#Yeah he's been insane for the past five seasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fairyysoup · 10 months

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i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself.

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something.

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you.

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again.

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder.

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway.

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you.

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it.

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does.

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will.

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive.

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again.

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying.

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will.

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him.

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you.

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.”

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience.

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?”

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair.

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing.

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth.

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile.

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?”

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night.

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.”

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.”

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.”

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens.

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face.

Steve Harrington is touching your face.

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him.

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile.

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer.

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana.

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it.

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation.

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you.

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.”

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.”

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.”

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?”

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.”

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror.

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself.

You like it a lot.

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours.

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.”

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.”

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?”

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?”

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night.

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own.

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?”

“I wish.”

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return.

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted.

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?”

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?”

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away.

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly.

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!”

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?”

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.”

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?”

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him.

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.”

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy.

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count.

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.”

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section.

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.”

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals.

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly.

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking.

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers.

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst.

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.”

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack.

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop.

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices.

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant.

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.”

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.”

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.”

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York.

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt.

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm.

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.”

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?”

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.”

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps.

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date.

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away.

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me.

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel.

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying.

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite.

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones.

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time.

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things.

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve.

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box.

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him.

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box.

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms.

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check.

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day.

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes.

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind.

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you.

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now.

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours.

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco.

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building.

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him.

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?”

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open.

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you.

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.”

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice.

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.”

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.”

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?”

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you.

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.”

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out.

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?”

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor.

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open.

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you.

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit.

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom.

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders.

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?”

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours.

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do.

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started.

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning.

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips.

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind.

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline.

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him.

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?”

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?”

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows.

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose.

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?”

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork.

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, “you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #roses*

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kitten4sannie · 3 months

Text

ᴅᴜɴɢᴇᴏɴ ᴄʀᴀᴡʟᴇʀ

ꜱᴇx ᴘᴏʟʟᴇɴ/ʙᴜᴋᴀᴋᴋᴇ ➠ ᴍɪɴꜱᴀɴʏᴜɴʜᴡᴀ

pairing: half orc! mingi x elf! reader (fem) x barbarian! san x goliath! yunho x tiefling! seonghwa

genre: fantasy au/dnd vibe, humor, gratuitous smut

summary: you go on a quest with a group of brutish, questionable individuals. anything for some gold and riches, right?

w.c: 6.5k ish…..yeahhhh

the world’s longest list of warnings: alcohol mention/usage, soft/hard! dom party members, brat in the streets baby in the sheets sub! reader, these mfs have a hard-on for social hierarchies esp mingi (he’s a big pervert too hehe), mxm (real homies jerk each other off), monster fucking (mimic box…listen i saw it in a porn one time and its been my dream to recreate it since okay sue meee take me to court!!), five?? some?? idk they made it work somehow, voyeurism/exhibitionism, praise/degradation, pet names, olfactophilia, aphrodisiacs, teasing, vast size differences, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, oral (receiving), overstim, tit play, bulge kink, handjob, blowjob, titjob, all the jobs actually, double penetration made possible with magic incantations <3, creampies, back shots, and facials for everyoneeee !! one for you!! and for youuu~~ also the word cock is mentioned at least 50 times in this one sorry bout that hshjs

a/n: hi ahhhh so this chaotic jumble of insanity is my baby 🥹 and it’s also my very first filth fest fic of the month !!! so yk what that means ;3 go on and strap in for me okay? it’s about to go down frfr <3 this is a sort of sequel to my half orc mingi fic but it can be read on its own! also i’ve never actually played dnd,, i’ve just heard about it from my brother so don’t expect an extremely accurate representation;;; i did do quite a bit of research tho <33 but yeah that being said…. rip reader’s elussy </3

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ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ʙʏ ꜱᴛᴇᴇʟʏ ᴅᴀɴ

0:01 ❍─────── 3:01

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“Ladies and gents, now this is a quest that’s not for the faint of heart,” your local guild master announced, leaning his heavy forearms on the crowded bar table below him, stroking his long, bushy beard absentmindedly, the wood furnishing of the bar creaking underneath his weight.

The lively room grew a bit more quiet, some individuals quirking their heads in the seasoned barbarian’s direction, yours included. “With a hefty 1000 gold pieces as your reward, this quest requires you to find and locate the rare lujuria plant, then bring its seeds back to me. Unfortunately for you lot, they’re only found in the abandoned dungeons near Mist Falls. Any takers?”

At the mention of the plant and location, most of the interested individuals turned back to their ale and friends, resuming their loud, enthusiastic conversations. You, however, couldn’t believe how idiotic the other patrons were. You could do quite a lot with 1000 gold pieces, and being a solo adventurer, you wouldn’t even have to share it with anyone. With dollar signs in your eyes and a spring in your step, you headed up to the busy bar, having to get on your tippy toes and wave your hand around past some of the larger patron’s broad shoulders until the guild master noticed your presence.

“Now, don’t tell me a dainty little high elf is interested in the quest I just announced. You gonna scare them off with your shiny hair and sparkly crystals?” the older man gruffed, letting out a hefty laugh, before taking a couple gulps from the oversized mug he held within his large, calloused hands.

When you simply stood there with your hands crossed over your lace-covered chest, the guild master set his mug down, his bushy eyebrows raising upwards. “Oh, you’re serious.” He leaned down to your level, cupping his hand around one side of his face, allowing you to smell the ale on his breath. “Do you know why no one likes to go to Mist Falls, little Miss?”

You shook your head, causing the small jewels that dangled from your silky hair to sway a bit. You cupped a hand around your own face, murmuring, “Why does no one like it, Mister?”

“There’s some strange wildlife that frequent the land there. Otherworldly things…things that an elf like you wouldn’t want to get wrapped up in,” he explained carefully, looking over the lens of his glasses to squint at you. “Unless, you’re into that sort of thing, of course.”

Not understanding what he meant by his vague statement, you shrugged it off, taking his underestimation of your abilities as a challenge you couldn’t bear backing down from. “I’ll take the quest, Mister, and I’ll bring you those seeds.”

The guild master smiled down at you, chuckling a bit, like you weren’t in on the joke that he was so amused by. “Very well, little Miss.” He handed you the rolled-up scroll, his lips still curled into a suspicious smile. “Good luck with your quest.”

Taking the scroll, you nodded your head at him, a smug smile painting your own face, as you turned on your heels to leave, reveling in the fact that your levels of commitment and intelligence were clearly in the upper echelons compared to the rest of the idiots that frequented the crowded guild.

Before you could leave without any issues, a deeply familiar, incredibly cocky-sounding baritone voice interrupted your mental victory dance. “Would you look at that. Gonna handle a dungeon all on your own, eh, princess?”

You quickly turned your head, your eyes landing on the tall, solid beast of a half-man, half-orc standing with one hand resting on his leather-bound hip, his golden eyes slowly studying your body with an almost nauseating amount of interest. “Mingi…” you sighed, the events of your last few meetings flashing through your brain, the tips of your ears turning a faint red. “Oh, you think I can’t handle a stupid quest on my own either, huh?”

He shook his head, his shaggy silver hair falling in his eyes, forcing him to swipe it out of the way with his large ringed fingers. “Nope.” His simple response encouraged his equally large, equally intimidating party members, who were hanging out near him, to laugh and chatter amongst themselves.

Now your hands were on your hips, getting hit by a wave of annoyance, your cheeks burning. “Watch me.”

Mingi took a step towards you, just to show you and anyone nearby just how much he towered over you, his lips quirking up into a shit-eating grin, still peering down at your body like he could already picture what you looked like without the form-fitting lace dress that was wrapped around your curvy body like a pretty present, one that he wanted to open as soon as possible.

“With a petite little body like yours?” He reached down to slip a finger into your hair, playing with one of the crystals that adorned it. “Yeah, so small and delicate, like a pretty little fairy, ain’t ya? Those monsters in that dungeon will swallow you whole.”

You might’ve hated Mingi to an extent, but he was good. Good at making you feel tiny and desirable, and so wet, you were afraid he’d be able to smell it from where he was standing. You closed your thighs together slightly, lowering your closed fists to your sides, leaning forward. “I-i’m not a fairy, you dumb orc! I'm an elf! And I don’t need your help!” Just as you turned around to leave, Mingi cleared his throat, making you turn your head back to glare at him.

He placed his other hand on his hip, letting his weight shift to the opposite side, his head tilting the other way. “Sweetheart, listen, I know you’re very capable of getting what you want,” he mused, chuckling softly at the way your face scrunched up slightly in embarrassment. “But, I’m sure you could use some extra party members to back you up. Me and the boys want to help you. Won’t you let us?”

You gazed at Mingi a little while longer, before your eyes shifted to his friends, first drawn to the most elegant-looking tiefling you’ve ever seen. He had sleek skin that looked like expensive marble, his hair as white as the frost that would cover all the lands during the winter months, his heavy horns ridged and curled into an ‘s’ shape, and black as soot, his thin, pointed tail quietly slithering around in a snake-like motion behind the long black cloak that hung from his pointed shoulders.

“That’s Seonghwa,” Mingi informed, with his arms folded across his wide tattooed chest. “Doesn’t talk much, unless it’s to cast a spell or call me stupid.”

Seonghwa’s pretty lips formed a smirk, wrapping his arms comfortably around his slim, corseted waist, his sharp, milky eyes focused intensely on you, like he was peering through you and straight into your soul.

“Oh, are we introducing ourselves?” someone said excitedly, your eyes following the voice upwards until they landed on the handsome face of the gentle-looking goliath standing besides the tiefling. At roughly seven feet tall, the broad man sported shiny, golden locks, pretty brown eyes, and a tribal tattoo that was plastered on his veiny neck, clad only in a thick pelt that sat comfortably around his solid waist, wearing matching furry cuffs on his thick forearms. “I’m Yunho! I like to get drunk and smash stuff. What do you like to do, elf girl?” The goliath stepped forward to shake your hand, his hand completely encompassing yours, your neck almost hurting from having to look up at him.

“Hi, Yunho,” you replied, smiling softly, feeling a bit dizzy from your vast difference in sizes. Everything about him was just so big, you couldn't help but wonder what else was too. “I’m Y/N. I like to go on quests and collect gold.”

“Don’t tell me we’re actually going to help a high elf,” the last party member interrupted in a low voice, sneering, showing off his large, rounded canines when you looked past Yunho to scoff at him. “And an annoying one, at that. I don’t care if she’s fuckable. This is still a waste of time.”

Yunho put a large, warm hand on your shoulder, covering it completely. “Don’t take San’s words seriously, sweet. He bullies people when he likes them.”

The brooding barbarian folded his arms over the thick, furry pelt that covered his broad upper half, rolling his eyes, a few strands of his wild raven hair falling past his forehead. “Or maybe I just don’t like stuck-up little elven brats, ever think of that, Yunho?” His pronounced eyebrows joined together in a bout of sudden fury. “Huh? Can you even hear me up there, you oversized son of a bitch?”

A faint blush appeared on Yunho’s cheeks, smiling in San’s direction, before looking back down at you. “See? He loves me.”

You returned his smile with a grimace. “He loves being a dickhead too, apparently.”

“Excuse me?!” San growled, about to walk up to the both of you to prove that he only loved moonshine, his trusty club, and himself.

Mingi stepped in front of San, waving his hands around exasperatedly, wishing someone presented a dialogue skip option a long time ago, bored of the introductions. “Alright, alright, so are you coming with us, or not, princess? What’s the verdict?”

You rolled your eyes, opening the large entrance door of the guild, eventually letting out a long sigh, glancing back over your shoulder with a pout. You knew you had a slim chance of surviving without them, but you still had your pride. You let out a small hmph, annoyed when they still all just stood there waiting, encouraging you to stomp your silk shoe down on the ground, grumbling, “Ugh, are you coming, or what?”

Mingi and his friends chuckled amongst themselves and elbowed each other, amused by the amount of fiery zealousness your tiny body possessed, finishing their mugs of ale, eventually following you out of the guild and onto the dirt road.

“Hurry up! I wanna explore this dungeon today, not during the next winter solstice!” you called out to them, already at the forest entrance, tossing your head back in an exaggeratedly annoyed fashion.

The half-orc waved his hand around nonchalantly, despite his large lower canines growing more and more visible the more he began to smile, pulling out a small pair of lace panties that had a familiar design etched into them. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your little elf panties in a twist,” he chuckled, bringing them up to his face to take a sniff.

Your inquisitive expression melted down into one of horror, then scrunched again, this time pleading him with his eyes. “Mingi…don’t tell me you’ve kept those all this time.”

“Of course I have, princess. In fact, I jerk off with them every chance I can in your honor. I can cum real hard just from knowing I turned a high elf onto orc cock forever. I still remember like it was yesterday,” he sighed dreamily, wiping away a fake tear, like had just said the most romantic sentence even known to orckind.

