authors note:just finishes watching finding her edge and loved it so I decided to write also saw a post saying that they would like a fanfic so here is something I came up with hope you enjoy !!
Three world medals.
Years of being partners of catching each other mid-spin, trusting the other to be exactly where they needed to be without ever having to look. Ice dancing wasn’t just choreography, it was muscle memory, instinct.
Brayden Elliott was your partner in every sense that mattered on the ice.
Off it… things were different.
Over the years, you’d watched him flirt effortlessly laughing with girls in the rink lobby, brushing snow from their shoulders, as if it were nothing. And it shouldn’t have bothered you. It didn’t have a right to. You were best friends, nothing more. That’s what you told yourself every time you laced your skates a little tighter than necessary, every time your chest felt oddly hollow afterward.there was always something between you two you always doubted it though,
Still, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have feelings for him.
It was inevitable, really.
How could you not fall for someone who knew the exact pressure to place on your waist to steady a lift? Who could read the slightest shift in your weight and adjust mid-routine without missing a beat? Someone who had seen you at your worst, blistered feet, shaking legs, tears swallowed backstage and at your best, gliding under bright lights
But Brayden never looked at you the way he looked at them.
With you, he was easy. Comfortable. Safe.
And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
On the ice, you were perfect together, undeniable, unstoppable. Judges praised your chemistry, commentators whispered about how “connected” you seemed. They didn’t know how much of that connection stayed trapped between the boards, never crossing into real life.
So you smiled. You laughed. You stayed his partner.
Because loving him silently was better than risking losing him at all. You didn't know at all but the way his eyes linger after you when you two get off the ice the way hed hold you a second longer then hed should have
When the invitation came to join Team Russo, you said yes almost immediately.
It took longer to convince Brayden.
Not because he doubted the opportunity Team Russo was legendary, a gathering of some of the most talented ice skaters in the world but because he hated change. You didn’t. Not really. You
knew the Russos. Old friends, old acquaintances from junior circuits and international competitions. Familiar faces, familiar pressure.
“They’re good people,” you’d told him. “Most of them, anyway.”
Eventually, he agreed.
The Russos were exactly how you remembered them. Warm. Professional. Welcome. Mimi especially she hugged you the moment you arrived, chattering excitedly about routines and ice time schedules like no years had passed at all. She made the transition easier, grounding you when everything else felt too sharp, too new.
Others… not so much.Katya made up her mind about you within the first week.She corrected you during warm-ups when you didn’t need it. Comment on your timing just loudly enough for others to hear. Smiled in that way that everyone knew it was fake. It was subtle, calculated, exhausting. You told yourself to ignore it to focus on your edges, your lines, your partner.
But Brayden didn’t notice.
He was too busy flirting with Elise. The way he leaned close when she spoke, the way his grin softened in a way you’d never seen it soften for you or at least the way you saw it It was the worst.
You told yourself you were being dramatic. That this was nothing new. Brayden had always been like this charming, effortless,flirting with out feelings. But something about seeing it here, in a place that already felt unfamiliar and hostile, made it cut deeper.
On the ice, you were still flawless. Your timing never slipped. Your lifts stayed strong. You trusted him with your body the way you always had, even as your heart lagged a beat behind. Off the ice, you felt like an afterthought. Katya’s sharp glances. Elise’s laughter. Brayden’s attention drifted further and further away.You wondered, for the first time in years, whether saying yes to Team Russo had been a mistake or whether it was simply the moment you could no longer pretend that being his partner was enough
Everyone had come back from the small party tired and buzzing, laughter fading down the hallway as doors closed one by one. Soon enough, the place went still, the kind of quiet that only settles in late at night. You stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, routine notes looping through your mind. There was a timing issue in the step sequence you wanted to fix before morning something small, but it mattered. It always did. And Brayden would understand. He always did.
So you made your way down the hall to his room. You didn’t knock.
You opened the door and stopped.
Brayden was there, hands tangled in Elise’s hair, her back pressed against the wall, their mouths already moving like they’d been there for a while. Close. Familiar. Intimate in a way that had nothing to do with skating.
For a second, your mind refused to catch up.
“Oh—” Your voice came out smaller than you expected. “Sorry.”
That was all you managed before stepping back, already reaching for the door, already trying to erase yourself from the moment. The air felt too thick, your chest too tight.
In that split second just before the door closed you could have sworn Brayden looked guilty. He pulled back, eyes meeting yours, something sharp and fleeting crossing his face. Surprise, maybe. Or regret. Or something else entirely.
But you told yourself it was nothing. It had to be nothing.
He didn’t owe you anything. You weren’t that girl. You were his partner. His best friend. not the one he kissed in the dark.
So you walked back to your room quietly, barefooted carefully against the floor, and shut the door behind you without making a sound.
You sat on the edge of the bed for a long time after that, staring at the wall, the routine still playing in your head only now every lift felt heavier.Tomorrow, you told yourself, you’d fix the routine.And so you did.
Sleep never came By four in the morning, you gave up pretending and pulled on your jacket instead. The rink was empty when you stepped onto the ice.
The lights were dimmed, the air sharp and clean, the kind of cold that usually cleared your head. You pushed off anyway, muscle memory taking over as your blades carved familiar lines. Again and again, you ran the section of the routine that had been bothering you. You tried to focus on technique your edges, your timing, the placement of your leg.
You kept trying.
And trying.
But your mind wouldn’t stay quiet.
Your landings were sloppy. Your extension fell short. You shook it off and went again, breath coming faster, legs burning. Time slipped by unnoticed, one run-through turning into another, then another until exhaustion dulled the ache in your chest and replaced it with something heavier. Four hours later the sun was coming up.
You slowed to a stop near the boards, hands on your knees, chest heaving. The others were probably awake by now. Probably eating breakfast. Probably laughing about the party, about nothing at all
You decided to grab breakfast, needing some time away from the ice.
“Hey, good morning,” you said as Adriana passed by.
“Hey—missed you at breakfast. Where have you been?” she asked kindly.
“At the rink,” you replied. “Couldn’t get something out of my mind. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I get it. Well,” she lowered her voice, “don’t tell anyone, but there are frozen waffles in the peas.”
She walked away, and you mouthed a silent thank you.
After you ate, you sank into one of the sofas in one of the many rooms scattered throughout the place. A moment later, Brayden walked in.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” you answered.
“Listen, about—” You cut him off gently. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your business,” you said. Breaking the silence “what did you want to tell me last night?"
You couldn’t quite name it, but there was something in his eyes an apology he wasn’t brave enough to say out loud. The way he looked at you lingered a second too long, heavy with regret. And just like that, the image flashed through your mind again: him and Elise, tangled together, laughing, kissing. Your chest tightened before you could stop it.
“Um—right, yeah,” you said quickly, forcing your voice steady. “There’s just… something in the routine that needs fixing. That’s all.” You launched into an explanation, hands moving as you talked, pointing out timing issues, footwork, the lift that never quite landed the way it should. You didn’t notice it at first, but he wasn’t listening. Not really.
His eyes stayed on you.
There was something about the way you spoke when you were passionate, how you forgot everything else, how your guard dropped without you realizing it. That was one of the many things he admired about you. You weren’t some girl on the cover of articles, smiling for cameras and pretending success came easy. You worked for everything. You cared. It showed in every word, every sharp breath you took when you got worked up.
“Hey,” he said suddenly.
You stopped mid-sentence. “What?”
“You don’t have to do this right now.”
“Do what?” you snapped, sharper than you meant to.
“This,” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Pretend like everything’s normal.”
That did it. You laughed once, short and humorless. “I’m not pretending. I’m talking about the routine. You know the thing we’re actually supposed to be focused on?”
He stood up straighter. “You’re deflecting.”
“Oh, please,” you said, heat rising fast. “Don’t act like you get to psychoanalyze me now.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.
“You saw us,” he said quietly.
Your stomach dropped. “yeah,” you shot back. “ and ?.”
“ i want to explain”
“Don’t,” you interrupted, voice breaking despite your best effort. “Don’t explain. You already tried earlier, remember? I said it was your business.”
“And you didn’t mean it,” he said.
You looked away, jaw clenched.” yes i did” “ no you didnt “ The words spilled out before you could stop them, messy and tangled. “Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you act like nothing was wrong while I You cut yourself off, shaking your head. “I kept telling myself I was stupid. That I imagined it. That you dont t feel the same after years of being partners , so why should it hurt?”
His breath hitched. “You think I didn’t feel it too?”
You turned back to him, eyes burning. “Then why, Brayden? Why her? Why anyone?"
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of you. “Because I thought I was bad for you.”
You froze.
“What?”
“I always thought that,” he admitted, voice low. “You’re disciplined. Focused. You know exactly who you are. And me?” He let out a bitter laugh. “I’m chaos. I mess things up. I distract myself, I distract others. I didn’t want to be the thing that ruined you, being partners is different then being a relationship.”
“So your solution,” you said incredulously, “was to flirt with other girls?”
“And Elise,” he added, not proud of it. “Yeah. Because if I kept it shallow if I convinced myself it didn’t mean anything then I didn’t have to risk hurting you.”
Your laugh this time was shaky. “Congratulations. You still did.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “And I hate myself for it.”
The room went quiet again, but this time it felt fragile instead of tense.
“I tried so hard not to fall for you,” he continued. “Every time you talked about your goals, every time you got that look in your eyes when something mattered—I told myself you deserved someone better.”
Your voice came out small. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
He looked at you then really looked and something cracked open between you both.
“I know,” he said softly. “I just… always hoped you’d never see me the way I see myself.”
You swallowed hard. “Well, I do. And that’s the problem.”
You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to shut him out. “You don’t get to decide what I can handle,” you said again, quieter now. “I never asked that from you .”
He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “I know. I just every time I got close, I thought about how much you had riding on this. On everything. And I kept thinking, I ruin things. So I figured if I kept you at arm’s length, at least I wouldn’t be the one who broke you.”
“You weren’t keeping me safe,” you said, your voice trembling despite yourself. “You were shutting me out.”
His shoulders sagged at that, like the words physically weighed on him. “Yeah. I was.” You paced a few steps away, pressing your fingers into your temples. “Do you know how lonely that felt?” you asked, turning back to him. “Standing next to you every day, trusting you with my body on the ice, my balance, my timing—and not knowing where I stood with you off it?”
He took a step toward you, then stopped himself. “I was scared.”
“So was I,” you snapped, then immediately softened. “I still am.”
Your eyes stung, and you hated that you couldn’t stop it now. “I kept telling myself it was just partnership. That whatever I felt didn’t matter because you’d never cross that line.” Your voice cracked. “And then you did. Just not with me.”
“I never meant for you to find out like that,” he said.
You laughed weakly. “Is there ever a good way?”
He shook his head, guilt etched into every line of his face. “Elise didn’t mean anything. Not like this. Not like you.”
“That doesn’t make it hurt less,” you said. “It just makes it confusing.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But it was never about replacing you. It was about distracting myself. About proving I could keep things surface-level so I wouldn’t want more.”
You studied him then the tension in his posture, the way his hands curled and uncurled at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “And did it work?” you asked.
“No,” he said immediately. “Not even a little.”
Silence settled again, heavier but honest.
“You don’t see yourself the way everyone else does,” you said finally. “You think you’re this walking disaster, but you’re not. You’re careful when it counts. You show up. You don’t quit.”
He met your eyes. “And you don’t see how much power you have over me.”
Your breath caught.
“I kept telling myself I had to be less,” he continued. “Less attached. Less honest. Because if I let myself want you the way I do… I was terrified I’d drag you down with me.”
You took a shaky step closer. “What if I want that risk?”
His voice was barely audible. “Then I wouldn’t know how to live with myself if I hurt you.”
