princessjules510

[princessjules510]

𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you get upset when eddie's friends think you're clingy. he sets you straight with some unbridled affection. requested here. fem!reader, 2.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The diner is bustling with life and smells alike, people in their summer jackets eager to sit down and dig into a plate of greasy, fatty meats. You're just as excited, your fingers curled into Eddie's sleeve and following his lead as he weaves through a gaggle of kids playing between the bar and the booths. 

"Sorry, sir," a young girl says to him, springing out of his path. 

"That's okay," he says, leaning back to squint at you curiously, "Do I look like a sir?" he asks you.

Pale faced, dark-haired, the remnants of last night's eyeliner clinging to his bottom lashes, you can't say you'd look at Eddie and think, Sir. Pretty boy extraordinaire with a rather inviting smile, absolutely. 

"I think so, sir," you say. 

Eddie laughs at you, pressing a hand behind your shoulders to move you along. His friend Gareth waves from a booth tucked in a corner under a white sconce. Jamison sits to his left, and Margaret to his right. You feel a little skip in your pulse at the sight —they intimidate you, and you want desperately for them to like you, only you never know what to say. 

"Hey," Eddie says as you approach the booth. He pushes you gently to encourage you into the seat first. "How's it going? Did we order?" 

"We were waiting for you. They said we have to go up to the bar when we're ready."

"We're late, I get it. Where's Jeff?" 

"He went to the bathroom, like, ten minutes ago," Jamison says with a sigh, climbing to his feet. "I'll go see if he's alright." 

"He's fine. Maggie, are you coming to order?" Gareth says, getting up with him. 

"Yes, finally!" she says. 

The relative chaos of your arrival has you hesitating in your seat. Margaret left her purse and her jacket on the table, and Jamison his keys. 

"You okay to stay here while I order?" Eddie asks. 

You'd much prefer Eddie order for you, but you don't want to be sitting here by yourself if Jamison and Jeff come back before him. You won't know what to say. It won't be their fault. You'll make things awkward for everyone. 

You stand up again, shedding your jacket as you do. No one's gonna steal anyone's stuff, the bar is too close. "I'll come with you."

Eddie slots your fingers together easily, grinning, "Lucky me." 

His friends order first and return to the booth soon after. You and Eddie get cut by a cranky looking old lady but neither of you say anything, nowhere to be and no reason to mind. He tells you about the guitar he's been repairing at work and you listen adoringly, in love with the shape of his lips and how he says every word. He's a great storyteller. 

A new friend appears once you've ordered. 

"Hey, Eddie!" one of the waiters says, appearing from the kitchen with a tray of drinks and fries in hand. "Man, I've been trying to get a hold of you all week. The string on my daughter's guitar flew off, nearly blinded her in the process, would you be able to fix that for me? I'll pay you for your time." 

Eddie waves it off. "It'll only take five minutes, you can drop by whenever I'm home. Why do they keep splitting like that, is she messing with the pegs?" 

"She definitely is. Can I get your number? Macey washed my pants without emptying the pockets."

There's a mad scramble for a pen. You have one in your jacket because Eddie's always looking for one, but your jacket is back in the booth. You promise to make a hasty return and set off for it, glad to see Jeff's alright, standing at the table likely waiting for you and Eddie to get back rather than move your things. You like Jeff most out of everyone. With the whole group collected you know he won't drag you into conversation. 

"She's a bit… much," Gareth's saying.

"How can she be a bit much? She doesn't say a lot," Maggie says. 

You frown. You're the only other she. 

"Not like that, just– the touching and stuff. She's always grabbing onto him like a toddler. I don't think I could stand it." 

"You don't have to stand it," Jeff says. "She's Eddie's girl." 

"Clearly." 

"Gareth, when was the last time you got laid?" Maggie asks, flicking a hair tie at him, to his annoyance. "You're being bitter. They fucking love each other, man, it's nice." 

"It is a little tiny bit too much sometimes," Jamison says.

You wince. You know it's a matter of seconds before one of them turns to see you standing there. Is it worse to turn around or to approach? 

You walk up to the table just as Gareth says, "Yes! Thank you man, she's too–" 

He cuts off when he sees you with a cough.

"Who?" you ask, full well knowing it's you. Honestly, you're shy but you still get mad, you kind of want him to own up and say it while you're there, and at the same time you're hoping against hope they'll lie. 

Thankfully, they pretend it was about someone else. 

"Nobody," Maggie says. 

"Some girl at the library," Jamison says. 

You lean past Jeff with as sunny an apology as you can manage to grab the pen from your jacket. "Eddie," you say by way of explanation, holding the pen up with a shrug. 

You walk away quicker than you should. It's obvious you've overheard. There's a thump and a, "Nice fucking job, loser." 

Eddie's deep in conversation as you offer the pen. He takes it without stopping, but he makes sure he kisses your cheek. 

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" you say. 

"I'll be right there, sweetheart." 

To get to the bathroom you have to walk past the booth again. With the hurt feeling pounding between your ears and what you suspect might be all eyes on you, you make for one of the two doors. The summer sun and the dry Hawkins heat hits you immediately, a second layering of smothering to wrap around the first. You walk around a rainbow chalk hopscotch and into the shade of the smoking shelter, hands at your collar, breathing hard. 

Don't cry, you think firmly. Don't cry. They'll know if you do and that's twice as embarrassing as walking out. Imagine how embarrassed Eddie will feel if you cause a scene.  

You sit on the little perch in the shelter and stare at the floor. There's nowhere to look that isn't stingingly bright, the sun in the white-blue sky glaring down on you and the sidewalk bleached a blinding ivory. You close your eyes against it. Your shoulders hunch in protectively. Your hands find their way to your face. 

Like a toddler, Gareth said. You press your fingertips into your eyes, fighting against the ache. Is that true? Are you childish in how much you rely on Eddie? You take his hand and his arm, you catch onto his clothes when you're worried, you step behind him when you're overwhelmed. 

"Shit," you whisper. 

The breeze washing over you does little to cool you down. You must sit there for a handful of minutes, worried and nauseous. 

"Hey," Eddie says gently. You flinch despite his best efforts not to startle you. 

He looks tall outlined by the sun. 

"You okay?" he asks. 

"I just wanted some fresh air," you say. 

He raises his brows slightly. "That why Gareth just apologised to me?" 

You wince as he sits down. All of you wants to sag into his side, but a small voice tells you not to. You stay ramrod straight, hands pressed flat and clammy to your knees. 

Eddie gives your elbow a rub. His thumb digs into soft skin and the harder suggestion of cartilage and bone before sliding up. He uses touch often to convey silent reassurement. This seems to say, I don't know what happened, but I'm here. 

"I'm fine. We can go back inside," you say, attempting to fool him. 

"There's no rush." His voice tips to a low, rough register. He's keyed in to your upset, no doubt about it. "It's a nice day, babe." 

He gives you a minute. The small feathering of clouds skirts one edge of the horizon to the other, the shadow of the diner stretching tall as the sun lazes down. You push the worst of your feelings from your mind. It's easy to do with such an unshakeable support at your side, his fingers curling down to your forearm, vying for a hand to hold. 

"I heard your friends talking about me. It wasn't all nice," you confess. 

"Assholes." 

You glance at his face. He has a crease between his brows. 

"Well, mostly Gareth. He said that I… act like a kid. A toddler, that I'm too much, at least for him to stand. And don't get me wrong, Eds, I'm not thrilled that they were talking about me, but I guess I…" You take a short breath and look away from him. "I hate that it's true." 

"You can be mad when people talk shit. I'm mad," he says. "He said you're like a toddler?" He shuffles closer to you on the bench. "Babe, it's not true, okay? You're not too much. Fuck, we're here to hang out and they can't wait ten minutes to run their mouths–" 

"It wasn't like that, it was just Gareth." Gareth's always been the selfish friend. 

"He doesn't get a pass for saying something shitty 'cos he's always shitty. I brought you here," —you peek at him, recognising upset in his tone even when it's the barest inkling— "knowing you didn't really want to come because you get so nervous," —he sounds pained for you— "I fucking told him to leave you alone. I said we wouldn't come around if he didn't stop being a mood killer." 

You worry at your bottom lip. "Maybe that's kind of his point, Eds. You have to look out for me. You had to ask someone to be nice to me 'cos I can't handle it–" 

"You don't have to handle it. The people around you should be nice to you. This isn't high school, you don't have to put up with it, and I told him that." Eddie grabs your arm with the hand that isn't tangled in yours and turns you to face him. "I'm sorry," he says, almost a murmur, "I didn't invite you today to have you humiliated." 

You're feeling a little mortified by the passion of his feelings. He's mad at the wrong person, isn't he? "Why are you sorry? I'm the one who clings to you." 

"I want you to." Eddie holds your eyes, brown and big and imploring you to listen, the starts of his brows sewing together. "I'm sorry because it's not fair. And because Gareth was a dick to you. And for getting mad." He smiles at you ruefully. "I'm being a dick, too." 

"In what world?" 

Eddie leans in slowly, giving you enough time to close your eyes as his nose bumps into yours, encouraging your head up to allow for a kiss. He kisses twice, a third time, pulling away to rub your bottom lip. 

"Are you really upset?" he asks softly. 

You know whatever answer you give him is one he's okay with. 

"I feel so embarrassed," you say. "They knew that I overheard them. Now I feel like I'll be constantly worried about how much I'm touching you." 

"Well, that's their problem. That doesn't say shit about you," Eddie says, wrinkling his nose. 

"I'm really not too much?" you ask. He can likely hear how desperate you are for a kind answer, your throat burning with the effort it takes to stave off tears. 

"You've never been too much. I'm the too-much one. You wouldn't even hold my hand when we first started dating, you remember that? We'd go to the movies and you'd get so flustered when I bought your ticket." Eddie's arms wrap around your waist, the breeze ruffling his sweet curls and sending gusts of his smell your way. You're a goner, dropping your face into his shoulder. "Do you remember that?" he asks again, his face slipping down to yours as he hugs you close. "The first time we went to the Hawk together, I went first, and I don't know why you thought you'd have to buy your own ticket but you got all quiet when I got yours, too. I loved that. You know what I loved even more than that?" 

You smile, knowing he's going to say something lovely. "What?" you ask. 

"I loved how proud you were to sit down with me. You wouldn't hold my hand but you'd put your cheek on my shoulder just like this." 

Eddie rubs the tip of his nose against your temple. "I love how much you want to be near me," he says. "It's not childish, is it? If being closer to me makes you feel better, there's nothing wrong with that. Gareth's just jealous 'cos he isn't getting laid." 

"That's what Maggie said." You laugh. 

"Maggie's a good one. She makes Gareth bearable, kind of." 

You feel the stretch of his back under your hands. Your head is pounding from the sudden rush of big emotions, your tongue dry and throat aching, but you don't have a lick of urgency to get up and go back in. 

"He's such a dick," you whisper. 

Eddie laughs, patting your back. "Such a fucking dick." 

"I can't help being a loser and wanting to hug you so much," you say. You're joking now, but it's true all the same. 

"I tempt the untemptable," he says agreeably.

You laugh and lift up a bit to hug him harder, your face pressing into his neck. 

"You're not a loser," he says more seriously. "You know that, right? What Gareth said, it's not okay, but there's no accounting for idiocy." Eddie sits back on the bench, taking your forearms into his hands for some more soft massaging. "He can think whatever he likes, I'm not the government, but he was wrong, and also it's rude and, again, super shitty of him to do that here. So with your blessing I'm gonna punch him in the face." 

"Nooooo," you murmur. 

"Very soft no. Taking it for a yes."

"Eddie, you can't hit Gareth."

"He should watch his mouth, then." 

You reach up for a second hug. You love that he prioritised how you felt, as well as how eager he is to stick up for you —how mad he is on your behalf. 

"He's trying to take this away from me," Eddie says, leaning back under your weight, arms crossing behind your spine. He looks up at you like you've stolen his breath, lips parted and teeth peeking out with his smile. 

"Do you really want to punch him?" you ask. You sound very fond.

"I hate that he made you feel bad about yourself. And he irritates me." 

"But…" 

Eddie hums like he's thinking for a moment. "No, I definitely still want to hit him." 

You tuck a curl away from his cheek tenderly. "Thanks for wanting to defend my honour, Eds," you say.

"I'm on your side through everything." He looks ridiculously pretty saying such a ridiculously lovely thing. "That's how we work, right? You're on my side too?" 

Your face flushes with heat. "Of course I am, baby." 

"Good. Unrelated to our previous conversation, how much money do you have, roughly? In case I need financial aid in the coming days." He drops his voice to a whisper, "How much even is bail lately?" 

You cup his cheek. "We can't afford it," you whisper back. 

"Typical." 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!♡

[princessjules510]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.6K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh, won't you stay, just a little bit longer. Please let me hear, you say that you will, Say you will."

- Stay By Maurice Williams and The Zodiacs

IV. MOUNTAIN LAKE, VIRGINA: 1963

The man in front of you was not part of your vacation plans. He was half naked, sweaty, annoyed and scowling. The man in front of you was a stranger. 

Except he wasn’t. 

Was he?

You knew his name by now, something you’d only learnt on Monday, or perhaps the day before. Steve, Steve Herringbone or Barrington or something. He didn’t like it when you called him Steven and he certainly didn’t like it when you argued back. 

But this was supposed to be a getaway, a small summer break where you could maybe sneak a smoke by the lake when everyone had returned to their cabins and the geriatric morning yoga was done. Except your dad knew the owner of the summer retreat, a huge house settled in the Virginia countryside, the forest greener than it was back home. Bauman’s Mountain House was host to many golf courses, a fencing team, seventeen rowboats, an archery club, the best water aerobics in the state and an award winning dance show. 

The very latter included the man in front of you. 

Tall, broad shouldered and tanned from the summer, Steve Harrington was handsome and painstakingly so. Brown hair that he always tried to tame by pushing his hand through it, brown eyes and too many freckles to count. He wore a gold chain around his throat, black slacks and a leather jacket on his days off, driving around the resort in a BMW that made too much noise, but he didn’t seem to care. 

He cared even less about his bad reputation and loud ways when his partner broke her foot weeks before the final show, a tiny girl called Nancy that you were unreasonably jealous of at first sight. You watched them both on your first night, sat between your mother and father as they took to the stage, dancing flawlessly, fluidly, like they were one whole person. You watched the way she touched him, an easy familiarity that had your stomach feeling unsettled and something inside of you burned when her hand brushed the man’s neck, holding onto him as he dipped her low, her fingers trapping two little moles and hiding them from sight. 

You’d blamed the cheap cocktails and called it a night. 

But then your father found him arguing with Mr Bauman about the show and suddenly you were volunteered against your own volition, your parents talking loudly and proudly about talent shows and dance lessons when you were much younger, boldly exaggerating about how must’ve been a dancer in another life as you shook your head and tried to escape back to the gazebo by the shoreline.

Now you were left spending your evenings with Steve Harrington and his tight trousers in a cabin that was much smaller than your own. There was a leak in the corner, a consistent drip from a missing nail in the roof and rainwater splashed against the wooden floor as if it were counting down the seconds. 

As if it were counting down to— something. 

It had rained every night since you had started seeing Steve, the stifling afternoons giving way to humid evenings that always started to smell like rain by six o’clock, sweet tea and lemonade taken over by the scent of a new downpour. There had been threats of storms, chattering of it during breakfast in the main dining hall, grumbles of it from groundskeepers during bowling on the green. 

But nothing wild, not yet. 

Steve had scowled the entire time he was with you, minutes and hours spent with a frown on his face as he did his best to avoid touching you, mumbling something about getting the timings right, about learning the steps and the footwork before putting it all together. It was tedious now, repetitive and too warm in his small room and even with the bed pushed to the wall, there was barely space to avoid brushing up against him when you moved. 

You were flushed, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat and the same sheen made Steve’s lips look glossy, his hair sticking to his forehead in curls and flicks. You rolled your eyes when he hit rewind on the tape deck, a silent order for you to take it from the top. But you didn’t move as he made quick work on his buttons, undoing them one by one until his short sleeved shirt hung open, showing off far too much skin. Lean muscle and a smattering of hair across his pecs, more skating down the line of his navel and you sucked in a breath, pretending you hadn’t stood on your own foot. 

“It’s too fuckin’ warm,” he complained, circling you as he spoke, watching you for more errors, inspecting your footwork, your posture, the way your held your head up and squared off your shoulders. 

“No shit,” you couldn’t help but bite back. “How’d you think I feel?”

You wore denim shorts to his black slacks, but your cotton T-shirt was sticking to your torso now, the baby pink material too heavy and restricting for the heat inside the cabin. You pressed your lips together and moved, eyes on the wall ahead of you, your right foot moving in front of your left before you twisted your hips half a turn and—

“Take it off, then.”

You blinked, your framework going slack as you dropped both your arms and your jaw. You were hardly prudish, but something about this man had set you on edge since you’d first seen him. An electrical buzz every time you looked at him, fizzing through your bones, an invisible string tied to your insides pulling and pulling and pulling you closer. You’d ignored it until these dance practices, always turning in the other direction, putting the entire resort between you both. 

But now… now?

He was standing all of three feet away, cheeks flushed from the heat and his chest on show, his hands behind his head and his fingers buried in his hair in frustration as he stared at you. Like he was challenging you. The muscles in his arms were flexed, taut cords and lines that showed off how hard he work at his job and you couldn’t help but stare. 

“What?” You demanded it, a bite of an answer. 

“Your shirt,” Steve nodded to the pink material, brows raised like it were obvious. He almost rolled his eyes. “Take it off.”

Above you, the rain outside fell a little harder, a consistent din against the thin roof. 

You didn’t say anything. You just hoped you didn’t lose your cool as you reached for the hem of your t-shirt, untucking it from your shorts. The cotton stuck to you uncomfortably, dragging against your skin as you raised it up and over your head, the brief second where your eyesight was blinded a terrifying prospect. 

Was he looking? At you? Was he watching? Did he care?

By the time you’d balled up the offending fabric and tossed it in the corner, Steve had turned his back to you, pressing some buttons on the tape deck until the song - some kind of mambo - played for the beginning again. You couldn’t see his face but you wondered if he’d caught sight of your bra, as plain as it may have been. White cotton, thin with scalloped edges and a tiny pink bow between the cups. Hardly sexy, nothing near scandalous, but there was certainly a lot more skin showing now. 

Slick, damp skin that you wondered if he’d touch. It was like he wasn’t allowed to, the way he skirted around you all of the time, his hands shoved into his pockets when he wasn’t demonstrating the next step, a fist pressed to his chin as he watched you repeat his instructions, a wide palm always hovering just out of reach of your lower back when he scolded you for slouching, like he’d went to put his hands on you - only to pull catch himself at the last second. 

“You gotta loosen your hips,” Steve’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he turned back around. His eyes were on the floor before he finally dragged them up your legs and over your bare stomach. He sucked in a breath. “You’re too rigid.”

“You told me to hold my shoulders,” you retorted, knowing fine well that he’d bitched about your ‘noodle arms’ for days. 

“Yeah, your upper body needs to be squared off. Hold yourself tight from here up,” Steve gestured to your waist with the side of his hand. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the heat radiate from him. “But from here?” He tapped at the button on your shorts. 

You froze. 

“From here down, you need to put a bit of swing in the hips, alright?” He spun, putting himself behind you but you could see him in the mirror that leant against the cabin wall, an old looking thing that was too ornate to be here. Once gold, it had carvings of cherubs on the frame, tiny wreaths and rosettes intertwined with ancient style busts. “It’s a mambo, sweetheart, put a little heat into it.”

The tape begun again and Steve leant against a dresser, arms folded across his bare chest, his open shirt plastered to his skin. He watched you, waiting. The intro played and you counted the beats, nodding your head to each note and before you could hit the mark. Thunder rumbled somewhere outside and you were suddenly reminded of a man that looked like Steve, standing and watching you like that in a room much smaller than this, lit by firelight, dressed like a fighter. 

“You missed the count,” Steve sighed, exasperated. 

His hair had been longer, his face bruised and bleeding, but it looked just like him. A familiar scene, like you’d maybe seen it in a movie, but it felt more like a dream you didn’t recall having. You looked down at your feet, chest heaving, lips parted in confusion and you were only more dazed when you saw your bare legs and not the long skirts you expected. Your body didn’t feel like yours, not really. 

Like it was borrowed, or broken. 

You turned, facing Steve as if you expected him to be dressed differently, in leathers and studs and pleats, but he was still the same, just looking at you as if you’d suddenly fallen ill. Maybe you had. 

“Drink some water,” he ordered, and yes, that sounded like a really good idea. “Then we’ll go again.”

You chugged the bottle, the water tepid and hard to swallow but you gulped it down greedily, praying against heat stroke or whatever else it could be that could be plaguing you with such hallucinations. You swiped at your lips and closed your eyes before you turned back to the boy and when you did, he looked the same as he always did. 

Annoyed, tired, pretty. 

“C’mere,” Steve said briskly, crooking a finger at you. You stepped towards him, unsure of what he was asking you, lingering awkwardly with a few feet of space between you. Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. “Jesus, I mean— here.”

He touched you then, his hand reaching out to grasp your own as he pulled you forward, closer than you’d ever been. There was barely space for a prayer between you both. 

You thought that his hand in yours would’ve made you feel something, a spark, a fizz, that buzz that you felt in your bones around him. But something else settled over you instead, a strange familiarity, a longing for a home you didn’t know or didn’t remember, like Steve touching you was hardly anything new. His touch made you think of the sea, of vast gardens, of islands and storms and great wars, ruby wine and promises that seemed impossible to keep. 

From the unsettled look in Steve’s eye as he stared down at you, you thought that maybe he felt the same thing. 

But then he was fussing, moving his feet into the right position and mumbling about your stance. His hand took you with him as he moved, less than an inch separating your bare stomach from his and you let him direct you as he pleased, waiting for the song to reply from the top. The drums began, a cacophony of instruments you’d never be able to name joining in. 

And then Steve was counting, his eyes suddenly fixed on yours as he nodded to the beat. “And five, six, seven—”

Steve’s other hand was on your waist. 

His palm felt huge, big enough to envelop your side and his thumb was pressed into the soft of your belly, just below your ribcage. His fingers were splayed out over your bare back, his skin warm against your own and you’d never felt so completely consumed by just one touch. You were reminded of white sheets and hazy mornings, the taste of fresh bread and an open window that looked out to blue skies and you could hear a fountain spraying water. 

But you were moving before you could consider it, what it meant, what it was, if it was possible to have someone else’s memories trapped in your head. Steve moved and you followed, your feet chasing his step by step as he walked you back and forth, his hips turning into yours on each beat, his shoulders set and his chin held high, ever the professional. 

“Don’t look at your feet,” he murmured, barely heard over the music. “Chin up. Look at me.”

You didn’t know how to tell him it hurt to do so, how looking into his eyes this close felt like giving in, it felt like being stitched back together without any medication. You had never been aware of any wounds in your body, but this man you barely knew seemed to fill the space very well. 

So you did, holding your breath until your chest burned, your eyes meeting Steve’s as you clasped his hand in your own and gripped his shoulder, letting him lead you around the cabin floor. The storm raged on, louder than before, more threatening now, like it was arguing, fighting, scolding. 

The rain poured harder and what little evening light there had been was now dampened, the setting sun hidden behind navy and violet coloured clouds - but the heat was just as oppressive. Steve turned you, a twist of his body that led into yours as you spun on your toes, and when he caught you— when he caught you, his hand moved lower, slipping down your overheated skin until his fingers grazed the denim waistband of your shorts. 

Maybe he saw you falter, maybe he saw your lips part, but Steve sucked in a breath and kept moving, his chest brushing your own as you stepped into his space as he danced into yours, torso meeting, separating, meeting, separating, meeting—

“Keep count,” he reminded you. “Keep counting the beats.” 

You nodded, Steve’s face startlingly closer than before, as if he’d forgotten his boundaries, the box he created with strong arms, the one that kept him professional as a dancer, standing tall and strong. Now his elbows were bent, his hand falling from yours so both of his palms could bracket your hips and it was too much, it was everything you’d ever wanted, it was something you felt like you’d once had. 

You just couldn’t remember who had taken it away from you. 

Lightning lit the cabin, the storm over the resort, the sky black. 

“Remember your hips,” he whispered, and god, god, his forehead was almost touching yours, his nose drawing a line against your own as his eyelids dropped and his lashes fanned his pink cheeks. His hands guided your waist, moving you from side to side, following the rhythm. “Listen to the beat.”  

You were sure he meant the music, but it was impossible to ignore the thud of his heart against your own chest. You could feel yours even more so, a constant drumming that seemed to seep into your bones, making them crack at the edges, something blooming between them, something new and old and familiar and exciting. 

Like driving into your street after a long vacation, like falling into your own bed after too many weeks away, smelling the laundry detergent that clung to everyone else that you loved. It felt hopeful, like the beginning of the morning when the only thing that had entered your thoughts was the way the sun looked in the sky, how pink it was, how the clouds seemed softer than the day before. 

Steve pushed at your hips, holding them as you swayed from side to side, your hands leaving the safety of his shoulders to slip up, holding the sides of his neck, the heat of his skin scalding your palms and he nodded, pupils blown wide and lips parted as he stared down at you in amazement, like he was seeing you for the very first time. 

Like he was seeing you for the first time after a very long time apart. 

