#something something the greatest love of your life can be a friendship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

headkiss · 1 year

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do you think i have forgotten?

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: you loved steve harrington years ago, and he loved you. now, coming back to hawkins, you find that things may not be so different.

word count: 14.1k

warnings: fluff, smut, a little angst, exes to lovers, very much idiots in love!

a/n: here it is!!! i hope u guys like it!!! it took a while but hopefully it was worth it <3

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A ‘welcome home’ banner hangs lopsided on the wall.

The party is smaller than the ones you’d become accustomed to at school. That didn’t matter. What did was that your favorite people were around for this one.

It was meant to be a surprise, but Nancy gave you a heads up. She knows you hate surprises, you just don’t have the heart to tell Robin, who absolutely loves surprise parties. Planning them, to be exact. So, you acted shocked, put on your biggest smile.

It was worth it for the beaming grin on your friend’s face, the tight hug as a hello.

You didn’t realize how much you missed home until now. Until you came back.

Small talk isn’t so tiring when it’s with people you really care about. Eddie and Jonathan, Nancy and Robin, even the kids are there to give you the warmest welcome you could ever have. Hugs from some of them, teasing from all of them.

It’s perfect, but there’s an obvious absence. One you’ve tried and tried not to think about. But here, in this room, with these people, you can tell that without him, there’s a space waiting to be filled.

That space has been left open in your life for years. A gaping hole. Then, when the night’s half over and you’re convinced you won’t see him, you hear one word that has memories rushing back to you. Like a flood.

“Ace.”

There’s only one person in the entire world who calls you that. Steve Harrington.

The nickname isn’t the only thing that gives him away. His voice is engraved in your head, the tone, the way it hits your ears. It’s been years since you last heard it, and still, it feels so, so familiar.

You met in high school. Gym class, actually, and you’d been deemed Ace ever since. By him.

It started with friendship, reluctant at first and then impossibly close. It grew into the kind of undeniable thing that pushed you together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. In love.

He was really, really good to you. So good that you didn’t care about who his friends were or what his reputation was. You didn’t care when things changed and he went from King Steve to the best babysitter around. Over a year, you were together.

Then, he was gone.

When you told him you’d be going away for school, he was supportive, happy for you, even. Then, the day before you were set to move he sat you down and broke your heart. I can't be with you anymore, he said.

Not I don’t want to, or I won’t. Can’t. Like he had no other choice.

To this day, you’re not sure why he did it. You called over and over for weeks when you first got to school. He never picked up. You were only able to check on him through your mutual friends. Robin, Nancy, Eddie, all of them.

One day, he was the greatest thing in your life, the next, he’d completely disappeared from it. Like a ghost.

You pushed yourself through school, tried to let go of him. It got easier, but the pinch in your chest when you thought about him never quite went away. You tried being with other guys again, but nothing stuck. It felt like you were cheating, like you could never fully commit to someone else. Your mind, body, and soul still belonged to him.

It got easier eventually. You can’t remember when it did, but over time, thinking of Steve became less like a stab to the chest, and more of a pinch.

When you spoke to your friends, they’d mention him briefly. In passing, like they didn’t want to hurt you with something as simple as a name. You knew he was working at Family Video with Robin, you knew his parents were around even less than they used to be, and you knew he went on dates. Often.

Steve spent every year of you being away trying to convince himself that he did the right thing.

He missed you constantly, but he felt like he’d be holding you back if he stayed with you. A distraction from your college experience, a boyfriend who couldn’t even make it to college himself. Not enough for you.

Now, seeing you at the welcome home party Robin put together, he feels like the biggest idiot in the world. Universe, even. Because how could he have let go of someone that lights up the room like a ray of fucking sunshine.

It’s pathetic that all he could say to you after all the years was his nickname for you.

You turn around after hearing it, the sight of Steve a punch in the gut. He’s just as pretty, if not more, and though he mostly looks the same, he’s grown in ways you weren’t there to see. He’s almost a stranger now.

“Steve,” you manage. “You’re here.”

“Hi.”

It took a lot of convincing from the gang for him to come. Not because he didn’t want to (he wanted to see you more than anything), but because he didn’t want to do anything to make you upset.

Your haircut is different than before, and you hold yourself in a new way, too. But, as soon as he finds your eyes he feels like he’s in high school again, laying in his bed facing you or laughing at the back of the movie theater.

He thinks of the last time he saw you, the tears leaving trails down your cheeks, the way you didn’t let yourself sob until he walked out. His stomach is in knots.

“Hi,” you hold yourself back from reaching out and poking him to make sure he’s real. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Well, surprise,” he sings the second word and throws up some awkward jazz hands. A glimpse of the dork you remember.

Surprise indeed.

“I can leave,” he offers in your silence. He even turns to do so before you stop him.

“No! No, it’s just- it’s been a while.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. It’s too late for that, and as much as you want to know what happened, why he ended things and just… vanished, you aren’t so stuck on that anymore. Four years is a long time.

You aren’t mad about it, it just never fully left your head.

“How was school?” He asks. Safe, easy.

“Well, I graduated. So, that’s something.”

A wink of a smile has the corners of his mouth twitching up. You’re different, but you’re also the same girl he knew. It’s nice to see again, to have hope that he didn’t destroy you.

“I knew you would,” he scratches the back of his neck. He’s not used to feeling so awkward around you. “You can write your own essays, after all.”

That one makes you huff a laugh, makes you think back to late nights spent helping him fix up his writing. Red pen doodles and way too many distractions.

“One of my many talents,” you say.

There’s another pause, a stillness that feels so wrong for the both of you. He put the distance there, and he hates himself for it. “I’ll be seeing you around then?”

“Yeah, Steve. I’m home.”

Yes, he thinks. You are home. Hawkins was missing something without you in it. Or maybe that was just him. Missing something without you.

Just as you’re pulled away into a conversation with Robin and Max, Steve grasps your wrist gently. Your skin burns with the familiarity of his touch. Aches with the memory.

“It’s good to see you, Ace.”

Then, in a blink, he lets you go.

When you turn away, Eddie comes up beside Steve, claps a hand on his back. “Nice, man. Not weird at all.”

“Shut it, Munson.”

Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off of you. He searches for you when he hears you laugh, can feel his pulse jump when you throw your head back the way you always have. He lets his eyes linger when he knows he shouldn’t.

You catch him once. You can feel his stare on you like a breeze, tickling the back of your neck. When you turn towards him your eyes lock, just for a moment.

Hawkins is mostly the same. The stores on Main Street still have worn awnings, letters faded and colors dimmed. The arcade sign still flickers, Enzo’s is still the best restaurant. The movies where Steve used to take you on dates, his house with his BMW in the driveway.

It’s hard to be back and not let Steve bleed into everything.

At school, it was easy not to think about him. You’d bury yourself in studying and projects. Here, he’s everywhere you look. The town is painted with memories of you and him. He’s written all over the place.

You thought you were over what happened, that you could come home and not let it phase you. You had no idea it’d be like this.

Despite it all, you’re glad to be home. You like waking up to the peacefulness of light wind and leaves rustling. It’s a lot nicer than a dorm building full of students and the constant noise of the city.

You’re tremendously happy to be so close to your friends again, too. There’s no more worrying about whether or not you’ll see them anytime soon, no more sporadic phone calls that just make you miss them more.

But still, there’s that empty space. Steve-shaped.

The next time you see him you’d decided to visit Robin at work. It took you about a week of being home to get yourself to go into Family Video, knowing Steve works there. You have to get used to him again.

Sure enough, when you walked in, there he stood. Green vest and all.

When the bell above the door jingles to signal your entrance, Steve turns to look at you. He sets down the box of stock he’d been holding, and your eyes follow the way his arms flex before you can tell them not to.

“Ace, hi.”

“Hey,” you send a short wave his way, rocking on your feet. “I’m just meeting Robin for lunch.”

He probably knows that, but you say it anyway, trying to fill the void of silence that hums between you.

“Yeah. She’s in the back already,” he says. “I can show you.”

“Sure, thanks.”

He almost places a hand at the small of your back to guide you, just like he used to. It’d be so natural, so simple. Instead, he clenches his fist by his side and shuffles in front of you, nodding his head for you to

follow.

“So, um,” he stops in front of the door to the back, turning to face you. “We still do movie nights. All of

us, like we used to. You should come.”

“Are you sure?”

Movie nights are always at Steve’s, and you don’t want to be there if it’ll cause any problems, as much as you’ve missed the sense of tradition. Routine.

“There’s an open spot on the couch for you anyway. Always has been.”

When you were away, you worried your friends would replace you. Forget about you, even. That clearly wasn’t the case.

“I’d love to go. If you’re sure it’s okay.”

“As long as you still don’t mind Eddie talking through the important parts.”

You shake your head, a small, close-mouthed smile on your face.

“Wouldn’t be a movie night without it.”

The bell above the door rings again, and Steve turns to see the customer. “I should get back.”

You nod. You watch him go, watch him greet the woman who walked in with his classic smile.

You just have to get used to him again, that’s all.

Walking the steps up to the Harrington’s front door is something you’ve done time and time again. So, it shouldn’t feel so odd, really.

It used to be an almost daily occurrence. Now, it takes you some mental preparation before you can bring yourself to knock on the door. This time, it isn’t Steve who answers, it’s Robin. You’re grateful for it, because stepping into his house again is already a bunch to take in.

“You came!” She says, grinning.

“Of course I did. I missed movie nights a bunch.”

You really, really did.

While you had a couple of friends in Indianapolis, the connections were shallow. Especially compared to what you have here. There, they were friendships formed from convenience. Roommates or project partners. It was a lot lonelier than you let on.

“We missed you, too.” Robin walks you into the living room, where cheers of your name ensue.

“Look who it is,” Eddie speaks from where he sits on the ground in front of the TV, setting things up.

There’s a shift from the loud, giddy greetings when Steve walks into the room, bowl of popcorn in hand. It’s like everyone’s waiting for one of you to burst.

“Hey. You made it,” Steve says. No bursting, just some sort of tension that hasn’t gone away since you saw him at your party.

“Yeah. Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Surprised one of them didn’t beat me to it,” he nods at your friends that are scattered across the couches. Your friends whose eyes are ping-ponging between you both.

It’s almost like you can feel everyone take a breath of relief when you plant yourself by the armrest of the sofa. When you shoot Steve a small, barely-there smile. A peace offering.

Halfway through the movie—broken up by constant Eddie commentary, and various ways of someone telling him to stuff it—Steve notices the way you’re curled up, cardigan pulled tight over your body.

He reaches across Robin to hand you a blanket wordlessly. She nudges his shoulder when you aren’t looking, gives him a look that tells him she knows something, even if he doesn’t.

He’s always been attentive, but you’re surprised when the soft fabric is passed over. You wonder if he realizes it’s the blanket you’d always reach for when you were over. If he realizes he handed you the one you’d cuddled him under countless times.

He doesn’t, you’re sure. Why on earth would he remember those things? Or even care?

After that night, the group slowly becomes whole again. The others stop planning separate things with you or Steve. It’s like they waited for you to get acclimated to being around each other again, tested the waters.

It’s as sweet as it is sad. You never wanted to mess anything up, make anything harder.

Though you see Steve a lot more often, your interactions with him remain short and distant. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to feeling so far away from him.

While you were away, over time, the memories became less vivid, as did the pictures that still sit in your bedroom at home. Sun damaged and faded. Your feelings, though, they never really dimmed, only pushed to the back of your mind and shoved into a box labeled Steve.

That box has been bursting at the seams.

Still, you try to keep it shut, to push it all aside and be friends with him again. Or, friendly, at the very least.

Steve keeps a framed picture of you in a drawer in his bedside table. Maybe that’s weird. It used to sit atop of the table, but he moved it when it got too hard to look at your face without thinking of how it looked when you cried.

Having you around again is hard, but it’s more so a relief. He’s missed you so, so much, and even though things aren’t the same and they might never be again, he’ll take you in his life any way he can have you. And this is a start.

The hardest part, he thinks, is burying all the things he never got to say. I’m sorry, I just wanted what was best for you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s no use now, he knows that, so he swallows the words down. They make his stomach ache.

He needs to distract himself from it all, because it’s too much. Seeing your face almost every day again, not being able to reach out and hold it like he used to.

It’s way too much.

You got a job at Enzo’s to keep yourself busy.

While you’d love to stay buried in your bed all day, or walk around aimlessly until you end up at Lover’s Lake, sitting by the water and listening to it move, your parents decided it’d be better for you to do something valuable with your time.

Besides, waitressing isn’t so bad. You mostly work nights, allowing you the sleep-ins you love so much, there’s not so much pressure when you already know most of the people you serve, and the tips are always nice.

It’s mostly a breeze—besides a spill incident—until Steve shows up there on a date. Seated in your section.

Your coworker had warned you, “new table for you. Looks like a date.” And there he was. His hair done like always (does he still use Farrah Fawcett spray?) and his dress shirt a little wrinkled.

When it’s time to head over, you shut your eyes and take a grounding breath, slap on your customer service smile. You introduce yourself like you always do, the ‘I’ll be your waitress for this evening’ spiel.

Steve looks up from the menu as soon as he hears your voice. He’s stunned, eyes wide and mouth ever-so-slightly agape while he looks at you. He tries to recover quickly. If he’d known you were working tonight he never would have brought his date here, never would have subjected you to that on purpose. He feels like shit.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” You say. Waitress persona engaged, praying your face doesn’t look forced.

She orders first. Her voice is sweet, and she’s pretty. Why'd she have to be so pretty?

“Just water for me. Thanks, Ace,” Steve says, letting the nickname slip. It’s like he can’t hold it in around you.

“‘Course.” You turn quickly to get their drinks.

“Ace?” Steve’s date, Becky, asks.

“We’re friends. From school. Just a nickname.”

He simplifies it. There’s no point in telling the whole story. It’s over—he’s had to remind himself of that constantly—and it’s his fault. Not the type of thing he needs to share on a first date, that’s for sure.

“Oh, okay. So, what are you getting?” Somehow, she accepts the answer easily.

You shouldn’t feel so shaken by this. Really, you shouldn’t. You were with Steve ages ago, and it’s been over. You don’t have any sort of claim over him anymore. None.

So why is your stomach twisting every time you catch him smiling at something she says?

All you know is that it won’t do you any good to think about that too much. You busy yourself with getting their drinks instead. You approach the table carefully, not wanting to spill anything.

“For you,” you set her drink down. She thanks you. She’s nice, too. “And, water for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You guys ready to order, or do you need a couple more minutes?”

It’s like you’re on autopilot, repeating the same phrases you do to every single table, hoping that it comes out sounding natural.

“I think we’re good,” Steve says, gesturing for his date to go first.

He almost feels like he should apologize to you. Then again, maybe he’s reading into things too far. As much as he feels like he can tell when you’re uncomfortable, when your smile is forced, he has no idea if your habits are the same as they used to be.

You’re cautious not to let your hands touch when you collect the menu from Steve.

The rest of their dinner is much the same, and you’re grateful any time you can distract yourself with a different table. Your actions are stiff, your words practically robotic.

Still, before he leaves, Steve leaves you a tip and a scrawled note on a crumpled receipt: ‘Thank you. Sorry for the ambush. -Steve.’

You still have notes from him, in that same, charmingly messy handwriting, buried in a shoebox in your closet. Notes you didn’t have time to get rid of in your rush to move. Notes you should probably get rid of.

Not only did he leave you a note, he was outside waiting for you when your shift was over.

He wasn’t going to wait. He was going to leave it at the note and hope that you weren’t bothered as much as he thought you might be. Maybe it was stupid to think you’d be affected by him being with someone else in front of you after all this time, but he couldn’t ignore the instinct he got when he saw the look on your face. The guilt he felt.

He catches you as you walk out the door, startling you a bit, “Ace, wait up.”

“God, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” he says, falling into step beside you as you walk to your car. He’d parked two spots over. “Actually, I just wanted to say that. Sorry, I mean.”

“You already said that,” he tilts his head, a question. “On your note.”

“I didn’t want you to think I did that on purpose. I didn’t know you worked at Enzo’s until tonight, actually.”

“I haven’t been for long,” you amend. “I’m not upset with you, Steve.”

The words hold a lot more meaning than you expected. You really aren’t upset with him, not over tonight, and not over what happened years ago. You’re more upset with yourself for letting it get to you even now.

“Good. That’s- I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words are heavy, too. You’re too tired to hold the weight.

“What about your date?” You stop next to your car. He stops, too.

“I drove her home already. Came back after.”

