For Tuna; Snack Break
Summary: A series of vignettes taking place while Grim is making his final choice. The time will soon arrive....
Part One Part Two Choose your ending....
"I have detention everyday for three weeks," Grim pouted as you gave him his tuna pancake breakfast.
"What did you do this time?"
"I-" he cut himself off, his eyes nervously flicking to yours, then back to his plate.
"Crowley's an ass that's why. No other reasons, don't dig into it henchhuman."
"Am I going to get a bill for it?"
"No."
"Then I don't have the energy to care," you said with a sigh, thinking of all the maintenance you had to do on Ramshackle today.
Grim looked at the time, shoved what was left of his pancake into his mouth, then scampered out the door, passing Ruggie on his way out.
"Hey Y/N, I found a tool kit, ready to do some fixing?"
You nodded, ready to renovate Ramshackle with your favorite hyena for a couple hours.
….
Grim stepped into the mirror chamber, and made sure to use his toe beans as much as possible. He silently made his way to the headmage's mirror. He had almost made it when he was scooped up, and squeezed firmly in a pair of strong arms.
"Thought you could hide from me forever, didn't you sealio?" Floyd said in a growl.
He brought Grim up to face level, a nasty scowl on his face.
"Let's see if this jogs your memory. I gave you a month's worth of free lobsters. In exchange, you promised I would make it through to the second wave of interviews. Starting to sound familiar?"
Grim quickly nodded.
"Cool, then why did I have to find out from Jade I wasn't chosen to participate, and Azul was?"
Grim whimpered.
"I warned you, right? People who cross my family have a tendency to disappear. It won't be today, it won't be tomorrow, but watch your back, cause one day I'll have Y/N, and you'll-"
"Mister Leech. Unless you want to join Grim in detention, please let him go," Crowley said, crossing his arms in a pout.
"Sounds boring," Floyd pouted, dropping Grim like a hot iron. Unfortunately for Riddle, he happened to choose that moment to step through the Heartslaybul portal.
"Oh! Goldfishie! Let's play tag!"
And now Floyd was running after Riddle, who was practically begging the headmage to save him.
But the headmage conveniently couldn't hear as he escorted Grim to detention.
….
"Idia-"
"Shit! How did you get in here?" Idia screamed at Silver who was patiently sitting on his bed waiting for him.
"I let him in!" Ortho said excitedly. "It is better for your mental health to have friends!"
Idia fought back a glare, before pulling out his iPad, and hastily typing.
"Why are you here?"
"My father said you could answer a question I had. What is "babygirl"?"
Idia stared at Silver for a moment as the tips of his hair slightly flickered pink.
"Damn. I have to choose between the otaku urge to participate in an irl otome cut scene, and my love of Y/N, the greatest character to ever spawn in my save file."
He chewed his lip, and Silver continued sitting patiently.
"Fuck it, this is too epic to pass up. Babygirl means Y/N thinks you're just a little guy."
"I still don't understand."
Idia groaned.
"Um, okay, so Y/N thinks you're a total cutie and would be happy to have you on their arm as a trophy husband."
Silver's cheeks turned a light pink.
"Oh…"
"Like, they prob. think you're submissive and-"
"Babygirl is like a princess! You're Y/N's princess!" Ortho cut in excitedly.
"I'm Y/N's princess…" Silver whispered, a slight smile on his face.
"Not exactly! It means Y/N wouldn't mind if you were their princess. Nothing is set in stone. I have a lot of bbg's, but I wouldn't necessarily settle down with any of them."
"I like the idea of being Y/N's princess…"
"Damn it, why am I rooting for this? It's too cute!" Idia groaned.
"Hee hee, big brother also wants to be Y/N's princess…"
Idia's hair turned a bright red and he went catatonic.
….
"So that's why you booked out the kitchen this morning."
Ace stiffened, and turned from the Ramshackle door to "greet" Trey. He was startled to see Trey holding a tart.
"I had the kitchen all morning! When did you make that?" Ace asked in horror and despair.