“Good,” he told you softly, like he was still teaching you, like this was still professional. Like he hadn’t put his hand on your lower back and obliterated whatever wall someone else had built between you. Something that had once seemed so strong was knocked down so easily, like not even a god could keep it between you. “Good. Like that, just like that—”

He swore when you moved closer, emboldened by his pretty eyes and the way his gaze tracked down your chest, down your bare stomach. His fingers flexed on your hips, blunt nails tattooing your skin and you hoped the marks would stay there, you hoped they’d be there tomorrow so you could remember that this wasn’t a dream. 

His leg found its way between yours, the song finally slowing to the last few drumbeats and you knew this was the time where you were supposed to spin in Steve’s arms and raise your hand in a grand finish. But Steve tucked your hips close to his instead and let his thigh push into the seam of your denim shorts. 

The song that came on next was slower, lazier, languid. 

The singer had a deeper voice, the drums rolling with a dirtier beat and this wasn’t the mambo, this wasn’t a salsa and it certainly wasn’t anything you’d do in a ballroom never mind on stage in front of others. You’d seen this kind of dancing once before, the night after you first arrived at Bauman’s. You hadn’t meant it, but a walk along the lake after the sun had set had led you to a larger cabin at the back of the resort, where the lights were on and the music was loud. 

Music like this. 

A guy at the door with long curls and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips had appraised you, one eyebrow lifted at your little white summer dress and tennis shoes. 

“You work here?” He’d asked and you had shaken your head, ready to walk back the way you came. “You a snitch?” He asked after a pause. 

Again, you shook your head ‘no’ and listened as the music inside got louder. The man, who you were sure you’d seen on stage during dinner, playing the guitar for the dining  guests, just shrugged. He’d nodded to a stack of beer crates at the side of the building.

“Grab a case and keep your mouth shut, alright?” He’d opened the door for you, the music louder than ever, the smell of smoke and weed and sweat pouring out. You remember how’d he grinned at you as you took in the sight. “Have fun, princess.”

It’s where you’d seen Steve for the second time, in the middle of a makeshift dance floor with the bow tie and dinner jacket he’d worn during his evening performance long gone. Moving with a girl with his shirt buttons open, his hair a mess, grinding and manhandling her in a way you weren’t sure you would even call dancing. Everyone was doing the same, hips gyrating, skirts too short, men’s chests bare, the smiles meeting in an almost kiss.

It was nothing short of scandalous. 

You’d left, dumping the beer on a table beside a watermelon that almost rolled to the ground in your panic, turning from the crowd and walking out the way you’d came. The curly haired man had snorted at the sight of your wide eyes, calling out a goodbye between laughs. 

And here you were, not even two weeks later, doing the same, if not worse. Why worse? You and Steve were alone. 

Thunder cracked again, louder than before. 

It didn’t feel wrong to be doing this. In fact, for as much trouble as you’d be in if your father had had to catch you, everything about it felt right, like you’d done it before, like this man was yours to touch. But something that felt like danger lingered in the air, a threat far more serious than your dad or Mr Bauman. 

But still, you let your body move with Steve’s, a slow grind of your hips into his and when your hand found the nape of his neck and your fingers twisted into his hair, Steve’s palm cupped your ass, pulling you into him, making you feel how affected he was. 

It should’ve scared you. How this man was touching you, this person you barely knew, alone in a cabin and who you were so sure had hated you only a mere ten minutes before. But Steve looked as gone as you felt, eyes filled with longing, a passion that was visible, his brows knitted together as he stared down at you hungrily, lovingly, adoringly. 

It was almost too much to bear. So you let your head fall back, body slack as you kept dancing, trusting the man to keep you upright and against his own chest and you heard Steve let out a breath at the sight of your exposed neck, the long line of it offered to him like a sacrifice. 

“That’s it,” you heard him murmur. “You feel the beat now?” His words fell on your throat, your bare skin, the top of his nose drawing a line from the base of it to your jaw, his mouth following and you were so sure he wasn’t talking about the music anymore. 

But you nodded, clinging to him when he dipped you backwards, his hands holding you like you were precious, like you were made of marble and gold and suddenly you felt like Steve could’ve been. Like someone had taken a piece of the earth and grown this man from it, just for you. Like he had something ancient in his bones, like whatever he was made of you, you were created from the same thing too. 

When he pulled you back up, effortless and graceful, you were closer than before, impossibly so. Chests meeting in the middle as you both panted into each other's parted lips, noses meeting and foreheads touching. Steve’s hands were curled around your waist, fingers splayed across your naked back as if he couldn’t bear not to touch every part of you. Your hand was on his neck, your fingers brushing over two moles on his tanned skin, the ones you’d watched Nancy touch before you. 

But as you pressed your fingertips to them, your lips buzzed and Steve let out a sigh, like you’d unravelled a knot in his spine, like you’d found a magic button that fixed him. Like you’d touched a place that you’d once touched before. 

“You’ve never touched me before,” you whispered, voice cracking on each syllable because it suddenly was too much. 

Steve looked pained, lashes fluttering as his gaze dropped to your lips and he struggled to find the right words to give you. “I— I shouldn’t be doing it now,” he murmured. “I’m not allowed.”

“Why? Because of your boss? My dad?” 

He grinned, a smirk that faltered too quickly and he shook his head, still not moving from you, his nose nudging yours as he struggled to keep himself from shifting closer still. “You’d think that should’ve been enough to keep me away.” Steve licked his lips and you tracked the movement, so sure that he’d taste like summer and salt and the peach tea from the diner. “Not even the threat of losing my damn job and house can keep me away from you.”

His words had an effect on you, breath hitching, chest aching. “Then who said you’re not allowed?”

The song was still going, a lazy beat that was easy to sway to, Steve’s leg still wedged between your thighs and his hands were wandering, sensual and slow, a whole other kind of dance over your skin. Fingers gripped at your waist before one hand trailed down your hip, over your bare thigh, ghosting over the line of your torn off shorts. He brought your thigh to his hip, hitching your leg high, pressing you both together until you could feel him all, until he could feel all of you.

Laid bare enough for you to feel like he could take the very soul of you from your body.

You found that you didn’t mind the idea of it at all.

“You’ll laugh at me,” Steve murmured but he didn’t sound embarrassed at all, like he didn’t actually believe that you would.

You shook your head, nose brushing against the tip of his and if you moved another inch, just one, you could’ve been kissing him, mouth slotting against his. “I won’t,” you promised.

“I started having dreams when you came,” Steve told you. “Dreams where it always rained and the sky was always dark. And there was a man there, a thing, maybe. But he felt ancient, older than the fucking world and he told me to stay away, to keep away from you.”

You didn’t laugh. No. No, in fact, you didn’t say a damn thing.

Steve laughed, breathless and without any humour, and his hand trailed back up your thigh as your leg dropped slowly to the floor. He spun you both, lazy and languid, but the world around you both still blurred. The cabin faded away, a mix of the low lights and the colours of his quilt on the bed. 

You could barely hear the storm, but god, it was the loudest it had been.

“I want to do ungodly things with you,” Steve confessed and he sounded pained, his throat tight with the same kind of emotion you felt, like you were both sharing the same heart. “I want to do ungodly things to you.”

“Steve--”

“I know it sounds crazy, but there’s somethin’-- somethin’ in the sky or in the goddamn cracks of the earth that’s telling me I shouldn’t.” His bottom lip grazed your top one, an almost kiss, a whisper of one, a mere idea of it. Hardly a touch. “That something real bad will happen if we do.”

You couldn’t explain it, just like you couldn’t explain your sudden proximity to the man, the achingly familiar closeness you felt. But you knew, somehow, some way, Steve was right. 

Tears stung your eyes, a fiery nip that you tried to blink away and when the music slowed to a stop and the next song began, Steve kept moving, your body melted to his, no space between either of you to be able to determine where you ended and he began.

Your voice cracked when you spoke. “What should we do?”

Steve took a breath before he answered, one hand coming up to push against your hairline, his palm coasting down your cheek, holding you, cherishing you. His touch was hot with adoration. 

“We can keep dancing.”

[princessjules510]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [4.3K] 18+

THE TIMELINE

“All I want is nothing more, to hear you knocking at my door. ‘Cause if I could see your face once more, I could die as a happy man I'm sure. When you said your last goodbye, I died a little bit inside. I lay in tears in bed all night, alone without you by my side. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?”

- All I Want by Kodaline

III. LONG ISLAND, NEW YORK: 1922

Opening the side door to the manor was easy when everyone else was occupied in the foyer.

The whole house was still alive despite the early morning hour, the air still smelling of the fireworks that lingered, gunpowder and spilled champagne. There was broken glass in the kitchen, from cocktail saucers or the smashed chandelier in the hallway, Steve wasn’t sure. But it crunched under his leather shoes as he snuck into the dark scullery, empty of the help and the silver platters of food they’d spent the day making.

He could see the silhouette through the frosted glass, impatiently waiting as he fumbled with the brass lock, the vibrations of the trombones and sax from the floor above making the handle buzz in his fist.

Steve barely got a chance to look at you before you had flung yourself at him, arms around his neck and chests colliding. He laughed, a small catch in his throat leaving him breathless for a second, your enthusiasm contagious. You still smelled like work, like cigar smoke and other peoples perfume, expensive cologne and top shelf sherry. It clung to your beaded dress, to your skin and Steve liked these nights, he liked the challenge of making you his again, even when you really weren’t supposed to be.

“They’re still going?” You asked, your words muffled against his chest. You’d get lipstick on his white shirt but neither of you cared. Steve had learnt long ago how to hide it from the maids.

He hummed in confirmation, any words he wanted to say stolen by your lips, your hands climbing up past his neck and into his hair. You tugged at it, ruining the style, hating when he slicked it back for the sake of the parties you were never allowed to attend.

It was a ferocious kiss, the kind that smudged your lipstick onto his mouth, the kind that told him you wanted to claim what you could of him in the short time you were able. Steve groaned, responding in kind, his arms winding around your waist to haul you even closer to him, his lips parting for your tongue.

It never grew old, it never waned - this feeling. Every kiss like the first, every time like nothing he’d ever felt before, never like anyone else. Your touch sent something through his bones, a deep kind of love that felt older and stronger and more powerful than the earth itself. He saw you one day in the city, under the bright lights that lit up Times Square and something told him that you were made for him.

Not a voice, just a feeling, one that his friends scoffed at because you weren’t from any kind of money that his family would accept and your dress didn’t come from Macy’s. But you’d turned and caught his eye, lips painted the prettiest red, eyes all bright like you felt the same when you looked at him. Days had turned to weeks and first dates had turned into nights in his locked bedroom and he still remembered the first time you pressed your ruby lips to the side of his throat and told him you were sure the gods themselves created him for you.

You kissed him now like you were remembering those words, your small hands diving into the already open collar of his white shirt, his black tie slipping from his neckline and you kissed that same spot, two moles that you claimed were somehow yours. They seemed to burn when you touched them, every pass of your lips and tongue making him feel weaker and weaker. And when you bit down a little, teeth grazing, Steve didn’t even notice the rain that had started to fall outside.

He felt feverish with you, greedy and desperate and never able to get enough. The brass band that his mother had hired for the evening started up another song, the China plates in the pantry cabinets rattling from the dancing feet above. He was on borrowed time, he knew that. So he let his tongue lick over your own once, twice, three times more before he pulled away, just enough to get his words out. You were as breathless as he was, too pretty in the dim light with your perfectly done make up, the pearls around your neck that no one knew came from him. Your dress made you glitter and from the faded lipstick around your mouth, Steve knew the majority was stamped on his own lips, his neck, his jaw.

The idea of it made him hold you tighter.

Thunder rumbled, a storm moving in over the lake outside the manor, the small yacht that was docked by the boathouse dipping with the current.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, kissing at the corner of your mouth between words. “Before they need to come for more champagne.”

So you let him pull you out of the kitchen, despite how well you knew the house you were never supposed to be invited into. Steve took your hand and led you like a secret, peering around corners before running past open doors, each room bigger than the last. The manor was all cherry oak floorboards and velvet drapes. There were chaise lounges in every bay window, baby grand pianos under crystal chandeliers and Steve’s father made sure the golden bar carts were always stocked and kept in every room.

The party was still thrumming in the largest lounge, where the hired band stood on the curved stairs and people danced on the tables. The glass doors were opened to the pool, a bright blue rectangle in the otherwise dark night and flecks of gold confetti lay atop the water, never sinking, looking like real life magic.

People spilled from everywhere, women shoeless and men missing their dinner jackets, hand in hand with girls that weren’t their wives and some of the richest of them showed their greed with a scantily clad dancer on each arm.

A door opened to the right, a server who was working well past his paid hours, still in his suit and carrying a large tray of champagne saucers, his expression bored. Steve grabbed you before the man could spot you both, tugging you behind a marble bust of a Grecian goddess, a piece of art that should’ve been in a museum.

The vacant eyes and kind smile of Aphrodite stared back at you both, seemingly amused at your lover's embrace, the one you had to hide.

“We’re not going to make it upstairs,” you whispered. It was too easy for Steve to let your touch linger on his waist, fingers tracing his belt, greedy and searching beneath his crumpled shirt for the feel of his warm skin. He needed you yesterday. He needed you always. “They’ll see us before we reach your room.”

Steve winced, knowing you were right. He could hear his mother from the lounge, singing too loudly, calling for another glass, her laughter making his jaw tense. “Library,” he said, nodding towards the door across the hall. “C’mon.”

You both made a run for it when the hallway seemed clear, the party goers too drunk to make out your faces, to recognise the girl that wasn’t supposed to be here, who certainly wasn’t supposed to be hand in hand with the man that wasn’t meant to be hers.

Steve closed the door with a soft click, turning the brass key in the lock just to make sure. The music was duller from behind the thick oak, the shelves and forest green curtains that draped along the walls. The library smelled like rich wood and old cigar smoke, older books and leather. It was stuffed with wingback armchairs, low lights from behind emerald glass lamp shades and dark, dark wood. A large fireplace took centre stage in the middle of the room, family photos and golden candlesticks along the mantle, the clock huge gilded mirror above it showing you and Steve standing together.

Outside the stained glass window, lightning flashed in the distance, the lake turning white, just for a second.

You didn’t have time to worry about the storm, nor think too hard about its sudden appearance. They’d always scared you, the too loud sounds, the crashes that seemed to vibrate in your bones, the lightning that always appeared way too close. Steve moved to stand behind you, his hand coming to smooth the collar of your dress away from your neck so he could dip his head down to kiss your skin.

His lips were a warm trail over your throat, his nose pressed underneath your jaw and you felt his smile when you tipped your head for him, granting him access. His hands, always so big and wide, spanned the sides of your waist, the beads and crystals that hung from your dress singing a soft song at his touch.

“Missed you,” he breathed, running the tip of his nose underneath your ear. He sucked at your throat, biting softly and you could only watch in awe as you stood in front of the mirror. “I missed you so much, honey.”

You knew why you hadn’t gotten to see him in so long. Eight whole days of being apart, seeing him in the city when he took his car to work, always flanked by business partners or his father. Worse still, you saw him one Saturday morning with his mother, another woman on his arm, a stiff smile on his lips as they entered a tea house. You knew the woman’s name, you just didn’t like to say it. His future wife, although Steve liked to remind you that they weren’t yet even engaged. But his mother was sure of it, the agreement made like a business deal because her father was head of the bank and Steve’s mother liked money.

A loveless marriage, set up for wealth, for survival, for good genes and even better business opportunities. But you saw the way the other woman looked at Steve, blown out curls and peach coloured lips always smiling up at him, ready to give him children and more.

A housewife. Ready made and picture perfect. The very thing that you were not.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, unable to help it the way your voice cracked because long gone was the idea that you could pretend this wasn’t anything more than a fling.

You ached without the man. The longer you were apart the harder it became, a pain growing between your chest like an open wound that was pulled too tight. And now, as his hands trailed your hips and his lips found your jaw, you could feel it knitting itself closed, a pretty, red string tying the cut closed.

You’d seen the other woman, you knew what was meant to happen. You knew you’d lose him, eventually. That he’d no longer be yours. He’d have a ring on his finger and children with someone else and live in a house even bigger than this one and you’d never, ever be snuck in through a back door again.

It didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. There was nothing in the world that you’d ever felt that was yours. No real money, different jobs for different months, an apartment above a bookstore in Brooklyn that you had to share with three other girls and even the dress you wore was borrowed.

But Steve? Steve Harrington?

It felt like someone created him just for you. Carved from marble, drawn on a canvas and brought to life, a man beyond perfect. Because he had his flaws - just like so many others that you’d dated - but you accepted his with more love than you’d ever felt before. The world seemed to still when you were with him, the entire planet slowing on its axis just so you could savour his touch a little longer.

You lay in his bed, in his arms, wrapped in his expensive cologne and cotton sheets and you knew.

You knew.

You knew that there was no way there was anyone else in this world that you were supposed to be with. His hand fit in yours too well, his lips slotting between your own like they were made from the same thing.

From a time before, when someone or something decided to create the Earth and built you both from the same bone.

Steve spoke into the crook of your neck, his finger spanning wide as his hands travelled over the front of you, feeling every curve, the softness of your stomach, the beads of your pretty dress, the dip of your waist. “You know, sometimes I think it would hurt less to drown in the lake than go without you,” he whispered, eyes closed as if at confession, murmuring his sins and secrets into your skin.

He kissed your throat again, revelling in the way your head fell back to top against his shoulder. Your eyes shut, your lips parted, your body trusting him to hold you up. “That’s awfully melodramatic,” you said airily.

Steve hummed, the ghost of his smile on your jaw. “Isn’t it? But it’s true. I’ve missed you more than I can understand.” He nudged you forward then, took the zipper at your shoulder blades between his fingers and tugged. “I needed you in my bed, in my sheets. They don’t smell like you anymore.”

You bit your lip, refusing to give into the questions that were bitter tasting and stuck in your throat: “has she been in them? Do they smell of her? Does she know about me?”

Because Steve pulled fully at your zipper and you shrugged your shoulders, letting the dress fall to the wooden floorboards, you turned in his arms and saw his eyes. Full of love, sadness, complete adoration and something else that you’d never seen in another man’s before. You were almost naked before him, blush pink undergarments made of silk and lace taught across your skin, silken thigh highs held up by suspenders, all costing an entire paycheck.

Steve wasn’t even looking at them, not yet. His hands went to your face, fingers cupping your jaw so gently that you even thought to yourself, that you might just break. It felt like it. His thumbs smoothed away the worry etched on your skin, frown lines disappearing under his touch and when he breathed out, you breathed in.

Sometimes you wondered if you shared the same heart.

“I love you,” he told you, his forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, a tear slipping down one cheek and Steve kissed it away. “I love you, too.”

“Desperately,” Steve reminded you, bringing his mouth to yours. His kiss was feverish, pulling away too quickly before descending on you again, lips parted, tongue swiping across your own. “Insanely,” he groaned.

Your back hit a bookshelf as you tugged his shirt out of his trousers, the linen crumpling in your hands, a button hitting the floor when you became too impatient. Your fingertips traced the red lipstick marks on his neck, the ones that had smudged onto his clavicle and it was everything you needed to see and more.

A brand, hardly permanent, but yours nonetheless. If not just for tonight.

“I need you,” you told him, your skin on fire as his hand found your thigh. He pushed you into the spines of the books, cold leather on your skin as he hitched your leg to his hip and rolled his own against you. “Steve.”

“I know,” he murmured and his voice was hoarse, weak sounding. “I know, honey,” Steve assured you.

His belt rattled as it fell apart in your hands, the buckle cool to the touch and before you could push your hand into his underwear, Steve spun you both. You found yourself against one of the armchairs, tweed and plush, Steve kissing you from shoulder to shoulder as he stood behind you and coaxed your hands onto the back of it.

“Hold on,” he told you and you nodded, eyes half opened from the anticipation. You heard his zip, the slick sound of him stroking himself and you keened, impatient. Steve tutted and just as your eyes slipped shut, his fingers were under your chin, his bare chest curving along your back. “Eyes open, sweetheart. Look up. Watch yourself.”

Staring straight ahead, you saw how he’d positioned you both. In front of the fireplace, where the huge mirror hung above. You could see yourself, a scandalous sight, half naked and dripping in expensive lace, one strap of your brassiere falling from a shoulder. Smudged lipstick, darkened eyes and the most handsome man in Long Island draped over your frame.

Steve was pressed against your ass, his cock waiting hot and hard against your lower back as he moulded himself to your body. He was kissing your shoulder, mouth open and his jaw and neck decorated in your lipstick. His hair was already a mess, his white shirt hanging open and his hands wandering up your bare stomach to cup your breasts, finding your nipples through the silk almost too easily.

His eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, found yours in the reflection of the mirror.

It was sinful.

“Watch what I do to you,” he said.

So you did.

You let the man push a knee between yours, spreading your legs for him so he could work his fingers into your underwear. You shivered as he talked you through it, telling you how wet you were, how good he knew you tasted. How he could spend days and nights and entire weeks between your thighs, how we wished he could have you on his tongue. Two fingers, achingly and annoyingly gentle, rubbed circles to your clit as he spoke, his eyes on your own the entire time and you felt too hot under his stare, his smile that grew when you gasped and whined.

He reared back when he pushed a finger into you, his other hand braced against the small of your back and he urged you to please him in a voice that sounded like sex itself. Steve was choked, his words tight in his throat and they came out in a rasp, pleading as he fucked two thick fingers in and out of your cunt.

“Let me see you,” he begged, his eyes taking down your frame and he groaned, almost too loud, when you dragged the cups of your bra down. Your tits were pushed against the back of the chair, moving with each motion his fingers made inside of you, the slow rock that had begun as Steve rolled his cock against your ass.

“Beautiful,” he told you, and he sounded like he was kneeling at an altar, talking to a god. “You’re so beautiful. You’re mine—”

“Inside me,” you interrupted. You were close to tears, your eyes glassy, everything too much. You felt as if you’d die if you didn’t have him closer. “Steve, I need you— I need you inside me.”

Outside, rain slammed against the large window, the lake nothing but a grey-blue blue behind the streaked glass. The wind howled and if you’d cared to listen, you would’ve heard the faint shrieks and laughs of the party-goers as they fought against the wind, trying to close the patio doors. Thunder cracked above the house, as if disagreeing, as if fighting back.

You didn’t hear any of it over the sound of Steve moaning in your ear as he slipped his cock against your folds, the head nudging once, twice at your clit before he pushed his hips back and slid into you. He fell forward, feeling like a man who’d been broken down and fixed again, his head on your shoulder as he wound his arms around your waist. You were held, truly held against him, feeling full and loved and adored as he whispered every sweet word he knew into your skin.

The two of you stayed like that for minutes, maybe a few longer than you realised, before it became too much. You whined, a needy sound that made Steve’s cock twitch inside of you and then you were being hauled up with him. The two of you standing behind the chair, your back to his chest and as the thunder grew louder and the windows rattled, you both gave in.

Your hands found home in Steve’s hair, reaching up and back to ground him to you, one of his hands moving your knee up to rest on the chair, opening you for him. Your pretty pink underwear was stretched out, allowing room for his cock to slip into you further. It was a dirty grind, you barely pushing your hips back as Steve snapped his into your own, his hand on your neck as he kept you facing forward, your eyes locked on each other.

His kisses became more lips than teeth, biting at your jaw, your earlobe, his fingers only leaving your throat to play with your bouncing tits, pinching at your nipples until you clenched around him. It was raw, dirty, watching each other in the mirror like that, seeing how wet you were with your legs spread open, Steve’s cock shining from you in the low light as it disappeared inside of you over and over and over again.

“Could stay like this,” Steve gasped, fucking you faster now. The sight of your body slack against his had him reeling, your perfume on his skin, your lipstick on his throat. “Could stay like this forever, could hold you forever, want you forever—”

His words were cut short as you came suddenly, clenching around him with a cry, your eyes shut tight in bliss and your head thrown back on his shoulder. You tugged at his hair, pulling him down, silently begging for a kiss that he gave you, a slow, deep push of his mouth to your own and he came with a wrecked noise when you breathed his name against his parted lips.

Steve had barely softened inside of you when he spoke. “Run away with me.”

You weren’t sure you heard him above the harsh breaths leaving both your lips, chest heaving and body’s lax against each other. His lips traced the line of your jaw, his mouth finding the corner of your own, he kissed you, once, twice, three times, his arms pulling you into his embrace and you could smell his cologne, the remnants of cigar smoke, sex and you.

“Run away with me,” he whispered again. “Let’s just go, we can— we can leave. Tonight.”

“Steve—” your voice was already pained and you slipped from his arms, fixing the lace until your skin was covered, watching as Steve tucked himself back into his dress pants. He left his shirt open as you searched the floor for your dress, his lips twisted with the rejection he knew that would come. “You know we can’t—”

“I want to spend forever with you,” he said and you knew he meant it.

Maybe the sky did too, because the rain fell heavier and lightning flashed across the lake, turning the world ultraviolet, just for a second.

“We can’t,” you said sadly, your voice a whisper. The words cracked in your mouth. “You’re not mine to keep.”

Steve watched you drag your dress up your legs, the unshed tears glittering in the corners of your eyes. His breath left him in a heavy gasp, like someone had punched him in the chest.

“But I am,” he told you, his chest heaving, burning. He blinked, eyes stinging, his vision blurring. The sky above the house cracked. “I am yours.”