Really, he was halfway home after dropping off Becky, but he couldn’t shake his worry that he’d caused even more strain on your relationship. He turned around without a second thought.

“She seems nice,” you say.

“Yeah,” he looks around the parking lot, stares at the streetlight for a second. “So, we’re okay?”

“We’re okay,” you confirm.

You can’t help but hope that saying it out loud will make things feel better with him. That maybe, you could be some sort of friends again.

He nods, “okay. Sorry again,” he searches for his keys in his pocket, “have a good night, Ace.”

He walks the short distance to his car while you fumble to unlock yours. Climbing in and shutting the door, you let your head fall against the steering wheel, forehead pressed to it.

What a night.

Steve’s seen Becky a few times since the date at Enzo’s.

She is nice, and he does like her, but he hasn’t been able to let her kiss him anywhere other than the cheek. So far, she hasn’t said anything, but he knows that he won’t be able to dodge her without question for much longer.

When you were gone, though it took time, he was able to be with other people. It never lasted long, and he rarely went through with things without thinking of you at least once. He can’t even give someone a peck on the mouth.

It’s like as soon as he thinks he can lean in and do it, his mind is all Ace Ace Ace, and he finds he can’t.

He’s trying his best to ignore it, to hope that in getting used to you being back, he’ll get used to not being with you, too. So far, it hasn’t been working very well. He dreams more often than not, and even in sleep, he can’t seem to escape your face.

Instead of digging into whatever mess he’s sure that’ll cause, he’s been seeing Becky.

It’s unfair, he knows it is. To her and to you, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He isn’t thinking straight because you’ve rushed back into his life so quickly he can’t catch up. He’s trying to bury the feelings he has for you by focusing on someone else.

Though, maybe focusing isn’t the right word, because his mind still wanders to you. A bunch.

He’s confused and he’s scared and he misses you. He doesn’t know what to make of everything that’s pushing to the surface once again now that you’re home, and he doesn’t want to because he’s afraid of what it’s sure to become. What might’ve never even left.

He misses you but he can’t do anything about that. So, Becky it is.

The breeze tickles your cheeks as you make your way through the trailer park in search of any of your friends.

Somehow, Eddie and his band managed to make their own gig out by the picnic tables, and, of course, he’d invited the group to come watch. When you first became friends with Eddie, he was reluctant to let you all in on his music. Now, though, he lets everyone know there’s a spot for them saved at every performance.

You follow the noise, finding where a small crowd of people has formed by the tables that have been pushed together to serve as a stage. Probably an unsafe one, at that, but it’s Eddie. He cheers when he spots you from where he stands on the middle table.

“She’s here!”

“Can't miss the first show I’m back for, can I?”

“The rockstar would not have that,” Robin says, giving you a quick side hug.

“Thank you for calling me a rockstar,” Eddie replies.

You say your hellos to the others, Nancy, sitting on the bench attached to the table Eddie’s stood on, Jonathan, fiddling with his camera.

“Is Steve not coming?” You ask. Hopefully in a casual way.

“No, he is,” Nancy says.

“Likes to be fashionably late,” is what Robin has to say.

You nod, turning your attention to Eddie, “so, how many of these songs are new?”

“To these fools, none,” he points lazily around the group. “To you, all of them.” He smiles, and it makes you smile, too. You’ve missed being able to support him in person.

“Can’t wait to hear them, then.”

“Dingus!” Robin yells happily.

You know she’s talking about Steve. You turn around to find him. Probably too quickly.

“Hey guys,” he waves. It’s then you notice that he’s not alone. His date that he took to Enzo’s is with him. She waves, too, her arm curled around Steve’s. “This is Becky.”

She’s met with polite greetings. Your mouth, for some reason, stays shut.

Robin comes to stand beside you. She looks at your expression, the shock that you shake your head to clear, the tiniest bit of hurt that lingers in your eyes. You look at her, and she raises her eyebrows at you, are you okay? It’s silent, but you know it’s what she’s asking.

Isn’t that a question. You don’t know why your stomach sinks when you see her with him. Again. Well, maybe you do know, you just don’t want to accept it. The feelings you’d had for Steve were meant to be long, long gone.

Only, since being home, you’ve realized they aren’t.

Even though things with Steve have been far from the same as before, even as when you were friends, he’s still Steve. He’s the kind boy you knew, only older. He still cares about the kids the way an older sibling would, he still puts his friends before anything, and he’s still the greatest person you know.

You simply shrug at Robin.

Then, Becky’s in front of you, “we already met, right?”

“Yeah, um, hi.”

“Hi. It’s nice to at least have a familiar face here.”

God, you want to dislike her so bad, but you really can’t. She’s kind, and she’s clearly making an effort to make a good impression. It’s annoying.

Steve knows he probably shouldn’t have brought her with him, but she’s been asking to meet his friends so frequently and he figured that Eddie’s gig would be as good a time as ever. At least here, there’s a crowd to hide in.

He really does like Becky, just not in the way he’s supposed to. He thinks he might’ve spent all of those feelings on you, and there’s no way he’s getting them back.

Eddie jumps down from the table and pulls Steve aside, “what are you doing?”

“Dunno what you mean.” He does, actually. Only, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“Come on, man. You can't tell me you don’t see the way she looks at you,” Eddie’s not talking about Becky. He’s talking about you.

“She doesn’t look at me. Not like that.”

“Sometimes you really are an idiot, you know? She looks at you like you put the fucking moon in the sky, all melty and shit.”

“She used to look at me like that. I fucked it up. That’s gone, okay?”

“Is it gone for you?” Eddie says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve says. When he looks at you, however, it feels like it matters. A lot.

“Just saying. Think you might’ve brought the wrong lady.”

Steve already feels bad about what he’s trying to do with Becky. Seeing her to distract himself from you. He hates that even his friends are seeing through it. Is it really that obvious?

Eddie turns away to finish setting up with the band. Steve sees Becky talking to you of all people and he almost smacks himself right there. He’s so, so stupid. He walks over, into the mess he’s created.

“Hey, Ace,” he nods at you quickly, then turns to Becky. “Why don’t we go find a spot to sit?”

“We aren’t watching here?”

Steve looks between you and her quickly. Really, he’s just trying to save you from having to talk to her. He can still tell when you’re itching to get out of a conversation.

“Think the speakers might be too loud for you, babe.”

You miss whatever reply she gives him, stuck on his use of the word babe. The last time you heard it come from his mouth, he was saying it to you. It stings even though it shouldn’t.

It’s over. It’s been over. So why is it so hard to forget about it?

You never really got used to seeing Steve with Becky.

He didn’t bring her around often—maybe for your sake—but when he did, you’d find yourself keeping your distance. At least one person between you and them, like a buffer.

It felt like the progress you’d made with Steve, with not feeling so far away around him, was disappearing every time you saw her standing with him. You hated it, how you let things affect you.

A couple of weeks went on that way. Then, you got a phone call.

You’d been sitting on your bed, back against the headboard, doing absolutely nothing. The shrill ringing came from your bedside table, and you leaned over to pick it up mindlessly.

“Hello?”

“Ace.”

It’s Steve. He hasn’t called you since you’ve been back. His utterance of your nickname sounds like a breath of relief.

“Steve? What’s going on?”

“Can I come see you?”

“What?” You’re convinced you misheard him, or that something’s wrong. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, promise,” he pauses. “Well, I broke up with Becky. But I’m good, okay?”

He broke up with Becky? He broke up with Becky and decided to call you. You’re not quite sure what to do with that.

“You- did something happen?”

“No, no. Just- I’ll explain everything. Let me see you.”

It's hard to say no to him, and you can’t help but be worried. You say yes, a quiet word whispered into the phone.

“Thank you,” he says. “See you soon, Ace.”

“Bye.”

You barely get the word out before the sound of his phone being hung up echoes in your ear. It’s only then, in the silence of your room, that you notice your heart pounding, a heavy thump in your chest.

Steve knows it’s selfish to want to see you now, after he’s just broken up with someone. It’s the first actual breakup he’s had since being with you, and yet, he’s not even upset. He just wants to see you.

Sure, he liked Becky, but she could never really erase his thoughts of you. He felt awful about staying with her for the reasons he did. So, he broke it off.

Now, he's knocking on your window.

The tapping wouldn’t be so noticeable if you hadn’t been waiting for it. He never did like using the front door.

You open the window for him, move backwards a couple of steps to give him enough room to stumble inside, hair a little messy, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, devastatingly pretty.

It brings you back to high school. Steve, sneaking through your window at night just to fall asleep with you, his arms a safety net, his steady breathing a lullaby. Steve, peering at you through the glass with that grin of his. Steve.

“You know you can use the door, right?” You say.

“Not my style,” he takes a second to look at you. “Hi, Ace.”

You shift on your feet.

“Hi.”

“I know this is…” He trails off. There’s not really a single word for it. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

You mean it. Even after everything, he’s Steve over it all. Your Steve, who was the greatest friend you ever had and, somehow, an even better boyfriend. He’s never been horrible to you; not even close.

Sure, he broke your heart and fell away from your life right after that, but you know him. You know there’s something he hasn’t told you about that, and if letting him in through your window again is a step closer to hearing it, you’re willing to take it.

“Even after what I did?”

“I don’t think you could ever really lose me, Steve.”

That hits him in the gut, a painful twist. Because he thought he did. Yes, he broke up with you (he regretted it very quickly), but he’d fought the urge to pick up the phone and call you at school more times than he can count.

“You’re a good person, Ace.”

He’s tiptoeing around whatever he wants to say to you. You talk softly, “why’d you want to see me?”

“I just needed to make sure you knew something.”

“What is it?”

“Just- I never kissed Becky. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.”

It’s the first time either of you have said it so plainly. There’s a wince on his face when he does. Small, but you catch it all the same.

“Robin said you were dating people, though.”

“Yeah, but I never kissed them. Ever. I couldn't.”

He slept with people—which was still hard—but to him, nothing feels as intimate as a kiss. He could never bring himself to cross that line with someone else. Not after how you would kiss him. The way everything else would melt away.

“I need you to know that. And I broke up with Becky because I couldn’t be with her without thinking of-” he stops, shakes his head, like he can’t get the words out. His eyes are holding onto yours when he says, “-someone else.”

“You climbed through my window just to tell me that?”

“I guess I did.”

He hadn’t thought about what comes next, what to do or say. Hell, he could barely even say what he meant in the first place. He wanted to say he’d been thinking of you, but the word got stuck in his throat. He hopes you can still read him enough to know what he meant.

“So, you were with Becky… why, exactly?”

“I thought- I don’t know. I thought I’d be able to push, um, someone else out of my mind if I was with her. I wasn’t, obviously.”

You’re practically speechless. Never would you have imagined that Steve was still thinking of you in any way, let alone so much so that he couldn’t fully give himself to anyone else.

Then again, you were never able to do that, either.

“I don’t know what to say,” you shrug, shoulder to your cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything, really,” he says, though there’s a sadness in his eyes that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You hate to be the one putting it there. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Steve. We aren’t together, I know that.”

He hasn’t been able to forget about that for a day. It’s like his life without you in it was a permanent winter. The snow never melting, the cold sinking into his bones. He hadn’t even realized it until you came back.

The wind picked up, frostbite ate away at him. Then, just like that, the sun was shining again. He hopes the snow will thaw soon.

He feels like an idiot right now. An idiot who can't spit out the right words and who can't leave you alone even when he knows he should.

“I should go.”

“Steve-”

“No, I’ll go. I’m sorry for dropping all of that on you.”

He’s turning his back to you, opening the window, worrying you all over again.

“You can stay.” Please, stay.

“I’m really sorry, Ace.”

Sorry for letting you go, sorry for disappearing, sorry for being a coward, sorry for fucking things up even now.

By the time you gather your wits enough to walk to the window, he’s crossing your lawn quickly. You watch him go until his figure fades into the night, the wind a low whisper in the air.

You do a lot of thinking that night, replaying the conversation over and over in your head. After what might be twenty minutes or two hours, you find you aren’t upset with Steve in the slightest. If anything, you’re worried.

And maybe, selfishly, a little hopeful, too.

It’s not even the breakup itself. It’s the way he spoke, the way his eyes lingered and his frustration seemed to soften just a little when he looked at you. It’s the way he had to make sure you knew he hasn’t kissed anyone since you, that he called and came over just to tell you that.

Maybe you should be angry, but all you feel when you think about Steve is something you’d convinced yourself was long gone. A feeling with wings, fluttering.

You decide that you need to talk to him again.

That decision has you walking through the door of Family Video early the next day, when you’re sure it won’t be busy. You had to double check with Robin that Steve was the one opening (you could practically see her knowing smirk through the phone), and sure enough, he stands behind the counter.

The bell above the door jingles, cutting through the silence of the store. Steve glances up to find you, rubbing his tired eyes to make sure you’re really there.

“Am I dreaming?” He says.

Steve was convinced you’d never want to see his face again after the shit he pulled last night. After dumping information on you that you hadn’t asked for, then leaving as soon as he got scared.

“If you are, so am I.”

“Robin’s not here.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you, if that’s okay?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to after…” he trails off, like he’s embarrassed to have to bring it up.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I feel like I should be asking you.”

“Steve.”

His name still sounds the best in your voice, he thinks.

“I’m okay, promise. Last night, I guess I just- I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. While I was gone.” Every single day since I left, I missed you.

You’ve both felt it for a long time, but now’s the first time someone’s been brave enough to say it. The words settle in the air for a moment, hanging between you.

“I’m sorry, Ace. For everything.”

You want to fall into his arms as easily as you used to, to squeeze him and tell him it’s okay, it can be okay, if you try hard enough. The counter standing between you stops you from it, maybe for the better.

“Do you think- do you think maybe we can be friends again?”

I don’t know if I can just be your friend, he thinks. Not after knowing what it’s like to kiss you and wake up beside you, to touch you and love you. If it’s the only way to keep you around, though, he’ll give it all he has.

“I’d like that.”

Your smile is almost shy, but it’s there.

“We used to be better at this. Talking, I mean,” you say, trying to be light.

“We’ll get better again.”

It’s quiet again, save for the murmur of whatever movie Steve chose for the morning playing on the TV.

“I hope you know I haven’t been, like, holding a grudge, or anything. I forgave you a long time ago.”

You had to, even when it still hurt, even when you still wonder why things changed so quickly. He’s a human as much as you are, and letting things fester for years wouldn't do either of you any good.

Still, like any wound, it still bleeds from time to time.

“Doesn’t change that I’m sorry, Ace.”

You shy away from the sincerity in his stare, from the brown in his eyes that could so easily draw you back into him completely.

He bends to catch your eye, though, making sure you know he means it.

Letting yourself get close to Steve again is easy, it’s the friendship that’s hard.

He’s a good friend, you see it in his interactions with everyone around you. He’s a good friend and still, you can’t stop thinking about the kind of boyfriend he is. Caring and loving, full of touches to give, a hand on you whenever it could be. You miss the warmth of that hand.

You keep that to yourself , though, because things are better. So much better.

You and Steve don’t avoid each other anymore, the smiles aren’t so forced or small, the words not so careful. The only subject you stay away from is the breakup, and even then, you don’t think about it so much now that he’s around again. You think about everything before that. The good and the in love, sticky and sweet.

Tonight, he’s convinced you to come along and chauffeur the kids to the arcade. In turn, you’ve convinced him to go inside with you.

The various neon lights bathe your skin, blues and oranges, pinks and greens. You can't help but think they glow a little nicer on Steve’s face.

“What’s the first game gonna be?” You turn to look at him over your shoulder as you walk between the rows of games.

“Your choice, Ace. This was your idea.”

“Fine by me,” you shrug a shoulder, grinning.

Falling into conversation with Steve proves to still feel natural. You’ve gotten the chance to spend time with him more since you talked that morning at Family Video, and it’s paid off. Light teasing and check-ins are what they used to be before.

The part that still makes your heart beat faster, almost like it’s trying to find his, is what hangs in the silence. There's knowledge there; the silence used to be comfortable, and now, it’s full of questions and tension. What’s too much? What crosses the line of friendship you’ve had to draw?

If you’re being honest, being Steve’s friend almost makes you miss him more. You had to do it this way, though, if only to protect yourself from losing him ever again.

You’ve been pushing away any thoughts of Steve as a boyfriend as far away as you can.

“Okay,” you stop in front of Pac-Man.

“A classic,” he nods, putting change into the slot. “Ladies first.”

“Scared, Harrington?”

“Of you?” He shakes his head. “Never.”

Of what he feels for you, maybe.

