#i actually just opened up spotify for WORK REASONS

[graciehart]

helloooo sweet friends!

as you've probably seen, I've been slowly working my way through requests for my follower appreciation event. and though I intended to finish this event before starting a new one (whoops), I also want to celebrate that there's 500 MORE of you (!!!!) than there was when we started, some from brand new fandoms! Thank you for spending time listening to me scream about the things I love.

to celebrate and thank you for the joy you bring into my life, I have decided to do somewhat of an extension of my original event (it'll all be the same tag, but I am going to tweak a few guidelines). NOTE: this is open to everyone, even if you sent a request for the first round!

*once requests close, I won't be taking any more requests until I finish all of these! ideally I'll finish by the end of the year, but I make no promises about the timeline since we're entering a busy season and sadly gifmaking isn't my actual job.

**requests will close September 28. love you all! guidelines under the cut 🩵

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NOTES

we don’t have to be mutuals, but you do need to be actually following me since this is a follower appreciation!

I have absolutely noooo idea what the timeline on this will be lmao (I currently have completed 23/37 requests since starting in April) so please… ✨ lower your expectations ✨

Because of how hard it is to make sets when uninspired, I make them in a completely random order! I want to make sure it's as nice as possible for you and not just me carelessly throwing something together :)

please just one request per person so I can hopefully finish this in a reasonable amount of time and come up with new things to do!

for this event, anonymous requests will not be completed

please consider reblogging this if you send a request so more people can see it <3

to request a gifset, please choose from this list and send me…

🎶 + a character/(friend)ship for a lyric gifset with lyrics of your choice 📖 + a character/(friend)ship for a quote gifset with a quote of your choice 🎨 + a tv show/character for a color palette gifset (send 1-3 colors or general color scheme) 💝 + a theme for a short playlist that I make for you (you can send me a fandom or background information if you wish! also let me know if you prefer apple music, spotify, or a youtube playlist)

*I don’t have a list for them, but you may request movies and musicals as well (as long as you’ve seen me blog about them!)

thanks for being here! 🩵

[beneathsilverstars]

i've been going through my entire spotify liked songs list one by one to pick out which songs are about siffrin and i'm SO MAD bc i keep finding SLOOP SONGS!!! this is not what i'm looking for here!!!!!!! i made a list for them ofc but why does it have more songs than the isafrin list. probably bc songs about fucked up disasters go harder than sweet lovey songs sorry isa

[fairyysoup]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you. 

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”  

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face.  

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly. 

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.  

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst. 

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.  

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”  

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him. 

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”  

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours. 

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building. 

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”  

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.”  

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”  

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”  

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom. 

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.  

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.  

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.  

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”  

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.  

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

[struwberrii]

boyfriend! semi who sends you voice memos late at night of him playing guitar and singing songs he wrote while thinking about you.

it was already 2:45 in the morning and semi was sitting awake in his bed, acoustic guitar in his lap while he typed away in his notes. you were the only thing on his mind, he knew it was cheesy but he couldn’t stop smiling thinking about how pretty you were, how your smile always made him smile, how your hair smelled so good, how your eyes always lit up everytime he walked into the room. after an hour of messing around with different chords he finally made the perfect song for you. he opened his voice memos and started with “sorry, i know you’re probably asleep but i couldn’t stop thinking about you, so i wrote you this…..”

boyfriend! semi who picks you up from work/class everyday just to hear about you ramble about stupid things the whole walk home.

boyfriend! semi who teaches you to play his guitar by sitting you in his lap and guiding your hands on different chords and strings, all while explaining the notes and how to strum.

you were resting your head on semis shoulder, watching him effortlessly strum his guitar. he looked so perfect like that. he looked down at you before he spoke up. “have you ever played guitar?” he said holding it up to you.

“yeah, i have”

“i mean like, ACTUALLY” he said laughing, “here” he gestured to his lap and helped you get comfortable. he rested his guitar in your lap and guided your hands to the neck of his guitar, placing your fingers on different frets and attempting to teach you a very simplified version of one of your favorite songs.

boyfriend! semi who sends you screenshots of his notes app and asks for advice on how to improve his lyrics (also just wants an excuse to text you)

boyfriend! semi who calls you for no reason just to hear the sound of your voice, especially late at night when he’s falling asleep just so you guys can sleep on the phone when you aren’t together

you find yourself going to be way too late again, your in the bathroom finishing up your night routine when you hear your phone vibrate. you finish up in the bathroom and read your boyfriends caller ID on your illuminated phone screen. you quickly pick up the phone :3

“eita? everything ok?” you asked slightly concerned but also this is your boyfriend we’re talking about here, 2 am is his 10 pm.

“i was just up thinking about how i never got to hear about your day today, lay it on me”. he said in that sleepy voice you love oh so much. you smile to your self, getting comfortable in bed while you tell him in detail about your day, knowing the two of you will just end up sleeping on the phone together.

boyfriend! semi who stalks your spotify and plays all your favorite artists while you’re in his car with him

boyfriend! semi who kisses your nose goodbye every time he has to go

you were cuddled up on your couch with semi, watching old movies together. everything felt so comfortable and cozy. you laid in his strong arms, lightly inhaling his cologne off the sweater he wore. suddenly his phone buzzing snapped you out of your trance.

“shit, trouble at the apartment. i gotta head out”. he said propping you up and frantically gathering his things. he had been having some issues with his stove at his apartment so you didn’t blame him for trying to rush back before anything bad happened. before he left, he walked over to you and tilted your head up with his fingers, planting a light kiss on the tip of your nose before flashing you a sweet smile.

“i’ll be back later, love you”.

boyfriend! semi who begs you to come thrift with him because he’s afraid he’ll buy ugly clothes that’ll give you the ick

boyfriend! semi who would never admit it but secretly loves being the little spoon

boyfriend! semi who loves explaining the lore behind all his favorite bands to you but ends up feeling anxious about ranting for so long

boyfriend! semi who keeps polaroids of you everywhere and always keeps a camera on him to take more polaroids

boyfriend! semi who is really good at making sushi and always surprises you with his cooking (or sushi making)

boyfriend! semi who invites you to all his band practices and always gets lectured by his band mates for messing around too much with you there

some of semis band mates shared a house together. they didn’t have any super close neighbors, so they could practice there whenever they felt like it. he thought it would be a pretty boring experience for you so he usually didn’t invite you to come, but sometimes he felt really proud of the new songs they’d rehearse and wanted you to hear them first and live.

the only problem with that was, whenever you sat infront of him on the couch watching him with your pretty eyes, looking so starstruck by him, he seemed to forget how to play guitar entirely. he’d hit wrong frets, fumble lyrics, strum wrong chords. he was a mess. but that didn’t stop him from being shamelessly flirty with you infront of all his band members.

boyfriend! semi who always surprises you with concert tickets to cute romantic artists (like matt maltese or faye webster yk)

boyfriend! semi who also invites you to his favorite artists concerts when they go on tour, which are usually a lot more upbeat and end up with you two singing and jumping in the crowd :]

[aquamarine-oceanfront]

AJ DiSpirito, a composer who's scored or contributed music to many of Glitch Productions' shows (most recently Murder Drones), has run into an issue regarding his work's availability. On YouTube, direct links to the official, automatically-generated uploads for each song (different from the videos AJ himself posted, which are one per album) will lead to this error:

What's worse is that this is not confined to a single website or composer - it appears to have affected nearly every single streaming platform that previously hosted his work, as well as other Glitch soundtracks:

I did some investigating myself, and I can say two things with utmost certainty. The first is that, as he says in the above tweet, The Amazing Digital Circus's soundtracks were both pulled from YouTube in the same manner as his work on Murder Drones:

The second is that every single Glitch-related release on Qobuz - including their other shows, Meta Runner, Sunset Paradise, and SMG4 - has been delisted.

(The reason I highlight Qobuz specifically was simply because I had been meaning to buy Murder Drones' soundtrack there in the future, since it is the only place I know of where it can be purchased instead of just streamed.)

Finally, as mentioned at the very start of this post, this is likely tied to what appears to be a copyright troll reuploading DiSpirito's music for Glitch on YouTube and Amazon Music (among other places). "Urza's Destiny Beats" uses different names and (AI-generated) artwork for their uploads, but the actual music is undeniably stolen. Just a few examples:

"Festering Wound" is actually "Eternal Dream"

"Barrin, Master Wizard" is actually "The Knife Dance"

"Trumpet Blast" is actually "Solver Uzi"

In short, this is a pretty open and shut case. Considering both that and the many different artists who've been impacted, I'm hoping DistroKid (and/or any other relevant authorities) correct the problem soon - though I haven't heard great things about their track record for responsiveness.

Update #1: All Glitch music has been delisted from Spotify. Gooseworx (creator and co-composer of TADC) and the Lerdwichagul brothers (co-founders and heads of Glitch itself) are aware of the situation.

Update #2 (June 5th, 2024): The affected music is beginning to reappear! It's back up on YouTube and Apple Music, with other services likely to follow.

[elliesbelle]

nobody compares to you

chapter 3

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, dealer!ellie, mentions of alcohol, brief mention of vomit, a little bit enemies to lovers, minors do not interact

word count: 1.6k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-fi if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

The sunshine streaming from your bedroom window wakes you up that Sunday morning. You groan as you lazily get up from bed to close the blinds before returning to your bed with a flop. 

After five seconds of loud moans of grogginess muffled into your pillow, you lay on your side to check your phone. You thank past you for remembering to charge it before completely passing out when you got home last night. 

Two messages from “D Money 💛” and six from the group chat with your other friends are what you noticed first. 

Looking in the group chat, it was your friends Astrid and Tara texting along the lines of, “who’s nursing a massive hangover rn, woohoo 🎉 good job ladies.” 

A half smile forms on your lips but you decide not to respond for now, still a little annoyed at your irresponsible friends and their antics. 

You then proceed to open Dina’s texts from this morning. 

You glance at the time on your phone. 8:16. You have a bit of time to get decent, not that Dina hasn’t seen you in worse conditions. 

Groaning, you force yourself off your bed. The only item of clothing from last night that you’d shed were your boots. You peel off the rest and toss them to the side, making a mental note to actually put them in your hamper later. 

You rummage through your dresser for a set of house clothes. Settling on an old high school t-shirt and grey sweatpants, you head towards your bathroom. 

You lived in an off-campus apartment that was just a 15-minute walk away from your school. You had it all to yourself, which you were originally reluctant about, but you later came around to. 

Entering the bathroom and blinded by the bright white lights, you place your clothes on the sink and finally look at your reflection in the mirror. 

The state you’re in has present you chastising past you for not getting ready for bed properly. Your hair is in utter disarray, eye makeup and false eyelashes all askew, lipstick more on your cheek than on your actual lips. 

Hot fucking mess, minus the hot. 

After attacking your face with several makeup wipes, you hop in the tub for a well-deserved hot shower. 

It’s while you were rinsing off the shampoo from your hair that you finally allowed yourself to think about Ellie. 

What the fuck was that last night? Did that really happen? Was I that fucked up and imagined the whole thing? No. Dina’s coming over for a reason. It must have been true. 

You let the shower water run over your back for much longer than you needed, finding comfort in the heat. After finishing up, you tiptoe out of the bath while shivering from the absence of warm water. You walk into the living room five minutes later, freshly showered with comfortable clothes on, teeth brushed, and your wet hair wrapped in your bath towel. 

Settling on your small grey couch, you decide to scroll through your phone mindlessly while you wait for Dina’s arrival. New texts were waiting in your friends' group chat, but you disregard them once more, deciding you were not in the mood and that you have nothing useful to contribute anyway. 

After a while, you hear the sound of keys unlocking your front door. This doesn’t surprise you as Dina (and Jesse) have a set of keys to your place. You think about her previous comment about “pounding at your door” when you both knew she’d just do this anyway and chuckle.

You glance at the time. 8:55. 

Oh, she means business. 

Dina walks in carrying a coffee carrier with two cups wedged in it. Dropping the keys on the dining room table, she locks the door behind her. She looks up at you and smiles widely. 

“Oh, look who’s up and presentable!” 

“Semi-presentable.” 

“Did you shower just for me?” Dina says, placing her free hand on her chest and gasping dramatically as she approaches you. You chuckle inwardly over how similar her mannerisms are to Jesse’s. You silently envy the intimacy they share.

“I didn’t want to subject you to a disgusting, hungover version of myself after last night.” 

“Babe, first of all. I have seen you in far worse conditions. Second, you were nowhere near the most disgusting of everyone last night,” Dina says, placing the coffee carrier on the coffee table in front of you. “Tara apparently was cleaning her shoes off for about an hour after she got home last night ‘cause Astrid decided to throw up all over them.” 

You scrunch up your face in disgust. 

“Gross. And okay, fair.” 

You point at one of the coffee cups. 

“That mine?” 

Dina smiles and says, “Mocha frappe with extra syrup and extra whipped cream.” 

You reach for the large plastic cup of coffee with a straw poking out of a swirl of whipped cream decorated with chocolate syrup. 

“You are a saint among mortals, D.” 

She gives you a big smile and sits on the opposite end of your couch, kicking off her shoes and burying her feet underneath one of your throw pillows. 

“How are you even awake right now?” You ask before taking a sip of your coffee. 

“Sheer willpower. Plus Tara had an early shift at Ruston Coffee earlier, so she let me cut the line for our coffees.” 

You notice that her cup is already drunk from. 

Licking some whipped cream from your top lip,  you question, “So do you wanna tell me why you’re at my apartment at 9 A.M. on a Sunday morning?” 

“What, can I not bring my dear friend her favourite drink while she’s hungover?” She asks jokingly. 

You give her a look. This is something that Dina very much would do. But you know that there are ulterior motives this time. 

Dina sighs. 

“Can we talk about whatever happened with Ellie last night?” 

“Nope.” 

“Babe—” 

“There’s nothing to talk about, D. Really.” You assure her, making sure to take a long sip from your straw to avoid elaborating further. 

“Look. I love both you and Els dearly. And after almost three years with you and around fifteen or so with Ellie, I know that you’re both incredibly stubborn and repress your feelings to an unhealthy extent.” 

“I don’t—” You begin, but Dina holds a hand up. 

“Yes, you do. And I understand why. Especially with what you’ve gone through the past few years.” 

You gulp and avert your eyes elsewhere. 

“I don’t like seeing my friends in pain,” Dina says softly. “Especially not when I can do something about it, or at least try to help. You’ve gone through enough. I just want to be there for you as much as I can.” 

You look back at her and meet her sympathetic eyes. You understand why Jesse has stayed in love with her after all these years. You understand why Dina had so many friends and was well-loved by so many. You know you were lucky to feel loved by her. 

“I love you, Dina. Thank you.” You say, teary-eyed. You reach your hand out to her. 

She holds hers out and squeezes yours softly. 

“Anything for you, honey.” She says. 

You pull your hand back to wipe away tears before they fall. 

“Anyway,” You sniff. “Did you come here to make me cry or—?” 

She chuckles. 

“Sorry about that. But I came to talk about Ellie.” 

You sigh, relenting. 

“What about her?” 

She looks at you intensely for a moment or so, seemingly choosing her words carefully. 

“I want you to be completely honest with me.” She starts, placing her coffee cup on the table. “Are you still in love with Ellie?” 

Your breath hitches. 

“No.” You say, a little too quickly. 

“I said to be honest, babe.” She replies, apprehensively. 

“I’m not in love with her!” 

Dina holds her hands up defensively. 

“Okay, okay! If that’s the answer you want to give me right now, that’s fine.” 

You glare at her. 

“You know that I know the truth, even if you refuse to admit it to me or even to yourself.” She says, looking at your indignant expression. “You can be mad all you want, it’s okay.” 

“Why are you asking this?” You question. 

Dina places an elbow on the couch’s arm and rests her head in her hand. 

“Jesse and I were just watching you two last night. And there’s obviously a lot of unresolved shit there.” 

You begin anxiously playing with your straw. 

“If being mad at her for the rest of my life counts as unresolved shit, then sure.” 

“Babe,” Dina continues. “If this were some two-month fling of Ellie’s where she screwed them over, I wouldn’t bother. But it’s you, and I know you both still care about each other. You think I didn’t notice Ellie going after you to the bathroom last night?” 

You gulp, remembering how observant Dina and Jesse were of both your absences from the table the previous night. 

“She was just being nosy.” You mutter. 

“About? Wait, you don’t need to tell me that part if you don’t want. But did you two actually talk about anything?” 

You sigh and say in one quick breath, “I basically told her to fuck off and that my feelings don’t actually matter to her and that I’m not her friend or her girlfriend and that she has no obligation to me.” 

Dina’s eyes widen. 

“Ah.”

author's notes:

i'm so sorry for such a short chapter!! i didn't want to overfill this one cause i really planned for this to be short BECAUSE the next chapter is going to be quite a novel! (sorry not sorry)

is reader's fave coffee order a mocha frappe because my fave coffee order is a mocha frappe? no, who told you that?

as always, let me know what you think! likes & reblogs are appreciated AND very much welcome :)

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr

please let me know if i missed you in the taglist or if you’d like to be added! ♡︎

[kierongillen]

i have to know - as a disco elysium fan who didnt do disco, what would you say is essential disco listening for me?