You stood there, close enough now to feel the warmth of him, but not touching. “You already did,” you said softly. “But I’m still here.”
That seemed to undo him more than anything else. He let out a slow breath. “I don’t know how to be good for you.”
You looked up at him, eyes glossy but steady. “Then stop deciding you’re bad for me and let me choose.”The space between you shrank without either of you meaning for it to happen.
You weren’t sure who moved first maybe neither of you did. Maybe it was just gravity, or the way the room suddenly felt too small His breath brushed against your cheek, warm and unsteady, and you became acutely aware of how close you were. Close enough to count the freckles on his face. Close enough to feel the tension in his shoulders.
He looked at you like he was memorizing you. “If I do this,” he said quietly, “I don’t know how to stop.” Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “I’m not asking you to.”
His hand lifted, hesitating midair, fingers hovering just shy of your waist. The restraint in that small distance felt louder than any touch. Slowly like he was giving you time to change your mind he let his thumb brush against your hand instead.
Electric. You inhaled sharply, eyes dropping to his mouth before you could stop yourself. You felt it then the pull, undeniable and aching. He leaned in, just a fraction, and your body followed on instinct.
Your lips were inches apart.
You could feel the question in the pause, the weight of everything this would mean if either of you closed that distance. His forehead rested briefly against yours, a silent confession.
“God,” he murmured, “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
That was what made you stop.You pressed your hand lightly against his chest, not pushing him away, just enough to remind both of you where you were. “If we do this,” you whispered, voice trembling, “it won’t just be a moment.”
He froze, breath hitching.
“It’ll change everything,” you continued. “Us. The ice. The trust.”
He swallowed hard, then slowly pulled back, though it clearly cost him. His hand fell from yours like it was the hardest thing he’d done all day.
“You’re right,” he said hoarsely. “And that’s why I stopped myself every time before.”
Your chest ached at the restraint in his eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”
“I know,” he replied softly. “That’s the problem.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward it was heavy, charged with everything you’d almost done. He took a step back, giving you space even though it hurt him.
“I don’t want to be a mistake in your life,” he said. “The moment stretched, fragile and trembling, until the restraint between you finally gave way. His hand came up slowly, like he was still giving you the chance to stop him, fingers brushing your jaw. You didn’t pull away.
So he leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first hesitant, almost questioning like neither of you quite believed you were allowed this. His lips brushed yours, barely there, and your breath caught before you kissed him back.
That was all it took. The kiss deepened, still gentle but full of everything you’d been holding back. Weeks months years of unsaid feelings poured into that single moment. His hand settled at your waist, grounding, careful, You melted into him before you could think better of it.
For a few seconds, nothing else existed. Not the ice. Not the routines. Not Elise. Just the warmth of him and the quiet certainty that this this was real.
When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breaths uneven.
“I should’ve done that sooner,” he murmured.
Your lips curved into a small, shaky smile. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You should’ve.”
The world didn’t magically fix itself after that kiss but something shifted. Something honest and impossible to ignore.
“Then we figure this out,” you said. “Slowly. Honestly.”
the party flakes on plans, and lucas realizes waiting isn’t so bad when it’s with you.
ꕀ﹒ MIKE WHEELER. ₊ 𐂯
holding out for a wheeler.
after years of secretly loving mike you finally move on and date someone new, only to discover that mike has a problem with him, and suddenly everything you thought was over isn’t.
sorry it’s a mess.
after leaving hawkins on bad terms with mike, you move on with your life, only to discover months too late that he did try to reach you.
brainfreeze.
you’re convinced mike hates you so naturally you make it your mission to figure out why.
maui wowie.
with hawkins on lockdown and literally nothing to do, will is stuck in the wheeler basement being bored out of his mind. jonathan notices and offers a solution.
all uniforms are evil. —- part two. part three.
mike is certain all cheerleaders are evil until one sticks around long enough to ruin his perfectly cynical worldview.
the long way around.
mike’s habit of being mad for you finally gets called out, and what starts as awkward damage control turns into a confession he absolutely did not plan to make.
matthew was a mistake.
you and mike get in a fight, kiss about it, pretend it never happened, and then avoid each other for two months like mature, well-adjusted people. prom forces a reunion, and mike learns that ignoring someone does not make them stop mattering—especially when they bring a date.
i could’ve been her lighthouse.
since el’s presumed death, mike has been avoiding food, people, and the concept of tomorrow, so you show up with a plate and a refusal to leave.
room for two.
exhaustion drives you to hide from the world, but mike always insists on keeping you company. AKA emotional support boyfriend refuses to disengage.
boyfriend down!
trapped with your catastrophically dramatic, fever-warm boyfriend who insists he’s dying. AKA man experiences the common cold and loses all resolve.
ꕀ﹒ ROBIN BUCKLEY. ₊ 𐂯
so gay.
robin gets steve to do her gay reconnaissance work, which mostly involves him asking questions about movies and boobs and learning nothing useful.
ꕀ﹒ STEVE HARRINGTON. ₊ 𐂯
not all who wander are steve.
steve harrington survives monsters, russian labs, and interdimensional horrors, but one night in your doghouse is completely unbearable.
open wound.
you got an extremely minor injury and now steve’s in crisis mode.
ꕀ﹒ SHIPS ノ BYLER ₊ 𐂯
palms against the jamb.
robin’s blunt honesty forces will to confront what he’s always avoided: the truth about his heart. will begins to understand that courage starts within, not in reciprocation.
Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge
A/N: I fear this was better in my head
credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!
There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.
She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.
That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.
The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.
First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.
What do I do?
In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.
Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.
For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?
It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.
You scoffed.
They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?
And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.
You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.
“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.
“Watch it—!”
Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.
You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.
And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.
Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.
A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.
Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.
All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.
Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.
The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.
Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.
When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.
Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.
“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.
You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"
Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.
You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.
But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.
“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."
You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”
The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”
You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.
If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.
They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.
“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”
Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."
Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.
When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.
"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.
It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.
You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."
“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."
Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”
Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”
You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.
He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."
Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."
You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.
Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”
Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.
This was a bad idea.
But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.
So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.
When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.
Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.
You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”
He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.
The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.
Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”
You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”
You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”
Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.
The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.
They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.
Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.
They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?
Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.
“Can I have one?” You asked.
"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”
You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”
There was another beat of silence.
“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”
“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”
“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”
You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”
Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”
“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”
Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.
"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.
“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”
You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”
Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."
You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.
Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.
All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.
Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.
Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.
She was there.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.
Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?
Her head snapped up.
“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”
You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.
Your heart almost opened the door.
Your mind slammed it shut.
“No.”
She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”
“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”
“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”
You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”
Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”
Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”
She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”
Heat surged under your skin.
“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”
“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”
You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.
“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”
With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.
She didn’t back down.
“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”
Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.
You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”
One more shove.
Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.
“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”
The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.
“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”
You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”
His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.
“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.
His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”
You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”
And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.
Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”
The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.
Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.
You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.
“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”
Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”
Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.
The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?
Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.
“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.
You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.
Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”
The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.
Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.
You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.
Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.
And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.
Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.
How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.
You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.
She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.
And then froze.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.
The room erupted.
Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.
You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.
Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.
With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.
“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.
You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.
“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.
You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Oh, poor girl.
That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.
The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.
You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.
“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.
Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.
You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.
A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.
Especially the power it held over you.
You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.
It was baffling.
Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”
You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”
He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”
And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.
Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.
They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.
It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.
You didn’t.
Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.
But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.
Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.
“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.
What happened next was beautiful chaos.
A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”
You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.
The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.
For now.
The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.
“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”
You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.
You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, bella.”
“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.
Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.
Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.
When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.
Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.
“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.
A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.
Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.
But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.
Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”
You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.
“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.
“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”
The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.
Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.
You couldn't argue with that.
But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.
Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.
You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.
You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.
“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.
Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”
“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”
The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.
You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”
“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.
“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”
Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”
The problem was you weren't really his girl.
So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?
When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.
Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”
You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.
When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.
Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.
So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.
“Thank you.” You whispered.
You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.
“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.
“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.
You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”
“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.
“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”
He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”
Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.
You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”
Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”
You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”
Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"
You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.
You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.
The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.
His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.
His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric,
"Che bella, carissima."
"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.
"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.
If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.
Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.
But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.
You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.
"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.
When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.
"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."
His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.
"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."
Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.
"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.
He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."
Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music.
"If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"
You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.
“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”
“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.
You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."
Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”
Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.
“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”
Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.
“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”
You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.
“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"
You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.
And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.
The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.
“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”
You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."
"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”
With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.
“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"
Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.
You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.
When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."
"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.
You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.
You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.
“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.
“Hi. You alright?”
You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”
“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.
“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”
Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?
"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."
You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.
"Are—Are you being serious?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.
You frowned, “What’s this?”
“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.
You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”
His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”
You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:
I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.
Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”
The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”
He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.
“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”
Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”
He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”
Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”
His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.
The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.
Bonus:
Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.
You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.
And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.
How had you missed all the signs before?
Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.
“Everyone!”
The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.
Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.
“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.
The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.
“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”
His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.
Your hand tightened around Theo's.
“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”
The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.
Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.
A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.
A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?
"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.
Your ex’s confident smile faltered.
Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”
Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”
You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."
Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)
The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.
Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.
“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”
Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”
He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”
You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”
The air went still.
Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.
He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”
Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.
Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.
And then—
“HE’S HERE!”
Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.
“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.
The door swung wide.
Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.
“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.
“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.
Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”
“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.
Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.
Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.
"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."
“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
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🧡 - people’s favs
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𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧
✉︎ Look at me 🧡
Being oblivious to Luke’s feelings, you tried to get over him by getting a boyfriend, who just does not know how to treat you right. Inspired by the song ‘Boyfriend’ by Dove Cameron ~ “I could be a better boyfriend than him.” (jealous luke, friends-to-lovers, fluff, angst, pining, happy ending.)
✉︎ Titles
You are determined to steal the title of best swordsman from Luke. You proposed a spar, which led to unsuspecting confessions and an alternate proposal/offer. (fluff, pining, playful rivals to lovers, happy ending)
✉︎ Scandalous 🧡
The reveal of a scandalous detail about yours and Luke's relationship left you both flustered and everybody else gaping. Inspired by one line from So It Goes - Taylor Swift (fluff, established relationship)
✉︎ Lovesick & Lovelorn
You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending)
✉︎ Cupids in Converses
Valentine's was rolling up. You and Luke played Cupid on Percy and Annabeth. But what if playing matchmakers gave both you guys and your unspoken feelings the nudge that you guys have always needed? (Fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)
✉︎ Apples 🧡
You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)
✉︎ Flatline
A certain hospital equipment exposed Luke's feelings for you (funny, fluff, friends to lovers, banter dynamic, minor injuries, happy ending).
✉︎ Foolish Ones
What if...there is a Prom at Camp Half-Blood? Aka, a story where the both of you are just blind fools who finally crossed the line between friends and something more (best friends-to-lovers, angst, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke, HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE!!!)
✉︎ The Pact
Seeing you yearn for a relationship and dejected over the lack of one, Luke Castellan proposes a dating pact. Little did you know, he was going to do more than just wait until the day the pact could happen (friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, a lot of longing, lowkey jealous luke).
✉︎ Message in a Bottle
You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)
✉︎ Romance isn't dead
You've been obsessed with Luke Castellan for the last few months and on Halloween, you found out he has been hiding something from you (obsessed/stalker!reader x innocent Luke, dark-ish romance (not that intense considering ive seen the dark romance stuff on tumblr), toxic jealousy, uhm...unaliving people, just...kind of fucked in the head, but happy ending, …stalker!reader x stalker!Luke 🫣)
✉︎ sweet dreams
Aphrodite grew tired of watching you both tiptoe around instead of getting together. So she intervened, giving you and Luke the push you both needed to finally confess. (best friends to lovers, mutual pining, you both are clueless, fluff, yearning, happy ending)
✉︎ normal
While on quest, you crave the normal teenage life that your demigod one has made you forgo. Your quest partner, Luke Castellan, came up with the perfect idea on how to let you experience that (friends to lovers, fake dating, mutual pining, fluff, yearning)
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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥
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✉︎ they said i did something bad
soft launching gone wrong for you and Charlie, who are both actors on pjo the series (smau, established relationship, soft launch, hard launch)
Staring Problem | Steve Harrington x hopper!reader𖥔 ݁ ˖°. ˎˊ˗. ✧˖°.🛸༄
Steve has a staring problem. He knows it. His friends know it, too, but none of them have called him out about it, until now.
