you mumble. “Need my dad—”

“We already got the two other cars evacuated. We have extra RA's en route to escort your friends to the hospital. Your father is waiting for you there.” the EMT says. You nod, rain soaking your clothes. He loads you onto the stretcher. The ambulance doors stand open behind you.

Then— Movement. Across the wreckage. Another SUV. Crushed against the guardrail. And stumbling out of it— Hotch.

Your father can barely stand. Blood runs down the side of his face. One arm hangs limp. But the second his eyes land on you— Pure horror floods his expression.

“Sweetheart !” Your breath catches.

What ?

Your breath catches. The EMT had said Hotch was already at the hospital. Your stomach drops so violently it almost makes you vomit.

No.

No, no—

Hotch stumbles forward through the rain, slipping against the soaked pavement as he tries to run toward the ambulance. Rossi is behind him shouting for medics, for backup, for somebody to stop the vehicle, but your father’s eyes are locked entirely on you. On the man beside you. And suddenly you understand. The EMT’s hand tightens on the stretcher rail.

“Wait,” you whisper. Hotch sees your expression change.

“No!” he roars. The ambulance doors slam shut. The sound nearly knocks the air out of your lungs. Panic detonates through your body. You jerk upright instantly despite the agony ripping through your abdomen.

“Stop the fucking ambulance!” you scream, scrambling backward across the stretcher. Pain tears through your ribs so hard your vision whites out, but adrenaline keeps you moving. “Stop—” The EMT grabs for you. You swing first. Your fist cracks against his jaw hard enough to snap his head sideways. For one glorious second, he actually looks surprised.

“Bitch,” he mutters. You lunge for the door handles. Your blood-slick fingers almost catch them before he hauls you backward violently. Agony explodes through your side and a scream rips out of your throat. Outside the tiny rear windows, you can still see your father. Hotch is running after the ambulance. Actually running. Broken. Bleeding. Desperate.

“Dad!” you sob, slamming your palm against the doors. “Dad!” The ambulance swerves sharply.

The EMT hooks an arm around your waist and drags you back against him with brutal force. You fight instantly, elbows flying despite the pain.

“Get the fuck off me!” you choke out.

“Jesus Christ,” the man snarls, struggling to keep hold of you. “You really are his kid.” Something cold presses suddenly against your neck. A syringe. Your blood runs cold.

“No—” The needle plunges into your skin. You gasp sharply and shove at him harder, but your limbs already feel wrong. Heavy. Slow. “No no no—” The man restrains you easily now, forcing you back onto the stretcher as the sedative floods your bloodstream. Your vision starts swimming almost immediately. Outside, through the blurred back windows, you see Hotch reach the ambulance for half a second— His hand slams against the rear doors as he screams your name.

“No !” The sound breaks something inside you. Then the ambulance surges forward. And your father disappears into rain and flashing lights. Your body stops cooperating.

Your arms feel numb.

Your heartbeat echoes strangely in your ears.

The EMT pulls off his mask calmly while you struggle weakly beneath him.

Not an EMT.

Kessler.

You recognize him now. The eyes. Cold. Empty. Patient.

“You should’ve stayed still,” he says, almost disappointed. Your mouth won’t work properly anymore.

“You…” you slur weakly. Kessler sighs, pushing you flat against the stretcher as your body goes limp beneath his hands.

“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re bleeding internally. This is keeping you alive.” You try to fight him again anyway. Your hand barely lifts. Kessler watches you with detached fascination.

"Let's see if Aaron Hotchner's precious daughter is more important than putting me behind bars." He grabs another needle and grabs you arm.

You try to fight back- God, you try.

But your body feels like it's been filled with concrete, like your veins are hardening with every passing second, weighing you down.

Kessler grins.

"Sweet dreams."

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

"Aaron- Aaron, listen to me-" Rossi is waving his arms in front of Hotch as real sirens flood the space. Emily crawls out of the car, coughing and bleeding from her temple, her hand pressed to her side as she limps her way over to Luke's side of the car and tugs him out. JJ stumbles from another wreckage, waving her hand in front of her face as she coughs, a large gash running down the side of her arm. Tara doesn't look badly hurt, just concussed as she stumbles down the stretch of highway, her hand pressed to her head in confusion as Derek helps her forward.

And Aaron Hotchner can't fucking breathe.

"N-No, we- we have to go after her." He rasps, shaking his head. "The ambulance didn't have a license plate but-but it was him. It was him, Dave." Rossi grabs Hotch hard by the shoulders.

“Aaron!” Hotch’s chest heaves violently. Rain pours down his face, mixing with blood from the cut at his hairline. His eyes are locked on the empty stretch of highway where the ambulance disappeared into the storm.

“The ambulance didn’t have plates,” he says again, voice shredded raw. “It was him. Dave, it was fucking him.” Behind them, chaos erupts across the crash site. Actual EMTs flood the highway now, shouting over each other as they move between the wrecked SUVs. Red and blue lights flash violently across twisted metal and shattered glass. Somebody yells for extraction tools. Another medic shouts about fuel leakage. Walker’s body is finally pulled from the front seat. Emily sees the tarp being unfolded and stops dead.

“No,” she whispers. Luke catches her arm before she can stumble forward. JJ presses a trembling hand over her mouth, blood still running down her forearm. Tara stands dazed beside Derek, one hand against her temple as she tries to process the devastation around her. For one horrible moment, nobody speaks. Then the highway explodes back into noise.

“Aaron,” Rossi says again, more firmly this time. “Talk to me.” Hotch looks like he can barely breathe.

“She saw me,” he rasps. “She looked right at me.” His voice breaks on the last word. Dave’s stomach twists. Because Aaron Hotchner does not break. Not like this. “She realized it wasn’t real,” Hotch says, staring blankly down the road. “She started fighting him.” Emily looks up sharply.

“What?” Hotch drags a hand over his bloodied face.

“He was dressed like an EMT.” His breathing turns uneven. “I thought she was being transported until I saw—” He cuts himself off hard. Too late. Rossi catches it immediately.

“What did you see?” Aaron closes his eyes for one second too long. When he opens them again, there’s something almost haunted sitting behind them.

“She was hurt.” The team goes still.

“How bad?” JJ asks quietly. Hotch swallows.

“I don’t know.” Lie. Everybody hears it. Aaron’s jaw tightens violently. “There was blood,” he says carefully, like each word physically hurts. “A lot of blood.” Emily’s face drains of color. Luke curses under his breath.

“She couldn’t move properly,” Hotch continues hollowly. “He had to carry her." Nobody says anything after that. Because they all know what that means. Then headlights tear onto the highway. A black SUV brakes hard across the shoulder. Spencer is out of the vehicle before it fully stops moving. Garcia barely gets the car in park before he’s sprinting after him.

“Hotch!” Spencer shouts, panic already threading through his voice as he takes in the wreckage. “What happened?” Garcia steps out behind him—and freezes completely.

“Oh my God.” The highway looks apocalyptic. Smoke. Rain. Crushed SUVs. Flashing lights reflecting off blood-slick pavement. Spencer eyes scan frantically across the scene.

JJ.

Emily.

Luke.

Tara.

Derek.

Rossi.

Hotch.

His stomach drops. Because you’re not there. Spencer’s breathing changes instantly.

“Where is she?” Nobody answers quickly enough. And terror detonates behind his ribs. “Where is she?” Emily looks away. Garcia starts crying immediately. Spencer stares at them.

“No.” Luke steps forward carefully.

“Reid—”

“No.” The word cracks out of him violently. “What happened?” Hotch finally steps toward him, rain dripping from his ruined suit.

“Kessler staged the crash,” he says hoarsely. “He took her.” Spencer just stares at him. Like the sentence physically does not make sense.

“Took her?” he repeats faintly.

“The ambulance was fake,” Rossi says grimly. “He disguised himself as an EMT.” Garcia lets out a broken sob behind them. Spencer’s face goes completely white.

“When?” he asks.

“Less than four minutes ago,” Luke says. “Local units are already searching—” Spencer looks immediately at Hotch. Not Rossi. Not Emily. Hotch. Because Hotch saw her last. And Aaron realizes Spencer already knows that too. Their eye contact lasts half a second. It’s enough. Spencer’s expression changes instantly.

“How bad was she hurt?” Hotch doesn’t answer quickly enough. Spencer takes a step forward. “How bad?” Aaron looks wrecked. Actually wrecked.

“She was conscious,” he says carefully.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Aaron,” Rossi warns quietly. But Spencer doesn’t look away from Hotch. Hotch exhales shakily through his nose.

“There was blood.” Spencer’s breathing stutters.

“How much?”

“I don’t know.” Another lie. Spencer hears that one too. And suddenly he looks furious. Terrified, grieving, furious. “She couldn’t move on her own,” Hotch admits quietly. “He carried her into the ambulance.” Garcia breaks down harder behind them and Derek crosses the space immediately to grab onto her. Spencer physically sways where he stands. For a second it looks like he might actually collapse. Then his face hardens into something sharp enough to cut glass.

“What direction?” Hotch blinks.

“Reid—”

“What direction did he go?”

“Eastbound,” Hotch answers carefully. Spencer immediately turns toward Garcia’s SUV. Hotch grabs his arm before he gets two steps. “You are not going alone.” Spencer jerks free instantly. His eyes are glassy with panic now.

“You let her get in that ambulance.” The words hit like a gunshot. Silence crashes down around the wreckage. Spencer looks horrified the second he says it. Because he knows exactly who he just said it to. A father who watched his daughter get kidnapped while injured and bleeding. Hotch recoils anyway. Not angry. Just devastated.

“I know,” he says quietly. That destroys Spencer more effectively than shouting ever could. His face crumples. Rain pours around all of you in endless sheets as sirens scream across the highway.

And somewhere out there— You’re alone with Kessler.

--------

When you come to, the first thing you feel is that the pain at your abdomen has lessened.

It’s still there.

Deep. Burning. Wrong.

But dulled somehow, like your body’s been wrapped in cotton. Your eyelids feel impossibly heavy as you force them open. Darkness swims above you for a second before dim industrial lights sharpen into focus overhead. Concrete ceiling. Rusted pipes. Water dripping somewhere nearby in slow, echoing intervals. Your wrists jerk instinctively.

Metal rattles. Cold panic slams into you. You're strapped upright to some kind of steel chair bolted into the floor. Thick restraints pin your wrists and chest in place. Your injured side throbs violently when you struggle, making black spots burst across your vision.

“Easy. I bandaged you up but you're still actively bleeding out.” The voice comes from somewhere ahead of you. Kessler steps into view calmly, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he’s in the middle of an ordinary workday instead of holding an FBI agent hostage. Your breathing quickens immediately.

“Fuck you,” you rasp. He actually smiles faintly.

“That’s usually the morphine talking." Morphine. That explains the floating feeling in your limbs. You look down quickly. Your vest is gone. Soaked bandages are wrapped tightly around your abdomen beneath a gray thermal shirt that definitely isn’t yours. There’s dried blood everywhere. Along your arms. Beneath your fingernails. Across the floor near the chair. Your stomach twists hard.

“How long—”

“Thirty-six minutes since the crash,” Kessler answers smoothly. Ice floods your bloodstream. The team. Your dad.

“Where are they?” you demand. Kessler ignores the question entirely. Instead, he walks toward a camera mounted on a tripod across the room. And your blood runs cold all over again. “No.” Kessler adjusts the lens casually. “No no no—”

“You know,” he says conversationally, “your father’s reputation in the Bureau is fascinating. Aaron Hotchner. Untouchable. Unshakeable. Men like him always think they understand sacrifice until it becomes personal.” Your restraints clatter violently as you fight them.

“You’re insane.”

“Probably.” He doesn’t even blink. Then he reaches beside the camera and wheels something large into frame. A timer. Digital.

Bright red numbers glaring through the darkness.

00:59:48

Your stomach drops.

“What is that?” Your voice cracks. Kessler finally looks at you directly.

“The amount of time your team has left.” He grabs your arm, sighing as he squeezes and IV bag and mounts it onto the stand beside you.

“Kessler—”

The dosage is regulated electronically.” He taps the pump beside the bag. “Small increments over time. Once the drip reaches completion…” He shrugs lightly. “Multi-organ failure. Cardiac arrest shortly after.”

Your mouth goes dry instantly.

“No.”

“The fascinating thing about poison,” he continues conversationally, “is how personal it feels. Bullets are loud. Explosions are chaotic. But poison?” He tilts his head. “Poison makes people wait.”

Your stomach twists hard enough to make you gag. You stare at him in horror. Then fury detonates through you.

“You’re a fucking coward.” Kessler hums softly.

“And yet your father still can’t catch me.” He presses a button. The camera light turns red.

LIVE.

—————————

The BAU bullpen is chaos. Medics move between injured agents while tech analysts flood every available screen searching traffic cams, road footage, satellite hits—anything. Nobody’s winning. Hotch stands in the center of it all like a ghost. Still covered in blood. Still soaking wet from the rain. Spencer sits at Garcia’s station beside her, fingers flying across the keyboard so fast they blur. His hands are shaking violently.

“Nothing,” Garcia whispers tearfully. “No ambulance hits, no hospital pings, no traffic cams—he scrubbed everything.” Emily presses gauze harder against the cut on her temple.

“He planned this for months.”

“No,” Spencer says instantly. Everyone looks at him. Spencer’s eyes stay locked on the screen. “Longer.” Before anyone can respond— Every monitor in the bullpen flickers. Static crackles. Garcia startles violently., fingers flying over her keyboard, trying to figure out how this is happening. Then your face appears onscreen.

Bruised. Bloodied. Restrained.

The room stops breathing.

“No,” Hotch says faintly. Your head lifts weakly toward the camera, disoriented and terrified and alive. Spencer goes white beside Garcia.

“No…” The digital timer flashes beside you.

00:58:03

“What the hell is that?” Luke breathes. Then Kessler steps into frame. And the entire room explodes into motion.

“Trace it now!” Emily shouts. Garcia is already typing frantically.

“I’m trying!” Kessler looks directly into the camera.

“Good evening, Behavioral Analysis Unit.” Kessler smiles like he’s hosting a lecture instead of a hostage broadcast. Garcia’s hands fly across the keyboard.

“I can’t get a lock—he’s bouncing the signal through multiple servers—oh my God, oh my God—”

“Penelope,” Emily snaps, though her own voice shakes. “Focus.”

“I am focused!” Onscreen, Kessler slowly circles your chair. The camera quality is grainy but clear enough to show the blood staining the bandages around your abdomen. Clear enough to show the IV line running into your arm. And the transparent liquid steadily dripping through the tube. Spencer goes completely still beside Garcia.

Not calm.

Worse.

The kind of stillness that means he’s trying very hard not to completely lose his mind. Your head hangs weakly forward before lifting slightly at the sound of Kessler speaking. Your eyes look unfocused. Drugged. Terrified. The bullpen falls silent. Even the analysts nearby stop moving. Because this isn’t just being streamed to the BAU.

This is public.

News stations are already picking it up. Social media feeds explode in real time across nearby monitors. Millions of people watching an FBI agent tied to a chair with a countdown beside her.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Kessler says smoothly, looking directly into the camera. “You know, I expected someone taller.” Hotch doesn’t react outwardly. But Rossi sees his fist tighten. Sees the blood dripping from where Aaron’s fingernails cut into his own palm.

“You built your career profiling monsters,” Kessler continues. “You taught agents how to think like predators. How to anticipate violence.” He tilts his head slightly toward you. “But you never considered what happens when someone decides to study you instead.” Your breathing trembles onscreen.

“Kessler—” you rasp weakly.

“Shh.” He adjusts the IV line almost tenderly. “You don’t need to talk right now.” Spencer physically flinches. Luke swears violently under his breath.

“The poison entering Agent Hotchner’s daughter’s bloodstream,” Kessler says calmly, “is administered incrementally through an automated pump system. By the time the timer reaches zero…” He smiles faintly. “Well. I imagine your Dr. Reid can explain organ failure better than I can.” All eyes snap toward Spencer automatically. Spencer’s face has gone corpse pale. But his voice still works. Barely.

“It depends on the toxin,” he says mechanically, eyes glued to the screen. “If it’s ricin-based or synthetic colchicine compounds, systemic collapse would begin gradually. Respiratory distress first. Then cardiovascular instability. Seizures. Multi-organ failure—”

“Spencer,” JJ says softly. He cuts himself off instantly. Onscreen, your eyes flutter shut for a second too long.

“Hey,” Kessler says sharply, gripping your jaw hard enough to force your head back up. “Stay awake. It's not fun for our viewers if you die right now." You whimper, trying to inch away from him. He chuckles, low and mean. A broken sound leaves your throat as your body jerks weakly against the restraints. Spencer’s breathing changes instantly.

“What just happened?” Emily demands. Spencer stares at the screen.

“The poison’s already active,” he says quietly. Garcia looks horrified.

“But there’s still fifty-seven minutes left—”

“The timer isn’t for symptom onset.” Spencer swallows hard. “It’s for fatal dosage completion.” Nobody speaks. Onscreen, Kessler steps back toward the camera.

“You have one hour,” he says conversationally. “Find me before the drip finishes…” He shrugs. “And maybe she lives. But I should warn you,” he continues. “Removing the IV incorrectly triggers the failsafe.” He taps the side of the electronic pump. “And if the line stops prematurely…” Another small shrug. “The dosage accelerates.” Garcia lets out a strangled noise.

“That’s impossible,” Luke snaps.

“No,” Spencer says faintly. Everyone looks at him again. Spencer’s eyes stay locked on the screen. “It’s not.” Hotch spins around, his chest heaving.

"Garcia, get me a list of Kessler's known adressesses, a list of his spending info- maybe he rented out a place- i want everything you have on him, now !"

Garcia is already moving before Hotch finishes the sentence.

“I’m on it, I’m on it - okay- okay - ” Her voice is high and strained, fingers slamming across the keyboard like she’s trying to outrun panic itself. Multiple windows open and collapse across her monitors. “Known addresses are mostly burned, he went dark after his brother's death but - there’s financial ghosting here, offshore shells, prepaid infrastructure - he’s not staying anywhere with a paper trail -he’s not staying anywhere period -”

“Focus,” Rossi says sharply, but even he sounds strained now. Emily is already leaning over her shoulder.

“What about municipal access points? Abandoned government facilities?” Luke shakes his head.

“We’re checking transit grids already. He’s not static - he’s moving through infrastructure, not occupying it.” Spencer doesn’t blink.

His eyes are locked on the screen. On you.

00:53:18.

Your head droops again, just slightly, and Spencer’s breath catches so hard it sounds like it hurts.

“Hey,” JJ says quietly, noticing him. “Reid, stay with us.” But he doesn’t answer. Because his brain is already somewhere else. Already rebuilding everything Kessler just showed them.

The IV pump. The feed latency. The lack of metadata. The stabilization pattern. Spencer swallows hard.

“He’s not in a building,” he says suddenly. Garcia looks up.

“What?” Spencer’s voice tightens.

“The signal stability - there’s too little fluctuation for a fixed structure. No HVAC interference, no power grid variance, no reflective bounce patterns consistent with concrete reinforcement -” Emily frowns.

“Then where is he?” Spencer doesn’t look away from the screen.

“Mobile containment unit,” he says. “Or a retrofitted transport shell. Something insulated enough to mask environmental noise.” Luke curses under his breath.

“Like a van.” Spencer shakes his head once.

“Bigger.” Silence. Hotch turns slowly.

“Bus?” Rossi suggests grimly. Spencer finally looks at them.

“No,” he says. “Something that can support medical-grade equipment, power draw for a stabilized livestream, and internal temperature control without drawing attention.” Garcia’s hands freeze mid-type.

“Oh my God.” Emily’s voice drops.

“A mobile medical unit.” Rossi’s jaw tightens.

“Like disaster response.” Hotch’s eyes sharpen instantly.

“Ambulance.” Spencer nods once. But it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels worse. Because that still leaves too many possibilities. Too many jurisdictions. Too many vehicles. Too much ground to cover while the clock keeps bleeding out.

00:53:04.

Onscreen, Kessler steps back into frame briefly—just enough to adjust something near the IV stand. You flinch sharply. Harder this time. Hotch makes a sound low in his throat—barely audible, but it cuts through the room anyway. Spencer’s hands curl into fists at Garcia’s station.

“Garcia,” he says quickly, voice suddenly urgent. “Cross-reference registered medical transport units within a fifty-mile radius of the crash corridor. Anything that went off-route in the last hour.”

“I’m already - ” Her screen updates rapidly. “Got it, got it - Okay, there’s twelve possible matches - ”

“Twelve,” Luke repeats sharply.

“We don’t have time for twelve,” Emily snaps. Hotch steps forward again.

“Cut it to three,” he orders. “Now.” Garcia swallows hard.

“I can filter by signal - give me thirty seconds - ”

“Twenty,” Hotch says. Nobody argues. Because on the screen— You shift again. Barely conscious. Barely holding on. And Spencer Reid, who has spent his entire life turning chaos into patterns, suddenly looks like he’s staring directly into something he cannot solve fast enough.

Garcia’s screen updates again. Once. Twice. Then locks. Her breath catches so hard it hurts.

“I’ve got him,” she says. Nobody speaks. Hotch turns instantly.

“Where.” Garcia swallows.

“Abandoned agricultural zone outside Leesburg—old county service land. There’s a decommissioned livestock processing facility on the property. Signal’s cleanest there—he’s stationary.” Spencer is already there before she finishes the sentence.

“How far?” he asks immediately. Garcia glances at the route mapping.

“Forty-six minutes,” she says quietly. The number lands like a gunshot. Silence. Emily shakes her head once.

“We don’t have forty-six minutes.” Rossi is already moving toward the SUV.

“Then we don’t waste a second.” Hotch stares at the map like he can force the distance to shrink through sheer will. Spencer’s voice breaks through again, sharper now.

“How long—how long until completion?” Garcia’s fingers tremble over the timer feed.

“Fifty-three minutes,” she whispers.That finally shifts the math in the room. Because everyone understands it at the same time. Forty-six minutes to reach you.Fifty-three minutes until the drip completes.

Seven minutes.

That’s all they’ll have once they get there. Seven minutes to find you. Seven minutes to neutralize Kessler. Seven minutes to keep you alive. Hotch exhales once, slow and controlled—but his eyes are shattered.

“Let's move,” he says. The SUVs tear down the highway in formation, sirens splitting the night open. Inside Hotch’s vehicle, no one speaks anymore unless they have to. The countdown is on every screen.

Every phone. Every live feed Garcia refuses to close.

00:52:41.

Spencer stares at the map overlay like he can bend it into something faster. Luke grips the seat hard enough to go white-knuckled. Emily keeps her eyes forward, jaw tight, blood still drying at her temple. Rossi drives like a man refusing to accept physics as final. Hotch doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away from the road even once.

“Forty-six minutes,” Luke says quietly, almost to himself. Spencer’s voice is barely audible.

“That’s if nothing goes wrong.” Nobody responds to that. Because they all know what it means.

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

00:07:00.

Your body feels like lead.

Your veins are on fire.

Your mouth has gone dry, and you can barely breathe- every breath sounds like a rusty rattle of child's mobile. Your vision flickers in and out like a broken signal. Your body isn’t yours anymore. It’s heavy in the wrong places, light in others. Your fingers twitch weakly against the restraints, but there’s no strength left behind it.

The IV pump beeps steadily beside you. Too steady. Too calm. Like it doesn’t care that you’re dying.

You groan, trying hard to stay awake, to stay concsious.

They're coming for you. They have to be.

The room hums with fluorescent light and something worse underneath it—your heartbeat, irregular now, stumbling against the poison like it’s losing the argument. Kessler circles you slowly, hands behind his back like he’s inspecting something he built.

“Do you know what your father hates most?” he asks lightly. Your head lolls a fraction toward him. It takes effort just to keep your eyes open.

“People like you,” he continues. “Not weak. Not careless. Just… loved.” Your throat tightens. Spencer’s name tries to form in your mind and doesn’t quite make it. Kessler steps closer, studying your face like he’s waiting for something interesting to happen.

“You’re very difficult to break,” he says thoughtfully. “That’s what makes this worth watching.” The IV pump beeps again. Too steady. Too final.

Your fingers twitch weakly against the restraints. Kessler leans in just slightly.

“I wonder how long it takes,” he murmurs, almost curious. “For Aaron Hotchner to choose between duty and family.” Your stomach drops hard.

“Don’t,” you rasp, but it’s barely sound. He smiles faintly.

“Oh, he already has.” And then— The doors behind him explode inward. Not an opening. An impact.

Wood and metal snap as tactical force hits the room like a wave.

“FBI! DOWN!” The shout is immediate chaos. Hotch is first through, weapon up, eyes scanning—locking instantly on you like everything else in the room ceases to exist.

“Aaron!” Rossi calls, sweeping left. Emily and Luke split right. Derek comes in hard behind them, already moving. Kessler barely has time to turn before Hotch has him pinned against the nearest surface, gun pressed high, voice ice-cold.

“Don’t move.” Kessler actually laughs once. Spencer doesn’t even look at him. He’s already across the room. Everything else collapses into noise and motion behind him—Hotch securing Kessler, Rossi shouting commands, Emily cuffing him down—but Spencer doesn’t register any of it. He reaches you like gravity finally remembered him.

“Hey—hey, hey,” he breathes, hands shaking as they go to your face immediately. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Your eyelids flutter.

"Spence ?" He nods, hands working at your restraints atfer he softly tears the IV out of your arm.

"Yeah, yeah, it's me. I'm here, alright, i'm here." Your body falls forward, exhausted, the second those restraints stop holding you up, your body folding like it’s been waiting for permission to collapse. Spencer catches you before you hit the ground. Immediately. Completely.

“No - no, no, no - hey, hey, hey - stay with me,” he says, voice cracking violently as he pulls you into him. “Stay with me, okay? Stay with me-look at me.” Your head lolls against his chest. He’s on the floor now without even realizing it. One arm under your shoulders. One hand pressed hard against the bandages on your abdomen like he can physically stop what’s happening inside you. He looks up, his eyes frantic.

"Derek ! Derek !" He calls as Hotch and the others disappear outside, pushing a cuffed Kessler with them. Derek's head snaps over and his face drains of color.

"Holy shit." He gasps, his chest heaving. Spencer chokes on a sob, pushing your hair away from your face.

"We-We need an ambulance. She-She's losing blood, she-" He gasps in a breath, shaking his head. "He’s got to have—he’s not carrying something like this without a reversal agent.” Spencer doesn’t look away from you. “Shelves,” he says instantly, voice raw but focused only on survival. “Look—look everywhere. Cabinets. Lockboxes. He wouldn’t leave it unbalanced.” Derek moves immediately. The timer ticks down like a taunt.

00:04:53.

Derek rummages through shelves, cabinets, drawers, cursing under his breath as he throws things on the ground. You clutch weakly at Spencer's vest, your hands shaking.

"Spence.." He shushes you, pressing his lips to your forehead.

"Hey, hey, don't talk, okay ? You're going to be fine. Just fine, okay ?"

"I-I'm so cold." You manage, shivers coursing through your body. Spencer grimaces.