I'm hugely behind on the asks, but I have to answer this one, because I'm going to answer a connected but completely different question, and then maybe then loop back to you. I'm just looking for an excuse to ramble, and do the writer equivalent of a warm-up sketch (i.e. waste time).

My apologies.

If you wake up and decide that you want to get into a whole genre of music, there's basically two tactics.

(There's also the "Why would anyone care to get into something they don't care about", which is one of the few things I have a "There's two sorts of people..." response to - those who when presented by something unknown either think "why should I know about that?" or "why don't I know about that?" I'm the latter, and it's served me well.)

The first tactic is simple.

Jump on a genre with Best Of in the title and follow your pleasure response. Here's a Spotify one. What interests you? What excited you? What makes you laugh? Probably explore more of that. If not, indulge widely, and see what sticks. At a glance, Disco playlists seem to have the problem of most playlists, in that strictly not everything on it is disco per se. For example, Dancing Queen strictly speaking isn't a disco song - but it's a song about disco, in every way. But if anything has found its way on a playlist, it's found its way on for a reason.

In your case, you're interested in what Disco resonates with Disco Elysium. Which I've bought for C, but not played, but I'm aware of in a "if I was still a games journalist, this is clearly one I would write a lot about." I spent years writing about Planescape Torment, and I know a spiritual successor when I see one.

This makes me think the area you want is basically the classier end - the big bleak emotions, the chilliness, the control, lonely on a dancefloor, lonely everywhere, oh-so-much cocaine, and - to steal Paul Lester's line - glass mountains on fire.

Which leads back to the second way of getting into a genre of music - which is to hit a major artist, and hit them hard.

When asked about "how shall I get into a band" my advice is actually the opposite of what I'm about to give. If you just want to get into a band, get Best Of, see what tracks you like, then go to the albums they're from. But if you're trying to get into a whole genre of music, that's a more serious endeavour, and may reward the opposite approach.

Basically pick a key album from a key band, and get into it, and grow from there. Read about the band - you don't need much, but a little helps. Learn how to listen to what their tracks do. And then you use that band as the single point of knowledge you have to orientate yourself to everything else you listen afterwarads.

There's a huge danger to this - basically, no-one is more ignorant than someone with a little knowledge. You have to be aware that you are the person who knows a bit about Boss Baby, and using that to get into things other than Boss Baby.

The strength is that it's a more holistic, lived in knowledge than just skimming the surface. You understand the music better as an artifact of their times, made by people, responding to their specific situation - which adds different flavours to your appreciation of it. Sure, your own response and how it finds a place in your life is always the thing which over-rules anything else - but the more you can listen for, the more you can hear, the more you can get from a work of art.

Anyway - I'm telling you to go and listen to Risque by Chic.

Chic are basically fucking awesome. If you don't know Disco at all, the opening Good Times chilly ironic take on American late-seventies culture is a great and (I suspect) Disco Elysium relevant intro. You'll know it as a sample, if nothing else, and the eight minutes version that opens Risque is a great way to think about it as both music for dancing (it is endless) and music for listening (it is boundless).

I got Risque as Paul Lester went to bat for it so hard in the Unknown Pleasures book the Maker stuck on the cover in 1995 (it was covering 20 albums that had fell out of the critical conversation, and it absolutely changed the dirction of my listening in the period). Here's Lester writing about Risque more recently for a taste, as the original piece doesn't appear to be online. I just read it in my copy, and it's a burst of love, describing it Disco as music about love - never sex, only love, and mainly love that is denied. That seems solid, at least for the best of chic.

Risque is the Chic album that Lloyd from Phonogram would have been listening to, certainly. I know I did.

(Plus At Last I Am Free from C'est Chic, obv)

There's a lot of Chic to listen to - their own work, especially in the period, and all their productions. Their work with Sister Sledge is of particular import - Lost In Music was one of the working title for Phonogram, and you can see and hear why. They're also the Disco band whose influence is perhaps most obvious in other bands. Everyone liked Chic. No Chic, no Orange Juice, no Orange Juice, no Smiths, etc.

Sister Sledge was the first live band I was at. My mum went to see them when she was eight and a half months pregnant. The temptration to say I'd have heard Lost in Music then and sold is tempting, but ahistorical - it's well before their work with Chic.

Anyway - get into Chic. It'll make your life better - and when your life isn't better, it's a superior context to lose yourself.

However, to go back to your question, as a Disco Elysium fan, I'm not sure it's actually THIS Disco you're looking for.

How about Disco Inferno?

Not Disco at all, but most like itself than anything else, which sounds like what I understand about Disco Elysium. right?

(DI Goes Pop is the starting place)

[roo-bastmoon]

Battle Plans for the next 4 days...

Guys, we're doing really, really well with only one version. But now is the time when lots of folks get back into work routines, or get complacent with their playlists due to fatigue.

We have GOT to buy from all stores, in addition to iTunes. And we need to BUY THE TRACKS SEPARATELY for BB200. If you need help with purchasing, JiminFunds is open. If you don't need help, please donate to JiminFunds.

If you order physicals online now, they will only ship in time for Week 2. So for now, you need to concentrate on either buying in person or digital sales. Don't neglect these stores, and remember that the BTS store has THREE DIGITAL ALBUM VERSIONS!

We have also GOT to diversify streaming platforms in addition to Spotify. I get it's a tough economy, but free trial premium streams count and you can go make a free account right now on Apple Music, Amazon Music, Deezer, Qobuz, Tidal and Pandora. We HAVE to use YouTube and YouTube Music. There's no way around it; it's necessary for charting. There's no reason not to take advantage of a free trial-- they remind you to cancel before you get charged!

Later on today we are going to get remixes and we MUST use them correctly. Stream the album top to bottom. Then the remixes. Use Face and other songs as filler. Switch accounts and keep going.

We also need to vote. This is the last chance for Jimin to get a Countdown trophy before they close up shop for the Olympics and, surprisingly, the competition is super high (because we don't have tons of versions). So every single vote matters now. Download the Mnet app and just take 1 minute out of your day to vote, please:

My friends, we've done so, so well with our enthusiasm and hard work. So much better than we thought possible. The general public has embraced Who on social media; top playlists are ranking it high in public lists; and even some radio stations are picking it up. Muse is doing so well that the company is actually gonna give us remixes and put in the effort.

Now is time to be focused and precise. No distractions. No bullshit. Stay sharp, puppykitties.

Discourse can come later. Right now, we have a real chance to make history for our boy.

Do it for Jimin.

Love, Roo

[weemswife]

Work exhaustion

Larissa Weems x Female reader

Summary: Reader works as a part-time assistant for a fashion editor, so sometimes she can have very long and exhausting days at photoshoots, and this day was one of them.

Author's note: so yeah this is my first ever fanfic that i have written so please be kind lol, and this fic is maybe more like ‘day in my life’ kind of fic and is more focused on the reader than Larissa. And the fic is actually briefly based on my recent workday but i of course changed many things. Btw i would love to know your thoughts on this fic, and please remember that english is NOT my first language. And this is probably the messiest fanfic ever lmao.

Warnings: a brief mention of sexual content, exhaustion, a bit of strong language, bad english i think that's it but please let me know if you think other ways. ty :)

Word count: 2357

*alarm sound goes on*

“Goddamnit” you mumbled quickly turning off the alarm so you wouldn't wake the sleeping woman next to you.

you checked the time on your phone and it was 6:40am. You weren't a morning person at all so it took all of you not to go back to sleep because you knew how long your day was going to be.

You quietly got up from the bed the two of you shared, you didn't want to wake up Larissa because the school hasn't started yet so she could sleep a bit longer than normally even though she would be doing work things on her computer during the day, she didn't have to wake up at 5am like she normally did. You walked to the bathroom that was connected to your large bedroom and did your morning routines, after that you quietly gathered all the things you needed from the bedroom and went to the kitchen/livingroom to change your clothes that you already chose last night, (the outfit was just a dark blue hoodie and jeans) after changing your clothes you started making your breakfast which was just a piece of bread with cheese and cucumber slices on it and of course you had your morning coffee. 

After breakfast you took your favourite smoothie from the fridge and putted it in your bag because you knew that you needed something to drink during the day, you checked the time on your phone and it was 7:18am, two minutes before you had to leave, so you quickly checked that you got everything and putted your leather jacket and shoes on and then you opened the door of your so called apartment and left. 

Walking through the empty hallways of the Nevermore Academy you took your headphones from the front pocket of your hoodie and putted them on your ears, after that you opened the Spotify app on your phone and pressed play on the ‘This is Fleetwood Mac’ playlist that you listened all the time and the first song that started playing was one of your favourites songs that Larissa actually introduced to you and it was song called ‘Say you will’.

When you finally got out of the school you checked the time and it was 7:22am, you had 13 minutes before your bus to the city you were today going would stop on your closest bus-station, so you started walking toward the bus-station on your normal walking pace which some people wouldn't consider as a normal walking because you were actually a very fast walker, you had always been that way and you believe that you got it from your dad because he was also a very fast walker and of course one reason could be that you were together with Larissa because literally her one step was same as normal person taking two steps. And in your opinion you didn't have problems with keeping up on Larissa’s walking pace when the two of you were walking in the forest or in just around Jericho.

When you got to the bus-station you checked the time on your phone and it was 7:31am so you still had four minutes left before your bus would be there. 

The 4 minutes passed and you finally got on the bus where you would be sitting the next 40 minutes. The only thing that kept you together during the bus trip was music, it was probably one of the most important things in your life and as cliche as it was you believed that you couldn't seriously live without it.  

The 40 minutes passed very quickly and you realised that your stop would be next. You waited for a moment before the bus stopped and you got off. You then started walking to a studio where you would start your day with the photographer, your boss and the model. You were supposed to be at the studio at 8:30am but when you arrived in front of the building you checked the time on your phone and it was 8:22am, you were early as always. Then you realised that the door that led into the studio was slightly open and you were glad about it, because if the door was closed you would have call your boss so she could open it and you really didn't like calling to her so now that you got the change you opened the door a bit more so you could get in and closed it behind your back.

From inside the studio was quiet so you thought that there was no one except you so when you walked a bit forward into the studio you almost freaked out when all of sudden you saw Annie. “Hi” said she “hi, what are you doing here?” you asked “oh well i’ll be the assistant for the photographer today.” she answered. “Okay well i'm happy that you’re here ” you said, you liked Annie even though this  was the second time you actually met her, but she was much more energetic and helpful than you were. You didn't have anything to do so you just chatted a moment with her before she got a text message that she would have to go to the grocery store to get breakfast for your crew.

After a couple of hours everything was ready in the studio and you left to the location with the crew, you literally needed two cars because there was so much stuff that the photographer needed and also the clothes took a lot of space.

After you arrived at a small building that was in the area where the photo shooting would happen you were told that you would be staying the whole time in the building guarding the clothes etc.

So you just sat there and after everytime the shot for one look was done you of course helped the model change, there were 8 different outfits that would be photographed. Of course after your boss realised that you were just chilling during the shoots she made you do a million different kind of things that you had literally never done before.

The photo shoot took only 4 hours and when you were done you had to pack everything and carry all the bags to the car that would take them back to the studio. After everybody was ready you just left, it took a while to get to the studio but when you finally got there you started packing everything away with Annie.

After spending two hours in the studio packing all the clothes, shoes and bags with Annie you were finally free to go and you were exhausted. You thought that it was actually almost funny how tired you were, because all you did during the day was sitting around and help the model get out of the clothes and change in new ones, maybe it was the packing or the fact you slept only 5 hours during last night, or the lack of food or the fact you were working almost 10 hours straight, but honestly it didn't matter. When you left the studio and started walking towards the bus-station with Annie you took your phone from the back pocket of your jeans and texted Larissa:

“I’ll be home in one hour and i haven't eaten much today…”

You checked the time and it was almost 6pm so Larissa should be done with her work for the day, so you waited a few moments when you saw that she had seen your messages and then she started writing you back.

“Oh sweetheart, that doesn't sound good, i’ll make you something to eat when you get home:).”

You just replied with “<3”. And then you put your phone back in your pocket. 

You realised that you were already at the bus-station so you waited with Annie for your buses to come, her bus came first so you said goodbyes and then she went in and the bus left. You checked the time on your phone and it was 6:01pm three minutes before your bus comes. So you took your headphones from your bag and put them on your ears and started listening to Fleetwood Mac again.

3 minutes pass and you are already in the bus where you will sit for the next 40 minutes again..

The 40 minutes pass surprisingly quickly when you try your best not to fall asleep and you realise that your stop is next so you get out of your seat and wait for the bus to stop and you get out. After getting out your tired mind realised that you have to walk to the school, you were still exhausted. Honestly you wished that you didn't have to take another step today, but you really didn't have choices because it was too late to call Larissa to come and get you and also you didn’t want to bother her anyway. So you started walking the road that led to the school knowing that it would take much more time than it normally took. 

Almost 15 minutes later, almost at the school you tried your best to walk even a bit faster knowing that in just a moment you would be at home with Larissa. Opening the main door of the school you started walking towards your apartment door, when you came face to face with a large wooden door you unlocked it with your key and went in.

Inside the apartment Larissa was buzzing around your small kitchen while making food for you, but when she heard you opening the door she immediately turned to see you coming into the room. 

“Hi” you said with a small voice, you seriously didn't even have the energy to speak anymore.

“Hi” she answered while walking towards you she saw how exhausted you looked and when she was close enough to touch you she took you into her arms and hugged you.

She eventually let go and started walking back to the kitchen so she could finish the food.

“The food is almost ready dear, so please take your shoes and jacket off and go to sit on the sofa.”

You didn't even realise that you still had your shoes and jacket on so you took them off and walked slowly towards the sofa and tried your best to stay awake.

Meanwhile Larissa has finished the food she made which was chicken and rice because she knew you loved it. She then came towards you and sat next to you on the sofa while speaking quietly.

“The food is ready now sweetheart, you can eat it on the sofa but first you need to change into more comfortable clothing, i can go get the clothes for you but what do you want?” she almost whispered.

“Maybe an oversized t-shirt and my black pyjama pants would be nice” you answered.

“All right, i’ll be right back dear” she said while getting up from the sofa.

A couple of minutes passed and when she came back she saw you almost half asleep. 

You were almost falling asleep until you heard Larissa’s footsteps coming towards you. Now she knelt in front of you and said,

“I’ll help you to change your clothes now if you allow me?”

You just answered by nodding your head.

Then she took the hem of your shirt into her hands and started moving it upwards.

“Darling, could you please raise your hands for me so i can take this hoodie off?” she asked.

You did what you were told and lazily raised your hands so Larissa could get the hoodie off easier.

After she had almost completely undressed you and the only things you still had on were bra and underwear, Larissa watched you for a moment while sitting on the floor in front of you.

Usually this sight would turn her on in seconds but she knew that you could fall asleep in any minute so she gathered herself from the floor and started dressing you in her old oversized t-shirt that had a picture of Stevie Nicks on it and after putting on the shirt she helped you into the pyjama pants.

After that she went back to the kitchen to get you some food, she then returned to the sofa where you were sitting and handed you the plate.

You started slowly eating the food that Larissa had made for you, while she sat next to you and watched while you ate.

After finishing the food you thanked Larissa and leaned your head on her shoulder.

She didn't first even realise that you had fallen asleep until she started hearing that you breath steadied and when you didn't answer anything when she whispered into your ear.

Larissa let you sleep for a while before she slowly stood up and you still didn't wake up. She then gathered you into her arms and lifted you up from the sofa and carried you into your bedroom.

She put you down on the bed and went to the bedroom to get your hairbrush and a small tube of gel that you put on your face every night before going to bed.

After she finished doing your nighttime routines for you and you were still sleeping Larissa just moved you so your position would be more comfortable and then she covered most of your body with the blanket so you wouldn't feel cold during the night.

She then left the bedroom and went back to the kitchen/livingroom and made sure that all things were where they should be so that you wouldn't have to worry about that in the morning.

After cleaning Larissa returned to the bedroom and started doing her own nighttime routines, letting her hair down and brushing it, changing into something more comfortable, doing her skincare routines etc. 

After she was done with the nighttime routines Larissa climbed into the bed and carefully pulled your body close to hers so she could spoon you from behind, then she whispered “good night my love”

And closed her eyes.

[lnfours]

sideline (three) | t.h

summary -> tom holland: the name thats always floating around campus, and for good reason. he’s the captain of the hockey team, he’s good looking, and he’s always caught up in an off and on again relationship with the president of the sorority. that’s where you come in. you two had made a deal to make your exes jealous, but we all know how fake relationships end.

wc -> a rule breaking 2.5k

warnings -> fluff, jealous exes, and fluff. 

🎵 spotify playlist | 📖 prev/next chapter | 📂 masterlist

                                ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

it was finally friday, the night of the first home hockey game. you were in the bathroom, trying desperately to curl the back of your head, but no luck. 

you huffed, “mia! can you come here real quick?!” 

your voice echoed, her footsteps being your sign that she heard you. she opened the door to your bedroom, walking into the small half bathroom. 