It hurt to say it but you shook your head and spoke anyway, your eyes fixed on the way your lips had left tattoos on Steve’s skin. You were all over him still, even separated by five feet. And still— “you’re Nancy’s.” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You’re Nancy Wheeler’s and she is yours and that’s— that’s how it’s meant to be.”

Steve shook his head, moving forward with his shirt still hanging open, his hair curling across his forehead and his hands caught your own. “No. No, no, no—” he look pained, fingers reaching up to brush across your damp cheek and you should’ve pulled away. But you couldn’t. “No. That’s not— it’s not like that. You know this.”

Steve bent, lips finding the corner of your mouth as you moved out of guilt, his touch chasing you. He made a noise of protest, ducking his head closer until he could steal a kiss and you bent to his will, lips yielding under his own he tasted like you, like sex and like home, like something you felt you’d know your entire life and maybe the one before too.

“Run away with me,” he murmured into the kiss, forehead touching yours. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know that he was crying, his voice wet, cracking like the clouds outside and when lightning struck the dock on the bay, he pulled you closer. “We’ll find somewhere else for us. Another town, another country. Another home, another life.”

You kissed him then, stole the words from his lips and swallowed them, kept them locked somewhere close to your heart and you knew you had to hold onto them. For as long as you could. Forever, if you had to.

“Maybe,” you started, voice hitching, “—maybe we weren’t supposed to have this life.”

Steve groaned, a soft sound of agony, of protest. The storm was passing, the party louder than before. He hated how this felt like a goodbye.

“Maybe, we just need to promise that we’ll find each other in the next one.”

[princessjules510]

Roommates | 1. you're joking, right?

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You meet Joel for the first time through your roommate, Maria. Shocking everybody, including yourself, you spend the night together. It isn't until you go on your first date and spend the week getting to know each other that you learn the true nature of his job.

Chapter Warnings: alcohol use, language, smut (18+ MDNI), Joel is huge (duh), nipple play, edging if you squint?, fingering, oral f!receiving, Joel is a consent king, multiple orgasms, protected piv sex, lil bit of angst

WC: 12.4K

A/N: this idea hit me when I was reading @shellshocklove's I Wanna Be Your Lover. If you haven't had the pleasure, I recommend you reading it. It is a great story and very well written.

Series Masterlist

It was late and the bar was loud. Almost instantly, you regretted tagging along with your roommate, Maria, to visit a guy she had been casually seeing while he worked. He was one of the bartenders at said noisy bar and she lured you in with the promise of free drinks and to possibly meet his older brother, who apparently was very handsome and charming and just your type. You were currently in a bit of a dry spell and had no other excuse to stay home on a Saturday night, so you caved. You let Maria pick out an outfit for you while you flicked the TV on, stopping when you found Roman Holiday on AMC. She had rolled her eyes at you when she saw the familiar black and white screen and held up two dresses. You had picked the one that showed less skin, but you still felt like you might fall out of your dress any minute as you followed her up to the bar, drunken bodies bumping up against you as you fought for a few inches of space to order drinks.

"What do you want?" Maria shouted to you, even though you were less than a foot apart, it was still necessary in order to be heard.

"Whatever you're having!" you shouted back, and glanced around the bar while she waited to get Tommy's attention. You hadn't met him yet, but from what Maria told you, he was a huge flirt, but sweet, kind, romantic and so fucking cute.

Even though the bar was packed and there was no possible way you would stick out in the crowd, you felt the heat of someone's gaze. You tried to be subtle and let your eyes drift around the room, taking in the groups of people laughing and dancing, but you couldn't pinpoint anybody you recognized. You shrugged off the feeling, chalking it up to paranoia because of your less than conservative attire, and turned your attention back to your roommate when you heard your name.

"This is Tommy!" she shouted with a huge smile across her face. You looked behind the bar to find a handsome man with longer, dark hair and a smattering of facial hair giving you a grin. You held out your hand so he could shake it, drinking in his warm, brown eyes and trying to keep yourself from staring at his exposed biceps underneath his white wifebeater. Maria was right: he was really fucking cute.

"So nice to finally meet you!" you yelled, and Tommy nodded.

"Pleasure's all mine!" he said loudly, handing each of you a glass of something questionable. You looked at Maria and scrunched your nose, wondering what on earth she ordered for you, and she giggled.

"Where's Joel?" she asked him, and for a second you forgot you were potentially being set up on a blind date with Tommy's brother. The nerves began to creep up your spine again so you took a long sip from your straw, wincing slightly when you realized just how strong the drink was.

Tommy opened his mouth to answer when his eyes locked onto someone over your shoulder and a small smirk tugged at his lips before he jutted his chin over your shoulder.

You both turned around, only to be met with one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He was tall with broad shoulders and dark hair, just like his brother, but shorter in length. His eyes were the same - warm and deep and welcoming as he stared down at you. Only at you. And you found yourself swallowing nervously.

He was very close. Just inches away. He had to be, considering the amount of people in the bar, but it still sent your heart into a frenzy inside your chest. Hoping to gain a little more courage, you took another sip before smiling up at him and extending your hand while offering your name, completely forgetting about Maria next to you.

"Good to meet you," he murmured, his voice a deep, southern drawl. And even though the live band was tuning up loudly somewhere behind him, you still caught what he said. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck so you glanced over at Maria nervously, looking to deflect some of his attention. She seemed to pick up on your need for a lifeline so she greeted him and pulled him into a quick hug, finally dragging his gaze off you and allowing you a moment to breathe. You heard Tommy say something over your shoulder and Joel's eyes met his, then with a twitch at the corner of his mouth, leaned forward to take the beer from his brother's hand.

You didn't mean to but he was practically leaning over you and you couldn't help it. You inhaled deeply and tried to keep your thighs from rubbing together when you took in the heady, masculine scent of his sweat combined with whatever ocean breeze-type soap he used. Fuck, he smelled so good, and that was when you knew you were in trouble. You hadn't had a date in so long, let alone had sex, and combined with the incredibly strong drink Tommy poured, you were beginning to feel yourself loosen up. You gazed back up at him, your eyelashes involuntarily fluttering as you admired his patchy facial hair and suddenly you were desperate to know what it felt like. He caught you staring and smirked, giving you a playful wink before politely looking back towards Maria.

She seemed to notice your reaction to Joel but she didn't tease you. She knew it was difficult enough to get you to come out with her on nights like these so she didn't want to push it. Instead, she glanced over at Tommy and gave him a knowing glance as he took care of a group of customers next to you before turning back to the pair of you.

"Do you guys wanna go sit down?" Maria shouted, pulling your attention off each other and onto her. You nodded and allowed her to lead the way. You tried not to focus too much on Joel's hand delicately placed over your lower back, but it was hard. His touch was featherlight but somehow still electrifying. She found a high top table with two stools and snagged it while Joel stood between you both, resting his beer on the sticky tabletop.

"So glad you could make it tonight!" Maria said to Joel, and he nodded before taking a quick swig from his bottle. "Tommy said you had a late shoot."

"A shoot?" you repeated, tilting your head to the side. He caught your eye and suddenly you felt like the only person in the room again. "Are you a photographer or something?"

You might have noticed Maria stifle a giggle in her palm had you not been so enamored with his eyes. God, he was so fucking handsome, you couldn't look away. He gave you a small smile and shook his head.

"No, I'm an... actor," he said, his eyes flicking to Maria for a split second before looking back to you.

"Oh! How exciting! I love movies. Have I seen you in anything?"

Maria choked on her drink and you both looked at her, your brow furrowing with concern. "Are you okay?" you asked, reaching over to lightly pat on her upper back, but she held up her hand, waving you off.

"Sorry, went down the wrong pipe," she said, her eyes flickering between you both for a moment.

"Depends on what you're into," Joel replied, eyeing you closely. But before you could respond, Maria piped up.

"She's into super old movies. All the black and white shit. I'm sure she's never seen your stuff," she said with emphasis, and maybe had Tommy's drink not been so strong, you would have noticed the look she gave him.

"That's not all I'm into. I'm just going through a phase," you told him with a laugh.

He turned to you with a flirtatious grin. "I love the classics, too," he told you, and you felt yourself light up.

"Really?"

He chuckled and took another sip from his bottle of beer. "Yeah. Casablanca. Some Like It Hot. It Happened One Night. Breakfast at Tiffany's - god, I love Audrey," he told you with a little shake of his head.

"Me, too!" you exclaimed. "She's just so timeless and graceful. I think I've seen everything she's ever been in."

"Hey, I'm gonna go to the bathroom, I'll be right back, okay?" Maria interrupted, and you gave her a quick wave, letting her know it was fine. She slid down from her chair and took her drink with her. That should have been the first clue she wasn't planning on coming back.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but it was enough for the band to have to announce they were taking a break. You had been so caught up in hearing about Joel's acting jobs, although they were mostly meager, guest starring roles on various, well-known drama shows, you had hardly noticed how much time had passed.

"So what are you working on now?" you asked, and he chuckled before draining what was left of his beer.

"Enough 'bout me. What 'bout you? What d'you do?"

"Me?" you squeaked, almost wanting to laugh. What you did was nothing compared to acting. It didn't even feel worthy to talk about it. But you did, anyway, because it was the polite thing to do. "I work at a law firm with Maria." When his eyebrows shot up in surprise, you giggled and shook your head. "I'm not a lawyer. I work for lawyers. I'm a legal assistant. I just help lawyers with the boring, administrative stuff. Gather paperwork, get signatures, make copies. Stuff like that."

"Sounds pretty interesting," Joel replied, and you knew he was just being nice.

"It's not, really. But it pays the bills and that's all that matters," you told him.

"We all do what we gotta do to make ends meet, right?" he said, and you hummed in agreement. Your gaze drifted over his shoulders where the fabric of his shirt was pulled tight before allowing yourself to let your eyes linger on the little exposed bit of tanned chest he displayed underneath his button down shirt. He caught you looking and chuckled before leaning forward.

He pinched your chin between his fingers and suddenly all you could focus on was his mouth. His perfect, soft, pouty mouth. You inched forward, testing the waters a bit before wrapping your hand gently around his wrist. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes flicked between yours and your lips, eagerly waiting for your next move.

You leaned forward, meeting him more than halfway, and he wasted no time in capturing your mouth with his. If the bar wasn't so loud, you would have heard the small groan that spilled out, a sound you would have eagerly committed to memory, but unfortunately all you could do was feel it. Feel the vibrations from his lips, the sensation tingling against your sensitive skin, making you come alive. His fingers pressed into your chin firmly, keeping you still as his lips massaged yours tenderly, the heavenly taste of his beer and a faint hint of mint invading your senses. The way he kissed you, like you were the only person in the entire world, like you were all alone and not surrounded by a huge crowd of people, made your toes curl and a tingle shoot down your spine. If he was this good of a kisser, you were dying to know how he was in bed.

"You're so fuckin' pretty, y'know that?" he said lowly when he pulled away, his nose gently bumping against yours, causing your skin to prickle. Your cheeks flared from the compliment and you tried to hide your disappointment when his hand fell from your chin.

"Thank you," you replied breathlessly, dropping your gaze to the table as you fought the shy smile that kept trying to tug across your face.

"I usually don't like when Tommy tries to set me up with someone but goddamn, glad I went for it today," he said, watching happily as you squirmed in your seat and bit your lip. "Can I get your number? I'd love to see more of you. Go to dinner or a movie," he told you, pulling out his phone. And you weren't sure what came over you in that moment but you blurted out something incredibly uncharacteristic.

"Why don't we go back to my place and you can see more of me right now?"

His eyes widened in surprise for a split second before his face broke out into a huge grin.

"Yeah. Hell yeah," he replied, sliding down from the chair and holding his hand out to steady you and then he frowned. "You sure you didn't drink too much? I don't -"

"I'm fine," you told him honestly. You were a little tipsy, but you knew what you were doing. The drink was just enough to give you a bit of liquid courage.

You glanced around the bar, searching the packed room for Maria but it was impossible to find her. With one hand still engulfed in his, you pulled out your phone with the other and tapped out a quick text, letting her know you were safe and leaving.

"All good?" he asked, watching you type furiously. You finished up and nodded at him, getting lost in his eyes for a brief moment before squeezing his hand. He lead you towards the front, tucking you into his side as he navigated the crowd with ease.

When you finally made it outside, the cool air caressing your hot skin, you gasped and shivered. Joel took that as a sign to pull you closer, his large hand running up and down your arm as he tried to warm you up and it took everything in you not to drag him down the nearest alley and let him have you right there. You had no idea what had come over you, but something about him was making you feel so damn needy. Even as he drove, after you had given him directions back to your apartment, you couldn't help but notice how confidently he handled himself. He didn't appear to be nervous or overly excited or pushy. He was perfectly relaxed and you had to wonder if maybe he has taken his fair share of women home from the bar in the past and that was what made him so comfortable, but in that moment you couldn't care less. It had been so long since anybody had managed to catch your eye the way he had.

And you just really wanted him.

"You won't hurt my feelings if you changed your mind," he said as he followed you up to your shared apartment, the second floor of a duplex. "I don't want you doin' somethin' you'll regret tomorrow."

You paused outside your door, your key hovering above the lock as you looked at him leaning up against the frame.

"I didn't change my mind... did you?"

He quickly shook his head and pushed himself off the wall. "No, not at all," he murmured, closing the gap between you as he cupped your jaw with both hands. He searched your eyes for a minute while his thumbs gently smoothed over your cheeks. "Just don't wanna fuck this up," he added, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

"You won't," you assured him, leaning into his touch. And just as he was about to bend down for another kiss, you heard shuffling down below, your downstairs neighbor jiggling his doorknob, about to exit. You quickly turned around and jammed your key in the lock, allowing you both to stumble inside, stifling your laughter as you shut the door behind you.

He was on you in a flash. His body caged you in against the door, pressing up against you as he dipped down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him close, your tongue begging to explore his mouth while his hands bunched up the thin fabric of your dress. He only gave you a little taste of his mouth before pulling away unexpectedly.

"Where's your room?" he asked breathlessly.

"Back there," you said, pointing down the hall behind him.

He tugged you against his chest, his mouth crashing down on yours as his hands palmed the backs of your thighs, yanking you off the ground and wrapping your legs around his waist. You grabbed onto his shoulders in surprise as he walked you both blindly down your hall. You had to reach out a hand and stop him from entering Maria's room with a giggle.

"Oops," he whispered with a smirk before slotting your lips together again and kicking your door open. Once you were in the privacy of your bedroom, he set you down slowly, his tongue still licking feverishly inside your mouth while his hands dragged up your legs and over your ass, lifting your dress up around your waist in the process. "Fuck, you're so pretty," he mumbled after breaking away to catch his breath. His eyes, darkened with desire, raked up and down, greedily taking in your disheveled appearance. He gave your ass a little squeeze and you fell against his chest in surprise, leaving you face to face with the small patch of tanned skin that he teased you with all night. You felt him shudder when you pressed a wet kiss against the spot, his reaction sparking something inside you. Something that gave you more confidence to continue. You hastily began to undo the buttons on his shirt, exposing more and more of his smooth, broad chest, your lips leaving a trail of kisses as you worked.

"I really like you," he said, his voice a little strained once you opened his shirt all the way and shoved it over his shoulders.

"I like you, too," you mumbled into his skin while you dragged your mouth across his chest. He gave your ass another firm squeeze and you moaned. There was something so intoxicating about him, it was driving you wild and you were desperate for more. "I swear, I don't usually do this," you said, laughing softly at the cliché as you pulled away slightly, just enough to work on the zipper of your dress. He grinned and watched you hungrily as you stripped down to your bra and panties while his fingers nimbly unbuckled his belt.

"It's alright if y'do. I'm not judgin'," he said, letting his jeans fall to the floor and stepping out. You laughed and shook your head before closing the distance between you once again.

"No, seriously. It's been... a while," you admitted, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you absentmindedly fiddled with the curls at the nape of his neck. He hummed and slid his massive hands over your stomach before finding a home on your hips.

"How long?"

You scrunched up your nose and averted your gaze, almost too embarrassed to answer but his fingers pinched your chin and dragged your eyes back up to meet his soft, dark brown, beautiful fucking eyes and you found the courage to reply.

"A year?" you squeaked, and he tutted under his breath, looking disappointed. He released your chin and gripped your hip once again, pressing you against him and when you felt his hardening length through his boxers, you gasped. "Okay, maybe a little longer than a year," you admitted when you began to realize how big he was. He chuckled and pressed his lips tenderly against your neck.

"S'okay. I'll take good care of you," he mumbled against your skin, making your knees weak. "Y'want that? Want me to make you feel good, baby?"

"Mhm," you whined, letting him lower you onto your mattress while he nipped and sucked at your neck. You slid your eyes shut with a sigh, your fingers raking through his thick curls as Joel got comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. His lips found yours again, his tongue eagerly sliding into your waiting mouth with a deep groan. His thumb and index finger gripped your jaw, gently prying it open to give him better access while your hands roamed over his smooth, strong back, loving the way his muscles twitched under your touch.

He could feel you squirming underneath him, your hips unconsciously rocking forward, seeking friction against the ache between your legs. His hand left your jaw and slid down your front, between your breasts and over your stomach until he felt the fabric of your black panties under his fingertips. He cupped your mound over your underwear, earning him another sweet moan from your lips when his fingers pressed against your clothed clit.

"So wet f'me already," he murmured against your mouth, his lips barely giving you a chance to breathe. "Can feel it through these little panties," he added, dragging his thumb harder over your seam, making you flinch. "Can I feel you? Hm?" he whispered as he nipped at your jaw, his thumb still sliding over your entrance while you gasped for air underneath him. You nodded your head vigorously and softly said yes. Without wasting another second, he hooked his finger into the band of your underwear and pulled them down, shifting to your side so he could take them all the way off but his lips never once left the underside of your jaw. His teeth nipped and grazed a little red trail of love bites as he settled himself between your legs once again and you frantically arched your back and pulled at the clasp of your bra. He smirked against your skin and helped you slide the offensive material down your arms and then pulled his head back so he could admire your bare chest. You heard him take a sharp breath in right before he palmed one of your breasts and pulled your nipple into his mouth, and for the second time you arched your back, pushing yourself into him. He grazed his teeth gently over your nipple, alternating between sucking and biting at them both, sending bolts of pleasure through your stomach and down to your toes.

"Think I can make you come just like this?" he asked, nipping at your sensitive skin and marveling at how your nipples tightened. You whimpered and writhed under him, the heat pooling low in your belly and making you flush. You couldn't possibly answer. He had you like putty in his hands, completely at his mercy, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. And just when you thought the answer would be yes, yes, I'm gonna come, he pulled away, leaving you a breathless and whiny mess between his arms.

You were moments away from getting on your knees and begging him to continue, to touch you, to kiss you, to please don't stop, don't ever stop when he hoisted himself onto his knees and tugged his boxers down.

Your eyes bugged out of your head when you saw him for the first time. He was huge. Bigger than you've ever had and it wasn't even close. You pushed yourself up so you were leaning on your elbows as you gawked at his angry looking cock bobbing between his legs. He lazily slid his hand up and down his shaft as he watched you, waiting for you to react. And once you found your voice, you certainly did.

"I-I can't," you stammered, unable to look away. "That won't - Jesus Christ, Joel - it'll never fit."

"Yes, it will," he assured you, letting go of his cock and leaning forward to capture your swollen lips again, but the image was burned into your brain and fear began to course through your veins. You turned your head, breaking the kiss and looking back down at his intimidating member resting between both of you.

You shook your head, your eyes wide when you finally looked at him again. "It's gonna hurt, Joel, I d-don't think... fuck!" you groaned, falling flat on your back and rubbing your face in frustration.

"Hey, it's alright," he cooed, pulling your hands away from your face so he could look at you. "If you don't wanna do this, we won't. But if you do, I promise I'll make it feel good," he said, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. "I'll get you nice 'n ready," he added, giving you another kiss, "get you so wet you'll be beggin' for it," he assured you, cupping your cheek and kissing you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours gently, trying to prove it to you.

"Are you sure?" you whispered, and he nodded, his nose nudging against yours.

"No pressure, baby. We don't gotta do this, I understand. It's not my first rodeo," he said with a grin, hoping to lighten the mood, and when you gave him a nervous smile, he felt some relief.

You chewed on your bottom lip for a moment before deciding. You nodded up at him and a wide smile spread across his face before he latched onto your lips again. You figured at this point in his life, he must know how to make a woman feel good. You were certainly not the first person to be intimidated by his size. And if it did hurt, you would simply tell him to stop and that would be that.

But something told you you wouldn't need to tell him to stop. Not the way he touched you and kissed you. He was experienced. He knew what he was doing, that much was clear because before you knew it, you were right back where you left off, his mouth leaving love bites across your chest as his hand dipped lower, past your hip until he found the wet heat between your thighs with a low groan and you felt yourself clench.

"Touch me," you whispered in his ear while your fingernails skittered across his shoulders. His fingers slipped through your folds and you heard him inhale sharply before the pad of his middle finger prodded at your entrance.

"You got a soft pussy, baby, fuck," he murmured as his breath hitched. "So fuckin' soft. Like silk, so fuckin' perfect," he rambled, making you preen from his praise. He dipped a finger inside and it slid in with ease, so he added another. You bit down on your lip and moaned when he curled his fingers, tickling a spot inside you that made you see stars.

"Joel," you whined as he pumped his fingers in and out, hooking them just right each time. He went back to lavishing attention on your breasts, this time pulling at your nipples with a little more aggression, trapping them and letting them slide out between his teeth when he pulled away, each time causing you to gasp. And just when you thought you were close to the edge once again, he pulled his fingers out and sat back on his heels.

You laid under him, panting for air as you tossed your head back and forth, your body hot and thrumming with need. He smirked down at you, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you. You watched with heavy lidded eyes as he sucked his two fingers into his mouth with a moan, his eyes fluttering closed.

"More," you whispered, your brows furrowed as you tried to still your hips from bucking up towards him. His eyes opened and he cocked his head to the side.

"Beggin' already?"

You nodded and spread your legs wider, trying to entice him. His eyes fell to the center of your legs and you watched him swallow roughly as he saw you flutter and clench around nothing, just aching for some attention.

"Don't think you're ready yet, darlin'," he said, shimmying down the bed. "Think I need to taste you, first. You want that? You want me to lick your pretty pussy, baby?"

Your eyes squeezed shut as his words washed over you. You either were extremely desperate or you never should have doubted him in the first place because you could feel the arousal dripping out of you and you were certain that had never happened with anyone before. All you could do was nod your head, hoping that would be enough, and fortunately, it was.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out when his hot tongue slid through your folds, getting a quick taste before going back for more. You grabbed at your breasts and flicked your nipples with your thumb while he sucked messily at your cunt, his nose getting buried in your slick and nudging against your clit.

"So soft 'n sweet," he whispered again as if he couldn't believe it. "Like velvet or somethin', my god, baby, I might never leave," he only half joked before diving back in and lapping up your arousal. You arched your back at the praise, your body desperate for release, but his hands around your thighs kept you from moving too much. Your skin was coated with sweat as your climax built up steadily under his expert tongue, and the way he had you struggling to breathe made you briefly wonder if you would pass out.

"Ohmygod, you're so good at that," you managed to whimper while he licked and moaned into you, but when his lips finally latched onto your neglected clit, you instantly saw stars. His tongue slid around your bundle of nerves while he pressed his face against you as hard as he could, allowing his facial hair to rub over your highly sensitive skin, causing tears to form at the corners of your eyes.

"Joel," you gasped, your hands falling to get lost in his hair. You rocked your hips gently against his face, matching his rhythm. "Fuck, Joel, I'm gonna come," you moaned, your eyes squeezing shut as you focused on your impending orgasm. He didn't reply. He just kept up his devastating pace, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, trapping you against him but when you finally let go, yelling out something incoherent, you heard a deep, satisfied groan rumble in his chest, the sound making it seem like he may have somehow enjoyed it more than you.

His tongue abandoned your swollen clit in favor of greedily scooping up your release, giving you slow, deep licks until your legs began to shake and you whimpered at him weakly that it was too much, too much. He pulled his face away and you shivered when the cool air from your bedroom washed over your soaked center.

"Sorry, baby. Mighta gotten a little carried away," he said, his voice sounding hoarse as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. You cracked open your eyes to look at him, your body loose and pliant and spread out and wrecked, all because of him.

"You're really good at that," you whispered again, your voice cracking a bit, and he grinned.

"It's easy when you taste so fuckin' good," he replied, dragging the pad of his thumb across his lower lip and sucking it between his lips. You bit back a moan as you watched him and you realized you never felt this desired in your entire life. Never had anyone made you feel this good and lavished you with such praise and you were quickly becoming addicted to it.

You wanted more.

You needed more.

Your eyes flickered down to his cock, standing at attention between you, looking a little less intimidating than before. You bit down on your lip and he noticed, quirking an eyebrow at you as his hands slid up and down your smooth legs.

"I want it," you whispered, dragging your eyes back up to him. He chuckled and leaned forward, pressing his lips tenderly against yours and giving you a taste of yourself.

"You sure?"

You nodded eagerly and nibbled playfully at his chin before he reached down over the bed and grabbed his jeans. You frowned at first until he pulled out his wallet where he plucked a square foil wrapper from the folds and tossed everything else back onto the floor. Your heart began to beat faster as you watched him roll the condom over his massive length, your nerves beginning to creep back up once again but you did your best to push them out of your head. He must have picked up on your nervousness, or maybe he was just used to it from other women because he gently massaged your thighs and hips, trying to help you relax as he peppered kisses up your soft stomach before reaching your lips.