"I know, baby, i know." He looks up. "Derek, where the fuck is that antidote !" Derek rips open another metal cabinet so hard the hinge screams in protest.

“I’m looking, I’m looking!” he snaps back, breathless, scanning shelves packed with medical bags, vials, and sealed containers that absolutely should not be here. “This guy is insane—”

Spencer hears none of it anymore. All of it narrows down to you. To the way your fingers are trembling against his vest. To the shallow, uneven rise of your chest. To the way your skin feels wrong beneath his hands—too cold, too fast to lose heat.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats again, but it’s not steady anymore. It’s breaking apart at the edges. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you—just stay with me, okay? Just—just stay with me.” Your head tips slightly against him. And for a second, his entire body goes rigid.

“No,” he whispers immediately, like he can undo it with the word alone. “No, no—hey—look at me. Look at me.”

Your eyes barely open. Barely there. But they do. And it ruins him.

“Got something!” Derek suddenly shouts from the far side of the room. Spencer’s head snaps up so fast it hurts. Derek holds up a small locked case - medical-grade, reinforced, labeled in a way that makes Spencer’s stomach drop immediately. “Is this it?” Derek demands. Spencer doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yes. Yes, that’s it - bring it here, now!” Derek slams it down beside them and Spencer’s hands are shaking so badly he almost fumbles the latch. The lock clicks open.

Inside: syringes. A sealed ampoule. A vial clearly marked in clinical print- ANTIDOTE.

He’s already drawing it up.

“Where do I—”

“Her arm,” Spencer says instantly, tearing his own focus into something sharp and functional because if he doesn’t, he’s going to fall apart completely. “Right arm - no, no - left - there, there - ” Derek moves in, steady hands taking over what Spencer can’t control anymore.

“I’ve got it,” Derek says low. Spencer nods too quickly, not letting go of you for even a second. His other hand stays pressed to your shoulder like an anchor. “Okay,” Derek says. “Injecting now.” The syringe depresses. For half a second, nothing happens. Then your body jerks—just slightly. Spencer makes a sound that’s halfway between a gasp and a sob.

“Hey - hey, hey,” he says immediately, hand cupping your cheek. "You're gonna be okay." But you're still slipping somewhere he can’t follow fast enough. “I’ve got you,” he repeats again, but now it’s desperate. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you - please - please don’t do this - ” Derek looks up sharply at the doorway, where JJ stands frozen.

"We need medical backup now!” JJ nods, rushing away.

Spencer sobs, then immediately chokes on it, pressing your hand tighter against his chest like he can force you to stay by sheer will alone. Footsteps thunder back in—Hotch, Rossi, Emily. Hotch sees you on the floor. And something in his face breaks cleanly. But Spencer can’t look at him. Can’t look at anyone. Because you’re right there in his arms and still not safe.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice collapsing completely now, tears spilling down without permission as he holds you closer. “Hey, hey- don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, okay? Please - please don’t leave me.” Your fingers twitch once.

Weak. Barely there. But it’s enough. Spencer grabs your hand immediately like it’s a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, crying openly now, forehead pressing to yours. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s it. Come back to me. Come back—please, just come back to me.” Your shiver, a soft whimper drawing from your lips.

"I-I'm tired." You manage, shaking your head. Blood from your abdomen is still soaking your shirt, your pants, and Spencer is shaking.

"You-You can't sleep, baby. You have to- You have to stay awake. Keep your eyes open." The antidote has taken effect. The colour that had drained from your skin over the hour is coming back, and your breathing has returned to a normal pace. And the pain flooding back into your body is unbearable. You can feel the blood pumping out of you from your abdomen, and you groan weakly as you try to press your hand over the wound, only to find Spencer's hand already lodged there. You gulp, bringing your hand up to softly touch Spencer's cheek.

"Yo-You came for me." You rasp. Spencer chokes on a laugh, a desperate, wet thing.

"Of course I did." He mumbles. "How could I not ? God.." He gulps, shaking his head. "I love you." You smile, holding back tears as you cough. Your body trembles with shivers, and you groan.

"I-I'm sorry." You rasp, shaking your head. Spencer's heart drops. He shakes his head.

"Hey, hey- no. Don't apologise, you're going to be just fine, okay ? Y-You're going to be fine." You nod, smiling through the pain. You want to believe him.

You really do.

The antidote is working.

Derek said it is. Spencer knows it is. But you’re still so cold. Still shaking in his arms like your body can’t decide whether to stay or let go.

Spencer sniffles, brushing your hair away from your face.

"The ambulance is gonna be here any minute. They're going to make you all better. Okay ?" You nod.

"Okay." You say, forcing a smile, choking on the blood that creeps its way up your throat. "I love you, Spence." You rasp, shaking your head. Spencer’s heart hammers against his ribs, a frantic, desperate drumbeat of denial. He tightens his grip on your hand, bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your cold knuckles.

“Don’t you dare say that like it’s a goodbye,” he orders, his voice a raw, broken thing. “It’s not a goodbye. You hear me? It’s an ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’ We’re going to have so much to talk about. Y-You're gonna rub this in my face, yeah ? Brag about how you-you survived this and i panicked for nothing.” He’s rambling, his brilliant mind reduced to a single, primal function: keep you here. Keep you with him. Your eyes are still on him, but they’re starting to lose focus, the light in them dimming like a candle in a draft. The smile on your lips is a ghost, beautiful and terrifying.

“Spence…” you whisper, and it’s the worst sound he’s ever heard, thin and reedy, threaded with the liquid rattle of fluid in your lungs. “It’s… so quiet.” He doesn’t understand what you mean. The room is chaos-Hotch’s clipped commands, Derek’s frantic pacing, the sound of JJ’s voice on the phone with dispatch. But then he realizes. For you, the world is collapsing. The sounds are fading, the pain is receding, and all that’s left is this.

Him.

“No, no, it’s not quiet,” he argues, his voice rising in panic. “It’s not. Just listen. Listen to me. I’m right here. I’m so loud, remember? You say I never shut up. So just… listen to me. Stay with me.” He’s pressing harder against the wound in your abdomen, a futile, desperate attempt to physically hold your life inside you. His hand is slick, warm, and the smell of copper fills the air, thick and suffocating. It’s the smell of his failure. Your breath hitches, a shallow, wet gasp.

"Tell… tell my dad… I’m sorry.” The words hit Spencer like a physical blow. Dad. Hotch, who is standing just feet away, right behind that door, pacing and shouting orders. Spencer can’t call for him. He can’t give him that. He can’t acknowledge the world beyond the circle of his arms.

“You’ll tell him yourself,” Spencer chokes out, tears streaming down his face, dripping onto your cheeks. “You’ll tell him tonight. When we get home. We’ll order Chinese food and you’ll tell him you’re sorry for worrying him, and he’ll pretend to be mad but he won’t be, and we’ll all be fine. We’ll be fine.” Your fingers, the ones he’s holding, twitch weakly. Your grip loosens. The pressure is gone. “No,” he whimpers, a sound so pathetic and full of pain it doesn’t even sound like him. “No, hold on. Hold my hand. Don’t let go. Don’t you let go of me.” Your eyes open again and you nod. He smiles, kissing your forehead. And then, through the cacophony of his own despair, he hears it. Faint at first, then growing stronger, clearer. A high, insistent wail that cuts through everything else.

Sirens.

Relief so profound it’s dizzying crashes over him. It’s the cavalry. It’s the answer. It’s another chance.

His head snaps up, his tear-blurred vision finding the window ahead.

“Did you hear that? They’re here. They’re almost here.” He looks back down at you, his face breaking into a wild, desperate grin. “You hear that, baby? You hear that? The ambulance is here. They’re here. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” He’s laughing now, a wet, hysterical sound of pure relief, staring at the window as the red and blue lights start to show.

“We did it. We made it. Just hold on. Just a few more seconds. Please, just a few more seconds for me.” He looks back at the doorway, expecting to see the paramedics burst through with their bags and their machines and their magic. But the sirens are still distant, screaming down a street that’s too far away.

He looks back down at you. And the world stops. Your eyes are still open, but they’re not seeing him anymore. They’re fixed on a point just beyond his shoulder, glassy and vacant. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has stilled. The hand he’s clutching is limp and cool in his.

The silence in the room is absolute.

“No,” he whispers. The smile is gone from his face, wiped clean away. “No… no, no, no, no, no.” He shakes his head, a sharp, jerky motion of denial. “Hey… hey, look at me. Look at me. They’re here. The ambulance is here.” He shakes you gently, then a little harder. “Hey.. hey, look at me. You’re not allowed to do this. You’re not allowed to leave me. You hear me? C'mon, this isn't funny." He shakes you."Come on! Look at me.” But you don’t. You can’t. The sirens are closer now, screaming, a piercing, torturous sound. They’re the sound of hope arriving seven minutes too late. The door bursts open. Emily is the first one in, her face flushed and triumphant.

“Spencer! The ambulance is here, they’re coming, they’re—” She stops. Her eyes find Spencer, cradling your still body on the floor, and she sees everything. The blood. The stillness. The absolute, soul-crushing devastation on his face. Her triumphant shout dies in her throat, replaced by a small, choked gasp. Hotch is right behind her. He takes in the scene with one sweeping, all-seeing glance. He sees Kessler’s handiwork, he sees the discarded antidote, he sees Spencer on the floor. And then he sees you. He doesn’t make a sound. The unit chief, the man who faces monsters for a living, simply breaks. His shoulders slump, his face goes slack, and all the color drains from his skin. He stumbles forward a half-step, his hand reaching out, then falling back to his side. He knows. Emily rushes to Spencer’s side, her hand hovering over his shoulder, afraid to touch.

“Spencer…?” He doesn’t answer. He’s lowered his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body wracked with huge, silent, violent sobs that shake him to his core. He holds you tighter, rocking you back and forth, a desperate, rhythmic motion.

And Spencer Reid - who has spent his entire life understanding loss in theory before he ever had to survive it in practice - lets out a sound that is not human.

It rips out of him.

Raw.

Shattered.

“No - no, no, no, please - please, please - ” He pulls you closer instantly, like he can reverse it if he just holds you tighter.

Like physics can be negotiated.

Like love is supposed to win this.

“I’ve got you,” he says again, but it’s falling apart now. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you- You're okay. You're okay, you're okay, you're okay-”

"Reid." Derek's voice echoes around the small space. Spencer shakes his head. Spencer doesn’t hear him anymore.

Doesn’t hear Emily crying.

Doesn’t hear the radio chatter suddenly erupting outside as the medics arrive too late.

He just holds you. Like if he stops, even for a second, the truth will finish settling. Sirens flood the building outside. Red and blue light strobing through the broken doorway.

And still -Spencer is whispering your name into your hair like it’s a spell.

Like it’s the only thing left that still makes sense.

The paramedics finally burst through the doorway, their practiced efficiency grinding to a halt as they take in the scene. No one moves. No one breathes. The paramedics slowly back out of the room, hushed whispers echoing in the small space.

Spencer looks up, devastated.

"No.. No, where are they going ? They-They have to save her, they-"

"Reid." Derek rasps again, wiping at the tears falling down his face. He looks back down at you like it’s instinct, like he can anchor himself in you. But you don’t move. Not even a tremor. Not even the smallest betrayal of life returning. Just stillness. Heavy and final.

Spencer’s breath stutters.

Once. Twice.

Then completely stops behaving like it belongs to him.

His hand shakes as it smooths over your hair. So careful. So tender. Like you’re made of glass and he’s terrified of what happens if he presses too hard.

Emily makes a sound behind him—small, broken, human.

“Spencer…” she tries again, stepping closer like she might physically pull him out of it. But he flinches at her voice like it burns.

“No,” he snaps instantly, sharper than he means it. Then it collapses immediately into desperation. “No, no—don’t—” Hotch is still at the doorway. Still completely still. Like something inside him shut off in self-defense the second he understood. But his eyes don’t leave you. Not once. Not even when Rossi puts a hand on his arm and squeezes like he’s trying to hold him together by force. Spencer presses his forehead to yours again.

Harder this time. Like proximity alone can reverse biology.

“I got you,” he whispers, voice breaking into pieces now. “I got you, I got you, I got you—” His sentences stop making sense. They turn into fragments. Into breath. Into something raw and animal and terrified. “I didn’t—” he chokes, pulling you closer like he can physically shield you from the truth, “I didn’t get here fast enough. I didn’t—I didn’t—”

Derek steps forward again, slower this time. Careful. Like approaching something sacred and shattered.

“Reid,” he says quietly. “Kid…” Spencer shakes his head violently again.

“No,” he says again, but weaker now. So much weaker. “No, no, no- Just - just help her. Just - just fix it. Fix it - please - ” His voice breaks completely on the last word. And then he tries again, because Spencer Reid has always believed that understanding something well enough means you can change it. “If I - if I give her CPR - if I - if we - ” His hands move like they don’t belong to him anymore as they lay you down on the ground, flat on your back.

One presses to your chest. Wrong. Desperate. Begging.

“Spencer,” Emily says softly, tears finally spilling over now. “Spencer, stop—”

“No!” he shouts suddenly, panicked, frantic. “No, no, I can— I can do it. I can fix it. I can- I can-” His voice disintegrates mid-sentence. Because your body doesn’t respond. Because nothing changes. Because time doesn’t care how hard he tries. And that’s when it hits him all at once.

Not gradually. Not gently. All at once. Spencer goes completely still.

His hands freeze where they are on you. His breath catches like it’s been hooked on something sharp. He falls backwards, his hands coated in blood coming up to press against his eyes as he sobs. Emily is by his side in an instant, pulling him into her, rocking him as Derek sniffles and gets to his feet, walking over to your and softly guiding your eyes shut. Hotch swears under his breath, wrecked sobs escaping him, and he turns away from you, gasping for air as he rushes out into the night. Luke, Tara, JJ and Rossi have gathered in the doorway, watching as Derek grabs a folded sheet from one of the drawers and lays it down over you, clearing his throat.

"The- uh, the EMT's should come back in here. Take-" He clears his throat, "Take her to the morgue."

The timer beeps behind them like some sick alarm clock. They all look back and the flashing numbers.

00:00:00.

The seven minutes are up.

taglist !

@overdrive1975 , @alialuvsreid. @nanni197 , @goawayplease95

[beenreidingaboutyou]

I'll Follow You Until You Love Me

part one of Make Me Your No. 1 Obsession

next part

content warnings: murder, canon typical violence, mentions of stalking, i think that's it, but as always please message me if you feel differently and I'll get it added

a/n: this took...way longer than expected because I basically scrapped my initial draft, but I'm really glad that I did so I could put out this vastly improved version. A vast majority of this hasn't been beta read, but fuck it, I'm ready to post. This part is a bit of a read, but hopefully that will hold you guys over while I work on the next part <3

credits to @/strangergraphics for the divider

word count: 3.4k

From a young age, you’d had a deep love of music and performing. You auditioned for every musical put on at your school, competed in every talent show, and got up early every day in high school to make it in time for morning choir practice. As you got older, you began jotting down lyrics in school notebooks and composing songs in your free time. You started performing at open mic nights and booking local bars, working your way up one gig at a time before you got your record deal. Once you signed your record deal, you went on tours where you opened for bigger and bigger artists until you found yourself on your first headline tour. You felt like your dreams were coming true, but that sense of success gave way to fear when the first body was found.

You were halfway through your tour, having completed the international tour dates and returning to the US for the latter half. Your first show in America went according to plan, though you had no doubts it would : your opening act, Erika, put on a fantastic show, the crowd was just as excited as you if not more, and you were yet again reminded of how much you loved being on stage. The next morning on the tour bus is when you saw the article about a body being found at a hotel near the venue. It named the victim and mentioned that they had been in town to attend your show. Your manager told you it was an unfortunate coincidence. not something for you to worry about. You sent your condolences to the fan's family and their death lingered in the back of your mind even as your tour continued.

News of another murder arrived after your next show. Though your name wasn't mentioned in the article, you recognized the victim as the fan you'd brought on stage during your performance. The little voice in your head told you that these murders were connected to you, even if no one else could see that yet. It wasn't until your third show and the corresponding third murder that you were approached by investigators. The stoic, well-dressed man waiting for you at the next venue introduced himself as SSA Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis unit of the FBI. He was accompanied by a petite, sharp-dressed blonde, Agent Jareau or JJ, as you'd come to find out. They informed you that the most recent victim had attended your show, but the link to you was confirmed by evidence at the crime scene, song lyrics written on the wall in the victim's blood. Your song lyrics, to be exact. At your request, you were shown an image of the message which read 'Darling, you're the one I want.' Neither agent said it, but you knew there was a possibility that this killer wanted to get close to you and viewed these other fans as competition. They thanked you for your time and informed you someone would be back later with more questions. This interaction played on repeat in your mind as you left to greet some fans who'd won a meet-and-greet with you before the show. You couldn't help but wonder if one of them would be the next target.

The next morning brought a second visit from Agent Hotchner, this time he was accompanied by a Dr. Spencer Reid.

"Not agent?" you'd asked, intrigued by the change in title.

"I have three PhDs," was the response from the tall, lanky man.

You answered a few more questions about your interactions with the victims as well as if you'd noticed anything suspicious. You were wrapping up when Hotch's phone went off. He stepped out of the room to take the call, giving you a moment alone with Dr. Reid. He gave you a cute albeit awkward closed mouth smile.

"Has your team ever dealt with a case like this before?"

"Most of our caseload involves serial killers, but we've profiled a few stalkers as well. Sometimes the two overlap."

You don't get the chance to press him for more information because Hotch returned to the room, his facial expression betraying nothing to your untrained eyes, but Spencer recognized that look and knew another victim had been found. With a nod of his head, Hotch signaled that he needed to speak privately with Spencer. You didn't move from your seat, watching as the two men spoke in hushed voices. You fidgeted with the charm on your necklace as you strained to listen to their discussion. Though you missed most of it, you got the gist- another body, along with another set of your lyrics, had been found.

Your fingers stilled when the pair faced you again and Hotch spoke, "We're going to beef up your security at each venue. Spencer here will also be staying with you for extra protection."

"Wait, you expect me to just… continue my tour like this isn't happening? Like one of my fans isn't getting murdered after every show?" you questioned, appalled at the idea of putting more people at risk.

"For the time being, yes. We can use your tour schedule to predict where this unsub will strike again. If you cancel your shows, we won't have a reliable way to track his movements," Hotch explained.

You gnawed on your lip while you processed his words, internally weighing the decision as if you really had a choice in the matter. The room is silent until you nod, "Okay, if this is really the best way to stop this guy then I won't cancel." "Spencer here will keep you safe until we catch this guy," Hotch reassured you.

"And the fans who come to the shows, you'll keep them safe, too?"

"I'll let Spencer explain the specifics to you. I need to check in with the rest of my team," Hotch replied, leaving before you could question him any further.

Your attention turned to Spencer, "So…my fans?"

"We're going to do everything we can to guarantee their safety."

"In other words, you can't promise no one else will die."

"No, but it won't be because we didn't try. We're going to catch this guy," Spencer stated as if it was inevitable.

You replied with a nod, choosing to believe him rather than dwell on the possibility that this killer would go free. "Right, well, I uh I need to get ready. I have an interview and performance for a local radio station before tonight's show."

"I know, your manager gave us your schedule. Do what you need to, I'll be here when it's time to leave," Spencer said as he got comfortable on the couch.

You disappeared into the bedroom of your hotel suite, returning to Spencer an hour later. You'd changed from your casual attire to an outfit more befitting your public persona. You'd taken the time to do your own hair and makeup as well. Your beauty team would redo it before you took the stage tonight, but you often chose to do it yourself for interviews. With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your purse and walked back into the room where Spencer was waiting patiently. He was pouring over files that he'd spread out across the coffee table, brow furrowed in concentration. You cleared your throat and he looked up then scrambled to shove the papers back into their corresponding folders. You bit your lip to stifle a giggle as you watched him, there was something adorable about this seemingly put-together FBI agent rushing to put his things back into his messenger bag.

The interview and performance went according to plan. A small vetted group of fans was in attendance. You spent time taking pictures and signing autographs, thankful that they chose to come see you. You wondered how many would have shown up if they knew that their presence put them on a killer's radar. Regardless, you didn't let your smile falter for the whole event. Your cheerful demeanor only slipped for a moment when you stepped back into the dressing room, but it was long enough for Spencer to notice. You flopped onto the couch, planning to get some rest before you had to change for tonight's show. Instead, you stared off into space, ruminating over the murders.

"You don't have to pretend like this isn't affecting you," Spencer said, breaking you out of your trance.

"What?"

"Your fans being targeted. I can see that it's getting to you, even if you don't want to admit it," he elaborated.

"I don't really think I have a choice. Everything is kind of…'go go go' between the travel, the public appearances, the tour itself. If I let it show that I've got something other than this tour on my mind, it can lead to negative press or people cancelling their tickets. I can't exactly keep touring if everyone decides it's safer to stay home."

"I…I know we've asked you not to address this publicly, but you shouldn't bottle your feelings up either. If you're up for it, I don't mind listening."

"…I'll think about it. Sometimes it's hard to tell who really wants to be my friend and who just wants gossip to sell to the tabloids."

"Anything you tell me stays between us. I care too much about my job to put it at risk to make a few bucks by selling secrets."

You studied him, noting his sincere eyes. It's not easy for you to let people in, not since your name became recognizable. Fame could be an isolating existence. You never knew if someone had an ulterior motive, a desire to exploit their connection with you for their own gain. Something about Spencer felt…real. He hadn't once asked about what other celebrities you knew or if you'd listen to his latest demo (not that he had one, but multiple people had requested that you checked out their music). Though you couldn't explain why, you inherently knew he was the kind of person who kept his word.

Your moment of contemplation is broken by a knock at the door. Spencer's hand went to his holstered weapon, readying himself to take out the potential threat on the other side.

"Hey, it's just me. Are you decent?" came Erika's voice through the closed door.

"Yeah, you can come in," you answered.

Spencer relaxed at your easy response, but still watched as the doorknob turned and opened to reveal Erika.

"I come bearing pre-show gifts, including- oh. I didn't realize you had company," Erika faltered at the sight of Spencer.

"Erika, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's um he's with the FBI," you explained.

"Oh. Right. Your manager mentioned something about that. He's just…not what I expected," she said, her words laced with apprehension.

"You were saying? About pre-show gifts?" you asked, ignoring the wary tone in her voice. You didn't want to make Spencer uncomfortable by speaking about him as if he wasn't in the room.

"I was going to wait to give you this until the end of the tour, as a thank you for inviting me along, but I thought it might be a nice little good luck charm, considering well, everything," Erika explained as she handed you a small gift bag.

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything. I enjoy your music and this provided a chance to expose more people to your brilliance," you smiled.

"It's not a big deal, really. Just- do a girl a solid and open it?"

"Okay, okay," you caved, pulling the tissue paper out. A jewelry box tumbled out of the bag and into your hand. Inside the box was a golden ring, its band formed by interwoven ivy leaves. "Erika, this is gorgeous," you thanked her as you slipped the ring onto your right ring finger.

"I saw it and knew it was perfect for you," she gave you a gentle smile.

Spencer peered at the ring's design from his spot on the couch, "Did you know that in floriography, or the Victorian language of flowers, ivy represents friendship, affection, and loyalty? Some books from that era also associate it with matrimonial love, but that's not as common."

"How fitting then. Not the matrimonial part, obviously, but the rest of it," you mused, admiring the ring.

"Well, I should get back to my room so I can make sure I'm ready on time. Don't wanna miss my call time," Erika said, walking to the door.

"Break a leg!" you called after her.

"You too," she flashed a smile over her shoulder then shut the door.

You turned to Spencer, ready to share some of your worries, but were yet again interrupted by a knock. Your stylist poked her head in, "You ready to get all dolled up, hun?"

With a nod of your head, she entered the room and herded you to the makeup chair. Spencer watched as your stylist went through her routine, transforming you from 'girl next door' to 'international pop star' with ease. By the time she was done, you had just enough time to change and make the trip to the stage for your opening number. As you performed, you caught sight of Spencer's watchful eye from the wings. You reminded yourself he was only here to protect you and you absolutely could not be falling for this man. You forced yourself to focus on performing, losing yourself in the music instead of lingering on your growing desire to kiss Spencer.

After your encore, Spencer escorted you back to your dressing room.

"So, what'd you think?" you asked as you washed your makeup off.

"About what?"

"The show, silly. And don't sugarcoat it, be brutally honest with me."

"It was visually appealing and you're a talented musician, but it's not really my preferred music," he answered.

"What's your go to music then?"

"Beethoven."

You laughed, assuming he was joking, but his facial expression remained the same, "Wait, you're serious? That's all you listen to? Do you know anything more recent?"

"I enjoy Miles Davis. I also know all the words to every Bob Dylan song."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Dylan fan."

"My mom used to play his music when I was little."

"My dad likes his work, too," you said, only a hint of teasing in your tone.

He didn't respond so you busied yourself with gathering up your things. Tonight was your last night at this venue so you didn't want to leave anything behind. Spencer stayed close as you walked out to the waiting tour bus. You'd spend the night on the road rather than in a hotel room as you made your way to your next stop. Spencer set his stuff in the spare bunk beneath yours while you got ready for bed. You climbed into your spot and got under the covers, settling in for the night.

You tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. This went on for a few hours before you whispered Spencer's name, testing to see if he was awake, too.

"Everything okay?" he whispered back.

"I can't sleep."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just… the next stop is my hometown. A lot of my friends and family are going to be there because I'm not allowed to warn them."

"Hey, it'll be okay. We'll have extra security in the venue and I can talk to Hotch about getting some undercover agents stationed near them," Spencer said, his steady voice soothing your worries.

You and Spencer continued to talk in hushed voices until you fell asleep to the sound of his voice explaining some obscure historical fact. When you woke the next morning to news of another victim, it gutted you, but Spencer was there for you to lean on, providing an outlet for you to express that anguish. Most of your time was spent going to and from interviews or meet and greets, preparing for each night's performance, or being holed up in a room with Spencer. It was on the third day of shows at your 'hometown' venue that you decided you needed a change of scenery. You put on a t-shirt and jeans, skipping the usual beauty routine you followed when you made a public appearance. The laid back look would make anyone do a double take if they saw you. You were careful to maintain a separate private image so you could pretend that you didn't live in the spotlight, even if it was only long enough to run a few short errands. You were pulling on your sneakers when Spencer caught sight of your dressed down state.

"Uh what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going out," you answered, like it was simple, like you didn't have a threat looming over your head.

"You really should stay here," Spencer urged as he watched you put on your jacket.

"Being forced to stay put at every stop is making me go stir crazy. Besides, this is tradition," you replied.

"Putting your life at risk is tradition?"

You huff, "No, obviously not. I was talking about doughnuts. I used to come see shows here when I was younger and we'd always make it a point to get doughnuts from this place down the street. They're open late so we'd stop by after the concert ended while we waited for traffic to die down. I want to go before I perform tonight, since it'll probably be crowded after," you explained.

He said your name causing you to look his way, "I mean it, I'm supposed to be keeping you safe."

