#time 1: when he pretended not to be in the time loop and did this to get information out zach

[mage-witha-glock]

[killjoy-prince]

If i had a nickel every time i watched an anime where Shun'ichi Toki voiced a character and sung either the opening or ending song for it, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but interesting that it happened twice

[ellecdc]

mother!!!! that recent poly!marauders + lily fic had me WEAK. if you please, could you write a part two where shy!reader finds out remus is a werewolf? I could see rem really not wanting her to find out bc he doesn’t want to scare her, but maybe severus(or somebody) spills the beans thinking she already knew, or she overheard a conversation between the boys. she’d be accepting of course, but remus freaks out when she finds out. just a lot of comfort and reassurance.

hope that gives you some inspiration, also, totally don’t have to write it if you don’t want to, of course!!! ilysm 🖤💚

I took this in a bit of a different direction but the ending's just the same! thanks so much sweets <3 <3

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3 // pt 4 // pt 5

4.6k words

poly!marauders + lily x shy!reader who learns about Remus' furry little problem

CW: miscommunication trope, insecurities, angst [with a happy ending], reader is feeling incredibly insecure in this fic, James cries, Sirius cries a little bit too but they all pretend not to notice for his sake

You felt terribly foolish; no, you felt worse. You felt absolutely humiliated and you had no one to blame but yourself.

And now that you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

It was a pipedream at best, thinking you had any place amongst the infamous Marauders and the princess of Gryffindor, and it was delusional at worst. 

Of course they’d grow weary of you, of course they’d find your nerves and anxiety tiresome, of course they’d wind up bored of accommodating you when they were all so much more than you. 

What had you been thinking? How did you manage to allow yourself to believe that this was anything but a phase for them - they saw you as a challenge, they beat the challenge, and now they were through with you. 

You thought that the sweet looks, the kisses, the affection, the effort all meant more than it obviously did.

At least to them.

To you, it meant the world.

To them, it was a chore.

You were a chore.

Foolish girl. 

You had been on your way to the library to meet up with the boys and Lily to study for the upcoming Herbology test. It was the first real group ‘date’ after the sketchiness that usually followed Remus about once a month that no one else seemed inclined to comment on, so neither did you.

Except…except, this time, some lingering tension seemed to follow the bout of sketchiness. 

And still, no one seemed particularly inclined to comment on it.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of the loop somehow, but you chalked that up to being a newer addition to the dynamic, and not living with them in Gryffindor tower.

That is until you happened to be walking out of their view behind the stacks of books that their table was situated by when you overheard their conversation. 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem. This is getting out of hand.” You heard Lily say solemnly, earning her a pained groan from Remus’ lips, causing you to pause behind the stacks so as to not interrupt their conversation.

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer?” Remus bargained. “I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“It’s worse, Moons.” Sirius corrected. 

“Y/N’s so sensitive though.” James added. “I mean, how would that conversation even go? How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” Lily stated matter-of-factly. 

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest I go about this?”

“Listen.” Sirius asserted. “I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something. I cannot keep living like this; it’s exhausting.”

Lily made a tsking sound and placed a consoling hand on Sirius’ shoulder as Remus let out another sigh.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

Lily, Sirius, and James all made a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.” Lily said.

You felt your stomach migrate to your throat as you turned on your heels and fled the library.

Is that what all the tension was about? Is that what this library study date was? Just a ruse to sit you down so they could break up with you?

Of course it was, idiot. You scolded yourself.  They were foolish to entertain the likes of you for any amount of time. 

So now you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - and you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

“Do you think I should do it tonight?” Remus asked Lily as she finally sat down. 

“I think it would be best if we did, sweetheart. I just can’t help feeling like we’re keeping her at arms length by keeping it a secret, you know?”

“I agree.” Sirius said quickly. “It feels like she’s more of a guest than actually part of the relationship whilst we’re keeping something so big from her.” 

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Remus admitted in a whisper.

“Remmy.” James cooed from the other side of Sirius. “Our sweet little Puffle seems completely incapable of hatred. But you know we’ve got your back 110% if she’s not accepting of you, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement but Remus only grimaced. “It just feels like I’d be ruining the relationship for all of you if the only person she has a problem with is me.” 

“Impossible.” Sirius replied emphatically. “Anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with us, Moons.”

“Even if we weren’t dating, Rem, if someone didn’t respect my friend - or anyone, for that matter - because of their lycanthropy, I wouldn’t want them around anyways.” Lily agreed.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, though.” Sirius continued. “Like Prongs said, she’s our sweet girl; I’m sure she’ll handle this fine.”

“Where is she, anyway?” James said, flipping his wrist to check his watch. “She was supposed to meet us like twenty minutes ago.” 

The other three shared a look of bemusement. 

“Do you have the map?” Sirius asked.

James quickly pulled the map from his book bag to scan the parchment for your name. “It says she’s in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“Maybe she forgot?” Lily mused.

“I spoke to her at dinner; she said she was going to change out of her uniform and then meet us here.” Remus replied, feeling his heart rise to his throat with nerves. 

What if she knew? What if she already found out? What if she hated him? 

“Rem, it’s alright.” Lily placated, clearly seeing his concern etched onto his face. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, or got caught up with something else.”

“She’s never bailed on us before…” James admitted, looking just as worried as Remus was. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why don’t we give her tonight; I think after all the shite we put her through this week, she’s allotted one missed date.” Sirius decided, opting to keep his tone light as he teased Remus for his ‘pre-moon angstiness’ as his partners call it.   

“We’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” Lily decided; and Remus and James shared a look of concern as they relented to study for the upcoming Herbology test without you. 

You weren’t really mad at the Gryffindor’s for their decision to end things with you; at least not at first.

People were allowed to change their minds, and you supposed that was the purpose of dating, right? To see if the person you’re interested in is someone you want to keep around indefinitely?

So, people were allowed to change their mind, and that was okay.

You also couldn’t particularly blame them; you were shy, quiet, timid, awkward in most social settings and certainly not as adventurous as them, it was only a matter of time before they grew bored of you. 

So you hadn���t been mad at them, not at first. 

But you were growing increasingly annoyed at their attempts to force themselves within your space. 

You had opted to sit at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next morning; there was no sense sitting at the Gryffindor table with them anymore.

But then you couldn’t handle the feeling of your heart splintering every time you heard Sirius’ bark of laughter or Lily’s giggle at something Remus said or that James did. So you quickly scarfed down your toast and grabbed a muffin to shove in your bag before fleeing from the Great Hall.

What you didn’t notice was James noticing you only as you were leaving, looking incredibly worried.

You nearly shrieked when you exited your Astronomy class that you had with the Ravenclaws and slammed into Sirius’ frame.

“There you are, dolly! We missed you this morning!” He proclaimed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You quickly collected yourself; heart racing from the scare and then quickly migrating to your throat out of embarrassment and hurt at this familiarity you had with him only to be about to lose it.

“Sorry, I had been running late.” You said quickly as you headed for the stairs; the long-haired boy quickly keeping up with your steps. 

“Were you feeling alright?” He asked you.

“How do you mean?”

Sirius tilted his head slightly as he considered you. “Well, you didn’t show up to the library last night, and then you were running late this morning; that’s not like you.”

A hot frustrated emotion burned in your chest that you weren’t completely accustomed to feeling. 

Wasn’t he the one to say he couldn’t live like this anymore?

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated though, which frustrated you even more; he didn’t know that you had shown up to the library last night, nor that you had gotten to the Great Hall on time.

They hadn’t even noticed you this morning. 

And that’s why they were ending things; you were forgettable, ignorable, unnoticeable. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. Thank you.” You said simply, and quickly headed for the girl’s loo in order to shake him off. 

Remus had approached you in Care of Magical Creatures as well, which somehow hurt more.

Perhaps it was because you knew he was going to be the one to tell you that things were over; though you had thought he’d be better than to break up with you in the middle of class. 

“Hey, dove.” He said as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow; watching as you groomed the puffskein on your table. 

“Hey, Remus.” You said quietly, not removing your eyes from the Beast you were working with.

“I missed you last night.” He admitted quietly. 

Did you? You thought petulantly. 

“Sorry.” You murmured instead. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He said as he leaned his elbows on your workbench; if it had been any other student, you’re certain Professor O’Brien would have scolded him for not handling the beasts with adequate caution, but Remus seemed to be allowed certain privileges and the puffskein “Kujo” didn’t seem to mind him much. “I just missed you is all.” 

And he was smiling that sweet, soft smile at you and he seemed like he actually meant it which only further contributed to your ire. 

What happened to ripping the bandaid off? Why keep up this affectionate act if it was only going to end?

Remus looked like he was going to say something when the Professor announced the end of class. 

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You offered quickly before you all but threw Kujo back into his pen and took off towards the castle.

The final straw had to be Herbology, though.

You shared Herbology with the Gryffindors, and because you were a new addition - your the four Gryffindor’s all shared a potting bench whilst you worked alongside another Hufflepuff.

Today, however, it appeared that James had other plans.

Before Sadie-Jane could take her seat beside you, James had plopped himself - rather carefully for the notoriously boisterous quidditch chaser, mind you - on the stool beside you.

“Hey, angel.”

Again, with the pet names. 

It felt torturous at this point; part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off yourself.

But you looked over at the sweet, warm, inviting face of James Potter and any resolve to tell him to shove it completely dissipated. He was all messy curls, round frames, and warm eyes.

And you might have been [must have been] mistaken, but you felt you could see anxiety and worry painted in his features.

You supposed breaking up with someone could do that to a person, though.

“Hi Jamie.” You whispered back as you opted to ready your supplies for today’s lesson.

“I was wondering if you were going to come to the game tonight?” He blurted then, looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst. 

Right…the game. The game against Slytherin. The game that would have you sitting between Remus and Lily as they cheered for James and Sirius. That game. 

“I...uhm, well…”

Rip the bandaid off. 

But it was James. 

And you were in class.

And you could see Lily and Remus trying - and failing - to not look like they were watching you and James whilst Sirius had no such qualms and was actively staring at the two of you. 

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see.” You offered James, mustering up what you hoped was a convincing enough smile.

You could tell by the divot that appeared in James’ brows that you were not convincing in the slightest.

Thankfully Professor Sprout appeared then, instructing everyone to take their seats for class to begin, and Sadie-Jane came to claim her seat from the Gryffindor. 

You didn’t go to the game that night.

Gryffindor lost. 

And though you didn’t know at the time, James cried, but it wasn’t about losing to Slytherin. 

“So, why are you hiding in the dorms?” Caroline asked as she rolled away from her open magazine on her bed, clearly preferring potential drama you could offer her than whatever was in this week's Witch Weekly. 

“I’m not hiding.” You muttered back, not looking up from your cross-stitch you were working on instead of, you know, dealing with your problems. 

“Right.” Caroline agreed, not sounding like she agreed with you at all. “That’s why you’ve started and quit several hobbies over the weekend and have been going to the kitchen’s to grab food instead of eating in the Great Hall like a normal person.”

You looked over at your half finished gem ‘paint-by-numbers’, the scarf you’d crocheted that looked more like the skin of a messed up snake that had a terrible time shedding, and the guitar you had borrowed from Fenwick and nearly broke in a fit of rage when you couldn’t get it to sound the way you wanted it too.

“I just…can’t face them right now.” You admitted dejectedly.

“I don’t blame you. Helga, have you seen the lot of them? If I’d known they were accepting more I would have made my shot.” She mused as she laid back on her bed.

Grief and jealousy intertwined within you as you thought about them dating anyone else but you.

But you supposed that was their prerogative; they were allowed to change their minds. 

“Yeah well, you may still have a chance.” You muttered, capturing Caroline’s attention.

“What?” She asked quickly, but you didn’t have a chance to answer before there was a knock on the door. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” She asked with a salacious wink, causing you to glare at her.

“If it’s them, I’m not here; please.” You practically begged your roommate as she rolled her eyes and moved to the door to your dorm room. 

“Oh, hello Evans.” Caroline greeted, causing you to scrunch your eyes closed from your place currently hidden from view of the door. 

“Hi! Erm, is Y/N around?” Lily asked, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

“Uh…no, she’s not in right now. I can let her know you stopped by, though?” Caroline offered.

You heard Lily thank her before Caroline closed the door again. 

“You sure you don’t want them? ‘Cause those Gryffindor’s are fine.” She sighed as she returned to her bed.

She let out a squawk when your pillow made contact with her head. 

Lily stepped out through the barrel to find Sirius and Remus exactly where she had left them (albeit far more tense) as James came running from down the hall where he had been pacing nervously. 

“Well?” James asked.

Lily pursed her lips. “Her roommate said she wasn’t there.”

Remus looked down at the map to the place where your name was etched beside your roommate’s in the seventh year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory. 

Either the map was faulty [fat chance], or you were avoiding them.

It was official. 

For whatever reason, they were losing you. 

You had somehow managed to avoid the Gryffindor’s all Monday; taking a moment to thank every deity that you only had Divination with the Gryffindor house, and none of your Gryffindor’s had opted to take it.

You wondered if you could call them your Gryffindor’s anymore…

You had run over to the kitchens - all but a hop skip and a jump from your common room - to grab dinner and were stepping back out through the portrait of the pears when you came face to face with Sirius.

“So nice to see you, Y/N; I’d almost forgotten what your face looked like.” He said; his tone taking on a harsh tone you weren’t accustomed to hearing directed at you causing you to wince.

“Pads…” Remus warned from behind him, though he was looking at you just as warily as Sirius was.

As was James and Lily.

Shit. 

“I’m glad to see you’re still eating…” Remus commented dejectedly as he nodded towards your smorgasbord of a plate that Winky had helped prepare for you that now looked horribly unappetising. 

“I…yes. Erm, what are you guys doing here?” You tried.

It had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

Sirius let out a derisive scoff. “Cut the bullshit, Y/N. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sirius.” Lily warned.

“Would you guys stop?” He barked back at them before returning his burning gaze back to you. “I’m tired of this; of running around the school looking for you, of being disappointed every time you bail on us, of having to hold James whilst he cries because you’ve let him down, of being lied to. So I’m going to ask again - what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me…” You tried to argue, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears. 

James had cried? You made James cry…

The disappointment in Remus’ eyes, the concern in Lily’s, the anger in Sirius’, the sadness in James’... it was too much, too much, too much. 

“You’re going to stand there and lie to my sodding face?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius, stop it.” James ordered; his voice far more severe than you have ever heard from him. “Angel, please. Just…just tell us what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Any sadness that had settled in your chest bubbled into anger at his word choice.

“Fix this?” You repeated back to him. “Why? Why bother fixing anything if you’re all just going to leave me!?” 

The four Gryffindor’s stood staring at you with different levels of bemusement; Lily and Sirius at your words, Remus and James at you having raised your voice for the first time…well…ever. 

“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” Lily asked cautiously, causing you to scoff. 

“I heard you guys - in the library.”

“In the library? But…you never showed?” James asked.

“Yes, I did - and I heard you guys talking about me, so I decided to stay out of your way thinking that maybe I’d make it easier on you all. But then you’ve spent the past week absolutely torturing me; showing up at my classes, trying to sit beside me, showing up to my dorm room like you weren’t just biding your time.”

“Y/N, what exactly did you hear us say in the library?” Remus queried.

“That you couldn’t do this anymore! That someone ‘had to tell me’ because it was ‘getting out of hand’. That you couldn’t possibly live like this anymore and hopefully I’d just understand. And I do! I do understand; but what I don’t understand is what the point of chasing me around the bloody castle is if you-”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, alright just breathe, darling, I’m sorry.” Lily attempted to placate, holding her hands up as she approached like you were some kind of feral cat.

You sort of acted like one when you swatted her hands away from you.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m sorry if I’m too much, or if I’m not enough; I get it, okay? I do; sometimes it doesn’t work out and that’s fair but if that’s how you feel then just leave me alone!” You shouted back, feeling the tears trailing down your neck at this point. 