"I'll go slow," he murmured against your mouth, and you nodded. "Tell me if it hurts or y'wanna stop, alright?" and again, you nodded. You felt the thick tip of his cock notch at your opening and you instantly tensed up but he didn't say anything. He didn't make a move to try to enter you. He just let himself rest there, allowing you a chance to relax again while he kissed you long and deep, his tongue swirling slowly around yours and stealing all the breath from your lungs. When your knees fell from his waist, opening up your hips and relaxing your lower half, he pressed forward gently, feeding you his cock inch by inch, slowly and steadily, his mouth never leaving yours. When he was about halfway he heard you whimper and he stopped. He lifted his head and pressed a sweet kiss against the tip of your nose.

"Doin' okay?"

You nodded but your brows were furrowed in concentration and your chest was rising and falling faster and faster. He kissed the corner of your mouth and patiently waited for your body to relax again. Your palms glided up and down his shoulders as you squirmed a little bit underneath him, trying to find a more comfortable position before nodding, encouraging him to continue. He pressed forward once again, slowly and carefully while he whispered in your ear "you got the softest pussy, baby. Y'feel so good, so tight 'n warm. Such a pretty girl, love the way you feel."

You swallowed and tipped your head back, the praise going straight between your legs. There was something so hot about the way he complimented you, it was unlike anything you had ever experienced before. And when he finally bottomed out, your body feeling like it was stretching to its max to accommodate him, he continued to lavish you with praise. "Such a good girl, takin' all of me, look at that. Told you you could do it. Feel good, baby? Feel nice 'n full of my cock?"

"Yeah," you whined, your eyebrows pinching together at the sensation of his thick and heavy length resting inside you. Your jaw dropped as he dragged himself out and slowly eased back inside. His mouth hovered over yours as he watched your face, looking for any sign of discomfort. As he pushed in deeper, you exhaled shakily, your breath fanning over his face and making him shudder. "Yeah, that's it," he whispered when you let out a little moan, the first sign you were beginning to relax enough to enjoy it. Your fingers dug into his shoulders now, grounding you to him as he began to move a little faster.

He started to pant for air, his mind going fuzzy as he watched you slowly come apart under him again. He was hypnotized by the way your body welcomed him, stretched and pulled him in so perfectly. He had figured by now, he had experienced it all, but he was wrong. He was very, very wrong. No, he definitely had never fucked anyone like this. It almost didn't feel right to call it fucking. Not while you moaned so sweetly under him and kissed his neck and chest so tenderly. Not while he felt his heart flutter when you gazed up at him with your perfect, swollen lips and your eyes dark and heavy with desire. No, this wasn't just fucking. It felt like something else.

His mouth crashed down on yours once again, his tongue darting feverishly past your lips while his hand cupped your face and he rocked his hips into you, swallowing down every little noise you gifted him. He never wanted it to end. It felt too good, it felt so fucking good. He had no idea sex could feel like this. It was always so transactional for him, a means to an end, but now he felt something shift.

"S-so big," you choked out, his cock reaching a spot deep inside you had no idea existed. Your eyes watered and you whined into his neck as his hips ground into yours, his trimmed pubic hair rubbing deliciously against your clit, making your legs shake.

"I know, baby, I know," he murmured into your hair, his hand gripping your hip tightly, holding you flush against him as he worked to unravel you. "Doin' so good. Thought you couldn't do it 'n now look at you. Fuckin' perfect, goddamn. Most perfect pussy I've ever seen."

He felt you clench around him from the praise and he smirked.

"Y'like that? Like hearin' how good you make me feel?" he panted into your ear as he felt himself nearing the edge. He had to resist the urge to slam his hips into you recklessly like he was used to doing. He had to go slow. He had to make you feel good.

He felt your fingernails dig into his shoulders and he moaned, the little flash of pain igniting something deep in his belly. You heard your bedframe begin to squeak but even if it collapsed right then and there, you wouldn't care. You were so close, it was all you could focus on. It was all you wanted. Just for Joel to keep hitting that spot deep inside you while his coarse hair grazed your clit. Combined with his mouth leaving sloppy kisses all over your jaw and his massive hand digging into your hip, the sensation of being completely consumed by him sent you over the edge once again.

You hardly had time to warn him before you cried out his name and two tears trickled down your cheeks. Your vision was blurry from unshed tears and your skin felt like it was on fire as your orgasm ripped through you. You barely registered his praise, your mind a muddled mess. When he picked up the pace, just a tiny bit, it was enough to send you careening head first into another orgasm. Although it was smaller and less intense, you still felt all your limbs give out as your heart slammed wildly in your chest.

"Oh, fuck, there you go," he mumbled, heat licking up his spine as he fought to stay present. "Good girl. Comin' on my cock like that. Look at you, hm? God, y'feel so good," he nipped at your earlobe as he hitched your knee up a fraction, changing the angle ever so slightly and eliciting a small gasp from your throat while you tried to recover. You managed to tilt your head to the side and latch your lips onto his, muffling his deep groans as he chased his high while still doing his best to be careful. He whispered your name against your lips, his voice wavering as a white hot heat shot through his entire body.

"Ah! Ah! Oh, fuck, that's it," he moaned brokenly as his body stilled and he emptied himself into the condom, wishing more than ever that he could pull out and watch his release drip out of you. He collapsed into your shoulder, fighting for air and trying to gather himself. He was trying to remember if he ever had an orgasm that intense before, especially after just finishing a shoot a handful of hours ago, but he was coming up empty.

"You're incredible," he mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss against your collarbone. You hummed sleepily and gently raked your fingers through his hair, scraping your nails lightly against his scalp and making him shiver. He lifted his hips and began to withdraw, causing you to stir and tense underneath him. "Shh, it's okay," he whispered, then pulled all the way out with a grunt. You instinctively pulled your knees up to your chest but he held them open so he could look at the mess between your legs. "Even prettier now," he told you, and you felt your cheeks flare with heat. He smirked before standing up and grabbing his jeans from the floor.

"Bathroom?"

"Other side of the hall," you said, watching as he opened your door and strolled down the hall naked, his jeans still clutched in his fist and you prayed Maria hadn't come home because she would get the surprise of her life otherwise. You rolled onto your back and yanked your sheets over your bare body, your combined sweat drying on your skin and making you cold, as you stared up at the ceiling. You had no idea what had gotten into you, but whatever it was, you were really fucking glad. Joel, a relative stranger, just gave you the best sex of your life, there was no question. Multiple orgasms aside, you felt something different with him. You knew it was weird to think you felt a connection with someone you just met, but there was something definitely there between you.

When Joel walked back into your room, you rolled onto your side and gave him a shy smile. He had slipped his jeans on but left them unbuttoned as he gathered the rest of his clothes before sitting on the edge of your bed.

"You can stay," you said abruptly, and he turned his head to look at you in surprise. "I mean, only if you want to. You don't have to-"

"Yeah," he said, cutting you off and tossing his clothes on an armchair in the corner of your room. "Yeah, 'course I wanna stay. Didn't wanna assume or nothin'," he told you with a little pink dusting his cheeks and if you didn't know any better, he almost looked slightly embarrassed. You scooted over to make room as he slid his jeans back off, and even though his cock had softened by now, it still startled you. You stared at it before blinking and forcing yourself to look away, having a hard time believing he fit that inside your body.

When he settled under your blankets, he rolled onto his side to face you, his fingers pinching your chin as he looked at you. "I wanna see you again," he said, and you felt a huge smile stretch across your face.

"I'd like that," you replied, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a matching smile.

"Good," he said softly, slotting your lips together and breathing in deep.

You couldn't be sure how long you stayed like that; each of you wrapped in the other's arms, swollen lips peppering kisses against swollen lips, but you both had drifted off at some point because when you woke the next morning, the sun beaming brightly in through your windows, you were curled up against his chest with his nose was buried in your hair.

You closed your eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but the incessant noise from the kitchen made it impossible. Gently and carefully, you rolled out of Joel's loose grip, allowing yourself just a few brief seconds to admire how devastatingly handsome he was in the light of day before finding your pajamas and snatching your robe off the back of your door, wrapping it tightly around your neck, hoping to hide the marks Joel left on you. You gave him one last look, his plush lips parted ever so slightly as he continued to snore softly, before sneaking out into the hall and tiptoeing into the kitchen.

"Why are you up so early?" you yawned, locking eyes with Maria, who was gleefully dancing around the kitchen making breakfast. "How do you never get hungover?"

She shrugged and grinned. "Lots of water before bed," she replied, "would you eat pancakes if I make some?" You slumped down in a chair at your kitchen table and winced at the soreness between your legs before you shot her a smile.

"Oh god, yes," you groaned immediately, then your mind drifted to Joel. "But, um... is there enough for three?"

She froze, her hand hovering in the air over a mixing bowl, looking at you like you had just told her the sky was red. "Excuse me?" You felt your neck flush with heat and you dropped your gaze to your hands. "You failed to mention in your text that you were leaving last night with someone - oh my god! Is it Joel?!"

Her eyes went wide and you shushed her with a finger to your lips. "Yes, it's Joel. Don't embarrass me," you warned, but she looked like she had just seen a ghost. "What's wrong? I thought you wanted us to get to know each other."

"Yeah, 'get to know each other'. I didn't expect you to sleep with him that fast," she said, lowering her voice as she continued to work. She chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly filling the room with a tense silence.

"Is there a problem?" you asked her, panic beginning to rise in your chest. "Oh god, don't tell me he's in a relationship or something. Maria, so fucking help me-"

"No! No, nothing like that," she said, quickly putting that worry to bed. She swiveled around to dig inside the fridge, ignoring your question. When she emerged, you raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to explain. Instead, her lips turned up into a playful smirk and she glanced at you. "How was he?"

You narrowed your eyes and shook your head. "Nuh uh. I'm not answering your questions if you aren't answering mine."

"Mornin'," a deep voice mumbled from behind you, making you both jump. Joel entered the kitchen in his clothes from the night before, scratching his beard as he yawned. His tired eyes landed on you and a lazy smile spread across his face before he leaned down and planted a gentle kiss against your lips. You could feel Maria's eyes on you both and it made the tips of your ears burn, but you tried to ignore it.

"Well, well, well," was all Maria said, turning back to the griddle to hide her smile.

"Can you stay for breakfast?" you asked when you realized it looked like he was getting ready to leave. His eyes softened and shook his head.

"Sorry, I got a work meeting in a couple hours," he told you, holding out his phone. "But you never did gimme your number," he said, quirking an eyebrow at you. You bit your lip shyly and took his phone, tapping your number in his contacts.

"Work meeting on a Sunday?" you questioned, and had you been paying attention, you would have seen the look Maria gave him before he answered.

"An audition."

"Oh! Sounds cool," you said, handing his phone back with a smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks, baby," he murmured, but Maria still heard it and noisily began to pull plates from the cupboard. He leaned down and gave you another quick kiss. "I'll call you later," he said, waving his phone in the air before tucking it into his pocket and heading towards the door. "Good to see you, Maria," he said over his shoulder, and she gave him a wave, suddenly too engrossed in cooking to do anything else. He winked at you quickly as he shut the door behind him and you had to hide your smile behind your fist when Maria turned around.

"Hungry?" she asked, setting down a plate in front of you. In fact, you were famished, but you weren't going to let her off that easy.

"So, what's the issue?" you asked around a mouthful of pancakes. She chewed thoughtfully, clearly buying as much time as possible before answering.

"No issue. It's just not like you to bring someone home like that," she said with a little shrug.

"Yeah, but there was a spark, y'know?" you said, and she nodded slowly. "He's really sweet, I think I like him," you told her with a grin.

"Yeah, I can see that," she teased before focusing on her pancakes. A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "Did he tell you anything about his job?"

You nodded as you scrolled on your phone. "Yeah. Just that he's been on some random TV shows and stuff."

"That's all?"

You looked up at her now and furrowed your brow. "What else would there be?" you asked slowly, but she shrugged it off.

"Nothing. You wanna go shopping later?"

Joel finally arrived back at his and Tommy's apartment just past dinner time. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his keys onto the messy table next to the door before glancing in the living room. He frowned when he didn't see his brother, expecting Tommy to be seated in his usual spot in front of the TV, so he made his way into the kitchen.

"There you are," Joel said, nodding to Tommy, who was seated at the kitchen table with an empty plate in front of him while he looked down at his phone. Joel opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. "Want one?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, stretching out his arm to take it and twisting the cap off. Joel collapsed into the chair across from his brother with a huff and ran his fingers through his hair. "Long day?"

"Yeah," was all Joel said before taking a long swig of beer. He put the bottle back down on the table and frowned at Tommy when he realized he was being uncharacteristically quiet. "What's goin' on?"

Tommy sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Did you really fuck Maria's roommate last night?"

Joel chuckled before scratching his beard. "What can I say? You were right. We hit it off."

"C'mon, man. Don't fuck this up for me, I really like Maria," Tommy said, pushing himself up from the table to put his plate in the sink.

"How am I fuckin' it up?" Joel asked, growing slightly annoyed. "You wanted me to meet her. You said you wanted someone to go on double dates with 'n shit. What's the problem?"

"You didn't tell her 'bout your job, that's the goddamn problem!" Tommy said, snatching his beer off the table and marching into the living room. Joel rolled his eyes but picked up his own bottle to follow him.

"I thought you guys woulda told her. By the time I figured it out, it woulda been too awkward to say anythin'," Joel explained as he sat down on the other end of the couch and watched Tommy flip through the channels.

"Maria wanted to wait," Tommy admitted quietly, staring at the TV. "She thought she wouldn't come meet you if she knew beforehand. She wanted to give you guys a chance to get to know each other first. She didn't think you'd fuck her friend on the first goddamn night. What the hell's wrong with you? Didn't you just come from a job?" his brother snapped angrily.

Joel scratched the back of his head and sighed. "Did it ever occur to you that she was the one who asked me back to her place?" he replied, his eyebrows pinching together. "I just asked for her number so I could take her out sometime and next thing I know, we're back in her apartment-"

"Alright, spare me the details," Tommy muttered, taking a long sip from his beer. Joel twisted the bottle around in his lap, his fingernail picking at the label, lost in thought.

"You think she ain't gonna wanna see me anymore when I tell her the truth?" Joel asked softly, still staring down at the sticky paper piecing off his bottle. When Tommy took too long to answer, Joel finally dragged his eyes up to look at him.

"I don't know," he finally said, "Maria don't seem to think so."

Joel nodded solemnly and looked back down to his lap.

"Well, shit," he whispered, then brought the bottle to his lips to take a long drink. Tommy watched him curiously from the other end of the couch.

"You guys really hit it off?" he asked.

Joel nodded, his eyes still cast down. "Yeah. I think we got somethin' good between us. Wasn't just 'bout the sex. We, like... connected, or somethin'."

Tommy sighed and looked back at the TV. "Well, maybe Maria's wrong. Maybe she'll be okay with it."

Joel grimaced and stood up from the couch.

"I think I'm gonna go upstairs," he said, and Tommy frowned.

"Already? It's early and you didn't eat-"

"I had somethin' at work, I'm fine," he replied, grabbing another beer before heading up the stairs towards his bedroom.

His job was always a point of contention with women. The girls he tried dating in the past were usually disgusted with him, a few even slapped him across the face. And the ones who weren't revolted by his job were far too into the idea of fucking a pornstar. No matter which way he sliced it, he always ended up alone. He didn't blame them, he knew he had an unconventional job, but it did get to the point where he had stopped trying to pursue relationships. That is, until his brother convinced him to come meet you at his bar. Joel resisted, he dug in his heels and told Tommy he wasn't interested but only finally caved after his brother suggested hanging back and getting a look at you before deciding. So he did just that. He found a table and nursed a beer and waited for Maria and her mystery roommate to appear.

When he first saw you, it felt like time stood still. He had to blink a few times to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. You looked gorgeous in that little dress you had on, your pretty eyes darting around the crowds of people nervously as he watched you from a distance and suddenly he was angry Tommy hadn't offered to introduce you sooner.

He should have told you the truth before he slept with you but it had been so long since he'd had sex with anyone that didn't feel like they were just using him. And while he certainly didn't mind that when he was younger, he realized he craved a certain type of softness now, and when you offered yourself up to him on a silver platter, he didn't have the strength to say no.

Once he got back to his bedroom, sliding both beers onto his cluttered nightstand, he plopped onto his bed and pulled out his phone.

He stared at your contact card on the screen, his thumb hovering over your number. He should just do it. Rip it off, like a bandaid. So he dialed your number and ignored the way his heart fluttered anxiously in his chest as he waited for you to answer.

"Hello?"

Fuck, he couldn't do it. Not yet.

"Hey," he said, lying back onto his pillows with a stupid grin on his face. "How was the rest of your day?"

He thought he heard voices in the background and syndicated laughter before the noise faded and you were cloaked in silence. "It was alright. Went shopping with Maria, got lunch at this new Mexican place," you told him, and he could hear a little breathlessness in your tone. "How was your audition?"

He cringed and rubbed his eyes roughly. "Good. It was good," then later would come to regret adding, "thought 'bout you the whole time."

"Me?" you squeaked in surprise, "during an audition?"

"Yeah," he sighed, staring up blankly at the popcorn ceiling. "Just had such a great time with you. Thinkin' 'bout when I can see you again." He reached over to grab his nearly empty beer and chugged the rest.

"How about this weekend?" you offered, and even though it was the logical answer, he hated the idea of not seeing you again for almost a full week.

"That sounds great. Did you wanna go get a drink and see a movie? You said you're into the classics right now, yeah? There's a little theater I know showin' Breakfast at Tiffany's this Saturday." He knew he sounded too eager but he couldn't help himself.

"I'd love that," you gushed, and that stupid smile made yet another reappearance on his face. "I actually have My Fair Lady on right now."

"What channel?" he asked, reaching for his remote.

You giggled and told him while he flipped his TV to the correct station. When you heard the voices echoing through the phone, you grinned. "Are you watching it, too?"

"Yeah, told you I loved Audrey," he replied, settling in and twisting open his second beer.

"So, do you think you got it?" you asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Got what?"

"The part. Your audition today."

The guilt was simmering deep in his chest now. He should just tell you and get it over with, but he foolishly decided the least he could do was tell you face to face. He would do it next weekend.

"Yeah, maybe," he replied as he tried not to think of the screen test he had with a blonde girl ten years younger than him, half naked and on her knees with his cock stuffed in her mouth.

"You don't sound that enthused," you teased, and he smiled.

"Didn't wanna leave you today so I guess I didn't give it my all," he said truthfully.

He heard you gasp a little on the other end. "Oh, Joel, I would feel awful if you didn't get a part because of me. You shouldn't feel bad about leaving, I totally understand."

He smiled to himself, about to tell you how sweet you were when you excitedly cut him off. "Oh, it's my favorite part! She's about to come down the stairs for the garden party." Joel focused his attention back on his screen as watched as Audrey Hepburn gracefully descended the steps, wearing a stunning white dress adorned with pearls and her hair meticulously done up nearly a foot above her head.

Before either of you realized it, you had watched the rest of the movie together, mostly in silence but occasionally one of you piped up to mention something about a particular scene, or maybe laughed at something Eliza said. It felt so natural and easy and he didn't want to give it up.

So he didn't.

He found himself calling you again the following night, and the night after that. Each time one of you found a movie to watch, and they didn't have to be just the classics. One night you watched Die Hard together and another you picked Love Actually.

"Y'know, don't tell Tommy but I really like this one," he admitted as he settled in to watch Alan Rickman fuck up his entire life.

"Your secret's safe with me," you said with a giggle.

"How was work?" he asked you, only half listening to the TV. He much preferred to hear what you had to say, anyway.

You groaned through the phone and he cocked his head to the side.

"Not good, I take it?"

"No, not really," you admitted, "there's this new guy, Sam, who started and he is just such a pain in the ass. He's fresh out of law school and he thinks he knows everything and, I mean, I'm sure he's smart and all but the way he treats some of the girls... it's like he thinks he's Don Draper, you know?" you finished with a small laugh, but Joel didn't find it funny.

"Did he say or do somethin' to you?" he asked, his tone suddenly serious.

"Oh, no," you said quickly, and he felt his muscles relax. "Nothing like that. He's just the type of guy who thinks he's better than everyone else and bosses people around. It's really not a big deal. It happens a lot, you'd think I would be used to it by now."

He hummed in response but otherwise kept quiet. He didn't like what he was hearing, but he let it go. For now. Instead, you were both distracted by the next scene in the movie: two body doubles on the set of an adult film pretending to have sex while having a completely innocent conversation as the lighting crew and director instructed them on how to move around for the shot.

"God, that's gotta be so awkward," you said with a laugh, "I can't imagine doing something like that."

"Like what?" he asked without thinking, and he held his breath, waiting for your answer.

"Shooting porn. How do you just have sex with someone, walk away after and feel nothing?" You paused for a moment and realized what you were implying. "Shit... I mean, not trying to say that I have feelings for you, per se, but I guess I mean in a casual sense? Or something? Oh my god, please save me," you pleaded, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"It's alright, I know what you mean," he said, and he saw an opportunity to possibly change your mind on the whole idea. "But I bet it's easier than it sounds. It ain't all about affection and love, it's just a job. Some people can separate that kinda stuff better, I think."

"Yeah," you replied after a moment, and he could tell you weren't convinced. "Yeah, maybe. I guess."

You continued to watch the rest of the movie together, but in the back of Joel's mind he desperately hoped he could eventually somehow convince you to see past his job, how meaningless it all really was, and to give him a chance.

Saturday arrived before you knew it. It hardly felt like a first date with Joel after you've already had sex and talked on the phone every night that week, but you were still nervous, although you did find some peace of mind knowing there wouldn't be a shortage of things to talk about. That never seemed to be a problem with him. No silence was too long or awkward, and it was such a relief.

You met up at a bar two hours before the movie started to get a couple drinks. From the outside, the bar appeared to have a tropical island theme but when you entered, you realized it was more along the lines of a sports bar. There were four large screen TVs behind the bar and each one displaying a different sport with the closed captioning scrolling along the bottom, but it seemed to be a popular place to go because the place was already packed. One lone barstool remained unoccupied and Joel quickly snagged it and ushered you to sit down.

"Do you play any sports?" you asked him after you got your first round.

"Not anymore," he told you with a soft smile, his gaze dipping down to admire the sundress you picked to wear that night. "When I was younger I did a little bit of football, but it's a tough sport. Really takes it's toll, physically, y'know?"

You hummed and let your gaze drift to the screen playing college football. "Were you any good at it?"

He shrugged. "Not really. But it was a good way to meet girls," he said with a wink, and you giggled.

Why did you have to get along so well? It wasn't fair. He'd only known you for a week but it felt like a year. He thought by the time he saw you again he would know what to say. Like he would finally figure out the magical combination of words that would make you understand his job, but of course, he hadn't. All he could do was tell you the truth and hope for the best.

"Hey, uh, y'think we can take a walk before the movie?" he asked, unable to keep his voice from wavering, his beer doing very little to help his confidence.

"Yeah, of course," you said, sliding down from the barstool. Your hand slid between his as you allowed him to lead you out of the bar, the feeling of your hand in his making his chest ache. When you got outside, the warm Texas sun finally beginning to set and leaving the air a fraction less humid than when you had arrived, he still kept your hand held tightly within his own, afraid to let you go.

"I don't think I've ever been to this area before," you told him as you walked, "it's so cute, this was a great idea."

"Yeah, I didn't grow up too far from here," he explained, and you squinted as you looked up at him.

"Oh, really?"

He nodded and chewed on his bottom lip while he lead you towards a small park across the street from the movie theater. "Me 'n Tommy grew up 'bout ten minutes from here," he said, glancing at you before adding, "in a trailer park."

You just listened and nodded, still taking in your surroundings and smiling at some kids racing by the playground, seemingly unbothered by his less than glamorous childhood. He tugged your hand towards an empty park bench and you both sat down. You were about to tell him where you were from when he spoke up again, his eyes pinned to the ground. "We grew up poor. Didn't have much. It was hard," he began, and you watched him quietly. He rubbed anxiously at his beard, lost in thought. "Was never really good at anythin', never any good in school," he continued, his heart beginning to beat faster in his chest. He chanced a look in your direction. You were looking at him so sweetly, the setting sun highlighting your hair and perfect features as you patiently waited for him to finish talking and he suddenly realized he may never get to kiss you again after tonight. Without thinking, he leaned forward and kissed you, your lips slotting together perfectly, just the way he remembered. He felt you smile and he pulled back to look at you.

"What was that for?" you asked him playfully, but he just swallowed roughly and looked back down at the ground.

"I gotta tell you somethin'," he said, and the tone in his voice made you frown.

"Okay," you replied slowly.

"I tried to make it as an actor," he told you truthfully. "It's real fuckin' hard though, not sure if y'knew," he joked, making you smile a bit, but you knew he was about to tell you something serious. "Ah, fuck," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with shaky fingers.

"Joel, what are you trying to say?" you asked gently, rubbing his upper back.

"I made some... unusual career choices," he finally said, his fingers still pressed into his eyes.

"C'mon, it can't be that bad," you told him, trying to help him relax.

He figured he might as well just say it. So he did.

"I found work in the... adult film industry," he said, refusing to look at you as your hand froze on his back. "It wasn't my first choice, but it paid good at a time when I had nothin', and, well, it seemed to be the only thing I was ever any good at."

