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skipper1331 · 1 month

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Is it too late to make things right? // Grace Clinton

a/n: based off this request. Hope you enjoy it!

Everything Grace Clinton did, made you furious.

It didn’t matter if it was the way she talked, laughed or played - even just her breathing, blinking or existing made you more than angry.

You hated Grace Clinton with a passion and no, not without any reason, as everybody always said.

"Don’t be so rude to Gracie, she did nothing wrong"

"Can‘t you be nice to her for once?"

"It‘s her debut show some respect"

You hated Grace Clinton for what she did to you and the way she had humiliated you.

But in fact, you respected her debut, she played phenomenally but obviously you didn’t tell her that - you didn’t talk to her at all.

After the game, you walked to the changing room, not looking at the midfielder or giving her congratulations for her game.

"What the fuck is your problem?" the voice of Alessia shrilled through the hall.

"Are you talking to me?" you asked dumbfounded, confused on what the problem was.

"Who else?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you looked at her. "Come on, out of everybody you were the first one to flee the scene"

"and apparently, you the second one, hm?" you cut her off, "Alessia, say what you want to say or leave me alone" you stated firmly, even though you already knew what the problem was: Grace Clinton.

Taken back from your firm voice and the use of Alessia instead of Less made her crumble under your gaze - you loved nicknames, you rarely called people by their actual name.

"What is your problem with Grace?" she asked anyways.

"I don’t have a problem with Clinton"

There it was - Clinton, it clearly showed your disliking.

Alessia knew you well enough to know that that was a lie, not only because you were a terrible liar but the Clinton gave it away. If Lessi had to describe you, she would say "When she calls you by a nickname, she loves you - you’re her friend. When she calls you by your actual name, she a) doesn’t know you yet or b) the situation is serious. When you get called by your surname, there is a problem."

"Didn’t think you’d be a liar" she replied, slowly getting annoyed at your behavior. Grace was like a little sister to her, she had to be protected at all costs.

"And I don’t think I have asked for your opinion"

With that you turned back around and continued your walk to the changing room.

"Ever since Grace is here you’re an absolute ass!" the blonde yelled after you.

You avoided Alessia, and Grace even more after your encounter with the blonde. Out of everyone, you didn’t expect Alessia to be rude to you. Not only because she‘s a sunshine herself but because she‘s your club teammate too. But it’s about Clinton, of course she would protect her.

What Alessia didn’t know was that her sweet Gracie was an ass herself, rude and mean.

"Hey"

You looked up from your book, seeing Less in front of you, before taking a seat beside you.

"Can I help you?" you asked, turning the page in your book, focusing on the words there.

The striker sighed, thinking about what to say - she stayed silent.

"I‘m not in the mood for being yelled at again, so with all respect, please leave me alone"

"I‘m sorry for my outburst" she apologized, "I’m just trying to understand what the problem is.."

This time it was you who sighed, closing the book, "Less, I don’t want to be rude, but it‘s none of your business. Gracie is not the person she used to be and neither am I. We play for the same country and that‘s it" you stood up from your seat, intending to leave - running away.

Alessia was shocked, not about the part where you said it’s none of her business - she knew you were right - you didn’t call the current Tottenham player Clinton but Gracie. You could have chosen anything yet you said Gracie, a nickname.

"What happened between the two of you?" Her hand on your arm stopped you, Lessi‘s voice caring.

On clue, said person came into view, locking eyes with you.

"We grew apart"

It was the longest eye contact you had with her since what? maybe years. Familiar feelings rummaged through your body - looking into the eyes you once loved so dearly.

Anger was displayed on her face, marching over as she purposely and aggressively bumped into you, "watch where you‘re going" she spat which you only ignored.

"What the fuck, Alessia" the midfielder growled, pulling her somewhere more private.

"Why are you talking to her about me!"

"Grace-"

"No, Alessia! This is absolutely none of your fucking business. She broke up with me years ago, so let her be!"

"Who broke up with whom?" The noisy voice of Ella chipped in. The place Grace chose wasn‘t as private as she had thought.

"Y/n was your girlfriend?"

The young lioness inhaled, closing her eyes for a brief moment, "no.. she ended things before I could ask her."

"Why?" Tooney asked as the best friends shared a look.

"We should go on a walk" the blonde striker then proposed, to which Grace surprisingly agreed. The topic had been bothering her for years, not knowing what she had done wrong, that you didn't want anything to do with her anymore. From one day to the next you ignored her, stopped talking to her - didn't even look at her. What had she done wrong? Her heart still breaks when she thinks back to the evening when everything went downhill. She wanted to ask you that night if you would like to be her girlfriend. You had danced around your feelings quite a while, even though you both knew there was something there - the stolen kisses, the sneaky touches, the love letters - but you broke her heart before she could ask you, even though the real reason was that she had broken your heart first.

"Why haven’t you talked to us?" Lessi asked as the three of them walked outside of the facility in Spain.

Shrugging her shoulders, "there was never a reason to" she replied, "we never played at the same club, so it was easy for her to avoid me, same goes with the call up - she got hers earlier, so we didn’t see each other at camps either"

"How do you feel now? Seeing her?" this time it was Ella who asked.

"I‘m being rude to her. And I know that‘s not right, but it‘s- I don’t even know, unspoken anger I guess, because she just broke my heart and because that‘s the only attention I will get from her…"

"You loved her, didn’t you?"

"I do"

"Do?"

"Did? Have? Do? I don’t know" she mumbled, "how could I not? You know her, she‘s more than incredible"

Years later, Grace still wasn’t over you, being near you made it clear. She couldn’t get over the things she felt for you. You were the first girl she‘s kind of been with. You were her first love story and her first love.

Putting her feelings aside, busying herself with work didn’t heal her, it just made her feelings more intense as they came crashing down now.

"Have you ever tried talking to her?"

"Of course! I asked her so many times what I did wrong, she never answered me" she sighed.

Alessia and Ella had never seen their friend so vulnerable and tired. Her facade had dropped, she deeply cared about you yet all the unanswered questions turned into anger - she just didn’t know how to deal with her feelings and the struggle of not having you in her life.

She missed you.

To say that Ella and Alessia saw you differently now was only partly correct. Both of them had many questions, what did happen? What was the reason you ended things before they even started? Has Grace done something wrong? But most importantly: Was there a way to make amends?

It was the next day after training when the best friends decided to take matters into their own hands. You two had to sort things out. The rudeness started getting more and more while the tension grew thicker each second. To be fair, it didn’t affect either of your or the teams playing performance as you kept things professional on the pitch yet off the pitch both of you acted like angry toddlers towards each other.

"We need to do something" Ella huffed at Alessia, both of them watching you growling at Grace.

"Do what? Lock them in a room??" Alessia intended to joke which the midfielder took seriously. "That‘s an awesome idea!", pulling the girl towards Mary - they definitely needed her help.

And when Mary was introduced to the idea, the three, so called master minds, came up with a perfect plan.

"Grace, wanna play darts?" Ella asked the young lioness, grinning.

"Um, maybe later" asked person replied as she relaxed on one of the bean bags in the 'movie' room.

"Are you afraid you‘ll loose?" Tooney challenged - she knew Grace could never back down a challenge and not even the slightest when it was something as simple as darts. It can’t be that hard to throw a dart, can it?

Meanwhile Mary asked you the exact same, the only difference that you agreed in an instant, darts something you loved to play in camps.

Walking to the 'game' room of the facility - a room with darts, pool and table football - the gk and you talked about the last upcoming friendly.

Arriving in the room, "I forgot my lucky dart!" Mary suddenly stated, leaving the room quickly, "I’m back in a moment" she called.

Not thinking anything about it, you waited for her to come back.

She didn’t.

In fact, when the door opened again, someone stumbled into the room before the door was quickly locked.

"Ella?!"

"Sorry for pushing you!" the man united player answered behind the closed door.

"Why are you locking me in this room?"

"Turn around" you answered.

The current Tottenham player jumped, "don‘t scare me like that!" her hand clutching over her heart, trying to calm down.

"You have to sort things out" Alessia joined the conversation.

"We can play darts after that" Mary added.

"We‘ll be back in an hour"

You grumbled under your breath, marching away from Grace who stood in front of the door hoping it would open magically.

"I guess, we have to talk if we want to leave this room today" Grace said after 10 minutes of an awkward silence.

"No thanks" you responded nonchalantly. You didn‘t want to talk to Grace ever again unless it was work related.

"Come on, don’t be so stubborn" the midfielder slowly walked towards you sitting on the pool table.

"Grow up, Clinton"

"I grew up while we grew apart" she mocked your words - words that hadn’t left her mind ever since you said them. What did you even mean by that? You haven’t grown apart - you ended things out of nowhere!

"Clinton, leave me alone"

That was the last straw, "can you fucking stop with the Clinton?!" she snapped, stepping right in front of you. She hated it. Yes, it was her surname and she loved to see it on the back of jerseys but she hated it when you called her that. What happened to Gracie? Lovely girl? Or love?

"Get a grip, Clinton"

There was no point in making an effort - you wouldn’t talk, you‘ve made that very clear.

Grace walked to the other side of the room, sitting down on the little bench that was the next to the dartboard.

She felt helpless. And even though she was in the same room, it felt like the two of you were oceans apart.

The silence was deafening.

You didn’t mind that - as long as Grace was shutting her mouth, you‘d be fine with everything.

Grace did mind it - it made her anxious. She was closer to you than she had been in years. This was her opportunity to find out what she did wrong and what the reason was that you hated her now. What happened to being friends? Secret Lovers? What’s happened to the chance of being together forever?

"Y/n/n, please" the young lioness almost whispered. You froze, you hadn’t heard that one in years - the midfielder, the only one who ever used that nickname.

"Just answer one question and I promise you to never talk to you again off pitch"

"You better keep that promise" you said firmly, turning around as the Tottenham player jumped up, walking towards you.

Leaning against the table football, she thought about her questions - which would be the best to ask.

"What did I do wrong?" It was the most obvious question to ask but maybe the answer would finally give Grace some inner peace.

"Seriously? Of all the questions you could have asked, you chose one where you already know the answer-"

"But I don‘t! I don’t know anything! Out of nowhere you cut me off! Pretending I don’t exist!"

"You don‘t exist to me anymore" you stated rather calmly while Grace was gesticulating wildly, frown and the wrinkle between her brows deepening.

"How can you say that?! I used to be important to you"

Lowly, you empathized "Used to" which was only partly true. Parts of your heart always yearned for Grace, hoping she was doing well and achieving all of her dreams.

A part of you still loved Grace Clinton, and forever will.

"Just- just answer the question, please"

"You humiliated me, Grace, you humiliated me in the worst way you ever could."

"How? I‘m so in love with you, i would never dream of upsetting you in any way."

You laughed, clapping your hands, "You‘re funny"

"What‘s wrong with you?!"

"What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?" You felt yourself getting angry, starting to match her furios energy. As if Grace didn‘t know what she had done - what sick game was she playing?

"You humiliated me, Grace, that’s what wrong. How could you? I thought- i thought you liked me. At least enough to keep private things private and not to read them out loud in the fucking locker room!" your voice took many changes in that short statement. It started off calm, before it turned sad, almost vulnerable as the last part was full of venom.

The midfielder froze on the spot, arms falling to her sides as she realized what the problem had been years ago and still was.

The unknown feeling exposed now, flashbacks crossing her mind from that day, "the letters" left her mouth, eyes wide. How could it be that she hadn't thought of this sooner? Now everything made sense! Your anger and hostility towards her, the abrupt break in contact. The world was no longer your enemy, your only enemy was someone you believed would never break your heart. A someone that had promised you to fight with you against the world but instead, she had weakened you so much that you no longer had the strength to do so - your last strength was directed against her.

"Exactly. I‘ve heard what you said, Grace. And the worst part? You didn’t even read them. Our friend read them out loud and you laughed about them, telling the whole locker room that i was weirdly obsessed with you 'Nah. I don‘t stand her - she follows me around like a lost puppy. I don‘t even like girls' I remember everything, word for word, Clinton"

Your eyes turned glossy, you never healed from that humiliation.

"Listen to me-"

"No, you will listen to me." you growled, your voice was so full of anger, stepping towards her to intimidate her, "stay away from me"

Grace was breathing heavily, her eyes darting around your face - you were so close to her.

Not in control of her soul, mind or body, Grace smashed her lips against yours, hands gripping your hips as she pulled you close.

You couldn’t even register what was happening before your body responded in kissing her back - matching her energy.

The kiss was nothing like the kisses you shared before - it was feisty, all anger purred into this one kiss.

Yet it felt so good, your heart felt peace, an old familiar feeling you only ever felt when you were with the lioness. The walls you had built around it were gone. So even though Gracie was the reason why you had built them in the first place, she was now the reason why they collapsed.

When you slowly came to your senses, you pushed her away, lips swollen from kissing each other, feeling dizzy at the intensity and the feeling of happiness it had given you.

"I‘m sorry-"

"A sorry won‘t fix anything!" you shouted. You were so confused.

