This comment on reddit has blown my mind a little bit, seriously.
Feyre, Elain, Nesta (golden child/scapegoat) : r/acotar
Basically, it points out that when Nesta was dealing with her trauma, everyone's solution was basically to do to her what was done to them.
Morrigan said to throw her out and leave her vulnerable to attack and abuse, just like Morrigan was.
Amren suggested locking Nesta in a dungeon, just as Amren was.
Cassian belittled her and made her feel small, just like Cassian was for being a bastard.
Rhys dangled her as a bait and pimped her out to Eris, just he like had to do to himself UTM with Amarantha.
Elain supported locking Nesta up in the House of Wind, just as Elain was after being Made.
Feyre was also locked up by Tamlin and did the same thing to Nesta.
It's like they've identified a "problem" in their little court, one in need of a "solution", and took advantage of that to get pay back for what they went through by doing it all to Nesta, who ugly and visible in her trauma, and is refusing to play happy families with the rest of them.
(I could theorise why Azriel isn't actively involved in doing this to Nesta, more passively allowing it, seeing as he went through extreme physical abuse from his family, and while I would like to assign benign motives, the fact is that as the court of torturer, if he wanted to take his trauma out on others, then he has plenty of opportunities to do so.)
I feel so bad for Eris Vanserra; he keeps correctly reading the situation and then having people get mad at him for doing what they wanted him to do.
Mor sleeps with Cassian in the hopes of that ending her engagement with Eris. Eris hears about it and is like, she slept with Cassian? I am ending our engagement. For all we know he gave Mor a fucking wink and thumbs up from across the room as he said it; I doubt she would have noticed or cared regardless.
Mor gets dumped on the Autumn Court border by Keir (and it’s weird that all the blame and anger about this situation seems to be directed at Eris and not Keir, you know the one who actually tortured her). And Eris is like don’t touch her or she’s our responsibility. Hey Mor, checking in, you don’t want to become our responsibility and be forced to live in the Autumn Court, right? And Mor is like I’d rather die, asshole. And Eris is like, got it, roll out boys. And given that we know Eris sent an anonymous tip to Tamlin when Lucien went on the run, it does not seem crazy to assume that after the encounter with Mor, Eris might have secretly sent Azi a note like come get your girl.
And then we have the plan to have Nesta seduce Eris at the ball in order to strengthen his commitment to their alliance. And after he dances with her he goes to Rhysand and is like, hey, I noticed you had Nesta come seduce me and yes, I am in, let’s discuss marriage alliance.
And yet somehow he’s the asshole in these situations. Poor guy.
I just saw your Steve fanfic and wanted to try my luck with a request! :3
I see Steve as a househusband lol in the sense that he's good at cooking, taking care of the kids when they visit, cleaning, he's organised, emotionally repressed blah blah blah, and he doesn't even get upset when people say that to him because he practically lives alone since his parents are never home and he's like, "well, if I'm going to live alone, at least I have to survive"
A Steve x (gn) reader with this dynamic, pretty pleaseeee?
hi anon this idea is so SO cute omg!! I imagined this would take place somewhere between the end of s2 and s3, I hope you enjoy it :3!! xx
cupcakes & chewbacca
steve harrington x gn!reader
word count: 950
cw: the tiniest bit of hurt/comfort, otherwise pure fluff :)
notes: yayyy my first ask!! also i have to admit that ironically i know nothing about star wars so please forgive any inaccuracies lol ><
“Could you pass me the cupcake wrappers, should be in the first drawer to the right of the sink,”
Steve’s voice traveled across the kitchen as he faced the oven, eyes squinting as he struggled to read his grandmother’s handwriting scribbled across an old recipe card.
“Also, do you think this says 350° or 360°?” He sighed, leaning against the kitchen island where you stood cracking eggs into the mixer.
Since the two of you began dating, you realized Steve doesn’t really like being alone. It's not that he was overbearing or clingy—in fact, he's always very conscious of giving you space when you need it, whether that be by rescheduling date night so you can study for a huge test, or turning down outings with your friends if their partners aren't also tagging along so you can enjoy some time with just them. Despite how respectful Steve is of your time, you can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up whenever you agree to tag along for quick grocery trips or the endless string of “thank-yous” that flow from his mouth when you offer to keep him company during the most mundane chores. This is how you found yourself pouring cupcake batter into R2D2 wrappers in your boyfriend’s kitchen on a Friday night.
About a half hour ago, Steve received a call from a very droopy Dustin explaining that while him and the rest of the party were at Mike’s attempting to recreate a Lego X-Wing they had seen in Bantha Tracks, they might have left a litter of bricks across the stairs resulting in a fuming Mr. Wheeler booting them from the basement.
“I mean what was I gonna do, turn the kid away?” Steve explained, placing the tray into the oven, “And I just thought if the six of them were gonna be putting together this spaceship-thing on my dining room table, then maybe it’d be nice to have a movie on in the background and make em some snacks,”
You laughed, adding a few dots of red food dye to a bowl of white chocolate.
“Y’know, I underestimated you, when you asked for help making some snacks I thought you meant pouring popcorn and chips into bowls or something, not themed cupcakes,” You teased, earning an eyeroll from Steve,
"You’d make the perfect househusband, Harrington.”
He grinned, picking up a pretzel stick from the bowl next to you, dipping it half way into the red chocolate mixture.
“Actually, I underestimated you, these actually do kinda look like lightsabers.” He chuckled, holding one up for you to take a bite. “I’m sure the kids are gonna go nuts over them when they’re on the cupcakes.”
You and Steve take turns dipping the pretzels into the chocolate, alternating between making red and blue lightsabers, laying them out on a baking sheet to harden. As you set down the last pretzel, Steve’s timer goes off signaling the cupcakes were ready. The warm, comforting smell of chocolate cake filled the kitchen as he lifted the treats out of the oven and onto the stovetop to cool. He reached up to the top cabinet, retrieving a cooling rack before tumbling the sweets onto it.
“Man, you guys have like every single kitchen gadget, does your mom bake a lot?” You inquire, take a seat on one of the island’s barstools.
“Nah, I mean she does, but only when she's not on a business trip with my dad— which is like, never.” He replies, spacing out the cupcakes.
“To be honest, I probably use this stuff more than her, but if I have to live alone, I have to at least try to survive and not starve.” Steve admitted, laughing before realizing you had gone quiet, his eyes flicking up with a hint of fear in them.
“God, sorry, I didn’t mean to get all depressing, I just,” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I really appreciate you coming over and helping me tonight, even if they were here, my parents would’ve brushed aside all this nerd shit and it just means a lot to me that you went all out on decorating and everything.” Steve whispered, fiddling with cupcake wrapper in his hand.
Before he can backtrack on his words, Steve feels your arms wrap around his torso, head pressed into his chest. For a moment, he lets himself melt into the hug, any feelings of fear or embarrassment quickly fleeting. Your moment was swiftly shattered as the shrill chime of the doorbell echoed throughout the house, drawing out a groan from Steve as he gave you one last squeeze before pulling away to answer the door. Following him to the foyer, you see the kids pour into the living room, Dustin and Mike leading the pack immediately followed by Will, Lucas, Max, and El.
“Woah, woah, at least let me put a tablecloth down first!” Steve shouted over their chatter as Max began to spread their half-finished project across the table.
The kids’ laughter filled the house as they continued their building and snacking (now on top of a plastic partycloth). You waltzed in, placing the now-decorated cupcakes in the middle of the group while Steve searched through his family’s VHS collection for Return of the Jedi (or as he likes to call it, “the one with the teddy bears”).
As the kids’ voices overlap with the booming sound of the TV, you settle into the couch leaning against Steve, watching as the kids argue over which Lego goes where.
“Thanks,” He mutters, lightly planting a kiss on your forehead, immediately followed by a chorus of “EWWWWWWW” from the table.
Summary: You want to celebrate New Year's Eve with your boyfriend, but for some reason, he seems to be drifting further and further away from you, especially when you have your first drink.
Words: 8,5k.
Warnings & Tags: mentions of alcohol, kissing and a very traumatised steve. established relationship. angst WITH happy ending+hurt/comfort. very vague temporarily, outside the canon and more like an au. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).
Note: Soo plot twist, I’m enough in love with Joe Keery to write a fic of Steve without watching the whole series, just with my fuzzy memories of the first season, tiktok edits and my lovely friend maru<3 (@timesquarevils love uuu) who literally tell me everything i need to know. BE NICE WITH ME.
Steve Harrington didn’t like parties now.
And not in the casual, “eh, I’d rather stay in tonight” kind of way. No, he avoided parties with the bone-deep reluctance of someone who had once lived inside them and had clawed his way back out. It wasn’t visible at first glance; people who’d known him back in high school still carried a picture of who he had been in the past, the golden boy with sun-bleached confidence and a laugh big enough to fill an entire room. They remembered someone who thrived under cheap neon lights and the sticky heat of too many bodies packed together. Someone who found comfort in noise the same way some people found comfort in silence. Someone who used to be so effortlessly magnetic that even a bad party felt like a good one if Steve Harrington happened to be in it.
But you hadn’t been there for any of that.
You hadn’t grown up in Hawkins, hadn’t wandered the same cramped hallways or seen his name scrawled across the bathroom stalls or heard whispers of King Steve echoing between lockers. You hadn’t witnessed the rise or the fall, the messy evolution from the boy he was to the man he became. You didn’t know the version of him who’d broken things, hearts, rules, and expectations. You didn’t know the version who’d tried too hard to be the person everyone thought he already was.
By the time you arrived, Hawkins had already chewed Steve up and spit him out somewhere softer. You met the aftermath of the mess. The stripped-down, humbled, gentler version. The Steve who seemed permanently a bit tired around the eyes, who flinched at sudden chaos, who carried a quiet loneliness like a shadow he’d long stopped trying to hide. A Steve who cared too much, apologized too often, and listened like every word you said meant something deep.
So when he told you he didn’t really “do” parties, it wasn’t a dramatic admission. You assumed someone who spent half his life being practically adopted by a gaggle of kids, driving them to school, babysitting them, rescuing them from God-knows-what, wouldn’t exactly be the type who spent his nights dancing on tables or downing shots. It was simply part of him, woven in with the rest of the contradictions he carried. And because you weren’t a party person either, you accepted it without question. Loud, unfiltered nights had always felt like a performance you couldn’t keep up with. You hated the way the music never matched the mood, the way strangers pressed in too close, the way your head throbbed and your clothes smelled like smoke long after the fun had ended. So Steve’s aversion didn’t stand out; it fit neatly beside your own. It even felt like compatibility.
Still, you noticed his patterns.
They were impossible to miss once you started paying attention.
Whenever someone invited him somewhere; a birthday, a bonfire, a “low-key gathering” that was never actually low-key, Steve’s whole demeanor shifted. Not dramatically. His shoulders would go just a little tense. His fingers would twitch, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. His smile would hold, but thin out in the way polite smiles do when they’re stretched over something uncomfortable. His eyes would always, always flick to you, like a silent plea, a question, a hope that you might somehow telepathically say we don’t have to go.
He never outright refused at first.
Instead came the excuses, increasingly elaborate over time.
“I’m not feeling great,” he’d murmur, rubbing his forehead.
“I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,” even when he didn’t.
“Robin needs me,” which was believable because Robin always needed something.
“Henderson’s having…a Henderson issue,” which was vague enough to mean anything.
Or the classic: “Maybe next time.”
There was never a next time.
It worked flawlessly…until December arrived.
December made everything complicated for him. Not because he suddenly felt drawn to the festivities, not because he woke up desperate to hang garlands or pretend he liked eggnog. December complicated things because you were suddenly lit up from the inside, warm as a fireplace, buzzing with that soft holiday cheer he secretly loved watching take over you. You walked through the month like every streetlight had gotten brighter just for you, like every store window was a promise. Steve wasn’t built for that kind of brightness but he loved how it didn’t scare you. He loved how you never dimmed for him.
It had all started with a throwaway comment, something he’d blurted without thinking, because that’s how Steve spoke when he was comfortable. You were both sitting on the carpet in his living room, eating cold leftover pizza straight from the box, your socked feet tangled with his. He’d leaned back on his palms, stared at the ceiling like it might give him answers, and muttered that he hadn’t even realized the year was ending. How time felt weird in Hawkins. How days blurred together. How nothing changed unless it was something terrible. He said it casually, like brushing off dust. But you heard the crack underneath the sentence, the softness in his voice he tried to swallow. You heard a boy who felt suspended, stuck between heartbreaks and responsibilities he never asked for. You heard a boy who deserved so much more than another year slipping past him unnoticed.
And because you loved him—really loved him, in that loud way that makes Steve Harrington stare at you like you’re some miracle he isn’t sure he’s allowed to believe in—you decided that if he couldn’t feel the year changing, you would change it for him. That little ache he thought he’d hidden? Yeah. You caught it and held it like it was your job.
So you latched onto the idea of New Year’s the same way you latched onto everything that made him brighter. Suddenly, the New Year’s party he absolutely did not want became your new mission. Not a blowout. Not a rager. Just something warm and safe, something soft enough for Steve to settle into without feeling like he had to perform. A night that reminded him he was loved, that he wasn’t just drifting through time waiting for something to hurt. A night you believed, with your whole ridiculous, hopeful heart, that he deserved.
It started tiny, innocuous. A pack of gold confetti you tossed into the cart at the store because “why not?” Steve had given you that adorably confused look he always gave you when you made impulsive decisions, that half-frown, half-smile thing he did when he was pretending he didn’t find you cute. Then you picked up a string of warm lights, claiming they were “for ambience,” and he’d rolled his eyes, but he’d also taken the box from your hands and carried it for you like it was priceless. Then came the dress. You bought it because you wanted to look…right. Like if you were going to pull your boyfriend into a new year, you wanted to look like you were someone worth stepping into the future with. Steve didn’t know about the dress yet, but he would. And he’d lose his mind.
By the end of the week, your notebook had somehow turned into a full-blown battle plan: doodles, ideas, a list of snacks Steve liked more than he admitted, little scribbles like “make sure Robin doesn’t let him hide in a corner!!” and “midnight kiss :)” circled three times. You had decorations hidden under your bed, a bag of glittery nonsense stashed in your closet, and a vision in your head that made your chest feel warm every time you thought about it.
But of course, when the days started to pass, his excuses started.
One night, you were both pressed into the backseat of his car, the engine off, the hum of the streetlights outside washing everything in a soft golden glow. He had his hands tangled in your hair, one of his fingers brushing along your cheek as if he couldn’t decide whether to touch you or just look at you. His lips moved against yours with this warm, like he wanted to memorize the taste, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how unless he wrote it with his mouth. You could feel the tension coiled in his shoulders, the way he was trying not to fidget, not to make a sound, not to ruin the moment by thinking too hard about what came next.
And then, mid-kiss, he pulled back.
Just a few centimeters.
Just enough for his forehead to drop against yours, for his breath to ghost across your lips. His hair fell forward in messy strands, brushing your cheek. His chest rose and fell too fast.
“Uh…hey,” he murmured, voice low. The guilty-boy tone. The one he used when he’d already decided he was going to disappoint you.
You knew that tone. You felt it before he even said the words.