⭒I love down bad!steve and yearning!steve so much I had to write something about it | she/her pronouns used | written as hopper!reader, but no physical description of reader is given | no warnings
⭒note from alli: sorry that this is kinda short, this is my first fic ever!! so i'm still getting my footing haha. I'd love to do a pt 2 if people are interested :)
✫・。.⋆˚ੈ✩‧₊࿐࿔
Steve had a staring problem. No matter where he was or who he was with– his eyes somehow always found you. He didn’t even mean for it to happen, it just did! It’s like you had this magnetic pull that only seemed to affect him. Even now, Steve stands in his kitchen staring at you through the glass door. No, not in a creepy way, but in a ‘she is the most incredible person I’ve ever met and I want to be around her at all times’ kind of way. He’s enamored as he watches as you chase Will and Mike around the pool. He can barely hear your muffled voice lecturing the boys about needing to put sunscreen on so they won’t burn.
He loved that about you. Seeing how much you cared for the kids did something to his heart that he couldn’t explain. He’s seen you become a sister to El– and by extension a sister-like figure to Max. The two girls adored you and in return, they had you wrapped around their fingers. The boys also had a hold on you, they somehow convinced you to join in on their latest D&D campaign. According to you, it was a mix of Lucas and Will’s puppy dog eyes that sold it.
He wasn’t obsessed with you- at least according to him. There was just something about you that made his brain go fuzzy and his heart beat concerningly fast. But you were his best friend! It’s normal for best friends to feel like this, right? Except he didn’t have this problem with Robin, or Dustin. Weird, huh. As much as he tried to rationalize it in his head– deep down he knew the truth. Steve Harrington was achingly, deeply, soul-crushlingly in love with you.
Steve’s thoughts were interrupted. “Do you like her?”
The sudden voice in the kitchen makes him jump. He whipped around to see El standing in front of him, just staring. “Jesus, kid, we need to put a bell on you or something.” Steve lets out a breath, his hand over his heart.
“Do you like her?” El questions again after he doesn’t respond. The way her eyes bored into his made him grow uneasy.
His eyes narrow. “Do I like who?” he questions. He knew exactly who the girl was talking about.
“y/n.” El said bluntly.
“Wha– of course I like her, she’s one of my best friends.” Steve chuckles, hoping the girl can’t see through his, quite obvious, lie.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well how else would you mean it, huh?” He knew exactly how she meant it.
She ignores his question. “You always stare at her. Like right now.” El looks past him, out the glass. Steve turns to look too because, well, he just can’t help it. Now you're lounging in one of the chairs by the pool, deep in conversation with Robin, laughing at something she said. Steve wished he could be outside to hear it– in his opinion, your laugh is one of the best sounds in the entire world.
Steve turns back to the younger girl, scratching the back of his neck. There's no way around this. “You– uh- noticed that?”
“We all do.” We all do. The statement echoes in his head.
Steve can instantly feel the heat rising up his cheeks, ears turning bright red as well. He knows he stares at you a lot, but was he really so obvious that everyone else had noticed too? Have you noticed? Surely not. You would've said something about it by now, right? Right?!
As much as he's wanted to, He’s never talked to anyone about his feelings for you– not even Robin! He loves her, but she has a big mouth. He knew she’d end up running her mouth like always and blabbing his secret to everyone. Now, being confronted about it, he doesn’t know what to say to the girl standing before him. What can he say? You two are sisters for crying out loud!
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by El speaking up once again. “You always stare. You talk on the phone all the time. You let her keep movies way past the due date. You have to like her” She’s right. He does always stare. He does talk to you on the phone almost every night– El would know, you two live together. And, it's true, he never charges you any late fees on movies that are past due, much to the frustration of Keith. She continues, “You give her rides home. Your cheeks turn red around her. You let her put face masks on you when we have our girls nights–”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” Steve interrupts her. “God, you are really perceptive.” he mumbles, trying to deflect. “Why are you asking, anyway?”
El shrugs. “She gets happy when you’re around. I like seeing her happy.” Steve swears he can feel his heart melt at the girl’s statement.
“I like seeing her happy, too,” Steve replies before he can stop himself, and he swears he’s never seen a bigger smile on El's face than right now
“I knew it!” El laughs. As embarrassing as this conversation was, Steve liked seeing her be comfortable enough around him to actually be able to act like a kid for once.
“Please don’t tell anyone. Even your dad– especially your dad!” Steve pleads with her. The girl just giggles more. “What’s so funny, kid?”
Instead of replying, she points her finger to something past his head. Steve turns, looking out the glass door and his eyes lock onto you right away. Only this time, you are already staring right back at him. Even from a distance, he can see how your eyes grow wide. Cute, he thinks to himself. As if you were just caught red handed, you quickly turn away and try to make conversation with Robin again. Only glancing back once to see Steve and El still looking at you.
“It’s funny that you don’t notice how much she stares at you, too.”
summary: you accidentally overhear steve calling you “clingy” to robin. instead of confronting him, you retreat into silence, letting your hurt fester. steve notices and becomes desperate to understand, but the more he reaches out, the wider the distance grows.
word count: 6.1k
a/n: after writing way too much steve fluff, it’s time for some angst with my fav trope: fmc overhears her spouse call her clingy… eventual happy ending <3
tags: takes place after s4 timeskip, so much angst, emotional hurt, crying, reader has scars from a demo attack, nancy and robin are so sweet here, distancing, reader has ptsd, emotional vulnerability, reader was eddie's bsf, mentions of violence, trauma, typical upside down gore, lack of communication, so much fluff at the end, happy ending.
You truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
If anything, it was an accident, a cruel, stupid accident orchestrated by the universe itself and whatever higher power up there that wanted to see you suffering.
You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying.
By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.
You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.
“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”
Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”
You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.
Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.
So you turned around.
That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.
You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.
Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.
You were back in the Upside Down.
Back in that choking red sky, where the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest.
You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—
—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.
You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.
You hadn’t felt safe since.
Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.
Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.
Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.
Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.
You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you.
And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.
“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”
Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”
“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”
She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.
“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”
Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.
“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”
He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”
Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.
Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”
“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”
“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”
“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”
Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.
“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”
Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”
“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”
“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”
Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”
Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”
“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.
“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”
Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”
Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”
You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.
You don’t grab your coat when you leave.
You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.
You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.
Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not.
Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little.
It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster.
Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on.
And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.
Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.
You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup.
By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you.
But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.
The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first.
You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.
“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.
“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.
“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.
“No,” you said simply.
It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.
You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.
By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.
“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”
You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.
Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence.
If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.
But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.
“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.
“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”
You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”
The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”
You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”
He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”
“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”
He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”
“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”
He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”
You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”
The days after are worse.
Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana.
If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.
Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.
That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.
You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”
He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”
Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”
“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”
You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”
He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.
He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”
You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.
“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”
“That’s good,” you say quietly.
He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”
“Mhm.”
Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”
“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”
You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”
There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right.
He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”
Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”
He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.
He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.
You don’t.
“Night,” he says quietly.
“Night,” you reply, barely audible.
He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..
As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first.
You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.
Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.
You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong.
Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.
It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart.
There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.
You grew used to the distance.
Steve though, did not.
His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown.
He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.
And every time he did, you stepped further away.
That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door.
You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now.
Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.
But his mind would not shut up.
Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.
Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.
Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.
For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?
“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”
Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”
Nancy frowned. “Without who?”
“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”
Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”
The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.
“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally together today?”
Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”
The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.
“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”
Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”
Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”
“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”
“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.
“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”
“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”
Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.
“What?” he shot back.
“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”
He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”
Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.
“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.
“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”
His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.
“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”
“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”
Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”
He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”
“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”
She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”
Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”
Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”
With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.
Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.
The house was dark. Too dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.
For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.
“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.
Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.
“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.
You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”
There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.
“How was your day?” he asked.
You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”
His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”
“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”
He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”
Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.
“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”
You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.
He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.
Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.
His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.
You let yourself breathe.
He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—
Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.
“Uhm, Y/n.”
You turned. “Yeah?”
He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”
He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.
“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.
Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard.
“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”
He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.
Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.
“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”
He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”
He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides.
“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”
Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.
“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I can’t do this without you.”
That’s when you break.
The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath.
Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.
Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.
“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.
He freezes. “You… heard what?”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”
The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.
“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”
“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”
“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to move on from everything that happened.”
You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”
Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”
Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.
“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”
His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said somethin’ stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”
You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.
“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.
He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”
His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”
You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.
You breathe him in.
And then—
Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.
You freeze for half a second.
Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.
“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”
Steve’s face goes bright red.
“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”
That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.
“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”
You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.
He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”
You smile. “Me too.”
He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”
“What?” you ask.
“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”
You blink. “Steve—”
“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”
“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”
He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”
Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”
“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Steve—”
“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”
You gape at him. “But—”
“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.
You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.
Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.
And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.
And, apparently, spend three hundred and ninety dollars on at some fancy restaurant without even blinking.
.ೃ࿔ I just can't come in between them, they got their own thing or 6 times people thought they were dating + the 1 time it was actually true.
"So, you're dating?" the new camper looks between her and Percy after they gave him the tour around camp.
Ah, the long awaited question.
And the answer never changes. "No, we're friends, why?"
Once again, the camper looks between her and Percy, who's standing just behind her with his arms wrapped around her shoulders, her head comfortably resting back on his chest. "Oh, nothing, I just thought—"
Yes. Everyone just thought. Everyone just thought they were together, and everyone was always shocked when it turned out they were merely friends.
Percy and her couldn't understand it at all, because it was totally normal for friends to act the way they acted with each other. Right?
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the ponytail incident
It is, obviously, totally normal for friends to want to help each other out before combat. So, of course Percy knows exactly how to tie her hair into a perfect ponytail.
Shouldn't everyone know that?
Who can blame him if he knows his best friend so well that he can easily notice her discomfort with her hair falling on her face when she's sparring? And who can blame him if he wants to help? That's what best friends do.
So he doesn't see anything wrong with standing behind her after she calls for time out, his fingers gently carding through her hair, gathering it into a ponytail, twisting it with practiced fingers and securing it with the hair tie that he just happens to have on his wrist.
"Thanks, Perce." She says, as if it's nothing out of the ordinary.
"Dude, how do you even know how to make a ponytail to begin with?" Leo asks when he hangs back and she goes back to sparring.
"She hates when her hair falls on her face." He shrugs, like there's no more explanation needed.
Leo doesn’t understand, he doesn't know if he wants to, "You do realize you're in love, right?"
But Percy isn't even listening, his eyes already fixed on her and his smile growing when he sees her more relaxed without her hair bothering her.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the necklace and hairtie
Yes, it's completely and totally normal if she wears a necklace with her best friend's initial around her neck.
It isn't even that noticeable— just a small, golden "P" that rests on her collar bone. Cute and meaningless. She just likes jewelry. This one she especially likes, since she wears it every day.
Clarisse has never noticed it before, but now that she stands in front of her while they drink water after training, the gold necklace manages to catch her attention, sparkling under the sun tauntingly.
Clarisse squints her eyes at it. "Is that... a 'P' on your necklace?"
She lowers her water bottle and smiles, and oh— Clarisse already knows what's coming just by the silly smile on her face. "Yes, for Percy."