It was the first time where you ever had raised your voice at Grace. You didn’t mean the kiss but the girl knew exactly what you were referring to. And even though, you didn‘t like shouting or yelling in general, let alone at someone like Gracie, you defended yourself with that - an apology wouldn’t fix anything nor would a kiss.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice" you said, not liking a shouting atmosphere or the sad look in Grace‘s eyes.

"It‘s okay" the midfielder breathed out shakily, "you know, all of your love notes are in my wallet. I read them at least once a day" she admitted, staring at the floor, not being able to trust her voice if she would look you in the eye, "It was stupid to think that I didn‘t know what I have done wrong while it was in fact right in front of me. I broke your heart the day you broke mine." taking a deep breath, she sorted her thoughts, "I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, all I want to do is give you an explanation."

You nodded slightly - you always wanted an explanation but instead of confronting the girl that day, you ran away, protecting yourself more and more over the years.

"One of the girls found your letters in my bag when they searched for something, I don’t even remember what. She read them out loud while I was on the other side of the locker room talking to your friend. I asked her, if I had her blessing to ask you to be my girlfriend. I knew how important it was to you and since she was the only who knew about us, that was the least I could do. We never talked about telling our teammates, so when she read the letters, I panicked. I panicked because I didn‘t want to be outed by someone else. I also panicked because I didn’t know if you‘d be okay with me admitting our- my love for you. I got so scared in that moment, that my self-protection mechanism answered before I could even reflect the situation. It felt like a stranger was controlling me. And you‘re right, 'sorry' won‘t fix anything but I want you to know that it was never my intention to break your heart. I meant it when I said that I want you to be mine forever. I have always loved you and I don’t think, that I will ever love someone who isn‘t you. So, even though it won‘t fix anything; I sincerely want to apologize. I‘m proud of you and the footballer you became - I will always be your number one fan"

Throughout her explanation, three things remained in your mind,

1. I don’t think I will ever love someone else - did that mean she still loved you?

2. Strangely, you believed every word she said. Grace had never lied to you - she was a terrible liar anyways.

3. Ask you to be my girlfriend - she wanted to make things official..?

"I did. I wanted you to be my girlfriend the second you smiled at me. I remember your shy smile, the way you looked everywhere, only briefly stopping at me." she chuckled, a love sick smile on her face.

"I thought I said that only in my head" you mumbled, cheeks turning red.

As Grace took a step closer, her hands cupping your cheeks, so you would look at her instead of the floor. "I never wanted to be your enemy" she whispered, her lips pressing tenderly against your forehead - a confession and a promise.

In that moment, both of you realized that maybe it wasn‘t too late to make things right. But it would take time and patience for you to learn how to love and trust each other again.

#grace clinton #grace clinton x reader #manchester united x reader #tottenham women #manchester united women #arsenal wfc #alessia russo #ella toone #mary earps #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #engwnt #lionesses #engwnt x reader #lionesses x reader

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prying-pandora666 · 11 months

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Azula And The Tides: The Most Misread Scene in ATLA

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:

“The tides scene shows how irrational and spoiled Azula is! She got lucky! She endangered her whole crew for her pride!”

Or any similar variation.

The only problem is it’s not even remotely close to true. Let’s talk about that.

Here is the scene in question for reference:

youtube

Seems pretty straightforward, right? I mean, the Captain warned Azula about the tides and she put her ego before reason and made the crew take a huge risk. Horrible leadership and narcissism on her part, right?

Except for one little detail.

Azula was right.

Remember in “The Storm” when Zuko demands his ship chase after the Avatar and his crew warns him that it’s a fool’s errand because they’ll surely perish in the storm? Zuko stubbornly insists his goals are more important than anyone else’s lives, including his Uncle, and demands they drive recklessly into the storm. Sure enough, the crew nearly perishes in the storm, just as predicted, and Zuko is humbled enough to even rescue his Lieutenant that he disrespected earlier in the episode.

I bring this up so we understand how ATLA sets up and then demonstrates its narrative cause and effect. It’s rather straightforward as, after all, this is being written to be inteligible to children.

So what happens with Azula’s ship when she demands they dock right away despite her Captain’s warnings?

The ship docks without incident or injury.

In fact, they dock stealthily enough that neither Zuko nor Iroh see Azula coming and she’s able to surprise them. How would this be possible if the Captain had been correct in his assessment and Azula had just been acting out of ego?

I’ve seen some people argue that Azula just got lucky, like a drunk person driving home in a car. Not that I expect the average person to have extensive knowledge about docking a ship, but it demonstrates a severe gap in knowledge of the subject matter. When it comes to the tides you cannot half-ass it. Either the tides are in or they’re not. Either they’re high enough or they’re not.

And if they’re not, what happens? The rocks you can’t see beneath the waves will shred your ship apart and you will get stuck or outright sink. Best case scenario, if by an act of divine intervention you avoided all the rocks, you’re still screwed because your ship is going to get beached and tip over. Especially with a ship of that size!

You cannot squeak by here. Even with all of our tech and modern day ships, if you don’t respect the tides, you’re going to have a bad time. There is no avoiding this.

It boggles my mind why people assume Azula is the one in the wrong here and not the Captain who is later shown to be so incompetent that he spoils the mission. He was talking down to her and she rightfully put in his place. Cold and ruthless as her method may have been, she was making it clear that she is not to be talked down to or to have her authority questioned. An important skill for a young leader. Look at the comparison with Zuko who couldn’t wrangle his men. They were about to mutiny and would’ve if Iroh hadn’t intervened! Azula has no Iroh to fall back on. She has to manage on her own. And she does! In this same episode we are shown that Azula is a perfectionist who can’t tolerate a single hair out of place. But somehow we are supposed to believe she is also reckless and incompetent? I don’t think so.

We also know that Azula canonically attended the Royal Fire Academy for girls. This wasn’t some preppy finishing school, it was an intense military academy with survival training so deadly that Rangi described having to eat worse than rats to make it out alive. We know Azula excelled in school. Why wouldn’t she know something as basic as how to read the tides? That’s seafaring 101.

Combine that with the fact that all their best naval officers probably perished at the North Pole and it’s easy to glean that this Captain isn’t exactly their A-Team.

So what IS the point of this scene if not to show Azula being irrational, egotistical, or incompetent?

Remember our comparisons to Zuko? The point of this scene is to show how much better and scarier of a leader Azula is. It’s a simple way to convey to the audience that unlike Zuko, Azula *can* and *does* command like a true military leader. She is therefor a more frightening and dangerous opponent for our heroes to face than the already dangerous Prince they’ve been battling since the previous season.

I don’t think this misinterpretation would’ve ever spread so far if some fans weren’t dead set on trying to tear down Azula for the simple crime of being better at things than fan-favorite Zuko.

And I say this as someone who adores Zuko.

#avatar the last airbender #Atla #avatar #azula #zuko #fire sibs #Youtube #Fandom flanderization

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tomhollandisabae · 1 year

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jealous! Ghost, hehe

thank u for your request love 🥰🥰

masterlist

bets and jealousy- simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

summary; a bet placed on your name, soldier after soldier hitting on you a very very jealous ghost.

warnings; angst, fluff, mature language, mentions of sex, violence, english is not my first language, unedited

words; 1.3k

a/n; sorry for the delay, but that time of the month decided to visit me again. i'll try to answer to the rest of the request during this week.

It all went down when one of the soldier tried to hit on you, then many others followed…

You and simon had been in a secret relationship for almost one year now and somehow now had caught on yet, even though you weren't being so subtle.

That became an issue when soldier after soldier tried to ask you out, but you were turned every single one down.

However, you were also unaware of the bet that had been placed on you; whoever gets the girl, gets 200 bucks.

So, of course, there was not a single man that hadn't approached you – apart from soap, price, gaz and graves.

As for simon, the whole situation was getting quite enough on his nerves. It was an understatement to say that he wanted to rip every single men’s tongue, that talked to you, out of their mouth. It wasn't the fact that he didn't trust you, because he did – he trusted you with his life. It was the fact that he didn't trust those men. I mean, why would he? He didn't know them, he had never spoken to them… they could've been spies, people that tried to approach you so to kill you and so on.

Simon was always quite, never being one to make a fuss about something, but that all didn’t matter anymore when he heard about the so called ‘bet’. He became feral. The feeling of jealousy always growing on him and now this… it was his turning point.

He approached you as you were talking – trying to kindly avoid the guy that was hitting on you at the moment.

When you saw Ghost walking towards you looking quite angry, even with his mask on, you knew that things where about to go down real bad.

“Sim—” you tried to stop him, but it was too late as he had already pounced on the guy in front of you.

He threw him on the floor and started punching his face as you were shocked enough to react in any way.

“Simon! What the fuck? Stop it!” You yelled more concern about the consequences that he would face than the guy getting the beating of his life.

“Someone come and stop them!” You motioned towards the soldier that were standing a few feet away from you, looking at the scene in pure delight.

“Hey!” You heard Price’s deep voice from behind you and sighed in relief.

“Hey, both of you! Get your asses up right away! It's an order! Ghost!” Price demanded as now both Soap and Gaz where trying to get Ghost off of the poor guy.

Poor? Nah, he deserved it, but still… it's Ghost!

“Hey man, chill out.” Gaz tried to calm him down.

“Is that what you're doing now huh?” He turned towards the soldiers behind him.

“Is this what you represent? Tell me?” He screamed at them with his heavy and scary voice.

“Placing bets over a woman because she doesn't pay you any attention? You all are a fucking pain in the ass, that's what you are! We are in the middle of a serious mission and that's all you are concerned about!” He ranted on and on.

Is that all he cared about? His men not focusing on the mission? Not the fact that they were all hitting on you? Many thought overwhelmed your brain as you felt quit hurt by his words.

“Ghost calm down.” Price tried to reason with him.

“He is just the beginning” he pointed towards the soldier on the ground “many will follow if this goes on any longer. Now focus on the mission and hope I don’t see you doing anything else.”

You felt like a fly getting hit by a car driving at 150 kilometres per hour. He didn't care about you, only the mission.

When everyone left, he turned to see you but you were already gone.

You had been ignoring him for one week now, only being typical with him and that made him confused. Why did you change so suddenly?

Every time he would try to have a confrontation with you, you would find any kind of excuse to leave or you would address to someone else.

As the two weeks stroke, Simon had had enough so he tried to confront you.

It was late and you had excused yourself to your room when you heard a knock on your door. However, when you opened it, you came face to face with none other than the Ghost himself. Before you could close the door on his face, he pushed you farther in the room and he closed the door behind him.

“Will you tell what is going on?” his voice sounding cold coming from behind his mask.

“Whatever you mean?” you crossed your arms on your chest.

“You know very well what i'm talking about princess.” You almost melted at the nickname.

“trust me I don—”

“why are you talking to me? you've been ignoring me for the past two weeks and it's annoying enough.” He cut you off.

“ohhh that” you rolled your eyes.

But he snapped. He grabbed you by the neck pinning you against the wall as his other hand found your hip and squeezed it firmly.

“don't play with me darling, because you've been a really bad girl lately and that doesn't help your current situation.” You could guess that he was smirk behind the skull.

The bastard…

“get your fucking threats and yourself out of my room. You have no right to be here.” He hissed at him.

“that's not what you were saying every night you were calling me over to fuck your brains out.” That left you speechless.

“well that belongs to the past, now get out.” Your eyes were burning holes through his.

“not until you tell me what’s going on.” he demanded.

“get your fucking hands off of me then” you said and he obeyed immediately, stepping back.

“I mean why do you even wanna know. You don’t care about me” you finally said.

“what? Where did you get that from?” he asked hurt.

“tai weeks ago when you beat that guy, I was stupid enough to think that you did it because you wanted to defend me, even though I’m quite capable of doing that myself, or even that you were jealous, but no. you did it because of your fucking mission. all you fucking care about is your mission, so why even bother with me? i decided to relieve you of myself.” you admitted.

The whole time he was looking at you, not moving an inch.

“who told you I wasn’t jealous?” he finally said.

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me that, I figured it out myself.” He took a step closer.

“I was burning.” He exclaimed “just the thought of those filthy men talking to you and even more the disgusting bet they had placed on your name was eating me alive, but what was I supposed to say ‘get your fucking hand off of my girlfriend’? I didn’t want to compromise you. You’ll get fired once they know we are together.” everything he was saying was making sense.

“i… I’m sorry.” You lowered your head.

Simon exhaled deeply and pulled off his mask, his eyes meeting you once again.

“hey… you don’t have to be sorry about anything. I should have talked to you. I’m sorry for not confronting you sooner.” He placed his hands on your cheeks and his forehead on top of yours.

“do you love me?” your own hands now found his, squeezing them softly.

“I love you more than anything else in this world.” he admitted.

“I love you too si” you said back and he smiled as he leaned further down placing his lips softly on yours.