“I have to tell you something,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek like maybe he could soften the blow with touch alone. He didn’t look directly at you, he looked everywhere else. Your lips. Your collarbone. Your shoulder. The window. His own hands.
“I…don’t think I can go to the party.”
It hit you like a cold breath against the back of your neck.
Your face dropped before you could stop it, just a tremor of disappointment across your features, but Steve noticed. Of course he noticed. He always noticed when it came to you, especially when it made him feel like a goddamn villain.
He scrambled, immediately reaching for your hand, cradling it like it was breakable. His words tumbled out in a flood. “It’s not—it’s not like I don’t wanna, I just—I have a ton of stuff to do, and it’s kinda late already, and, uh, maybe I’m getting sick? And I didn’t sleep great last night so I feel weird and—”
You gently pulled your hand away.
Not mean.
Not slapping or yanking.
Just removing yourself.
And it gutted him instantly.
He froze, halfway through a lie he hadn’t even finished inventing. His eyes shot up to yours, wide and soft and horrified. Like you’d just held up a mirror to something he didn’t want to see.
“Oh God,” he choked, face crumpling. “Baby, don’t—don’t look at me like that.”
But you were. And it killed him.
He panicked in that sweet way so him: leaning in, kissing your cheek, your temple, your jaw, like he could coax the disappointment away. One of his hands cupped your face like you were something precious, something he was terrified of losing.
“I’m sorry—shit, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking as he tried to catch your gaze. “I didn’t mean— I just— I wasn’t thinking— I don’t want to ruin anything, I swear.”
He rested his forehead against yours again, eyes fluttering shut like he was praying to something.
“Okay, listen,” he breathed, brushing his thumb slowly over your lower lip. “Maybe it’s fine. Maybe I can go. I’ll go. If you want me there, I’ll go.”
He swallowed hard.
“I want to be there. I want to be with you. I just…I get stupid about this stuff sometimes.”
He opened his eyes then.
“So if you say the word…I’m yours. I’ll be there.”
And he meant every syllable.
“I really want you there.”
Fuck.
Steve Harrington didn’t fear the kind of things normal people feared.
Not anymore.
He’d already stared down the kinds of creatures that rewired your understanding of what “danger” even meant. Things with too many teeth, skin that peeled back like it was stitched on wrong, limbs that bent like broken branches but still moved with horrifying precision. He’d fought in basements that smelled like rust, decay, and something wet and ancient. He’d swung a nail-studded bat until his arms throbbed and his lungs burned, until the metal dug into his palms and left tiny half-moon scars. He’d dragged bleeding kids through tunnels lit only by adrenaline and stubborn hope, knees scraping against dirt and rock while the sound of chittering echoed behind them. At seventeen, he’d learned that real terror wasn’t loud. It was quiet, creeping, the kind that crawled up the back of your neck while the world around you split open into something unrecognizable.
So no, darkness didn’t scare him anymore. Neither did the crunch of leaves behind him or the low, gurgling growl of something unseen in the woods. Monsters were monsters. They were awful, yes, but they were consistent. Predictable. They wanted to kill you. They didn’t lie, didn’t judge, didn’t decide you weren’t enough. You could swing at a monster and it made sense.
People didn’t.
Fear, for Steve, had become something that seeped into him during stillness, in the quiet spaces between one heartbeat and the next. When the world wasn’t ending and he wasn’t holding a bat like a lifeline, when he was just a boy in a room, a boy in front of someone he cared about, a boy who suddenly had nowhere to hide his own shaking insides. That was when the fear slithered in. Human moments terrified him more than any interdimensional nightmare ever had.
Fear was you.
Not you in the literal sense…not the way you nudged his foot under the table when he overthought things, or the way you laughed at his jokes even when they were stupid, or the way your hand fit perfectly in his, thumb brushing the same spot on his knuckle like you were memorizing it. Not the way your eyes softened when he rambled himself into a corner. You weren’t frightening.
It was what you meant to him. What you had the power to do to him without even realizing it.
He could face a Demogorgon armed with nothing but a bat, a bad plan, and blind determination, but the idea of you finding out that he wasn’t as brave or put-together or invincible as he pretended to be? That he was just a scared kid who’d never learned how to stop feeling abandoned? That he’d spent so long being terrified he forgot what normal fear even looked like?
Fuck.
That thought hollowed him out.
And parties…parties were where that fear had been born.
Where it had learned to walk, to breathe, to whisper in his ear.
Steve didn’t talk about it. He didn’t know how to. He never told Robin, not even on their worst days in the video store when honesty came easier. He didn’t tell Dustin, because Henderson still looked at him like he was unshakeable, and Steve didn’t want to break that illusion. And he definitely didn’t tell you, not when you were the one person whose opinion could splinter him cleanly in half. The truth stayed under his skin like a bruise that no amount of time could fully fade, pulsing every time someone said the word party with too much excitement.
It wasn’t the crowd that bothered him. He’d spent years being worshipped in rooms like that, basking in the glow of being the guy people wanted to stand next to. It wasn’t the noise or the music or even the chaos, Steve had once been the chaos. It wasn’t the drinking or the sweat or the clatter of beer bottles being knocked over on sticky floors.
No. His fear lived somewhere deeper.
It lived in the memory of harsh bathroom lighting bouncing off the tiled walls, of the way his heart cracked in his chest while tears burned at the backs of his eyes. It lived in the echo of Nancy Wheeler’s voice, breaking him open with a few sentences that bled into the night. It lived in the awful realization that he had poured every piece of himself into someone only to learn, suddenly and painfully, that he was nowhere near enough.
He didn’t remember everything about that night, alcohol had fuzzed the edges thank Goodness, but he remembered the feeling. The shame. The sudden drop in his stomach when her voice, loose with liquor, cut through the noise of the party like a blade. He remembered how her words hit with unsettling clarity: how she said she didn’t love him, how she couldn’t even pretend. He remembered the sting of watching the girl he held so carefully shove him away with the truth spilling unfiltered from her mouth. The room had tilted, and every person around them felt like a witness to his humiliation, like they were watching the King of Hawkins High crumble into something small and pathetic. And Steve had stood there, sober enough to feel everything, drunk enough not to escape it. That night rewired him. Parties stopped being fun. Alcohol stopped being harmless. Love stopped feeling safe.
And what scared him most wasn’t the idea of you getting drunk around other people. It was what alcohol had done to someone he cared about once before. How it stripped away her restraint. How it let things slip that maybe she didn’t mean, or maybe she did and just never intended to say aloud. Alcohol made people honest, in the worst ways. It made them cruel without noticing, brave without thinking, blunt without caring. And Steve had lived the consequences of that honesty. He had lived the gutting moment of realizing he cared more than she did. That he saw forever, and she saw a mistake she needed to confess.
So when he thought of you, of your laugh, your warmth, the way you looked at him like he was someone good, it terrified him how much he had to lose. Because drunk people talk. Drunk people confess. Drunk people say the quiet parts out loud without realizing the shrapnel they’re launching into someone else’s chest. And Steve couldn’t shake the fear that if you ever drank too much, if the party ever got too loud or the night too long, you might look at him through a haze of alcohol and say something you didn’t mean to say sober…or something you’d never been brave enough to say sober. Something that told him he wasn’t enough. Something that shattered the world he’d built around you without warning.
He imagined it sometimes, against his will and better judgment, flashes of memory bleeding into unwelcome scenarios. You, slurring something sharp. You, pulling your hand out of his. You, laughing at the wrong moment. You, turning away when he reached for you. You, telling him that he was too much, or not enough, or that you didn’t feel the way he thought you did. He knew it wasn’t fair to think that of you, and it wasn’t because he doubted your feelings. It was because he doubted himself. Alcohol had once turned the person he loved against him in the span of minutes. And no matter how much he trusted you, he didn’t trust fate, or chance, or whatever cruel force had decided to teach him lessons through heartbreak.
And God, the idea of you waking up the next morning with a hangover and a vague recollection and maybe a pit in your stomach that he couldn’t interpret, it made him nauseous. Because he didn’t want you to ever regret him. He didn’t want to become another mistake, another story you told with a wince or a sigh.
Fuck.
And now here he was.
A New Year’s Eve party, the kind he used to walk into like he owned the place, the kind he once would’ve lit up just by stepping through the door. Except tonight the house felt too loud in a way that didn’t energize him. It was more like the noise pressed against his skin, buzzing along his nerves until he wanted to flinch. The music thumped low through the walls, lights flickered gold and blue, people laughed in bursts that felt too sharp, like glass clinking in a quiet room. The air smelled like cheap champagne, perfume, sweat, and the faint fizz of fireworks waiting to happen.
Steve sat alone on the corner of the couch, shoulders hunched slightly forward, elbows planted on his knees. He kept his hands locked together like he needed to physically hold himself in place. Anyone else might’ve mistaken it for boredom, maybe even for the stubborn aloofness he used to wear like a jacket. But it wasn’t boredom, it was tension. It was dread. It was the weight of memory settling in the hollow of his stomach.
He felt out of place in his own skin.
The party moved around him without really touching him, like he was sitting behind a sheet of glass. People floated in and out of conversations, someone yelled from the kitchen about running out of chips, someone else tripped over a rug and laughed it off, and you—God, you—were across the living room, laughing as you tried to help your friends find where the missing champagne glasses had gone.
You weren’t drunk. You weren’t even tipsy yet. But you were glowing, cheeks warmed from the heat of the room, hair slipping slightly out of place as you reached up into cabinets, opened drawers, gestured wildly while your friends searched around you. You looked effortless and alive. You looked like everything good about the night.
And he felt miles away from you.
He hated that. Hated how quickly old fears could climb back up his throat, how easily they could wrap around the present and choke the air out of it. Because nothing was wrong. Nothing had happened. You hadn’t said anything sharp, hadn’t looked at him with regret or distance or disappointment. You’d kissed him on the cheek when you arrived together, fingers lingering on his jaw for a second longer than necessary. You’d whispered, “Give me five minutes, babe. I need to help them find the glassware for the toast.”
That was all.
But as soon as your attention shifted, as soon as the crowd swallowed you up, something twisted inside him. That same old unease. That whisper of this is where it starts, even though he knew better. Even though he trusted you. Even though you had never once made him feel like he had to brace himself.
He watched you from the couch, watched the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you laughed, watched how your friends hovered around you with the kind of effortless familiarity he envied. You fit in so seamlessly, and he felt like the room dimmed around him. Like the party was something happening to him, not with him.
Someone nearby popped open a bottle of beer. The can hissed sharply. Steve flinched.
A reflex. A ghost. Something old.
He dragged a palm down his face, exhaling slowly, trying to shake it off. His jaw clenched. His knee bounced. He barely had a second to gather himself before someone dropped onto the couch beside him with all the grace of a bowling ball being tossed onto a mattress.
Robin.
Of course.
She didn’t even look at him at first. She just sat there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the room like she was watching a disaster slowly unfold. Then she made a low noise, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt.
Finally, she turned her head and stared directly at him.
“Okay,” she said, voice flat. “What’s your deal?”
Steve blinked. “What?”
“What,” she repeated slowly, “is. Your. Deal.” Her fingers tapped rhythmically against her arm. “Maybe I need you to remember what night it is.”
He frowned. “I know what night it is.”
“Do you?” She arched a brow. “Because I’m starting to think you believe it’s National Brood Like a Moron Day.”
“Rob—”
“Nope.” She held up a finger. “It is literally New Year’s Eve. People are happy. You’re usually…not happy, but at least tolerable. You’re acting like somebody told you the world was ending at midnight.”
Steve exhaled through his nose, leaning back into the couch cushions. “I’m fine.”
Robin scoffed so hard the air around them vibrated. “Yeah, okay. Totally believable. Very convincing. Thank you, Mr. Academy Award Winner.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes like she is a bomb about to explode in your face.”
Steve’s head snapped toward her. “I— what?”
“You heard me.”
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face again. “I’m not— that’s not— I’m just…tired.”
“Tired?” Robin echoed. “Tired. At 11:09 pm. On New Year’s. At a party you willingly came to? With the girl you’re completely in love with—”
“Robin—”
“—and who is currently looking for champagne glasses like it’s a life-or-death mission.” Robin leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Which, for the record, is the only reason she’s not over here asking why you look like someone kicked your puppy.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. He stared at the floor.
Robin watched him for a beat. The sharpness softened, not much, but enough.
“Steve…” she said gently this time. “What’s going on?”
He let out a shaky breath. “Nothing. Just…parties, okay?”
Robin tilted her head. “Parties.”
“Yeah.”
“As in…the concept? The location? The historical invention of social gatherings? Be specific, dingus.”
He huffed out a humorless laugh. “You know what I mean.”
Robin didn’t speak. She simply waited in that particular way she reserved for moments where she refused to let him lie to himself.
After a long silence, Steve muttered, “I just don’t enjoy being here.”
Robin’s expression shifted, not surprise, not pity, just…understanding. “Because of her?” she asked softly, nodding toward the memory he hated. “Or because of her.” Her chin flicked toward you, still laughing with your friends, your hand gesturing wildly as you explained something about glass sizes.
He swallowed. “Both.”
Robin leaned back, letting out a slow breath. “Steve… she’s not Nancy.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” she pressed. “Because you’re sitting here acting like she’s gonna turn around in five minutes, get tipsy, and break your heart in front of the streamers.”
He flinched.
Robin winced. “Sorry. Too much?”
“No,” he said quietly. “Because that’s…exactly what I’m thinking.”
“Steve,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “She’s not gonna do that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes,” Robin said, firm. “I do. Because she adores you. Like…actually adores you so much that get me sick.”
Steve fought a small, helpless smile. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Robin elbowed him. “And also, you’re being an idiot.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“It’s my job.”
Across the room, you finally found the glasses you’d been searching for, holding them triumphantly above your head. Your friends cheered, and you laughed.
And then your eyes found Steve again.
The second they did, your smile faltered. Not in a bad way. Just in that soft, searching way you reserved only for him. You excused yourself from your friends and started walking toward the couch.
Robin nudged Steve again.
“Try not to look like you’re about to flee the country,” she whispered. “It’s New Year’s. She wants to kiss you at midnight, not stage an intervention.”
Steve swallowed hard as you approached, heart thumping like it was desperate to outrun his ribs.
You crossed the room with purpose. Your steps soft, dress swaying around your legs with a shimmer that caught the lights just right. Steve swore the entire place dimmed when you moved; not because the party quieted, but because everything else just mattered less.
And then you were in front of him.
“Hey,” you said, voice warm and bright and impossibly gentle compared to the chaos buzzing behind you. “Why are you over here all alone?”
Steve opened his mouth to answer, but you didn’t give him the chance. Instead, you slid right onto his lap, effortless, like you’d done it a hundred times, like his body was exactly where you belonged. Your pretty dress rustled as you settled, one arm looping around his shoulders, your other hand flattening against his chest. The scent of your perfume washed over him.
His hands found your waist without thinking, palms warm against the fabric, fingers curling instinctively like they were afraid to let go.
You smiled, nose brushing his. “Hi.”
He felt something unclench in his chest. “Hi,” he murmured back, his voice softer than he intended.
You didn’t even seem to notice the shift in him. You were too busy talking, words spilling in that excited, rambling way that always melted him.