"How is that—" Clarisse stops herself with a sigh. "Nevermind."
She's tired of questioning it.
Meanwhile, Percy carries a hair tie on his wrist. Because friends should be prepared for when their best friend needs a hair tie, of course. There’s nothing else to it.
People don't notice at first, it's a simple black hair tie, nothing to question.
But Percy fiddles a lot with it during meetings, snapping it against his skin when he's bored. And he doesn’t let anyone take it or borrow it from him, "anyone has an extra hair tie?" and he's silent because he's sure as hell not giving his.
Nobody really understands why until he ends up losing it and he's frantically looking around for it as if it's such a precious object he just lost and not a simple hair tie.
"Hey do you know if I left the hair tie in your cabin last afternoon?" He asks her when they sit together for breakfast.
"No, but you can have this one if you want." And it's that simple. He nods. And she takes it off her hair to give it to him.
This one is not even a black hair tie, but rather a lilac scrunchie that definitely clashes with his orange camp shirt. But Percy is grinning like a child opening christmas gifts, and you best believe he won't lose this one.
"Is that her scrunchie on his wrist?" Katie Gardner squints at him when he walks past her table.
"Yes, and he's wearing it like it's a promise ring."
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the kiss on the cheek
And of course it's normal for her to greet him with a kiss on the cheek every time.
Hi? Kiss on the cheek. Bye? Kiss on the cheek. Training? Kiss on the cheek. Breakfast? Kiss on the cheek. Seeing him after capture the flag? Kiss on the cheek. It was simply her way of greeting. Him. Only him.
So when she was late for a cabin meeting and rushed past him with a distracted, "Morning, Perce!" without a kiss?
Percy kind of freezes. His eyes follow her as she walks away, looking like a kicked puppy.
He proceeds to spend the rest of the day sulking. No sign of her around. No kiss on the cheek. By dinner, he's still weirdly quiet.
Grover asks first. "Dude, are you okay? you look like a child that got his candy stolen."
"She didn’t kiss my cheek today." He mumbles, more to himself than to his friends.
Piper looks like she wants to throw her fork to his head. "Is this whole thing just because she didn’t kiss your cheek?"
"Why didn’t she? Did I do something wrong?" And he's pouting, dramatically sad about it.
Grover raises an eyebrow at Annabeth, but before any of them can say anything else— there she is, rushing to the table to take her usual seat beside Percy.
"Sorry guys, had a busy day today." She excuses herself and, like it's second nature, she leans to press a kiss against Percy's cheek. A greeting.
And every single one of his friends is able to witness the change in Percy's expression, the way his whole face just brightens. Long forgotten is the sadness and the sulking.
"How is this normal?" Annabeth shakes her head, going back to her food.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the picture on the wallet
Percy, as a good friend would, has memorized her usual order. "Chicken sandwich with no tomatoes and fries on the side, add honey mustard for those please."
"Does it change anything if I point out that you hesitated with your own order but not with hers?" Jason asks, looking at him as if he's simply ridiculous.
"That's what friends are for." Percy shrugs, taking out his wallet.
"So you know all your friends orders that way? I don't think-" Frank's words trail off when Percy opens his wallet. "What is that?"
Percy pulls out a few dollars before he realizes Frank is talking to him, his eyes fixed on his wallet. "Hm?" he looks down and he smiles at the photo. "Oh, that's y/n."
He proudly opens the wallet wider to allow both Jason and Frank to see the picture of little five year old y/n squinting at the camera with a wide grin and a bandaid on her nose. "Doesn’t she look cute?"
"I— uh— do you just carry it on your wallet?" Jason asks, genuinely taken by surprise.
"Well, yeah? She gave it to me ages ago." And he turns to pay, like he doesn't understand why they're so surprised about it.
Frank and Jason exchange looks and shake their heads in disbelief, meanwhile Percy is already distracted. "Hey do you have those chocolate chip cookies with the colorful little sprinkles on top? She likes those."
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ pink lilies and cherry-minted lip balms
Friends get each other flowers, right? At least, Percy will if he casually spots flowers while grocery shopping with his mom.
It's not his fault that he finds a bouquet of pink lilies, her all time favorite flowers, right when he's walking past the flower stand. They are basically calling for him.
When Sally Jackson looks up from her cart and finds his son holding a bouquet, she smiles knowingly.
"Is there any special dates coming soon?" She teases, knowing exactly what this is about.
"Oh?" He looks down, as if he just realized he's holding flowers. "Oh these? they just remind me of y/n, so I might aswell get them for her."
Sally nods, she doesn't question it, she doesn't try to understand it. Because she already knows.
Except sometimes it really is unbelievable that his son is so oblivious, Sally gets to realize this when she takes a lip balm from the racks by the cash register. "Maybe I should get y/n one of these, she likes them, doesn’t she?"
Percy hums, distracted by placing the groceries on the checkout belt. "Yep, just make sure to get the one that tastes like cherry-mint, you know? the one in the little pot with the silver lid, it's her favorite."
"Percy, how can you know how it tastes?"
Silence.
Percy stops mid-putting the bread down and realizes what he just did.
"I guessed." he replies simply.
Because he's not about to confess to his mother that he knows that's the lip balm she has been wearing since he kissed her for the first and only time when they were twelve.
So what? they had just been friends who had never kissed anyone before. It just seemed fitting at the time that they should share their first kiss with each other.
And it's totally normal if maybe he simply made a mental note not to ever forget her favorite lip balm. Because he's a good friend.
"Perseus, you are unbelievable."
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the date
Percy felt as if it was perfectly normal to be worried about his best friend going on a date, but worried to the point of sulking the entire day? completely normal.
Yes. She has a date. With some guy Percy didn’t even bother learning the name of. Percy had only focused on the sheer audacity of this guy to be charming enough to get her flowers—roses, seriously? and ask her out.
But it's normal for him to be a little protective over his best friend. That's all it is. He just doesn't want her getting hurt by some dude that didn’t even bother trying to get her favorite flowers.
That's the only explanation for the way he felt something inside him twisting when he saw her before she had to leave for the date, looking all pretty and smiling brightly to go out with some other guy.
That's why he doesn’t do much the whole day, he can't be bothered with training or joining his friends on their impromtu day at the lake. And by the time the night falls, he has been on his cabin for hours, glaring at the ceiling for more time than he'd like to admit.
It's past lights out when there’s a soft knock coming from his door. And before he can even react, she opens the door and slips inside, still in that dress that looks like it's been made just for her, her heels clicking as she holds them in her hand.
Most of the times, she lingers on the door to wait for Percy to give her permission to step inside— as if he would ever tell her to leave. But not this time, this time she walks quickly and doesn’t even stop at the edge of the bed or sits like she always does.
No, this time she simply crawls into bed with him.
"Hey, how did—" He gets cut off when she suddenly wraps her arms around him, burying her face against his chest.
"Missed you." Her voice is muffled against his chest, but he's able to understand. "So much."
Percy wraps his arms around her waist almost instictively, pulling her closer to him. "You saw me this afternoon."
"Still missed you." She replies. "Especially after that date."
He chuckles softly, his fingers carding through her hair, her fingers curl slightly against his shirt, and he tightens his hold around her. And it feels right.
"Was it that bad?" He asks, keeping his tone light, as if he didn’t spend the whole day brooding.
"So bad." There’s no hesitance. "He talked about himself the whole night, barely asked anything about me. And when he did, and I brought you up, he got all weird."
Percy's hands stop on her hair for a second, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Weird?"
She shifts slightly, nuzzling her face against the crook of his neck. "He told me that we should probably distance ourselves a little because people thought we were dating and he almost didn’t ask me out because of you."
"That's ridiculous." Percy laughs, but it even surprises him how forced it sounds, how his stomach twists.
She pulls away now, barely really, just enough to look at him. "Yup, ridiculous, right?"
They both look at each other, her fingers still curled in his shirt, his arms still securely wrapped around her waist. And neither of them moves.
After a moment, he whispers, as if he couldn't allow himself to speak any louder because it might break the whole thing. "Have you ever thought that maybe... it isn't so ridiculous?"
His heart is pounding, his gaze glued to her, waiting for a response. "Yes, maybe it isn't ridiculous, maybe—"
Percy doesn’t let her finish her sentence, he can't. Because the moment she confirms what he has been thinking about, it's like his body moves instinctively, his lips suddenly crashing against hers.
Cherry-mint lips welcoming his like they've been waiting for this for a long time, his hand brushing over the delicate chain around her neck, fingers pausing just for a second on the tiny gold letter that hangs on it.
And it's exactly what it should be. Soft. Sure. Familiar. Comforting. And even better than that first time they kissed back when they were twelve year-old kids convinced that all they could ever be was friends.
⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ the kiss
The next morning, nobody notices the change— because there has not been any evident change in the way they act. Everyone just thinks that the clingyness, the kisses on the cheek, the hugs, are just part of the routine already.
Until they're getting ready for capture the flag and, as usual, Percy helps her with her ponytail. It isn't anything that people haven't seen already, No. So everyone just rolls their eyes at them, mumbling about how oblivious they are.
"How many more months do you think will take them to finally realize?" Clarisse mumbles, putting on her helmet.
"Who knows? It could be years, they—" Grover's words die on his mouth when Percy suddenly leans to kiss her.
Kiss her. Percy is kissing her. In front of everyone.
He doesn’t even realize that people have stopped to look at them, because as he pulls away, the only thing worth his attention is her smile as he says. "You'll do great out there, angel."
"I swear if you tell me you're only friends after that, Jackson." Leo tells him after she runs off to go find her spear.
Percy chuckles, his smile bright, his eyes still fixed on her. "Friends? No, that's my girl."
summary poseidon notices where percy jackson’s heart rests, and the sea makes sure she knows it
the ocean never touches my shoes.
i notice it one evening when the sky over camp half-blood is fading into that soft, bruised purple that means dinner’s already been missed and no one’s going to care. the shoreline smells like damp earth and salt, even this far inland, and the cicadas are loud enough to make my head buzz.
percy walks beside me, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself smaller than he is. he keeps glancing out at the water like it might jump him.
the waves roll in. pause. stop just short of my toes. then pull back again; obedient, careful.
“that’s weird,” percy comments.
i look down, then shrug. “you’re literally the son of poseidon. i think weird comes with the territory.”
i’m joking. i can tell because i smile. i expect him to smile too—his crooked, uncertain one, the one that always looks like it arrived half a second late. he doesn’t. instead, his brow furrows, eyes darkening as he watches the water retreat again.
“yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds tight. distracted. “guess so.”
we keep walking. i try not to think about the way the water only moves when i move. how it mirrors my steps like it’s waiting for permission.
that evening, i tell myself it was all a coincidence.
camp is full of them—strange things, unexplainable moments that fade if you don’t stare at them too hard. i eat dinner, listen to the chatter echoing through the pavilion, let the smell of burnt bread and strawberries ground me. percy sits across from me, quieter than usual, eyes flicking toward the horizon like he’s listening for something no one else can hear.
by the time i crawl into my bunk, the image of the obedient waves has dulled around the edges. i decide not to name it. not to wonder.
the next morning, the lake is calm again. too calm. when i kneel at the dock to rinse sand from my hands, the water settles the moment my reflection breaks its surface, smoothing itself like it’s been waiting.
i pull back, heart ticking a little faster than it should.
i don’t say anything.
it keeps happening after that.
little things. easy to ignore, if i try.
when i sit on the dock with my feet dangling over the edge, the lake smooths until it’s glassy, reflecting the sky so clearly it looks fake. when i laugh—really laugh, the kind that shakes my chest—the breeze picks up, cool and gentle, lifting my hair off my neck like a hand.
percy notices before anyone else does. he’s always been good at noticing; monsters, lies, shifts in the air right before something goes wrong.
he starts hovering. not in an obvious way. just close enough to feel, far enough to pretend he’s not.
he walks a half-step ahead of me now. when we sit together, there’s space where there wasn’t before. his hands stay clasped tight in his lap, knuckles pale, like he’s afraid to move them too suddenly.