Trey shrugged. "I always have a spare tart lying around, in case we have company. What's under the tin?" He nodded towards the dessert tin Ace was holding.
"My masterpiece," Ace grinned. The grin quickly fell. "Wait! Why are you here? You stole my idea!"
"The idea to bring food to a hungry prefect at lunchtime? While it's such an original idea for you to have, I didn't steal it from you," Trey sighed in irritation, attempting to step around Ace to the door. Ace blocked him.
"No. I was here first. I get to give Y/N treats."
"Ace, I beg you to reconsider."
"No!" Ace got in a defensive position that he used when playing basketball, then swatted the tart out of Trey's hands.
"What the hell!"
"There. I'm the only one with treats. As the Seven intended." Ace turned the door knob, but Trey started shoving him, and reaching for the door knob himself.
"I tried to be nice, but you've completely blown it."
"It's not nice to steal someone's idea!"
"It is literally 12:30. Everyone is eating right now. It's not an original idea!"
In the midst of the shoving back and forth, the door opened, revealing a very amused Ruggie.
"Shihihi, you both just saved me a trip."
He snatched the dessert tray and shut the door behind him. Both men froze in shock, and heard Ruggie yell,
"Y/N! I got us a treat!"
Ace elbowed Trey.
"Nice going, dumbass."
Trey raised an eyebrow and stared at Ace, who only at that moment remembered who he was talking to.
"I mean, that sucked, didn't it, Mister Vice Housewarden, sir?" He laughed nervously.
"Don't worry too much about it. I doodle suited it when he took it from you. Whatever it was will taste like sardines."
Trey walked away calmly as Ace stared in mixed awe and horror.
….
You and Kalim were walking to class together, when you noticed some scribbles on his hand.
"What's that?" You asked.
"Oh! It's a new thing I'm trying. You know how I'm trying to be more independent from Jamil, but I have a terrible memory? I'm just writing everything on my hand and arm!"
"Can you even read that? It looks all smudged!"
"Sure I can!" Kalim pulled up his sleeve, pointing to each word as he read aloud.
"Party, present, Grim, books, botany, secret, and snack."
"How is that helpful? What does any of that even mean?"
"Well party is, I'm throwing a party soon. Or I want to. Present and Grim, is because I want to give Grim a present at the party, because I heard he really likes presents. Books is so that I don't forget my textbooks, botany is because I have botany in an hour, and snack is because I'm hungry and might forget to eat!"
"Wow, okay, I guess that does help. But what is "secret" supposed to mean?"
"Oh! Right! Thanks for reminding me!" Kalim smiled happily. "There's something Jamil and I know that I'm not supposed to tell you."
"Oh?" Your curiosity definitely peaked. "And what aren't you supposed to tell me?"
"Let me double check," Kalim looked at his arm smudges, before gasping and laughing. "Nice try, it's a secret!" He said, pointing to secret on his arm.
You gave your best attempt at a flirty pout. "Couldn't you just tell me? I won't tell Jamil you told me. It can be our secret."
Kalim tilted his head thoughtfully, before nodding.
"Okay! So Grim has been-"
In moments, Jamil had body slammed Kalim to the ground.
"Kalim! I'm so sorry, I thought I saw an attacker."
"It's okay! It was an honest mistake,"Kalim smiled despite groaning in pain.
"We should go back to your room, just in case," Jamil said firmly, yanking Kalim to his feet, and away from you.
Jamil then turned to Kalim. "How many times do I have to explain this? You're lucky Grim is still even considering you, since you failed to show up to the interview. But you'll completely blow it if you tell Y/N! You'll never get another chance at Grim choosing you!"
"Right, I'm so sorry, I forgot," Kalim facepalmed. "Thanks for stopping me back there, Jamil."
"Anytime," Jamil smiled sweetly, "After all, I just want what's best for you."
….
Deep in the recesses of the Octavinelle Dorm, two random Octavinelle students are expressing their distaste…
"It's not fair! I'm Prince Rielle's first cousin! And Y/N's lab partner in Alchemy! We've actually gone on a date! Where does that cat monster get off not even considering me?"