You play well, and Steve watches your hands move as you do. He watches your eyes as they flit about the screen, your tongue poking between your lips in concentration. Watches, still, when you throw your head back and groan when you lose.

“My turn,” he says, bumping you over with his hips.

Despite his confidence, Steve loses really, really fast.

“It’s broken,” he declares.

“It’s not,” you say. “Try again.”

“You just like to see me lose.”

You wiggle your way in front of him so that his arms cage you in, one on either side of you, leaning on the game. “I’ll show you.”

He hopes he isn’t breathing as hard as he thinks he is. He can feel the ghost of your back against his chest, so, so close. He slips another coin into the slot and lets you guide his hands to the controls.

His hands are just as warm as you remember. Solid and softer than they look. You refrain from interlocking your fingers with his and focus on guiding him through the game. It’d be so easy to hold his hand, though. Muscle memory.

This time around, even when the screen tells him ‘game over,’ Steve feels like he’s won something at the slightest bit of contact you’d initiated.

Dustin finds the two of you, still playing Pac-Man, and taps his wrist. Duty calls.

After dropping the kids off, the car much quieter, you let yourself look at Steve as he drives. His side profile, the slope of his nose and line of his jaw, the way he squints at road signs.

“You should be wearing your glasses,” you say. You’re not even sure if he still has them.

“You know I hate those things.”

It’s true, you do know that. He barely even wore them around you when you’d been dating. They made him shy, even though you told him he looks pretty either way, any way.

You find that you still know a lot of things.

You still know him. You know that he owns a pair of reading glasses. You know that he scratches the back of his neck when he’s nervous. You know that he knuckles at his eyes when he doesn’t get enough sleep. You know that he sunburns easiest on his nose, cheeks, and shoulders. You know him. All the small things, some he may not even know himself.

You might’ve missed some stuff, but really, you still know him. You still love him, too.

That realization hits you, a gust of wind strong enough to knock you off-balance if you weren’t sitting. You’ve been trying and trying to keep it all away. Yet, here you are, looking at the strand of hair that falls over Steve's forehead, realizing you love him all over again in the passenger seat of his BMW.

Maybe you never really stopped.

“Ace, did you hear me?”

“Hm?” You blink and suddenly he’s looking at you, too. And the car’s not moving. When did that happen?

“You zoned out on me, I think,” he runs a hand through his hair, pushing that strand you'd been focused on back into place. “We’re here.”

Your house, he means.

“Sorry. Thank you for driving,” you say, reaching for the handle and popping the door open. You bonk your head in your haste to get out.

“Shit! You okay?” He says, his hand reaching for you even though you’re too far to touch.

“Yup! Never better.”

Terrified by the four letter word that hasn’t left your head since it came back in, you can’t help but try to get away from Steve, from the boy who’s drawn the feeling from you in the first place without even trying. You hurry to the door with a rushed ‘bye!’

Steve stares at your front door even after you’ve closed it, eyebrows scrunched and mouth in a confused pout. He wonders what you were thinking about as he tried to grab your attention the whole way home.

Steve’s made a habit of visiting you at work.

If you’re working during the day, he’ll drive over on his lunch breaks and be sure to be seated in your section. If you’re working evenings, he’ll make some excuse about not wanting to cook dinner and still, he requests your section.

He‘s been coming so often that the hostesses don’t even wait for him to ask, they just nod and seat him at one of your tables.

You’ve had a lot of time to let your rediscovered love for Steve simmer, but it’s always there, making you smile like an idiot when you see him, making you stop yourself from reaching for his hand whenever it’s close enough.

It was naive of you to think you could limit yourself to friendly feelings for him. You know that now.

Walking out of the back, you find him sitting at what has become his usual table. A small round one, usually for two. The chair across from him empty. You like that better than when Becky was the one sitting in it.

“I’m starting to think you have no kitchen at all,” you say, standing behind the empty seat, leaning a hand on top of it.

“You caught me.”

“Seriously, you know you don’t have to come here to see me.”

“I want to come here to see you.”

Really, at this point, Steve thinks he’d be happy to visit you anywhere. Because of that, he’s definitely spending way too much money at Enzo’s.

“Okay then,” you tuck your hair behind your ear, then grab your notepad to write down his order. “What’ll it be this time?”

As much as Steve wishes you could sit down with him, he knows you have a job to do, so he gives you his order and takes any minute of conversation you can give him.

He watches you tend to the other tables you have, your smile and the way you talk, your mannerisms and the pattern of your steps. Often, he wonders if he’d still be sitting here, watching you with something in his eyes that can only be described as longing, if he never broke up with you that day. He likes to think he would be, only he’d be allowed to kiss you goodbye the way he so often wants to.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe he could get to do that again, one day.

Since he felt your hands over his those weeks ago at the arcade, he’s decided he’ll do whatever it takes to win you back. He’ll wait as long as he needs to, and do his best to prove that he won’t hurt you again.

Steve’s never stopped loving you, not for a second, and seeing your face again only reminded him of that. Being your friend again only amplified it.

Even worse, all of your friends are well aware of this. They never let him hear the end of it.

“Here you go,” you say, putting his food in front of him.

He shoots you a quick smile, “thank you.”

“‘Course. And don’t bother paying this time, it’s on me.”

“Don’t do that, I’m paying.”

“I already did it, okay? Just shut up and let me.”

When you walk away, he shakes his head and smiles at your retreating figure. Classic Ace, he thinks, so insistent on doing nice things. Yeah, he’ll wait years if he has to.

You chat with him when you can, telling him about a customer who’d yelled at you earlier in your shift over something so small, you can’t even remember why they were angry in the first place. He laughed through your story and offered to find the person and beat them up for you.

You reminded him that he usually loses fights.

A stern talking to, then, he’d said.

You giggled. Laughs like that came easy with Steve.

You were busy when he left, but when you went over to clean his table you’d found enough money left behind to pay for his food and give you a tip. You rolled your eyes at that. That’s Steve, always being the one to take care of everyone else. He can’t even let you pay for one damm meal.

He’d also left a note scrawled on a Family Video sticky note.

Thanks for letting me bug you again. Hope you’re not sick of me! -Steve x (and keep your money, please).

You folded it into a neat square and put it in your back pocket. This was a habit of his, too; leaving notes behind after he’d leave. So far, you’ve kept them all, in that same shoebox in your closet from high school.

You’re absolutely hopeless.

Steve didn’t have an excuse to call you, he just really wanted to see you. Or, hear your voice, at least.

“Hello?” You picked up after a couple rings.

“Ace. You busy today?”

“Mmm apart from laying down all day, no.”

“You wanna come lay down all day here?”

If he couldn’t hear you then, you would drop your face into your pillow and squeal. Instead, you press your free hand to your cheek and try to suppress your stupid grin.

“I guess I can shuffle some things around.”

“You’re awful,” he says. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yep.”

A click and it’s quiet again.

It’s not even half an hour later that you’re knocking on the Harrington’s door. Steve opens up quickly (he’d been standing near the door waiting for you) and moves aside to let you in.

Steve scans your outfit as you walk ahead of him. You’re clad in slouchy sweats. He thinks you look beautiful. He thinks it all of the time, but there’s something about you being comfortable enough with him not to dress up that warms him from the inside out.

It reminds him of how you used to walk around his house, whenever his parents weren’t there, in your underwear and his softest t-shirt.

Baby steps, he thinks.

“Are you hungry?” He asks as you plop down onto his couch.

“I'm okay. A little tired.”

“I did ruin your plans of laying around, didn't I?”

“Ruin’s not the right word,” you say. You’d much rather be in his company than buried in your bed, anyway.

He sits next to you after turning on the TV, letting whatever’s playing stay on. There’s a respectable distance between you, your thighs close, but not touching.

“Are you happy you came back here?” Steve turns his head toward you. Here, as in Hawkins. Here, as in with him.

Your head pivots toward him, cheek on your shoulder. Your eyes find his. “Yes. Really happy.”

“Me too.”

There are a million things you could say, but then, in that moment, it feels like you don’t have to. Something silent is being shared. You look back at the TV and sink into the cushions.

As time goes on, your eyes grow heavier, blinking slowly trying to stay awake. Steve notices when your head falls forward a little and you force it back up.

“You’re tired.”

“Worked the closing shift last night.”

“You can lay down. I meant it when I said you

could do that here.”

“I’ll fall asleep.”

“That’s kinda the point.”

You frown at him. “But then you’ll be all alone.”

“Just lay down, Ace.”

You roll your eyes but do it anyway. You’d actually been ready to nap when Steve called, but figured sleep could wait.

He tries not to overthink it when he gently places a hand on the side of your head, urging you to use his lap as your pillow. You go easily and blame it on your sleepy mind.

Instinctively, once you’re settled with your cheek on his thigh, Steve pets your hair from your face. He pulls his hand back, afraid of overstepping, but you miss his touch.

“No, don’t. Feels nice.”

“Okay,” he almost whispers.

Steve’s hand goes back to your hair, pushing it from your face, letting his fingers get tangled in it before pulling them back and doing it again. You fall asleep quickly, surrounded by Steve’s scent.

You nap for about forty minutes. Steve’s hand doesn’t stop at all, afraid that you’d wake up. He hasn’t paid much attention to the TV. Instead, he’s been tracing the details of your face over and over with his eyes.

Your eyelashes kissing the skin of your under eyes, the slope of your nose, the way your lips are slightly parted and pouting. He’s known it for years now, but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

All soft and, by his standard, absolutely perfect.

Self-indulgently, he lets his hand wander from your hair, the back of his index finger tracing a delicate line from your forehead, down your nose, and across your cheek. You stir and he feels guilty.

“Did I wake you?”

You blink your eyes open and squint, turning so you lay on your back rather than your side, looking up at him. “Nuh-uh,” you say, even though he did.

If you were woken up like that every day, well, you’d become a morning person.

“Liar.”

“Am not.” He shakes his head, you yawn. “How long did I sleep?”

“Not long. You feel better?”

“Much,” you nod, even though there’s a kink in your neck from the way you had it perched on his lap. You don’t care, it was the best sleep you’d had for a while.

You sit up and stretch until something cracks.

“Thanks for being my pillow.”

“Steve Harrington, human pillow, at your service.”

You push his shoulder lightly, “dork.”

You both laugh lightly. The sound fades when you realize how close your faces are. You reach up and brush the skin under his eye with your thumb.

“Eyelash,” you explain.

“Make a wish.”

When you were young, you wished on every birthday cake candle, every shooting star, that you’d find your person. Then, in your time with Steve, you wished to keep it. Now, as you blow the lash off your finger, you wish to have it back.

“Done.”

“What’d you wish for?”

“If it ever comes true, I’ll tell you.”

He nods, the tips of your noses brush. You can't stop your eyes from flicking to his mouth with him this close, you can feel his breaths, warm puffs of air against your skin.

Steve’s hand creeps up to cradle the back of your neck so gently you could cry. He uses it to guide you forward until your forehead is pushed against his.

“Steve.”

The whisper of his name is what snaps the rubber band. Steve tips your head up and kisses you.

It’s everything you remembered, and everything you’d forgotten, too. His lips are still soft, they still fit with yours the way puzzle pieces click together. Over time, you forgot how his feelings poured out of him when he’d kiss you. Now, he’s shy with it, slow-moving.

He pulls away, just for a second, to look at you, to check that you’re okay. You chase his mouth and he’s a goner, diving back in and inhaling deep at the feeling.

You can feel yourself melting into him, getting lost in the press of his lips against yours.

It hits you that Steve hasn’t kissed anyone since he was with you. That it’s been years since he’s last done this. I haven’t kissed anybody since we, um, broke up.

This is a big thing. Kissing Steve again is a big and scary thing. His free hand laying itself on your thigh jolts you out of it. You pull away, breathing heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, pulling his hands away. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s just- I shouldn’t have done that.”

You’re supposed to be pushing your feelings aside. You’re supposed to be friends, that’s it. You’re not supposed to let it get to this point again, because you know how it feels when it ends. That can’t happen again.

“No, Ace. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t be sorry, okay?” You stand up, almost dizzy. “I’m just gonna go, I think.”

“Hey, come on. Stay. It won’t happen again.”

“I just need to, um, clear my head.”

You hurry to the door, trying to slip your shoes on as fast as possible. Steve catches your wrist loosely as you reach for the door.

“You can talk to me. You don’t have to leave.”

“I need to think, Steve,” you open the door. This time, he lets you. Before you close it you turn to him, “I’m not mad, I promise.”

All he can do is nod slowly and stare at the door long after you’ve closed it.

You meant it: you’re not mad. Well, not at Steve. You’re mad at yourself, really, for letting yourself fall for him again, for making yourself remember exactly how it feels to kiss him.

You’re not mad at Steve and yet, you haven’t been alone with him since that day. It’s for your own good, you hope. You don’t want to let yourself be with him again because you know what it feels like to lose him. It hurts and it sucks and you’d rather love him quietly than feel that ever again.

It’s game night at the Wheeler’s now, and so far, you’ve lost pretty much every game. You find it doesn’t bother you all that much when you’re around such good people.

As Nancy shuffles Uno cards, you stand, “skip me this round. I gotta pee.”

“Thank you for announcing that,” Dustin says.

“You’re welcome, Dusty,” you ruffle his hair on your way to the bathroom.

Once you’re washing your hands, you inspect yourself in the mirror. Your hair’s frizzier than you’d like and your mascara’s smudged under your eyes. You use your pinky, wet with tap water, to wipe it away.

You unlock and open the door and find Steve leaning against the wall in the hallway. Not expecting anyone to be there, you jump.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, laughing lightly.

“Why’re you standing there?”

“Waiting for the bathroom.”

You don’t point out that there are more than one bathrooms in the Wheeler’s house. Instead, you move out of the doorway and let him go in. Only, he doesn’t move.

“Okay, I lied,” he confesses. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh. Well, here I am.”

“Yeah,” he looks you over, like he can’t help it. “Will you come home with me? So we can talk about…”

As much as you wish you could just forget about that kiss, you can’t. It hasn’t left your mind for more than five minutes at a time. Often, you find yourself pressing your fingers to your mouth, searching for the ghost of his. Besides, how can you say no to Steve saying the words ‘will you come home with me’?

“Okay,” you say quietly, then, more sure, “okay, sure.”

You walked there, and though you’d usually much prefer the comfort of the BMW, you can’t help but worry about what he wants to say the rest of the night.

Once you’ve said your goodbyes and walk towards Steve’s car, you can almost feel Robin’s knowing smile as she watches you climb into the passenger seat.

The drive feels like a dream in the sense that you blinked and it ended. You suppose time can fly when you’re lost in thought, in what-ifs.

You only realize you’ve made it to Steve’s house when you hear the click of the gearshift and the quiet of the engine shutting off that follows. You follow him inside, watching the way he fiddles with his keys, his hand flicking on the lights inside.

He leads you to his bedroom. He knows he could’ve stopped in the kitchen or the living room, but he’s most comfortable in the only room that feels completely his in the house. He needs to be comfortable for this.

You sit on the edge of his bed, and he leans on the dresser across from you.

There’s an anticipation almost humming in the air. Who will speak first, what will they say.

“So-”

“Listen-”

You speak at the same time.

“You first,” Steve offers.

“I’m sorry for running out like that. I was just overwhelmed, I guess. Had to think.”

“Don’t be sorry, please. I feel like I should be apologizing to you.”

For so much more than just that kiss. Then again, he’s not really sorry for kissing you, he’s only sorry for possibly hurting you with it.

“We were doing so good.” He furrows his brows at you in question. “At just being friends.”

“I don’t think I could ever look at you as just a friend, Ace. Not after knowing what it’s like to have you.”

You want to tell him you feel the same, you want to tell him so bad. The words are stuck in your throat. You’re so afraid, so nervous, for what could happen if you try this again.

“Do you regret kissing me?” You ask instead.

“I know I should, but I can’t regret anything with you.”

“I don’t regret it, either.”

The room seems to shrink, the air thicken. Steve’s hands clench on the edge of the dresser, holding himself back, almost.

You don’t think you want him to hold back. You want to slap yourself for it, but you’ve missed the way his kiss melted you every day since you felt it. Maybe, if you can’t tell him, you can show him how you feel.

“Kiss me again,” you say.

“What?”

He must have heard you wrong. Only, when you repeat yourself, he knows he didn’t.

“You’re sure?” He checks.

All you can do is nod, almost eagerly. He pushes off from the dresser and stands in front of you. Your knees brush against the fabric of his jeans as he moves closer. His hands gently cup your face, tilt it up so you’re looking at him.

His eyes flick between yours, and when you nudge your cheek into his hand, like an encouragement, he bends down to place his lips over yours.