“you okay?” i ask one afternoon as we’re heading back from training. the sun is high, heat pressing down on my shoulders, my shirt sticking to my spine.
he blinks at me, like i caught him somewhere far away. “what? yeah. yeah, i’m fine.”
he smiles then. quick. wrong.
i don’t push it. i tell myself i’m imagining things. i tell myself he’s just tired.
except the days keep stacking up like that—small moments i don’t know what to do with. percy forgetting to wait for me outside the arena. percy choosing the edge of the table instead of the seat beside mine. percy watching the water like it’s a clock he doesn’t trust.
when i catch his eye, he always looks guilty. like he’s been caught thinking about something he doesn’t want to explain.
once, during training, i trip—nothing serious, just a clumsy misstep—but the air shifts so suddenly it makes my ears ring. the lake sloshes hard against its banks. percy swears, breath hitching, and for a second i swear he looks more afraid than i am.
after that, he keeps his distance on purpose.
not enough for anyone else to notice. just enough that i do.
but the quiet starts to itch.
i try to drown it out. i throw myself into training the next day, let the clatter of weapons and shouted instructions fill the space where my thoughts keep circling back to him. percy’s there, of course—always somewhere in my peripheral vision—but he feels slightly out of reach, like we’re standing on opposite sides of a thin pane of glass.
we exchange easy words. familiar ones. nothing heavy enough to justify the weight sitting in my chest.
by evening, i’m exhausted in that hollow way that doesn’t actually fix anything. camp settles into its usual rhythms—firelight, laughter, the smell of smoke drifting between cabins—but none of it quite lands.
when clarisse snaps at me during dinner, it shouldn’t matter. i’ve heard worse. i know how to let things slide.
still, i find myself down by the shoreline alone, arms wrapped around my middle, staring out at the dark water.
i don’t hear percy approach. i just feel him—like the air changes when he’s near.
“hey,” he says softly. “you disappeared.”
i shrug, eyes still on the lake. “needed air.”
the water ripples. not violently, but uneasily. like it’s restless.
percy freezes.
i see it out of the corner of my eye—the way his shoulders lock, the way his breath stutters. he looks at the water, then at me, then back again, panic flashing across his face before he can hide it.
“what?” i ask. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” he says too quickly. “i just—are you mad?”
i shake my head. “no. just… annoyed.”
the water surges closer, colder now, licking at the sand with more force.
percy swears under his breath.
i turn fully toward him. “percy. you’re freaking me out.”
he opens his mouth. closes it. runs a hand through his hair, blonde curls sticking up messily afterward. “i think we should head back,” he says. “it’s getting late.”
“since when do you care about curfew?”
his jaw tightens. “since now.”
i don’t argue, but the walk back is tense. the air feels charged, heavy, like a storm that doesn’t know whether it wants to break.
that night, i wake with salt on my lips.
i sit up in bed, heart racing, pressing my fingers to my mouth like i’ll find seawater there. the cabin is quiet, moonlight spilling through the window.
i haven’t been swimming.
the ocean shouldn’t be anywhere near me.
and yet.
the next day, percy avoids me.
not completely. just enough to hurt.
when i finally corner him outside the dining pavilion, i don’t bother easing into it.
“did i do something wrong?”
he looks stricken. “what? no. no, you didn’t do anything.”
“then why are you acting like i’m radioactive?”
he laughs weakly. “i’m not.”
“you are,” i insist. “you won’t look at me. you won’t sit next to me. you barely talk to me anymore.”
his eyes flick around us, like he’s checking for witnesses. then he exhales, long and shaky.
“come with me,” he says.
we walk down to the shoreline again, though i can tell he hates it. every step closer to the water makes him more tense, like he’s bracing for impact.
we stop where the sand meets the lake.
the water is calm. waiting.
percy turns to me, hands shaking just slightly.
“i didn’t want you to find out like this,” he says.
“find out what?”
he swallows. “the ocean… it’s not reacting to me.”
my heart stutters. “what do you mean?”
he gestures helplessly between us. “it’s reacting to you. or—through me. i don’t know. but it only does this when you’re around. when you’re calm. when you’re not.”
my chest feels tight. “that doesn’t make any sense.”
“i know,” he says, voice cracking. “i know it doesn’t.”
he looks at the water, then back at me, eyes bright with something dangerously close to tears.
“poseidon noticed,” he admits quietly. “not me. you.”
my stomach drops.
“he sent a sign,” percy continues. “nothing dramatic. just… acknowledgment. like he was saying, ‘i see this.’”
“see what?” i whisper.
percy’s gaze softens, unbearably so. “how much you matter to me.”
the water stills completely. the world feels like it’s holding its breath.
i step closer to him without thinking. “percy—”
“that’s what scares me,” he says quickly. “not the gods hurting you. but them knowing. knowing where my heart is. knowing exactly how to get to me.”
his voice drops. “i didn’t want to make you a target.”
the realization settles over me slowly, heavy and warm and terrifying.
the ocean isn’t listening because i’m powerful.
it’s listening because i’m loved.
i reach for his hand. he flinches instinctively, then lets me take it.
the water laps gently at the shore, softer now.
“you don’t get to decide this alone,” i say. “you don’t get to decide what’s worth the risk for me.”
his fingers curl around mine. “i just wanted to keep you safe.”
i squeeze his hand. “from what? loving you?”
he laughs weakly, a tear slipping free despite his best effort to blink it away. “you make it sound so simple.”
“it is,” i say. “hard and scary but simple.”
we stand there together, the lake calm and quiet at our feet.
percy leans his forehead against mine, breathing me in like he needs the reminder that i’m real.
“i don’t want to stop,” he murmurs. “even if the gods know.”
no, hes not a masochist, he just loves seeing you annoyed and with that little furrow in your brow. this only goes for little things, of course, which is the only reason he pays absolutely no attention to what you're saying.
it's not on purpose, you're just so cute and your hands are gesturing in irritation, and he's just so in love.
you're frowning, "you're unbelievable! haven't i told you so many times not to–"
blah, blah, blah.. proper name, place name, backstory stuff.....
all that's on his mind is: "this is all MINE. i get to have this every day and night." "i'd get yelled at for the rest of our lives if it's you."
he can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you, arguing like a married couple— or rather, you yelling at him while he sits there with a dopey smile until you ask if he's even listening.
"hm? yes, sweet thing, i'm all ears." he'll answer, straightening up as if he's going to stop admiring you and start paying attention (this is not going to happen).
what he is listening to, though, are the thought win his head telling him to put a ring on it as soon as possible.
Inspired by that one TikTok sound and my knee pain.
“Say please.” You smirked, leaning back against the wall, holding out the ration bar you swiped before Ghost had the chance to tuck it away.
“I never say please,” he deadpanned, voice low, final, like it was a law of nature.
You laughed, nudged his arm. “Figures. Manners would kill you quicker than a bullet.”
You handed him the bar anyway. That was it. A nothing moment. A joke.
Until it wasn’t.
Until weeks later, he was on his knees in the mud with your blood soaking through his gloves, watching it spill too fast, too much. His chest felt like it was collapsing, lungs burning, mask damp from breath he couldn’t control.
“Medic!” Ghost bellowed, the word shredded. He pressed down harder, desperate. “Fuck. Please! Hurry!”
Your eyes fluttered, lips pale, and that stupid grin, the one you used to pull when you teased him, flickered, faint as a dying flame.
Ghost’s voice broke. His whole body shook as he bent close, as if he could anchor you by sheer force of will.
“Stay with me,” he rasped, the word tearing out of him raw. “Please… please, don’t do this.”
Your hand twitched in his, blood-slick and trembling.
And for the first time anyone on 141 had ever heard it — Simon Riley begged. Over and over, every syllable cracking against his teeth, as if the word could bargain with death itself.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Hughie's the first to clock it. He can't prove it, but he knows. Soldier Boy has the emotional range of a brick except when you're in the room. If you get too close to danger, it becomes personal to him.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ If Butcher ever found out, you'd be toast. When you bring it up to Ben, he shrugs, lights a joint, and mutters, “I’ll kick his limey ass.” He means it. He’s not afraid of Butcher, and he’d burn bridges for you, no hesitation.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He doesn’t sleep well but will knock out faster if you’re touching him. He gets peace of mind when your arm is draped over his hip, and your leg rests between his thighs.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ In bed, he'll grip your waist, thumbs dragging under the hem of your shirt. His palm splays wide on your sides, stroking lines up and down.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Frenchie and Kimiko walked in on you once. You were perched on the bathroom sink, legs wrapped around Ben's waist while he shaved. Frenchie smacked a palm to his forehead. “I knew you liked ‘em dangerous, but mon dieu, he’s a walking war crime!" Kimiko dragged him back out by the arm, eyes wide like that was not our business. They never said a word about it.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ben gives you his dog tags as a token. You find them on your pillow one morning, still warm from his skin. You wear them under your shirt.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Sometimes, after a bad mission or a trigger from his past, he gets quiet and stares at nothing. You’ve learned to sit close, press your forehead to his shoulder, and wait. He always comes back to you.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Once, when you were patching up a gash on his side, he looked at you real soft and murmured, “You’re the only damn thing in this world I’d bleed for.”
Jason’s S/O attempts to patch him up after he gets injured while on patrol.
Midnight intrusions By @/peculiarpenman
someone breaks in to Jason and his S/O's house in the middle of the night.
An image of bliss by @/peculiarpenman
Jason and his s/o enjoy a quiet moment in a library together.
Assurance by @/peculiarpenman
A glimpse into the workings of a tired Jason.
dating Jason Todd headcanons By @c-nstantine
Dating Jason Todd Would Include… By @peterbarnes
I’ll Be Okay (½) By @that-sokovian-bastard
Five years ago, you lost your best friend. Now, you think he may be back.
“don’t give me space. that’s the last thing I want from you.“ By @robinofgothamcity
Heir to the Throne By @writingblock101
The Daughter Of Superman, The Adopted Son Of Batman…What Could Go Wrong? PT. 1 by @ragingbookdragon
Kryptonian!Reader
Jason Todd x Cold!Reader Headcanons by @mysadcorner
Jason Todd x Affectionate!Reader Headcanons by @/mysadcorner
Interrupted by @snickletastic
Jason reluctantly goes with his wife to her high school reunion
Definitely in a Creepy Way By @/snickletastic
jason and reader go out to a club for a date, but jealousy erupts when multiple women won’t stop flirting with jason
Cravings By @jaybirdxarsenal
The reader is pregnant and really wants pickles, what she doesn’t knows is that her little escapade searching for pickles will lead to her finally meeting Jason’s family.
Cheshire cat: by @igotanidea
that damn gala: by @/igotanidea
five years later by @/igotanidea
So easy: by @/igotanidea
The L word: by @/igotanidea
sleepless nights admiring jason by @yourmomxx
Confessions of a Roommate by @blackbat05
Jason comes back to you shared dorm injured leading to confessions from the both of you.
University AU
Brotherly Love by @strangeshoepatrolbandit
Time at your father's has broken apart your relationship with your twin brother, but what about your adopted brother?
Al-Ghul/Wayne Reader
Your childhood best friend, whom you died with finds you again. By @/strangeshoepatrolbandit
Jason can be insecure. By @/strangeshoepatrolbandit
Jason actually getting secret reader to go out with him by @xxgoblin-dumplingxx
A touch starved reader and Jason by @/xxgoblin-dumplingxx
the off the clock kiss by @mxtantrights
Bite By @kyberphilosopher
Batman’s newest Robin, Jason, has strangely obsessive tendencies over one specific enemy of the Batman.
