#And it's nice to see that I mentally sorted out how things work
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The contrast between 2020 -> 2022 is actually insane I'm really happy with where I've gone stylistically & what techniques I started to favor.
#2#The original was primarily mspaint so I might attempt to redraw with it asp I miss fooling around in it.#And it's nice to see that I mentally sorted out how things work#I.e. how the chin transitions to the neck on my sona specifically#How tied hair on this species should look (like the tension shown on back of neck while remaining is relaxed#How to actually convey the ear on the other side of the head. Etc. JUST LOTS OF THINGS I COULDNT WRAP MY BRAIN AROUND!
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Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>
Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?
He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.
What're you? A cop?
Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.
Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.
But see, here's the THING.
The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...
Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.
There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)
He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!
Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.
That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.
Poisonous, though.
They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.
Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!
Who's Coffee Is This?
Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!
You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.
He's shouting.
People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.
Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!
He TACKLES the man of steel.
RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!
And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.
He'll move in a moment.
When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.
The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.
They never do.
And now he's nearly killed Superman.
@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#dc x dp prompt#minji's writing#killer coffee au#weston family brew#will make you see god or meet im
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Our comfort
Platonic!Yan!Camp Half-Blood x Comfort!Goddess!Reader. (Percy, Annabeth, Grover)
—£ Yes I know I haven’t finish the book but I actually couldn’t wait anymore. So, this is me with little knowledge so bare that in mind.
—£ Warnings: Book/show spoilers, Yandere! Behavior, Being bound to a place, Possessive behavior, Obsessive behavior, Manipulation, Characters fighting for the reader’s attention. Short.
You weren’t a known for too long goddess, much younger then rest of the gods. A teenager like age compared to them. It was strange to have more powerful gods look to you for comfort but you love it. As you are the goddess of comfort.
But, as the other gods started to have many demigods you saw how miserable they could get. You hated the fact they didn’t care for their children so you decided to stay at the camp for half-bloods when the time came.
The campers cling to you. You bring a comfort they never quite felt before. It was like a warm hug, like the ones they wanted from their parents.
You couldn’t leave, and at the beginning you were glad to accept that fate.
Almost always you are found surrounded by demigods and they just relax in your comfort. You are the one they go to with every worry in their mind.
Being close to Aphrodite, her seeing you as a sister and a younger child. Stories of your love for one another are still told today, as she gave ideas to the mortals of how great your relationship was. But in reality there wasn’t much to tell.
So her children have a mentality that they are your favorite and because of their mother, they have some sort of claim to you above the others. But that never works because you love the children equally.
The demigods have less nightmares with you around and watching over them.
Ares children fight often for your affection. They will constantly get into fights with others to show they deserve more time with you. Which you always scold them but it never sticks. They kiss their weapons each time to you, like a sign of good luck. Aries children are one of the worsts ones because they get aggressive at times, even with you. But the golds make them stop by punishing them, mostly their father.
Hermes children are hard to explain really. They aren’t aggressive, but they are mischievous. They take their revenge of stealing things from the other campers, pulling pranks. Or trapping some of them up and go straight to you before they can get there. Luke for instance, is always looking around for you and talking about his day. He’s either laying down next to you, or making you watch him train.
Many games of all houses take place just for you.
AnnaBeth, is constantly by your side when she has free time. She scares off people with a glare behind your back, knowing that she could put plan them. She also trains and makes you watcher her and needs your praise. Maybe, somehow you are her older sister. But, sometimes she just chills by your side not saying anything, she’s like a lost duck at times.
Grover however is actually a lost duck. You comfort him when his past missions fail and he loses kids. You are so nice to him and makes him feel special and brave. When he has to leave he keeps a coin in his pocket with your face on it and prays a lot. He’s not possessive much. He’s willing to take what he can get and is just happy to be there. But maybe if someone comes in when he’s “crying” and having you fuss over him then he’ll be a bit mad but never does anything about it.
When a new camper arrives you devote your time to them because they need it a little more. They come into a world they know nothing of, waiting for the parent they hardly know to claim them. You claim them like your own until the time comes.
So when Percy comes you feel something off with him, like he is special and in need of a lot. He lost his mom, taken from the world he knew.
Percy becomes the most possessive out of all of them.
He feels out of place but you are always there to listen to him. It doesn’t help that you follow him to make sure he’s okay. At the beginning you’re both following each other around.
“It’s okay, Percy.” You brush his hair lightly like his mother used to do. “You’ll get claim, and you’ll have glory.” And he doesn’t care if you say that to everyone because you make him feel special. 
Also, you protect the new bloods. So you’ll show up when he gets bullied and just raise one brow and they all back off. Can’t risk making you mad at them.
When Percy gets claimed he’s all alone again, no friends and the campers looking at him funny. Being one of the top threes son isn’t fun or easy. He shares a cabin all to himself.
So he starts to be the worst of them all. Raising his voice when you try and leave him and he manipulates you to stay with him. Can’t you see how alone he is?
He can’t sleep unless he knows your watching over him.
You pick no sides of the war. Your family will figure it out themselves, while you take care of their children.
#disney plus percy jackson#plantonic percy jackson x reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#yandere percy jackson#percy jackson x reader#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#platonic#yandere#grover underwood x reader#yandere annabeth chase#annabeth chase x reader#annabeth chase#grover underwood#yandere Grover underwood#yandere greek gods#yandere annabeth chase x reader#I stand peter Johnson
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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.)
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfiction#stranger things#roses*
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(CW: Trance Inducing Language using repetition, mental imagery, and pleasure. No awakener.)
You couldn't remember how you got here. Everything was so dark and you couldn't move. You could feel something tight trapping your ankles and wrists in place. Your head had something heavy on it and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it wouldn't budge. And there was something inside of you, filling you, that you couldn't push out. You wanted to scream or cry for help, but there was something in your mouth, filling it entirely, keeping you from doing anything but groaning.
Beginning Mind Melt Procedure...
Your senses were blasted as a bright pink light filled your vision. Your eyes burned and you tried to close them to look away. You could see the pink light flashing, even behind your eyelids. The pulse wasn't rhythmic. It was random. It hurt your head even with your eyes closed. And then there was the sound. This white noise humming, but beneath it was a pulse, like a heart beat, thudding in your ears. Then there were hundreds of voices, at least that's what it sounded like, moaning and saying such perverse things. They all blended together and you could barely make out one without the other voices cutting it off a moment later. Your eyes opened, burning, immediately hit with the flashing pink light. Beneath it you realized there were pictures of people being fucked in all sorts of positions. They only lasted a second before the light blinded them out, making them disappear into the next. It didn't take long for it to start to work its way into your head. First the moans hit and you found a pattern to it, moaning yourself whenever it came around. Then there was this one image, a girl surrounded by dicks, you always caught eye of it when it popped up. Then it was the word "melt" it kept repeating in your ears, just slightly louder than everything else. You tried to struggle for a while, but soon it felt better to just try and focus on what they were saying. At least if you knew what you were dealing with you could fight it.
Mind Melt Successful. Beginning Mantra Training...
The pulsing slowed as the light slowly bent inward, spinning in on itself. You knew what this was, it was a spiral, you'd seen them before online. You found your gaze drawn to the pink light, letting it pull you down with it. Every time your vision got close to the center, you felt it slide back out, caught in another strand of pink as it pulled you back down to the center.
"Repeat after me. Letting go feels good. Letting go feels nice. I just need to relax and let go."
The words echoed in your ears, pulling your focus away from the spiral slightly.
"Repeat after me. Letting go feels good. Letting go feels nice. I just need to relax and let go."