"You think you got it bad?" The other student was tying his bow tie in the mirror, his anger evident on his face. "Y/N and I are in the newspaper club together. And I was about to ask them to be my significant other, when Grim showed up out of nowhere and told Y/N he "desperately needed their help with something." It's pathetic! The whole reason he chose us to sit in for those two other bachelors is because he knew how upset we were!"
"Absolutely disgusting. You know what?" The first student stood up. "The rat is in detention more often than not. He can't stop me from asking Y/N out!"
"Me too!" The other student stood up as well, before giving a flirty smirk to his roommate. "This is going to be our best anniversary yet."
"Agreed," they grabbed each other's hands and opened the door, both startled to see Jade standing there with an eerie smile.
"Excellent timing. You both need to work an emergency shift in the lounge."
"Damn it"
"Fuck."
….
"Monsieur Fuzzball! I have arrived with a new batch of conditioner specially formulated for your luxurious fur!"
"Much obliged," Grim smirked as he took the goodie bag from Rook.
"And I have Roi du posion and my financial statements, as requested," he handed Grim a manila envelope.
"Thanks, I'll let you know once I've looked over everybody's."
Grim moved to leave, but Rook picked him up by the scruff of his neck.
"I would like to make something clear though. I am le chasseur d'amour. I will hunt after the love of my life, whether I have your blessing or not," his eyes glittered with unbridled glee. "And should anyone stand in my way, I care not who they are. I shall act in a way that I see as fitting."
Grim's fur prickled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Rook laughed lightly. "Who's to say?"
He pressed a kiss to the top of Grim's head, then set him down.
"Sleep well, Monsieur Fuzzball!"
And with a flourish he left Grim alone.
….
Jack, Epel, and Deuce were on a run together. As they rounded a bend, they came up on Leona taking a nap.
"Housewarden," Jack greeted.
Leona opened a single eye, and groaned.
"You three look remarkably calm for people whose best friend is set to be betrothed soon."
All three of them stiffened.
Jack rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and looked off into the distance.
"Y/N doesn't care about money. Whoever Grim picks, I have no doubt that Y/N will turn down the relationship, unless they truly see a future with them, in which case, what will be will be."
Deuce bit his lip. "I'm not in the place for a relationship anyway…I want to get my degree and start my career before I try to support someone else."
"It's just dumb as hell, and Y/N's not gonna put up with it. And when it all comes to light, they'll turn to the only people who don't see them as an object to be purchased. An' I'll be there to scoop them into my arms and pick up the pieces," Epel said with a smirk.
Deuce and Jack stared at him.
"Oh please. You both were thinkin' it. I'm just the only one brave enough to say it!"
Leona smirked. "Well I hope that works out for you boys. Just know you won't even get the chance if I'm the one chosen. I know how to treat Y/N right."
He lounged back with a triumphant smile, and quickly fell back asleep, leaving the boys with torn expressions.
….
"Your majesty! It is always an honor for the queen of Pomefiore to pay us a visit. How many I be of service?" Azul asked Vil, who was gracefully seated in the chair across from his desk in the VIP room.
"I have already drawn up the contract, it just requires your signature," Vil hummed, pulling out a scroll that already had his signature on it.
"Simply put, I am asking you to step down from the running for Y/N's future husband, and to clear the way for my victory. You will notice," Vil pointed to a blank space in the contract, "the payment spot is blank. Upon completion of the contract you are able to fill in whatever you want."
"Whatever I want?"
"Money, product, fame, anything you can think of is yours."
Azul thoughtfully tapped his chin.
"I could have Vil Schoenheit as an unpaid spokesperson for my future restaurant chain for an undisclosed amount of time. The capital that would bring in would be unmatched."
Azul picked up the contract, and Vil smirked. Until Azul tore it into pieces.
"The name of the game is confidence, and insecurity is not a good look on you, my queen."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Vil snapped.
"You think I haven't noticed the fact that your hair is half a shade darker since that monster told you you might grow old?"