“Y/N, please, listen okay? Just relax and we can talk this out.” Lily tried again as James let out a pained breath that sounded awfully close to a sob. 

“Remus, please.” He begged, turning his pooling hazel eyes to his scarred boyfriend who was looking at you in abject horror. “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ve misunderstood, dove. I-I’m sorry, It’s my fault, but what you heard…that wasn’t us talking about breaking up with you. I… It was about me.”

You wiped angrily at your face and set your now cold plate on the ground - you weren’t hungry anymore anyways. “It’s not you, it’s me?” You sneered half-heartedly.

“No, no…Merlin, Y/N I- I’m a werewolf. Okay? I have lycanthropy, I was bitten when I was four; that’s where I go once a month and why I get…weird. We were talking about the fact that I needed to tell you because it was hurting us to keep it from you. Dovey, I’m so sorry you’ve been so upset. Please, please take a breath for me.” 

You held your hands over your eyes as you tried to control your breathing.

Sketchiness…tension…disappearances… 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem; this is getting out of hand”

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer? I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“Y/N’s so sensitive though… How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” 

“I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something; I cannot keep living like this, it’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.”

“I’m a werewolf. I have lycanthropy…that’s where I go once a month.” 

“Please…baby, please say something. I-I’m so sorry.” You heard Sirius plead quietly; his shaky voice in stark contrast from the way he’d been barking at you just moments before. 

You pulled your wet hands away from your eyes to see all four of them looking at you with nothing but worry and heartache on their faces; though none looked quite as vulnerable as Remus did. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered.

You sucked in a shuddering breath as more tears fell. “So…you don’t hate me?”

Remus let out a disbelieving laugh when you heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob from James.

“No! No, no dove, that- I’m rather quite in love with you, you know?” He pressed, daring to step closer to you. “Do you hate me?” He asked then, tone turning vulnerable once more.

“No.” You whined emphatically. 

“Oh my poor girl.” Sirius whined sympathetically. 

“Can I hug you? Please?” James all but begged, stepping in front of you with his arms open already; poised for you to say…

“Yes.”

You’re not sure he even waited for the affirmation to leave your lips before he had you encased in his arms.

You shoved your face into his chest and fisted his shirt in your hands; pulling him as close as you possibly could to your person. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there - directly in front of the kitchens and awfully close to your own common room - sniffling into James’ shirt as he sniffled into your hair, but you heard a sniffle come from beside you.

You turned to see Sirius’ grey eyes shiny and red as he looked at you imploringly. 

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you, sweetness. I’m such an arse I just…I-”

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“No it’s not.” Sirius argued immediately. “I…I get like that sometimes; just horribly defensive and then I go on the offensive first. I didn’t even give you a chance to talk to us before I was attacking you; I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Siri.” You offered again, holding a hand out to him which he took readily. 

“I can’t believe you’ve spent this whole week believing we wanted nothing to do with you.” Lily whined from your other side. “I’m so sorry we left you feeling like that, darling girl.”

Though you were quite content in your muscled hideaway, you pulled away from James’ chest to wipe at your face again, feeling awfully self-conscious of how blotchy your face must look from your tears.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” You admitted shamefully; voice scratchy from both the shouting and the crying.

“The way you described it, I can understand how our conversation sounded to you, babygirl.” Sirius contended. 

“So…you’re really not leaving me?” You asked again.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, dove.” Remus replied.

“Why would I be leaving you?”

Lily shared a knowing look with Sirius and James who in turn moved their gazes to Remus with expressions reading “see?”. 

“Not everyone would be accepting of a werewolf.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you looked at the others as if saying “are you hearing this right now?” 

“But…I love you? I…I don’t even know what else to say…I just… love you so, that’s fine.”

“I just love you so that’s fine.” Sirius repeated as he looked at Remus arrogantly. “I knew I should have placed a bet on how she’d respond; I’d have made five galleons!”

“We were not going to bet on how our girlfriend would respond to Remus’ furry little problem, Sirius.” Lily chided as she playfully swatted at his shoulder. 

“Besides,” James added, pulling you closer into his side again. “You would have lost because I don’t think any of us would have bet that she’d misinterpret our disastrous conversation as us trying to leave her and then spend the week believing we were waiting for the perfect time to break up with her only for us all to shout and cry when we realised what happened.”

“No, that's true.” Sirius agreed readily, looking back at you with sympathy. “I really am sorry, baby.”

“Me too.” Lily continued.

“Me most of all.” Remus added.

“I knew we should have gone looking for her that night.” James mused aloud mostly to himself. “Could have saved us all a lot of heartache.” 

“Yeah, yeah Prongs. You’re right again; I’m sure we’ll never live it down.” Sirius said with a playful eye roll. 

“How can we make it up to you?” Lily asked as she placed her hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and traced shapes along the column of your neck with her thumb.

You shook your head shyly and looked at your feet. “It’s not necessary guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius scoffed.

“Let’s start with some dinner, yeah? And maybe a cwtch in the boys’ dorm upstairs?” Remus offered to the group, though he seemed to be waiting for you to answer.

You nodded at him and he opened his arms in invitation which you accepted readily.

“I’m sorry, dovey.” He whispered into your hair.

“I’m sorry too, Rem.”

“Let’s never fight again.” James decided enthusiastically as Lily and Sirius stepped through the pear portrait into the kitchens.

“Sounds good to me, bubs.” Remus agreed as he bent down to press a kiss to James’ lips whilst keeping you secured to his side.

You were sure that after this week, these four wouldn’t be letting you out of their reach.

After this week, you weren’t sure you minded that at all.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[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.)

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (2)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst!! (poor Az :/)

a/n: I hope you enjoyy!! :) More to come obvi <3 This is gonna be a long one.

Part 1 ♡, Part 3 ☾

Series Masterlist

~~

Did the small wooden box on the top shelf of the closet have meaning? 

Was it significant? 

From the bed centered in the middle of the room, you let your eyes take you along the delicate carvings in the wood. They looped and curved, dropping off in the pattern of a star, and then a moon, and then a misshapen cloud. 

You knocked your head to the side, ignoring the deep pain lingering there, and glanced at the empty spot on the dresser by the door. It was the exact size of the box. And the box—in its new, seemingly hidden location—looked haphazardly placed. 

Did they move it for a reason? 

Did they think you wouldn’t notice? 

Was this even your bedroom? 

You figured it must be. Clothes that looked to be your size were hanging in the closet. A vanity sat by the window with products on it that might compliment your complexion. There were paintings you found yourself enjoying hanging on the walls. 

So this must be your bedroom… but there was something missing. 

And it looked as if nothing was in the right place, but you had no frame of reference for where it was all supposed to be. 

You just knew that that wooden box didn’t belong under a knit sweater in the closet. 

The creak of the door drew your attention away from the apparent inaccuracy of the room. Two people entered, and it was a small mercy that you found some recognition in their faces. Majda and Mor slinked into the room, the latter with a sheepish, shy smile on her face, and clicked the door shut with a muted click. 

“Hi,” Mor greeted, as Majda set an absurdly large bag on the bedside table. The blonde shifted her weight between her feet. “My name is Mor. We met in the forest, do you remember?” 

Do you remember? 

It was unintentionally cruel. 

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice when it was so unfamiliar. 

Mor’s smile brightened a touch. “I was hoping you would. Although, with everything that happened I wasn’t going to put too much pressure on you.” She winked, and you were left feeling like an outsider in your own conversation. 

Majda bustled around your bed, asking permission before touching your head and your neck. You granted it to her, if only because she was the only person in the room not attempting to drive an uncomfortable conversation. Mor seemed very sweet, but she was hovering over you and glancing your way as if you were going to explode. 

Maybe you were going to explode. 

It’s not like you would know if that was a common occurrence for you. 

“I know you’ve woken up a few times since returning ho—here,” Mor quickly corrected, playing with her fingers and shifting onto her toes. “You were confused for a while before you fell back to sleep. Do you remember that?” 

Do you remember that? 

You shook your head. Majda’s hands glowed and warmed against your skull. 

Mor pursed her lips. “Hm, I suppose that’s to be expected. It was all a bit disorienting.” 

There were a few moments of silence. Mor dropped herself into the chair that had been pulled up beside the bed, fidgeting every so often. The old healer continued her assessment of you as you stared blankly out the window and tried to pretend there weren’t a pair of brown eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. You could hear footsteps beyond your door. 

They would pace one way, and then the other. 

“No change.” Majda’s voice startled you out of your stupor. She gave you kind eyes and a pat on your cheek. “This is above my abilities. I’m sorry. You are in good health, otherwise.” 

“My head,” you croaked out. Gods, how long had you been asleep? “It hurts. Hasn’t stopped.” 

The healer hummed. “I can give you some tonics, but until the source of this amnesia is sorted out, there will be no definitive fix.” 

A few glass vials clinked against the side table as Majda placed them there and slung her bag over her shoulder. She shared a few hushed words with Mor and then went to the door, swinging it wide as she stepped through it. You caught the tip of a wing in the doorframe, saw those same shadows from before curve around the hinges and pull towards you. 

They were ushered back just as quickly, and then the door shut as well, hiding the hints of your visitor. 

You hadn’t noticed you’d craned your neck to catch a glimpse until you righted it. When you heard more voices in the hall, you looked down at your fingers, blinking back tears you didn’t understand the origins of. 

“Sometimes, you like to read,” Mor said, breaking the silence. “You were in the middle of this book.” 

She placed the thick novel on the blanket beside your legs. Glancing up at Mor’s encouraging smile, you picked it up, feeling its weight in your hand instead of giving in to the one in your chest. You thumbed along the spine and then at the edges of the pages, stopping when your fingers caught on a sharp edge at the top. 

A bookmark—a place where you’d left off. You flipped it open but couldn’t follow a bit of it. 

More tears left your throat feeling thick. 

“What happens now?” you quietly asked, trying desperately not to cry in front of this woman that you didn’t know. 

“Now—” Mor began, clearing her own throat, her voice just as raw as yours. When she sat by your legs, you let some of the glossiness in your eyes show. “—we take things slow. Majda said we shouldn’t rush things until we find a source. Rhys—Rhysand… the one with the pointed ears and a pompous attitude—is in contact with other courts to try and get some help. There are other people in our Inner Circle that might be able to help as well.” 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. “I’m part of this circle?” 

Mor’s smile was sad. “You are.” 

~~ 

You shifted in front of the mirror, uncomfortable despite being alone. It had been three days since you woke up, and each of those three days had been spent in your bedroom. Your bedroom, you had confirmed with Mor. 

The only two people you had been in contact with were Mor and Majda. You could hear other voices in the hall, sometimes see a shadow pass by your balcony at night, but you only ever spoke to Mor. Majda didn’t say much when she came in to check your head and drop off more vials.

“We don’t want to overwhelm you,” Mor had said, but there was something else, too. You weren’t comfortable enough to pry. She looked disappointed that you accepted her reasoning so easily. 

The three days were spent mostly alone, which you hadn’t minded, but the time spent with Mor was filled with stories about you. Where you grew up, how long you studied, all of your favorite things; she was in the business of introducing you to yourself, and she was definitely qualified for the job. 

You had asked her who she was to you, and you received a simple answer at that. 

“I’m your family,” she had said, and then she began talking about you again. 

She always got quiet when you spoke of your connection to others. 

Which was why you had suggested a lunch. 

You spent the better part of the last three days panicking, and then moping, and then aimlessly searching your bedroom for any hints of the life you led before this. All avenues either left you with a headache or emotional exhaustion. 

You remembered the three other men from that day—Rhysand, Azriel, and the one with the longer hair—Cassian, Mor had called him. You wanted to meet them properly… introduce yourself? A ridiculous notion; according to Mor, you’d known everyone for the past 300 years. 

But you didn’t know them, not really. 

And Azriel’s shadows—you wanted to see them the most. You’d been searching for the calm they offered you since the day you woke up, but couldn’t find it in their absence. 

“Are you ready?” Mor asked, a soft knock on the other side of the door. 

“I think so,” you called back. You’d grown more accustomed to the sound of your voice. It was still strange to hear the sound echo back in your head, but as long as you didn’t scream or yell, it was tolerable. 

Mor opened the door, took in your choice of clothes—a purple dress with sleeves that flowed past the wrists—and tried to hide the flutter of her lashes. 

Embarrassment immediately found you. “Was I not supposed to wear this? It was in the back of the closet so I thought—” 

“You look lovely,” Mor assured, linking your arm with hers. Touch was another thing you were growing accustomed to. It was easy with Mor. “You just haven’t worn that in a while. I was surprised to see it.” 

As she walked you down halls you had never seen before, you huffed out a dry laugh. “Well, this is the first time I’m seeing it.” 

Your joke fell flat. Mor smiled back at you, but it was the same smile you always saw. Sad, pained, bittersweet. 

“Who did you say was attending?” you asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from her sad smiles. 

“Just me, Azriel, and Cassian. There are a few more people we typically see on a daily basis, but we wanted to start out small.” 

“To not overwhelm me.” 

“Precisely.” 

Your steps were silent on the marble floor, the silk slippers you chose allowing some of the chill to seep into your toes. “So, why did they choose you?” 

Mor blinked and turned a confused expression your way. “What do you mean?” 

“Why did they choose you as the one person that speaks to me? Are you the least overwhelming of the bunch?” 

“Well that title certainly wouldn’t go to Cassian,” Mor grumbled out. She guided you to a large wooden door and offered you a shrug of her shoulders that looked far too nonchalant. “I was just the best fit for the job. I love you, but… I could handle this.” 

“Handle this? Am I really so terrible?” you asked, trying your hand at another joke. 

Mor’s smile looked more genuine this time as she shook her head. “No. No, you are absolutely wonderful. And that’s the problem.” 

You took a moment to try and decipher her words. Did you mean that much to these people? Did they care so deeply about your memories that only one person could stand to be around you now that they were gone? 

It was difficult not to fall into the immense vat of guilt you now found yourself teetering on the edge of. It was difficult to pretend Mor wasn't looking at you as if you had stolen something from her. 

That was the truth that was missing before—you would be too overwhelming to everyone else. Not the other way around.

Mor gave your hand a fond squeeze as if she could hear your thoughts, and then opened the door. The hinges squeaked and the sheer size of it caused a rather loud echo in the room, but neither of those sounds drowned out the sharp intake of breath from the dining room table. Your eyes immediately shot to the blue glow and the shadows twisting around wide wings. 

Azriel. 

He looked back at you, unblinking, mouth parted. His hair was clean cut and cared for, but something about it looked frazzled and untamed. It didn’t suit the stiffness with which he sat, nor the white-knuckled grip on his fork that he maintained. 

Black wisps slinked across the floor, stopping at your slippers and twisting around your ankles. You broke your stare from Azriel in favor of watching them swirl up your legs. True to your memory—which wasn’t a testament to much these days—their cool presence eased some of the pain in your head. 

A throat cleared. 

You snapped your head up. 

“Uh, I’m Cassian. I don’t know if you remember me from the other day—”

“I do,” you softly interrupted. 

Azriel choked out a shuddering breath. Your eyes lingered on the side of his face before returning to Cassian as he continued with, “Good. That’s good. New memories and all that. Very nice.”

“Cauldron, Cassian,” Mor admonished. “She’s not an invalid.” 

He threw his hands up in a placating gesture. “I didn’t say she was! I was being encouraging.” 

“Great, I’m sure we all feel very encouraged. Come, y/n.” 

You followed Mor blindly until a chair was pressed to your back and a plate was ushered in front of you. There were a few moments of silence, just the clinking of plates and forks, before the panic began to build in your chest. It was a familiar feeling for you, one of the only you could draw memories from. 

You should say something.