You tried to focus on them, but after each phrase you felt yourself moan. You tried to stop yourself, but some part of you was still trapped to matching the moan from before. You had to change that. You mumbled around the gag, the new words slowly pushing their way out of your mouth, mixing with the moans. The more you said it, the more you found moaning after each phrase felt good.
"Repeat after me. Letting go feels good. Letting go feels nice. I just need to relax and let go."
You realized that the spiral pulled you down the perfect amount with each time you repeated the phrase. Falling back out to the top in perfect sync to start over. It was addicting and you were finding it hard to stop now that you understood the pattern. You just had to fight to keep it up.
"Repeat after me. Letting go feels good. Letting go feels nice. I just need to relax and let go."
Mantra Training Successful. Installing Identity Corruption...
"Letting go of your mind feels good. Letting go of your body feels nice. Give in to the pleasure and let go."
You felt the thing inside of you start to pulse, vibrating slowly at first before ramping up just in time with the spiral. It fell back down to the low setting, slowly climbing again. It felt good, but not good enough, just keeping you on the edge of pleasure.
"Letting go of your mind feels good. Letting go of your body feels nice. Give in to the pleasure and let go."
You found yourself repeating the words, mumbling through your gag. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you attempted to grind back against the thing inside of you, trying to get more pleasure out of it. Drool dripped off of your gag falling onto your chest.
"Letting go of your mind feels good. Letting go of your body feels nice. Give in to the pleasure and let go."
It was getting harder to think now, not that you wanted to think anyways. Letting go of your mind felt too good. And you realized it was getting harder to move your hips or hold your head up, not that you wanted to anyways. Letting go of your body felt to nice. You just wanted to sink down into the spiral and give into the pleasure and let go.
Corruption Complete. Reward...
You felt the vibrations pick up, your body shaking as the spiral flashed one word over and over.
"Cum."
It echoed in your ears everytime it flashed in front of your eyes.
"Cum."
You felt it pulse inside of your empty head with each call of the word.
"Cum."
You felt it pulse inside of your empty body with each time the vibrator pulsed.
"Cum."
You found these words to be true, echoing in every part of you. The only thing you'd ever known in your life.
"Cum."
You came screaming around the gag. Your body ached, arching as you squirted all over yourself. You trembled, aching in need for more. You needed more of this pleasure. Even wrapped in it you wanted more, needed more. Your head collapsed into your chest as you mumbled over and over the word cum, trapped in an endless feedback loop of pleasure.
Beginning Advanced Training. Initialize Full Mental Wipe...
#brainwashing#hypnotism#hypnosis#mind conditioning#mind control#my writings#personality erasure#forced hypnosis#forced brainwashing#corruption#mind corruption#corruption kink#mind eraser
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When will you find love? And a little about your person.
How to choose a pile?
Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you
Masterlist
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Pile 1
Alright pile 1! Welcome to your reading and the first message I'm getting is that you will find love when you start loving yourself The way You want to be loved. And it may be a long journey to be honest. However the love that will come to you between your journey is something you have dreamed of, and for some of you I am seeing that you may also attract your future spouse. Because I keep seeing a long committed relationship with the person that will come into your life when you start loving yourself. But I also want you to know that the universe will test you and will send you duplicate copies of your future spouse who are toxic so you may encounter some situations where you made out if this person is your future spouse or not and I want you to always choose yourself in such situations.
Now let's talk about that person, I see that for most of you this person could be a fire sign or an Earth sign. The person you are meant to be with is really mentally strong and embodies the traditional qualities of their gender. What I mean by that is if you are a woman attracted to men your person will embody all the qualities of a traditional man like being the caretaker, being the provider etc. women attracted to women then your person will embody all the qualities of a traditional woman like being supporting, being nurturing etc. and their qualities will not be toxic like how traditional man are viewed as controlling and lack of consideration etc. and I'm also getting that your person will spend their money on you and their love language maybe gifting. I also see that your person belongs to a really big family or a family that has a rich background like some sort of reality or respect that comes from being born in their family. I also see that your person has a really nice voice and whenever they speak it sounds soothing. For some of you their mother may have been a single mom or they may not have good relations with their father. I also see that your person requires a lot of rest because the work they do requires a lot of their energy and their work could be mentally draining.
Pile 2
How are you? Pile 2, first of all I have a good news for you, you are on the journey of finding love and I am saying that because I see that you have been putting a lot of work on yourself and you have been feeling full of love these days for some of you you can literally feel deep inside of you that you are about to meet someone whom you are going to fall in love with. I also see that some of you may have been invited to go somewhere or you will be invited in the near future and you may meet your person there. Some of you are about to find love within a month and some of you will find love in summer time. I also see that you are about to be asked out on a date and I want you to give this a chance because I feel positive Vibes from this pile (of course only accept if you feel like doing it)
Now let's talk about your person. I see that your person could be a fire or a water sign and Aries, Leo and cancer specifically. I see that this person has been through a lot and you can literally see it on their face or you may feel it when you meet them. I also see that you both share equal feelings for each other and this may be the person you are crushing on currently. They may be an artist or they may like to create beautiful things in their free time. Another message I'm picking upon is that they will give you handmade things like handwritten letters , DIY flowers etc because I see that they are someone who shows their Love by doing things for the person they love. I also see that on a side note they may suffer from anxiety or depression or they may have insomnia. However they will recover soon and they could be born in the month of April or April could be a significant month for you. I also see that they hide their pain and their sufferings from others. This person is really physically attractive and they always have something nice to say. They give great advice and the words that come out of their mouth are literally the words of wisdom. I also see that they may do charitable work or they may work in the medical field. Your person may be a bit different from you or from the way you were brought up. For some of you, they can have a fear of lizards or it can be the complete opposite. They may wear a hat or turban, it could be related to their culture.
Pile 3
Heyyyy pile 3! The first thing I'm getting is that this pile is divided into two groups. People who resonate more with group 1 will find love soon, like within 5 to 6 months and the people who resonate with group 2 will find love in , maybe 11 months to 14 months. Now I will be listing some things which will help you find your group. If you are a fire sign or you talk a lot or you talk really fast, walk fast, have a black round mole on your right hand or right side of your body, long fingers, wear glasses not contracts, have more than 8 friends who you talk to, or like pink then you are group 1. And if you are an Earth sign, wear baggy clothes, have a great balance, are or may have been a cheerleader, live near forest, droopy nose, long fingernails or are wearing a black top/hoodie currently then you are group 2. Of course, you can read if you don't resonate with any of these groups.
Okay so I see that some of you literally manifested this person. Within the past 9 months you may have done a ritual or made a wish about love and your wish is about to be granted. I also see that you may meet this person through a friend or your sibling. Because I see that you will get to know this person through a mutual friend or someone. Another message I'm getting is that your person is literally a dream come true for you however I also see that they may have a lot of passion (you know what I'm talking about 🌝👀) and I also see that they are really knowledgeable they may speak 3 to 4 languages and they may have a lot of friends that are different from them. Another thing I'm getting is that some of you share a past life connection with this person and in this lifetime you two are meant to be together so nothing can pull you apart. I also see that your person has a lot of responsibility on their shoulders and I also see that sometimes they get overwhelmed by taking care of everything. They also have a tendency to stress over things they cannot control. Your person could be an air sign or Earth sign. They already have a bright personality and a lot of people notice them. I also see that they know how to take care of things and situations but sometimes they just stress over nothing. They have good time management and hate people who are not punctual. They know what they are capable of and they know what they deserve. They are really sure about themselves and they will not second guess their choices. They require a lot of time alone to function properly, however that will not be a hurdle in your relationship because I see that you have this quality too.