"Oh," you said softly, trying to wrap your head around what he just told you. "W-when did you do all this?" you finally managed to ask. His eyebrows pinched together for a moment before he realized you misunderstood.

"I still do it."

"Oh..." you said again, and this time your hand fell from his back as you began to connect the dots. "So when you said you said you had an audition?"

"Yeah," he admitted, sitting back and forcing himself to look at you. "It was a screen test for a movie."

"An adult movie," you clarified, and he nodded solemnly. Please, he thought, please understand.

"What does that... entail, exactly?" you asked, and he could already see the gears turning as you began to close yourself off. He turned toward you and rested his arm along the back of the bench, fingers itching to touch you.

"It varies. Depends on what the director wants, but it's a chemistry test between two actors so in this case it was, uh, oral," he said, his throat closing up when he saw the look in your eye.

"You had sex with me and the next day got a blowjob from someone else?" you asked, your voice a little pained, and he thought he saw tears welling up in your eyes but you blinked them away.

"It ain't like that," he insisted, inching closer to you. "There's no feelin's involved, it's just work. It don't mean anythin'-"

"How can it not mean anything?" you asked, your voice rising a bit.

"It just doesn't, I promise," he said, despair washing over him, "but when you and I had sex, that meant somethin'."

You stared down at your hands tangled in your lap as you struggled to process everything.

"Ask me anythin' you wanna know and I'll tell you," he said, desperately trying to convince you. You closed your eyes and shook your head.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

Shit.

He sighed and looked away. "When we met, I thought you already knew, but when I figured out you didn't, I couldn't find the right way to say it. I didn't think we'd sleep together that night. It's no excuse, and I'm sorry, but I really like you. I really fuckin' like you, okay?" he said, the desperation rolling off him in waves.

"I like you, too," you replied, your voice so small as you continued to stare at your lap. "But I need some time to think."

He nodded. "I get it. Take all the time y'need." You murmured your thanks and chewed on your lower lip as you looked around the park. "Did'ya still wanna see the movie?" he asked, and you finally looked at him again. Your eyes softened a bit when you noticed his expression, his face filled anguish. He was still the man you had been getting to know all week. The same man who listened to you talk about work and movies and stories about college. But you couldn't ignore the hollow pain in your chest at the thought of sharing him with anybody else.

"Yeah," you said, and his eyes lit up. "If you want to, that is."

"'Course I wanna," he replied before standing up and reaching out for your hand. You stared at it a moment before slowly lifting up your arm and lacing your fingers together.

Throughout the entire movie, all you could think about was Joel and what it was like on those sets. He said he had a 'shoot' the day you first met. You now realized he must have just come from fucking somebody else before meeting you and taking you home. All evening, the thought made you sick. He could tell, too. Or, at least, he knew your mind was definitely not focused on the movie. As you walked to his truck, darkness blanketing the streets, he tried to engage you in conversation, just like he had all week. He tried to talk about the movie and your favorite parts, but you were miles away, only giving him brief, empty answers.

The drive back to your apartment was the first uncomfortable silence the two of you shared.

By the time he pulled into your driveway and he cut the engine, you had made up your mind.

"Joel."

He was just about to swing open his truck door but immediately stopped. "Yeah?"

You tried to subtly wipe a tear away from the corner of your eye, but he caught it. "I can't do this."

His eyes fluttered shut, his heart breaking as he took a deep breath.

"I understand," he told you softly, and then he heard you sniffle. He opened his eyes to find your head turned away from him, looking out the passenger window, trying to hide your face. "Trust me. It's happened before. It's... I get it," he said, his eyes dropping to his lap.

"It's not you," you tried to tell him, but he shook his head.

"You don't gotta explain-"

"I just know myself, Joel. I'm weak and insecure and jealous and in the end, I would just get hurt. I'm not judging you," you said, finally twisting your head back around to look at him. "Believe me, I'm not judging you. I'm just... not strong enough."

He nodded slowly as you stared at one another, each of you heartbroken.

"For the record, you ain't weak," he finally said, and the corner of your mouth twitched. "You're stronger than y'think. Don't sell yourself short, alright?"

You gave him a small smile and looked away.

"Would it sound too stupid and cliché if I wanted to stay friends?" you asked, and he chuckled.

"Not at all."

"'Cause I like you," you said, your gaze drifting back to his deep, brown eyes, "I really do. I like talking to you and hanging out with you. I don't want to lose that."

"Me, too," he told you, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. Just friends. Yeah, right, he thought, that never works out.

He was convinced he wouldn't ever see you again after that night. Maybe if he was lucky and Tommy didn't completely fuck things up with Maria, he might see you at the bar occasionally or maybe at a birthday party. But just four days after your first and last date, he was lying in bed, mindlessly flicking through the channels on his TV when his phone rang. He lazily picked it up then sat up straight when he saw your name lighting up the screen.

"Hello?" he answered, half expecting it to be a butt dial. But then he heard your voice.

"Charlie's Angels. Channel 37."

He grinned.

"Original or remake?"

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[princessjules510]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[princessjules510]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.6K]

THE TIMELINE

“Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a ‘matching half’ of a human whole…and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him.”

- Aristophanes, Plato’s Symposium.

I. ATHENS, GREECE: 8TH CENTURY BC

The gods were angry.

Or so you’d heard. It started with whispers. Murmurs from the town and its people. Rumours spread across Athens the same way the breeze did at the start of summer. They said the gods were angry, furious.

How could the mortals be so silly? How could they possibly rile their gods like this? Again?

Stupid humans, foolish humans.

You didn’t understand.

But then one morning before the sun rose, you awoke to a reddened sky and a heavy wind, a storm brewing over the horizon, a dark mass you could see above the sea from your bedroom window. Preachers took to the streets then, standing on the cobbles with bells ringing above their heads, warning every person listening about the end of times. It had happened before, they said, their faces masks of horror. It was happening again.

The gardens all died, grass turning black, crops to dust, life fleeing from the ocean as Poseidon uprooted the seafloor, waves crashing against the cliff's edge. Athens turned to decay, colour slipping from the world as the gods ruled over it from the skies and sea. A punishment fit for the crime, the elders said, telling stories at the marketplace, of how their own grandparents had once been born together, joined at the heart, four arms and four legs.

One soul.

They said Zeus came from Olympus, that he’d crashed down to earth riding a bolt of lightning and he ripped the mortals apart. They said it was a bloodshed, rivers of red running through the plazas, wells turning thick like tar.

Zeus cursed everyone, you heard. Your kind had been getting too prideful, too full of ego and greed and want for more. The gods feared an uprising, they sat on their thrones and they resented to power you all craved.

So they did something about it.

With their wounds left to heal on their own over months and years, each half of a mortal was thrown to different corners of the earth, destined to spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half of their soul.

It seemed nothing more than a fable, a horror story for children, something you would never have believed. Soulmates? Someone made just for you? An impossible notion, you were sure you would have once thought, if you hadn’t already met yours.

He was at the forge when the first bolt of lightning hit the ground.

The concrete split and temples on the cliff sides shook, the tiles on each home shattering as they fell. You heard people yelling from your garden as the ground shuddered and an eerie quiet followed. A hollow silence, a calm before a storm and then something else hit the ground too.

Bigger, heavier, more powerful.

You dropped your basket and ran.

Still barefoot, you left the sodden clothes on the grass and fled, passing the sanctuary of your home, the temples beyond the rivers, the forests that came before the sea. You ran to the plaza, through the marketplace that was buzzing with fear, shoulders burning with pain as you slammed your way past everyone who ran against you. You were battling a tidal wave of townsfolk, each one crying and yelling.

You heard shouts of Titans! Furies!

People yelled out names they once didn’t dare whisper, each word said like a curse. Cronus, Crius, Oceanus, Thea. Standing on the marble steps of the Parthenon, a preacher in guided robes had blood running down the side of his face, a cut on his head matting his greying hair. He was ashen, clutching at his scribes and shouting at the frenzied crowd below.

“Tartarus has risen!” He yelled, “the gates of Hades have opened and we, foolish mortals, shall pay for our sins! The father of gods shall come for us, he shall feast upon thy flesh and bone and—”

The preacher's harrowing words were cut off abruptly as another crack in the earth opened up. The shining marble split and the man fell through, the world itself swallowing him whole. You didn’t have time to react more than a strangled cry coming from somewhere deep in your chest. You clasped your hand to your mouth, fearing you’d lose your breakfast, that you’d become too dizzy to keep moving.

The ocean was growing closer, too tall waves and swirling, dark pools buried into its depths. Ships were being sucked under, their white sails the last thing you saw before they were swallowed by Poseidon’s fury. A golden chariot raced down from the sky, sparks flying in the air as it landed on the roof of the Acropolis. More marble shattered and Ares, the god of war, had landed on earth to do his duty.

By the time you reached the forge, the plaza was running red, just like the elders had said it would. The bronzed statue of Hephaestus that guarded the entrance to the blacksmiths had come to life, the god himself taking its form as he spewed fire across the village, molten heat and steel dripping from his large hands, coal crumbling at his feet. The air smelled like ash, like fire and death.

As you searched for him - your other half - eyes wide and frantic, your chest heaving, Hades stood in the shadows across the cobbled road. Inky black dripped from him, from his robes, his skin, his mouth. He looked ghoulish until he stepped into what was left of the daylight, a trick of the sun turning his gaunt face handsome. He grinned at you, each tooth pointed and sharp and he held out a hand. A pomegranate was placed in his palm, the fruit cracked open and the ruby seeds spilling out of it like tiny jewels. He beckoned you, a voice in your head whispering, silky, sultry, full of promises that couldn’t be real.

Surely eternal damnation was better than a fate like this?

You moved, your body not your own, one foot in front of the other, your hand outstretched. Images flashed through your head, dark swirls of three headed dogs, rivers made of souls and gates of bones. But when they opened, there was a garden, more beautiful than the ones in Athens, with their marble pillars and fountains that led into ponds. In this garden, temples stood gleaming and tall, with maidens dancing amongst rose bushes, naked and with hair to their waists. They waved to you, more scarlet coloured fruit held in their hands and they were laughing, singing, pulling you closer--

Another bolt of lightning - bigger and louder and brighter than before - hit the ground and the maidens disappeared. The god of the underworld grinned once more before he stepped back into the shadows and turned to smoke, melting into the bloodied ground.

Zeus had landed in Athens.

And you couldn’t find Steve.

Steve Harrington, son of the town’s head blacksmith, was tending to the forge when the first god came to earth. He’d left you in bed, the threadbare sheets around you still warm, your skin littered with his leftover kisses, marks from his greedy fingers the night before. The sky had been scarlet when he walked across the plaza and in the far distance, a plume of smoke rose from what seemed like the ocean. The Methana volcano was simmering, waiting, spewing fumes of gas and dust.

A warning.

The forge cracked when Zeus arrived, the bricks splitting along with the forge floor, cobbles and bricks turning to rubble under the men’s feet. Fire and coal tumbled from the cast iron cages, half made swords of burning steel falling at their feet. The sky above rumbled, the windows shattering as bolts of lightning hit the land and people screamed, torturous sounds that made Steve run blindly out into the plaza.

Some were kneeling, their heads bent and their palms open to the sky, to the gods. A sacrifice that was ignored. Others ran, diving into buildings that immediately fell on top of them and Steve watched in horror as people dropped before him, falling like sacks, crumpled to the ground as they clutched their chests in agony. They called out their lovers' names, their voices hoarse, pleading, desperate and all at once, a crowd surged behind Steve, carrying him with them, his shoulders burning at the momentum.

He had to find you.

The market was in ruins, once fresh vegetables and fruits now smashed into the concrete, the smell of baked bread hidden under burning embers. Panicked horses fled their owners and carts, almost knocking Steve to the ground as they tried to escape the carnage. The sea level was rising, the shadows of boat sails towering over marble buildings, the hulls of ships teetering closer to pillars that once held the statues of the gods now seeking revenge. Steve had been raised to honour them, to covet them, to fear them.

And he’d never felt as scared as he did when he spotted you across the square, eyes wide and not yet finding his, your gaze too trained on the statue of Aphrodite that was crashing down too close to you. The white marble hit the floor and shattered, sending clouds of dust and dirt into the already smoke filled air and you disappeared from Steve’s sight once more.

Panic flooded him, a fear like no other and suddenly the gods that reigned from the seas and skies didn’t seem as terrifying anymore.

He yelled your name, choking on the fumes from the fires that had started to rage all around, Hephaestus riding a cloud of black coals and burning embers as he let fire pour from his palms and open mouth, a gaping maw of molten lava that dripped from and melted everything and everyone it touched. Steve flung himself to the ground to avoid the flames, crawling desperately forward before he caught himself and began to run again, hissing as the gaps in his shoes filled with shards of broken stone. Red poured from the soles of his feet but he didn’t think anything could hurt as much as the thought of losing you.

Again, he screamed for you, the letters of your name hitching in his throat, scratching like glass and more people tore in front of his path, running from the destruction. Bodies fell before him, couples forever trapped in a lovers embrace, their faces hidden in each other's chests. They became one again, four arms, four legs, two faces.

Joined at a heart that was no longer beating.

Steve didn’t want to die without you.

He found you in the rubble as Zeus moved closer, a grey and white shadow of a man, a huge hulking figure that didn’t seem real. He didn’t look like his marble castings, the statues that were gilded with gold leaf. He wore no olive laurel on his head, he bore no kind smile nor gentle eyes. Instead he held bolts of lightning in his hands like swords, like spears, throwing them at his victims with cruel precision.

A storm followed him, bigger than anything Steve had ever seen before. It turned the red clouds above the god purple and black, an inky slurry of darkness and electricity crackled between spaces. The air buzzed and Steve’s skin prickled, the static making his ripped and bloodied shirt cling to his damp chest.

Poseidon had finally shown himself, emerging from the waves, his skin a sickly green, his eyes darker than the deepest depths of the sea he came from. He held a triton, seaweed hanging from its points, his body scarred and battered from the horrors he created in the oceans. He seemed too big, a giant, an almost titan and rain poured from Zeus’ purple clouds as he advanced onto Athens.

Steve saw your arm, a limp hand from beneath a pile of stone and he cried as he lifted each piece of what was once Aphrodite. The marble face of the goddess of love smiled warmly at him and it felt mocking, it felt like an arrow to the chest.

You were still alive, barely awake, nose dripping blood and a slice across your forehead that narrowly missed your eye. You cried when Steve pulled you free, his strong arms wrapped around your torso and you clung to him, barely daring to look at the horrors that surrounded you. He smelled like smoke and fire and the metal sting of blood, but under it all, there was something like home that still lay on his skin.

He seemed frantic, calling your name over and over until you nodded and said his back, like it was only upon hearing your voice that he believed you were alive. Steve sat amongst the debris of Aphrodite and held you, your weak frame pulled into his lap and he cradled you there, your head on his shoulder and your arms around his neck.

You weren’t sure what you coveted more fiercely, the young man or your last breath.

A shadow lingered nearby, listening to the soft murmurs you shared the pretty lies you both needed to hear as you told each other it would be okay. Hades stood close, statuesque and with black plumes at the bottom of his dark robes, a midnight blue cast over his skin. He looked like he’d never been close to looking human. He held a timepiece in one hand, a golden thing that ticked too loudly and he grinned at you and Steve, watching, waiting as two creatures by his feet held scrolls of names. They were made od nothing kind, created from bone and other people’s spines, their too long tails and forked tongues that flickered over the skin of the dead as they sent their souls below.

Steve knew he’d fight a god before he let them take you.

But he didn’t get such the luxury of battling for his lover. Zeus moved closer still, rain pouring harder, electricity making his hair stand on end. The father of gods himself stood tall before you both, his eyes as white as his long hair and beard. Nothing about him softened as he gazed down at you both intertwined, blood from each other staining your lover's skin.

Steve pulled you closer, his hand cupping the nape of your neck as he pushed your face to his throat, shielding you, protecting you. You clung to him tighter, hands fisting in the rags of his old shirt and you wondered if you’d ever get to see him again. If this life was it, if this was all you were allowed.

The two of you in the ruins of Athens, the goddess of love shattered at your feet. Four legs, four arms, two faces, one soul. Connected by a heart that seemed weaker than ever in the presence of something cruel.

Silence came before the crack, the world stilling, Athens at peace. You found solace in Steve, your nose pressed to his neck as you held onto him, praying for something painless. You pushed two kisses to his skin then, the side of his throat that seemed to make your lips fizz and Steve sucked in a breath, his lips at your temple, cherishing the last touch he got of you.

“I love you,” Steve whispered and his voice cracked on each word. Tears from his eyes stream the dirt on his face, running rivers down your cheek until they mixed with your own. “I’ll find you again. In the next life, and the next again. I prom—”

A bolt of lightning, so hot it felt frozen, struck the breath of space between your chests. Something inside of you cracked then, ribs splintering as the weapon found your heart and you couldn’t feel Steve’s arms around you anymore.

You couldn’t feel anything.

[princessjules510]

Oakland, California

[princessjules510]

what if peter calls her annoying for doing soemthing so she geniunely stops

peter remembers the conversation vividly.

'do you mind if i play a game?'

'no.'

'are you sure? cause if you wanna do something now's the time to say it.'

'no, you can play.'

you told him he could play, and you didn't even sound the slightest upset. he must've read that wrong, because while he's trying to focus on killing and not dying, you're chatting up a storm.

peter figured after the third barely there half acknolegement you'd figure it out, but no. not even when he cut you off to shout something to a teammate. it was the third missed shot and he just really wanted you to stop talking.

it's nonstop and about nothing important. shit about people he doesn't know, or people he has a faint recolection from. his team was about to pull through, but you had to call his name to make sure he was listening to some bullshit about whoever and whatever and he fucking died.

'jesus fucking ch- what?! you do this every fucking time, i asked if i could play, you said yes. i asked if you minded, you said no. yet, every time you sit here and try to have a fucking conversation with me.'

as if he didn't dig in far enough:

'you're fucking annoying.'

ouch. ouch, ouch, ouch.

'i'm sorry.'

ouch, 'you're fucking annoying.' ouch, ouch, ouch.

a heavy sigh, peter rubs his eyebrow. 'yeah, i'm sure you are.' you want to shink into nothing, he made you feel so small in three words.

'you're fucking annoying.' ouch, ouch, ouch.

'i am.' it's timid, peter sighs again, this time at himself. 'i know you are. i'm sorry, i shouldn't have yelled at you. i was doing good and got distracted, i'm sorry and it's just a game.'

peter was sorry he yelled, not sorry he called you fucking annoying. no, that part he meant. it was obvious. 'it's okay.' you feel robotic, but it was your fault he lost his game. you're the one that told him he could play.

peter looks at you, his face scrunched. 'it's okay? i raised my voice at you and it's okay?' you nod, 'yeah. i distracted you.'

sure, that's what he said, but it's not what he meant. 'hey, don't sweat it. if i was a better player that wouldn't have happened, if anything you might just make me better by talking my ear off.'

'you're fucking annoying.' it still stings. you plaster on a smile, it's missing from your eyes. 'yeah, maybe.' peter winks, he bought it. or he just doesn't want to deal with it, you're fucking annoying anyways.

'you can play another round, i won't bother you this time. i promise.' and you don’t. not a single word, you just endlessly scroll on your phone and let peter celebrate his team win.

a cluster of kisses. ‘i had total focus and i set a new record. be proud of me, please.’ you smile, it hurts to know that your silence made him win. that’s how fucking annoying you are.

‘super proud, handsome. feel free to keep playing.’

it doesn’t feel right to peter, normally you’d be begging for attention or coercing him into cuddles. instead, you’re shrugging him off.

‘are you-‘

‘yes. i’m sure.’ twitter and instagram are boring. but you don’t want to be fucking annoying.

peter gives another kiss. ‘you’re the best, trouble. don’t forget it.’

you’re the best… and you’re fucking annoying.

you won’t be anymore.

———

peter’s won every single match this week and it stopped feeling good. and as he’s aimlessly wondering, half hoping to be killed, he realizes he hasn’t heard you in a little bit.

‘hey, trouble. what’s up? talk to me.’ he misses the soft chatters and gentle pokes when he loses focus on you. he misses you bidding for his attention.

‘nothing.’ you glance up to the screen, ‘don’t get yourself killed.’ peter shrugs, he doesn’t care how this match ends. instead, he moves from his chair to the bed with you.

‘c’mon, talk to me. tell me about your day or um, what’s that girl? the one with choppy highlights?’ you flip a page in your book, ‘harmony.’

‘yeah, her. what’s new with harmony?’ he moves into your touch, you slowly nudge away. ‘nothing.’ a multitude of things, actually. harmony is someone who has the life only a writer could make up.

‘i find that hard to believe, you’re always talking about her.’

you’re bitter with your words, but how dare he make it seem like he cares. ‘i did, but not anymore since im fucking annoying.’

peter at you, you’re choosing to avoid eye contact even if he knows you’re re-reading the same paragraph over and over. ‘you’re not annoying. who told you that?’

oh, you stare at him. you burn the glare of a thousand suns into his eyes, a moment of rage when you picture his head exploding.

‘you did.’

peter throws his controller down, he’s shot instantly. there’s not even a peek at the screen. ‘i did?’ his mind is counting back, when and the most important, why would he say that?

‘you said and i quote, ‘you’re fucking annoying.’ so don’t sit here and pretend you want to hear my stories or whatever. you’re a fucking liar and you think i’m annoying.’

in the time it takes to blink, peter’s grabbing your book away and forcing you to look at him. ‘i didn’t mean it. you’re not annoying, not now, not ever.’

you push his hands away. ‘you do. you apologized for yelling at me but not for calling me annoying. you said it and you meant it.’

‘i’m a sore loser with a big mouth. i don’t think you’re annoying, i’ve never thought you were annoying, and i never will think you’re annoying.’

you don’t buy it. he sure seemed to enjoy your silence for the past week and you tell him that. ‘no i didn’t. you think because i don’t say something, i don’t know it’s happening. i knew were more quiet and less touchy, but i figured you were really into your new book- not that i hurt your feelings.’

it’s nice to know your efforts weren’t for nothing, but you still feel a sting in your heart. ‘you said i always bother you, and that i do that every time you play.’

peter shakes his head, he’s doing everything in his power to make you toss this idea you think he has about you. ‘i worded it wrong, that’s on me.’

‘what i meant-‘ peter tugs on your knee, you can’t escape his eyes if you tried. ‘what i meant was that it feels like you want my attention most when i’m in the zone and super concentrated. i love that you want to talk to me or sit with me, i just want to win a game too, that’s all.’

you sniff, a threat of a cry if he tries something like this again. ‘so, you don’t hate me or find me fucking annoying?’ peter frowns, he hates that he caused a mental breakdown of sorts behind the scenes over something he didn’t even realize he said.

‘never ever. you’re my girl, trouble. i’m an idiot who doesn’t deserve your passive aggressiveness. next time i act like that, feel free to throw the controller at my head.’

it comes way too quick, you’ve been waiting for this. ‘deal.’

[princessjules510]

math test - p.parker x fem!reader

posted jan 27th, 2024 3:28 pm

came up with this cutesy idea the other day, hope u enjoy :)

summary: Peter's tired of allowing Spider-Man to be a shitty boyfriend, so he makes up for it the only way he can think of that wouldn't get you in trouble.

masterlist

not proofread

wordcount: 0.8k

It was nearing 2 in the morning when Peter slowly lifted his window open from the outside, not so gracefully falling inside once it was a wide enough gap, followed by him stumbling several times as he tried to close his window while simultaneously trying to take off the red and blue spandex suit that so badly needs a wash.

The sound of his old bed frame creaking caught Peter’s attention once he finally pulled on some sweatpants. 

He whipped around, his gaze immediately falling to your half-asleep figure in his bed, a familiar sight now, one Peter had adored. Your half-opened eyes tried to focus on his silhouette. 

“Shit, hey sweetheart I didn’t mean to wake you” Peter’s whispered apology was laced with a soft muffled tone as he pulled a hoodie over his head, not bothering to fix his hair as he made his way towards his bed. “Didn’t know you were sleepin’ over tonight” He said with a tired smile playing on his lips, the bags under his eyes failing to distract you from the beauty that was your sleep-deprived boyfriend as you merely scooted over for him to join you. 

“Supposed to help me study for that test” you mumbled, no malice in your voice, no hints of irritation, not even a slight sadness to your voice at the thought of him forgetting about your plans. All you cared about at this moment was your boyfriend cuddling with you, using all your energy to open your arms for him to slide into. 

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, looking down by the nightstand and seeing your backpack on the floor, a math book sitting on the floor beside it next to a few pens. So that’s what he tripped on when he came in.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, doll. We can work on it first thing in the morning, swear.” Peter promised, giving into what you wanted and sliding in bed next to you, wasting no time in wrapping you in his arms. 

“It’s due tomorrow, and I have to leave early for that dumb field trip.” You mumbled into his shoulder, not meaning to but making Peter feel all the worse for forgetting as he softly smoothed his hand up and down your back.

~

By the time Peter woke up the next morning you had already left, leaving behind a note on his desk.

”don’t think too hard about that test, I’ll just ask if I can have extended time on it. I’m just happy you got home safe” 

The little hearts surrounding your name at the bottom and the emphasis on him getting back at all seemed to have the opposite effect on Peter than you had intended. 

