I knew it was love
When I rode home crying
Thinking of you fucking other girls
You had always loved Steve Harrington. And Steve? Well, he was oblivious. But a near death experience in the Upside Down causes you to confess your feelings for him.
pairing: steve harrington x reader
words: 2.7k
contains: HEAVY angst, use of y/n, near death experience, talk of death, explicit language, suggestive language.
author's note: very VERY loosely based on dust bones by ethel cain. this fic is a little shorter as my others and I didn’t do a preview for it but the idea came to me after I saw vol 2 a few weeks ago and I finally got the urge to write it out of nowhere the other night 🤍 also happy harry styles is back day to those that celebrate
to be added to my taglist | masterlist | requests page
You had heard about Steve and Emma Stevens through Robin.
She hadn’t meant to tell you, really. Robin just—she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. You had only asked her if she thought Steve would give you a lift home from the SQWK radio station—where you and Robin were currently prepping for tomorrow’s show.
“Probably not,” Robin says, her brows furrowed in concentration as she fiddles with a cassette. “Probably going to be knuckles deep in that Emma girl. You know what Steve’s like. They’re going on a second date so—”
She realises then—looking up at you with her eyes wide and apologetic.
“Fuck (y/n), I’m sorry—”
You blink. Try not to show how much that revelation had cut you open.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that you were in love with Steve Harrington. Robin knew, Dustin knew, Lucas knew, Joyce knew, Nancy knew, Jonathan knew—hell, Max probably knew and she was in a damn coma. The only person who didn’t know? Steve. The man was oblivious. Completely and utterly oblivious.
And so the reminder that Steve was fucking other girls on a weekly basis? Well, it hurt. Hurt a lot.
“It’s fine,” you lie as you pick up a few random tapes and pretend to consider them. You weren’t fine. You were trying not to cry.
Robin can tell she’s upset you and genuinely feels awful. The cassette tape in her hands clatters onto the table as she rushes to hug you. The telltales signs you were holding back tears were there—your eyes shining, bottom lip quivering and the way you went quiet.
You should be used to Steve’s casual dating by now. Should be used to the fact that he was fucking women who aren’t you. But honestly? You weren’t used to it at all.
And so, you rode home on your bike that night, crying as you tried not to imagine Steve and Emma—probably hooking up in the back of his beloved Beamer.
But now? Only three days later—Emma Stevens and Steve were the least of your worries.
The Upside Down always came knocking. Because of course it fucking did.
And this situation you found yourself in with none other than Steve himself—well, you were sure you weren’t going to make it out of this alive.
The room you were in—seemingly a boardroom of such in the upper floors of Hawkins Laboratory—was slowly but surely filling with a sludgy liquid that tried to keep you from moving.
You had no idea what was happening—you figured it had something to do with that energy shield (or whatever Dustin had theorised it was) you had just shot. But the guilt you’re feeling as you realise that you’ve condemned not only yourself but Steve to certain death—well, it’s all consuming.
“On the table,” Steve instructs, tugging on your hand so you follow—having to pull your legs up in order to move through the sludge.
Steve makes sure you go first—hoisting you up onto the table by your waist. You could have easily done it yourself but you took any and every opportunity—selfishly—for that man to touch you.
The table offered some reprieve—both of you free of that strange liquid that surrounded the table like an ominous ocean.
Steve looks at you—a look on his face you had seen only a few times before, one that plainly told you he was scared. “Wh-what do we do?” He asks you.
You look around the room, frantic—at the greyish liquid drawing ever closer—at the hole in the wall that had only made the situation worse as more and more sludge poured in—and finally, you look up at the gaping hole in the ceiling that was too high for either of you to reach and your only way of escape.
Steve is still looking at you—the way he’s always looked at you. Expectantly. Waiting to hear your plan. In the few years you had been falling into the Upside Down together, you always had a plan. Always one step ahead. But now—
“Help!” You yell out. “Help!”
And it’s that moment that Steve realises he was going to die. That if you didn’t see a way out of this? He knew there wasn’t one.
“Help!” He joins you, yelling in the hopes that Dustin, Nancy—hell, even Jonathan—would hear you. Though he knew, deep down, the trio were too many floors down to hear you both.
The two of you yell out, desperately. Trying your dammdest to live—to make it out of this alive. But as your voice cracks and Steve keeps yelling, you realise that no one was coming. That Dustin, Nancy and Jonathan couldn’t hear you. That you and Steve were going to die. Slowly, probably suffocating from the sludge. You thought about how painful it would be for that to fill your lungs.
“Steve—ju-just—stop,” you tell him, reaching out to tug his sleeve to get his attention. “They can’t hear us.”
Steve’s in denial. He shakes his head—fucking terrified—as he keeps on yelling anyway.
“Steve!” You yell at him, your voice breaking as the tears finally start to fall. “Stop. They’re not—they’re not coming.”
Steve looks at you—at your tears. At the look on your face and he knows you’re right. Knows there isn’t a way out of this. Knows that you both aren’t going to be saved. That your will to live alone couldn’t save you.
“We—we gotta try (y/n),” he says finally and you feel your heart do that funny thing it always did around Steve because fuck, he had so much fight in him. Such a will to live and you feel awful that this was your fault. That you were the one to shot the giant ball of matter.
You just look at him and shake your head, tears already spilling down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Steve—I didn’t know that would happen—“
“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve says gently, leaning closer to you and placing a hand on your knee. “Don’t cry. Please. You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”
“But it is—”
“It’s not,” he cuts across you. You know he’s just saying it to make you feel better. But the matter of the fact is, if you hadn’t shot that thing, you both would still be up on the roof. Not stuck in this room, waiting to die. But you didn’t want the last few minutes of your life to be spent arguing with Steve’s over whose fault it was. So, you just nod and wipe away your tears.
It’s quiet then. Just you, Steve and both of you quietly accepting your fate.
“Wish I could—you know, listen to like one more song before—” Steve cuts himself off as he swallows. Not looking at you. His hand still on your knee.
“What song?” You ask in a quiet voice.
Steve looks at you and—you see the tears in his eyes for the first time. After everything you two had been through together with every Upside Down ‘adventure’ (because was several near death experiences really an adventure?)—you hadn’t ever seen him cry. Until now. But you don’t comment on it. You just look at him, waiting for his response.
“Take On Me,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching.
You can’t help it, you laugh—despite the situation you both were in. It was just…so quintessentially Steve that you couldn’t help it.
“Haven’t you listened to that song enough?” You ask him, because Steve couldn’t seem to go a day without listening to that song. Robin had even made it a rule at the station that he was only allowed to play it three times a week, after you had received multiple complaints from listeners who counted a whopping eighteen plays of the track in a single week.
“Nah,” Steve says with a shake of his head, sniffling a little, “I bet you’d pick Edge of Seventeen.”
You bite back a smile—looking over at Steve with tears still falling.
“It’s a good song,” you say simply. Steve squeezes your knee.
You look away from him and your eyes dart around at the room again. You feel Steve squeeze your knee again. Grounding.
“Hey, look at me,” Steve says gently and you feel his fingers gently graze your cheek as he turns your head to look at him. Not at the reminder of your unfortunate fate. “Focus on me—”
You could feel your heart hammering in your chest. The gentle reminder that you were alive. Alive. Alive.
You hadn’t ever given much thought to it. Your heart that beat to keep you alive. But feeling it racing against your chest like that? Like it was desperate for you to live—you were grateful for it. Hadn’t ever been so grateful to be alive as you were now.
“I don't want to die, Steve,” you burst out in a panic, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I don't—”
“Neither do I,” Steve admits in a quiet voice. His hand on your knee tightening as his honeyed brown eyes flicker to meet yours, his other hand coming down to rest on your shoulder. “But I’m here, yeah? You won’t be alone.”
Your bottom lip quivers and you nod as a small sob escapes you because you were going to die. You were going die with the man you loved. And he still didn’t know—
“I wanna go first,” your murmur quietly. “I don't want to live in a world where Steve Harrington doesn't exist.”
“Don't,” Steve breathes out, jaw tense. Eyes shining and shaking his head. “Don't say that—”
“—and I’m s-sorry that it’s now that I’m telling y-you but I can’t die without you knowing,” you stutter out through shuddering breaths.
Steve looks back at you, lips parted and hanging on your every word. Unsure if he wanted you to keep talking or stop.
“I love you, Steve,” you tell him finally—your face wet with tears. “I always h-have.”
The silence you’re greeted with is the loudest you had ever heard. Your heart still hammering against your chest. Desperate to keep you to alive as death came—the liquid creeping ever closer with every second.
“Fuck—” Steve finally says, the fingers on your shoulder twitching as he shifts closer to you. “I had—I had no idea. And I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been screwing around for months—”
“—it’s okay,” you interrupt him with a shake of your head. “Really, Steve. It’s fine—”
“No. It’s not fine,” Steve says firmly, jaw set and his eyes roaming your face like he was seeing it for the first time. “Because I—shit—I love you too and I—I should've—fuck—I should've asked you out. Should've just done it instead of fucking wasting time. Should have taken you out for milkshakes or some shit—”
“Milkshakes?” You repeat, smiling a little. It was bittersweet. Because he wasn’t running. Didn’t find the idea of you being in love with him repulsive. And he said he loved you too.
Steve lifts his head up and catches your smile and fuck, if he does die—he wants your smile to be the last thing he sees.
“Yeah. Milkshakes,” Steve breathes out, “and bowling.”
“I would have kicked your ass at bowling,” you say, smiling at him as tears continue to fall. “Maybe would have let you get to second base too.”
Steve laughs—despite fucking everything, he's laughing.
“Shit, (y/n),” Steve breathes out, his forehead resting against yours, breath fanning your face. “You can't say that shit to me right now.”
“And I would have destroyed you at bowling. Would have worn a new shirt, bought you the biggest damn milkshake,” Steve's voice falters slightly, going quiet as his eyes flicker up to yours. “Would have kissed you stupid after.”
You smile at each other and for a moment—it’s just you and Steve. No grey sludge that was your death sentence around you.
“Fuck—we screwed up here,” Steve says and you laugh as you cry and suddenly he’s laughing too. You shouldn’t be. You’re about to die. It’s not funny, not in the slightest. But this moment? It didn’t feel scary. Or like death was around the corner. You just felt safe.
“Think we have time for me to kiss you stupid?” Steve murmurs quietly, fingers brushing along your jaw before his gaze falls onto your lips.
“Yeah,” you whisper back, eyes meeting his. Feeling his breath hot against your skin. “There’s time.”
He doesn’t wait a second.
You let out a noise of surprise as Steve's lips descend onto yours. There's no gentleness. No hesitation. Just years of tension and unspoken words between the two of you as your hands find the front of his jacket and tug him closer. Needing him so desperately as you kiss him back.
He groans—fucking groans—against your lips, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth and groaning again when you part your lips for him. His hands scramble to find your waist and he licks into your mouth and in his desperation, begins to press you back against the table.
Your hand shoots out to stop yourself from tumbling back too quickly from Steve's eagerness. But instead of the gooey liquid you're expecting to feel—you feel something solid.
There's a wet noise as you pull away from him. His lips chase after yours.
“S-Steve,” you gasp. “Lo-look—”
Steve’s confused—face flushed, eyes wide and lips still wet from your kiss. “What? Was it too much or—”
It’s then he sees the solidified grey sludge. It had set just beneath the table.
“Does this mean—”
You don’t wait—you lean over the table and place both your hands on the solid surface. It doesn’t crack. Doesn’t budge in the slightest. You start to stand, you needed to be sure—
“(y/n), be careful! It might—”
But you ignore him. You stand up on the solidified sludge and—it’s a solid as concrete.
Steve looks at you for a moment that felt like a lifetime. And then—
He scrambles to his feet—his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you half off the ground.
“We’re okay,” he breathes out as you sob in relief, his free hand cupping the back of your head like he needed to touch you. Needed the reminder that he was alive. That you were alive.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
“We’re okay,” he repeats, setting you down and cupping your face between his hands as he wipes away your tears. “We’re okay—fuck—we’re okay.”
You don’t even have time to breathe before he’s kissing you again.
Soft. Gentle. Like he had all the time in the world. And now, he supposed you did. Had time for that date. Had time for milkshakes, bowling and maybe even second base.
“M’gonna—” Steve mumbles against your lips as your hands fist the front of his jacket. “—kick your ass at bowling.”
“Shut up,” you murmur back before pulling away and smiling up at him like this was the beginning of something, “you’re gonna be a gentlemen and let me win.”
Steve scoffs, his hands moving back down to your waist and squeezing gently.
“Oh, absolutely not if you’re offering to go to second base—”
You whacked him on the arm, feeling elated as he laughed. He ducked his head down to kiss you again and—
The sound of banging from the wall behind you is what pulls you away from each other. Steve doesn’t think as he pulls you behind him. Protective. It was so Steve it made your heart do funny things in your chest.
The banging continues. The drywall cracks. Dust fills the air and—
“What the fuck happened in here?”
You had never been so glad to hear Jonathan Byers’ voice.
Through the hole in the wall—seemingly made by the fire extinguisher in Jonathan’s hand—you see Nancy, Jonathan and Dustin. Looking at you and Steve and how close you were standing. His hands on your waist.
“Are we interrupting something?” Nancy asks with a small smile. “Or do you guys want to get out of here?”
You and Steve look at each other, adrenaline pumping through the both of you—having been so close, so certain you were going to die that it's hard to even stand still.
"Yeah," Steve says finally, keeping his arm around you and pulling you close. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a date to go on.”
summary: no matter how much you loved steve, he had too many eyes on him to ever notice yours. so what happens when someone finally makes a move?
word count: 4.4k
warnings/tags: (mutual) pining, insecure reader, making out, dustin cameo, female OC, family video steve, jealous reader, petnames galore, NO use of y/n
a/n: hiiiiii!!! this is my first ever fic on here! i couldn't stop listening to gold rush by taylor swift the other day, and i knew someone needed to make a fic about him to it. i really hope you all enjoy ! <3
Being in love with Steve Harrington was a double-edged sword.
One edge was the thrill.
The excitement that came with seeing his smile directed your way. The uncontrollable flutter in your stomach. The flush in your cheeks when the light fell on him just right—his hair falling effortlessly. His eyes that called to you, twinkling like ripples in the ocean.
But the other edge was a razor-thin tightrope.
A thousand papercuts coinciding with seeing girls practically line themselves at his door. The burning in your chest that came with his history. The blade against your throat when his eyes fell on Nancy.
No amount of armor protected you from the way he smiled at her. That smile that you daydreamed was meant for you. The enticing gleam in his eyes that you longed to jump into.
But he wasn't yours.
He could never be. Every girl that looked his way had a stronger chance than you ever did. You weren't the type of girl he went after—not even close. Given your track record, you could barely even call yourself desirable.
No matter how close you felt to him, you would never be like Steve Harrington.
You would never know what it was like to grow up beautiful. To become someone's object of affection. To go through life with the safety net that was beauty. You were never the town's "golden girl." You were never so popular you had your own moniker. You were never meant to be the girl who got the guy.