“I still fuck elves, you twat! I don’t need you or your stupid orc cock!” you argued, turning away so that none of them could see how flushed you had gotten, heading into the forest by yourself.

“That’s a damn lie. You showed up to my hut like three times during the Great Hunt not too long ago,” Mingi explained, following after you, his friends following beside him. “Don’t you remember? I had to carry you home after you passed out from squirting too hard.”

“No!” you shouted from ahead of him, swearing you were going to melt into the floor.

“She’s got elven pride, that one,” Mingi sighed, admiring you from behind. “Anyway, I got her soaked panties to prove it. You want to see them, don’t ya, Hwa?” Mingi elbowed Seonghwa, who just shook his head in disappointment, while he continued smiling truimphantly to himself.

࿏࿏࿏

Your group took on a range of opponents, from skeleton armies to disingenuous slime cubes that you may or may not have fallen into, able to pass through quite a few levels of the dungeon, mostly due to Seonghwa’s spell casting abilities, San’s uncontrollable rage, Yunho’s knack of destroying anything he came in contact with, and Mingi’s axe-wielding skills. Did you want to admit that to yourself? Sure. Out loud? No, of fucking course not.

You picked off bits of pink slime that still clung to your wet form, grumbling under your breath about how sticky you felt, not even noticing that some of the slime had already absorbed into your skin.

“Need a little help there, princess?” Mingi mused, reaching down to your shoulder and wiping off some of the slime for you, his fingers tingling once he had done so.

“I suppose so,” you murmured, standing still so that he could continue helping you, surprisingly not even that bothered when the other members of your newfound party all gathered around you and picked or pulled off the remnants of slime that remained on your body, face, and hair.

As you entered the next room, all five of you noticed how the tinglyness remained, how it spread throughout your bodies like a gentle ripple effect, your bodies now collectively hot to the touch, though no one said anything to each other — at least, not yet, anyway.

“A chest!” you gasped excitedly, putting your dagger back into its respective holder and running up to the large, gold-plated chest that sat at the edge of the room, just waiting for someone to open it up and collect its contents.

“Don’t be stupid, elven brat. Not all chests are filled with treasure. Some of them could be decoys. You know that, right?” San rested the rounded bottom of his ginormous club down onto the dungeon floor, leaning on it, raising an eyebrow at you. “Or do you only familiarize yourself with crystals and orc cock?”

“Shut up!” You held onto the barbarian’s insult, rather than hearing him out. “You’re just saying that because you want the treasure for yourself!” You got on your knees in front of the chest, muttering, “Selfish prick.”

“What’d you say?!” San barked, his hand squeezing around the thick handle of his weapon.

Mingi slung an arm around San’s tense shoulders, smiling as though he was quite pleased with himself. “She’s got a mouth on her, huh?” He met San’s grimace with a shoulder squeeze. “Don’t worry, Sannie. She’s gonna learn the hard way.”

Yunho walked up beside Seonghwa, lowering himself down to sit on the cool stone ground with a thud, wiping a bit of perspiration that had formed on his forehead. “I’ve been feeling weird since we left the slime room, Hwa. Can you cast a healing spell?”

“Yeah, me too, now that you mention it,” Mingi called out, rubbing his sweat-covered neck with his free hand, encouraging San to open his own black furry coat, revealing an expanse of sweaty, tan, tattooed skin underneath it.

Seonghwa nodded his head in agreement, waving his hand around in front of him, manifesting a large glowing violet pentagram into existence, which eventually disappeared after the spell had be casted completely, a faint glow still visible around the edges of your bodies.

“Mm, I don’t really feel any different…” Mingi mumbled, his hot-blooded body even more tingly than before, starting to feel like he could fuck someone into oblivion right at that moment, even more than usual.

Once you had opened up the chest, ignoring the subsequent pounding inside your chest and cunt, you were met by a multitude of shiny, gold coins just waiting for you to take. “Holy shit, I’m rich!”

“You better split that with us, before I split you in half with my cock, stupid elf!” San griped from where he stood, now a bit hunched over, his words slightly slurred, not even fully realizing what he was saying.

“Wh-what?!” you squeaked, your ears bright red, turning your head to look at the barbarian in disbelief, not even noticing when the chest in front of you began to sprout limbs, a long, slimy tongue slipping out past the gold.

“I said, I’ll split you open–” San fully dropped his club, which resulted in a resounding thud inside the small room. He pointed an accusatory finger in your direction, blinking at you through his hazy vision, using his other hand to grab at himself through his furry kilt. “–with my big, barbarian cock!”

Yunho pointed at you as well, wanting you to notice the big monster that was about to have its way with you. “Um, Y/N, you should…”

“Not now, Yunho, I have to tell this idiot barbarian to suck my clit!” you informed angrily, holding your middle finger up at San, which he returned enthusiastically.

“Oh, yeah? Then, get your fucking ass over here and sit on my face, you elf slut,” San barked back, sticking his tongue out at you, still holding onto Mingi, appearing drunker by the second — though it wasn’t alcohol running rampant through his body. It was lust. The rest of them were feeling it too.

“Slut? I’ll show you slut,” you grumbled, about to stand up and give San a piece of your mind, your fist, and possibly your body when the mimic suddenly snatched you up with its long limbs and pinned you to the floor. “Oh my god, what’s happening? What the fuck is that?!”

San simply chuckled, leaning his back against the cold concrete wall of the small room, trying to cool his intensely heated body down. “That’s a mimic, dummy. I’m sure you can handle it though, since you’re so tough.”

Mingi looked to his friends, biting at his lip, noticing that none of them even attempted to assist you, more concerned with finding out what the monster was about to do to you. Even Yunho, who was the only one with any semblance of a conscience out of the entire party, somehow couldn’t bring himself to get up, instead answering to the oversized tent that was forming underneath his pelt.

The mimic pinned your wrists together above your head with one strong hand, using the other to lift one of your legs up into the air, breathing harshly as it studied your slick cunt through your tiny lace panties, eventually licking a long stripe up your body, from your pussy up to your chest, leaving your white garments completely soaked and see-through.

Trying desperately to free your hands from the monster’s unwavering grip, unable to prevent more slick from leaking out of you with your legs being held open, you angled your head back to look at the upside-down versions of your party, crying out, “Are you fuckers just going to sit there and watch?!”

“Yeah…we are, sweetheart,” Mingi sighed out, still leaning on San, a few drops of sweat cascading down his flushed face. He dragged his tongue across his teeth, breathing in the flowery scent of your arousal, inhaling so deeply his bull ring shifted slightly. “I’m sure you got it handled. Just tire it out with that wet fucking cunt of yours, will ya?”

A strong wave of pleasure pulsed through your body at Mingi’s response, looking to each of the members, realizing that they were really just going to observe as you got pleasured by the monster, getting more aroused by the second. What was wrong with you? You would’ve contemplated it more, but any thoughts you had would completely fizzle out once the mimic’s tongue came in contact with your cunt, licking you up and down in a rapid, desperate fashion. Its tongue was so heavy and hot against your pulsing cunt, you couldn’t help but cum within a few minutes, your body going limp. “Fuuuck, oh my god…”

“Came nice and hard, didn’t you?” Mingi continued to share his filthy words with you and his party, all five of you reacting positively to it. “I can fucking smell it, princess…” His smile twisted into a faux pout, his voice dripping with lust. “That tongue isn’t enough for you though, is it? Mm-mm, not nearly enough. You need cock stuffed inside your tight elven pussy, don’t you, darlin’?”

All you could do was let out a long pathetic whine, your flushed, fucked-our face giving Mingi and the boys the answer they needed. Now that you weren’t fighting back, the mimic lifted your lower half up into the air, positioning you so that its tongue could slither inside you, pistoning it in and out of your willing hole, your upper half hanging upside down, your tits bouncing with each of the mimic’s thrusts of its wet appendage, your writhing body on display for your party members’ viewing pleasure. “I’m…going to…kill you all…for watching…” you huffed out in between moans, drool slipping out past your parted lips.

Mingi turned his head to share looks with his friends, all of them now dealing with the same almost painful predicament. “Are you all as hard as I am…?” When they nodded, he felt a little less guilty, reaching down to rub at his leaking cock through his kilt, able to feel how stiff it was even through the thick material. He gazed down at you, biting at his bottom lip, holding onto the thick leather of his body harness, trying not to blow his load too quickly. “It feels good, doesn’t it, princess? I can hear how just how sloppy that mess of a cunt is…Do you like the way it’s fucking you senseless with its tongue? Is it filling you up just right?”

You couldn’t believe just how turned on you were in the moment, hardly about to breathe in between your bouts of pleasure, your body beginning to sieze up when the mimic shoved its tongue as deep as it could go, causing a prominent bulge to form inside your lower stomach. “S-so good, Min, gonna cum again…”

“Cum for us, baby, that’s it…” Mingi sighed, leaning his shoulder against San’s, noticing how he began to play with his cock through his kilt, doing his friend a solid and reaching over to stroke the base of it for him.

Groaning underneath his breath, San reached over to help Mingi out as well, the both of them hyperfixated on the way the mimic drank up your juices as though it needed it to live. Seonghwa and Yunho were in a similar position, but instead of answering to their aching cocks, they simply watched on, the visual stimulation clearly enough for them.

The mimic lifted your limp body upwards so that you were on your knees, with its large, agile tongue fitted in between your trembling thighs, grabbing you by the waist so that it could drag you back and forth along its long, slimy appendage. “Just like that, oh my god, it’s so–fuck–” you gasped, barely able to look at the men that were huddled around you, the new position not allowing you to hide away from their hungry gazes, your body on full display for them.

With his hand now fully hidden underneath San’s kilt, Mingi nodded his head at you in approval. “That’s my naughty little elf girl,” he praised you in a gravelly voice, groaning at the sensation of San tugging at his dripping cock from underneath his own pelt. “Let me see you cum one more time for us, princess. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mingiii, I’ll cum for you,” you whined obediently, reaching down your shiny, wet body to rub your clit around through your thin, soaked panties, unable to keep your mouth closed anymore from how hard you were breathing.

“What a good listener you are, baby. Look at you playing with your tiny little clit without me having to ask. Such a good elf girl you are,” Mingi continued to praise you, knowing exactly what made you tick, his hand squeezing around San’s throbbing length.

San let out a higher pitched moan, his body beginning to tremble against Mingi’s. “I can’t believe you–unnh–managed to tame her so easily…”

“It wasn’t hard, Sannie…fuck– She may be a brat, but she’s a good girl at heart…” Mingi was beginning to fall apart as well, San’s calloused hand continually rubbing along his cock enhancing the pleasure of watching you willingly playing with yourself while you rode a monster’s tongue, his party’s presence filling him with even more warmth. “Cum for us, sweetheart, show us how pretty you are when you fall apart…”

Mingi’s praise-filled request mixed with the sensation of your puffy clit grinding along the mimic’s slick tongue sent you barreling over the edge, cumming so hard, you saw stars, barely able to grasp at the dagger that still sat inside its holster.

Meanwhile, San and Mingi both began to groan and shudder against the cool dungeon wall, shooting their hot loads onto each other’s hands and the insides of their pelts. Seonghwa and Yunho both coated their own undergarments with white, biting into their bottom lips so hard they just about broke the skin.

They were all so deep in their wells of ecstasy that they hardly even noticed when you let out a war cry and stabbed the mimic with your long dagger, rendering it dead, causing it to fade away in a flurry of sparkly, white dust, leaving a few gold pieces for you to take.

“I told you I could fucking take care of myself,” you grimaced, shoving your items into a small pouch you had hanging from your upper thigh.

Once the post-nut clarity set in, Mingi cleared his dry throat, scratching at his prickly chin. “I mean, you did defeat the mimic on your own, so credit is due when credit is due, princess. You just used your pussy to combat it…which is just as valid as using a real weapon, don’t get me wrong–”

“Shut it!” you simply yelled, your face so hot, it probably rivaled the surface of the sun, stomping past the recovering men and pushing the next door open once it unlocked itself, wasting no time to enter the last floor of the dungeon where the supposed lujuria plant was said to grow.

“Let’s go help her out with that plant. And remember, whatever happens, happens. Just know I’m not fucking any of you.” Mingi patted San’s shoulder, looking over to the other members of his party with a playful smile.

San smacked Mingi’s back playfully, which Mingi returned. “Let’s put that elf brat in her place.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, on my cock where she belongs.”

Seonghwa scoffed from beside them. “Could you be anymore crass?”

Yunho patted Mingi’s and Seonghwa’s shoulders, practically dislocating them, smiling goofily, his cheeks and face flush from the energy he exerted. “What happens in the dungeon, stays in the dungeon, boys.”

Seonghwa quietly nodded his head in agreement, until he murmured softly, “Indeed.”

࿏࿏࿏

“Where are you, you stupid fucking plant?” you called out inside the vast, foliage-covered room, swiping at the overgrown leaves and plants that were in your way, almost tripping over a few vines that grew in and out of the broken-up cobblestone floor below your feet.