Muah 💋
#tarot reading#tarot cards#pick a card#free readings#free tarot#tarot#pick a pile#tarotblr#pick a picture#pick a photo#tarotwithavi#tarot witch#tarotwisdom#tarotoftumblr#tarot readings#spiritual community#future lover#intuitive readings#psychic readings#fortune telling
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One of the greatest joys in life is using your shitty old car to shut down a legitimately nice car. For any law enforcement folks reading this, I would never endorse street racing. Also, I think I heard someone shoplifting in the other room, and you should go check it out. The best kind of street racing is the street racing the other person doesn't know they're having.
Now, I've had nice cars in the past before. Once, I had a Mercury Cougar XR7 with most of its original paint. Come to think of it, I might still have it somewhere in the backyard. Hard to keep them all apart these days. Anyway, when you drive a nice car, you get this sort of ego boost every time you see a lesser vehicle. How dare you peasants not realize how inferior your base Corollae are? Only a connoisseur can truly appreciate the divine features of this fine automobile.
That kind of mentality is simply not healthy. All of us, each and every one of us, are just a few generations away from being shit-throwing apes. The fact that we managed to make a machine that gets us down the highway quickly is a total miracle, and it's not any more of one because we put a pretty logo on it and charged $20,000 extra to put precision-engineered butt manipulators in the seats. It is this problem that the very fast beater is meant to solve.
When you have a shitbox and that shitbox goes faster than a nice car, whether because of superior driving (not me) or a significant amount of horsepower (not me) or a lack of understanding of your imminent mortality (possibly me) it is a great feeling to shut down those rich folks tooling around in their "good cars." It knocks them down a peg, which keeps them from doing things like going into work and causing another housing crisis. In fact, I'm going to go out and gap some Porsches with an old rusty fire extinguisher filled with nitrous oxide right now. You should come too, so I can get a ride home after the cops bust me for shooting my engine block across four lanes of the highway.
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hi jadeee!!! :D i read the fic abt poly!marauders with depressed reader and i was wondering if you could do one with aaron? for example r having trouble getting out of bed or doing small tasks and her mental health getting bad again, i don’t know if its just me but i rarely find these kind of fics <3
hi gorgeous i hope this is ok! fem, 1k
“How are you feeling?” Aaron asks, patting his face dry with a towel.
You rub sleep from your eyes, catching Aaron's eyes in the mirror over his broad shoulders. You offer him a tired sort of smile.
“Come here,” he says.
You do as he says. Aaron's getting dressed for work, and it's miraculous to have you up and out of bed before him considering how depressed you've been lately. Your abdomen presses to his.
“What are you going to do today?” he asks, wetting a washcloth in the sink. He feels the temperature of the water for a few seconds.
“Um…” You close your eyes in preparation. “I have to shower. And I want to… make you dinner. So I'll do that.” He brings the washcloth to your face and rubs at your skin gently, little rivers of warm water creeping down your face and neck. “Is my appointment today?”
“No, sweetheart. It's not until Tuesday.” He cleans your nose, your sleep-crusted lashes. “Why not have a bath? That way you can sit. You could bring your laptop in here and watch a movie.”
“That…” You run out of steam as he wipes the last stretch of your cheek gently.
If you can't manage a shower today, Aaron will help when he comes home. He never makes it seem like an obstacle or an imposition to help you through these things, treating it like any other hour of time spent together. “Dinner would be nice. But make sure you set the timer if you use the oven. I'll worry.”
“Yeah.”
He passes you your toothbrush and toothpaste. You squeeze it out onto the bristles as he sets about neatening your hair for the day, fingertips gentle on the soft skin of your hairline. You force the toothbrush into your mouth and start out slowly. You feel a disconnect between you and your actions, his touch the only tether, and every brush takes effort you don't have.
“I didn't say good morning,” he says apologetically, rubbing your shoulders with some loving roughness. “How did you sleep?”
Sleep is a big blob you don't have words for. “Good morning,” you say through toothpaste, leaning your face into his arm.
He kisses whatever bit of your face he can reach. “Good morning.”
“Sorry if I'm dirty.”
“You aren't honey, you're fine. We just need to keep on top of it.”
He pulls away to let you finish your half job, offering you a floss pick that you take on automatic but can't force yourself to use. It stays in your hand all the way to the breakfast table, where you get served sliced fruits and toast with chocolate spread. It's the kind with lots of calories, to keep you going if you can't manage your own lunch. Aaron makes you lunch most of the time if you can't do it yourself and leaves it in a tupperware in the fridge, but actually getting up to reheat it is another thing. You usually do it if your stomach aches but not otherwise. Already, you're wanting to go back to bed. Another day of letting him down.
He gives you your medication divider, sipping at his own mug of coffee. “Jack's coming back tonight. Are you excited?”
“So excited,” you say honestly. “Did he have a good time at, uh, Mason's?”
“I think so. They went to Pizza Hut buffet. He said we have to go for his birthday.” He smiles at you from over the lip of his mug, eyes all manner of tender. “He asked if you're still sleeping.”
“Don't let him worry about me,” you say, half-pleading.
“No, I won't. You know I won't. He's just noticed you're not feeling your best, but it's not a bad thing. He wants to tuck you in.”
“He said that?”
Aaron nods with a smile. “He misses you when he doesn't see you.”
“I miss him… I'm sorry. About all of this. I really…” You look down at your hands. Toast crumbs cling to your fingers, little white ants that catch hold when you attempt to shake them off. You wipe them in your pants. “I promise I'm trying.”
He rounds the table. Takes your face into his hand, but doesn't force your head up. “That's not in question,” he says in his dulcet tone. “We want you to feel as good as you can. It doesn't matter how long it takes.”
“I just want to be better.” I just want this feeling to be over.
He hums into himself, his big hand a warm, steady thing where it covers your cheek. He's so solid.
“Listen,” he says, bending to meet your eye. “Today, I only want you to do three things. Do you think you can do that? If you can't, I won't be mad, but I want you to try.”
“Okay.”
“Firstly, what you said about dinner? That sounds nice. Being active is good for you.” He measures your reaction. You've schooled your features into a determined seriousness that makes him smile. “Alright. Secondly, you take that nice long bath.”
Your seriousness falters. “Sorry.”
“No, no, don't be. It's not like that, sweetheart, I just want you to stay healthy, and to feel good about yourself. That's why I need you to eat lunch too.”
“Is that the third thing?”
“No, the third thing is to give me a kiss because I'm about to be late for work.”
You tip your head up and he kisses you sweetly as always. You let him fawn and fret for a few minutes before he really has to leave, and then it's your fault he's late, calling him back in for a last hug. To be fair to you, it's a hug you really, really need.
“Call me if you need to,” he says, his cheek against your temple. “I'll come home. I promise.”
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble
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I'm wondering how much of the fandom reaction of "Aziraphale doesn't ACTUALLY want Crowley to be an angel, he just wants to keep him safe/happy!" is because we spent four years between seasons assuming that Aziraphale had already accepted that Heaven and Hell aren't all that different, and that demons and angels aren't inherently good or bad. And it's difficult to let go of that idea in the same way that it's difficult to let go of the idea that they talked their shit out That Night At Crowley's Flat and have been happy ever since. But to actually understand Aziraphale's choice without hiding it behind coffee or lies or secret plans or body swaps or magic tricks or purely romantic intentions, we have to to understand that Aziraphale is still working under an incorrect framework of the world as divided into Cosmic Good and Cosmic Evil.
Because the thing is. Aziraphale does not like that Crowley is a demon. He just doesn't. We can talk about his reasons, but I really don't think that it's a disputable fact at this point. Aziraphale CONSTANTLY talks down to Crowley about the differences between them, and disparages demons in general and Crowley in particular over and over again. I mean, he's obviously just spewing the party line at this point, but he even describes the ultimate triumph of Heaven over Hell as "rather lovely." To Crowley. Where does he think Crowley fits, in that scenario? Is he thinking about it? (He is, surely, given how distressed he is over the danger Crowley is in due to the Arrangement?)