“what’s up?” she met your eyes in the mirror, cracking a smile at how distressed you look. 

“can you curl the back of my hair, please?” 

she smiled, holding her hand out for the curling wand. she sectioned your hair, grabbing a reasonably sized chunk before wrapping it around the barrel. 

“so,” she dragged the ‘o’, “you excited for tonight?”

you shrugged, “i suppose. would be nice to actually see tom play.”

“oh, i meant to ask,” she said, “but how did you two even start dating? was it the night of the party?”

you bit down on your bottom lip, “yeah, yeah. i guess we sorta kinda just clicked? i don’t really know how to explain it.”

she smiled, “i was just making sure this is something you really wanted. i mean, i know i’m one to talk, but with everything that happened with jack, i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you smiled softly at her in the mirror, “i’m okay, i just want to move on and be happy again.”

“understandable,” she said, “what he did was so fucked up. he’s lucky i haven’t seen him yet because i will quite literally give him an ass whooping.”

you laughed, “i love you.”

she smiled back at you, “i love you, too,” she turned the curling wand off, placing it down on the sink before admiring her work, “and you’re all set, hot stuff.”

you smiled, “thanks.”

“i’m gonna go make sure sarah isn’t trying to leave the house with sweatpants on.” she said and you laughed as she made her way back down the steps. 

your phone buzzed on the counter, a message popping up on your screen. you grabbed the phone, plopping down on your stomach onto the mattress. 

tom dropped something off for you at your door see you soon :) 

you locked your phone before running down the steps, laughing as you heard sarah’s complaining about the outfit mia suggested she wore tonight. you opened the front door, a bag sitting on the carpet in the hallway. 

you grabbed it and shut the door, reading the sticky note that was plopped on top of whatever was inside the bag. 

fake girlfriend or not, there’s no one else i’d want wearing my last name tonight. 

the tickets are at the bottom, see you tonight :)  - tom 

you pulled out the black jersey, the stitching on the back reading tom’s last name and his number. you smiled, grabbing your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans. 

y/n thank you! i love it 

you slipped your phone back into your pocket, jogging up the stairs. you entered sarah’s room where mia was laying on the bed, smiling contently with her efforts on getting mia to dress up a little bit. you entered the room, your eyes immediately going wide at sarah’s outfit. 

“you look hot!” 

“see, told you,” mia said, throwing her hands up in the air, “wear the outfit!”

she was in a black turtleneck sweater tucked into the front of her light wash jeans that quite literally fit her like a glove. she wore a pair of black booties with them, with some light makeup on (courtesy of mia). 

sarah hardly ever got dressed up like this anymore, which she never really had to. she looked gorgeous either way. but ever since her and her ex boyfriend broke up, she’d lost the motivation to throw on cute outfits, just opting in on staying in sweats or pajamas all day. if there was a party, it was leggings, one of her comfort hoodies, and her beat up pair of converse that were now considered her ‘frat shoes’. 

you and mia both tried to get her back to being her confident, carefree self. but, it was hard. hard for all of you, especially sarah. at the end of the day, you both just wanted her happy again. 

“mia, this bra is suffocating my tits,” she said, tugging at the cups, “how the fuck do you wear this everyday?”

you both laughed, “you’ll get used to it.”

“what’s that, y/n?” mia asked, nodding towards the bag in your hand. you smiled, grabbing the material from the bag and holding it up for both the girls to see. 

“no way!”

“shut the fuck up!!”

you laughed, smiling, “i know, i know.”

“that’s so cute,” mia said, sticking her bottom lip out. sarah agreed, nodding her head as she put a hand over her heart. 

“finally, y/n finding someone who treats her right.”

you chuckled, fishing the tickets out of the bottom of the bag, “here’s our tickets. we should probably leave soon.”

“yes ma’am,” mia said, fakely saluting you.

sarah and you laughed, each of you departing to your own rooms to finish up getting ready and to grab your things. 

                               ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the arena was packed for the first home game filled with a bunch of parents and college kids hoping for their team to win. tom was nice enough to get you, mia and sarah seats right near the ice. 

“okay, can i just say, i love tom. i mean, look at these seats.”

you smiled over at sarah, “yeah, it was really nice of him.”

mia was looking around at the people near you, seeing if anyone else you guys knew showed up for the game. she immediately whipped her head back around to you, slapping your arm to get your attention. 

“jack’s here.”

there’s that nervous pit again. 

“wait, where?” sarah asked, moving to turn around in her seat. mia reached over you and grabbed her arm to stop. 

“don’t look at him! he’s a couple rows up.”

great.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, you fished it out and tapped on the message notification. 

tom hey, how're your seats? 

y/n they’re great! other than the fact that jack is a couple rows behind me but otherwise they’re great :) 

tom oh shit, i’m sorry i can have someone come get you and move you guys if you want

y/n no, no it’s okay 

you bit down on your bottom lip, fingers hovering over the keyboard. 

let’s just make him jealous, like we said we would

tom with pleasure.  see you after the game

y/n  good luck :) 

you locked your phone, mia turning to look at you, “you okay?”

you nodded, tucking a piece of hair away from your face, “yeah, actually. i am.”

it wasn’t a complete lie. sure, seeing jack was like a sucker punch to the gut, but you decided to not let it overpower you tonight. you were here with your best friends, supporting one of the nicest, funniest, caring guys you’ve ever met.

as the night went on, you and your friends cheered on tom’s team. he scored the winning goal and the arena erupted with cheers and applause. you, mia and sarah immediately jumped out of your seats, screaming and cheering as tom shrugged off his helmet and was hugged by his team. once everyone had calmed down, he skated over to your section, holding up a heart made out of his hands. you smiled, holding up one back. 

his subtle jab of rubbing it into jack’s face. smooth. 

once the arena cleared out, you let mia and sarah head back in mia’s car as you waited for tom. you were waiting in the lobby, scrolling on your phone trying to pass time.

“hey,” you heard a voice and looked up to see jack, “didn’t know you liked our hockey team.”

you slipped your phone into your pocket, clearing your throat, “uh, yeah. kinda getting back into liking hockey.”

he nodded, “yeah. i mean, sleeping with the captain of the team kinda helps, doesn’t it?”

you opened your mouth to speak, but felt a hand wrap around your waist. you were immediately enveloped in the scent of tom’s cologne. 

“hey, baby,” he said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. you masked the surprise that ran through your body, smiling over at him as he looked over at jack, “sorry, didn’t catch your name, mate. you are?”

jack’s eyes narrowed on tom’s figure, “jack.”

“jack, i’m tom, nice to meet you.” he said, holding out his hand for him to shake. jack didn’t accept the handshake, but just shifted his gaze to you.

“didn’t you say jocks aren’t your type?” he asked, and eyebrow raised at you. 

“funny how we both said things we didn’t mean.” you spit back. he opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by his friends calling his name behind him. he rolled his eyes, turning around and walking towards his group. 

“pleasure was all mine, mate! see you later!” tom called back after him. you let a chuckle escape your mouth as he unwrapped his arm from around you, turning to face you, “you okay?”

you nodded, “yeah. thank you.”

“that’s what i’m here for,” he smiled, “hungry? we can get something to eat before i drop you off at home?”

you nodded, “sounds good.”

he nodded towards the door, the two of you walking out towards the parking lot. he opened the passenger side door for you. you thanked him before he jogged around to his side, buckling in and starting the car before passing you his phone.

“put on whatever you want.”

you scrolled through his spotify, finding a couple songs you knew and put them on through the car speakers. he pulled into the parking lot to one of the diners in town. the two of you made your way inside before sitting in a booth across from one another. 

you scanned over the menu, “what’re you going to get?”

he hummed, “don’t know. kinda going back and forth between the club and the chicken parm. what about you?”

you hummed, twisting your lips in thought, “the grilled cheese and tomato soup sounds good.”

he smiled, “does sound good.”

once the two of you ordered and got your food, you made small talk about the game. 

“i don’t think jack likes me much.” tom chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

“no, really?” you smiled, voice laced with sarcasm, “what gave it away? was it the blatant ignoring or was it something else i didn’t pick up on?”

he smiled, “not that i care about his opinion of me, but he could’ve at least shook my hand.” 

you nodded in agreement, “yeah, no, he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

the bill came and after trying to grab it from him for about five minutes, you finally let him pay. you walked out, letting him open the car door for you, as he always does. you two were on the way back to your house, laughing and enjoying comfortable conversation. 

“so, tell me,” he said, “are you really not into the jock type?”

you nodded, “yeah, i mean, guys who i’ve met who were athletes were like the stereotypical jock type. the huge ego, kinda kept their girlfriend by their side as arm candy, never really cared about the woman they were with, you know?”

he nodded, “yeah, i don’t really get how guys can do that. any guy who doesn’t worship their girl is a dick, in my opinion.”

you smiled, “are you the type of guy to worship your girl?” 

“oh, yeah,” he said, “i mean, if you don’t then what’s the point, y’know?”

“i get you,” you said, “in my opinion, taylor didn’t deserve you.”

he smiled over at you, “a lot of other people would agree with you.”

who would willingly break tom’s heart? i mean, c’mon, he’s the definition of a perfect boyfriend. 

no, stop thinking like that.

he pulled up in front of the house. you looked over at him, his brown eyes meeting yours. 

“do you want to come inside?” you didn’t even notice the words were falling from your lips until you heard your own voice. 

“sure.” he smiled, turning the car off. he followed you inside, mia and sarah sitting on the couch. 

“hey,” you said, shutting the door and locking it, your eyes falling onto the tv, “what’re you guys watching?”

“the new episode of love island,” mia said, “shh.”

you looked at tom who was smiling at you. you rolled your eyes playfully, “okay, you guys have fun. we’re going upstairs.”

sarah gave you a thumbs up as the two of you climbed the stairs. you made your way to your room and shut the door. tom took a seat onto your bed, watching as you walked over to the dresser.

“i might have a pair of sweats you can change into,” you said, digging through one of the drawers, “if you want to stay.”

he smiled, “i’d love to stay.”

you smiled back at him before handing him the sweatpants, “i can uhm, find a t-shirt or something if you don’t want to sleep in your sweatshirt.”

“i’m good for now,” he smiled, taking the sweatpants into his hands, “thank you.”

you nodded, “the bathroom is over there.”

he nodded, walking into the bathroom. you quickly changed into a pair of leggings and a tanktop, sitting on the bed as he came out of the bathroom. he joined you on the bed, putting his phone on the nightstand.

“wanna watch a movie or something?”

he nodded, “yeah, anything in mind?”

you hummed as you clicked onto netflix, “i heard the new movie on netflix is good. something about a girl who’s in fake relationship or something.”

he let out a chuckle as you smiled over at him, “how fitting. maybe we could learn a thing or two.”

you clicked on the movie, the both of you getting situated on the bed. you two were mainly talking rather than paying attention. he was propped up on his elbow, facing you as you laid down on your side. 

his eyes scanned your face, “oh, you have an eyelash.”

you reached up under the eye he pointed to, attempting to wipe it away. 

“did i get it?”

he smiled softly, “no, here,”

he reached up gently and pinched the eyelash between his fingers. you smiled as he scanned your face again. you did the same, his face softly illuminated from the light from the tv. he looked like a dream, his curls flopped over his forehead. you didn’t realize how close the two of you had gotten until you could feel his warm breath fan your face. he reached over and moved  a piece of hair from your face. 

“what’re you thinking about?” you asked softly.

“how i broke one of the rules.”

you raised an eyebrow, “which one?”

“the first one,” he said, “‘no strings attached’. i can’t help it. you’re all that’s been on my mind ever since i met you.”

you let out a shaky breath at how close he was, “i may have broken that one, too.”

he smiled, “let’s scrap the rules. i want to explore this, whatever kind of feelings we may or may not have… if that’s what you want.”

“yeah,” you said, “fuck the rules.”

he smiled wider, “is it alright if i kiss you right now?”

“please.”

                     ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

💌 beings my tagged list has gotten so long that tumblr literally won't let me add it, the tagged list is temporarily closed until i can figure it out. in the meantime, be sure to follow and turn on notifications for @toms-gf to be notified whenever i post imagines :)

xoxo, jordan

[lowkeyremi]

Izuku Midoriya has the worst music taste EVER. You had to hook him up bc bro was over here listening to that classical 1800s shit. 🤦🏽‍♀️

As his personal assistant you felt it was only right to help him. “Mr. Deku I-” you paused bc he was swaying his head to some classical music.

“um sir.. what kind of music are you listening to..?” He opened his eyes and smiled at you, “just something I Cannot Stop Twinkling recommended for me.”

Jeez. This is actually trash. He’s the number one pro hero and he’s listening to this..?

“Sir, I hope you don’t mind me saying this.. but this music sucks. And as you PA I think it’s my job to help you find a more suitable genre.” You say setting down his papers.

“What’s wrong with the music?” He asks.

“It’s not your style, sir.” You say to him.

“I told you not to call me sir when it’s just the two of us, darling” he changes the subject. You would have almost fallen for it but if you’re going to keep dating the number one pro hero then he can’t be listening to this.

“Do you not hear any of the music I listen to when we’re home?” You asked and walked over to turn off that horrendous music.

“I do sometimes..” he says, you watch as he manspreads and leans into his office chair.

“We have the duo Spotify plan for a reason. I’m going to get you to listen to my music.”

And after awhile he started to listen to your music while training, working, showering, etc…

You were cooking breakfast one morning and he was humming Sweater Weather while grabbing the orange juice. He didn’t have a shirt on so you could see all the scars that littered his back.

“I’m glad I fixed your musical tastes.” You mention with a giggle and he makes his way over to you to tickles your sides.

“Me too. I’ve started discovering what I like through your music.” His smile was big and you were a laughing mess.

“Not while I’m cooking breakfast, Izu” you scold playfully.

He shrugs those well built shoulders of his. “I’ll tickle my baby anytime I want.”

[icycoldninja]

Hi there! I would just like to thank you for doing my Lies of P request, I absolutely loved it! Thank you again and keep up the good work! 😘 I hope your requests are open. Anyhow, I am back again with another platonic headcannon request with the Sparda boys and V meet with a fem! Reader that is like Sophia from Lies of P (yes I am obssesed with the game, pls help)

Let's say the male reader from my first Lies of P request (Or P) introduced fem!reader and she is absolutely lovely, I mean, think about how the most caring mother would act and you would be pretty close how the fem!reader (or Sophia) acts. (And she really pretty. I mean, look at her)

She helps around as much as she can, but usually stays back from the combat, prefering to stay away and watch, rarely getting into fights. But then, maybe the male!reader is outnumbered and dies. Then fem!reader shows what she can do. She rewound time before the male!reader died. (I know since "rewinding time" other people wouldn't know she did that, but I feel like the boys would just habe a feeling of deja vu like they were here before.) And they ask male!reader if they were here (who is still in his silent past self) so they got no answers from him. But when questioning the fem!reader, she told them she rewound time and then she explained she actually had powers, mainly to talk to puppets, give people strength and the main part, rewinding time when the male!reader dies. (They still think the male reader is human)

Let's say some time passes, and lets say the fem!reader really grew on the boys. Until the faithful day when the male!reader got stabbed and left. (You know the rest) and for some odd reason the fem!reader disappeared a few weeks after the male!reader.

A lot of time passed (Let's say months since I still have no fucking idea how long the game is in it's time.) The male!reader returned but not fem!reader. And now, granted the power of speech, the male!reader explained what happened to her.

Alchemists (basically some crazy ass scientists) discovered the fem!reader had powers and took her away, while the male!reader was off to somehow gain more humanity (by lying) he found out what happened to to her and tried his best to find her, but when he found her, it was too late the alchemists already broke her.

(Her death broke me) in her final moments that were filled with pain, she asked the male!reader if he could kill her and take her egro since she waa in too much pain (basically egro is like sort of magic soul thingy every human in the game had.) And that she wanted to somewhat "be" with him always. He somberly accepted, ending her nightmare and collecting her egro and the magic she had, giving him finally some shred of humanity he yearned for. How would the boys react to this?

Btw, I am so fucking mad Spotify removed Devil Trigger and Bury the light off their app.

Anyways, I hope you have a good day and that you eat and drink and sleep well. Bye! ❤️

Lol no problem, I can see why you're obsessed, it looks fun. P is lowkey adorable and honestly looks like a mini-V. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Sophia-like!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante didn't expect his little buddy P to bring back a girl, thinking said girl was P's girlfriend or something.

-He was so happy when he found out you were single because you had to have been one of the prettiest ladies he'd ever met. Your mannerisms and sweetness made him think you'd be excellent wife material.

-When P got stabbed and then ran off to do his thing, Dante was dismayed to discover you had left a little while after as well, though whether or not you left with him remained to be seen.

-He searched high and low for you for many, many months, but he didn't find you until P came back to inform him that some crazy scientists possibly Hojo's relatives had taken you away to extract your powers.

-Together, the boys went to find you, but when they got there, it was too late. The alchemists had taken everything from you, even most of your body. You were alive, but just barely. It was a miserable existence, so you begged P to take your life force and just end everything already. P wasn't too happy to do this, but it had to be done, so he did.