#fanfic #imagines #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost #codmw2022 #cod x you #cod x reader

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abibliophobiaa · 6 months

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right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve Harrington x reader smut #steve Harrington x reader fluff

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sincerlycas · 1 year

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try me.

summary: y/n’s mouth has no filter, so when she decides to publicly embarrass eren at a party, he doesn’t take it lightly.

warnings: brat y/n, bad bitch black reader, hair pulling, choking, humiliation, degradation, rough sex, slight hate fucking, spitting, 69 position, spanking, slapping, marking, drugs (I say za instead of weed and shit), mature scenes, etc.

commission for: @purfi-art 🤍

don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

you were bored. absolutely fucking bored. there was literally no reason for you to be at this party, yeah you danced and shook ass to bop ass songs then took a drink but that’s about it. matter of fact, the only reason you here was because of your bum ass nigga eren. he was here to support and supply his friend with the za. sitting down on the seat while fixing your crop top that was holding your well sat boobs. eren was nowhere in sight, actually he was but you preferred to not look at him since he was speaking to a girl in the ear but you knew he was trying to be secretive with selling.

sighing your took a sip of the vodka and moved your copper ginger body wave lace out of the way. finally eren came to sit next to you with his group around you as well. all of them talking about random shit that you didn’t give one fuck, two fucks, any fucks about. one of your friends who came to the party tapped your shoulder and hugged you immediately as she saw you. returning the hug you told her to sit next to you.

she was basically the only person who talked to you the entire party, not even eren spoke a word to you because you know his bitch ass would say “I’m working right now later.” you swear you hated his ass for even dragging you here. while talking to your friend and catching up you felt a grip on your thigh so you looked down to see it was eren. oh so he can touch you and shit but not speak to you? bitch you were done !!

slapping his hand off your thigh with full disrespect as you turned back to talk to your friend. this caused nervous glancing from the group between you and eren but you couldn’t give a fuck. so you decided to let it out and irritate eren by talking about him to your friend when he’s literally next to you. “bro this nigga is so weird, how tf you gone bring me to a party and not even talk or spare me a glance like the fuck?!” eren wasn’t paying attention to you so he didn’t really hear the conversation but some did as he continued talking to jean.

“but he can be all up on girl’s whispering and shit then try to touch me and not say a damn word too?! fuck no nigga you must got me mixed up with another bitch that just stay mute- he must think I’m one of his hoes that’s why.” your friend chuckled as she was nodding and understanding your frustration.

finally eren heard what you were saying as he was drinking from his red solo cup. side eyeing you while giving you a glare was all he did as he set the cup back down. he went to open his mouth to saying something by putting your hand in his face while still looking at your friend. “look at this trick broo” turning your hand from flat to directing your thumb at him to show your friend

“he can sip cups and talk to his friends huh? matter of fact he can go sip on another bitch pussy like I give a fuck that’s his specialty.” now this is what caused the whole entire group you were sitting with to tune into the conversation and stop what you’re doing. eren grabbed your hand that was pointing at him and tugged on it to make you look at him.

“y/n-“ cutting him off before he said anything you turned to face him while putting your long acrylic finger in his face “nigga shut the fuck up ion wanna hear it, was I talking to you? no the hell I wasn’t fuck nigga, speak when you’re spoken to the fuck.” pushing his face away you turned to face your friend again seeing her ‘ouu’.

right when you were going to speak eren turned you to face him forcefully raising his voice in a higher octave but not high enough to cause an disruption to other people. “stop talking out your chest to your friend about me say it to my fucking face since you big a bold.” his group was eyeing you guys quietly. getting up out of his hold and standing over him giving anyone who was in front of him a juicy view of your ass in your cargo shorts.

“you want me to say sum to your face?!” “speak with your chest y/n!!” eren retorted back “alright bitch, your a bum. ass. nigga.” grabbing his drink he was so deliciously sipping on that had very little left and splashed on his face along with the cup. this caused a slight uproar as you got your bag and left.

eren was stunned as he ran his fingers through his hair tugging on it a little out of frustration. wiping his face with his hand he immediately got up speed walking behind. walking outside you went to open his car so you could leave after you snuck his keys since he was your ride. right when you were about to open it you felt a grip in your hair tugging you back harshly. “bitch come here.” eren held your hair as you tried to slap his hands away, he stared at you as he slammed your back against the car door.

“you think you hot shit for fucking embarrassing me bitch?! you really tried me today you ain’t never crossed the line with your bratty ass but today you did- get in the fucking car.” pushing you in the back seat as he put the back doors on child lock and went to the front seat and began speed driving toward the house. “eren let me the fuck out!! drop me off at my friends house!!” kicking at his seat taking your anger out on him. it’s not like you actually wanted him to let you out and turn you away you were just saying anything on top of your head.

on top of that this nigga was driving recklessly. you were screaming with all your might throwing profanities at him and slick remarks. eren was so done with your shit your shit so he screamed back “y/n l/n you better shut the fuck up before I swerve this bitch and kill us both I don’t give no fucks!!” slapping his hands on the steering wheel loudly. you were shocked at his threat but still you didn’t let up if anything you brought your hand to slap him across this face. eren restrained himself as he stayed quiet but that went up in flames when you calmed down and wen on your phone and mumbled a

“I should fucked your friend bro” you said that mostly to piss him off but connie is super fine.

eren finally made it to the house and opened your door and grabbed you and making a hurry to the door, getting inside, then making it to the room throwing you on the bed. taking his wet shirt off and his shoes. “y/n do you want to break up?” asking you that made your heart drop automatically you got on your knees on the bed and started apologizing. “e-eren I’m sorry for acting out, I promise I won’t do it again I swear please” you started tearing up since you’ve been with eren for three years, you couldn’t let him go.

then all you heard was laughing. gradually it got louder and louder. looking at him confused you swiped your tears “w-why are you laughing? what’s so damn funny?!” getting mad again, seriously your temper is short, but yeah you got mad again since he was literally just laughing at you. “you-“ stopping his sentence mid way to laugh again. this caused you to be self cautious and stay quiet. “you look pathetic baby.” walking towards you eren rubbed your face then your cheeks. him calling you pathetic while cooing at you made a sting in your heart out of embarrassment.

“it’s pathetic and dumb looking how you go and cause such a scene like that and embarrass me but once we reach home you’re groveling at me, do better mama.” patting your cheek a bit hard like they were close to being slaps eren backed away to let his words sink in. “ ‘ren..” staring at you while leaning on your guys dresser he tilted his head staring down at you.

“y/n I hope you know I deal with your mess because I love you. If you were to walk away from this relationship you wouldn’t find anyone who could love you like I do. even if you did it wouldn’t last since of how fucking bitchy you are, and if it does last just know I’ll be waiting to fuck it up.” walking back towards you again he choked you making you look up at him “so I’m telling you this with all disrespect, try me.”

you were tearing up even more from his words but the humiliation being even worse, you tried to find the words to say but you just stumbled. you looked away, you looked at anything besides eren. but you still weren’t going to go down like that, so you slapped his hands from his face with no avail since he had a vice grip on them. slapping on his shoulder, his neck, anything you can hit so he would let go of your face. you were yelling out profanities but all he did was stare at you smiling.

you got tired yet again and started huffing from all the the commotion you did. “you done.” eren asked while rubbing left over tears from your eyes. “…” you looked down as he finally let go of your face. “what I’m going to do is, I’m going to fuck you but it’s not gone be the ones where it’s slow and sweet because I’m not in a sweet mood so if you don’t want to you can tell me to stop.” staring at you eren was looking for signs of distress.

“I’m good..” I mean who would turn down sex from eren? plus by the way he is now he’ll be more gentle then he says he will.” wrong. he was going to show you he didn’t play nun of that. “alright choose a save word.” this caused you to look up at him with absolute confusion. a safe? what is he going- “-to do to me?!?” all he did was smile and wait. “uh..brownie” you mumbled. he nodded as he started sliding off your crop top then giving you a rough kiss.

you immediately responded by kissing back then laying on the bed as he got on top of you. eren really wanted to be nice and give you the nice prep he usually did but he was still in a sour mood (plus you guys had a quickie before the party). eren pulled your shorts down and threw them across the room. “take off your panties.” eren ordered as he watched you do what he said closely.

you slid them off slowly letting eren marvel at the string of slick connecting from your cunt to the panties then throwing them back. you shyed away from erens gaze that was so fixated on your wet cunt. you then heard a zipped being pulled down and turned back to see eren sliding his remains garments off letting his dick spring up to his stomach with a small thud. you reached your hand out to cop a feel but it was quickly slapped away harshly just like how you did to him at the party.

“familiar isn’t it?” he said as you slapped and nudged his tip against you clit. you moaned quietly from the slight stimulation he was giving you. then you felt a hard slap against your boobs causing you to reflexively cross your arm across your chest. “speak when you’re spoken too.” he spat out harshly while moving your hand away and tugging at your nipples. you moaned out while grasping onto his arm “i-im sorry..”

he simply hummed then slid in half way way but pulled out, this went on for a while as he groaned while you were moaning quietly but getting impatient. “eren hurry up-“ another slap was given to you but this time across your face. you rested up as you rubbed your face but clenched your legs from how it made you feel. “you take what I give you slut.”

he spat out as slammed in fully and shoved your legs to your shoulders. you could hardly breathe let alone speak, all you could was moan loudly when eren started hitting way to deep. it felt like he was digging you out or searching for something, this caused you to push at his shoulders repeatedly while mumbling incoherent “tss too muchhh~!! e-erenn too deep~”

you whined out as you were tearing up yet again. “its too much mama? I’m so sorry let me fix that.” he cooed while rubbing the side of your neck. you were relieved at what he said thinking he was going to let up but instead, he planted both in feet in the bed hovering over you completely and pushing his weight against you and started ramming down deeper into your cunt.

you squealed as you flew your hand to push his stomach back while screaming out, eren gripped your wrist tightly while holding it down to your stomach so you wouldn’t be able to move it. “take this dick, take this dick, take ittt~ fuckk~ it’s so tight~” he looked down between where you guys are connected seeing you already creating a white ring around him.

shaking your head and thrashing it back from how good he was hitting it in you. you started cumming with a shake in your legs, eren leaned down to your neck leaving bite marks and dark hickies on your neck. whimpering as he let go of your wrist letting you wrap your arms under his armpits letting your hands lay across his upper back. the pace suddenly got faster as he relentlessly hit your g spot hardly. dragging your nails down his back and muffling your moans into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you caging you In his arms to give himself more leverage into fucking you.

you started clenching your pussy up making eren wince you choke you yet again. “open that pussy that pussy mama.” you shook your head knowing if you did he’d go ham, biting his bottom lip with the vice grip you had around his dick. gripping your hair back eren made you stare in his eyes “open that pussy up before I tear this shit the fuck up!” he pulled out then flipped you on your stomach into a arch grabbing your arms folding them behind your back with one of his hands. he used the other to slap your cunt causing you to yelp and try to move away. slapping it again eren yanked you back and slid back in with a harsh thrust.

“keep trying me y/n, you gone open it up” spreading your ass open eren spat down onto your other hole then shoved his thumb inside using it as a way to tug you back into him. this caused you to yelp and accidentally push your pussy out like he wanted and he didn’t hesitate to take the chance to start his harsh pace back up again and killing that pussy.

“o-ohhh fuckkk~ rennn~ its sooo good~” you were trembling on them sheets endlessly, you didn’t know if you wanted more or less but what you did know is you’re finna start crawling out this room in the end. “yeaah~ gimme that pussy, gimme that pussy, gimme that pussyy~ FUCK~!” eren yelled out while throwing his head back from the vice grip you had around him and let alone the sounds your body’s were making. letting out a silent scream you squirted across the sheets, violently shaking then going slump on the bed getting out of your arch.

laying down on your back on top of you while peppering kisses on your shoulder and moving your hair aside eren rubbed your sides. “my baby is tired?” he asked innocently but you knew well that he was up to something. nodding your head with a yes thinking he would give you a break but instead he continued to slam down onto your cunt regardless if you were laying down. sliding his hand under your body to give tugs and pinches at your nipples. “uhh~ uhh~ ouuu~ ren it’s hurttss~ oh my goshh~” drooling onto the sheets you knew fat ma was tired so were you but dick by eren? a fine desert. “it hurts?~ want me to take some out hm~?”

shaking your head no because the feeling of being full was the bestt. it hurted but feel so goodd he was hitting the right spots, and quite frankly you didn’t give a fuck if that punani was tired she was gone take it. “noo~!! keep going~” eren smirked and pulled out slapping his tip repeatedly on your slit yet again. automatically you backed your ass up on him chasing the dick “put it back~ put it back~ put it back-”

mid rant eren shoved it back in gave them deep thrusts only, gripping them seats and shoving your head and the pillow yelping into it feeling like your about to come again. this time it felt so hard pressing against your stomach, it felt like you were going to pee. reeling your hand back pushing eren out and right when he was about to protest he’s met with a fountain of high spraying going out your cunt, you were squirting again but this time it was getting everywhere.