It starts gently, like the last one. Steve’s lips glide over yours slowly, making sure you don’t want to pull away. It feels like high school and sneaking through windows, like popcorn kisses at the movies and the feeling of Skull Rock behind your back. It feels like the past and yet, there’s an emotion there that wasn’t before.

Longing, knowing what it feels like to lose this.

It’s gentle until your hands snake their way under Steve’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the sunshine pouring out of him. That’s when his hold on your face becomes a bit more firm, one of his thumbs pushing on your chin to get you to open it for him.

That’s when the dam seems to break.

Steve kisses you deeper and deeper, pushing himself closer and closer until you’re being laid down on the bed. He pulls away from you, his lips kiss-swollen and pink, to give you space to push yourself up to his pillows.

He tugs his shirt off before climbing over you, his hands digging into the mattress on either side of your head, his brown eyes darkened.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yes,” you nod, “I missed you.”

You wind your arms around his neck and pull him back to you, his mouth finding yours easily. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this with Steve, but the rhythm of it all comes easily. It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve spent so long learning what they like.

He kisses you enough to feel dazed, your head a jumble of SteveSteveSteve and your hips canting towards his unconsciously. He’d been holding his weight off of you before that, but feeling you brush against him had him pushing his hips against yours, pinning you to the bed.

You broke the kiss only to catch your breath, and Steve took the time to push wet kisses down your jawline, to your neck, breathing heavy in between them.

Selfishly, possessively, he tugs the neckline of your shirt down and sucks a hickey into your collarbone, licking over it when he’s done. Your hands have buried themselves in his hair at some point, and you feel his groan against your skin when you tug.

He moves down still, pushing your shirt up to bunch underneath your bra and peck his way across your stomach.

“Steve,” you almost whine.

He peeks up at you, “yeah, baby?”

Baby. He hasn’t called you that in years. The sound of the pet name in his voice is enough to have the dampness in your panties grow.

“You’re teasing me.”

“You used to like that,” he pouts.

“It’s been too long. Please.”

He’s trying to act composed on the outside when really, the word ‘please’ leaving your mouth is enough to have him push his crotch into the mattress.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. His hand pauses on the waistband of your pants, “can I?”

“Yes.”

He unbuttons them and tugs down the zipper, sits up on his knees to pull them down and off your legs, your socks and underwear follow.

Steve can’t believe this is happening, he can’t believe you’re there, on his bed, looking so pretty for him. He resists the urge to pinch himself.

You grow shy under his stare, his eyes focused where you’re embarrassingly wet all because of him. You try to shut your legs, but he stops you with a hand on your knee, “you’re beautiful, Ace. You don’t need to hide. It’s just me.”

You’re not sure how to tell him the reason you care so much is because it’s him of all people. Steve who you’ve known for so long, Steve who you used to have, like this. Steve, who you love.

He lays down between your legs, his arms wrapping around your thighs, thumbs running back and forth soothingly across your skin. He kisses up your thighs and pauses when his breath hits your cunt. He glances up at you for permission.

You nod, a hand finding one of his on your leg and weaving your fingers together.

You try to keep your head up to be able to see him, but as soon as he runs his tongue up your slit it falls back into the pillow, a gasp escaping you. You squeeze his hand in yours.

Steve works you quickly, so much so that it’s clear he hasn’t forgotten a single thing about you.

His tongue runs over you again and again, your slick surely all over his mouth. When it hits the bead of your clit, your free hand is in his hair again. He grunts into you at the pull, and you can’t help but moan at the feeling of it all.

When your hand squeezes his even tighter, Steve moves his free hand to your entrance, his mouth hit around your clit. He works a finger in, then a second. He curves them and searches until he finds the spot that makes you whimper out a noise he wants to hear again.

“Steve,” his name a breathy moan.

“Go on, baby. I can feel it. You wanna come?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

“I've got you.”

He works his fingers quicker, puts his mouth back on you and flicks his tongue and just like that you’re being pushed over the edge, your eyes squeezing shut and your hands holding him even tighter.

He watches as you come down, his cheek against your thigh, “so pretty.”

You manage a lazy smile, taking your hand out of his hair, “sorry. Did that hurt?”

“I liked it. You know that.”

He moves back up until his face is above yours, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on him.

Your hands trail down his back, his muscles shifting as he holds himself up. They land on the waistband of his jeans, tracing it around to his stomach, letting your fingers go further, feeling the skin just above his underwear.

You pull back from his mouth to glance down to where your fingers run back and forth over his skin, pausing to undo the button of his jeans.

“Who’s teasing now?” He says, voice low in your ear.

A shrug is your reply, followed by his zipper being pulled down slowly. His head bends to watch your hands work his pants and boxers down enough to free him, his cock hard and pink at the tip, pretty as ever.

You wrap a hand around him, “better?”

“Much.”

You work him slowly, like you’re trying to remember the feeling of him, your hand pausing at the tip to let your thumb run over it.

Steve tried to remember the way your hand felt against him when he was desperate and alone. Now, having you again, he knows his imagination could never do you justice. You’re soft in a way he never could be.

When you squeeze him a bit tighter, moving a bit quicker, he drops his head onto your shoulder, groaning.

“Ace.”

“Uh-huh?”

“If you keep doing that I’m gonna come,” he picks his head up, sets his eyes on yours, “I don’t wanna come like this.”

“Feels nice in my hand, though.”

“I can make it feel a whole lot better, if you’ll let me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want you, Ace.”

“I want you, too.”

He pecks your lips quickly before standing to take his pants off fully. You take your shirt and bra off at the same time. It makes you nervous to be naked in front of him again, and the way he looks at you doesn’t help. It’s a searing gaze, almost burning your skin.

“Look at you,” he whispers, almost like he was saying it to himself.

He climbs over you once more when you make hands at him. His skin is warm, mirroring the way you feel all over. Steve tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, trails his hand down your neck, to your chest. He cups you in his palm, squeezing lightly then letting a thumb run over your nipple.

You bite back a whimper.

His mouth gives the tit that isn’t in his hand attention, pecking and sucking and licking.

“Steve,” you push your hips up.

“Sorry, baby. Missed these girls, too.”

You roll your eyes.

He kisses your cheek and takes the hand off your chest to hold himself, running his head up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. When he pauses at your entrance, he looks at you.

“You’re still okay? Still want this?”

You nod, hands running in circles on the back of his shoulders, “yes. I’m ready.”

He’s big, and the stretch of him pushing into you is sharper now that you’re not used to it. He soothes you with sweet words and soft kisses to your neck.

Halfway, he checks in, “good?”

You wrap your legs around his thighs and pull him in the rest of the way, whining when his pelvis is against yours.

“Fuck,” he says into the skin of your neck, just below your ear. “You’re heaven, Ace.”

“Move, Steve,” your hands tighten on his shoulders. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, pulling back slowly only to push in again. You can feel everything, you think. Maybe because it’s been so long or because sex with someone you love is better than any other sex. Maybe it’s just Steve.

He’s all over you. His hair tickling your chin, his mouth open against your neck, breaths hot against your skin. He’s in your mind and in your heart and in you, deeper than anyone else. You feel so full. Of him, of emotion, of memories of nights you used to have just like this one.

Full of him in every way.

“God, you’re perfect,” he says. “There’s nobody like you. No one, Ace.”

“I-” love you, you almost say. “Steve.”

The pitch of your voice tells him to go faster, and he lifts his head to see your face. Mouth agape, soft moans and breaths spilling out, eyebrows scrunched, eyes falling shut when he finds your spot.

“Open your eyes,” he says, softly. “Come on, baby.”

You do, blinking them open and looking up at him. His hair is a mess around his head, sweaty strands falling over his forehead, his cheeks are flushed pink and you’re sure they’d be warm to the touch.

He drops his forehead against yours, your sounds and breaths mingling between your mouths, your noses nudging against each other with every push of his hips.

Your arms go around his neck, one hand tangling itself in the hair at the nape of his neck. You’re getting closer and closer and by the way his movements grow just a bit faster, a bit sloppier, he is, too.

“Ace. Baby, you’re there, yeah? I can feel you squeezing me,” his lips brush yours as he speaks.

“So close, Steve.”

He’s holding himself up on one elbow, trailing his free hand down to rub circles over your clit. “Come on.”

You finish with a cry of his name, your eyes squeezing shut. It’s overwhelming, the feelings that blind you. The pleasure and the affection, the heat and the love you really don’t think you could imagine. So much so that tears slip from the corners of your eyes.

He’s not far behind, “shit. Where do you want me?”

In your haze, you can barely manage a reply, “tummy.”

He pulls out and jerks himself until you can feel him coming on your skin. He moans and it’s a beautiful sound. You run your hands over his skin through it all, grounding him and yourself.

Your foreheads are still together, slick with sweat.

“Fuck,” he pecks you once, twice, three times. “You okay?”

“Really good.”

“Will you stay?”

You hadn’t even thought of leaving. You wouldn’t dream of it. Not now, at least, in your post-orgasm daze where fears and worries don’t reach you.

“Mhm,” you hum your agreement.

Steve’s grin splits his cheeks, wide and toothy and infectious enough to make you smile, too.

“I’ll be right back,” he rolls away from you, standing beside the bed. Before walking away, he bends to peck you again. He heads to the bathroom after that.

You note the freckles that dot his back and shoulders as he goes. A constellation you never forgot; burned in your memory. One you used to play connect the dots with in the mornings.

He comes back with a wet cloth, wiping his come from your stomach and then cleaning you up as gently as possible, giving a soft apology when you whimper in sensitivity.

He tosses the cloth aside when he’s done and searches his drawers for a clean pair of boxers. He tugs them on then finds a baggy sleep shirt for you. You watch him the whole time, the way he moves and the way the streetlights seeping in through the window light his skin.

Coming back to you, he tells you to sit up and puts the shirt over your head. He didn’t even have to ask, he knows what you like to sleep in. When you look at the shirt he picked, you find it’s one that used to be your favorite.

You bring the fabric to your nose and hide your grin in it.

Steve pulls the blankets over you, then himself when he lays down beside you. He doesn’t even hesitate before tugging you closer with an arm around your waist.

“I really missed you, Ace.”

“Missed you, Steve,” you reply sleepily.

He kisses your forehead.

You fall asleep easily, Steve’s fingers running back and forth over your skin, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

Steve wakes up before you do.

You’ve both moved in your sleep. Now, you lay on your stomach, face turned towards him and cheek squished into the pillow. He lays on his side, propped up by his elbow, looking at you.

He looks at you, asleep and pretty, and wonders how he could ever give you up.

His free hand tucks your hair behind your ear, away from your face, brushes his knuckles across your cheeks as lightly as possible. He moves to your arm and traces the words ‘I love you’ into your skin.

He draws the words over and over, only pulling his hand away when you rouse.

You breathe in deep before opening your eyes, moving your head on the pillow to look over at Steve properly. His eyes are already set on you, puffy with sleep and full of something you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

“Hi,” his voice is different in the morning, lower.

“Hi.”

“Sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” you stretch your legs and turn onto your side. “You?”

“Better than I have in a while, actually.”

You can tell that there’s something he wants to say, that he’s thinking of the words. It makes you nervous, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. Maybe he regrets it. Almost worse, maybe he doesn’t.

“Can I say something?”

“Steve-”

“No, let me say it. If you hate it, we can forget about it, okay?”

His eyes are soft, pleading. You can tell that whatever it is, it really matters to him and there’s no way you can ignore that.

“Okay.”

“I still love you.”

His words hang in the air, your chests both rise and fall a bit quicker, hearts beating faster in tandem.

You’ve been dreaming of him saying it to you, and yet, hearing it out loud, you can’t help but be terrified. You love him, you know you do, and it scares you. It’ll hurt worse the second time around if you lose him.

“I still love you,” he continues in your silence. “I miss you so much, Ace. I want to do it again. I want to be with you and do it right.”

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You didn’t. You won’t. I’ve thought of you every day since you left,” his hand finds yours atop the sheets, fingers linking. “I didn’t want to break up with you, and I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Why did you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second. Squeezes your hand, too.

“I thought I was doing the right thing. You were going off to school and I’d be here and I didn’t want to hold you back. I wanted you to go and to do it fully.”

Your heart pinches in your chest. Steve really believed he’d been doing you a favor by letting you go.

“It hurt for a long time, Steve. I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“I’m not gonna hurt you again, Ace,” he swipes away the tear that falls from your cheek. “Just answer one thing for me?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you love me?”

It’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Of course I love you, Steve. I would’ve stayed if you asked me to.”

“That’s why I did it,” his thumb runs over your cheek gently. “I couldn't let you give it all up for me. But you’re back now, and I love you and you love me. Let me try again.”

You want to say yes. So badly, you want to be with him. So why can't you just say it? It’s like glue’s been dropped down your throat, sticking all the right words in it so that nothing useful comes out. You try anyway.

“I’m just scared.”

You shut your eyes.

“Will you look at me?” You do, and right then it’s hard to feel scared anymore. He’s looking at you like he’s never been more sure of anything. “You’re my forever. I know you are. Let me show you.”

You focus on his hand in yours, his touch on your face. You focus on the fact that this is Steve. Steve who you love, who you know you want to be with past all the fear and worry.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Okay? Like, you’ll be my girl again?”

“Yes, yeah.”

His grin spreads wide enough to have his eyes crinkling at the corners. He rushes forward to kiss you, three quick pecks broken by your smiles.

“Can I tell you something?” You ask him, suddenly brave, like his kiss fixed everything.

“Anything.”

“I wished for you. On that eyelash. The day we kissed.”

He kisses you again for that.

༄

thank u for reading! if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought it would mean a bunch <3

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enha-stars · 1 month

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✧ enhypen as srk characters

✧ heeseung as rahul from kuch kuch hota hai

“pyaar dosti hai. agar woh meri sabse achi dost nahi ban sakti, toh main usse kabhi pyaar kar hi nahi sakta. kyunki dosti bina toh pyaar hota hi nahi.” love is friendship. if she can’t be my best friend, then i won’t ever be able to love her. because you can’t love without friendship.

; he’s a little bit of a playboy but has a heart full of love. he values friendships so much but doesn’t always value the person. he’s a bit of a coward, but when he loves, he loves wholeheartedly. sometimes, love is about waiting.

✧ jay as rahul from kabi khushi kabi gham

“zindagi mein agar kuch banna ho, kuch haasil karna ho, kuch jeetna ho ... toh hamesha dil ki suno ... apni maa aur papa ka naam lo ... jeet tumhari hogi, sirf tumhari” if you want to be something, achieve something, win something… listen to your heart… say your parents name…victory will be yours, just yours.

; he’s perfect in all the ways that matter. he values family and love beyond all, and when it comes to it, he will choose to protect rather than run. his heart can never be doubted, and neither can his integrity. sometimes, love is about letting go.

✧ jake as aman from kal ho na ho

“hasso, jiyo, mushkurao, kya pata? kal ho na ho” laugh, live, smile, who knows? tomorrow might not come

; he knows the true meaning of life; and his greatest mission is to make sure all his loved ones are taken care of. nothing will ever get in his way when it comes to love, and nothing can hold him back either. sometimes, love is about wanting the best for others.

✧ sunghoon as raj from rab ne bana de jodi

“rab sabko same khushi nahi dete” god does not give the same level of happiness to everyone

; he has so much love to give, but sometimes, he can’t show it properly. he’s shy, a bit hesitant, but his actions can never be doubted. his love is soft, kind, and fulfilling. sometimes, love is about selflessness.

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soracities · 10 months

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“Perhaps the greatest gift we can give to another human being is detachment. Attachment, even that which imagines it is selfless, always lays some burden on the other person. How to learn to love in a light, airy way that there is no burden?”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“The mystic Simone Weil wrote to a friend on another continent, ‘Let us love this distance, which is thoroughly woven with friendship, since those who do not love each other are not separated.’ For Weil, love is the atmosphere that fills and colors the distance between herself and her friend. Even when that friend arrives on the doorstep, something remains impossibly remote: when you step forward to embrace them your arms are wrapped around mystery, around the unknowable, around that which cannot be possessed.”

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“ ...Because I don’t KNOW what I want of you. I deliver MYSELF over to the unknown, in coming to you, I am without reserves or defences, stripped entirely, into the unknown. Only there needs the pledge between us, that we will both cast off everything, cast off ourselves even, and cease to be, so that that which is perfectly ourselves can take place in us.’”