-Dante was never the same. Every day he'd find himself wandering around aimlessly, staring up at the sky and wondering if you were still watching over him, or if you'd gone to heaven. Maybe you'd have met his mother. Whenever he sees a blue butterfly, Dante can't help but cry because it reminds him of you, and all that he's lost.

■ Vergil ■

-Upon being introduced to you, Vergil found you to be the sweetest, kindest girl he'd ever met.

-He resonated with you, since both of you have this natural parental nature that makes you seem like sage advice givers.

-When P got stabbed and dissappeared, he never thought you would leave a few weeks after. He was hurt that you would just abandon him like that without saying anything, even if you were in a hurry to locate P.

-Vergil searched for you, eventually running into a returning, more human-like P, who told him of the alchemists that had taken you away.

-The guys hurried to find you, but when they arrived, you'd already been stripped of most of your powers, barely clinging onto life. You pleaded with P to take the last of your ergo and release you from your suffering, which he did, somberly.

-Vergil was sure he'd lost the only person in the world who truly understood him for good, and despite all his MOTIVATION, he still managed to fall into depression. He keeps a terrarium of blue butterflies by his bedside at all times, using it to remind himself of the love of his life.

□ Nero □

-Nero didn't expect to be introduced to such a lovely lady by his buddy P, but he wasn't going to refuse.

-You were so nice! It was such a refreshing change of pace to know someone who wasn't crazy, stupid, a deadbeat, or a mixture of the three.

-He was absolutely heartbroken when you ran off after P left. He expected this from the kid, but not from you! He thought you would have enough sense to stay with him so you could look for P together.

-Angry, confused, and scared all at the same time, Nero looked for you and P, running into the latter a little later, who told him of your horrible fate.

-Nero knew that it was hopeless, but he ran to find you anyway. He honestly shouldn't have been surprised by what he saw, yet it still destroyed him to see you like that.

-After P took your ergo and released you from ultimate misery, Nero spent a long time in solitude, just wandering around, talking to butterflies and mourning your loss.

● V ●

-V fell in love with you on first sight. You were the tender, loving, beautiful soul he never knew he needed in his life.

-Both of you sit on the sidelines during fights, but if P is ever gravely wounded in battle, you rewind time for him, which is a disorienting experience, but it's not that bad.

-Was absolutely crushed when you disappeared after P got stabbed. Now is the time when he needs you the most! V went looking for you, but he just didn't have the stamina to keep searching for long.

-P came back, eventually, with grave news. You'd been taken by alchemists who wanted to steal all your powers, and if they didn't hurry and find you soon, it might be too late.

-Unfortunately, it was, for by the time they found you, most of your ergo had already been drained, and what was left was hardly enough to keep you alive for a few more minutes. You begged P to just end it already, much to V's dismay.

-After that, V depended on P more than ever. His darling was gone, and if he didn't have a shoulder to lean on, he might as well die of grief. He may move on, someday, but that day is far, far off in the future.

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓽 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ the instant marc laid eyes upon you, he knew without a doubt that you were steven’s soulmate.⤏ he never stopped to consider that you might be his, too. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader word count ☾ 14.0k a/n ☽ ⤏ this isn’t an actual soulmate au, despite the summary, but after reading @astroboots’/@thirstworldproblemss’ and @softlyspector’s flawless renditions of marc, I’ve been absolutely normal about him. (lying. he’s starting to consume me, even though I am still very much a steven simp and adore jake as well. I love one mk system—they’ve become such integral comfort characters to me, it’s not even funny.) ⤏ [but seriously y’all go read Moonstruck, Tales Untold, and Red Flags, rn this instant if you haven’t, as well as all their other works! they’re such inspiring, stunning writers that I envy dearly, and you’ll be enriched by their breathtaking prose for it. Oh, and their smut is phenomenal, too! ;)]⤏ hope you guys enjoy! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾   ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc met you, officially, it was an accident.

Don’t forget the interview tomorrow, buddy.

Steven scoffed a laugh, lips curling at the edges at the mere thought. “Me? Forget about that? Who exactly do you think I am?”

Marc huffed softly, half-dozing in the headspace as he idly observed Steven’s measured movements: a chipped mug fished from the overflowing dish drain, a cursory glance at its interior in the dim lighting to make sure no residue remained after its last wash, set on the counter while the wailing kettle was tipped over to pour in steaming water. Kettle down on another burner, tin of loose leaf valerian and chamomile popped open, infuser filled and submerged; sugar and oat milk to taste after a moment of cooling blows—too damned sweet on Marc’s tongue, but Steven hummed in satisfaction and set the mug to the side while he dutifully put away the supplies in the cubicle Marc had set up in the corner of the countertop specifically to contain Steven’s frequent messes.

Just reminding you. You haven’t stopped talking about it since last week. Steven would be crushed if he missed out on his interview to get back on with the museum—HR had already cautioned him of a lengthy probation period after the circumstances of his suspension, despite having long since paid off the property damages incurred that spring, but Steven had been too thrilled to go back to take any negativity to heart. He’d seen a position open up for a tour guide online and hadn’t allowed it to leave his mind since—or his mouth, for that matter.

“Well, as long as you don’t take off for Cairo or the other side of Europe while we’re sleepin’, I don’t think I’ll have much to worry about, yeah?” Steven retorted, taking his mug with him to his desk. The empty Thai takeout container was pushed to the side in favor of his piping drink, and Steven was soon cozied up in his chair and plucking his readers from where he’d tucked them into his sweater to perch them on the end of his nose. Marc had stopped paying attention to the text hours before, convinced he’d go cross-eyed from staring blankly at too many more of the incomprehensible glyphs (because in whose right mind would an ax represent anything other than an ax?). Steven’d always had the attention span of a bloodhound—zipping back and forth across pages and books until fixating on something and following the trail to its very end. It was exhausting to Marc, but he had to admit that it had been integral to saving the world (and their own life), at least. “There is a reason I’ve been brushin’ up, you know.”

You’ll do fine. I don’t know why you’re afraid you won’t get hired—they’d be stupid not to, as much as you’ve got crammed in your head. (…Their head? Marc was still uncertain.)

“...It’s not all this I’m worried about, necessarily,” Steven responded after a beat, eyes rising to the window reflecting their shared face. Marc raised a brow at him. “Donna’s got her fingers all up in management, you know—the only reason they’re humorin’ me is ‘cause of a dare hopin’ I’ll make a fool of myself, I’m sure of it—and after everythin’…” His expression pinched, a look far too like Marc’s own for his liking. “...they thought I was bonkers.”

To be fair… Marc began wryly.

“I know, I know. Don’t change the fact that I was mentally unstable in their eyes. Worse, maybe—a maniac.” Steven’s eyes dropped back down to the dusty old tome, his tone growing despondent. “This is probably all just a courtesy to formally dismiss me, and I’ll make a proper fool of myself, then.” He paused, then sighed, dejected. “But what else can I do?”

Go somewhere that’ll actually appreciate your talents, Marc answered firmly. Donna’s a bitch. And if she keeps you from getting this job, I’ll make her regret it.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Watch me. We wouldn’t have anything else to lose at that point. Marc paused, took in Steven’s melancholic expression, and he blamed his blunt candor on his exhaustion. They don’t deserve you, you know.

“I do know, but I don’t know where else to go. We won’t be able to live off your merc money forever, so at least one of us needs to have a real job since you’re not…bounty huntin’, or whatever it was you actually did, anymore.” Steven scratched his hairline and dug his fingers into his curls to tug them while in thought. “I suppose if they don’t take me back, I’ll have to look into somethin’ else. But for now…” Steven’s jaw unhinged as a yawn pried at Marc’s weariness. The readers were set down upon the page, and Steven rubbed at his heavy eyelids. “Guess stayin’ up wonderin’ on ‘what if’s won’t help much, will it? No, don’t think so.”

Not really. Marc settled further back into his receding lucidity, basking in the serene warmth it provided—just like the soft fibers of finely knit cashmere against his skin. Good luck.

“Thanks, mate.” Steven stood, downed his tea in a long draft, and turned to head for the bathroom to freshen up—but Marc was already fading fast. “Talk to you tomorrow, Marc.”

‘Night, Steven.

Steven stayed up even later than Marc had with him. He could feel it in the pressure behind his eyes, even as the bleak morning sunlight seeped in through the windows and spilled over the rumpled covers. He squinted and groaned at the mild visual intrusion, rubbing his temples as he sat up and unbuckled the cuff binding his ankle—a habit so deeply ingrained he no longer had to look at it for his hands to perform the task. He suspected Steven didn’t even realize he’d looped it on, probably in automatic zombie mode again when he’d finally settled.

“Told you to go to bed,” he groused, grimacing and slipping off the side of the bed onto the cold wooden floor. The ring of sand remained undisturbed as he shuffled his way into the bathroom, scrubbing the crust from the corners of his eyes. “How long did you read, Steven?”

Silence. Marc flicked the light on, wincing, but was met only with his own scrunched expression. The little bastard was sleeping it off still.

“Great. Leave me to do the interview,” he muttered with fondness and exasperation in equal measure, shaking his head and reaching for his toothbrush (because of all things, they’d decided they needed separate ones). “Let me take the fall when you get all broken up about it.”

Marc’s needling produced no response from his alter, much to his increasing chagrin.

Steven remained dormant throughout Marc’s morning routine: combing his hair back, washing his face, shaving off his stubble, and dressing in several warm layers of Steven’s preferred clothes to combat the cold drizzle fogging up the windows. He ate the overnight oats Steven had stored in the fridge the evening prior, stabbing the assorted berries with his fork more aggressively the longer his headmate remained silent. Marc scrubbed the dish clean and shoved Steven’s wallet, keys, and phone into his pockets as he donned his own waterproof canvas jacket since all the windows were misted over, preemptively tugging the hood over his head as he meticulously locked the door behind him on his way out.

The sidewalk was lined with puddles as the gloomy, early London morning continued to spritz the city with a fine, chilling mist. Marc had half a mind to go about his own business since Steven wasn’t there to tag in, but until it grew closer to the appointment time at the museum there was still a chance that his alter would surface. Marc knew that Steven would be immeasurably upset about missing his chance to finally achieve the position he’d sought out for so long, despite all the shit that the staff had given him, hindered still by Marc’s situation though unbeknownst to Steven at the time…and Marc would sooner grill and eat his own foot while it was still attached to his leg than have to endure the fallout that would be sure to follow.

He was co-conscious the last time Steven got his hopes crushed on that failed date, though only lingering in the very back of their mind, and the misery Steven had felt had almost rivaled Marc’s own at the time—it was Marc’s place to deal with the unexpected development, not Steven’s (because Marc didn’t quite remember asking Tori out, either, but both of them had been exhausted), yet he’d failed in protecting him from the aftermath that time. He wouldn’t ever let it happen again if he could damn well help it.

Marc sighed, watching his breath flare into a plume of fog and dissipate just as quickly. If Steven had worn out the body, as sluggish as Marc felt, he was going to need something to perk up for the day, at least—even if Steven would later fuss about how coffee always made him jittery, as he did every other time Marc indulged in the mornings he fronted. There was a bookstore on the corner across the street from the museum that Steven had always frequented both for their stock of new and used books as well as the coffee shop inside it. He favored their vegan breakfast and lunch options, as well as their wide assortment of teas, and had spent countless hours in the lounge studying before, mingling amongst the equally sleep-deprived university students. Maybe Marc could coax him awake by going there with…sensory memory, or something. He vaguely recalled the place, but hadn’t spent a whole lot of time co-fronting there.

Since it was early enough, Marc opted to walk instead of catching the bus or hailing a taxi. Passersby on the street, huddled under their umbrellas, cast him incredulous glances as he ambled along, but the bite of the air was a boon he drew in deeply and released in slow, lingering exhalations that billowed around his face before vanishing.

The utter silence he’d encountered in the Field of Reeds had proven to Marc that, despite the relatively short time after he’d finally been forced to introduce himself to Steven and to effectively burst the bubble around the quaint little world Marc had painstakingly constructed for him while he had attempted to suppress Steven’s awareness long enough to finish Khonshu’s last job, Marc had grown accustomed to having the South Londoner drawl nattering on in his ear, even if things had been tense between them at first. Marc hadn’t parted himself from his alter since—even if they still bickered as they adjusted to one another's presence, he didn’t know if he’d be able to tolerate the painful isolation he’d once imposed upon himself ever again.

He’d already single-handedly dismantled his and Layla’s relationship with his conviction that she and Steven both were better off without him. Though they had parted on good terms—her fondness and care for him (and now Steven) as plain as day in spite of the heartache he’d caused her—the trust he’d broken by all his secrets had been too shattered to reassemble. Steven had hated to see the dust settle in such a way but had eventually agreed to finalize the divorce after a lengthy discussion with Marc and Layla. Marc had been, admittedly, too unstable to salvage the remains of their relationship since it had been built on falsehood and half-truths to start with, and he and Steven had mutually agreed that they needed to figure themselves out before attempting any other romantic connections, despite Marc being fully aware of how deeply Steven craved such closeness with someone. Layla had been as close to a significant other as Steven had ever had, and it had hurt him a lot to let her go before he’d really had her. Marc still felt guilty about it.

They still spoke with Layla at least once a week, as she was sometimes forced to go underground having resumed her line of work in the black market of stolen antiquities in Egypt, and Marc felt far more at peace knowing that he’d managed to close that chapter in his life on a somewhat good (if bittersweet) note. He still considered her one of the best (if only) friends he’d ever had. He would never discredit the relationship he’d had with her, the love they’d shared, and the immeasurable good it had done for him to be with her—he’d always love her, in a way.

Ever since then, his and Steven’s connection had greatly improved. Steven started going to therapy (partly to meet HR’s qualification for any return to employment at the museum, but mostly to get a better understanding of how to navigate their new shared lifestyle), and Marc himself had slowly started to test the waters by having a few conversations with the psychiatrist after seeing how well she treated Steven. He had never once considered in a million years that talking to a complete stranger would help in any way, and while he still hadn’t revealed much about himself personally or about his past, he did feel more at ease about the entire situation after being met with unflinching kindness, empathy, and much-needed room to breathe. It was hard, and he’d never have chosen to do it on his own, but Steven had asked him to try it for both of their sakes, and he’d agreed so long as he wasn’t forced to participate and could take it at his own pace. He did co-front during the majority of the sessions, even if he didn’t speak.

They had made many compromises since returning to London, but Marc found it surprisingly easy to cooperate with Steven—once he got better at communicating with his alter, anyway, though he still struggled on that front in general. Steven seemed perfectly content to give Marc as much time and space as he needed, provided he wasn’t doing something foolish, dangerous, or withholding vital information from him. Marc hadn’t drunk in weeks, hadn’t even had the itch to do so. The constant quiet of the flat mitigated by Steven’s general enthusiasm about everything life had to offer was a balm that soothed Marc whenever the world grew to be too much, one that he never had known he’d so direly needed. (Even if it did get lonely sometimes when Steven receded to the back of their headspace and Marc was left alone.)

Overall, several months had passed since The Cairo Incident™ (as Steven had bluntly summarized it), and his and Marc’s now conjoined lives had settled into a tentative state of balance as autumn rolled in on rainy deluges, foggy mornings, and dank evenings. Nothing would be ‘normal’ again after all that the events there had entailed, not really. The situation had never been conventional before (at least beyond Steven’s perspective, though even he hadn’t considered his life entirely ordinary despite being completely unaware of their body’s secondary lifestyle until that fateful day in the Austrian countryside)—but it certainly felt better. Marc wasn’t happy, necessarily, but…he felt content and secure. And for now, that was enough.

As Marc pulled the heavy wooden door open by its tarnished brass handle, a flood of warm air rushed out to meet him along with the chime of a bell jangling over his head, smelling strongly of biblichor and espresso and nipping at his numbed cheeks and nose. The bookstore was mostly empty at this hour, though the few early birds milling around were chattering about their oncoming day with each other, crowded around small round tables pushed against the windows on the outer walls. The lounge was decorated with ornate wooden and velvet pieces of furniture, cozy and homey in its warm jewel tones and soothing atmosphere. A series of shelves as tall as the ceiling lined the interior wall, packed full of books with a chalkboard sign hand-lettered in white, yellow, and orange script explaining that any and all community trades were welcome. A refrigerated display case brimming with freshly baked goods as well as an assortment of brunch foods had each item labeled with allergens listed capped the sales counter that carried on all the way across the rear of the storefront. An open doorway at the other end opened into a foyer containing a grand, winding staircase leading to the next floor where the bookstore was located. A sign directing incomers to an elevator intended for people with handicaps pointed around the corner beyond Marc’s sight, as well as the public restrooms and manager’s office. All manners of barista equipment lined the wall, with a tall fridge containing numerous other drink and food options.

Having only caught brief glimpses of the place before, Marc could understand why Steven was as fond of the place as he was. Not many places allowed Marc to ever truly feel at ease, but he couldn’t muster the specter of incessant dread that normally haunted him even if he wanted to. It felt welcoming in every sense of the word, though he supposed some of that could have been the body’s natural response since Steven felt so secure there, too.