Azriel and Cassian, they were doing this for you—taking time away from whatever it was they were supposed to be doing to have a silly lunch. In a normal world, you wouldn’t need to have lunch as a way to reintroduce yourself to your family. 

Were they still your family? 

You knew nothing about them, could reciprocate nothing.

There had been no news about the witch that did this to you and no one told you if Rhysand found anyone to help. 

What if you were stuck like this? 

What if they grew tired of you wasting away in your room and forcing them into lunches and—

“That dish is your favorite.” 

Azriel’s deep voice rasped at the end of his sentence and sent every thought shooting away from your brain. You came back to present, catching yourself taking quick, shallow breaths and staring down at the table with no clear target. 

“You eat it every other week. I—We picked it up from a restaurant along the Sidra, a river in town,” Azriel explained. 

You brought your gaze up from staring a hole into the wood to find Azriel directly across from you, his posture more relaxed than before. His expression was patient, kind, and you nodded back at him. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. But that was odd—whispering during a meal. “Thank you,” you tried again, clearer this time. “I appreciate that—”

“Azriel,” he filled in, not allowing you the possibility of a mistake. “My name is Azriel.” 

You knew that. You knew all of their names as well as their faces. There were a few paintings shoved into the back of your closet that you had taken the time to study. 

Did they shove them back there on purpose? 

“It’s nice to meet you, Azriel.” 

Azriel’s jaw quivered, his lashes fluttered. 

He took a bite of salad. 

“I don’t know if you’d be interested,” Cassian began, clearing his throat again. “But we used to—well, no, we currently have a weekly arrangement where you drag me to the theater and make me watch a show and I pretend I hate it but I actually have a great time.” 

The lingering joy on his face made a small smile creep up onto your own. 

“Sound fun to you? Might be nice to get out of that room.” 

You took a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek. This was a good sign, him wanting to spend time with you… him wanting to be in your presence and not break down into tears or anger or distaste.

“I would love to,” you said. “Although, I don’t know much about theater.” 

Cassian dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Wouldn’t expect you to know much about anything, sweetheart.”

Mor snorted the water she was drinking back into her glass, you let out a surprised, scoff-like laugh, and Cassian grinned from beside you, all teeth and snark and playfulness. 

But Azriel. 

Azriel stood up, his chair screeching as it pushed out abruptly. His napkin was clenched tightly in his hand and the rigidness from before was back and in full-swing. The shadows that had stayed with you for the duration of lunch zoomed back to their master, displacing the material of your dress as they went. 

He had a bleak, hard look in his eye as he stared at no one. 

“Azriel?” you asked, and it was the first time you’d started any semblance of a conversation on your own. Even when you spoke to Mor, she was the one prompting you to speak. 

At the sound of your voice, Azriel quickly turned his gaze toward you, his eyes softening immediately. But just as quickly, his shoulders slumped, his napkin fell to the floor, and his hand came up to cover his mouth. “I—I’m incredibly sorry. I can’t do this.” 

And then he was gone.

Part 3 ☾

[annaesterella]

Since almost every good fan of Yan-Batfam or something like that is getting into this (and I'm a fan of that kind of thing) LET'S HAVE A NEGLECTED READER

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀. ☆

But I saw that a lot of people liked the other fic, seriously people, KISSES DIRECTLY FROM ANNA! SERIOUSLY, I FELT LIKE A Celebrity (<⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠> ehehe) And this was the first time that a fic of mine gained so many views and I'm very excited, thank you to everyone who liked it!

F/reader (sorry guys, I don't know how to write M/reader)

I'll write a part II, bcuz is too long!

“Don't be silly! I would never be a Wayne.”

Well, first things first, when did it all started again? Haha not 500 time loops ago, but some years ago.. like the first child, you were from a circus, the difference is that.. well? Your parents were magicians, at least your mother... your father until you were 6 or 7 years old was just another distant memory but sweet, not yours, but your mother's... the incredible magic of the circus “Joie nocturne” a beautiful woman, yet another victim of the charms of the heartthrob, philanthropist, billionaire and owner of Wayne companies, Bruce Wayne. Of course, your mother, like almost all women, never forgot him, having him as her beautiful memory, after all, he gave her everything she needed.. you, her lil bunny! That's what she called you, before she was gone, like him, she turned into your distant but sweet memory, like a magic spell..

You felt so alone, the circus wanted to keep you, after all, you were their family too, but even so, he found out about you, and being a child, You wanted to meet your father. Still, feeling the pain of abandoning what you knew, you went. You had your 10 minutes of affection and then never saw him again. You met your two brothers, half brothers, Dick and Jason, and the buttler, Alfred, You thought your life would be like a funny family sitcom, HAHA, WHAT A JOKE. Of course, the oldest was excited to meet you, you were just like him, from a circus! The youngest was curious about the situation, yet he was kind to you and didn't mistreat you. The oldest gentleman, Even with little time, he treated you like your grandfather treated you, you then created an innocent affection for him, after all, he reminded you of your grandfather! After 1 or 2 weeks, they disappeared. Only you and "grandpa" are left.. Just like your mother, you developed an affection for magic... but just those stupid tricks left you bored... even so, it was affectionate to see Alfred pretending not to know about the tricks, just to see you smiling... soon you realized.. you weren't really a Wayne.. at most a visitor. They didn't have time for you, Alfred was still a buttler at the end of the day.

Time passed and you felt more and more alone, of course, you had Alfred, but... he didn't always have time for you. Soon more people appeared... and others disappeared... Jason was the first to go, and even with the short time, you suffered, he was kind... your brother for such a short time, you wished you had played with him more, and after that the house, which was already abandoned, became even emptier, soon another boy appeared, Tim, from a rich family.. and soon Dick went to another city.. you don't remember when, but now there was also Cassandra, Damian, Duke.. Steph.. you remember Barbara from a long time.. Even though the house was full, it was still empty... and you could only comfort yourself with the magic and the things your mother had left for you. Your little stuffed rabbit and its "magic" materials. Even though If you were his biological daughter too, Damian seemed to have more of Wayne than you,maybe because he was a vigilante, maybe because he was a boy? did not you know of course... so why bother? Soon, you stopped trying, you didn't want that anymore... crawling for affection? At your eighteen You made your choice. You wouldn't be a Wayne, you'd be a joie nocturne again. But would they let you? That night, you went to visit the circus, that was your favorite time of year... Halloween, and circus mixed together? Wonderful! So you saw that... the villainy... and for a split second, you wanted to.. do something.. Playing like a good girl, you approached the large bearded man and tugged on his sleeve, asking what that was all about. Maybe this was your chance to be something. It was funny at first, seeing their despair, your second family, trying to explain themselves, but you soon gave a smile, before stamping your foot on the floor, making a crowbar appear, helping to open it. That was the beginning of everything... you were finally someone... even if on the wrong side. Soon, the decisive moment arrived, when you returned "home", packed your bags, and like a magic spell, you disappeared, leaving only a white rabbit and everything you did in that house, in your room, every magic award, every cheap magic materials.

After a Patrol day, Dick he noticed something unusual in the mansion, perhaps because Alfred was visiting his homeland, but it couldn't be that, after all, Alfred had already done that before... Oh right! Birthday girl, his ittle bunny sister. He ran upstairs, knocking on the bedroom door, before entering and seeing only a stuffed rabbit on the bed, and the various magical things around the room, if not for the empty drawers and things, he would say you still lived there by the decoration and the fact room looks good, everything is well maintained, warm

Dick: Bunny?

He called, looking around the room, before looking around, seeing the various magic prizes, photos, top hats and magic kits. All given by Alfred or someone called "Mr. Joie nocturne" Could he be a friend of yours? What do you mean you had participated in so many contests and won? Why didn't you call? Or did you call? Where were you now? Why was everything empty? You went away. He started walking in circles, until Tim entered the room.

Tim: You will make a hole in the ground. I called you several times, why are you in this room exactly?

Dick: Y/N, she is gone.. and we didn't even notice or whatever, we didn't receive any notification, why didn't she notify us that she was moving, we... damn... we weren't going to help probably because we were on patrol, did we waver? Did she know we were on patrol? Does she know the truth?

Tim: Wait, too much to process.. what does it mean "She is gone" she left? Is that it?

Dick: Yes. Dumbass

And well, we can say after that, what happened was like "Oh shit" and then everyone was like "OH SHIT" while you were home.. happy! Getting ready for her first show, her first real show... too true. You thought as you put on your gloves and applied your lipstick. Then, with slow steps, you walked onto the stage, smiling, while waving to everyone, who murmured and whistled. So you decided to do your first trick for the night, the "bullet trick" The difference? There was no trick behind it, just you and your skills... after all, it was in your blood. Just as the bullet was about to go through your skull, you snapped your fingers, and then the bullet turned into a beautiful, bright purple butterfly, flying through the circus, soon coming back towards you and turning into your bow tie. Okay, a bit of a show on your part for the first trick, but you have to show that you have morals. Funny that meanwhile, his family was desperate, going so far as to call Alfred, who was now just as desperate. Then, the special time came, the circus then closed the lights and when it opened, all the valuable belongings, inside the boxes, Of course, you had to feign shock, some clowns trying to calm the audience, and of course, you were also feigning surprise, making your things "disappear" to join in the fun. You looked at the children, snorting slightly, as you made the toys re-appear, seeing some calm down, while the others widened their eyes in surprise. Soon, the "incredible" Bat-family appeared... seriously, for such an idiotic cause they came...? Soon you saw them walking towards you and everything fell into place.

Nightwing: — Y/N! I mean.. Young Lady.. we were notified of your disappearance, we will ask you to return home.

You frowned, as you looked at the audience. Hearing their screams increase, some of relief that the "Bat-family" was there, others of confusion at the situation.

: — I believe, I'm already eighteen, so there's nothing to worry about, Still, I'm with my family at the moment, so I don't understand why the complaint. Not to mention that we were robbed at that moment, so why specifically did they come to resolve a case like this?

You questioned calmly, while pointing at the audience, smiling, before rushing to disappear with your family, leaving the problem to the bats, after all, they were the "professionals." You could say that the shock was written on their faces.. you were so big, poorly dressed.. those presentation clothes didn't suit a little girl like you.. but still.. what you meant by "your family" Were you referring to those circus freaks? They weren't as good as they were, they were just.. ordinary people! Well.. now they had to solve the problem of theft... but that couldn't end like that, nope.

[hurtblossom]

Jealous ln4

Pairing : Lando Norris x ex!Driver!Reader (Female)

Summary : She's jealous of the way hes happy without her. Or she thinks he is...

Warnings : angst, saddness, tears, terrible english, did i mention angst?

Masterlist

Labyrinth Jealous

The paddock was buzzing with the usual pre-race excitement, but I could barely focus on the chatter around me. My heart was somewhere else, trapped in the past where Lando and I used to be. We had shared so much in such a short amount of time, and yet here I was, watching everything crumble before me.

"I just can't do this anymore, Y/N," Lando had said, his voice breaking as he looked anywhere but at me. We were in his apartment, the place that had been our haven, now suddenly feeling cold and unfamiliar. I wanted to ask him why, to beg him to stay, but I could see it in his eyes—the decision was made. There was a finality in his tone that I had never heard before.

"What do you mean? We were fine… we were happy," I stammered, desperately searching for any sign that this wasn’t really happening. But he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he stared at the floor, his hands trembling as he tried to hold himself together.

"I'm jealous of the way you’re happy without me," I whispered, echoing the lyrics of the song that had been playing in the background. It felt like the universe was mocking me, as if the words were ripped straight from my heart.

But Lando didn’t hear my whisper. He just nodded, perhaps thinking I was accepting his decision. And then he left, taking with him the future I had dreamed of. The door closed behind him with a finality that echoed in the hollow silence of the room. I stood there for what felt like hours, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened. The life we had built, the love we had shared—it was all gone in an instant.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

I hadn’t seen Lando since that day. Our teams kept us busy, and I buried myself in work, trying to forget him. But every time I saw him on TV, or heard his name in the paddock, my heart ached. The pain was a constant, dull throb that refused to go away.

When I was around others, I wore a mask—smiling, laughing, pretending that everything was fine. But inside, I was broken. The nights were the worst. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I was haunted by memories of us. His smile, his laugh, the way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the world.

We met again at the FIA Awards Gala. I was there to celebrate my first season as a Formula 1 driver, but all I could think about was him. I spotted him across the room, laughing with our mutual friends, looking as happy as ever. My chest tightened.

"I'm jealous of the nights that I don't spend with you," I thought to myself, the lyrics looping in my mind. I wanted to be the one making him laugh, the one he looked at with those bright eyes.

I tried to focus on the celebration, on the people congratulating me, but my eyes kept drifting back to him. He looked so carefree, so at ease, like he had moved on without a second thought. And when our eyes finally met, it was like time stopped. I forced a smile, but he quickly looked away, turning his attention back to the group around him. It was like I didn’t exist.

The rest of the night was a blur. I mingled with the crowd, nodded at the right moments, and even laughed when expected, but my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t shake the image of him smiling, the way he seemed so happy without me. It tore me apart.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The final race of the season, and I was more focused than ever. Racing was my escape, my way of channeling all the pain. But as fate would have it, Lando and I were once again side by side on the grid.

As the lights went out, I pushed all thoughts of him aside and focused on the track. But even as I raced, weaving through the turns, I couldn’t help but think of him.

"I'm jealous of the love that wasn't here," I sang softly in my helmet during a quiet moment on the straight. Our relationship had been perfect, or so I thought. But now, all that was left was this hollow feeling, the lingering question of what went wrong.

We had started out as friends, both young and eager, navigating the pressures of Formula 1 together. Over time, that friendship had blossomed into something more. I had fallen for him so hard, so fast. And I thought he had fallen for me too. We had shared everything—our hopes, our dreams, our fears. But now, as I raced, all I could think about was how it had all been an illusion.

We both finished the race in the points, and as I pulled into the pit lane, I saw him a few cars down. He was smiling, celebrating with his team. I wanted to walk over, to congratulate him, to tell him how proud I was, but I stopped myself. What was the point? He didn’t need me. He didn’t want me. Instead, I pulled off my helmet and looked away, pretending to be caught up in my own debrief.

But as the adrenaline of the race faded, the reality of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Lando was happy. He was thriving, and I was just a distant memory. The pain was unbearable, but I swallowed it down, plastering a fake smile on my face as I went through the motions.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

The end-of-season break came, and with it, the unexpected. We were both attending a charity event, and this time, there was no avoiding him. The tension between us had been growing, but neither of us had made the first move to talk about it. Until now.

He approached me when I was alone, sitting by the garden at the back of the event. The night was cool, the air crisp with the promise of winter. I had been staring at the stars, lost in thought, when I heard his voice.

"Y/N," he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

"Lando," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral, even though my heart was racing. I didn’t want to show him how much I was still hurting, how much I still cared.

He sat down next to me, leaving a small gap between us. "I’ve been thinking about us," he admitted after a long silence. "I didn’t handle things well."

"I’m jealous of the way you’re moving on," I found myself saying, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I hadn’t planned on being so vulnerable, but there it was. The truth.

He looked at me, his eyes full of something I hadn’t expected—indifference. "Y/N… I need to tell you something."

My heart sank as I watched him struggle to find the right words. "What is it?"

"I’ve met someone," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her name is Magui."

The world around me seemed to tilt, and for a moment, I thought I might be sick. "Magui?" I repeated, as if saying her name would make this nightmare real.

He nodded, unable to meet my eyes. "She’s… we’re together now."

"I'm jealous of the way you're happier," I thought, the lyrics stabbing through my heart like a knife. I had held on to hope, believing that we could somehow find our way back to each other. But that hope was gone now, shattered into a million pieces.

I forced myself to nod, to keep my composure. "I see. Well… I hope you’re happy, Lando."

He finally looked at me, and there was a hint of sadness in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to heal the wound he had just inflicted. "I am," he said, and those two words broke me in a way I never thought possible.