"Okay, then keep me safe by coming with me."

He didn't answer, sizing up just how stubborn you'll be about this outing.

"C'mon, Spencer, I'll buy you one, too. And a coffee, if you want. I know how much caffeine you drink on the daily," you pushed, hoping that the promise of sugar would make him cave.

"…Fine, but no additional stops and if I sense anything wrong, we're coming straight back here- doughnut or no doughnut," he relented.

"Deal."

You dragged Spencer to the doughnut shop you mentioned. The shop wasn't crowded so you took your time examining the selection of pastries. You settled on a traditional glazed for now and ordered a fancy decorated one to eat after your show. Spencer got chocolate iced with sprinkles. You convinced him to hide in a corner booth with you while you ate your doughnuts. The two of you lost track of time as you giggled at his lame jokes and he acted like he wasn't growing attracted to you, the real you behind the stage persona. As you walked back to the venue, your hand brushed against his, an unintentional touch. Without taking a second to think about it, Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, silently telling him this was okay. Neither of you let go until you returned to your dressing room where your stylist was waiting.

That night during your show, you changed your setlist, much to the surprise of the fans in attendance. You sat down at the piano and your gaze searched the crowd, landing on Spencer as he waited in the wings. Your voice shakes almost unnoticeably as you speak, "I hope you guys don't mind if I change things up on you. I uh I've been working on a new song for a while and I finally got the inspiration I needed to finish it. This is my first time performing it so be gentle with me? This is 'Delicate.' I hope you guys like it."

Your eyes kept finding Spencer's tall figure as you sang, almost as if you hoped he'd pick up on being the inspiration for this track. The stunned look on his face told you he had. When he made eye contact with you, he sent a sheepish smile your way as his cheeks turned pink. Your lips formed a shy grin in return as you continued your performance. For the first time in your life, you were excited for the show to end so you could have a moment alone with Spencer.

On the other side of town, the unsub observed the blood-spattered scene in front of him. The identity of the tall brown-haired man whose lifeless corpse lie on the bed didn't matter to his killer. He'd only been targeted because of his similarity to a certain FBI agent. The unsub took a moment to add one final detail to the scene, to make sure the correct message was delivered. Using the dead man's blood, the unsub wrote another set of your lyrics, this time from the song you'd premiered that night, on the wall: Honey, I don't want to share.

[eowins]

An Alliance once existed between Elves and Men. Long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance.

[prettyhours]

Soft Spot - Part 9

mini series on reader and gator as ex hs sweethearts xx // mdni

A/N: this is it // also: the song that somewhat inspired me to write this series // if you stuck around long enough to see the end of this, you are hilarious and I love you lmaoooo // parade? day… 👀 // California glazer, sue me xx // part 8 here

It was Suttons idea that you all wear your winners tiaras and sashes to the parade but when you saw Gator’s old letterman jacket peeking out from your closet, you couldn’t help yourself but to slide it on.

“Ya kept that?”

You turned around to see Gator in your doorway holding onto the frame.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Just weird to see ya in it after all these years is all. Ya wearin’ it to this thing?” He stalked towards you, boots heavy on the hardwood floor and shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. He was dressed casual and even ditched the hair gel.

“I think I will,” you reached for your tiara from the year you won Miss Lehigh Teen and stuck it into your hair before turning back to him. “So?”

He gazed at you with pure admiration in his eyes. “Ya look beautiful,” he said softly.

Heat rose to your face. “Thanks Gate.”

Unbeknownst to you, he’d seen the picture of you two at the diner from years ago that was still stuck to your vanity and looking at you right now, that was all he could see.

He couldn’t stay with you last night after the pageant since he had to go back to work but he promised he would be back the next day to pick you up in the evening to take you to the parade. Plus, you couldn’t drive with the broken hand.

His eyes broke away. “Alright beauty queen. Ya ready?”

“Yeah.” You led the way out of your room and downstairs to go to his car.

The car ride was mostly silent save for you and Gator fighting over the radio or you messing with him asking what would happen if you pressed a button on his police computer.

Downtown, the decorated sidewalks were already packed and lined up with families waiting for the parade to start. You appreciated that the decorations stayed true to the Hollywood theme. Up ahead, baton twirlers and a marching band were preparing to get into formation soon. Vintage cars and other floats were also apart of the parade. The float you all decorated was out of the warehouse and waiting at the end of the closed off street and ready for you all to pile on. There were even a few girls there already waiting to get on. Past winners such as you, Sutton, and Lola would be riding on the float with the runner ups with Kori at the very top.

Gator parked in the designated area and got out to usher you out.

Kori was waiting by her car talking to her boyfriend until she spotted you and Gator and walked over.

“Hey!” She gave you a hug and waved at Gator.

“You look beautiful. You feel okay?” You smiled at her.

“Yeah! I’m excited.” Her hair was in an updo with her tiara nestled in and she was in a flashy gown that was almost Cinderella like. She led the way to the float and everyone followed.

“It smells like chemicals,” Josie, Tina’s cousin said when you got there.

Kori was the first one to start climbing on but stopped when Gators voice broke out into the air.

“That’s ’cause it’s doused in gasoline. Ya don’t recognize that smell that?” You hadn’t realized he had his nose turned up as he looked at the pageant float. You watched as he got closer and took a proper whiff.

“Don’t fuckin’ get on that,” he told Kori and held out a hand for her to take so she could get down. She took it and quickly stepped off as Gator continued to inspect it.

“Jesus Christ. Add attempted arson to her list of charges.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Ya down here?” He looked in the direction of two parked police cars and then to the officers that were redirecting traffic. “We got a possible arson attack downtown.” He paused. “Yeah. I’ll let these guys down here know but get your ass down here with the whole nine.” He hung up and turned to look at all of the girls participating in the parade. “Sorry ladies; ya gotta clear out. Your parade’s canceled.”

Everyone within earshot gasped or groaned around you. Josie whipped out her phone from underneath her dress and called who you imagined was Tina and started wailing on the line.

Gator was scanning the area for one of the pageant coordinators before turning to look at you. “I gotta deal with this so I’ll pick ya up tonight, swear.”

You were frozen in place looking at the float in shock. “She was gonna blow it up?”

“Yeah, you girls got a thing for fuckin’ gasoline. Who the fuck just goes to a fillin’ station for bullshit like this, Jesus Christ!” He ran a hand down his face before looking at you. “Seriously, go; this’ll be wrapped up in time for me to take ya out.”

You nodded before turning to Kori who also was shocked but disappointed and started walking with her back to her car. She called her mom and even though your ears were ringing, you heard some of the conversation. “I can’t believe it either” and “yeah, I’m with her now”.

She hung up the phone and you snapped out of it. “I’m real sorry your parade was canceled.”

She was shaking her head. “It’s better than getting blown up. That would’ve been really depressing.”

You laughed. “Yeah. But this dress cannot go to waste- how about I treat you to dinner though? The whole family actually.”

She linked her arm in yours. “That would be amazing.”

“All that hard work for fuckin’ nothin’ if ya ask me,” Tina threw back a shot and slammed the glass down. “I should kick both of their fuckin’ asses.”

“It wasn’t for nothing, at least we all bonded again; it’s been years.”

Full circle, you, Sutton, Tina and Lola were back at Lucky’s throwing back shots. This time, wearing your crowns and sashes feeling the complete opposite that you all did when you won those titles.

Sutton looked at you sideways. “And you’re awfully quiet stranger.”

You met up with them at the bar after dinner with your family and was deep in thought about well… everything. “Yeah I’m- I’m sad I’m going home tomorrow. And the fact that we could’ve been barbecue.”

“Ya lived to see another day so stop talkin’ as if you’re not gonna see us again. You’re comin’ back to watch Kori compete for state… right?”

“Of course. I can’t let her down. I’d stay in Dickinson though since that’s where the pageants being held.”

“Yeah that and we’re gonna be at you and Gators weddin’. Ow!” Lola yelped and you knew Tina and Sutton most likely kicked her under the table. “What?”

You shook your head. “We’re not- we’re just friends.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that and maybe we’ll believe it too,” Sutton mumbled as she threw back another shot.

Tina played with her margarita. “Ya think since they found out who did all this bullshit during the pageant that they’ll ever find out who put that gasoline in Carries muffler way back when?”

Sutton shook her head. “No fingerprints. Plus it’s not like she fuckin’ died; she just left the car runnin’ and boom,” she made an explosion effect with her hand.

Tina turned towards you. “What’s Gator think?”

A shrug formed. “Thinks I did it.”

Sutton’s jaw dropped. “Ya didn’t win that year!”

“Yeah… I did,” Lola uttered out before taking a shot.

You, Tina, and Sutton looked at her and she gave an empty eyed smile. “It was just supposed to be a joke.”

You couldn’t tell if she was just drunk or actually confessing so you made a move to get up. “Ohh no. I can’t hear any of this and I am not a narc.” You snatched up your purse and made a beeline for the door.

Sutton called your name out. “Wait!”

You bumped into someone on your way out and almost jumped out of your skin when they grabbed your shoulders.

“Jesus Christ. Fuck’re ya goin’?”

It was Gator and you clutched his bicep with your good hand.

“Nowhere for a, uh, cigarette?”

He made a face. “Bullshit. Ya ain’t ever smoked a cig a day in your life. Wouldn’t even kiss me when I tried a few. What’s wrong?”

You cursed. A cigarette? Really?

“Nothing. Let’s just go for our milkshakes.” You snatched up his hand in yours and led the way out of the door and into the night.

Just like you two had done at the diner a few days ago, you went to your old booth again.

“Ya still like malted chocolate?”

“Of course,” you grinned.

The whole ride to the diner, Gator grilled (interrogated) you about what happened for you to leave abruptly at the bar and god you really honestly did hate when he went all cop on you. It didn’t help that your phone was going off with texts from the girls or when he tried to take your phone either.

He watched you from the opposite side of the booth. “Ya gonna tell me what the hell that was back there?”

You glanced out the window. “No! It’s not even- it’s nothing. Just girl… stuff.”

“They teasin’ ya ‘bout me again?”

“You can say that.”

He didn’t believe you but he dropped it.

“So did Kensley admit to-“

“Yeah,” he interrupted you. “But we’re pretty sure Kaleigh did it or helped.”

You let out a deep breath. “Seems like you have a thing for the crazies.”

He nudged you with his boot and you giggled.

You didn’t even notice that a waitress hadn’t come to take your order until two milkshakes in your respective favorite flavors were set down in front of you two.

At the same time, you and Gator looked up to see the owners son, Tyler.

He gave a shy smile. “My dad said it’s on the house.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said quietly as you felt your face grow hot.

“Enjoy,” he said before walking off.

“Were we really that popular around here?” You said unwrapping a straw.

“We were here every Friday night at one point so yeah,” Gator said sinking a straw into his own shake.

“I mean, shit… feels like everyone’s waiting on us or something,” you laughed awkwardly.

Gator just stared at you like you had two heads before shaking his head and mumbling “unbelievable”.

“What?”

He shook his head. “It’s always a “what” with you.” He looked at you like you were slow. “It’s cause they are waitin’ on us.” He took a few sips of his shake while you gave him a blank stare.

“Christ, thought you were supposed to be the smart one here.” He reached for your shake- something you guys did- and took a few sips.

You stayed silent because this is what you’d chosen: to be oblivious to save yourself. You thought back to all of the hints and subtle pushes from the universe that had happened this week. This went back to you having selfish tendencies.

“What’s that movie you used to like so much? Clueless? That’s you for sure. Shit, this is good,” he stopped sipping on your shake and put it back in front of you.

“Well let me try it before you drink it all.” You moved to pick it up but he snatched it back.

“It’s your last night here. You’re not avoidin’ this. I said what was on my chest; it’s your turn.”

You sighed because you were about to say something kind of cruel; it might even be partially untrue. “Gator, I- I have strong feelings for- about you even but they’re not strong enough to come back here and act on them and they never will be.”

He nodded and gave you the shake. “I been waitin’ for you to say that.” His tone was defeated but also full of acceptance.

He watched as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a few gulps before pulling back. “Fuck, this is good.”

The both of you laughed. After a moment of silence, to his surprise, you locked your fingers in his.

“Gate… you’re amazing. I really mean it...”

“But?”

You took a deep breath so you didn’t cry. “Just- we’re obviously not necessarily bad for each other, these last few days proved that. But I still think we’re in two very different places right now. And it’s not you, like at all- fuck I hate that saying. Believe me; I wish things were different. Like insanely different...”

He drummed his fingers on the countertop, simmering on what you just said before reaching for the cherry in your drink.

“One last time- for tradition.”

You leaned forward and giggled as you opened your mouth for the cherry.

A flash went off as he dangled it over your mouth.

You both whipped your heads around to see Tony, the owner, Tyler and Janet- Tyler was holding a Polaroid camera that snapped a picture of you and Gator.

Waitin’ on us.

“You keep this one. I have the first one on my vanity still.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah. Besides it’s your turn to keep the Polaroid. Last time I kept it. And you get to have a permanent memory of me and this stupid cast.”

Gator had just pulled in to your driveway and tried to hand you the new picture of the two of you from the diner but every time you two took a Polaroid picture, you rotated on who kept it. This time it was his turn.

“Okay. Ya should know though… I took a shit ton of pictures of ya in your hospital bed.”

Your mouth fell open. “Gator!”

He smirked. “There’s a real cute one of ya almost goin’ cross eyed when you were wakin’ up off the meds.”

All you could do was laugh. “You know what? I’ll let it slide. I’ll tag you back one day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Count on it.”

He gazed at you before swallowing and opening the driver door to come out and open the passenger door.

You took his hand and slowly walked up your porch steps.

On the steps, you turned around to face Gator and propped your hands on his shoulders and studied his face. You started at his hair that when missing the gel, like now, you told him he resembled a 90’s heartthrob. Sharp nose. Then down to his insanely gorgeous hazel eyes to his perfect eyebrows and his eyelashes you were absolutely jealous of. Then to his plush pink lips and the few freckles and moles of many that occupied his body. You smiled faintly when you remembered you used to call him “tortilla” or “estrellado” (courtesy of Spanish class).

You didn’t realize it but he was doing the same- memorizing and analyzing your features too. You took your hands off of his shoulders and put them on either sides of his face, looking him in the eyes again. “Gates, I meant it. Don’t let your dad hold you back from what you want to be. You deserve a chance too.” You let go of his face and wrapped your arms around him and embraced him and he reciprocated. The two of you stood there for what felt like eternity, neither of you wanting to let go until you released him.

No official goodbye, you turned around and walked up the rest of the steps and went inside your house.

You were in the middle of packing when there was a light tapping on your door. “Come in.”

Your mom, who offered to help you, peeked her head in. “Gators at the door.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Is he okay? He didn’t wanna come up?”

“I think he’s in the middle of patrollin’. Probably can’t get caught up.”

“Okay, yeah.” You got out and followed her downstairs. She went back to her room and you went to the front door and stepped outside to find Gator on your front porch again.

“Uh, gotta gift for you,” he scratched the back of his head and handed you a small gift wrapped box.

“For what? I don’t-,”

“It’s not like- like a- fuck you’re rubbin’ off on me, got me sayin “like” an’ shit. It’s not really a gift. Just somethin’ I got you a while back, never got to give it to you.”

“A while back?” You fiddled with the box.

“Yeah, before ya left. Figured I’d give it to ya before ya leave again tomorrow. Just promise me ya won’t open it until ya get back to Hippieland, ‘kay?”

Your heart sank at the fact he had kept it all of these years.

“Promise. Thanks Gate,” you leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. You pulled away and looked down at his lips before planting a soft kiss on them. You looked him in the eyes. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright princess. See ya later.” He walked down your front steps and back to his cruiser and you watched him back out of your driveway. Your heart was heavy when you accepted that this would probably be the last time you would see him for a very long time.

It wasn’t until a week later of you being back in L.A. did you unpack the rest of your stuff. You were still on vacation time since your days in Lehigh were short of relaxing but you finally decided it was time to get everything back in order.

The box tumbled out of a folded t-shirt and you cursed. It was the box Gator gave to you before you left. When you crouched down to pick it up, you opted to sit on the floor and unwrap it as best as you could with your broken hand. Nestled inside was a velvet box and underneath was a picture of the two of you. The both of you had to be 15 or 16, looking as awkward as ever, sitting next to each other at Marty’s with milkshakes. On the back, Gator scribbled the date and “first date” on the back. A smile spread across your face and you gingerly set the picture down to open the other box.

“Oh!” You opened the box to see a diamond engagement ring and your hand flew to your mouth. “Holy shit.”

The tears came before you could even process what was happening and you stood up. As you paced the room, you thought back to before. Gator doing double shifts when he got his footing, his shed that was set up for two, his dad hounding his ass. At the time, he probably saved every single check he’d gotten since joining the force to get you this.

Before you knew what you were doing, you found your phone and hit call next to his contact.

He answered on the first ring. “Thought I scared you off forever.”

You laughed through the tears.

“Are you cryin’?” His voice came out of the speaker laced with concern.

You sniffled but stayed silent before you found your voice. “You said you’d thought about it- not that you were gonna do it. Why didn’t you tell me or ask me then?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’d ever seen ya that happy. Couldn’t take that away from ya.”

“Why’d you keep it?” Your voice was hoarse.

“I dunno. Guess I thought you’d come back after ya graduated.”

“I can’t keep this Gator.”

He scoffed. “I think if I didn’t want ya to I woulda pawned it by now.”

You laughed again. It was silent for a second, only your sniffles being heard.

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset ya. Ya want me to let go so I-“

“But I don’t. I never said I did,” you sobbed.

“Ya wouldn’t have said yes.”

“You know what? You’re right and I can’t even tell you if I would’ve came back after I finished school. But now… fuck, Gator. I just wanted to be fair to us. I would’ve been horrible to expect you to wait for me.”

“I waited anyway.”

Fresh tears fell as you felt your heart break all over again.

“I think I’m quitin’ the force.”

“What?” You managed to choke out.

“Yeah… well not completely exactly. I think it’s time I get back to workin’ towards that degree. Some girl told me it’s not too late.”

“Well she sounds like she gives really good advice but can’t take her own.”

He laughed. “No, she sounds too hard on herself cause if it wasn’t for her I don’t think I’d have made a move to change.”

You laughed again and then it was quiet.

“I ain’t do this on purpose by the way- give ya the ring to mess with ya. Everything is so easy with you and natural and you’re the best thing to ever happen to me and I had to let ya know that one last time.”

“And you expect us to go back to normal after this… how?” You tearfully asked through the speaker.

He stayed silent.

“We kinda talked about why I’m still single… I ever tell you dating in L.A. sucks? It always ends up at a coffee shop turned into networking. Then I’m splitting tabs and holding doors open for men.”

He laughed.

“And then I find myself saying where’s the guy that’s gonna open the door for me or plan the date? Impromptu dates at that and- and flowers? The guy who’s gonna wanna know me like the back of his hand and I do the same? But I had him- I have him. At least I still hope I do. I’m in love with you. I love you Gator. I always have.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute and for a second you wondered if you were too late.

And finally he spoke.

“I love you too.”

One year later.

You looked around the arrivals area in LAX waiting to see that familiar face.

You glanced down at your phone to check the time and then swiped it open to look at your messages to make sure you got the time right.

“Boo.”

You looked up to see Gator holding Spot in a travel carrier for pets, a carry on, and a personal bag in the form of a backpack.

“You moving here?” You asked before throwing your arms around his neck and squeezing him tight.

“I mean shit, if ya want me to,” he pulled back to press his lips to yours and gave you a slow, soft kiss.

You hummed against his lips and he pulled back.

“Hi,” you giggled looking up at him.

“Hey princess.” He gave you a few more pecks before really pulling away and looking around.

“Fuck, this airports huge.”

“That what took you so long?”

“Somethin’ like that.” You hadn’t noticed he had one hand behind his back and he placed a bouquet of flowers between you two.

“Still a gentleman. Thank you.” You took the bouquet and grabbed his face to sprinkle him in kisses.

“And you can’t move here yet by the way. You’re graduating this time,” you spoke against his skin through the kisses.

“Wouldn’t dream of droppin’ out again.”

Over the past year since you came back to California, after your hometown trip from hell, you and Gator accidentally on purpose became long distance.

You’d called each other every single day after you opened his “gift” and actually talked things through- properly. After you went to Dickinson to watch Kori compete for Miss North Dakota, you ended up visiting him a couple of times. Although the last time you’d seen him was three long months ago.

He’d moved off of the ranch and surprisingly his dad hadn’t completely disowned him and let him drop to a part time sheriffs deputy position when he started his classes again. He’d even given the okay for him to take time off to spend the entire summer with you. This would be his first time in California and in another state that didn’t neighbor North Dakota.

You were both walking hand in hand to the baggage area while you blabbered on.

“We have to go to Disneyland and Universal! OC Fair will be happening so we can go to that too. Oh and we have to do extra touristy shit like go to Erewhon- even though I really do like their Pineapple Dream fresh pressed juice. The smoothies are insanely overhyped in my opinion and we have to walk some of The Walk of Fame. Don’t let the Scientologists pull you into the building though, ugh. And studio tours! There’s Warner Brothers and we can take a trip to Paramount. And we’re definitely going to the beach a lot cause we gotta get you a tan- you’re like a ghost. My favorite is Manhattan and Laguna but we can even go to Santa Monica pier- just for the pier though cause the water is kinda icky. Same with Venice beach- wait you might like Muscle Beach! You know cause you like work out and stuff. I do Pilates by the way; you should come to one of my classes. Oh yeah! My friends are super excited to meet you! Although they might overwhelm you. I told you about Saddle Ranch so I might as well take you there. There’s Din Tai Fung and this vegan Mexican restaurant in Van Nuys that I love- don’t knock it till you try it. And this Caribbean restaurant in Studio City that’s amazing! Sunday evenings Rodeo Drive is real pretty. We gotta hike the Hollywood Sign and oh my god! Horseback riding! In Burbank! Even though you’re probably sick of horses but I just know you’re gonna love these…”

Gator beamed at you as you went on about the activities you had planned for the two of you for the next three months. His eyes shifted to your hand when you went to move an out of place hair from in front of your face. He didn’t mean to interrupt your rambling but he couldn’t help it. “You actually wear that on your hand now?”

He was referring to the ring he gave you.

You stopped talking and glanced at your hand. “Yeah? It’s what it’s for…” You looked at him like he was crazy. At first you had put it on a chain and wore it as a necklace but something snapped in you a couple of weeks ago and it now inhabited your left ring finger.

“You just deserve somethin’ ni-“

“Don’t you dare. It’s perfect,” you leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Plus it’s almost two carats; why would I need something more?”

“What if when I wanna propose? Like actually?”

“Then you can do whatever but I still love the ring.”

“And you’re- do people think you’re engaged now?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes but I’m a taken woman either way; the actual status doesn’t matter. And when you propose?” You smiled.

His ears turned red. “Why’re we havin’ this conversation in an airport?”

“Because you mentioned the ring.”

“Well yeah, when I propose. I just don’t think ya should be wearin’ anythin’ like that until I officially pop the question.”

You stopped walking. “Okay then- ask me.”

He stopped too. “What?”

You slid the ring off and tucked it into his hand. “Ask me to marry you.”

His eyes looked around at all of the people passing you by to go to their terminals or to pick up their luggage, completely occupied with their own dealings, before landing back on you. “You’re not serious.”

“Dead.” A smile started to form on your lips.

He shook his head but smiled before holding up the ring between you two. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god! Yes!” You said dramatically and he rolled his eyes as he slid the ring back onto your left ring finger.

He started walking again and you followed. “I know you; that don’t count as the real proposal.”

A mischievous look fell across your face. “So I can’t tell people I’m engaged now?”

He blushed. “I mean… yeah.”

You’d always thought the topic of Gator Tillman would be a sore spot but it turned out to be quite the opposite.

Taglist: @scaramou @gatorgirlie @maevebloom @redvelvetcupcke1 @gennywennypenny @amy-brooklyn99 @louisbelongstome28 @valentine-night @clxssy1997 @maferin @watercolorskyy @syd649 @literal-tv-menace @mammammia @amirafloral @mandylynn22 @lacywithdrawal @exooojongdaeee @deeplightblue @keerygirlie98

[swirledyouintoallmypoems]

SO HIGH SCHOOL steve harrington x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – w.c. 7.1k

chapter warnings/tags: use of y/n, swearing, jealousy, season 5’s writing yikes, angst, miscommunication? separation? longing. i hate murray bauman.

series masterlist

–

You sat in the back of the WSQK van quietly, your knees were brought up to your chest, and your eyes were glued to the ground. You were sitting beside Lucas on the floor, legs slotted between Robin's as she sat across from you and stared cautiously.

You slid your hands up and down the seams that ran along the sides of your jean-clad legs, spaced out with your eyes locked onto an empty spot on the floor beside you. That was until you heard Steve's voice crackle through the walkie.

"She's in." He sounded just as miserable as you felt, and that guilt ate away at you again.

He was stuck just ahead of the rest of you in the van, sitting in his once pristine BMW with Dustin, who seemed to hate him at the moment, wallowing in his feelings about his girlfriend who apparently didn't love him, preparing to poison and kidnap a family who used to attend his parents' stupid rich people house parties, then chase a monster around town.

So not the best night for Steve, but also, somehow, maybe not the worst either.

Dustin's voice came through the radio a moment later; he must've taken the walkie from Steve.

"Sinclair, come in. Do you copy?"

Lucas picked up the walkie to reply. "Yep, this is Sinclair. Copy. Go ahead."

"Sinclair, I'm confused. I thought your sister said that Tina was mean." Dustin said, and Robin tapped the side of your leg with her shoe. When you looked up she gave you a look that asked, 'You good?'

"Oh, no, no. She's not mean. She's a villain." Lucas told Dustin, and you nodded at Robin. A lie. You weren't good. "Like, kill the puppies for a fur coat kind of villain. Trust me."

Joyce turned around from where she was sitting in the driver's seat, Will in the passenger seat, to face the rest of you.

"How long before the drugs kick in?" She asked.

"All depends on how much pie they eat." Robin answered with a shrug.

"And how fast they eat it." Mike added.

"What they had for lunch. When they had lunch." Robin continued.

"Caffeine intake, alcohol intake." Mike went on. Usually, you'd jump right in with examples, but right now you weren't in the mood for talking. You just wanted the night to be over and done with. "It's a lot of variables."

"Yeah, what could go wrong, right?" Robin asked sarcastically, then shared a glance with Mike.

"Aside from everything?" Lucas sighed, then the van fell silent again.

Soon Erica gave you the all clear, having knocked out the Turnbows and opened up their garage so Joyce could reverse the van into the driveway, stopping just outside the door.

When the two doors at the back of the van opened, and you saw Steve was the one who opened them, your stomach lurched uncomfortably.

His frown was still etched onto his face, creating deep lines around his scrunched eyebrows. He looked really, really upset.

Mike jumped out first, followed quickly by Lucas. Robin was next to make her way out, and Steve hovered by the door on the left side of the van, which was the side you had been sitting on.