“Good morning!” came an enthusiastic greeting from the barista emerging through the swinging kitchen doors carrying a tray loaded with baked goods intended for sale, immediately going about storing them in the display case, crouched beyond sight before Marc could absorb any distinguishing features besides a juniper green sweater. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Marc directed his attention to the large chalkboard mounted above the coffee and tea stations. The same scrawl as before, more tempered into a looping print, filled the black expanse with myriad autumnal shades. Little doodles of vines, flowers, leaves, pumpkins, and acorns littered the edges and corners—damning evidence of an artistic soul if any he’d ever seen.

 “All right! What can I get for—Steven!”

Marc’s gaze snapped down instantly, brows inching upward.

And then, in the instant that Marc Spector laid eyes upon you, he knew without the shadow of a doubt that you were Steven Grant’s soulmate.

You looked all the embodiment, the epitome, of autumn yourself. The sweater, thick knit and drowning your upper body, complimented your skin tone and hair color perfectly. You had the shiny locks woven into an intricate braid that coiled over your shoulder, and an honest-to-god crown of rose gold with delicate flower and branch motifs was set into the layers that started at the top of your head—functioning as a headband, effectively, but Marc was viscerally reminded of textbook depictions of paintings featuring goddesses of harvest. He could smell your perfume even over the other scents competing for his attention, earthy, musky, and as inexplicably warm as the air seeping in through his clothes. Your makeup was light and tasteful, used only to accent and enhance your already seraphic features rather than to alter or disguise them. Your smile was as ephemeral as it was breathtaking, and Marc found himself speechless.

“I’ve got your usual ready,” you told him, eyes crinkled with endearment. “Making an order a night ahead isn’t something I’ve seen too often unless it’s on finals week, but you’re right on time for pickup so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Marc stared, dumbfounded, lips parting slightly.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you chuckled, the sound sincere, “I saw the entry time on the ticket when I came in this morning! I don’t know how you were able to get out of bed so early if you stayed up that late. Again. I know I’m a night owl, but you’ve got me beat!” You leaned over and reached for the tall cup that you set on the polished countertop in front of him. “Cash again today, darlin’, or are you going to surprise me?”

…Oh, bollocks!

And just like that, as Marc had idly hypothesized, your words—or perhaps the term of endearment—like an invocation drew Steven forth from their headspace with all the unstoppable force of a monsoon. Marc was submerged and pulled away from the front in its irresistible current, disoriented and struggling to keep track of their shared senses during the mostly seamless (and entirely unanticipated) shift. Steven’s excited nattering drowned out any other noise, talking a mile a minute—much to your evident delight, if your widening smile was any indication. The only thing Marc could manage to concentrate on was the glittering of your eyes as you listened intently, hanging onto every word that left Steven’s mouth like gospel truth.

Another American in the middle of London, he mused idly, and a southerner at that. You didn’t look exactly like the traveling sort, and you definitely weren’t on any kind of corporate business working in a niche hole-in-the-wall place like this. You weren’t anyone dangerous, that much he could tell with just a glance. But above all, you seemed familiar with Steven—Marc knew Steven had spent a lot of time here, but how could he have possibly missed you?

(Then again, Marc hadn’t really felt like co-fronting all that often when he’d first settled Steven into London. Maybe it shouldn’t come as such a surprise when he hadn’t been paying that close of attention to Steven’s developing life unless it had been necessary to intervene.)

“That’s so exciting, Steven, I’m so happy for you!” you beamed, and Marc was finally able to concentrate while observing, still disoriented but steadier than initially. “I know you’ll knock it out of the park—I don’t know anyone else that’s as knowledgeable as you are!”

“Oh, stop, you’re just sayin’ that,” Steven dismissed, ducking his head as his face warmed. “I’ll certainly give it a good college try. But you shouldn’t discredit your knowledge, either, you know—I don’t know anyone else that has read all of Budge’s works twice like you have. And can quote the Pyramid Texts from memory…not to mention Weni’s tomb inscriptions, or the Cannibal Hymn…I could go on, I’m sure.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Your turn to shy away from a compliment. Your smile turned bashful. “Anyway, if they don’t take you on, they’re stupid, but I’ll be proud of you either way it goes! You’re so talented, they’d really be missing out—there’s no one better suited for the job.”

If it had come from anyone else, Marc might have suspected that flattery as patronizing or snowing—particularly directed towards Steven, who had always seemed to catch flak both from strangers and from those he referred to as his friends alike in regards to his unusual interests and prolific knowledge. But you were being entirely sincere—Marc prided himself on sniffing out liars, and there was nothing deceitful that he could discern about your bubbly demeanor, the way you hadn’t looked away from him once in the entire exchange.

“Thank you, love,” Steven responded finally, snagging Marc’s attention with the flustered tenderness in his softened tone. “I appreciate that.”

“Of course, darlin’.” You leaned over the counter and squeezed his wrist gently with a wink. “Now, go give them hell for me, all right? You’ve got it in the bag.”

Steven’s heart fluttered and he laid his free hand over yours, stroking the soft skin of your knuckles under his fingertips. “Will do,” he chuckled, remiss to see you rescind your warm touch. “I’ll let you know how it goes, yeah?”

“Please do. I need to know whether I need to order a ‘world’s greatest tour guide’ shirt ASAP or not,” you joked as he turned to leave. “Laters, gators!”

“In a while, crocodile!” His laughter, shaking head, and waggling wave precluded the burst of cold air plunging back over the body like the tide—a jarring change that made Marc scrabble for awareness.

“Sorry ‘bout that, mate,” Steven whispered to Marc, giddy and breathless. “Didn’t mean to oversleep—again—I’d be up a creek without a paddle if you hadn’t gotten up on time. Thank you, really, I don’t know what I would have done if—”

Who is that? Marc questioned, interjecting himself to stop Steven’s spiraling. He’d gotten used to his alter’s rambling and only interrupted if it turned anxious, but his unbearable curiosity got the better of him this time.

“Her? Oh, yeah, she’s great—always remembers what I order, I don’t even have to ask for it anymore. She’s not usually on the openin’ shift, though, must be fillin’ in for somebody else again. You know she’s a transfer student studyin’ here of all places? Must be wild doin’ it just for fun. A mighty long way from home, she is. She’s as brilliant as they come, really—an angel, too!”

Steven, Marc pressed.

The man punched the button to activate the queue for the crosswalk at the street corner, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he watched the traffic flit back and forth. “What?”

She got your name right.

Steven looked down at the biodegradable sleeve protecting his hand from the cup’s heat, noticing the same script in green marker spelling out his name in a flourish—with a ‘V’, not a ‘PH’, like virtually every other establishment opted for without asking for a specification. Marc knew how much it vexed Steven when people didn’t bother to check first (or to remember it).

“Oh, yeah, she always has,” he grinned. He took a tentative sip, eyes fluttering shut as the too-sweet tea bloomed over his tongue in a burst of bright, citrusy flavor. Uncaffeinated, knowing Steven, but it did help to perk him up. “Thanks for grabbin’ this for me, by the way—I forgot to tell you I’d put in the order before fallin’ asleep last night.”

How long have you known her?

“Oh, about a month after we…well, you moved us here. Got mixed up on my days and wound up in there to dodge the rain—she gave me a towel and a drink on the house that day. I’ve been a bit hooked ever since. She’s a history buff, too, so it's really nice havin’ someone understand what I’m talkin’ about. Really sweet, that one. We’ve had lunch a few times since we made it back from Cairo—’bout scared her to death disappearin’ like I did.”

Marc swallowed down the immediate flush of guilt threatening to choke him. As Steven so often reminded him, it was all water under the bridge by now. How have I not met her yet?

“I’d ask you the same thing, mate,” Steven laughed quietly, nodding to another man who strolled up to cross as well. “Spent an awful lot of time there to relax, since…you know.”

Yeah. I know. When Steven glanced at the galvanized surface of the light pole, Marc had his arms folded with a quirked brow. Why haven’t you asked her out?

Steven choked mid-sip, sucking it down the wrong pipe and coughing harshly. He waved off the concerned glance from the stranger, tucking his face into the crook of his elbow to mumble, “I’ve thought about it, all right? Just—last time didn’t go so well, did it? No. Not really.”

All that’s settled, Marc reminded him mildly. And she’s definitely into you. What’s stopping you now?

The light turned green and Steven started across the street, thankful for the motor noise to drown out his muttering. “You, actually,” he sighed. “I didn’t…I wanted to talk to you about it first. You know, since…all that with Layla. I didn’t want to get myself trapped between a rock and a hard place if you weren’t ready for another committed relationship so soon.”

Marc scoffed. Me? I’ve never seen that girl a day in my life, Steven. A pity, too.

“Well, if I got into a relationship,” Steven explained, “you’d sort of be involved, too, right? You may not know her, but…you never know. It’s just something to think about, yeah?”

Thought about it, Marc did. All the way through Steven’s time meeting with HR, going over all the paperwork, signing endless documentation on the probation period requirements (if they rehired him), and finally interviewing for the available position. Marc was a bit too distracted with the turmoil of his thoughts to really pay that close attention to the process.

Steven did have a fair point. They were tied, no matter what. He…hadn’t really considered it, admittedly, much to his chagrin. He’d been focused on setting Steven’s affairs back to rights that he hadn’t given thought about his own. He’d never not regret losing Layla, but…Marc wasn’t grieving over it anymore. He wanted Steven to be able to pursue a meaningful relationship, to find happiness and build his life, to accomplish his goals and fulfill his dreams, above all else. But where did that leave Marc? As a bystander? Was he ready for another attempt at love?

He…wasn’t sure. Not yet. He’d have to test the waters first.

Marc didn’t resurface until after Steven was borderline skipping down the front steps, heart racing with excitement. How’d it go?

“Great! It went great!” Steven crowed, chest puffed out like a puffin. “They agreed to put me in on standby, and I’ll pick back up in the gift shop in the meantime, so—”

Wait, wait. Marc’s voice lowered. You didn’t get the tour guide position?

“Not a primary,” Steven explained, brimming with what Marc would have thought was misplaced enthusiasm. “But if one of the others calls in sick or goes on holiday I get to fill in for them! Isn’t that excitin’?”

I…thought you wanted to do it full-time? Marc said, confused.

“Oh, I did! But this is better than nothin’, and if I impress them enough they may bump me up when a full-time position does open up!” Steven grinned. “Got to take it one step at a time, yeah? Get my bluff back in that I’m not really a maniac.”

If that satisfies you, Marc acquiesced with a sigh. You sure you’re okay with it?

“For now, yeah. It’s just temporary.” Steven repeated the same motion as before, waiting for the lights to allow him passage. “So…did you think about what I said?”

Yeah. I did.

“...And?”

I’d be okay with you going out with her, Marc said. Don’t let me stop you from having a good time.

He could feel Steven’s brow furrow. “But what about you, Marc?”

I’ll…see. I’ll let you know if anything changes, all right?

“Marc.” Steven swallowed, fisting his hands into the pockets of Marc’s coat. “I…I really like her. A lot. I don’t want to risk jeopardizin’ our friendship with one date if a long-term relationship isn’t somethin’ you're comfortable with or lookin’ towards in the future. For better or for worse, we may very well end up sharin’ someone—maybe not quite like that, don’t laugh, you twit—just…findin’ someone that’s unbothered by us, you know? It’s all a bit nebulous until we actually reach that bridge, but…I wanted you to be prepared, and for that to inform your decision rather than you puttin’ my wants over your needs. Again.”

Marc…didn’t really know how to respond. Steven had always been the better communicator between the two of them, without a doubt, and it seemed that their therapist had given him a broader perspective than what Marc had ever known. And he was right—of course he was.

Why don’t you ask her out—just for something fun, he suggested despite Steven opening his mouth to reiterate his point, and I’ll get a better read on her. See if I’m…comfortable with her. That sound good? Then we can discuss it some more?

“Neutral ground. Yeah, that’ll…that’ll work.” Steven crossed the road again. “Will you want to introduce yourself, or…?”

I’ll hang back and let you have your time with her, Marc told him. But I’ll keep an eye open to see what she’s like.

“Never pegged you for a peepin’ tom,” Steven teased, heading straight towards the coffee shop entrance again. He stopped just short, hesitating.

Marc gestured that he enter in the reflection of the window Steven lingered in front of. Go on. You’ve already gone out to eat with her. Maybe suggest dinner or a movie? Or both? You could have her over at your place to watch TV if you think she’d prefer something casual. If she’s nerdy like you, she’ll gobble that shit up.

“Our place,” Steven corrected quietly. His pulse was thrumming worse than it had been while interviewing. “…Oh, what am I thinkin’? What if she says no?”

Why would she? Marc returned. You’re friends. Friends hang out together. It’s expensive as shit to do anything elaborate in public, anyway. And if she does say no, then you’ll have your answer going forward.

Steven swallowed, folding his hands over his flipping stomach and fiddling with the hem of his sleeves. “Yeah, sure, but what if I don’t want to know? Maybe I’m better off not knowin’ whether she’s just thought of me as only a friend this whole time? It wouldn’t make a difference, I guess, she is my friend and I have every intention of keepin’ her around even if she does say no, but…” He let out a ragged sigh and ducked his head. “…bullocks. Why is this so hard?”

Want me to do it?

“No,” Steven breathed firmly. “You’ll go and say somethin’ blunt and I’ll have to fix it because you are the most awkward person I have ever met.”

Well, if you don’t, I will. Marc tipped his head towards the door handle. Just go for it, Steven. You brawled against the supercharged avatar of a banished goddess and had the upper hand. I think you can handle this.

“Brawlin’ the avatar of a goddess didn’t entail rejection, mate,” Steven growled, but reached for the tarnished brass anyway. “...Here goes nothin’.”

Just play it casual. Don’t think about it too hard. Like you’re doing right now. Stop it.

“Just give me a minute, yeah, you twit?” Steven muttered, slipping through the door. The pace had picked up in the cafe, evidently, because the tables had filled up—but two other workers were behind the counter.

One—a tall, willowy girl with delicate golden piercings littering the shells of her ears—glanced up and spotted him. “Hey, Steven,” she called, “she’s upstairs helping the newbie learn the till.”

“Thanks, Amy,” he said, making a bee-line for the stairs. “Appreciate it!”

Steven must have sensed Marc’s perplexion because once he’d stepped into the quiet stairwell and started up the steps, he lowered his voice again. “She corrects people when they get my name wrong,” he explained softly. “All of them pick up the slack when I show up because they know we’ll end up chattin’ longer than we ever mean to—or at least that’s what she told me. I think they tease her about it. They’re a nice lot, though.”

Marc remained silent as Steven emerged into the bookstore upstairs, taking in the endless, winding shelves that made the place seem boundless. You were behind the counter by yourself, typing into the tablet serving as the register with a furrowed brow. A pimpled young man was sheepishly sorting through one of the display tables and restocking the stacks of new nonfiction releases on the opposite side of the main part of the room.

Steven hesitated again, lingering just behind the doorway and out of sight. Marc could feel their heart hammering against the inside of their ribcage. Steven folded his hands over his chest, wringing his fingers together, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

Go on, Steven, Marc said gently. It’s okay.

“All right,” Steven murmured, swallowing, and moved into the store.

It seemed the encouraging approach worked better with Steven—Marc would have to keep that in mind.

You lifted your head at the movement in your peripheral, and Marc observed the edges of your expression crinkle in delight. “Hey!” you chirped, stepping out from behind the counter and moving up to greet Steven properly. “How’d it go?”

Steven took a shaky breath, unable to keep the tentative smile off his face. “I got the job.”

“You got the job!” you cheered, voice rising with your excitement. You bounced on your feet and grasped his arms, eyes absolutely sparkling. “I knew you would! When do you start?”

“On Monday.” Steven bit his lip, reaching up and curling his long fingers around your elbows. “They took me back in the gift shop, but I’m on standby for the guides. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but it’s a place to start, yeah?”

“As long as you’re happy,” you said without hesitation, “I’m happy.” You lifted a hand to comb an errant curl off his forehead, the skim of your fingertips along his hairline sending frissons rocketing down his body. “God, Steven, I am so proud of you, darlin’. I know how much it bothered you not working.” Your brows shot up and your smile widened—if that were even possible. “Oh, you’ll have to tell me when your first tour is! I want to be there!”

“I—really?” Steven squeaked, and Marc would have rolled his eyes had he control of the body. He settled for a sigh. “You do?”

“Of course! I’m sorry I missed that traveling exhibit you talked about a few months ago—it bugged me to no end that they only put seven of the Ennead on all the posters—but everything else you’ve mentioned about the museum makes it seem really interesting! I would have visited it while it was still there, but classes kept me so busy right at the end of spring semester, and I didn’t—oh!” You slid your hand down to his wrist and squeezed. “You know what? Why don’t you practice on me—you know, if you’re nervous about it? You’ll do a great job regardless, but it would give you the opportunity to outline all your thoughts, you know? I know it can be nerve-wracking presenting information to anyone, much less perfect strangers, regardless of whether you know the material by heart like we do or not.”