“u-u-uhhh uhhh~!! itss- AH SHITT~!!! ERENNN~!!” you didn’t even know what you were moaning out for but you knew your pussy was going through it. it took a good minute for the spraying to stop then you finally laid till panting loudly. “wow. come here mama~”

laying flat on his back eren pulled your ass to his face then stool his tongue out lapping at your folds. rolling your eyes back in your head you gripped on his thighs leaving scratch marks into them, you even broke your nail ! eren was having the time of his life back there even shaking his head side to side and giving a couple slaps to it, lifting up off his mouth when you felt like you were going to cum yet again and trying to move up, eren yanked you back and going back at it he even added a couple fingers into thrusting them harshly to bring you to your brink faster. clenching your thighs you screamed out and sprayed a bit all over his face then laid still.

“b-brownie~..” eren rubbed your face and kissed the side of your cheek “we were done anyways mama~” laying you down on top of him while giving you praises and upmost love “you lucky that dick good I would’ve pimped yo ass” mumbling out as he snuggled onto him, letting out a small moan when you felt eren slide in two fingers again “oh yeah~? you wanna keep trying me~?” “okayy okayy!!” sliding them out and sucking his fingers eren smiled.

“that’s what I thought.”

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clxja16 · 8 months

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Enough

Part IV

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: Toto Wolff's Daughter Au!

Warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 3.5K+

Author's Note: AHHHHH I think I'm done. well idk, if you guys want more, I could probably write one more. However I don't think anything will top the scene after Charles DNF in the Netherlands. I could literally talk about that scene for hours on end. I need to know what you guys think of that scene, because it's probably some of my best work ever. I hope you guys enjoy though. A lot of time and dedication went into this fic. Also this is in no way a reflection of these people in real life. This is not based on real life events. Nothing in this story is fact. This is a work of fiction, purely for entertainment purposes.

Part I, Part II, Part III

------------------------------------

“I cannot believe you,” Susie says after she hears the front door slam shut from you walking out. She slightly shakes her head, as she looks to the gods, praying for strength. The strength to not kill Toto at this moment.

“Me? You can’t believe me? I cannot believe our daughter, does she even think about how the rushed marriage will look to the public?”

“Toto,” Susie sighs, “you’ve gone too far.” She doesn’t know how she can get him to understand that you’re not a little girl anymore. “She’s chosen Charles, and you have to accept that already.”

“But she could do so much better…”

“She doesn’t want better,” Susie raises her voice in disbelief. “Toto, she doesn’t want anyone else, she wants Charles. That’s it, that’s the end of the discussion.” Susie doesn’t know what more to say on the matter.

“He’s going to hurt her…”

“Toto, that is enough, just because you had an affair that ended your marriage, does not mean Charles is going to do the same! Why can’t you see that?” Susie doesn’t like that she brought up Toto’s affair but it must be said. “Pack your stuff, you’re leaving for the Netherlands first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t have to be there for a few more days…”

“Well, then fucking go to the factory Toto!” Susie can’t handle it anymore, as she stands from the table, “I don’t want to see you, until you apologize to our daughter. Hopefully before her wedding, so help me God.”

Charles had left, around the same time that you had earlier that night to attend a work dinner. He returned home after you and when he did, he found you on the bedroom floor surrounded by all the legal paperwork for the wedding. He could see your eyes were red from crying, and he knew that it wasn’t from happy tears. You were holding a white out pen and the paperwork to change your name stood out among the bunch.

“Ma cherie…”

“Hi,” you greet Charles with a weak tone, you couldn’t even look at him properly.

“What happened?” Charles moves the papers out of the way to take a seat next to, pulling your face to look at him. He can see more tears roll down your cheeks.

“Daddy asked if I was pregnant…”

Charles' brows are furrowed together at your statement, “Why would he think that?”

“Because…” you smile a sarcastic smile, “the only people who get married this fast are people who are knocked up.” You cry, and laugh at the same time as you recall the evening to Charles. You take a moment before you pull away from Charles, wiping away your tears. “I don’t want anything more to do with my father.” You grab the paper for the name change off the floor, and prepare the white out pen.

Charles places his hand on yours stopping you from continuing, “maybe you should wait.” Charles’ watches you carefully, he doesn’t want to say the wrong word, “just sleep on it for now.”

You look up at Charles, and you can see his worry for you. He doesn’t want you to make any decisions that you will regret later on. You stare back at the name you have written across the paper, Wolff-Leclerc.

The next morning you and Charles set out to drive to the Netherlands. The drive surprisingly doesn’t take as long as you anticipate, time travels fast with Charles. However when you do arrive at the hotel, you realize how much the drive took out of you. The two of you pass out, practically right away, and you don’t wake up until the next morning. By that time, you guys have to be at the paddock.

You make it a point to showcase that you and Charles are together. You arrive at the paddock with Charles, dressed in Ferrari red. Part of you does this to spite your father, the other part of you does this because you want Charles to know you pick him over everything else. While Charles is in the driver’s briefing with the FIA, you make a stop at the Mercedes motorhome.

The motorhome is mostly empty, the majority of the team being in the garage at this moment. However you knew your father would be in his office right now. He scheduled all his online meetings with the factory at this time, because the motorhome was quiet. When you make it to his door, you don’t hesitate to knock.

“Come in,” he says, right away. You walk in and hand him the letter in your hand. You don’t say a word to him, you’re trying to make this as clean cut as possible. He takes the letter from you, “what is this?” He asks as he begins to open it up.

“My resignation letter, effective immediately.”

“You’re resigning, what are you planning on doing with your life?”

“I’m going to let Charles take care of me,” you lied to your father. You tell him this, purely out of spite. He always raised you to be able to take care of yourself. His biggest thing was he never wanted you to rely on someone else. So you tell him this, just so he can suffer. You don’t stay to see his reaction, or hear anything more he has to say. You eventually go on to spend the rest of the weekend avoiding him.

You spend Sunday watching the race in the Ferrari garage. The beginning of the race was chaotic to say the least. You knew Charles was making his own calls, when the pit crew is yelling at each other, and no one seems to know what is going on. You see Fred look at you, like you have an idea of what’s going on. You’re too amazed that Fred can see this far back into the Ferrari garage, to even give a reaction to his stare.

As you continue to watch the race, you know Mercedes messed up the strategy. Especially when George had a good qualifying. Then you noticed that Charles couldn’t keep up with the Haas, and you concluded that there must be a problem with his car. When Ferrari does decide to retire him, you see him come out of his car. You can tell by the look on his face that he’s not happy in the slightest. He ignores you as he makes his weigh-in and goes straight to the media pen. You look at Andrea, and you see him shake his head.

You head to Charles' driver's room, knowing he would go straight there after the media pen. It doesn’t take much longer, as you hear Charles’ heavy footsteps. When he enters the room, he doesn’t say anything. He shuts the door, and takes a deep breath. Then he launches the water bottle he was holding across the room, the cap comes loose as it hits the wall, water splattering everywhere.

He takes another deep breath, before saying, “sorry.” Charles runs his hands over his face, he paces the room as he talks, “I know I fucked up the pit-stop, I didn’t give them enough time to grab the tires, before I came in.” He doesn’t look at you as he talks, “that was my fault, I know that, but for fuck’s sake, they left me out there to get overtaken by Hulkenburg in a fucking Haas.” Charles sighs, his shoulders drop, he doesn’t look like himself. He takes a heavy breath, now looking at you and he says, “I’m tired y/n.” Charles sits on the floor, instead of on the bench next to you. He sits by your feet, leaning against your legs, resting his head in your lap. He reaches up to hold your hand, and he repeats, “I’m tired.” His head feels heavy in your lap, you place your hand on his head, playing with the ends of his hair, while your other hand continues to hold his. He looks straight on at the wall.

“Just rest Charles,” you say, you’re not sure how you can comfort him at this moment. “You can rest now.”

“Can I really?” He asks, as he looks up at you. You can see how the season has weighed him down. You slowly nod your head at him, and he closes his eyes. You know that he doesn’t actually fall asleep, but the two of you stay like that for the rest of the race. You stay right there, in that same position, for Charles, for until he’s ready to move.

When the race ends, Charles finally moves, he changes out of his race suit. He heard Pierre got promoted to P3, and insisted on staying to see the podium. You see him put on a smile for his best friend. You watch them make plans to celebrate Pierre’s podium after Monza, during the weekend they have off. You watch Charles pretend he isn’t tired for his friend’s sake. And you feel your love for him grow. You love that he can be vulnerable with you, and you love that he will always be proud of those he loves accomplishments.

As soon as the Dutch grand prix was over, you and Charles hopped on a flight to Milan. The Italian grand prix was a home grand prix for Ferrari, so there were events all week long. Charles’ schedule was packed through and through. You don’t bother him with the wedding stuff, you allow him to focus on Ferrari this week.

Susie comes out to Monza, and she helps you plan for the wedding. Although it’s a small event, she insists on getting you a dress, maybe not your dream dress, but a nice dress nonetheless. Charles is at the Ferrari Ray-ban event, while you and Susie are going through Milan, looking at several dress shops.

You are in one particular shop, trying to pull a few dresses to try on, when you look at Susie and say, “thank you coming Mamma.”

Susie can see as tears line your eyes, she knows that you and your father being at a cross like this hurts you. “Of course sweetheart, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“I wish Daddy felt the same,” you say somberly, “has he said anything to you after that night.”

Susie turns to look back at the dresses, “I-” She pauses for a second, “I haven’t seen your father since that night.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen daddy since that night?”

Susie sighs, “I told him that I didn’t want to see him until he apologized to you, so I haven’t see him.”

You can’t help but let out a cackle of a laugh. You slap your hand over your mouth, catching yourself, as Susie looks at you wide-eyed. “I’m sorry,” you say, as you begin to giggle some more, “I’m sorry, but that-” You can’t contain your laughter at this point. You know part of you is laughing to stop yourself from crying, but it feels so good to laugh. And oh do you laugh, “that is too funny, you kicked daddy out of the house?”

“Well,” Susie can’t help but to laugh at your reaction, “I had to sweetheart.” She looks at you fondly, pushing your hair behind your ear, and you stop laughing. “You didn’t deserve that from him,” she says seriously.

You feel a few tears fall, “thank you Mamma.”

Susie shakes her head, “now enough talk of your father, let’s focus on you sweetheart.” She smiles at you, and you nod your head. You try to push all thoughts of your father from your mind, focusing on the task at hand. You and Susie spend the rest of the day shopping.

Being in Italy does good for Charles, you can see it clearly on Saturday. He qualifies in P3, but it makes him happy. The fans make him happy. And even though he didn’t really rest, he isn’t tired. You watch him fondly from the Ferrari garage as he does the post qualifying interviews. After he wraps up on Saturday, the two of you are walking back to his car to head back to the hotel. You can feel the bounce in his step, how light he feels.

“I love you,” you say, as you look at Charles, as the two of you walk. He stops, and looks at you. His eyes full of love, as he displays a fond smile. You take all of him in at this moment. You can’t help yourself from falling deeper in love with him. You’ll never love someone like you love him.

“I love you too,” he says. To anyone else it’s the same ‘I love you’s you said to each other over and over again, but to you, it’s so much more.

It was another Sunday, another Grand Prix, and your second time watching from the Ferrari garage. Although there is nothing technically different from the Mercedes garage, it all felt different. Being at Mercedes it felt like a business, it felt like work. Mercedes was cold, it was calm, it was like a normal nine to five workplace. While being at Ferrari it feels like passion. You feel the desperation to be great like they once were. You understand why Charles remains so loyal. Being there, in the garage it makes you cheer for Ferrari. You see them trying, you feel their need to win, and you want them to be great. It only took two races, but you’re definitely a Ferrari fan.

As you watched the race, you felt yourself constantly holding your breath. Carlos was brilliant defending against Max, Checo and even Charles. He drove to the absolute limit and you were amazed that he held onto the lead for as long as he did. Charles drove the wheels off his car. Going for ridiculous moves, and pushing it to the absolute limit every chance he got. Although you must say, you felt like you were going to have a heart attack watching the last five laps. Yet, when you saw the smile on Charles’ face after the race, you think your almost heart attack was worth it.

Watching them race makes you miss it even more. Watching them push the car to the limit, to the extreme and hold it all together to bring it home, makes you itch to have that feeling under you. When Charles makes his way back into the garage, after all of his requirements, he doesn’t waste any time in finding you. He pulls and holds you close. You let him, sweaty and all. You can’t help but to just smile stupidly at him. Seeing him this happy, makes you happy.

“I know,” he smiles and drops his head bashfully, “I shouldn’t be this happy about P4, but I had fun.”

“I think you should be proud,” you say, making him look at you, “proud that you gave it your all, and you could give it your all.”

Charles doesn’t need to say another word, as he pulls you in for a kiss.

Toto was trying to meet Fred to discuss some things, when he sees yours and Charles' interaction within the Ferrari garage. He witnesses the private moment, away from the crowds, from the cameras, from everyone else. He sees you being deeply in love with Charles. Toto has been watching you all weekend long, and last weekend too. He knows now how much you love Charles. He sees it now. Toto can finally see what everyone else saw.