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to take it all back. But I knew it wouldn’t change anything. He had moved on. And I had to live with that.

"I’m glad you found someone," I managed to say, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to stay strong. "I really am."

"Y/N, I—" he started, but I cut him off.

"Please, don’t," I said, standing up and taking a step back. "I need to go."

He didn’t try to stop me, and that hurt even more. As I walked away, I felt the tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision. I had lost him. Truly lost him. And there was nothing I could do to change that.

As the year came to a close, I couldn’t help but think of the lyrics that had been my constant companion throughout this rollercoaster of emotions. "I'm jealous of the way you're happy without me," I had whispered months ago, and now, here we were, with him completely moving on, leaving me behind.

As I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I let the tears fall freely. I cried for what we had lost, for the pain I had caused myself by holding on to hope, and for the love that would never be again. I cried until there were no more tears left, only an emptiness that I knew would take a long time to fill.

Lando had moved on, and now I had to find a way to do the same. But deep down, I knew that a part of me would always be jealous of the life he was living—one that didn’t include me.

And as I drifted off to sleep, the lyrics played in my mind one last time, a haunting reminder of what could never be: "I'm jealous of the way you're happier without me."

Charles version

[okkotsuus]

PLEASE i need that dealing with ur ex as ur boyf but for barou cus i KNOW that man would GO OFF!

ex encounters (bllk pt.2) !

no because barou would beat the shit out of someone. i'm jut gonna include the rest i wanted for pt.2 with this <3

features: barou s. jingo r. rensuke k. meguru b.

contents: bad exes. ig hurt comfort. kind of comical. barou tries to fight someone. raichi actually fights someone. barou, raichi, and kunigami are physically imposing. bachira pretends to be cray cray (is he really pretending tho?). they're adults bc i said so. 1.9k words.

tw for the exes: copying you. light implied obsession. second choice. gas lighting. being physically imposing. cheating. implied love bombing. stage 5 clinger (derogatory). extremely mild stalking? (can't think of a better word for it).

pt.1 — pt.3 — pt.4

barou would be so bothered, he would verbally degrade the poor dude to tears. not to mention how physically imposing the man is, the ex would be SPRINTING away.

it all started about three years ago when you broke up with your ex, because you just didn't love him anymore and didn't want to keep him trapped in a loveless relationship.

you always felt bad about it, but never bad enough to get back together with him. especially not after barou had barged his way into your life, conquering your heart.

you were sitting on a bench in the park while waiting for him to come back from getting ice cream for the two of you. y'know, not expecting to see your ex, you were minding your business and scrolling though tiktok.

"y/n, hey!" you looked up to see your ex, at first you were confused because frankly, you didn't recognize him. he had changed a lot about himself, physically, dying his hair and dressing different.

part of you already had an idea where this was going. so, you just smiled at him and tried your best to be polite.

"oh, hello." yep, polite, but not nice so that it would lead him on. he stated blabbing on about how he had changed a lot lately, talking about things from the food he liked to the music he listened to. you noticed that it was all things that you had done or liked back when the two of you were together. it was kind of creeping you out.

"i guess what i'm trying to say is: will you please give me another chance. we should be much more compatible now-" you watched half in amusement and half in shock as a cone of ice cream was sat on his freshly coiffed hair.

your ex whirled around in anger, but immediately when dead still when he saw who did it: your boyfriend, barou. he was now holding only one ice cream as he stared down on your ex.

"you dare to speak to MY servant? begone from my sight, you filthy donkey." his words were spat with a venom as he threateningly stepped towards your ex who ran away.

he grumbled and handed you the ice cream he didn't shove on your ex's head, watching as you looked at him with stars in your eyes. he just huffed and ruffled your hair, looking away to hide the slight flush on his cheeks.

"he won't bother you again, but you better share your ice cream with me as a thanks."

jingo would swing on sight. i’m being so deadass he would sucker punch them and spit on them before looking at you all smiley and walking out while holding your hand.

while on a date with raichi, you had lost him in the aisles of the target that you had chosen to torment. you and him had been having a grand time while terrorizing everyone there with your boisterous cackles at any little thing that slightly amused you.

you had looped around an aisle to find him after walking too fast and he was no where in sight. at first you thought he was hiding from you as a joke so you jumped at the beginning of every aisle to try to catch him off guard. but no one was there.

well no one except your ex. because of course he was there. why wouldn't he be in this random target while you just happened to by separated from your boyfriend?

he wasn't a terrible person per say, but he just had a tendency to choose other things or people over you. that was just something that gnawed at you until you snapped which lead to this big fight, where he accused you of making everything up. that was the last straw for you so you broke up with him and never spoke to him, ignoring his calls until they stopped coming.

but here he was, standing directly in front of you, a wobbly smile on his lips that didn't match the look in his eyes. "hey, honey. how've you been? i've been really bad without you..."

you didn't answer and just stared at him while backing off slightly. he just continued, taking a step forward for every one you took back.

"i really miss you, you make me complete"

"you don't really mean that." the words flew from your lips before you could think, speaking the cold and harsh truth. he knew that as his expression turned in anger, taking a bigger step towards you.

but he was immediately thrown back by a fist ramming right against his cheek. he flew back and stood there stunned, taking in the sight of your boyfriend. his widened eyes, sharp teeth, and muscular form. raichi was cracking his knuckles as he growled at the guy.

your ex was about to swing back only to be punched straight in the nose, falling to the ground, being temporarily knocked out. raichi spat on him and turned to you, grimace turning into a sweet grin. he held your hand as an employee kicked you out of the store.

"we're definitely banned, don't regret it though angel, there are other targets."

rensuke would be just annoyed. he knows what he looks like compared to most men and just stands behind you while looking at the guy, doesn’t even have to do anything.

you were sitting at a table in your favorite restaurant while kunigami went to park the car, wanting to optimize the time that it would take to wait for a table. surprisingly, it wasn't very packed so you were able to get one as soon as you asked the hostess.

so, here you sat, sipping on your water as you waited for your boyfriend to come back to join you.

what you didn't expect was to feel an unfamiliar hand on your shoulder, turning to see your ex. he wasn't anything special; the typical cheater. he was so sweet to you at the beginning of it all, treating you as if he was your world almost instantly. that really should have only clued to you that he was hiding something.

he cheated on you with not only one person, but THREE. so he was the furthest from someone you could get back together with. so when he started doing the same sweet lines that he had given you during the beginning of your relationship, a familiar sense of dread set in.

"hey there pretty, missed ya so much, why don't i join you here?"

you just shook your head as you noticed rensuke approaching from the front of the restaurant. you had stopped listening to your ex and you watched his form talk to the hostess.

she pointed in your direction, and you watched as his gaze moved upon you and the predicament you were in. he sent an apologetic smile your way as he walked with a slight haste you way.

"...and those are the reasons why we would be perfect if we got back together." he finished off a long spiel that you, frankly, weren't listening to. you just nodded, watching as rensuke settled behind the guy, waiting for him to notice.

"that's nice and all, it's just: i already have a boyfriend. plus, you cheated on me." your ex just sighed and began to start complimenting you, saying he was such a fool.

rensuke cleared his throat as he stood with his arms crossed, a brow quirked. he was kinda hot like this, to be honest. your ex just turned around and when he saw him, you saw his eyes widen.

your ex just looked between the two of you, acknowledging your loving gaze at the other man, he just sighed and left. rensuke snickered and sat across from you, flipping through the menu.

"can't take ya anywhere, can i, sweetheart?"

meguru would go like feral. he would start talking to the monster in front of the dude and just make him think he was batshit crazy. i mean, it worked, so whatever.

you were sitting with bachira on a bench while he idly chattered about bees. you just smiled as you listened to him list off all sorts of things that you couldn't understand through the jumbling of his words from excitement.

suddenly, your pleasant afternoon was interrupted by a voice shouting your name. you turned to see you ex running up to you with a smile. he never really left you alone, even after you had broken up. always happy to see you and insert himself into anything that you were doing. like a nosey dog. somehow, he was everywhere you were, like he knew you'd be there.

"heya! how've you been, missed you!" he went in for a side-hug but you scooted further into bachira's side, skirting away from it. bachira had long forgotten his beloved bees, instead scrutinizing your ex with a hollow, yellow gaze.

"hey..." you trailed off, lookng away as he sat down, squeezing into the two person bench, legs against yours. so you leaned further into bachira, relishing in the arm he draped over the back of the bench to rest around your shoulders. you also saw the glare your ex shot his way.

"just wanted you to know that i've really missed you, and i'm practically begging you for another chance!" his tone was chipper as his eyes glared harshly into your boyfriend, holding all but friendliness.

bachira suddenly burst into laughter, cackling like a maniac. he looked at the ground in front of the two of you, as if something was there.

"d'you hear the never of this guy? flirting with my partner right in front of me?" he spoke to nothing, it took you a little aback at first before remembering about his 'monster.' your ex just looked at him with wide eyes, clearly freaked out.

bachira nodded at the spot, mumbling agreements. he suddenly turned to your ex, looking him dead in the eye, piercing into him. his face was blank, eyes wide and empty, the only expression was a smirk on his lips.

"the monster in me says that the world would be better of without you... and i agree." your ex jumped up and muttered a goodbye to you before speedwalking away.

you turned to bachira and watched him shake his head like a dog, expression returning to normal as he looked at you with sparkly eyes and a genuine smile. your heart returned to normal as he kissed your shoulder.

"i may be crazy for you, sweet thing, but i'm not actually crazy. yet..."

okkotsuus 23

[chaewillriot]

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

RENTING A BEACH HOUSE WITH THE GANG!

(SBG X FEM! READER)

PART 1 / ?

You and the group saved money to rent a Beach House before school finished. It wasn't that simple because everyone had to work together for it to succeed. It also meant that no one could purchase junk food or street food. But now that you've completed tenth grade, all of your hard work over the last few months is beginning to pay off. It's finally time for you to enjoy your vacation today.

All of the planning was done by you and Taylor. After receiving the check-in schedule, she called the resort to rent a Beach House for a full week. You both agreed that it would be ideal if the group went to the mall beforehand to pick up some board games, snacks, and swimsuits. Given that the check-in time was one in the afternoon, you estimated that it would take you at least three hours to do the shopping.

The next step was to get into a van that you and the others had rented. When the shopping was done, the van would show up in the mall parking lot. The trip would likely take an hour or two, but that shouldn't be too long because traffic isn't as bad while people are on vacation. Everything was settled. When Taylor posts the plan in the group chat, everyone responds with numerous "thumbs up" emojis.

You and everyone else were inside the mall by around seven o'clock. Taylor made the decision that the girls and boys should go shopping together. She insisted that her mind was made up, despite Aiden's constant cries that he wanted to go shopping with you. Logan gave Ben a back pat because he was genuinely embarrassed by his cousin, and Ashlyn was trying to shield you away from the blonde.

"[y/n], blink twice if you need help." Aiden tells you. You only blink once.

"Seriously?!"

You have all already squandered fifteen minutes in idle chatter. You figured this would happen.

"Look, this way is more efficient. We'll all see each other after three hours. Besides, we'll bond at the Beach House anyway." Taylor decides to loop an arm around yours to drag you away before Aiden makes another commotion, and Ashlyn follows behind closely.

"Come on, idiot." Tyler smacks Aiden right on the head, causing the boy to stumble.

"You're lucky I'm not in the mood to fight you right now." Aiden huffs before he gets pulled along by Ben. He's still sulky about being away from you, considering that you two grew up and did everything together.

Back with the girls, you decided to push the cart while Taylor and Ashlyn would walk around the snack aisle. The brunette would always turn to you to ask for your opinion before loading it into the cart.

"You think this is okay?" She shows you a bag of sour cream chips. When you nod your head, she beams.

Ashlyn, on the other hand, would pick big bags of gummies. She also packs you some of the gummy worms you like. You probably weren't supposed to see that, so you pretend you didn't. But the fact that she cares about you this much makes your heart melt.

"Alright! I guess we've packed enough snacks. I bet the boys have different choices as well." Taylor chimes in then ushers you and Ashlyn to follow her into another area of the shop, specifically swimsuits and swimming gear.

You find yourself eyeing bikini's. You weren't that fond of them, but hey, you kind of want to try it out. Plus, it'd be nice to enjoy the sun every once in a while. You decide to grab a pair before heading over to the dressing room. The bikini you chose has strings instead, so you had to tie it real quick around yourself.

Once the curtains are drawn out, Taylor immediately notices you and playfully whistles, causing you to blush. "Hey, looking good!" She couldn't help but huff out proudly. Ashlyn, hearing the commotion from the other aisle, comes over to check up on the two of you.

She stops pushing the cart once her eyes lays on your form. She has a small smile on her face, but you knew it was some form of approval from her.

"You look nice."

Somehow, that causes you to blush even more. The girls just chuckle at your sweet reaction before Taylor ushers you back into the dressing room before someone sees you. She didn't want anyone passing by to ogle over your body.

In the end, Taylor chose a one-piece swimsuit while Ashlyn's is a tank bikini top. All that's left to do is to pay for the items and head straight to the entrance of the store. You wonder if the boys are done by now.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Ending

The Beast Tempts the Little Rabbit Keith vs Kagari Story Event

Warning: slightly nsfw suggestive (and Kagari’s kink at the end?), mentions of blood and trafficking

Minors DNI

Ep 1 | Ep 2 | Epilogue

Kagari: "Wait until there's more of a distance between you before you move. You wouldn't want to be found out so clumsily."

It was Kagari who held me back.

Emma: "But why are you...?"

Kagari: "I just happened to see him leave the dance hall."

(Despite me searching so much, he just had a passing encounter.)

Kagari: "Let's go."

Whispering, Kagari looped his arm around my waist as if escorting me and began to walk.

Emma: "Um, what are you doing...?"

Kagari: "Pretending we're lovers. Even if he notices us, his guard will be lowered if he sees a couple."

Emma: "Shouldn't we go call Prince Keith?"

Kagari: "No need. It's troublesome when he's around."

(Well, that's a problematic statement.)

While paying attention to my steps, we continue to follow the man.

Emma: "The person you’re really looking for isn't that man, is it?"

Kagari: "You got it. Well done, Princess."

(Given what I've seen of Kagari so far, he could just catch him immediately.)

Kagari: "I have business with the guy that man is contacting."

Emma: "...Are you going to take him back to your country?"

Kagari: "No, I'll make him disappear."

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "Don't worry, there won't be a war. We're just stopping a negotiation."

Kagari: "But, it's not so minor of an offense that we can just let things slide either."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(I had a feeling it might’ve been something like that.)

Despite his casual tone, his words weighed heavily on my heart.

For a royal to come all the way to Jade to deal with a criminal, it must be an issue that couldn’t be resolved through discussion.

(But... is there really no other way?)

Man: "..."

(What? His pace seems slower than before.)

The feeling of unease suddenly turned into certainty, as the man came to an abrupt stopped.

As if he was about to turn around――

Kagari: "......"

I grabbed Kagari's arm and pushed him forcefully into a nearby room.

......

(Did he see us? Are we safe?)

I wanted to check through the gap in the door, but the chance of getting caught would defeat the purpose.

Kagari: "You certainly have a lot strength to push a trained man into a room, Princess."

Emma: "I often carry dozens of books at once, so that's probably why."

Kagari: "I see. You should continue that training to protect yourself in the future."

Kagari: "So, what do we do now? The footsteps are getting closer."

(...!)

(They ARE getting closer. Just how sharp is Kagari's hearing?)

I listen from the door and contemplate.

(The owner of the footsteps might not be a man, and I’m not even sure if they’re really heading towards this room.)

(Still, it’s better to hide just to be saf—Oh, of course there’s only a table and chairs!)

Perhaps because the room is rarely used, but there’s no furniture to hide behind.