“I—sure?” Steven’s mind was reeling. Marc struggled to focus through the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings Steven was floundering to compartmentalize. “You—you noticed the posters, too?”

“Uh, yeah? I meant to mention it to you sooner, but with everything that happened, it slipped my mind. I…didn’t really want to go, while you were gone in Cairo,” you admitted, gaze glancing off to the side. He knew that recalling his disappearance always brought back the worry and stress you’d felt having no way to contact him. You shook your head slightly. “I mean, you don’t have to tote me around if you don’t want to, it was just a thought—”

“No, I’d love to!” Steven blurted. “Not ‘tote you about’, necessarily, but if you—if you wanted, I’ll—I can show you around the museum. There’s a permanent wing with Egyptian artifacts that’s fairly impressive on its own.” He drew a haggard breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He glanced towards the screen, finding Marc’s amused expression reflected back at him. “I, um…”

She gave you an opening, Marc commented wryly, raising his brows. You going to take it, Steven?

“...I’ll do that, and I’ll do you one better,” Steven continued, stuttering a bit while inwardly cursing his inability to be suave in any capacity. Marc’s chuckle didn’t help his fluster. “I’ll—I’ll even, uh…” He dropped his gaze to his shoes, throat threatening to close up. Damn this anxiety, honestly. “...take…take you out—to dinner…?”

Was that a suggestion or a plea? Marc said, poorly stifling his chuckle.

Steven shot him a rather nasty glare, and this time Marc’s alter didn’t need to speak out loud to clearly communicate his growing exasperation with his host.

“You…really?”

Marc watched your demeanor ease from enthusiasm to something a little more…anticipatory. Your brow quirked up, your lashes lowering, and while you looked a little hesitant to assume the true nature and depths of Steven’s implication, the tentative but shining hope in your eyes only confirmed Marc’s suspicions.

You were infatuated with his alter.

“I mean—we’ve already grabbed a bite to eat before,” Steven pointed out in a rush, heat crawling up his neck, “so I thought—you know, since our schedules won’t be as adherent once I start back to work—that we could go out and…celebrate? Would—would you…be agreeable to such an arrangement…?”

Your smile softened into something shy. “I’d be quite agreeable to such an arrangement, Mister Grant,” you echoed in a low tone. “And when would this take place, exactly?”

He swallowed roughly. “I—uh…a-are you off, tomorrow?”

“I’ve got the opening shift, but that finishes up at five,” you offered apologetically. “When does the museum close?”

“At eight, on Saturdays,” he told you, his smile returning slowly but surely. “I could walk you over, if you’d like? Then we could grab a bite after…?”

“That sounds lovely,” you beamed. “I’ll make sure to gussy up for it. You know, since it’s a special event and all—I’m chuffed to be your first tourist.”

That drew a laugh out of Steven—though Marc had noticed that his alter had started to use bits and pieces of American slang, he wouldn’t have expected you to pick up on Steven’s.

“I’m chuffed that you want to be my first,” he chuckled quietly, but during the split second that your brows rose slightly and a certain twinkle flared to life in your eye (as well as Marc spectacularly failing to restrain his laughter this time), Steven realized his unintended blunder. Heat flared to life in his face and he ducked his chin, holding out his hands to hide his mortified expression. “Tourist! My first tourist! Bloody hell, I didn’t—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

You threaded your fingers with his and tugged his hands down, giving them a squeeze. “It’s okay,” you assured him, voice light with mirth, all traces of timidity evaporated. You seemed coy, now, the gentle curve of a knowing smirk crinkling the corners of your eyes. It was a strikingly good look on you. You winked at him playfully. “I know what you meant, Steven.”

“I…good. Yeah, good.” Steven cleared his throat and glanced away from your gaze. “So, uh…I’ll see you t-tomorrow, right?”

“Sure thing, darlin’,” you crooned. Marc would label that particular look as eager. “Just let me know if your plans change.”

“Will do, love,” he returned in a murmur. The other worker in the room, who had since secluded himself around the corner behind a shelf, coughed as no doubt a cloud of dust rained down upon him when he pulled a couple of used books free. Steven cleared his throat reflexively, taking a half-step back—you’d gotten close enough that he could have stooped down to kiss you if he had wanted to. And oh, how he wanted to. “I’ll…see you then.” He gave you a bashful, toothy grin. “Have a good evenin’, yeah?”

“I will knowing I get to see you again,” you returned smoothly, though your complexion darkened even as you said it. “Be careful going home, Steven.”

It was cute. You were cute.

Steven was definitely done for, Marc knew that much—but Marc was so fucked.

“I will. You, too.” Steven carefully unthreaded his hands from your anchoring grasp, more than a little dizzy as his lungs cleared of your perfume. He was remiss at its retreat. “Laters, gators.”

“After a while, crocodile,” you returned brightly.

Marc managed to bite down his tongue until Steven floated all the way back onto the street, mindlessly making a beeline for the bus stop. It was only when Steven boarded, settled into the crowd, and closed his eyes with a relieved little sigh that he finally spoke up. See? I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about.

Steven jumped a little—a true testament to how far out of it he was. “Oh,” he suspired, glancing absently at his reflection in the window. Marc’s smug grin didn’t even put a dent in Steven’s euphoria. “Yeah. You were right, mate. Sorry I doubted you.”

His tone was low enough that the other passengers wouldn’t hear him. Marc pressed against the front carefully, leaning in as Steven’s awareness faded—the exhaustion from staying up so late the night before as well as getting up so early was finally catching up to them. Want me to take the body?

“Yeah, sure, mate,” Steven mumbled, his eyelids drifting shut once more. “I’m knackered.”

Marc slipped in seamlessly, allowing a moment for him to orient himself before peering around him. The strangers didn’t cast him a second glance, even as he swayed under the fatigue that hit him like a freight train. “That’s what happens when you stay up all night reading,” he muttered to his alter, but when Marc received no response he knew that Steven had already sunk into dormancy.

The soft huff of laughter that escaped him was fonder than he’d ever readily admit.

“I’m proud of you, buddy,” he murmured, leaning against one of the support beams and allowing it to take the brunt of his weight. “You deserve to have a couple of wins, for once.”

Marc had the body to himself for the rest of the evening, it seemed. However late Steven had stayed up the night before, it had tuckered out his alter, so he remained dormant while Marc went through the motions of fixing dinner. Not a peep was uttered as he pulled out the ribeye he’d stored in the back of the fridge after their last grocery run, mouth watering at the thought of pan-seared steak. (He didn’t mind Steven being vegan, and Steven didn’t mind Marc’s habits too much, either—although they’d both had to come to terms with each other’s dieting over time.)

Marc settled in with his supper not twenty minutes later, the plate full of steak and potatoes warming his lap as he fished the TV remote out from between the couch cushions. He turned the channel from Discovery to TBS, turning the volume down low when he realized that the announcer he couldn’t stand was commentating on the current game. He tucked in, and by the time the plate and glass were empty, his eyelids were getting unbearably heavy.

Marc cleaned the dishes, then went to shower. The neighbors had evidently just gotten home from work as well because while the water was still hot, the pressure was terrible. Even still, it felt nice to be clean—and when he settled into bed with his laptop he had no intention of falling asleep quite yet because he didn’t want to wake up halfway through the morning.

Despite his wishes, however, at some point his laptop was shut and set to the side as he rolled over and slipped off into a heavy slumber.

Marc jerked awake as a loud clatter tore him from his accidental nap.

He was on his feet in less than a heartbeat, blinking rapidly to clear the crust and haze from his eyes, hands in fight stance in case of an intruder. The apartment was still empty. The windows offered no natural light, the skies scattered with swathes of dark clouds, and a quick glance at the alarm clock reported the late hour.

He scowled and glanced around, then down, and realized that Steven’s phone had fallen off the shelf. He stooped to pick it up with bated breath, gingerly turning it over as though the gentle treatment would rectify any scratches or cracks incurred by the device’s untimely dive.

Untouched, thankfully. He didn’t want to have to replace another one.

He swiped the dust from the screen with the pad of his thumb and, in so doing, caused the screen to flare to life. He squinted against the harsh brightness, but frowned when he realized that there was a long stream of unopened notifications awaiting. The vibrations might have caused it to slide off the surface of its temporary resting place.

‘Hey, darlin’!

‘I know you’re probably settled at home and really tired after the day you had, but could I ask you a huge favor? Just this once?

‘I ended up covering the closing shift so I’m trying to lock everything up, but there’s this guy that’s been standing at the door ever since all the others left.

‘I tried telling him we’re closed, but he won’t leave.

‘Would it be too much to ask you to come walk me home? He’s giving me the creeps.

‘He just keeps staring.

‘I tried waiting in the office for like ten minutes, but when I came back out he was still there.

‘He’s tried opening the door twice in the last five minutes.

‘Please, Steven?

‘I’m scared.’

Marc’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. The last message was sent five minutes prior, likely on a repeat timer. The first text had been sent nearly half an hour ago. His thumb flew over the screen in seconds without thinking, typing a rapid response one-handed as he shoved his feet into his boots by his wardrobe and pulled over the coat rack by the front door as he grabbed his coat and rushed out of their apartment. ‘Lock yourself in the office and have the authorities dialed until I get there. If he tries to break in before then, call them and stay put. I’ll be there in ten. Find something to defend yourself with and DO NOT under ANY circumstances let him in.’

He made it in eight. The taxi driver was beyond miffed at his snarled demands, but Marc slapped a couple of extra bills into his hand as he rolled to a stop on the street corner. Marc already had the door open and was climbing out before the taxi was fully stopped, heart hammering against the inside of his ribs.

You hadn’t responded to his message, and when he’d tried to call you three times on the drive over it had gone to your cheery voicemail message: “Sorry I couldn’t make it to the phone, I probably got lost in a book again! Leave your name and number and I’ll try to call you back ASAP!”

He’d left one the third time, croaking your name urgently. “...I swear to God, sweetheart, don’t try to do anything brave. Steven wouldn’t be able to survive it.”

Marc’s eyes adjusted to the dark slowly as the taxi unwittingly slunk off out of sight, the headlights fading around the corner, since the streetlight wasn’t on. A cursory glance at the sidewalk revealed shattered glass, and when he glanced up at the bulb he realized that it had been shot out. The security camera mounted above the entryway, still blinking live, would have no way of recording in pitch black.

That drew his gaze to the front door, hanging open on its hinges with the glass slats broken in, jagged like teeth in the thready shafts of moonlight peeking out from between the amorphous clouds.

“Fuck,” Marc breathed, hand jerking towards his hip—but in his rush he hadn’t grabbed his holster from his safe under the bed. He no longer had borderline-immortalizing armor, either—perhaps the first time in weeks he was remiss to no longer have access to it. “Fuck.”

…What’s goin’ on, mate…?

“Nothing, Steven,” Marc hissed, “go back to sleep.”

…Why’re you out this late? A pause as Marc gritted his teeth and braced a hand on the edge of the door, easing inside the unlit building without a sound. Wait! What’re you doin’ here? Is that—why’s the door broken like that?!

“Shh,” he growled, eyes darting around the coffee shop. Not a sign of life was to be had, no movement in the eerie silence. Marc slunk towards the back, eyes struggling to take in the shadows coalescing on the floor. No one was hiding behind the dining furniture. No one was behind the counter.

Oh, God, Steven whispered hoarsely, his eyes rounded in terror reflecting back at Marc in the fridge’s glass face as Marc stalked past it towards the kitchen. Someone’s broken in, haven’t they? Where’s—oh my God, what if she ended up closin’ tonight? But you wouldn’t be here otherwise—where is she?

Marc stifled his response, peering through the slit between the swinging doors separating the main room from the kitchen. When he detected no intruders, he pushed inside.

You’ve got to find her, Marc, Steven urged.

“Steven,” Marc muttered.

If she was here by herself who knows what—what happened, or—

“Steven.”

—if whoever did it is still—oh, no, she must be so frightened! Marc! You need to—

“Steven! I know,” he hissed in an attempt to appease his alter. He could feel Steven pressing heavily against the front of their headspace, quivering in fright. “I can handle this, trust me. Just give me a minute. I can’t concentrate when you’re spiraling. I need you to calm down.”

Right, Steven murmured apologetically, although threads of his brimming anxiety still wove their way into his words, sorry, mate.

No one in the kitchen. The only sign of a disturbance was a baking station upturned of its supplies.

Marc, Steven murmured gravely, the knife block’s tipped over.

Marc eased back out into the main room, brows furrowed. The light switch right next to the door had been smashed in by force, a smaller crack. Pistol-whipped, maybe?

Pistol-whipped? Steven whispered. Marc felt their stomach shrink in fright. What do you mean? Does that mean he’s got a—

Marc shushed him. The security cameras inside still blinked attentively, blinded by the night. The register was lopsided, now that he looked. There was a dent on the tray as though someone had tried to force it open, and a paring knife snapped in halves lay victimized upon the scored countertop. Something dark and crimson speckled the stained wood.

It needs a key, Steven pointed out, voice rising in volume and in pitch so suddenly Marc’s ears rang, and it’s in the—!

A resounding crash and thud made Marc’s eyes snap towards the hallway, frissons rocketing across his skin. His shoulders and fists wound tight as he snatched a pencil from the cup next to the register and prowled towards the open doorway.

A pencil? What the hell are you goin’ to do with a bleedin’ pencil? You’re not John Wick, mate!

“For fuck’s sake, Steven,” Marc growled.

The clouds shifted, and the moon shone in full force through the windows on that side, pouring over the polished hardwood floors and casting Marc’s looming shadow through the side room. The narrow hallway leading to the office had papers from the whiteboard fluttering to the ground.

Marc’s pulse was roaring in his ears, almost as loud as Steven hollering for him to move, and he was rushing towards the door hanging from its hinges with a shattered doorknob before he could even process the limp shape sprawled face-down on the office floor and—

A jarring strike against the back of his head nearly sent him careening towards the ground, too. Marc let out a curse of pain, stumbling, barely able to catch himself on the edge of the desk while his equilibrium abandoned him. His vision swam, knees buckled, and he threw up his open palm to catch the weapon before it finished the job of knocking him unconscious.

“Oh my god! Steven!” A clatter of wood, the thunk of knees striking the floor next to him, warm hands cradling his face and sifting through his hair only to retreat just as quickly, as though burned. “Holy shit, I thought—God, I’m so sorry—why didn’t you say anything?”

Oh, thank God she’s all right, Steven breathed on a heavy sigh—somehow completely unrattled by your humbling blow.

“The fuck is that?” Marc groaned, reaching up and pressing his hand against the crown of his head. He winced and withdrew his inspecting touch, studying the tacky, dark smear staining his fingers incredulously before glancing towards the offending object lying innocently at his feet. “A fuckin’ rolling pin?”

You pulled back slightly, stiffening all over. Marc looked up to find your expression pinched with confusion—then he watched it shift into realization. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry!”

“Stop apologizing,” he groused, regaining enough of his bearings to look around the room. The unconscious thief had crumpled not a yard away, black attire and mask askew as his sliced palm dribbled onto the rug. “Did you…Christ, you knocked him the fuck out, didn’t you?” He raised a brow at you. “Color me impressed. You ever consider playing ball?”

You didn’t respond that time, eyes darting towards the offender, and Marc didn’t miss the way they glazed over as your hands began to tremble before you’d bundled them against your chest. Marc straightened shakily to his feet with swimming vision, heavily stepping over the unknown assailant to tug off the ski mask and squint at his face through the blurriness. He kicked away the gun near his elbow for safe measure.

“Oh,” you breathed, and Marc watched the unease settle into your expression, “I…I’m pretty sure he came in this morning. I just thought he was just looking at all the artwork, wandering around like he did.”

“Scouting out the place, probably,” Marc suspected. He gripped the nape of the man’s jacket and pulled him up so he could leverage him onto his shoulder—it would be easier to carry him than to drag him, as bulky as he was. Marc looked at you once he stood. “Call the cops, I’m going to tie him up in case he wakes back up. You got anything to use?”

You swallowed, crawling carefully to your feet and using the desk for balance. “There’s…there’s baker’s twine, in the kitchen,” you offered meekly.

“Good enough. Maybe this bastard will cut himself some more,” he growled, hauling him back into the main room. He unceremoniously dropped him near the entrance, watching him with a glare as you shuffled in behind him. Although the man’s head bounced against the floor at Marc’s manhandling, Steven offered no protest. (Quite the opposite, actually.)

Serves him right, Marc’s alter muttered darkly.

You raised your phone to your ear as you disappeared into the kitchen, but the coffee shop’s oppressive silence allowed him to hear every word. “Hello? Yes, um…my name’s…” The quiet clunk of a drawer being opened interrupted your demure tone. “...I was closing up at work and someone tried to rob the place. I locked myself in the office and when he broke in to get the register key, I, uh…I knocked him out…yes. My, um…my boyfriend’s here with me, now. Yes. No, ma’am, my manager’s at home, and the owner is, too. Yes, ma’am.” You emerged from the kitchen, scissors and a ball of twine in your free hand. “The address? Right. It’s…”

Boyfriend…? Steven questioned, voice cracking.