Crowley, to be fair, often says similar things about himself, and hates when Aziraphale calls him things like 'nice.' But as I've mentioned in another post, I think 2.03 makes it all but canon that a lot of that is self-preservation. Hell can't know that he's running around saving children and rescuing people from suicide and poverty, or he'll get dragged down there for decades. Crowley doesn't really think of himself as evil--he's visibly upset during their argument when Aziraphale hits him with "you're the bad guys!" because he thinks Aziraphale knows him better than that.
But instead, Aziraphale makes knee-jerk assumptions about Crowley and his intentions over and over again, including that he's behind the Reign of Terror in Paris and, about two minutes before realizing he's in love with him, that he's working with Nazis. Crowley seems annoyed and hurt both times, and denies it. There's no demonic posturing from him then.
Which makes the Job ep really interesting, right? Because Crowley actively lies and says that he is doing the properly demonic thing, but Aziraphale doesn't buy it. And why doesn't he buy it?
"I know the angel you were."
To Aziraphale, Crowley's kindness stems from the traces of that angel he knew. He thinks Crowley does good in spite of his nature, and not because of who he is as a person, life experiences as a demon very much included. This is because to Aziraphale, Heaven is Good, and all goodness must stem from it.
I've seen people get accused, when making this point, of attacking Aziraphale, or saying that he doesn't love Crowley, which is a ridiculous takeaway from S2. I've never seen a person more obviously in love, or a person more obviously trying to do good in the world. But so much of Aziraphale is tied up in his ability to believe multiple contradictory things at once. (See: the 80 years between "maybe there is something to be said for shades of gray" and "Heaven is the side of truth, of light, of good.") That doesn't make him stupid or ill-intentioned (in fact, he wouldn't need to do the kind of mental gymnastics we see from him if he wasn't clever enough to see through at least some of the bullshit) but it does mean that he's fully capable of loving Crowley while at the same time believing that demons are 'the bad guys.' Solution? Make Crowley an angel. Fix him, fix the bad apples in Heaven, be happy together, eliminate human suffering. Vavoom. Sorted.
Idk man. I'm constantly seeing takes that just...completely discount that Aziraphale really, genuinely, has misunderstood Crowley and the way the world works in his choice to return to Heaven. We can't blame it all on miscommunication. The most honest conversation in the world wouldn't fix this. Aziraphale has to go up there, without Crowley, and learn for the last time that Heaven is not Good, and will never be Good, because there is no Good. Good doesn't come from Heaven, or God, or even Crowley (and I see y'all, putting Crowley on a pedestal, saying Aziraphale wants to remake Heaven in his image--stop it.) Good comes from making the choice, in a very complicated world, to help as best you can, and it comes from love. And that's what Aziraphale will learn in season 3.
#good omens#good omens meta#good omens season 2#aziraphale#gos2 spoilers#long post#sorry about the paragraphs of meta every couple of days. I'm still unwell about it all.#this will be the last one. maybe. who can say
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Heelloooo I am in need of husk fics 😔
Can you write one where the reader is one of the hellborn who happens to be the right hand and daughter figure of Fizz and Ozzie? Like she was sent to handle official business on Pride ring and happens to see this "Redemption" campaign from none other than the Princess of Hell whom she recalled was previously part of your circle when you were both younger.
So, she comes to the hotel unannounced and sees a familiar face (not charlie's) but Husks! As we know, Lust is a ring that legally allows demons to dwell with humans. When the reader was younger like 20s (I'm convinced Charlie and Lucifer are CENTURIES old- like the reader) she went up and met Husk when he was alive had this unfinished business as lovers. She wouldn't dare let him fall to hell and left him with her unanswered origins and surprise surprise Charlie and Lucifer was busy for a talk in his office and Husk was left to deal with the reader- and slowly had a talk over the bar about his runaway 'lover'.
All comes into place as he realizes who he was talking to. (Maybe angst to fluff?)
I'm so sorry if this is so long TT thanks for reading still!
ofcc ! here ya go, friend :)
i did have to take out some of the details becuz there’s a few loopholes so i hope that’s ok!!
Husk x Past Lover!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, not proofread
You were helping set up for a performance for your friend Fizz, as you went to go set up a nearby table, a poster that read ‘Redeem yourself here, at the Hazbin Hotel!’ caught your eye.
You made a mental note to look into that within the next few days.
You looked into it. Maybe this whole redemption thing is worth a shot, it’s better than having to deal with the exterminations every year.
You knocked on the door, and who you knew as Lucifer’s daughter answered moments after, eagerly.
“Hello!” She said with a massive grin on her face, as a shorter woman stood behind her.
“Hi — I saw this,” You started, showing her the poster, “While at work, and it peaked my interest, so I was wondering if I could drop in for awhile?” You asked with a soft smile.
“Ohhmigosh, of course!” She had, stepping aside to let you in.
“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! I’m Charlie, by the way — I didn’t catch your name?” She said.
“Oh, it’s (Y/N).” You answered.
“Oh, well nice to meet you, (Y/N)!” She grinned before beginning to introduce you to all the staff.
“This is Angel, and that’s Husk!”
You stopped for a moment. I mean, surely that’s not who you thought it was. You could swear that was your boyfriend from when you were alive.
You and Husk had dated back when you were alive, it didn’t end badly, a sort of ‘right person, wrong time’ deal.
He glanced over at you, squinting to see if it was really you, before going wide-eyed, then he turned back to Angel. Yep, that’s him.
Charlie looked down at her phone before looking at you, “I have some business to attend to with my father, I’ll be back momentarily to show you your room!” She said with a polite smile. “Thank you so much again, I hope you enjoy your stay!” She said before walking away.
You and Husk made eye contact, as he motioned to a secluded section of the hotel, you followed him down the hall.
“Is it really you?” He asked.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
You both mutually leaned in for a semi-awkward hug as friends?? Lovers?? Acquaintances?? Who knows now.
Husk pulled away, a paw still on your shoulder, “Look, I know it’s been a few years since we’ve seen eachother, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try again, we can go slow.. I’m in no rush for this shit.” He proposed with a dry chuckle. “How about a drink?”
“Yeah…” You said. “A drink sounds nice.”
#reqs open#x reader#mio’s writing ! ☆#fanfiction#x y/n#x you#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel x y/n#hazbin hotel x you#husk#husker#husker x reader#hazbin husker#hazbin hotel husker#husk x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel husk
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I want to break down a common point of conflict when addressing NPD stigma.
A lot of hangups people have tend to be along the lines of "but I DO see a lot of people with actual NPD who are acting in toxic or abusive ways".
This will be kind of long, so bear with me.
Point #1: People are way more likely to be diagnosed if they exhibit "stereotypical" symptoms.
There's this image of NPD as a disorder that is only present in those with patterns of destructive behavior towards others. Many therapists have this conception. (Shockingly, the mental health field is not perfect & without stigma.)
Gonna copy-paste this here from my other blog (so forgive me if you've seen it before), because it's a good example.
Three people are criticized at work. Their boss yells at them for their performance in front of everyone.
Person A gets mad and defensive. They yell back, using cutting remarks as a way to try and ease the distress they feel.
Person B acts really mature and responsible the whole time, nodding along and agreeing and promising to do better, just desperate to maintain and improve their status. Desperate to be liked. Later they go home and handle their distress through self-destructive means, and spend the next few months overworking themself to the point of illness.