Still, despite how devastatingly sad he looked, Steve offered you his hand to help you out of the van, though he didn't quite meet his eyes. You took his hand, giving it a squeeze, while his other hand hovered just over your hip.

"You got it?" He asked carefully as your feet landed on the concrete below, and you nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks." You said, then headed after the others and into the house.

Steve met Dustin's eyes for a moment before following you, leaving the younger boy to grab the bag of axes and other tools waiting for him inside the van.

The next part was quick and simple. Get inside, shove pillowcases over their heads, lift the four now-blindfolded family members onto blankets and sheets, then carry them to the van.

And it went by so fast that a moment later you were sitting in the back of the van with Robin and Erica, four unconscious Turnbows lying in front of you while Joyce and Will took the front seats.

You met Steve's eyes as he stood beside the backdoors with the others, and you tried to give him a small smile, but he didn't return it. He just closed the backdoors then looked away before slamming his palm against the glass of the windows at the back, and Joyce started the van.

You just stared at him through the glass until Joyce pulled out of the driveway and you were all on the way to the McCorkle farm.

Five minutes into the drive, Robin, who had been impatiently jittering in her seat beside you, gave up and finally turned to face you.

"What happened between you and Steve?" She asked, clearly not caring for the three other conscious people in the car, including Erica who raised her eyebrows at you.

"Nothing." You lied, shooting Robin a look.

"Okay, well, it's just... We could all tell you were fighting earlier, and now you guys won't even talk to each other again, and I hate it." Robin rambled. "Because if you two break up, I'm gonna have to choose a side, and I don't wanna choose a side because you guys are my best friends and I'm gonna feel guilty all the time if I--"

"Wait, hold on, 'break up'?" Erica questioned and you sighed.

Will swiveled around in his seat. "I knew it. I tried to convince Jonathan you two are together, but he wouldn't believe it."

"Don't tell Jonathan." You mumbled, not very threateningly, then glanced to the girl to your right. "Just drop it, Rob."

And she did. Nobody said another word for the whole rest of the drive to the barn.

Then you moved the Turnbows out of the van and inside the barn, locking them up so they wouldn't escape, which was just insane.

Then Joyce wandered outside, leaving you inside with the Turnbows, Robin, Will and Erica.

Will came over to you with a careful smile.

"You okay?" He asked and you gave him a nod.

"Yeah, I will be." You replied, looking up at the boy from where you sat on the ground.

"Sorry about... whatever's happening with you and Steve." He said, and you sighed.

"Yeah, thanks." Then you chose to change the subject, yet again. "God, when did you get so tall, Will?"

He chuckled sheepishly, then shrugged. Then he glanced over to the open barn doors, toward where Joyce was.

"I'm gonna go talk to my mom." He said and you nodded.

"Go ahead." You told him, and a moment later you heard Robin talking.

She wasn't talking to you, or Erica, though. She was talking over the radio.

"Hey. Talk to me, guys. How's it looking out there?" She asked, and you held your breath waiting for an answer.

"It's boring." Steve replied, and you gave a soft chuckle, looking up at where Robin was sitting close to the top of a ladder leading to the barn's loft. You just listened as Steve's voice drifted down to your ears. "How are the Turnbows holding up?"

"Uh, they're still in their 'food comas,' but I swear to God, this Demo better show." Robin said. "If we took out an entire family for nothing, my conscience will never recover."

Then she started talking about the Turnbows suing you all, or getting you all arrested. So then, in his best, slightly comedic, attempt to comfort her, Steve brought up his uncle, who was a criminal defense lawyer, and you just listened as the two talked for the next minute or so.

As you stared up at Robin, you kind of wanted to snatch the walkie from her to talk to Steve and apologize to him, and tell him you missed him already, but you didn't.

"So, like, what kind of criminals does your uncle defend exactly?" Robin questioned Steve after a while. "You know, are they, like, white-collar criminals? Because that does seem like a Harrington thing to do, you know, like, defend rich douchebags. And in this situation, I think the rich douchebags would be coming for us."

Steve didn't answer. Robin was met with static.

"Steve?" She asked into the walkie. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I hear you. Just stop talking." He replied, and your breath caught in your throat. "I think we've got company."

Robin sent you a wide-eyed look from across the barn.

"South down Arlington, T-minus 30 seconds. Status check. Taggers?"

"In position and set." Nancy replied. "Launcher?"

"Set. Catcher?" Lucas's voice came through next.

Next came Mike. "Set. Trackers?"

"Set." Steve answered. "Let's do this thing already."

You stood up and walked closer to Robin, standing at the bottom of the ladder. She looked down at you. Steve's voice returned soon after.

"It's inside. Keep your traps shut."

–

“It flipped! It flipped!” Mike’s voice came screaming through the walkie sometime later, and you huddled between Robin and Erica as the three of you, Will and Joyce crowded around the surface of an old nightstand.

Robin held the walkie tight in her hand, antenna pulled out as far as it could go, and the two of you shared a look.

"Trackers in pursuit." Dustin's voice said, then sounded a little more aggravated as he went on. "Repeat, trackers in pursuit. Hit it!"

And then you were back to waiting, and you were beginning to feel a little pissed off again, because you could've been there at the house actually doing something to help rather than just sitting around and waiting while Steve was racing around town and tracking a Demogorgon.

You listened as Dustin shouted something about the Demo, which had been going Northwest, now going Southeast.

"Why would they turn around?" Joyce questioned amongst the sound of crickets chirping in the November air.

"Maybe he's trying to shake them?" Erica supplied, but Will shook his head.

"No, that's impossible." He said. "It doesn't know it's being tracked."

A rattle of chains drew your attention, and you all turned your heads, Will even hurrying over, to see that, of course, Derek Turnbow had woken up and managed to remove the pillowcase from his head.

"Stay away from me! Stay away!" The boy shouted at Will, and you all jumped to your feet. Robin and Erica rushed over to him.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Robin seemed to be freaking out already as she and Erica crouched in front of Derek and pulled the pillowcase back over his head. "I'm so, so sorry, okay? We'll probably explain this at some point, but for now, please just don't move." Then she looked toward Erica. "I mean, I thought he ate, like, two slices of pie."

"He did!" Erica exclaimed, gesturing to the boy wriggling against his constraints before them.

"Why is he awake then?" Robin asked.

"It doesn't matter. Not anymore." Will stated, and then you realized.

"Shit." You cursed, looking towards Will as he walked over to the barn doors. "We're Southeast. That's why the Demo turned around, isn't it?"

Will nodded slowly, looking out into the night before turning around to face you all again.

"Vecna's seen. He knows where we are." Will said, and you covered your face in your hands.

Yeah, so much for staying back, out of trouble and away from the Demogorgon. Right, Steven?

Joyce decided then, or really a minute or so later, that then was the perfect time to talk to and try comforting the hyperventilating, blindfolded and locked up 10-year-old in the corner of the room.

"Hey." She spoke softly, in her usual motherly tone. It wasn't very different from how she would talk to Will when she tried comforting him. "I know you're scared, and I know you're angry, but I promise you, we are here to help you."

He began to tug on the rope around his wrists again, and you shared a look with Erica.

"Hey, hey, Derek, Derek." Joyce reached forward to grab his hands. "If you keep doing that, you're just gonna hurt yourself. Just calm down so we can talk, okay?"

Derek nodded.

"Do you know who I am?" Joyce asked him.

"An evil child kidnapper." Derek spat back and Joyce closed her eyes for a moment.

"Okay, I understand why you would think that, but I'm not evil." Joyce told him. "I'm just a mom, a regular mom." She pointed over to the boy standing by your side. "That's my son, Will."

Will gave a small wave, and recognition flashed across Derek's face as he stuttered out, "Zombie boy."

"You know why they call him that?" Joyce questioned Derek, her tone still somehow gentle and motherly.

"Because he died and came back to life." Derek replied, and you kinda felt bad for the kid Erica had dubbed 'Dipshit Derek'.

"But what people don't know is that when he went missing, he was taken by a terrible, scary monster. And now, that scary monster is after you." Joyce said.

"Yeah, I know. Mr. Whatsit told me, which is why you need to let me go." Derek pulled on his restraints, raising his voice, and a shiver ran down your spine. Mr. Whatsit was Vecna.

"No, no. Mr. Whatsit is not who he says he is, okay?" Joyce's tone had switched to something firmer now, something to try and make Derek believe her. You glanced at Robin, and her eyes flicked over to you. "He is lying to you. All these monsters, they work for him. Now that's why we took you here to this barn. We thought this barn was safe, but he's found us."

Derek's eyes, wide behind the lenses of his glasses, move away from Joyce and over to where the rest of you stood in the doorway with matching somber expressions and small nods.

"So we have to move you again, somewhere he can't find you." Joyce explained. "So if I untie you, will you cooperate and come with us? Please?"

Derek seems to think it over, before nodding with a small smile.

"Okay, great." Joyce whispered as she began to untie him. "You're a very brave kid, Derek. I want you to know that. Very--"

The moment he was untied, Derek shoved Joyce away roughly and jumped up to his feet.

"Shit!" You gasped, looking between Joyce, who was now on the ground, and Derek, who was running toward you at full speed, in a moment of frozen shock.

Derek barreled past you, shoving himself between you and Will, and you crashed into Robin, the two of you hitting the ground.

"Ow." Robin groaned softly, and you started pulling yourself off of her.

"I'm sorry, Rob." You winced as you held a hand to your shoulder that burned in pain, then watched as Will sprinted after the kid and literally tackled him to the ground. "Holy crap."

"Let me go! Get off of me!" Derek shrieked from beneath Will, and Robin sent you a look as you helped her to your feet.

"How the hell do you and Steve want six of those?" She asked, and you gave a half-hearted chuckle, your fight with Steve still fresh in your mind.

"Derek. Please!" Will's head then snapped around to the rest of you as he pointed to the barn doors, which were wide open, frantically. "The door! Get the door!"

"Help me!" Derek screamed and you, Robin and Erica began running for the doors. "Let me go! Get off me!"

"Stay down!" Will grunted at the boy.

"Get away!" You got a hold on the door to the right. You and Erica worked together to push it shut as Robin closed the door on the left, all the while Derek was screaming behind you. "Somebody help! I'm being kidnapped!"

Erica and Robin lifted a wooden plank to lock the door, and you turned around and jogged over to where Will and Derek were wrestling on the ground.

"Get away from me! Let me go!" Derek continued to protest, and you crouched down in front of him.

"Mom, the rope! I need the rope!" Will yelled and you glared down at the boy beneath him.

"Derek, listen to me." You snapped and his head shot up to look at you. "We can't let you go, otherwise a monster is gonna take you. So stop fighting and just listen to us."

Derek stopped moving for a moment and just stared at you, not fighting, and Will looked at you with wide eyes.

It didn't last long, because Derek was fighting again a second later, this time harder and angrier.

"Let me go!" He screamed, flailing his arms around and kicking his legs in attempts to hurt Will, or you. "Eat dirt!"

In a flash, Derek had grabbed a handful of dirt from the ground he was lying on and threw it into Will's eyes.

With a yell, Will fell backwards, and Derek scrambled upwards, stampeding towards you like a bull and knocking you down next, making you groan as your head smacked against the hard ground.

He looked up then, standing and facing the doors where Erica and Robin still stood.

"Come try us, dipshit!" Erica threatened.

"Shit!" He cursed and spun on his heel, running in the other direction. You watched Robin and Erica chase after him as you slowly lifted yourself up from the ground, holding a hand to the back of your head.

Derek had climbed up the ladder to the loft Robin had been sitting on earlier, and when she went to climb after him, Derek pushed the ladder down so it, and Robin, would fall to the ground.

"Dude! They're not lying to you, okay?" Robin called out as you now all stared up at Derek. "Mr. Whatsit is a very bad guy. He sent the monsters after you."

"Suck my fat one!" He screamed back.

"Jesus! What?" Robin was visibly repulsed.

"You just signed your death warrant, dipshit!" Erica shouted next.

"You're just a psycho, and you're going to jail!" He yelled in response.

The rest of your voices overlapped in protests as you tried telling him that you were in fact telling the truth, and that you were just trying to help him, but he clamped his hands over his ears and began singing.

"La, la, la, la." His eyes were squeezed shut as he attempted to block any sign of you from his senses.

"Derek, please!" Will clasped his hands together like he was praying.

But no matter how much you protested or begged, the answer was still the same.

"I'm not listening. La, la, la la."

It's like the more you shouted, the more annoying this kid got, and you were really starting to get pissed off. It didn't help that you had already been in a bad mood before this bullshit started.

You were so distracted by yelling up at Derek that you didn't notice when Will lifted one of his hands to the back of his neck, the usual telltale sign that he could feel something in the hive mind, whether it be the Mind Flayer or Vecna.

You also didn't notice when he turned around and faced the barn doors, or when his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he froze in place as he connected to the hive mind.

In fact, you only noticed anything was happening when there was a loud bang against the barn doors. You were glad Robin and Erica had blocked it, but you were sure that single wooden plank wouldn't hold for long, especially not when you could hear the familiar growls of a Demogorgon on the other side.

But the trackers were still following the Demogorgon, right? That meant Steve and Dustin should be nearby, so hopefully Nancy and her shotgun wouldn't be far away either.

With each thud of claws against wood, scratching against the door violently as it tried to get to you all, your heart began pounding against your chest. The others looked petrified, Will was stuck in some kind of trance, but Joyce looked like she could kill.

She marched across the barn and picked up an axe that was resting against a pillar nearby, then took a few steps over so she was standing in front of the door.

"Stay back!" She ordered to you all, and you carefully pushed Erica behind you. You watched as Joyce raised the axe above her head, preparing to ward off the full-grown Demo on her own.

Then, with a crash and a loud shrieking growl, the Demogorgon burst into the barn, the doors flying from their hinges and smashing against the dirty ground.

It's face opened up with a growl, baring its rows and rows of saliva-coated teeth, and Robin gasped out in fear. You realized right there that this was the first time she, and Erica, had ever really seen a Demogorgon.

"You want him, you're gonna have to come through me!" Joyce shouted up at the Demogorgon. You took a step forward, ready to jump in with nothing but your bare fists, but Erica was gripping your arm tightly.

Joyce swung the axe at the Demo once and it took a step back, then she swung again and it moved back further, trying to avoid each hit.

With each swing, the Demo was pushed back further and further until it was outside the barn doors where, within a second, the familiar sight of Steve's BMW crashed into view, smashing into the Demogorgon and sending it rolling over the hood and the roof before landing on the ground outside.

Beside you, Will collapsed to the ground with it and groaned out in pain. You rushed to his side first, unsure of what to do, because you had no idea what was wrong.

Joyce rushed back over to Will's side, and while she and the others crowded around Will, you jumped to your feet and ran to the barn door, your eyes locking onto Steve's car immediately.

The Demogorgon had run away, right towards one of the farm's silos, and had ripped open a glowing red gate in the metal and flipped over to the Upside Down.

Steve's car was facing the said gate, which was slowly closing itself, and he was staring it down from the driver's seat. Dustin was in the passenger seat, and Jonathan and Nancy were both in the back, you could see them talking, but you couldn't hear them.

Then you watched as Steve took off once more, the Beamer speeding right for the gate as it shrunk more and more, and your eyes went wide.

"No..." You whispered under your breath before rushing out of the barn to get a better look.

Steve was going to crash his car, they were all going to die, and you were about to watch it happen.

Your hands moved up to the back of your head out of stress as you watched the Beamer get closer and closer to the gate which was still steadily shrinking until... it broke through.

The Beamer crashed through the gate, disappearing from view, and a few seconds later the gate sealed up completely.

Inside the barn, Will woke up from his hive-mind-trance with a gasp, and Joyce pulled him into a hug, rubbing his back and whispering comforting words as he shook and cried in fear.

And you stood outside the barn, staring at the silo where the gate had just sealed itself up, and where your boyfriend had hopefully made it through to the Upside Down without dying.

But therein lies another issue. Your boyfriend just disappeared into an alternate dimension, the same place where he had only been two times and both times he had almost died, and the last proper conversation you had with each other was an argument about how you might not love him. And now you had no idea if he was ever going to make it out of there, or if he was even okay.

The thought of that scared you more than any Demogorgon ever could.

–

Joyce had been trying to contact Jonathan, Nancy and Dustin via the radio in the Squawk van for a while now, and you couldn't help but notice that she never said Steve's name, only the other three, as if he wasn't the one who had been driving the car in the first place.

"Jonathan, it's Mom. Answer me, please. Over." She was saying into the radio for probably the eighth time as you approached the van again, now with Robin by your side. "Jonathan, please answer. Jonathan, Nancy, Dustin, it's Joyce. Please answer me."

A frown slipped onto your face, and Robin was the one to speak to Joyce.

"Hey." She greeted and Joyce looked up. "Any luck?"

Joyce shook her head in defeat.

"Well, on the plus side, I guess that means they made it through." Robin spoke optimistically, shooting you a smile.

"Or they're dead." You mumbled under breath, and Robin then gave you another look. Joyce didn't seem to notice.

"Do you wanna see where they're headed?" Robin asked, bringing up your reason for going outside to find her.

Will was painting on one of the barn walls frantically, leaving streaks of red paint in a bizarre shape you couldn't quite explain. You didn't understand what the painting was supposed to be, other than the fact it was a place he had seen when he was in the hive mind.

When he finished painting, Will took a few steps back, his paintbrush still sitting limp in his hand.

"What is it?" Joyce asked with wide, concerned eyes as you all stared at Will.

"I don't know, but I could feel it's important to him." Will responded.

"To Mr... Whatsit?" Derek asked, almost hesitantly.

"His real name is Henry." Will stated.

"AKA Vecna." Robin added.

"AKA One." You finished.

"That's too many names." Derek said, and you lightly exhaled out of your nose in something that wasn't quite a laugh, but it was close enough.

"Why won't you just zip it and listen, dipshit?" Erica questioned the boy, and he rolled his eyes at her.

"I had this feeling he didn't want me there." Will continued explaining. "I wasn't supposed to see it."

"You've never been this close to the hive mind before." Robin pointed out, taking a few steps forward to stand beside Will. "I mean, that thing was, like, feet away. Sometimes at The Squawk, when a signal comes in too strong, it overloads the whole system. I think that's what this was, an overload. You didn't just tap into the hive mind. You jacked right in to the goddamn control center."

"And Holly. Where was Holly?" Joyce asked.

"Holly. Holly, she was..." Will walked back towards the wall, switching out his red paintbrush for the bucket of black paint and raising the new brush up to the wall. "She was attached to this... this spire. And she became a part of it somehow, like it was doing something to her."

While Will painted a stick figure onto his drawing of the mystery Upside Down location, Robin sent you and Joyce a confused look over her shoulder.

"And... And there were others." Will began painting again, more stick figures onto the red spires. "There were three others."

"I thought Vecna was just coming for dipshit." Erica said, gesturing to the boy by her side.

"So did I. But I only knew about Derek because he walked right past me." Will said, now turning to face you all again.

"Serendipitous timing." Robin spoke.

"You hear that?" Erica asked Derek. "Serendipitous."

"I don't know what that means." Derek replied, and Erica stared blankly.

"So, what about these extra spires, Will?" You asked, pointing towards his painting, now realizing there were 12 total, with only four of them having stick figures painted over. "He kidnapped Holly first, then apparently three more kids tonight--"

"He's escalating." Will stated, meeting your eyes with a nod. "And he's coming for more."

"Yeah, and by the looks of it he's gonna want eight more." You said, your eyes moving across the painting once more. "That'll bring him up to 12."

"What does he want with them?" Joyce asked. "And why kids?"

"And why 12?" Erica added on.

"I don't know." Will sighed, but he sounded more determined as he went on. "But we have to stop him before he takes any more and buy Dustin and the others time to find this place, to find Holly."

"Maybe if we could pinpoint his exact targets, we could get them out of Hawkins." Robin suggested.

"And out of Vecna's reach." Will nodded along.

"Did you forget we're quarantined?" Erica pointed out, and the whirring of two bikes entered the barn before Lucas's voice shouted out from behind you.

"That's not all." He called, and you all turned to see him and Lucas.

"There's another problem." Mike added next, and they came running towards the rest of you, discarding their bikes on the ground. "On the way here, we saw soldiers load Debbie Miller onto a bus with a bunch more kids. And then we followed them for two blocks more, and they loaded more kids onto it."

Both boys were out of breath, panting between words. Mike was even leaning against a pillar while Lucas sat his hands on his hips.

"I don't think they were taking them to school." Lucas said, sharing a glance with Mike.

Mike looked your way again. "Vecna's not the only one that wants these kids."

–

Steve crashed his car. He crashed his car into a wall. He was so distracted arguing with Dustin that he crashed his Beamer into a literal fucking wall.

And now he was pissed.

They had all made it out of the car relatively unscathed, thankfully, just a little bruised. But now, while Dustin, Nancy and Jonathan were somewhere outside, Steve sat inside the car with his arms crossed and brows knitted together as he stared at the windshield, the glass cracked like spiderwebs.

It made him think of the time you had picked spiderwebs out of his hair in the Creel house, which then just made him think of you.

Steve would be lying if he said the reason he had been so upset tonight was only because of Dustin and being in the Upside Down and crashing his car. It was mainly because of you.

Steve reached across the center console of his car to pop open his glovebox, pushing past cassette tapes, a few papers and that box of condoms he had gotten from Murray, until he found what he was searching for.

It was a small Polaroid picture of the two of you, one where he had his arm wrapped around you and you had your head on his shoulder, both smiling up at the camera.

He had told you once that he kept it in his glovebox so he could take you with him everywhere. You had called him cheesy, but he argued that it was romantic, which you begrudgingly agreed to after he kissed your lips and then down your neck, his fingers dancing across your belly in a successful attempt to tickle you.

You had giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingertips brushing against the hair on his nape before you leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

Then he had said he loved you, and you smiled, and he had smiled back. You didn't say it back, and Steve understood why, he still did. But now, thinking back to that memory, Steve sighed and slumped further into his seat, his face falling more as he shoved the photo into his jacket pocket.

He missed you already. He was stuck in the Upside Down with three people who seemed like they hated him, or were at least mad at him for crashing the car, and you weren't there with him.

Because he had made you stay back. And he had fought with you. And he had begged you to tell him you loved him, and you still didn't say it.

Steve exhaled deeply, scrubbing his hands down his face as his chest seemed to tighten. Maybe it was selfish, but he just wished you could say it.

What if you really just didn't love him? God, what if, if he ever made it out of the Upside Down, you just broke up with him?

Steve wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that.

–

“Cargo has arrived. I repeat, cargo has arrived." Erica's voice came through the radio. She was perched on the tower outside the MAC-Z and had been waiting for the kids the military had taken to arrive. "They're taking them into a barracks second from the library."

Joyce crossed the Squawk basement to where the projector sat waiting, and drew one small, green dot on the map to represent the barracks. Then she looked up at the map on the wall and walked over.

"Tunnels." She ordered and Will overlayed the sheet with all the tunnels that ran beneath Hawkins over the map. "Yeah. See? The north tunnel of the MAC-Z runs right underneath the barracks."

"Lucky break." Lucas noted.

"Bound to happen one of these days." Robin rolled her eyes.

"We're gonna need a lot more luck if we want this plan to work." Mike spoke up. "If we're right, the military is trying to protect these kids. So this barracks is gonna be heavily guarded. I mean, we have to dig up into the barracks, unnoticed, grab the kids, get them to Murray, smuggle them out of Hawkins."

"All before anyone notices they're gone." Will finished Mike's thought with ease.

"Dick." Robin said, and your head swiveled around in her direction.

"Excuse me?" You asked, and at the same moment, Will and Mike gave her matching questioning expressions and said, "What?"

"What?" Robin looked up at them, then over to you. Lucas's brows were scrunched as he gave you a side-eye, also looking confused by Robin's sudden word choice. "Oh. Sorry. Did I say that out loud? I thought I was talking in my head. But you guys know Tom, Dick, and Harry, right?"

"The Great Escape." You nodded and Robin sighed in relief.

"Thank you." She said, then looked around at the others, who all looked confused. "Seriously? No one else has seen it?"

She takes a few steps forward to sit on the table in the middle of the room to face the others.

"Basically, it's about these POWs, right? And they're stuck in a barracks just like this one." Robin explained in her usual rambling way. "And they need to escape, so they dig these tunnels, and they call their tunnels Tom, Dick, and Harry."

"They have to hide the tunnels from the Nazis." You spoke up, and the others looked towards you. "So Tom's in, like, this dark corner, and Harry's under the stove, I think?"

"Yeah." Robin nodded after you looked to her for confirmation. "And they put Dick in the washroom. And personally, for us, I like Dick."

You nodded in agreement before you realized how it sounded, judging by the expressions on everyone else's faces as they looked around awkwardly.

"Oh, um... Sorry. The washroom. I actually don't even... Never mind." Robin covered her eyes with one hand, and you snickered quietly.

"Okay, say we go with Dick." Joyce said, and Robin peeked out from behind her fingers. "How do we find the washroom?"

"And how do we get the kids to it?" Will added on.

"How do we even know which kids are being targeted by Vecna?" Lucas queried, and it was like a lightbulb appeared above Mike's head.

"We use an inside man, someone who could get into the barracks, measure the distance to the washroom, find out which kids have actually seen Mr. Whatsit, and somehow avoid the military altogether." Mike explained.

"I mean, sure, great plan, but isn't it a little..." You started.

"Mission Impossible-y." Lucas finished for you, and you nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, Mike, who are you gonna get to do this?" Robin asked. "Bond? Magnum?"

"No, no, we don't want a superspy." Mike stated. "We want the opposite. We want someone no one would expect. Someone that could just walk in, no questions asked. The one kid the military failed to wrangle."

Mike gave you all a look, then stepped aside to let you all look at Derek, who was sat on the couch eating a bag of Doritos.

When he noticed you all staring, Derek looked around. "What?"

–

“Breaking bar. Shovel. Six safety goggles." Murray handed off each item to your group from the back of his truck one by one. This was the third time this week he was bringing you all supplies. "A surveyor's wheel and... Hold for applause."

Murray rushed through the truck to a door at the back, pulling it open and flourishing his arm like he was making some grand reveal.

"Santa's sleigh is ready for his reindeer." He spoke proudly, and you raised an eyebrow at the sight in front of you. "We got built-in benches, seat belts, foam padding. Everything a kidnapped child could desire."

"What the fuck, Murray?" You scoffed. "Foam padding, really?"

"Don't want to break any eggs en route, now do we?" He asked and you rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath. Murray raised his eyebrows and gave you a look. "Well, clearly you and Mr. Harrington haven't gotten any use out of my last special delivery, huh?"

You gave him a glare, and Lucas and Mike's heads whipped towards you with questioning looks.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lucas asked, sharing an amused smirk with Mike.

"Nothing." You told them while immediately shooting a sharp look their way, then you shook your head at Murray, who looked far too smug. "Asshole."

"I'm in. Do you copy?" Derek's voice crackled from the walkie in Joyce's pocket, and she scrambled to open it up. "Repeat, I'm in. Do you copy?"