“That’s really what you’re going to focus on right now?” Marc mumbled, grateful that you were still distracted for the moment. He took the objects from your shaking fingers, crouching down to bind the guy’s gloved hands behind his back with loop after loop of the roughened string. He didn’t rightly care if it cut off the circulation. The bastard deserved to lose some fingers after what he tried to do.

“...They’ll be here in fifteen? Great. Th-thanks. Have a good night.” You tucked your phone into your back pocket, then edged back and sank into one of the booths to bury your face in your hands after a brief glance at the unmoving silhouette on the floor. “Oh, God. I…I didn’t kill him, did I?”

“No. But he might wish you had with the headache he’ll have when he wakes up.” Marc stood with a low groan, leaning back to pop his spine. “You’ve got a mean swing, sweetheart.”

You were staring at him when he turned back to you, hands folded over your mouth with your elbows propped on the table. Your breaths were shaky, body rigid, but your eyes were brimming with questions and uncertainty alike.

Bloody hell, Marc, you haven’t even introduced yourself! Steven scolded, frowning at him in the display case’s glossy front. If you’re not goin’ to bother to try to comfort her, give me the body.

“I’d like to see you try to explain all this to the cops,” Marc sighed, mostly under his breath, but he saw your brows rise slightly. He cleared his throat and tried to refocus on you. “You handled that well,” he redirected. “You were prepared.”

She’s quakin’! So help me, if you don’t talk to her properly, I’ll —

“Thanks…thanks to you,” you murmured, studying him contemplatively. “You…did send that text, right? I didn’t think it sounded like Steven, but…”

Marc nodded, easing into the booth directly next to you, but careful to give you some breathing room. “Scared the shit out of us, honestly. Didn’t know what to expect.”

“I…I should have called the police sooner, I know,” you admitted, “but when he started banging on the door, I…well, I panicked. I grabbed what I could and did what you said.”

“You did good,” he repeated. “Most people would have frozen.”

“I…normally do,” you confessed. “I hear a loud noise or someone shouting and I just…lock up, like a deer in headlights.” You cleared your throat, eyes falling to the floor between your feet and his as you folded your arms over the tabletop close to your torso. “You helped. A lot. I wasn’t quite as scared, knowing you both were on the way.”

Marc tilted his head slightly, eyes tracing the mercurial moonlight caressing the gilded edges of your profile. It was easier to take note of the details while fronting—observing from the back of the headspace like he’d been forced to after Steven had rushed to take the body earlier that morning left all the images fuzzy and watery. He’d been so shocked by his initial impression as a whole that he’d failed to file away the intricacies of your features—like walking into a particular room of an art museum, being captivated by the overall image a painting presented, but failing to step closer to scrutinize the individual brushstrokes and knife scrapes. Again, he was reminded of the textbook pictures he’d glared at in his youth, struggling to assign names of meaning to portraiture—but now he understood acutely what it meant to commit someone’s likeness to immortality via the deftness of hand utilizing vibrant mediums and careful measure.

He wasn’t much of an artist himself, had never been (that had always been Randal’s wheelhouse), but there was something about the crinkle of laughter lines in the corners of your eyes, the bracketing dimples pulled taught from the tension pursing your lips, the dark sweep of your lashes feathering diaphanous shadows across the arches of your cheeks, and the gentle sloping curvature of your supple face all awoke an untapped desire to do so (or to at least make an attempt at it, as horrendous as it would likely be).

Marc, Steven pressed, miffed at his prolonged silence when you were still obviously in such acute distress—he could see the tears welling in your eyes, glittering like molten silver dewdrops against your lashes. Do somethin’!

“...Hey,” he said softly, reaching out and extending an open hand in the narrow space between the pair of you—the one untainted by his own blood. “It’s okay. You got him. You didn't even really need me—us, ” he corrected at Steven’s sound of malcontent. “Steven’s here, too. You about gave him a heart attack.”

You looked at his hand as though he were a total stranger, just a touch leery, but as your eyes lifted back to his face Marc saw what he could only call awe there instead. Your hand twitched up, seemingly of its own accord, but you hesitated. He raised his brows just so, tucking his chin slightly and bobbing his hand a little to coax you to reciprocate. Finally, you carefully placed your hand in his, expression tightening as you no doubt felt the calluses lining the bumps of his fingers and the heels of his palms, the roughened sandpaper texture of his skin—instead of lacing your fingers with his to clasp them together, like Marc expected, you only hooked them to turn his hand over to your curious gaze.

“When Steven said you were a soldier, I expected you to have scars,” you commented quietly, the pad of your thumb pressing into the divots of flesh between his knuckles.

Marc was dumbfounded, a bit by your observation and the unspoken inquisitiveness behind it, partly by Steven’s evident admission of at least some of Marc’s past, but mostly by the fact that it seemed as if his alter hadn’t even managed to work up the balls to hold your hand yet.

We’ve—we’ve held hands! Steven protested, flustered to admit to it but indignant to Marc’s incredulity. Just not like this! I’ve helped her cross the street and up the stairs and the like, but…I never figured she’d want to…to do this.

“I always tended to heal up quick,” Marc offered when his shocked silence drew your confused attention back up to him. “What all did Steven tell you about me?”

“Only the basics—nothing personal, I promise.” You tilted your head slightly, regarding him like one would while translating an ancient passage from a dead language—and while from most people it would feel invasive, cause Marc’s skin to prickle uncomfortably at being observed like the freak he was(n’t, just felt like at times, he had to remind himself), from you it just felt overwhelming. In an oddly…good way. He found that, despite himself, he didn’t mind it all that much. The weight of your focus had an odd sort of magnetism to it, addictive in its sincerity. (No wonder Steven was so taken with you.) “Little things, like how you were born in Chicago, and that your dad’s a rabbi. You played baseball growing up, and you still watch the Cubs when they play, even if you have to record the games. You like sci-fi—but you’re a Star Wars fan, not a Trekkie, unfortunately. You were a marine, then you did some freelance work before you ended up here so Steven could get a job at the museum.”

Marc released a heavy breath he hadn’t realized that he was holding, the sudden tension that the topic of his past always brought rolling off his shoulders as quickly as it had surmounted them. “Yeah. All true.” He resisted the urge to probe into that little ‘unfortunately’ remark, directing the conversation elsewhere. “I take it that you’re aware…you know, about…us.”

“He told me just enough about that, too.” You resumed your study of the topography on the back of his hand once more, and the hammering of his heart eased off enough that he felt like he could breathe fully again. Your touch was simultaneously distracting and grounding, gentle unlike anything he’d felt in years—as light as sunshine, yet as sure as its warmth. “You’re the host of the system. Steven grew up alongside you since you were twelve, but he didn’t know he was your alter until a few months ago when you lost your mom.” Your expression pinched with sympathy. “I’m really sorry about that. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“You don’t want to,” he mumbled on reflex. The last thing he wanted to think about—at this moment (or ever, really)—was his mother. He was grateful you didn’t bring up his brother, because he doubted you were unaware of that if you knew everything else. He cleared his throat and retracted his hand carefully, so as not to startle you, but you still jerked your hands back and folded them against your stomach with an apologetic look. “You want a drink? I need a drink.”

“I’m afraid we don’t keep any of the hard stuff, despite my manager insisting the apple cider would be better with it,” you murmured, the slightest suggestion of a wry smile quirking the corner of your mouth, “but there’s some glasses for water in the kitchen.”

“Water will do,” he responded, dragging his eyes away with no small amount of restraint from your dimple that pocketed its own private pool of moonlight. “Be right back.”

In the seclusion of the kitchen, Marc released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The glasses you mentioned lined one of the shelves, and he brought down two to prop under the dispenser on the industrial refrigerator. He glowered at a sheepish-looking Steven in his galvanized reflection. He gritted his teeth and drew a breath.

Before you start, mate, Steven interjected, I only explained just what she said to her the night we got back from Cairo. I didn’t go into detail then, and I haven’t mentioned it since. I knew you wouldn’t want me floutin’ your past around town, and since she’s a stranger to you, I only told her enough to give her context for my weird behavior and disappearin’ for two weeks…even if I was still a bit miffed about the entire ordeal at the time.

Marc pursed his lips, attempting to formulate a curt response, but he was unable to muster it. He sighed and shook his head instead. “...Thanks, Steven.”

Your business is yours, mate. I didn’t really have a hand in it—you know, not until recently. She’ll only find out if you tell her or if you give me permission. Steven paused, glancing towards the folding doors with some reticence. Though, I suppose…if we do start to date her, we may have to.

Marc knew that. It was partly why he’d taken so long to deliberate on the matter. You wouldn’t necessarily have to know about his work for Khonshu, per se, but…you would deserve to know the circumstances that had molded Marc and Steven into who they were as a person. He never wanted to repeat his past mistakes, everything he’d done to Layla (and Steven, by proxy, he supposed)—as much as he’d loved her (and still did, to a certain extent, despite everything), it had been torture keeping that many secrets from her for so long. The years of half-truths had eaten away at him until his guilt had compounded into all the other stress and turmoil he’d been experiencing there at the end. Steven and Layla had ultimately been innocent bystanders in the typhoon of trouble that was one Marc Spector.

He needed to do better, and you deserved better—as much as you cared for Steven, Marc wanted to give it the best chance he could to make a potential relationship successful. That would require total transparency in the details that mattered. And, unfortunately for Marc’s proclivity for keeping every thought and feeling as close to his vest as possible, the details that mattered entailed the origin, nature, and impact of his mental health.

“I know it’ll be hard, worrying about her reaction,” he muttered, drawing Steven’s attention back to him as he filled the other glass. “But don’t make the same mistake I did, Steven. If she’s as smart as she seems, I don’t think she’ll have much trouble understanding. And…she cares about you. That much is obvious. I doubt that she’ll look at you any differently.”

…It’s not just me that I’m worried about, Marc.

Brow furrowing, Marc was about to respond. A rustle, bump, and sharp gasp tore his attention away, however—he dropped the glass in his haste to barrel back into the main room. 

Steven’s voice was loud enough it made his ears ring. Marc!

Marc’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach at the sight. The crazy bastard had evidently worked his hands free of the twine, wrists raw and bleeding, staining the fingers that he had coiled into your hair to crane your head back. He had you pinned against the counter with the weight of his body, a knife Marc hadn’t spied flush against your jugular while both your fists clutched his arm to hold the weight of his attack at bay.

It must have happened in seconds. He must not have been knocked out completely, or had roused and worked to get his hands free before making any sudden movements to alert either of you until you were alone (and Christ, Marc should never have let you out of his sight). You wouldn’t have had enough time to call out to Marc if you’d gotten up to flee, or had been too frightened to make a noise for fear of having your throat slit sooner (not that he hadn’t even introduced himself and didn’t know if Steven had told you his name—fuck his lack of foresight). Even still, heart squeezing so tightly at the sight he worried that it might stop altogether, Marc almost hesitated.

Almost.

He grabbed the guy’s wrist in one hand and his elbow in the other, pushing and pulling simultaneously with all his might to shatter the hinging joint. The man cried out a curse and stumbled away from you and Marc. The knife clattered harmlessly against the countertop, the razor edge gleaming crimson.

Marc slid into place in front of you, reaching back and pressing his palm against your hip. His vision had cleared enough from your blow by now that, as the intruder stepped back into the flood of moonlight proper, his pale features were illuminated in full view.

He sure was an ugly son of a bitch. Glassy skin, now prickling with sweat as he clutched his broken arm, stretched over gaunt features. Sickly gray eyes concentrated hellfire at Marc, crooked teeth revealed by a curled lip. A horrid, jagged scar that still looked relatively fresh curled over the edge of his jaw and hooked over his Adam’s apple. Marc wondered how he could have possibly survived such an injury if it had been as deep as the deep tissue would suggest.

Ay, mierda!*

Marc froze.

…Marc?

“Fuck,” Marc hissed.

He had little time to react. The bastard drew yet another knife from the back of his belt (and Marc knew he must have been losing his touch to have missed one with that big of a handle) and lunged for him. Marc sucked in a breath, tried to throw out his arms forward to disarm him, but instead his free hand reached back to fumble against the counter.

He blinked, disoriented. Your voice, tight with alarm, pulled him from the fuzziness that stuffed his head full of cotton. “—stop, stop! Just stop! What’re you doing?!”

Marc inhaled sharply, dropping the man—knocked out cold, as limp as a corpse—against the floor and taking a full pace backwards. The knife—the first one—was clenched so tightly in his fist that his knuckles ached, but he was gripping it with the blade down and there was only blood on the butt of it. The man’s temple wept scarlet on the floor in a steady drip.

He dropped it, too, as though it had burned him. He only then registered your hands gripping his upper arm, crowding into his side and vying for him to meet your rounded, desperate gaze. “Are you okay?” you said, eyes flitting over his face as though you could discern his roaring mind via the crinkles of his pinched expression. “Hey, look at me—did he hurt you?”

“No,” Marc gritted out through the static in his head, laying a hand over your fingers twisted into the sleeve of his jacket. You relinquished your grip far more reluctantly this time, retreating only far enough to give him room to breathe. “I’m—I’m good.” He swallowed roughly. “What…what happened?”

Your brow furrowed, and your scrutiny increased tenfold. “What do you mean?”

He had blacked out. He glanced at the display case, but Steven—wan and rigid, with his hands twisted into the sweater falling over his stomach—only shook his head. Not me, Marc, he whispered hoarsely. I didn’t see anythin’, either.

“I…nothing, sweetheart.” He looped an arm around your shoulders and guided you into the kitchen. “Stay here. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t get back up until the cops get here. Don’t come out until I call you.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” you retorted, “he tried to kill you!”

“Like he didn’t try to—” …kill you, too. Marc’s eyes zeroed in on your throat. “Fuck.”

“I’m fine,” you told him immediately, but didn’t resist his touch when he gently grasped your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head back just enough to eye the wound. It was only a thin, shallow line against the tough column of your jugular, which bobbed with a swallow as he inspected the thin skin around it with light prodding. There was minimal blood, and it was already congealing. Your pulse leapt rhythmically against his fingertips, and when he pulled his head back he found that you were averting your gaze with a darkened complexion.

“You got a first aid kit around here?” he murmured, releasing you and watching you lower your chin to gaze up at him through your lashes. (So shy.) “Don’t want it getting infected.”

“In the kitchen. I can handle it. Thank you, uh...” You flashed him a thin smile, still obviously shaken, but your eyes tracked over his shoulder. “...is that…?”

Flickering lights reflected the rainy street, and Marc released a heavy sigh. “Maybe wait a minute—they’ll want a picture for the report and the court charges.” He frowned and looked back down at the offender, who hadn’t twitched once. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can walk you home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you started, but when Marc cast you a firm look, you stopped. Then your expression morphed into a sincere smile, something fond couched in your eyes as all the tension finally drained from your frame. “Well, I guess you and Steven are that much alike, at least.”

Marc raised an inquisitive brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He always insists on at least walking me to the bus stop when we eat together and stuff,” you explained, “even if it’s just down the street—like a proper gentleman.” A teasing glint entered your eyes, causing them to glitter like a supernova in the strobing yellow and blue illumination flooding the coffee shop. You extended a hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you in person, Marc. Steven speaks of you fondly. But…this isn’t the first time, is it?”

Marc blinked. So Steven had told you his name. Maybe you hadn’t felt comfortable enough using it until now. Had he made you uncomfortable at first? Or had it just been the stress of the situation? The last thing Marc wanted was to intimidate you in any way—for Steven’s sake, of course. (Maybe all it took was beating the shit out of the man that had dared to lay a single finger to you to win over your trust.)

“It took me a while to realize, and I wasn’t even really sure until now,” you continued at his continued silence, some hesitation creeping into the edges of your smile—more placating than before—as your hand faltered. “Steven’s such a chatterbox, I wondered why he was so quiet this morning. Then you…switched, I guess, and he came out. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, I didn’t mean to be rude at all, if it seemed that way.”

“It didn’t. You just took me off-guard, is all,” he said, reaching out and clasping your hand in his and giving it a firm, singular shake. You visibly brightened, beaming warmly at him. “Not a lot of people bother to remember his name, and I didn’t realize he came here as often as he does.” He realized that he, too, was grinning softly. “He made sure to correct me on that.”

You laughed at that, propping your hands on your hips once he let you go. “I’ll bet he did. I don’t have another regular quite like him.” You tilted your head slightly, eyeing him. “Do you…do you know about our—plans, tomorrow night?”

“I do. He’s been giddy about it all evening.”

Oi! Don’t say it like that—I don’t want to come across as overeager! The last thing I need is her thinkin’ I’m a creep or some—

“I have been, too, to be honest,” you confessed, glancing off to the side. “I, uh…I like him a lot.” You dared to peek back at him. “Are you okay with it, though? I know we just met, and I’m not sure how much Steven’s told you about me, so I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in any way. Going on a—going out with a stranger doesn’t suit everyone. It certainly doesn’t suit me, so…” You dropped your head with a sigh. “...I’m…going to stop talking now. I’m sorry, I know I talk too much sometimes.”