Person C doesn't seem to respond much at all. They go quiet and seem distant. They don't lash out or lash in, but for the next month or so, their productivity drops. They simply aren't able to focus on work or self-care, no matter how hard they try. The stress is overwhelming.
All three of these people have the same root issues, but only the first would be labeled a narcissist.
Outwards behaviors and presentations don't reflect the pain, distress, and difficulties with life that are underlying them.
So, three main things happen.
There ends up being a higher rate of people with destructive behaviors who are diagnosed with NPD
The people who don't particularly exhibit behaviors and are considered ""too nice to have it"" are overlooked entirely (and never get any sort of help for their underlying issues, yayyy)
People are more likely to be more honest about "ugly" symptoms / symptoms that are frowned down upon than they are in other mental health communities.
(Also some people decide to act super edgy about it, which is annoying but here we are. Some of them are trolls.)
(And while I'm at it, some people are misdiagnosed with NPD because a psych sees someone who committed a violent crime and is like "uhh slap them with the Evil Asshole™ disorders!! no further thought given.")
Point #2: People who have messed up are not inhuman monsters who deserve no help or support
While I do think it's important for people to understand that patterns of toxic behaviors aren't the ONLY way NPD can present, I'm not going to let the conversation stop at "some of us are nice though!!"
Human beings aren't RPG characters who can be sorted into "monster" or "ally". Every single person has done something hurtful, has messed up, exhibits some sort of behavior that puts strain on their relationships sometimes.
So I'll bullet point some aspects of this that need to be talked about.
People without NPD also commonly exhibit toxic behaviors, but people ignore that nowadays. Either they armchair diagnose anyone who's slightly rude, or they only focus on it in pwNPD and ignore it in themselves or others. NTs can be jerks too, and they're probably less likely to acknowledge it than pwNPD who are constantly watching and checking themselves and analyzing their behaviors and attempting to do better.
Assuming that NPD makes someone abusive doesn't help anyone. Can it impact behaviors, and make it more difficult for people to be self-aware? Of course. But an important step in healing from any mental health condition (especially personality disorders, ime) is realizing that you're not inherently ""bad"", and that you can take responsibility for your actions and learn to deal with things in constructive ways. Just going "NPD makes people bad, full stop"- other than being a mean shitty thing to say- absolves people of guilt and asserts that there's no reason for them to try and improve.
Yes, it's okay for people to hate their abusers. Their abuser. Not an entire community of people who happen to (maybe) share a trait with them.
Building on the above point, people tend to go in defense mode when they hear things like "pwNPD who have acted in toxic ways can learn to improve their behavior", "people shouldn't be saying awful things about folks with this condition", etc. because they automatically try to apply this to their abuser. Interpersonal situations are very different from society-wide mental health access. No, don't stay with your abuser expecting them to change, and don't hold onto the hope that they will. No, don't censor yourself or your hatred or anger towards them. Just don't make blanket statements about a disorder that they may or may not have- blame their abusive actions, not their mental health.
"I hate you for your abusive actions and the harm that you caused me." =/= "I hate a group of people because of an inherent unchangeable part of them that's tied directly to severe childhood trauma they suffered. Because of it, they're evil and unlovable and are incapable of change. They're inhuman and will never experience real connection with others." ..........See the difference??
Even if there were a disorder with a 100% rate of toxic douchey behaviors, I'd want the conversation around it to be changed. I'd want different words to be used to divide up the spaces and conversations and resources, so that survivors of abusive or toxic behavior can get help, but that the disorder still has space to be treated. Otherwise, there are zero resources for healing. Nothing is being done to help these people or solve the issue. They're just told they may as well not try. They're blocked from healthcare entirely, despite how the entire point of being diagnosed with a condition is supposed to be to treat it.
There's a wide range of people who have NPD- it presents in many different ways, a person who has it may or may not exhibit harmful behaviors- but no one deserves to be denied treatment or told they're unlovable because of a condition they have that was formed from trauma.
Speak out against abusive behavior. Don't destroy healthcare for a medical condition.
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still love you
first request!! hope you guys enjoy it (ik the title is so cliche im sorryy 😭)
part 2 here
warnings: spoilers for Scream VI, swearing, angst, fluff, mentions of getting stabbed and murdered, and i think thats all!
no, this can’t be happening. ethan landry? your fucking boyfriend? no, this had to be some sort of joke.
at least, that’s what you thought. but you knew well it wasn’t true, and you were just trying to convince yourself none of this was real. well, it didn’t work. you were still there, standing in front of all these killers you’ve been running away from.
you were still trying to process everything that was happening, when quinn steps forward your direction with her knife in her hand, and your brain just stops working correctly. you could be killed right there and right now. you certainly didn’t want to die, you still had so much to live - you wanted to travel the world, learn new languages, meet new people and even have an own family. and you wanted to experience it all with ethan. the guy you just found out to be a psycho killer, who was just trying to kill you this entire time. all of your moments together were fake? you felt the need to cry even harder than you were already. ethan, the guy who you loved the most in this world and you thought loved you back, did not want you or your love
he wanted your blood. he wanted to see you dead.
“oh poor [name], you’re not even what we want. there’s no need to be so scared of us this soon.” quinn said as she turned to sam and tara “it’s you two bitches we want”
“why? why are you all doing this? did we ever do something to you-” tara was cut off by quinn’s voice “yes you little whores you KILLED OUR BROTHER” she said, yelling at the two sisters.
“we don’t know who you guys are talking about, seriously!” tara said with a desperate voice and look in her eyes, while sam looked like she was processing their words slowly.
“is… richie… your brother?” sam asked, between pauses.
“yes, and it was you, sam. you were the one to kill him you fucking slut” quinn said kind of quiet, but loud enough for everyone to hear.
“now, we all know both of you girls love [name] like she’s your sister too. wouldn’t it be such a despairing thing to watch her be stabbed and killed right in front of you?” bailey asked, making ethan smirk “i don’t think we should do it right in front of them, dad. they shouldn’t even get to see it, only listen to her screaming miserably while she’s dying” the tall boy said, gaining everyone’s looks at him.
“nice one, ethan. wanna do the honours?” bailey asked the boy, who was smirking once again.”
“you better not fucking TOUCH her, you asshole” sam yelled. “you don’t get to yell at us, bitch” quinn, that was next to her and tara, threatened sam with the knife in front of her throat
“come over here” bailey ordered, and you not obeying him. “no, no i’m not going to.” you said crying, trying not to fall on your knees from the mental weakness you were experiencing.
“NOW.” ethan yelled in a rough tone. you stepped forward slowly scared for your life as you could perfectly listen to tara’s whines. “stupid slow whore” quinn said behind you as she pushed you hardly, making you stand in front of bailey and ethan.
were these your last moments?
you finally managed to say something: “ethan, i- how could you do this to me?”
“yeah, and how could you be so dumb?“ ethan laughed as bailey and quinn did too, you looking at each of them, with fear and disbelief in your face.
“well now i guess it’s time to say goodbye to your little friends” the boy said, grabbing you roughly by your wrist and pushing you in front of him, taking both of your hands and putting them together on your back as he grabbed your shoulders, guiding you somewhere.
“tara, sam, please, i don’t wanna die.”
you were now somewhere darker. you couldn’t really see what was happening inside the place, but you knew something: these were probably your last moments.
he took his hands off your shoulders and stopped guiding you, as you stopped walking too. he was now standing right in front of you.
“i loved you deeply, ethan. do you know how much i trusted you? or how many times i argued with my friends for defending you and your unexistent fucking innocence? of how many times i cried just by feeling guilty of being suspicious of you? i loved you and trusted you with my heart, ethan.”
“listen [name], i need you to scream” the boy said gently, making your brows furrow in confusion.
“what?”
“scream like you’re getting stabbed or something.”