The rest of your party followed your lead, Mingi and Yunho taking the initiative to cut down the thicker plants and foliage that stood in your way with their axes, almost completely out of breath when you finally came across a large pink plant growing in the middle of the room.

“I’m assuming that’s it,” you said mostly to yourself, slowly walking up to the plant, impressed by its intricate petals and inviting flowery scent. “It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be. It’s almost…pretty…”

Just as you reached out to touch it, Seonghwa opened his mouth to warn, “Wait, don’t–”

As soon as your slender fingers came in contact with one of the flower petals, the plant sent out a puff of dusty pink pollen directly into your face and the air around your party, before folding in on itself and growing comically large spikes to protect its core which contained the golden glowing seeds you needed to complete your quest.

You began choking and coughing along with the others, reaching out blindly through the thick pollen, finding solace in Seonghwa’s arms, who began reciting a spell to lessen the effects of the plant’s attempt at self defense, but it was too late. Mind-altering desire had already set in. “Can’t breathe…can’t think…” you whispered, grabbing at Seonghwa’s chest, unbuckling his top and revealing his smooth, marble skin, henna-like tattoos decorating his jewelry-adorned collar bone.

Seonghwa clutched your shoulders, breathing just as profusely as you were, murmuring, “Don’t think, then, silly elf,” before pressing his mouth onto yours with haste, his long, snake-like tongue slipping inside your mouth to explore it.

Strong, solid hands grabbed at your hips from behind, Mingi pulling them back so that he could grind his cock into your ass, his lips already ghosting along your neck. His deep, gravelly voice made you let out a weak moan into Seonghwa’s mouth when he sighed, “Gonna fill your cunt full of my cum, sweetheart. So fucking full.”

“Then, I get to fill her slutty elf cunt with my tongue first,” San interrupted, already on his knees, positioning himself in between you and Seonghwa, not hesitating to tear your skirt and panties apart to access your rapidly dripping cunt. “So pink, so pretty…” He attached his drooling mouth onto your clit, sucking so roughly, your knees almost buckled underneath you, about to completely collapse when he plugged your hole up with his hot tongue.

Seonghwa pulled away slightly, finally letting you breathe without having his tongue down your throat, instead completely shredding the front of your dress with his talons, just in time for Mingi to groan and cup your tits, squeezing and moving them around, saliva leaking past his plump lips. “I always know exactly what your idiotic orc brain is thinking,” he sighed at Mingi, bringing his own hands up to tweak and pinch at your nipples, making you cry out.

“Oh, yeah? Can you read my mind right now, Hwa? Can you tell that I’m about to stretch this elf’s little fuckhole wide open with my fat fuckin’ cock?” he said near your twitching, elongated ear, his hard length slipping in between your thighs to rub along the underside of your cunt, his dark eyes settled on Seonghwa’s before returning to your slick body, their hands moving in tandem to play with your tits, each getting a chance to squeeze your squishy flesh and tease your increasingly puffy nipples.

Yunho, who was hard beyond measure and feeling a little left out, walked up to the side of you and reached down to show off his enormous cock, the slick , oversized tip an angry shade of red. He pouted down at you, letting out a small whimper. “Can you please help me out, sweet? I’m so hard, it hurts…”

Unable to resist his puppy-dog eyes, you nodded, licking your lips, collecting his vast amounts of pre-cum at the rounded tip with your fingers, eventually using it to slick up the rest of his cock, doing your best to jerk him off with your small hands. “Does that feel good, Yunho?”

“So good, doll,” he gasped, leaning his head back, not registering when he began to thrust his hips forward into your hands, using them like a fleshlight.

You’re so big, Yunho, fuck– I can hardly wrap my hands around it…” you sighed out, opening your mouth to lick at the tip of his cock each time he thrusted into your hands. Your mind went blank, until you suddenly remembered that San was in between your squeezing thighs, devouring your cunt like it was his last meal, his tongue and lips wreaking havoc on your clit, his thick fingers shoved inside your pulsing hole.

“Like the way I’m eating this cunt of yours, eh, elf girl?” San mumbled in between slurps, gulping your juices down, a few dribbles of it cascading down his veined throat. “You don’t even need to answer, love. I can tell you do just from the way you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ my fingers.” San groaned deeply, watching the way you dripped for him as he continually went knuckles-deep inside you, biting his bottom lip, growling, “Cum for me. Cum all over my face, you brat. Fuckin’ do it.”

You unraveled almost instantaneously, getting your creaminess sucked off of your slit by the desperate barbarian, not even noticing that he had been jerking himself off so roughly, he had already made himself cum before you did.

“Goddamn it, since when did high elf squirt taste so fuckin’ good?” San mumbled drunkenly to himself, licking at his swollen lips, prior to sucking your cum from his fingers noisily.

“You’ve had your fun, Sannie boy. It’s time for this little elf girl to experience the pleasure of getting broken in by real men. Hwa, you know what to do,” Mingi announced hastily, already bringing you down to the floor so that you were about to slowly take the half-orc’s cock in your cunt from behind, Seonghwa supporting your front, the tip of his tail already brushing back and forth over your swollen clit, rubbing his large, ridged cockhead on your puffy lips to slick them up with his pre-cum, his own plump lips moving at a quick pace, expertly reciting an incantation that would allow you to physically take two obscenely large cocks at once, all well as increasing your natural lubricant and allowing you access to heightened physical sensations.

“Fuck, look at you…What a good little elf girl you are, taking us both inside you like this,” Mingi sighed into your ear, reaching around your body to lazily rub your wetness into your sensitive clit. “Almost like you were made to take monster cock, huh? Not made for little elven peckers, it seems.” He pressed his hand into your lower abdomen, able to feel the pronounced outline of his friend’s abnormally large length. “Mm, that’s right. You loved being stuffed full of monster cock, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Love it, Min, so much,” you choked out, your mind going positively blank, the only thing on your mind being the insanely pleasurable stretch you felt inside your core, knowing you were quite literally filled to the brim. “Feels so good, I can’t think.”

“Why think when you can just feel good, princess?” he chuckled, rubbing your tummy in an up and down motion, feeling the outline of Seonghwa’s thick, ridged length with his calloused fingers, shuddering from the sensation of their slippery cocks rubbing along one another inside your tight, slick walls . He nuzzled your neck and the side of your face with his prickly cheek, whispering onto your skin, “M’ so proud of you, sweetheart. I broke you in before and now here you are, taking big tielfing cock in your pussy while an orc’s stuffing you just as full. What a pretty sight you are. Wish I could take a picture.”

“Oh my god, Mingi, please, it’s so–” you could hardly verbalize, your eyes just about rolling into your skull, your body pulsing with so much pleasure, you could barely keep up with what was happening around you.

Mingi routinely filled your elongated ears with more filthy words, Seonghwa gazing deeply at you, your willing hole continuing to clench around their thrusting cocks, getting stretched so pleasurably, you almost passed out from that sensation alone.

All the while, San positioned himself in from of your tits, squeezing them together and driving his cock back and forth between them, grunting and groaning each time.

Yunho gently grabbed your chin, coaxing your mouth open as wide as it would go, whispering, “That’s it, my sweet, just a little wider…” He began to feed you his cock, stuffing your mouth full and instinctively fucking your throat, your jaw already beginning to ache from the obscene girth. “You’re so tiny…can barely take it…huh?” Moaning breathily, Yunho eventually settled for fucking the inside of your gummy cheek, afraid that he would suffocate you if he continued to throat fuck you.

It seemed that this quartet had been in this exact position before. That was clear to you now. You couldn't have been more wet and willing if you tried. Getting used by two filthy men while two more watched and desperately tried to get off using your body in any way they could filled you with a sense of purpose you didn’t realize you had always sought after.

“You want our cum in your pretty elf cunt, princess?” Mingi huffed, in between harsh, deliberate thrusts, his hands cemented on the reappearing bulge in your stomach. “Huh? You want us to make a mess of you, aye? Want to be fucked so full of our seed, you’ll give us pretty elven offspring?”

Once Yunho freed your saliva-streaked mouth from his suffocating length and resorted to jerking himself off, you were able to reply in a fucked-out, slurred voice, “Yeah–yeah–yeah– fill me up, wan’ it all. All your cum, in me, on me, I need it, pleaseee.”

Your willing party members’ highs all crescendoed in succession, Mingi resorting to sloppy, rough thrusts inside your tight hole until he spilled most of his load into you, his cum splashing onto Seonghwa’s cock, dripping along their lengths to form a milky rim. “Oh, fuck, that’s it…but I’m not done yet, princess…I gotta–nngh–leave my mark on my favorite elf…” He slowly pulled out with lewd pop, coaxing a few more cum shots out of his cock with a large, closed fist, watching the large milky droplets slide along your smooth skin and torn sections of your dress onto the curve of your exposed ass, his eyes creasing with clear adoration. “That’s more like it…”

“W-was that necessary…?” you murmured, trying not to cum just from the sensation of getting stuffed full of cum, sensing that Seonghwa was next in line to come undone inside you.

“Oh, my gods, I…see heaven,” Seonghwa gasped sharply, the whites of his boundless eyes glowing brightly, his lips parting to allow a shaky moan to escape. Seonghwa gripped your hips so tightly, he was bound to leave handprints, relying on slow, deliberate strokes, using your contracting cunt to milk the cum from his cock, unable to resist leaving a few drops on your clit and mound when he pulled out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, gonna cum all over these tits, you little elven slut, take itttt,” San gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening, only having to pump himself between your slick, pre-cum covered tits once more before he was able to leave thick spurts of white all over the bottom of your heated face and lips, leaving most of his load on your messy tits.

“O-oh, godddd…!” Yunho came last, and the most, closing his hands around his reddened tip, whining profusely, unable to keep himself from completely unloading all over your pretty face and hair, practically drenching you in his cum.

Mingi reached down to cup your chin, tilting your head back so that he could get a good look at you, admiring the way their collective seed dripped off and out of you, swearing he could shed a tear from such a beautiful sight. “Look at you. My pretty princess.”

You gently nuzzled his large hand, smiling contentedly, tasting the salt of someone’s load on your lips when you licked at them. “Your pretty princess…”

It took a while for all of you to come down and catch your breath, the effects of the pollen still practically running through your veins, but you managed to wobble your way over to the main plant and slowly pull your trusty dagger out of its holder, slashing the plant until its precious seeds dropped into your open palm. You looked down at the golden, glowing seeds, your fingers still splattered with milky liquid, reminding you of the trials you conquered to get to your ultimate goal. As you wiped your sticky face with your sleeve, you looked around at your panting, much more docile party members, wondering if it was all worth it.

Mingi brushed some of his sweaty hair out of his eyes, noticing the way you were looking up at him, sending a cocky smile your way. “So, you’re 200 gold pieces richer, princess. How does it feel?”

“Huh?” you questioned immediately, your fingers closing around the pouch that contained the precious lujuria seeds. “It was 1000 gold pieces. Did fucking me stupid render you stupid instead?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but with each party member fee, it rounds out at 200 a person,” he corrected you, bringing you in to give you a gentle hug and a pat on the ass, chuckling delightedly to himself, his friends joining in on the amusement. “That’s still quite a bit. You can buy yourself a pretty new dress since yours is all torn and drenched in our cum, ya’ know?” He leaned his head in your direction, twiddling his large thumbs, his smile growing more lewd. "That means I can have the one you're wearing right now, yeah?"

You grimaced, your blood boiling over, already stomping your way out of the last dungeon floor, your voice still growing louder and louder the further you walked away, swearing to yourself, “This is the last time I do anything with you, Mingi! Never again. Never! EVER!”

Mingi simply waved off at his friend’s questioning gazes, holding the seeds that you had taken from the plant inside his own hand, admiring their shimmering edges. “Don’t worry. She always comes back.”

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girlgenius1111 · 5 months

Text

don't tell Leah

barca femeni x platonic reader :)

based on a request that i changed a little

r has a panic attack at practice, and her teammates help her out. lioness!reader + alexia, lucy, and keira

Playing for Barcelona was a dream, by anyone's standards, and you knew it. You had the opportunity to play with the best in the world, doing the thing you loved more than anything.

This didn't mean that you weren't insanely nervous, though. You'd always been someone who struggled with nerves, but they had noticeably intensified in the past few months. Moving from England to Spain at only 19 would be a lot for anyone, and you noticed it take a toll on your stress levels.

The season was about to start, and you were staring down your first match in the famous blaugrana uniform. Everyone at the club had been nice and supportive since you'd arrived, going out of their way to make you feel comfortable. They teased you for being young, but they always made sure you alright. Lucy and Keira especially, knowing you from the national team where you had also made a young debut, kept a close eye on you.