So you could never fall for Steve Harrington.
Because you knew you would crash.
The doorbell to Family Video felt like a knot spawning in your throat.
“Welcome to Family Video,” Steve sighed, his voice monotone and bored, gaze focused on the counter's computer.
“Well, hello to you, too,” you retorted, tilting your head.
It was almost unfair how he glowed upon seeing you. As if the light in his eyes was specifically dedicated to making you weak for him.
“Hey!” Steve smiled, his attention automatically directed to you instead. “Didn't expect to see you here.”
You smirked back at him. “You either, Harrington," you stepped closer, leaning your elbows on the counter.
Steve mirrored the action, his gaze flickering over you before refocusing on your face.
“What are you doing here?” He inquired softly, as if his voice was meant just for you at this moment.
You felt that smile he brought out in you trying to give way before catching yourself, remembering how far the ground was from up in the clouds—the crushing impact you were inviting in. You took a step away from the cliff, glancing down as your arms left the counter.
"Apparently, the party is hosting a campaign at the Henderson house tonight," you cleared your throat, "I just came to ask Robin if I could stay with her tonight," you said quietly, reeling yourself back into your own space.
You looked back at him to see his eyes focused on your arms, a frown forming—barely noticeable. Imperceptive enough that no one else would recognize it, but you had practically memorized every inch of his face.
Every change in his features had been neatly cataloged in your mind. Labeled, filed, and kept away for moments like these.
"Oh, she didn't come in today," he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. "She called in sick," Steve clarified.
You deflated at the news, your head hanging. "Shit..." you cursed under your breath. "Okay, thanks for letting me know, I guess. I'll figure out something."
Steve opened his mouth as if to say something before the bell to Family Video rang out again. You watched as his eyes focused behind you. That's when you turned and saw her.
Olivia Taylor, the once head cheerleader of Hawkins High, here for one thing only. "Hi, Steve," she sang, flashing him one of her famous smiles. Shy, flirtatious, and captivating.
You wanted to hate her. That would be easier—to call her a tryhard, to drag her name through the dirt, to say she wasn't beautiful. But no matter how hard you tried, there was nothing about her to criticize.
That was the pattern you noticed with Steve. All of the girls who were blessed to have his attention were perfect.
The same petite bodies, flawless hairstyles, crystal clear skins. They had everything you didn't. Every girl in Hawkins could pass for an angel—a figure of unimaginable beauty. Except for you. You would be better on the sidelines.
The sick feeling you felt just from those two words tumbled in your stomach. You couldn't tell if you wanted to run, cry, or throw up. The tone of her voice left nothing to interpret. You could hear the want. The desire to be noticed by Steve. It was disgusting how familiar it sounded.
"Welcome to Family Video," Steve called out. You turned back to see him smiling at her. "I'll be right with you." You watched his gaze return back to you. The light you had previously seen in his eyes was gone. A bright, beautiful, blonde shadow had casted, completely erasing the sunshine that was solely yours a second ago.
"There's some movies in the back Robin wanted you to check out." He suggested, kindly shooing you away. "Why don't you go take a look at them?" You knew what he was doing. Brushing you off so you couldn't get in the way of his new opportunity.
But it was Steve, so you went down without a fight.
You quietly traveled over in between the aisles like a shadow, leaving him to charm his way into another girl's pants. "What can I do for you?" You heard him ask, his signature King Steve voice making an appearance. The one that he used to wield to get girls like it was a competition he needed to win.
You could practically feel Olivia tilt her head. Probably twirling her hair with a smile. "Do you have any good movies for a first date?" she asked
Wow. She wasn't wasting any time, then.
"Absolutely." You heard him clap his hands before the sound of feet shuffling came closer. "What does he like?" he asked as you crossed over to another aisle.
"Oh, I'm not sure," she said innocently. "I'm sure a handsome guy like you would know just what to watch. What would you recommend?"
You fought the urge to roll your eyes. God, this was torture.
"Well, it depends…" he muttered to himself. You could see in your mind the furrow between his brows as he thought it over.
You briefly wondered to yourself if he could see it. The flashing sign in front of him trying to get his attention. Could he not tell that she wanted him? Impossible. Steve Harrington had the looks to believe any girl wanted him, and the asshole that he was, he was usually right.
"Well, there's Back to the Future. That's always a good one. Or— Oh! Ferris Bueller's Day Off!" You could hear the excited smile in his voice. It reminded you of the one he had when he watched it with you last month. "That's a classic first date movie."
You could hear Olivia giggle sweetly, probably tilting her head again. "Sold."
"Great, let me ring you up." He passed your aisle as he made his way to the counter. He looked at you, giving you the briefest smile—one you had come to recognize as his way of silently apologizing.
You couldn't help but return the smile, unable to help the way he could bring one out of you just by looking your way. You returned your focus back to the tapes in front of you as the cash register chimed quietly.
"That'll be $10.80," Steve said. You could hear the rumbling of Olivia's purse.
"Thank you, you know. You're a total lifesaver."
Steve smiled back at her. "Just doing my job."
She handed him her change. "Are you doing anything tonight?" She asked. Her voice had grown lower, deeper. Your eyes were on the two of them before you could process it.
"Not currently, no," he answered as he carefully filed away her payment.
"Would you like to be?"
Steve's head flicked up instantly. Olivia smirked at him, a knowing look in her eye. She had him right where she wanted him. "You. Me. A classic first date movie…" she batted her eyelashes at him. You could hear Steve struggle to form words as he attempted to gather her change.
"I've- I've already watched Ferris Bueller's Day Off," he responded cautiously. You caught the nervousness laced in his voice. The swallow in his throat. Great. Not only was Olivia the ideal dream girl, but she made him nervous.
"Oh, don't worry," she lowered her voice even further, looking at his lips seductively. "I wouldn't want your attention on the movie, anyway…"
You couldn't take it any more. You rushed your way inside the backroom, trying to keep down the bile in your throat. Your breath caught as you shut the door, desperately trying to pause the movie you had seen a million times before. The film that always interrupted your daydreams. You sat down on the nearest stool, your head falling into your hands.
Why did you do this to yourself? You knew not to fall for Steve Harrington. You knew that you would only get hurt. Romance had never favored you. Cupid's arrows were never sharp enough to convince someone they would die without you.
God, you were so stupid. Of course this was how the movie ended. You knew that as soon as Steve "The Goddamn Hair" Harrington stumbled into your heart like it was just a tourist spot to visit. You wished he would have never walked into your life. Never met your brother. Never—
"Hey, where'd you go?" Steve's gentle voice you never heard him use with anyone else whispered as he opened the door. "You know only employees are supposed to be back here, right?" The joke fell flat amongst the static that channeled in your ears.
"Since when do you care, Harrington?" You bit back. You knew it was mean—that he didn't deserve your anger, but there was no one around to be mad at but him.
"I care when you're trying to get away from me."
A heavy silence fell in the room with that. You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. Steve sighed, sitting down on the stool across from you.
"Did you still need somewhere to go tonight?" Steve asked you softly.
You looked up at him, an anger still in your eyes. "Yeah, why?"
He met your eyes, wielding your favorite smile of his. The one that reminded you of a shy little boy—nothing but love and kindness in his heart. Not the teenage boy who broke hearts and left without a trace, or the king who had fallen from grace. Just a young boy looking at you like you meant something in his big world.
"Why don't you stay at my place tonight?"
You rolled your eyes at the suggestion. Like you would crash at his place while he "watched a movie" with Olivia at her house. Just the idea of being in his house all alone was enough to have your chest constricting. "I'm not gonna spend the night in an empty house, Harrington."
"I'd be there?" His response took you aback, apparently just as yours did him.
"Aren't you—busy now?" You gestured towards the door—the movie you had paused.
"I'd like to be."
Your eyebrows inched closer together. "What are you talking about?"
"You can stay at my house tonight," Steve offered again, leaning closer. "My folks aren't there. You could keep me company. "
You tilted your head. His boyish smile had probably disoriented you into some kind of hallucinatory state.
"I- I thought—"
Steve seemed to catch onto your thought process with a subtle smirk. "What, Olivia?" he shook his head, smiling. "Nah," he responded. "I said no."
You blinked at him. Well, that was a plot twist if you had ever seen one.
"So… my house tonight?" Steve reminded you. "You in?"
You should say no. You knew you should. Saying yes to Steve Harrington was like jumping from a ship into siren infested waters.
But how were you supposed to resist the tempting waves that sparkled in his eyes? How were you supposed to ignore the living marble statue before you?
No. You could see the sharp teeth of rejection whirling beneath the water. You had learned to filter through the siren's call and turn the steering wheel before you could crash. You wouldn't be fooled into jumping—
"Okay."
Idiot.
If the doorbell to Family Video felt like a knot in your throat, the chime announcing Steve Harrington was at your front door was the noose.
"Coming!" Dustin hollered from downstairs. You could hear him violently stomping as you zipped your backpack, closing your closet on your way out. You hurried down the stairs just in time to see Dustin opening the front door.
The presence of Steve standing on your front porch was enough to make time stop still. You couldn't help the way your eyes fell on the strands of his hair that always landed perfectly, framing his gentle eyes. The unfairly beautiful smile that graced his face so easily—
"Why are you wearing your nice jacket?" Steve's smile quicly turned into annoyance at Dustin's skeptical tone.
"Shut it, Henderson," Steve shoved at his shoulder, his eyes on you as you met Dustin's side.
Dustin turned to you, squinting. "Where are you going?"
"I'm letting her stay with me tonight so she doesn't have to deal with you shits keeping her up all night." Steve supplied, glaring at your brother. "Call it a rescue."
"Down, boy," you quipped at Steve, joining his side with a smile.
Dustin scoffed. "For your information, there is nothing about our campaign that she needs rescuing from! If anything, you both could be enjoying a great night of adven—!"
"Night, shitbird." Steve smirked triumphantly as he closed the door in his face. "Jeez, that kid's relentless," he sighed.
You walked right by his side. "You're the one who's friends with him," you remind him, "I just live with him."
Steve rolled his eyes at you, opening the passenger side door for you. "Exactly, which is why I'm currently saving you, right now. You're welcome."
You smiled as you got in your seat, setting your backpack down. You watched him through the window as he made his way to the driver's side.
Steve opened the door, getting in while looking at you, smiling giddily. "You ready?" He asked, bucking his seat belt.
Once again, you could sense the incoming implosion getting closer and closer every second you were with him. The ticking of a clock counting down until you lost this fragile fantasy of having his attention—
"Always."
The universe was just taunting you now.
Steve was looking up at you from his pool—smiling without a care in the world despite being fully clothed. Under the night sky, though, every beautiful thing about him was practically magnified—the night stars reflecting on the water.
The fucker.
"You coming in, or what, Henderson?" He smiled at you.
You shook your head at him, rolling your eyes. "I'm not getting in there without a swimsuit."
Steve grinned, swimming closer to the edge you were at. "Come on," he folded his arms on the edge. "Live a little, Henderson."
His voice was lower, eyes shining like glittering waters. You felt yourself leaning in closer to his call, the water tempting you more and more—
"Nope," you shook your head. "I'm not getting these clothes wet."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine," he gave up, extending his arm out towards you. "Help me up then?"
You took his hand with a smirk. "Can't even get up on your own, Harrin—?" Steve pulled you in before you could even finish your sentence.
Despite the warm temperature of the pool, you felt the water surround you like a cold plunge. You climbed to the surface to find Steve beaming at you like he was a kid again.
You couldn't help but bark a laugh out of shock, immediately splashing water his way. "Asshole!" He laughed at your dramatics—the sound flying you up into the clouds—before splashing you right back.
Regardless of how angry you could have been, you felt so alive for once you couldn't be bothered to care.
You charged right for him. Steve shoved water at you while trying to get away. "Can't catch me!" He retorted like a child, beaming as he avoided you.
You were both caught in a fit of laughter when you finally reached him, lunging on top of him. The two of you sunk below the surface for the briefest second before you came back up for air.
That second underwater was the most free you'd felt in a long time. You were terrified of drowning—even before you met Steve. You would stay on land as you watched your brother and his friends splash around. It wasn't until Steve offered to give you swimming lessons a year ago that you started enjoying going to the pool.
But you hated spending too much time underwater—afraid of drowning, that feeling where you're unable to reach the surface in time cause you had overestimated your chances and gone too far.
But you weren't scared just now. You were too busy holding onto Steve to remember why you should've been scared. You knew he wouldn't let you drown, anyway. He would go down with you. He would save you every time.
You were busy laughing and combing your hair back once you returned to the surface. "I'm gonna get you back for that, Harrington."
When your eyes finally met his, you saw something there you hadn’t cataloged yet. His gaze was focused on your lips, filled with something you were too scared to call desire.
It was only then that you realized how close he was—one of his hands set on your waist. You could count every one of his eyelashes, the subtle freckles on his cheeks.
You swallowed quietly, the tension making your skin hot. "Steve—?"
You were cut off by the pull of his hand on the back of your neck, his lips suddenly on yours.
Your surprise was enough to render you frozen—long enough for Steve to pull back. His eyes opened to see yours had never closed.
The sight must have scared him. "Shit—sorry. I just—I thought–"
This time, you were the one to cut him off, locking your lips with his before you could talk yourself out of it.
His lips felt like a heaven you had been denying yourself for far too long. The pearly gates you didn't believe a God would be kind enough to let you see. Steve's kiss was your road to Damascus—a blinding heavenly light that you had spent forever cursing its existence of.
At the same time, you could taste the forbidden fruit in his teeth—the temptation you had fallen for. Even devoted and wise, Steve Harrington could fool you into falling from grace.
You tore apart from him—the taste of your sin still on your lips. His eyes were still closed, his lips still parted as if he expected you to come back. After a second too long, Steve opened his eyes. The drumming in your ears distracted you from noticing the dilation of his pupils or the weight of his breaths.
You once again felt his hand on the back of your neck, his fingers half mindedly combing through the soft strands he could reach.
"Why'd you stop?" The ragged texture in his voice wasn't helping. The hoarse quality made your knees weak. You wanted to fall, to let him catch you, to sink into his arms—
No, something was wrong with this. Steve Harrington is not the type of guy who falls for you. And you're not the type of girl who can afford to fall for him.
You shook your head. "You don't know what you're doing," you murmured, pulling back.
Steve's brows furrowed, catching up to your hesitation. "Hey," he pulled you closer, "what are you talking about?"
"I'm not—Steve—this isn't—you don't know what you're doing."
"I know what I'm doing—"
"No! You don't!" You protested, your eyes looking everywhere but him, your breath coming quicker. "You're—you're making a mistake—you're not thinking clearly."
"Hey." Steve refocused your attention onto him. "Look at me, baby. Take a breath," he encouraged, wiping a loose strand of hair out of your eyes, your chest heaving.
He nodded as you tried to calm down, breathing like he had told you. "That's it, honey. There you go," he breathed with you. "You're okay, yeah? Everything's fine."
You nodded back, closing your eyes so you wouldn't have to see the way he was looking at you.
"What's going on, sweetheart? Need you to talk to me."