“Okay so, first of all, these decorations are insane,” you said, gesturing with your free hand toward the glittering strands of tinsel taped haphazardly to the ceiling. “Like, when I said I’d help set up, I didn’t realize Hannah meant she bought six feet of metallic fringe and thought it would just magically attach itself to the walls.”
Steve couldn’t help it, his lips twitched.
“And don’t even get me started on the banner.” You leaned in, eyes widening dramatically. “It says Happy New Year but the Y is literally upside down. Upside. Down. And everyone keeps pretending it’s fine but it’s not fine, Steve. It’s not.”
He let out a small laugh. “I mean, it’s kind of charming.”
“You’re defending the stupid banner?” you gasped. “You traitor.”
He shook his head slightly. “I’m defending you. You put it up, didn’t you?”
You paused. “…Maybe.”
His smiled deepened, and he pressed a hand to your hip, thumb tracing an idle circle through the fabric. You were glowing up close. Warm cheeks, bright eyes, lips curved in that way that made his heart do complicated, inconvenient things.
“You look really pretty,” he said suddenly, helplessly.
You blinked, caught off guard for only a second before a slow, warm grin took over your face. “Do I?”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Like…stupid pretty.”
Your fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Well, thank you. You look pretty stupid too.”
He snorted, and you laughed, leaning your forehead against his. And God, that sound—your laugh—pulled him clean out of his spiral like nothing else could.
“See?” you whispered. “I knew you weren’t in a bad mood. You were just…missing me.”
He groaned, but he was smiling, and you could feel the tension easing out of him under your hands.
You brushed your nose along his jaw, soft and sweet. “You okay now?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. Not with you sitting on him like you were made to fit there. Not with your dress brushing his legs and your arms around his shoulders and your heartbeat thumping softly against his chest.
“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice dipping low. “I’m okay.”
And then he kissed you.
Soft at first, just his lips pressing into yours, warm and gentle, like he was grounding himself in the feeling. Your fingers tightened in his hair, and he kissed you again, deeper this time, letting himself fall into it, into you, into the safety you carried without even trying.
You smiled against his mouth. “You taste like…nothing,” you said between kisses. “Did you not drink anything?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”
You pulled back just enough to see his face, your brows drawing together. “Are you sure you’re okay? Really okay?”
His hand slid up your back, stopping between your shoulder blades, holding you close like he was afraid you’d slip out of his orbit.
“I am now,” he murmured.
Your expression softened, eyes warm in a way that made his ribs ache.
“Good,” you whispered, cupping his cheek with one hand. “Because I was about to drag you into the kitchen and force-feed you sparkling cider.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Sounds romantic.”
“It would’ve been,” you insisted.
He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth, each one gentle.
The party kept spinning around you both, counting down the minutes toward midnight, but right then, Steve wasn’t thinking about noise or crowds or memories that still stung. He wasn’t thinking about fear at all.
You were still curled in his lap, kissing him back like the rest of the party didn’t exist, when someone shouted your name from across the room.
“Hey! Can you come take a picture with the group camera?”
You groaned dramatically, forehead falling to Steve’s shoulder. “Why do they always remember I know how to use it?”
He smiled into your hair. “Because you’re perfect.”
“That is not a compliment right now,” you muttered as you slid off his lap like your body didn’t fully agree with the motion.
Steve already missed your warmth.
You smoothed your dress, still smiling like you weren’t, thirty seconds ago, kissing him senseless. You tapped his cheek before standing. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
“As if I’m going anywhere,” he said, eyes following you immediately.
You crossed the room toward the little table where the old Polaroid camera sat, some clunky, half-broken thing your friends insisted had “charm.” You picked it up delicately, brows furrowed in concentration as you tried to figure out which switch was the flash and which was the timer. You muttered something under your breath, something like why does this thing have twelve buttons? and Steve bit back a laugh.
God, he loved watching you.
Loved how busy your hands got, how expressive your face was when you were annoyed or excited or trying really hard not to break something.
You shook the camera once. Twice. Squinted at it like intimidation might make it cooperate.
Steve leaned an elbow on the back of the couch, chin propped on his hand, blatantly mesmerized. He wasn’t subtle about it at all.
Then someone appeared beside you—Mia, maybe, or Hannah—with two drinks in hand.
“Oh, here,” she said, handing you one. “You look like you need this.”
You blinked at the glass, then laughed. “Do I look that stressed?”
“Yes,” she deadpanned. “You’re fighting with a camera.”
You accepted the drink anyway, bringing it to your lips for a small sip before turning the camera over again. “Okay, but this thing is held together by hope and duct tape. I’m pretty sure it wants me dead.”
You lifted the glass without hesitation, laughing as someone teased you about the camera, and that was it.
That was the moment something inside Steve broke.
He tried—he really, genuinely tried—to swallow it down. To be reasonable. To be normal. To remind himself that this was you, not Nancy, not that night, not that version of him who had been bleeding out on a bathroom floor without any visible wounds.
But the room suddenly felt too loud.
Too bright.
Too familiar in all the wrong ways.
You took another small sip, humming at the taste. “Oh, this is actually good—”
Steve’s breath stuttered.
Robin glanced over at him from across the room, her expression sharpening instantly. “Steve?” she mouthed.
But he couldn’t answer.
Couldn’t move.
Couldn’t stay.
Your laugh hit him like a punch because he didn’t trust himself to believe it anymore. Not with alcohol in your system. Not with the way his stomach twisted, warning him, run, run, run.
Someone brushed past him on the couch, jostling his leg, and that tiny contact shattered what little control he had left.
Steve stood up too quickly.
Chest tight.
Vision tunneling.
He didn’t look at you, not because he didn’t want to, but because if he did, he might fall apart right there. And falling apart in front of you was his worst nightmare.
He slipped out of the living room, head down, weaving through bodies and noise and confetti like he was wading through smoke. Robin tried to grab his arm as he passed, whispering urgently, “Steve? Hey—HEY, where are you going?”
But he shook her off, barely managing, “I just…I need a second.”
“Steve—”
He didn’t hear the rest.
He was already pushing through the door, stepping into the cold night air like he’d been underwater for too long.
The door swung closed behind him, cutting off the music, the laughter, you.
He exhaled shakily, hands on his knees, trying to breathe through the tightness in his throat. The yard was quiet except for distant fireworks and the muffled thump of bass inside.
He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes.
“God,” he whispered to no one. “Not this. Not now.”
Because leaving you, even for a second, felt wrong. Like he’d done something unforgivable. But staying in there while you drank, while you looked so happy, while memories clawed up his spine?
That felt impossible.
He sank onto the porch step, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground as if it could steady him.
Inside, he knew you were laughing. Taking pictures. Enjoying your night.
And all he could think was:
Please don’t say something tomorrow that’ll kill me.
Please don’t prove I’m right to be scared.
Please don’t break my heart without meaning to.
A firework exploded prematurely in the distance.
He paced down the front walkway like the ground was on fire beneath his feet, boots scraping too loudly against the concrete, keys already clenched in his fist. His breath puffed out in sharp, uneven clouds, lungs working faster than his thoughts could keep up. He wasn’t thinking, he was escaping. Every instinct in him screamed the same command: get out. Get into the car. Shut the door. Sit in the dark with the engine off where nothing could blindside him, where memories couldn’t sneak up behind him wearing someone else’s face, where no one could hurt him without meaning to. The house behind him throbbed with noise and laughter and music, a living thing he needed to outrun before it swallowed him whole.
He reached the driver-side door, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the handle—
“Steve?”
Your voice froze him.
He froze mid-motion, breath hitching hard in his chest, the sound of his name pulling him back whether he wanted it to or not. Slowly he turned around.
You stood on the porch steps, framed by warm yellow light, your dress shimmering faintly as it caught the glow. You hadn’t bothered with a coat. Your arms were bare to the cold, your breath shallow and quick from hurrying after him, confusion written all over your face. Behind you, the party noise had dulled to a distant thrum, like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
He swallowed hard. “You should go back inside.”
Your brows pinched instantly, the way they always did when something didn’t add up. “Why are you out here?” you asked, stepping down a stair. “Why are you leaving?”
He looked away, jaw tightening like he could physically lock the truth behind his teeth. “I just…need air.”
“That’s not air,” you said, moving closer, your voice sharp with something wounded underneath it. “That’s you trying to bail.”
He flinched, because it was true. Because you always saw through him too easily. Because that terrified him more than the drink still warm in your hand, more than the noise inside, more than the memories clawing at his chest.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, the lie weak even to his own ears.
“You’re lying.”
God, he hated how soft your voice was when you said it. How gentle. How careful. It made everything feel sharper, uglier…like he was the villain in a story he never meant to write.
“Just go enjoy the party,” Steve said, fumbling with his keys, the metal clinking far too loud in the cold. His hands were shaking now, and he hated that you could probably see it. “Seriously. It’s New Year’s. Don’t worry about me.”
“I am worried about you,” you snapped, stepping directly in front of the car door before he could open it. Your voice echoed slightly in the quiet street. “You disappeared, Steve. One minute you’re kissing me, the next you’re bolting outside like the place is on fire.”
He winced, shoulders caving in, the words hitting him square in the chest. You didn’t stop.
“What happened?” you demanded, hurt bleeding into every syllable. “Did someone say something? Did I do something?”
“No,” he said too quickly.
“Then what is it?”
He backed up a step, jaw tight, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “I said it’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Oh.
Fuck.
That word again.
His eyes snapped to yours, sharp and panicked, like a cornered animal. Your anger cracked then, not loud, not explosive, but fragile.
“Did I…” Your voice wavered. “Did I make you uncomfortable? Was I—too much?”
“No,” he said, louder now, raw. “God, no. Don’t do that. Don’t make it about something wrong with you.”
“Then tell me what it is,” you said, hands out in front of you like you were begging and demanding at the same time. “Because you look like you saw a demogorgon, and you’re trying to leave without even saying goodbye.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The words died somewhere behind his ribs, tangled up in fear and memory and everything he’d never learned how to say without ruining things.
You swallowed hard, eyes shining. “You didn’t even look at me,” you said quietly. “You just ran. Like being in the same room with me suddenly felt wrong.”
“It wasn’t you,” he said instantly. Too fast. Too desperate.
“Then why won’t you let me touch you?” you whispered.
His breath stuttered, chest hitching like he’d been punched. You were standing inches from him now, your dress fluttering in the wind, mascara perfect and ruined all at once by the tears gathering in your eyes, tears he never meant to cause.
“I came out here thinking you were sick,” you said, voice breaking. “Or that something bad happened. I didn’t think you were trying to leave me on New Year’s Eve.”
“It’s not that—” He dragged a hand through his hair, panic seeping into every movement. “I just…I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party in the first place.”
Your breath caught.
“This stupid party?” Tears finally spilled over. “I only did this stupid party for you.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The words hit him like a memory slamming into place. Like harsh bathroom lights. Like a voice slurred with alcohol telling him he wasn’t loved. Except this time, he wasn’t the one being shattered.
He was the one doing the breaking.
“And now everything I do just feels like bullshit to you,” you finished, voice hollow.
Déjà vu wrapped around his throat, tight and unforgiving.
Except this time, he was sober.
Clear-headed.
Fully aware of every second he was ruining.
He stared at you, keys still biting into his palm, chest aching with the awful realization that the thing he’d been running from, hurting you, was already happening. He didn’t answer right away, because if he spoke now, something irreversible might come out. The truth was tangled and ugly and soaked in fear, and he didn’t trust himself not to weaponize it the way alcohol once had been weaponized against him.
You watched him unravel in real time.
“Well?” you asked, voice raw now. “Say something, Steve. Yell at me. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m dramatic. Do something.”
He flinched at the edge in your voice. Slowly, he lifted his head.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean that you were bullshit.”
“But that’s how it feels,” you shot back immediately. “That’s how it always feels when you shut down and walk away.”
He swallowed. His throat burned. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”
You laughed, short and bitter. “Congratulations. You’re failing.”
The silence after that was brutal.
“I saw you take the drink,” he blurted suddenly, like ripping off a bandage he’d been worrying at for too long. “And something just—” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I panicked.”
You blinked. “What?”
“I panicked,” he repeated, quieter now. “I know it doesn’t make sense. I know it’s unfair. But I saw that glass in your hand and my brain just…went somewhere else.”
Your anger faltered, confusion bleeding through. “I took one sip, Steve.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know. And that’s the worst part. Because you didn’t do anything wrong. You never do.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m being punished?” you whispered.
He had no answer for that. None that didn’t sound like an excuse. None that didn’t make him look as broken as he felt.
“I didn’t want to be there,” he admitted, voice shaking. “I didn’t want to feel like that again. I didn’t want to look at you and start being scared of losing you for no reason.”
Your face crumpled slightly at that. “So your solution was to leave me?”
“I wasn’t leaving you,” he said, the words tumbling out of him like he couldn’t hold them in anymore, like if he didn’t say them right now they’d choke him from the inside. His voice was rough, frantic at the edges. “I was leaving the situation before I said something stupid. Before I turned into someone you’d hate.”
You stepped back instinctively, arms folding over your chest like you needed the pressure just to keep yourself upright. The cold bit at your skin, the night sharp and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the way his words landed. “You don’t get to decide what version of you I can handle,” you said, voice steady even though everything inside you was cracking. “You don’t get to disappear and call it protection.”
He stared at you then, really stared, like the ground had shifted under his feet and he didn’t know where to stand anymore. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, lashes clumped together with unshed tears he was clearly fighting like hell not to let fall. “I don’t want you to see this version,” he admitted, quieter now. Bare. “I don’t want you to look at me and realize I’m…like this.”
“Too late,” you said softly, and there was no accusation in it. Just truth.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Heavy. The kind that pressed into your ears and made your heart pound too loud in your chest. Somewhere inside the house, music thumped, laughter spilled through walls, glasses clinked, but out here, it was just the two of you and everything that had finally been said out loud.
“I love you,” he whispered at last, the words breaking apart as soon as they left his mouth, like a confession and an apology tangled together. Like something sacred he was terrified of ruining. “And that scares the hell out of me.”
Your throat tightened. “Loving me shouldn’t feel like a threat,” you said, tears burning behind your eyes.
“I know,” he said immediately, voice cracking wide open now. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”
Fireworks cracked in the distance, bright and almost cruel in the way they split the sky apart, spilling color where everything between you felt gray and fragile. Red. Gold. White. They bloomed and died too fast, like moments you didn’t get to hold onto. Inside the house, voices began counting down, muffled through thick walls and closed doors, joy leaking out in bursts that felt completely disconnected from the ache settling deep in your chest.
Ten.
You wiped at your cheeks with the heel of your hand, frustrated with yourself for crying and even more frustrated that he was the reason. Your breath came out shaky in the cold air. “I can’t keep chasing you every time you get scared, Steve.” Your voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
Nine.
He took a step toward you on instinct, then stopped short like he’d hit an invisible wall. Like he was afraid that if he moved any closer, he’d ruin something beyond repair. “I’m not asking you to chase me,” he said, but even he knew how hollow it sounded.
Eight.
“Then what are you asking?” you demanded, finally looking at him fully. Your eyes were red, glossy, filled with hurt he never meant to cause and somehow always did anyway. “Because I’m standing here in the cold on New Year’s Eve, begging you to stay, and you still look like you want to run.”
Seven.