So, when Jona gathered everyone at the last practice before the first game and announced the starting lineup, everyone cheered and high fived you when he said you'd be starting. You were shouldn't have been surprised; you'd been training well, and the team had several injuries keeping people out. Still, you felt the color drain from your face at his words, but you tried hard to keep cool. You didn't want anyone to think you couldn't handle it. Jona sent everyone off to start their gym session, and you distractedly made your way to weights.

Your brain was working in overdrive, every possible way this could go wrong flying around in your head. You were walking slowly, when a hand on your shoulder startled you out of your thoughts. You turned to find Alexia looking at you with a concerned expression on her face.

"Are you okay, chica?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good," you responded, forcing a smile onto your face. Alexia nodded, but didn't look so sure as you turned away from her and kept walking.

Alexia had surprised you with how kind she was; she seemed so intimidating, so serious, at a distance, but she was a very sweet person once you got to know her, and she took her job as captain very seriously, meaning she always took time to get to know new players. You weren't acting quite right, and she noticed.

You walked to your station of the circuit that had been set out, back to being completely distracted. You didn't notice as Ingrid came to stand next to you, your partner for the workout. You were losing your grip, and fast.

What if you messed up? What if you got an own goal? What if you got hurt? What if you hurt someone else? What if you got a yellow card? Or a red card? What if you played so horribly, everyone would realize what a mistake it had been to sign you?

Your breath was speeding up, and you felt disconnected from the world around you, as if nothing was real.

"Y/n?" Ingrid called quietly, noticing that although you hadn't yet touched the weights in front of you, you were breathing hard and fast, like you'd just run a couple sprints.

"Need a sec," you managed to gasp out, slipping out the door and walking quickly to the locker room. Ingrid looked around, noticing that no one had really noticed your departure, except for Alexia, who was had been watching the whole thing. Alexia walked over to Ingrid, a questioning look on her face.

"What happened?"

"I'm not really sure. She seemed distracted, and she was breathing really hard even though we hadn't started yet, and then she just took off." Ingrid replied, looking at the door through which you'd disappeared. Alexia tilted her head towards the door, and Ingrid nodded. Without saying anything else, they exited the room quietly, making their way down the hall the the locker room.

As they got closer, they could hear your gasps for breath, and they sped up. They entered to find you hunched in a little ball at the foot of your locker, head tucked tightly against your knees. It was clear to both girls what was going on.

Alexia turned to Ingrid, speaking quietly. "Go get Lucy or Keira, fast."

Ingrid nodded, turning on her heel and retreating back the way she came. Alexia remained, approaching you slowly.

"Hey, y/n, can you hear me, cariño?" She asked comfortingly. And you nodded your head jerkily against your knees. Alexia sat down next to you, leaving a little space in between you both.

"That's good. Are you having a hard time breathing?" she asked, even though it was evident that you were. Again, you nodded.

"Okay, that's okay. Ingrid's getting Lucy or Keira. Is there anything I can do?" She asked, unable to sit next to you in such distress and do nothing. You didn't respond immediately, thinking it over in your head. It sounded like she really wanted to help. So, you extracted your hand from where it was wrapped around your leg, and shakily extended it toward's Alexia.

Alexia gripped your hand tight in hers, running her thumb along the back in circles, hoping to bring you some comfort. You held onto her like a lifeline, whole body trembling as you fought to bring enough air into your lungs. You heard a pair of footsteps approaching, and soon, someone was setting a hand on your back.

"Y/n? You with me, buddy?" Lucy asked, sitting down on your other side. "We've gotta take those deep breaths, remember? Can you try with me?" Without waiting for a response, she was tugging your other arm away from you, and placing it over her chest. "With me, okay?"

You felt the steady rise and fall of her chest under your hand, and you tried to match it, you really did. It wasn't working though, and as Lucy's attempts to help you failed, you only grew more panicked. Lucy shushed you softly before speaking.

"Don't freak out, you're okay. Do you need your inhaler?" Lucy questioned, and you nodded frantically, but remembered it wasn't in your bag. Keira had made you give her an extra, though, and you tried to tell Lucy all of this in between gasps.

"Kei- has one- in her bag-" You stuttered. And you felt Alexia's hand leave your grasp as she presumably moved across the room to get the inhaler.

It wasn't something you needed often, only when you were really anxious, had a really bad panic attack. It had happened once at an England camp, and you'd forgotten your inhaler at home, which Leah was not happy about, at all. Since then, she'd carried an extra, and she'd made sure to tell Keira and Lucy not to let you anywhere without one, even though you'd only used it a cumulative three times in the past three years.

Alexia returned quickly, handing the inhaler to Lucy, who uncapped and shook it. Alexia resumed her place by your side, hand finding yours again. You clung tightly to her, as Lucy tried to get you to lift your head off your knees.

"Come on, buddy, help me out here a little," she stated, though not unkindly, nudging your exposed cheek with her hand. You lifted your head slightly, and her hand came up to grab your chin, tilting it up. Your eyes met hers, and she hated how scared you looked.

"Open... deep breath in... hold... okay, breathe out," Lucy said, talking you through the very practiced routine. She took you through the process twice more, and you could feel your lungs relaxing. With every breath, you drew in more air, until you didn't feel like you were minutes away from dying anymore.

You leaned your head back against the locker, shutting your eyes tightly as you felt your heart rate slow back down. Lucy waited a minute before speaking.

"What happened?" She asked, knowing you didn't have panic attacks for no reason.

"I'm starting tomorrow," you whispered, "just kind of freaked out."

Both girls nodded in understanding.

"Does this happen a lot?" Alexia asked, your hand still in hers.

"No," you replied, pausing. "A little more often since I moved, but still not all the time."

Alexia looked at you for a minute. "You tell us if it gets worse, yes?"

"Promise," you replied, bringing your head back down to send her a reassuring smile. Lucy was silent next to you, and you could feel the disapproval radiating off of her. Just as you were about to call her on it, you heard the sound of fast footsteps in the hall, and Keira was racing into the room. She looked surprised to see you calm.

"What- Ingrid said you were- and that-" She spluttered, looking between the three of you.

"I'm good, Kei," you started, but were interrupted by a scoff from Lucy. You looked at her, annoyed, while Alexia turned to her, confused.

"You wouldn't have been fine if Keira didn't have one of your inhalers," Lucy said, frustrated.

"You didn't bring your inhaler, y/n!" Keira scolded, and you rolled your eyes.

"I got a new bag and forgot to move it over. It's not a big deal."

"It would have been a big deal if you had suffocated." Lucy mumbled.

"I wouldn't have suffocated! At the most, I would have passed out, woken up, and been fine." You replied, embarrassed that they were being this stern in front of Alexia.

"I'm still telling Leah," Keira said, uncharacteristically serious.

"Don't you dare, she'll kill me!" You said, not really believing that Keira would tell your captain.

Keira opened her mouth to respond, but Alexia interrupted her. She looked amused at the three of you, but her tone still rang with authority, like it did when she wanted to be taken seriously.

"Do you have another extra?" Alexia asked. You nodded. "I want one for my bag. Just in case," she said, and you groaned. Keira and Lucy grinned triumphantly, and Alexia's lips lifted into a smile too.

You thought you'd escaped the overprotectiveness when you'd left England, but apparently it was still thriving here. Or maybe, this was just how the team operated; always looking out for each other.

-----

let me know if you want to see more of young reader and the team :)

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas #barca femeni #ingrid engen #lucy bronze #keira walsh

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Text

One Sunrise at a Time

prompt: you have news for your husband.

pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 7.4k+

note: last in the series, my heart. got a thing for making 'bad boys' simps for their ladies - that's great shit right there. author has had too much coffee and can feel her heartbeat in her eyes.

warnings: cursing, mild angst, Daemon's a shitty husband and a dumb boy, but he's also a simp so super OC!Daemon, um, more baby-making smut, talk of difficult fertility journey, let's all run away from our problems.

previous: part five: Bright Light

Three years after your wedding night, and you still had not given your husband an heir; leaving a small divide between you both. You knew it stung at his pride that his seed will not take, and you grew worried that you were past your prime to bare children; where you both felt an obligation each month to couple, wait for results, and speak little.

By every God did it drive you insane. You wanted to be close to him, but Dameon busied himself while you took up post as 'Master of Whispers' for the King.

After 'the incident' that followed rumor of her virginity, he took your ear often to speak worries to you. And the young servants and orphans of the city passed word to you of their findings, dubbing them your Little Birds that like to tweet in your ear. You filtered what passed unto the King, wanting to take your Lord husband's ear, but was scarce in his appearance, and little did you get to his counsel.

However, you remained in Kings Landing for those three years, and you could tell it was wearing at Daemon's already limited patience. You passed time with Princess Rhaenyra, who you became quite close to in your time, and during court season, you still sponsored your step-sons; adamant on finding them suitable wives.

This season was going favorably, and Kase was courting Lord Stark's second daughter while Jamie was courting the young, but beautiful, (only) Lady Caldwell. You heard nothing from the Ladies Aline and Jocey, but you worried not for them, because Kase gave you every update possible. He liked taking afternoon teas with you, and you knew you'd miss him most.

"Mother!" Kase grinned, finding you in the gardens. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Oh, whatever for, my dear boy?" you asked gently, knowing damn well what the lad wanted.

"Might you... Accompany me?"

"Where?"

"Into the city," he nodded with a growing grin, bouncing on his toes to swish his long, dark hair around his face. "I need to visit the jeweler."

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to propose," he grinned, making you giggle and clap your hands.

"Oh, my boy! This is so exciting!"

"Oh! Isn't it!" He beamed with you, taking your hands tightly in his. "And I need your help picking a ring, mother."

"Yeah?"

"Please?"

"Of course," you nodded, "just let me stop off at my chambers, I will get money for the ring."

"No, I've plenty - "

"No, no, you're going to let me pay, and we're not going to let expense be a barrier. Please, I will do the same for Jamie," you whined. "'S no fun being a Princess if I can't spoil you."

Kase nodded, "Let us go now, I want to be back by sunset."

"When are you doing it? When are you asking?"

"I'm asking her father for permission tonight, I want to show Lord Stark the ring first. You know, show I can provide for his beloved daughter," he explained, making you nod with understanding. His arm was then offered to you as escort, whisking you away to your chambers, and when you both burst through the door in a fit of giggles, he straightened up first.

Your eyes cut over to see Daemon idling by a table, the Grand Maester at his side. "Oh, right," you breathed, turning to Kase, "love, go to the foyer, I'll meet you there in a few moments."

"Are you sure?"

"I forgot, but this is a prior commitment," you smiled, giving his forearm a squeeze. "Go on, I'll be right there."

"I'll wait with the guards," he nodded with assurance, offering a nod to the Grand Maester. Then, "Prince Daemon," and he was bowing out of the room, closing it behind him.

You sighed gently, nearing the pair with your fingers twiddling nervously. "Is there any change?" You asked diplomatically to the Maester.

His old eyes shot between both you and your husband, "Well, I ran the tests, just as I usually do..."

"Is there any change?" You repeated firmly.

"No, Princess. Not this month, apparently..."

"Right," you nodded, waving him off, "then we are adjourned. Something is... Wrong with my womb," you hesitated to admit, feeling jarred by the notion as Daemon would not meet your eyes. So, you stared at the quivering Maester.

"Well, we could try other methods," the Grand Maester explained, making your throat bob. "I can bring a list of options later, or we can go over them now, if either of you are prepared to hear them?"

"No, later will be fine," you assured, sniffling after, and clearing your throat. "Thank you, Grand Maester, again... That will be all, thank you," You moved for the door, opening it with meaning; the old man glancing at your husband, who remained quiet, and did not look up from the table's top.

"My Prince," the Grand Maester nodded, shuffling out of the room, "Princess."

"Thank you," you whispered again, the door shutting firmly after. You did not look at Daemon as you moved for the safe you kept, drawing a velvet draw-string bag of Gold Dragons to your possession as Daemon remained stoically still.

"Where are you going with that?" He asked, eyeing you wearily.

"We agreed to pay for Kase and Jamie's engagement rings, did we not?" You asked gently.

"Right," he nodded. "Kase is ready then, is he?"

"He is."

"Right..."

You paused before deciding on changing your shoes, finally bucking up the courage to speak as you did so, "I'm sorry, you know."

"What for?"

"For being unable to give you a child," you admitted meekly, staring at the laces you did up tightly. "I did not - if I knew, I would not have - I would not have married you."

"No?"

"No," you answered definitively, tying off the laces of your boots before standing and settling your purse to your person. "I will understand if you do not wish to continue this marriage with me, as you were anticipating a healthy, functioning wife."

Your bitter, vile words marred your face as you hastened for the door, but his hands were like a stranger's grabbing your upper arm. You gasped lightly as you turned almost in shock, back against the door as he looked down at you with something akin to anger.

"Why do you speak such words?" He asked in High Valyrian.

"Because it's true, isn't it?"

"You are deeply mistaken," he shook his head, "because nothing about your ability to bare me children has ever influenced my want to marry you."