“Charles,” Fred calls from across the garage, as he beckons for Charles. You let him go, as he catches up with Fred. At this time you notice your father standing there watching you.

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you, as he steps closer.

“Hi,” you say.

Toto doesn’t know what to say, he doesn’t know how to make this better, how to fix this. He knows he messed this all up. He knows it’s his fault. He just doesn’t know where to start, when really there’s only one place to start. “I’m sorry.”

You’re taken aback by your father’s apology. You never expected him to actually apologize. You thought that eventually you’d feel guilty enough to make up with your father.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” Toto repeats again, “I should have never suggested you were pregnant and that’s why you guys were getting married. I know now that you really love this boy, and that he really loves you.”

You smile, as you feel a few tears line your eyes. This time you are certain they’re happy tears. “Thank you daddy,” you say, as you hug your father. And just like all the times when you were a little girl, your father has made all your problems go away.

“Now,” Toto starts off, and he pulls back from you, “may I please come to your wedding, if it is still this Tuesday?”

“I hope you do come,” you say genuinely.

Just outside of the Ferrari garage, Charles and Fred watch you and Toto. Fred shakes his head at your father for being so stubborn. While Charles just smiles fondly, because now he sees you genuinely happy.

After all the festivities, you remembered the news that you had to tell Charles. Charles had just walked out of the bathroom, freshly out of the shower. Towel in his hand drying his hair. He sits on the edge of the bed, while you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around him. Pressing your cheek against his shoulder blade.

“I have something to tell you,” you say softly to Charles.

“What is ma cherie?” Although you don’t see it, you can hear him smiling.

“I got a call from Zac Brown,” you say. Charles doesn’t need to hear more as he turns around to look at you excitedly. “Apparently, someone has been constantly raving about me to his drivers,” you say knowing exactly who has been raving about you to Lando and Oscar. “And his drivers keep telling him about it.” You laugh as you see how excited Charles is to hear your news. “Zac asked if I wouldn’t mind doing some simulator for Mclaren.”

“Oh this is great news,” Charles says as he pulls you into a kiss.

“I know it’s not really back to racing…”

“But it’s a start.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “It’s a start.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Charles says, as he kisses you again. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him down. Charles falls against you, planting more kisses over your face.

“Thank you Charles.”

Charles pulls away to look at you, “no need to thank me, I love to brag about my fiancée.”

Today was finally the day. Although it wasn’t a big or traditional wedding, there were certain things that your parents and Charles’ mom insisted you guys do. Like how it was bad luck to see each other before the actual wedding. So you were getting ready in your hotel room, while Charles and his brothers all got ready in another room.

You tried to tell your parents that this wasn’t going to be a big event, that you would make it up to them and plan an actual wedding, however that all fell on deaf ears. They fussed and doted on you all morning before going to the courthouse. You look into the vanity mirror and behind you, you can see Susie and Toto. In between fussing over you, they make up. Your father apologizes and he makes amends. Your mamma forgives and she loves continually. The pieces of your family begin to slide back into place.

As you make your way to the courthouse, Toto insists on walking you in. You smile, allowing your father. You wrap your arm around his, in front of you is Susie and Jack walks in first. Just behind the door, there stands Charles. His brothers by his side, all dressed in matching casual suits. His mother stands just off to the side of them. You don’t know why but the sight has tears falling from your eyes, happy tears.

“Ma cherie,” Charles exclaims as he sees you crying. He comes up to you wiping away your tears with a smile, “no more crying already.”

You giggle, you know a lot of tears have been shed these past few weeks. “It’s happy tears, I promise.”

Charles smiles at you. At this moment, Toto unwraps your arm from his, and gives your hand to Charles. He takes your hand, and both you and him look at Toto. You know what this moment signifies, nothing more needs to be said.

One thing about courthouse weddings, they are very efficient. The officiant says what he needs to, you and Charles both say your ‘I do’s, kiss, and they announce you married. “I now present the two of you married, as Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc.” The officiant looks back down at his paper, “or I should say Mr. Leclerc and Mrs. Wolff-Leclerc.” Your family and Charles’ family cheers at the announcement.

While you and Charles took pictures down by the lake, your families watched on. During the picture of you with your parents, did Toto whisper to you, “thank you.”

“For what daddy?” you question, looking up at your father innocently.

“For being proud to be a Wolff.”

“I am your daughter,” you say, as you look back at the camera and smile.

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sulieykte · 10 months

Text

𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 // 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ✧˚ · . 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒊𝒊

‣ Pairing: Adult!Neteyam (20) x Fem!Omatikaya Reader (19) ‣ Warnings: 18+ mdni, mentions of blood, poor coping mechanisms and life choices. minor jake bashing (i still love you boo), spit as lube, smut (p in v), blink and you'll miss it oral (f receiving), dacryphilia (but not really), ANGST ANGST ANGST ‣ Word Count: 5.4k ‣ A/N: So this has been a long time coming and I apologise for the wait. It's ended up being much longer than I expected and I hope that you all enjoy this. It's the final part to the story, with an epilogue and potential sequel to follow this week and I'd like to thank everyone that's been with me throughout this story, it's given me the chance to get to know so many amazing people and it means so much to me. I need to thank @andraga12 because without her listening to my stressing and talking me down several times, this chapter would have never been finished <3 A lot of this chapter was me being in my feelings about Spider and I'm not gonna feel sorry for that, that's my kid right there. There's a few call backs in this to previous chapters and I'm giving out smooches and hugs for each one anyone catches. As always enjoy, and if you see mistakes before I come back tomorrow to fix them, then no you didn't.

This chapter was inspired by Wrong Direction - Hailee Steinfeld and I recommending listening to it while reading the second scene. English is in bold italics all other dialogue is in Na'vi. ‣ Na'vi word bank: parultsyìp - term of affection for children, tsaheylu - neural connection (bond) tìyawn - love, 'ite - daughter, 'evi - child (affectionate), itan - son, utumauti - banana fruit, tewng - loincloth

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“Come. We have to leave.”

The taste of tears, rain and blood have long since become indistinguishable on your tongue by the time Neteyam manages to coax your crumpled frame from the ground. You struggle to find your footing, whether from the dampened bark or the fact your legs felt intangible beneath you, you aren’t sure. It doesn’t matter as his hands don’t leave you, haven’t left you since he pulled you away from the edge.

A hand on your hip tries to guide you forward, rain slicked lips skimming your ear as they tell you that you need to move. That you can’t stay here. They might come back. You don’t find this to be incentive enough to leave. And you open your mouth to tell him that, to tell him that leaving meant giving up and accepting that Spider was gone. That he wouldn’t climb back up and give you that lopsided grin of his that he always has when he narrowly avoids death on the planet he wasn’t made to survive. But when your lips part, nothing but a pathetic, small whimper comes out.

Hands wrap around your forearms and you’re spun around, forced to face him. Instinct screams at you to move away but he stops your resistance before it can begin, pinning your arms to your side in an iron grip, his face barely an inch away from yours as he demands your attention.

“You need to listen to me… I’m telling you that we need to leave now. There’s nothing we can do for Spider anymore– We don’t know where they’ve taken him, and if they come back, they will kill us… We have to leave.”

Your dried out eyes meet his own pleading gaze, at odds with the firm hold he has on you. You should fight, you should curse him from preventing you from going after Spider. Neteyam would not give a moments thought before going after his family, his siblings. But he keeps you rooted in place, ripping from you your last shred of denial.

“Neteyam? Neteyam, do you copy? Over.”

“Yes, sir. I’m with y/n. En route now. Over.”

“Good…” Jake’s voice drops, barely a murmur but your proximity to Neteyam allows you to hear it. “Is she okay?” Neteyam’s head tilts, golden eyes only catching your own for a second before he looks away, pressing two fingers to his neck.

“We’re en route now.”

Hands pull you out of Neteyam’s grasp before you can register who they belong to, your head nestled into a shoulder with an exclamation of “Thank God.” as his hand reaches up to cup the back of your head, pressing you further into a father’s embrace.

“Ma’ite.” Neytiri places a hand on your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with a gentle hand that soothes the shaking of your form, your eyes closed tight to trap any tears that might fall if you allowed yourself to look into any of the eyes that you knew were on you. “Ma’ite, we must leave.” Her voice is pleading, reminiscent of the son that favoured her so much

“We can’t.” You push yourself out of Jake’s embrace, looking up at the man you saw as a second father with pleading eyes. “Please, there’s still time to catch them.” Your eyes find Kiri, eyes red-rimmed from crying and you know she’s made the same case before you.

“Listen.” Jake takes you by the shoulders, bending his knees to meet your eye-line. “Spider is a tough kid, and he’s one of their own. He’ll be fine.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing, that he would say that, nonetheless believe it. Spider was not one of their own. His body may be human, but his heart was Na’vi. He couldn’t be further from the humans that raise your land for profit.

“We don’t have time for this kid, we’ll talk about this back at camp.”

“No.” You shake your head, stepping away from him, avoiding Lo’ak’s hands as they reach for you. His eyes can’t quite meet yours as he calls your name and you know he must be feeling the same guilt that you are for not being able to prevent your friend's capture. The guilt would eat you from the inside out, for being the ones to suggest and encourage the excursion that led to it. “I won’t. It’ll be too late by then, we can’t wait!” Tuk tugs on your arm, pleading with you to come with them, but something changes in Jake’s face and you can’t look away.

“Oh.” Your voice cracks as you put it all together. They have no intention of going after Spider at all. A look around at all of their faces confirms that they already know. Your sorrow is replaced with anger and a desire to scream. You have always looked up to Jake and Neytiri, but at this moment, you feel nothing but contempt towards them. “What, so Sully’s stick together and fuck everyone else?”

Neytiri looks aghast as she reaches out for you, but you move out of her reach. You’d expected it from her, as she had never hidden her dislike for Spider. But Jake, you can't understand how he of all people, who was born human and worked for the RDA, could be so dismissive of Spider's life.

“Parultsyìp, it’s not like that. We’re three ikran short and there’s Tuk.” He actually has the audacity to look hurt at your words. Tuk’s hands tug on you, you spare a glance away from her father and feel a twinge of guilt at seeing the tears filling her eyes. “Please. I can’t lose another one.”

Your neck feels like it could have broken with how quickly your head snaps back towards him.

“Another one?” Your fists clench at your side, and Neytiri pulls Tuk away from you. Jake’s brows raise in alarm as he watches you. You don’t speak to him like this, you never have and you never thought you would, but the respect you held for him as Olo’eyktan and a father was waning. “Your family got back safe and that’s all you care about.” His jaw tightens and his eyes glisten but he lets you continue. If you’ve stepped over the line, he allows it. “If it wasn’t for your son, and that hero complex of his that’s going to get him killed one day, I wouldn’t even be here right now– But that’s fine, Sully’s stick together… and I’m not a Sully.”

"Enough," Neteyam growls, gripping your forearm and pulling you backwards. You stumble into his chest. His voice softens when you turn to face him, the hostility you had toward his father now directed at him. "You've made your point. Let's go.”

As he pulls you away, you don’t turn to face the rest of his family. There’s no energy left in you to fight him as he pushes you up onto the back of his Ikran. Neither of you speaks on the journey back to High Camp and you’re grateful that he allows you the time to give in to your exhaustion, resting your back against his chest and letting your eyes drift shut.

Neteyam rouses you shortly before you arrive home and you hop down from his Ikran before he has a chance to break Tsaheylu. You hear Lo’ak call out for you, but you don’t look back. Leaving the Sully’s behind as you make your way back to your Marui.

“Ma’ite, please.” The desperation is evident in your mothers voice even as you avoid her gaze. “You are not thinking clearly, Spider would not want this.”

She crosses the tent, crouching down next to you, her hand wraps around the shaft of the arrow you’re diligently coating the tip of with the toxins of the anìheyu plant. The plant had once provided you with a name for your Ikran, fitting for the mount of a warrior, your father had declared, smile exuding pride as he urged you to take your first flight and seal the bond.

Now as you stare into the bowl of toxin that would kill you if it penetrated your bloodstream, tightening your hold on your coated arrows to prevent your mother from tearing them from your grasp, you think of Spider. Of how the same plant provided the pigment he painted himself with, in a futile attempt to be seen by the members of the clan that would refused to see past the violence of his heritage, though he was born only a stone's throw from where you yourself were born, though his blood ran as red as yours, they could not accept him. They could not see him. Not like you did, and they left him behind as though his life meant nothing.

“Let go.” Your voice is low, strained from distress. You meet her eyes, rimmed with tears but set with determination as she refuses you. Your mother was soft, a gentle woman who led a life devoted to the clan, to the care of others but that gentleness was now replaced with a fire that met your own as she tugs the weapon from your hand with strength you didn’t know she had.

“Ma’evi, I know what Spider means to you.” She places the arrow behind her, out of your immediate reach and cups your face in her hands. “I care for him too, and that is how I know that he wouldn’t wish for this… You would die before you reach their gates and you know this.” In that moment you see all of her years etched in her face, the grief and the terror she holds at the loss of her mate and the thought that she could lose you too.