His chest tightened. His throat burned. “I want to stay,” he said, voice cracking under the truth of it. “I just—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”
Six.
Your chest rose and fell as you forced yourself to breathe. The anger drained, leaving something sadder behind. Something heavier. “Then you need to learn,” you said quietly. “Because I can’t be the one paying for what someone else did to you.”
Five.
The words landed exactly where they were meant to.
Four.
He nodded slowly, the motion barely there, tears finally slipping free despite his effort to hold them back. Steve Harrington, who had fought monsters and stood between danger and everyone else, looked small under the open sky. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, like admitting it out loud might make it real.
Three.
“Then stop trying to leave,” you whispered.
Two.
He reached out, tentative, asking permission without words.
One.
Midnight hit.
Cheers exploded from inside the house, laughter and shouting and champagne popping all at once. Fireworks tore through the sky, brighter and louder than before, shaking the air around you. And something in Steve finally snapped, not broke, but shifted.
He didn’t think.
He didn’t hesitate.
He didn’t run.
He closed the distance between you in two quick strides, hands coming up to cup your face like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he’d been meant to do it all along. His palms were warm despite the cold, thumbs brushing over your cheeks with reverence, wiping away tears like they mattered, like you mattered more than his fear ever could.
“I’m not leaving,” he breathed.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t soft or careful at first. It was desperate, aching, his mouth crashing into yours like he was terrified the moment would disappear if he didn’t hold onto it hard enough. You gasped against his lips, surprise melting instantly into something raw and familiar, something that had always lived between you. His hands shook against your jaw, grounding himself through you, like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
Another firework cracked open the sky, painting your closed eyelids red and gold.
You kissed him back.
Your fingers fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer, pressing your body into his like you needed proof he was real, like you were anchoring him in place. The kiss slowed then, softened, turning into something tender and fragile and overwhelming, full of everything neither of you had been able to say. Apology. Fear. Love. Promise.
Steve rested his forehead against yours when you finally pulled apart, breath uneven, heart pounding like it might give him away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
You closed your eyes, still holding him, your hands warm against his chest. “Then don’t.”
“I won’t,” he said.
And for the first time all night, for the first time in a long time, he meant it without doubt.
Fireworks bloomed again overhead, louder, brighter, the world celebrating a new beginning while Steve Harrington stood in the cold, kissing the girl he loved like it was both the first and last choice he’d ever make.
And this time…he stayed long enough to realize that maybe, just maybe, parties weren’t so terrifying after all.
going at the end of acosf reminded me of this fucking stupid thought of nesta’s girl no!! noooo get up nooooooo
don’t have words for this but i have long list of evidence to show she doesn’t need to earn love from any of these ppl who in some way or other hurt her
Nesta’s Arc: Why She Doesn’t—and Shouldn’t—Have to “Earn” Love
This passage is one of the most heartbreaking yet frustrating moments in A Court of Silver Flames because it embodies one of the most harmful ideas throughout Nesta’s arc—the belief that she has to earn love, that she has to deserve it, as though love is transactional.
The moment is framed as a breakthrough, as if Nesta is finally taking responsibility and “choosing to fight,” but it’s actually a deeply flawed and damaging mindset that she’s internalized from the way she’s been treated. Let’s break this down piece by piece and challenge why this belief isn’t as triumphant as the book tries to make it seem.
⸻
1. “Though she might not have deserved it then…”
This is where the problem starts.
The idea that Nesta didn’t deserve her father’s love is completely untrue. Love—especially familial love—shouldn’t be something you “deserve” based on merit. Nesta’s father failed his daughters for years, choosing to waste away in grief rather than care for them. And yet, when he finally took action at the last possible moment, his love was unquestioned, unconditional, and heroic.
Nesta, on the other hand, is positioned here as though she has to earn what her father freely gave—a blatant double standard. Her father had the privilege of being passive and broken, but when Nesta exhibits those same behaviors due to trauma, she’s told she doesn’t deserve love.
Why is it that the men in this story can grieve, make mistakes, and still be inherently worthy of love, but Nesta has to prove herself?
⸻
2. “She would do all she could now to earn it.”
This right here is the most damaging line. Nesta’s story should have been about healing and self-acceptance, about learning that she is worthy of love just as she is. Instead, this line frames her healing as a debt she has to pay off.
This is a common theme with how the Inner Circle has treated Nesta—she is expected to repent for her suffering rather than be helped through it. Her struggles are seen as an inconvenience to others rather than symptoms of deep, untreated trauma.
No one should feel like they have to earn the right to be loved. If you have to prove you deserve love, then it isn’t love—it’s conditional approval.
⸻
3. “To deserve not just his love, but that of those around her. Of Cassian.”
This is perhaps the most enraging part of the passage because it frames love—especially Cassian’s—as a reward for her “good” behavior.
Cassian’s love should not be something Nesta has to prove herself worthy of. Love is meant to be given freely, not held hostage until someone becomes easier to deal with. The way this is phrased makes it sound like Nesta will only be lovable if she fights, if she proves herself, if she changes into someone more palatable for Cassian and the others.
And here’s the kicker: Cassian enables this thinking.
Throughout the book, Cassian reinforces Nesta’s belief that she has to earn her place in his life. He constantly frames their relationship as something she has to work for, while he remains the steadfast, patient figure waiting for her to be “ready.” But love isn’t a one-sided test. Nesta doesn’t have to prove her worthiness for Cassian’s love—he should be demonstrating that he is worthy of hers just as much.
Instead, his love is portrayed as something she must fight for, like a finish line in her self-improvement arc. And that’s not love—that’s a performance.
Cassian himself, despite all his posturing about protecting her, is complicit in this narrative. He never challenges the idea that she has to “earn” love—if anything, he supports it. His affection is often given when Nesta is progressing and withheld when she isn’t, reinforcing the idea that she must behave a certain way to be worthy of him.
Contrast this with Feyre and Rhysand—at no point is Feyre ever made to earn Rhysand’s love, nor does she believe she is undeserving of it. Even at her lowest, even when she lashes out, her worth is never questioned. So why is Nesta held to a different standard?
⸻
4. “Some days might indeed be difficult, but she’d do it. Fight for it.”
Yes, healing is difficult. Yes, growth requires effort. But the problem is that Nesta isn’t just fighting for herself—she believes she has to fight to be worthy of love at all.
This isn’t the empowering, triumphant moment the book tries to frame it as. This is a woman who has been abused, isolated, and forced into submission finally breaking down and internalizing the message that she is inherently unlovable unless she performs worthiness.
She should be healing for herself, not for the approval of others. She should be fighting for her own happiness, not to gain permission to be loved.
⸻
What This Passage Should Have Been
Nesta’s arc could have been powerful if it had led her to the realization that she has always been worthy of love. That she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone. That the love she gives and receives isn’t something to be earned like a prize.
Instead, this passage reinforces a harmful idea—that trauma survivors, especially women, have to work twice as hard to be considered worthy of the most basic forms of care and affection.
Nesta didn’t need to earn love. She needed to believe she was worthy of it all along.
because of this post - Based off what we know of the Cullens, my dad and I have decided that on this scale of "Who tasted the best" it probably went
Emmett (athletic as fuck, young as hell, hunter with a good food source)
Rosalie (rich as fuck, probably tasted the 'sweetest')
Esme (Jumped off a cliff, probably covered in dirt)
Edward (influenza)
and that was the sole reason Carlisle didn't answer bc he didn't want to inflate Emmett's ego even more, but Edward heard the answer fleetingly pass Carlisle's head and promptly yelled "GODDAMN IT DAD" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
Summary: Cassian attempts to convince Y/n to train with him, but her stubbornness proves unshakable. However, when he leaves her with unexpected words, she finds herself grappling with an internal struggle over what to do next.
A/N: Hello! So this chapter took me much longer to update than anticipated. I'll try to have the next chapter out by the end of next week.
This chapter focuses more on Y/n and Cassian's relationship, so there aren't many interactions between Y/n and Azriel this time, though there's a 'soft' moment. But I promise, the next chapter has plenty more interactions between them.
WC: 6.5 K.
Luckily, when Cassian was done with Nesta, it was already lunchtime. By the time he finished, however, Y/n was nowhere to be found. He went to her room and knocked a couple of times.
“Tell you’re not still sleeping?” he called out. When she didn’t answer, he sighed before pounding harder on the door.
She eventually opened it, still in her nightgown and robe, her eyes half- closed and her hair disheveled. “What?” she asked groggily.
“You cannot be serious right now. Tell me you did not just wake up.”
“What do you want, asshole?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes.
“We have a training lesson, and I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything yet.”
“I’m not hungry, and I told you I’m not training in that hellhole.”
Cassian exhaled sharply, clearly running out of patience. “I don’t have time for this. Meet me upstairs in ten minutes. If you’re not ready, I’ll take you in your sleeping attire. Your choice, Y/n.”
“I hate you,” she snapped before slamming the door in his face.
True to her defiant nature, Y/n ignored Cassian’s instructions and dressed in the practical gown she had worn the first time she stepped foot in the Illyrian camps. Her long braid reached the middle of her back, swinging slightly as she moved. When Cassian saw her, he raised a brow.
“Interesting choice,” he remarked, smirking. But she didn’t bother responding, brushing past him without a word.
When they arrived in Windhaven, Devlon snickered as he caught sight of her.
“Are you going to bring all our High Lady’s sisters here?” he taunted. “Or are you hoping this one won’t turn out to be a failure like the other one?”
Cassian opened his mouth to retort, but Y/n stepped forward first, her expression could have sliced through stone. “Delan, was it? I suggest you keep your remarks to yourself if you like having a tongue.” She took a step forward, but Cassian’s arm shot out to halt her.
Devlon sneered, undeterred. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“How you choose to perceive my words is your business,” she said evenly, her voice low and calm. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Before Devlon could retort, Cassian interjected, his tone a quiet warning. “I’d remind you that she’s the one who severed the King of Hybern’s head from his body… Let’s go, Y/n.” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the empty training area.
“I had that handled,” she muttered as they walked, brushing his hand off her shoulder.
“I know,” Cassian replied with a shrug. “But I didn’t want to see bloodshed yet. Besides, if you want to defeat him, you need to train.”
A few Illyrian males lingered nearby, watching them curiously as Cassian began his usual training routine. Y/n, however, ignored him entirely, sitting on the nearest rock.
Cassian frowned, pausing mid-motion. “Are you just going to sit there and watch like your sister?”
“Are you ever going to stop mentioning her whenever you’re talking to me? I’m beginning to think you’re obsessed with her,” Y/n replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
She wavered dismissively at the Illyrians who were staring at her. “There won’t be a show today, boys. You can scatter now.” They glared at her but eventually walked away, muttering among themselves.
She closed her eyes, intending to block out the world, and almost fell asleep before Casian’s voice dragged her back. “Don’t think I‘ve given up on you. Same time tomorrow. And eat something before training.”
“Not yet,” was all she said, her voice soft in a way.
“Not yet?” Cassian repeated, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“You haven’t given up on me yet, but you will.” she said, her tone detached, as if stating a fact.
He shook his head, exhaling in frustration. “We’ll see.”
That night was no better than the one before. The nightmares returned, relentless and vivid, dragging her through the same torment. She woke up drenched in sweat, her father’s name echoing in her mind. Unable to fall back asleep, she waited for the sun to rise, staring blankly at the ceiling.
By the time Cassian came pounding on her door again, she looked worse than the day before. Her face pale, her eyes hollow. She opened the door, leaning against the frame.
“Let me guess. You’ll give me ten minutes to get ready?” she muttered hoarsely.
Cassian glanced at her, his expression softening slightly. “Meet me in the dining area,” was all he said before turning away.
When she finally emerged, Cassian was seated at the table, his arms crossed. He’d already eaten lunch, but he needed her to eat something. If she continued at this rate, she was going to collapse.
“Sit” he ordered.
“I’m not eating with you,” she said, arms crossing tightly as she hovered by the doorway.
“You barely have the energy to stand. Please sit,” he pleaded, changing his tone.
Reluctantly, she slid into the chair at the far end of the table. A bowl of her favorite fruits and porridge appeared in front of her the moment she sat down. How the house knew what she liked, she still didn’t know. She eyed the porridge with disdain. “I’m not eating that.”
“You need to eat something. How else will you have the energy to argue with me?” Cassian quipped, trying to lighten the mood.
“I don’t need energy for that. I’m.Not.Eating.That,” she repeated slowly, her tone biting.
“Do not make me force-feed you,” Cassian warned, his eyes narrowing.
“You wouldn’t dare.” She glared at him.
“If you won’t eat, I will. You look like crap and you’re barely functioning. I know you didn’t sleep last night. I heard your screams.”
Her gaze snapped to him at those words, but she said nothing, instead picking at the fruit in front of her. Slowly, she ate, if only to avoid continuing the conversation.
“Here,” she said after a few bites, pushing the bowl away. “I’m done. But I’m not touching that porridge.”
“Fine,” Cassian said with a sigh of resignation. “You should consider going to the library once we’re done with training.”
“Ah, the sanctuary for broken souls,” she replied dryly, a mocking smile tugging at her lips. “No, thank you.”
Training went about as well as Cassian had expected, which was to say, not at all. Y/n remained rooted in her stubbornness, refusing to do anything beyond watching him train. Poor Cassian now found himself juggling two sisters whose tempers were as sharp as their tongues. Both equally unyielding. Both unwilling to cooperate. And worse still, he had to fly to Windhaven twice a day, only to find himself humiliated further when his efforts came to nothing.
By the third day, after another failed training session, Y/n decided to try descending the ten thousand steps. She made it one hundred steps before her legs gave out. Faced with the choice of resting and returning to the top or continuing down, she chose the latter.
Although it was unrealistic she’d make it to the bottom, she refused to waste her remaining strength retracing her steps. She wasn’t even thinking as she hauled herself upright again and pressed forward, step by agonizing step, driven by nothing but sheer determination, and perhaps a desire to avoid admitting defeat.
An hour later, she was panting and trembling as she reached the two hundredth step. Her body screamed in protest, but she refused to turn back. Instead, she slumped down on the stone stair, leaning against the wall with her head tilted back. The cold air stung her skin, but she welcomed it, letting it numb the ache in her limbs.
When Azriel returned from one of his missions, he immediately felt her absence from the house. Concern tightened his chest, and he sent his shadows to search for her. It didn’t take long for them to locate her and inform him.
He found her slumped against the stone wall of the staircase, fast asleep. Strands of her hair had fallen across her face, softening her features despite the discomfort of her position. Her breathing was steady, peaceful even, though the setting was anything but.
Azriel’s throat tightened at the sight. She looked so fragile, her usual sharp edges dulled by exhaustion. He hesitated for a moment, afraid to disturb her. But the thought of leaving her there was unbearable. Slowly, carefully, he scooped her into his arms, cradling her as though she might break. Her head lolled against his chest, her breathing deep and even, completely unaware of his presence. If it weren’t for exhaustion, she surely would’ve woken.
Carrying her back to her room, he lowered her carefully on the bed, mindful of every movement. As he straightened, his fingers lingered just long enough to brush a stray strand of her hair from her face.
Her skin was still pale, her features drawn tight, as though sleep couldn’t ease the burden she carried. She looked so…empty. A pang of helplessness shot through him. Even his shadows, ever watchful, seemed unsure how to help her.