Marc stared, floundering for words. He hadn’t expected to have his thoughts mirrored back him. He heard car doors slamming shut outside, the hiss and chirp of radios, the chatter of tired policemen who would much prefer to be home sleeping. “...Yeah, sweetheart,” he managed finally. “I’m okay with it…more than okay with it.” He swallowed. “Steven likes you a lot, too.”

Oh, bloody hell, Marc, Steven groaned, muffled. I keep all your secrets zipped up tight and you just go and oust all of mine in one fell swoop.

“He…does?” you breathed, eyes rounding as you looked back up at him. “I…that’s a relief. I wasn’t really sure…” You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “...nevermind.”

As obvious as Steven was, mooning over you like he did, you still weren’t sure about his feelings for you? Marc repressed his chuckle. You two really were perfectly suited, weren’t you?

“I’ll let you guys have your space tomorrow, don’t worry,” he reassured, suspecting that you might have wondered after it—he was uncertain how much Steven had explained about how their co-fronting and rotations worked. “And I don’t think you talk too much.”

“Oh.” Why did you look surprised? (And a little disappointed?) “Thanks.” You hesitated, worried your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment. “Can I…I’d like to get to know you, too, Marc. If that’s—if you’d be okay with that. Steven’s told me some stories about you and you seem like a really good person to be around. And…you know, if I hang out with Steven, I don’t want you to feel excluded or anything. Any friend of his is a friend of mine.” You grinned a little, trying to offer a joke to smooth over your apprehension. “You know. Even if you just so happen to share a body.”

That drew a full laugh out of Marc, then, a deep and genuine one that echoed through the shop. The cops pulled the door open and entered, flicking on their flashlights. “I’d like that, too, sweetheart,” he said with a full smile—one that didn’t feel painfully awkward or forced in the slightest. “Any girl that can knock out a grown man with one hit is one I want on my side.”

Looks like we’ve still got some work to do on gettin’ to know ourselves, too, mate, Steven commented quietly. Marc glanced at him in the display case once more as you moved over to greet the law enforcement. I don’t think we can ignore it anymore.

Steven was right. Even though their instances of mutual blacking out had diminished to episodes counted on one hand after Cairo, Marc knew that the evidence weighed too heavily into the possibility to be shoved in the back of his mind like he’d been guilty of doing.

“I don’t think so, either,” he muttered, staring intently at the double reflection in the heavy glass. Only his own familiar, furrowed brow met his gaze unflinchingly.

[hauntedhokage]

PART 07: Aftershock

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: Following an eventful night; the day after spent in the hospital ends up equally as eventful, only for a different reason. 

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The hospital wing where heroes were allowed to rest and recover peacefully was too quiet for your tastes, but you knew you’d be overwhelmed if you were sitting in the waiting area with the general public. Any concern you had about not waiting for someone to get you was squashed when you’d heard that Red Riot, Dynamite, and Deku were all having various injuries treated - you’d have been waiting for them all day if you’d stayed out on the streets. 

You’d already been home - actually to Eijirou and Bakugou’s - took a quick shower, and gathered fresh clothes for the two men. They each kept a go bag in the coat closet by the front door, which made it easy to get what you needed after getting yourself cleaned up before getting back to where they were. The nurse had told you that they both overexerted their bodies and their quirks, so they’d be sleeping for a while and not leaving until the afternoon at the earliest. Which was fine; you weren’t working today after almost falling from a helicopter that had clearly skipped a couple safety checks, so you’d be able to bounce between their two rooms and make sure they weren’t too bored. 

Or at least try to bounce into Bakugou’s until it got weird. 

You hear him fussing as a nurse leaves the room looking stressed, and you stop the door from closing so you could talk to him for a minute and let him have his stuff. Maybe knowing that he had pants and casual clothes ready would help him relax and not create a revolving door of nurses until they asked Midoriya to act as his nurse. You know it had happened before, since he was probably the most difficult patient this hospital had ever seen, and was likely to happen again. 

“Uh, hey,” you greet, leaning in the doorframe and taking in the sight of the number one hero looking…very pathetic. 

He looked less than thrilled to be there, the metal braces keeping him there enough to remind you that he was notorious for just unhooking himself from all of the IV’s and monitors and just jumping out the window to escape while still wearing the hospital’s clothing. He’d done that during your third date with Eijirou, surprising you both during a scary movie when he’d basically thrown the door open in time with the slasher on the screen. 

“Get me the hell out of here!” 

“Can’t do that,” you point out, letting the door close behind you as you walk further into the room. “I’m a reporter, not a doctor, and I don’t have the keys.”

“I’m gonna stop letting Kirishima bring you home.” The counter is half hearted, but you feel better when he relaxes into the bed as you stop at his bedside and put his go bag on the chair beside his bed. “How is he?”

“A bit better than you, I think, but still not great. The nurse said there were a few broken ribs, some burns and cuts, but he’ll be okay. He wasn’t awake when I was here earlier, so I’m not sure how he’s feeling exactly.” He relaxes more at the information, and you know it’ll kill them both to be stuck here but apart. You’d need to talk to a nurse about one of them getting moved to the other’s room, since they’d feel better if they could see the other in recovery. Bakugou being a bit more cooperative with Eijirou in the room would definitely be a selling point that you’ll emphasize to get them to see the situation your way. 

“I’m about the same. Broken ankle, too.”

“From catching me, I’m sure.” 

“And I’d do it again.”

“It’s your job to do it again, Bakugou.”

“Yeah, but that’s not why.”

“For him, then?”

“For you, brat.” He’s not looking at you, but being strapped down means that he can’t turn away from you and his redness of his face was not because he was upset. Bakugou was outwardly angry, he wouldn’t be speaking so softly if he was mad. “I’m not good at this shit, but I don’t hate you. Never have.”

“Then why-”

“Kacchan! You’re awake!”

“Pipe down, nerd!” The instant scolding doesn’t phase Izuku, the number two hero greeting you with a hug before carefully checking you for injuries while rambling about your fall and how incredible it was to see Bakugou catch you. There were questions, too, and you try your best to answer before he can ask another (but are only half successful) until eventually you have to cut him off and get out of there. 

“I promise that I’m alright, but I should go check in on Eijirou. It’s really good to see that you’re okay, Izuku.” With that, you’re excusing yourself from the room - hoping to not have to answer any more questions until Izuku settles down a bit. 

You catch a nurse in passing, taking the time to ask if they’d be able to move the guys into the same room while explaining that they’ll be able to keep each other entertained if they were close - something that has her assuring you that she’d do what she could to make that happen. It was in the hospital’s best interest that Bakugou was kept entertained during his mandatory stay, and clearly she understood that just as well as you did that keeping the number one hero pacified as long as they could was best for the entire building. Then you’re turning into your boyfriend’s room, carefully shutting the door to avoid making any noise that would disrupt him. 

He’s still sleeping, which was a moderate relief for you as you sat down in the chair at his bedside. His face is relaxed, only a couple bandages on his face and neck from whatever combat he’d experienced during the night. His hands were in rough shape, and you knew his torso would be heavily bandaged to protect those broken ribs. That was how you knew without a doubt he’d overused his quirk, eventually he couldn’t keep his body hard enough to truly deflect whatever was being thrown at him in a fight. 

“I was faking it,” he whispers, startling you easily and you have to remind yourself that you can’t hit him while he’s injured like this even if he’s got that stupid grin on his face. “The last nurse was really chatty, babe, knew she’d never leave if she knew I was awake.”

“She’s going to get you and Bakugou in the same room, so be nice,” you whisper back, but give his hand a squeeze when he continues to grin at you. “He’s gonna be okay, by the way.”

“You already saw him?”

“I went back to your place to get your bags, and he was awake when I went in to drop his bag off. Cuts and burns, a couple broken ribs, and a broken ankle. Izuku is with him now.”

“Good,” Eijirou breathes, leaning back into the bed while keeping his eyes on you. “I’m so thankful that he was able to catch you.”

“You saw that?”

“News camera was broadcasting to the electronics store I was near. Saw you fall and saw him catch you, scariest couple of seconds of my life - and I’ve almost died a couple times.”

“Yeah, it was pretty scary. But I’m okay, a couple bruises from hitting Bakugou so hard in the catch but I’ll take that over being scraped off the pavement.”

“Never getting in a helicopter again, I’m sure.”

“Absolutely not. Ayame wants a memorial shrine so bad, she can do the aerials from now on.” The joke lands, and you follow when a gentle tug of your arm requests that you move closer. You feel better being closer to him, seated on the edge of his bed and able to feel his body heat beside yours. A reminder that he was alive, he was still here and so were you. 

“I heard that the world’s more beautiful, gorgeous, news lady was on the ground helping with search and rescue.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t keep working, after all.” Your reason has him humming, his hand settling on your shoulder to gently pull you back to lie beside him in the bed. The smile on his face is very proud, and that has your chest warm with your own pride at your actions. It wasn’t that you needed to prove anything to anybody, you were just doing what needed to be done. “People needed help, and I was around.”

“And you say you aren’t that cool,” he teases, and you roll your eyes but let him lean in to get a kiss from you. “How long do we have to stay here, do you know?”

“Depends. You both seriously extended your bodies and your quirks beyond simple exhaustion. If you’re cooperative and promise to rest, hopefully this afternoon. If you’re not, I’m not sure.”

“I’ll be the most cooperative man so I can go home and snuggle with my babygirls.”

“Your bed isn’t big enough for all three of us.”

“Bakugou’s is, and I’m sure he’d be okay with us all snuggling after you fell from a helicopter, I got stabbed, and whatever else happened to him.”

“You got stabbed?” That was news to you, and the look on his face says enough about the fact that he wasn’t intending on telling you that he’d been stabbed. To be expected, but that doesn’t quell the disappointment you feel that he was going to keep that from you. Typical hero. 

“Oops?”

“Kirishima Eijirou you can’t just leave that out!”

[sylvies-chen]

top five moments of 6x02 ♡

OMG I CAN ONLY PICK FIVE?? OK LET’S GO:

lie detector (tim’s ily) — I think this moment is my favourite part of the episode by far, because first off you have the question about the bugs which was SOOOO cute and so encapsulating of chenford’s relationship that it had me giggling at my tv and twirling my hair lol. but then lucy takes the time to seek out confirmation of his love out of her own will, not because she needed to be proven right but because she wanted to hear it 🥹 and he immediately says yes! he loves her! we finally get to hear it and the lie detector shows it’s true and it’s just so gratifying for chenford fans to finally get this

cop cutie! cute and on duty! — GUYS I KNOW IT’S CORNY BUT HATERS WILL HATE, DADDY COP IS A BANGER!! this was so funny and such an earworm— and to those saying they thought it was an old episode when it opened on that scene, lemme just say SAME lol— but then to up the ante by pulling out the choir as if literally singing for and rejoicing the 100th episode was just so perfect and classic rookie: a little hokey but well executed and fun and all around heartfelt. 10/10 I need it on spotify right now.

if I ain’t got you by alicia keys (lucy’s ily) — okay I’m scared some of you chenford girlies are going to tar and feather me for not putting this at number 1 or 2 but HEAR ME OUT: I’ve expressed my problems about this temporary argument solution!! I think this whole scene is so gorgeous for so so so many reasons: lucy and tim dancing as a couple for the first time, the matching outfits, the kiss, ugh all PERFECT I love my babies 🥹❤️ that being said, I don’t like how so much of the resolution/peace between them relied on tim being completely in the wrong when I feel like it’s a more nuanced issue than that and denies lucy any opportunity to critically reflect on her own feelings about this. and also, it does seem weird to me that she wouldn’t have said ‘I love you’ back to tim when he first said it?? they smile at each other but then they’re back to looking awkwardly from afar at the wedding (prior to this scene of course) and so I’m a bit uneasy at the implication (which the writers did not necessarily add on purpose) that lucy’s ily depended on him admitting he was wrong in any way. but idk maybe I’m just being too nitpicky here, I still ADOREEE THIS SCENE FOREVER AND EVER I want it on my grave k thanks

tim down on one knee — need I say more?? this imagery of him on his knee with the ring staring up at lucy was a glimpse at chenford’s future and it was such cute teasing, god I love writers and showrunners when they add messy fun little teaser moments like this! plus tim totally kicked ass, all covered in blood and ready to pass out, and ah, I do always say the best kind of lust is bloodlust 😌

bailan wedding vows — I actually cannot believe the day has come where a bailan moment is in my top 5 episode moments but these wedding vows showed me how the writers are finally able to articulate what works about them as a couple!! with someone as impressive and as versatile and skilled as bailey, I think literally any other man would feel threatened or emasculated, but nolan really is just Some Guy™️ who’s really into her and obsessed with her and is very sturdy ground for her to come home to. I wish we dove more into her past as a survivor of abuse because I feel like that previous situation informs so much of why she loves john even though, let’s be real: she’s eons above his league holy shit it’s not even funny how out of his league she is. but also she could never be with anyone else! she really just loves him and they have such a nice soft relationship which the wedding really sold me on. I liked it a lot even though I had my qualms about her and him as individuals and together.

honourable mention to wade and luna because I love them so much y’all they are adorable!! anyways, here’s my list and lmk if you agree

[my-favourite-zhent]

Writer Interview

Tagged by the lovelies @commander-krios here and @coreene here

Tagging: @dustdeepsea @thisaccountisagainstmywill @fistfuloftarenths

@littleplasticrat @captainsigge @grossestjay

Questions under the cut!

When did you start writing?

I suppose depends what counts? Where I went to school we did creative writing as early as six. The first stories I remember were Halloween stories I wrote with very unhappy endings.

Writing purely for myself maybe not till high school? I dabbled in a little fanfiction and then didn't touch it again for years and years and then suddenly BG3 and Rugan happened, smdh.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

Just like Krios I enjoy horror novels, although I actually prefer horror as short stories/novellas. If you look at my spotify history you will see a lot of NoSleep podcast and Knifepoint Horror so its definitely a running theme. I could never write horror though, would spook myself too much. I did rather like the tiny horror story in one of the books in Baldurs Gate.

I also enjoy reading low fantasy (low magic, more grit, considerably plucky, ensemble casts) which I think comes across in New Tricks, but in contrast the stories I read have very minimal if any romance.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Nope, as much as there are many writers I enjoy and at times think "I wish I were that talented" I also don't wish to be a perfect copy of anyone's style because what's the point of that?

I suppose if it was something more like "as funny as so and so" or "world-building on level of such and such" then probably Pratchett, Rothfuss, Sapowski or Glen Cook?

I will literally write anywhere, a lot of my ideas pop-up while daydreaming and I have to get them down when they happen or I won't remember clearly later. So at my desk, in bed, on the couch, on the train, standing in the shoppe, literally anywhere.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Consuming other media. Books, TV, movies, podcasts, etc. Seeing a scene or circumstance and imagining how the characters I write would react under similar circumstances.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hmm hadn't considered it before but I guess so far: grey morality, class differences (this likely due to my muse being Rugan) and overcoming betrayal? I suppose the last one surprises me a little, I think I might just like the angst of it.

What is your reason for writing?

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

I mentioned earlier I haven't touched personal creative writing since high school, although I did consume fanfiction on occasion. I originally returned due to a frustration at the lack of Rugan content. I wanted to consume, but at the time there wasn't much, compounded by the fact that I did not have an AO3 account at the time so of the few that existed I could only see half. So I started by writing how I thought getting that drink at the Elf Song might go.

After that I got a bit attached to the OC and was inspired by the works of @dustdeepsea to write something with a little more emotional depth. I was prone to daydreaming these sorts of things before but I never put pen to paper till now.

I'm happy any time someone enjoys my work, but I suppose the best comments are when the reader notices the characterization I've been trying to get across. It makes me feel validated that I'm able to write certain qualities without (hopefully) being too on the nose with it.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Me or my writing? Myself, hopefully reasonable and open-minded. My writing, I hope they find it funny and exciting in turns, I hope it makes people feel some sort of emotion even if negative rather than being boring. I hope the world I've tried to piece together from bits of Forgotten Realms lore feels consistent and cohesive, that the rules and stakes make sense.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Similar to Krios I think my dialogue comes across the best of all my writing, and it certainly feels the easiest to get down.

How do you feel about your own writing?

It seems to change by day and chapter. There are some things that when I write I'm quite pleased, and then come back a month later and am quite embarrassed by. Other things I didn't like originally but actually enjoy quite a bit on reread. I find myself having to just post things I'm unhappy with at times otherwise I won't get on with the story. I jokingly tell myself "we'll fix it in post!" and I have slowly begun some edits of early chapters so it's not a complete lie.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

It's mostly what I think the story needs at the time. There are times where I feel "augh we've been on this mood/theme for too long, the reader will get bored" but I try to reframe it to myself as "is the pacing good? is this scene necessary right now?" and that helps me make a decision that is hopefully a bit more objective. Sometimes we need that information for later, sometimes we don't. I have been known to go back and adjust a thing here or there if the current chapter is missing a bit of set-up and will continue to do so until the story is over. I'm treating it all as a work in progress.

Thanks for reading this far!