She’s right, Spider wouldn’t want you to embark on a suicide mission to save him, nor would he wish for anyone to go after him and risk their lives for his, but you know that deep down, if he heard of Jake’s refusal to even entertain a rescue attempt it would crush him as deeply as it did you.

“I know that, but if I don’t try, then who else is going to fight for him?” You cough away the tightness in your throat and gently pull your face out of her tender hold. Standing, you cross the tent away from her, and reach for the bow you carved from the ruins of hometree. You run the pad of your finger along the limb, tracing the letters that Spider had etched into the wood, five of them that he said represented the names of each of the Sully siblings and your own, the sixth that you insisted that he add was his own. “I won’t leave him behind.”

Her eyes fill with tears and your own well up in a response, but you quickly blink them away. The weight of impending loss is heavy in the air between you, and if you looked into her eyes for a second longer, you’re sure you might catch the moment that she begins to mourn you, knowing that she’s helpless to stop you. After all, she raised you to hold fast to your convictions and what you believe to be right.

The silence that settles between you is broken by the clearing of a throat, and your mother turns, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand before she greets the person entering the tent.

“I see you, Neteyam. What brings you here ma’itan?”

Heart pounding, you turn to find his eyes are already on you, lips parted in something that might be surprise as his gaze flickers down to the bow in your hand, before he gathers himself and returns your mothers gesture.

“I see you, Auntie. I’m here to see y/n, would you mind giving us some time to speak?”

Her ears dip, and her forehead furrows as she looks back and forth between the two of you. It isn’t difficult to guess what is going through her mind after finding you asleep in each other's arms the previous night. After years of trying to get you two to play nice, you can only imagine the confusion she must have felt at finding you tangled together. It must be why she relents so easily, despite your pleading look and the shake of your head.

“Of course, I wanted to speak to your mother anyway.” She says before leaving, sparing you a concerned glance as she walks past Neteyam and exits the Marui, abandoning you with the last person you want to be alone with.

“Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

He doesn’t speak, he just looks at you, his eyes travelling up your body, stalling at the bow in your hand for a moment before they find your face and his features soften for a split second before his jaw hardens and he crosses the tent, tail lashing behind him as he closes in on you. Your back hits the wall of the tent as you fail to retain the space between and his hand closes around your wrist.

He leans in, breath hot against your face, adrenaline rushing your veins at his touch. Too close, too comfortable laying hands on you and you’re far too willing to allow it. It’s tempting to be drawn in by him, to the side of him that you had never had the pleasure of knowing, but you know in your heart that this won’t endure. This is not your Neteyam, your Neteyam is all teeth and claws, the burning desire to hurt and be hurt in the name of gaining power over one another.

“Let go of me Neteyam.” Your voice betrays you, coming out far too soft to have your desired effect. He doesn’t let go of you, his grip tightens, squeezing at the echo of the bruises he’d left on you before and his other hand comes to wrap around the hand that holds your bow.

“If you think I’m going to let you run off and get yourself killed–” He pauses, gritting his teeth. “This–” He squeezes your hand around the bow. “It’s a suicide mission, you don’t even know where they’ve taken him. You aren’t thinking clearly… What are you going to do, storm their city alone?”

Alone.

“If that’s what it takes.” Your nose brushes against his as you lift your chin to look him in the eyes. His nose scrunches, as though the action tickles him His breath catches in his throat, and the tension thickens in the air, sending shivers down your spine. But he recovers first, using your distraction to gently pull your bow from your hand, a firm hand against your chest knocking you back when you attempt to seize it back.

“Enough. Have you even thought about what could happen if you don’t die? If they capture you?” You hadn’t considered that option, and your face must give that away. “No, you haven’t. It’s bad enough that they have Spider, he knows everything about this place, he could already lead them right here– I know, I know he wouldn’t” He stems your argument with a raised palm. “Not willingly… but we know what the Sky People are capable of.”

He places your bow on its stand and grabs both your hands in his, they’re warm big enough that your own disappear in their hold. “You’ve attended war councils, and were cared for by the Olo’eyktan and Tsakarem. If they captured you–” He swallows, squeezing your hands more tightly in his own. “They could bring our whole operation to the ground.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you, bitter and sharp as you pull your hands from his. “Is that all you care about? The war efforts?” He reaches out for you again, but you push his hands away. Pacing back and forth, you press the palms of your hands against your eyes as tears threaten to escape and shatter your resolve.

It always came down to the war. For the past year, since the Sky People had returned it had been all consuming and you understood. You understood when it took your home, even when it took your father from you, he had been a warrior and chosen to fight. However, you couldn’t understand how they could be so callous, uncaring for the man who they had known since birth.

“Sometimes, when you open your mouth all I can hear is your fathers voice. I know you look up to him, but at this point it’s pathological.” You uncover your eyes and he’s watching you, eyes boring into your face with something that doesn’t quite reach anger. “So what is the plan? They have Spider and you’re so sure that he’ll give us away. What do we do now, mighty warrior?”

“We’re leaving.”

“What?” You’re stopped in your tracks, searching his eyes for the truth in his words. You find it and either of you takes a breath as your resolve falters long enough for a tear to fall free from your eye. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“My family, it’s my dad they’re after and they won’t stop until they find him.” His family, your family were leaving. “This will protect the people.” He continues, sweeping a hand through his braids. “If we stay here you will all die protecting us, this is what’s for the best.” He almost sounds like he believes it, the crack in his voice the only thing giving him away.

“So you’re telling me that you want to leave your home?” Your voice is shaking, you’ve given away all pretences that you are fine. How could you be? Faced as you are with another loss. One night and you would lose nearly everyone you held dear, leaving you with only your mother. How was that fair? How could that be what the great mother intended for you?

“Of course I don’t, my entire life is here. Everything I’ve ever known and trained for is here. I’m giving up everything, my birthright.” His eyes sparkle with tears you once would have loved to see fall, now they match your own as you both struggle to come to terms with the loss this night had cost you. “But my father is right. It’s the only way to keep y– everyone safe. It’s the best thing we can do for the people.”

“Why don’t you stay?” His brow raises in surprise, as taken aback as you are that you would even ask that, because you already know the answer. “You could take your father’s place as Olo’ekytan. Stay… Stay and fight for the people.”

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, his ears drop as he takes a step towards you, the conflict etched in his features as his hand rises and for a second you think he might reach out and touch you once more. Your heartbeat picks up in anticipation only to falter when he lets his hand fall back to his side.

That isn’t a question you can answer because you don’t even know yourself. You’re not even sure you mean it, if you’re really asking him to stay or you’re just grasping at one last hope that not everyone will leave you.

“If I did, would you?”

His answer never comes, it doesn’t need to. Sully’s stick together. You’d heard it so many times, even believed once that you were included in that. The words he’d intended to say before Jake stopped him, that you weren’t his family, now ring in your ears as your head falls into your hands. It feels like your chest might collapse in on itself as the realisation hits you, that you’ll never see Spider again, that Lo’ak and Kiri will leave you too, you’ll never see little Tuk grow up and pass her Iknimaya. You will never feel safety in the comfort and guidance of Jake and Neytiri again.

He gently pries your fingers away and takes your face in his hands. You can feel the warmth of his palm against your cheek, the sweet floral scent filling your senses as he wipes away the remnants of the night's trauma, the blood still dried into your skin, with the cloth your mother had left aside for you, You meet his eyes filled with sincerity and regret as he utters a soft apology.

“I hate you.” You tell him with as much vitriol as you can muster. For the first time since you began this bitter war, you don’t mean it. He had put you through so much hurt, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him anymore. The lines between love and hate had blurred and you’d become addicted to the moments in between, the exhilaration of being touched and desired by Neteyam. “I hate you so much.”

“I know.”

As he runs the cloth along your lower lip, you feel his finger catch on the corner of your mouth. Your breathing is momentarily interrupted. He is staring intently at your lips, his own parted mirroring your own as he cleanses your skin until all the red that was once there now stains the fabric.

You’re swept up in the moment, driven by insanity or desperation when you capture his lips with your own. With a fierce intensity that knocks him back, causes him to drop the bloodied cloth and catch your arms, wrapping his fingers around them and gently pushes you away from him.

“What are you doing?” He looks down at you with piercing golden eyes and his voice barely above a whisper, he asks a question you know the answer to now. You’re chasing the ecstasy of his touch, and you don’t care about the painful aftermath that would follow if, for just a moment, you don’t have to think or feel the enormity of your loss. You’ll take every second of numbness he can provide.

You reach for the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, giving in to the rush of adrenaline when he doesn’t push you away again. You feel his hands find your waist and pull you in closer, your bodies pressing together as you explore each other's mouths. He parts his lips and you accept the invitation, tongue swiping against his, the taste of utumauti and fragrance of flora mixing together and filling your senses.

It’s not enough. You reach in between your bodies and press a palm over his tewng, delighting in finding his arousal already straining against the material and his moan that vibrates against your tongue as you roll your palm against him. His fingers dig deeper into your skin, bruising in the best way possible as he grinds against you his desire for you evident and thrilling. You smirk against his lips and he breaks apart only for a second to speak.

“Shut up,” and his lips are on yours again.

His tewng has to go, both of you seem to decide this at the same time. Without breaking the kiss, each of you reach down to pull at the strings until it’s discarded on the ground and his length hits your stomach and leaves a trail of precum on your skin before you take it in your grasp. You give it a couple of experimental pumps, his breath catching in his throat as his lips finally leave yours.

Your eyes meet as you slowly pump him, chests heaving against each other, the air thick and heavy with lust and neither of you needs to say a thing. It’s bittersweet, knowing that this will be the last time you have each other and you can’t pinpoint why your stomach sinks at the thought. You focus instead on the sensations of his skin against yours, his grip tightening on you, the way he smells of the forest and rain.

You maintain eye contact as you spit into your hand. His eyes widen and his knees buckle as you wrap your hand around his cock and spread it along his length. His head falls into the crook of your neck, muffling a whimper as you quicken your pace. It goes straight to your core when he latches onto your skin, sucking a mark where the previous had not long faded, weeks of elaborate necklaces working hard to hide the evidence of your previous trysts.

He steps back, and you raise a brow in question and he looks pained when he removes your hand. Your expression must have given away your disappointment, your worry that he was about to put an end to this and leave you alone once more.

“Tìyawn.” He says through panted breaths. “Tell me you want this.”

This time you do not have to think before you answer, you don’t have it in you any more to deny that you want him, to him or yourself.

“I want this.”

He has you on the mat so fast that your head is spinning when he looms over you, braids tickling your nose before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. His kisses are gentle, delicate as he moves from your lips and travels down your body. Lifting your chest covering to show appreciation to your breasts, he runs the tip of his tongue in circles around your hardened peak.

His hands run down your sides until they find your hips, playing with the strings of your tewng as his mouth leaves your nipple and follows his fingers. He alternates between kisses and sucking marks into the skin of your stomach. He’s too close, yet not close enough to where you really want him to be.

“Teyam.” You whine, he looks up at you through heavy lidded eyes from where he’s settled between your legs. It’s a beautiful sight that forces you to take a sharp intake of breath. Your thighs are already soaked with your slick when you watch him pry them open. There isn’t enough time, not to have him how you really want him, you don’t know when your mother will return and you’re not willing to risk interruption. “I need you.”

He seems to gather what you mean from the few words that you can mumble. He taps your hip and you raise yourself, allowing him to discard your tewng before spreading you out before himself like a meal he can’t wait to consume. He runs his hands up and down your thighs and you clench around nothing when he leans in and places a kiss at your center.

“Maybe another time.” He sighs, and it seems like he’s speaking to your cunt more than you. He runs a flat tongue along your slit and places a chaste kiss on your clit that sends a jolt of electricity through your body before he crawls up your form. His lips crash against yours, tongue pushing into your mouth to give you a taste of yourself, meeting your urgency with his own.

His tail wraps around your thigh, encouraging you to wrap it around his waist. Your other leg follows, pulling him in tight. With his arms caging you in, there’s barely an inch of skin left untouched. He rolls his hips and coats his length with your slick, and without warning, he pushes his entire length inside of you in one thrust.

Your body accommodates him, moulding to the shape of him as if it were its only purpose. You fight to steady your breathing, clutching at his toned back as you get used to the stretch. Neteyam does the same, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he composes himself.

"Please," you whisper, but he hears and answers. He rolls his hips, building a steady pace and lifting up onto his elbows and looking down at you. When your eyes meet, the intensity of his gaze is too much and you have to shut your eyes. You squeeze your legs tighter around his waist, focusing on the sensations and pleasure he's giving you.

“Open your eyes.”

As he grips your waist tightly, you can feel the heat emanating from his body. You try to gain control of the rhythm by rolling your hips, but he resists your attempt to take over. You feel his hands move up to your face, his fingers gently gripping your jaw. You turn your head towards him and feel his hot breath on your cheek. He repeats his command, his voice low and seductive, sending shivers down your spine.