Jealous Jason Todd Headcanon by @anothertimdrakestan
“the roomate.” by @katsumox
TITANS! red hood (jason todd) x fem!angel!reader by @urmoonlightbebe
titans red hood!jason todd
“It’s in the past, it’s all over.” by @jaozendry
You try to comfort Jason as he is having nightmares of his past trauma. Jason, as stubborn as ever, won't open up to anyone, not even you, his lover. This same cycle has been repeating since he came back to life. You tried everything, even therapy, and on this one night, you decide enough is enough: he needs to let his anger and sadness out and talk about it.
Hate Is A Strong Word by @mercyofmurdock
Touch Starved by @somewherebetweendisorder
Adore You by @rekiilysm
you and jason have been together for a few months, and all the bird boy can think about is how perfect and amazing you are.
venom in your voice by @dollwritesarchive
you come face to face with red hood.
Time-out by @kaitlynpcallmebeepme
Thanksgiving by @stararch4ngelqueen
thanksgiving w a gf who loves the holidays but doesn’t have family or friends to spend them with
“The talk” by @your-nanas-house
Masterlist by @alphaabucky
Castle of Glass Masterlist by @imaginingmarvelandeverything
Y/N and Jason do not get along, but some forced proximity might just change that (fluff, angst, may eventually be some smut, enemies to friends to lovers
Single Mom by @batfam-imagines
Masterlist by @jasonsredhoody
Red Lighter by @bvckysmanbun
Rings by @batmagines
Jason Todd x Joker’s Daughter!Reader by @spidernuggets
𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 by @kimjun
Heal a Broken Heart By @wondergotham
“jason and the reader seeing each other after sm they thought he was dead”
Meeting the Family By @lazydoodlesandfanfic
Masterlist By @avengerdragoness
Birthday Girl By @jaybirdtoddsblog
Jason and Y/n celebrate their daughter's birthday.
two can keep a secret By @invisibleanonymousmonsters
What is the difference between a secret and a lie? Jason Todd is in love. But will his relationship survive when Y/N realizes she doesn’t know him at all?
FOURTEEN AND FIVE By @jvsons
this would be the fifth year since you adopted such a tradition. the unchanging date of fourteen, and five years since you lost him.
Jason Todd x Shy!Sensitive!Reader By @ldrfanatic
make your move By @acourtofidiots
The Set-Up by @yourlocalcringydaydreamer
The batfam takes notice of your crush on Jason and decide to do something about it.
Smooth motherfucker by @newmih
Jason takes advantage of Y/N’s presence.
Slumber Party? By @moonlitdesertdreams
here’s no better cure to a hard day than cuddles and ramen noodles.
Jason Todd masterlist by @gangrenados
wearing jason's initial on a necklace by @fcthots
Mullets and Sweet Caresses by @ganseyth
Jason Todd gets much needed haircut and cuddles.
Dancing in the Dark by @stararch4ngelqueen
Slow Day by @imaginingmarvelandeverything
Sweet Kisses by @jokingmisfit
“Right… Well… I’m not sure how we ended up kissing like that…”
Back Again by @book-place
Jason was back, but there was one person he was the most terrifed of seeing
Sister reader
In Sickness and In Health by @i-talk-too-much
The remainder of the anesthesia in your system made you more emotional than you would’ve cared to be. The pain from the wisdom teeth removal made tears fall down your face, and your boyfriend would rather be damned before he’d let you simmer by yourself in your suffering.
Quiet Realisations (i) by @dxckgrxsonx
Anniversary by @dejwritesarchived
Dating Arkham Knight (S) by @dearest-dirt
Random Jason Todd relationship headcannons by @kayadrake123
Unknown Girl by @flowerpot101
𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 by @lightwing-s
jason loves you, always have, but you’ve always loved someone else. and even when he finds you broken, even when he could just put himself first and finally try to make you his, he decides he’d rather help you be yourself again over getting you in your lowest. he’ll heal you up, then make you his
Summary:You and Jason, although he wouldn‘t outright say it, are partners in crime. You work together and all‘s well until you get hurt because of him and he just can‘t seem to bite his tongue and count his blessings
Word count: 2.4k
Warning: kissing, love confessions, reader is hurt, blood, gore, lowk enemies to lovers?
Didn‘t proof read this i just finished my exams today and i just HAD TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM.
masterlist
toodles!
English is not my native Language, please be aware!
Gotham's night air always smelled like rain, gunpowder, and unresolved trauma.
You pressed your back against the rough brick of the warehouse wall, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The ache in your side flared again, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood slicking through your gloved fingers. Not fatal. Probably. But it hurt like hell.
“I told you to wait,” Jason hissed through the comms. “No,” you bit out, wincing. “You grunted. There's a difference.”
Jason vaulted the ledge two stories above you, his silhouette framed by the orange glow of fire blooming behind him—one of the crates had gone up in the scuffle. He landed with a heavy thud beside you, the red of his helmet reflecting the flickering chaos around you.
He didn’t say anything for a second. Just crouched, one gloved hand going to your wound without permission.
You slapped it away, teeth gritted. “Don’t touch me unless you’ve got morphine or a new spleen.” “Jesus,” he muttered. “Why the hell didn’t you stick to the plan?” „I did. It sucked. So i made it even better.“ you smirked. He remained silent only looking around the small valley you had dragged yourself to. ,,Your apartment ain‘t ‘round here. I need to take you to mine and patch you up.‘‘ „Im fine Hercules. I can walk myself home.“, you grunt as you lean yourself into the wall to try and stand up. Your attempts seem entirely fruitless as you sat back down on the dirty stone floor beneath you. A deep sigh leaves you as you look up at him. He was still crouched before you. Jason watched you slump back against the wall, the cocky defiance still flickering in your eyes even as your body betrayed you. The fire in the warehouse crackled louder now, licking higher into the Gotham night, casting long shadows that danced across his helmet.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Yeah, you’re definitely fine,” he said flatly. “You’re bleeding through your sarcasm, just FYI.” „Did you just say FYI?“ “Do you ever shut up?“ You rolled your eyes, wincing as your side throbbed again. “Just give me a second. My spleen’s just rebooting.” “Shut up,” he muttered, pulling out a (most likely rotten) field wrap and tearing it open. “And stay still.”
You were too tired to argue now. The adrenaline had dipped enough for the pain to feel real again, raw and biting. So you let him press the poorley made bandage onto the wound, let him tie the wrap around your side with steady, practiced fingers.
“That‘s gonna help keep you stable as we drive to mine” he said, voice lower now, but close and real. “Drive there? Are you insane Red? Im going to fly off you idiot” “No, you won‘t. I will hold onto you and stop fucking whining when i am trying to save your fucking life.“, and that shuts you up. You blinked up at him, breathing hard.
For a moment he didn’t say anything. Just tightened the wrap until you hissed, and he looked away. “... I don’t like watching you bleed because of me.”
Your throat tightened, and not from the pain. “Jason, this isn’t ballet. It’s Gotham. Everyone bleeds.” “Not you. It shouldn‘t be you.” he said, too fast, then immediately looked like he regretted it.
The silence that followed felt too heavy. Too raw.
You tried to smirk through it. “Well, too late. You gonna cry, or drive me home like a hero in a bad romance novel written by Colleen hoover?” Home. You hadn‘t even realised when it slipped out of your mouth. You hoped he hadn‘t either.
He stood, then leaned down and, without warning, scooped you up into his arms. Your protests of regarding your side was muffled by the shock and the heat radiating off him, the smell of leather, smoke, and him.
“Guess I’ll just do both,” he muttered, turning and walking into the smoke-heavy alley like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. You didn’t say anything, not for a while. But eventually, when his pace slowed just enough to make it easier on you, you said softly, “It wasn’t your fault.”
He didn’t answer.
But his grip on you got just a little tighter.
The way to his motorcycle took you a while, which in hindsight if you hadn‘t been so preoccupied with your pain you would have scolded him for. Who leaves their own getaway half a damn city away from the crime? Dumbass.
Softly he sat you on it sideways before grabbing your ankle and trying, albeit miserabely failing, to mind your side. A loud groan leaves you as your wound felt like it was tearing itself open inside of you.
Jason didn’t speak much as he drove- probably too focused on not launching you into traffic, but you knew better. He was brooding. That special kind of Red Hood brooding that felt like Gotham itself was pressing down on him.
You leaned into his back, pain simmering in your side, every bump in the road a reminder that your ribcage had lost the will to live. Still, the warmth of his body, the steady growl of the engine, the way he kept one hand tight around your thigh—it grounded you. Anchored you.
You hated that it made you feel safe.
By the time you reached his apartment, you were shaking, whether from blood loss or proximity, you weren’t sure.
Jason cut the engine and swung his leg off before turning to help you. You tried to resist, stubborn to the end, but your legs buckled the moment your boots hit pavement. His arms were around you again in an instant.
"Yeah. Totally fine," he muttered. "Shut up. I’m just… conserving energy." "You're leaking. Not solar powering."
He kicked the door open with his boot like he’d done it a thousand times, carrying you over the threshold like some tragic, pissed-off newlywed. The apartment was dark, cluttered, and smelled faintly of gun oil and old coffee. Homey.
He set you down on the edge of the bed, only bed, you noticed and immediately dropped to his knees in front of you. His helmet long abandoned by his side.
“Shirt off,” he ordered. You arched a brow. “Jason. At least buy me dinner.” He didn’t smile. Not even a twitch. Just looked up at you, eyes unreadable. “You’re bleeding through your bandages. I need to see how bad it is and patch it up properly.”
You sighed, but lifted your shirt with shaky fingers. The wrap was already soaked through, sticking to your skin like wet paper. He cursed under his breath. There it was. That face. Blood-smeared, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something that looked too much like guilt. The same way he always looked at you when he didn‘t think you were watching him. You always were.
He worked fast, silent now. Pulled off the soaked bandages, cleaned the wound with something that burned like the devil, and started stitching you up with steady, sure hands.
“I’ve gotten worse,” you muttered, mostly to yourself. Jason didn’t look up. “Yeah, well… I’ve lost worse.”
You froze. Not because of the needle. Because of him. "Jason—"
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t act like it doesn’t matter. Like you don’t matter.” That shut you up. Again.
The silence between you stretched, heavy with everything unsaid. When he finally finished, he stood, backing away like being close to you might set him on fire.
“Lie back. You need rest.” You glanced around. “Where? You don’t exactly have a guest bedroom.” He hesitated. “You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.” You stared at him. “You sleep on that thing, you’re gonna need spinal surgery.” “I’m fine ‘n i have been dead before, remember?”
“You’ll be grumpy fine. Just—” You sighed, wincing as you shifted. “Just lie down. The bed’s big enough. I won’t bite.” His eyes flicked to yours. Something passed between you like a electryfying spark, like something warm and dangerous and unspoken.
“I don’t trust you not to bite.” You smirked. “Well, then don’t get too close, Red.” He crawled in anyway. Didn’t say another word. Just layed down there beside you, facing the ceiling, arms folded on his stomach. For a while, neither of you said anything.
Then, softly:
“You scared the hell out of me.” You turned your head. His voice sounded hollow in the dark.
“You’re not supposed to die on me,” he continued. “That’s… not the deal.” You reached out slow, gentle but pulled quickly back. “I didn’t.” His hands unfolded and laid still at his sides, so close to your trembling hand just inches away. “Why do you always throw yourself head first into danger? What if i wasn‘t there? What if i won‘t be next time?“, his voice came out a whisper at his last sentence.