“wait, you’re not going to kill me..?”
“don’t ask too many questions. just do it, quick before they come and check what we’re doing.”
you smiled and hugged him tight. you knew this could be some sort of trap but you still felt relieved that there was a chance of you getting out of here, and see all of your friends alive and happy again.
“okay i’m ready. 1, 2, 3-”
#ethan landry#ethan landry fluff#ethan landry angst#ethan landry fanfic#ethan bailey#ethan landry scream#ethan landry scream 6#scream#scream 6#scream vi#scream 6 fanfic#ethan landry smut#ethan landry x reader#ethan landry x you#ethan landry x reader smut#first work#first fanfic
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How would Jason Grace spoil you? boyfriend hcs list
author's note: ik i have an angsty jason grace prompt in my asks and i swear im working on it! But this idea just popped up on my mind and I've been thinking about it all night yesterday omgg. Let me know if you guys want a Leo/Percy/Frank version of this, I mostly write for Jason since he's my bbg but I might actually do the others this time since the idea is so cute!
I'll start off by saying, Jason is a selfcare supporter bf.
Okay so yk how the Romans in CJ have such high standards? They literally exhibit royal/regal energy, and are super fans of luxury stuff.
Jason despite being influenced by greeks would always be a roman. Whether he likes it or not, there will always be roman blood in him. So he makes these cute/simple ideas for dates/gifts but his execution is just pure sophistication. He's SO simple yet so fancy, and Ik they're contradictions but I promise I'll explain.
like this boy would make sure to run you a nice warm roman bath after you come back from a dangerous/tiresome quest to ease your muscles. Cute and simple right? Wrong. This man would buy all sorts of expensive bath perfumes, bath bombs, fragranted petals, etc to make it extra special for you.
See so this is what I mean when I say his ideas are cute, but executed in a very fancy way.
He LOVES spoiling you with self care products, like sheet masks, lotion, cleansers, hair masks, etc. like he simply does NOT care about the money, as long as his girl is taking care of herself?? That's all that matters tbh
This is mostly because Jason, as a kid soldier, never had any time for himself, the closest thing he's ever done to "selfcare" is probably take long baths + trim his hair lol
jason was blessed with his mother's ethereal actress beauty okay. So selfcare or no self care would have zero effect on him physically bc bro would still look majestic.
ANYWAYS he feels like his inner child just kinda heals when he sees you prioritising yourself and he admires it sm :((
would be ecstatic if you rope him into self care. He would be sceptical at first but then as you're applying a face mask on him he'd be like "wait this is actually so relaxing what" and you love the way his face muscles soften at that. Like he really deserves a break and some relaxation, you'd often trick him into using your skincare products intentionally bc he deserves self care.
once he felt so soothed with the lemon facemask he was wearing that he fell asleep on your shoulder and was all zzz 🥺
and would make sure to restock all your products if they run out.
he feels that the self-care has more of a mental and emotional effect on him rather than physical
Which is what matters to him
honestly?? He supports you if you want to wear makeup. Like he'd think you look gorgeous either way but if you like wearing lipgloss? So be it. You get any lipgloss you want he's paying. He just LOVES that you love yourself too :( and would do anything to make you feel comfortable.
also
Food.
This man loves investing on food. Again, it's bc he never even had the time to properly eat as a legionnaire :(
So he'd love to take you out to places and just munch on tasty food and talk. New Rome has bomb food okay. Bro just never got to eat them.
Lmao he's like everyone's grandma when it comes to food. "Have you eaten? You HAVE to eat!! I'll get you food! Go back to your room!"
would spoonfeed you soup if you're sick bc nuh uh you ain't going without eating hun 😤
hes the worried anxious mother hen bf okay fight me.
Food + selfcare = Jason Grace's love language
#jason grace#pjo#percy jackson#pjo fandom#pjo hoo#pjo series#pjo hoo toa#piper mclean#annabeth chase#leo valdez#frank zhang#hazel levesque#jason grace x reader#pjo x y/n#pjo x reader#pjo x you#pjo headcanon#heroes of olympus x reader#x reader#reader insert#fem reader#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#ao3#pjo fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction
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Crush | Charles Leclerc x Reader | Part 3
Genre: Fluff
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Summary: You're in love with your best friend, Charles Leclerc…
A/N: Unrequited love sucks. It inspired me to write this though. Here's the final part. What started off as a one shot has become a three part mini series, hope y'all enjoy it.
The final part!! Thank you for all the love you've poured.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Masterlist
You wake up to the sound of utensils clanking and sweet fragrance wafting through the air.
There are butterflies in your stomach.
Is Charles up? Is he cooking?
When you go out you see your mom working in the kitchen.
“Hi love,” she waves at you after wiping her hands on the apron.
Your heart sinks in disappointment.
“Hi Mom,” you reply halfheartedly, sitting on the dining table.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Just tired.”
You refrain from telling her about your interaction with Charles. You check your phone to see if he has left a message.
And he has.
We need to talk.
Of course you need to talk, but not how it happened yesterday.
Charles is never vulnerable. It caught you by surprise. You've only seen him this sad and intoxicated when his father passed away and after his breakup with Charlotte.
You scared me yesterday. You respond back.
I'm sorry. I'll come over at 5 pm. His reply is instantaneous.
Okay. See you.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Your mom places a pancake in front of you.
“Nothing.”
“It's Charles, isn't it?”
You roll your eyes.
“Not everything is about love, Mom.”
She gets one plate for herself along with maple syrup.
You look at the array of disorganised and unmatched utensils. You see your mom sitting right next to you, relishing her pancake.
You're going to miss this place so much.
She gives you a very suggestive stare and you finally give in.
“Okay, it's Charles, but can we please talk about something else?”
“All I see is Charles, all I see is Charles Leclerc,” your mom sings and you blush, embarrassed.
“Stop it, Mom.”
“Okay,” she says, but she's smiling. “I couldn't find so many things in your kitchen, Y/N. Why don't you have dinner at our place?”
Knowing your mom, you have a gut feeling that she is up to something.
“Okay,” you respond, taking a bite of your delicious homemade pancake.
“Good,” she says.
You both finish your breakfast.
“I'll do the dishes Mom. Don't worry.”
“I'll see you at dinner, love.” She kisses your cheek. “Please dress nice."
You chuckle.
“I'm going to come in my pyjamas.”
Your mom sighs. You love annoying your mom like this. You'll miss this banter. This pure energy of love.
You're planning to sell your apartment. You've sorted your possessions- a lot of them are going to Goodwill. Your mom will keep the rest of the stuff because you're moving back in with your family.
Affordability is obviously not an issue. But you feel like this job would open a portal of new opportunities. And there is a slight possibility that you will end up staying at Milan.
You're going to miss your little world.
The rest of the day flies by as you do your chores and a bit of packing. It's almost 5.
You get dressed, mentally preparing yourself for a conversation with Charles. You plan everything out in your head, trying to memorise your responses and how to tackle this awkwardness.
The doorbell rings and this time you open the door to see Charles with a smile, unlike yesterday, when he was drunk and vulnerable and also angry.
He's wearing a light blue shirt with white pants, looking gorgeous as always. You get a little conscious because of your pyjamas.
“Come in. Have a seat.” He follows your instructions and you sit beside him.
“So…” Charles puts his hand in its pockets, feeling a little awkward.
You decide not to beat around the bush.
“Can we talk about the kiss?”
“Yes. I was about to bring that up.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Y/N, I know we've been best friends for ages and I don't want to ruin that at all…”
“I like you, Charles. I always have and maybe I always will.” You decide to be upfront and honest.
This takes him by surprise. He's speechless.
“You do realise what you did was super impulsive and wrong.”