D.H. Lawrence, Women in Love

“We must give up trying to know those to whom we are linked by something essential; by this I mean, we must greet them in the relation with the unknown in which they greet us, as well, in our distance. Friendship, this relation without dependence, without episode yet into which all of the simplicity of life enters, passes by way of the recognition of the common strangeness that does not allow us to speak of our friends, but only to speak to them, not to make of them a topic of conversations (or articles), but the movement of understanding in which, speaking to us, they reserve, even on the most familiar terms, an infinite distance, the fundamental separation on the basis of which what separates becomes relation.”

Maurice Blanchot, “Friendship”

#q #quotes #quote compilation #two solitudes that protect and touch #forever favourite #the topography of love #m #x

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 months

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The Arcana HCs: M6 with an MC who's been through SA

~ here's some angst/hurt/comfort, friends. I've held off on writing this for so long because I know it's a heavy topic, but considering how I've yet to meet a femme-presenting person who hasn't been through this and how unacknowledged masc-presenting survivors are, I figured it was worth a shot. you are seen, you are loved, you did not deserve it, and you are more than worthy of good things <3 ~

CW for, obviously, references to SA (sexual assault) and descriptions of related triggers. Rated PG-13

PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF IT WOULD DO YOU MORE HARM THAN GOOD

-- for headcanon purposes, the details of MC's experience (what happened and when) are up to the reader's interpretation and comfort level. However, MC is able to remember it by the beginning of the prologue --

Julian

When you first tell him about it, you can almost hear his heart cracking with every word. He's pained and horrified

And he's not going to interrupt or make it about him. He carefully navigates himself to put all of his attention into listening to you without his presence being suffocating or overwhelming

Heartbroken

Waits until you've finished talking, and gently asks if he can ask you a few more questions in a medical capacity

He'll never, ever press you to share details that you're not comfortable with, but he understands the human body and given how much he cares about yours, he wants to make sure you're ok

If there's anything medical/physical that needs to be addressed and if you're comfortable with it, he'll do the gentlest, safest job of taking care of you that he's ever done in his life

His greatest impulse is to wrap you up in a hug and tuck your head under his chin and swirl his cloak around you like a pair of wings until you're all bundled up and safe

But he doesn't want to touch without permission, and - oh, please tell him his particularly blatant brand of flirting didn't bother you. Or if it did, please do tell him, because he never wants to hurt you

Walks on eggshells for each physical progression of your relationship because he's terrified of discovering your boundaries the wrong way, quick to establish that none of it is your fault

Never, ever lets you think less of yourself for it

Asra

When they first heard about it, they physically froze in place

He said very little. The only spoken words on his end were either to invite you to talk about it, or to comfort you. He spent most of the time with his hand over his mouth and pain and anger in his eyes

Their determination to never impose their feelings on you tripled, and much of their tendency to leave on such physically distanced trips came from wanting to preserve your personal living space

Made sure to teach self defense moves, both physical and magical

Long after your relationship turns from friendship to romance, he continues to ask every time he shares a sleeping space with you if it's okay, and is always happy to snooze nearby instead

Double and triple checks which kinds of touch you're okay with when they want to be affectionate with you. They can hold your hand, but please don't grab your wrist? They won't even touch it

Given how connected your bond makes you, both emotionally and physically, he's very careful about establishing boundaries

They can tell you're struggling emotionally - is it okay if they try feeling it with you?

He's on a trip, and wants you to feel a hug - is it okay if he sends his touch to you like that? Would you rather touch him instead?

Both versatile and creative when it comes to finding ways to share love without triggering you - wrapping their shawl around you in lieu of a hug, playfully sitting on their hands to share a kiss

If time heals all wounds, love turns the wreckage into a garden

Nadia

Her chin snapped up and the look in her eyes became so fierce when you first mentioned it that you almost became afraid

Which is why her whole demeanor shifted into something both soft and protective for the rest of the conversation. Tell her everything you're willing to, and then please let her take care of you

She's extremely gentle with you afterwards, until she's once again sure of what kind of physical and relational dynamic you want

She knows there's nothing wrong with her liking to take the lead, but she loves you and the last thing she wants is for her preference to play into your trauma. She does bring this up in conversation

What are you comfortable with her initiating? What are things she can change about how she initiates touch to make you feel safer and give you more freedom to speak your preferences?

Very, very gently asks if there's anything she's done so far that has bothered you, and offers you the most loving, sincere apology

Goes out of her way to make sure that you always have accommodations to let you ensure your own safety

Crowded party? She's got a quiet room to slip into if you need it, with a guard at the entrance and a signal if you need to retire

You don't like to feel restricted/touched in certain ways? Everything from your clothing to the jewels she gifts you are tailored to feel as safe and protected as possible

Nobody knows what happened to the person who harmed you, but you never hear from them again. At all

Muriel

You swear you could see him shrink a little when he first heard

It was like a little bit of life left his eyes, and all that was leftover was a deep, respectful, shared grief

It's not as if he can relate to the type of harm you experienced specifically, but he knows what it's like to have his body exploited and objectified for someone else's gain, and he knows it hurts

That's most of how things proceed at first - he doesn't drastically alter his behavior around you (let's be honest, he never touched you without knowing it was safe for both of you to do so)

But he does move differently around you. Even fewer sudden noises, body language designed to be as non-threatening as possible, a small, reassuring nod anytime you make eye contact

(though in that last case, the nod happens as he's flicking his eyes away and blushing at being caught)

Anything he can do to acknowledge your personal space and physical autonomy, he does, and he doesn't stop doing it

The more you find yourself comfortable opening up about what happened, or at least, how what happened has affected you, the more easy he finds it to open up to you in turn

Hypervigilant about how other people perceive you and their intentions with your personal space. Can and will scare off anybody shady with his perfected stinkeye

Always, always, always touches you like you're something precious, never without asking, with gentleness and reverence

Portia

She still feels a little bad about how extreme her outburst was when you first talked to her about it, when what she really wanted to do was give you a safe space to express yourself

Jaw dropped, a loud indignant "What?!", and then her chin wobbling with rage while her eyes began to well up with tears

Oh she wanted to scoop you into a hug so bad while she cried for you, but she knew that wasn't what you needed

Quick to make a time and space as calm and cozy and safe as possible to talk about it more with you, with fuzzy blankets and tea and snacks to make it a little less unpleasant

Not pushy at all, but not hesitant to ask you questions, both about what happened, and about how you feel about it and how that changes the way you do relationships and touch

Couldn't help crying for you on and off the whole time, but used her handkerchief quietly and refused to take attention from you

She's the most touchy-feely, so she's quick to ask you questions about what kinds of affection you're okay with receiving in general, what kinds you'd like to be asked about first, what to avoid, etc

Already the type of person who picks up on social vibes quickly, she never hesitates to steer you away from a shady character

And now that she's seen how it impacts your life, she's quick to ask around about people with weird vibes, and warn both you and anyone who seems like they might be vulnerable to them

Dedicated to reminding you how important you are every day

Lucio

He didn't get what you were talking about (beyond being able to tell that you were describing a past unpleasant experience) until you straight up told him without beating around the bush

Shocked, and later, furious

It ends up being a conversation you have to come back to, because once he gets a rough idea of what happened, he's spending half an hour pacing and brandishing his gauntlet and spewing threats

How dare they - how dare anyone think for a moment that treating someone as incredible as you is okay? He is throwing them in the dungeon. He's not Count anymore, but he'll find a way!

Doesn't think for a second that you could be remotely to blame

Which means he also doesn't think to remind you that it's not your fault and that you haven't somehow become worse for the experience until you bring up those feelings

He will happily rage about all the good things you deserve if you do

He knows you're strong and capable, but the thing he intuitively wants to do is make you feel safe. Whether that be by keeping watch while you sleep, or standing between you and strangers

Not very used to restraining himself when he wants to fling himself at you for a hug, and it takes a little trial and error for both of you to figure out what sudden affection feels safe and what doesn't

Won't hesitate to pull his sword on anyone crowding into your space or making you uncomfortable

Never sees you in the shadow of your pain. You are you - that's all

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

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jamie and reader used to date before he went back to his old team and broke reader’s heart 💔 now he’s back and wants reader back ANGST AND FLUFF PLEASEEE

I’ve been thinking about this request since FOREVER so I hope I did it justice!!

wonder what it’d be like

You don’t get paid enough for this shit.

“So you do know Jamie Tartt?” asks some journalist doing some piece on some footballer crap. You don’t know and you don’t care.

“If you’re not going to order anything, I’m going to get my boss and have you removed from the premises,” you reply, undeterred in your mission to wipe down empty tables. Brian loves his coffee shop and is fiercely protective of both his employees and his peaceful atmosphere. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s kicked someone out.

“Well, do you have any comment on the fact that he said you were the love of his life?”

You don’t miss a beat. “No I do not. Can I get you any coffee or should I get Brian?”

The journalist declines both, and is out the door.

Fucking Jamie Tartt. What does he even think he’s doing? How did you even come up in an interview? Was the question, who, Jamie Tartt, is the greatest love of your life?

(You’d find out later that yes, that was the question. The journalist was looking for an answer like “Keeley Jones,” or “Kiera Knightley,” something a little spicy.)

It doesn’t matter, the journalist (you think his name was Trent) is gone and you can go back to making coffee and chatting with the regulars.

—

You should have known that wasn’t the end of it.

God, why can’t you just work in peace? You have enough on your plate, between homework and student loans and the person who’s complaining that their iced coffee is “too cold.”

You don’t need to add “prick footballer ex-boyfriend,” to the list.

But he seems bound and determined to add himself to your list of things to take care of, with the way he’s following you around as you hand people their orders.

“Trent said you wouldn’t talk to him,” he says.

He takes your silence as license to keep going. “Why didn’t you just take the money? Can’t be making much here.”

Do not let him get to you, you remind yourself. Do not sink to his level.

So you just shrug. “I’m not one of those people who fucks a famous footballer just for the money. Now I’m going to give you the same choice I gave that goddamn reporter: you can get a coffee or you can get. Out.”

So Jamie leaves.

—

It figures that your ex would find some way to make your life hell. Sure, you’ve gotten mostly over him and you have your own life and you’re on your way to becoming an accountant because numbers are fun and numbers don’t break your heart. So of course, now is when he decides to show up and have journalists poking around.

But you refuse to talk about him with anyone. It’s rude, in your opinion. It devalues your old relationship and yourself and you won’t do it.

So instead you stay after hours, going over finances at the café while Brian and his boyfriend chatter softly and try new coffee combinations.

You laugh as they bicker and and sip everything they set before you, grateful that you don’t have to think about the day Jamie got signed to Manchester City and decided that he was too good for you.

Unfortunately, you have to go home at some point, which means you’re wide awake in your bed, flatmates all asleep leaving you to replay that whole terrible day.

—

(He said, “It ain’t gonna work, babe, I’m in the Premier League now and I should be with someone who’s at my same level.”

You said, “Don’t call me babe.”

He said, “Don’t waste any tears over me, I won’t be crying so you shouldn’t either.”

You said, “I sure as hell won’t cry over a heartless dick like you.”

He said, “That’s a heartless Premier League dick to you.”

And that was it. A year-long relationship and four year-long friendship down the tubes.)

—

The article hits the papers and now you’re constantly being harassed by journalists.

You read it, the part about you. It was written in interview format, with a bolded question and then Jamie’s response. It was like a glimpse into his personal life, who he was outside the pitch.

Jamie, you’ve had an astonishing career at such a young age, and made a name for yourself both on and off the pitch. Your name has been in the tabloids with many famous models and actresses in the few short years you’ve played in the Premier League. So my question is, in the history of your romantic entanglements, who is the absolute love of your life?

In your opinion, it was a long lead-up to a short question.

Jamie’s response was two words. Your first and last name.

That fucker.

It makes work so bad that you had to hide in the back while Brian tells people to leave.

You apologize profusely once everything’s closed and everyone’s gone.

“I’ll give you my official notice and everything, and I can still help out with finances if you want,” you say. “I’m- not trying to be annoying, but the extra money would be really helpful while I look for another job.”

Brian shakes his head. “I’m not firing you, kid,” he says. “It’ll die down. And Caleb and I are happy to have you over for dinner if you want to talk about it.”

You’re so relieved and grateful that you hug him.

—

It’s late again. You’re in your kitchen. All three of your flatmates are out and will be gone until the morning, so you have the flat all to yourself. You’ve lit some candles and turned on the soft lights, and are criss-cross on the counter listening to Fleetwood Mac with brownies in the oven.

You allow yourself to think about some of the questions that were thrown at you throughout the day.

How long have you known Jamie Tartt?

When was the last time you spoke?

Are you still friends?

You shake your head. Weird.

There’s a knock at the door. Even weirder. You’re not expecting anyone.

You hop down and pad down the hall, standing on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. It’s Jamie. You make a face, double-check that the door is locked, and turn back to the kitchen.

“I know you’re there,” Jamie calls through the door. “I can see the light on, and your car’s out front. I just want to talk.”

You’re not going to open the door, but then he calls your name and you’re rooted to the floor.

You open the door just enough so you can look at him, but not enough that he thinks he can come inside.

“I can’t imagine what you’d have to say to me other than an apology, especially after the day I’ve had,” you say, more fire in your voice than you remembered you had.

The fire dies when you get a good look at Jamie’s face.

It’s different.

He looks… forlorn, almost?

“I do, I do have an apology,” he says. There’s no malice, no conniving look on his face.

You say, “Ok,” in a tone so soft that Jamie could almost forget the anger you just held.

“Look,” he begins, but is cut off by your timer beeping in the kitchen. You sigh.

“I have to get those,” you say. “Can’t burn down the flat. Do you… do you want to come in? Just for a minute.”

Jamie nods and follows you inside, closing the door behind him.

He follows you to the kitchen, close on your heels, where you motion for him to sit while you take out the brownies.

“Right,” he says once you’re leaning on the counter across from him. “Look- I was a prick. I thought I was fucking special because my right foot was kissed by god. I didn’t know how to fucking handle it so I acted like a prick. And I never said I’m sorry.” He takes a breath. “Keeley’s always talkin’ about accountability, so… here I am. Taking fucking accountability.”

You just look at him.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he hurriedly continues. “Just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry for hurting you.”

You’re still not talking, so Jamie gets up.

“Right,” he says. “Right. I’m going to leave ya now. Got fucking trainin tomorrow.”

He’s halfway down the hall when he turns and says, “Oh, by the way, I called your uni. Paid the rest of your tuition, gave them some extra in case you decide you want to keep going.” Then he turns around again and actually heads to the door.

For a moment, you’re too shocked to even move but the magnitude of what he just said sinks in.

“OI,” you bellow. Jamie freezes, hand on the door handle.

“Get. Back here,” you say, voice tight.

“Jamie,” you say once he’s sitting again, “you can’t just pay my student loans. The whole reason I never talk to the press about you is because I don’t want to be like those people who just, like, use you for your money. I had it handled and I don’t need you thinking that I’m just- just- using you. And fuck off with saying that shit in a magazine,” you continue, “You can’t just use me to make yourself more family-friendly. Saying that you like the girl who works in a fucking coffee shop so she can get through school and become an accountant. I mean, what the fuck? Just say it was a model or an actress or something, but don’t use me, because I never used you.”

Jamie shakes his head. “But it’s not like that,” he says earnestly. “I know what you’re like. I know it ain’t about the money. That’s why I said what I said. You really are the love of me life.”

You’re silent, analyzing his face. There’s nothing that indicates he’s lying, and if you can claim to know Jamie at all, you’d have to admit that this might be the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.

All you can manage is a weak, “Oh.”

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “you keep saying that. I forgive you. But that doesn’t mean that I want to be friends with you.”

Jamie nods. “Yeah, no I get that, yeah. Right. I’m not looking for that. I just needed you to know.”

You’re both silent for an awkward moment.

“Right,” Jamie says again. “Guess I’d better go. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

You nod, letting Jamie see himself out.

—

“So, you’re not taking him back?”

“Brian,” you say, “why the absolute fuck would I do that?”

He laughs. “I don’t know, if I had some handsome, rich young footballer come to me with an apology that I didn’t ask for, I’d’ve snapped him right up!”

“Don’t let Caleb hear you say that,” you warn.

Brian laughs again. “Oh hon, he’s heard me say so much worse.”

You snort then turn back to the column of numbers in front of you. It’s bright and early, thirty minutes before opening. That gives you twenty minutes to finish what you’re doing before sneaking out the back door. You’re scribbling in the margins in blue glitter pen when there’s a knock on the glass door. You frown.

“Who on earth is knocking?” you ask.

Brian shrugs. “No idea,” he replies as he goes to look.