"You've misseen it, I assure you. My hair has always been this shade of blond," Vil hissed.
"It's very possible I have misseen," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose triumphantly, "but it would be impossible to "missee" the fact that we have had to up production on your facial moisturizer, because you are using it in higher quantities."
"I am not, I'm just stocking up!" Vil slammed the table as he stood.
"Let's face it, Schoenheit, I know what it looks like when someone has lost. One of us here has crumbled under the pressure, and I'll give you a hint. It's not me."
Vil glared at Azul heatedly, before turning on his heels and leaving the VIP room, slamming the door on his way out.
….
You had been reading a book on the couch, while Grim sorted through some papers. You were hoping, in your heart of hearts, that he was studying or doing his homework. Deep down, you knew that wasn't the case.
After some final rustling of papers, Grim said, "Alright, I've made my choice."
"For what?"
"Nothing, mwahahahahaha!"
"Then why are you-"
"No reason!" He shouted. Then below his breath you heard, "mwahahaha…"
You sighed heavily.
"Am I going to get a bill for it?"
"No."
"Then I don't care."
Below his breath, he released another, "mwahahaha…"
....
Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic @supertmntgirl @cxsmicdustdreams @aethermostbeloved @krystalkiller25 @asmallbean3 @theneurodivergentdummy @candlewitch-cryptic @smilingfox22-blog @phantomgaming1920 @the-dumber-scaramouche @a-small-tyrant @noidonothavetimeforthis @bontensbabygirl
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Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue.
an engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. what could go wrong?
pairing - childhood bestfriend!steve harrington x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. alcohol mention. so much angst… i’d apologise but i’m not sorry.
word count - 3.7k
author’s note - get it? like, something borrowed, something blue… because it’s a wedding… I was half asleep when that popped into my head and I thought it was perfect, personally. I don’t condone cheating irl, but also… it’s your life, do what you want ;)
as always, reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics!! so, if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging. thanks, angels <3
masterlist. inbox.
The moonlight shines down, glinting off the diamond ring settled on your left hand.
Everyone's dancing, singing, laughing, enjoying each other's company in a rare moment of complete happiness. People keep grabbing you, hugging you, reaching for you to offer their congratulations.
Isn't it just so wonderful? Two people completely in love. Ah, to be young again.
The fairy lights twinkle where they're hung across the garden, acres of grass just begging to be decorated. You'd initially protested this venue - a huge country house in the middle of nowhere, with countless rooms and a huge courtyard.
It's just our engagement party, not our wedding. We don't have to be so extravagant.
This isn't extravagant - not for my family, anyway. Just say yes. I'll plan the entire thing, you don't have to worry.
And so you did. Say yes. To his proposal, the venue, anything he suggests. You can't find it in you to say no, to argue, to fight for what you really want. It isn't worth it.
"There you are, my soon to be wife!"
You take a deep breath, pretending the sound of his voice doesn't make you feel sick.
"My soon to be husband."
He can't see the grimace on your face, even though it's there, loud and clear. He can't read you, has never been able to.
"A car has just pulled up. You expecting anyone else?"
You are, but you won't let yourself get your hopes up. So you lie.
"Don't think so."
"Okay, well... you'll save me a dance, won't you? My mom wants to take some pictures."
You nod reluctantly, patting his arm with as much affection as you can muster.
"I think your brother is calling you."
You direct his attention to where his frat boy siblings are, hollering and yelling for him to come over.
"My guys!"
He departs as quickly as he came, leaving a wave of too strong cologne in his wake.
You take a walk from the garden to the front of the house, curiosity peaked. You scan the parking lot, and your heart stops when you spot the car in the corner.
A burgundy 1983 BMW 733i.
He's here.
You spin on your heel, searching almost frantically, when you hear someone clear their throat. You turn around, and there he is.
Leaning against a pillar, stood in a dress shirt and tailored trousers, hair perfectly styled.
Steve Harrington.
You're half convinced you're dreaming. The world moves around you in a daze, crickets chirping and wind blowing gently. You lock eyes with him, and can't fight the grin that spreads across your face.