(If they come into the room, I could pretend to faint... but what if it's a different person that comes in? That would be disastrous.)

Kagari: "Time's up, Princess."

Emma: “What...? Time's up?"

Kagari: “You can scream if you want, but don’t refuse.”

Emma: “Um, Kagari…? Wah!

I was pulled by the arm and suddenly felt weightless.

Kagari sat on a chair and placed me on his lap, facing him.

Kagari: “If there’s nowhere to hide, then we’ll just have to create a reason for us to be here.”

(So this position…)

(Is he suggesting we pretend to be lovers here too?)

His hand ran up my thigh as if lifting the hem of my dress, and I felt a heat surge through me.

(Right, I can't hesitate anymore! I have to do something!)

I made up my mind and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Kagari: “They stopped in front of the door.”

(They found us out.)

Kagari: “…”

As I tensed up, my arms tighten around his neck and—

Emma: “Ah!”

A slight pain shot through my neck.

(Wait, did he just… bite me…?!)

Before I could understand what happened, I heard the door open from behind me.

Man: “Oh…”

Woman: “Eek!”

(A woman’s voice?)

Kagari pulled my head closer to his shoulder.

The sweet, fleeting scent of cherry blossoms made my heart strangely flutter.

Kagari: “We're in the middle of something. Get lost.”

His emotionless tone seemed to stoke fear in the intruders, as the man and woman quickly left the room.

(At least that man didn’t notice us, right?)

(That’s a relief. But still…)

I remembered the embarrassing sound I made and felt an urge to roll on the floor.

(Who would’ve thought I’d be bitten…?)

(I’m sure they all heard. The people who came into the room, and even Kagari…)

Emma: “--AH?! K-Kagari, you don’t have to pretend to be my lover anymore!”

I hastily grabbed the hand that had begun to stroke my thigh again.

Kagari tilted his head curiously...

Kagari: "Are you sure you’re okay with that?"

Kagari: "You didn't seem to want to get off, so I thought I should continue."

Emma: "I'm sorry, I'll get off now."

(Actually, it was rude of me to be lost in thought on a prince's lap in the first place.)

I hurriedly put my dangling feet back on the floor.

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "I have business with the guy that man is contacting."

Emma: "...Are you going to take him back to your country?"

Kagari: "No, I’ll just make him disappear."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(....)

Seeing that I hadn't made any effort to get off, Kagari tilted his head slightly.

Emma: “…Can I ask you something?”

Kagari: “Yeah, go ahead.”

Emma: “What kind of crime did the person you’re looking for commit?”

Kagari: “Why do you want to know?”

Emma: “Both Rhodolite and Jade are countries that find taking away someone’s life unacceptable.”

Kagari: “Your quite knowledgeable, Princess.”

After staring at me for a moment, Kagari slightly hesitated before speaking again.

Kagari: “Human trafficking.”

Emma: “….”

Kagari: “That merchant colludes with orphanage directors, regularly selling children to nobles as tools for profit."

Kagari: "Even if there are laws in place, why should a second chance be given to someone who’s done nothing but evil?"

(Evil, as the name suggests, might be a term that's fitting for this.)

Emma: "The crimes of the merchant cannot be forgiven."

Emma: "But I believe everyone deserves a chance for redemption."

Emma: "I don't want them to die without knowing the severity of their crimes."

Kagari: "....."

Kagari: "Unfortunately, people who’ve had a taste of power tend to repeat their crimes."

Kagari: "Their crimes spread like stains and become irreparable as they continue."

(It sounds like he's speaking from personal experience...)

I was gently lifted up and placed back on the chair where Kagari was sitting.

Contrast to his words, he handled me as delicately as fragile glass.

Kagari: "Wait here, Princess."

Kagari: "People like you, who are so fixated on peace-making, will only get in the way."

With that, Kagari left the room without waiting for my response.

The painful silence felt like it was blaming me.

Taking a life could be considered the greatest crime.

But history has taught us that peace can only be attained through sacrifice.

(....It's natural to be perceived as complacent about making peace.)

(But before that, I should have understood the situation properly and not forced my thoughts onto him.)

Guilt weighed heavily on my chest.

Emma: "W-what... was that sound just now?"

Suddenly, I heard a loud noise from afar, as if something big had fallen, accompanied by a faint vibration.

(It came from the direction Kagari went.)

(...I'm sorry.)

As if shaking off my hesitation, my intuition urged me, and I dashed out of the room.

……

(What... is this?)

Upon entering the room where the intense noise emanated, I was met with a gruesome sight.

The floor and walls were stained red with splatters of blood, and there were heaps of people groaning and trembling in pain all around.

In the midst of it all, Kagari stood there calmly.

(There's so many of them lying on the floor. The people from earlier we're also on the ground.)

(Did Kagari take them all out in that short amount of time? And without a single scratch...)

Overwhelmed by the sudden surge of fear and discomfort, I leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy.

Kagari glanced over at me and casually flicked the blood off his sword.

Kagari: "You’re so fearless despite being weak, Princess."

Kagari: "But, that fine. It'll be over soon. Just stay quiet over there."

His indifferent tone only added to the tense atmosphere.

His emerald eyes fixed on the man with trembling legs.

He was probably the man Kagari was looking for, and surrounding him were a few mercenaries, glaring at Kagari with swords in hand.

Merchant: "Damn it... You actually came all the way to Jade to disrupt our negotiations."

Merchant: "Hey, how much are we paying you guys? Hurry up and finish him off!"

With the angry shout as a signal, the mercenaries rushed towards Kagari.

Kagari: "Don't get so frustrated. You're the one who wasted you money on them."

Kagari: "...But seriously, opponents this weak are hardly worth my time."

His heel slowly lifted off the ground.

It didn't take long for blood splatters and screams to fill the air.

The mercenaries fell without even knowing what had happened.

Kagari effortlessly wielded his sword, as if performing a dance in hell.

Then, one mercenary sneaked up behind Kagari and raised his sword.

(No...!)

Kagari: "...."

Before I could even think, my body moved instinctively, and I pushed the man's back with all my strength.

(I did it...! It’s all thanks to carrying those heavy books every day.)

Mercenary: "You bitch...!"

(...Uh oh.)

The enraged mercenary directed his attack towards me, and I brace myself.

Mercenary: "Guh...!"

(W...what?)

Before I realized it, the tip of the sword was protruding from the mercenary's side.

A few millimeters closer, and it would have surely reached my abdomen.

Kagari: "Are you incapable of waiting patiently like me, Princess?"

Kagari: "I won't stop you if you want to die, but don't mistake bravery for recklessness."

As the sword was pulled out, the last mercenary collapsed at Kagari feet.

Shortly after, I saw the merchant crumbling to his knees.

There was no trace of the vigor he had moments ago in his expression.

Merchant: "I... I'm sorry. It's my fault. I won't do this anymore."

Merchant: "So please, spare my life. I don't want to die... I'll give you all my money, everything, please..."

(How selfish...)

My hands clenched in anger as the merchant begged for his life, pressing his head against the floor.

Kagari: "..."

(Kagari...?)

I felt a slight sense of unease as he shook his head ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, the tip of the sword was directed towards the ceiling—

And without hesitation, descended directly towards the merchant's neck.

Keith: "Stop!!"

A sharp, low voice filled with anger, echoed in the room.

The sword stopped just as it touched the merchant's neck in response to Prince Keith’s voice.

I let out a shaky breath.

Kagari: "You've arrived just in time, Keith. How disappointing."

After glancing at Prince Keith and me, Kagari looked down at the merchant again.

Kagari: "It’s thanks to both of them that you narrowly escaped death."

Keith: "K-Kagari!"

Merchant: "Gyaaaah!!"

Amidst the merchant's blood curdling screams, I realized he was rolling on the floor, blood flowing from one of his eyes and his leg.

Even though Prince Keith was holding Kagari’s wrist that held his sword, Kagari‘s expression remained unchanged.

Kagari: "What's wrong? He's still alive."

Keith: "Even so, that doesn't mean you can just do anything you want."

Kagari: "You're still the same as ever."

Kagari: "That's why you always end up losing control."

Keith: "...!"

Kagari shook off Prince Keith's hand, wiped the blood off the sword, and sheathed it.

At the same time, knights hurriedly appeared with bustling footsteps,

Under Prince Keith’s instructions, they began to restrain the fallen individuals on the floor.

(...Is it over now?)

With the danger gone, my legs give out from under me as if the tension had been cut loose.

Prince Keith, who rushed over, squatted in front of me with a visibly worried expression.

Keith: "Emma, are you okay? Are you injured? Please tell me anything, no matter how small."

Keith: "...I'm sorry I came late."

Emma: "No, thank you. I'm not hurt, so there's no problem."

Emma: "I just sat down because I felt relieved. I'm sorry for causing a commotion."

I smiled to reassure him, and a sense of relief colored my golden eyes.

Knight: "Prince Keith."

Keith: “Ah, just a moment.”

Emma: "I'm fine, please go ahead."

Keith: "...Thank you."

With a hint of hesitation, Prince Keith headed towards the knights,

And as he passed by, Kagari approached me.

Just that, for some reason, my heart started to pound unpleasantly, and I felt breathless.

(Why am I suddenly feeling afraid of Kagari?)

Kagari: "..."

Emma: "...!"

His eyes looking down showed no emotion.

As if to prevent me from backing away, he stepped on the hem of my dress.

Kagari: "You tried to stop me and then you tried to help. Why are you running away?"

(My voice... won't come out.)

Kagari: "Cat got your tongue...?"

Kagari: "Yet, you talk normally with Keith... It feels lonely."

(Why... why does he sound so resentful?)

Just as Prince Keith did before, Kagari crouched down in front of me.

His emotionless face remained unchanged.

His expressionless emerald eyes remained the same.

(...But it's different.)

In his eyes, there was a viscous, syrupy heat that hadn't been there before.

Kagari: "If I kneel down and cutely meow like a cat, will I get your attention?"

The words were whispered as if to himself, and his wicked smile amplified the fear...

Kagari: "Princess."

(Ah....)

As his face approached, and his breath brushed against my neck—

With a sudden snap, everything went dark in front of my eyes.

▼・ᴥ・▼

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 2

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.4k words

Tags: !!Non-con!!, Pining, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Somnophilia, Cunnilingus

Part 1, Part 3 ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

“You alright, Ominis?” 

“Fine,” Ominis forces a tight-lipped smile. He’s been nursing the same glass of firewhiskey for most of the evening, barely able to get it down. “Just tired.”

Sebastian gives a sigh as he stands, only wobbling slightly. He knows that look on his friend’s face, the familiar I don’t want to be here, but I’m too polite to leave. 

“Why don’t you help her back to Slytherin then? I’m gonna stay a while and she’s clearly had enough.” He nods to where their friend is warring against a black-out, slumped against the garrish scarlet cushions of one of the common room couches.

Sebastian chuckles as he helps her from her seat, stilling her wrists when she playfully swats at him and insists she’s fine. She’s deposited in Ominis’ arms before he can get a word in.

She stops her grumbling when she realizes who’s holding her up, blinking up at him for a moment before her lips curl into a pleased smile. “You’re still here, Omi?”

“Still here,” he murmurs, trying to keep his breathing even when she loops her arm with his to steady herself.

He meanders the both of them through the noisy Gryffindor common room, out into the cool, dimly-lit hallway. She hums one of the old tavern tunes the Gryffindors have been belting the entire night, slurring all the words the entire journey towards the dungeons. He bites the inside of his cheek, pretending he isn’t amused.

She leans on him, her fingers curling around his bicep for support, as she stumbles through the coiling serpent door, and that familiar ache manifests itself in his gut. 

He ignores it. He’s done a good job of ignoring it so far, hasn’t laid a finger on her—just like he promised. He isn’t a bad person, after all. He won’t do what he did to her again. It was a one-time thing, just to scratch an itch, and he’s more than capable of suffering in silence from now on, the same way he always has. 

By the time they finally cut through the Slytherin common room, he’s practically carrying her. She’s dozing off with her head on his shoulder, soft and pliant in his arms, and he feels this strange sort of tightening feeling in his chest.

He’s felt that dull, longing pain for a while. This is exponentially worse, as if his pining has finally culminated into something unbearable. He grinds his teeth and holds his breath and pretends he doesn’t feel tempted to bury his nose in her hair, to inhale until his inhibitions melt away and he does something stupid.

He sets her down on her feet when he reaches the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but has to hold her up to keep her from falling over. Her words are stumbled over, soft and broken by yawns. “D’you think…you could bring me up?”

“You know I can’t,” he sighs. “Wards.”

She frowns, looking up at him. “Then…bring me to yours?” 

He immediately shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea—”

“Oh, come on,” her fingers curl into the front of his shirt and he’s suddenly acutely aware of just how close she is. It’s suffocating, in a dreadfully pleasant way. He never thought he could find asphyxiation appealing, but he’s learned by now to not put anything past her. “Please?” 

She pleads so pretty. He thinks of how she sounded back in the Undercroft, when he had her body pinned underneath his. Heat pools in that spot just below his navel and he suppresses a shudder. He runs a hand down his face to disperse the memory, nodding jerkily. “Yeah, al-alright. Fine.”

He shouldn’t give in so easily. He finds himself in possession of very little faculties to refuse her absolutely anything.

//

Ominis mutters a few locking charms as soon as he carries her into the quiet of his empty dorm. For her privacy, he tells himself, and ignores that contrite little voice in his head that knows it’s for something more. He pretends he doesn’t feel some sick satisfaction in knowing he has her all to himself.

It’d be easy to do it all again, he thinks. Perhaps even easier than the first time, with her state.

The thought leaves his head as quickly as it comes. He won’t. He has control over this. He has control over himself, most importantly. However, the longer he’s around her, the more she presses her body into his, the less convinced he is of the fact.

He takes a sharp breath and sits her down on the edge of his bed to unlace her boots for her. Her calves are small in his hands, delicate. There’s something appealing about that realization that he doesn’t stop to dwell on. 

When he’s done, he helps her brush her teeth and comb her hair. It’s strangely domestic. Once again, he tries not to think about the warm, fuzzy feeling it gives him. He knows by now he has no right to crave such things. Wholesomeness isn’t for people who imperius and molest their friends.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth when she flops down onto his bed, tangling herself in silky emerald sheets. “Smells nice,” she murmurs, voice muffled with her face buried in his pillow.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash those sheets again.

He hovers near the foot of the bed, hands tucked chastely in his pockets, posture awkwardly stiff. He clears his throat. “You—uh, you should probably take a sober-up.”

She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, tilting her head with a pout. “That’s no fun.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

She falls back onto the pillows with a groan. “Fine.”

He kneels in front of the bedside table he shares with Sebastian, rummaging through the drawers in search of a sober-up he’s sure the brunette certainly keeps in store.

His hand brushes a familiar vial, and for a brief moment he forgets about the potion he’s supposed to be looking for, in favor of thumbing over the worn label he knows too well.

He used to take it whenever his anxiety got too bad, when sleep was scarce because of nightmares. He’s more than familiar with the side-effects—only a bit more potent than a calming draught, really. Makes him drowsy, helps him sleep.

A thought passes through his head, but this time it lingers.

He closes the drawer with his knee and hovers over where she’s still curled on his bed, the dull edges of the vial biting into his skin where he’s tightened his fist around it.

It isn’t like he’s drugging her. He takes the potion himself. He’s just helping her relax a bit, that’s all.

“Here,” he brushes a hand over her shoulder to get her attention, her warmth seeping through the linen of her blouse to his palm. He resists the urge to dip his hand under the hem of her collar, skin-to-skin. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

He pretends he doesn’t feel the little flicker of heat that manifests in his stomach when she obeys, parted lips brushing his fingertips, looking up at him through her lashes. 

He uncorks the dropper from the vial and drips a few more drops than the recommended dose on her tongue, and then a couple more. Her nose wrinkles from the bitter taste, but she swallows nonetheless. “Gross.”