By now your head has turned to the side and you took a breath in to just look at him. His crooked nose from being broken far too many times to count, all his scars on his face, some fading, some newly forming, and the light freckles that he had that only come out in the summer even in Gotham‘s deranged weather forecast. Even now as all of them are caked or covered in blood he looked perfect to you in every which way. You turned your head back towards the ceiling. “I am not your responsability, red. Nor will i ever be.“, you say softly. “You are my partner. Partners have each others backs-Partners save each other.“
You could hear the way his breath changed though like it was caught somewhere in the back of his throat, like he wanted to argue. Like he had a thousand things to say and none of them would come out clean. His body shifted, and the mattress dipped as he turned toward you, one hand pressing lightly against the comforter between you, the other hesitating in the space between reaching and retreating.
You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Not yet.
“I don’t think you get it,” he said finally, voice rougher now, low and scraping the bottom of his chest like it hurt to say. “I don’t want you to be a responsibility either. I just…” His fingers brushed your arm, then stopped. “I want you to make it out. I want you to live.” You turned then, slow and careful, because even that movement pulled at your stitches. But the pain dulled in the background, overwhelmed by the sharp ache that pressed against your ribs from somewhere else entirely.
Jason was on his side now. Close.
Too close.
His hand hovered near your face like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you. Like maybe if he did, you’d vanish in smoke and blood and all the things he couldn’t fix.
You reached up first. Just barely with your fingers curled into the edge of his jaw, blood crusted on your knuckles, shaking a little. “You want me to live?” you whispered, barely able to hear yourself over the thudding in your chest.
Jason didn’t answer with words, but he nodded.
He leaned in slowly, so painfully slow it felt like time itself was holding its breath, and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that wasn’t rough or rushed or reckless. It was reverent.
He kissed you like he’d been dying to, like he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance again. One hand slid under your jaw, cradling your face like you were the most fragile thing he’d ever held.
And then you felt the shift, subtle at first. The way his body moved above yours, the heat of him hovering just above you gently, and carefully. His forearms braced on either side of your head, caging you in, but not trapping you. His shaking hands cupped your face ever so gently as his thumbs ran over each cheek. Solid. Steady. Everything the world never was. Your hands rushed to his biceps.
He kissed you again. And again. Soft. Slower this time. Not desperate, not hungry, but like he needed to memorize every part of you. Like he was tracing the map of your face with his mouth. His lips ghosted over your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose, your brow, your temple. Kisses so gentle you could barely feel them, but they sank into your skin like promises anyway. Your heart stuttered at each.
You felt his breath as he hovered there, felt the tremble in his arms even as he held himself above you. His forehead came to rest against yours, and when he finally spoke again, it was barely a breath.
“Never run off without telling me again. You got it?”
“I promise,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed, the heat of him, the weight of the moment, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. His thumb brushed across your cheek. You opened your eyes and saw it: the storm behind his.
The fear.
The love.
The guilt.
You reached up again, one hand at the back of his neck, fingers threading through the hair there. “I promise,” you repeated, firmer now. “I’m here. I’m here, Jay.”
He kissed you once more, longer this time a press of mouths that felt like the closing of a wound and then he pulled back just enough to look at you fully.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “You are.”
And then, finally, he laid beside you again but this time he didn’t pull away. This time, he pulled you into his arms, tucked your head under his chin, and stayed. For the first time in a long time, neither of you had to say anything else.
Summary: You and Spencer go on Courtney’s new podcast URL separately, but you might just end up together…
Word count: 4.1k words
A/N: I’m officially back. First official request!! Hope you enjoy it xx
————————————————————————
Spencer’s episode aired on Tuesday.
You weren’t supposed to watch it right away. You’d told yourself you’d wait— just catch the highlights later, maybe skim it while doing the dishes or folding the laundry. But three minutes in, you were curled up on your couch with your knees to your chest, fully invested, drink going cold beside you.
Courtney had that effect on you. Warm and nosy in the best way, like your favorite older sibling who never let you off the hook when you tried to hide behind sarcasm.
“So,” she said, leaning forward with a knowing look, “tell me about your movie night traditions. I've heard you’re a nightmare seatmate during Lord of the Rings.”
Spencer huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I make one comment about how Boromir deserves better, and suddenly I’m the problem.”
“Oh, just one?”
“Okay, maybe five. Tops.”
Courtney grinned, eyes glinting with mischievous excitement. “And are you usually alone when you do these dramatic monologues?”
His smile faltered for just a second, then softened. “No. I'm usually with… a friend. Equally annoying. Maybe even worse, honestly.”
“Name names,” Courtney sang, like she already knew the answer.
He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, and then he said your name.
You paused the video.
Your heart did that soft and traitorous thing, like it was trying to climb out of your chest and run straight to him.
You knew you and Spencer were close— everyone did. It was obvious. You’d been orbiting each other for months, best friends with just enough chemistry to keep people guessing. But hearing him say your name like that? All soft and a little shy? That did things to your heart you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.
You pressed play again.
“She— uh,” he said, trying to sound casual, “she does this thing during movies where she rewrites the entire script in real time. Like, full-on voice impressions and everything. During Pride and Prejudice, she gave Mr. Darcy a Bronx accent.”
He laughed, a little helpless. “I haven’t been the same since.”
Courtney leaned into the camera with the most theatrical eyebrow raise imaginable, delighted and devious. “That sounds suspiciously like the behavior of a man in love.”
Spencer choked on air.
“She’s just funny!” he sputtered, instantly red-faced, waving a hand as if that could clear the smoke of implication now thick in the room. “It’s not like— I mean, we’re not— friends can be funny. You’re funny, and uh, you’re married so…”
Courtney was practically vibrating with glee. “Uh-huh,” she said slowly, dragging the syllables out like sticky taffy. “Just funny. Right.”
He squirmed in his seat, looking anywhere but the camera. “We’ve just… known each other a long time. We’re comfortable.”
Courtney turned to the camera again, voice dropping into mock seriousness. “You hear that, people? He said comfortable. That’s practically a proposal in Spencer lingo.”
The audience (and by “audience” we mean the off-camera crew who were clearly in on the bit) let out a wave of “oooohs” and “aaahs”. Spencer buried his face in his hands, groaning. The camera shaking, indicating Brennan being very amused by the man’s squirming.
“Can we go back to talking about Sonic the Hedgehog or whatever nerdy game I used to obsess about?”
“Nope,” Courtney said brightly, “because our lovely team over there,” she gestured off-camera with a Cheshire grin “may or may not have fallen down a rabbit hole last night. And may or may not have found some excellent fan compilations of the two of you.”
Spencer looked up sharply. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” she said, and with a dramatic flourish, whipped around a tablet.
The screen lit up.
And there it was: the edit. One of those edits.
First clip: a Smosh sketch— Spencer catching you mid-fall, arms around your waist, your surprised laugh echoing as you looked up at him. His face in the clip was so stupidly fond.
Then: a behind-the-scenes tiktok: grainy footage of you stealing fries from his plate while he tried to look annoyed, but ended up just smiling at you like you had given him the moon. The music in the background was the type of lo-fi beat that was tragically romantic. Text in sparkly font floated across the screen: “they’re the blueprint”.
Spencer groaned again.
“You’ve doomed me.”
“Oh come on,” Courtney grinned. “You’re the internet’s slow burn king. The people are rooting for you two like it’s the season finale of their favorite show. You can’t fake that kind of chemistry.”
He peeked out from between his fingers, still pink. “She’s going to kill me.”
Courtney leaned back, smug. “Or thank you.”
She paused for a second.
Then, more gently, she asked, “Be honest, though. As your friend… have you really never considered it?”
That was when it happened.
That tiny, barely perceptible pause.
The crack in his usual rhythm.
Spencer reached for his bottle, fingers tapping nervously against the metal. Then he gave a shrug that tried to be casual but wasn’t. “…Maybe.”
Courtney’s jaw dropped.
“I think about them more than I probably should,” he admitted, quieter now. “It’s stupid. Every time I say something dumb, I wonder if they hear it. And every time they laugh at something I say, I feel like I just won the lifetime achievement award for funniest man alive.”
The room quieted slightly. Just enough to make the moment feel real.
“And I don’t know,” Spencer continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “The thing is, I’ve built this whole bit, right? Like, the funny guy. And it works. People like it. I like it.”
He paused.
You could see his leg bouncing now.
“But if it ever came down to it,” he said, finally meeting the camera’s gaze — and unknowingly, yours — “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”
Silence. For a full beat.
Then Courtney said, “Jesus Christ, that was actually romantic.”
Spencer flushed scarlet. “Shut up, dude.”
x
He said it with that same melodic lilt he used when cracking a joke like he was still playing the part, still keeping it all within the bit. But there was something in his eyes when he said it… something that didn’t quite match the act. “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”
And you felt it. Not like a flutter. Not like butterflies. It was like a landslide.
Because suddenly you couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t think properly. Because you knew. You knew he meant you. You knew it down to your bones.
And the worst part was, you wanted it. Wanted him. You wanted to be his.
And that was the part that really sent you spiraling.
Because what did it mean, to be Spencer’s? He wasn’t just some guy making a joke on a podcast. He was Spencer. The person who always knew how to make you laugh so hard your ribs ached, then stayed up with you on the phone when the laughter gave way to silence and doubt. The one who always stood a little too close, like his gravity pulled toward yours and neither of you knew how to stop it anymore.
You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head.
I’d ruin the whole bit.
He would break the thing that kept him safe, the version of himself the world loved, just to be honest. For you.
You’d tried not to hope. You’d been careful, cautious, convinced this was just something unspoken that lived in the spaces between jokes and glances. But now? Now he’d dragged it into the light.
And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.
You didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or climb through your phone screen and grab him by the collar and say, “Say it again. Say it to my face. I dare you.” Instead, you just sat there, head in your hands, heart doing backflips, while the rest of the world kept spinning like it didn’t even notice your entire universe had shifted one inch to the left: towards him.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until that one word left his mouth.
Maybe.
It wasn’t much. Just one word. Quiet. Barely there.
But it wrecked you.
Because you knew that voice. That exact tone. You’d heard it before— when he was walking the tightrope between what he felt and what he dared to show. That wasn’t a joke, or a bit, or even a placeholder answer. That was the first crack in the dam.
You were frozen on your couch, hand halfway to your mouth,
You had watched him spin a thousand stories out of thin air, turn silence into punchlines and chaos into comfort. But this wasn’t that. This wasn't a performance.
This was Spencer… unraveling.
You waited for the denial, the backpedaling, the casual joke to brush it all off. It never came.
The rest of the world fell away— the cold tea sweating beside you on the table, the stupid blanket balled uselessly in your lap as the video played. None of it mattered.
You felt something twist and settle in your chest. Heavy and warm and terrifying all at once.
Because maybe had always been the unspoken thing between you. The long looks. The almosts. The what-ifs.
And now, it wasn’t unspoken anymore.
Now, it was right there— broadcasted, undeniable.
Now, it was real.
You watched the whole episode again.
Because frankly, the whole thing irritated you and itched at the base of your skull like a mosquito bite you couldn’t quite scratch. There’d been moments, so many moments, where it would’ve been easy to say something. To have a real conversation with him about the ‘unspoken.’ But easy didn’t mean safe. Not when the whole internet was already writing your love story for you.
But maybe the finale was coming sooner than anyone thought.
x
Your episode was filmed exactly one week after Spencer’s.
The producers emailed you the invite with many smiley faces for comfort, calling it a “highly requested guest slot” in bold pink font like you hadn’t already seen the way Twitter lost its mind after Spencer’s.
You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. The entire internet had gone full tinfoil-hat detective over his episode. Comment sections flooded with timestamps and overanalyzed glances. TikTok was wall-to-wall fan edits and “They’re definitely in love” breakdowns.
Still… you said yes.