"That is laughable, for you fuck me like it's a chore, barely share my bed, only half-way look at me, and have been avoiding me like-like-like the plague, or something! As if I have Grey Scale!" You emotions tipped and tears filled your eyes, cascading past your waterline. "As if your mind is far from your body, and Gods only know where that is!"

"Sweetheart - "

"No, I needed you!" You sobbed. "I needed my husband, and it was like you couldn't even look at me! Be in a room with me! Share my bed - hold me in your arms! My God, Daemon, when was the last time you told me you loved me?"

His mouth opened before his brows furrowed, expression falling, "I fear I do not know."

"See?" You sniffled. "It's like I am not here, like we are not truly married, and my heart hurts, Daemon. I do not want this for us, so, if this is the grounds you use, being that I am barren, then use it, and cut us both free. I'm sorry. I really am, Daemon, please, I did not intend for this to happen. I did not know."

"Please, do not apologize to me, and let me offer my own," he shook his head, shame taking his features. "I have no excuse for myself - "

"Are you here now?" You begged.

"Yes," he swore.

"Then come with us to pick a ring, spend the day with me, please. I miss you so much, I am so fucking sad and by Gods, do I feel so alone."

"No, I am here now, pet," he promised. "I'm so sorry I was absent, but I'm here, I'm with you. I'm so sorry. Fuck, my dove, I'm sorry you feel alone."

"I'm sorry I'm not pregnant," you whispered, your hands moving to press to your empty womb; his hands laying over yours.

"No matter what is to pass, you are everything I need, and more. Everything I need, all I have ever wanted. Look at me, please," he asked quietly, forehead resting on yours as your eyes slowly rose - forcing them apart. "I have loved you everyday I've known you, and nothing will change that. No child will make me care more or less for you, because you're perfect for me, poppet."

"I don't want to be alone..."

"We will never be alone," he promised, kissing your forehead. "The Grand Maester will bring us options..."

"I want to give you a natural child," you whimpered.

"The Gods will decide, but for now... I could stand taking my duties as husband a little more seriously. You have felt unloved and I took vows to never let you go a day like that - I will resolve this."

You nodded, lifting your hands to pet over his chest, "Please just stay with me today. I feel like a fucking failure - not only as a wife, but as a woman."

"You are fare from a failure," he swore, switching back to the Common Tongue to prove how serious his words were.

"Then why can I not give you a child?"

"Because the Gods have not deemed it so," he sighed. "I am disappointed, yes, but nothing makes me love you less. I'm sorry I've neglected you."

"Be with me now, maybe buy me something pretty, and all is forgiven."

"Deal," he agreed with a small chuckle, sliding his hand over your cheek. "I love you. Fuck, dove, I love you so much."

You nodded, tears still falling, "I love you, too. So much so, Daemon, that being away from you hurts. As annoying and pathetic as that might be."

"Hey, no," he hushed you gently. "Never again will you know that pain for I will not be the cause of it any longer," he promised, pressing a searing-hot kiss to your salty wet lips. "Now, when is Jamie proposing?"

"I don't know yet, we're worrying about Kase today," you nodded, nuzzling your nose to his.

So lead to Daemon preparing for your day, lacing your fingers together as he escorted you to the foyer. Kase was waiting patiently, smirking when he saw the pair of you approach, "Ha! I knew it."

"What?"

"That he would be joining us," Kase grinned now. "Everything's good now?"

"Yes, we are resolved," you assured. "And we're dedicated to finding you a ring, so, shall we?"

He sighed, "She deserves something pretty. You know?"

"Pretty is a great start," you smirked, Daemon's hand tightening. "It's what Daemon's going for today, too."

"Yeah? You're in the market?" Kase wondered.

"For anything my wife wants," Daemon nodded, leading the way out of the Red Keep. "She's been without something new for far too long."

"I want to be able to do that," Kase sighed. "Like, my wife's sad? I can just up and buy her a new ring, or necklace, or whatever, and she's okay."

"In all honesty, I'd be happy with flowers from the gardens," you chuckled, "but my husband is dramatic, Kase, and likes to spend money."

"Only on you," he assured, tugging you in closer. "So, Kase, any idea where to start?"

"Something shiny?"

"Oh, he's helpless," your husband teased, to the enjoyment of your step-son.

"So, tell me," Kase muttered when you finally stepped off castle grounds - half a dozen Gold Cloaks at your flank, "what news did the Maester bring?"

"I am not pregnant," you admitted with indignation, trying to remain passive - as if this whole situation didn't cause your skin to crawl.

"Yet," Daemon tacked on with encouragement, "because in truth, lad," he told Kase, "I have not been as diligent in my duties as a husband as I should be."

"Meaning?"

"We don't fuck nearly enough - but that is set to change," he eased with a smirk; you hand smacking his stomach playfully.

"Well, you actually don't spend any time with me," you pointed out, feeling silly admitting it aloud. "Might we... I don't know, move along to another subject? How are matters with the Lady Stark, Kase?"

"Well, Jamie and I spoke of it, and if the Ladies agreed to it, have a duel wedding here with you before we return home. My Lady's father gifted her a small stead near Winterfell... I think we might move there after the ceremony."

"And Jamie?"

"Would still be Lord, only, married, and no longer in the capital," Kase paused to consider, "with very little reason to return to this city."

Pointing that out seemed to set you off some, though you did not let it show. The idea was that both lads were to marry this season, and Daemon was antsy to escape Kings Landing for across the Narrow Sea seemed like a terribly convenient coincidence. Daemon's been more than gracious to let you linger as you did, but now that the truth was tangibly verbalized about your boys leaving and not returning, Gods, did it sting!

Daemon and Kase asked one another a few questions back and forth in further effort to know one another, your feet and lower back starting to ache. Perhaps you were to start your cycle soon...

Time through the city drug only because it was evident Kase was 'forcing' time between you and your husband by going the long routes through market stalls. By the time you arrived at the jewelers, all 6 Gold Cloaks were holding items bought because you had so simply as 'gazed fondly at it.'

And he was even worse in the jeweler, though you talked him down to only one item - be it a ring, or heavy necklace, so solid gem broach... With reluctance, Dameon agreed, and the pair of you focused on helping Kase make his decisions. Your husband advised he simply go with whatever spoke to his heart, but it was evident the lad was becoming overwhelmed.

So, you stepped up, and together, pieced together what he thought would be suitable for his bride-to-be. Daemon watched with a smirk, gazing over other options for anything he found intriguing for you, but paused when Kase exclaimed, "AH-HA! YES!"

"Kase!" You scolded.

"Sorry, sorry," he winced, looking from you, to the jeweler, then to Daemon, "sorry. I just... I think I found the one!"

"Let's see it, lad," Daemon nodded, clasping the young Lord's shoulder and looking at what he held. "Befitting for a young woman so beautiful as your bride. It will do nicely - yes, we'll take it," he assured the salesman.

"Gems are imported from Qaarth."

"Where before?" You wondered.

"No idea," the man admitted. "But it's real nice, yeah?"

"It is, please, set it aside for us," you nodded to the man, then pointed to a pretty, solid gold necklace that held a plaque that looked as if it could be carved into. "And might I see that, please?"

"Course," the man mumbled, and the necklace was produced for your hands to examine.

"If I gave you script, could you engrave this for me?"

"Anything you'd like, Princess," he nodded in agreement.

"I'll send the instructions with a lad later," you smiled. "We'd like those two items - might we settle the debt now?"

"If you'd like, of course."

"I'd like to, yes," you nodded from the salesman to your Lord husband. "Daemon? Love?"

"Right," he sighed, pulling the money pouch from his belt after fearing that if you carried it, it would encourage violence against you. "What's the number then?"

As the two talked price, Kase was beaming as he examined his ring choice - glancing at you, and making you prompt, "She'll be blown away."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm," you assured. "It's a beautiful selection, she's going to just die when she sees it. And her father will not think you lowly, but capable of providing for his daughter."

"But what if... What if I can't?" Kase mumbled, turning to you. "What if I screw up so bad, it can't be fixed, and she leaves me - or whatever have you!? I fear I am only a second son and hold no land or titles, but that my brother does, and so long as he draws breath, I have nothing..."

"Kase..."

"No, no, just that I want to be with the Lady Stark - even on her homestead, if it means being away from you all... But what if I ruin it?"

"You won't," you spoke with assurance.

"So quick to - "

"I know you, Kase, get out of your head," you advised as Daemon paid that debt owed. Kase sighed and thanked the jeweler, following Daemon from the shop, after you.

The entire walk back through town, Kase worried he wasn't good enough for Lady Stark - and Daemon was far too amused when the boy asked him for help. Daemon's solution? To take the lad to a tavern, but you weren't sure.

"C'mon, Mum, it'll cap off a great day," Kase encouraged. "And we can get drunk! It's a win-win!"

You chuckled, "You're aware of what we've on our person?"

"Yes, yes, but no one would dare cross the Prince of the City!"

Heaving a sigh, you glanced around to the Gold Cloaks. "Can we trust you to bring this all back to our chamber and lock the door?" You asked them, handing over the engagement ring but Kase lunged for it.

"Wait!"

"Oh, hell no," you snapped, taking the ring and pointing a warning finger, "I've been to enough taverns in my life to watch men gamble away whatever be in their pockets - and I will not jeopardize this ring! It's going to our room to be locked up, hmm?"

"Well," he looked nervous.

"I trust these men," Daemon nodded, "and if they choose to steal from us, or to vary from whatever my wife asks, they know the extent to which I will take to punish them."

"Oh, Daemon," you swatted at him, "you do not need to threaten everyone!"

"How would they know I'm serious?"

You sighed, handing the ring over. "Please?"

"Of course, Princess," one of the guardsman assured. "You've a key?"

"Yes, you can lock it, I've a way in for us," you smiled lightly, nodding as they took their leave. "Are we sure?" You asked Kase and Daemon.

"About the tavern? Yes - c'mon," Kase groaned, tugging you forward as Daemon quickly swooped in behind you. The tavern was relatively lively for the middle of the afternoon, but you were not one to offer judgement as Daemon was greeted calmly, happily...

Like you would a friend.

Your hand found his quickly out of nervousness, lacing together as Kase went for the bar to open a tab and Daemon secured a table by shooing off the residents of the back corner booth.

"Look here, position is everything," he mumbled, guiding you into a seat with him beside you; stuck like glue, "and from here we've the advantage."

"Should we even be here?"

"We're all right," he assured softly. "But if you are uncomfortable, my dove, we will leave."

"No," you sighed, peering around him to the bar, spying Kase talking with animation to the bartender, "he looks excited. But do you frequent this bar?"

"I do," he nodded. "'S why I brought us here, the security is under my payment right now... But I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What would that be?"

His fingers gently pinched your chin, sighing almost sadly, "How would you feel about leaving Westeros?"

"Not just Kings Landing?"

He nodded, "I'd take us across the Narrow Sea."

"Oh," you breathed, nodding slowly. "Well, that's something... When do you want to leave?"

"After the lads are married, so, the end of the season?"

You worried slightly, "Is that enough time?"

"We've three months, dove," he nodded, petting down your cheek, "and in truth, we've no more attachments here... Let us leave," he breathed against your lips, puckering his to kiss you. "Let us be done, we'll get away from the city."

"See the world?" You smirked some.

"I'll take you wherever you want to go," he nodded. "Maybe getting away from the city will give us the stress-free environment we'll need to conceive a child."

"You think that's our issue?" You sighed, lacing your hand with his to lean your chin on his shoulder. His own head tilted to caress your forehead.

"Perhaps," he alluded, "but we still have to hear the Maester out."

"Right..."

"Come on, pet, there's hope still," he nodded, kissing your forehead. "And perhaps we see the world instead," he chuckled some, "I don't think I'd mind that. Traveling the world with you?"

"What if we have children?"

"Hey?"

"Wouldn't you want your children to have dragon eggs?"

He sighed, "We can talk logistics later, but yes, I would... It is their birth right," one of his arms was around your back, the other flattening his palm to your stomach. "The Gods will bless us one day."

"But no harm in practicing?" You teased, leaning up to peck his lips quickly. "I fear it's been too long since I've loved you properly, husband."

"Make that my burden," he shook his head, glancing up as his hips shifted when one of your hands laid on his thigh, "and I will make it up to you when we get back - ah!" He hissed when you boldly palmed his crotch before casually settling your arms at his hips when Kase returned to the table, carrying two jugs of ale and three cups stacked on his head. "Devilish woman," he mocked in your ear.

"Here, here!" Kase laughed, setting the jugs down as he dodged around to keep the cups on his head.

"Kase - good Gods!" You laughed, helping him.

"C'mon, we're here for a good time," he laughed in return.

"Are you drunk already?" Daemon perked a stoic brow, but you saw the mischief stretch across his face as a smirk.

"Yes," Kase nodded rapidly, pouring the ale for you all. "The lads at the bar were happy to hear of my impending engagement!"