He huffs a laugh, helping her lay back down. “A bit.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, eyes half-lidded. He finds he likes the dazed quality of her voice a bit too much. “You’re a savior, Omi.”

He forces a smile and swallows down the guilt he feels burrowed in his chest. His mouth tastes bitter. “It’s no problem, really.” 

He goes to tug the comforter over her body but she protests, limbs feeling too heavy to use properly. He gets a strange sort of thrill when he feels how weakly she pushes at his wrists. 

“Need—need to take this off first,” she murmurs, voice already softened.

She tugs at the laces of her bodice, but her fingers are languid and clumsy, lacking too much dexterity to untie them. The potion is fast-acting, he notes with a disgusting amount of satisfaction. She looks up at him for help, guiding his hands to the front of her blouse. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Right—uh, sure.”

He tries to still the trembling in his fingers as he unworks the latticework of ribbons, but he supposes she’s too bleary now to even notice. He helps her shrug off the garment, her arms limp when he holds them up to pull the fabric over her head. That little flickering heat in his gut is stoked higher when he notes how perfectly her two wrists fit in just one of his hands. 

He likes her like this, maybe to an alarming degree. Weak and pliant. It reminds him of her state under the Imperius, trance-like, bending to his will because she lacks the capacity to do much else.

He helps her shimmy out of her skirt as well, even though she never asks him to. She doesn’t protest. Just lets his hands adjust her as he sees fit. He doesn’t linger on the fact that she’s only letting him because she doesn’t have the power to voice any objections, much less stop him.

That tiny, wanton flame inside him has been fed into an all-consuming fire, far too zealous to allow even a shadow of guilt to hinder his actions. 

The chemise she wears underneath her clothes is sheer, barely reaching the tops of her knees. Easy to tear, he thinks as he smooths his hand down her hip, only briefly. She lets out a soft sigh and he pulls back. Still too lucid.

Temptation is a pretty thing tangled in his sheets, donned in thin, satiny fabrics.

It’d be so easy to take. The thought comes and sticks, even as he tries to rid himself of it. It’s tacky, enticing, gluing itself to the walls of his brain.

He wouldn’t even need to use an Unforgivable again, not like last time. No breaking any promises—though he notes that the thought of doing so is less nausea-inducing now than the first time. The idea more digestible. He doesn’t dwell on the implications behind that.

He unclasps the first few buttons of his shirt as he waits for her breathing to finally steady out. It isn’t long before she’s out like a light.

He sits on the adjacent bed, but only for a moment before his anxiety makes him pace the room. His thoughts are a mess, alternating between staying as far away from her as possible and sinking into her very skin. He chews on his nails while the latter begins to take dominance, until he ultimately finds himself hovering over the side of his bed.

It’s not like he hasn’t touched her before while she’s sleeping. He’s traced her features a couple times, gently, just to get an idea of what she looks like. This isn’t any different. He won’t do anything terrible.

He knows with certainty that Sebastian and their other dorm mate won’t be in until dawn breaks, he’s more than accustomed with their party habits by now. The situation is almost too perfect. When will he ever have her like this again? Drowsy and willing, all to himself, in his bed.

The mattress creaks as he sits himself on the edge. She doesn’t move an inch. His heart hammers in his chest, but he reaches a hand out anyway, tentatively running his hand down the soft outline of her figure, bathed in silk. He wants to feel her, though, so he brushes his fingertips, feather-light, where her shoulder is peeking out from under the covers.

It’s easy to not feel guilty when this is something familiar. 

Tentatively, he pulls the covers down to her waist. When she doesn’t stir, he pulls them back the rest of the way, exposing her to him. Gooseflesh prickles over her skin as it comes in contact with the cool air of the room and he runs his hands down her arms to soothe it. She’s somehow softer than he remembers, sensitive and sleep-warm.

She shifts in her sleep, but he isn’t deterred like he usually is. He knows that with the effects of the potion she won’t wake, at least not fully. That familiar course of adrenaline courses through his veins at the thought of not having to be as cautious as he usually is. Being able to touch at will. It’s exhilarating, in the most terrible way possible. 

He bunches her chemise over her waist in one pull. The material glides over her skin with ease, and she gives little protest, nothing more in the way of a soft exhale, a gentle murmur. The sound courses through his very core, all the way south. He’s sick with curiosity about what other sounds he can coax from her, fingers hovering over the bare expanse of her midriff.

He’s filled with the urge to know her in all the ways he hasn’t yet, having kept all his prior explorations strictly above-belt. The unknown beckons to him, every inch of her he hasn’t touched or tasted, teeming under his skin until it aches. 

He runs a thumb across the hem of her knickers, gentle, patient—even if at the moment it’s like he hasn’t the faintest idea of the definition of the world. It doesn’t take very long for him to exhaust the small amount of hesitation he does possess.

He shifts over her on the bed, climbing down her body, hands trailing adoration on her skin with exploratory curiosity. He digs his fingers a little too hard into her hips and she lets out a whimper, soft and barely audible. He finds he quite likes the sound.

She squirms in place, hips shying away from him in her sleep and he hushes her, soothing the skin with soft, little circles stroked by his thumb.

He presses his lips right above her navel, trailing kisses down her stomach, and she keens under the sensation, stretching like a purring kitten. He smirks against her skin. So receptive, even unconscious. 

As he trails down to his destination, he noses softly at every curve and bow he can reach, slow and appreciative. She’s gorgeous, all soft features and gentle silhouettes. He finds himself wanting to run his tongue over every contour until he memorizes her with his mouth.

He treats her as if he’s at an altar, kneeled in not only solemn adoration, but grave penitence for what he knows he plans to do with her. He supposes it’s always best to pray for forgiveness, then ask for permission. 

When he gets to the hem of her knickers, he plies her legs wider to accommodate him, pinning one of her thighs to the mattress. She obliges so easily, limbs loose and limp, so he tugs the other over his shoulder. 

His breath hovers over her clothed core and that familiar contrite little voice murmurs a flurry in his head. He finds it’s so much easier to tune it out now, especially as he presses his mouth to the gusset of her knickers for the first time and his brain whites out in bliss.

He wouldn’t be able to suppress the groan he lets out if he had all the willpower in the world.

It isn’t long before he’s hastily pulling the thin cotton down her thighs, any sort of barrier between them a personal affront to his sanity. Something tears but he finds himself in no capacity to care. She does little to stop him, only shifting futilely in her sleep, but he has his arm anchored across her thigh to still her squirming.

He licks a stripe with the flat of his tongue, just to finally taste her, to acquiesce the pounding in his ears and that familiar rush of blood south. She tastes like heaven, and he knows that after all he’s done it’s the closest he’ll ever get.

His fingers dig into tender flesh so hard he’s sure he’ll leave marks as he starts to lap at her in earnest, unable to stop himself. Breathy little sighs hitch in her throat, turning into soft moans as he takes his time, exploring every millimeter his tongue can reach.

“S’gorgeous,” he slurs, lips sticky against her cunt. “Gods, you taste so good.”

He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and the noise she lets out is almost enough to make him finish in his pants. He can tell her brain’s struggling to breach consciousness, hips rocking languidly against his mouth, the softest murmurs escaping her lips. He pays little mind to them, continuing to devote himself to tasting her fully.

He takes one of her hands that are pawing weakly at the sheet beneath her, placing it on top of his head. Her fingers immediately find purchase in his hair, eliciting a groan from him as he circles her clit with his tongue in tight little circles.

Her breathing is stuttered, uneven. “Om–Omin–”

“That’s it, angel, say my name,” he hums, her voice making him throb in his pants where he’s been rutting mindlessly against the mattress. “You sound so pretty. Fuck, my sweet, sweet girl.”

Her fingers tighten in his hair, a bit too softly for his tastes due to her semi-lucid state, but enough to earn a moan from him nonetheless. He feels the muscles in her abdomen tighten when he braces a forearm across her middle to pin her to the bed, stilling her helpless writhing, and he knows she’s close. He doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s coming on his tongue, no matter how much she begs.

Feeling her try to resist him makes him ache in his trousers, her hands pushing weakly at his head. He latches his mouth to her clit and sucks until he feels her heels dig into his back and a sob is torn from her throat as she’s pushed over the edge. 

He grinds his hips into the mattress as he rides her through her climax, grunting expletives against her skin. Her chest heaves, arms loose at her sides as she hiccups through tears, coming down from her high.

Her legs tremble around his head and he kisses the insides of her thighs, listening to her breathless, incoherent little murmurs that he can’t quite make out. He can’t help the blissed satisfaction he feels, thumbs rubbing soft circles on her hip bones. 

He climbs over her, chin sticky as he leaves kisses in his ascent. “I know, baby, I know,” he hushes when she squirms, voice hoarse. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

He wipes the wetness from her cheeks, damp lashes fluttering in her attempts to gain some viable form of consciousness. He smiles to himself knowing the effects of the potion will keep her perfectly limp and drowsy for him.

He noses at her temple, stroking her hair while he waits for her breathing to steady out again. “Was that good, angel? Did I make you feel good?”

She doesn’t respond, and he knows her brain is too addled with sleep and endorphins to even hear him. He rambles praises anyway, lips pressed to her forehead, his heart so full in his chest it might burst.

“I love you,” he whispers, collecting her in his arms and tucking her into his side, even if the rational part of his brain advises against it. He can’t help but want her close. “I love you so much, it hurts.”

The inside of his trousers is sticky with the evidence of his own climax, but he can’t be bothered to feel the shame he normally feels, too caught up in the feeling of her body against his. He plants kisses to the crown of her head and pretends he’s holding her because she wants to be held.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs sometime after into the stillness of her soft breathing, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. He isn’t, not really. Being sorry implies he won’t do it again. Something he’s able to admit by now he knows isn’t true. “I’m so sorry.” 

He closes his eyes and pretends he is. 

[buckymorelikefuckme]

sweet, sugar, handyman

steve rogers x bimbo reader

words: 3.9k

warnings: **18 + ONLY** smut, light daddy dom steve, unprotected sex (don’t do that), creampie. if i missed anything pls let me know!!!

a/n: any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & welcomed <3

part 1 ❀

It's been a few days since Steve took you out on a date. Even though he got the clear and undeniable message that you would one hundred percent be down to fuck afterward, he felt that he still wanted to wine & dine you more first. He wanted to work for it; earn it, so to speak. So when the date was done and he opened the door to the cab he hailed for you, he only kissed you goodnight. Admittedly, it did turn into a little bit of a make-out session, which only stopped because the cabbie cleared his throat pointedly.

You were absolutely not making it easy for him though. In the span of four days, you’ve made every possible innuendo when given the chance, and sometimes even said outright explicit things to him. Steve is losing his goddamn mind. He's beginning to question why he’s so hellbent on being a gentleman.

Even at work he’s not able to concentrate. He's had to restock the same shelves three times now because he keeps putting the wrong items in the wrong places.

He’s grumbling under his breath about how fucking pathetic he is when he gets a whiff of your perfume and immediately stiffens.

“Hey there, big boy.”

He has to shut his eyes at the sound of your voice. It’s just so…

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some good hardware around here, huh?”

Teasing. Your voice is sexy, no doubt, and cute in the worst way, but above all it’s teasing. Steve can hear your smile as you speak. He takes a calming breath before slowly turning to meet your siren stare. He doesn't feel any calmer when he gets a look at you.

Your hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, the ends curling upward adorably. Unsurprisingly, your makeup is beautiful, highlighting your features perfectly, and your outfit is nothing short of incredible. You’ve got a cute, little strapless sundress on—pink, of course—with tiny flowers all over, leaving your collarbones and shoulders on display. Steve’s mouth waters, his desire to bite and mark the skin rushing to the forefront of his mind.

A sweet grin spreads across your glossed lips the longer he stares at you like an idiot.

“Steve?”

He blinks, coming back to the present. “Hi,” he finally says.

You giggle. “Hi.”

He clears his throat. “What, um… What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for some tools,” you reply, putting emphasis on the last word in a way that puts Steve on guard right away.

“Well,” he starts, clinging to his sanity, “you’re certainly in the right place.”

You smirk. “Do you think I could get my hands on your tools then?”

Steve curses under his breath and you're giggling again, making him feel a confusing mix of endeared and aroused.

“Why do you do that?”

Steve does not whine. And he didn't whine just now. Nobody can prove it and nobody would believe it.

“Because you make it so easy and it's fun to see you get all flushed,” you answer honestly.

He tries to glare, but even he can tell it's weak. You step into his space, curling your fingers in the belt loops at the front of his jeans, right above his groin, peering up at him through your fluttery lashes. Suddenly, his palms are sweating.

“Steve?” you start softly. He hums in reply, not trusting his voice. “Will you come over tonight?”

“Tonight? To–for what?”

You smile innocently. “I’m not allowed to want to spend time with you?”

He swallows roughly. “N-No, you are, I just… Do I—Should I bring anything?”

You tilt your head as you pretend to think. “You're a handyman, yes?” At his hesitant nod, you grin. “Then all I need is you and your big hands.”

Ah, shit. Steve is in for some trouble, isn't he?

You lean up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He barely resists letting out a groan when your breasts brush his chest. Now he knows you're not wearing a bra because he can feel your nipples through your dress.

“See you later.”

“Uh huh,” he replies dazedly.

Yeah… He’s in deep shit.

~

Steve fiddles with the sleeves of his black henley, the cellophane encasing the bouquet of daffodils in his clammy grip crinkling noisily as he shuffles awkwardly on your doorstep. Inhale for three, exhale for three.

He knocks and waits. It only takes a moment for you to open the door. And then Steve’s stomach promptly attempts to fall out of his ass.

You're wearing a skintight, blood red mini dress, sleeveless and low cut enough to show off your ample cleavage. Your legs, toned and perfect, look positively sinful. You've got on a matching pair of strappy heels, and there, on one of your cute toes, sits a gold toe ring. Why that detail makes his heart race faster is beyond him. Your hair falls in soft waves around your face.

You're glowing as you lean your hand against the doorframe. Steve's never seen you in red before, but damn you wear it well.

“Wow,” he whispers.

You bite your lip to tamp down on your smile. “Thanks. You're pretty wow yourself.” You step aside. “Come on in, handsome.”

There's just enough space for him to squeeze past you. He gets a whiff of your perfume and, fuck, you smell divine. It's not your usual soft perfume that he's gotten used to already; it's something slightly darker, spicier. It makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

“Are those for me?” you wonder as you shut the door, gesturing at the bouquet.

“Oh,” he says, thrusting them towards you, “Um, yes. For you.”

You take them with a small smile. “Thank you. They're beautiful.”

“So are you,” Steve mumbles shyly.

He's pretty sure he notes the tiniest, pleased curl of your lips and counts it as a win.

You go about putting them in a vase, arranging them just so before placing them on the kitchen counter. Steve watches you flit about your home and something warm spreads throughout his body. When you're not flustering him and making him stumble over his words and feet, you're pretty fucking cute.

“Would you like something to drink? Wine? Water?”

“Water would be great,” he replies

He accepts the glass with a nod of thanks after you hand it to him, taking a sip then sitting it on the table beside him. You stare at each other, Steve assessing while you're happy to just look.

“Why did you invite me over?” he questions.

You shrug. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Slowly, Steve shakes his head, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets.

“Bullshit,” he accuses. “That's not the whole reason.”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” you respond defiantly.

He backs you into the counter, hearing your light gasp and feels his lips twitch. “Don't act coy,” he admonishes. “You didn't wear this dress to sit on your couch and watch a movie.”

He trails a finger along your side, down the fabric of your dress, then toys with the hem of it. He's not sure where this burst of confidence is coming from, but he's going to go with the flow and see where it takes him.