Partly because you genuinely liked Courtney. She was fun, quick-witted, and asked the kind of questions that felt like peeling back a sticker slowly, layer by layer, until the truth stuck. But more than that, you agreed because if Spencer could sit there with that shy smile and those brave confessions then maybe it was your turn to show up too.
Besides, there had been some truths under your skin for months now— itching, pressing, begging to be let out. You hadn’t stopped to untangle the knot in your stomach, or to second-guess the impulse rushing through you like spring water.
The set was warm and casual, the URL couch familiar from every episode you’d binged before. You sipped on the fancy sparkling water someone handed you and tried not to fidget while they adjusted your mic.
Courtney sat down across from you, cross-legged, grinning like a cat with a secret.
“So,” she started, dragging out the word, “before we begin… do you know how many people tagged us in posts demanding your episode after Spencer’s aired?”
You laughed, maybe a little too nervously. “I’m terrified to know the number.”
“Let’s just say your ship name is trending.”
Your stomach flipped. You smiled it off.
The interview began innocently enough— standard questions, playful jabs, a lot of mutual giggling. But around the thirty-minute mark, things shifted. Courtney had a way of pulling people in like gravity. You didn’t even realize you’d started spiraling until the words were already pouring out of you.
“He’s just… comfortable,” you said, trying to explain the impossible-to-name thing that Spencer was. Your hands gestured helplessly, like they could catch the right phrase out of the air. “He has this way of making people feel seen. Not in a performative way. Just safe. Like you can breathe deeper when he’s around.”
Courtney leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. “You talk like you know him really well.”
You smiled. The kind of smile you made when you were holding something close to your chest and maybe, just maybe, thinking about letting it go. “I do.”
““And is he…” Courtney tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Just your coworker?”
Your heart skipped, just once.
You’d been bracing for it—of course she’d ask. The internet had been dissecting every glance and laugh between you two since his episode aired. Still, something about hearing it out loud made your breath catch. It felt… more real.
You looked down, thumb brushing absently along the edge of your sleeve.
Then, carefully:
“He is my favorite person to see across a room.”
Courtney made a wounded sound, clutching her chest like she’d been struck. “Oh my God. If that man doesn’t kiss you by next week, I swear—”
You laughed softly, like the words on your tongue were fragile things you didn’t want to mishandle. “He’s already said more than enough.”
The tension in your shoulders had just started to ease— until the screen across from you flickered to life.
Your eyes widened. “No. No, what are you doing?”
Across the table, the producer was already handing Courtney the now-infamous Fan Edit Tablet of Doom.
Courtney’s grin was wicked. “Oh, come on. You had to know this was coming.”
You let out a groan, sinking slightly in your seat. “God, I was really hoping it wouldn’t.”
She tapped play.
Cue soft lighting. Slow-motion clips of Spencer brushing a hair from your face during a shoot. Him laughing at something you said off-camera, eyes crinkled, body leaning subtly toward yours. One edit showed you falling asleep during a travel vlog shoot, your head tilted to the side and Spencer draping his hoodie over you like it was second nature.
The music was embarrassingly romantic—some indie acoustic track with lyrics like “I didn’t mean to fall for you” playing just loud enough to be mortifying.
The final clip was a zoom-in of Spencer’s face during one of those chaotic group sketches. You were in the background, talking to someone else. He was in the foreground, not even the focus of the shot. But he was looking at you. Soft, focused, like the whole world had blurred except for you.
Your hands flew up to your face.
“Oh my God, I didn’t know it was that bad.”
Courtney snorted. “It’s worse.”
You peeked at her through your fingers, face burning. “How long has everyone been seeing this except for us?”
She leaned toward you, teasing but sincere. “You two are basically a rom-com waiting to happen. The slow burn? The banter? The pining? Come on. We all have eyes.”
You let out a weak laugh.
The last clip was the killer: Spencer, blurry in the background of a group sketch, not even the focus. But he was just looking at you and the camera had caught it. The kind of look that didn’t lie.
When the video ended, you were quiet for a beat too long.
Courtney didn’t push. She just waited.
Finally, you said, “I didn’t watch his episode all the way through at first.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised.
“I told myself I’d just catch the highlights. But three minutes in, I was curled up on the couch, drink untouched, just… watching him.”
She smiled. Soft this time. “And?”
You shrugged a little. “He said some things I didn’t expect to hear out loud. Things I wasn’t sure he’d ever actually say.”
“Did it change anything?”
A pause, quiet with something sacred
“Not really,” you said. “I think it just… confirmed things I already knew. Things I’d been ignoring because it was easier.”
Courtney tilted her head, curious. “And now?”
You met her eyes. Your voice was steady.
“Now I think maybe we owe it to ourselves to stop pretending it’s not real.”
The words hung there, delicate and heavy all at once..
“Maybe I’m not ready to say it loud yet,” you admitted. “But I’m ready to say it… gently. Like leaving the door open and hoping he walks through it.”
Courtney placed a hand to her chest, mock-swooning with real feeling beneath it. “Girl. That’s not gentle. That’s poetry.”
You shrugged, but the smile stayed, full of something that had waited long enough to be spoken.
Courtney didn’t say anything for a second— just nodded, slow and proud, like she was witnessing something shifting.
Then she grinned, sharp again. “So when’s the wedding?”
You burst out laughing, covering your face. “Courtney, oh my God.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, giggling. “We’ll save that for your next visit.”
x
The clips made the rounds.
Actually, “made the rounds” didn’t quite cover it. They detonated.
Within hours of your URL episode going live, the internet did what it did best: spiraled. Screenshots were everywhere. Fans paired your smile with his softest glances, your flustered laugh with his shy confessions. A five-second snippet of you adjusting Spencer’s mic got over a million views, captioned “spouse behavior.”
Twitter exploded.
They weren’t subtle about it. The fan edits got louder, more dramatic; montages set to love songs, slow-motion glances, captions like “soulmates in denial.” Someone even made a spreadsheet tracking every “charged moment,” complete with timestamps and emotional intensity ratings.
It stopped being commentary and started feeling like a countdown. People weren’t just watching you two anymore: they were rooting for you.
So by the time you both returned to set for another sketch shoot, it wasn’t just awkward—it was loudly awkward.
Chaos was probably the right word.
Someone had plastered screenshots of fan tweets all over the table. One of them read, “If they don’t kiss by the next sketch, I’m throwing my phone in the ocean.” It was right next to the fruit tray. You considered throwing that instead.
Alex handed you a sticker that said “Spencer’s Favorite Person” in Comic Sans, his expression mournful, like he was delivering a medal of valour in a war you didn’t sign up for.
“Wear it with pride,” he said solemnly.
And Ian? Ian had taken to walking past you humming the wedding march anytime you and Spencer were in the same room. No words. No eye contact. Just the tune. Loud, deliberate and frequently. It was totally unhinged behaviour… which, unfortunately, tracked perfectly for your boss.
You laughed it off, of course. So did Spencer.
Every time someone teased him, he’d give that sheepish smile, the one that tugged at the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t decide between amused and flustered. You’d meet each other’s gaze across the green room and grin like idiots, pretending it didn’t mean anything.
But eventually, you caught him in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone off to review footage. It was just the two of you, and your heart knew it.
“So,” you said, aiming for nonchalant and missing slightly. “I watched your episode.”
He turned quickly, already flushing. “Yeah?”
You nodded, biting back a smile. “Twice. Maybe thrice..”
That got a small, nervous, breathy laugh out of him. “Wow. Planning revenge?”
You shook your head, stepping just close enough that your shoulders brushed as he leaned against the counter.
“Just wondering,” you said, quieter now, “if you meant what you said.”
The shift in energy was immediate. His posture stiffened slightly, cup halfway to his lips. When he looked at you this time, it wasn’t with teasing eyes. That boyish glint in his eyes had disappeared in an instant and was instead replaced with something you could only describe as soft adoration.
He didn’t smile.
Just nodded, earnest and unflinching.
“I did.”
You could feel the pulse in your throat. Your brain scrambled for something clever, something casual— but all you could do was watch him. His expression. The nervous set of his jaw. The hope wasn't even pretending to hide now.
Your tongue felt too heavy, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. Spencer was just standing there. He wasn't moving or filling the silence with some deflecting joke, just waiting.
Waiting for you.
He’d said yes.
No hesitation. No backpedaling. No joke to soften the edges.
He meant it.
You blinked once, then said, quieter than you intended, “You know that kind of ruined me, right?”
He tilted his head. “The episode?”
“The things you said.”
Your voice was steadier now, but barely. “I don’t think you realize how much of me you just… put out there. Without even knowing it.”
Spencer swallowed. “I didn’t do it to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t.”
You stepped forward again, enough that he had to straighten up, enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him like sunlight through a window. “It just caught me off guard. Hearing it. Watching you say it.”
His eyes searched yours. “What part?”
You paused.
“The part where you said you think about me more than you should,” you said, breath hitching. “And the part where you said-”
You hesitated.
His eyes held no defenses now, and somehow, that quiet openness was enough to steady you.
“The part where you said you’d ruin your whole ‘bit’ if it meant you’d get to have me.”
His lips parted, like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.
So you stepped in closer.
The room felt impossibly still.
You whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I wanted to,” he said. “But it always felt like if I said it out loud, I’d ruin it.”
“It’s already ruined,” you said, almost laughing, eyes stinging a little. “You did say it. On camera. In front of the entire internet.”
He gave a breathless smile. “Yeah. I didn’t really think that part through.”
You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things.
Because that wasn’t a crush. That wasn’t flirtation.
That was Spencer.
Choosing you, out loud. Without blinking.
You didn’t speak. Not yet.
Spencer didn’t hesitate. He had to take his chance.
The air between you was charged, crackling with everything unspoken, everything denied. He took a deliberate step forward, and before you could speak his name, his hand was at the back of your head, fingers touching your hair with a startling and forceful certainty.
You gasped softly, your hands flying to his chest, not to push him away— but to pull him closer. Your body arching toward his as the kiss deepened— urgent, consuming.
His other hand found your waist, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. There was nothing practiced or perfect about it. It was messy and desperate. But it was real.
Then came the shift; a gentle unraveling of urgency. His lips slowed, moving with purpose, as if he were learning you by heart. Every sigh you gave, every tremble beneath his hands, felt like something he didn’t want to forget. As if this moment, right here, was something sacred; something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.
When he finally pulled back, Spencer exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. He didn’t say anything at first.
The silence between you stretched.
He spoke again. It was soft, low, and trembling with something that sounded too much like devotion.
“I want you to be mine. Not just in edits. Not just in jokes. Mine.”
You froze, heart rattling against your ribs.
“I’d ruin myself for you,” he continued, voice thick now, almost hoarse. “Ruin the bit. The version of me that’s easy to laugh at. I’d set it all on fire if it meant I got to call you mine.”
There was no teasing left in him. No armour to hide behind.
He took a deep breath. “And don’t think for one second I don’t understand what that means. What you mean. You’re not just a crush. You’re not just funny or talented or smart– you’re you.”
He let out a desperate laugh.
“And God I have been wanting achingly to kiss you.”
You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things. His kiss had undone something inside you, something fragile and long-held— but his words, low and overly possessive, hit you deeper than anything else ever had.
Spencer gave a half-smile, eyes still locked on yours.
“So,” he said, voice lightening just enough to make room for hope, “you wanna go ahead and make some fan edits true?”
Your laugh came out soft, stunned. “Are you asking me out?”
“Depends,” he said, still holding the back of your head. “Are you saying yes?”
You nodded.
“Yeah. I’m saying yes.”
He leaned forward, forehead brushing yours. “Been waiting to hear you say that.”
“Yeah,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”
And somewhere, in another part of the building, Ian’s wedding march started up again.
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