Your breath caught again as you shook your head. "This—This isn't real."
"Why is it not real?" he asked you softly.
You almost scoffed through your flustered state. "Cause you're you," you reminded him incredulously. "You're you, Steve, and I'm not the type of girl you—I'm not the type of girl you can do this with."
He head tilted subtly. "Do what with?" he questioned gently, deep doe eyes looking at you intently.
"Kiss me like this," you stated, "Like—like it means nothing."
Steve shook his head, his other hand cupping your cheek. "Who said it means nothing?"
You could barely contain the roll of your eyes. "Are you kidding? Steve, I'm not—I'm not the type of girl you fall for," you muttered, eyes cast downwards.
"The type of—? What?" Steve sounded unbelievably confused for someone so beautiful. "Baby, you're not making sense."
You sighed, biting your lip so you wouldn't do something stupid.
"Why did you kiss me?"
"Because I thought it was the right moment?" he answered, blinking at you like you were the crazy one. "I've been wanting to do that since I met you, sweetheart."
You shook your head, denying the possibility. "Why? Just to add another girl to your roster or something—?"
"Hey, stop it with that." His voice was firm then. It almost sounded like he was scolding you for even thinking that. You shrunk in on yourself out of shame.
Steve sighed. "You're not another girl for me," he promised.
"Then what am I?"
"You're the girl for me, sweetheart."
The conviction of his tone would've swept you off your feet if he wasn't holding you like an anchor. Steve leaned his face closer to yours, brushing your nose with his.
"I'd—I'd like you to be mine," he continued, eyes reflecting the glowing lights that brightened the pool. "My girl."
You weren't sure you were alive anymore. The only proof of life you had was the angel of a man in front of you.
"Your—Your girl?" you stuttered helplessly.
Steve chuckled at you breathlessly. "If you'll let me."
Your eyebrows furrowed, causing him to laugh again. He brought his finger up to soothe the crease between them. "You're cute like this, you know."
You didn't have it in you to argue. You just continued to stare at him. "Wh—why me?" You asked. "Everybody wants you."
Steve smirked at you, tilting his head at you. "Doesn't mean I want them," he replied. "I only want you."
You're sure you could've stopped breathing. Perhaps you already had, and this was just some sick dream to transition you into death.
Steve grinned, leaning in to press a kiss on your cheek. "You really had no idea?" He asked, still smiling as he pulled back.
You fumbled for words as you blinked at him.
He chuckled at your stunned silence. "I like you, pretty girl," he tells you softly, cupping your face in his hands once again. His voice gets low before leaning in, "Always have."
Your eyes closed from the feeling of his lips on yours again. Steve proceeded to coaxe you into parting your lips for him, weakening your resolve into nothing. You couldn't process anything other than the taste of his tongue—a flavor you would rather die in vain than lose.
Goosebumps trailed down your skin as his hand returned to your waist, firmer than before as his jaw moved with yours
Your hands carefully traveled to his shoulders, holding tight to this moment. You inched back from his mouth. "Steve—?" Your departure didn't seem to stop Steve as he took the break as an excuse to kiss your face.
He hummed in response, the vibration on your skin making you feel warm.
"You—You really like me?"
Steve kept kissing the side of your face, roaming his lips over to your ear. "Mhmm," he responded. "I really, really like you, beautiful girl."
You blushed at the name, making him smile. "Yeah? You like when I call you beautiful?" Steve teased.
"Shut up, Harrington," you shoved his shoulder, rolling your eyes at him. It only made him grin wider.
"There's the girl I know and love."
You mirrored his smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Yeah? You love me, Harrington?"
Steve nodded, not an ounce of shame or hesitation to be found. "Since I met you."
You looked down at his lips. "Me too," you replied softly. Steve's smile grew impossibly wider. Ridiculously, he ended up lifting you up and spinning you around in his arms, as happy as can be.
You laughed with him as he set you back down, standing you on the solid ground of the pool floor.
"So..." you started, tilting your head, "what now?"
Steve held you close in his arms with the look of a man who's never known beauty, such as the one before him.
He shrugged. "It's whatever you want, baby."
And like you had done in a million daydreams before, you kissed Steve Harrington, just because you could—just because you were the one he chose.
✈︎ summary: caleb xia wishes and wishes for a lot of things.
✈︎ cw: MDNI! fem!reader, non-mc reader, situationship, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, unrequited love (kind of), right person wrong time, break up fic, song fic, no happy ending, unbeta'd, unedited
✈︎ a/n: based on one ok rock's song let me let you go (i suggest listening first) because its so caleb x non-mc coded 😭.
✈︎ LADs Masterlist ✈︎ AO3
bullets in the dark
shooting through my hesitating heart
we were never gonna go far
'cause i'm no good at loving
someone as good as you
it was meant to be a temporary arrangement.
just a distraction, something that could take his mind off his true purpose here in the fleet.
you had been convenient.
his assistant. his aide de camp.
safe, someone outside ever's control. someone who does not know what's going on. someone innocent, just a lowly fleet officer unfortunate enough to be assigned to him.
he should have stopped by then, should have kept his distance.
he should have not reciprocated the kiss you initiated during one of the drinking parties the other officers arranged.
but he can't seem to keep his distance from you.
he can't seem to stop himself from responding to the plushness of your lips, to the apple flavored gloss that you are too fond of wearing, to the warmth of your body pressed against his.
he should have stopped after one night. he should have declined the invitations that followed.
he made a rule to only oblige the other officers once a month but after that night, after telling himself so many times to stop, he finds himself coming back.
there was something special about you.
something special that somehow keeps the nightmares at bay on nights he lets you stay over, your breathing steady beside him in the dark.
something special that sometimes lets him pretend a life of normalcy.
a life without ever's shadow. without the fleet.
a life of not needing to protect his adoptive sister.
a life where there is only you and him, tangled in sheets that smelled like your shampoo.
but it was not this life.
this could never be this life.
wish you made me stay
wish you didn't let me run away
guess you knew that i would never change
'cause i'm no good at lying
to someone as good as you
you seem to understand though.
despite the obvious feelings that you have for him.
despite the obvious love in your subtle actions, in the way you would leave his favorite coffee on his desk without being asked, in how you would squeeze his hand twice under the table during briefings when you noticed his jaw clenching.
despite the hope in your eyes, the hope that lived stubbornly every time you looked at him, you understand why he cannot name your relationship anything.
you don't ask questions, even when your things started to fill his apartment or his in yours.
you don't demand answers even when your toothbrush appeared next to his, when your books started filling his shelves, when your clothes started filling half of his wardrobe and his jacket became a permanent fixture in yours.
you seem to understand his silence, his secrecy in the things that he does in the dead of night when he thought you were sleeping.
you don't ask about the nightmares that plague him, about the nightmares that made him wake up choking on screams he wouldn't let escape.
you are simply giving yourself to him as he would take you.
and he took and took and took until he felt hollowed out with guilt.
you make yourself available when he needs you outside your work at the fleet.
when he gets rough in bed, lost in something dark and desperate, you let him.
you hold him after as tears and apologies leave his lips.
"it's okay," you would whisper. "i got you. i'm here."
but he knew you shouldn't be.
he feels guilty with every lie, every text he ignores.
guilty when you would brighten seeing him in the halls and he would force himself to nod curtly, pretending those weren't the same lips he had kissed raw the night before.
guilty when you would laugh at something another officer said and he would feel that sick, possessive twist in his gut, because he had no right to feel possessive over something he refused to claim.
he wishes he could give something back, but he does not want you to be part of his already troublesome and dangerous life.
in another life maybe.
in another life, he would keep you.
he would marry you.
he would give you everything you deserved and more.
but not this one.
never this one.
when he finally reunites with his little sister after she and the hunter association tried to infiltrate the fleet, he makes up his mind to end it.
his heart and mind quarrel.
he does not want to let you go.
not really.
but he was only one man.
his little sister will always be his priority.
he cannot protect the two of you.
it's not that he doesn't try to find a way.
he lies awake for weeks, running through scenarios, contingencies, plans within plans, but every path leads to the same conclusion.
eventually, ever will notice you.
eventually, they will realize what you mean to him.
and eventually, they will use you to make him comply.
or worse, they will simply just eliminate you.
better to break your heart now.
better to have you reassigned far away where you will be safe, where you will hate him but live.
better that than to be forced to choose between you and mei.
better that than watching you die because of him, because he was selfish enough to keep you close.
better not see you again than be put into a spot where he chooses mei over you and see you suffer because of ever.
he cannot live a life like that, no.
no he can't.
he won't.
so he makes the call, pulls strings, arranges your transfer.
and then he has to tell you.
he remembers the unshed tears you fight when he tells you about your reassignment, about the end of you and him.
remembers how you stood in his apartment, the apartment that had become partly yours, with your arms wrapped around yourself.
"when?" your voice barely a whisper.
"two weeks."
you nodded.
you just nodded, like he only told you about a schedule change instead of ripping your heart out.
he knows you want to say something, to fight, to ask why, to ask what you had done wrong, to ask if any of it had been real.
he wants to tell you you did nothing wrong, that you had been perfect, too perfect, too good.
too everything he did not deserve.
he wanted to tell you that yes, it had been real, more real than anything else in his godforsaken life.
but he can't.
he already made up his mind.
and caleb xia always saw his missions through.
even when the mission was breaking both your hearts.
"okay," you said finally, and that one word hurt worse than if you had screamed at him. "okay."
when you turned to leave, and he almost, almost, called you back.
he almost told you the truth.
he almost begged you to stay despite knowing it would doom you.
but he didn't.
the door closed.
within three days, all your things disappear from his apartment.
he comes home to find a box outside his door.
his hoodie you had stolen, his dog tags you had worn tucked under your shirt, the book he had been reading to you on lazy sunday mornings, a photo strip from that stupid booth you had dragged him to where you were laughing and he was almost smiling.
no note.
nothing.
you had erased yourself from his life as quickly and quietly as you had once fit into it, and that hurt most of all, that you made it easy for him.
that you didn't fight.
why did you not fight?
why did you just let him go?
your absence is breaking him.
breaking him in ways the nightmares and the experiments never could.
your ghost is in his apartment.
in every nook and cranny, despite the lack of your things there.
he sees you curled on his couch with a book.
he hears your laugh echoing from the kitchen.
he smells your perfume on the pillows even after he already washed them three times.
he finds one of your hair ties on the bathroom counter and has to brace himself against the sink, breathing hard, his reflection staring back with hollowed eyes.
your absence makes it hard for him to breathe.
at night, the nightmares return with a vengeance, he wakes up gasping, his hand automatically seeks the side of the bed you favor, seeking warmth that isn't there.
he wishes that he could still feel you there, seeking the soft reassurance of your breathing, the way you would sleepily curl into him and murmur "i'm here, i'm here," until he could breathe again.
but you're not here.
you are gone, and he has no one to blame but himself.
work becomes unbearable.
he sees you in every aide who hands him reports.
he hears your voice in every status update.
the coffee on his desk tastes wrong because it's not from you, made exactly how he likes it even though he never told you, you just knew.
mei notices.
of course she does.
"you look terrible," she says bluntly one evening she stayed over, finding him sitting in the dark, staring at that photo strip he keeps in his desk drawer.
"i'm fine."
"you are not." she sits beside him, her expression softening as she sees the photo strip he is holding. "this is about your assistant, isn't it? the one who was transferred."
he doesn't answer, which is answer enough.
"caleb... did you love her?"
the question punches the air from his lungs.
love.
such a simple word for something that feels like it's killing him.
did he love you?
does he love you?
"it doesn't matter," he says finally.
"of course it matters—"
"no." his voice comes out harsher than intended. "it doesn't. she's safe now. that's what matters."
mei looks at him with pity, and he can't stand it.
he can't stand the reflection of his own misery in his sister's eyes.
"you can't protect everyone by pushing them away," she says quietly.
but he can try.
he has to try.
even if it destroys him.
three months later, he's in a different city for a classified operation when he sees her.
just a glimpse, a woman with your hair turning a corner in the station marketplace.
his heart stops.
his feet move before his brain catches up, pushing through the crowd, desperate and pathetic and not caring who sees.
but when he reaches the corner, it's not you.
of course it's not you.
you are in a different place now, safe from ever's reach, probably hating him, probably healing, probably learning to smile at someone new who isn't broken and lying and too cowardly to choose you.
he leans against the wall, breathing hard, feeling like he's been shot.
this is what he wanted.
this was his choice.
so why does it feel like dying?
i tried, i tried to love you
i swear i tried
but how can i love you if you're not here?
late at night, when everything is quiet and mei is asleep and there's no one to see him fall apart, caleb lets himself remember.
he remembers the first time you fell asleep on his couch during late-night mission planning, your head on his shoulder, completely trusting.
he remembers the morning you made him breakfast and he realized no one had done that for him ever since the explosion and his death.
he remembers you patching up his split knuckles after a training incident, your touch so gentle he wanted to weep.
he remembers every time you looked at him like he hung the stars, like he was someone worth loving instead of a weapon pretending to be a man.
he tried.
he tried to love you the way you deserved.
but how can you love someone when you have already decided to let them go?
how can you hold on when you know your grip will only drag them down with you?
it's breaking me
i'm not just losing you
i'm losing what you saw in me
the worst part is not losing you.
the worst part is losing the version of himself that existed in your eyes.
the man you saw when you looked at him, someone good, someone worthy, someone capable of being loved.
without you, he's just what he has always been.
a soldier, a weapon, a man with blood on his hands and lies in his mouth.
you made him believe he could be more.
and he threw it away.
why'd you let me let you go?
some nights, when the guilt and longing become too much, he imagines calling you. imagines begging you to come back.
imagines telling you everything.
about ever, about his sister, about the impossible position he's in and letting you decide if he's worth the risk.
but he never does.
because you deserve better than a love that comes with conditions.
better than someone who will always choose duty over you.
better than a man who's too broken to love you the way you loved him—completely, without reservation, without fear.
so he lives with the ghost of you.
he lives with the memory of what he had and what he destroyed.
he lives with the question that haunts him every single day.
why did you let me let you go?
why didn't you fight for us when i was too much of a coward to fight for myself?
but deep down, he knows the answer.
you let him go because you loved him enough to respect his choice.
even when that choice broke both your hearts.
even when that choice was the biggest mistake of his life.
and now all he has are regrets, and an empty apartment, and the phantom feeling of your hand in his that he will carry until his last breath.
caleb xia wishes and wishes for a lot of things.
he wishes he could go back to that first kiss and walk away.
he wishes he had never learned what it felt like to sleep beside you.
he wishes he had been strong enough to keep his distance from the start.
he wishes he had been brave enough to keep you.
but most of all, god, most of all, he wishes he hadn't let you go.
After that evening by the river, it became easier to see him. Not that it was ever officially allowed, but somehow the town’s judgment faded into the background when it was just the two of you. At first, it was small things meeting at the edge of the street after school when your parents were distracted, walking through empty alleys to avoid prying eyes, or standing near the gas station in silence while Yufan’s bike idled nearby. The first few times, your heart had raced as if you were stepping onto enemy territory. By the third week, the thrill had settled into a quiet comfort that made the risk feel worth it.