"Oh, sweetheart," you chuckled lightly, giving Daemon's thigh a squeeze - making him jolt a bit - but Kase didn't notice because you asked, "sure they weren't hitting on you?"

"Really? On me?" He gaped, taking his seat finally, gulping his ale. "No, no, no, it was... No, it was harmless!"

"Mhm," you smirked.

"They were kindly!"

"Okay, okay!" You relented, "So, we are celebrating this afternoon. Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Yes," he slurred, "why won't her father give his permission?"

"Wait," you perked up, "did you already ask?"

"Mhm, weeks ago," he waved off between gulps of mind-numbing-ale. "But he said no, but let me continue to court her... So, I thought the ring would show I am the man for her!"

"Oh, wow," you nodded from under Daemon's arm now tossed around your shoulders, "well, that's, uh... Wow..."

"Lad, you've nothing to worry over," Daemon assured, "because there is no other for his daughter, hey? Obviously it is a love-match, and she is adamant on her end that he's not been able to force her to court others. He will not limit his daughter's happiness, yet I would argue you were smart in thinking the ring would help."

"You think it will?"

"Yes," Daemon nodded.

"Hmm," he considered, skulling his drink in full. Daemon chuckled in your ear, nuzzling into your neck, as if three years of slowly drifting apart hadn't been overcome in an afternoon at the jewelers. Your mind began to drift with ideas of how to get him back, and as Kase was enraptured with telling a story, you started to slowly palm Daemon's growing bulge. You felt his thighs tighten, but his throat bobbed to keep his cool - eyes set on Kase's overly animated storytelling movements.

"Dove," Daemon warned under his breath when you pulled the strings of his trousers loose.

"Sh," you cooed, sliding your fingers along his girth to reposition and give a few slow tugs with the table being the only cover between his bare cock and prying eyes.

His breathing shifted but he kept his cool, your hand needing to keep at an angle to protect his cock from the under belly of the table. Kase had shifted his attention half to those who would listen, Daemon's jaw steeling - hips sinking into the seat to keep from bucking. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, stifling a groan.

"Good boy," you purred, giving his shaft a squeeze as his tip leaked. "Always a good boy for me, hmm?"

"Yes," he panted, head bowed to yours again - and to anyone looking over, they would think twice about bothering you. "Just for you."

"Don't cum, save it for my cunt," you switched your tongue to High Valyrian. "Hold it, my Prince."

"Enough," he growled, literally smacking your hand away and instantly tucking himself back into his trousers. Nobody paid you any mind as he stood and gathered you from the booth, then hoisting Kase's arm over his shoulders. "Come on," he told you, "hold onto me."

Your hand latched onto his belt as he had full-hold of Kase. The tavern had grown in patron numbers, forcing a part in the crowd for you as you moved. On the street, Kase started singing, and Daemon kept a wobbly hold on him. When you return to the Keep, luckily, you didn't run into anyone important on your way to deposit the Lord in his chambers - you returning to your chambers, and finding the door locked and all the shopping left in the room.

Good, everything was where it should be.

You were sorting through the day's shopping when Daemon returned, who was then instantly on you with his mouth open to your neck; hands bunching up your skirts as his swollen cock was rutted into the round of your arse.

"Daemon," you gasped, hands bracing on the mattress of your bed as he finally gained access to your cunt, groaning in satisfaction when his fingers met your wet hole.

"I need this," he panted, yanking his cock free to run up and down your slick, and then push in. You both gasped in relief, your chest falling to the bed as his pressed to your back; humping into you as you let him take you as he wanted. "Wanted you in my mouth first but fuck - I couldn't wait."

"Harder, Daddy," you begged, clutching your sheets with desperation.

"Yeah, that's right, fucking beg for me," he encouraged, lifting off of your to piston his hips almost painfully. "Yes, my dove, fuck, take it all. Make me a Daddy, please, please, dove. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck - "

"Fucking cum in me, please," you begged, "I need it - I need to be full."

"Keep talking."

"Let me make you a Daddy, please," you yelped, whining into the sheets before yelping when his hand slapped over your arse cheek. "Fuck me harder, please, I need it so bad!"

"Take it then," He barked, one foot up on the mattress for leverage, hands wrapped around your neck and into your hair. You whined wantonly as he grit his teeth and jack-hammered forward into you with desperation. "FUCK!"

He came with a shout, coming to a standstill as his balls emptied into you; leaving him to rut boyishly into you as his lungs stuttered for air. You were panting as well, letting one elbow hold you up as the other reached up to pet over his cheek. "Someone can't last like before, hey?"

"Oh, you wicked woman," he laughed lightly, breath fanning across the back of your neck before his face was nuzzling there. "Got me worked up in public - I'm surprised I lasted that long." You laughed in return, your legs shaking slightly. "On the bed, pet. I don't want you off it for the next few days."

"Daemon," you whined when he pulled out of you suddenly, legs giving way with a small whoop of surprise.

"I got you," he rushed, catching your body; arms tight around your waist to gently pull you up with him. "Easy," he smirked, "if you're feeling it now, you're in for a long weekend, my dove."

"Gods," you laughed, pulling yourself onto the mattress. "You know, we're going to have to talk..." He sighed when you turned to face him, his fists propping him up on either side of your hips. "Can't just hump our way through this."

"We can't?"

"Daemon."

"I know," he sighed, dropping his forehead to the crook of your neck. "But what is there to say? Besides I am sorry..."

"I fear that if we leave, you will become distracted. My love, we do not have allies outside the Capital City, and I could not bare your same behavior in strange lands."

He sighed, pausing to pull back and pull the rest of his clothes off; stepping out of his boots, too, before reaching for you. He focused on pulling your dress and boots off, almost weakly palming your bare breast before speaking, "I have not been a very good husband, and I know that now, and I cannot apologize enough. But I can try to rectify the situation, and to do that, I suppose I could try harder to prove I love you."

"I know you do," you sighed, leaning back to your pillows, guiding him with you as you took under the covers. "But what happened to us?"

He sighed, deflating into the pillows beside you and pulling you into his chest. "In truth, pet... I fear it is me who is the problem of our infertility..."

"What?" You wondered, looking up at him, confusion knitting your brows together.

He sighed, "Ah, my dove... There are written accounts that sometimes, fertility issues do not fall upon the woman only. Sometimes... It can be the man who struggles to sire an heir."

"Oh," you breathed, pushing further into his embrace. "No, my love, I do not think it's you."

"No - "

"Love, look at me," you frowned, titling his head down towards you. "Sometimes, when a woman takes Moon Tea for an extended period of time, it can... I don't know, alter the state of her womb."

Daemon winced, "If I waited, you wouldn't ever have had need to take the tea..."

"Okay, are we going to go in circles about who's fault this is? Or accept it for reality?" You sighed. "What're we going to do if we don't have a family - and what if we do?"

"It's to be figured out as we go," he sighed against your forehead; cradling you closer. "I just want us gone from the City, my dove."

You sighed, "Then swear to me that you will not put me through this again."

"I'm going to show you I can be the man who deserves you," he swore, leaning in to nuzzle your nose. "No talk of dramatic means; I am yours, and you are mine."

"Would you be honest with me?"

"Of course."

"Have you been visiting the taverns and brothels?"

"Only the taverns," he frowned. "There's been many a night I find myself waking in the stable after drinking far too much."

"Ah, sweetheart..."

"I know," He groaned lightly, readjusting. "Come, nap with me."

You pouted lightly, "You don't want to fuck me again?"

His head, which was settling on your chest, shot up in shock as he eyed you almost wearily. "Really?"

"Mhm."

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning up to latch his mouth onto your own - leading into another frenzied baby-making session.

Months later, you had married both of your step-sons off, and within days, Daemon had approached you regarding your departure.

He made no move to explain to his family where he was heading, choosing to instead latch your shared belongings to Caraxes' saddle as if to just disappear. But as fate would have it, when you approached him with confidence to hand off the last of your rucksacks, you were startled when Caraxes swung his head around to look at you with a great, heaving, cocking-with-curiosity head.

"D-Daemon?" You worried, hands held up in defense as the dragon's muzzle neared you; giving a great heave against your stomach. "Daemon, what is happening? What's he doin', love? Oh, this feels strange, what do I do!?"

"It's all right, you're all right," Daemon soothed, coming behind you to pose as a backboard as the scaly beast nuzzled into you. The power behind the movements jostled you some, but against your husband's chest, you were better secured.

"What's he doing?" You wondered again with greater fear.

Daemon's hands moved to hold over your hips, peering over your shoulder to watch the great beast breath against your belly. "Dove?"

"Hmm?" Your hands were still held up in defense.

"Have you bled this month?"

You paused, glancing up at him slowly, "Not to my knowledge."

"Last month?"

"No... I don't think I remember my last cycle," you admitted, looking up at him with widened eyes. "Does this mean what I think?"

"He's protective of you," he pointed out, sighing after. "No use in getting our hopes up right now. You've been to the Maester, yes?"

"Yes," you nodded, Caraxes growling when Daemon tried to pull you back. "O-Oh, okay," you sighed, gently holding his head to placate the beast, "okay, all right. Shh, shh. Okay, there yah go."

Daemon finished tacking the saddle, watching the pair of you for a moment longer than he would've usually allowed. Something stirred in his gut, and for some reason, he pondered, "What if we left in the morning?"

"Daemon," you sighed, "a single night makes no difference. We want to cross the Sea before night fall, yes?"

He nodded, "One last night here..."

"What are you hoping to achieve?"

Daemon again neared you, glancing up at Caraxes, whilst the beast purred. "There is a feeling I cannot shake."

"What feeling?"

"That we are missing something."

"Not per se," you sighed, patting the underside of the dragon's chin. "What do you think we're missing, love?"

Your eyes closed when Daemon's forehead met your temple, a beat passing, before he admitted, "An egg..." His hand slid across your lower belly to cradle it, "for the babe?"

"Daemon, you just - I'm not - look," you sighed through your nose, feeling frustrated, "it's been over three years, and it's not happened. Perhaps we just let nature take course, yes? Stop trying so bloody hard?"

He sighed, dare you say it, sadly.

"Give us tonight... Let me search for any eggs Syrax might be hoarding..."

You sighed, shifting on your feet. "Everything's packed already."

"We'll make do for the night," he tried.

"If I agree, might I go nap? Or do you want me with you?"

"No, you go rest," he nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. Yet when he let go, Caraxes whined and had to be held at bay while you made your way back to the Keep. Though, while Demon descended into the Dragon's Lair, you rushed for the Maester's chambers to pound rapidly.

"Princess!" He gasped when he opened the door to your tearful face.

"I-I need another test, Maester..."

"My Lady, it has been months since our last exam - "

"Hence why I need one now," you frowned, wiping your cheeks of tears. "Please."

"Of course, come in, come in," he ushered you, moving about his chambers to prepare his tools and herbs. You gave urine, blood, and spit; waiting impatiently as the Maester prodded around your stomach, ran his tests...

And by the end, he was blinking in near shock. "Well?" You demanded, exhausted by the long day of tests - but you knew Daemon would not be back for hours more.

How wrong you were - but first, the Maester turned with tears in his aged eyes. "M-My Princess... You are with child - without a doubt. I'd wager some eight or nine weeks in? Perhaps ten," he nodded, consulting his exam results. "Yes, just shy of three months, probably when we stopped our exams, yes, yes... Have you had symptoms?"

"I don't... Know?"

"All right," he sighed, "your blood?"

"I cannot remember my last cycle," you admitted with a nod.

"Hunger?"

"Some," you shrugged.

"Mood swings?"

"Well, perhaps no more than usual..."

"And have you any pain in your breasts?"

Sighing, you shrugged, "They are tender, yes, but that's not..."

"It is," he nodded softly. "But I'd wager you're ten weeks in, you'll start to notice your belly swelling soon."

You blinked a few times, "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"I'm pregnant...?"

"You are."

"I'm gonna have a baby?"

"Finally," he teased gently, smiling brightly at you. "What joyous news, Princess."

"Well... I... I do not know what to say," you whispered, feeling panic swell in your chest. "M-Might you send for my handmaiden? H-Her name's Mary, please, Maester, I am feeling overwhelmed."

"Just breathe," he nodded, moving for the door to send for Mary. As you waited, he lead you through breathing exercises; trying to quell your worry before Mary was bursting through the door.

"What's this?" She worried, rushing forward.

"I-I am pregnant," you told her, taking her hands tightly, "an-and I fear I am panicking."

"Do you want me to get your husband?"

"He's in the Dragon's Lair."

"No? I swore I saw him making for your room," she cocked her head, squeezing your hands. "Why are you panicking?"

"B-Because I am not - I do not - for fuck's sake, I don't know in full, but I am scared."

"Of what - "

"Of the birth!" You yelped, tears filling your eyes. "My Gods, they whisper about the Targaryen Curse but I thought it was just me - and that I could not bare children. But now... Fuck's sake."

"Okay, breathe," the Grand Maester advised. "This stress is not good for the baby, you'll have to take that into account the next few months, as you grow the babe."