The frown stays affixed to your face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that Brian just lied.

He’s back a moment later.

“Think these are for you,” he says, arm full of flowers.

You drop your pen.

“What the hell,” you whisper.

Brian just grins and places them on the table. “A nice young man in a pink tracksuit dropped them off. Said to give them to you and that he’ll have more tomorrow.”

“Fucker,” you hiss.

“Me or him?”

You glare. “Both. Either. I don’t care. Take these home to Caleb or put them around the shop. I’m leaving.”

You shuffle your papers together and flee the coffee shop, door banging behind you.

—

“Twat,” you whisper to no one in particular.

Jamie’s delivered flowers every day for a week and a half and you’re not sure how he manages it, but he always avoids being caught by you. You’re not sure why he’s delivering them to your place of work, but you have a hunch that somehow, somehow Brian and Caleb are in on it.

It’s fucking annoying, really. They’re so beautiful and in all your favorite colors and you’re absolutely pissed off that he still knows anything personal about you.

You’re even more pissed off that you like it.

I mean, come on, he has your forgiveness; what more does he want?

The worst part is you actually miss him. You miss the Jamie you dated, the one you fell in love with but are not particularly fond of the Jamie who dumped you when he got signed for Man City. What’s to stop him from doing that again?

You decide you’re going to talk to him.

—

Brian brings in a particularly large bunch the next day and you’re on your feet in a flash. You’re out the door before he can ask where you’re going, but he doesn’t need to. He already knows.

You look up and down the street. You know Jamie couldn’t have gotten far.

You catch a flash of blonde hair zipping away to your right.

“TARTT,” you bellow.

The blonde hair freezes as you march up the street.

Jamie turns and grins sheepishly, “Hey, love,” he says.

“Stop bringing me flowers. It’s fucking annoying.”

It might be Jamie’s imagination, but there seems to be slightly less rage in your eyes today.

“Thought you liked that sort of thing,” he says.

“I do,” you say, “usually. When I know why it’s happening. I don’t know why you’re doing it. You already paid my student loans and apologized. I don’t really know what else you want from me.”

“A second chance,” Jamie says promptly. “I weren’t kidding in the article. You can tell me to fuck off right now and I’ll leave you alone. Can’t promise that I’ll never hurt you again, but I can fucking guarantee it won’t be on purpose.”

You’re silent, giving Jamie the tiniest spark of hope.

“Fuck you,” you finally say. Jamie raises an eyebrow as you glare at him. “Fuck you for actually fucking changing. And for making me love you again. You’re all I can fucking think about and it’s been driving me crazy, and Brian’s been no help with all his, ‘you should call him,’ and ‘he seems like a good lad.’ He’s fucking right and I’m fucking mad about it.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, “Why don’t you tell me more over dinner tonight? I’ll take you on a proper date.”

You actually smile at him for the first time in ages. “Alright,” you reply, “one date. One. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

Jamie doesn’t care. You’re smiling, which means he’s already won the whole fucking thing. He’s yours again, and he’s not going to fuck it up.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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dilf-lover99 · 1 year

Text

Playing Pretend | J.P.

Pairing: James Potter x Female Gryffindor!Reader

Summary: When Reader's best friend James requests her assistance capturing the attention of Lily Evans, the two decide to make some changes to their relationship. Sort of.

Warnings: fluff, best friends to lovers / fake dating (two superior tropes), not much of a slow burn (sorry guys), a healthy amount of pining, maybe a teeny bit of angst if you squint, a kiss, i think that's it this is like the softest thing i've ever written

Word Count: 5.1k

a/n: i'm sorryyyyyy !!! i'm sorry i ghosted you, i promise it was an accident ! i've been working a TON lately, but i finally found a bit of time to write and i missed it so much. i hope this was worth the wait ! let me know what you think. p.s. love u lots<3

There were three things in life of which you were certain.

The first is that, no matter how skeptical one may be, the sorting hat irrefutably knows best. Being sorted into Gryffindor on your first day at Hogwarts was the greatest thing that ever happened to you, it introduced you to the friends who became your family.

The second is that you will never, swear on Merlin’s beard, read a book you’ve borrowed from Remus in the bath; Some lessons are best learned after making mistakes.

The third, and most important, is as follows : James Fleamont Potter is, and always will be, your very best friend.

You’re confident that there’s nearly nothing in the world the two of you wouldn’t do for each other if asked.

James has always been there for you in times of need, with a comforting embrace or a ludicrously ill-advised joke. He always talks out your problems with you, agreeing with your side of the situation even when you think you’re in the wrong.

There’s not a single problem the two of you haven’t been able to overcome together.

You’ve also spent countless waking hours of your life pretending to hold a flicker of interest in the precise mixture of colours in Lily Evans’ eyes, the scent of her hair, or wether or not she laughed at James’ joke that day.

The price of friendship, you suppose.

“This is the year, (y/n), I can feel it!” Your bespectacled best friend announces from his position sprawled across your bed on his stomach.

You withhold the good-natured urge to roll your eyes, exhaling an small breath through your nose with a smile, “You say that every year, James.” Ceasing the previous circles you were spinning in your desk chair, you make eye contact with James and continue, “Though I admire your persistence, perhaps it’s time to give it a rest? Maybe take up another hobby? Clearly quidditch isn’t keeping you busy enough to leave Evans be.”

“Ha Ha.” James grumbles sarcastically. The two of you have conversations like this regularly, though your attempts to divert his interests have consistently proven futile. “It’s different this year. I’m different this year. I’m trying something new,” He slowly pulls himself up from his relaxed position, now sitting at the edge of the bed to face you directly, “If you agree to my plan, that is.”

“Well, that depends,” You hesitate, eyeing your best friend suspiciously. Over the course of your friendship you’ve always had a difficult time saying no to James, which has gotten you into more than your fair share of trouble.

“Is there any part of this plan that could result in our expulsion? Or worse- Will my hands be stained again? It took me weeks to get the dye off my fingers after your last so called plan.”

Without recounting each and every detail, James’ last plan involved the two of you, a pint of florescent pink hair dye, and the head of an unsuspecting Severus Snape, and resulted in semi-permanent dye-stained hands and a rather stern talking-to from Dumbledore.

James laughs mirthfully at the memory, “Come on, people loved that! We loved that!”

“Yes, we did.” You agree with a grin despite yourself.

James throws a wink your way, shaking his head amusedly before speaking again, “No, this’ll be nothing like that. Entirely free of repercussions, I swear it.” His tone resembles that of when he’s asking you for a favour, and judging by the way he’s dancing around the words, you have a feeling you’re not going to welcome his idea with open arms.

“Alright, Potter. Out with it, will you?” You voice lightly, “It can’t be worse than any other plan you’ve had.”

“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.” He rushes out, the shadow of a blush forming evenly across his pale cheeks at his own words.

“O-kay,” You draw out, eyes wide, “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I know it sounds mad, but hear me out.” He starts quickly, “I was talking to Pads about it and he was all ‘Maybe if you weren’t so available all the time, she’d actually want you around’” He lowers his voice an octave, a dramatized attempt at impersonating your shared friend, “And I know what you’re going to say, ‘Why would you take relationship advice from Sirius of all people’” His voice raises higher now as he butchers an impression of your own, “But he had a point! And I thought, well, I wouldn’t be available if I had a girlfriend, would I?”

You’re unsure if you should interrupt him or not, equal parts amusement and disapproval swirl around in your brain as he speaks.

“But I couldn’t do that to a real girl, y’know?” If he notices the icy glare you shoot his way at this, he does a bang-up job pretending he doesn’t, “Just string her about whilst I’m in love with Evans- But I could pretend! And who better to pretend with than my own best girl?” He finishes with a smile so sweet you almost forget the preposterous nonsense he’s just spouted.

Almost.

“There are about ten things wrong with what you’ve just said- Eleven if you count that horrible impression of me! Merlin, James, do I really sound like that to you?” James chuckles at you, running his lithe fingers through the charming mess of his curls.

“Don’t answer that.” You speak before he has a chance to reply, abandoning your chair in favour of standing in front of him.

“You really have gone mad, haven’t you? What exactly do you think is going to happen? She’ll see us together and be overcome with jealousy? Leaving her no choice but to confess her undying love for you?” You highlight the absurdity of his proposition, poking fun with dramatic sighs and emphatic hand gestures.

“Well it sounds a bit nutty when you say it that way, with your sarcasm and the like, but yes. That’s what I’d like to happen.”

“It’s not going to happen, James.” You deadpan.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how it works!” You state, humour and disbelief mingling together, “If she doesn’t want you now, why’d she want you after you get a girlfriend? And if she did, would that really be the type of girl you’d fancy anyhow? A boyfriend-wanter?”

James chuckles amusedly, completely missing the nuance of your words, “Boyfriend-wanter?” He echoes teasingly.

You sigh emphatically, taking a seat on the bed beside your best friend, “You’ve lost the plot, mate.”

James’ previous contentment is no longer at the forefront of his emotions, instead there’s a vulnerable sincerity that tugs at your heart strings with all its might. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but if there’s even a chance of it working, I just- I have to try, (y/n),” His warm hazel eyes are boring directly into your own with a distinct sense of desperation as he mutters a final, “Please?”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, James.” Your voice wavers with nerves at the thought of walking hand-in-hand with James into the Great Hall where all your friends sit, blissfully unaware of the delusional plan James has concocted to win the affections of Lily Evans.

“Come on, (y/n), it won’t be so bad. You used to love holding my hand.” James jests with an irritatingly loveable grin, not-so-subtly referencing the ancient crush you harboured toward him in the beginning of your first year.

“Yes, very well, James. I had a crush on you when I was eleven. I also slept with a Beatles nightlight and cut the crusts off my toasts.” You’re starting to wonder how on earth you could’ve agreed to this when James grabs your hand, intertwining his slender fingers with your own and giving a gentle, reaffirming squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this. I know it’s barmy, truly, but it means everything that you’re willing to try.” His voice is softer than you’ve heard in a long time, and in the back of your mind you can’t help but think this is the boy you’d fancied all those years ago.

You squeeze his hand back assuringly, “I’d try anything for you.” You smile sincerely.

“Oh really? Should you have happened to change your mind about a certain prank involving-”

“Almost anything.” You interrupt with an amused roll of your eyes.

The two of you share another smile before turning toward the looming entryway to the Great Hall.

“Shall we, darling?” James emphasizes the final word teasingly.

“We’d best, before I change my mind, love.” You retort.

You’re familiar with the expression ‘so silent, you could hear a pin drop’ but you’ve never experienced anything of the sort. Until now, that is.

The moment you and James walk through the doors, all eyes are on the two of you. More specifically, all eyes are continuously moving from you, to James, to your intertwined hands, then back again.

In the two days since you agreed to James’ scheme, you’ve remained confident that it wouldn’t work, surely nobody would believe you went from best friends to being in a relationship overnight.

Your confidence was misplaced.

As the two of you walk closer to your usual spot at the Gryffindor table, your hand squeezes James’ tighter than you’d like to admit, painstakingly aware of just how many eyes are on you. You can hear the poorly concealed whisperings of each gossiping classmate you pass by, “Finally!” “See, I told you they were shagging.” “What does he see in her?” The latter may have stung just a bit.

“Alright?” James whispers close to your ear, fuelling another buzz of observations from your peers.

You nod your head perceptibly, a tad caught off guard from all the attention you’re receiving, “Yes, swell. You?”

“To be determined.” James tugs your hand gently, signalling you to stop walking as you’ve reached your destination at the Gryffindor table.

“Good morning.” You greet your friends with a smile in an effort to maintain normalcy. Taking your usual seat, Sirius is on your left and James sits to your right beside Remus. You promised James to keep the plan a secret from everyone, including your shared best friends, but with the way they’re looking at you now, you’re ready to spill your guts.

“Good morning? S’that it then?” Sirius starts incredulously, “The two of you leg it in here holding hands and we’re supposed to go about our day as normal?”

“I think what he means to say,” Remus interjects, his tone soft, a welcome juxtaposition from Sirius’ brash one, “Is that this-” he gestures between you and James with a mild wave of his hand, “Is new. We hadn’t realized the two of you were… Romantically involved.” His statement ends as more of a question, a gentle probe to explain what’s going on.

You look to James, raising your brows questioningly as if to say you've created this plan, now you have to do the ground work.

He gets the message.

“It is a bit out of nowhere, isn’t it?” James smiles, not so subtly making eye contact with Lily, who’s sitting directly across the table, “We spent all these years as friends and never thought twice about it, um- But then…” He trails off, realizing he’s not half as good a liar as he’d hoped he was.

You close your eyes with a deep sigh, knowing it’s now your responsibility to make this believable.

James Potter and his bloody plans.

“It’s alright, James, love,” You speak up after he’s gone silent, “We can tell them.” He’s going to owe you for this, and you intend to cash in the favour for once, “I’ve fancied you as long as I’ve known you.”

Your friends are paying more attention to you now than they have to anything, ever, clinging onto your every word, “Bit embarrassing if I’m honest, cos’ you never really saw me that way.”

You remember hearing once that the most believable lies stem from the truth, and though it was back in year one, and hardly went as deep as you’re leading on, this is a version of how you’d felt about James at one point in time.

You work hard to fight back a chuckle at the look of pity on Dorcas’s face as she takes in your words, “But, I guess after I finally stopped trying to get you to see me that way, that’s when you actually started to.” Now you’re just discussing the plan in plain sight, though your friends are drinking it up quicker than their pumpkin juice.

James squeezes your hand with a firm grip, as if to warn you not to say anything more and spoil his plan right in front of Lily.

But he’s also looking at you with a discernible note of gratitude in his eyes, never quite tiring of your knack for rescuing him in these situations.

“Yes, quite right, love, I’ve seen the light. Thank you all for tuning in, this concludes the interview portion of our breakfast. Now, over to Padfoot for the weather!” James voices deftly, eyes scanning Lily for any semblance of a negative reaction, and failing to hide his displeasure when all she offers in return is a bright smile and a soft “Congratulations, you two!”

That could’ve gone better.

“Figures the first time I’ve a date to one of these things, he’s only going for another girl.” You voice to James in the other room as you struggle to reach the zip on the back of your dress.

You’re joking, though it’s not lost on you that this is the only time someone’s asked you to be their date to a dance. But you aren’t inclined to waste the opportunity. You’ve picked out a lovely dress and your hair is behaving particularly graciously tonight.

“Come on, love, I’m sure you’ll get plenty of offers once our plan takes off. And tonight’s the night! I’ve a good feeling about it.” Ever the optimist, your best friend.

“Oh, bugger off!” You shout frustratedly after multiple unsuccessful attempts at zipping up.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you! I only meant-” James’ panicked tone brings an instant smile to your face, all previous traces of dissatisfaction long gone.

“Not you, James, my dress. I can’t get the bloody zip to go up!”

“Oh,” He chuckles minutely, “Well c’mere then, let me help.”

It’s a proper cliche, you think to yourself. Like something you’d see in a cheesy romance film, when the girl walks down the staircase in a fancy dress, everything’s suddenly in slow motion, and the lad’s just standing there thinking how am I just now realizing how beautiful she is?

It’s a proper bloody cliche, yet it’s exactly how you feel as you walk into the room and see James standing there in his dance attire.

His crisp white dress shirt is clinging faultlessly to his chest and arms, the muscles he’s defined playing quidditch showcasing themselves quite proudly, the black fabric of his dress pants pulled taught against his thighs. His mop of dark curls sits charmingly atop his head, a perpetual vision of captivating chaos. His rounded glasses are resting perfectly on the bridge of his nose, shimmering hazel eyes blinking delicately from behind them.

How are you just now realizing how beautiful he is?

“(y/n)?” James’ voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you’re thankful beyond words that he can’t hear your thoughts.

“Yes?” You clear your throat, simultaneously attempting to clear your mind.

“Turn around, love, I’ll fix your zip.”

Right.

His nimble fingers make quick work, sliding the zip from the small of your back to the top of the dress, a subtle trail of gooseflesh makes itself at home along the skin that’s been gently grazed by his own.

“There we are. Go on then, give us a twirl.” James’ playful voice sounds, you oblige good-naturedly and give a quick spin.

“That’s a lovely dress. Is it new?” His eyes scan your frame appreciatively, not quite as lengthy as the tour your own eyes had taken upon him moments ago, but you feel your chest grow tighter at the thought that, just maybe, he could be having one of those cliche moments too.