He had a way of making even simple moments feel extraordinary. A shared bottle of soda in the library courtyard, sitting side by side on the worn steps of the diner after everyone else had gone home, laughing at nothing in particular while the sun faded behind the rooftops. Sometimes he would lean back against the wall, watching you with that unreadable gaze, and you could feel the pull between you in your chest before anything happened.
One night, a few weeks later, he climbed the fire escape to your balcony. You were brushing your hair when you heard the faint rustle above, followed by a soft laugh.
"You’re impossible," you said, trying to sound annoyed.
"I know," he replied, stepping onto the balcony with the ease of someone who had done it before. His jacket smelled faintly of leather and smoke, and the cool night air made the edges of his hair flutter. "But you like it."
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. He leaned down suddenly, brushing a strand of hair from your face before stealing a quick, daring kiss. Your heart nearly stopped, but before you could protest, he grinned.
"See," he whispered, "worth it."
From then on, balcony visits became almost routine. Not every night, but often enough that you started leaving the door unlocked, just in case. Sometimes he would come to steal a kiss and disappear before anyone could notice. Other times, he lingered longer, letting his hand brush yours, or holding your gaze for a few stolen seconds that felt like eternity.
During the day, life went on in small town rhythm. Classes, errands, chores. But he was always there in some way, usually in the corner of your vision leaning against a tree while you left the library, watching quietly from the edge of the street after school, or suddenly appearing with his bike for a late ride when the sunset stretched the sky in oranges and purples.
Those rides became your favorite escape. He would pick you up just as the evening settled into twilight, and you would ride out past the limits of town, the wind tugging at your hair, the tires humming against the asphalt. You didn’t need to speak. The road, the hum of the bike, the quiet presence of him beside you said enough. Sometimes he would glance at you from the corner of his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You would catch his hand on yours for a moment, holding it loosely against your thigh, and let yourself sink into the quiet intimacy of it.
Months passed. Weeks blurred together with stolen moments and small adventures that made the town feel like it existed far away. Summer deepened into early fall, and the evenings grew cooler. He showed you his favorite hideaways a crumbling warehouse with sunbeams filtering through broken windows, the old train tracks where no one ever came, and a hill on the edge of town where the view of the sunset made the whole world feel suspended.
Everywhere you went together, the townspeople whispered. Friends tried to warn you, your parents grew increasingly stern, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t. You loved him in a way that had no room for logic or caution. You loved the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way he brushed the hair from your face, the quiet patience he showed when you lingered in the shadows of fear or worry. You loved the way he was dangerous to everyone else but tender to you, like the world outside could burn and he would still protect this small space where only the two of you existed.
One night in early October, the air was crisp and smelled faintly of wood smoke. He came to your balcony again, silently, and this time stayed longer. You leaned against him as he wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, and his lips brushed your hairline.
"You’re freezing," he murmured.
"I’m fine," you said, but your hands instinctively found his, fingers intertwining.
"No," he insisted softly. "You’re coming with me. It’s too cold for standing here."
He lifted you effortlessly, and for a heartbeat your stomach did a slow, thrilling flip. You laughed, half in disbelief, half in pure joy, and let him carry you to the bike. That night you rode under a sky scattered with stars, your arms around his waist, the world a blur of streetlights and moonlight. He pressed his hand against yours, fingers tightening gently, and for a long while neither of you spoke, letting the hum of the engine and the wind fill the quiet.
By winter, you realized something profound the town could never understand what existed between the two of you. And you didn’t want it to. Each stolen kiss, each late night ride, each balcony meeting was yours alone. The way he looked at you like you were the only person who had ever mattered made every risk worth it. Every whisper of disapproval, every glance from your parents, every rumor that reached your ears they all faded into the background whenever he was near.
Weeks became months. Every day, every night, the routine grew brief glances in crowded hallways, secret meetings near empty streets, long rides past the limits of town under starry skies, and quiet nights on your balcony that stretched into morning without anyone noticing. The small, shared silences, the gentle teasing, the hands brushing against each other, the stolen kisses they became the language of your love.
You were both so in love it hurt. In the quiet, relentless way that made your chest ache when he wasn’t around, that made every heartbeat feel tethered to him. He became your first thought in the morning and the last whisper in your mind at night. And no matter how much the world tried to interfere, you both moved closer together, inch by inch, inescapably, irresistibly, inevitably.
The night was quiet when he came again.
You were sitting on your balcony, knees drawn to your chest, the cool autumn breeze brushing your hair. The town was asleep beneath the dark sky, but you could hear the faint hum of distant cars and the occasional dog barking. The air smelled faintly of fallen leaves and wood smoke, and it felt impossibly intimate, like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.
He climbed the fire escape with the practiced ease you’d grown used to. The moment he stepped onto the balcony, the familiar thrill returned, sharp in your chest.
“You’re late,” you teased softly, leaning back against the railing.
“I had… business,” he said, his voice low, teasing, but there was a softness there too. He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and the dim balcony light caught the bruise near his cheek. “Missed you.”
Your heart twisted. “You’re always late.”
“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His hand reached for yours, brushing your fingers in that careful, deliberate way that always made your chest catch. “But I come back.”
You let him, letting your hand rest in his. A long silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the faint rustle of trees and the soft hum of the distant town. Then he leaned forward, just slightly, brushing his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, teasing, hesitant at first, but it deepened gradually, careful and gentle in a way that contradicted the danger everyone else associated with him.
You felt your knees weaken, the warm, steady pull of him enveloping you, and for a long moment, nothing else existed. Just him, you, and the night wrapped around you both.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker, softer, almost tender. “You know,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve been thinking…”
“About what?” you asked, your voice small, uncertain.
He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “About us. About everything.” His gaze lingered on yours, unwavering. “I… I want to spend my life with you.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Let’s get married,” he said simply, quietly, almost like a secret. The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible, yet somehow certain.
Your chest tightened. “Yufan… I’m just nineteen.”
He laughed softly, low and warm. “Then I’ll make you my teenage wife.” The teasing in his tone couldn’t mask the seriousness in his eyes. “You don’t have to answer now. But I mean it. I want us. Only us.”
Your cheeks flushed, heart hammering in a mix of fear, excitement, and disbelief. Before you could respond, he leaned down again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was almost desperate in its gentleness, like he was trying to convey every unsaid word in that single moment.
The night passed too quickly. You didn’t notice the hours, didn’t hear the time slipping by. By the time he pulled away to leave, the world outside had grown darker, the town fully asleep.
“You really have a way of complicating my life,” you whispered after him.
“Only for you,” he said, a soft grin on his lips before he disappeared down the fire escape, leaving your balcony emptier than it had ever felt.
The next day was hell.
You had lingered too long, walking past the streets near the diner where he had been waiting, laughing quietly at something he said, oblivious to the whispers of neighbors and the sharp eyes of your parents. By the time you reached home, your father was waiting. His arms crossed, his jaw tight, and your mother stood behind him, exasperated.
“You were with him again?” your father demanded.
“I… I just—”
“No excuses,” your mother interrupted. “You know what he is. And you know we warned you.”
Your cheeks burned. “I—”
“You’re grounded,” your father said, voice heavy with finality. “No leaving the house for a week. No going near him. Do you understand?”
You nodded, but your heart felt heavy. The grounding was just another obstacle between you and him, another reminder of how impossible your feelings were for the world outside your balcony and his bike.
That night, when the house finally grew quiet, there was a soft tapping at your window.
“Don’t make me climb down again,” you whispered, but when he opened the window, all you could do was laugh softly at the sight of him, breathless in the moonlight.
“I have an idea,” he said, his eyes glinting. “We could… run away.”
You stared at him, heart skipping. “Run away?”
He nodded. “Get married. Just… leave. Tonight would be too soon, but after a day or two… I can make it happen.”
You swallowed hard. “Yufan… that’s crazy.”
“Maybe. But not for us.” His hand brushed yours gently, reassuringly. “We’re not meant to be kept apart. Not by the town. Not by your parents. Not by anyone.”
The night passed with quiet planning, your pulse racing with every whispered word, every shared glance. And when the next evening arrived, he came again. This time, with something heavier than his usual jacket a folded bundle he carried carefully under his arm.
“My mom’s wedding dress,” he said softly, laying it on your bed. “It’s old, but it’s ours if we’re serious.”
You stared at the pale fabric, heart hammering in disbelief. “You… you brought this here?”
“I’m serious,” he said simply, voice calm but firm. “If we’re running away, we’re doing it properly. You, me… a wedding in the courthouse. Tomorrow.”
You sank onto the bed, feeling the weight of everything fear, thrill, love, and desperation all colliding. He knelt beside you, brushing your hair back, lips near your ear.
“Are you with me?” he whispered.
You closed your eyes. “Yes.”
His hand found yours, and in that instant, the world outside your room the town, the gossip, your parents didn’t exist. There was only him, only you, and the impossible, breathtaking decision to make your love official, even if it meant leaving everything behind.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that only existed after midnight when every room had fallen asleep and the entire town seemed suspended in a soft, fragile stillness. The clock in the hallway ticked slowly. The old wooden floor creaked every now and then as if reminding you that the world outside your room still existed.
But inside your room, everything felt unreal.
The dress lay across your bed.
Yufan’s mother’s wedding dress.
Even in the dim lamp light the fabric seemed almost luminous. Soft ivory satin that flowed down into a full ballgown skirt, the kind that looked like it belonged in old romance films rather than a small town in the middle of nowhere. The lace sleeves were delicate and worn slightly with time, but that only made it feel more sacred somehow, like it carried the memory of another love story before yours.
Your hands trembled slightly as you touched the fabric.
You had locked your door already.
The key was still in the handle.
Your parents’ voices from earlier that day echoed in your mind, the anger, the warnings, the grounding that was supposed to keep you away from him. They thought locking you inside this house would be enough.
They had no idea you were about to leave it forever.
You folded the note slowly.
The paper felt heavier than it should have.
“Mom, Dad. I’m sorry.”
You paused, staring at the words, the ink slightly smudged where your hand had rested too long.
“I love him.”
That was all you wrote.
Nothing else could explain it anyway.
You placed the note carefully on your desk, where they would find it in the morning.
For a moment you just stood there, staring at your room. The walls you had grown up with. The window that had become the doorway to every stolen night with him. The little pieces of your life that suddenly felt far away, like they already belonged to someone else.
Then you turned back to the dress.
It took time to put it on.
The fabric slid over your skin softly, the satin cool at first before warming slowly. The bodice fit perfectly once you tightened it, the waist pulling in just enough that the skirt flared out around you like something out of a dream.
You moved toward the mirror.
For a second you didn’t recognize yourself.
Your hair was pinned gently back beneath the veil, the thin white fabric falling softly behind your shoulders. The makeup was light, just enough to make your eyes look brighter, your lips softer.
You looked like a bride.
Not a runaway nineteen year old girl in a locked bedroom.
A bride.
Your heart pounded.
Then, through the quiet of the night, you heard it.
The distant rumble of his bike.
Your breath caught instantly.
It grew louder, the sound echoing faintly through the empty streets before cutting off somewhere below your balcony.
He was here.
You rushed toward the window, pushing it open carefully. The cool night air rushed in, lifting the edge of your veil.
And there he was.
Standing beside the bike under the pale glow of the streetlight.
For a moment you forgot how to breathe.
He looked… unreal.
The tuxedo was clearly his father’s, slightly broader at the shoulders, the grey fabric sharp against the night air. His hair was pushed back neatly, not in the usual careless way he wore it, and the crisp white shirt beneath the tux made him look so different from the boy who used to climb your balcony in worn leather jackets and bruised knuckles.
He looked like something out of an old romance film.
Like a groom waiting for his bride.
He glanced up.
The moment his eyes found you in the window, his entire expression changed.
He froze.
Completely still.
You stepped out onto the balcony slowly, the skirt of the dress brushing softly against the floor.
And Yufan just stared.
For once in his life he had nothing to say.
He climbed the fire escape quickly, but when he stepped onto the balcony he stopped again, as if the sight of you had stunned him all over.
His voice came out quieter than usual.
“You…”
He shook his head slightly, almost laughing in disbelief.
“You actually did it.”
You felt suddenly shy under his gaze.
“Well… you brought the dress.”
His eyes moved slowly over you.
The veil.
The soft lace sleeves.
The way the skirt spread around your feet.
Something in his expression softened completely.
“God,” he murmured.
He stepped closer.
“You are beautiful.” he added, tugging lightly at the tuxedo jacket. “Do I look ridiculous?”
You tilted your head.
“No.”
He smirked faintly.
“You know who I look like tho?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Who?”
“Richard Gere,” he said with mock seriousness. “In that movie.”
You laughed softly.
But the truth was he looked even better.
The tuxedo sharpened the angles of his face, made his eyes look darker, deeper. Dangerous in the way people in town always whispered about, yet gentle in the way he was only with you.
“Sorry,” he said quietly. “But I think I might look more handsome than him.”
You stepped closer.
“You definitely do.”
For a moment neither of you moved.
The night felt suspended around you.
Then his eyes softened again as he looked at you, really looked.
“You’re…” he started, then stopped.
He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers lightly against the lace on your sleeve.
“I knew you’d look beautiful,” he said quietly.
“But I didn’t know you’d look like this.”
You swallowed.
His gaze moved up to the veil resting on your hair.
“A bride,” he whispered.
His bride.
The words hung between you.
Then suddenly he pulled you closer, one hand wrapping around your waist as he kissed you.
The kiss was soft at first, almost careful, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it deepened slowly, warm and lingering, filled with every late night conversation, every stolen moment, every secret promise that had brought you here.
Your hands moved instinctively to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of the tuxedo as he held you.
For a moment the world became nothing but him.
When he finally pulled back his forehead rested gently against yours.
“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmured.
“About what?”
He smiled softly.
“About you like this.”
His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek.
“My girl in a wedding dress.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I used to sit on that stupid bike and imagine it,” he continued quietly. “You walking toward me somewhere, wearing something like this. Everyone watching. You looking at me like I’m the only person there.”
His voice softened.
“Guess we skipped the whole audience part.”
You smiled faintly.
He took your hand then, threading his fingers through yours.
“Ready, Mrs. Zhao?” he asked gently.
The name made your heart skip.
You nodded.
“Ready.”
And with that, the two of you stepped out into the quiet midnight world together, leaving behind the town that never believed in your love and riding straight into the life you had chosen anyway.
The town looked different at night.
It always had, but tonight it felt almost unrecognizable. The streets were empty, the old storefronts dark, and the yellow glow of streetlights stretched across the pavement in long quiet lines.
You sat behind Yufan on his bike, the layers of the ballgown gathered carefully so the skirt wouldn’t catch in the wind. The veil fluttered behind you like a pale ribbon in the dark.
Your arms wrapped around his waist.
Tightly.
He could feel it through the tuxedo jacket.
For a long moment neither of you spoke. The bike moved through the quiet streets, the hum of the engine filling the silence between you.
Your cheek rested against his back.
It felt surreal.