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't have to be.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, staring deeply into your eyes.
“I like you too. I always have.”
Wait. What?
Your heart skips a beat. It feels like it will come out of your chest. Charles’ confession excites you as well as relieves you.
“I've been running away from my feelings but I won't anymore.” He inches in closer and gives you a kiss.
You can't believe what is happening. It feels like a fairytale come true. You've always loved Charles, but you never expected him to feel the same way.
You spend the rest of the time together- talking, laughing over the silliest jokes.
“When did you realise that you liked me?” Charles asks you, sitting next to you inside your bedroom as you both watch Netflix.
You've decided to watch a movie. It's a classic rom com- When Harry Met Sally- which is ironic considering that the storyline of your life runs parallel to it.
“Senior year, prom. When you asked our Catherine for your date. I was jealous.”
He chuckles.
“But you were the one who set me up with her.”
You sigh. “I was trying to be a good wingwoman.”
“Don't ever sacrifice your happiness for someone else, Y/N.”
“I won't, I promise.”
"What about you?"
"What about me?" He asks, confused.
"When did you realise that you liked me?"
Charles sighs. "When you kissed me."
A blush spreads on your cheeks.
"Right."
You're glad that the kiss stirred his feelings. And you're excited for what is to come ahead. You both will make this work, no matter what.
As the movie ends, it's 7.
“I have to get ready for dinner at home.” You say, getting up.
“Don't go…” Charles pulls you back and starts tickling you.
“Stop it,” you laugh, hitting him softly.
He tickles you even further. You run away as he loosens his grip.
You've always loved spending time with Charles but this time it feels different. This time, it involves feelings.
“Charles! I have to get ready.”
He laughs. “Don't worry, I'll drop you.”
You get ready, deciding to wear a dress that compliments Charles’ shirt.
“Wow, Y/N. You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
You leave for your parents' home around 8. The drive is quiet, almost serene. As you enter the premises, you see a lot of cars parked in.
“Wait-”
As Charles parks the car, he puts a finger on your lips.
“Wha-”
“Shh.” You both get out of the car.
“Close your eyes.”
“But why-”
“Trust me.”
You close your eyes and Charles gently guides you to the front door. He opens the door and as you enter, you can hear whispers.
“Surprise!”
You get scared as you open your eyes. You see everyone you love gathered in the living room.
Tears cloud your eyes. The room is decorated with your pictures and balloons.
It's a farewell party.
You start crying.
Charles hugs you, gently stroking your back. You're too emotional to respond.
“Thank you everyone.”
“It was Charles’s idea,” your mom chips in.
You look at him with the biggest smile on your face.
You're lucky to have someone like him by your side. Someone who respects you, loves you. Your heart is happy and full.
“Thank you, Charles.”
“Always.”
Taglist - @janeholt3 @rhythmstars @missenclod @phantomxoxo
#f1#formula 1#charles leclerc#cl16 leclercings#leclercings#cl16 x you#cl16#cl16 one shot#cl16 x reader#cl16 imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x you#f1 one shot#f1 fic#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x reader#f1 x reader#fic#love#f1blr#SoundCloud
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[someone older]
pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader
reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.
summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be
content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation
characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)
author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....
[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]
ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.
NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.
JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.
TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.
DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.
CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?
SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?
HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.
RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.
#enihkwrites#zhongli x reader#neuvilette x reader#genshin x reader#jing yuan x reader#hsr x reader#tang gunak#return of the mount hua sect x reader#return of the blossoming blade x reader#dokgo#return of the mad demon#chongyue x reader#chongyue arknights#arknights x reader#shamane reverse 1999#re1999 x reader#higuruma x reader#jjk x reader#ryu gokurakugai#gokurakugai x reader#i really mean it when i say i don't play about the dilfs or dilf adjacent or any middle aged men in media#like i need to do things to their cervix so bad#yall best bet i wrote this whole thing with one hand
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mine of you with me
Been busy this week bc my ex is getting married and I have to go to the wedding. His fiancée (wife?) asked me to be there and I love her, so I said yes, but I regret it big time.
Requests are still open! I’m working on the requests in my inbox, but wrote this to get it out of my system. It goes with/happens before “three times ‘cause I’ve waited my whole life.” Anyway. Here ya go.
mine of you with me
You love going to Jamie’s games. You love watching him play his heart out on the pitch. It’s fun, being in the stands and screaming for Richmond. You wear his jersey (his actual jersey, one that he owns) and deck yourself out in Richmond gear. You think your favorite part, however, is sneaking around.
You’re dating Jamie Tartt, star footballer, and no one knows.
Today is a game against Crystal Palace. Jamie had left before you with a single “Bye babe,” and a kiss.
After he leaves, you debate stealing one of his orange kits (they’re the most comfortable) but decide against it. Too obvious to be in a sea of red and blue. You settle for a regular “Bantr” shirt and head out the door to meet Keeley.
Keeley and Rebecca were aware that you were with Jamie. Keeley, because Jamie swore you’d be best friends. Rebecca, because there was a ticket mixup and Keeley was busy so she sent Rebecca to the ticket booth to sort things out with “Jamie’s special guest,” which led Rebecca to be very surprised when she saw you instead of one of his family members.
It made things easier, really, to show up on Nelson Road under the guise of seeing Rebecca and/or Keeley. Time passed and it became less of a guise. You really enjoyed their company, and having someone to talk to about Jamie.
But here you are, back in the present, with Rebecca trying to convince you to sit in the box while Keeley threads blue, red, and gold through your hair.
You just laugh and hug them goodbye, heading your separate ways. Them, up; you, down.
You settle into your seat right up to the pitch, and wait for the game to begin. Jamie’s picked a seat that’s right where the teams line up, so you’ll get a good view of him before it starts.
Shortly after, the teams begin to walk out onto the pitch. You look for Jamie and catch his eye.
I like your hair, he mouths, pointing slightly to his own.
Thanks, you reply with a small grin.
Jamie gives you a look that says I’m going to be pulling it later so you return with one that means I was counting on it.
Is it bad that you two understand each others expressions that well?
No time to dwell on that, because the game’s beginning.
—
Richmond’s done alright, they haven’t lost necessarily, but they did tie. You can feel the tension through the building as you weave your way through players and staff, carrying a stack of papers from Higgins to Rebecca. You’re almost to the stairs leading up to her office when someone crashes into you, sending papers flying.
“I’m so sorry!” you say, “that is totally my fault, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No it isn’t,” a voice replies indignantly. “He was walking backwards!”
Jamie mumbles, “Shut up, Isaac,” while bending down to help you shuffle your papers together.
“Sorry about that,” he says softly. “Weren’t looking where I was goin’. I’m Jamie, by the way.”
He holds out his hand and you shake it, mentally commending his presence-of-mind to act like a stranger. “Nice to meet you, Jamie,” you reply. “I’m a friend of Rebecca’s.”
“He knows,” Colin pipes up, followed by an “Oi,” because Isaac smacked him.
“I’ve uh, got to go,” you say. “See you around.”
“See ya,” the lads chorus, Jamie watching you and Colin and Isaac watching Jamie.
Jamie turns around to see them grinning at him.
“Oi, what,” he says, hands in the air.
Isaac states, “You like her.”
Colin interjects, “Don’t even try to deny it, boyo, we saw how you looked at her. You think she’s fit.”
Jamie is sure he played it cooler than that. Maybe they just know him too well.
He laughs it off all the way to the locker room, changes, showers, and waits for Dani to walk out the door. They leave in a group, him, Isaac, Dani, and Colin, and as they turn the corner past the boot room you appear with Rebecca.
“Ladies,” Dani grins. Dani has a bit of a crush on you.