Azriel exhaled quietly, a breath laced with frustration and something else- something raw. He just hoped, with every part of him, that tonight would be kinder to her. That for once, sleep would grant her peace instead of the nightmare he couldn’t banish.
Her eyes opened slowly to see him staring down at her. “Shadowsinger?”
“Go back to sleep, Y/n” he said softly, offering her a faint, sad smile.
Her eyelids drifted shut again, her mind too clouded with exhaustion to hold onto the moment. She slipped back into sleep, the warmth of his presence lingering longer than any dream ever would.. Azriel stayed for just a moment longer, watching her, her peaceful form, before retreating into the shadows.
The next morning, Y/n managed to wake up before Cassian had the chance to pound on her door. She didn’t dwell on how she’d made it back to her bed or the hazy memory of Azriel’s face- of him standing there. It had to have been a dream.
Instead, she dressed quickly and made her way to the dining room.
A plate of her favorite food appeared on the table as she sat down. It had been so long since she’d had a proper meal, let alone something she truly enjoyed. She stared at it for a moment, her appetite nonexistent, but eventually somehow forced herself to eat.
Moments later, Cassian and Nesta entered the room, bickering as usual. Their voices cut through the silence, making her head throb.
“You’re up early,” Cassian remarked, his surprise evident.
“Let’s just go,” she said flatly, her gaze flicking briefly to her sister before returning to him.
“We were just about to eat lunch. Since you’re already eating, let’s join you,” Cassian said, gesturing to the table.
“I’m done eating. Find me when you’re finished,” she replied dryly, standing and leaving the room before either of them could respond.
The next day was worse. Y/n couldn’t sleep, and when breakfast time rolled around, she found herself in the dining room again. This time, Azriel and Nesta were seated at the table too. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate. Nesta, clearly fuming from an argument with Cassian, stormed out moments later, her sharp footsteps echoing behind her. She didn’t spare Y/n so much as a glance.
Cassian arched a brow as he watched Y/n enter. “Even earlier than yesterday,” he remarked with a teasing smirk. “What’s going on? Already falling into good habits?”
Azriel glanced up at her briefly, his expression unreadable, before he returned back to his tea, his movements smooth, quiet.
“If you call not sleeping at all a good habit, then sure,” Y/n muttered, her gaze flitted to Azriel for a split second before shifting away. “I didn’t think anyone else was here.” She meant Azriel…and Nesta, before she left.
Y/n turned on her heel to leave, but Cassian’s voice stopped her.
“I’m done eating. You can stay,” he said, pushing back his chair as he stood.
Y/n hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. Cassian’s presence didn’t bother her as much as Azriel’s. Who knew time could change so many things? It hadn’t always been like this- Azriel’s presence suffocating her or making her feel uneasy more than comforting.
Reluctantly, she slid into the chair at the farthest end of the table, putting as much distance as possible between them. She could’ve left- almost did, but something in her refused to let him think she was avoiding him. She wouldn’t give him any reason to think her actions had anything to do with him. She could sit here, eat in silence, and prove- if only to herself, that she was unbothered.
“I’d say good morning, but you didn’t sleep at all,” Azriel said, his tone calm, probing- but not unkind.
Y/n didn’t respond, pretending to focus on the bowl of oats that had appeared before her.
“What I need is coffee,” she muttered to the house, but when it didn’t appear, she sighed. “Fine!” Begrudgingly, she scooped up a spoonful of oats and forced herself to take a bite.
Azriel watched her for a long moment before speaking again. “How long are you going to ignore me for?”
“I’m not ignoring you.” At least this time she replied, her tone clipped and defensive.
Azriel tilted his head slightly, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “What do you call this, then?”
Y/n swallowed hard, keeping her eyes firmly on her bowl. “I just answered you, didn’t I? Or were you expecting a friendly conversation?”
The words came out sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t stop them. What did he expect? That she’d look at him and pretend things were normal? Pretend she wasn’t trying desperately to push him away? Every time he looked at her, it chipped away at the walls she’d so carefully rebuilt. And Y/n couldn’t let that happen.
Azriel’s jaw tightened, the flicker of frustration on his face clear before he turned away. He stood abruptly, his movements smooth but tense, and left without another word.
Y/n exhaled shakily, staring at her bowl as the silence returned.
When she finished the last bite, a cup of coffee finally appeared. Y/n huffed a small, bitter laugh. “I get it now,” she muttered, taking a sip. "I eat whatever you give me, and you reward me with whatever I want? Can I get something stronger?”
Nothing appeared. She shrugged, leaning back in her chair with a faint smirk. “Didn’t think so. Worth a try though.”
—
“You’re going to freeze over there,” Cassian said as he tried to get her up from the rock she usually sat on. “Training will at least warm you up.”
“I prefer the cold, thank you very much,” Y/n replied with a mock smile, her voice dripping with false cheer.
But that day was colder than any other, and her thin dress did little to shield her from the biting wind. By the time they returned, the chill had settled deep in her bones.
She woke the next morning with a pounding headache and a scratchy throat, her body aching from the cold she had undoubtedly caught. Still, she forced herself out of bed before trudging off with Cassian to Windhaven again.
Cassian didn’t realize something was wrong until she spoke, her voice hoarse after taunting her.
“Smart move with the coat,” Cassina said, eyeing her bundled form. “But why be so stubborn? Just train with me.”
“I’d rather freeze to death,” she croaked, her voice barely audible.
“You caught a cold, didn’t you?” he tried to hide his smirk.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, though her voice was rough. “I can endure one more hour with you.”
Cassian’s smirk faded as his gaze dropped to her pale face and the bluish tinge to her lips, “I doubt that. Your lips are blue.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity. I was instructed to keep you alive,” he replied, his tone softening despite her defiance.
That day, Cassian ended the ‘lesson’ or whatever that was early, cutting it short when it became clear she wasn’t fit to keep going. Her stubbornness could only carry her so far, and judging by her sister, she was already pushing the limits.
The next day, Cassian was called away, leaving Y/n to her own devices. He left her with a choice: either brace the cold or spend the day at Rhy’s mother’s house. She chose the latter.
But boredom crept in quickly, and the walls of the house became suffocating. So she ventured back outside, wandering through Illyria despite the frigid air.
It wasn’t long before trouble found her. Two Illyrian males sneered at her as she passed, their words laced with mockery and insult. She stopped, warning them to watch their tongues. But when they laughed in her face and hurled even sharper insults, she didn’t hold back.
The altercation was brief but decisive. She didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but the next day, Devlon stormed over to Cassian at the training grounds, his tone sharp and accusing.
“Keep that witch away from my warriors,” Devlon spat, his glare flicking to Y/n.
Cassian frowned, confusion creasing his brow. “What are you talking about?”
Devlon’s lips curled in disdain. “She knows exactly what I mean.”
Y/n stepped forward, her expression cool but her eyes alight with challenge. “Keep speaking to me like that, and you’ll be next.”
A low growl rumbled in Devlon’s throat, but he didn’t press further. With a final glare, he turned and walked away.
Cassian turned to Y/n, crossing his arms. “What did you do, Y/n?”
She shrugged, inspecting her nails as though bored. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
“If it wasn’t worth mentioning, Devlon wouldn’t have brought it up. What is he talking about?”
“Two of his men said something I didn’t like.”
Cassian’s brows snapped together, his voice sharper this time. “When?”
“Yesterday. While you were gone.”
For a moment, he just stared at her, his jaw tightening. “You left the house?” The words came out a little too loud, a mix of frustration and worry cutting through.
Y/n’s brows lifted in challenge. “Obviously. I got bored.”
Cassian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as if trying to calm himself. His voice dropped, tight and edged. “I told you to stay inside, Y/n.” His words held a quiet anger, though underneath it, the weight of responsibility pressed heavy.
“What exactly did you do?” he asked after a beat, though part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Y/n shrugged, her tone casual, almost bored. “We had an argument.”
Cassian’s frown deepened, his concern twisting into exasperation. “And?”
“Let’s just say I won.”
Cassian raised a skeptical brow. “And they let you be?”
Y/n’s lips curled into a faint, pointed smile. “I let them be.”
Cassian stared at her, tension still lining his frame. He didn’t know whether to be impressed, furious, or worried out of his mind. But most of all, he was frustrated- he still didn’t know what exactly she’d done to those males. “You need to be careful around here. You don;t know what these males are capable of.”
Y/n’s gaze met his, cool and unbothered. “I can take care of myself.”
Cassian let out a rough sigh, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. “Clearly.”
Later, during training, three Illyrian males stood off to the side, watching and whispering as Cassian worked with Y/n. Their mocking laughter grated on her nerves. Whatever Cassian was saying faded into the background, his voice nothing but a noise as her attention zeroed in on the males. Without a word, she strode toward them, her steps deliberate and steady.
The males stilled as she approached, their sneers faltering when she spoke. “I suppose you haven’t heard about the two males who tried insulting me last time,” she said, her voice low and calm. A wicked grin curled her lips.” If you stay long enough, I can show you.”
The males paled before scattering immediately.
Cassina approached her, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “What did you say to them?”
Y/n shrugged again, replying nonchalantly. “Nothing important.” With that, she turned and sauntered back to her spot, as if the interaction hadn’t even been worth her time.
That night, as Y/n approached the dining room, she heard raised voices. Cassian stormed out moments later, his face dark with anger. Y/n paused, turning to leave when Nesta exited next, brushing past her without a glance.
Assuming the dining room was now empty, Y/n stepped inside and dropped into a chair, only to realize Azriel was seated at the far end of the table.
How she always ended up alone in a room with him, she did not know.
Azriel’s gaze lifted from his tea to look at her. “I heard about what happened.” Although his tone was calm, there was a chill to it that made her shift in her seat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, leaning back, arms crossed.
“The Illyrians” he clarified.
She exhaled sharply, “The General told you.”
His lips twitched faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “You could say that.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Are you going to lecture me about how I should be careful around them too?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm and annoyance, masking the spark of unease she felt under his unwavering gaze.
Azriel tilted his head slightly, his reply still calm and measured. “No.”
The single word surprised her.
He took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea before continuing. “If anything, they should be careful around you.”
Y/n blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected praise- or warning. She searched his face, wondering how much he knew. Did he only know what Cassian had told him? Or had his shadows whispered the whole truth?
His tone was lighter when he spoke again, though it carried that quiet edge he always seemed to have. “Why don’t you train with Cass?”
Y/n scoffed, the tension breaking momentarily. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
Azriel’s brow lifted faintly. “Isn’t he asking nicely?”
Her lips twisted into a faint smirk. “Your brother is anything but nice.”
Azriel’s response was quick, cutting like a blade. “Says you.”
Silence followed, thick and loaded with unspoken meaning.
Y/n’s smirk faltered, her amusement flickering as his words landed. She was no stranger to insults or cold remarks, she had heard far worse, and not once had she cared what others thought of her. Nothing they said could hurt her as much as her own words did. She was always the harshest critic, relentless and unforgiving, and she knew she deserved it. After all, she was just as cold to everyone else.
But coming from Azriel, it struck something deeper. This was probably the first time he had called her out so bluntly, so sharply. She wasn’t used to him being cold with her.
For a moment, she stared at him, her feelings tangled into something she couldn’t name. Was she annoyed? Pleased? Somehow, it was both, a strange tug in her chest almost made her want to laugh.
Azriel gave nothing away, his expression calm and unreadable. But his fingers stilled briefly against the teacup. He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let the sharpness slip, but a part of him believed it, and he knew she did, too.
Y/n leaned back in her chair, settling into it as if perfectly unbothered. A slow, amused smirk crept onto her lips.
Azriel said nothing more, returning his attention to his tea as if the conversation hadn’t even happened. But Y/n watched him carefully, the smirk lingering.
—
“We’re not going to Windhaven?” Y/n asked the next day as Cassian led her to the training ring on the roof.
“No, we’ll train here today.”
Y/n glanced around. There was no rock for her to sit on this time, no convenient excuse to settle in and watch. So, she remained standing, arms crossed.
Cassian turned to her, his tone softer, almost pleading. “Come on, train with me. Please.”
“No.” Her response was immediate, flat.
Cassian sighed, a faint crease forming between his brows. “I’ll make a bargain with you, like I did with your sister. If you train for an hour, I’ll owe you a favor.”
Y/n’s expression hardened, as she snapped. “I’m not Nesta. I don’t want your favors or bargains. Stop comparing me to her.”
Cassian blinked at the sudden edge in her voice.
She hated it- the constant comparison, the expectations he kept throwing at her, the shadow of heer sister always hanging between them.
“What do you want then?” he asked quietly, frustration lacing his voice.
“To stop expecting anything from me. To leave me alone, but you can’t do that, can you?”
Cassian exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging with defeat. “Fine. Have it your way.”
He turned from her without another word and began his morning exercises. The usual banter, the coaxing words- gone. Y/n watched for a moment, surprised by the silence before looking away.
He didn’t speak to her again for the rest of the day.
The following morning, she didn’t see Cassian and assumed she’d finally have a free day. That was until Rhys appeared.
“You didn’t think we'd let you off that easily, did you?” Rhys said, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against the doorway.
Y/n arched a brow, arms crossing over her chest. “Where’s your General? Has he finally given up on me?”
“No,” Rhys replied smoothly, stepping inside. “Something came up. He’s needed elsewhere. So today, I’ll be training with you instead.”
She snorted, disbelief flashed across her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you train.”
Rhys placed a hand over his chest and mock self-deprecation. “I admit, I’ve been slacking. But today, I’m getting back into it.”
“Good luck to you,” she replied flatly, already moving to leave. “I’m not training with you.”
Rhys tilted his head, that familiar mischievous gleam sparking in his eyes. “If you train with me today, I’ll let you go into the city. Unsupervised.”
Y/n hesitated, narrowing her eyes. “Tempting. But I don’t make bargains with Fae.”
“How about an unofficial deal then?”
Y/n frowned, skepticism etched on her face. “What kind of training are we talking about?”
“Basic exercises,” Rhys replied easily. “Just enough to build your muscles and stamina.”
“For how long?”
“An hour.”
“Thirty minutes,” she countered, her tone sharp.
Rhys chuckled, shaking his head. “Come on, you can last longer. Forty-five minutes.”
A long stare passed between them before she finally relented with a clipped, “Fine.”
And so they began. The exercises were, as promised, basic, but Y/n quickly realized how out of shape she was. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats…each one felt like torture. By the time she reached the third push-up, her arms were shaking, and she collapsed onto the ground, panting.
Despite her protests, she powered through the session, taking frequent breaks and glaring at Rhysand each time he told her to keep going. Sit-ups were the easiest for her, but even those left her winded.
When the forty-five minutes finally ended, she stood, brushing the dust off her clothes. “When can I go into the city?”
He smiled smugly, far too pleased with himself. “Lesson one, Y/n: if you don’t make an official bargain, it doesn’t count.”
He said it lightly, a teasing joke, but the smile slipped from her face in an instant.Her expression froze, then darkened, her voice dangerously calm. “I see.”
She clapped slowly, the sound deliberate and mocking as she stepped toward him. “So it was a lie. Well played, High Lord.”
His smile faltered. “I was joking,” he said quickly, his tone soft.