“As a matter of fact it is,” Your smile grows as you think back to the day before, when Dorcas dragged you and a reluctant Marlene to Diagon Alley to buy your outfits for the dance, “It’s her first dance with a date! Not just a date, a boyfriend. We have to pick the perfect dress.” She was far more excited than you were, especially considering it isn’t a real date, but her enthusiasm had made it a day to remember. “If Dorcas were here, you’d have just made her entire week.”

“Do you know what Lily’s wearing?”

Not an unexpected question in the slightest.

What is unexpected, however, is the pang in your chest at it.

That’s new.

“No, I don’t. Sorry. ” You say, not particularly sorry at all.

“Are you alright?” James’ voice is laced with confusion at your sudden shift in mood.

Curse your best friend for knowing you so well.

“Mhm. Shall we go?” You place a smile back on your lips, taking care not to let it fall this time.

“After you, your majesty.” James answers in his most posh voice, gesturing toward the door and lowering his head in a mock bow.

It’s not real.

When you first agreed to James’ plan, this thought brought you comfort, peace, even. It’s not real, thank heavens, and it will be over before you know it.

Why does the thought feel so violent now?

Why is it tearing at the seams of your mind with each of his gentle touches and crooked smiles?

Why are you so reluctant to let go of James’ arm when you arrive at the dance?

And why have you spent the last twenty minutes sitting here, watching James watch Lily, as an unwelcome sense of envy blooms in your chest?

Because you wish it was real.

“Oh, come on! That was proper funny!” Sirius’s voice sounds from beside you, pulling you away from your internal revelations.

When did he get here?

“Was it?” You question. Your words come across sarcastic, but that’s a farce, you’ve no idea what he said.

“Yes, it was actually. You were just too busy making eyes at Prongs to notice.”

And when did he get so observant?

“I was not.” You lie.

“Right,” Sirius starts, not believing you for a moment, “This is my life now, is it? My best mates’ll be too busy snogging to laugh at my jokes? What a cruel fate. Worse than death, really. Just put me out of my misery now.” He throws himself back into his chair melodramatically, posture now resembling a sickly figure in an old victorian painting.

What a drama queen.

Still, you feel the need to reassure him. Cutting off his theatrics, you place your hand on his bicep, giving a tender squeeze of affirmation, “Leave it out! I could never be too busy for you,” He straightens at that, lips lifting into a grin as you continue, “You just have to tell funnier jokes.” His grin disappears faster than it formed.

“Cheeky!”

You continue bantering back and forth, resulting in a fit of laughter that finally breaks James’ gaze from Lily.

He focuses his attention on the two of you, unwilling to acknowledge the feeling blossoming in his chest when he sees your hand on Sirius, a brilliant smile having overtaken your face.

“Care to dance, love?” James questions, faster than you have time to process.

You remove your hand from Sirius’ arm, sparing a glance toward Lily. He’s trying to make her jealous, that’s why you’re here after all. But she’s not looking at you and James. In fact, she’s looking in another direction entirely.

“I’m alright mate, thanks. Take (y/n), though.” Sirius quips, ushering you onto your feet.

James guides you to the dance floor with a gentle hand on the small of your back, spinning you in a half circle to hold you properly once you’ve reached your destination.

Your heart is beating at an accelerated pace but you’re doing your damndest to hide it. “Is she looking?” You question softly, hiding any dejection from your voice.

“What’s that?” James asks.

You wonder how he didn’t hear you, his eyes having been glued to you since you started dancing. You were beginning to wonder if you had something on your face.

“Lily,” You start again, “Is she watching us?” You don’t know why you ask again, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

“Oh. Yes-” James clears his throat, “Yeah, she’s looking.”

Right.

His eyes never actually waver from your own. He doesn’t do much to pretend that he’s spotted her in the crowd or discerned wether she was looking or not. To be honest, he’d forgotten about the plan for a moment.

The song ends but before you can move from James’ hold he pulls you closer, “We should keep dancing.” He mumbles, then continues, almost as an afterthought, “Y’know, make it look more realistic.”

But he couldn’t care less about that right now, he’s simply not ready for you to leave his arms.

It’s been six weeks since the plan started, an entire month and a half of pretending.

And you don’t think you can pretend any more.

Pretending to be James’ girlfriend isn’t the hard part. In fact, it’s the best part. Countless days of holding his hand in the Great Hall and resting your head upon his shoulder in the Gryffindor common room. Those moments are purely blissful.

Pretending that your feelings for James aren’t real? That’s the hard part.

In the beginning, James had started calling you love or darling for show, a way for you to appear more like a real couple. He must have grown accustomed to it, because they’re all he seems to use anymore, even when nobody else is around.

And your heart still skips a beat each and every time you hear it.

Somehow, it’s become routine for you to do your homework while watching his quidditch practices, despite the fact that Lily has only ever seen you there once. You tried explaining this but all James had said was “That’s alright, having you here helps me play better.”

Now you attend every practice.

You don’t know how to respond when your friends tell you how happy they are that you and James have gotten together, that they can tell how deeply you care for him. They’re right, partially anyway, you do care for James deeply.

But you’re not together. Not for real, anyway.

And it’s driving you mad.

Which is why you’ve decided that it has to end.

You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, ever since the night of the dance, when you realized you wanted more. But you weren’t sure what to tell James.

If you tell him the truth, that you’ve fallen for him, it could end your friendship, which is a chance you’re not willing to take. But you’ve also never been good at lying to him, he knows you far too well.

You’ve finally decided on a good old-fashioned half-truth.

You’re going to tell him that the plan hasn’t been working, that if he wants to get Lily’s attention he’ll have to go about it another way. Spending another year watching him pine over Lily won’t be easy, but it can’t be any harder than this; Seeing what a wonderful boyfriend James would be, being so close to the boy you want but never truly being able to have him.

The soft click of your door notifies you of James’ arrival. Taking a final deep breath, you find your eyes meeting his own, willing yourself not to get lost in them and lose your resolve.

“Hello, love. How was your day?” James questions earnestly, taking a seat in your desk chair, his eyes hold an undetectable glimmer of adoration as they take in your figure.

“I think we should break up!” You rush out at once, afraid if you wait another second you’ll chicken out again.

James’ eyebrows pull together in a wistful display of despondence, “What? Why?” His voice is rather melancholy and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was being broken up with for real.

You sigh dispiritedly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed as you face James.

“Think about it. The plan isn’t exactly working, is it? I mean, when was the last time you even talked to Lily?”

James is quick to defend, “We’ve just spoken yesterday! In the common room, remember? When you and Moony were talking about that smarty-pants book, she was all ‘your girlfriend’s too good for you, potter’, and I told her she was right. Surely you remember that?”

You fight back a smile at the memory, of course you remember that, you think of his words about as often as you breathe.

“James that was last week.”

He stops for a moment, counting the days on his fingers before deciding you're correct, “Okay… Alright, well, that doesn’t mean we should break up! We’ll just- We just have to try harder.”

You shake your head in opposition, but he speaks again before you have the chance.

“We can make it work, I know it.” James’ voice holds a perceptible air of desperation.

He knows you’re not really dating, right?

“Come on, James, it’s for the best. Surely you’re tired of me by now.” You joke, trying to appear unaffected by the nuance of your words.

“No.” James voices immediately, sounding as though he’s offended at the very idea of it, “I’m not tired of you. I could never be tired of you.”

“Have you any idea how much harder you’re making this?” You mumble under your breath, though it wasn’t quiet enough to go unheard by James.

He’s looking at you softly, almost tenderly and he lowers his voice a bit, no longer on edge, “What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.” James tilts his head, pushing his glasses up when they attempt to slide from the bridge of his nose.

“I just don’t think we should do it anymore, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” He knows very well that’s not all. He can tell by the way you’re avoiding eye contact that there’s more to it.

“Yep! So what do you say, friends?” You finally chance eye contact, holding your hand out to shake his own in an effort to regain control of the situation.

His hand grabs your own and holds it delicately.

“What aren’t you saying?”

“Nothing! I’m saying plenty of things. Loads of things. Things, things, things!”

“(y/n).” He states plainly, though he’s unable to hide the glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If there’s something going on, you can tell me. We can tell each other anything.” He’s pleading with you now.

And you aren’t sure if it’s his words, or the way he speaks them, or the fact that his hand is still grasping your own, but you’re unable to keep the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t keep pretending, alright? You’re driving me mad.” Both of your eyes widen at your confession, and James takes his hand back smoothly.

“Oh,” He clears his throat, a teasing undertone returning to his voice, though you can discern a hint of sadness in his eyes, “It’s you who’s tired of me then, innit?”

“What? No! That’s not-” You sigh frustratedly, standing from the bed and beginning to pace a small path back and forth on the floor, “James, if it were possible for me to be tired of you, it would’ve happened a long time ago.”

He breathes out a chuckle at this, visibly relaxing once he realizes he must’ve misunderstood.

You stop pacing, looking at James as he stands up in front of you.

“Can we start this whole thing over? It’s gotten a bit confusing if I’m honest.” You question.

“No, it’s okay. You were right, it’s best we call it off now.” James starts, adding quietly, “Before anyone gets hurt.”

Your gaze snaps up to his own, confusion etched upon your features, “Why- Why would anyone get hurt?” You swallow thickly, ignoring the sudden uptick of your pulse.

James sighs, bringing a hand up and running it through his curls, “Because it’s true. What you said before, about the plan not working. It’s not. And If I’m being honest, I couldn’t care less. I haven’t given a thought to the plan, or Lily, in weeks.”

You know he can’t mean it the way it sounds, he can’t mean it the way you want him to mean it. But your heartbeat is racing rampant at the possibility that he does.

“And it’s why I don’t want to end things,” He continues, “Because, the way I see it, if something makes you sad when it’s ending, it must’ve been pretty wonderful while it was happening.” He’s rambling, but the contents of his words, and the fact that they’re directed at you, makes you want him to go on forever.

“You’re my best friend, and you always will be, I swear it! But, I just… I can’t help but want more.”

You’ve heard enough.

Well actually, you could never hear enough, but you’ve heard enough to propel yourself forward, urgently pressing your lips to James’ own.

He wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t waste a moment once he realizes what’s happening.

James places his calloused hands on either of your cheeks, gently pulling you closer to himself. He smiles slightly into the kiss when you bring one of your own hands up to the nape of his neck and run your fingers softy through the curls there.

The kiss feels as though it’s lasted forever, and yet you never want it to end. But your lips part a fair distance as you rest your foreheads together in contentment, taking a moment to catch your breath.

“So that’s what you meant when you said I was driving you mad.” James teases, donning a grin so beautiful your heart could burst just from looking at it.

“Yes, I suppose it is.” You try to sound annoyed but you’re sure you’re missing the mark, wearing a blinding smile of your own.

“Well that settles it then,” James loops his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body, “No more pretending.” His delicate lips meet your own once more in another intoxicating embrace.

Note to self : James Fleamont Potter’s plans don’t always end in disaster.

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aclowntiny · 9 months

Text

First ‘I Love You’ With Seventeen

Since Ateez got one & all! 😄 Warning: long post! 😂

S.Coups

Almost every time you spent time with Seungcheol and the guys, you ended up taking care of them somehow, breaking up spats or cooking for them or even just satisfying certain members’ desire for attention. Not that you were anywhere near a de facto leader- in fact, it was just like you were parenting them. And while that made Choi ‘Family of Six’ Seungcheol fall over himself, head over heels to show you appreciation and affection every time, sometimes he needed you to himself.

This was one of those times.

The jacuzzi water was warm as it bubbled around you two, arms hanging out the edge and glasses in hand like anyone high society in movies would do. Seungcheol nuzzled affectionately into your cheek, grinning at the way you giggled his name when his nose brushed your skin.

“This is nice, isn’t it? Just you and me,” he murmured.

“You and me and the moon,” you hummed cheerily, “it’s wonderful, not that I don’t love the guys, but this must be what parents feel like when they go on vacation together.”

So you saw it too? Cute. “They love you, you know. And I can see why. But I loved you first,” Seungcheol remarked, the words slipping out as he kisses your cheek, feeling whole right there with you at his side.

“Well, that’s good,” you replied, smile so beautiful Seungcheol didn’t even need to look at the stars to see a shine, “because I love them, but I love you more.”

Setting down his glass, Seungcheol swept you into his arms, pulling you for a real kiss as you both repeated your confession, warm in both the water and your embrace.

Jeonghan

Life was kind to you. You had the most loving and understanding boyfriend anyone could ask for. Jeonghan was the best listener you’d ever met, and while you were careful not to abuse that, he let you know time and time again that he cared, that you could talk to him.

So hesitant as you were, you had gone to him one night after a bad day at work, saying you didn’t want to dwell too hard but needed a vent, and all he did was pull you to his lap without another question asked. That day had brought dealings with a particularly rude person, someone who’d taken a low blow at your appearance and unfortunately chosen something you were sensitive about. As you rested with your head in Jeonghan’s lap, his hand playing with your hair, you sighed that though you had a lot of blessings in life, you just wish that one thing at least would go away.

“You know that says more about them than it does about you, right?” Jeonghan began softly. “You would never tear someone down like that, would you?”

“Of course not,” you replied instantly, no thought even necessary.

“That’s because you’re a nice person. You don’t feel the need to cover your flaws with someone else’s or feel better than them. Even if you are in my mind,” he joked, squishing your cheek and bringing your first genuine smile and giggle of the day out.

“Don’t worry about what strangers think, ok? Those things you don’t like about yourself? I think they’re beautiful,” Jeonghan peers down at you with a soft smile, dark eyes sparkling, “I love them. I love you.”

As much as people think of your boyfriend as some sort of jokester, you know he’d never joke about a thing like that. That fond look like he sees the whole world? That really is for you. He truly loves you as you are. Tears welled in your eyes, only to fall back as you reached up, hand brushing along the curve of Jeonghan’s cheek.

“I can say all the same to you, Jeonghan. I love you, too.”

Joshua

Joshua wanted to fall in love first. Wasn’t a fan of being flirted with, having passes made at him, anything that felt disingenuous. What he wanted was a reality, a friendship that carried through into the greatest of bonds, something that he found for himself.

He found you. Well, sort of. When he met you, you treated him like anyone else. Cared to ask him deeper questions, like what the meaning of music was to him or if he could have any one piece of knowledge, what it would be. Let yourself loose and were your silly, smart, kind self very quickly, and he admired your comfort in that side of yourself. Or the resistence to social inhibitions at least, even if it was a challenge.

He hadn’t even expected to really fall for you, but the more you spoke, the less he could help it. You two just made sense together, his energy calming you and yours encouraging Joshua’s fun side- anything to keep you laughing with him, and laugh together you did!

Selfish as it sounded, he didn’t want anyone else to make you laugh like that. He wanted your heart to carry him as his did you, so when you agreed to date him, confessed you’d love that, wore the bracelet he’d made you with his initial on it, his heart just melted. Much as you deserved your freedom, Joshua wanted to be a home to you, and now it was time to tell you that.

You notice he’s that much more loving to you by the way he looks at you, the way he rushes around to open the car door for you and the way his arm slides up and down yours as you make your way into the restaurant he reserved a nice dinner for you two at.

You know him well enough to recognize that he’s biting his tongue about something, like his whole mind is leaning on the edge of his seat as he listens to you, but you know he takes time sometimes to speak his mind- it’s just Joshua’s nature, and you can accept that. You love him, after all, and that’s part of that.

So you keep talking, joking around along with your boyfriend as he reminisces on something embarrassing that happened to him in high school you still joke about, and you remind him of that funny baseball game trip you took with your grandparents.

“I hope I’m as lively as my great-grandpa is at that age, the way he climbed over the bench!"

"Minus the mustard," Joshua chuckled.

"Minus the mustard," you agreed, "I'd like to be a mustard-free grandparent."

Grandparent. One word and flashes of imagination burst through Joshua's mind, wondering what you two would look like as the quintessential old married couple, how many grandkids you'd have- and here he thought he hated thinking like that.

“Ha, that's a great image- I can almost see it. I see a future with you, you know,” Joshua tells you, taking your hand in his, eyes locked on yours. They aren’t searching, though- all you can see is pure joy, reassurance.

You can’t help the warmth that rises to your cheeks. “And of course I can see you in mine,” you reply.

“I love you,” you both say at the same time, and that’s how Joshua knows it’s real- you’ve found it together.

Jun

Welcome to the longest day ever. As he trudged his way home, that was all Junhui could think. Travel was fun, but also so grueling between work, jet lag, and little sleep. All he wanted to do was eat something and crash. Then he’d sleep for eight to twelve hours and wake up grateful for all the experiences that were still a bit hazy in his mind.