You had left your house barely twenty minutes ago. The note for your parents was still sitting on the desk. By morning the entire town would know you were gone.
But right now, none of that seemed real.
Right now it was just the two of you riding through the sleeping town like you had done a hundred times before, except tonight the air felt heavier with something bigger than excitement.
Tonight you were about to become his wife.
Yufan slowed the bike as you approached the small courthouse near the center of town.
The building looked almost abandoned at this hour. A dim light burned inside the front office window, casting a pale glow onto the empty steps.
He parked the bike and turned slightly toward you.
“Still with me?” he asked softly.
You laughed under your breath.
“Of course I am.”
He watched you climb off the bike, carefully lifting the skirt of the dress so it didn’t drag across the pavement. The sight made him shake his head with quiet disbelief.
“You look like you walked out of a wedding magazine,” he murmured.
“And you look like someone who stole his dad’s tux.”
“Hey,” he protested.
You grinned.
“But a handsome thief.”
That earned a small smile from him.
For a moment you both just stood there outside the courthouse steps.
“Alright,” he said finally, taking your hand.
“Let’s do this.”
Inside, the courthouse smelled faintly of old paper and cleaning solution. The hallway lights buzzed softly above you as you walked toward the clerk’s office.
The man behind the desk looked up.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
His eyes moved from Yufan’s tuxedo to your wedding dress and veil.
“…Are you two serious?” he asked slowly.
Yufan nodded.
“Very.”
He stared at you both for another moment before sighing and reaching for a stack of papers.
“Fine. If you’re going to do this at two in the morning, at least fill these out properly.”
The paperwork felt strangely normal.
Names. Birthdates. Addresses.
You and Yufan leaned over the desk together filling out the forms, your handwriting slightly shaky from the adrenaline rushing through your body.
At one point he nudged you lightly with his elbow.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“What?”
“You know we’re basically writing our own vows right now.”
You glanced at the messy handwriting on the form.
“Those are not vows.”
“They could be,” he said with a crooked grin.
You laughed softly.
“I promise to share snacks.”
“I promise to let you ride my bike whenever you want.”
“Even when I crash it?”
He thought about that.
“…Maybe not then.”
The clerk cleared his throat loudly.
“Children.”
You both straightened immediately.
But Yufan was still smiling.
The judge arrived not long after.
He looked exactly like someone who had been dragged out of bed for this. His hair slightly messy, his glasses crooked, his robe thrown over a wrinkled shirt.
But when he looked at the two of you standing there, something softened in his expression.
“Well,” he said slowly.
“This is certainly the most interesting thing I’ve seen tonight.”
The ceremony was simple. There were no flowers. No music. No guests.
Just the quiet courthouse room and the soft echo of the judge’s voice as he spoke the familiar words.
You and Yufan stood close together, your hands clasped tightly.
Every now and then he would glance at you, almost as if he couldn’t believe you were actually there beside him in a wedding dress.
At one point the judge paused mid sentence.
“…You two do realize you’re supposed to listen to the vows, right?”
Yufan blinked.
“Sorry.”
You tried not to laugh.
When it came time for the rings, Yufan reached into his pocket and pulled out two simple bands.
They were small. Plain.
Clearly bought in a hurry.
But they were perfect.
He slid the ring gently onto your finger, his hands slightly unsteady.
“Guess this means you’re stuck with me now,” he murmured.
You slid his ring onto his hand.
“Good.”
Then, before the judge could even finish the sentence giving permission, Yufan pulled you into a kiss.
A real kiss.
The kind you had shared on your balcony a hundred times before.
Soft. Warm.
Full of every reckless promise you had made to each other.
The judge sighed loudly behind you.
“Technically you were supposed to wait.”
Yufan pulled back just enough to grin.
“Too late.”
The judge shook his head but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Well,” he said.
“I suppose that makes it official.”
He signed the certificate and handed it to you.
“Congratulations.”
You looked down at the paper in disbelief.
Married.
Just like that.
Outside the courthouse, the night air felt cooler.
The town was still asleep.
But everything felt different now.
You leaned against Yufan’s bike, staring at the ring on your finger.
He stood beside you, turning his own band slowly as if trying to understand it.
“Funny,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“I’ve been in plenty of fights.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“That’s not exactly surprising.”
“But this?” he continued, holding up his hand so the ring caught the streetlight.
“This might be the one thing I actually keep forever.”
You looked at him.
He smiled softly.
“Yeah,” he said.
“I think I might die with this thing on.”
You slipped your hand into his.
“I love you, yufan.”
He squeezed gently.
Then he leaned down and kissed you again, right there in the empty street outside the courthouse, like the entire town didn’t matter anymore.
Like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you who were recklessly, impossibly in love.
And now married.
The ride after the courthouse felt different.
Not because the streets had changed or the wind had grown colder, but because something invisible had shifted between the two of you. Every time the bike slowed at an empty intersection, your hand instinctively tightened around his waist, the simple gold ring brushing against the fabric of his tuxedo.
Your husband.
The thought felt strange and thrilling all at once.
The bike hummed quietly through the sleeping town, the veil of your dress fluttering softly behind you like a ghost of the ceremony that had just happened. Somewhere in the distance a neon motel sign flickered, buzzing faintly against the dark sky.
Yufan finally broke the silence.
“You know,” he said, voice slightly amused, “most people plan weddings for months.”
“And most people don’t get married at two in the morning,” you replied.
“Fair point.”
He slowed the bike as the buildings around you grew smaller, the streets narrowing into quieter neighborhoods near the edge of town.
Then you realized something.
“Wait,” you said suddenly.
“What?”
“Yufan.”
“Yes, Mrs. Zhao?”
Your heart did a small flip at the name.
“What money do we even have?”
He laughed.
“Ah.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Relax,” he said lightly.
“I’m serious.”
You leaned forward slightly so he could hear you over the wind.
“We just got married and ran away from my family and you’re acting like we’re on a joyride.”
“Well,” he replied, “technically we are.”
“Yufan.”
“I have money,” he insisted.
“How much?”
“…Enough.”
You narrowed your eyes even though he couldn’t see it.
“That sounds suspicious.”
He finally pulled the bike to a stop outside a small apartment building.
The building was old, the paint slightly faded, the staircase creaking faintly when he pushed the bike onto the curb.
“This,” he announced proudly, “is home.”
You stared at it.
“This tiny place?”
“Hey,” he protested.
“It has character.”
“It has peeling paint.”
“Character.”
You laughed softly.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yet you married me.”
He climbed off the bike and offered you his hand like a gentleman helping a bride out of a carriage.
“Come on,” he said. “Let me show my wife her palace.”
The hallway inside smelled faintly of old carpet and cooking oil from the apartment downstairs.
Yufan fumbled briefly with the keys before pushing the door open.
“Okay,” he said nervously.
“Before you say anything…”
The lights flicked on.
You froze.
The apartment was small.
But it wasn’t empty.
Soft string lights were hanging across the walls, casting warm golden light around the room. A small table had been pushed near the window with two mismatched chairs, and there were flowers sitting in an old glass bottle at the center.
There was even a record player sitting on a shelf near the couch.
You turned slowly toward him.
“You did this?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I figured… if we were going to start a life together… it shouldn’t feel like nothing.”
Your eyes burned suddenly.
“Yufan…”
He quickly moved toward the record player, clearly embarrassed by the emotion on your face.
“Wait,” he said.
“I’ve got something better.”
The record crackled softly as the needle dropped.
A slow song filled the small apartment, the kind that sounded like it belonged in an old romance movie.
Yufan walked back toward you and held out his hand.
“Well,” he said with a crooked smile.
“May I have this dance, Mrs. Zhao?”
The name made your chest tighten.
You placed your hand in his.
He pulled you gently closer, one arm wrapping around your waist as the two of you swayed slowly in the center of the tiny apartment.
The world felt impossibly small.
Just the warm glow of the lights.
The quiet music.
His hand resting against the small of your back.
“My wife,” he murmured softly, almost like he was still testing the words.
“You’re going to get used to that.”
“I don’t think I ever will.”
You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
For a moment everything felt perfect.
Like the future had already begun.
Then someone knocked on the door.
The sound cut through the room sharply.
Yufan stiffened slightly.
“Expecting someone?” you asked.
He frowned.
“No.”
The knock came again. Louder this time.
Yufan frowned slightly and glanced toward you. “Stay here.”
You watched him walk to the door, the soft music still playing behind you as he opened it just enough to look outside.
The moment he saw who it was, his entire body stiffened.
Standing in the hallway was a man you had only seen once before, outside the diner months ago when Yufan had dragged you away before things got ugly. His expression carried the kind of bitterness that didn’t fade with time.
“Thought you’d be hiding somewhere tonight,” the man said coldly.
Yufan exhaled slowly. “Not tonight.”
“You disappear for months and think everything’s just settled?”
“I told you I’m done.”
The man laughed under his breath. “Done? You don’t get to be done.”
Yufan tried to push the door closed slightly. “Go home.”
But the man shoved his hand against the frame, forcing it open.
Your stomach dropped.
“You think putting on a tux and playing house fixes what you did?” he said, voice rising.
Yufan stepped into the hallway, trying to keep the argument away from the apartment.
“Lower your voice.”
“Why?” the man snapped. “You embarrassed to let your little bride hear who you really are?”
Inside the apartment you felt your chest tighten.
Yufan’s jaw clenched.
“Leave her out of this.”
“Oh, she already is in it,” the man sneered. “You running around pretending you’re some changed man now? You think a ring wipes everything clean?”
“I said I’m done with that life.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” the man shot back. “You remember the fight behind the garage last winter? You remember what happened to my brother?”
Yufan’s voice dropped dangerously low. “I didn’t touch your brother.”
“You started it.”
“And I finish it. Now.”
The hallway felt thick with tension.
You could hear every word from where you stood.
The man stepped closer.
“You owe people,” he said. “You think you can just walk away because you fell in love?”
Yufan laughed bitterly.
“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“And you’re still the same angry idiot you’ve always been.”
The insult landed hard.
The man shoved him suddenly.
Yufan barely moved, but the sound echoed in the narrow hallway.
“You always thought you were untouchable,” the man said. “Everyone in town afraid of you. But look at you now. Playing husband.”
Yufan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head slowly.
“You’re not worth this.”
He turned slightly as if to go back inside.
That’s when the man grabbed his shoulder.
“You walk away from me again,” he said through clenched teeth, “and I swear—”
Yufan shoved his hand off.
“I already did.”
The man shoved him once more, hard enough that he stumbled fully back into the apartment.
The man lunged.
Yufan moved quickly, blocking the blow, shoving him against the wall. The two of them collided with a thud. Fists swung, arms collided, the room echoing with grunts and the sound of clothes ripping. Your hands shook at your sides, heart pounding so hard you could barely breathe.
“Yufan!” you shouted, but he didn’t hear you.
The fight escalated instantly. Chairs scraped across the floor as Yufan tried to protect himself and keep the man away from you. He moved with controlled aggression, but the other man was relentless, fueled by anger and old grudges. Every second felt like it stretched impossibly long.
Then you barely even had time to register it something sharp appeared in the man’s hand.
He pulled out a sharp knife out of his back pocket. Stepping forward once, so fast, his arm moving in a sharp motion you almost didn’t catch.
Neither did yufan.
Yufan’s breath left him in a harsh sound.
He grabbed the doorframe as if trying to steady himself.
For a second you thought maybe he had just been pushed.
Then you saw the dark color spreading across the white shirt beneath his tuxedo jacket.
He stabbed yufan. Once. Twice. Then rapidly, with all the anger flooding into his chest burning with revenge. Till the blood was everywhere a mess.
“Hey,” the man muttered coldly. “Should’ve stayed in the fights.”
Yufan tried to straighten, but his legs faltered.
Then the attacker turned and walked away down the hallway without looking back.
The door slammed open against the wall.
And Yufan collapsed.
“YUFAN!”
You ran forward instantly, catching him before his body hit the floor.
His weight fell heavily against you.
The tuxedo that had looked so perfect only minutes ago was no longer neat or sharp. The white shirt beneath it was quickly turning dark, the color spreading in uneven patches.
Your hands shook as you grabbed his shoulders.
“No. No, no, no—”
His breathing came out uneven, shallow.
You lowered yourself to the floor, pulling him into your lap, the enormous skirt of your wedding dress spreading across the floor like a pale cloud beneath both of you.
Your veil slid loose from your hair.
“Look at me,” you whispered desperately.
“Yufan, look at me.”
His eyes fluttered open slowly.
For a moment he looked confused.
Then he saw your face.
Your tears. Your wedding dress.
And something soft passed through his expression.
“…Hey,” he murmured weakly.
Your hands pressed against him instinctively as if you could somehow hold him together.
“Stay with me,” you begged.
“Please stay with me.”
The satin of your dress no longer looked ivory under the apartment lights. Dark stains were spreading across the fabric where he rested against you, soaking slowly into the delicate folds.
He noticed it too.
His lips curved faintly despite everything.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“I ruined the dress.”
A broken laugh escaped you through your tears.
“Don’t talk like that.”
The music from the record player was still playing softly in the background.
The same slow song you had been swaying to only minutes earlier.
Yufan’s hand moved weakly, searching until his fingers found yours.
Your wedding ring caught the light between them.
“…Mrs. Zhao,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened painfully.
“I’m here,” you said.
“I’m right here.”
His gaze drifted slowly across the room.
The string lights.
The little table with the flowers.
The record player still spinning.
He had prepared it all for you.
“I wanted tonight to be perfect,” he murmured.
“It is,” you said immediately.
“Don’t say that,” he breathed.
“It is.”
Your tears fell freely now, landing on his cheek.
“You married me.”
“That was always the plan,” he whispered faintly.
His fingers brushed the ring on your hand again.
“You kept it,” he murmured.
“Of course I did.”
“I told you I’d put one on you.”
“You did.”
His breathing grew slower.
You could feel it against your chest where his head rested.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Remember the balcony?”
Your voice broke.
“Of course I do.”
“I climbed it like an idiot every night.”
“You did.”
“And you still married me.”
You laughed weakly through your tears.
“I’d do it again.”
He looked up at you then.
The same way he had looked at you when he first saw you in the wedding dress.
Soft.
Completely in love.
“You’re still beautiful,” he whispered.
“Even crying.”
“Yufan…”
“Listen,” he murmured.
Your hands tightened around his.
“You made me better,” he said quietly.
“For a little while.”
Your chest ached.
“You were always better.”
He shook his head weakly.
“No.”
Then he looked down at the ring on his own hand.
The simple gold band.
“…Guess I was right though,” he whispered.
“About what?”
“I might die with this thing on.”
“Don’t say that,” you cried.
But his voice had already grown softer.
His fingers tightened slightly around yours one last time.
“You made me the happiest man alive tonight,” he said.
“And that’s enough.”
Your tears fell onto his face as you shook your head desperately.
“Stay,” you whispered.
“Please stay.”
His eyes found yours again.
That same soft smile touching his lips.
“I will,” he murmured faintly.
“Just not the way we planned.”
The music in the apartment crackled softly as the record reached its end.