Y/n turned on her heel, her movements cold and precise. “It doesn’t matter. Lesson learned. Never trust anyone, no matter how ‘self-righteous’ they might seem. Thank you for the reminder.”
“Y/n, I didn’t mean to-”
“Save it,” she snapped, cutting him off without looking back. “I’m not in the mood anymore. And as you said, it wasn’t official, and there were no witnesses. A failure on my part, I’ll admit.”
With that, she strode off, her footsteps echoing through the silence. Rhys let out a quiet curse, running a hand through his hair as he watched her disappear.
That night, Y/n descended to the library. The last time she’d been here, something about the lower levels- where Bryaxis once resided had drawn her in.
A familiar priestess greeted her, the same one who had offered her assistance before. This time, Y/n knew what she wanted: an escape, something that would pull her far away from where she was- if only in her mind.
A copper-haired priestess approached, her face visible and her steps light as she came to escort Y/n deeper into the aisles.
Y/n hesitated before asking, “You’re not wearing the hood?”
The priestess offered a soft smile, her voice warm as she replied, “It’s not mandatory.”
“And you can speak,” Y/n observed, her lips quirking into a faint smile.
“There are all sorts of females here,” the priestess explained. “I’d recommend this one.
She handed Y/n a worn book, its edges frayed with age but well-loved. “It helped me when I wanted to feel like I was somewhere else.”
Y/n accepted the book, her fingers brushing over the cover. “Thank you.” The words came out easier than she expected. Somehow she found herself being nice to the priestess- something she hadn’t intentionally planned.
The priestess smiled again. “Are you Y/n?” she asked gently.
Y/n tilted her head, a frown tugging at her brows. “You’ve heard of me?”
“A little,” she admitted. “Nesta might have mentioned you once or twice.”
Y/n blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “Ah.” Y/n muttered, covering her uncertainty with a shrug. “You’re familiar with my sister. Whatever bad things she said about me, they’re all true.”
The priestess’s brows furrowed slightly, her expression puzzled. “Why would you think she said anything bad about you?”
Y/n faltered. “She didn’t?”
“No. She only said nice things about you, actually.”
For a moment, Y/n couldn’t hide her surprise. The words struck something deep in her. A flicker of hurt crossed her features before she masked it again, her gaze dropping to the book in her hands. “She did?”
“She did,” the priestess confirmed. “You seem surprised. I thought you got along.”
“We did. It’s just…we’re in an odd place right now,” Y/n admitted quietly.
“Why?” the priestess tilted her head, curiosity in her expression. But instead of pushing her away or saying it was none of her business, Y/n stayed calm.
Y/n hesitated, tensing slightly, instinctively wanting to brush the question off. Bit for some reason, she didn’t. There was no judgement in the priestess’s voice, no sharp edge or demand. Just quiet patience that made her feel like she could answer- if she wanted to
After a pause, Y/n sighed. “Some words were exchanged. Both parties were hurt.” The admission slipped out. It was the closest she’d come to acknowledging the shame she felt- the regret that had lingered since the last time she spoke to Nesta.
“She didn’t mention that.”
“Well, now you know,” Y/n replied, a small tone of shame creeping into her tone. She forced herself to meet the priestess’s eyes, half-expecting pity or judgment- not that she cared, but she found neither.
The priestess smiled instead. “I’m Gwyneth Berdara, by the way,” the priestess introduced herself. “But most people call me Gwyn.”
“Nice to meet you, Berdara,” Y/n said, a faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at her lips.
Y/n ended up falling asleep in the library, the book cradled in her hands. When she woke, it was already the next day. She stretched stiffly, the ache in her neck reminding her she’d slept on a hard surface.
She didn’t feel like returning upstairs, especially not after what happened with Rhys. So she stayed where she was, the silence of the library a welcome reprieve.
The book in her hands drew her back in, offering her a world far away from her own. For a while, it worked. She lost herself in its pages, her surroundings fading into nothing.
But her peace shattered when a familiar voice broke the silence.
“You’re late for training,” a certain giant brute said.
Y/n’s head snapped up to find Cassian standing there, arms crossed, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not going,” she said, her tone defiant. “Unless you plan to make a scene in the library and drag me out of here by my hair, I’m staying right where I am.”
His smirk deepened as he teased. “I didn’t know our little Rhysie hurt your feelings that much.”
“He wishes,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the book in her lap.
“Then why are you hiding here?” he pressed, his tone light, though curiosity flickered in his eyes.
“I’m not hiding,” she replied sharply, flipping a page with deliberate care. “I’m busy. Go away.”
Cassian crossed the room to lean casually against a nearby table. “I wouldn’t exactly call that busy. You’re reading a book.”
“How dare you?” she quipped, mock offense in her tone as she shot him a glare. “These books are worth more than you are.”
He chuckled, clearly unbothered. “I didn’t take you for a reader.”
“My entire job revolved around reading,” she muttered, her eyes skimming the lines again as though to ignore him.
“I meant for fun,” he clarified, his brows raised slightly.
“Well, it’s a new hobby of mine,” she said coolly. “Much better than your training.”
“You haven’t even given it a proper try. Now, come on, let’s go,” Cassian urged, standing upright and motioning toward the exit.
“Are you going to offer me another bargain?”
“Do you want me to?”
“No. I learned my lesson,” she said flatly, her tone cutting.
He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, Rhys didn’t mean what he said yesterday,” he began, his voice softening.
“I don’t care what he meant or didn’t mean,” she interrupted, her eyes hardening as she kept them fixed on the page.
Cassian studied her for a moment before speaking again. “Why did you train with him but not with me?”
“Because I felt like it,” she said dismissively, turning another page without looking up.
Cassian frowned, doubt visible on his face. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe it was him. She probably hated his guts, and refusing to train with him was her way of proving she would never give him the satisfaction. So, carefully, he offered, “Would you like to train with him instead?”
“I’d rather break my legs than do that again,” she said, her voice serious.
Cassina’s frown deepened, but he pushed on. “What about Az? You could train with him.” He knew that out of the Inner Circle, he was the one she seemed to tolerate. He seemed to be the one to get through to her, when others couldn’t.
The reaction was immediate. “NO,” she snapped. The words came so quickly, her tone so raw, that Cassian blinked. She added immediately after, her voice steadier now, “If anything, I’d rather watch you train alone than him.”
Cassian’s brows lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You know, for someone who claims nothing happened between the two of you, you’re making a very good point of proving otherwise.”
Y/n didn’t know what to say to that, so she settled for glaring at him before returning her attention to her book and ignoring him.
“Alright,” Cassian said, his tone shifting. “I have a serious question for you.”
She glanced up, her brow arching warily. “What?”
“What would it take to get you to train with me? At least once?”
Y/n considered him for a moment, then replied, “Time and space.”
Cassian nodded, as though weighing her words. “Alright. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready. I won’t ask again.”
Her brow furrowed. “You’re just going to give up?”
“I’m not giving up,” he clarified. “I’m giving you what you asked for. Time and space. I’m putting my faith in you.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, her defenses wavering. “You’re just going to trust me like that?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t you worried I’ll pull the same move your High Lord pulled?” her tone was almost uncertain.
“No. Because you’re not him. And I know for a fact that you keep your word. So, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“How generous of you,” she said with biting sarcasm. But as Cassian turned to leave, her gaze lingered on his retreating figure.
Just as he reached the exit, she called after him, “You never said for how long.”
Cassian glanced back, his eyes understanding. “For however long you need,” he said simply. “I just hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
And with that, he finally walked out, leaving her alone.
Cassian’s words lingered long after he’d gone. He had placed the decision entirely in her hands, a move she hadn’t seen coming. At least before, when he kept pushing and prodding, she’d had an excuse to refuse and resist. Now, the choice was hers- and that left her feeling unsettled.
She turned back to her book, but the words blurred on the page. Cassian’s quiet faith in her, his patience, had cracked something she wasn’t ready to confront.
It was one thing to push people away when they demanded something from her. It was another thing entirely when they stepped back, when they gave her space and left it up to her to decide.
She had spent days watching Cassian train, scoffing at his persistence, telling herself that her refusal wasn’t her fault- it was his. His constant nagging and teasing. But now that he’d given her exactly what she asked for- time, space, trust, she had nothing left to blame. And that frustrated her.
Because it meant she would either floor through on her word or become like everyone else who made promises they couldn’t- wouldn’t keep. She didn’t know if she could bear to be that person. It wasn’t who she was- or at least, it hadn’t been.
Even though Cassian had said she could take all the time she needed, it still felt like a weight pressing on her shoulders. Faith, she realized, was its own kind of pressure.
The soft glow of the fairy lights strung across the porch cast a warm hue over the backyard, blending with the twilight sky. The air was still, with only the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees, creating a peaceful ambiance. You leaned back against the porch swing, a content smile on your lips as you gazed out at the stars peeking through the clouds.
Emmett sat beside you, his strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. Even after years of marriage, his touch still sent a flutter through your heart. You nestled into him, the familiar scent of pine and earth filling your senses—comfort, warmth, and home.
For a while, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the quiet. The years had brought so much—adventures, laughter, love—and through it all, Emmett had been your constant. He had a way of making everything seem lighter, his infectious joy always bringing a smile to your face. But tonight, there was something different in his eyes, a softness that hinted at nostalgia.
He shifted slightly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm as he looked down at you with that crooked smile you had fallen in love with. “Do you remember our first date?” he asked suddenly, his voice a low rumble, filled with fondness.
You smiled, turning your head to meet his gaze. “Of course I do. How could I forget?”
Emmett chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, I remember everything about that night. Every little detail.” His voice carried a hint of pride, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him.
“Everything?” you teased. “It’s been years, Emmett. You remember everything?”
He grinned, leaning in closer until his lips were just brushing your ear. “Challenge accepted.”
You laughed, swatting playfully at his chest, but settled in for his story, eager to hear how much he actually remembered.
Emmett’s eyes sparkled as he leaned back, his smile softening as he began to recount the memory. “It was a Friday night. You wore that blue dress with the little flowers on it—the one that drove me absolutely crazy.”
You laughed, remembering the dress well. “I didn’t think you even noticed that detail.”
“Oh, I noticed everything,” Emmett said, his voice dropping to a low, affectionate tone. “You were nervous. I could hear your heart racing from the moment I picked you up at your apartment.”
“Was I that obvious?” you asked, your cheeks warming at the memory.
Emmett nodded, his grin widening. “Yeah, but you tried to hide it by talking nonstop about…what was it? Oh yeah—how ridiculous you thought love potions were in all those fantasy novels you liked.”
You covered your face with your hands, groaning with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Emmett said, laughing softly, pulling your hands away so he could see your face. “But I loved it. I loved how you rambled when you were nervous. It was adorable.”
You shook your head, feeling your heart swell with affection for him. “Okay, fine, you remember that. What else?”
“Well,” he said, leaning closer again, “we went to that little diner at the edge of town. The one that always had the best milkshakes.”
You nodded, remembering the cozy atmosphere of the place, with its old jukebox and checkered floors. “I was so nervous, I couldn’t even finish my food.”
“I know,” Emmett replied, his smile softening. “But I didn’t mind. I was just happy to be with you. I remember watching you fiddle with your straw, biting your lip because you weren’t sure what to say next. You were nervous, but you didn’t need to be. I was already head over heels for you.”
Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you feel as if you were back in that diner, sharing awkward glances across the table.
“And then,” Emmett continued, “after dinner, we went for a walk. It was cold out, so I gave you my jacket.”
You smiled at the memory of the oversized jacket he had draped over your shoulders. “I remember. It smelled like you.”
Emmett chuckled softly, his hand now gently brushing your hair. “You looked so beautiful that night. The moonlight made your eyes sparkle, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I didn’t want the night to end.”
You closed your eyes, leaning into him as he spoke, your heart full. You had always known that Emmett was thoughtful, but hearing him remember each little moment of that night made you fall in love with him all over again.
“And then,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft whisper, “you tripped.”
You laughed, covering your face again. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but you tried to play it off like it was no big deal. I caught you before you could hit the ground, and you just looked up at me and said, ‘I meant to do that.’”
Your laughter echoed through the night, the memory of your clumsiness and how Emmett had swept you into his arms making you feel giddy.
“I was mortified,” you admitted, your face warm with embarrassment.
“You shouldn’t have been,” Emmett said, his voice soft, full of affection. “I thought it was perfect. That was the moment I knew. I knew I wanted you by my side forever.”
His words made your breath catch in your throat. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “You knew that night?”
Emmett nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “I knew. And now, all these years later, I still remember every detail. Because that was the night I realized I had found the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
You reached up, cupping his cheek with your hand, feeling the cool smoothness of his skin under your palm. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion.
Emmett smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you too. More than words can say.”
As the stars sparkled above you and the night stretched on, you nestled into Emmett’s arms, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around you. Even after all these years, he remembered every detail of that first date, and the memory of it still made your heart race just like it did back then.
Because with Emmett, love wasn’t just a memory. It was something he cherished every single day.
Summary: Finally being close to Spencer makes you emotional
Request: Touch-starved Reader who hasn’t been with anyone in a while and her and Spencer get to the dating stage where they start experiencing that and she gets all emotional about it
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Category: Fluff
Content Warnings: Nervousness, cuddling, heavy kissing, happy tears
Word count: 1.1k
Masterlist
The silly organ inside your ribcage didn’t calm down no matter how many deep breaths you took. It threatened to jump out of your chest even before you knocked on Spencer’s apartment door, beating so loud you could barely hear your own thoughts.
It’s just a movie night, you told yourself when you finally announced your presence with a firm knock on his door.
Of course it was more than that and you knew it. After having many wonderful conversations with him over coffee and dinner, he invited you over to watch a movie together after you mentioned you had never seen one of his favorite films.
Spencer had been the perfect gentleman on your dates, tentatively hugging you and waiting for you to initiate a kiss when you said goodbye. However, you hadn’t found the courage to actually do that so far. Brief embraces were all the physical contact you’d let happen and even those were almost too much for you to bear.
“Hi,” Spencer said with a sweet smile on his face once he opened the door.
With an even wider grin, you answered, “Hi Spencer.”
Stepping aside, he mumbled, “Come in.”
Just like on your dates before, he pulled you into an innocent hug. Even though you desperately yearned for his nearness, you were glad he let go of your body after just a second. Otherwise he would have been able to feel the erratic beating of your heart.
He helped you shed your coat before he motioned for you to take a seat on the couch. A glass of water and some snacks were placed in front of you before he plopped down beside you. You felt his eyes on you as he scanned your body language.
“I’m just a little nervous,” you awkwardly laughed before he could ask if you were okay.
Locking eyes with you, he wondered, “Why? We’re just watching a movie.”
“It’s just been a while,” you tried to explain.
He seemed confused. “Since you watched a movie?”
The way his words were laced with innocence let your heart jump. You realized that when Spencer invited you to watch a movie, he had been candid. There were no ulterior motives to be found, he’d be perfectly happy to just sit an arm’s length away from you all night if that was what you wanted.
“No,” you snickered. “Since I was alone with a man in his apartment.”
“Oh,” he said when he realized the implications of his invitation. “I uhm… that’s not what I…”
“I know,” you interrupted him. “Don’t worry.”