“Don’t fret, baby. The life of the party has arrived.”
You scoff but almost run towards him, tripping over in your heels. He meets you halfway, arms snaking around your waist to keep you steady as you wrap yourself around him.
He smells the same. Cologne, spearmint, a faint note of diesel from the car. He smells like home.
Past home, you remind yourself. Not anymore. You have a new home now, with a soon to be husband that doesn’t understand you and a soon to be family that is built on morally questionable money and fake niceties. Steve’s a person of your past, a distant memory, a fading dream.
Except he’s stood right in front of you.
He's staring at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite place. You’ve never seen it before.
"I didn't think you'd come," you whisper, begging yourself to pull away from his embrace. He doesn't let you go far, keeping his arms around your back as if he's worried you'll bolt at any given moment.
"And miss my best friends engagement party? Never."
"Best friends. We're not five anymore, Steve."
You roll your eyes, punching his arm lightly.
"What, I can't call you my best friend anymore?"
He picks you up, spinning you across the gravel of the parking lot. You're dizzy with it, the world passing by you in streaks of shapes and colours.
"Steve!"
"What?" he laughs. "You don't like this, best friend? What's the problem, best friend? Are you dizzy, best friend?"
"Put me down!"
Steve throws you over his shoulder as you both spin, strong hands preventing you from falling.
"Put me down, Steve, please - okay, okay! You're my best friend! Call me best friend all you want, please!"
Steve's crying with laughter, out of breath and rosy cheeked. He places you back on the ground, smoothing your hair down with rough palms.
You inhale carefully, grabbing onto his biceps as an anchor as you gauge your bearings. You look up at him, and lose your breath all over again.
Chest heaving, tongue darting over his bottom lip, hair mussed but still perfectly styled. He looks a picture, an ancient painting, a statue carved from the finest marble.
"I never want you to stop calling me your best friend," you whisper, so quietly that the breeze takes it.
"Then I won't."
Your hand slips down Steve's arm and into his, fingers linking gently.
"I missed you."
"I missed you so much, Birdy. You have no idea."
The childhood nickname shoots a lightning bolt through your heart, shiver running up your back involuntarily.
The two of you would sit and watch cartoons for hours on the floor of Steve's living room, pressing your little heads together to see the TV better. He'd joke that you sounded like Tweety Bird, all sweet and lispy. The nickname was born that day, and stuck ever since.
"How was California?"
"So good. I'll tell you all about it later. How's your engagement party?"
"It's good."
You try to sound convincing but your voice cracks, giving you away instantly. Busted.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. There's a few people you know back there - from school, the neighbourhood, family. They'll all wanna see you."
"I'll socialise later. Wanna talk to you first."
The intensity in his voice makes you nervous. You realise you're still holding his hand, so you drop it, crossing your arms over your chest.
"You didn't RSVP."
"Didn't get your invite. Travelling."
"I called your mom. She said she'd tell you."
"She didn't."
"She told me she did."
The crickets continue to chirp, gentle breeze blowing your hair into your face. You look at Steve pointedly, unwilling to be the first to break.
"What are you doing here, Steve?"
"It's your engagement party."
"So you've said."
"I haven't seen you in months."
"I tried to call, but you stopped answering."
"Birdy-"
"I'm just saying, Steve. We haven't spoken in months, I feel like you've been point blank ignoring me, I've had to come to terms with the fact that you probably wouldn't be at this party or the wedding and then all of a sudden you just show up? Unannounced?"
"I know how this looks."
"Do you?"
You're not entirely sure where all of this anger has come from, but you can't seem to tamp it down. It's bubbling, simmering, threatening to spill over the surface dramatically any second.
"I wasn't sure I could do this. Any of it."
"Do what?"
"Stand by and watch you make a mistake."
You scoff, laughing at him in disbelief. He's never been one to sugarcoat things, and usually, it's one of your favourite things about him. But not today.
"Don't you fucking dare, Steve."