And in the quiet that followed, his hand slowly stilled in yours.
The room felt impossibly silent.
You held him there on the floor of the apartment he had decorated for you.
Your wedding dress no longer ivory.
Your veil tangled around your shoulders.
Your husband resting against your chest.
And the ring on his finger catching the warm light of the string lights one final time.
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
oscar piastri x singer!f!reader, ex!max verstappen x singer!f!reader
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fc: lizzy mcalpine, a few lily z & assorted pinterest models
cw: fem!reader, reader described as short, ex!max verstappen & he’s kind of an ass, kelly piquet is a mean girl (no hate to her or max - this is fiction!!!), quotes and references to ‘five seconds flat’ by lizzy mcalpine, drinking, probably some typos, i think that’s it?
a/n: welcome to my first smau! i listened to firearm by lizzy for the first time in awhile a few weeks ago and this has been stuck in my head since. please be gentle with me, i’m still figuring out this smau thing. starts in 2025 season & features time jumps.
this is entirely fiction and not a reflection of the true character of any real people.
check out my cl16 x vettel sister reader smau here.
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yn -> manager | oscar -> yn
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media day in china
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lando -> yn | yn -> oscar
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ynln.music story
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yn -> oscar
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ynln.music
liked by user1, ynbff, ynupdates, oscarpiastri, and 75320 others…
ynln.music one second gap world tour tickets on sale now. see you soon 🤍
user1: FINALLYY
ynbff: setlist sneak peek when? 👀
user2: am i the only one who noticed the tour schedule alines with f1 race weekends..?
| user3: user2 i thought i was crazy
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indiegirlmusicpodcast
tagged: ynln.music
liked by ynln.music, user1, user2, user3, and 56310 others…
indiegirlpodcast yn ln joined me this week to talk about her new album ‘one second gap’, her upcoming world tour, and personal life. out now wherever you stream podcasts.
ynln.music: thank you for having me! 🤍
user1: f1gossip you’ll want to listen to this
user2: does she talk about max?
| user3: user2 she does!
user4: this smells like pr cleanup
| user5: user4 sounds like album and tour promotion, weirdo
ynbff: that’s my best friend
ynupdates: and you all called me crazy
| user6: ynupdates i am so sorry queen
| user7: ynupdates to be fair, you sounded crazy
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ynupdates
liked by user1, user2, user3, and 1056 others…
ynupdates yn ln went on a podcast this week and finally talked about the rumours and the melbourne incident 👀 here’s my favorite segment:
[interviewer: thank you so much for being here! i think you sent the entire world into tears when you released one second gap.
yn: *laughs* i really didn’t expect so many people to connect with it.
interviewer: what was the writing process like?
yn: i started writing these songs back in 2021. writing has always been my way of processing emotions and situations. it’s comforting.
in: so this is three years of writing?
yn: it is, which sounds crazy. i even dropped the first single in 2024 and the album was hardly a concept then.
in: i think we all remember the surprise drop of ‘firearm’. it’s one of my favorite songs on the album.
yn: mine too, i think.
in: i have to ask, on the topic of ‘firearm’. the song seems to be the spark of a lot of rumours about your personal life.
yn: ah, yes. ynupdates on twitter. their deep dive was honestly impressive.
in: is there any truth to it?
yn: there’s elements of truth, yes. i wrote the ones on one second gap while processing the breakdown of a relationship and the aftermath. it was an emotionally tumultuous relationship, for sure.
in: can you give us more details?
yn: i won’t go into it in its entirety. i think i said my piece on the album. but it has definitely kicked up a storm in my personal life. i didn’t tell anyone about my relationship until i released one second gap, not even my mum knew.
yn: i lost my dad in 2021, which impacted a lot of my life. i lost myself for awhile and fell into something that probably wasn’t the healthiest way of coping. but, you live and you learn, i suppose.
in: and the incident in melbourne? i’m sorry, i have to ask.
yn: *laughs* i know, i know. it definitely wasn’t my best moment. i regret not keeping my head, for sure. thankfully, i have really great friends who look out for me.
in: so it’s all true? the relationship with max, the overlap of his relationship with kelly?
yn: it’s in the past now. i said all there was to say on one second gap. ]
user1: she really gave us everything and nothing
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yn -> oscar
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ynln.music
liked by oscarpiastri, lando, kimiantonelli, charlesleclerc and 70892 others…
ynln.music one second gap deluxe edition out now, featuring four new songs + a surprise collaboration with the noahkahan
user1: i’m crying again
oscarpiastri: you’re so talented, dragonfly
lando: can you at least kiss the brick next time
| ynln.music: lando i’ll keep that in mind
charlesleclerc: cl16 piano x ynln collab when?
| ynln.music: charlesleclerc i’m so in
user2: chemtrails, march, all falls down, vortex, AND calm your mom? i need tissues
user3: brb, gotta call my therapist
ynmum: your dad would be so proud of you, darling
| ynln.music: ynmum i love you
kimiantonelli: i am crying real tears
| olliebearman: kimiantonelli can confirm
user4: every post yn has more vroom vroom boys in her likes
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oscarpiastri story
replies
ynln.music: 🧡
| oscarpiastri: i love you, dragonfly
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f1gossip
liked by user1, user2, user3, and 20371 others…
f1gossip photos from yn ln’s concert in london last night show many of the drivers and their partners in the crowd on opening night of the one second gap world tour!
user1: shouldn’t they be getting ready for the race?
user2: a group night out on race weekend is crazy 😭
user3: the rookies were there, too! kimi was freaking out and screaming along to every song
user4: wags supporting wags
user5: oscar is so bf coded
user6: my sister and i saw charles crying during chemtrails
| user7: user6 probably reminded him of losing his own father
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ynln.music
liked by user1, user2, ynbff, lando, and 52107 others…
ynln.music london!! night one of one second gap world tour
user1: starting a tour in her hometown is iconic behavior
user2: i’m still crying
ynbff: you lit up the room
user3: oscar & the drivers and wags in the crowd 😭
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mclarenf1
tagged: ynln.music
liked by ynln.music, ynbff, oscarpiastri, lando, and 203617others…
mclarenf1 it’s race day here at silverstone and yn ln is in the garage!
user1: i bet we’ll see her a lot. her tour schedule looks so much like the race calendar
user2: mclarenf1 admin top yn fan
ynln.music: wouldn’t miss it 🤞🏻🧡
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ynln.music story
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oscarpiastri
tagged: ynln.music
liked by ynln.music, mclarenf1, lando, and 93753 others…
oscarpiastri ☀️🔋🔝👍🏻
user1: i love oscyn content
user2: these photos are so couple coded
ynln.music: 👍🏻
mclarenf1: ready to get back to it!
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ynln.music
tagged: oscarpiastri
liked by oscarpiastri, mclarenf1, lando, and 19257 others…
ynln.music dragonfly & koala take on summer break. tour returns next week - see you soon, amsterdam!
user1: yn holiday content
user2: why do they call each other dragonfly & koala? i’m new
| ynupdates: user2 well oscar is from aus so yn has always called him koala. oscar once said he calls yn dragonfly because they’re a symbol of love and hope.
all pressed up in the bathroom line
you're lookin like an angel on the walls of versailles
the most alive i've ever been
but kiss me and i might drop dеad!
word count: 1k
warnings: none - just super cute
a/n: obviously based on the new olivia rodrigo song "drop dead"
it wasn't a question. as soon as you announced to the mismatch group of celebrities that had been speaking to you--speaking was a strong word, tripping over their words would be a more accurate description--you found her hand and dragged her with you.
she didn't ask any questions as you tugged her through the crowd. a few celebs tried to pull you away for a conversation, but you were a woman on a mission. she was perfectly content letting you lead the way. she would've let you lead her off a cliff.
you find the bathroom at the end of a narrow corridor, but two girls are already in line ahead of you. you release her hand as your back hits one wall of the corridor rather ungracefully. your head lazily falls back against the glossy black wall, and manon can't say she's ever seen you so loose. it obviously has to do with the free alcohol that always seems to end up in your hand--manon can't say she hasn't been taking advantage of it either--but that's typical behavior from you. there's something else that's different. it's as if the poise and control you usually maintain is melting off you and puddling at your feet.
only when you open your eyes and a drowsy smile tugs at your lips does manon realize she's been staring.
"what?"
manon is surprised by how soft you sound. minutes ago you were confidently commanding the conversation and probably the entire room. you had an effortless way of doing that. but here, your mask is stripped off and replaced with nothing.
it's also quieter in this hallway, which is so tight it feels more like a crawlspace. it's only wide enough for one person to walk through it, and even that might be stretching it. manon thought a grammy afterparty would have enough budget for more than one bathroom, let alone a wider hallway, but she assumed all that budget was spent on drinks and bribing high-profile celebrities like you to attend.
manon can feel the vibrations of the music as she leans against the wall opposite of you, but it sounds muffled back here. manon's not sure if that's due to the thickness of the walls or because she's standing so close to you that your knees brush every time you shift in your heels. she watches your chest slowly rise and fall mere inches away from her. every time you inhale, she braces to feel your ribs graze hers.
"you look comfortable."
your smile spreads across your painted lips. manon tries her best not mirror you but she's failing spectacularly
"and what if i am? right here."
you lightly pat the wall behind you with one hand. then your hips shift forward from where they were previously pressed against the wall. the fabric of your dress brushes hers like you're asking for something you can't verbalize.
"i'd like that."
"yeah, bet you would."
the girl in the bathroom finally leaves, letting the next in the line enter. but neither of you move ahead, not even when the girl departing stumbles her way between the two of you. you don't even break eye contact.
manon doesn't respond, but she smiles in a knowing way that all but confirms, which makes you laugh. your head lulls further back against the wall, your chin pointing upward as your soft laughter bounces off the walls.
right then, the blaring club lights reflect perfectly off the wall around your head, forming a shiny abstract halo above your curls. the music fades completely as manon only hears a sudden ringing in her ears. it's as if time freezes, and you're snapshotted right there in front of her looking purely angelic. manon sees what she already knows.
she's performed in front of crowds as far as the eye can see, stadiums filled with tens of thousands of people screaming her name. but as time speeds back up and you drop your chin to meet her eyes, your own eyes full of affection she's never witnessed before, she's never felt more alive.
you lift your hand, still grinning, and wrap your fingers loosely around the side of her neck. you gently pull her off the wall so her chest closes the inches in between you and presses against yours. her legs intertwine with yours, one of hers pressing between yours. manon forgets how to breathe.
the ringing in her ears builds, like a good song at the climax of a film, as your head falls forward. your lips meet hers in a delicate crash, if such a thing even exists. she lets you lead, as she always does. her hands scramble for a moment before landing on your waist, holding you firm against the wall. she's also holding on for dear life as the force of your kiss pushes her head back.
the moment feels like a slow-motion movie shot, but still, it doesn't last long enough. it ends with the loud, abrupt crash of the bathroom door swinging open and hitting the wall. you both instinctively jump back, though your hands stay molded to each other. once the girl in the doorway realizes what she's interrupted, she looks between the two of you remorsefully.
but when manon inevitably glances back at you, you're smiling even wider than before. upon seeing that, manon huffs out a short laugh. you glance back at her, something new and exciting growing in your eyes. your hand, still holding the side of her neck, gently squeezes her skin. when she turns back to you, it feels like someone stole the breath right out of her lungs.
she'll never admit it to you, but she's slightly grateful for that random drunk girl, because if you had kissed her for even another second, manon was sure she would have dropped dead on sight. but hopefully, this was something she could get used to.
Warning: Mature themes! MDNI 18+, swearing, blood, injury, the YEARNING, Not proofread 🥲 Lyrics are in bold red italics!
A.N: Inspired by ‘Guilty as Sin’ for obvious reasons 🥵 disssss mannnnn
Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too
—💀—💀—💀—💀—💀—
Drowning in the Blue Nile
He sent me 'Downtown Lights'
I hadn't heard it in a while
You slammed a pile of paperwork on the desk and let out a sigh and dusting your hands off on your jeans, looking around the office that you were now forced into admin jobs in. “Oh c’mon it’s not that bad is it?” The gentle laugh from your brother standing behind you made you softly jump on the spot.
“As great as having my arm gnawed off by rats…” you sarcastically retorted resulting in a louder laugh from him. “This is boring as hell, Matt. How do you and Foggy to this all day?”
“Well, my job is a bit different from what you’re doing,” he told you as he made his way to his seat. “Yanno, I’m a lawyer, not an intern-”
“Ah!” You cut him off with a finger pointed at him, despite the fact he couldn’t see, he knew you and that tone well enough that’s what you were doing. “Thought we agreed we aren’t calling it that!”
Matt defensively held up his hands with a smirk on his face and heard Foggy’s footsteps step into the office. “There’s our favourite intern!” You let put a low, chesty growl.
“Assistant,” Matt clarified. “She wants to be known as an assistant, not an intern, despite the fact that’s what she’s doing to get extra credit for her law degree.” He chirped.
“Matt despite the fact I’m your younger sister, I’m not opposed to punching you in the face.”
“Yeah sometimes I feel like doing the same,” you turned around and found a figure in the doorframe, his broad shoulders almost brushing the wood either side. You felt your breath hitch at the sight, shroud in black, half-healed cuts on his arms and face with a sour look on his face. His arms crossed over his puffed out chest as he moved his eyes from your brother to you.
“Frank,” Matt sighed “Take a seat, let’s try and get some things in order before your court date huh?” You kept your eyes on Frank as he sauntered past you, throwing himself on the seat in front of your brother’s desk with a huff as Foggy joined them. You were about to leave when Matt called you back. “You want to stay and make some notes?”
The other men locked their eyes on you, but you were staring one set in particular.
“Uh sure.” You scrambled to get a notepad and a pen as well as a seat but before you could grab one, Frank pulled one up for you. The legs scraping harshly against the floor as he effortlessly dragged it with one hand to a spot that was in arms reach of him. “Thanks…” you sent him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your cheeks.
“Not a problem for anyone with good taste,” he motioned to your old band t-shirt, a memento from a box of your father’s things. “Haven’t heard that band in the longest time…what was the song…” Frank pondered, looking up to the ceiling, tapping his leg and clicking his fingers to the tune forming in his head.
Matt huffed. “Can we get back to-”
“Downtown lights.”
Yours and Frank’s voices merged as one.
Your eyes locked onto each others at the same time before Foggy cleared his throat and awkwardly squirmed in his seat at the fate of you both speaking at the same time.
“You should-” you pointed with your pen to the two men on the other side of the desk and Frank nodded once as you broke eye contact and glared at the notepad with nothing on it.
My boredom's bone deep
This cage was once just fine
Am I allowed to cry?
You mindlessly scribbled at the top corner of the notepad page, an hour had passed and you were getting bored of the constant snapping between Matt and Frank, you and Foggy sharing unimpressed glances every now and then.
You looked at your notes and rolled your lips together.
Plausible reasoning - maybe.
Maybe not.
Too funny to incriminate??
Not enough evidence.
Too cute to be a criminal.
Jesus. This guy.