As now, he just seemed more determined to fix this problem he had made.

~

You laughed as your friend lifted her arms into the air, taking in a big deep breath as you both finally got off the bus, “freedom!” she exclaimed. 

“We have that test in like 30 minutes” You reminded her with a smile, earning a glare in response. “Buzzkill”

You chuckled this time, before watching her lift her finger and point behind you, turning as you followed where she was pointing, “that’s geek charming, what’s he doin’ here?” she asked quietly, expecting you to have an answer as you watched your boyfriend hurry over to you, green folder in his hand. 

“No clue, I’ll meet you inside” You smiled at her, watching her nod and smile back in response, walking backward towards the school while she obnoxiously waves and says “Hi, Peter!” 

Peter waved back, finally in front of you as he turned his gaze to see you already looking at him, with a soft smile. 

“Hey,” Peter matched your smile, holding out the folder to you before you could respond. “For your test, you forgot your math stuff in my room, so” 

You smiled, taking it gratefully, “Thanks, Petey. Although I don’t know how much help it’ll be-” Peter cut you off, “I mapped out in your notebook exactly how you can find any answers for the test and explained it in notes how I knew you’d be able to understand” You looked at him in awe as he rambled, watching as he took off his backpack and fumbled with it before pulling out your math notebook and handing it to you. “Peter-” “I almost wish I could take the test for you, I’ve just had so much to do lately as you know who and that’s no excuse for ditching my best girl when she needed my help so I figured this was the least I could do” Peter continued, taking a breath once he had finished. 

You set the folder and notebook down on the grass, pulling Peter into a tight embrace. “This is nice” he mumbled into your shoulder, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I love you, Peter Parker” You mumbled back, pulling back just enough to set a soft kiss to his lips. 

“I love you more, now go pass your test and make me proud, you can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?” Peter smiled at you, chuckling as you placed one, two, three more kisses on his mouth before pulling away and grabbing your stuff. 

“When I pass, you’re buying me dinner, baby!” You said, beginning to walk away.

“Whatever you want, doll!”

[princessjules510]

REMUS LUPIN | NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER PRT.3

REQUEST : hii! i jus wanted to know if your remus lupin, “not so secret admirer” was gonna continue with more than two parts? i’m really enjoying the story 😽 ⏤requested by anon

TAGS. : casanova remus makes an appearance ; good news for reader ; date at the three broomsticks ; oversized sweater sharing moment ; remus is a gentleman ; most of the time ; he's so dreamy ; and flirty ; and a tease! ; you're too cute for him ; he thinks you're absolutely precious! ; lowkey idiots in love ; it's finally happening! ; you both have an effect on each other ; making it official hehe~ ; final part~

LENGTH : 1.8k

← PART ONE | PART TWO

Sirius whistles a sharp, short tune and wiggles his brows at Remus, “look over there, Moony~” Sirius sings as he gestures towards you from across the field, “your missus wants you to go over and give her a big ol’ smooch,”

“Shut up, Padfoot,” Remus laughs and playfully hits his best friend on the shoulder as he passes him on his way to you. He doesn’t care much for all the teasing; he’s been counting the days, and now, he’s counting his steps —the closer he gets to you, he starts to run. Remus doesn’t care if he looks stupid or overly eager, not when you’re smiling at him so beautifully; he wants to see you smiling from closer up. Just as he’s a few meters away, he hears you call out to him and his heart threatens to beat out of his chest. 

“I got top marks!” 

From where they were scattered around at the base of the ancient tree arching over the black lake, the Marauders eye their tall, love struck friend as he runs to you with, suddenly, open arms. 

“Looks as happy as a Niffler with all that treasure in his arms,” James laughs as their rambunctious group grins, snickering at the sight before them. Remus shouts in joy, his elation heard from across the field as he picks you up by the waist, only to pull you close moments later for a prolonged embrace. The sight warmed their hearts despite their determination in denying it. 

“He should really just kiss ‘er already,” Peter whines, his impatience drawing more snickers from two of his best friends. 

“You read my mind, Wormtail,” Sirius laughs, throwing his arm across his ratty friend���s shoulders, “wanna place your bets on when he’ll finally grow the balls to kiss ‘er?” all the boys share a wide grin and start placing their bets, Peter offering his treasured sweets, James, his full allowance for Hogsmeade weekend and Sirius, his recently concocted potion for a devious prank. 

“You sound like you’ve run a marathon to get here,” Remus throws his head back slightly, eyes shining with fondness as he lovingly caresses your warm cheek with the back of his hand. 

“I—” you take a moment to catch your breath, giggling briefly from your own embarrassment but the warmth ins chestnut-brown eyes calmed you down, “I thought you were in the library,”

Remus’ brows fly to his hairline from surprise as you hide your face in his sweater; a feeble attempt at sheltering away your sheepishness. You had been running about Hogwarts castle for him? The tall brunette doesn’t know whether he should laugh in good humour or kiss you stupid. 

The urge to kiss you was undeniable, however. Especially when you were being so adorable, hiding your sweet face in his chest like that. His long arms wrap around you, pressing you further into his warmth and comforting scent. The motion makes you sigh dreamily only to stutter when you feel a soft pair of lips press a kiss to the crown of your head. 

“Congratulations…” his soft, deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. The sentiment was whispered with such sincerity, it made you swoon. Only you were allowed to hear his praise and your entire form lifted like a weightless cloud. You felt floaty and light. You want him to praise you more, you want him to kiss you more too. The last time he kissed you was the day before your exam - it was torture waiting for your exam to get marked. But he made the wait worth it, “How about that date? Huh?” 

Pulling away, you tilt your chin to peer up at him with a timid flutter of your lashes, “I was promised a butterbeer too…” 

The mix of your mischief and undeniable cuteness had Remus’ heart racing a mile a second; he couldn’t help but release the tension in a short laugh, “you can have as many butterbeers as you want!”

Hogsmeade weekend couldn’t come sooner enough. However, as soon as the awaited date had arrived, your excitement was turned into dread. An entire afternoon spent with Remus. You can imagine yourself already making a mess of things and, knowing how clumsy you get when you’re nervous, you’re sure it isn’t long before you’re tripping over air and making a spectacle of yourself. 

“Easy there,” Remus coos at you softly when you jump in surprise from his sudden actions, “sorry about that but you were shaking like an autumn leaf, sweetheart,” he flashes you an apologetic smile before his expression melts into adoration at the sight of you in his oversized grandpa sweater, “is that better?”

You manage a timid nod, avoiding his beautiful eyes as you slip your arms into place, adoring the familiar comfort the warmth and smell of his sweater brought you. It was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. This was Remus; he wouldn’t do anything to make you feel bad or embarrassed just because of a silly mistake. You peek up at him from beneath the cover of your lashes. He’s so tall and handsome and just so… perfect. A gentle giant, topped with messy brown hair, soft eyes and covered in mysterious, faded scars but remains ever kind. This is why you fell for him, why he has such an effect on your heart, why he has such a pull on your entire being. He is safety and comfort and love all moulded into the beautiful gentleman that he is. 

With a surge of bravery, you inch closer and closer to your Hogsmeade date’s side until you’re practically pressed into him. Remus smiles at you but tries to hide away his blushing cheeks by keeping his gaze forward as he leads you down the path to the Three Broomsticks. It isn’t until he feels your small, soft hand slip into his much larger one that he finally glances down at you. The two of you meet eyes once more before you’re hiding your embarrassment away by burrowing your face into his bicep. 

For the love of Merlin, could you stop being so lovable and precious?! Girls like you were his number one weakness — you were going to kill him at this rate!  

“If you keep at this cuteness act, I’ll have no choice but to wrap you up in my arms and run back to the castle so I can have you to myself forever, little dove,”

Was he just playing around or was he being serious?

You look up and stare into his eyes — you couldn’t quite tell… 

As promised Remus treated you to as many butterbeers as you wanted, not that you wanted much anyway. Not only that but the butterbeer does a good job of warming you up and you didn’t fancy having to take off Remus’ generously offered sweater so you’ll stick to your second butterbeer for now. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anymore? I did make a promise,” Remus urges gently but when you politely shake your head ‘no’ and wrap your arms around yourself to burrow your nose under the stretched out collar of his sweater, he instantly knew your reasoning. You make it so easy to fall in love with you, “Is there something else you’d like then? Maybe a dessert? I don’t feel like I’ve rewarded you enough for a job well done on that test,”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blurt out, “Being with you is reward enough,”

…did you think he was joking when he told you his intentions on the way here? 

“I wasn’t joking, little dove,” he hears you softly hum in curiosity, asking him to elaborate, “I will keep you all to myself if you don’t stop being so adorable,”

“I-I don’t mean to—” he laughs at your flustered state and picks up your hand to kiss your knuckles. 

“I. Don’t. Care,” it was a threat but one that was lovingly spoken into your skin as he kept your hand raised to his lips. Your eyes meet his over the bumps and grooves of your knuckles. He was being very sincere. 

“…how—“ you hesitate, biting your lip and avoiding his eyes momentarily, “how about a compromise?…” bargaining for your freedom — this wasn’t something you expected the afternoon to turn into. Nevertheless, you’re willing to play along, bearing in mind the serious undertones of your conversation. 

“I’m listening,” he hums and he almost sounds like he’s purring; a familiar glint of mischief reflecting in his eyes as he focuses his gaze onto your hand. You watch as he admires the way his fingers interlock with yours, forming an intimate hold where his larger hand appears to devour your smaller one. He looks into your eyes again, a small prompt asking you to continue with the proposal. 

“How about we promise to see each other every day at lunch?”

“Not good enough,”

You nibble on your bottom lip and miss Remus’ lingering stare, “breakfast and lunch?”

“Still not good enough,” he’s smiling —no, he’s smirking at you. What happened to your gentle giant?! He’s supposed to be kind and sweet, not a tease! You’re dangerously close to having a heart attack and he’s showing no mercy!

“D-dinner too, then?”

“Your suggestions are not satisfactory,“ his words are that of a professional, “and I’m getting very impatient, my dear,” you’re speechless as he holds up your hand and rolls the long sleeve of his sweater down your arm, exposing your skin where he begins to pepper a light trail of kisses down. 

In between your flustered state and racing mind, you don’t know how your panic managed to translate your thoughts so articulately, “How could I possible work out a compromise with you then?!”

“You’re a smart girl, you know what I want,”

“No, I—”

“What I want is what you want…”

His words make you pause. For a moment, you can hear nothing but your racing heart pumping blood past your ears, see nothing but Remus’ smirking lips and piercing brown eyes, feel nothing but his lips on the skin of your arm, taste nothing but the lingering alcohol on your tongue. It takes one big inhale to muster up enough courage, furthered by your earlier two frothing tankards of butterbeer, “be my boyfriend then…” you sound like a shy but demanding, spoiled child. One that Remus would happily pamper to your heart’s content. 

“You’ve got yourself a deal, sweetheart,” his kind smile makes your heart race and an elated grin slowly grows on your lips before he’s leaning across the table at lightening speed, your hand still held captive in his, “Lets seal it with a kiss, shall we?”

You expected him to kiss your forehead. But no. No, this kiss was so much better. 

He tastes like chocolate and buttery, foaming beer.   

A/N : Goodness did this take a long time, im so sorry my darlings! i don’t know why i consistently kept getting writers block when it came to writing this fic. i think it’s partially to do with the fact that i never really intended to continue the original timestamp hehe~ nevertheless, it’s here and i hope you darlings enjoyed the read!

NAVI. 

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @rosalyn-s @thelastbrainceliishere @littleshadow17 @b-i-h-i @babiely @nickkie99 @hehehhehexd @imdoingbetternow @regulusblacksposts @nicassie @lovelyygirl8 @onedaysoonyoullsee @jennieasfrance @onlyfredslibrary @soradragon @idli-dosa-reblogs @remusparkers

[princessjules510]

REMUS LUPIN | 15:09 ⏤NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER

SUM. : you can't hide your adoration for remus lupin and often end up staring at him, good thing he thinks you're really cute

G. : obvious secret admirer reader ; flustered remus ; reader is adorable but shy ; remus is insecure ; james, sirius and peter being a tease ; fluff

LENGTH : 1.2k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

The first time Remus noticed you, he thought you were staring at the man beside him instead, boisterously laughing away at a comment James made. It was a common occurance to see cute girls longingly pinning after one of his best friends from a distance because why wouldn’t that be the case? Sirius had the looks, the attitude, the charms, he had everything. And, although Remus was happy for his friend, he couldn’t help but feel slightly tortured over the fact that some who had such a darling look about them fell for such a notorious playboy. 

Before he could stop himself, Remus pointed you out to Sirius, who immediately turned towards you, eager to send a flirtatious wink your way but quickly realised the slight misalignment of your gaze. Following your stare, a slow smirk took over his dashing features.

“Nah, she’s staring at you mate,” Sirius chuckles, relishing in his tall friend’s shocked and flustered expression.

“No way that’s true…” Remus uttered. He hardly gains any attention because of his visible scars, he can’t imagine such a cute girl giving him such courtesy. 

“See for yourself,” Sirius prompts with a subtle nod in your direction. He’s a little impressed by how lost in the moment you were, staring at Remus with such a yearning stare, he feels a little swell of pride in his chest knowing that his friend had such a devoted admirer, “look at her and if you meet eyes instantly then she's staring at you, not me. Bonus if she gets flustered and acts like she wasn't looking in the first place,” 

“Fine…” still in disbelief over the fact that he had an admirer, Remus turned in your direction, confident that you would not react in the way Sirius had described. 

“You’ve got a sweet one there Moony,” Sirius teased, preparing for the usual shove to push his shoulder back but it never came. 

You reacted exactly as Sirius had described and Remus couldn’t believe just how cute you were.

After that small encounter, Remus has noticed you more and more often. It’s come to the point where the other marauders had begun teasing him by pointing you out in the sea of students whenever they happened to spot you.  

“Hey look, it’s your missus, Moony,” Sirius grinned, pointing at you during dinner, “give her some sugar, will you?” 

“Don’t look now but I can see future Mrs Lupin staring at her beloved for the 1000th time today,” James directed Remus’ attention to you staring at him while walking to a class, hugging your books to your chest, “I wonde-'' James began but was cut off when he and the rest of the marauders saw you bump into another student with a squeak. You had been so distracted with your staring that you neglected to look where you were going. Could you get any more adorable?

“It’s your wife, Moony, don’t be shy now and say hello,” Peter jabbed at Remus’ side with a toothy grin, brows jumping up and down in suggestion.

They all deserved being hit upside the head for their teasing but they persisted; they knew Remus had grown a unique fondness for you too and, despite their frequent playful taunting, at some point they worried that Remus would soon grow tired of you but his affection only seemed to grow more instead. Soon enough, they found out that you were a year below them and a Ravenclaw who, naturally, spent a lot of her time in the library studying. 

In support of their friend, the boys sacrificed more time hanging out at the library so that Remus and you could have your moment together. That moment being more like stolen glances from across the room when the other wasn’t looking. 

It started off cute but now it was just pure frustration for all the marauders but Remus.

Clearly there could be something between you two but you didn’t know that you had caught Remus’ attention and Remus was too afraid to confront you himself, his insecurities winning over the obvious fact that you liked him. They did their best to tempt Remus into making a move but he was stubborn and stood his ground; the boys grew terribly close to pulling out patches of their own hair. 

Remus doesn’t ever act on his desires. For a very long time, he has discouraged himself from doing things he wants to do simply because he doesn't think he deserves to be happy. Because he is a monster. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up and he doesn't believe he could be a boyfriend that you so clearly deserve. You need someone present, who won’t keep secrets, who can provide a good future for you and that someone wasn’t him. You’re very cute and your dream-like staring is flattering but Remus couldn’t do something so cruel to you. 

“I’m sure she will understand, Moony,” Sirius reassures as the four of them walk to their next class. 

“Yeah, we don’t care for your furry little problem, and as your future wife, neither would she,” James adds as Peter nods along beside him. 

“Stop it,” Remus demands in a soft tone. He knows they mean well but his decision is final, he’s staying away from you. 

“Ah!” a squeal followed by the thudding of fallen books relays the sudden force that collides with Remus’ torso. The boys notice something far earlier than he did and have jumped away without being noticed, leaving Remus to panic as he realises who you are and what had just happened. 

Immediately kneeling down, Remus helps you collect up your books and other equipment, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, are you alright?” Remus rambled, his eyes searching your figure for any sign of injury; he knows he’s a big, tall guy and with his infliction had an unassuming strength behind his lanky figure so he was worried. Thankfully you seemed okay.

It doesn’t take long for you to realise who you had bumped into and were forced into a trance as your movements slowed and restored to what you were used to doing - staring at the man of your affections in awe. There’s something about Remus Lupin that draws your eye. As a prefect, he’s already well respected and carries a dignified air about him that contrasts endearingly to his soft appearance. 

He’s really pretty and handsome, so much so that his scars never take away from his looks, instead the marred skin adds to his unique charms. You adore how smart he is, you love his smile, love that he smells like chocolate whenever he walks past, love the way his hands look when he’s reading a book - you adore him. But you’ve always been too shy to confront anyone and that included Remus, so you settled for keeping your distance and admired him from afar only. 

Now that you were forced into such an innocuous but incredibly intimate interaction with him, you don’t know what to do. You let him guide you back up to your feet and hand you back your small pile of books. He’s smiling at you and saying words you couldn’t hear because you were just so enamoured. 

“You’re really pretty…” you whisper with admiration in your eyes and love in your voice, realising too late what you had said aloud and running off in embarrassment, desperately uttering your apologies as you go. 

With the tips of his ears glowing red, Remus stares off at your retreating figure with a soft smile on his lips.

‘Maybe I should ask her out…’ 

A/N : remus is too pretty for his own good, ami right or am i right?

NAVI. | PART 2

[princessjules510]

The Perfect Pink | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: While bartending for Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine's Party, you encounter a pink-cheeked man and his cherry-loving cousins.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: all fluff with alcohol mentions

A Note From Mo: Here is my Pink Lady fic for @thedroneranger's Pick Your Poison event to go with this gorg moodboard! As a part-time mixologist and full-time Bob Floyd lover, this was such a fun concept to play around with and has inspired me to come up with more pink drinks. I've never been a Valentine's girly, but I fully believe this pink-cheeked WSO could convince me otherwise. To everyone who reads this, I love you bunches and bunches, all 365 days in the year!

It’s so pink. Horrendously. Abysmally. Pepto-bismally. PINK.

When you agreed to tend the bar in a pinch, a few bundles of carnations and candy pink paper hearts were your guess for the evening’s decorations. But when you showed up to Rolling Acres Retirement's Valentine’s Party holding a crate of soda water and a handful of shakers, your senses flatlined with the amount of pink covering every surface.

Petal pink tablecloths straightened over round tables; a small bouquet of magenta carnations attached to each folding chair and incensing the recreation hall of the retirement home. Heart-covered paper plates and folded napkins set up at each place setting, glittering confetti sprinkled around the tableware. The ceiling isn’t even a reprieve, a rainbow of fuchsia and rose and flamingo and blush balloons filling up every available inch of space.

Suzette on the front desk had complimented your dusky pink sweater - an appropriate choice for the holiday - but set against this backdrop you feel like another decoration. An oversized bauble that also makes cocktails and pours cheap wine.

And now, standing behind this makeshift card-table-turned-bar covered in bubblegum crepe paper, your brain might explode in a cloud of hot pink smoke. Counting out pours and trying not to slice yourself making garnishes is a struggle keeping up with all these orders. While the average age of the party goer may be eighty, they drink more than the 21st birthday bash you bartended last weekend. You’ve been here all of an hour and Mrs. Moscovitz has already downed three fuschia cosmopolitans.

While disappointed you don’t have more romantic Valentine’s Day plans - though, when have you ever had a date on this too pink day? - it’s fun to see who’s turned up to celebrate. White-haired couples are swaying on the makeshift dance floor, every shade of pink and red in their attire. Bridge groups and knitting circles are excitedly chatting at their respective tables, gossiping over who is in attendance and with whom. Even the staff have wide grins splitting their faces, enjoying the festivities that break up the bleak winter. It’s the least you can do to spend the holiday providing beverages for this crowd.

The best part is the families. While romantic love is thick in the air, so is platonic love. Family members of all ages have come out to spend the holiday with the residents. Mr. Gordon’s daughter and her family have driven hours to catch up over pot roast and sparkling cider while his grandson plays trucks over a pile of chocolates he snuck from Suzette.

Orders have slowed down and your eyes keep glancing over to Ms. Floyd’s table. The entire clan has showed up for dinner, dancing, and to take home a batch of her homemade snickerdoodles. Multiple relatives are taking up two entire heart-sprinkled tables. Your focus is mainly on the second table for too far from you, where the grandkids have been relegated to play cards and swap candy hearts to pass the time.

“Why don’t you go ask the pink lady for more cherries.” God, he’s cute. The only guy in this place near your age and his attention is stolen by a pair of toddler girls obsessed with the cherries in their Shirley temples. 

You divert your eyes quickly when you realize he’s talking about you and your pink sweater. The girls giggle shyly, the high pitched squeals of glee as they convince him to go up instead. Fiddling with shakers, wiping down the counter, you try to stay busy as you physically feel him approach the converted bar and your trembling hands.

“Hi!” His smile is thin and nervous and his cheeks are pink, blushing from his little cousins and their antics. Also because you’re much prettier up close and he’s wearing a shirt he’d never normally be caught in if his grandma hadn’t picked it out. 

He’s much cuter at this distance as well. Sandy hair combed neatly, one small strand slipping out behind his ear. Friendly cerulean eyes framed by golden wire spectacles, similar to the ones several of the ex-military men at Rolling Acres are sporting. His thin lips falter slightly as he takes in how well the pink of your sweater compliments your skin. God, he wishes he wasn’t wearing this shirt.

You spring into service mode and grab a fresh cocktail shaker. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m technically up here for some cherries.” You dutifully nod, hoping to hide the fact you’ve been watching him converse with the toddler girls in their matching baby pink dresses most of the night. You make a small dish of cherries up and push it toward him, shaking your head when he attempts to pay. “The thirty-eight cents of cherries is a small expense for a night those two will talk about for weeks. They’re on the house.”

He grabs the dish with a smile, but realizes he now has no excuse to stay by the bar. And while he loves his cousins, he’s on leave for a few more weeks and you’re really pretty. A few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. He extends his hand with a timid smile. “I’m Bob.”

You reach out and shake his hand back as you introduce yourself, hoping the condensation coating your fingers isn’t too noticeable. He immediately commits your name to memory, happy to replace “The Pink Lady” with a name as fitting to you as yours.

He moves out of the way as a woman in a magenta scarf orders a round for her bingo group. Bob watches as you whir into action, pouring liquors and counting off ounces. The delicate way you garnish each drink so the owner feels special. Your gracious smile when a tip is stuffed into the heart-shaped velvet box provided to you for tips.

When the line at the bar dies down, he sidles back up to your makeshift station. Bob notices the way you eye the decorations warily, still adjusting to the deafening pink of it all. He drums lightly on the blushing pink tablecloth, catching your wide-eyed attention. “Everything all right?”

“Uh, this place is too…pink?” you laugh, gesturing to the overabundance of rosy hues surrounding you. For possibly the first time all night, Bob realizes that while you were the only pink thing that had his attention, it is suffocating in the recreation hall. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he chuckles right back, eyes soaking in the offending decorations. There’s a comfortable air between the two of you, and he decides to push his luck for more time with The Pink Lady.

Bob clears his throat, pulse thrumming through his body. Tonight is his one and only chance to land a date with the pretty bartender.

“So, to go with the theme, what is the pinkest drink you can make me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his best attempt at flirting. A hint of a giggle escapes as you purse your lips, contemplating his challenge. 

“I can make you a pink lady.” 

He narrows his eyes. “Is that a real drink, or have you named it after yourself?”

“It’s real, I promise.” You’re all smiles at his attention as you combine the gin, applejack, and grenadine with a splash of lemon juice. He really could watch you work for hours.

As you reach for the last ingredient, his eyes bug out. “Is that an egg?” He’s a Navy man, his normal bar only has cocktails with two ingredients. Since when did eggs go in cocktails?

“When you dry shake an egg white it creates this nice foam, adds to the drink.” While he wants to come across as open-minded and cultured, he’s hesitant. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

He’s bewitched as you pour the perfectly pink drink into a plastic coup, the creamy white foam rising to top it off. A cherry balances the rim, one that won’t be stolen by his mischievous cousins. As he looks between the freshly poured drink and you, he swears your cheeks are the same happy pink.

You push the drink toward him, excited to share something new with a customer. Always a gamble as a bartender, but worth it when you expand someone’s palate. He gives you a tentative smile, unsure if he’s going to like it, but he really wants to impress you. In return, you give him an encouraging nod, completely unsure of how this will go. He takes a sip, the frothy mixture coating his tongue.

As far as he’s concerned, the drink is named after you. Not too sweet, not too tart, a divinely balanced combination of flavors in a perfect pink concoction. Bob is convinced you would taste just as good, especially with a cherry. The thought makes his brain blank.

“Do you like it?” Your hopeful eyes are endearing. He wants to brush the strand of hair from your cheek and assure you that he likes it, that he’d like anything you made him because you made it. But you’re practically strangers so he stumbles over his words as he promises it’s delicious. 