“No, you chose to wear this to drive me crazy. You couldn't just wait a little bit longer.” Your breathing picks up, eyes becoming heavy-lidded as he speaks. “Do I need to teach you how to be patient?”

You remain silent as you hold his gaze, seemingly at a loss.

“What, no smartass remarks? That's a first. This is what you wanted, isn't it? You want me to give in and fuck you like the needy little slut you are, yeah?”

A short, choked off noise escapes you, your expression shocked, and Steve smirks in satisfaction.

“Not so fun on that side of it, huh?” he teases.

You clear your throat and try to gather yourself. “It's not that bad. Maybe you're just a pussy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You're really testing me. I’m starting to think you want more than just a quick fuck. I think you might need to be bent over my knee and taught a lesson.”

“Fuck, Steve…”

You grab his hand and hurriedly walk out of the kitchen, leading him down the hall. You open a door at the end of it without stopping. Steve finds himself in your bedroom, which is just as frilly and pink as he imagined. You whirl around after you reach your bed, facing him with determination and lust in your eyes.

“I wonder if it's all talk, or if you can actually deliver,” you goad, though your voice does waver.

It's clear you're trying to get a rise out of him, and he would absolutely hate to disappoint you.

“Careful what you wish for.”

In a blink, he's got you wrapped in his arms, lips lightly grazing your neck and shoulder. Your hands fly up to squeeze his biceps as you begin squirming. He presses a whisper of a kiss to your collarbone, smiling at the way you try to push into it more. His lips trail up to your ear where he briefly tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. You whine, tilting your head back to give him more access, but he only lets his breath fan out across your skin for a moment, watching goosebumps appear before pulling back entirely.

“What—” you start, frowning, trying to pull him back to where he was.

“Do you have a safeword?”

You swallow thickly. “I like the color system.”

He nods. “What's your color now?”

“So fucking green, Steve, please just fuck me—”

“You need to learn patience,” he decides. “I'm gonna take my time, gonna explore every inch of your beautiful, sacred body, and you're going to lie there and take it like a good girl. Understood?”

You nod, but that's not what Steve wants. He grips your chin, his fingers and thumb pressing into your cheeks.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. Use your words.”

You exhale shakily. “Understood.”

Steve grins, letting go. “That's a good girl.” You let out a quiet moan. “Now. Where should I begin, hm? Part of me wants to rip this dress right off of you, but another part of me doesn't want to ruin something so stunning.”

You fidget under his observation. He's sure your cheeks are warm beneath your beloved pink blush you always wear. His eyes finally settle on your collarbones, remembering earlier that day and how he wanted to mark them. Without a word, he pushes the straps of your dress down your arms. Then he runs his thumb along the jut of bone, reverent, wondering how and why he got so lucky.

He leans down and attaches his mouth to your skin, sucking and licking and biting until he's positive blood has rushed to the surface under his ministrations. Your small hands are clutching at the sides of his shirt as you moan. And damn, that's a sound he's already growing fond of.

He switches to the other side, biting a matching mark on that collarbone, then decides it's not enough and moves up to the point where your shoulder meets your neck and sucks a mark there too. By the time he's done you're panting and wriggling in a way that tells him you're searching for relief.

“Take the straps off all the way, but don't take the dress off,” he instructs. You're quick to obey and he hums, pleased, when you wait for further direction. “Such a good girl.”

You nod. “Yes.”

As a reward, he pulls down the cups of the dress, exposing your tits to the cool air of your room and watching in delight as your nipples harden. He brushes his thumbs over them, smirking when you twitch and whimper.

“Does my little slut want my mouth on her tits?” he asks as he continues playing with them.

“Yes, please,” you rush to say, “Please, daddy.”

Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click. It's clear you hadn't meant to let that slip.

He pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Daddy? Oh baby, I should've known.” You whine at his mocking tone. “Don't you worry, sweetheart, daddy will take good care of you. Sit down for me.”

Despite your embarrassment, you do as you're told and sit on your bed. Steve kneels on the floor in front of you, pulling you to the edge of the mattress so your tits are directly in his face.

“So soft. So pretty,” he murmurs, cupping them in his hands.

He takes one nipple into his mouth and you let out a high pitched whine, hands coming up to bury themselves in his hair. He gives your nipple the same treatment your collarbones received, sucking harshly and flicking his tongue back and forth. Abruptly, he shifts to the other side, not giving you a chance to catch up. You tug roughly at his hair as you push your chest closer and closer to him.

He pulls off, blowing across your spit-covered breasts, seeing you shiver and whine with a twisted sense of gratification. With a sudden urgency, he determines he needs his mouth on your pussy now. He spreads your legs and pushes up the hem of your dress at the same time. If he wasn't already on his knees, he'd have fallen to them when he sees you're not wearing panties.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he chides, voice gruff.

Your pussy glistens with your wetness and you start squirming as he stares.

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he wonders and meets your desperate gaze.

“Daddy, please, want your mouth.”

He tilts his head. “Where, baby?” You whine again, fingers twitching where they still rest in his hair. He runs his forefinger down your wet slit and you cry out. “Here? You want daddy there?”

“Yes! Please, daddy,” you beg, hips trying to meet his hand.

Steve hums. “I don't know, sweetheart. You weren't wearing any panties. Is that something good girls do?”

You whimper, brows furrowing as you bite your lip and shake your head.

“Think I’m gonna have to spank you, after all.”

“Daddy—”

“Are you gonna be a good girl or not, sweetheart? I can stop here.”

He definitely cannot, but you don't seem to be in the mindset to call his bluff. You whimper loudly.

“No, no, please, I'll be good, daddy, I promise!”

“Color?” he checks in.

“Green,” you reply, eager and breathless.

He grins. “Alright, sweetheart, up you go.”

He rises to his feet and helps you stand before taking your place on the mattress. He pats at his lap, raising an expectant brow. You only hesitate for a second, carefully draping yourself across his lap, making a small noise when you feel his erection pressing into your stomach.

“How many spanks do you think I should give you? Three? Five? Ten?”

You fist your blanket tightly. “However many daddy thinks is appropriate.”

He coos. “Look at that. You can be a good girl. I'll do five this time, okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper.

“Count them out for me,” he directs as he pushes your dress up past your hips, swiping his large hand over your plump ass.

He lifts his hand and brings it back down in a firm smack. With a wicked grin, he watches your ass jiggle with the impact. The only sound you let out is a small gasp.

“One,” you mutter shakily.

Each time he spanks you, he soothes the sting by softly rubbing his hand along your heated flesh.

As he lands his fifth and final spank he's almost upset to be finished. But then he pulls your ass cheek to the side and leans over to look at your dripping pussy, and his mouth waters with want.

“Five,” you whine, squirming, fists clenching and unclenching.

Steve hums. “Perfect.”

“Daddy…”

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he coos.

He maneuvers your pliant body until you're on your back, legs dangling off the edge as he makes himself comfortable between them again.

“Since you were good for me, I’ll give you a reward,” he murmurs, pushing your thighs apart and back so you're on full display for him.

You're already writhing on your bed and he hasn't even touched you properly. It makes his cock throb where it's pressing against his zipper. God, he wants to fuck you, and he fully plans on it, but he has to taste you first or he’ll go crazy.

With that thought in mind, he leans in and sucks on your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. He kisses your pussy sloppily, letting your wetness coat his tongue. He groans deep in his chest; you taste unlike any other and he's on the fast-track to becoming addicted.

“Daddy,” you whine, tugging at his hair, “daddy, please, please fuck me.”

He ignores you for a moment, thrusting his tongue in and out of you, bringing his fingers down to rub messily at your clit. You cry out, a sob forcing itself out of you.

“Steve,” you plead.

Reluctantly, and with a final suck and lick, he pulls his mouth away from your delicious cunt. He stands to his full height and quickly removes his clothes, eyes never leaving your prone form. The way you're spread out is indecent, downright sinful, and the way your stare is already going glazed makes his spine tingle.

When he shoves his boxer briefs down and frees his cock, he sighs in relief. You moan at the sight of it, spreading your legs even wider.

Steve gives you a half grin, stroking himself, “Want daddy’s cock, sweetheart?” You nod, which makes him raise an eyebrow in expectance. “Words, darlin’. Use them.”

“Yes, please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” he taunts, joining you on the bed, manhandling you so that your legs are no longer hanging off.

He makes no move to finish removing your dress or your heels.

“Please, daddy,” you groan.

“Good girl,” he intones. He kisses the inside of one of your knees. “Condom.”

You lick your lips, biting them anxiously. “Can I… I wanna feel daddy’s cum drip out of me,” you whisper, your eyelids getting heavier.

“Jesus,” Steve exhales. “Are you sure? Color?”

“Green, it's green,” you assure quickly.

You're gonna be the death of him.

He pushes two fingers in your cunt without warning and you whine, long and loud enough that he wonders if your neighbors can hear. Part of him hopes they can.

“Mm, so tight with only two of my fingers inside you,” he observes, teasing, “Are you sure you can take my cock?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, “Please, daddy. Wanna feel you split me open, wanna feel full.”

He groans. “Fuck, baby. You're not just a slut, are you? You're a cockslut. A greedy one at that.”

“Yes, yeah, ‘m a cockslut,” you hurriedly agree, “your little cockslut.”

The flare of possessiveness that spreads throughout him is sudden and ignites his desires even more.

“Mine, huh? I like the sound of that.”

He teases the head of his cock along your slit, loving the way you squirm and whimper but still wait so patiently. Finally, he takes mercy on you and pushes in. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan, your eyebrows scrunching together in the sweetest way. Steve groans deep in his chest as he sinks deeper and deeper into your tight, wet heat. When his hips are flush against yours, he only waits a beat before pulling out and thrusting right back in, setting an immediate, steady rhythm that has your knees hiking higher and higher on either side of him.

You're restless with pleasure, unable to be still, head tossing from side to side, hands grappling at nothing and everything. Steve is so big inside you, hitting all the right spots, plus some you didn't even know about. A constant flow of moans, whimpers, and pleas fall from your bitten lips. A light sheen of sweat covers your neck and chest, your nipples hardened into peaks.

“God, you feel so good,” Steve grunts, watching the way his cock slides in and out of you.

You nod in agreement. “My–oh–my pussy was m-made for you,” you whine. “Fit me just right, daddy, fuck! Never… Never had anyone feel this perfect.”

“Yeah? Is daddy ruining you for everybody else?” Steve goads.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, don't want anyone else, ever, please,” you beg, hips twitching up into his next thrust.

Your heels bite into the skin on Steve’s back, but he welcomes the pain. He wants to wear your marks just as much as he wants you to wear his. He thrusts into you harder, loving the way your back arches beneath him, the way your tits bounce with the movement.

You're about a million percent sure if Steve changed the position now you'd punch him in the throat, but you're also just as sure that he knows this, if the way he's looking at you is any indication. His eyes are sparkling, lips tilted up on one side. The apples of his cheeks are pink from exertion, and it makes you bite your lip.

Steve cups his hands under your knees, pushing them up and open more, adjusting the angle of his thrusts just so and making you nearly scream.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you chant, “Steve, daddy, fuck!”

He grins at your babbling, feeling you clench around him as you near your climax. He's not far behind, heat pooling in his lower abdomen quickly. He lets go of your legs, letting them drop to his sides, reaching down to hold your pussy lips open as he spits on your clit. A ragged moan comes from you at the action. Wondering how far he can push, Steve lightly slaps your clit, and fuck. You cry out and clench around him so tight he has to pause.

“Again, again, please, daddy, do that again, don't stop,” you ramble, words blurring together.

Steve does it again. And again. And again. Until you're clamping down on his cock, body locking up as your orgasm hits, your breath halting. But then you're jerking, letting out a throaty gasp, followed by long whines as you ride out what's got to be an intense high. The sight alone is enough to bring Steve to completion, grinding into you as his cock throbs and releases inside you. He groans, closing his eyes, feeling beyond sated and happy.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh. “Agreed.”

He looks down at you and you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your hair is splayed out messily around your face, some pieces sticking to your clammy cheeks and forehead, the sheen of sweat making you glow in the low light of your bedroom. Your eyes are still heavy-lidded, but you're smiling in complete bliss, arms stretching above you.

“That was incredible,” you rasp. Your smile goes wonky. “Thank you, daddy.”

His cock twitches where it's still buried inside you and you giggle.

“You're a menace,” he accuses, the gentle way he brushes your hair off your face softening the accusation.

You preen. “Yep! But you like me anyway.”

Steve sighs heavily. “God help me, I do.”

[nocasdatsgay]

To Be Marked as Yours

Pairing: Neris | Rating: T | Word Count: 1813

Summary: Nesta refused a bite mark from her mate when they wed. But seeing her sister’s fresh mark has her questioning that decision.

Warnings: Omegaverse, Omega!Nesta/Alpha!Eris, Inner turmoil (Nesta’s worrying) Biting marks, Eris using his High Lord commands.

Part 1 | Part 2| Read this on AO3 | Read below

For Day Five of @acotar-omegaverse-week Marks

Gen Tag: @mybestfriendmademe @hieragalbatorixdottir Borders by @tsunami-of-tears

Nesta was staring. She could hear the voice of her mother harshly scolding her in the back of her mind even still. But she couldn’t look away. She was having tea with her sisters in Valaris. A monthly tradition once she agreed to marry Eris, so they could visit. They had skipped the month prior due to Elain’s mating ceremony. Now Nesta was staring at her, the mark on her neck to be precise.

Thoughts were rushing through her mind. She’d never seen a fresh mating mark. When they first saw Feyre after she turned fae, hers was concealed and when she saw it later, it was healed. But Elain’s. Elain’s was deep red, teeth markings over her scent glands. Nesta glanced at Feyre, her eyes going to the faded mark on her neck. Then her eyes dropped to her hands.

Nesta didn’t have a mating mark.

She refused it, telling Eris she would not be branded like a cow. She remembered him asking coldy what she would have them mark the marriage with instead. When he struck down the idea that the marriage agreement from the Night Court would suffice, she asked for rings.

“It’s what humans do,” She said.

He scowled but returned a week later with glistening red bands to go on their respective ring fingers.

“How will anyone know this is a mating ring?” He muttered when he walked away, still looking at it on his hand next to all the other rings he wore.

Guilt twisted in her stomach. She wore a high neckline to hide her lack of a mark outside of the Forest house. The ruby dress she wore today for tea had one. At home it didn’t seem to matter. The Autumn Court didn’t care or were too afraid to voice their opinions.

Nesta wanted to ask so badly if Elain wanted the mark. Or if her mate had forced it on her. Did it hurt to receive it? She was told it didn’t if it was during a heat. Elain had always been regular, it was possible even now she planned her ceremony right before it.

“Nesta.” Her gaze snapped up to Elain’s. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she blinked and took a sip of her tea.

It was not lost on her how Feyre and Elain exchanged a look. If they were communicating silently, she tried to not show she cared. They all finished their tea like nothing had happened. That afternoon, Nesta sequestered herself to her freshly cleaned nest, with a book and a pile of Eris’s shirts she hid from the maids.

“You’re unusually quiet today.” Nesta glanced up from her book. Her mate stood at the door, not entering. “Did you fight with your sisters at tea?”

“No,” she curtly replied. She deliberately did not grant him entrance. “I just thought you’d appreciate the silence.”

“You know I can feel when something bothers you,” he replied smugly. “And you’re here. You may as well tell me now.”

“You are what is bothering me. I’m trying to read.”

He hummed. “Shall I have Cassandra bring your dinner here?”

She pretended to think on it. With a sigh she flipped her page and replied. “No. I’ll be at dinner.”

He nodded and left the doorway without an argument. She closed her book with a huff. Then she pulled one of his shirts up to her face, annoyed and thankful that he let her be.

At the next breakfast tea with her sisters, Nesta was staring again. Only now Elain’s mark had healed to a faint ring, looping up past the sleeve of her dress onto her neck. Unlike last time, however, Elain didn’t dismiss her stares.