"Don't." Your voice breaks and he stills above you. You open your eyes, glistening with the emotions you'd been desperate to numb. You feel the tears streaming down your face and the lump forming in your throat.

"Please-" you shake your head, unable to avoid his approaching hand as he reaches to brush away your tears. His calloused fingers are soft against your cheek as they go about their task. You close your eyes and lean into his touch, relishing the warmth of his hand on your skin.

But this is not what you need, not what you want from him at this moment. This gentle Neteyam serves only as a reminder of all that has changed over the past few weeks. He reminds you of the pain and the loss, all the things you’re desperate to forget.

“What do you need from me?”

You blink hard, finding the courage to stare into his concerned gaze. He’s giving the control over to you, making no move to pull out of you until you say so.

“I–I need you.” You find your voice, as you contain the emotions escaping your body through shaken breaths. You hope that he still has it in him one more time to be a little cruel, to heal your wounds and replace them with new ones. “I need you to fuck me Neteyam.”

His ears flatten against his head, the seeds of doubt evident on his face, but he obliges you anyway even if it looks like it pains him to do so. His grip on your jaw tightens and his hips build up to a bruising pace.

He lifts your leg, placing it over his shoulder giving him the right angle to slam into your cervix. You cry out, arching your back as he hits that sweet spot inside of you again and again. The sound of skin slapping against skin filling the Marui, mingling with your moans and his grunts. You claw at his back, etching streaks of crimson into his skin, as he pounds into you.

"Teyam, I'm--" you struggle to speak against the force of his thrusts. He lifts onto his knees and hooks his hands under your thighs, pressing your legs up until they meet your chest. Your eyes roll back and your walls convulse around his cock as you tumble over the edge.

Neteyam maintains his pace, fucking you through your release. He’s buried impossibly deep inside of you, watching the way he slides in and out of you at a brutal pace that only falters when his own climax hits him and he spills his seed inside of you..

He stills inside of you, catching himself with strong arms before falling on top of you. Both of you struggle to catch your breath as you come down from your highs. You feel cold and empty when he pulls out of you, the mixture of cum dripping out onto the mat as he rolls onto his back beside you.

Neither of you speak for what speaks for what feels like hours, but you know it has been barely minutes when his breathing returns to normal and he breaks the silence.

“Are you okay?”

You laugh and you really can’t help it.

“Tìyawn?” He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow, gazing at you with concern as your laughter evolves into a sob that shakes your whole body. He reaches out for your face, but this time you stop him, catching his hand and pushing it away before he can touch you.

“Leave.” The force behind your voice surprises yourself as much as it does him. His brows furrow as he tries to work out if you’re serious. “Please, just go.”

You watch as he dresses himself, his movements slow and deliberate. You wonder if he’s waiting for you to call out for him, to ask him to stay, but you don’t. You watch as he throws you one last lingering glance over his shoulder before he leaves you.

And you’re truly alone.

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yokohamapound · 11 months

Text

BSD Characters Catch You Reading Smut

No one asked for this, but I just had the idea floating around in my head and it was too good to pass up. <3

Characters: Edogawa Ranpo, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Dazai Osamu, Kunikida Doppo, Yosano Akiko, Nakahara Chuuya, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: smut references

Edogawa Ranpo

It doesn't matter how good you think your poker face is. Ranpo knows. You've spent years training yourself by reading fanfiction in public and using an e-reader to mask what you're doing, but there will always be a tell.

He pops his lollipop out of his mouth and smirks over at you from his desk while you're trying to read a few pages on your lunch break.

"Whatcha readin'?" he asks, coy.

You take a moment to compose yourself, pulling your gaze away from the scintillating, graphic descriptions written in the text, and glance across at him. There’s something about his smile that makes you unaccountably nervous. Ranpo might act like a kid most of the time, but there’s a hint of knowing in his eyes that forcibly reminds you this man is a full grown adult, and far too perceptive for his—and your—own good.

“A…uh…romance novel.”

Perhaps if you confess to something mild like reading romance novels at work, then he won’t go after the big fish. But you know as soon as the words leave your mouth that it’s a mistake. Ranpo always goes after the big fish, not the small fry.

“Uh-huuuh.” He draws out the word, grinning at you, one green eye opens a sliver. “Good sex scene?”

Across the office, Kunikida spits out his coffee over his paperwork.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

As much as Akutagawa talks like a Victorian orphan and likes to collect antiques, we don’t know much about his reading tastes, if he has any at all. Don’t forget he grew up in the slums, so he’s had little education, if any, before coming to the Port Mafia. After which, it was probably left up to Dazai, god forbid.

Suffice it to say that if he does enjoy reading anything, it’s probably morbid Gothic horror, riddled with existential dread and people dying young, haunted by the ghosts of their misdeeds. So, Poe’s stuff, basically.

All this is to preface the fact that I don’t think Akutagawa even realises there is such a thing as smut novels. He’s probably aware of porn, but dirty writing? Not something he’s ever bothered to consider in his relatively narrow purview.

He doesn’t really think twice when he sees you reading, since it’s a familiar-enough sight. It might be a book in your hands or just some text you’re scrolling through on your phone. It’s only when he notices your rapt attention to the text that he starts to get curious.

You’re so engrossed you don’t notice him loom over your shoulder until you hear his breath catch, a cough spluttering in his throat.

“What…what are you reading!?” he demands to know, rearing back from the book like it’s going to bite him.

Dazai Osamu

Oh god.

It’s very hard to hide anything from Dazai, but you’ve been trying to keep your spicy book collection a secret because once he finds out about something he becomes an incorrigible tease about it, and this would be no different.

You’ve almost mastered the art of hiding your fanfiction tab when he walks past by using the old (ALT + TAB) manoeuvre, Or by flipping to an innocuous part of your book when he walks into the room, but this strategy has backfired. Because Dazai sees all and knows all, and the sneaky little bastard has noticed your shifty behaviour. He’s been watching for a while, waiting for his moment to pounce.

So there you are, innocently reading your not-so-innocent novel on the couch, perhaps even on a break at the office, and suddenly there’s a presence behind you, warm breath against your ear.

“‘Her legs quivered like a newborn foal’s,’” Dazai narrates, his voice breathy. “‘Lord Fondezglimmer’s hands brushed up the insides of her thighs, her skin as soft as flower petals, reaching for—’”

You snap the book shut. “Shut up, shut up!”

Dazai is unrepentant. Even as you get up, he follows you around the room, hand over his heart, eyes glittering, repeating the scene word for word.

“‘Primrose’s secret flower was his to taste! As he lay her down upon the bed of handwoven silk, her kirtle rose to her hips to reveal—!’”

“Shut up, Dazai!”

Kunikida Doppo

The main book Kunikida is interested in is his notebook. He does, however, have a list of well-lauded self-help books, memoirs, and other edifying literary works that he intends to check out just as soon as he has the time. He admires you, actually, and how much time you devote to improving your mind through reading. He occasionally goes so far as to ask you for recommendations, and you have to scramble to recommend something that won’t make his glasses shatter in shock.

Little does he know what you’re really up to.

It’s only when he finds himself at a rare loose end that he finally makes his way over to your bookcase and leafs through some of the volumes. He goes for the last one he saw you reading. It seems innocuous. The cover is a pastel purple with swirly writing. A romantic saga of some sort? Well, he can indulge a chapter or two, just to see what you’re interested in.

Ten minutes later, Kunikida is sitting on the edge of his seat, gripping the book so hard it looks like he’s about to tear it in half. His face is scarlet behind his glasses, his eyes hidden by the glare on the lenses. His hair is practically standing on end. By the time you find him, he’s as wooden as a statue.

“Ah, got curious, did you?” you ask, amused.

“...this is…” Kunikida starts. “It’s…”

“Erotica,” you inform him, tugging the book from his nerveless hands. “Poor thing. If you were curious I could have given you something a little softer to ease yourself in.”

“No! I’m good. Thank you very much. I’ve seen…quite enough.”

He’s lying.

Yosano Akiko

Fairly sure that most of Yosano’s books are either medical textbooks or lurid true crime memoirs, complete with grisly photos of murder scenes and autopsies. She reads and rereads those until the covers are falling apart. She probably also reads thrillers and a little bit of horror. Like the Dexter novels, though she scoffs at the implausibility of some of the murders and gore.

Naturally, when she sees you curled up on the couch, your nose buried in a book, she wants to know what it’s about. It doesn’t matter how discreet the cover is, or if you’re reading on your phone/tablet, because she’ll just plop down and start asking you questions, or pause to read over your shoulder.

“What are you reading, you little pervert?” she asks, leaning on your shoulder.

Her commentary is lowkey hilarious.

“Oh, my~” she teases, before leaning and reading further. “...that’s not biologically possible, but still the concept is kinda hot.”

“Anything more than like eight inches isn’t going to fit inside, you know that right?”

“Ooh, he’s choking her? Turn to the next page. What? No, I won’t go find my own filth to read.”

She does borrow a few of your titles, though her tastes always trend towards darker romance.

Nakahara Chuuya

As much as I love Chuuya, he doesn’t strike me as the type to spend all his time sitting around reading lofty tomes of high-brow literature. He’s a live-in-the-moment kind of guy. While he might pick up the odd book on the recommendation of people whose taste he likes, he enjoys poetry more, or short, punchy novels. If a book you enjoyed gets turned into a movie, he’ll go see it with ya.

Thus, he’s never been introduced to the secret world of spicy novels, from the softcore porn of the 1980s to the roaring trade of indie authors putting out entire sagas of smut today. Totally clueless. Didn’t even realise it was a thing, honestly. His idea of a romance novel is one with a woman in a fancy dress and a shirtless man on the cover, where the scene fades to black before they do it.

Poor, innocent Chuuya.

He just thinks you look cute and cosy when you’re all snuggled up with your books. It doesn’t cross his mind to wonder what you’re reading unless you laugh aloud or gasp or something. Imagine his surprise when he glances your way one day and words jump out at him from the page. Dirty words. And when they’re strung together, the context is even smuttier. He grabs the book from your unsuspecting hands and holds it over your head (or floats it if you’re taller than him, lmao.)

“Whatcha readin’, you little pervert?” he asks, a grin growing on his face.

“Give it back!”

“Nah, don’t think I will. Is this what you’re readin’ all the time?” He flips through the book, whistling. “Damn, you’re a dirty little thing, aren’t ya?”

Fyodor Dostoevsky

If you think Fyodor somehow doesn’t already know everything you purchase and everything you browse online, then you are a sweet, innocent creature and should be protected from all that is evil and unjust in the world.

But let’s say you’re a little sneak and somehow manage to get your hands on some spicy books without your dearest darling Fedya knowing. You can certainly read them in the long hours that he is away working and perhaps even find a way to store them discreetly on the bookshelf.

(I doubt you’d be forbidden to read those kinds of books, but it’s still a little embarrassing for you and you might prefer your smirking husband didn’t know about it.)

Ah, but you can only keep secrets from him for so long. One day he abruptly appears behind you. You didn’t expect him home so early, didn’t even know he was coming in, but then there’s just a pale hand reaching over your shoulder to stop you turning the page, and a low, accented voice in your ear.

“Not yet, my darling. I’m not done with this page.”

You yelp, flinging the book across the room, and Fyodor stands up, smiling down at you. He tuts at your treatment of the book, picking it up and dusting it off before he turns it over to look at the cover. His smirk is practically feline, satisfied and amused in equal measure.

“My, my, myshka~ I had no idea that this is what excites you so much.”

#yokohamapound #bungou stray dogs #bsd #edogawa ranpo #akutagawa ryuunosuke #dazai osamu #kunikida doppo #yosano akiko #nakahara chuuya #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #bsd smut

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 8 months

Text

Girls Can't Drive | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: talk of sexual assault, sexual harassment, rape and murder. ends in fluff :-)

Author's note: Loosely based off Girls Can't Drive from Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies, as well as the Season 6 Episode 8 of Brooklyn 99 "He Said She Said".

Words: 3,208

Working a case like this was always hard. But this time around, it seemed to be even tougher to get through for her. Five women had already fallen victim to a rapist. Five women murdered. All five women worked in the same company at one point or another, so it was only logical for the team to look into them.

“Reid, y/n, you’re gonna take the statements from the coworkers,” Hotch ordered when the team was being informed about the case in the briefing room. “Rossi, Kate and I will go to the M.E. Morgan, JJ, you’re to go to the latest crime scene. We’ll be working from here.”

Everyone nodded their agreement before leaving the briefing room and heading out to do their part of the job. Y/N had fallen quiet upon hearing the details of this case. Every case they worked was pretty gruesome, but none ever affected her in the same way this one did. Maybe it was the fact that these women were on their way home from work when they were raped and brutally murdered. Maybe it was the fact it was all happening in Washington D.C., where she herself lived.

Whatever the reason was, her sudden silence hadn’t gotten lost on Spencer, her boyfriend of two years.

“Hey, you doing okay?” he asked when they got in the car and drove to the company.

Y/N offered him a smile that all but convinced him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. Just tired, I guess.”