You were extremely grateful for the sudden change in topic as you all followed Joyce a few steps away. "Yes, yes, we copy. We copy. Where are you?"

"Bathroom. Back stall." Derek answered. "45 of my paces from the front entrance."

"Good job. Now round up anyone who's seen Mr. Whatsit, and we'll be there soon." Joyce told him. "And remember, you're not Dipshit Derek. You're--"

"Delightful Derek."

About ten minutes or so later, once you had all gathered everything you needed to bring down to the tunnels, you, Robin, Lucas, Will, Mike, Joyce and Murray were descending the hill the WSQK building sat atop towards the tunnel entrance hidden at the bottom.

There was a cool breeze in the air, just enough to send a chill down your spine as you buried your hands into the pockets of Steve's jacket, pulling it closer to your body and taking in a deep breath.

You were so extremely worried about Steve that it almost made you feel sick. But at least his jacket still smelled like him, and you just prayed he was okay, and that he and the others would get the hell out of the Upside Down sooner rather than later.

The grass crunched beneath your feet, and you noticed the way Lucas not-so-subtly eyed Steve's jacket, and the way your hands curled into the material and held it close, from where he stood beside you, using one hand to help Murray carry the ladder.

"What?" You asked him, catching him when his eyes flickered to you for the nth time.

"Nothing." He shrugged nonchalantly, and you sighed. "Just, for the record, I totally called it."

You raised a brow. "Totally called what?"

"That you like Steve." He teased, shooting you a toothy grin before making kissy-faces at you much like he had that night when you were cleaning Steve's face after Billy totally kicked his ass. Your face began to feel hot, and you smacked his arm to scold him. "I've only been saying it for three years."

"Three years and you're still an annoying little shit, Lucas, you know that, right?" You joked, giving him a serious expression, but Lucas just laughed heartily.

"I better get to make a speech at your wedding." He told you, making you snort. "Y'know, for seeing it before anyone else."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You replied playfully, but deep down your stomach fluttered because, truthfully, that's what you wanted. You wanted to marry Steve one day.

Then, a little further down the hill, Lucas looked back at Joyce.

"Any word from Derek yet?" He asked.

"Not yet. Just give him time. It hasn't been that long." Joyce responded.

"I just can't get over the fact that the fate of the world rests on Derek freakin' Turnbow." Lucas panted out, the weight of the ladder he was carrying clearly beginning to have a bit of a toll on him.

"When you look in the mirror, do you see a Navy SEAL looking back at you?" Robin asked Lucas, who didn't respond.

"Sometimes people need someone to believe in them." Joyce noted, apparently not too bothered by Robin's presence anymore. "And then they can do amazing things."

You hummed in response, not quite listening, just watching the way the old, yellow grass crunched beneath your sneakers as you grew closer to the tunnel entrance.

When you all reached the dirt, Will and Mike still a few steps behind talking between themselves, Lucas helped Murray open the trap door and used a tree branch to keep the door up.

"Open sesame." Murray grinned, then looked at Lucas. "Oh. Well, have fun."

Lucas brushed off his hands and gave Murray something of a sarcastic smile before he said, "Thanks."

Then he let his smile drop, and he was the first to climb down into the tunnels.

You shared a look with Robin next, then gestured for her to go first.

"No, you go first." She told you, and you weren't in the mood for silly bickering, so you obliged and took a step forward, removing your hands from the pockets of Steve's jacket and adjusting the straps of your backpack before looking down into the open trap door, where Lucas was waiting and smiling up at you.

You took a deep breath, glanced back at Robin, then climbed down.

–

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[papayajuan2019]

cruelty is so easy. youre not special for choosing it

[ourplague]

[chilewithcarnage]

"The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist; a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain."

-Ursula K. LeGuin, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas

[wizardnuke]

"Evil is boring. Right? I kinda believe in the banality and mundaneness of evil. Evil is just selfish impulses, which at the end of the day are really easy to understand. It’s easy to understand why people do bad things. It’s like “yeah, ok, you’re selfish and scared and cruel, I get it”. Being good is complex and beautiful and hard." - Brennan Lee Mulligan

[oldshrewsburyian]

"How monotonously alike all the great tyrants and conquerors have been: how gloriously different are the saints." --C.S. Lewis

[marvelstoriesepic]

Still on the list

Pairing: Frat!College!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the infamous frat guy, known for sleeping around and throwing parties left and right, constantly invites you, out of all people, to all of them. His intentions though remain a mystery to you. Following a troubling event that leaves you shaken and anxious, Bucky is there to pick up the pieces. Stolen glances and exchanged smiles gradually blossom into a connection that goes beyond what meets the eye.

Word count: 14.1k

Warnings: annoyance to friends to lovers; panic attacks!; creepy man; angst and comfort; Bucky is a frat boy

author’s note: This took longer than I hoped, but I love it!

Masterlist

One minute.

One minute did it take for the class to end and yet it felt like an eternity.

You stared at the clock in anticipation, not paying an ounce of attention to what your professor was talking about.

Was he even talking?

Were you supposed to write something down?

You wouldn’t know.

RIING

Finally, the blissful sound of the bell pierced through the monotony.

You took your eyes off the clock in the far corner of the lecture hall, a sigh of relief leaving your lips and started packing your stuff.

“Alright class! See you on Monday! Have a great weekend.” Your professor exclaimed before walking out of the hall with a wave.

Amidst the chorus of thank you’s and see you on Monday’s and packing your laptop in your bag, alongside your pen and notebook (basically for small, unnecessary doodles, instead of notes) including your water bottle, you noticed Wanda slipping onto the bench beside you with her backpack draped over her right shoulder and an amused smile plastered on her face.

“Late again,” she teased.

You groaned. “Blame that slowpoke of a bus driver.”

“You know you can always ride with Pietro and me.” She nudged your shoulder playfully.

You offered her a grateful smile but shook your head. “It’s inconvenient for you.”

After being forced to live on campus for your first year of college you decided to get a small apartment to save some money and get the privacy you wanted and needed. Living on campus was expensive enough and with the small amount of money you got for working in a café and babysitting sometimes in the evening there wasn’t much left for you to enjoy yourself a little.

You never really enjoyed living in a dorm together with someone you didn’t know and sharing that same space. Your roommate for that first year was perpetually boisterous and tried dragging you to every party within a five-mile radius. Despite your initial resistance, you eventually succumbed to peer pressure. After enduring an eternity of loud music and plastic cups thrust into your hand, you found yourself in the grim confines of a bathroom stall, holding back your roommate‘s unruly hair as she retched into the toilet bowl. It was a moment of disillusionment that solidified your resolve to seek solitude and sanctuary away from the chaos of dormitory life.

Though you hated every minute of that day, in the end, you were glad you went, because it was where you met Wanda.

As fate would have it, Wanda found herself reluctantly dragged to the same party by none other than her brother, Pietro. Aforementioned guy managed to catch your roommate since she ‘accidentally’ slipped in front of him. She kept giggling with his arms draped around her and you apologized to him and Wanda though you knew it was actually really not your fault.

So while your roommate occupied Pietro you had a pleasant conversation with his sister. You clicked immediately.

“It takes ten minutes Y/n, it’s truly no big deal.”

“Well, I’ll keep it in mind! Thanks, Wan!”

You walked out of the hall and crossed campus together. Since you just had this one lecture today you signed in for a shift at the café you worked at and were just about to bid Wanda goodbye when-

“Maximoff!”

You didn’t make any attempt to even try not to roll your eyes.

Wanda turned around and so did you eventually, not concealing your dissatisfaction with the approaching guy, a scowl forming on your face.

Bucky Barnes.

Of course.

Now, there were a lot of things you tolerated. It was hard to rile you up, but Bucky Barnes? He exceeded every limit.

You couldn’t stand the guy. And he knew it.

He caught up to you girls and kept his attention on your friend.

“Hey, Wanda! You have a minute?”

Before she could react he turned to you, pretending to see you just now.

“Oh. Y/n! Haven’t seen you there.”

You wanted to punch that arrogant grin off his face.

“What do you want?”

“Well as I was gonna ask Wanda,” he emphasized her name with a playful drawl and turned to her, “You and your brother are coming today right? Sam got the drinks and we got a new beer pong table. We gotta initiate it correctly.”

Another eye roll escaped you as Wanda shot you a brief, amused glance before addressing Bucky. “Pietro’ll come. The party was the only thing he talked about this morning.”

“Perfect!” Bucky grinned. “You’ll come too right? You can have a plus one!” He nodded his head towards you while meeting your steely gaze with unwavering confidence.

“Nothing will get me to enter your stupid frat party Barnes!” you retorted dryly.

Bucky’s grin remained firmly in place, his cockiness bordering on infuriating.

“Well I’ll be there,” he declared, turning his attention toward you with a smirk.

You cocked your head. “There’s the reason why.”

A soft sigh from Wanda diverted your attention, prompting you to check the time on your phone.

“Whatever, I gotta go!” With a brief hug, you bid her goodbye.

“Text me later?”

“Course, Wan!”

You flashed her a quick smile before striding away, ignoring Bucky’s futile attempt to prolong the conversation.

“Where ya goin' ?” he shouted after you.

“Work!” Your response was curt and you continued your way.

****

“That’ll be 4.75$.”

The girl in front of you swiped her card through the card reader and you placed the cup with her latte on the counter separating you.

You thanked her for the small tip and turned away when she left, to stock up on the coffee beans. You leaned down and grabbed the bag out of a drawer from under the counter as you heard the door to the shop open.

Your coworker went to the storage room to store the milk that came in a few minutes before and it wasn’t that busy so you were good on your own out front.

“Just a sec!” you called while opening the bag and pouring the beans in, standing with your back to the counter.

“All good! I’m in no hurry.”

You stilled for a second, almost pouring over the beans. Although you couldn’t see him right now you could tell he wore that shit-eating grin again.

You pulled the bag away harshly with a few falling out. You would take care of that later. Probably not though.

You put the bag aside, preparing yourself to turn around, and came face to face with the one and only Bucky Barnes.

Seriously?

Two times in a day?

You wiped over your apron and met his gaze. “What can I get you?” You tried feigning that kindness you were supposed to show your guests though you knew you could try more.

Not taken aback by your grimace and still slightly annoyed tone he leaned on the counter and pretended to contemplate what to get.

You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him.

“I think I’ll go for a black coffee,” He grinned at you.

You uncrossed your arms to get to work. “Small, medium, large?” You were really trying to stay professional here.

“I’ll take it medium, doll.”

It wasn’t the first time he called you that, though you‘ve heard it come out of his mouth plenty of times to plenty of girls so you guessed he didn’t even recognize he was calling you that too.

You got to work while Bucky watched you intently, still leaning on the counter.

You hoped he would stay silent but guessed that thought was futile since he walked in here.

“So, you think about coming?”

“No.”

“No, you haven’t thought about it or no, you aren’t coming?”

“Both.”

It wasn’t the first time he somehow tried to get you to come to one of his frat parties. Be it through Wanda or Pietro or just blatantly asking you to come. You knew your answer every time. He should have known that too but he seemingly never stopped trying.

“Aww, come on doll! Already put you on the list.”

“Do whatever you please Barnes but I’m not coming,” you retorted while finishing up his coffee and sliding it across the counter over to him. “That’ll be 2.95$.”

Will Wanda come?” He didn’t attempt to grab the cup, instead he stayed rooted and looked at you.

“Don’t know. Maybe”

After that party your former roommate dragged you to, you avoided them at all costs and managed not to attend any other. Wanda sometimes came along with Pietro to get him back home after drinking too much. You considered coming along for moral support a few times but didn’t want to give Bucky the satisfaction of getting you to come. And Wanda always claimed she‘d be fine.

He leaned to take the cup of coffee and a milk pack from beside where you were standing.

“Alright well, you know where to go,” he slid over a 5$ bill. “Keep the change!” He lifted the cup a bit. “And thanks!” Giving you his signature smirk.

“Barnes that’s too much for a single coffee!” you protested and were about to collect his change but he was already halfway out of the shop.

“Keep it!” he threw over his shoulder and you looked after him a little irritated.

His persistence annoyed you to no end so why did your lips curl up in a smile, despite yourself?

****

You didn’t come.

It was nearly midnight and you found yourself nestled in your bed, the soft glow of your laptop illuminating the room as you rewatched a movie for the umpteenth time.

There probably would be a few things you’d like to do instead, but going to one of Bucky's notorious frat parties, will just never be one of them.

You couldn’t even really tell why you held such a grudge against the guy. He never really was explicitly rude or anything, yet there was something about his demeanor that rubbed you the wrong way.

Bucky Barnes had been a constant presence on campus since day one. Whether it was in the hallways or outside the building, Bucky was always surrounded by a rotating cast of admirers, girls vying for his attention. It became a familiar sight to see him engrossed in conversation with yet another girl, his charm seemingly boundless.

Amidst the flurry of attention and admiration that surrounded Bucky, there were moments when his gaze seemed to linger in your direction as if seeking to ensnare your attention as he did with others. You’d catch him looking at you in the hallways. You’d see him standing outside your lecture hall, although he didn’t even attend this class. However, you never attempted to acknowledge him and were set on keeping your distance.

In your second semester, you found yourself sharing a course with him. That was where he first initiated interactions with you. At first, it was a subtle passing glance, a nod, and a smile of acknowledgment, but soon his efforts to engage with you became more pronounced. It started with a request for notes when he wasn’t there the other day. And then there were times when you ran late and he saved you a seat beside him, sending you a wave and a charming grin.

But then you would watch him effortlessly flirt with other girls, letting them sit on his lap and whispering in their ear, you having the front row seat. You couldn’t pinpoint why his flirting with other girls left a bitter taste in your mouth, but it deepened your reservation, solidifying your decision to maintain a sense of distance.

Despite not sharing any classes with Bucky in your second year, he seemed determined not to let your lack of proximity deter his efforts to engage with you. His persistent attempts to catch your attention continued unabated - although you never gave him much to work with - seeming to find a way to cross paths with you all the time.

The first time he asked you to come to one of his frat parties, you were sitting in a small booth at a café near campus, nursing a latte and discussing your professors together with Wanda and Pietro.

You laugh. “Right? She once even gave-”

“Pietro! Hey, man,” comes his voice across the café and Bucky Barnes approaches you three.

You drop your smile and divert your attention to your latte as Bucky greets Pietro and Wanda.

“Y/n! Nice to see you.” His voice dripping with charm.

Upon hearing your name you lift your head and offer a strained smile, hoping to convey at least a semblance of politeness.

“Hi,” you answer lamely, not an ounce of enthusiasm found in your voice.

Bucky’s smirk deepens in response, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Your smile turns into a grimace.

“You coming tonight man?” he asks Pietro.

“Course Buck! I‘ll be there.”

“Great!” His attention turns to you.

“You girls are welcome too, you know.”Although addressing both, Wanda and you, he keeps his gaze on you.

“Yeah, no thanks!”

“We’ll think about it!”

Wanda sends you a glare, reminding you to stay nice. Though Bucky doesn’t seem fazed by your lack of interest, the boyish smirk still present on his lips.

“Well, I’d be happy to see you.”

You don’t even have time to answer him when a brunette, standing at the counter, calls his name.

You look in her direction though his eyes remain on you a few seconds longer until he turns away and bids his goodbye. Wanda and Pietro answer him while you remain silent, taking refuge in your coffee cup.

He was attractive, you gotta give him that but you never were someone to go after looks. There were so many more important things to see in people. Sure, you don’t know how he treated or saw his flings, or hookups, or whatever but you supposed you didn’t wanna know.

****

After you worked your ass off at the café during the weekend you were more than unpleased to be sitting in your lecture hall at 8 in the morning on a Monday. At least the bus was on time you supposed.

Wanda slid in beside you and put down a cup of coffee in front of you before unpacking her backpack.

“Oh god Wan, you’re an Angel!” You took a big sip and sighed dramatically.

Wanda snickered softly, organizing her notes.

“You know, Pietro told me someone was a bit disappointed,” she began and you looked at her confused.

“The party,” she continued but you just stared at her oblivious.

She sighed. “He hoped you’d come this time.” She studied you with a careful expression but you saw the corners of her lips turning up lightly.

You blinked. “Why would he think that?”

Wanda shrugged. “Well he’s pretty persistent,” She studied you some more and you began to feel uneasy, “You could give him a chance.”

“Huh?” you mumbled, caught off guard.

Turning toward you fully, Wanda leaned in slightly. “I don’t really know him that well, but he’s different with you. Pietro’s mentioned it. He’s never made this much effort with anyone else.“

Perplexed, you pondered her words.

“And honestly,” Wanda continued, “He’s a nice guy. I mean I get he’s got girls around all the time-”

You grimaced.

“-but he’s not the guy to lead anyone on or make someone feel worthless, I’m sure of it.”

That got you silent and you looked at her, pouting your lips in contemplation.

“He had a girlfriend once but as far as Pietro knows it didn’t end well. She moved away and they tried that long-distance relationship crap-”

You raised an eyebrow.

“-but she then started seeing someone else without telling him.”

You exhaled deeply, processing the information. “Alright well that sucks…sure…but is that a reason to use girls like that?”

“How are you so sure that’s what this is?” Wanda countered

Before you could respond, your professor arrived, saving you from further discussion. You were kinda glad he was on time cause you really had no idea how to answer that. You couldn’t know what he does with those girls. What he told them. How he treated them. How he made them feel.

Actually

You didn’t know anything about him at all.

****

Nearly two weeks had passed and you haven’t seen Bucky since he came by the café you worked at. Despite your efforts to push him out of your mind, you found yourself occasionally thinking about him or scanning the hallways for a glimpse of him.

Wanda got sick the day prior so you were sitting alone in class. After making idle conversation with some fellow students, you decided to stay back and finish up your notes.

You heard footsteps approaching but didn’t look up until someone settled beside you.

“That looks kinda complicated.”

Irritation bubbled up, but you were surprised to find you didn’t immediately feel the urge to roll your eyes all the way up to your brain at the sound of his voice. Reluctantly, you turned to face him, a sigh leaving your lips

“What are you doing here? This isn’t even your class!”

“Came looking for ya,” he replied, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

You returned your attention back to your notes. “What for?”

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell?” He grinned and bumped your upper arm lightly.

That was the first time he initiated any form of physical contact and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Another party, I assume,” you remarked plainly.

“Smart girl! Missed you the last time.”

“Then have fun missing me this time as well,” you retorted, not bothering to look at him.

You felt his eyes on your profile but didn’t turn to him.

“Well just wanted to let you know you’re still on the list,” he said, his voice laced with that characteristic smirk.

That dude really wouldn’t give up, would he?

Quickly finishing your notes and packing away your things, you draped your bag over your shoulder, ready to leave the hall. As you turned to go, you glanced back at him.

“I’ll think about it,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm, though deep down you couldn’t deny that small part of you, that was considering his invitation this time.

****

The party started by now.

Standing in your bedroom you wavered on the threshold of the decision to go to his party or not.

You found yourself grappling with uncertainty, questioning the motivations behind your sudden inclination to attend the party. Was it a twinge of guilt for his past misfortunes that nudged you towards empathy? Or perhaps a genuine curiosity sparked by the desire to unravel the enigma of his persistent invitations?

You pondered, your thoughts swirling. Perhaps this was all a game to him? Or maybe there was something deeper, something he needed to prove to himself or to others.

Yet, the idea of subjecting yourself to potential humiliation at a frat party churned your stomach. You had no desire to be caught in the whirlwind of debauchery and recklessness.

But Wanda didn’t really make him seem like the kinda guy to pull shit like that.

Though how could she be sure?

The sudden ringing of your phone shattered the swirling thoughts that had consumed you, pulling you back to the present moment. With a grateful sigh, you glanced down at the screen, Wanda’s name lighting it up.

“Hey Wan,” you greeted her while laying back on your bed.

“Hey Y/n. I assume you’re not at the party.”

“Nope, you know me.”

“Okay well, could I ask for a favor?” Wanda’s voice held a hint of hesitation.

You sat up. “Yeah, sure Wan, what’s up?”

“Pietro will need someone to pick him up later but I’m still feeling pretty shitty at the moment and…I don’t know I was thinking maybe-“

“You’re asking me to pick him up?” you finished her sentence, sighing deeply.

“Kinda, yeah,” Wanda confirmed sheepishly.

You chuckled. “Sure, I can do that Wan, no problem.”

You could hear the relief in Wanda’s breath. “Thank you babes, I owe you! You can take his car, I’ll leave the keys under the pot outside.”

“You don’t owe me anything Wan, I’m glad I can help! You stay in bed and rest, alright? I’ll take care of your brother,” you assured her.

After exchanging a few more words, you hung up and prepared to leave. Opting for a casual outfit you threw on some wash jeans and a shirt.

Considering you spent a good amount of time on spiraling whether to go or not it got rather late already and it still would take you some time to get to Pietros car and to the party.

You grabbed the keys from under the pot, got in the car and started driving. It had been a while since you made use of your license considering you couldn’t afford your own vehicle, but you managed.

As you parked the car and stepped out onto the pavement, the distant throb of bass pulsed through the air, a tangible force that seemed to reverberate through your entire being. With each step towards the fraternity house, the music grew louder, assaulting your senses with its relentless intensity.

You walked up to the guy standing at the door with a ripped sheet of paper in his hand. You assumed that was what Bucky referred to as list.

“Hey, uh, I’m here to pick up Pietro Maximoff,” you stated, hoping to avoid being drawn into the revelry inside.

The guy’s smirk was infuriating as he chuckled dismissively. “Oh I’m sure he’s a little busy right now.”

Suppressing a sigh, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his remark.

“What’s your name sweetie, you could always go in and join the party.”

“Yeah no I’m fine, I’ll just-”

“Wait, are you the infamous Y/n?”

You blinked. You were not entirely used to people knowing your name. You’d like to believe you were nobody. Whether on campus nor in general. So why did this random guy know your name and call you infamous?

You didn’t have to answer, instead the guy nodded towards the door, granting you entry with a casual wave.

“Come on in, Buck will be thrilled to see you,” he remarked, stepping aside to let you pass.

Feeling utterly disoriented and out of place, you stepped inside, your senses assaulted by the overwhelming cacophony of noise and the oppressive heat of the crowded room. The stench of sweat and alcohol hung heavy in the air, causing you to wrinkle your nose in disgust. With each step, the floor seemed to cling to your shoes, a sticky reminder why you avoided this for so long.

You tried to adjust to the flickering lights and internally scolded the person who decided those colors were a good match when you heard your name be called.

“Y/n?”

You weren’t surprised to hear his voice since it was partly his party but you were surprised he recognized you this fast since you just stepped inside. Was he watching the door?

His smile greeted you as he stood before you, and you were blinded for a second there.

“You’re here!”

“Uh, well I’m kinda just here to pick up Pietro. Wanda asked me to.”

Bucky’s smile faltered slightly at your words. Clearing his throat, he offered a tentative response. “Oh. Well, haven’t seen him,” he exclaimed, his gaze momentarily flickering away before returning to meet yours.

As Pietro’s slurred voice called out your name, you turned to see your friend stumbling towards you, a wide grin plastered across his face. He draped an arm around your shoulders, and you instinctively supported him, wrapping your own arm around his waist to steady him.

“What’re you doin’ here, princessa?” Pietro slurred, his words punctuated by a drunken laugh.

You laughed. “Came here to pick you up, Piet. Wanda’s still not feeling well.”

But Pietro, clearly undeterred by your explanation, attempted to pull you along with him, his movements unsteady as he swayed on the spot within your hold.

“Let’s get you a drink, princessa,” he insisted, his grip tightening around you.

Refusing to indulge his request, you gently guided him towards the door, ignoring his protests. As you turned to leave, you caught sight of Bucky, his jaw clenched and his eyes darting away from your close proximity.

“I guess thanks for the invite Barnes but this really isn’t my scene.” You gave him a tight lipped smile and turned to Pietro again.

Meanwhile, Bucky remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the door you just disappeared behind.

****

Since that day at the party three weeks ago, Bucky had been somewhat of a ghost, disappearing from the usual campus scene. Despite not seeing him, thoughts of him seemed to linger in the back of your mind and you caught yourself looking out for him in the hallways.

You made your way to the restrooms between your two classes of the day cause you just had to drown yourself in coffee on your 4-hour shift in the café this morning.

After locking yourself in one of the cabins that still held toilet paper you heard the door to the restroom creak open and made out the hushed voices of two girls filtering in. One of them clearly crying.

“What’s wrong with me? He literally jumped in bed with every other girl on campus! Why not me?” the girl sobbed hysterically while her friend got her some paper towels from the dispenser.

You rolled your eyes at her antics and decided to just wait out until they left.

“I don’t know El, but Jake did say something about him wanting to change.” You could picture her gesturing quotation marks with her fingers at the ‘wanting to change’ part. And though you weren’t quite the type to gossip you held your breath and listened intently.

The other girl blew her nose while her friend continued.

“He hasn’t been to a party for the last, I don’t know, maybe three weeks or something. Just stayed locked in his room. That’s what Jake told me. Don’t know what to make out of it though,” the girl chuckled, “I mean it’s Bucky we’re talking about.”

As Bucky’s name entered the conversation, your ears perked up, and you felt compelled to listen. Thoughts swirl in your mind, multiplying like rabbits in a field. Was that night you picked up Pietro the last party he attended? Why the sudden disappearance into seclusion? Why would he lock himself in his room? Why did he dump that girl? You didn’t know who that Jake dude was but you weren’t sure if he was right.

You snapped out of your thoughts to catch the still crying girl whine again. “But I tried really hard Meg! I pinned notes on his locker, I smiled at him all the time, I sent him my notes from history per mail, the one time he didn’t come and I slipped my phone number into his backpack when he wasn’t looking-”

Suddenly you were grateful for standing right beside a toilet cause you felt the urge to vomit.

“-and he just straight up told me he’s not interested?!”

You heard the other girl, Meg, probably short for Meghan or something but why would you care, sigh. “I’m sorry El, but maybe he’s really just trying to become better than that.”

The crying thankfully stopped and was replaced by a scoff and an exasperated intake of breath. Personally, you’d describe it as overly dramatic but who were you to judge.

As the girls finally departed, leaving behind the remnants of their dramatic exchange, you released a sigh of relief.

After finishing what you came in here for in the first place you left the restroom as well and walked through the hallway on your way to your next class.

And as god, or the devil, or Mother Nature, or something the fuck else wouldn’t have it any other way there he was. Bucky was standing at his locker, taking a look at a pink piece of paper in his hand for only a second before crumpling it in his fist. You could only guess what it was.

He turned to the trash can to throw it in there and when he looked back up he met your gaze. His eyes lit up at seeing you, but nevertheless, you noticed the tired look he wore and couldn’t help but feel kinda bad for him.

Normally when passing Bucky in the hallway you wouldn’t spare him an attention spawn over two seconds but here you were giving him a somewhat genuine smile, a rare display of empathy, which he reciprocated immediately.

Even as you turned the corner and continued on your way, you couldn’t shake the sensation of his eyes lingering on you. You couldn’t suppress the warmth spreading in your stomach.