Your words were genuine. Spencer had made you feel so safe and comfortable unlike any man before him. The reason you were so nervous about tonight was because you knew you’d combust if you didn’t initiate physical contact soon. Every fiber of your being was craving his touch and you couldn’t wait to finally feel his lips against yours.
“Okay,” he said and turned on the TV to start the movie. “I promise, it’s really good.”
It only took a few minutes for you to be able to relax against the cushions of the couch. Halfway through the movie you started to shiver slightly as you noticed that Spencer apparently kept his apartment cooler than what you were used to. Before you could say anything, he had already noticed your discomfort.
“Here,” he said as he reached for a blanket. “You seem cold.”
Carefully, you placed the blanket over your body before you looked at the man beside you.
“What about you?” you asked as you lifted the fabric to offer him some warmth.
Without saying anything, he accepted your invitation and scooted closer to be able to place the blanket over his legs. There was barely any space left between the two of you, a fact that let your heart pound loudly inside your chest once more. You decided it was now or never and leaned against his arm.
As if it was the most natural thing in the world to him, he placed his arm around your body to pull you even closer until you were curled into his side.
“Is that okay?” He softly spoke.
“Yes, it’s perfect.”
The truth was that being close to him was mesmerizing. Breathing in his scent while basking in his warmth clouded your mind and you felt like you could get drunk on the sensation. When Spencer began gently brushing his fingertips along your arm, your entire body started trembling ever so slightly.
It was almost embarrassing how intense your reaction was to his touch but you couldn’t help it. Your current position only let you be satisfied for a few minutes until you craved even more of him. It became impossible to hold back any longer. Sitting up beside him, you caught his attention. He loosened the hold he had on you to allow you to move while he found your eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” you said with a playful smirk spread over your face. “I really want to kiss you.”
“Yeah?” he cooed. “I would like that, too.”
Trembling fingertips found his jaw to brush over his skin before you leaned closer, gently nudging his nose with yours. His breath felt hot against your lips in this moment of anticipation. When he finally closed the remaining distance, a relieved sigh escaped your throat and was muffled by his mouth on yours.
Feeling his soft lips against yours broke any restraint you had. You kissed him with a fervor that knocked the air out of his lungs, even more so when you climbed into his lap, not allowing any space between your bodies. He welcomed you on top of him without hesitation, his hands flying to your hips to pull you even closer.
Your hands found the nape of his neck, intertwining your fingers with his hair to tug on his curls every so slightly. With your chest pressed against his you could feel the erratic pounding of not only your heart but his as well. It was as if the two organs were trying to make contact with their counterpart hidden underneath all these layers of fabric, skin and bones.
Spencer whined and tried to pull back for air but you didn’t let him. Feverishly, you kept kissing him until a saline taste found its way into your mouth.
“Hey, what’s wrong,” he breathed as he leaned back, concern laced over his voice.
His hands moved to your face, wiping salty droplets off your cheeks. You hadn’t even realized you had been crying and began giggling as you rubbed the tears away from your lashes.
“Sorry,” you sighed. “I’m just so happy to be close to you.”
“So they are happy tears?” Spencer asked and you nodded.
“I know it’s silly, it’s just been so long since I’ve been close to anyone,” you confessed.
“It’s not silly,” he softly spoke. That was when you noticed the glimmering in his eyes. “I’m very happy to be close to you, too.”
Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!
I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
The first time your cat went missing, you didn’t think entirely too much of it. You knew many of the Hogwarts cats liked to gather behind the herbology greenhouse where a particularly plentiful patch of catnip grew. However, Gladys was never one to miss meal time, and when the time came to 30 minutes after her usual feeding time, you knew something was amiss. With a sigh, you made your way out to your common room where you saw Cho sitting by the fireplace with several other of your class mates.
“Has anyone seen Gladys wandering about? She missed feeding time and I haven’t seen her much today,” you say as you approach the group.
“I haven’t, sorry y/n. We’ll keep a look out for her though,” Cho tells you.
You let out a small sigh of disappointment.
“Thanks Cho,” you say before heading out to wander the halls of the castle, hoping to find your elusive, black cat.
You start out by the greenhouse where you see a whole gaggle of cats, but none with the sleek black coat that identified your furry friend. You then walked around the grounds a bit more with no luck, before moving on to the kitchens where several of the house elves promised to keep an eye out for the small black cat. You even checked several empty class rooms before coming to a stop outside the library. It wouldn’t hurt to check. Twenty minutes later, you were still completely out of luck. Tired and frustrated, you were about to call it a night when a loud chorus of voices turn down the hall. You look to see who it was and find a hoard of Slytherin boys making their way towards you. You recognized them of course, but didn’t exactly know them. What you did know however, was the mop of black fur one of the taller boys in the back of the group was holding.
“Gladys!” You exclaim, rushing towards the group of boys.
Their eyes all turn towards you and at the sound of her name, the fiesty black cat springs from the arms of the boy and runs towards you.
With a large grin of relief, you scoop the cat up into your arms, feeling her light purr as you scratch behind her ears. Feeling several pairs of eyes on you, you look up to see the group of boys still staring at you and your cat.
“Um, thanks, for finding my cat,” you say awkwardly, squeezing the cat to your chest lightly. The tall, brunette boy who had just been holding your cat only nods silently before turning and walking off, the rest of the group following, except one.
“Hey, sorry about Theo. He means well, really. Man really likes cats, but doesn’t have one of his own, so he sometimes makes friends with cats wandering the halls. We’ve all told him that he should probably stop, ah, borrowing, people’s cats, but he can’t seem to resist. Names Enzo by the way,” the boy says with a friendly smile, extending his hand out.
You take his hand, shaking it cautiously before a smile creeps it’s way onto your face.
“Thank you, Enzo.” You say, hesitating a moment before adding, “You know, Gladys is a picky bitch. Theo must be a pretty okay person if she let him carry her around.” You tell him before disappearing with your cat.
2
The second time your cat went missing, you honestly didn't realize she was missing at all. Theo had found his way down to the kitchens about a week after the original cat incident. That's how he thought of it anyway. The kitchens were one of his favorite places to lurk as not many students knew of the secret entrance behind one particular painting of a fruit bowl. The real attraction that often drew the brunette boy to the hidden sanctuary however, was the constant stream of cats that often visited the house elves who happily offered up dishes of cream and other treats. Plopping himself down on the floor next to a particularly populated bowl of milk, Theo's eyes were immediately drawn to a familiar set of glowing yellow orbs.
"Hello there, Gladys," he said hesitantly, decently sure that was the name called out by the pretty Ravenclaw girl who had stolen the cat from him a few nights ago.
Well, stolen in this case was rather relative, as the cat was technically hers, he supposed. Hearing her name however, the little black cat pranced over, nuzzling her head affectionately against his leg with a soft purr. Picking the sweet creature up into his arms, Theo stroked her soft fur, thinking back to his encounter with her owner, a grimace reaching his face.
He had been a downright bloody idiot. That was for certain. Theo was not usually one to be rendered incompetent by the mere presence of a pretty girl. No. That was meant more for Enzo. Or even Draco sometimes. But never Theodore. In fact, Theo had quite the reputation for his tendency to sleep around which made the idea of his mind completely blanking at the sight of this cat's owner all the more embarrassing. Matteo had made fun of him ruthlessly later that night. What had he said again? Right. Absolutely nothing. Just nodded like a right dunce.
The only solace Theo had gotten from that night was when Enzo pulled him aside quietly and told him what the pretty girl from earlier had said about him. "He must be pretty okay." It was hardly a compliment, but after the fool he'd made of himself, it really was the best Theo could hope for. Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Theo once again focused on the little beast snuggling contentedly in his arms, carefully scratching behind the ears, a spot he'd found the cat quite liked.
The sound of the entrance painting swinging open startled Theo; and he honestly wasn't sure if he was elated, or absolutely mortified that the very girl who had been previously plaguing his thoughts was stepping through into the kitchens.
You honestly weren't entirely surprised to see the boy from a few nights ago sitting on the floor, cradling your cat, when you entered the kitchens. After Enzo had admitted to you that the handsome brunette had a soft spot for the castle's feline population, you figured it was only a matter of time until you bumped into him here considering it was a hot spot for the four legged beasts.
"Hello. See you've managed to find my cat again," you say, offering a small smile to the boy in front of you. After your encounter with that particular group of Slytherins, you did a bit of asking around, finding that Theodore Nott, while a bit known for his escapades with the female population, was actually one of the more talented wizards of your year. And one of the more level headed. (But in comparison to Draco and Matteo, you weren't exactly sure how much credit to give him there.)
The boy blinks up at you once before seeming to find his voice.
"She's a sweet little thing," he says finally, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but you.
You cautiously move forward, more worried about spooking the boy in front of you than the cats. Sitting down, you allow a pretty little Siamese kitten to wander into your lap. Gladys hisses with jealousy, but remains snuggled in the arms of the boy.
"She really seems to like you. Bit surprising. She's really not much of a people person," you tell him.
Theo nods at you, an action you found yourself growing familiar with.
"Enzo told me." He replies curtly.
You open your mouth to respond, but don't quite know how, so you let an awkward silence roll over the two of you.
"Well, I find that Gladys is a very good judge of character," you say finally.
Theo lets out a small smile at this, continuing to stroke your cat's soft fur. After that, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence with Theodore continuing to shower your cat with affection while you distract the many other felines, crowding the kitchen floor.
"Theo?" you wonder finally, the question burning away at you. The boy looks up, and you find yourself getting lost in the surprisingly soft brown eyes staring back at you. Breaking from the trance with a small shiver, you ask, "If you like cats so much, why don't you have one of your own?"
Theo's eyes immediately fall, and his hand freezes mid pet, much to Gladys' dismay. A pang of guilt washes through you.
"My father isn't much of an animal person," He replies stiffly.
You give him a small nod in response before rising from the floor.
"It's getting pretty late, I should get going," you say softly. "Gladys can find her way back to the tower on her own just fine," you add when you see Theo make no move to release the cat.
Without another word, you move to open the portrait door. You enter the hall with a small smile gracing your lips as you hear his voice quietly as the door closes.
"Thank you, y/n."
He knew your name.
3
The next time Theo met Gladys was much sooner than he expected. He had left the kitchens several hours ago and was now laying in bed. The clock sitting on his bed side now read 1am. The deafening silence was about to finally lull him to sleep when an insistent scratching at the door caused his eyes to fly open. Sitting up, Theo glanced at the door warily before finally deciding to cross the room to find out what was causing the noise.
As soon as the door opened, a black shadow darted through, making a beeline for his bed. How it seemed to know exactly where it was going, Theo had no clue. Making his way silently back to his bed, careful not to wake either of his roommates, Theo was finally able to make out the dark shape of an ever familiar black cat.
"Hi there, principessa," he whispered, gently stroking the cat's ears before crawling into the bed next to it. Gladys seemed to take this as an invitation to curl up in the nook of his arm, and Theo wasn't about to object. The last thought he remembered before drifting off was how nice it would be if Gladys' pretty owner was there too.
"Theo, what the fuck."
Theo woke with a start, to the loud voice of Lorenzo Berkshire ringing out above him. His eyes opened to see the other boy hovering over his bed, a look of shocked confusion apparent on his face.
"Is that y/n's cat?" he asks, leaning down as if to get a closer look at the fluff ball still snuggled in Theo's arms.
"No way," Matteo laughs from the other side of the room. "You stole her cat again? What, is this some sick and twisted new way for you to lure girls into your bed?"
Theo launches a pillow at Matteo's head. He doesn't miss.
"You better go return that thing before y/n starts to worry," Enzo advises, going back to his own side of the room. "And maybe just ask her out while you're at it hmm?" He adds, quickly ducking behind his fourposter before Theo has the chance to send another pillow flying his way.
With a heavy sigh, Theo comes to a stop outside of what he's pretty sure is the Ravenclaw common room. He's about to raise his hand to knock, when the golden eagle head mounted to the door springs to life.
"What gets broken, without being held?" The eagle asks, blinking at him slowly.
Right. Theo knew about this. The most annoying of the common room doors because instead of a password, the bloody door required you to answer a riddle. Theo was about to turn on his heel to leave when he felt a light presence behind him.
"Hello Theo. Hello Gladys." The platinum blonde haired girl said, giving the two of them an airy nod, before turning her attention to the door. "Would it perhaps be, a promise?" she asks.
The door swings open and Theo quickly hurries after the girl, making his way up the staircase. He'd never actually been inside the Ravenclaw common room, and his breath hitched when they reached the top of the stairs. The main room really was magnificent, nothing like the dark, eerie dungeons of the Slytherin common room. Theo eyed the shelves of books lining the wall longingly.
"Her room is just there, up and to the left," the blonde girl he'd followed in says, breaking him from his thoughts.
"Huh?"
"Y/n? Her room is just there," the girl repeats, gesturing to a door at the top of another small flight of stairs.
"Oh. thanks," Theo makes out, giving the girl a nod of gratitude.
"Name's Luna by the way. Luna Lovegood." She says whimsically before floating off.
With a deep inhale to calm his nerves, Theo makes his way up the stairs and knocks gently on the door. Gladys lets out a meow of protest. Absolutely nothing could have prepared Theo for what was on the other side of the door. He felt his throat go completely dry as the door swung open and you stood in front of him in what was probably the shortest, skimpiest set of clothing that could possibly be considered pajamas. Theo tried not to stare, he really did, but he was only a man. A very weak and smitten man.
"Oh! There you are Gladys. I wondered where you wandered off to last night!" you say looking at your cat and then back up at Theo, and then again at your cat before looking back up at Theo expectantly. "Um. May I have my cat back?"
Theo jolts back to life, realizing he'd been staring and looks at you sheepishly.
"Sorry, don't know how this little one found me. Snuck her way into the Slytherin common room and then into my dorm. Didn't want to leave her in the halls alone, so I let her stay the night," he tells you.
You stare at the boy in shock, realizing that was the longest string of words you'd ever heard out of him.
"Wow Theodore, I'm impressed. I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk. And here I was thinking you were secretly illiterate," you say with a playful grin.
"Please," the boy scoffs. "I'm the picture of eloquence."
Interested in where this sudden burst of confidence that you didn't normally see from him had come from, you take a step back, inviting him into your room. He hesitantly accepts your invitation, bringing Gladys along with him.
"No roommates?" he asks, perching on the edge of your bed as Gladys purrs softly on his lap. At the moment, you found nothing more attractive than this man absolutely pampering your beloved pet.
"Not many Ravenclaw girls in our year, we had the option to share, but most of us opted for solo rooms. Wanted the extra privacy, I suppose," you tell him, leaning on one of the posts at the end of your bed.
Theo nods his head at this.
"I have two roommates," he shares.
"One of them happen to be Enzo Berkshire?"
Theo nods again. "And Matteo. Riddle" he adds.
You cock your head at that with a grin.
"Interesting pairing," you comment, imagining the chaos those two must bring with them.
"It never gets boring," Theo responds.
A moment of silence passes.
"I was wondering if you wanted to study together sometime. I hear you're exceptionally talented at potions. And Charms. And everything really." Theo lets out finally.
You raise an eyebrow at the boy, internally screaming.
Trying to keep your cool, you tilt your head, "I hear you are too."
It's like a switch flips inside Theo.