"Fuck's sake," you snapped as you wept, latching onto Mary as she shot a glare at the Maester.

"Yes, okay, thank you!" She snapped, waving him off. "My Lady, listen to me," she sighed softly, caressing you in comfort, "you are not of Targaryen blood, and that can yet work in your favor when carrying a Targaryen child. Ease your mind, my Lady, you are not doing yourself favors with this stress."

You tried to calm down, but she was still petting your hair as you wept. But then, something in your mind snapped in place, "D-Did you say you saw my husband?"

"Yes, on my way here," she nodded.

"All right," you sniffled and wiped your face, "I-I need to go to him."

"Go," she encouraged, "but allow me to be the first to say - holy fucking shit! You're pregnant! Oh, my Gods, I'm so happy for you! Congratulations!"

You giggled lightly and hugged her tightly, letting her yank you off the exam table to lightly hop around in an excited hug. "I am blessed," you whispered into the hug. "Thank you, my friend."

"Truly!" She squealed. "Oh, no, but does this mean you're still leaving?"

"Let's find out," you breathed, squeezing her hands and moving for the door after. She held your hand as you moved for your chambers, but before you got there, she let go and insisted you talk to your husband alone. With tears in your eyes, you pushed the door to your chambers open, calling, "Daemon?"

"Dove?" He answered from the chair resting at the table's edge, his wrist flourishing as he wrote on parchment, almost sighing with relief. "Where have you been?" He glanced at you. "Thought you were napping, and I come here, you're not in bed."

"I've been - "

"Never mind that! Why are you crying!? Who did it?" He demanded, jumping to his feet and trying to take your face in his hands.

"Why're your hands covered in ash?" You dodged, holding his wrists, easing him back into the chair. "Did you find an egg, my love?"

"I did," he breathed, grinning shyly.

"Good," you nodded while blinking rapidly down at him, gently caressing the side of his cheek to pull his gaze up to meet yours, "because it will lie in our child's crib, finally."

His gaze met yours slowly before realization coated his features, almost gaping at you, "Truly?"

"Daemon," you spoke slowly, taking either of his hands in your own to pull them to rest on your waist, "we're going to have a baby."

"You're pregnant?"

"I'd like to think we are, but yes, I am pregnant."

"Finally," he breathed, leaning forward to caress your stomach with a grin, laughing some after. "Oh, thank the Gods - well, no, thank you, my beautiful wife."

You smiled and caressed his head, keeping him close as he leaned back a little; arms tight round you, legs spreading, and keeping you set between them. He sighed deeply, nuzzling your belly.

"A blessing, is it not?"

"It is," you whispered, petting down his neck. "See what happens when we don't try so hard?"

He chuckled, his breath felt across your lower tummy. "Oh, my sweet wife... How I celebrate you."

"How I celebrate us," you smirked.

He gave a gentle nibble to your belly before lifting his gaze; chin laid to your stomach with his arms tightly around your hips to keep you in place. "I love you, thank you for this. I-I don't know what else to say."

"We've a long way to go, you might not be thanking me yet," you chuckled nervously, but Daemon saw through you. He sighed and leaned back more, guiding you to his lap to sit.

"What is it, sweet girl? Hmm? What's on your pretty little mind?"

You frowned a bit, leaning into his shoulder to caress his cheek and jaw; lowering your voice to mumble into his skin, "I am afraid."

"Of?"

"The birthing..."

"Ah," he sighed, tightening his hold on you. "I see... I will ensure the best midwives and Maesters are at your chambers."

"I need only one promise from you."

"You need only ask it."

"You'll be there with me. In the room, even. You will not leave me to do this alone..."

Daemon tightened his grip on you, pressing a kiss to the column of your neck. "You will not be alone, pet. Never in this. I am here with you, and I will be here until the end. You will not be apart from me, and I will not leave you alone in this."

"Thank you," you whispered, holding onto him tightly. He sighed lightly, nuzzling into your neck as tears surfaced. "I'm scared, Daemon."

"I've got you," he assured, tightening his hold. "You're not alone, dove. Not now or ever, I'm so sorry, pet, for how I was before. But it's gonna be different," he whispered, kissing at your jaw after, "I do swear this to you, my sweet wife, 's all gonna be so different."

You nodded, petting through his hair, "All right... All right, so, how about we go share the good news? Have one last dinner with family? And in the morning, we make for Pentos? Or Essos?"

He smirked, "It's a surprise first."

You sighed lightly, "Of course it is. What do you say?"

He sighed, nodding mutely. "A fantastic idea, dove, but let me bask in this moment first." Readjusting in his lap, you easily curled under his chin and let your eyes close. "I love you."

With a smile matching his, you swore, "I love you, too."

🍒 fin

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starseneyes · 1 year

Text

Chenford - Lucy Chen / Tim Bradford - The Rookie - Season 5 - Ep 10

"The List" Or, as I like to call it, "Lucy has the giggles".

Y'all, this one SLAYED me, and I can't wait to jump in with you!

SPOILER ALERT: This Meta will spoil every delicious second of this episode and reference past material from the show (and will majorly spoil the end of the film Serenity. Sorry about that). Please proceed with extreme caution... or don't, if you are ready to be spoiled.

Shall we? Let's get things started!

Fashion Barbie Runway Show

Look, I had a couple Barbies growing up. And while they weren't my favorite toys, I understood the draw of dressing up your handsome Ken doll and fashionable Barbie in fun outfits. And, let's be honest, Barbie always had more variety than Ken.

So, it seems fitting that Lucy and Tim are struggling to choose the perfect outfit for their last first date ever.

Yes, I said it. Tim and Lucy are on an Endgame path, and they are completely aware of it.

Anyway, we see Lucy pull up every significant outfit she's ever worn around Tim (special shout out to the costume department for keeping those around and not selling them off, yet). There's the double date dress, the dance dress, and later the green dress from Lopez's wedding. It's a feast for Chenfordians.

SIDE NOTE: And we have to talk about Tim's bedroom. The crew put a lot of thought into it. Remember, Tim's been married before, and got to keep all the furniture. So, everything matches in tasteful, boring beige (as compared to Lucy's flamboyant, color-filled apartment).

I love that Tim has slippers. I don't know why that detail made me so happy (and the clothes sticking a little haphazardly out of his laundry basket in the closet), but those details help paint a side of the man we've never really seen before. Domestic Tim.

Tim's going through a smattering of the exact. same. shirt. in seventeen colors. And, look, I'll give him props that he has some variety in color to match whatever his date's wearing, but it's terribly on-brand to me for Tim to find the shirt that works and run with it.

Plus, this MUSIC!? "I was overthinking. Are we linking?" Tim and Lucy are definitely overthinking.

Side Note: I am LOVING how they are both tossing the discards on the bed rather than re-hanging them. Because they are so indecisive that they can't bring themselves to completely rule something out, even if they tell themselves that's not the one.

And Tim with the store-bought hangers that he never replaced? Because he probably thinks they're, "Perfectly fine hangers"? I was rolling.

Tim's finally had enough and he picks up the phone to dial Lucy.

Watch. Lucy's. Face.

Girlfriend knows she is taking forever to pick her outfit. She opts for the lie.

"Hi. I'm almost there." "No. No, you're not."

Look. At. Her. FACE! Look at that glee on her face. Because he knows her. She doesn't have to lie to him and worry what he'll think or how he'll react.

"No. I'm not. Sorry. Um, are you?" "No! Uh, look, does this restaurant have a dress code?"

See that twinkle in Lucy's eyes? It's the same twinkle when she laid hands on Tim's radio a few episodes back when he was newly single and she was about to be. Lucy's quickly cooking up a plan.

"Uh, no. I mean, you could wear cargo shorts, if you wanted."

Evil, evil girl. But, oh, how I love this. We're seconds into their first conversation of the night, and they are establishing right away that Tim and Lucy are still Tim and Lucy.

Yes, they're adding a layer to their relationship, but the underpinnings that have been so painstakingly stitched together over the past five-ish seasons remain.

"Really?" "Yeah, I mean, what does it matter as long as your comfortable?" "Nice try." *giggles*

Did. You. Hear. Her. GIGGLES?!

I know I'm pausing a lot on this Meta (and we're about a minute seven into screentime), but that's because this is so insanely delicious that I can't help myself.

I'm the girl who watched in agony hoping for Janeway and Chakotay to have an open-ended end to their romance only for the show to hook him up with 7of9 at the eleventh hour. Besides Mulder and Scully, that was my first major ship. And, to be honest, both left me with some serious trust issues.

So, I went into this episode hoping I would be wrong about so many things. And, folks, I was wrong about so many things. But, we'll get to that later.

Right now, our girl Lucy Chen is giggling because she tried a "gotcha" and he called her on it. And she is so relaxed in this moment that she can embrace the giggle without worrying about any of the boundaries.

Though there are physical boundaries in place (we'll get to those later), the emotional boundaries have completely come down. They're flirting. They're teasing. And it's all out in the open (at least between them) without restraint.

This is unhinged, untied, undone Tim and Lucy from an emotional standpoint. And it's f'ing beautiful.

Also, can we talk about Tim Bradford? I mean, we've seen him happy in relationships, before, but have we ever seen him beaming like this? I don't think so.

"That was clearly a test, and you should know better than to test the master."

Lucy's face is pure, "Yup, that's my boyfriend. He thinks he's so fly" and I am here for it!

Also, Tim in Gold Toe Socks?! I'm fairly sure that's what he's wearing, and that little detail of having super durable, super comfortable socks is so bloody Tim. We don't usually get to see his socks, and I LOVE these little details.

"What are you wearing?" "Yeah, uh, I don't know, yet. But I do have a lot of outfits that I am not going to wear. So..." "Look, well, we are running low on time. Traffic's getting ugly."

Oh, Los Angeles, how I detest your traffic. I once flew into LAX and my ride was two miles away when I called them from the street. Two miles.

One hour later they picked me up. I kid you not. Los Angeles traffic is some of the worst I've ever seen. I remember we went into the office (one of my clients) and it was a ten mile trip that took almost two hours. I am not built for LA traffic, and Tim's line sent a shudder of remembrance down my spine.

Lucy, my lady, it's time to pick a damn dress.

"Yeah, totally. I, it's silly, I just need to make a decision... Ah, yes! The green dress. It is decided."

It was the dress she wore the first time he asked her to save a dance... the first time she had the flicker that he was interested in her as anything other than a fellow officer and former boot. This dress holds significance between them, and it'd be lovely to rewrite its history so it's no longer the dress she wore when Jackson was murdered, but the dress she wore the first time she went out on a date with Tim Bradford.

"Great. Well, I'll see you soon."

He's imagining her in that dress. Remembering her in that dress. He couldn't help himself, even back then. He'd drank in every move of her hips, every hug of fabric against her skin as it swished toward her.

You can see that smile, again. The dazzler. He's dazzled by her, and they aren't even in the same room. That's the power this woman has over him. And he's done resisting its pull.

"Okay. Bye."

She hangs up on him and the music is soft, gentle, hopeful.

Then... nope. She yeets another dress onto the pile and we're back to square one.

The Most Romantic Restaurant in Town

Look, I don't know if this was the director or the script, but sweeping in on all those couples, and the flower arrangements, and the hanging, but dimmed lights? This is a couple's place. This isn't where you take your work friend for dinner. This is where you take your future wife.

And Tim's brought his future wife. But, oh, the boy is feeling awkward now that they're finally out together. Tim sneaks a look at Lucy and she chuckles. She can feel his unease.

"It's good bread." "Yeah. It's such a nice assortment."

Y'all. The Rookie team... we see you! We see you calling out the fan-created Crumb-o-Meter that made my first episodes watching this bloody ship all the more delicious. If you wanted us to know you're stalking our psychotic, borderline-obsessive *ahem* tweets and posts... message received. We'll keep up the good work!

But, seriously, in this moment the awkwardness is on point.

Transitions in life are tough. I'll be honest that with most of my boyfriends, I dove in. With Ernie, he asked to kiss me and we dated for two months (before he dumped me on my birthday over the phone the week of prom). With Sean, he said there was something between us and kissed me in his kitchen. That relationship lasted two weeks because he was moving away.

And before the summer ended, I was locking lips with Travis—whom I'd just met—and I dated him for over a year before realizing we had absolutely nothing in common and I was a stooge for jumping in without taking stock of the situation, first.

So when I met Matthew in the middle of my breakup with Travis... I wanted to do it differently. We spent the summer getting to know one another as friends. I took a romantic relationship completely off the table. Through emails (yes, email), AIM messages (I know... totally dating us), and group dates, I got to know him better and better. We had a budding friendship by the time we finally started dating.

Not the three or so years of Lucy and Tim, but I knew there was something different about my relationship with Matthew from the go. We took everything slower. And I'm so glad we did. It gave me time to savor every second.

Lucy and Tim both know that this is different, and there's a level of awkwardness there as two friends attempt the transition.