Spencer had let it go, believing that if his girlfriend wanted to tell him what was bothering her, she would. Instead, he focused on the case. The two of them walked into the company’s building, curious to see what they were going to find out about who worked there.

They sat down with the manager, Tomas Ramos, first. Each taking turns, Spencer and y/n asked the man their questions about the victims and if he knew someone on his staff that could’ve done something like this.

“Oh, no,” the guy said, “There’s no one here that could’ve done that. No one here would ever hurt anyone. We’re a very professional company.”

Spencer and y/n thanked the man for his time and sat down with the next person. Tyler, the finance guy. When he was asked if one of his coworkers could do something like this, his words sounded a little too familiar. “Oh, no. There’s no one here that would do that. No one here would hurt anyone. We’re a very professional company.”

Neither one of the agents commented on it until every single one of the employees told them the same thing. Spencer and y/n exchanged glances, which was enough for the both of them to know they were thinking the same thing.

“I think we should talk to the manager again,” y/n suggested and Spencer agreed.

As y/n sat down on one of the chairs in front of his desk, Spencer placed his hands on the backrest. “You told your employees what to tell us,” Spencer pointed out.

Mr. Ramos furrowed his brows, though y/n noticed the twitch of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re all just honest people who happen to share the same story. Maybe this is just your sign that you’re looking in the wrong place.” His eyes raked across y/n’s body from head to toe, halting for a split second at her decolletage before focusing on Spencer behind her.

“In most cases, when people’s stories are identical, it means they need everyone to get the story straight to hide something,” Spencer said matter-of-factly.

Tomas shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agents.”

Realizing they weren’t going to get anything else out of Mr. Ramos or any of his employees, Spencer and y/n left the company. There was something about this Mr. Ramos and the way he handled his company that stood out to the couple. They knew he wasn’t speaking the truth and that they were hiding something.

“Do you think it’s him?” Spencer asked when y/n drove them back to the BAU.

Y/N shrugged, sighing. “I don’t know. Every single one of those men was looking at me like I was a piece of meat and the handful of women that work there, looked too scared to say anything. It could literally be anyone working there.”

Together with the team, Spencer and y/n looked into it further. The more they looked, the less sure they were of their profile and theory. Either all of the men in that office were guilty or none of them were and they were looking in the wrong place.

“Y/N,” JJ caught her attention when she and Spencer were looking through the files. The thirty-something looked up at her blonde coworker. “There’s someone here that wants to talk to you. Uh, an employee of Mr. Ramos’.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she shot a quick glance at her boyfriend before getting up and following JJ into the family room. A woman, around her own age, sat waiting for her. She was nervous as she picked at the loose skin around her cuticles.

“Amanda?” JJ called out for the woman.

Amanda looked up at the agents, her green eyes wide and filled with fear as she shot up from the small couch. “Agent y/l/n,” she said and shook her hand politely.

Motioning for Amanda to sit down again, y/n took a seat as well. JJ offered her coworker a quick smile before shutting the door to the family room behind her as she left. This seemed like a conversation Amanda wanted to have with y/n alone.

“I know I already talked to you this morning,” Amanda started, hands shaking in her lap. “But I wasn’t entirely honest.”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly as she gave the woman in front of her an inquisitive look. “What do you mean?”

“Tomas told us what to say if there was ever a police investigation of all kinds. He’s…” she took a deep breath. “The office is a very toxic place, especially for women. The women that work there are basically just a token to show the world that Ramos Inc. is inclusive. If it wasn’t for the feminist movement, none of the women would work there.”

“Why do you work there?” Y/N wanted to know.

Shrugging, Amanda heaved in another deep breath. “I’m good at my job, it pays very decently and I love watching those men squirm whenever I fix something they couldn’t.” She let out a soft chuckle at that and y/n couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of pride at this confident woman. “The thing is though… Because I’m so good at my job, these men think I owe them for it or something. Every one of my female coworkers feels the same.”

A shiver went down y/n’s spine. She knew this story all too well.

“Has any of them ever been inappropriate with you?” y/n then asked, but Amanda simply scoffed.

“Which one of them hasn’t?” Y/N stared at Amanda for a moment. There could literally be a guy working at the firm she was working at that raped and murdered five women. “But Andrew is the one you should be looking at.” The words piqued y/n’s interest. “He almost…” Amanda swallowed her words, but y/n didn’t need anything else from her to know this Andrew guy was the one they should be looking at.

“Do you know why he’s still working at the firm?” she asked.

Amanda grimaced. “Because he’s Tomas’ little brother.”

With that information, y/n thanked Amanda and headed out to the briefing room where her coworkers were still working hard on the case. Her brain was going at a hundred miles an hour, trying to piece everything together. Of course it was Andrew Ramos. She and Spencer had talked to him before. He’d given her the creeps then, too. She should’ve felt it.

“It’s Andrew Ramos,” y/n informed her coworkers.

The team did a deep dive into Andrew’s life. Nothing they found could pinpoint him in the area at the time the murders happened. Everything had been seemingly sweeped under the rug, no doubt by his big brother. They worked for two days straight on trying to find evidence that Andrew Ramos did indeed rape and kill those women.

Y/N didn’t even go home while the others did. She needed to get this done. She needed to get this guy.

“Hey,” Spencer greeted when he walked into the breakroom where he found his girlfriend on the second morning in sweatpants and a BAU shirt she probably found at the lost and found. “What are you doing? You didn’t come home for two nights.”

Y/N sighed and looked up at him. She looked worse for wear. Her hair was messy, her makeup smudged underneath her eyes and she had exchanged her contacts for her glasses because they were drying out her eyes. “I need to get this guy, Spence. I won’t sleep until I do.”

Spencer looked at his girlfriend for a moment. There was something that had rendered her silent when they first took on the case, but he didn’t want to push it then. Though right now, he really had no other choice than to ask.

“Why is this case bugging you so much, y/n? You’ve never done this before,” he said whilst sitting down next to her on the couch.

“It’s just… Remember how I was a detective before I came to the BAU?” she asked and Spencer nodded in response. “My Captain back then, he was kind of my mentor. When I made my biggest arrest ever, he took me out to dinner to celebrate. I-I thought it was gonna be the whole team, you know? We all worked hard to arrest those guys. But no, it was just me. That night he-he tried to kiss me…” Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes that she couldn’t hold back. “I just… I threw my glass of Martini at him and ran out of the restaurant. I transferred to another precinct the next day…”

Spencer’s eyes glazed over as he grabbed his girlfriend’s hand in his. “I’m so sorry, angel.”

Shaking her head, y/n sniffled. “It’s the same for so many women. Literally every woman I know has been sexually harassed. For some it’s on the daily… It’s just so hard being a woman sometimes because you just… men just think they own you and that you owe them your life and your achievements. Everything we do is for the men, according to them. And I just… I hate how there’s this one guy in this one firm that can get away with five counts of rape and murder just because his big brother can pull some strings. If we as women say something about the sexual harassment we encounter every day, we ruin the guy’s life. But they’re literally out there, murdering women.”

With a sigh, Spencer wrapped his arms around y/n and held her against him for a hug. It only lasted a good half minute before he pulled back and got up, earning a confused glare from the woman.

“Where are you going?” she asked, wiping her tears away quickly.

“I’m going to get you a change of clothes and some coffee. After that, we’re gonna work together to solve this case. This guy is going to jail today, baby. I promise.” He sounded so determined, it put a smile to y/n’s face.

Spencer shot her a smile back before turning on his heel. “Hey, Spence.” He turned back to face her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.” He looked at her for a second longer. “I’m also gonna get you a hairbrush, but you only have to use it if you want to use it.”

With a nod and a smile from his girlfriend, Spencer headed home to get everything he needed to get her back to her normal self. The fresh pair of clothes, the hairbrush and especially the coffee made her feel almost brand-new. Which helped a lot in solving the case.

Spencer and y/n eventually worked it out with the help of Penelope’s illegal sleuthing to pin the guy and get him locked up. It made the weight on y/n’s shoulders drop as she walked back into the BAU with Spencer. Never had she ever felt this drained after a case.

“You did a great job, y/n,” Emily congratulated her with a smile and a squeeze of the shoulder.

Y/N offered her coworker a tired smile. “Thanks, Em.”

“Why aren’t you happy about it?” JJ wanted to know, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Sighing, y/n shrugged. “I don’t know… It’s just one guy we managed to put away when there are so many other guys like that walking around…”

“It’s like that with every case, y/n,” Rossi reminded her. “You did great. One more guy you put away.”

A smile befell y/n’s lips as she listened to her colleagues, but before she could say anything, Spencer beat her to it. “Y/N’s just upset because the historically entrenched patriarchy has created a culture of victim-shaming that suppresses any power shift in our masculo-phallic system.”

Of all the facts he ever ranted about, y/n didn’t expect him to start ranting about a feminist topic. It was the first time he had ever even shown such interest in feminism. She couldn’t lie that it surprised her in a very good way that would become of use in the bedroom later that night.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I read some books about feminism,” he added with a tight-lipped smile.

“I love you,” y/n whispered. “But it still kinda sucks that people like Amanda still have to work there and that women are murdered and raped every day.”

“Look, this is a hard fight, but it’s an important one,” Emily reassured her. “It’s good that you rid the world of one more of those guys. Step by step, y/n.”

The woman nodded her head as she let the words sink in. She had done a good job. Even if it was just one of many guys, it still was one guy less. With that in mind, she headed into Hotch’s office for the debrief. It was short but ended on a sweet note, with Hotch telling her how good of a job she did, only further reassurance of what her other coworkers had already told her. After her debrief with Hotch, it was finally time to go home with Spencer. Something she had been looking forward to since they started their super deep-dive into Andrew Ramos’ life to get the proof they needed.

“Did you know that it’s two women who hold the highest IQ-scores?” Spencer asked her when they were lying in bed together, ready to sleep. He had been rambling off facts about feminism that he’d learned about when reading last night.

Y/N, who was laying on his chest, turned her head to look up at him. “Oh, so you don’t have the highest IQ in the world?”

“No,” he answered, “I’m glad it’s two women holding that title.”

Chuckling, y/n turned her head again and began circling patterns on his T-shirt-clad chest. “I’m glad I awakened the feminist in you.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile and buried it in her hair to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Is it really that bad for you? You know, on the daily?”

A sigh rolled off y/n’s lips as she thought about it. “I can think of four instances that happened today alone,” she started. “When we went to get coffee this morning, the barista wished you a good day and he told me I had beautiful eyes before wishing me the same. Even when Andrew was being handcuffed, he was still eyeing me up as if trying to calculate how to make me his sixth victim. In the elevator this morning, Robert from the seventh floor stood behind me, a little too closely while there was plenty of space for him. And when we went to pay for gas earlier, the guy behind the till was so confused as to why I was paying for gas. When I told him it was because I was driving, he looked at me as though I was speaking a foreign language and he literally said “girls can’t drive”.”

Y/N was almost out of breath from summing up all the instances.

“Wow,” Spencer gasped. “I didn’t know it was that bad for you.”

An airy chuckle erupted from her throat. “Yeah, some days are better than others, but it’s always something. As young girls, we’re taught to behave, never be loud, always apologize. We’ve learned not to say anything about it because society taught us that ‘boys will be boys’. It’s exhausting, you know?”

“I don’t,” Spencer mumbled. “But I am willing to learn.”

At his words, y/n turned on her side and propped her head up on her hand, elbow resting just above Spencer’s shoulder. His golden-speckled eyes looked inquisitively into her y/e/c ones. “You’re amazing, you know that?” she asked and pecked his lips.

“Mmh, you’re amazing,” he argued before she kissed him again. Deeper and more sensual this time. “You never have to apologize to me, you know that?”

Y/N’s eyebrow raised. “Not even when I steal the last of Penelope’s homemade cookies?”

Her mention of the homemade cookies Penelope had given them a few days ago made Spencer’s eyes go wide. This was her confessing that she was the one who had eaten the last three cookies in the tin when they could’ve shared them. “You ate the last ones?!” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, I did…” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out innocently.

“You devil woman!” he exclaimed before attacking her sides with his fingers, sending her into a fit of laughter at his tickles. “How dare you steal those delicious goods from me! We could’ve shared!”

Exclaims of ‘stop’ bounced off the walls, along with her laughter while she tried to pry his hands off her to stop his attack. When he finally did, y/n calmed down again and even faltered when, instead, he attacked her lips with his in a long kiss.

“I love you, y/n y/l/n,” he muttered when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers.

Smiling, y/n kissed his nose. “I love you, Spencer ‘The Feminist’ Reid.”

Spencer was always able to get her mind off the case, no matter how tough. In this instance, he’d been the buoys that kept her afloat, the rock that kept her steady. He’d been exactly what she needed him to be in a world that seemed to be against her and every other woman.

Thanks to him, she dared to be seen, she dared to be loud.

Because girls can drive.

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Criminal Minds Taglist:

@boimlers-gonna-boim @samsbirks @tinaasthings @dysphoricsanity @love4lando @elenamoncada-ibarra @r-3dlips

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds

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