Bucky stopped asking you to come to his parties. As far as you knew he didn’t even attend them himself anymore. You shared with Wanda what you overheard in the restroom, and after confirming with Pietro, it became clear that Bucky was indeed making some significant changes in his lifestyle.

Bucky Barnes was truly an enigma.

Armed with insider information from Wanda, you learned that Bucky refrained from being seen with any girl for weeks and stopped planning and attending the frat parties. He seemingly even talked about leaving the fraternity altogether.

You don’t know what to do with those information but you did notice a shift yourself. You saw Bucky again two times since you passed him in the hallway a few days ago.

You were walking through the library together with Pietro and Wanda when you saw him sitting there in the far corner with his textbook open and a pencil poised. You stood and drank in the sight of him for a moment. His brows were furrowed deep in concentration and he lightly tapped his pen on his notebook rhythmically. He let his hair grow out a little, wisps falling onto his forehead. He sure as hell was a sight for sore eyes.

As if he picked up on your staring he lifted his head and looked over in your direction. The intensity of Bucky’s gaze sent a jolt through you, causing your heart to race as you hastily averted your eyes, feigning interest in the books on the nearby shelf. Despite your attempt to appear nonchalant, you could feel the warmth of his gaze lingering on you.

Stealing another glance in his direction, finding him still watching you, his soft smile a stark contrast to the cocky grin you were accustomed to. The corners of your mouth lifted ever so slightly without having your consent.

The sudden interruption of Pietro’s arm around your shoulders broke the spell between Bucky and you, snapping him out of his reverie. With a subtle shift in his posture, he straightened his back and lowered his head back to his textbook.

The other time, yesterday, you decided to join Wanda and grab something to eat at the canteen. As you stood in line with Wanda you were the one to feel eyes on you, prompting you to turn and find Bucky’s piercing blue gaze fixed on you.

Your lips curled in a smile and Bucky’s sweet grin in response sent a flutter through your chest.

To your own disappointment, you ended up sitting with your back to him throughout eating, though you pushed it aside.

****

It was a long day.

You had a shift at the café this morning and then went straight to Uni where you dragged yourself through your classes of the day. It was already starting to get dark when you walked around campus to get to your bus station.

This was your routine on Wednesdays but something felt weird. There was a shiver creeping up your spine and you tightened your coat around yourself, hugging your waist, as a response to that feeling of unease.

“Hey! Girl!”

Your heart dropped at the shout and although it came from behind you, you just knew it was meant for you. Unconsciously you picked up your pace, hugging yourself tighter and scolding yourself for not getting pepper spray.

“Hey, you! I’m talking to you!”

You heard quick footsteps approaching you from behind and let out a gasp as rough fingers grabbed onto your wrist, turning you to the man with that gruff voice.

He was tall. His beard, grizzly and grossly outgrown, held a few drops of whatever might be in the bottle he held in his other hand. His clothes were lumpy and held stains, dark eyes pierced through you.

“I’m sure you’re so kind to give a man some money for cigarettes, little girl, huh?”

You stared at the man in front of you, frozen out of fear. Your heart plummeted in your chest and you felt the hand around your wrist tightening. You swallowed thickly but your throat still felt like sandpaper. You wanted to talk but nothing left your mouth.

“Well if I don’t get money you could always pay me differently,” He licked his lips and his eyes roamed over your body. He got hold of your other wrist and you suppressed a whimper.

You wanted to yell at him to let you go. You wanted to kick him where the sun wouldn’t shine. You wanted to scream for anybody to help you. But you couldn’t. You were frozen in place, your voice lost in your throat.

“Hey!”

Another voice.

“Let her go!”

You knew this voice. It was oddly familiar, but you couldn’t comprehend how you knew it.

There was a figure approaching in long, fast strikes and you wanted to go take a look but the man still standing in front of you grabbed you even tighter, which led to another gasp exiting your lips.

You heard your name called and looked in the direction of the newcomer.

Bucky.

It was Bucky.

Relief flooded your body and you finally were able to take a controlled intake of breath again.

“Do you know this guy?” Bucky's concerned gaze bored into you and you shook your head weakly.

That’s all he needed to turn to the guy still having a hold on your wrists. “You let her go right now!” The dangerously low and calm tone of his voice and the way he was talking to you way softer just seconds before let you shiver and caused your head to spin.

The other guy scoffed and let your wrists fall to take a step back, holding his arms up in a surrendering kind of way. Bucky immediately stepped in front of you. “Relax man, did nothing to that girl!”

“You better want to stay the hell away from her or anyone else. I don’t want to see you here again!” Bucky’s voice was laced with a dark, threatening tone, his stance unwavering as he shielded you from the menacing stranger. Despite the age difference, Bucky’s intimidation factor was undeniable.

Said man scoffed and stumbled away a little. Bucky kept watching him till he was out of sight and turned to you in an instant. Not sure if you were okay to be touched, his hands hovered over your arms as he leaned down to catch your eye, his concern evident in every gesture.

“Hey, Y/n, are you okay?”

Your gaze remained fixated on his collarbone, unable to meet his eyes. Absentmindedly, you rubbed the wrist of your right wrist, where the man had gripped you, feeling the tenderness and likely bruises forming there.

“Doll please look at me!” he pleaded, though you remained stoic, your emotions tightly locked away. His worry was palpable, evident in the furrow of his brows and the hesitant hover of his hands, unsure of how to comfort you.

“Eyes up here sweetheart, please!” His voice was softer than you’ve ever heard. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you lifted your head, allowing your gaze to trail up his face until your eyes met his. There was a hint of panic in his expression, his eyes searching yours with such urgency, that it was almost overwhelming. You felt a lump form in your throat at the raw emotion reflected in his blue orbs.

“That’s it doll! Just like that!” He let out a breath of relief but never took his eyes off of you. He signaled to your wrists without breaking eye contact. “Can I take a look?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat tight with emotion, but you gave a slight nod, granting Bucky permission to inspect your wrists. Gently he took your right hand in his left, lifting your sleeve with the other to reveal the red and purple marks beneath. His touch was featherlight as he trailed his fingertips over your sensitive skin, but when you recoiled slightly, he pulled back immediately, murmuring an apology.

With your eyes trained on your wrist, you felt Bucky's finger under your chin to tilt your head up gently, coaxing you to look at him once more. “I’ve got you doll, okay? He’s gone. It’s alright!” he reassured you, a hint of fury underlying his voice as he recalled the man who caused you harm and left you in this state.

Taking a hesitant hold of your hand once again, Bucky brushed his thumb soothingly over the back, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you intently.

Despite your curt nod, you found yourself avoiding his gaze once more.

“I know it’s hard sweetheart but I really need you to say something. Need to make sure you’re okay. Can you do that for me?” Bucky’s voice was filled with gentleness, patience, and genuine concern, causing a lump to form in your throat.

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the strength to look at him again, your eyes glazed from the overwhelming emotions consuming you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but Bucky heard you.

He squeezed your hand lightly and rubbed his other hand along your upper arm. “No need to thank me, sweetheart! I’m glad I was there!”

“Me too,” you found yourself saying, unable to hold back the gratitude flooding your heart. It was a miracle that Bucky showed up at the right moment, and you will forever be grateful for his intervention. The thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been there sent a shiver down your spine.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he watched you with such fondness and adoration, your knees grew weak. You even managed to muster a small smile in return.

You took a deep, shuddering breath in, feeling the awkwardness settling in as you realized you had never been that close to Bucky before. Although you felt surprisingly grounded in his presence, you couldn’t shake the discomfort of the situation.

Releasing his hand, you rubbed your forehead, avoiding his gaze as you tried to find the right words. “Uhm...thank you, Bucky, really, but I think I’m just gonna…,” you trailed off, gesturing towards the bus stop in the near distance.

“Woah hold on now doll! I’m not gonna let you go home alone!” Bucky protested, shaking his head.

“It’s fine Barnes really! I’m just gonna call Wanda or Pietro. Surely one of them can come pick me up,” you didn’t really consider calling them but you’d feel bad for inconveniencing Bucky when he would be at his flat in a few minutes himself.

But Bucky was determined.

“No need to call them. I’ll drive you! Sam has a car and we’re just, like, two minutes away,” he pleaded, gaze so intense, almost forcing you to look away.

You sighed, feeling torn. “That’s really nice but I don’t wanna bother you furthermo-”

“Y/n you’re not bothering me! Never! Now please let me do this. Let me take you home,” he interrupted gently but firmly, his grip on your elbow a reassuring presence. You tried to conceal your lingering stress, but nothing could hide it from him.

“I-I can’t ask you to do that,” you murmured, your eyes shifting.

“I’m the one asking sweetheart. Please let me drive you home.” His eyes were hard to discern in the dim light, but the sincerity and concern in his voice were unmistakable.

With a sigh and a final look at the bus stop, you nodded slowly. “Okay,” you whispered.

A smile spread on Bucky's face and he gently turned the hand on your elbow to the small of your back to lead you to the flat house.

As you approached the building, you recognized it from the brief time you spent at the party. However, without the thumping bass, overpowering smell of alcohol, and chaotic atmosphere, the place appeared surprisingly cozy in the dim light

Never once leaving contact with your back he guided you to a room at the end of the hallway. He knocked on the door softly.

“Took your sweet time man-” a guy - Sam, you assumed him to be - standing in the doorframe, stopped talking upon noticing you. A slow smile curled upon his lips. “Can see why.”

“It’s not how it looks like,” Bucky hissed quickly, talking through his teeth. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Sure, man,” confirmed Sam, reaching for a key from a hook beside the door. “Don’t be too late for class tomorrow,” he added with a wink.

A lump formed in your throat as you grappled with your thoughts. It was natural to assume Bucky would have certain expectations given his reputation. After all, he was known for his past behavior of sleeping around. The transformation he seemingly went through couldn’t happen overnight, after all.

You found it hard to believe that Bucky would take advantage of your vulnerability, especially considering how he came to your rescue during the unsettling encounter just moments before. Yet, despite this reassurance, your mind continued to wrestle with uncertainty, plagued by lingering doubts and fears.

Bucky could feel you tense beside him and shot daggers at Sam even when said guy already disappeared behind the door.

As he walked you to Sam’s car, Bucky held the door open for you, guiding you inside with gentle reassurance. Determined not to leave you alone for too long, he rushed around the front of the car to take the driver’s seat.

During the drive, silence filled the car as you tried to calm your breathing, focusing on the passing scenery outside the window. Your efforts to quell your anxiety were hardly manageable, due to the bouncing of your leg and your trembling hands, fiddling with the fabric of your jacket.

Bucky discreetly stole glances at you as he drove, noticing your nervousness.

15 minutes of driving later, Bucky came to a halt in front of your apartment complex. You unbuckled yourself and before you realized what was going on Bucky opened the door at your side. You didn’t even notice him getting out of the car.

Feeling weak in your knees you got out of the car. Bucky walked you to your door, hands held by his side in case you needed him and his presence offered you a sense of comfort. As you came to a halt in front of your door, you turned your body to him, trying to muster up a smile. You attempted to convey your gratitude although that unease still lingered in your bones.

“Thank you, Barnes! For everything!”

“No need to thank me, Y/n. I’m glad I could help. Will you be okay though?” His concern was genuine, struggling to leave your side.

He looked so hesitant to leave you, it would have been adorable in other circumstances. You felt guilty for entertaining the thought he would take advantage of your situation. You even believed he would be relieved if you asked him to stay with you. You had to admit, the comfort his presence gave you was easing your anxiety, though you couldn’t ask him to stay.

You conjured up a smile. “I’ll be fine,” you assured him, unlocking your door. Bucky stayed rooted on the spot, returning an unsure smile, looking torn. “I’m gonna be okay, really! Get home safe, Barnes.”

Bucky cleared his throat, evading his eyes for a moment and taking a reluctant step backward, but he remained turned to you. After exchanging a quick goodbye you disappeared behind your door.

Bucky watched you climb the stairs through the small window in the door, his gaze unwavering even as the hallway inside turned dark again. He remained rooted outside, his thoughts consumed by concern for your well-being.

Bucky couldn’t shake the desire to talk to you again, especially since that night at the party. He tried so hard to muster up the courage, never having a problem in that department before, but he was a nervous wreck. Now, in an unexpected turn of events he did get to talk to you again, however, he despised how it had unfolded. Seeing you struggle to hold back tears, desperately trying not to break down in front of him, pained him deeply. It hurt to witness your shock, pleading with you to snap out of your state.

The thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t returned, if he hadn’t forgotten his notebook, made him feel sick to his stomach. The mere idea of leaving you to face that situation alone was unbearable to him. Now leaving you alone so shaken felt inherently wrong in any sense, but he acknowledged he didn’t know you well enough to override your request that you would be fine. His instincts urged him to stay but he had to respect your words and your space.

Bucky seethed at the thought of Sam insinuating that he would use you in such a way. Sure, Sam didn’t know what happened to you and it wasn’t his fault Bucky had a reputation like that, but somehow it made him angry. You meant more to him than that. The mere suggestion of exploiting you for his own gain left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he silently vowed to prove Sam wrong by showing you the genuine depth of his feelings and intentions.

Girls constantly approached Bucky, attempting to touch him in the hallways or slipping their phone numbers into his locker, backpack, or books. Just the other day, a particularly bold girl even tried to write her number on his hand. Although she didn’t succeed, Bucky found himself standing in front of the sink for a while, scrubbing at his hand to erase any trace of her advances.

Bucky knew that he was viewed as nothing more than a means for physical pleasure. And he was okay with that, for an embarrassingly long time. The idea of being in a committed relationship and facing the responsibilities that came with it used to repulse him. His desires were simple - a brief encounter with no strings attached, followed by a swift departure, leaving no room for emotional entanglements. At a certain time, one smirk of a pretty girl was enough to jump into bed with her.

You were pretty too. Beautiful even. He acknowledged that day one. But never did he consider reducing you to a mere physical encounter. He noticed you in the hallways and felt intrigued, contemplating flirting with you just like he did with all the other girls. However, there was something different about you. He felt nervous around you, realizing that he cared about your opinion of him more than he cared to admit. He was strangely exhilarated at finding out you would share a class in second semester, trying to find a way to build some kind of connection with you.

That night, as you expressed your disinterest in frat parties, he felt the pull you had on him, without even knowing you well. The alcohol at the party suddenly tasted sour, the air felt stifling, the crowd too dense, the music too deafening, and the girls vying for his attention became an unwelcome intrusion. Their advances left him feeling an overwhelming sense of distress.

He found himself longing to leave his old reputation behind. He wanted something meaningful, something real, and the only person he could imagine it being with was you.

But right now?

Bucky’s heart sank as he got back to Sam’s car, feeling the strong urge to stay with you and ensure your safety. Sitting in front of the steering wheel and staring at your building, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be by your side.

You got stuck in your head after examining your bruised wrists and trying to cool down the swelling with an ice pack. Before your panic attack rendered you useless to do anything you managed to call Wanda and she talked you through it. You stayed on the phone with her until you fell asleep.

****

As you woke up, a familiar sense of unease settled over you, accompanied by trembling hands and a racing heart. The thought of facing another day filled with potential triggers made you hesitate. You did want to attend class, unfortunately though the looming threat of another panic attack weighed heavily on your mind. With a sigh, you made the decision to prioritize your well-being and called in sick, sending a text to Wanda to let her know.

As said girl joined you later, bearing notes and takeout, you found solace in her company on your small couch, eating and talking.

“So uhm,” Wanda began, seemingly nonchalant, but you knew her better than that, ears perking up. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you but after Science class, I met Bucky waiting outside the hall. He was looking for you.”

Your chewing slowed as you processed her words, eyebrows knitting together, looking at her.

“He came up to me, to ask where you were and if you were okay.”

You swallowed, a wave of panic surged within you. “You didn’t tell him-”

“No! No, of course not,” she interjected you hastily, words tumbling over each other in her haste to reassure you. “I just told him you weren’t feeling well and called in sick but I don’t think he really bought that.” Her smile was sympathetic.

Your appetite forgotten you let your fork clatter into the plastic container, your forehead finding its way to the backside of the couch with a groan of frustration.

Wanda’s light chuckle broke through your troubled thoughts. “He also asked me for your number,” she revealed, her tone surprisingly casual given the weight of her words.

“What?” Your head snapped up, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Didn’t give it to him, don’t worry, though I kinda felt bad for the guy. He looked miserable.” Her voice tinged with sympathy.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. Gratitude mingled with apprehension as you recalled Bucky’s unexpected kindness during yesterday’s ordeal. You remembered how his proximity seemed to ground you, warmth spreading through your body at the comfort he provided. You could still feel the lingering sensation of his hand on your back, even a day later. And yet, the intensity of those feelings scared you, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls you had built around your heart.

“Hey,” Wanda called out softly, her words carrying a gentle insistence. “He genuinely seemed worried. And I’m not trying to get you to befriend him or whatever but…he really is a nice guy, Y/n.”

Your gaze was fixed on Wanda, contemplation furrowing your brow.

“Listen, I don’t know what your problem is with Bucky, but-” she gave you a careful glance, “-if I’m being honest, I don’t think you know it either sweetie.”

Wanda’s words resonated with a truth you had been reluctant to acknowledge. Bucky’s genuine concern had managed to pierce through the barriers you had erected, leaving you grappling with conflicting emotions. Why did you hold onto this grudge so tightly? Was it merely a shield against vulnerability?

As you reflected on Bucky’s actions, a sense of clarity washed over you. There was truly no valid reason to hold onto the grudge you had harbored against him. He truly had consistently shown kindness and concern towards you.

Recalling the instances where he had gone out of his way to make you comfortable, a wave of gratitude washed over you. From saving you a seat in class to rescuing you from a precarious situation with a homeless man to checking in on your well-being through Wanda, Bucky had proven himself to be a decent and caring person.

With a newfound perspective, you realized that perhaps it was time to give him a chance.

****

The bus was late, as usual. Today, though, you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Your mind was still swirling with thoughts, and fatigue weighed heavily on you.

Wanda saved you a seat in class, checking in on you again and although you felt way better than yesterday, you couldn’t concentrate. The voice of your professor was merely a blurred murmur in the back of your mind.

With some time to kill before your next class, you and Wanda decided to grab a coffee. However, you barely made it out of your lecture hall before hearing your name called.

Heaving a sigh, you turned around and came face to face with an approaching Bucky.

He came to a halt, looking a little sheepish now that he was standing in front of you. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, and his hair a little disheveled, he cleared his throat, seemingly unsure of where to begin.

“I’ll head out already, Y/n. Take your time.” Wanda spoke up, giving you a quick hug before passing by Bucky and throwing you a wink over her shoulder.

Bucky cleared his throat again, shuffling on his feet a little before meeting your eyes. “So, uhm, are you okay?”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, touched by his concern. “I’m fine,” you assured him, fidgeting with your fingers. “Thank you, again!” You added quietly.

He waved away your gratitude with a casual gesture. “No need to thank me doll. I’m glad I could help.”

He smiled softly, biting his lip, though there was a hint of something more in his expression. Sensing he still had something on his mind, trying to figure out how to say it, you remained silent.

“Listen, uh...,” he began, clenching his jaw and avoiding eye contact. “I wanted to apologize for…well for being pushy about the parties and all. Shouldn’t have bothered you like that.”

You blinked, taken aback by his unexpected apology. “Oh, uhm…it’s okay Barnes, really.”

He shook his head, letting out a breath. “Nah, it’s not. This isn’t your scene, should have respected that.” He opened his mouth again but closed it right after, swallowing.

“Don’t worry about it Barnes, it’s alright, seriously.” A tinge of disappointment lingered within you. The realization hit you, that without his invitations to parties, he might not seek you out as often. He only ever did, when asking you to come to his parties. So it would mean he might not annoyingly interrupt you in class, or approach you on campus anymore. You scolded yourself for feeling that way but you somehow didn’t want to lose that.

Needing to take hold of your thoughts, you wanted to get away from here. Your lips curled in a smile. “Alright, uhm, Wanda’s probably waiting for me so-” You were about to turn away but Bucky called your name again.

“Hey, uh-” he seemed nervous, his voice wavering slightly and he cleared his throat, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “You could always come to me - I mean, the frat - when you’re here late. I can always drive you again. Make sure you get home safe.”

He felt bad for bringing up the topic again, but he wanted you to know that he genuinely cared and would feel better if you reached out to him. He would gladly drive you home again, hoping you’d consider taking him up on his offer.

Surprised once more, you blinked at him, processing his offer. You mustered up a smile. “That’s nice, really Barnes, but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, well, just know that I’ll be there if you change your mind,” Bucky replied, his tone sincere, expression soft.

You smiled again, nodded, and bid him goodbye.

Reflecting on the interaction, you couldn’t help but agree with Wanda. Bucky Barnes was a decent guy, held back by his reputation.

****

Sunlight streamed through the windows of the library, casting warm beams that danced upon the wooden tables and bookshelves. It was a stark contrast to the earlier rain, which had cloaked the world outside in a shroud of grey.

The faint whispers of fellow students, the gentle rustle of pages, and the occasional creak of wooden chairs created a soothing ambiance while you browsed through your textbook.

A groan from beside you, however, interrupted that. You lifted your head, diverting your attention to your friend sitting beside you.

“Why is all the information so scattered? Can’t find shit for this stupid paper.” Wanda exclaimed, her brow furrowed in frustration as she stared at her laptop screen.

As you chuckled and leaned in to help Wanda navigate through the vast sea of information on the internet, a sudden gust of wind sent a shiver down your spine, causing you to instinctively turn your head towards the entrance of the library. In walked Bucky, accompanied by the familiar figure of Sam. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting to be caught staring.

In the two weeks since your conversation, there had been a palpable change in the air whenever Bucky and you crossed paths. And that was a lot. You haven’t necessarily exchanged words but you grew more enthusiastic when seeing him, sending a smile his way, which he reciprocated immediately.

You were sitting in a café last week, nursing a latte, while having light conversation with Wanda and Pietro, as you recognized Bucky standing at the counter. Without thinking you lifted your hand and waved at him when he looked in your direction. His face lit up, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he smiled and eagerly waved back. He seemed to contemplate walking over to you, your hopes rising for a second, but his name called by the barista snapped his head away from you. After getting his coffee he sent another smile your way but left the café. Wanda and Pietro wasted no time in teasing you mercilessly after he was out of sight. The blush on your cheeks evidence of your embarrassment.

“God, this is getting ridiculous,” Wanda scoffed, amusement lacing her features. You turned to her, a hint of confusion littering your features, oblivious to what she was referring to. She nodded subtly to the side, her attention still fixed on her laptop screen. Following her nod, you spotted Bucky and Sam standing in the near distance, both seemingly focused in your direction.

Sam's face lit up with a mischievous grin and he started walking toward you girls, clapping Bucky on the back. Bucky looked visibly distressed, running a hand through his hair, before following behind.

Sam took a seat in front of Wanda and you, his toothy smile lighting up his face. “Ladies,” he acknowledged playfully.

Wanda laughed, continuing to type on her laptop. “What do you want Wilson?” she asked teasingly.

Sam leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “Just wanted to say hi,” he replied casually, shrugging his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Bucky took a seat next to Sam, looking a little awkward. He shuffled a little, leaning his elbows onto the table.

“Well hi, then,” Wanda said, finally looking up.

As Sam and Wanda dove into a discussion about their research papers, exchanging ideas and sharing insights, Bucky and you found yourselves stealing glances at each other.

There was a warmth in Bucky’s eyes, a softness you still were trying to get accustomed to. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, you didn’t even try to suppress.

Bucky cleared his throat, looking solely at you. “What’s your paper about?” he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with curiosity.

You smiled, grateful for the new opportunity to engage him in conversation. “I’m researching the impact of technology on interpersonal relationships,” you replied, the initial awkwardness fading away.

Bucky nodded, his interest piqued. With that you delved into a light conversation, discussing your topic in more detail, diving into the various aspects you were exploring and the questions you hoped to answer. Bucky’s gaze never wavered, his attention fully captivated by your words. You noticed that whenever you tried to turn the conversation back to him, Bucky seemed more interested in talking about you.

As the conversation between Bucky and you flowed effortlessly, you found yourselves delving into deeper topics. Bucky’s genuine curiosity about you as a person was evident, and you felt a surge of warmth spreading throughout your body at his interest in getting to know you better. He asked about your hobbies, your favorite books, your dreams for the future - anything and everything he could think of to get to know you better. A spark elicited in Bucky’s eyes at some point, as if he found something in your words that resonated with him on a deeper level.

It felt like you talked to Bucky for hours though it couldn’t have been more than half an hour. The presence of Wanda and Sam had long faded into the background, as Bucky and you connected. To your disappointment, Sam and Bucky had another class and bid you girls goodbye, wishing you good luck with your papers furthermore.

Wanda held her mouth after they left but the knowing smirk in her glance spoke volumes.

****

Weeks passed in a blissful blur. Your encounters with Bucky on campus evolved into something more than just brief exchanges. Conversations became the norm, each one stretching longer than the last, until you found yourself losing track of time altogether, arriving late to class oftentimes. Whenever your schedules allowed it, Wanda and you would meet up with Bucky and Sam to grab some coffee.

The soft smiles filled with adoration that Bucky sent your way didn’t go unnoticed, even when he thought you weren’t looking. You also noticed the little gestures, the quick hugs, he never seemed to pull away from fist, the hover of his hand over your back when walking around campus with you. He pulled you closer to his side a few days ago, his hand gently gripping the sleeve of your jacket as you navigated through the crowded hallway. Your heart skipped a beat at that.

And then there were moments when he seemed on the verge of saying something before parting ways, his lips parting as if he wanted to speak his mind, but then thinking better of it and closing his mouth with a clear of his throat and a hand running through his brown locks. His former cockiness seemed to have given way to a newfound shyness. He was holding back, afraid to cross some invisible line but you didn’t know how to approach him on that.

You also didn’t know if you eventually could cross a line at this moment. Darkness enveloped the campus, casting eerie shadows that danced in the dim light of the flickering lampposts. Wanda and Pietro were out of town and you decided to stay a little longer and finish up your notes. A bad move on your part.

The once bustling grounds now lay deserted, devoid of the usual throngs of students. A sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at you with every step. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind or the distant hum of a passing car. Every shadow seemed to hold a hidden threat, every rustle of the wind a whisper of danger.

You were thinking about the offer Bucky had made you a few weeks ago to go by his flat and let him drive you home again. You considered going to him but although he had made you that offer you didn’t want to inconvenience him. And just walking to his flat and asking him to drive you home? It seemed weird. But as your anxiety intensified and your hands started to tremble, you found yourself walking towards his flat on autopilot. The memory of your previous panic attack loomed large in your mind, threatening to engulf you once again.

There was a guy standing in the doorway with a cigarette in hand. You were approaching cautiously, not sure if this was a good idea.

“Hey, you lost?”

The sound of the stranger’s voice jolted you out of your anxious reverie, pulling you back to the present, momentarily breaking the spell of fear that had gripped you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you responded. “Uhm, actually I wanted...to Bucky.” Your voice wavered slightly, betraying the uncertainty that still lingered within you.