“It healed nicely, don’t you think?” Elain said, so soft in that airy tone of hers.

“Yes,” Nesta replied and without much thought asked, “Did it hurt?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “I suppose? Only for a moment when I received it. Did yours hurt?”

Nesta felt her face flush. She could feel the stare from Feyre next to her, no doubt watching her reaction intensely to see what she’d say.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss.” She finally answered.

“Nesta.” It was Feyre who reached over, placing a hand on her forearm. Her blue eyes held such concern, Nesta was taken aback. “You know you can talk to us. If something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she shrugged her shoulder to get Feyre’s arm off of her.

“Just know we are here for you Nes.”

She wanted to scoff but instead swallowed down her urge to run or to be worse. The tea went by quicker than planned and when Nesta returned home, she stomped through the halls. When she found her mate lounging in their sitting area, she decided to be blunt the moment he looked up at her.

“I want you to mark me.” She turned her head, baring her neck. “Just do it and get it over with.”

“Why?” He put his book aside and sat up fully on the couch.

“Why?” She glared. “I am obviously a disgrace of a wife- mate, whatever the terms are.” She added with fluster. “So do it. Mark me.”

Eris’s features became dark, so much that fear crept into her stomach. He stood, towering over her and his power rolling off of himself in waves of heat.

“Who said that to you?”

“No one-“

“Someone did. Tell me now.”

She felt the magic wash over her. She only felt a High Lord’s command once before and for Eris to use it- tears welled in her eyes from shame. She fought it for a moment, tilting her chin up and steeling herself.

“It was myself. I said it.” She let the tears fall, spewing truth like it was venom. “Do you not notice the high collars on my dresses I wear outside of court? To the hide my shame? To hide that I am a coward who cannot submit to her husband fully?”

There was heavy silence between them for a moment. Nesta tensed, fighting back her sniffles as she watched Eris carefully. He was good at hiding his emotions like she was. The stern look on his face only faltered when he finally spoke again.

“Do you want it? Tell me yes or no.”

She winced; another command to answer truthfully.

“No.”

“Then it’s not up for further discussion.”

His features soften to that laced with sadness. Nesta was uncertain of what to do. She felt the magic of the command leave her.

“You commanded me,” she whispered.

“Would you have spoken truthfully if I didn’t?” His voice cracked, eyes laced with silver. “I will burn those dresses. I thought you preferred them because they were close to human fashion. If you only wear them to hide a lack of a mark then they are not needed.”

“Why are you not angry?” Nesta yelled. She didn’t understand. “I will not bear your mark!”

“But you already do.” He grabbed her hand and held it up, the red ring flashing under the fae lights. “This is my mark. You accepted it and you wear it.”

“But this is-“

“Human. Yes.” His grip loosened slightly. He pulled her hand up and kissed the tips of her fingers. His voice was softer when he added. “But it is you. This is the only thing you’ve asked of me. I’m not going to take it away from you.”

Amber eyes stared back into her own. She could feel the love he sent her though their shared bond. She shoved back her tears.

“The other courts will talk.” She said softly.

“They always talk.”

“What if they think less of you?” Because I won't submit. Her mind finished where her voice could not.

Eris pulled her to him. Her knees felt weak from the scent of him.

“I do not care what the other courts or high lords think.” He gently tilted her chin up with his free hand. “You are my mate and I love you. The rings are proof enough if they wish to see a physical representation of it.”

Rarely did they utter the words to each other, so when Nesta said them, her voice cracked a little. “I love you too.”

Eris then swept her off her feet into his arms, making her yell at the sudden movement.

“I think we should retire for the night,” he smirked carrying her down the hall. “I do owe you an extensive apology for commanding you earlier.”

“That you do.” She added sternly, “And you better not ever do it again.”

“Are you threatening me, love?” He grinned and he nudged open the door with his foot.

“Would it be me if I didn’t?” She smiled.

The next time Nesta saw her sisters, she wore an off the shoulder gold dress. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she approached but she held her head high. Both Elain and Feyre’s eyes went to her neck. Then Feyre yelled out, pumping her fist in the air.

“I knew it! Nesta, you just won me so much money.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta stopped, glaring at Feyre.

“Rhys swore Eris would make you take his mark. I told him he didn’t know how stubborn you were. I told him!”

“As if Eris makes her do anything,” Elain giggled.

“I’m right here!” Nesta’s face had flushed and she turned her glare to Elain. “You both made bets on me?”

Elain shrugged. “You’ve been mated for so long, I didn’t think the mark was an issue. You were acting odd the last two months. I suspected you might be pregnant. So I lost that bet.”

Nesta scoffed, so uncomfortable with her sisters bombarding her. “I should go back home; you both are insufferable.”

“You also wear a ring,” Feyre teased. “They don’t know what that is on your hand. But we do.” She guestered between herself and Elain.

“Then why didn’t you just ask? Or say something?” Nesta snapped.

“We asked you the last time we saw you if something was bothering you!” Feyre put her hands on her hips. “You got defensive!”

Nesta couldn’t argue with her on that, she paced for a moment in a small circle. “By the mother, can we just have our tea?”

Elain let out a laugh that rang throughout the little garden they were sequestered in. Nesta sent her a glare but neither pushed it further. When they finally sat down, Elain eyed her as she poured the tea.

“So what made you finally stop wearing high collars?”

Nesta huffed. “I’m going to need a stronger drink than tea if we are going to have that discussion.”

Feyre, ever the prepared one of the three, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from a pocket realm and winked at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[hidden-snow]

✦┈⋆┈ ⋞ 〈 Ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ Ｈｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ｙｏｕ 〉 ⋟ ┈⋆┈✦

Summary // You thought your relationship was as special to him as it was to you. You thought he loved and cherished you as much as you loved and cherished him. But when his family leaves the Omatikaya and all he has to offer is ‘I’m sorry’ when you beg and plead for him to stay with you, you realize that you were so, so wrong about him. Heartbroken and defeated, a girl barely seventeen years old, you decide that you will never love again. After all, it hadn’t meant anything to him. Years later and you are the best of the best. A strong warrior and an even better hunter, you provide for your people in every way except for a child to add to the next generation of Omatikaya people. They respect your wishes but you can hear the whispers. You can feel the concerned gazes from your parents, too old to conceive a sibling to make up for your lack of children. When he comes back, it throws you through a loop. Handsome, mighty, and different, he comes to you right away. But you promised yourself.

Warnings // Angst, a bit of stalker Neteyam, some fluff, mentions of drinking, heartbreak

Word count // 1,103

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

You tossed and turned all night. In the mornings, you’d wake up in a cold sweat that prickled on your skin, dripping down your face and soaking the black strands of your hair.

During the day, you tried to pretend that everything was normal. Following a routine that you used to enjoy, you realized that you were no longer happy. Everything was bland without Neteyam nearby.

He seemed to realize you’d moved on. He no longer looked over you, no longer haunted your activities.

Instead, often enough, you’d find him talking to other women, smiling and chatting as if he’d known these people all of his life.

In a way, he had known these people from childhood. So did you. Many of the women that flirted back with him had mates of their own, children that they should be caring for instead of giggling at everything he said.

Whenever you saw this, you’d clench your hands into tight fists and stalk off, anger fuming hot in your veins. You never saw how it started, but you were certain that this was his next plan at how to win you back.

And, even though you swore up and down that the anger was because of the unfaithfulness of the women who reciprocated his flirtatious moves, you had realized that the anger was actually jealousy-based.

You were jealous.

Jealous that he’d managed to quite easily move on from you and that so many women had his attention instead of you now.

Not that you would ever admit it. Especially not to him. Not after that little fight in the lush forest of your home. You knew that if you mentioned the fact that you saw red everytime you caught him hitting on a woman to Neteyam, he would realize right away that you had been lying when you’d said you had moved on.

Neteyam may be a people pleaser and an skxawng by leaving you like he did, but he wasn’t stupid. He was very smart. He would figure it out.

So you bit your lip and forced your limbs to move, taking you away from wherever he was so that you didn’t have to wrestle with yourself over confronting him or not.

Unfortunately, he saw you several times. He saw the way a fire lit in your eyes whenever a random woman would touch his arm and giggle at his words. He saw the way you fought with yourself. And, once your back was turned, he would smirk and excuse himself from the conversation to follow you.

He stuck close, watching you attempt to pretend everything was just fine.

You were a shit liar, though. Even to yourself.

If only you’d open up to him, let him back into your life and heart. Life could be full of love and joy again, if only you’d let him in.

»»——⍟——««

You’d had a long day. Off of your game, one could say if they’d seen the way you’d gone about. Your aim was crap. Your body seemed to be fighting against you with everything you tried to do. You just wanted to go home and lay on your mat, pretending you were somewhere far from here. Far from Neteyam.

As you neared your family alcove, though, you heard laughing and chuckling. Confusion sparked, before dying quickly when you poked your head in.

Neteyam sat with your parents, sipping on a clay cup as they swapped stories over the past three years.

You slip back out, contemplating. Yeah, you could probably survive one night on the ground. But did you really want to sleep outside when you had such a comfortable mat inside the warm little cavern in the wall?

After minutes of contemplation, you finally enter, pretending not to notice Neteyam, though he definitely notices you.

“Ah, Y/n, my daughter. Come sit with us. Neteyam has been telling us of his wonderful adventures. I think you will enjoy the stories,” your mother calls softly. She’s just trying to ease the awkward tension that had begun to build, but her attempts were in vain. You roll your eyes, walking to where you sleep without acknowledging what she’d suggested. You didn’t even acknowledge his existence. You didn’t want to.

You hear him say something quietly to your parents and they eagerly nod, excusing themselves to leave you alone with Neteyam.

“Rough day?” he asked, his voice gaining a softness to it that almost convinced you that he thought he was talking to a scared, wild child rather than a full-grown warrior of the Omatikaya people.

You throw him a cold look as you drop your parcel of arrows by your mat.

“Come on, Y/n. I’m trying to reconnect with you. Not as… courting or anything like that. I just want to be friends again. Like we were back when we were children. Is that really too much to ask for?”

The pleading is back again and you hesitate, not wanting to say no or yes. Because then, it’d feel like the final word in a decision. What could you say?

Yes, Neteyam. It’s too much to ask to be friends again when you’d ripped my heart out by choosing your dad over me.

Or even better, no, Neteyam. It’s not too much to ask for. I’d love to give you a second chance so that, if the time comes, you can stab me through the chest once again.

You keep your lips pressed tight against your teeth, not giving him anything despite his urging.

He sighs, running fingers through his braided locks, before setting the cup down on the rocky ground.

“Why don’t you come for a ride with me, Y/n? Just for a bit. It’ll help you feel better and maybe it’ll ease this awkward feeling between us? C’mon. You know you want to. Riding was always your favorite thing out of all the things we could do as children.”

For a moment, you want to tell him no. But what would be the harm? After all, if he tried to push you to talking, you could always ditch him and come back home.

You meet his eyes calmly, giving him a single nod.

“Okay, Neteyam. No pushing though. I’ve already told you that I don’t want to open up to you.”

He lights up, like he’s won some sort of surprise, nodding eagerly, and you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him. After all, you knew Neteyam. You agreeing to a flight with him; that was like agreeing to mate with him in his mind. He was too optimistic for his own good.

Taglist // @earthling55

[blueishspace]

Looped Sun

*"You won" that's the last thing he remember saying to Scar as he wins Secret Life, he is... weirdly proud of him actually. Is that weird? Maybe. Then he feels himself being pulled back and-*

Loop #1

Grian woke up back in the desert, he couldn't understand how...and why? The Watchers surely wouldn't do this.

This time he tried to save Scar, maybe he could change the game a little? Doing it the same just seemed like a waste of an opportunity, and in the end if he was being honest getting to play Third Life again wasn't that bad and getting back to Hermitcraft after was even better.

He knew now that the moon was coming as soon as he stepped foot in s8... He was a bit frantic and got a few side eyes from the hermits that... slightly hurt but he managed to get everyone earlier then last time so that was a plus!

Season 9 on the other went by in a breeze, he joined Ren this time around to have some fun and managed to avoid the emperors destroying Grumbot so that was a plus.

Secret Life was just ending, this time with new tasks he didn't get to try last time, everything was good and Pearl won and-

Loop #2

Grian was back in the desert.

Maybe, he tought, he was supposed to fix stuff? Well, he could wait for Third Life to be over and warn everyone of the moon crash ...he had to tell everyone that he was a watcher but they took it well and he managed to get everyone into a different server.

Then, Ren taking the throne, he had joined him last time so maybe he was supposed to oppose him from the start, he could resist from resisting from starting a resistance.

When it came time for Secret Life he had to admit that he tried his best really to fix everything he could-

Loop #3

Back to the desert it is, that's fine... After 3rd Life he just had to not do wars and be as nice and kind as he could. He was fine really, it was a bit hard to not crave the chaos... At least the life games were a good way to let go and go feral.

This Secret Life had gone well, second place wasn't so shabby, now it was time to-

Loop #4

The desert sands were starting to get to his nerves, Scar noticed his distaste for them and made a joke about Anakin Skywalker because of course he did.

He didn't try anything weird this time, he just tought and tought and tought... was last in two games and got worried looks from hus friends but finally-

Loop #5

He got it! He just needed to win every single life game! Why didn't he think about it earlier? He's got pratice now, It's going to be a peace of cake!

...

Double Life, of course it was Double Life. Scar died and he got out first... By the time Secret Life ends he accepts that-

Loop #6

Stupid stupid stupid! He shouted at Scar! He's horrible! He didn't mean to but he hurt him... Mumbo shouts at him, that never happened before but he deserves. He didn't ever think he would make Scar cry like that, he's an horrible friend.

Grian locks himself in his base and when the moon crashes he greets it with a smile-

Loop #7

So permadeath can cause the loop to restart? Good to know...

He tests it again this time, just to be sure, logs off the server and jumps into the void between worlds, it's painful but-

Loop #8

This time he's determined. He's been doing this for ten years now. He wins every game, every single one. His friends say the game is rigged but he doesn't care because he did it!

He won! Secret Life ends with another victory to his name! He won-

Loop #9

...

...

He logs out of Third Life and hides in a cave for the whole season 8 until the moon crashes.

Loop #10

He says there's a glitch, Third Life is cut short and he never makes the others. It's hard to pretend nothing has happened but he manages.

By the time Secret Life should have happened he's in hus base, he can't be sent back now-

Loop #11

Nothing he do works, why doesn't it? Maybe he just hasn't gone extreme enough... it tooks a while to get the tnt but soon the entire server is rigged with tnt. He looks with manic glee as Third Life is destroyed.

He becomes a cultist for the moon and then an evil king before Ren... His friends are worried for him but they don't get the chance-

Loop #12

Maybe he's just supposed to play it straight, exactly like the original. He doesn't understand why it would be that but he has exausted all options.

It is extremely dull but he managed to get as close as possible to the original... He crossed your fingers as you tell Scar that he won-

Loop #13

He was going to figure this out, he built a time machine once back in season 6, he could do this.

It took a while to build another time machine but all he had to do was travel to a time after Secret Life and-

Loop #14

Keralis, Joe or maybe X? One of them must be able to help, he was sure of it.

He asked each of them but despite all the help they gave-

Loop #15

It was another Third Life when it happened, he and a yellow life Scar were walking on the desert sand, close to the ravine.

Scar: Oh! Almost fell down! Wouldn't want to do that again!

How did he know that- wait, had he said again? Did he... maybe there was hope!

Grian: Scar? What do you mean again?

Scar: ... Oh! Right uh I mean dying! Don't want to do that again?

Grian: Is time...repeating for you?

Scar: Grian? You too?

Grian: Oh thank the end, Scar!

Scar: Grian? You're here too? Why are we back here?

Grian: I have no idea.

And the two embraced eachother.

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