There was a word sporadically repeated over and over on your notes, some crossed out multiple times.
GUILTY AS HELL.
GUILTY.
GUILTY AS SIN.
GUILTY.
GUILTY!
GUILTY?
Not Not!!! NOT GUILTY.
“What would you do?”
You blinked out of a startled state when Frank asked you a question. “W-what?” You asked, holding your notepad close to your chest.
“She’s a year third year law student-” Matt tried to not get you involved.
“So she’ll have this shit fresh in her mind!” Frank’s voice raised. “Well?”
“Uh,” you looked at your notes all too briefly before pressing the pad to your chest again, the dramatic rising and falling of it as you tried to catch a breath and calm your heart rate while panicking. “Too funny to incriminate.”
For the first time since he stepped in the office a grin grew over Frank’s face and he let out a laugh, clutching his stomach. You looked at Matt and Foggy who simultaneously placed their head in their hands. “Oh, fuck, can she represent me? I like her!” Frank continued to cackle.
Matt stood up “I’ll be in touch Frank, try not to get yourself into any more trouble, please?” He pleaded with the man who stood up.
“I’ll try my best.” He looked down at you on the seat, looking and feeling smaller than you had ever done in your life as he towered over you. “If I do, I’ll make sure it comes with a funny story.”
He walked out the office and you let out the breath you had been holding. “Well!” You said standing up as quick as your shaky legs would allow. “I’ll apologise to you both in the form of coffee!”
“You cracked him.” Matt’s voice reached your ears just before you left. “That’s never happened. He’s like a damn jail cell door with an atomic bomb attached and you…cracked him.”
I dream of cracking locks
Throwing my life to the wolves
Or the ocean rocks
Crashing into him tonight
He's a paradox
I'm seeing visions, am I bad?
Or mad? Or wise?
You lay on your bed tossing between your sheets, turning to the clock that read 4:03am before letting out a tired sigh and rubbing your hand over your heavy eyes.
You sat up and grabbed your phone, scrolling through and pressing on Matt’s number. He should have been back home by now.
“Y/N?”
“Matt,” you sleepily sighed. “Are you okay? You’re not home yet.”
“Uh, ugh,” he groaned and your eyes snapped open at the change of tone. It was a pained one and you were very much now awake hearing it. “I’m almost home, I’m alright.” He assured you. “It’s my sister!” You heard him hiss.
“Who are you with?” You questioned, getting up from your bed and going to the window, trying to spot him in the dark.
“No one, I’ll be ten minutes.” He panted. “Can you look out the first aid kit…”
You quickly jogged to the bathroom and grabbed it, setting up a small station on the living room table and pacing on the spot until the door opened and you rushed to him, crashing into two bodies as opposed to one.
You looked up at the towering figure, the one that loomed over you earlier and with the same laugh you swore you heard before attempting to get some sleep, slapping yourself into sanity that you didn’t hear it and it was your demented imagination.
But now you thought you were dreaming, in a lucid state of seeing visions that weren’t really there. “Little help here?” Frank grunted, affirming you weren’t seeing things and you shared the weight of your battered brother with him.
“What happened?” You asked, eyes flickering between Matt and Frank.
“I fell.” Matt coughed out.
“Yeah, he fell on a fuckin’ gun…” Frank quipped. “Fell my ass! I’m sure as hell your sister isn’t as stupid as you.” His eyes found yours, ones full of worry, full of gratefulness, full of what looked like the night sky.
His eyes then found the hem of your pyjama shorts and he quickly tore them away.
You tried to gently place him on the sofa whereas Frank attempted to throw him on it. You pulled up his costume sleeve and sighed seeing a stream of blood pouring down his arm. “Looks like just a scrape, Matty.” You assured him along with yourself. “Can you grab me the saline?” You virtually commanded Frank, taking your order more easily than he would from anyone else.
As you cleaned up his graze Frank remained standing behind you, watching your nimble fingers patch up the wound that Matt was groaning and crying over. “Aww stop your whining!” He chided and you looked over your shoulder and sent him a glare, one that he felt himself swallowing hard at.
You turned back to your brother. “Isn’t that the first cardinal rule? Never bring your work home with you…” your voice was dripping with distain and disapproval at Matt, and despite you not looking at him, Frank too. He now felt like he had just been shot.
“He isn’t work,” Matt strained.
“Hmm,” you hummed and looked at Frank once more, your eyes taking in his entire frame. “Is he just a pain in the ass then?”
Frank laughed again.
What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh
Only in my mind?
One slip and falling back into the hedge maze
Oh what a way to die
You cleaned up as Matt rested on the sofa, slowly falling into a deep sleep after the painkillers you gave him kicked in.
“You do the same as him?” You asked Frank who had one eye on your brother and the other on you.
“Not quite.”
“Not quite? What does that mean?” You let out an amused huff. “You even more reckless than him?” You motioned to Matt who was now softly snoring, you rolled your eyes at the sight with a smile before turning your attention to Frank.
“Probably worse,” Frank admitted, the truth of it hitting you harder than you’d anticipated.
But a part of you knew that just from the few brief moments you had met him.
“I can tell.”
“Is that so?” His voice perked up in amusement. “How?” Frank leaned back on the kitchen counter surface with his arms crossed. The rising sun started to create a hazy blue glow that kissed his skin perfectly. You were convinced the sight would kill you if you let your gaze linger too long. You turned around, fishing around and pretending to organise the first-aid kid.
“Because you’re bleeding too…”
Frank blinked, his hand slowly brushing over the spot he thought he had managed to discretely conceal from Matt. But more importantly- from you.
“I’m not. I’m fine.” He countered, hoping you didn’t hear the quiver in his voice.
You slowly slid him a band-aid over the countertop. “Amuse me then.”
It remained between you both for a true minute before he slammed his hand down over it and dragged it towards him with a deflated sigh. Your eyes flew to his chest when he raised his t-shirt, slapping on the band-aid as hard as he did on the countertop.
Harsh.
Mindless.
As if care was an inconvenience to him.
You imagined placing on the band-aid for him. Your fingers brushing against the skin around it as you took your time with him just so you could trace and seek out every inch of his torso more. Telling him it was for the sake of his own good as you patched him up when he started sulking. Pulling down his top for him when you were finished and standing back up, telling him it was over and done with, your lips dangerously close to his.
You discreetly shook that thought from your mind.
I keep recalling things we never did
Messy top lip kiss
How I long for our trysts
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?
“Why do you want to be a lawyer?” Frank eventually asked you after another hour passed. You were perched on the end of the sofa Matt was still sleeping on with a coffee encapsulated between your palms, he kept his distance, sitting across from you with the remainder of his own coffee by his feet.
You shrugged and looked down at Matt. “I’ve always admired what he does. I want to help people. Plus, I liked the stories he told me.”
“Ya like thinking someone is too funny to incriminate,” he mused and you smirked, shaking your head. “That’s a good quality to have- havin’ a scope on people. Seeing the things that most don’t.” He picked up his coffee cup.
“Why did you want to be a vigilante?”
Frank sent you a soft glare. “We ain’t got time to unpack that shit.” Your eyes fell to the floor. Frank’s heart almost did the same at the sight. “At least not tonight anyway, maybe another time, huh?”
You met his gaze again and nodded. “Another time. I’ll bring ‘Downtown lights’ for some background music.” Frank chuckled, catching in his throat when Matt stirred at the sound.
“I’ll pencil you in between meetings with my martyr of a lawyer,” now you were the one laughing. Frank watched you yawn as 6:30am rolled around. “You should get a few hours of sleep in.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Frank stood up from where he was on the floor and took your coffee cup from you, a suggestion of it left at the bottom of it. “Not without a few hours of sleep you won’t.” You were about to argue back again when he opened his mouth, bringing his body even closer to your own, so close you could feel the heat from him. “I put a band-aid on for you.”
“You say that like you took a bullet for me,” you snorted.
“I would if I had to.” He softly said and your eyes widened ever so slightly. “Sleep.” He stepped back and it was like he took all the air from your lungs when he did. “I’ll keep an eye on him.” He motioned to Matt. “Make sure he doesn’t die.” He added with a smirk.
“I’d appreciate it if he didn’t.” You said walking to your room, stopping by your door and turning back to Frank who sat on the floor again but this time with his back to the sofa. “Thank you.”
He curtly nodded and you all but locked yourself in your room, despite Frank asking you to, you struggled to sleep once more.
I keep these longings locked
In lowercase inside a vault
Someone told me
There's no such thing as bad thoughts
Only your actions talk
“What’s on your mind?”
Matt’s voice drew you from your silent internal thoughts, the two of you at the office as you helped file away paperwork, your fingers holding sheets of Frank’s information between them before you placed it in a file and placed it on the desk.
“Nothing,” you said with a sigh. “I’m just tired.”
“I know you better than that.” His voice firm with concern.
You shrugged “I just wish you were more careful, Matty. You were in such a bad state. I want you to scale it back.” You slapped your hands against your thighs. It had been days since Frank had to drag him home and it had plagued your mind since.
You watched as his hand reached out for yours and gently took it in his own. “I can’t do that-” you swiftly pulled your hand away. “Y/N-”
“Matt if something happens to you- h-heaven forbid!” You cried. “It’s just me! God, you’re so selfishly reckless!”
“Nothing bad will happen-”
“You were shot!”
A beat passed.
“Wasn’t the first time.” You let out a groan in exasperation. “I’m careful-”
You laughed without an ounce of humour. “Careful my ass Matt!” You hissed with tears spilling down your cheeks now.
“What the hell is happening here?” Your head snapped to the door, your vision blurred but you knew who it was. You wiped the back of your hand over your wet cheeks. “Why you cryin’?” Frank asked, jaw clenching, fists balling, nails pressing into his skin so hard he almost drew blood at the sight of you upset.
“Y-you’re crying?” Matt tried to reach out for you, unknowing that your level of worry had escalated to that. You stepped back as Frank stepped forward, your back colliding against his chest as his arms instinctively and protectively wrapped around you.
“It’s n-nothing,” your body fought with your willpower to pull yourself from Frank’s arms, those few seconds in his hold setting you alight. “I can’t be here, I need to go.” Your words flowed out your mouth as freely as the tears from your eyes. Frank stood in the centre of the office, watching Matt sink into his seat and dismally hold his head in his hand.
“Red?” Frank barked out. “What the hell?”
You stood outside in the alley trying to compose yourself in the cool air blowing through New York. “Fucking asshole…” you gritted and wiped away another tear that burned your cheek.
“He is, ain’t he?” You looked down to the bottom of the alleyway. “But he did send me to check on you…so… maybe just an asshole and not a fuckin’ asshole.”
You let out a blubbery snort at Frank’s remark. “I just need a minute…”
He nodded, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets as his legs slowly sauntered towards you and joined you by the wall you were leaning against. He mirrored your action and looked up to the sky. “I don’t think there’s bad thoughts in that head of yours.” His thoughts vocalised. You looked to him with a furrowed brow. “You care. Maybe too much.” He half warned you. “He can handle himself.” He assured you. “And when he can’t, well,” he looked down and met your gaze. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay.” You breathed out.
“Now c’mon, you’re too gorgeous to be spillin’ tears.” Your head snapped back slightly and his body went rigid when he realised what he had said.
“Y/N.” Your eyes broke away from Frank, finding Matt standing there.
“Matty!” You gasped and ran to hug your brother. Frank watched the simple action of your arms wrapping around Matt’s frame and wondered what that would feel like.
These fatal fantasies
Giving way to labored breath
Taking all of me
We've already done it in my head
You woke the next morning with your chest rising and falling like the sea, sheets as soaked as your pyjamas.
You swiftly peeled them away from your frame and looked around your bedroom that was eerily still.
Unlike your dream. Your dream of him.
You ran your hand over your thigh, then your chest and then your lips. Mapping out the trail he just took in your mind, you swore you could still feel pressure on your knees from where his hands gripped onto them and peeled them apart.
“God...” you gasped and rose to your feet, looking around your bedroom as if he was hiding somewhere in it.
“You okay, Y/N?” Matt called out from the other side of your bedroom door.
“Y-yeah!” You hollered back and wiped the line of sweat away from your forehead. “I’ll be out in a minute to sort breakfast.”
You headed into the office with him later that morning, opting for a dress instead of your usual jeans and a battered up t-shirt. You greeted Foggy with a coffee and a smile. He hummed a ‘thanks’ before taking a call.
“We have a preliminary review with a judge today, Y/N. You can tag along. I’ll get you in and tell them you’ll be helping me.” Matt explained and you nodded with an excited grin.
“Finally!” You clapped your hands together. “It’s about time! I’ve been here almost a month and haven’t had the chance! So whose case? Holland? Garfield? McGuire?”
“Castle.” He grinned. “It’s Frank’s case.”
“O-oh…” you tried to sound composed enough to convince him. Matt didn’t question your tone, he merely let his face scrunch together over it. It wasn’t one he was familiar with- excited but nervous was the only thing he could pinpoint it close enough too. “Sounds good,” you almost forgot Frank was being taken to court. “Uh, well I’ll get what you need sorted for you.” You said before wandering off, biting down on your lower lip and glancing down to your knees that still felt like they had hands on them.
If it's make believe
Why does it feel like a vow
We'll both uphold somehow?
Frank glanced up from a bench inside the courthouse when he heard footsteps approach. “Hey, Red,” he grumbled looking at his hands.
Frank’s eyes grew in size when he noticed another set of legs- bare legs- beside Matt’s. Heels at the end and the hem of a dress above the knees. “Frank,” Matt acknowledged.
Frank wasn’t paying him an ounce of attention.
Instead it was all on you.
“Y/N…” Frank gasped out in pleasant surprise, standing to his feet, smoothing out the fine creases on his shirt and pants trying to make himself a bit more presentable for you. “H-hi, you’re here?”
You nodded “Matt finally let me out the cage,” you joked and the two of them smirked at that. “I’m tagging along, he’s managed to somehow convince them to let me in with you as you go over things with the judge.”
“Maybe you can convince them to let me off with things by telling them that I’m funny as fuck.” You let out a laugh as Matt awkwardly stood there, forcing a chuckle out while you and Frank gazed at one another.
Matt pushed you both along the halls of the courthouse, your eyes wandering around the bustling environment. “Give me a minute.” Matt knocked on the judges chamber doors.
You turned around and saw a couple, their hands tightly clutching one another’s as they admired their left hands with wide smiles. It brought a smile to your own face.
“Think they are just married?” You jolted feeling Frank’s lips by your ear. You looked at the couple again and then at him, letting out a snort.
“No shit, Sherlock…” you gently nudged him with your elbow. “If you didn’t think that I’d be worried that you were just as blind as him.” Frank let out a wheezy laugh, his eyes squeezing together as he held his stomach. “They look so happy…” you said on a sigh.
Frank watched you watching them for a moment.
“You ain’t?”
His words remained in the hall and so did your response.
“I don’t know yet.”
What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh
Only in my mind?
One slip and falling back into the hedge maze
Oh what a way to die
Frank didn’t hear a single word Matt was saying.
He could be saying the worst possible things in the world about him and he wouldn’t have even known.