The stranger raised an eyebrow, eyeing you curiously as he took a drag from his cigarette. “Huh,” he muttered, looking you up and down. “Guy hasn’t had a girl over in weeks.”

You cleared your throat, too caught up in your own anxious thoughts to care about the stranger’s assumptions.

“Well, is he here?”

He nodded, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “Up the stairs, last door to the left,” he replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the staircase.

With a weak “thank you” you stepped past him and walked up the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest.

You stood in front of his door, staring at it long enough to notice the cracks in the woods, marring it’s surface, splinters standing out. Your lip was held in a death grip, teeth biting down on it. With a hesitant breath, you finally mustered up the courage to give the door a soft knock, the sound echoing faintly in the empty hallway. As you withdrew your hand you hid the shakiness in the folds of your sleeves.

There was a groan on the other side of the door, as response to your knock. A lump burned in your throat and you played with the thought to just bold out of that house again when you heard the doorknob turning.

“Sam, come on man-” Bucky stopped talking abruptly upon seeing you. His eyes grew wide, eyebrows shooting up, surprise clear as day upon his face.

“Y/n? I-Wow, uh, I didn’t expect you here,” Bucky stammered, shuffling on his feet with his hand running through his disheveled hair in a futile attempt to compose himself. If your mind wouldn’t have been occupied with other things right now you would have found him adorable with his crinkled shirt loosely hugging his frame and hanging over some dark sweatpants, his unruly hair and flushed cheeks. But all you could do was swallow that burning sensation in your throat.

“Uhm,” you choked out, looking at you feet. “I-I’m sorry for bothering you, I just…I didn’t-”

“Hey, hey, doll, it’s alright,” he met you in the hallway, a hand coming up to your upper arm in a sense of urgency. He hooked his finger under your chin to lift your head. You met his eyes, your heart leaving your chest altogether. His face was twisted in worry, brows furrowed deeply, eyes so focused on you, the intensity of it washed over you like a wave. Your breaths still came in too elated, heart beating erratically. “Take some deep breaths for me sweetheart, follow my lead, come on.” He urged you softly.

With Bucky’s guidance, you focused on your breathing, drawing in slow, steady inhalations and exhaling the tension that had taken hold of your body. His thumb continued to trace soothing circles on his skin. As you followed Bucky’s lead, the erratic beat of your heart gradually slowed to a more steady rhythm.

“Atta girl, that’s it!” he whispered, rubbing his other hand up and down your arm. He nodded at you to keep breathing, eyes so intense it was the only thing you could focus on.

Standing directly in front of you and focusing on your eyes, he let your chin up to gently grab your other arm. “You wanna tell me what happened?” His low and gentle tone soothing you.

You took a deep breath, feeling ridiculous out of a sudden to stand here and burden him. “I-My bus didn’t come and-and I don’t know, I got scared I guess and…God I’m sorry Bucky I shouldn’t have come I-”

“Hold on a sec doll,” he interjected, brows pulled together further, concern dripping from his words. “You stayed on campus until now?” A confirming but weak nod of you let Bucky heave a breath. “There’s no need to apologize, sweetheart, I told you you could come, didn’t I? And god help me, I’m glad you did.”

He looked pained to some extent, but mustered up a warm smile. You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes still shifting with uncertainty and your hands were still secured in your sleeves, the nagging thought that you were burdening him still lingering at the back of your mind. Your tense posture didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky and he pulled you in his embrace, engulfing you in a warm hug. He never hugged you like that before but with the way his arms around you tightened and he leaned his head against yours, he supposedly wanted to.

As Bucky held you close, his warm breath tickling your ear and sending shivers down your spine, he whispered words of comfort and reassurance that washed over you like a gentle breeze. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, all you could do was melt into his embrace and let the soothing cadence of his voice and the tenderness in his touch ease the knots of anxiety that had gripped your chest.

Bucky withdrew slightly to look at you again, his gaze filled with affection and tenderness. “You want me to drive you home, doll?” he whispered, maintaining the close proximity you two harbored.

As you pondered his question, conflicted emotions swirled within you. Initially, you had sought Bucky out precisely for this reason - to ask for a ride home. But now, something had shifted. The idea of being dropped off alone at home felt less appealing. Wanda and Pietro were likely unavailable, and you hesitated to inconvenience anyone else. Yet, the thought of being alone right now was equally unsettling.

Sensing your hesitation, Bucky gently lifted your head again with his finger under your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. There was a soft smile you came face to face with. “Sam’s not here for tonight…Do you wanna stay? It’s just us.”

The offer was tempting, but you couldn’t shake the worry of being a bother. “That’s nice Bucky, but I-I don’t want to intrude,” you murmured, matching his quiet tone.

“You’d never intrude, sweetheart! Don’t ever worry about that, alright?” His hand found its way to the small of your back, guiding you into his room.

You settled on his bed as he led you there and couldn’t help but steal a glance around the room. It was surprisingly tidy, save for a small pile of clothes scattered on the floor. Overall, the atmosphere felt organized and put together. Your eyes drifted to his desk - again, neatly arranged - where a framed picture caught your attention. In it was a clearly younger Bucky, with chubby cheeks and a toothy grin. Standing behind him was a man who bore a striking resemblance to him, his father you guessed. A woman was beside him, dark hair in a bun atop her head and a radiant smile, presumably his mother. Cradled in the woman’s arms was a little girl, short brunette hair a little disheveled, and with a pacifier in her mouth but a joyful grin on her face.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you took in the sight of his family. While Bucky had mentioned having a sister during your conversation in the library a few weeks ago, he had never shown you pictures before.

Bucky entered your field of vision, settling down beside you with a glass of water in hand. He held it out to you and you thanked him gratefully, taking a sip.

You felt Bucky shifting beside you, wiping his hands on his sweatpants, betraying his nervousness. “Do you-” His voice was raspy and he cleared his throat, starting again, “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Can I get you something?”

You huffed out a laugh, throwing him a grateful smile. “I’m good, Bucky, thank you!”

A hesitant hand came to rest on your knee. “You let me know if there’s something, alright?”

“Will do, Buck!”

He gave you a look. “I mean it, doll!”

You chuckled, being surprised by how easily Bucky managed to ground you, getting you out of your nervous spiraling. “I know, Barnes.”

Bucky watched you, own lips curled in a soft smile. You returned his gaze, warmth spreading through you at the sparkle in his eyes. His hand remained secure on your knee, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your jeans, a gesture that made you yearn for his touch on your skin instead. The amount of adoration twinkling in his gaze made you weak. Seconds ticked by and you still were looking at each other. There was something in his blue speckles that couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere else. A magnetic pull you were drawn to, holding you captive. You noticed his blues flicker down to your lips for a brief moment, and in response, your own eyes permitted themselves to wander to his. The movement of his thumb stilled on your leg, his hand laying flat and you could feel him leaning in.

Bucky often found himself lost in thoughts about kissing you. When the urge washed over him he imagined leaning in and capturing your lips with his own. But he had always held back, hesitant to take that final step without knowing if you wanted it too.

One time, when you two were walking together through campus, the wind was relentless, whipping your hair around your face as you tried in vain to tame it. Despite your efforts though, the wind was hard to go against and after the fifth failed attempt at trying to tame your hair, you started laughing, Bucky joining in. As he watched you, your hair obscuring your view, he couldn’t help the warmth swelling in his heart, the fondness that made his smile ache in his cheeks at the sight of your laughter. He found himself wishing to pull you close, to gently brush the strands of hair away from your face, and to kiss you with all the pent-up longing he felt. In that moment, all he wanted was to express the depth of his feelings for you in a kiss that would leave you breathless.

He often daydreamed about kissing you in the library. Surrounded by the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the windows, you sat immersed in your studies, your face illuminated by the gentle light. You looked so beautiful, all he could do was admire you. If only you had lifted your head from your notebook, you would have seen the adoring smile that graced his lips. He longed to express his affection for you in the form of a tender kiss, holding you close and sharing a moment of intimacy amidst the quiet serenity of the library. But he couldn’t do that, so he took the chance and admired you from afar.

But the one time he almost really did it was the time you called him ‘Bucky’ for the first time.

You sit in your usual café, nursing a large cup of coffee, the rich aroma wafting up to greet you with each sip. Bucky is seated in front of you, idly fiddling with the sugar packages stored in a box on the table. Your notebook lies open in front of you, pages filled with scribbled notes from your recent class.

After class, Bucky had caught up with you, asking what you were up to. You had mentioned grabbing a coffee and finishing up some notes, and he had decided to tag along. However, as you now sit together in the cozy café, it seems Bucky isn’t entirely pleased with the lack of attention you’re giving him, his relentlessness evident as he fidgets with the sugar packets in front of him.

He grumpily rearranges the sugar packages for the fourth time, his irritation palpable as you remain engrossed in your writing. You hear the crinkle of a sugar packet being opened.

“I don’t need any more sugar in my coffee, Barnes,” you warn him teasingly, without lifting your head from your notebook.

“Everyone needs a little sweetness in their life, doll!” he retorts with a knowing grin, tossing you a wink as you glance back at him. With a mischievous smirk, he lets the sugar cascade into your cup.

“Whatever you say,” you reply with a laugh in your breath, shaking your head in amusement before returning your focus to your notes.

You hear him open another package and let out a sigh. “You better not do that,” you warn again, eyes not lifting.

Another rip of a sugar packet catches your attention, and you perk up to see Bucky holding both open packages over your cup, letting the sugar pour in.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, the volume of your voice drawing glances from other café patrons, but you’re too focused on the playful banter to acknowledge them. “God, I can’t believe you did that,” you groan, pulling your cup closer to your side, in mock exasperation.

As your gaze locks with his, you’re prepared to scold him further but the look on his face catches you off guard. His eyes are wide, mouth agape, morphing into a beaming smile, white teeth on display.

Your eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“Thought I’d never get to hear you say it, doll,” Bucky laughs out, eyes sparking.

“What did I say?” you ask, puzzled by his reaction.

He leans forward, elbows resting on the table while his eyes remain fixed on you. That beaming smile is still plastered on his face, and his blue orbs seem to glow with amusement, sparking brighter than usual.

“You called me Bucky,” he points out, his voice tings with delight.

You took a deep breath in, regretting your slip-up. “Shit, I guess I did.”

Bucky now crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the back of his seat. He doesn’t seem able to stop the smile on his face. “If all it took was to annoy you then Imma keep doing that from now on,” he declared with a playful glint in his eyes.

Head in your hands you let out a groan. Bucky barks out a laugh in front of you and you reluctantly lift your head to look at him. You point a finger at him. “I’ll keep calling you Bucky, if you stop being annoying!” you propose, trying to stay serious but not being able to stop the corners of your mouth from lifting.

“Can’t say no to that,” Bucky conceded, smile growing fond, affection radiating from him in waves.

He never stopped annoying you but you kept calling him Bucky.

But now, as he sat in front of you, his hand resting on your leg, Bucky felt the familiar urge resurface. You were in his room, smiling at him, looking so beautiful, it took his breath away. Yet, despite the overwhelming desire, he knew he would never take that final step without your explicit consent, considering the circumstances you were here right now. Your state earlier left him uneasy and a nagging guilt was gnawing within him, thinking about that night he had driven you home and then left you alone that shaken. So he needed you to want this, to be sure you were okay. He felt sick at the thought of taking advantage of you in any way.

Thus, he did lean in but didn’t go further than a few inches, giving you the opportunity to make the next move or the space to show him you weren’t ready for that.

Your eyes darted to his lips once more, leaning in yourself. Your foreheads touched after some moments, noses brushing and you saw Bucky’s eyes flutter close, still not moving further. You took a few seconds before closing the gap and pressing your lips to his. Bucky let out a breath through his nose, slowly moving his lips in sync with yours. Again, he let you lead the kiss. His other hand made his way up to your face, the gentle touch of his fingertips brushing over your skin before tenderly cradling your cheek.

Eventually, you pulled away, opening your eyes but staying close to his face. Your hazy smile mirrored his, and he pulled your head back slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead before looking back at you, fondness clear on his features. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers still caressing your cheek as his intense eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper as you held his gaze. “Yeah.”

After a few tender moments of loving touches and whispered assurances, Bucky handed you a change of clothes and let you use the bathroom.

Emerging from the bathroom, you were now dressed in a pair of his black shorts and a shirt, the fabric enveloping you in Bucky’s comforting scent. It made your stomach do flips, feeling at ease. A soft smile graced your lips as you took in the familiar aroma.

“I got another blanket, in case you got cold…,” he trailed off as he caught sight of you. His eyes swept up and down your figure, admiring how his clothes draped over your form. Though you couldn’t quite read his expression, the slight blush coloring his cheeks was enough to make you smile sheepishly in response. Bucky cleared his throat - he did that a lot around you - and turned away a little, composing himself.

There wasn’t much space in his bed you recognized as you settled in, but somehow you didn’t mind that much. Bucky sat down on the bed, looking troubled.

“Buck? Something wrong?”

Bucky took a breath, shaking his head slightly. “No,” he breathed out, an inner turmoil in his eyes, “I just…I can sleep in Sams’ bed. Maybe tha-”

“Hey,” you interrupted him softly, “I don’t mind Bucky, really! We can share.” He didn’t look convinced so you sat up straighter and heaved a breath, trying again. “And it would make me feel better,” you admitted quietly.

That did him in, breathing out a sigh and settling in beside you. Though he relented, he still was tense beside you, his muscles stiff. His shoulders were touching yours, so he felt you starting to shiver a little. His head snapped to you in an instant.

“Are you cold? Let me get another blan-” Bucky began, already halfway off the bed before you interrupted him once more.

“Hold on! I…uhm,” you hesitated, searching for the right words to express your request, “Could you maybe…cuddle me?” You fiddled with your fingers, a little nervous about how he would react.

To your relief, you heard him shuffle towards you, and soon you felt his arm wrapping around you. You smiled and turned, positioning your back against his chest. His other arm moved hesitantly under your pillow, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. With Bucky’s presence surrounding you, you felt a sense of security wash over you, easing any lingering nerves.

“Like that?” he breathed in your hair, a whisper so full of emotion.

“Yeah,” you breathed back, a sense of gratitude washing over you, “Thank you!” It wasn’t just a thank you for holding you in that moment; it was a thank you for everything he had done for you. It was a thank you for pulling you out of your anxiety - for saving you from a panic attack you surely would have endured if it wasn’t for him. It was a thank you for him offering his comfort and support in so many ways. And it was a thank you for inviting you to his many parties because although you never really went, it was the foundation of your current relationship.

And he knew. He knew the depth of your gratitude, the depth of your feelings. Because he had learned to read and understand you. Because he had learned to love you. And he would tell you when he thought you were ready to hear it. For now, all he could do was hold you close, squeeze you just a little tighter, and silently convey his unwavering support and profound affection.

“Love comes to you just at the right time; the time you never thought it would have”

- Anurag Prakash Ray

[onenightafewmoonsago]

So cute!!! 🥰 I loved their relationship. Soft Bucky is perfect!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Two

Pairing: College!Athlete!Bucky x College!Reader

Summary: Your friends Wanda and Nat drag you to a corn maze event at night. After a rather unpleasant encounter with Bucky, Sam, and Steve, you want nothing but this night to end. Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to find the exit first.

Word count: 6.2k 🌾 🎃 🔦

Warnings: Annoyance to lovers; scared!Reader; scare actor with chainsaw; scarecrows; protective!Bucky; little bit of sad!Bucky

Author’s note: This is me ignoring my wips and writing something that randomly popped up in my head. Wrote this all in one sitting but I’m actually genuinely happy with it :)

Masterlist

“We’re going to get lost in there.”

“With your sense of direction, definitely, but thankfully you have me.”

You shove Nat in the shoulder lightly enough, grumbling under your breath, while Wanda on your other side snickers softly.

The brunette links her arm with yours. “We’ll stay together the whole time,” she assures you.

“Well, I left my bed for this, so this better be good!”

Natasha and Wanda insisted on visiting the corn maze event your town had to offer this year. And since they claimed it would be boring to do this in daylight you now are standing in front of towering stalks of corn being so close together, they obscure the view inside. Sure, it would be way too easy otherwise but, the easier this is, the faster you’d be getting out of here.

There is a clear cut through the corn, signaling the entrance to the maze, but you can’t see past the artificial fog swirling in the tunnel so that’s no help either. The branches over the entrance have cobwebs dangling down and a scarecrow is placed right beside the hole, its eyes glowing red with unnatural light.

A few dimly lit jack-o-lanterns path the way to the foggy entrance, giving only enough light to make sure you wouldn’t catch on uneven ground and fall before anything even started. That would surely be embarrassing enough for the night.

You can make out faint whispers coming from inside the maze, unsure if those come from other visitors or if they are simply sound effects. Either way, you don’t like it. It’s not like you get scared easily. But there’s something about the dark that had always irked you and you don’t feel like getting jumped by some scare actor tonight or some other shit.

There are a few other people standing in groups around you three, talking to staff members, or looking at the map of the maze to somewhat prepare. You don’t pay them any mind though. There is no way you’d be socializing tonight.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Nat exclaims beside you.

“I don’t see this being a party,” you mutter, “and shouldn’t we get a map as well? Might be helpful, you know?” The dry sarcasm in your voice gives way to the enthusiasm you are absolutely lacking.

“We don’t need a map. Come on!” Is all she says as she pulls you and Wanda to the entrance.

“Alright well, just so you know, I'm blaming it on you when we’re still aimlessly wandering around in there by dawn,” you warn, but there’s clearly amusement in your tone you can’t suppress and you share a quick laugh with Wanda.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

It takes you three a little more than fifteen minutes to find the first checkpoint. You’re not sure if this is good or bad timing but at least you haven’t lost anyone of your small group yet so that is good.

The small flashlights you had been given earlier by an instructor cast narrow beams through the dense, twisted rows of the maze. Now, each light lands on the scarecrow ahead, its ragged form standing as still as the one you passed at the entrance. He only has one arm outstretched, clearly pointing in the direction you’ll find the next checkpoint.

“This way,” Natasha calls out, already turning to follow the path being pointed at. Her black leather jacket catches the glow of your flashlight as you walk behind her, Wanda beside you.

You hear a set of screams echoing faintly through the maze, the fifth one since you entered - an indication that in the distance, other visitors just got ambushed by scare actors in the dark. You have no intention of being next so you’re thankful for Nat taking the lead.

However, your gaze constantly darts behind you, checking your back every few minutes, convinced that at any moment something - or rather someone - might leap out of the shadows. You quickly assess and flash the path you had walked seconds earlier, before turning around again, paranoia creeping in with every step.

Distracted, you almost miss the tombstone jutting from the path ahead of you. Your heart skips a beat as your foot catches the edge, but before your face can meet the ground, Wanda’s hand shoots out. She firmly latches onto your jacket sleeve, pulling you back and steadying you, an amused laugh slipping past her lips.

“Thanks, Wan,” you laugh, a little out of breath.

“Getting lost already, ladies?”

You shriek, your heart nearly jumping out of your chest, and Wanda yelps in unison. You bump into her side, both of you spinning around hastily toward the source of the voice. Even Nat flinched, but she seems to recover quickly, letting out a low chuckle as she eyes the three figures standing before you.

You could practically hear the sultry smile she’s undoubtedly wearing behind you as she questions them. “What are you guys doing here?”

Yeah, what are they doing here? You narrow your eyes at the man who made you leap out of your skin.

Bucky Barnes. Of course.

In the middle of a creepy maze, with scare actors hiding around almost every corner, he somehow managed to sneak up on you. Typical. You shouldn’t be surprised he found you in a fucking labyrinth.

“Thought we’d check out the fancy attraction everyone’s been yapping about.” It’s Sam who answers, his words laced with a teasing grin as he stands slightly behind Bucky with his arms crossed over his chest, clearly entertained.

But Bucky didn’t even acknowledge Nat’s question. His focus remains on you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and that glint in his eyes you know so well. He’s evidently pleased with himself for catching you off guard. Fantastic.

Steve, who comes into focus on Sam’s other side, offers you girls a sympathetic smile. There is an apology written in the way he tilts his head. “We didn’t know you were planning on coming, or else we would’ve asked you to join us,” he says, voice sincere.

Before you can respond, Bucky cuts in, stepping forward with that infuriatingly confident swagger. He throws a lazy arm over your shoulder, pulling your stiff form against his side. “Ah well, we’re together now, so let’s stay that way. We’ll get you through this maze well-protected, girls.”

His voice carries that signature smugness as if he’s doing you some grand favor and you should be grateful. You’re not. Definitely, absolutely not.

You immediately shake off his arm, stepping away from him with a sharp glare. “Yeah, no thanks. We’ll manage on our own,” you argue.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, noticeably unfazed. His smirk deepens as he leans in, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Surely that scream said something different, doll. Don’t you think?”

You scowl. “Oh, shut up, Barnes-”

Steve interrupts you with his hands held up, palms open in a calming gesture. “Let’s not make this difficult. We’ll go our own way if that’s what you want.”

“Stay,” Nat drawls, standing relaxed with her arms crossed and shooting you a teasing glance. “It’s funnier that way.”

You cut her a look that should have been able to kill her. The corners of her mouth only curl higher as she turns back towards the path ahead of you.

You see Bucky’s grin from the corner of your eyes.

You all resumed walking, six flashlights cutting through the eerie darkness around you, their beams illuminating the narrow, winding path ahead. Despite your reluctance to admit it, having the guys with you provided some sort of ease. Your shoulders droop slightly and your gait becomes more confident.

More often than not you feel the hot gaze of Bucky on your skin but choose to ignore it, focusing on the path ahead so as not to stumble over another tombstone.

“So, have you guys started preparing for-” Steve’s voice breaks through the silence but gets immediately cut off by Sam.

“Hell no, no talking about classes, or practice for that matter. That ain’t on my agenda tonight,” Sam scolds rather loudly, his voice filled with mock severity. Nat snorts, still walking ahead of you, and you join in, a small laugh escaping as Steve sighs.

The moment was brief, though, as you round another corner and Nat calls out what lay before you. “Dead end,” she declares, her tone flat but unsurprised. “Turn around.”

Grumbling softly, your group pivots and you retrace your steps to take a different turn, only to find another winding corridor shortly later. This goes on for minutes - Natasha calling out dead ends and your group backtracking to find another path offering no more than the last. The guys didn’t take a map with them as well.

You don’t fail to notice the constant presence of Bucky at your back. Each time you turn a corner he seems just a little closer, the warmth of his proximity soothing the nerves in your veins and helping with the chilling air that comes with the night. You ignore that, though.

However, you can’t ignore the fact that you did not once turn around to check your back since he and the others expanded your little group and Bucky took his place at your back. It’s strange. All the paranoia and unease from earlier had softened somehow, as if his irritating confidence bled into you, making the maze feel a little less menacing, the darkness a little less suffocating.

You feel almost reassured by the steady weight of his attention at your back like his silent presence can ward off any sense of danger.

You’re not sure how to feel about that.

Suddenly, loud menacing laughter erupts from the thick corn wall beside you. The sound is dark and jarring, cutting through the air and sending a bolt of fear through your chest. You startle with a gasp, instinctively reaching for Wanda beside you as you jump away from the bushes, your hand clutching onto her arm.

Your heart pounds violently, the adrenaline making your breath quicken. You’re too lost in the moment to notice the steady hand that has settled on your back - Bucky’s hand.

Without a word, he keeps his palm firmly pressed against the fabric of your jacket as his other hand shoots into the corn wall. You barely register his swift movement until you see him yanking out a small device - a microphone hidden in the stalks, playing that sinister laughter on repeat. With a click, the sound stops.

“Just an audio, doll, everything’s alright,” Bucky explains, his voice low and calm, the teasing edge from earlier absent.

Your breathing slows and you let go of the death grip you had on Wanda’s arm, not registering how tightly you held onto her.

Bucky’s presence remains solid and you glance at him quickly, expecting to find his usual smug grin or some sarcastic remark waiting, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel.

But there’s none of that. Instead, his expression seems almost grim as he eyes the microphone in his hand, a hint of disgust crossing his face, lips twitching. Without much care, he tosses the device back into the corn, not bothering to see where it lands.

His other hand still lay pressed against your back and you let it ground you for a fleeting second.

However, the shock transforms rather rapidly into confusion. Shouldn’t he be delighted it went on right as you passed it? Usually, he would revel in something like this, tease you for your reaction, and flash you that infuriating smirk.

He doesn’t.

You keep walking for another few minutes, the tension slowly easing back into a manageable rhythm, when Sam barks out. “There! Second checkpoint! Y’all that’s on me!”

He moves past Wanda, stopping in front of a small carton laid out on a makeshift table. Scattered across the surface were pieces of a puzzle, all with seemingly random lines on them. Four small wooden stools sat nearby, clearly set up for people to take a seat while working on the puzzle.

“A puzzle?” Bucky asks incredulously, coming to a halt with a frown, his hands on his hips.

“I think it’s cute,” Wanda offers with a smile, moving to one of the stools and lowering herself down. She picks up a piece, studying it as she begins sorting through the chaos. You agree, following her lead and settling on a stool beside her.

“You too cool for a puzzle, Barnes? Or are you scared you won’t be able to solve it?” you mock half-heartedly, your eyes already skimming over the pieces, trying to find where they fit together.

Bucky scoffs, his teasing tone returning full force. “Joke’s on you, sweetheart. I’m an excellent puzzle solver. Always did this with Bec’s when she was small.”

His voice was lighter now and you feel yourself relax a little more at the returning banter settling between you.

Though you find yourself thinking about the small comment about his sister you keep stuck on and curiosity rises in you at the little insight in his former private life. You shouldn’t find this as interesting as you did. And you shouldn’t want to know more.

Bucky lowers himself into a crouch beside you since the two other wooden stools sit beside Wanda. Nat and Steve sit down on those with mild amusement, all eyes on the puzzle pieces.

Bucky stays rather close to your side, his thigh brushing against your own as he reaches over the small makeshift table.

Sam hovers over Wanda’s shoulder, offering commentary and the glow of his flashlight as she arranges the border pieces with surprising efficiency.

“It’s an arrow,” you quip, placing a few more pieces together with a minor sense of accomplishment.

“Oh yeah? How’d you figure that out?” Bucky smirks beside you, playful as ever as he gives you a gentle shove to your shoulder with his own.

Annoyance creeps back in and you roll your eyes. “Cut it, Barnes. What you’re doing over there isn’t helpful either,” you snap, shoving him more forcefully in return. He sways slightly on the balls of his feet, letting out a low chuckle that only grates on your nerves more.

For what feels like the hundredth time, you slap his hand away from the pieces you’ve already fit together. Bucky stopped sticking his own pieces together and rather enjoys reaching over and intentionally placing the wrong pieces onto yours, or worse, rearranging what you’d already solved, eyes twinkling with mischief and the corners of his mouth tugged high up his cheeks. Each time you fix it, he finds another way to mess it up.

You refuse to look at his blinding grin.

You huff instead, slapping his other hand away as it winds around your arms trying to sneak another mismatched piece into your section.

You're also too occupied to notice the knowing glances shared across the table.