"Well, we're obviously perfect for each other than," He replies easily, a cocky grin beginning to spread across his face. "Meet you in the library tomorrow at 7? And bring the cat."
You let out a laugh as Theo rises from the bed, gently placing Gladys down on the pillow, before going to make his way out of your dorm.
"You only like me for my cat," you joke, shifting to watch as he crosses the room to the door.
"Not just for your cat," he assures you, "I love the outfit, wear it for me more often, hmm?" he says slyly before the door thuds shut behind him.
You look down at your outfit, jaw dropping open and heat rushing to your cheeks.
4
Theo's head was pounding. Music pumped through the Slytherin common room and Theo could barely see through the crowds of people around him as he pushed his way to the circle of sofas occupied by his friends. Collapsing into a spot next to Matteo, the boy offered him another shot of who-knew-what which he quickly knocked back.
"When's that pretty little thing that's been occupying all your time gonna join us at one of our little gathering?" Matteo slurs out, gesturing to the large crowd around them.
Over the past several weeks, you and Theo had grown significantly closer; your first study date quickly becoming a daily occurrence as you found that you each were able to easily keep up with one another. Something about having a partner who was actually able to challenge you was exhilarating. From there, you found yourselves often seeking each other out simply for the sake of good company, Gladys largely increasing the number of these meetings.
"Don't know that Gladys would like it. Cat's aren't supposed to ingest alcohol," Theo responded, not quite drunk enough to fall for his friend's taunting.
Enzo places another shot in his hand, and Theo raises a brow at him, before knocking that one back as well.
"Did you ever ask y/n why in Salazar's name, she choose to name her cat Gladys?" Matteo asks. "If my name were Gladys, I'd being running off constantly too."
Theo thumps Matteo on the back of the head.
"You leave our cat out of this, she ain't do nothin wrong," he says, glaring at his friend.
"So now she's our cat is she?" Enzo asks, a smirk growing on his face. "Didn't know you and y/n were so serious."
"It's our cat damnit! If marrying y/n is what it takes to finally have a cat of my own, so be it," Theo says decidedly.
Enzo snorts at his clearly, very drunk friend. "Careful, or one might think you're only into her for her cat. And not the cunty kind."
Theo scowls at this. "Y/n says that all the time, but have you seen that ass? And the way she mopped the floor with Draco in potions the other day? She's perfect."
"Yeah? Why don't you go tell her that then?" Matteo says, wanting nothing more than to see a drunk Theo try to make his way to Ravenclaw Tower.
"You know what? I will. And I'll pet Gladys too." Theo states. A look of pure, intoxicated determination set on his face.
Lorenzo eyes his friend warily. While not exactly sober himself, he didn’t particularly like the look his friend was giving them.
“Aw c’mon Enz, don’t you try and be the voice of reason now,” Matteo drawls, sensing the hesitation coming from his friend. “Don’t you want to meet the lil thing our beloved Theodore has been obsessing over for weeks now?”
“I’m not obsessing,” Theo snaps, taking a sip straight out of a random bottle he’d picked up from the table.
“Let’s go. I’m gonna steal her cat. For real this time.”
With a wide grin, Matteo jumps up, ready to follow his friend wherever the night took him. With a low groan, Enzo followed suit, knowing that his pair of roommates would need some sort of guidance to prevent them from walking themselves straight of the edge of the astronomy tower.
You didn’t have a lot of expectations for the quiet Friday night that you were spending curled up with a book and your cat. It was late, and after a long and stressful week, the time alone with Gladys was just what you needed to really recharge. You had spent most of your day lounging out on the lawn next to the Black Lake with Theodore, studying with and harassing the boy. A small smile crept onto your face, remembering the way his brown curls had floated about in the soft breeze.
You really hadn’t expected for the two of you to become so close, so quickly, but you weren’t complaining. You’d grown quite fond of the boy, especially once he started opening up a bit more. You’d initially thought that he was a man of very few words, but quickly learned he was in fact very sharp witted and even a bit snarky at times. Time spent with him had easily become your favorite part of the day and was something you were constantly looking forward to.
A sharp knock jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to jump a bit where you were sitting, Gladys letting out a yowl of protest.
You quickly cross the room and open the door to find a very miffed looking Cho, a frown imbedded on her face.
“Sorry to bother, but could you please come get your boy under control? He’s upsetting the portraits.” She says.
You blink once. Then again.
“Sorry?”
“Your Slytherin fellow? He’s out in the corridor with two of his friends harassing the door,” she explains, turning to lead you down the spiral staircase.
You’re not even halfway down when you begin to hear the voices.
“Who in the bloody hell would want to be in Ravenclaw with this blast-ended skewt ass looking-“
“Matteo you can’t curse out the door.”
“I’ll curse at the bloody door if I want to bloody curse at it.”
You grimace, looking at Cho who looks back with a similarly displeased facial expression.
“Sorry bout them. I’ll take it from here,” you tell her when you reach the bottom.
With a slight nod, she turns to retreat back up the stairs. With a sigh, you push the door open, almost taking out Matteo who had been leaning on it for support.
“Hi amore, fancy seeing you here,” Theo slurs, a grin taking over his face at the sight of you.
Enzo leans against a pillar, face in hands, looking like he wanted to disappear. You could smell the alcohol on all of them.
“Hi Theodore. Are you sober?” You ask, already knowing the answer.
“I’m moderately functional,” he replies with a lopsided smile.
“I’m taking that as a no,” you say, glancing worriedly at Matteo who was currently laying spread eagle on the floor. “Let’s get you boys back to your common room.”
“I wouldn’t. Party’s not gonna end any time soon. They’ll just get more hammered and start wandering off again,” Enzo advises, head still in hands. “Like herding hippogriffs with those two.”
“And Theo hasn’t proclaimed his undying love for y/n yet!” Matteo adds.
You feel heat rise to your cheeks and Theo glowers at his friend.
“It’s okay Theo, I know he’s drunk,” you say, not certain if you were saying it more to comfort him or yourself.
Theo ignores you however, turning his attention back to the door.
“Let us in, I just want to pet the cat,” he tells the door, swaying ever so slightly.
For Salazar’s sake. Man gets absolutely wasted and just wants to pet your cat. You go to grab onto Theo to steady him, but he has other plans. Immediately, he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his face into your hair.
“Hi,” he mumbles, picking you up just enough that your toes barely touch the ground. “I missed you. Can we see the cat now?”
Not knowing what else to do, you glance helplessly at Enzo.
“Would you be able to get Matteo up the stairs?” You ask.
“I can try. He’s a stubborn bastard though.”
You turn back to the door, knocking once. The eagle once again moves to life, glaring at the scene in front of it.
“If the day before yesterday was the 23rd, what is the day after tomorrow?” It asks crankily.
“We’re too fucking wasted for this bloody bullshit,” Matteo moans from the floor.
You try to ignore Theo’s tight grasp on your waist and Enzo prodding at Matteo with his foot before answering. “The 27th.”
The door swings open and you try your best to haul Theo through, Enzo following closely behind with a very disgruntled Matteo. Dragging the boys up the staircase feels like the most difficult task of your life as you constantly tell Matteo to lower his voice and mind his mouth while also trying to ignore the very minimal distance between yourself and Theodore. When you finally make it to the top, you rush to herd the boys into your room before slamming the door shut behind you with relief. Theo immediately stumbles over to your bed, collapsing face first in the middle and snatching Gladys into his arms.
“No roommates?” Enzo asks, looking around the room and seeing the single empty bed that you had pushed into the corner at the beginning of the year.
“No, thank Rowena. I would not want to have to explain whatever this is.” You reply, motioning to Theo and Matteo who was now wandering about the room.
“Room’s a mess. Coulda at least cleaned up a bit,” he says, poking at the various books and blank scrolls lying about.
“Had I known I would be having guests at,” you glance at the clock, “almost 2 in the morning, I’m sure I would have.” You say dryly.
Retrieving your wand from your desk, you point it at the spare bed. “Engorgio.” The wooden frame creaks as it expands until it can comfortably fit 2 people. You look at Enzo.
“Good luck with that one,” you say, almost feeling sorry for the boy as Matteo flops onto the bed with a groan.
“Looks like you’re gonna need it more than me,” he replies, gesturing to Theo who was out cold, Gladys trapped and bug eyed in his grasp. With a sigh you and Enzo each resign yourselves to your respective charge.
“Theodore,” you whisper, giving the boy a light shove. No sign of life. You give him a slightly harder shove, allowing Gladys is wriggle out of her prison. Frowning, you sit down on the edge of the bed, using most of your body weight to shove Theo to one side of the bed before sliding under the covers. Now deeming it safe, Gladys hops back into the bed, nestling into your arms happily. You’re about to close your eyes when you feel arms snaking around your waste, pulling you into the very warm chest of Theodore Nott. You freeze, holding your breath, not sure if the boy is asleep or not.
“Goodnight mi amore,” he whispers into your neck, causing the hairs to prickle.
Definitely not asleep.
“Goodnight Theodore.”
You hadn’t had any expectations for the night really, but you definitely had not expected to have multiple overnight guests who were trying to steal your cat. And you most certainly did not expect to drift off in the arms of Theodore Nott.
5
The next morning you wake up missing the usual lump of fur weighing down on your chest. Immediately you bolt upright, eyes shooting around for any sign of your furry companion before the events of last night wash over you. Enzo and Matteo are both still out cold and when you look down, your jaw drops open. Theo is fast asleep, back facing you, Gladys snoozing contentedly while cradled in his arms. Even in his sleep this absolute tosser had managed to steal your damn cat.
Careful not to wake the boys, or Gladys, you silently sneak across the room and disappear out the door. Once you’re safely out of hearing distance, you make your way quickly down the kitchens. A little known fact about the Hogwarts house elves was that many had once served in the homes of different wizarding families at one time or another. This meant that many of the elves were all too familiar with the valuable hangover potion that you sought.
Ducking in through the portrait hole, it wasn’t difficult to persuade the elves into handing over 3 glistening blue vials. You had always been kind to them, often chatting with them during your visits with the cats.
Your task complete, you made your way back to Ravenclaw tower, taking your time as you didn’t expect the boys to be up any time soon. They really had been plastered. Not even Enzo had been completely sober you recalled.
You’re just passing the entrance to the dungeons when a voice calls out.
“Hey! You!”
You’re ready to continue on your way before noticing that there was no one else in the corridor they could be referring to. You turn to see two girls you recognized as the Greengrass sisters hurrying towards you.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” the shorter blonde girl says when they get closer. You’re pretty sure that one is Astoria. “You’re the girl Theo has been seeing right?”
You nod your head cautiously. You knew Theo had a reputation for getting around, so if that’s what this was about, things were about to become quite awkward.
“You haven’t happened to see him or Matteo or Lorenzo, have you?” The other girl, Daphne, asks.
“Draco said he saw the three of them leave the party together last night, but no one saw them come back,” Astoria explains.
You feel yourself immediately relax. Good. At least this was something you could help with.
“You two are lucky you found me then I suppose,” you tell them, gesturing for them to follow. “The three of them tried breaking into Ravenclaw tower last night, so I let them crash in my dorm.”
“Oh Salazar. Were they trying to steal your cat? I’m so sorry. When Matteo gets drunk he has a tendency to try and egg Theo on,” Astoria frets.
You give the girls a strange look. “You know about my cat?” You ask, surprised.
“Oh sure,” Daphne replies. “Whole group does really. Boys came back one night going on about how Theo was just smitten with some Ravenclaw with a cute cat. And I can see why. You’re gorgeous by the way.”
You blush at her statement, diverting the subject away.
“The boys should probably still be asleep. I just ran down to the kitchens to get these,” you tell them, brandishing the potions you had gathered. “Once they’ve downed these, they’re all yours.”
Astoria eyes the potions with jealousy and you realize the two girls were probably decently hung over as well.
“Oh you can keep Theo, we were really just looking to collect Enzo and Matt,” Daphne laughs, giving you a sly look. You open your mouth to reply, but stop realizing you had reached your common room door.
After a few attempts, you’re finally able to solve the blasted riddle and the door swings open.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had this many Slytherins in our common room before,” you joke, leading the girls up to your room.
Pushing the door open, you’re unsurprised to see the boys still passed out.
“This must be the infamous Gladys,” Daphne whispers, quietly approaching Theo who was still clutching onto Gladys as if his life depended on it. Again you’re surprised that these girls apparently even knew the name of your cat.
The two coo at the sight of your cat, coming to the conclusion that she was indeed worthy of warranting cat theft before Astoria finally decided it was time for them to get the boys out of your hair. They migrated over to the other side of the room where Enzo and Matteo were sound asleep, leaving you to deal with Theo.
You decide the easiest route, may just be to lure Gladys away, so you fetch her food dish before accio-ing her kibble container. At the sound of her food, Gladys was up and running, darting over for her morning feast. At the sudden loss of fluffy heat, Theo groaned, rolling over, face down into the pillows. After giving Gladys her food, you move back to Theo, giving him a rough shake.
“Come back to bed principessa,” he grumbles, reaching out and flailing his arm in your general direction.
“It’s time to get up Theodore. Come on, I got you three hangover potions,” you say, waving one over his head.
“Did someone say hangover potion? Give,” Matteo demands from the other side of the room. You look over to see Daphne and Astoria sitting on the side of the bed while Matteo and Enzo were groggily waking up.
Pulling out her wand, Daphne gestured for you to toss her the potions which her magic catches easily, levitating the vials over to the other two boys. Matteo snatches one out of the air, quickly downing half before offering the other half to Astoria. Enzo does the same, giving the second half to Daphne who graciously accepts. After a moment, the four of them are looking much more awake.
“Thanks for making sure these three didn’t drown themselves in the lake,” Astoria says, once the potion had really kicked. “And sorry you’re not having more luck with that one. He’s always been a late riser.”
“You’ll be lucky to get him up in the next hour,” Enzo agrees, rising from the bed. “Thanks again y/n.”
The four of them shuffle out of your dorm, a chorus is thanks and apologies strung along until they reached the door. Even Matteo gave you a nod of gratitude. Once they were all gone, you collapse once more onto your bed.
“They finally gone?” You hear Theo ask, as he rolls over to look at you. You nod, faces so close that your noses are practically touching and you can feel small puffs of air as he exhales. “Thanks for last night. I’m sorry for trying to steal your cat.”
You let out a snort at that. “Did you know when I woke up this morning, you had turned away from me completely, and stolen my cat away from me in your sleep?” You ask with a laugh.
Theo at least has the decency to look embarrassed as Gladys joins the two of you once more.
“I should do this more often,” Theo says finally, reaching out to stroke Gladys’s fur.
“What? Get downright plastered and break into my room, or steal my cat?” You scoff.
“Sleep in your bed with you.”
You freeze, looking up to see if the boy was being serious. His eyes blink back at you unwavering.
“You can come back any time,” you tell him, snuggling your way into his chest, ready to fall back asleep in the boy’s arms.
“Will Gladys be here?”
“Oh my god, yes she will be here,” you say dramatically throwing your head back.
Theo grins down at you, leaning in and pressing his lips softly against yours.
“I’m only joking amore,” he says, pressing another kiss to the top of your nose.
“Of course Gladys would be here, she adores me.”
“Get out of my bed.”
A/N
My biggest regret in life, is being highly allergic to cats </3
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
gamechangershow
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