Instead sat there with his eyes burning into your bare thigh, your dress hiking up as your legs fidgeted, crossing together and then becoming undone at points as you tried to get comfortable in the worlds most uncomfortable seats.
He wondered what it would feel like to sink his teeth into the supple skin that was your upper thigh. Kiss into them.
He shifted in his seat.
You didn’t notice as you scribbled down notes, your attention going between the Judge and Matt.
Your words struck Frank like the bullet he was hit by the other night. They kept ringing through his head.
‘I don’t know yet.’
His heart almost shattered in his chest at that fact, seeing your eyes longingly looking at the couple possessing something you didn’t have.
He was determined to get that for you.
Whatever it took.
Frank wasn’t quite so sure why he had a newfound fire in his belly to seek this out for you.
Maybe it was because you were Matt’s sister.
Maybe it was because you made him laugh.
Maybe it was because of those thighs of yours.
Maybe it’s because he woke up with his chest rising and falling after dreaming of you…his sheets clinging to him from sweat and the feel of your hands burning into his skin.
Maybe it’s because when you smiled he didn’t hate the world as much.
My bedsheets are ablaze
I've screamed his name
Building up like waves
Crashing over my grave
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?
Frank grunted as he helped Matt up the stairs. “Please don’t tell her,” his voice ached as he clutched his stomach. “I don’t want her to worry.”
“Alright…” Frank reluctantly listened to Matt who let out a sigh of relief. He carried him to the sofa and placed him down. “You need anything else before I go?” He asked, secretly hoping he didn’t.
“Can you just check in on her? Make sure she’s okay for me?” He winced as he shifted slightly to try and get comfy.
That was something Frank was more than happy to do and didn’t actually realise that would be a possibility.
“S-sure…” he just about managed to spit out before he had to control his feet from running to your room but also keep a pace steady enough that Matt’s hearing wouldn’t get too suspicious. Frank opened the door and craned his neck in, squinting his eyes to try and see you in the dark. “Y/N?” He whispered.
He heard a groan and instantly stood up straighter when he realised it was strained. His feet thought before any other part of his body and pulled him deeper into your room. He managed to take in some aspects of it in the low light, the photo of you and Matt as kids on your dresser, the bottle that held your perfume- the same one he could still smell in a room long after you had gone. The bag you always took to the office mindlessly placed on the floor. A notepad was still sticking out of it.
Frank couldn’t help himself.
He picked it up and read through it.
Plausible reasoning - maybe.
Maybe not.
Too funny to incriminate??
He snorted at that one again.
Not enough evidence.
Too cute to be a criminal.
That one took him by surprise.
Jesus. This guy.
GUILTY AS HELL.
That didn’t take him by surprise.
GUILTY.
GUILTY AS SIN.
GUILTY.
GUILTY!
GUILTY?
Not Not!!! NOT GUILTY.
That almost relieved him.
He placed it back when he heard you softly gasp and writhe amongst your sheets. “F…Frank.” A whisper leaving your lips. Your eyes still shut.
He walked over to the side of your bed and watched you with an intense stare as you slept. Your sheet half off to the side, exposing one half of your pyjama clad body, the buttons stopping at your chest that was glistening with sweat, rising and falling faster than he could keep up with, like waves in a stormy sea.
His eyebrows knitted together.
Then a hum from your throat, lips curving into a small smile as your hand roamed over your frame. Frank kept his eyes locked to it as it traveled over your chest, the flimsy material of your pyjamas barely hiding your hardened nipple before it carried down to your thigh.
Then it struck him.
He swallowed hard as his fingers twitched, desperate in clawing out to you. Desperate to fulfil whatever was going on in your head with you.
He watched your mouth fall open and another gasp fall out. Frank held his hand over his own to conceal his hitching breath as his pants became more and more strained. The lack of touch between you both, up to and including now, on the verge of killing him.
You moaned his name once more, quiet, a whisper- to Frank it felt like you were screaming it.
Frank then did the unthinkable.
He encouraged you.
He leaned down, face so close to yours he could feel you breathing on it. Lips inches away that he could just raise his head a millimetre and they’d collide with yours. “You like that, baby…?” he quietly asked. If he wasn’t so turned on, he’d feel like a creep.
Then again, he was guilty as sin according to your notes.
“Mhmm…y..yeah…” your voice broke free from your dreams so softly that he almost didn’t hear you. “F…fuck…Frank…”
“That’s it Y/N…that’s my girl…” he watched your grin grow before forming an almost perfect ‘O’, your body arching before falling to the bed again.
He knew Matt would kill him if he realised what he was doing. Before he had the chance to take it any further and torture himself, he left. Assuring Matt you were just fine before rushing out the door and back home where he could pretend his hand was yours to obtain the release he now desperately needed.
Your eyes opened after your dream dissipated and you swatted your sheets like your bed was on fire. Instead of smelling smoke, you swore you could smell Frank’s cologne.
What if I roll the stone away?
They're gonna crucify me anyway
What if the way you hold me
Is actually what's holy?
The next morning you tided up the office, Matt was at court and Foggy was out grabbing lunch.
You were kept busy, answering the phone, sorting appointments and filing paperwork. The door opened and you looked up finding Frank there. “He’s at court,” you replied as you distracted yourself with a filing cabinet, glancing at your watch. “Should be back in ten minutes though if you want to wait.”
“I’ll wait.” He watched as you motioned to a chair for him to take a seat on. “You’re wearing a dress today again.” He loudly observed.
You looked down, similar yet different to the one you had been wearing yesterday. “Oh, yeah, getting too warm out to wear jeans.” You casually remarked. “Coffee?” You asked trying to change the topic.
“What happens if it gets too warm?” He ignored your question, watching you like he was starving and you were a three-course meal. “Dress gets shorter?”
You went wide-eyed at his question, letting out a breathy, forced laugh at how brazen he was being. “Frank!” You coughed out his name.
“I’m just messin’ with you,” he wasn’t. But he tried to play it off enough to convince you that he was. He noticed your features relax when he told you that. You playfully rolled your eyes and kept up with getting on with your tasks and less focused on how, in your dreams, got it on with the man sat spread out in front of you on the seat. “But hypothetically…” he started and you let out a strained sigh. “Dresses get shorter…or no dress at all…?”
Your mouth gaped open from shock. Frank smirked- he got the reaction he was hoping for. “Y-you are something else…” you grumbled as a ferocious heat crept up your neck and cheeks. You had to walk past him to get where you needed to go and you were just about ready to leap over him, but your legs opted to shimmy past him instead.
However, that allowed Frank to place a hand on your bare leg. You couldn’t help but freeze in place as his fingertips set fire to your skin just above your knee. His barely there touch holding you firmly in place.
Your eyes looked down his, darker and more blown than you had ever seen. You were in so deep that you couldn’t swim out.
Matt would kill you. Foggy would kill you.
Frank was about to kill you off.
But the way he held you with such knowing conviction almost felt like he was the hand that would led you to heaven. “How short would it go?” He asked, dragging his eyes from yours and to the hem of your dress that was brushing off his bruised knuckles.
If long suffering propriety
Is what they want from me
They don't know how you've haunted me
So stunningly
I choose you and me
...Religiously
Frank was only encouraged by your gulp as he slowly raised your dress with a single finger. “This short?” He took it up by about an inch. “Shorter.” Again. “To here?” He caught your laboured breath as you let him hike it up further. “Higher…?” Frank asked, voice starting to tremble more the higher up he got, almost exposing your entire thigh to him and the office. “Shit…tell me to stop…” he lowly growled as he licked his lips, secretly wishing you wouldn’t.
Your lips remained sealed together, your hands attempted to reach for him, touch him for the first time on your own accord and not in a dream.
“Frank!” Matt’s chirpy voice burst the bubble of pure tension between you both.
Your chance was gone and you shakily stepped back, almost colliding with the desk and falling to your knees as Frank’s hands fell to his side, feigning innocence. “How did you know I was here?” He asked with his eyes still on you, watching you trying to be subtle in rubbing your thighs together.
“I can smell you before I can see you,” he snorted and Frank rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Y/N?”
“Yeah?” You quickly replied.
“I’ll get you to take some statement notes today, later this afternoon you and Foggy can go over some mandates to get practice in.” He explained. Frank stood up, dangerously close to brushing up against your body. You looked to anywhere but his eyes.
He followed Matt and you let out a quiet breath. “You taking notes Y/N?” Matt called out and you jumped, gathering a notepad and pen.
You rushed to join them, mentally cursing seeing a smug smirk on Frank’s face before clocking the seat that was virtually touching his. You sent him a soft, annoyed glare, one he wasn’t at all phased by.
You sat down, not before pulling the chair back a little further away from him, causing a harsh scape. “Everything okay?” Matt asked, wondering what was happening.
“Yeah, just getting comfy.” You bit out, still glaring at Frank. He let out an amused puff of air seeing you so flustered over him, he was flattered that you were. You sat down, Frank closed the distance by placing his hand between your legs, gripping the fabric of the seat and pulling it forward, causing another loud scraping noise. You just about passed out at the effortless, swift motion he performed, your brother completely oblivious to it all.
“You sure?” Matt asked, voice filling with concern hearing the sound once more.
You nodded, attempting not to open your mouth because you knew whatever was going to come out of it would be a mess. Frank looked at you eagerly, almost taunting you into answering your brother. You finally found the strength to speak.
“Y-yeah!”
Frank sent you a wicked grin as he kept his hand there. Whatever move you were going to make was going to be the wrong one. Closing your legs would result in you trapping his hand in between your thighs, opening up wider, well, that was beyond dangerous.
You tried to sit as still as possible.
What if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh
Only in my mind?
One slip and falling back into the hedge maze
Oh what a way to die
“Okay, so is there anything else you want to add?” Matt asked. It had been about half an hour, you’d barely taken any notes. You had been staring at Frank’s hand between your legs and he was looking at your quivering lip.
“There is,” he stated. “Just tell them that…I’m too cute to be a criminal.”
Your eyes almost fell out your head. They flew from his hand on your seat to his mischievous ones.
He knew.
You didn’t know how the hell he managed to see your previous notes but you were now mentally kicking yourself that he did.
Frank took your distracted state as an opportunity to move his hand, using his index finger, he gingerly pressed it to the exposed skin of your inner thigh and started to move it.
You had to bring your hand to your mouth as you looked at him in sheer shock that he was doing what he was doing so shamelessly in your brother’s office in front of him. Frank’s eyes didn’t leave yours when he eventually pulled away after his slow strokes.
“Yeah right,” Matt blew a raspberry, you almost had a lapse in your memory before realising that he was replying to Frank. All you could hear was your internal screaming. “Don’t write that.” He warned you- you wish you could have told your brother that wouldn’t be an issue.
You both jumped when the door opened and Foggy reappeared after his lunch. You and Frank tried to distance yourself as much as humanly possible. Matt excused himself to catch up with his friend.
Their low voices and the clock ticking filled the now gaping gorge between you and Frank. Your mouth opened and then shut again. He noticed.
“Say it.” His tone was soft but equally demanding.
“What did you write…?” You quietly asked with your eyes closed.
A moment passed before you heard his rough voice again, it had dropped an octave, just for you.
“An ‘F’.” He answered with a smirk. “For ‘Frank’.”
You swallowed hard, your jaw clenching as your grip on the notepad became so fierce it almost was pushed from your hold.
“Next time,” you finally opened your mouth again along with your eyes, meeting his. The look sending a chill down Frank’s spine.
“Next time?” He asked, amused but with a honeyed tone that you were encouraging him into to a next time by openly suggesting it.
“Spell out your whole name.” You softly pleaded, opening up your legs a little wider.
I keep recalling things we never did
Messy top lip kiss
How I long for our trysts
Without ever touching his skin
How can I be guilty as sin?
Frank had to forcibly restrict himself from scooping you up and taking you back to his to claim every inch of you.
He gripped onto his own denim-clad thighs so hard his bruised knuckles were turning white.
“Y/N! I’ll show you those mandates!” Foggy called out breaking whatever moment you and Frank were in the middle of.
“Coming…” you hollered, eyes still burning into Frank as you stood up.
“In your dreams you do…” he uttered, fully knowing that was the case, he winked as your eyes narrowed in confusion before slowly widening in realisation. You scampered off as you suddenly felt like you had stopped breathing, the motion returning when you sat beside Foggy and he began talking.
“Keep outta trouble, Frank.” Twenty minutes later you heard Matt casually tell him. Your head snapped up as Foggy waved the brooding man out.
“I’ll try,” he replied looking at you. “No promises.” You gulped. He extended out sheets of paper. “You dropped these.” You thanked him with a nod and a straight face as you took them, not quite in reach to touch him.
At this point you wondered if you’d ever have the privilege.
Frank watched you place the papers off to the side as he held on to hope you would look through them soon.
A few hours later, you were all getting ready to head home for the day. You mindlessly tided the desk, skimming through the sheets Frank had passed you earlier making sure the important documents were kept safe.
There was something of importance stuck to one of the sheets in the middle of the pile.
A pink post-it note with an address on it.
‘Let me make your dreams come true. F.’
Was written underneath.
You peeled it off and tucked it into your palm that was sweating already.
You walked arm in arm on the way back to your appartment with Matt. “I might go out tonight with the girls.” You lied.
“I think you should, would be good for you. Enjoy what the city has to offer,” he gently nudged you. “Have fun! Live a little.” Matt smiled.
You changed, taking far too long in picking out what to wear…and more importantly what to wear underneath what you had picked. Matt was on the sofa, you leaned over and pecked his cheek. “I love you Matty.”
“Love you too, I won’t wait up!” He joked and you let out a shaky exhale.
“Uh, don’t worry if I’m not back, I’ll stay with one of the girls if anything gets to…” you cleared your throat “Wild.” Matt laughed at that, completely unaware that you were instead going to a random address on a post-it note.
The back of the car to the address was suffocating you, your uber driver ranting on about some crap to do with roadworks in the city but all you could think about was not melting into the leather.
The anticipation was killing you.
“This is you!” Your driver announced and you stepped out the car in front of an old converted warehouse, your bare knees knocking together you were shaking so much.
You walked into an old service elevator, trying to steady your breathing as music started to fill your ears. You already knew what it was, you blinked in surprise- ‘Downtown Lights’ was playing.
The elevator opened to a room filled with candle light and rose petals.
Your eyes were starting to well-up at the sight.
You were starting to think that maybe Frank Castle’s heart was as soft as his touch.
“Wanted to change your ‘I don’t know yet.’ To ‘Frank, I am so fuckin’ happy like you wouldn’t even believe all because of you’, so I googled all the sappy shit chicks like…” he said emerging from around the corner with a bunch of flowers in hand. “Thought you deserved it. Especially after dealing with your brother…and all my shit too I guess.” He rolled his eyes with a smirk as you let out a blubbery laugh.
“Frank…” you said his name on a whisper and reached out for him.
“But don’t you worry too much about all the sappy shit, baby,” his tone dropped and your panties almost did with it. “I’ll still be spelling out my first and last name on those thighs of yours…with my tongue.”