"Birdy, be real. The guy is a prick. And you want to marry him? You're a smart girl, the smartest person I know. You've got to see that none of this makes any sense."
"So you showed up here to yell at me? Criticise my life choices? Thanks, Steve. Thanks a million. Some best friend, huh?"
"I've done nothing but support you."
"You ran away! Across the country! How is that support?"
"Fine, maybe I can't support straight up stupidity!"
"Am I smart or am I stupid? Which one is it?"
Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he watches you pace the gravel in front of him. You're vibrating with fury now. It's something he's seen before. Something he knows how to navigate better than anyone. He knows you. He knows you need an outlet here.
He also knows that you're never more hyperaware than when you're mad. So, he takes his opportunity.
"I came here to tell you not to marry him."
You stop dead in your tracks, shaking your head in denial.
"...Why, Steve? Why would you say that?"
"You know why."
"No."
You take a deep breath and will yourself not to cry. In the garden, you can hear people laughing, singing along to some 70s pop song you've never liked. You pray silently that no one comes looking for you.
You take a step closer to Steve, standing up straight.
"Say it."
He looks at you incredulously, shocked by your sudden defiance.
"Say it, Steve. If you came all this way to say it, then fucking say it."
Steve steps into you, closing down the space. You don't move, determined not to back down.
"You're going to hate me if I say it, Birdy."
"I don't give a fuck anymore. Say. It."
Steve runs his tongue over his bottom lip, never once breaking eye contact with you. The silence seems to stretch on infinitely, thick and blanketing like fresh snow falling.
"I'm in love with you."
You feel like you've been punched in the gut. You take a deep breath and try to stay on two feet, wobbling where you stand. Finally, you find your voice.
"Fuck you, Steve Harrington. Fuck. You."
He laughs, but there's no humour in it.
"Yeah."
"How dare you? How dare you come to my engagement party and start confessing your feelings? You could have told me anytime, but you chose today?"
He goes to interrupt but you hold a finger up, effectively shutting him up.
"How long, huh? How long have you been in love with me?"
Steve's trembling, chest stuttering with the force of his confession.
"For as long as I can remember."
You haven't looked away from him once. You're frozen in place, suspended in the moment.
"No you haven't."
"You're gonna tell me how I feel now, Birdy?"
"Yeah, Steve, I am. Because I don't believe you. You're King Steve, ladies man, notorious player. You were never seen with the same girl twice in high school. Don't you remember? Sneaking into my room at night, whispering under my blankets about your latest hookup, telling me all the dirty details?"
"I remember," he whispers, voice laced with something like sadness. "Of course I remember."
"You don't get to tell me this now. It's not fair, Steve."
"Why not, huh?"
"Because I've always been in love with you! Always."
Steve stumbles backwards, dizzy and disorientated.
"No you haven't."
"You're gonna tell me how I feel now?" you laugh in disbelief. "I've always been in love with you. Everyone knows it. My parents, your parents, all of our friends... I think the goddamn mailman knew, Steve!"
"I didn't."
"Blissful ignorance," you chuckle humourlessly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew it wouldn't change anything."
Steve's eyes go wide as he keels over, as if the wind has been knocked out of him.
"Wouldn't change anything? Birdy, it... I-I can assure you it... It would have changed everything."
You both look at each other, breathless and riddled with confusion. There's something flowing through your veins, something unintelligible, something unrecognisable.
"Why would you do this today?" you choke out, sobs threatening to break free. "Of all the days, Steve."
"Because I'm going insane!" he yells, voice raising. "I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't function knowing that you're going to marry a man you don't love. It's ruining my life, Birdy!"
"You don't think it's ruining mine? Huh?"
You take a breath, very aware that if you shout anymore, multiple people are going to come running from the garden.
"This is selfish, Steve. And you're not selfish."
He looks down at you, bottom lip wobbling.
"I am when it comes to you. Always have been."
"You're breaking my fucking heart, baby."
You choke out the words before bursting into tears, sobs wracking your frame. Steve grabs your hand and guides you to the stone steps, sitting you down next to him. Against better judgment, he slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.