As he opened the door, sweet relief flooded him, and yet it was the tiniest bit strange entering the solitude. At least until-

“Welcome home!”

He almost jumped, just barely managed to quell his nerves enough to remain steady. Turning, he saw you standing at the table, food laid out and even a little cake that said ‘Welcome Back Junnie!!! > ω <’ frosted on top.

He was grateful enough you’d taken care of things while he was gone, but making him a late dinner? That adorable cake? He wasn’t even upset by the break of solitude, he realized, because time with you was still going to feel like ‘me time’. And who wouldn’t be overjoyed to see someone stayed up late to cook just for you? No, overjoyed wasn’t it, he reflected as he fell into your arms, he was in love.

“I’m home,” he said, and as if it would make it real he repeated it, “I’m home.”

“It feels good to be back, huh? I knew a party would be annoying, but figured you’d need something to eat, so welcome home,” you told him.

As you separated, Junhui held you a bit closer than arms’ length, hands on your shoulders as he shook his head, chuckling to himself. “No, you’re home. It’s you I missed the most this whole time, (y/n). I love you.”

And the way your face slowly, beautifully drifted into a grin, your hands sliding back up to pull him in, Junhui sighed in relief and giggled with delirious, sleepless joy, knowing you’d found your home, too.

Hoshi

You and Soonyoung sat cuddled together on the couch, his arm around you as you chatted…or you had been, but that didn’t always last with you two. One of you- it was a toss-up on who, honestly- would inevitably say something that had you both laughing like fools, normal conversation and breathing alike almost completely abandoned.

Such was one of those times as you sat connected but folded as your sides were about to split in the kind of mirth that makes you feel worked out afterward. You often described it as the best feeling, so it was fitting to share it with Soonyoung, your frequently-cited other half. That was part of why you-

“I love you!”

It was as if he read your mind, the way the words fell so abruptly, spontaneously, wonderfully from his lips as you thought a near variant. You could tell by the sudden ‘o’ shape his lips took, followed immediately by the wide, adorable grin you loved so much, that Soonyoung hadn’t even known he was going to say it, it just slipped out in between laughs.

“Uh, well, that is, I mean-”

“I love you too, Soonyoung.”

“Ok, good, because I really actually love you a lot and-”

“I love you a lot too,” you cut off his stammering, hands cupping his cheeks and yanking him into a kiss that was also no laughing matter.

No flowers, no frills, but as you sat there making out with your favorite partner in crime on the couch, you knew you wouldn’t want your confession any other way.

Wonwoo

“Wow, this is beautiful! We’re really going out here?”

Out here, in this case, being the lake you rapidly approached, all but running down the dock to the little boat your boyfriend had rented. Trees surrounded the secluded spot, draping its reflections in green that reached endlessly for the sky.

“M-hm,” Wonwoo replied contentedly, expression bright as he followed behind you at a more normal pace.

"How romantic!" You gushed, taking in the sprawling water as Wonwoo extended a hand, gently taking yours in it as he lowered you onto the cushioned bench like a true gentleman.

"I know," Wonwoo agreed as he untied the boat, earning a chuckle from you, "I wanted a day with just us and nature."

Nature. Just like any life in earth, your relationship had taken time, nourishment, and care to grow. And being at Wonwoo's side was natural for you; his presence was calming, but not stifling. Joy, excitement, laughter all bubbled up, but not with the same tension, you reflected as you cut further across the blue expanse.

"What are you thinking about?" Wonwoo asks, a hand still guiding your vessel, palming the controls effortlessly. Not that you were staring or anything.

You lean on the side of the boat, watching the water ever so slightly part. "How you bring out the best in me."

"You?" Wonwoo breathed as you eased to a stop. "You bring out the best in me. Pull me out of my shell. Sometimes it feels easier to stay in the background, just take it all in. Sometimes I would wonder if I would ever truly catch the eye of someone who sees me. And when I'm with you, I feel interesting. I feel light. Happy, like everything around me is clear. When we're together, I'm whole, simple as that. I wanted to have this moment to tell you I love you, (y/n)." As he said 'this moment', his hand waved over the tree-lined horizon, emphasizing the pinkening sunset tinting the clouds like watercolor over the forest.

No rush had ever overcome your heart like that. You wanted to cut the tension with something silly, exclaim in surprise, but neither of you deserved that. This truly was a moment to enjoy, one of life's blessings to live in your heart whenever you needed gratitude, you thought as you peered into Wonwoo's eyes.

See? Totally balanced energy. Reaching over, you rested your hand over his.

"I couldn't agree more. I guess this is a pretty good moment to tell you I love you, too," you reply with a smile that only widens his.

Woozi

It was really such a surprise. Jihoon hadn't expected you to push your way into his heart, not when he'd thought those doors were still shut for a long time to come. And even just the way that he was, busy and not exactly of social personality, he hadn't exactly been planning on falling in love.

But that's the thing with love- one didn't exactly plan on it. You kept things up even when he thought he was being awkward, showed genuine interest in his passions, supported him, built onto it with small ideas that had him inspired even though they were just offhand comments to you. You could read him so well, even when he thought he needed to act. He didn't. You told him so. And being with someone so introverted, you learned well how to sacrifice big activities and nights out if you even wanted them that often.

"As long as I'm with you," you'd say with a smile, and that small, small phrase had looped its way around Jihoon's brain. Somehow, it said everything he wanted to say.

As long as I'm with you.

He didn't want to do it in the studio- you'd spent enough time there for him as it was. No need to do everything in his workplace, not when this was an us thing. So he went over to yours, the space that belonged to you and less frequently housed your time together for myriad reasons, though it felt right. He ordered your favorite for dinner, let you choose what you two would watch, correctly guessing it was going to be your favorite movie. Comfort movie, you always called it. Comfort person, he always called you.

You got the delivery, he threw the blankets down. You played the DVD, he laughed at every joking comment and impression you did even if you did them every time. Doing separate things, but you two were in total sync.

But finally, you spoke outside of the screen. "I-I really like spending time together here, too. I'm glad you were able to make it."

Your shy smile had Jihoon's heart doing loop-de-loops- maybe you were worried he'd think you were imposing? You were not.

"Of course," he replied, hand resting over yours as his eyes studied your beautiful features, features that had inspired more than a few lyrics, even if some got tossed in the end, "you do a lot for me, it's only right I do it for you. It's not always easy, but you're such a trooper. I love you, you know."

It shouldn’t be a big deal. You could feel it already, right? Seokmin tried his best every day for it to show, to create a world where you could bask in the feeling of it like the gift you were.

So why did it seem so hard to tell you he loves you?

Maybe because of his personality- you had to know it was in earnest, not just a joke, not him trying to be cute. His heart beating faster whenever he saw you, the strength you gave him to do anything because you believed in him, and he wished you guys could swap eyes to see how beautiful and precious you were to him.

Wait, so just…say all of that? Maybe too lengthy despite its verity. Maybe something he could practice? No, no script for this, just his heart held out to you. And maybe, just maybe, you’d see he means it if he’s serious, if you’re standing in your favorite place as he says it, somewhere he’d go every day if it made you smile.

And so he takes you there, practically just waving a hand at the potential time and expense if you bring it up. You're worth it, he tells you. All he wants is to have fun with you, you know. To share in something that makes you you.

Your face lights up as soon as you set foot in your favorite destination. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough! Why are you doing this all of a sudden?”

The look in your eyes as you swivel to face him unleashes something, a soaring in his chest that he can no longer ignore- he wonders how he could have for so long. Like a wave crashing on a sea-bound rock, the words burst forth.

“Because I love you.”

Seokmin just, just gets in a glimpse of the way your eyes widen, shine even brighter if that’s possible, before you’re launching into his arms, giggling “I love you, too”.

Mingyu

He wanted to tackle you. He wanted to scoop you up and fly you off to some private island and tell you it’s yours, he’d give you the world if he could. But that’s just how dramatic love made Kim Mingyu. As it was, not really an option. And he knew you- that’s not what you’d want, and this was one hundred percent beyond a shadow of a doubt all about you.

But that was it, the gloves were…well, on, actually, as Mjngyu made his way into the kitchen for something that would be much more your speed. Something that, funny as the mental image would be, would not earn him a smack on the chest or a complaint about time and money. Just the thought made him smile. Pretty much any thought of you made Mingyu smile, even on days he wanted to cry, days where being his kind self took work.

And that was how he knew.

“Alright, alright, let’s see!” You laughed as your boyfriend took you by the shoulders, practically jogging you down the hall in excitement that took over you like the happiest of viruses. “What is it? You’re acting like you won the lottery!”

“I did,” he murmured into your ear as you rounded the corner, taking in all that he had set up for you.

The table perfectly set, a gorgeous vase of flowers and two candles a respectable distance from them as centers. Plates, cups, a wine bottle, dishes all at the ready for the meal set just where you could see it- a favorite from your home, clearly handmade.

“Mingyu, you-”. Your voice failed you momentarily beneath your ballooning heart, “how did you know to make this?”

“Got the recipe from your family,” he replied, and you swooned even more with mirth at the pride you heard in his voice, envisioning it even before you turned around to take in the real thing. Just as you thought he was standing quite straight, shoulders out and handsome grin flashing in victory.

“All this for-”

“For you, yes,” he took your hand, gazing into your eyes in the blinding way that always made your knees a bit weak, “I hope it shows. I couldn’t think of a better way to tell you I love you. …And believe me, I thought about it a lot.”

And there he was, sweet and innocent and wonderful as ever despite the bravado that made you laugh, shaking your head in utter wonder as you fell into his arms, feeling them close around you and trace your back in a way that said I’m never letting you go.

“Mingyu, I love you, too. So much.”

The8

Love is something Minghao considers often. Platonic, familial love that keeps him moving forward when things get difficult. The special love he shares with his friends that can keep him smiling in a hard time, laughing at nothing on a fishing trip or bouncing on a stage with his dear bandmates no matter how hot the weather is. The love fans have, whether that's a real love or not- much contemplation went into that area, what was the feeling of possession versus what was love.

Romantic love? Sure, he thought about that, too, and the answer to any doubts on that subject was modeled by none other than his parents, the way they raised him and brought each other's spirits up with full hearts you could just see in their eyes.

And he saw it in his own when he was with you. It was a truth as evident as the nose on his face or the color of his walls, and it's within those walls that the words slip forth. During a simple moment at home, just seeing you standing in his kitchen cracking eggs into a pan in the morning and all feels right in Minghao's world. It was you he wanted this life with, this home, this synergy. And the thought of bringing up a little mini-you? He was surprised how fast his heart beat at the thought.

Shuffling in behind you, he wrapped his arms around your middle as you cooked, feeling your cheek rise in a smile against his head and smiling right back.

"Good morning," you said, "It's a new day."

And those words of yours were like divine intervention, just another piece of proof you two were operating on the same frequency. "Good morning. It is. I'm so thankful for this day, when I can tell you how much I love you."

Seungkwan

"The beach wasn't the surprise?" You burst out incredulously.

Seungkwan had already brought you to gorgeous shores, the sound of waves crashing washing away worry, faithlessness, restlessness from your heart. There you'd both strolled for who knew how long, chatting idly, trading seashells, laughing lots as always, not a cloud in your physical or metaphorical skies.

And then he tells you he has a surprise for you.

At your question, he shakes his head, smiling shyly. "No, but I wanted to have this day with you. To make you happy and have a beautiful place for it all.

"You're so sweet!" As is their habit, as if they have a mind of their own, your arms find their way around his waist, pulling him closer to you.

Seungkwan melts into your touch, leaning forward just so until your foreheads touch. He stays like that a moment, hands on you as well, as if soaking in your warmth to carry with him. Then his arms are sliding down, gently unlocking from the embrace, though his hand gives yours a squeeze on the way out.

And he starts singing. That voice of his- you could never get enough, your eyes fluttering in threats to shut in bliss at the sound of it, and yet you want to stare, to drink in the sight. The words are familiar as home even though it's been a while since you've heard them, and your face immediately goes alight.

"I know this song," you remark quietly with a smile, watching the corners of Seungkwan's lips rise happily as he continued pouring forth sweet words.

It's a love song, probably about ten years old, and boy does it bring back memories of a simpler time, of wild imaginings of love as only conjured by a blissfully ignorant, sweet innocent mind. Back then, love could be whatever you wanted it to be. And right now, that idea doesn't seem so far off. Not when you have someone as encouraging, as faithful, as comforting and completely in tune with you as Seungkwan at your side. The man standing before you truly believes you can be anything and will do anything to help you achieve it.

As the last notes resound across your heart like carven sheet music, you're almost frozen to the spot, bare feet starting to sink into the sand as you grin dreamily.

"You remember that song?"

"Remember it?" You light up further, hands clasped. "I love that song! I used to insist it would be my wedding song when I was fifteen!"

"I wanted to learn it for you," Seungkwan continues, rubbing the back of his neck shyly with one hand while the other grabs for yours, "to make a moment worthy of telling you I love you."

Seungkwan could have told you he loved you in a McDonald's parking lot and your answer would have been the same, but his heart, his eye for detail, his sheer showmanship and yet humility blew you away. Your heart beat faster just for him as you raised your joined hands to your lips, hoping he felt the flutter too.

"Well, today was perfect. And even if it wasn't, I would still love you just as much. Which is a lot."

You considered saying more, but all that escaped you was a yelp as Seungkwan's hands fell to your back, dropping you suddenly in a dip as he kissed you at the sea's edge.

Vernon

He was usually so low-key.

Such thoughts are all you have as Vernon spoils you with a rooftop dinner, visions of the city surrounding your solitary peak on all sides. Neither of you dressed up often, but there you were, up to the nines at this gorgeous place you didn't even know you earned. Not that that was a good way to think. Knowing him as well as you did, you could hear Vernon brushing off thoughts like that. Sure you did, he'd say, you worked hard and he always wanted to care for you if he could. He was such a sweetheart. You wanted to carry his burdens, too, felt lighter and calmer around him. You loved him, but would that be too intense?

Either way, you didn't let such musings color your date stiff. Vernon talked about a movie he had just watched with Jeonghan and Seungkwan, giving his critiques but ultimately praising the romantic plot, how the love was so pure.

"The main male lead? He'd do anything for his love interest. He's willing to give up so much for her, and when she's ready to do the same? It's corny, but there's something so human about it. You know?"

"I do," you nod, leaning your hand on your chin, forgetting anything about elbows on the table as you gaze fondly at the object of your affection. You loved how he talked when he gave his little movie reviews, the passion in his eyes, the flowers in his words.

"It made me realize I'd do the same for you," Vernon continued, dark eyes softening into yours, melting your entire chest cavity to joyous mush.

Unable to help it any longer, you lean forward, connecting your lips with his, which move just as eagerly. The kiss is fast, but sweet, gentle brushes speaking just as much as Vernon’s sentiments.

“I would do it for you, too,” you breathe as the two of you separate, grinning like adorable fools beneath twinkling white lights.

“I came up here tonight because I wanted to tell you something,” Vernon adds, eyes never leaving yours, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Dino

Googling romantic date ideas had hit a jackpot, Chan thought as he whipped his arms, spreading the softest blanket he could find down.

“Tell me when I can look!” You called from some distance away as he laid the basket gently, almost tenderly down, feeling tense and turning twice just to make sure it didn’t drop or tip. Everything had to be perfect.

“In a minute,” he called back, grinning widely with joy, anticipation, even a hint of pride, “I’m almost finished, ok?”

“Ok!”

Chan’s heart swelled. You sounded so excited, too, joyful in voice and mannerism as you waited on the grass, back turned to him as he propped up the finishing touches.

“Alright, come here!” All but jogging over to you, Chan slung a hand over your shoulder. “Turn around, gorgeous.”

“Chan!” You giggled his name, reaching up to his his shoulder. He didn’t always talk like that, but praise and endearment were all his brain could come up with. You made him giddy, and for once there was no one around to tease him if he looked like a fool. And love was certainly making a happy fool of him.

When you turned around with him, your jaw dropped, widening to a slack smile at the sight Chan laid out for you. Upon the soft blanket he'd placed not just a picnic basket, but a chilled bottle of champagne, twin glasses, a pair of cute little bright solar lanterns, and a freshly wrapped bouquet of flowers.

"You did all this for me?"

"And no one else," he replied, arm still around you, guiding you as you both lowered into seated positions on the blanket.

"I feel so spoiled," you gushed as he handed you the flowers, smiling at the way you cradled them with gusto.

"You should," Chan grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "I love you."

Flowers, glittering lanterns, and even food and wine forgotten for the moment, you knocked him on the blanket for a passionate kiss that spoke it all back.

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