The bowl of cherries for his cousins still in his hand, Bob stands to the side of the bar and sips his tartly sweet drink, casually keeping up conversation with you as you serve other patrons. You’re glad for the company, enjoying the way he asks about your technique and mutters out the few things he knows about wine from conversations with his aunt. Despite the fact you’re working, it’s the best Valentine’s Day you’ve had in years with this bespectacled man watching you tend bar.

He’s just so cute, blushing his own special pink hue when your eyes connect while you shake up a few martinis.

“Uncle Bob!” There is no mistaking who is calling him over. Two identical heads pouting as they motion him over. His time with you is up. He gives you a sweet smile, trying to memorize every inch of your face, before motioning his hand filled with cherries in their direction. You bittersweetly grin right back, smile lingering as you start on Mr. Nickerson’s two merlots as you watch his broad shoulders walk away.

Oh, how you wish he would come back.

Because it’s a retirement home and not a frat house, by ten the party is wrapping up. You’ve exchanged shy glances with Bob a handful of times, but his family has taken up most of his attention with Navy questions and inquiring when he’s going to visit next. He barely registers the event is over before he’s rummaging through his mom’s handbag with his last attempt at salvaging the night.

You’re cleaning up your supplies when the Floyd clan walks past, all waving good night to you and the staff, thanking you all for a great Valentine’s night. The girls thank you for their cherries, a stem hanging from one’s lip. 

Staggering at the end of the crowd is Bob, his cheeks flushed and palms tingling. He stands in front of your table, rocking on his heels, working up his courage. You give him a warm smile, thanking him for his company, and he completely melts. As he holds up his occupied hand, he hopes this works.

“Forgot to slip this in earlier.” His smile is tense as he jams a few dollars through the absurdly small hole in your improvised tip box. You thank him before both blurting out awkward goodbyes. As he catches up with his family, a pang rings through your chest. Disappointed he’s gone, never to be seen again. 

Bob Floyd, a Valentine’s mirage you will remember fondly.

Once all your things are packed, you square things up with Suzette with your pay for the event and a promise to stop by to visit the residents later in the month. You schlep everything to the car, a mixture of emotions painting your face in the rearview mirror as you make your way back home. The weight of defeat keeping you from bringing anything inside except for that damn tip box you’re hoping will cover groceries for the week.

You pry open the velvet lid and are met with the best surprise.

There, at the bottom of your substitute tip jar, underneath all the singles the elderly stiffed you with, was a scrap of cheap rosy pink napkin. You unfurl it to see neat chicken scratch handwriting, the pen poking through the fabric in spots as he worked to write out his message with a phone number beneath.

I’m here until the 27th. Drinks on me? - Bob

Now that you think about it, maybe you do like pink.

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[princessjules510]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

you finally work up the courage to kiss Eddie for the first time and he can’t cope (even if he claims he can). 2k words. requested here

cw fem!reserved/shy!reader, first kiss, heavy kissing, mutual pining, eddie being a hot dork

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Some people (Steve) call Eddie your loser boyfriend, while other people (the girls at work) call him the rockstar. 

You see both sides of him now. 

“Sweetheart!” he calls, the passenger seat window rolled down, his voice strong where he shouts behind the wheel. The van bumps the curve, leaving a sanguine line of rust in its wake and a creak to make everybody on the sidewalk wince. 

“Hello,” you call back. 

The van hums. You wait for him to be at a definite stop before you approach, hands on the open window, leaning up so as to see him best. It’s not just a usual date night tonight, Eddie’s taking you to Indianapolis for a rock show, and he’s dressed the part. “Woah, you look cool,” you say, bravely, wondering if that’s the right thing to say. It’s undoubtedly true —he’s slicked his curls with mousse to define them and leave them pitch black in accordance with his eyeshadow, dark and tapped into his lash line. The top he wears is incredibly tight, carving the softer lines of his abs for anyone to see, and his black jacket is ripped in places to expose the ink of his tattoos. “Are they multiplying?” 

“What?” he asks, grinning at you. “Are you getting in? It’s freezing!” 

“Your tattoos,” you explain, opening the door and popping up into the van with one shoe on the step. 

“Shit, you wanna see?” 

You’re not scared of Eddie, you just like him. He doesn’t worry you, doesn’t pressure you, nothing nefarious about him. He’s pretty, he’s considerate, and he does stuff like this, peeling out of his jacket to flex his arm at you and show you the Saran wrapping around his bicep. “Like that one?” he asks.

He has nice arms, and they’re all the better for his painful obsession. His newest one is difficult to see well under the wrapping. He notices you squinting and moves it up, tape pulling his skin. 

“Another bat?” you ask. 

“Not cool?” 

“So cool,” you disagree. This bat is unlike the others on his arm, which are small and simple in comparison. This one is heavily detailed and very dark, fangs in small triangles bared. The eyes aglow. The skin around it is red. “Did you get that today?” 

“On a whim. Still wanna date me, or is it getting to be too much?” 

You can’t answer him, and he knows that. You’re not very good at navigating intimate conversation or circumstance, though you like him, and he must know that too. Or he must really like you. Your dates have been chaste. Only last time could you work up the courage to take his hand, but when you had, he rewarded your courage with a drove of tenderness, fingers rubbing your knuckles and squeezing soft patterns for hours at the back of the movie theatre. 

The drive to Indianapolis takes near enough an hour. Eddie puts you on map duty but doesn’t use it, ignoring your offer of directions on the insistence that he knows a shortcut and then rerouting when you get too lost. He tells you there are snacks for you in the centre console and laughs, endeared, when you pop the lid and smile at it all. You talk about the show, a band you’d never heard of but had wanted to see on the grounds of sharing his interests. That’s what couples do, right? They try to do things together. You have to put yourself out of your comfort zone, and you’re happy to try if it means you can do it with him. 

“You nervous?” he asks, pulling into the parking garage outside of the venue, a towering, multi-story fiasco crammed with cars and motorbikes. 

“No,” you say, not quite mumbling as you look down at your hands. 

“Good, don’t be. I’m gonna look after you, we’re gonna have a great time. And then we can get takeout after?” You look up. He stretches his arm out to glance at his watch. “I would’ve taken you before, but good old Indianapolis keeps getting further away.” He smiles apologetically. 

You laugh without meaning to. His smile ramps up a notch. 

“I love when you laugh. You have such a cute laugh,” he says. 

“I know you’re lying,” you say, still laughing anyways. 

“I’m not lying, I love the way you laugh!” He shakes his head, curls falling away from his face as he flicks on the light on the car roof. “We have half an hour till doors open.”

“You don’t wanna line up?” 

“It’s kind of overwhelming and I figured we’d stay near the back of the crowd for your first gig here, it gets pretty rowdy.” He says ‘pretty rowdy’ like a drag, nodding gently, eyes lit with mirth. You love it when he talks like that. 

“We can go now, get further in. I can handle it.” 

“It’s not about handling it, I want you to have a good time. Plus, they could ruin your nice dress.” 

You meet his gaze all smiles like he is, but heat flickers in your chest and in your stomach, and you have to look away. It’s an impulse you’ve always given into. You’re reserved in the feelings department but trying not to be, Eddie deserves reciprocation, but it’s hard. Either way, he seems to understand this about you, and he hasn’t complained. 

Still, a bedraggled silence falls. Nearly awkward, unsure of how to tread, you sit together in your separate seats listening to cars parking and doors opening, closing on either side of you, the headlights of the cars driving past glaringly bright, white flashing over your screwed palms. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

You’re sure Eddie wants to kiss you. Three nights ago at the movies, after an hour of languid hand holding, he’d looked at your lips no less than three times as he said good night. He told you he’d had an amazing time, and that he couldn’t wait to see you again. You’d said the same in earnest, and then he’d just walked away. All those stolen glances and he hadn’t made a move. 

“Eddie… why…” You poke your tongue into your bottom lip momentarily, chewing it over. “Why haven’t we kissed yet?” 

“Um–” He lets out a nervous giggle before roughly clearing his throat. You peek at him, watching intently as he takes his hair away from his face with two hands. “I’m just waiting on you, sweetheart. No pressure.” He laughs as he talks, a picture of panic, “You’re sort of shy about that stuff, you know? I didn’t wanna surprise you.” 

“But you do want to kiss me?” you ask unsurely.

He puts his hand on your knee, the space between you suddenly smaller and warmer, the light like white glaze on his pupils, illuminating his finer details. He has a mole nestled under his eyelashes too small to see until now; it catches your attention. You stare at him too long. 

“Of course I do,” he says, eyebrows pinching together in concern. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you.” 

You nod and snap your head back to your lap. Why does he have to be so nice? You wish you’d listened to Steve, even if he was joking, you shouldn’t have ever said yes to Eddie, because now you’re terrified you can’t kiss him and you’ll ruin everything…

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m not waiting for anything. You can take your time or you could never kiss me, and I won’t care. I swear. I mean, I really want you to kiss me but I’ll find a way to cope, I’m sure.” He takes his hand from your leg softly. “Do you want my jacket? It’s cold out, n’ we should probably start walking.” 

You pull your head up slowly. 

He reads your hesitant expression. “I’m in no rush,” he promises, head ever so slightly ducked to yours. 

Okay, you think. Okay, I can do this. You hold your breath and start to lean in. He falters, a millisecond of misunderstanding, before he recognises what you’re doing and smiles. He reaches for your waist with enough care to give you a chance to change your mind, and when you’re close enough to feel his breath, his lashes shutter. 

You follow suit, blind, with nothing but your intuition as you press your lips to his. 

With a feeling like the hum of the engine under your hands, you bring your fingers to his soft cheek and hold him still. He breathes in harshly, touches you far from it, his palm slipping behind your back to pull you in. You lean into it; it feels natural to give in, to turn your head one way and part your lips, to have him kiss back with heat and surprising sweetness.

You feel unlike yourself in a good way, falling back to kiss forward again, a third time, trying to chase the lulling bliss of his lips. The stomach aching want. Your hand chases across his cheek and into the curls behind his ear, needing him closer but not expecting the sound it elicits. He sighs into your lips and you flinch back, startled by the sensation. 

Eddie rubs your back with his index finger, unjudging as you drop your head to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly. You can hear his affection. It’s palpable. 

You nod, a dizzy weight collected in your forehead, thankful when his free hand catches your cheek and he turns your face gently to the side. “I got too hot,” you confess, only half of the truth. 

“It was pretty hot.” He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the world, like you’ve a secret only he knows. “Want me to turn on the A/C?” 

“No, I–” want to kiss you again, you think. You might even tell him so, but he starts to blow on your face, disrupting any thoughts you’d had earlier. He purses his lips and blows cold breath on your cheek, a tenderness in his gaze and the tip of his thumb where it rests just under your eye. “Oh.” 

This might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for you. Your face feels precious in his careful hand, pretty under his longing look. You’re not scared when he encourages you back to his lips, your eyes quick to close, your hands across the gap of your seats to gather his shirt between tight fingers. 

His kiss is a reflection of him. Loser, rockstar, he’s eager and his hands start to betray that, his kissing melty hot and addictive as the tip of his nose presses hard to yours. You turn your face to accommodate him better and that small action drives him crazy. He’s pulling you in, smiling into your mouth, making breathy sounds that’ll stick around in your head ten times as long as the tingles filling your chest as just kisses and kisses and doesn’t stop. 

“M’sorry,” he says, pulling away, and then stealing another heavy, soft kiss like he couldn’t wait. “Sorry,” he apologises again, stroking the skin beside your eye to encourage you into opening them. “I’m not trying to get carried away. Just can’t believe you just kissed me.” 

“No, it’s okay, I– I really wanted to.” 

He kisses your cheek. You aren’t expecting it and you don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like kissing him has invigorated him, you’re a shot he knocked back, his excitement catching as he begs, “Close your eyes again, sweetheart, just one more–”

You raise your chin and he practically gasps, immediately pressing a last chaste kiss to your burning lips. 

“I’m not always like this,” he promises, leaning away, his fingertips falling from your face to trace down your neck, your shoulder. “You’re just so fucking pretty I lost my mind. I’m on best behaviour from now on, swears.” 

He raises his hand up in a scout’s honour. 

You breathe out happily. “Thank you.” 

“Oh my god. Quick, we better get out of this van before I lose my mind.” He shakes his head. “You’re insane. I have such a crush on you, holy fuck,” —he turns away from you and gets out of the van— “Jesus.” 

You pull down the sun visor to check your reflection in the mirror. You look thoroughly kissed, eyes aglow with it. 

“Fuck!” Eddie swears. You beam at yourself as he wraps on the window. “Come on, sweetheart! I have a concert to pretend to pay attention to.” 

You slink out of your seat, brave enough to try for another kiss so long as it doesn’t kill him dead right here in the parking lot. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed! I love knowing what you think and it means so much to me/ inspires me to write even more!!! <3 but of course I hope you enjoyed reading regardless :D 

[princessjules510]

People in Ljubljana, Slovenia, have filled Republic Square, which is right across the street from the parliament building (visible in the first picture), with snow mounds representing Palestinians killed by Israel, and yesterday, they started lighting candles. They noted that in order to light a candle for every Palestinian who's lost their life in Gaza in the last months, they would've needed 25 thousand (way more than they could realistically manage). Photos by Inštitut 8. Marec.

[princessjules510]

✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER THREE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff. (A/N: here we are, the meat and potatoes. the fic is really kicking off. . . and they're already flirting?! ellie is so touch and affection starved that she nearly jumps out of her own skin every time you even look at her.)

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

In that halfway space between waking and sleep it was hard to discern what was real and what wasn’t. Your bed felt warm, sheets still tangled around your arms and legs. The weight of your blanket on your chest could easily be confused with another’s body, and so you felt yourself smile. Warm, happy, safe- 

Abby was behind you, her limbs expertly twisted around yours like she’d done it a thousand times before. . . and she had. 

Slowly you opened your eyes, staring blankly ahead of you into your pitch black bathroom. You recognized the fresh scent of your shampoo, and felt the way your hair still clung to your hot cheeks- wet from your shower the night before. It was like you were suspended in a memory, everything all soft and fuzzy around you. The dots weren’t perfectly connecting, and still you were happy. For a second you just laid there, unable to look down at the hand you could feel so vividly at your waist. Would you see Abby’s knuckles when you looked down? Would you see the rubber promise ring she had insisted on wearing? Everything always had to be even and fair with her. 

This morning felt familiar. Like you’d lived it before. Your breath left you in a rush when the bed creaked behind you. 

“Abby,” God, she was back. She was back and she was right behind you. “Baby?” 

There was a soft groan and then the arm tightened, bringing you into a warm chest. Her bicep squeezed your arm tightly against her shoulder, and all at once you were tucked in so tight. Confusion tugged at your features, and you mulled over exactly why you were clinging to her arm so tightly. 

“What’s wrong?” She whispered against your hair, her voice still thick with sleep. Still, her fingers stroked at your bare stomach. 

“I had a nightmare,” You mumbled, trying to recall exactly what had plagued you just seconds ago. You can’t remember now that you’re safe here. . . safe with Abby again. “You were gone and I was all alone.” 

Those moments came back to you in flashes. The ache, the constant pain of losing her, the “learning to live without her” that crushed you entirely. You turned around in her grasp, nuzzling your nose into the crook of her neck. You took deep inhales, trying to still your rising panic. You could feel the steady beating of her heart against your cheek, the warmth of her bare breasts against your collar bones. 

“I was gone?” She raised a hand, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, a few golden strands falling onto her forehead as she moved her head against the pillow beneath her. “You can tell me about it if you want.” She offered supportively, petting your back in slow circles. 

You don’t know why. . .  but you missed those circles. It felt like you’d been without them for weeks. Months. 

“I-I got a phone call. . . and they told me that you’d died,” Your bottom lip quivered, your eyes filling with tears. You couldn’t help but laugh pathetically at your unnecessary hysterics. Abby was right here. Everything was okay. “It felt like the longest nightmare I’ve ever had. It was horrible.” 

“You did so good though.” She whispered, her hands still stroking. 

Your muscles tensed, and slowly you moved your hand up her side, fingers brushing against her skin. You pressed a soft kiss against the underside of her breast, a tear breaking free past your lower lashes. This moment suddenly felt fleeting. 

“I did?” You questioned, pulling away to look at her. 

She was so beautiful. Like an angel had fallen from heaven and landed right in your bed. The sun was just beginning to rise, setting the line of trees just outside of your window ablaze. She was diaphanous and golden laying there beneath you. You were so lucky. You could barely breathe when she looked up at you like that, her eyes so thick with pride and love. 

“You did, baby girl. You stayed so strong.” She cracked a small smile, but it looked pained. Like she was also realizing that the two of you couldn’t exist here forever. “I need you to keep it up though, alright?” You couldn’t feel her hand on your back anymore, nor the softness of the sheets. 

“Please,” You sobbed out, reaching out to cup her cheek. She didn’t feel like anything. Like your hand was molded around a pocket of open space. Nothingness. She was about the size of the palm of your hand now, her urn sitting on the mantle in your living room. “Please don’t leave me again.” 

Her blue eyes stared up at you, proud and unwavering in their convictions, as they always were. . . always had been. “I’m never far. Pinky.” Promise. 

And then you were in your bed again, the alarm on your phone blaring. 

“Abby?” You mumbled, and you didn’t have to turn over to realize you were alone. 

Ellie was good at putting pressure on herself. It had always been a form of motivation, as cruel as it seemed. She couldn’t let today be awful. No episodes or meltdowns and no long bouts of silence. You were pretty and it really seemed like you could use a friend. 

Ellie could use a friend too. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shown interest in a girl. She’d always been career driven with a one track mind. She was good at overworking herself and running herself dry. She hoped that you’d be able to use that to your benefit today. Ellie wanted to lose herself in something. . . in someone. She wanted to be useful for the first time in what felt like a long, long while.

So she woke up at the butt crack of dawn and took a shower. She kept her eyes shut tight as she washed herself and didn’t even bother to towel dry her hair before she was pulling on an outfit. Thick droplets of water stained the shoulders of her jean button up as she tied up the laces on her boots. She focused on one shoe at a time, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of you. Every once and a while her brain would wander, hellbent on self destruction, but with a small groan she’d remember the sadness in your eyes. 

She’d remember who she was before the accident. 

She moved down the stairs as quietly as she could, praying that Joel’s dog wouldn’t start barking once he realized that his new best friend was leaving the house. The keys to her old car were on the rack beside the front door, right next to Joel’s flashy new pair. He’d told Ellie over dinner that he’d been maintaining the beat up old Jeep the best that he could, meaning she at least had a little bit of freedom while she was back home. 

She locked the door behind her, the cool morning breeze stinging against her wet ears as she gracelessly stumbled down the stairs, juggling the bulky set of keys in her hand. A huge metal spaceship that Joel had stuffed into her Christmas stocking senior year, a neon green carabiner she’d bought at one of the gas stations closest to her school, and a few other childish charms that she couldn’t place any meaning behind swung from the nearly ancient keychain. Her sense of self expression and style back in those days was tacky to say the least, but she appreciated child-Ellie nonetheless. 

“You poor child.” She teased under her breath, climbing into the driver's seat and shoving the key into the ignition. She sucked in a breath and held it before cranking it up. 

To her surprise, the clunker started right up, though the engine shook the steering wheel a little when she put the thing in reverse down the driveway. She hadn’t driven a car since that night at the gas station. It felt a little weird to be behind the wheel, but even stranger to be back here. Jackson was a beautiful place. . . but it didn’t feel the same way that it had before. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her age or the changes that were happening inside of her. The streets still looked the same, aside from some very minor changes to neighbor's houses. She barely paid any attention to her surroundings when Joel had driven her through town yesterday, and she was a bit scared to see the differences. She didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts or do any soul searching, so she reached out for the radio, pressing play on whatever CD had been shoved into it last. 

Depeche mode began to blast over the speakers, and she let out a small sigh of relief. At least her music taste wasn’t horrible in high school. 

But it was no wonder she didn’t have a girlfriend. Ellie wouldn’t have dated little Ellie either, that was for sure. 

She felt a bit crazy to be driving in the opposite direction of town. Back when she lived here, town was the only place she was headed when she was allowed out of the house. It was no wonder why the two of you had never really crossed paths. She used to complain about how far off in the “middle of nowhere” Joel lived, but your farm had his ranch beat by fifteen minutes. The houses got fewer and farther in between, and despite how much Ellie truly did enjoy the city, she couldn’t deny how beautiful the countryside was. The sprawling fields, grazing animals, and splattering of wild flowers had her rolling down the windows of her car, ignoring the chill so that she could get a better look of her surroundings. 

Even the air quality was better in Jackson.

She’d been down this road a few times in her life, having been in the backseat of Joel’s car every single time. She recognized your home from her memories, but your last name didn’t mean much to her back then. She slowed her car down to a crawl, staring at the large sign that sported your family name proudly. 

Ellie would be proud of the farm too if it were hers. She bumped down the drive five minutes earlier than you had told her to show up, staring with wide eyes at your house. It was two stories with a balcony- white with green shutters. The wrap around porch was screened in, protecting you and any guests you might have over from bugs that thrive in the summertime heat. 

Your stretch of land belonged on a painting, and for a second she worried if maybe she wasn’t the right friend for you. This house was too nice and Ellie. . . Ellie wasn’t very nice at all. She'd only talked to you for five minutes yesterday, but she got the feeling that you were a "good girl". You were wholesome, which wasn't how anyone in Ellie's life would choose to describe her. She slowly made her way up your front steps, and for a second she wondered if she should leave. It would probably be better if she did. Ellie could always just lie and tell Joel that she couldn’t find your house. . . he’d probably drop it after insulting her about her bad sense of direction. 

Ellie couldn’t afford to get a crush on anyone right now either. It was horrible timing, and what would be worse is if you actually ever returned those feelings. How was she supposed to explain to you that she wouldn’t ever make a good partner? She couldn’t protect you from anything, not when any loud sounds or bright lights had her falling to her knees. She was careerless, depressed to the point where she had completely lost who she was, had a drinking problem, and was quite certain that she’d combust the second you’d touch her. She was touch and attention starved, but hadn’t remembered that she was even able to desire someone until she’d seen you yesterday- 

You’d be dodging a bullet if she hightailed it right off of your property. So she turned on her heel and stared at her boots as she began walking back down your stairs. Her feet kicked up dirt as she made her way back to her jeep, hand already reaching into her pocket for her keys- 

“Did I not hear you knocking on the door?” A feminine voice called out to her. 

She sucked in a breath so hard that she let out a loud cough, eyes widening as she turned around to face the porch. You were wearing a pair of dirt stained jeans today, though your hair was fastened back with a white bow. Ellie, despite her previous need to protect you from herself, couldn’t fight off the urge to get closer. There was something different about you today. You were a bit manic, your hands already busying themselves with straightening out a few of the potted plants on your porch. You seemed a bit anxious, but you didn’t comment on it so neither did Ellie. Any boundaries you had yesterday with her were gone. You flashed her a wide smile, sauntering up the drive so that you could wrap her up in a tight hug. 

Your arms were shaking as they weaved around her neck, pulling her in close. She froze, limbs locking up in surprise as she tried to fully grasp what was going on. You were treating her like an old friend, someone you were excited to see. Ellie didn’t know why you’d be so happy to see her. . . but then again, she was happy to see you. She remembered what Joel had said last night.

Maybe you were sick and tired of being alone. 

Your bare arms were cold too- freezing as her fingers accidentally brushed the backs of them. Ellie realized that she had gotten here just in time. If anything, she cursed herself for not showing up twenty minutes earlier, if only to save you from whatever had you this shaken up. 

“I probably knocked too quietly. Should have knocked louder, huh?” She mumbled, biting the inside of her cheek as she gave you a gentle squeeze. 

She wasn’t used to holding someone like this that wasn’t Dina or Jesse. You felt nice in her arms. Your muscles weren’t hard or rigid like hers, you were all soft and rounded edges. Gentle curves and arms ready and willing to embrace her. Flushed cheeks and silk bows. You smelled wonderful too- sweet and floral, like Jasmine mixed with honey. She didn’t want to let you go, and you didn’t seem ready to end the hug either.

You were still quivering. 

“Yeah, you should have.” You agreed, giving Ellie one last squeeze before taking a few unsteady steps back.

You hadn’t been completely sure whether or not she would show up today. Waking up this early was a lot to ask of anyone, let alone someone you had just met yesterday. Still, a part of you had hoped that she would be here. On days that were this bad you found it impossible to work, no matter how busy it kept you. You often spent “mental health days”  laid out by Abby’s grave or buried six feet under pillows and blankets in what used to be your shared bed.

Ellie’s presence changed things. 

So you squared off your shoulders and cracked her a wide smile, praying that it looked genuine and not forced. 

“Let’s hop in my truck and I’ll take you on a little tour of the property before we get started.” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched the woman take a few steps closer to you.

Ellie looked like she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. You weren’t sure whether or not you would be able to handle her prying or the pity that would follow. 

Your fingers twitched at your sides, wishing so deeply that you hadn’t woken up at all this morning. Ellie was beautiful- gorgeous even. You would have been head over heels if you had met her years ago, before. . . well, before Abby happened. Still, her beauty wasn't enough to completely distract you from your grief. A part of you felt guilty for even finding her attractive as you slid into the front seat of the truck. 