He smells so familiar, so comforting, that it only makes you cry harder. You bury your face in his chest, fingers tangled into his dress shirt, holding on for dear life.
"I'm sorry," he's mumbling. "I'm so fucking sorry. I had to. I really had to."
"I know," you're muttering back. "I know you did. I know."
You lift your head to look at him only to find he's crying too, years of emotion dripping down his face. You wipe his tears with your thumbs, your heart shattering at the sight in front of you.
Steve's only made you cry once before. In ninth grade, you'd stupidly assumed that the two of you would go to the prom together. Steve had made a joking comment about always being your date, and you hadn't questioned it. Then, one Friday night, he'd snuck into your room to tell you excitedly that he'd asked Lizzy Buchanan to the dance, and she'd said yes. You'd burst into tears immediately, much to your teenage embarrassment, willing yourself to play your cards closer to your chest. Steve had crumbled instantly, crying because you were.
That's how it's always been. He cries, you cry. You cry, he cries. He's just not usually the cause of the tears.
"I'm sorry, Birdy," he chokes. "This was the only way."
"I know," you soothe, rubbing circles into his wet cheeks with your fingers. "I know. You're not the villain here, Steve. You never were."
His eyes are trained to yours, silent communication passing back and forth. The two of you have always had the ability to practically read each other's minds.
You're not sure who moves first - perhaps it's the universe, pulling you together by the strings woven into your chests - but suddenly your lips are melded together, moving as if it's the easiest thing in the world. Steve's clinging to you as if you're his life source, a man in the desert without water.
You tangle your fingers into his hair to tug him impossibly closer, eyes fluttering when he groans, deep and visceral. He spreads his legs and pulls you between them, both of you slotting together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Your tears are dancing onto each other's cheeks, mixing like rain water and gasoline.
Suddenly, you yank yourself from his grip, standing up and smoothing down your silky dress. Steve prepares himself for the yelling, the screaming, a slap that he most definitely deserves.
Instead, he's met with you, chest heaving, skin warm, eyes heavy. You're looking at him expectantly.
"Come with me," you croak, voice hoarse and untrustworthy.
You grab his hand and slink through the front door, up the grand staircase and into a room with a heavy oak door. He follows you obediently, confused but completely trusting.
It's your hotel room. A marriage suite. A spacious, windowed room, with makeup scattered across the vanity and suitcases half unpacked on the floor. The bed is still made, which makes Steve breathe a sigh of relief. He hasn't had you here. The room isn't marred.
The minute you shut the door you're back on Steve, shoving him up against the hard wood. He grabs handfuls of your ass and spins you around, backing you into the cold surface behind you for stability. He lifts you easily, wrapping your legs around his waist as he kisses you again.
Steve trails his lips down your neck as you rock your hips, desperate to find some friction. You whine gently, fingers tugging at his hair a little rougher than intended to get your message across.
"What do you need, honey?" he murmurs, afraid to disrupt the atmosphere.
"You."
Steve throws his head back as he groans, exposing his throat to you. You waste no time in nipping up the expanse of it, sinking your teeth in with no regard for the consequences. You're too far gone now, not worried about looking back.
Walking backwards, Steve tosses you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce off of it. He unbuttons and strips his shirt, pulling his belt from the loops as he goes. You can only lie there and watch, wondering when your best friend became less of a boy and more of a man. He's all corded muscle and tanned skin, freckled and perfect.
Steve crawls between your legs, kissing you tenderly.
"Wanna take my time with you," he murmurs between kisses. "Can't right now. Will, though. Promise."
You feel as if there's electricity crackling across your skin, pulsing and alive. It's never felt like this with anyone. It never will again.
"Promise?"
You can't help the slight insecurity that colours your voice, young and unsure.
"I promise, Birdy. Cross my heart."
He takes your hand in his and places it over his chest, as if to solidify his point.
You nod and kiss him again, desperate to have every inch of his skin on yours.