“Alright, alright, let’s get this done so we can keep moving. I’m trying to make it outta here in one piece, people,” Sam jokes with a lightness in his voice that suggests he’s enjoying this rather thoroughly.

You finished the puzzle quickly, the final piece snapping into place, and you had to hold back Bucky’s hands, refraining him from spinning the whole thing to make the arrow point in the wrong direction.

A few minutes into the walk and a few dead ends later, Wanda breaks the comfortable silence. “When’s your next game again, guys?” she asks softly.

Sam let out a groan of exasperation, throwing his arms out dramatically, almost hitting Nat. “Oh come on! What’d I say about that, huh?”

He’d been walking at the front since he claimed his spot as the lead after 'earning' it by finding the checkpoint. He turns around as he talks, facing Wanda with a playful glare.

“You said no talking about class or practice. So, I can ask about games,” she counters with a smile.

From behind you, Steve’s laugh rumbles through the group. “She got you there, pal.”

Sam shakes his head, turning ahead again, muttering. “Yeah, yeah. Game’s next Saturday.”Though his annoyance is half-hearted at best.

Then, from beside you, Bucky’s voice breaks through, casual but directed. “You’re coming, right?”His tone is laid back with an underlying expectation. The question seems to be aimed at the group but he was looking at you.

Bucky had stepped up to walk beside you after you resumed walking, his pace matching yours and you see the way his head is tilted in your direction.

You glance up at him, blue eyes watching you. He obviously waits for an answer.

“Don’t know. Maybe I have to work then.” You shrug, playing it off, and look back forward again. But you’re surprised at the way your pulse quickens under his gaze and your hand squeezes the flashlight a little tighter.

You don’t always put a whole lot of effort into being there for their games. Sure, you showed up every now and then, but not nearly as often as everyone else. It wasn’t for lack of support. More like self-preservation.

Watching Bucky stride onto the field with that cocky confidence, owning every inch of the space around him, irks you incredibly. He’s good, and he knows it - he owns it.

Unfortunately for you though, sometimes you couldn’t shove down your annoyance for the guy enough and he, unbeknownst to himself, found a way of making your stomach flip in ways you weren’t entirely proud of.

Also, that football gear - You hate the way your body reacts upon seeing him in it as if it were the first time. The fitted jersey, the helmet tucked under his arm, the way his shoulders look even broader in the pads, the brown tendrils of his fluffy and tousled hair falling over his forehead - it all makes your stomach flutter every time and it drives you crazy.

So you found ways to avoid it. You picked up extra shifts at the library, checked the game schedule weeks in advance to make sure you had a built-in excuse. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, just something casual you were doing to avoid unnecessary distractions. But deep down, you knew better.

And so does Natasha - if her smirk in your direction is anything to go by. You glare at her to move her attention, but it’s useless.

You’re unprepared for the following corner of the maze, lingering in the echo of your thoughts. So when the scare actor does his job, emerging from the shadows and brandishing a chainsaw that roars to life in a terrifying symphony, your soul might have just kissed you goodbye.

The flickering light from the chainsaw illuminates his grimy, masked face, a wicked smile etched across his features, and eyes glimmering with twisted mischief.

You scream - just like Wanda, just like Sam. Nat lets out a quick yelp herself and you hear the sharp intake of a breath behind you from Steve. Bucky, who had seemingly been lost in his own thoughts, flinches beside you. In a swift motion, he surges closer, grabbing your arm harsher than probably intended and pulling you to his side. His leg instinctively positions his body in front of you.

The outfit of the actor - or that’s what you try to tell yourself he is - is a patchwork of tattered flannel and soiled jeans, the perfect embodiment of a deranged lumberjack. Raised high, the chainsaw vibrates with a menacing growl, its teeth gleaming wickedly as the man brandishes it like a weapon, the scent of gasoline mingling with the earthiness of the maze.

You clutch Bucky's arm, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his biceps as he stands protectively before you, his stance rigid and shoulders tense. Your other hand is linked with his, shaking fingers surrounded by steady ones. Though his stance is stiff and tense.

Time seems to freeze as Nat, Wanda, and Sam stand still in front of you, Steve’s presence at your back.

Your heart races violently in your chest, suffocating you, and for a moment, it feels like your breath stopped altogether as the chainsaw-wielding man lunges toward you six.

All you are able to do in your state of panic is squeeze Bucky’s hand so tightly you might have feared his blood circulation cut off, if your mind were able to conjure up a thought at the moment.

Bucky reacts instantly. Without hesitation, he pivots and bolts down the maze, pulling you along. His fingers clutch yours with such fierce intensity as if his only fear is losing you in this chaos.

Steve surges ahead, taking a sharp turn right while Bucky guides you left, then right, and left again; maneuvering the maze like a seasoned racer. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on keeping up, your heart racing along with your feet. All sense of direction is lost in the chaos and you can’t tell if Nat, Sam, and Wanda are still trailing behind or if they’re swallowed by the cornrows.

You try to take a glance back, hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair, dark brown skin, or Wanda’s long coat.

“Don’t look back!” Bucky shouts over the roar of the chainsaw, his voice snapping your head to the front before you can see anything else besides the blur of yellow-green walls. “Switch off your flashlight!”

You do as you’re told.

You could have had a relaxed evening, maybe taking a bath or watching a show with warm tea and popcorn but no, instead you find yourself chased by a man with a real fucking chainsaw.

Panic surges through you again, your breaths getting shorter at Bucky's fast pace and you feel his hand tighten. There’s an unexpected strength in the way he holds you, his muscles coiling with determination. He navigates the twists and turns with instinctive agility, intense eyes moving over to you every few seconds as if the only important thing here is you.

And somehow that is oddly reassuring and maybe a bit satisfying at the moment. All that mattered is Bucky’s strong grip, anchoring you as you run alongside him.

Around another corner, the path opens up to a small clearing that offers a momentary respite. Bucky pulls you into the safety of the space, pressing your back against the rough stalks of corn, their leaves brushing against your skin. You stand chest to chest, touching each other with every ragged breath you take in.

Bucky still seems composed despite all the running you just did.

He faces the direction you had come from, muscles coiled and ready to react, arms on either side of you, practically hugging you to his chest.

“We lost the others,” you pant, glancing around as best as you could with a mountain of muscle blocking your view.

Bucky’s face is a mask of focus, his eyes scanning the maze. “Yeah. Just stay with me,” he murmurs, lowering his voice, his breath fanning over your cheeks.

He takes another few seconds to assess the surroundings, before looking down at you. “Are you alright?” he asks softly, yet urgently.

You had never been this close to Bucky before, had never imagined such a scenario, and it leaves you unprepared for the overwhelming feelings that flood your senses.

The moonlight cast a slightly silver glow over his features but some remain hidden in shadows. His eyes search yours and you find yourself caught in the depths of his irises, a captivating swirl of blue that makes it hard to look away. His lips are parted slightly, soft breaths brushing against your cheeks and your nose fills with a scent that is something distinctly him. It doesn’t help with finding your voice. The slight furrow in his brow suggests worry as he scans your features.

You nod, still breathless from the scare and his proximity.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you manage to reply, though just then, a chilling laughter echoes from around you. The sound of the chainsaw roars back to life, slicing through the stillness.

You flinch in Bucky’s hold, instinctively moving closer and burrowing half in his chest. “Fucking asshole,”you breathe out a laugh and Bucky tightens his arms momentarily around you with a low chuckle. He seems to relax a little.

“We’ll have to keep moving,” he states, a slight trace of amusement in his tone as he looks back at you. He lifts his hand for a second as if longing to tuck the loose strands of hair behind your ears that landed in your face after the frantic escape.

You ignore the sliver of disappointment as he takes his hand back and moves away slightly, letting the chill night air brush against your skin instead of his warm breath. You feel cold, despite the adrenaline pumping in your veins.

The laughing grows louder and Bucky links his hand with yours again. “You ready?” he asks, waiting for your nod before starting to run again, darting through the maze some more.

You have no idea how long it takes before you come to another stop but your chest heaves with exhaustion as you do, ragged breaths leaving your lips. Bucky stands composed with narrowed eyes, looking around the maze.

The silence between you is perhaps a little uncomfortable, the only sound being the heavy breathing of your own labored lungs.

“Well, shit,” you utter after regaining some semblance of balance. “How do we find the others? I have no idea where we are.”

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, his expression unreadable for a moment. He licks his lips, then shrugs nonchalantly. “Looks like it's just the two of us.”

Your incredulous gaze sweeps over his face. “Seriously?” you ask, coming out sharper than intended.

Bucky rubs his hand over his face, looking away from you. “I’m sure they’re fine. Not like anything ever happens in these things. Sam probably already made a bet that he makes it to the exit before we do. So we should just…try and beat 'em.”

You know he tries to seem like this doesn’t affect him at all but there is something about him that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. He looks a little defeated, perhaps even…hurt. And you don’t quite understand why.

Bucky’s eyes crinkle at the corners slightly as he tries for a smile but it looks wry. “Come on, doll! We’re a great team,” he insists.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, Barnes.”

Pain shoots through your chest. Not unfamiliar but not known around Bucky. His faltered expression stings and you don’t know what to do besides watching him drop his eyes to his feet and sigh heavily.

The sound feels like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless once again but without running from a man with a chainsaw.

His hands move over his hair. “It’s still Bucky for you doll. Told you many times,” he says softly, voice heavy with a mixture of dejection and desperation. “And we don’t really have a choice now, do we? We don’t know where the others are and it might take hours to find them. Just looking for the exit of this thing would be easier. Bet the others are doing the same.”

He looks at you then, with a troubled expression, seeming so vulnerable all of a sudden, traces of the cocky football player lost somewhere in this maze.

You nod then, slowly, not able to bring a word out because you have no clue as to what has him this sad.

“Alright,” he continues, nodding to himself. “I think we might have run past the third checkpoint. Let’s find the last one.”

The silence between Bucky and you stretches out like a fragile thread, the tension building with each passing moment. You can feel him glancing at you every few paces and you look over at him every once in a while but nobody says anything.

You don’t even talk when reaching another dead end, just turning around and resuming to walk.

He seems to let you lead, though, taking the turns you do.

You let your gaze sweep over the maze’s twists and turns until something catches your eye. A small, narrow wooden post stands almost camouflaged among the corn stalks, and your pace quickens.

“Over there! Look!”

It feels weird to break the silence between you but you don’t look over at Bucky as you approach the post and hear him fall into step behind you.

It’s adorned with two wooden flags, both having slightly faded letters atop. You read the first one, a small riddle as it seems.

“What’s it say?” Bucky asks, his voice quiet and low near your ear.

The glow of your flashlight helps you make out the words. “It says…What has keys but can’t open locks? What has a face but no eyes, nose, or mouth?”

You chance a quick glance at Bucky beside you. His eyes narrow. “I think I know this one,” he says slowly. “A clock, maybe.”

You read the riddle again, feeling his eyes on your profile. “Yeah, I think that’s it.” You hesitate a second. “Damn, Barnes. Not only all muscle, I see!” You're grateful for the teasing tone that made its way back to your voice and out of the corner of your eye, you can see Bucky’s grin lighting up his face again.

“You’d be surprised, doll,” he replies softly, a smile in his voice.

It isn’t quite the answer you had expected.

You thought he’d dig out the fact that you basically complimented his figure and you snapped your gaze up to his, though he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead staring at the letters on the wooden post.

“So, it’s a clock. What do we do with that?” He questions and you slowly turn back, lighting up the wooden flags again.

“There’s more.”

You move your light to the second flag, starting to read what’s written there.

“I’m a number that’s often paired. In harmony, I’m the perfect tease. Together we’re a perfect pair. A balance of Yin and Yang to share. In the morning, I’m bright and bold. By night, I’m soft and gentle to hold. My presence is felt in every way. From sunrise to sunset, every day.”

You hadn’t even finished reading when Bucky began shuffling a little beside you, straightening his spine. He watches you in silence now and you do your best to ignore his gaze.

You had no idea who came up with that riddle, but you feel like slapping that person. The weird tension between Bucky and you only tightens, seeming to snap any minute and this is no help at all.

Those words seem to sear themselves into your brain, echoing with an unsettling intimacy, you either wanted to bask in or get rid of.

You feel yourself wandering down a dangerous road.

You stare at those words carved into wood and it is as if someone had been watching you two, studying your dynamic, and decided to reduce your complicated relationship to a text.

But do you really think so?

In harmony? A perfect pair? Yin and Yang?

You know there was always something. You can try to suppress feelings for all you want but how can you get rid of something you won’t even acknowledge in the first place.

You like him. You like him a whole lot. Damn it, there is just something about this idiot you have to adore. But you can’t tell him that. Not now.

Not when the weight of his gaze hasn’t left you yet and you feel a flush rise in your cheeks.

Finally, you meet Bucky’s eyes, still fixed on you, as if waiting for something. His expression is unreadable and you feel like bolting away into the corn maze and getting lost. Maybe forever.

How can he look so calm and rigid at the same time? You know he is affected by those words but it looks more like he tries to see what they do to you.

His eyes dart back and forth between yours, so intense, your throat constricts and you look away, clearing your throat in hopes it will break the spell.

“Two,” you croak out. “That’s the answer. We have to head towards two o’clock.”

You see Bucky nodding slowly from the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched and you begin walking again.

The tension is palpable, like a living entity that wrapped itself around you. Every step feels like a struggle as if you’re wading through quicksand, fighting against the undertow of your own emotions.

The silence grows so thick, you can hardly breathe.

Light.

There is light just around the corner, beckoning you forward and distant voices grow louder with each step you take.

But right after rounding the corner, fog appears, wrapping you in its damp, grey folds. It’s disorienting at first but feels just like the fog you had passed at the entrance so this has to be a good sign.

However, as you spin around, desperate to locate Bucky, he is lost in the mist and you feel the suffocating need to feel him, hands reaching out frantically, grasping at nothing.

“Bucky!” You call out, voice strained and urgent. You don’t even notice the nickname rolling off your tongue, torn from your lips as if ripped from your throat.

In an instant, a gentle touch brushes against your arm. You jerk back at first, startled, but then feel the soft pressure of Bucky’s fingers wrap around yours. His other hand takes hold of yours, touch so gentle and careful as if you are something to be treasured.

Your heart begins to race as you realize he is right in front of you, chest nearly pressed against yours just like earlier, though this time it feels much more intense, intimate, purposeful.

You strain to see beyond the veil of mist, but it’s like gazing into a void. All you can make out is the faint outline of Bucky’s form, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His breathing is growing ragged. He can run however long away from a chainsaw-wielding man but standing in front of you is what makes him lose his breath?

Blood is pumping through your veins and you feel it rushing through your ears. He’s still standing in front of you, hands holding yours, chest resting against yours and you feel his hot breath against your face again.

You try to comprehend what he is doing, why he doesn’t lead you to the exit, but deep down you know. He’s gauging your reaction. Maybe he saw something in your gaze while reading this riddle, maybe it was in the way you looked at him, or carried yourself. But something about the way you had acted seemed to have given him courage. He found something as he searched your gaze at the wooden post.

And now he’s waiting for you.

“Bucky,” you whisper, barely audible but the hitch of a breath right in front of you is an indication he heard you.

His name is a plea, a confirmation, the consent to continue what he started.

Bucky’s fingers caress your skin, moving up your arms in such a slow motion as if he’s mapping and memorizing how every inch of your skin feels under his fingertips. Shivers run down your spine and goosebumps erupt in the wake of his hands and you know he can feel it.

His hesitation tempers down with every second.

The touch of his fingertips is magnetic and although you can’t see it, it draws you in with an almost magnetic force. You feel yourself leaning into him, eyes fixed on the fog where you know his own are, as if willing to clear it, ready to see the exact kind of blue you fell for. But you know he’s looking at you, not seeing, but still looking. And that was enough to make your stomach flutter.

As his fingers reach your face he gently tucks the flyaway strands behind your ear, holding your face in his palms and tilting it just right. His forehead lands on yours and you take a deep breath in until all you consume is him.

You don’t care about the eyesight you are lacking at the moment. You wouldn’t even care about hearing that menacing laughter again, or the roar from the chainsaw, because here in Bucky’s arms you’ve never felt saver.

You feel his presence in every way.

And when your lips meet his, moving in sync, you know.

In harmony. Like the perfect pair. Yin and Yang.

“Hold your horses, people, I hear something.”

You ignore Sam’s voice outside the fog, attention set on Bucky and his plump lips, his tongue gliding in your mouth, exploring its new home.

“Barnes! Hey, man! Y/n! You in there?”

Sam’s shout again remains ignored.

“You lost, guys, everyone’s out here!”

Bucky pulls away at that, resting his forehead against yours. You feel his huge smile against yours, keeping your eyes closed.

“Nah,” he whispers against your lips. “I definitely won today.”

“The road might be long

The stars may not guide me

But if you keep your heart open

I will find you”

- Michael Xavier

[marvelstoriesepic]

Casual Sweetness

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x reader

Summary: You seek out your roommate and best friend Bucky for comfort after a girls night out leaves you shaken up.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: slight mentions of handsy strangers at a bar (nothing graphic); so much comfort

Author’s note: I don’t know where this came from. I started writing it, then finished it and now it’s existing and I’m putting it out there.

Masterlist

Never once has a night out with your girls left you this unsatisfied. Or, shaken, really. Every pre-planned rendezvous or spontaneous meet-up at a local bar with Wanda and Nat had always been a reliable escape from the daily grind.

You three like to cozy up at home, preferably at Wanda’s, and binge-watch a worthy series. And while that held its certain appeal, every once in a while you would find yourselves dancing and drinking, surrounded by people who wouldn’t remember enough of you, if the amount of liquor drove you to making decisions that sober you wouldn’t have even thought of. It has always provided an outlet for stress and helped you recharge.

Not tonight though. The strangers in the new bar you girls tried out tonight were far too handsy, your head started pounding uncomfortably even before taking the first sip and thinking about the bartender only makes dread pooling in your gut.

You also weren’t able to distract your mind, or rather your heart.

Usually, you would think about getting an Uber to meet up with your friends but Bucky always insisted on driving you when he wasn’t busy. But really, he never seemed to be, anyway. Not when it meant you would have to leave the apartment on your own. Nothing had his priority other than chauffeuring you around. You never asked him to do that, he just had a habit of insisting and there was nothing you could do. He had told you as much.

And tonight was no exception. He had sprung up from the couch, movie already paused, and keys in hand when you had emerged from the bathroom and practically ushered you into his car to drive you to the bar you girls had agreed on meeting at.

“Just don’t like the idea of you sittin’ in the backseat of some car, looking all pretty and dressed up with some guy in the front, thinking god knows what. Not takin’ any chances, doll, let me drive you.”

You always roll your eyes and scoff at his exaggerated concern, reminding him that it was said guy’s job to drive you to your wanted destination. You usually ignore the rest of his words. A simple shirt and jeans would hardly qualify as ‘dressed up’ for you and the idea of you being ‘pretty’ was something you would usually laugh at.

But it was hard to laugh at that when it came out of Bucky’s mouth. Your roommate. Your friend. Maybe even your best friend. But that’s where it stopped because nothing more ever happened. And you doubted it would.

So you let his words slide and let them wash over you because if you would address them, you would start thinking. And think, you do not want to. Because thinking only leads to foolish hope. A hopeless belief, that perhaps Bucky feels what you feel and suppresses it the same way you are. A ridiculous belief that he has the same overwhelming feelings about a friend that goes way beyond what friends normally feel for each other.

So you never let yourself think too hard, shoving those feelings into a box at the very back of your mind and swallowing down the key with the hard liquor when you went out for some drinks. It always burns on its way down. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s that lingering ache. It really is not clear to you, but it does offer you a sense of reprieve, if only temporarily.

With every hungover the next day, follows the inevitable onslaught of that knot inside your chest and that rusty key resurfaces, reopening the box and unleashing a fresh wave of longing.

It only worsens in the way he would take care of you.

Every glass of water, each soft touch, each softly whispered inquiry is a gentle prod to the already gaping wound that was caused by the feelings of unrequited love.

The pancakes he would bring to your bed - because you were too grumpy to leave it - never satisfies the nourishment your soul craves. The pain relievers he would put on your nightstand, already there when you’d get back, would only serve as a cruel reminder that nothing could relieve the ache inside your chest.

With every “You feelin’ better, doll?” and “There anythin’ else I can do for you, sweetheart?” the ache deepens, spreading like wildfire through your veins, reaching your bones and searing through them like branding irons with the intention to leave marks that you believe to be permanent.

The hangover eventually leaves your body, but your heart festered.

However, the ache is not always the dominant emotion in Bucky’s presence. It isn’t always the first thing you acknowledge. First and foremost, being in Bucky’s proximity elicits a profound sense of comfort and warmth.

It let the butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably with every belly laugh he let out unabashedly, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, crinkles forming at their corners.

Your heart does unwanted flips at every pet name Bucky lets casually slip passed his lips, seeming so nonchalant about calling you doll and sweetheart but to you it means everything.

Every tender gesture leaves you breathless. You had been living with him for nearly a year now and you had come to acknowledge how sharing a space with him had become a delicate balancing act between euphoria and agony.

Bucky would bring you a hot water bottle at times when your cramps got too bad, or simply when you experienced menstrual discomfort, trying to soothe you with sweets he extra went out for.

He would jokingly chastise you to fold your clothes before storing them in the closet to prevent them from wrinkling and tease you when you didn’t. But it always ended with him taking matters into his own hands and carefully folding your clothes while you watched him from your bed, making fun of him when he turned red attending to your undergarments, despite trying to remain indifferent.

He would cook with and for you, make you coffee in the mornings, distract you with terrible jokes when you had a bad day, and leave you to it when all you needed was some me-time, only checking in when he needed to be sure you were okay.

His casual sweetness was a constant assault on your composure.

But right now, as you klick the door to your shared apartment shut and slip out of your shoes with a heavy sigh, it is all you can think of. His gentle touch, the sparkling blue of his eyes, the cheerfulness of his smile that makes your insides do somersaults.

It is still early. Earlier than you had ever been home after a night out and you’re sure Bucky is still awake. The lights in the living room are out which means he is in his room, perhaps engrossed in his laptop, reading a book, or idly scrolling through his phone.

Yet, you hesitate, staying rooted to the spot in the hallway. It was nothing unusual for you to knock on Bucky’s door, sometimes simply barging in if you felt particularly bold or just wanted to annoy him. But you had never sought him out before simply because you needed him. Needed his comfort, his reassuring whispers, the warmth that radiates off him and seeps into your skin.

So to buy some time, you retreat to the bathroom; emptying the contents of your bladder, splashing water on your face, and brushing your teeth.

There is only so much time you can stall, and soon enough you find yourself standing in front of Bucky’s bedroom door, clothes discarded and changed for more comfortable sleepwear. There is no noise filtering through the wall of his room but the soft glow seeping beneath the door offers a glimmer of hope.

You try to soothe the shakiness of your hands and rub them along the fabric of your shirt before lifting one hand to knock on his door. The sound is softer than intended, but Bucky’s gentle ‘come in’ was immediate.

Opening the door slowly you find him leaning against the headboard of his bed, dark sheets loosely draped around his waist. His grey shirt makes him look cozy and in his lap lay a book. One you had recommended him to read.

Your body reacts in an instant, shoulders dropping ever so slightly and a breath leaves your lips at the comfort he already provides.

“You’re back early,” he starts when you keep standing at the door unmoving, “didn’t expect you home til’ midnight at least.”

The familiar cadence of his tone provides you the sense of stability you had needed to let go of his doorknob, however, the teasing in his voice wasn’t lost on you. He seems to have expected you to tumble through the door at an ungodly hour, dropping in your bed and waking the next morning with a hangover worse than the last time.

You assume the bottle of water and the painkillers already found their place on your nightstand.

A huffed laugh leaves your lips but your expression remains unchanged as you shift awkwardly in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, we decided to leave earlier. Weren’t really feeling it, I guess.” You shrug, attempting to sound nonchalant, but Bucky’s brow begins to furrow softly and he shuts his book, placing it on his nightstand without taking his eyes off you.

“You alright, doll?” His voice was devoid of the teasing tone he had held moments before, “did something happen?” His eyes are intense, scanning your face and you break eye contact, letting your gaze wander across his room as if you see it for the first time.

You take a deep breath, hands twisting nervously and your heart picks up in pace. “I, uhm…It’s-” You stumble over your words, a shaky breath escaping your mouth instead of a coherent answer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky shift on his bed, straightening as if preparing to come closer to you but your next words halt him in his movements.

“Can I maybe stay with you? Tonight?”

It comes out more pleading and quieter than wanted but you don’t care about that right now. Not with the way Bucky looks at you. He is halfway out of the bed already, sheets thrown back onto the mattress but he still doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Course you can stay, doll! Of course you can.”

Bucky’s voice holds a reassuring firmness, while he still talks softly. Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip, watching him cross the room to you and placing his hands gently on your upper arms to take a better look at you. His eyes move between yours, brows deepening, concern etching itself into every line of his face.

“You wanna tell me what happened? Somebody make you uncomfortable?” There is something in his tone you can’t concentrate on, only shaking your head at his questions.

“I don’t- Can we not-” Your words were cut short by the gentle touch of Bucky’s hand on your face. His thumb begins to steadily swipe over your cheekbones so tenderly, a shiver rushes down your spine. He had never touched you like this before and you are trying your very best not to let your eyes droop and melt into him.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, doll, I just-” So many emotions are swirling in the depth of his blues, his worry still the most outstanding. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay,” he whispers. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

His thumb doesn’t ease the motions over your skin and it is that you realize your hands stopped shaking and your heartbeat fell back in place without conscious effort. He has done so much for you already, without knowing it.

A deep, audible sigh escapes your lips and you offer him your first genuine smile of the night. “Just wanna stay here with you,” you whisper, your gaze locked onto his and if the world stopped moving for a second you would be none the wiser.

The comforting circles of his thumb paused and you feel that damned rusty key turning in the deadbolt of the lock to the box of your feelings, opening them with a screech and letting the contents spill out, open for him to see. And there comes the hope again. The belief that the depths of his eyes reflect the very same emotions you have plastered on your face.

But how can you not believe it when his expression holds something that looks to you a lot like love. A love, an affection, that, as you’ve established goes way beyond friendship.

Warm lips brush against your forehead and you let your eyes close for a second, savoring the feel of them. Gentle hands guide you towards his bed and you move like putty, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the soft sheets, full of his scent.

Bucky crawls in beside you, laying his body to face yours and you can’t help but study the way the soft glow of the moon that seeps through the curtains, reflect on the planes of his face, after he shut off the little lamp on his bedside table.

“Thank you, Bucky!” you whisper, the sound almost getting lost in the sheets, but he hears you, a soft smile forming on his lips, the moon allowing you to see it.

“Not for this, sweetheart. Never for this,” he whispers back and you let your eyes fall shut with a content sigh.

Right before sleep can claim you, you feel the comforting weight of his hand, covering your own over the sheets and silently linking with your fingers.

“I’ve found a natural drug for all of my panic, anxiety, and anger. It’s his voice. It’s him.”

- J.R. Rogue