Maybe that was why you’d had such a strange dream last night. Or maybe. . . maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. Maybe it really was Abby trying to tell you that it was okay to move on. That was confusing to even think about, and it made you count the months since her death on both of your hands, trying to gauge if enough time really had passed. You didn’t want to be alone anymore, but the thought of being in love with anyone seemed like an impossibility. Everything was broken. How could you ever love anyone the same way that you loved Abby? You’d just be doing that other person a disservice. 

That’s right, you were cursed. 

You could feel Ellie’s gaze on the side of your face as you made your way down the dirt road, up towards the hen houses. You blinked a few times, the apples of your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Slowly you met her gaze, lips twitching up in a small smile as she quickly looked away from you, nervous over having been caught. 

“My dad built ten large coops, so this whole fenced-in area right here is where the chickens graze.” You stopped the car and put it in park, keeping the old thing running like you usually did during your quick morning chores. Sometimes the poor truck had a hard time starting back up, and you’d probably burst into tears if your newfound friend had to walk a half mile back to the house with you. 

“Do you guys have any problems with foxes?” She asked, keeping up with your fast pace as you unlatched the front of the fence for the both of you. 

Your nose wrinkled in disgust, and you were quick to throw your arms up exasperatedly. 

“Oh god, do we! I had to get someone out here to change out the fence just six months ago because one of those little fuckers had somehow managed to dig it’s way into their area. Killed seven of my poor girls.” You remembered how angry you were when you’d pulled up to the coops that morning. Burying seven dead hens wasn’t a pleasant experience for you, but it wasn’t something that was new. Still, you hated knowing that they’d suffered in their final moments. 

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” Ellie looked around the area, finding it impossible not to notice how well kept everything was. The coops were freshly painted, the grass was gorgeous and plush- bright green under her feet. Truly, your farm was an oasis. She’d never seen anything quite like it before, and you'd barely even started the tour.

“Can I hold one?” She asked meekly, smiling up at you shyly as you turned to look at her. You didn’t exactly take her as the type of girl that would want to hold a chicken, but you were happy to oblige her. 

“One of my mamas just hatched a few chicks. Would you want to hold-” 

“Yes.” She quickly added, jogging off in the direction that you were pointing, eager to hold anything tiny and fluffy that you had to offer. 

You were shocked at the laugh that bubbled its way out of your chest. A genuine, good natured laugh that you found hard to contain as she began impatiently tapping her foot as she waited for you to catch up. 

“Didn’t take you for a chicken lover, city girl.” You teased, unlatching the door for her so that she could make her way inside. 

The hens squawked excitedly at your appearance, realizing they’d be able to eat their fill of grass, bugs, and dried corn. A few ran over, crowding at your ankles. Rows and rows of nests were lined up along the walls. In the back of the coop were a few small rectangular doors that you could open, which was what you used to harvest eggs. Your dad’s old coops didn’t have anything fancy like that, so you grew up having your hands pecked at. You used to run back home to your mother with blood bruises and angry, raised skin. 

“I love chicks.” Ellie said simply and the double meaning wasn’t lost on you. 

As if on cue one of the chickens began pecking at the woman’s ankles, earning a small hiss of surprise from her. You snorted, biting your lip so that you wouldn’t laugh at her expense. “I can’t say the feeling is mutual, apparently.” You added playfully, looking around for the yellow poof balls. 

“Old news.” She was smiling at you, and something in your chest began doing awful, uncomfortable flips. For a second you even felt a bit nauseous. 

Ellie wasn’t Abby, but there was something similar about the two of them. The short haired girl seemed capable and strong. There was a physical sort of confidence in the way that she walked that told you that she knew how to handle herself. You watched as she shoved her hands in her pockets, shoulders squared off, feet shoulder length apart- and it had your lips parting. 

Still, you remembered Joel talking about his daughter. . . saying that she was military. You couldn’t remember which branch she belonged to, but you could tell that she was well trained. You tried to imagine what Ellie would look like if she was put in a situation where she needed to protect herself, and you found a shiver running up your spine.

There was a coldness that had been in her eyes when the two of you had first met that had chilled you to the bone. You saw none of it when you looked into her eyes now, but. . . still. . . the thought terrified you. Had those capable hands ever killed anyone before? 

You felt horrible even thinking that, even going as far as to give your thigh a small slap in punishment as you bent down, knees digging into the wood shavings and hay. The chicks didn’t seem off put by your small scowl. They saw you and instantly thought “food”, which had them clumsily running in your direction. You hadn’t heard her walk up beside you, only felt the sleeve of her long sleeve shirt brush against your arm as she sat back on her haunches beside you. 

“It won’t scare them if I pick them up, will it?” She asked gently, slowly reaching a hand out so that she could brush it against their plush down feathers. They chirped contentedly, unaware of what “danger” even meant yet. You were guilty of babying your chickens, meaning none of them were scared of humans. They pecked at you when they were annoyed, but were never violent per say. 

“Not at all. They might seem a bit unhappy, but it’s only because they’re hungry.” 

You pressed your hand to your cheek as you watched the woman pick one of the chicks up, holding the tiny thing tightly against her chest so as to not drop it. There was something almost comical about seeing the woman look this gentle, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she tried not to hurt the tiny thing. It was adorable. Which was terrifying for you. 

You were once again reminded of your dream. . . and you didn’t think you were ready to let Abby go. Not even when Ellie looked up at you excitedly, using her free hand to gesture towards the small creature in disbelief. Almost like she was scared that even talking would frighten it. 

“So what do we do now?” Ellie asked, putting the chick down so that she could stand back up. You followed her lead, making your way back over towards the door. 

“We open up all the doors and let them walk around for the day. I usually come back and get them back in their coops by sundown.” You let her know, leaving the door wide open as you moved coop to coop. 

Ellie helped you, cutting down the time in half. The two of you were back in the truck in record time. You showed her the fields where you planted corn in the late summer to get ready for early fall. You pointed out the small flower garden you had taken upon yourself to cultivate, and then you pulled up to the green houses. Her jaw went slack as she took in all of the buildings. 

“You do all of this yourself?” She needed to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. Sure, she was no farmer, but even someone like her knew just how much work this must be for you. 

She couldn’t imagine you doing this all day, every day all by yourself. It kinda made her chest ache a bit for you. So when you nodded she took it upon herself to climb out of the truck, eager to do something to lighten the burden for you. 

As the two of you approached what appeared to be the oldest of the greenhouses, she couldn’t help but realize that she’d been with you for about an hour. . . and she felt great. Better than great, she felt normal. She had been sent out here so that she could recover, and while she didn’t quite understand what that really and truly meant, being here with you felt right. Being around the animals felt therapeutic, and while Joel might have told you a little bit about her in passing, you didn’t know enough about Ellie to pass any sort of judgment or feel any sort of pity. 

Even so, Ellie wasn’t sure she’d be against telling you about what happened. Something told her that you would be understanding. You knew what it felt like to lose people, and she was sure that you had regrets somewhere along the line. Everyone does when it comes to losing loved ones. 

She hated that you had suffered enough to understand where she was coming from, but loved that she wasn’t alone for once. 

The two of you walked in silence, and there was a heaviness in your eyes that let her know that you were thinking about something serious and sad. Ellie wondered whether your father was on your mind this morning. . . or perhaps your girlfriend. It wasn’t her place to ask, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to. 

“Want to help me water them?” You finally asked, motioning towards the tables of plants. 

She nodded, but quickly turned to face you. She couldn’t count how many green houses you had on top of this one. 

“Do we water all of those plants too?” She felt stupid the second that she asked the question, but even more so when you began to giggle. 

Sounding stupid was worth it to hear the sound, so she sucked it up. 

“Those green houses are newer and have a built in sprinkler system. We just have to worry about this one, thankfully. We’d be here all afternoon if not.” You began to head in the direction of the hose so that you could turn it on, your stomach tightening with hunger. 

You knew the second you got back to the house and made breakfast that you’d be nauseous though. Bad days like this were always the same. You were hungry but you couldn’t eat. You wanted to distract yourself but nothing would work. You wanted to talk to someone but didn’t have any friends that you trusted enough to actually. . . onload on, and you were sick of your mom crying on your behalf. 

“So you’re staying with Joel now? For how long?” You decided to make small talk as you handed her the hose, walking along with her as she painstakingly paid attention to every sprout. 

She licked her lips before answering you, eyes flickering in a way that made you think that she might feel a bit nervous. 

“I was. . . sent here. It’s not like I don’t love being home, because I kinda do. It’s just not something that I exactly chose for myself.” That didn’t feel like the whole truth, but you supposed that she would tell you whenever she was ready. 

You played with the raw hem of your old t-shirt, suddenly anxious that you might have put her in a bad spot. Still, you found yourself wanting to know more about her. 

“Do you have an addiction problem?” You realized how inappropriate it was to be so blunt. Your mouth went bone dry with panic, and you were quick to grab her hand, shaking your head. “A-All I’m trying to say is that my uncle had a really bad drug problem for years. He’s been clean and sober since last Christmas and is doing great. I don’t judge, that’s all. I’m proud of you, if anything.” 

She gulped, looking down at your hand and noticing how close your body was to hers now. She fumbled to turn the hose off with one hand, trying to get her breathing under control. It was twice now that you were touching her like this, and she hated herself for wanting to wrap you back up in a hug so bad. She was also trying not to notice how plush and kissable your lips were.

You smelled great too, which made it hard for Ellie to think. 

“Yeah, I guess I have a bit of an addiction problem,” She mumbled, but shrugged her shoulders soon after, contradicting herself. “But that’s not really why I’m here.” 

Ellie would have to tell you eventually, she supposed. If the two of you were going to be as good of friends as Joel wanted, then she’d have to fess up eventually. It was better to get it out and in the open now rather than later. Plus. . . if she had some sort of a breakdown then maybe you’d be more understanding if you knew why it was happening. 

“My therapist tells me that I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I was in the Marines and I had a really bad accident. So. . . it was hard for me to live alone.” Ellie stared down at a long-dead leaf on the ground and bent down to pick it up, gently playing with it’s crinkled edges. 

“Did you have panic attacks? I have those sometimes too.” You wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, as stupid as it might sound. 

You wanted to relate to her without telling her that your girlfriend had also been a Marine. She was being vulnerable with you, and the last thing you wanted to do was make this moment about you by bringing up your deceased girlfriend.

“Yeah. . . Yeah, I have those a lot. Sometimes I lose track of time- disassociate. It’s scary for others to deal with, so my friends thought that it would be best if I were with Joel. There’s less triggers here than back in Chicago.” You could tell that she was still uncomfortable with the subject matter, but she was powering through. 

Ellie appreciated that there wasn’t a hint of judgment in your tone. You genuinely seemed curious. . . and talking about herself like this felt good. Validating, even. 

“What triggers you? I just want to make sure that I don’t overstep or accidentally do anything wrong-” 

“No, no. You’re fine. It’s more so loud noises and bright lights.” 

“So no gunshots?” 

“Guns aren’t too bad. . . it’s more so car crashes. Explosions, you know?” 

Your mouth went dry. You did know. It’s how Abby died, afterall. You hated that Ellie had gone through something similar. Your heart ached for her. 

“Is that how you got this. . . ?” You began to brush your fingers against the scar over her eye. You froze as she flinched, guilt bottoming out your stomach as you quickly yanked your hand away.

She reached out to take your elbow into her calloused hand before you could drop your palm back down at your side, and pressed your fingers against the skin herself. Her skin was still soft, but raised and jagged. You’d never felt a scar this deep before. Still, it was warm under your touch. Alive. 

The moment felt oddly intimate, and you kept your fingers there for a few seconds too long before dropping your hand back at your side. Ellie felt like she was going to explode. No one had ever wanted to touch her scar, let alone been allowed to. 

“Yeah, It is.” She cleared her throat, grabbing one of her arms in her hands nervously. She was starting to realize that she didn’t mind being seen by you. “I’m legally blind in the eye now, which has been pretty hard to get used to.” 

“So you can’t see at all out of it?” You questioned, beginning to walk back over towards the repotting station. You’d noticed a few sprouts that were getting a little too big for their pots, and the last thing you wanted was crowded roots. 

She followed after you like a lost puppy, hot on your trail. “I can see shapes and colors. Movement, and everything. But if you held up your hand and asked me “how many fingers am I holding up”, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.” She’d practically had to relearn how to do everything again, as dramatic as that sounded. Losing the vision of one eye affected a lot more than one might think. 

“Oh, shit.” You remarked, nose wrinkling up in sympathy. You couldn’t imagine how hard that must have been on top of dealing with the mental anguish of the accident. 

“ ‘Oh, shit’ is right.” She agreed with a small smile, leaning her hip against the table as you began laying out the necessary supplies. She watched your hands as they moved expertly around the table, eyes locked on your fingers. “I used to be beautiful.” She joked absentmindedly, alluding to the scar that now marred her features. 

“You’re still beautiful.” You said, fully concentrated on the task at hand. 

You didn’t realize the weight that your words carried, nor Ellie’s reaction to them. She felt like a giddy teenager. She couldn’t stop herself from fidgeting with the buttons on her shirt. She was smitten.

You were the first person to treat her like an actual human being since the incident. This was the most alive she’d felt in almost a year. . . and she was talking about things. Not like she might talk to her therapist, it was different than that. She was talking to someone that wanted to get to know her, not just to diagnose her, but to understand her. It felt good. Really good. Sickeningly good. 

And you thought she was beautiful. 

“Do you want to help me repot these little guys?” You asked, motioning towards the tiny pots. 

She was scared of killing your seedlings but nodded anyway, desperate for your approval. Ellie watched as you demonstrated the entire thing for her, praying to god she wouldn’t forget a step. 

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder, shaking out roots and gently tucking the plants into their new homes. It was calming- melodic, almost. The constant motion, the gentle noises of the wilderness all around you. Ellie could even feel herself getting good at it. Not as good as you, of course. . . but she wasn’t as bad as she thought she would be. 

You watched as she rolled her sleeves up and over her forearms, taking a second to appreciate her hands. Once again, you felt guilty for being so attracted to her. Strands of auburn hair had fallen out from behind her ear and hung in her pale face as she focused on her task. Her strong hands worked methodically. Her veins, her knuckles, her forearms and biceps- Ellie wasn’t just beautiful but gorgeous. 

‘Give me a sign, Abby. If I’m not reading too far into last night's dream. . . then just give me some sort of a sign.’ You thought to yourself, eyebrows furrowing as you packed more dirt around the seedling in your hand. You felt like you were being horrifically dramatic, but what else could you do?

You felt idiotic. Delusional, even.

Beside you Ellie continued to work, completely unaware of your building turmoil. Pot after pot, she was really getting the hang of it. Pack down a layer of dirt, shake out roots, pack dirt on top- repeat.

She  reached out for another one of the black plastic pots, sliding it over in front of her. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the rattling. She’d been so close to covering up whatever was at the bottom with dirt, but the sunlight caught whatever it was just right.

It sparkled. 

Ellie pinched the object between two dirt coated fingers, her eyebrows practically raising up to her hairline as she realized that it was a ring. A valuable looking one, at that. 

“Uh. . . is this yours?” Ellie asked, showing it to you. 

You blinked a few times at the ring, scared for a moment that you were hallucinating, because things like this only happened in movies. People asking for signs from the other side only for a ghostly apparition to pop up on screen.

Still, that was your promise ring in Ellie’s hand. 

Your bottom lip quivered, eyes filling up with tears before you could even stop them. You reached out with gentle fingers, taking it into your hand graciously. 

“Thank you.” 

And you weren’t sure if you were talking to Ellie. . . or Abby.

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[princessjules510]

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”

It had become a call and response of sorts, a mantra that Eddie seemed to live by, if not only for you. Usually his words were followed up by a kiss, something sweet pressed to your cheek. Or he’d pull you into him by your belt loops, hands a little rough but his intentions always soft, his face dropping to the crook of your neck so he could nuzzle his nose there, like he didn’t really know how else he could possibly give you all the love he had for you.

So when your car inevitably gave up, the clutch grinding and the gears sticking, Eddie didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even ask, always feeling bad for expecting but it didn’t come to a surprise when he took your keys from you and dropped a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a little off kilter from the early morning sleep that still clung to him.

“Eddie,” you began, as usual. Soft and shy and guilt ridden. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy right now.”

“Never too busy for my girl,” he responded, wincing a little as he dug out his chocolate pop-tart from the still too hot toaster. He’d learnt the hard way not to use a knife anymore. He tore off a piece of pastry, a sprinkle on his cheek, ruby red. “Besides, what do I tell you, huh? I know I don’t have to - I want to, sweetheart.”

He grinned when you scrunched your nose, embarrassment and too much love clinging to you, Eddie’s adoration too obvious when he leaned down to where you sat with your coffee. He let you brush away the sprinkle, grumbling about how he was saving it for later but his protests died off on his lips when you stole them for a kiss, your hands on his stubbly cheeks.

The boy was pink when you pulled back, pleased looking and much more awake. Then, Eddie winked as he spun your keys around own finger, the rest of his breakfast bitten between his teeth as he left for work, always a flurry bed mussed curls and silver chains.

When he didn’t arrive home by five, you knew exactly why. It wasn’t too long a walk to the garage, but you knew he’d scold you all the same. That’s why you had a Tupperware box full of pasta in your hands, a foil wrapped cookie on top, still warm from when you’d pulled it from the oven.

Sure enough, when you arrived at the almost empty garage, your boyfriend was the only one left working. You passed Wayne as you ducked under the half closed shutter, sharing the same fond look of faux annoyance that you pretended to both have for the younger Munson and you promised the man there was more pasta for him at home.

Eddie didn’t see you approach, too busy with half of his body under the hood of your car, poking and prodding it with tools you didn’t know the name of. You made sure to make enough noise before you rested a hand on the small of his back, fingers skating over the bare strip of skin left exposed between his shirt and jeans.

His smile was too much when he appeared from the car, always happy to see you. And like you thought he would, despite his grin and the way his eyes lit up, he grumbled:

“What’re you doin walkin’ half way across town on your own, huh?”

You rolled your eyes even if you didn’t mean it, your expression still fond and you pushed his dinner to his chest. He accepted the food with a happy hum, peeking into the container to eye it appreciatively.

“It’s a twenty minute walk, handsome,” you replied. “And it’s very much still light out.” You smiled at his worry because the evening behind you was barely beginning, the summer sun still high enough in the sky to keep the sidewalks golden, the warmth lingering.

Eddie grumbled again, no real heat behind it as he leaned in for a kiss, careful not to put his dirty hands on you. “Still. You’re too pretty to walkin’ around alone.” Another kiss, this one softer, longer. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.”

You beamed, happy to have helped. “Least I can do since you’re fixing my car.” You frowned at the vehicle like it had offended you. “How’s it looking?”

“She’ll live,” Eddie sighed dramatically, giving the roof a pat. “If you remember to change her oil, that is.”

Your cheeks burned.

“But I’ve sorted the clutch, so that shouldn’t stick anymore and there’s a part needed for the gearbox, but I’ve got that on order,” the boy bit into his cookie, desperate for sugar. He moaned, a sinful noise that was meant for both you and the chocolate. “Hopefully it’ll be here tomorrow so I’ll do one more late night, get this hunka’ junk back on the road for you in no time.”

You knew it was a fruitless effort to ask Eddie to let you pay in anyway. Hell, Wayne would shut you down just as hard. Eddie didn’t want you paying for any of his hourly rates, overtime or not. And as he’d told you before, costs for parts could get lost sometimes, receipts slipping down the backs of desks, never to be seen again.

So you smiled at him instead, soft and sweet and warm like the summer. You didn’t mind the oil stains on his shirt as you leaned in, hands against his torso, feeling the faint lines of muscles and soft skin there.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his lips, stretching up on your toes to bump your nose against his. A kiss, tasting like chocolate chips, lingering and lazy. “I love you.”

Eddie went shy like he’d never heard you say the words before. Maybe you didn’t say them enough, maybe you needed to remind him hourly, especially if it got him looking at you like that, eyes all wide and soft and awe filled.

He pecked your lips, your cheek, your jaw, nose pushing at the space under your ear as he told you the same. “I love you too, pretty.”

You didn’t need to hear it back, as nice as the words sounded on his lips. Eddie showed you how much he loved you every single day.

[princessjules510]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

It started with a broken cookie.

Three valentines ago, when you were single and sad about it, angry that it got you upset, morose that you couldn’t help but feel that way.

Working in the bakery on Main meant that you spent the whole week leading up to the holiday handing out heart shaped cookies with the names of different girls and boys in the center, the sugar icing all shades of pink and red. Your fingertips were stained cotton candy by the time the day arrived, hands aching from piping cursive, loops and swirls and glitter and sprinkles stuck to your skin.

You complained about it when you visited the video store on your lunch breaks, bringing in half decorated cookies that hadn’t quite made the cut for sale, handing hearts to Steve and Robin with an almost petulant look on your face. You didn’t have a valentine and there you were, still delivering treats to the ones you loved most. Robin bit into hers with a sigh, red icing on her lips, a smack of a kiss pressed to your cheek in thanks and maybe that was as good as it was going to get.

And when Steve asked you what was wrong, you shrugged and scuffed the toe of your flour coated sneakers against the old carpet and tried not to sound too mournful when you simply said, “love sucks.”

The boy had snorted and nodded, agreeing whole heartedly before he snapped the sugar cookie in half, splitting the baby pink icing down the middle. Sprinkles scattered everywhere, dancing across the desk and messing up his delivery sheets but Steve didn’t seem to mind. He handed you half, a small smile on his face and when you took it with surprise clearly written across your face, Steve turned as pink as the cookie.

Valentine’s Day came and went with a fanfare of heart shaped balloons and a too big crowd outside of Enzo’s, a replaying of The Princess Bride at the cinema bringing in couples in love, young and old, first dates and forty years married.

You’d resigned yourself to an evening on the couch in front of your TV, maybe with a pizza delivery and some microwave popcorn to soften the blow. It was a complete surprise when you found Steve by your car, his own shop keys still hanging from his pocket, his Family Video vest still on over his t-shirt. He was holding a bunch of flowers, pretty as they were small, the pastel colours of the tulips making up for the quantity. They were wrapped in brown paper, tied with a bow that was a little lopsided and Steve Harrington was positively rose coloured.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice almost a little too loud in the empty parking lot. He offered you the bouquet, the smell of spring clinging to them. “These are for you.”

You blinked, even though it had been obvious. He was waiting by your car after all. But still, the sight of him and the unprompted gift made your chest feel like goo, an affection as sticky as marshmallow clinging to your insides, coating all the bitter frost that had once wrapped around your heart.

“They are?” You took the flowers, cheeks burning, wondering why the prettiest guy in Hawkins was giving you a gift on Valentine’s Day. You didn’t mean to sound blunt, or ungrateful, but you could help but ask. “Why?”

Steve bit back a smile at your surprise, your wide eyes and plain words. He shrugged, leaning against the hood of your car, looking unfairly handsome even under the orange glow of the street lights. “Pretty girls deserve flowers, right?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, boyish and suddenly shy. “It’s Valentine’s. Maybe I’m hoping you’ll let me be yours.”

—————

The next year Steve bought you more flowers, a bigger bunch, hand picked and wrapped in some newspaper, tied with a red bow that he made Robin help him with. He dropped them into the bakery for you, still pink cheeked even after eleven months of officially being your boyfriend and he didn’t break character when he ordered a heart shaped cookie from you.

You’d rolled your eyes, all affection, his chin resting on the countertop display as he watched you work with big, brown eyes. He gave you your own name, blinking all innocent, grinning when you scoffed but wrote it all the same, swooping letters that made your cheeks burn. He thanked you politely when you handed over the box, your ruby stained fingers meeting his as you took his dollar bills and Steve held onto the cookie for all of six seconds before he gasped like he’d just noticed it was you for the first time.

“You look way too pretty to be workin’ on Valentine’s Day,” he told you smoothly, bringing the flowers to rest under his chin. More tulips, mixed with peonies and some wildflower sprigs. “You got a date for later?”

You laughed at his antics, face burning as Mrs Rochester cooed at the two of you from over her coffee cup. You tried to glare at the boy but it wasn’t much use, not when he was looking at you like that. Like he wanted to never, ever let you go.

“I might,” you told him suggestively. “I’ve had a few offers,” you joked.

“Yeah?” Steve grinned, brows raised. He pushed your cookie back to you, the flowers with it, the bakery suddenly smelling like a meadow. “Can I earn some points in my favour?”

—————

It’s five years later and you’ve got an old shoe box under your bed, the one you share with Steve. It’s got the dried, pressed petals from each bouquet of flowers he gifted you, the ribbon from a cookie box, ticket stubs from your first date to the cinema, a napkin from Enzo’s with a smiley face drawn in eyeliner on the corner.

There’s jewel coloured candy wrappers from the time he brought you sweets when you were sick, a postcard from his first trip away from you, dozens of Polaroids, each one dated.

A keyring, from your first apartment. Plane tickets from your first vacation together, a photobooth roll of film from your third anniversary, a velvet ring box from your fourth. A box filled with memories and keepsakes and gifts, little things that Steve would bring you when you least expected it, all of them cherished, all of them loved.

And when time ticked by and ten years had passed, you found him in your kitchen on Valentine’s morning, your daughter clinging to his knee as he tried his very best to keep a steady hand. The heart shaped cookie he’d baked was a little lopsided, iced with baby pink frosting, the sprinkles he’d let your baby girl take control of were almost taking over the cookie.

But he’d written your name in the center and just like the first Valentine’s Day you’d spent with him - almost accidentally - you split the cookie down the middle and handed half the heart to him