Steve shimmies your underwear down your legs, tossing them behind him somewhere. Shucking his trousers off, he pushes your dress up and around your waist, groaning when he gets a good look at you.
"Prettiest girl in the world. He doesn't deserve you. Never did."
"And you do?"
"I'll spend every day for the rest of time proving that I do."
With that he's pushing into you, sliding home with one smooth thrust. Both of you gasp, grabbing onto the other person to use them as an anchor.
"Please, Steve," you're whispering. "Give me everything. I want it all."
"You've got no idea how long I've been waiting for this."
"I do," you laugh, "I do. Because I've been waiting just as long."
Steve chuckles and leans down to kiss you, slipping his tongue into your mouth to memorise the way you taste. There's remnants of champagne on your lips, along with the minty lip gloss you've loved for as long as he can remember.
He wastes no time setting a steady rhythm, thrusts deep and measured. You rake your nails down his back, clawing at this skin, praying silently that you leave your mark. Little do you know, you staked your claim on him a long, long time ago.
"S'good, Stevie," you whine. "Fuck, so good."
"Does he make you come? Does he even try?"
You shake your head frantically, closing your eyes when Steve laughs dryly.
"Didn't think so. He can't make you feel the way I can, baby. He'll never be able to."
His words are only pushing you closer and closer to the edge, red hot heat building at the pit of your stomach. Steve places one hand at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it causing your eyes to roll back.
Your sweat slicked skin is plastered to his, every inch of you pressed together. Steve leans down to rest his forehead against yours, panting into each other's mouths.
"I love you," he breathes, hips getting quicker. "I love you. Fuck, I love you."
"I love you," you sob, back arching as you find your release. Stars dance across your vision as you tighten around Steve, nails leaving crescent moons on the skin of his shoulders.
Steve's right there with you, back flexing and fingers leaving their prints on your hips as he groans. It's the prettiest sound you've ever heard. Your mind loops it for you, playing it on repeat as he collapses his weight on top of your body.
"I meant it," he mutters against your damp chest. "I do love you. Always have."
You kiss his forehead gently, smoothing the hair away from his face.
"I meant it too. I love you. You taught me what love was in the first place, Steve."
He leans up to press his lips to yours, tender and honey sweet.
You realise the gravity of the situation all of a sudden, your heart rate increasing in Steve's ear.
"Hey, hey. Birdy. Don't panic, okay? We'll figure this out."
You think for a moment, weighing up your options in your head. Unexpectedly, you're jumping out of bed, fixing your dress and slipping on your underwear and heels.
"What are you doing, babe?"
You adjust your hair and swipe your fingers under your eyes to salvage your makeup in the mirror, turning to face the man who's now dressing himself frantically.
"Have you had a drink tonight?"
"No, I drove here."
"Perfect."
You grab your purse and stand by the door, waiting for him to follow. When he looks at you in pure confusion, you chuckle.
"Let's run away."
"Birdy... what?"
"Steve. You heard me. Let's. Run. Away."
He scans your face for any sign of hesitation, but all he finds is love. Adoration. Assuredness. That's all the confirmation he needs.
He runs at you, picking you up and spinning you around. Grabbing his hand, the two of you sneak down the stairs, slipping out of the front door as quietly as possible.
You throw yourself into the front seat of his BMW, vibrating with adrenaline as Steve starts up the engine. It roars to life, and you're very aware that people are going to come looking for you.
But you don't care.
Steve links your fingers, resting your intertwined hands in his lap as he reverses. You go to look back towards the garden, but you stop yourself.
"Can't move forward if you're always looking back, right?"
Steve laughs, leaning over to kiss your warm cheek.
"Truer words have never been spoken, Birdy."
He brings the car to a stop before you begin down the winding driveway, looking at you carefully.
"You ready?"
You take a deep breath, grinning at him.
"I've been ready since we were five years old."
He smiles at you, bright and blinding, and there's no doubt in your mind that you've made the right choice.
Can't move forward if you keep looking back, after all.
@enigmaticloki @joekeerysslut @s-trawberryv-eins @wintressoldier36 @mangomastani
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