You and Rebecca smile back.
“Oi,” says Isaac, “do you want to join us tonight at the club? Trying to forget our tie streak.”
You open your mouth to decline when Rebecca replies, “We’d love to. I’m assuming Keeley will be there as well?”
“Becca,” you hiss, “I can’t go the club tonight.”
“Whyever not?”
You blush slightly. “I was planning on spending the evening with my boyfriend.”
The boys share furtive looks amongst themselves and not-so-subtly poke Jamie.
Rebecca says, “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to join you at the club. It’s settled, we’ll be there,” with a smile to the lads.
It takes every ounce of your willpower not to look at Jamie and to walk away with dignity.
“Did you hear that, Jamie?” Isaac asks, “She’s got a boyfriend. Sorry, mate.”
Jamie shrugs and does his best to look disappointed. “Must be a lucky man,” he says. “Now can we please go? My hair’s a fuckin wreck.”
“Mine too,” Dani says with a sorrowful shake of his head. They boys laugh and head out the door.
—
You’re at the club, standing at the bar with Rebecca. Jamie is there too, with the Richmond boys. Trent and Beard are there too, but Ted has opted to stay home. He’s not big into the club scene. Jamie’s sitting and laughing with the boys, but his eyes keep flicking over to you. Isaac notices and thumps him on the chest.
“Oi. She’s got a boyfriend, remember?”
Jamie nods and tears his eyes away from you.
“Dani, mate, you need a drink?” Jamie doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s out of his seat and headed over to the bar. Headed over to you.
Colin rolls his eyes, Isaac shakes his head, and Dani shrugs. “I cannot say no to a free drink,” he says.
Meanwhile, Jamie leans against the bar, holds up two fingers, then turns to you while waiting for his drinks. “Boyfriend didn’t show up?”
You grin and look around the room. “He’s here somewhere. We came separately. Not really sure where he’s gone off to.”
Jamie smiles back. “Not much of a boyfriend if he leaves someone as fuckin’ pretty as you at the bar all by herself.”
You shrug. “I’m with Rebecca. And he’s ok, I guess. When I find him, I’m going to tell him I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, and ask if he wants to meet at his place or mine.”
Jamie’s eyes become hungry. “His place. Definitely his. In fact, I think I just saw him slip out the door. D’you mind taking Dani his drink? You can have mine.”
You nod, unable to speak. Just a glint in his eye, and he’s become almost feral. You swear his teeth are pointier and your mouth goes dry.
Nice hair. I’m going to be pulling it later.
He’s gone before you can say anything else, and you have to press your hands to your face to cool down your cheeks.
Rebecca has been graciously pretending as though she can’t hear while scrolling on her phone. She looks up only when you grab Jamie’s drink, down it in a single gulp, and then pick up Dani’s.
She raises an eyebrow. “I take it I’m on my own for the rest of the night?”
You shake your head. “Isn’t Keeley here?”
There’s a ghost of a smile on Rebecca’s face. “Pretty sure she’s trying to take Roy home, so she is here in body but not so much in mind.”
You make what you hope is a neutral face. “Bec, you could get a man.”
She laughs. “Let’s get Dani his drink, shall we? I believe you’re leaving in twelve minutes.”
You set Dani’s drink down in front of him as Isaac asks, “Where’s your boyfriend? I thought he was supposed to be here.”
You shrug for the second time that night. “He had to go. I think I’ll be leaving soon too.”
There’s a chorus of wolf-whistles and you blush, again.
“Where did Jamie go?” Sam asks. “Did you break his heart that badly when he was flirting with you?”
You shake your head. You can feel Rebecca, poised as ever, next to you. It’s taking all your composure to maintain a straight face.
“I don’t- I’m not sure. He said something about training and sleep and I think he had to go? And I didn’t break his heart. He’s not into me.”
“Oh please,” Jan Maas speaks up, “His eyes follow you whenever you come to see Ms. Welton.”
You’re positive your face has caught on fire. “He just- he must- I don’t know. I have a boyfriend… He’s really great, and- I mean- I’ll talk to Jamie.”
“I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” Jan Maas shrugs. “It is just the facts.”
Sam puts his hand on your shoulder. “It is alright. We will take care of it. Jamie is the type of person who falls hard and fast, and sometimes he does not care if the other person is unavailable. He sees what he wants and just goes for it. It’s why he is such a good footballer.”
You smile. “Thanks, Sam. I should probably go.” You turn to Isaac and Colin. “Thanks for inviting me. I really did have a great time. And maybe next time you can actually meet my boyfriend.”
They wave, you poke Rebecca and glance at Sam, then head out, pretending you don’t see her panicked absolutely not face.
—
You text Jamie, I’m on my way, and he taps back with a heart.
Door’s unlocked he replies, and then you’re off.
He doesn’t live very far, so you’re at his house in no time at all. You can see a few dim lights on inside, so you walk up the steps and push the door open.
“Jamie?” you call, “I’m here!”
You hear his footsteps clamoring down the stairs and in a moment he’s on you, fingers threaded through your hair as you kiss. He’s pulling you close, impossibly close, then without warning he picks you up, bridal style. He’s still in his clothes from the club.
He kisses you all the way up the stairs, then places you on the edge of the bed.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he says, voice pitched low. “I fucking loved your hair.”
You shiver as he lifts your dress over your head and runs his knuckles along your sides. You note that the room is bathed in dim light, from candles Jamie has lit and placed around. There’s soft music playing somewhere and you’re honestly surprised he pulled this together in fifteen minutes. You look at him on his knees in front of you, one hand on your waist and the other on your thigh. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt then settle for lifting it over his head.
“God,” you say, “you’re beautiful.”
He smiles, eyes hungry again. He gently pushes you back down on the bed and climbs on top of you. “Pretty sure that’s my line, babe.”
—
You don’t really talk until you’re both laying under the sheets, hours later, arms wrapped around waists and shoulders and legs intertwined.
Jamie’s kissing a trail from your shoulder to your inner elbow when you whisper, “Babe.”
He hums softly. “Yeah?”
“Do you think- do you think you should tell the team about us?”
Jamie pulls back slightly so he can look into your eyes. “Where’s this coming from?”
You shrug as best you can between his arms. “I just think it would make things easier, you know? I mean, I still think sneaking around is sexy and all, but like- it’s just getting harder and harder around Nelson Road.”
Jamie kisses the tip of your nose. “Whatever you fucking want babe. I’d give you the keys to me house if you asked.”
You smile, then let yourself drift to sleep.
—
The next morning, Jamie makes his way to his locker and tapes up a new photo. He’s holding a girl in front of Big Ben, and they’re both laughing. It’s his favorite photo. Sam sneaks a look and then does a double take.
“Jamie,” he says, disbelief written on his face, “Is that Rebecca’s friend? When did you take that?”
There’s a clamor while the team crowds around Jamie’s locker, Jamie grinning smugly.
“She’s me girlfriend. Been dating for months now. Didn’t want her to be harassed by press and you lot, so we kept it a secret.”
“I fucking knew you liked her!” Isaac says. “Body language doesn’t fucking lie.”
Jamie shrugs. “Never said I didn’t.”
“What about her boyfriend?” Dani interjects. “Does he know?”
Jamie turns to look at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or not. “Muchacho, I’m the boyfriend.”
“Ohhh,” Dani replies, “that makes much more sense!”
“Oi, you lot!” Roy shouts. “You can discuss Tartt’s love life after fucking training. Get on the fucking pitch!”
There’s a chorus of “Yes coach, sorry coach!”
Jamie takes one last look at your picture, grins, then follows the rest of the team out the door.
#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt fanfiction#jamie tartt x y/n#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt x you#jamie tartt#ted lasso
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