"Why is this so weird? We've eaten together literally hundreds of times." "Because our other meals only ever had the promise of being shot at afterwards, you know, not naked time."

I have to be honest with y'all, I did not see Tim saying that. This line leaked early via a journalist with an advance copy (so saying that it "leaked" isn't exactly true since it's the journalist's job to hype up the fanbase). But the journalist didn't attribute the line to either of them. I was shocked to find this came from Tim.

But in the face of the awkwardness they're feeling, it makes sense that he would be searching for words and land on the least romantic ones, God bless him. (Yes, this might seem like a variant on "God bless his heart" but, trust me, in the South they are two very different things. I truly feel for the guy!)

"Naked time? Please, I mean, we've seen plenty of naked people after we ate." "That's not what I-" "No. No. No. I know. I know. I know. I feel like I might... I might just need you to reset your expectations a little bit. You're not going to see me naked for... a while."

I have to stop this here for a couple of reasons. One, Lucy touches Tim's arm when she's saying, "I know". We watched in 5x08 where she struggled not to touch him when they were sitting together outside. Here, on their date, she isn't shying away from that. There's an ease between them, even as they're discussing what might be considered a delicate topic.

Two, I love the way that Tim smiles with her after "a while". There's an ease to it. I can see him having some naked time expectations after she bloody invited him in when they were both seeing other people. But he's listening to her, and he's accepting what she wants wholeheartedly, without question.

So, I don't think Tim was unreasonable in his thought process, originally. However, what I love about this is what happens next.

Also, I love the way that Tim reacts the same way he did to Chris saying he wanted Tim's thoughts—surprised, but ready to listen. It's those little details of this reset that mean so much to me.

"I mean, I don't want to rush into that. I wanna take things slow... go on this date, maybe a second date, have our first real kiss. I just don't think we should jump into bed together just because we know each other so well. Right? I mean, do you?" "No, I... Agreed."

I'm puddling on the floor right now. Y'all, you don't know what consent means to me. I have too many stories for this Meta (y'all'd be running away from me so fast because I wouldn't get to the Chenford for another six pages or so if I got started). But, as a victim of abuse, this is so important to me.

Lucy is setting the expectations here for her and Tim. And he's accepting and agreeing to them without question. This is how it should be, people.

Also, Lucy starts with telling Tim that he's not going to see her naked for a while, but she's also simultaneously telling him that someday he will. This isn't a short-term thing for either of them, and she's making that abundantly clear.

The one thing about Tim is that he knows about all of Lucy's previous relationships (save Nolan) that have happened during her time as an Officer. He knows that with Emmett it was all physical, basically. With Chris, they were "great together" but there was no substance. He's seen how she treats relationships, and, honestly, she hasn't done it with the greatest care or eye toward longevity.

In this speech, Lucy isn't only defining parameters for their physical/sexual relationship. She's also subtly communicating to Tim that she wants to put care into this relationship. She wants to build it up together, the same way they have their friendship. Lucy is telling Tim, "I'm in this for the long haul".

Watch his face just before he says, "Agreed". It's about more than just agreeing to what she's saying, and offering her that much-needed affirmation. It's about making their first major decision together as a couple.

She didn't have to ask him to chime in. Her body is her body and her choice. But she wanted to know that they were on the same page, and he had the opportunity to show her that he is.

In a long-term relationship, communication is the most important binder. Romance is great, but sometimes when you have flames coming out of your ears, you're not that interested in stolen kisses. Passion is great, but when you're cowering on the floor, breaking in half over tragedy, it won't get you anywhere.

Solid communication is the most essential building block to a relationship that lasts. And in this scene, Lucy has told Tim that's what she wants with him, and he knows enough to realize what she's saying beneath the words.

Lucy's face is filled with the same consternation as it was on "it's not worth the risk". She's worried how Tim's going to react. And both times, he reassures her.

It's so brief, so brief, but watch Lucy's eyes after he agrees (and this is all Melissa O'Neil). She's relieved.

As soon as they started talking to one another instead of making small talk, they returned to what has made them great all along—their foundation of understanding one another deeply, and not being afraid to call the other out, or reset the expectations.

Watch the awkwardness evaporate with that… It's the lack of communication that put them on edge. Well, almost all the awkwardness.

"Are you worried someone from the station's gonna walk in?" "What?" "You are!" "No, I-" "Wow." "What are the odds?"

I love this so much. Lucy's calling Tim out, and he's actually a little embarrassed. It's adorable. Tim and Lucy have completely gotten over the awkwardness.

Just in time for... I'm sorry. Are you for real? Seriously? I was just enjoying this adorable couple and y'all couldn't wait for the guests to leave for the night before having it out in the kitchen? Yes, the kitchen is a volatile place, but these two are dating here! Ya know?

Fine. Fine. Have your bloody knife fight. But did anyone else notice how Tim really really didn't want to get involved? He kept hoping for an outcome that wouldn't require them, but the second that dude grabbed the knife, Tim whipped out the gun and badge while Lucy went for a cloth napkin for the wound.

Truly, these two are a power couple, already!

"What are the chances someone from the station walks in now?"

And, too fast for real life (but perfect timing for the joke), the blue and red lights catch Tim and Lucy... red and blue handed.

Look, these two have got to stop racking up reports with both of their names on it when they're not supposed to be together. First Lucy's apartment when Chris was bleeding out, now the restaurant attack.

What on earth will Angela have to say to Timothy now!? (please, please let us find out, soon!)

And what is with these two and knife-attacks-to-the-arms ruining their moments? It's not a good trend.

But can we talk about Lucy's dress? YOWZA! When she stood up and I saw all the amazing back cut outs in addition to the front, I just thought, "Wow, Melissa O'Neil is FIT" and "Lucy looks incredible on this date".

Tim's no slouch, either! The patterned shirt he went with was the best thing in his closet we saw, and I'd kill to have a stomach as flat as Eric Winter's. Well, not kill. I don't want to be arrested while commenting on a cop show. That'd be a little too on the nose.

Before We Move On: I have seen a lot of feedback on the interwebs of people accusing Lucy of inconsistency between 5x01's "Do you want to come in?" and 5x10's "I want to take this slow."

First off, a human being can change their mind about a situation at any time and it not be considered a character flaw or "out of character".

Some nights I'll tell my husband, "As soon as the kids go to bed, you are mine" but by the time the kids go down, I'm too tired to move, let alone engage in "naked time". Does my husband accuse me of being an inconsistent character? Hell, no!

Listen, you can always change your mind about wanting or not wanting sex. We need to get rid of the mindset that if you were hot and bothered one time you're supposed to be permanently hot and bothered, or you're a tease or something. It's an insane way to interpret the situation.

Secondly (yes, I'm finally getting back to the Chenford), Lucy in 5x01 didn't know Tim was emotionally invested. She knew he was physically attracted to her, and she decided to take a leap in the moment. To live in that moment based on the information available.

Even when she's confessing in 5x08 that she's afraid of leaving her "safe" relationship for Tim because it could ruin the most important relationship in her life, she didn't know how he felt.

Yes, she is the one who shut down that talk in 5x01, but that's because she was assuming instead of listening and letting him finish. And assumption is when these two get in trouble (see "naked time" above).

So, in the fullness of her new knowledge, Lucy has made a different decision. She knows that this is endgame as much as he does (though I think he's still so surprised to see Lucy so at ease with all of it considering her history of keeping guys at arms-length after her ex cheated on her while she was living with him).

And it's perfectly okay to change your mind. Lucy changed her mind. Tim amended his expectations to match her wishes because when he does make love with her, he wants her to give herself fully with no trace of anxiety or fear holding her back. He wants her to feel completely cherished, and loved, and he'll wait until the moment she is ready. That is the magic of the moment.

Lucy Chen said, "Not, yet" and Tim said, "Understood. I'm not going anywhere" without saying so many words.

Tim went in with the knowledge that she twice jumped him (girl can be thirsty/assertive), and that she once invited him in.

It was definitely a possibility that they were getting naked after this romantic dinner. He was looking forward to peeling that skin-tight dress right off of her.

But the second she said that wasn't the plan, he rolled with it. And that's sexy as hell.

"This is not strange. Coworkers eat together. It's a thing." "At the most romantic restaurant in town?" "Right."

Our intrepid duo is scrambling. Lucy was making fun of Tim's paranoia over them being caught together, and within thirty seconds they were caught together.

And now it's the fallout. Before, there was no obligation to tell anyone anything or come up with a cover story. Now, they have a choice to make.

And I need to shout out to the director and DP for the staging of this scene. I love Tim and Lucy in their little spot, slightly removed from everyone else, and the sweeping shots where the noise picks up of the chatter of their fellow officers.

The fact that they have Tim and Lucy backed against the wall (heh) means that nobody can cross behind them, and the camera's positioned so we don't have people crossing in front of them. It allows us to focus on them singularly as a pair versus everyone else in the mosh-pit of police work.

"Well, I mean, we could come clean."

Watch Tim's face. It's not that Lucy's had to hide her previous relationships (besides Nolan... and I keep hoping Tim knew something at the time and didn't say anything because he doesn't want to talk about personal stuff in the Shop). But, Lucy's not one to bring dates to events and whatnot.

They've been on one half-date that was interrupted by an assault that resulted in an arrest. And Lucy's talking about letting everyone know that they are officially a couple. That's huge.

Tim can't believe what he's hearing. And even if it's not the right decision right now, it says something to him about how Lucy sees this... that she's not letting one botched date get in the way of them. She's not going anywhere. For goodness sake, she was the first to make them a "we" here!

But... still... there are some issues with coming clean.

"Are you ready for that? Are you ready for Smitty's commentary on us dating or the "ohs" every time we walk into the roll call room together?" "Or, we could lie."

Oh, honey, no. Look, you're a killer UC. We know that. But, when it comes to the people you know and love, you are a terrible liar.

My mind immediately flashes back to Season 1. "You're good at a lot of things. Lying isn't one of them." "You think I'm good at things? Can I get that in writing?"

Like, Lucy, honey. Nooooo. Let Tim do the lying for the both of you. He lied to himself for ages about how he felt. He's a much better liar.

And, to clarify, I understand why they feel they need to lie right now, and it's their relationship. But Lucy shouldn't be the one talking when they do it.

"Uh, yeah, we were there, uh, investigating a tip and then this whole other crime popped off." "Yeah, Lucy's C.I. was convinced they were dealing drugs." "What?" "What?" "Nothing."

Maybe neither of you is good at lying. Yikes.

"Boss wants to see you. Have a safe one."

Oh, Nolan, you don't even realize how scared these two are of walking into that office.

And, I must say that I was wrong, again. Look, folks, I admit when I'm wrong. It's hardwired into who I am because of how I grew up. When this scene dropped, I thought something might be missing, but now I see it was the way they edited the two shot to alternating one-shots that made me think I was missing something.

So, The Rookie, 2. Rachel 0. (and I'm going to lose again, at the end. Stay tuned!)

Tim holds the door for Lucy as they make the transition. I saw on Twitter that Eric Winter insisted on this, and looking back at their relationship, there have been several other instances where Tim has held the door for Lucy. So, this is absolutely in character, and I love that EW insisted upon it. Those little details make the character.

"I think you know how I feel about coworkers dating."

Yikes, Grey! Not even letting them settle into their stances before ripping the band-aid off. And, yes, I'm creating this commentary based on my first time watching the pan-and-scan version of this scene from Twitter.

Because, Rachel was not prepared.

Tim and Lucy glance at one another. Here we go.

"When I started, no one thought much of it. But things have changed. We're more aware of how power dynamics can skew things. Even the most innocent of relationships can be a distraction."

Watch Tim's hand slip off his watch as he fidgets. Tim can be very controlled, and very good at hiding his emotions. But I don't think he was ready for this conversation this soon. Lucy resettles over and over, pressing her lips together as the listens.

And this two-shot is so much better than the split screen they had to do for Instagram formatting. I love seeing the two of them together, united, but mirroring one another's positions while facing Grey—the authority figure behind the desk.

Right now, there's an inequality between Grey's position and theirs. Tim and Lucy are unable to sit and he is permitted to sit and lord over them, like royalty. Grey is the final word, and he's staring down at two very nervous officers.

"Hey, trust me, I get it. We spent 12 hours a day together. Feelings are bound to develop."

Tim looks over to Lucy. She feels his gaze and looks back.

"But we can't afford even the hint of impropriety." "We couldn't agree more."

"We". There it is, again. Some people put a lot of weight into this, wondering if Lucy is afraid that Tim is going to break it off. But I don't think that was ever the issue.

They both know eventually they won't be able to work together as they have... it's impossible. But they want this to last as long as it can.

Tim is saying "we" couldn't agree more. Not "I". Lucy doesn't have to worry about him giving up on her. But I think she knows he's willing to do whatever it takes for something he believes in—and he believes in them.

"Good. Look, I don't want to be the old guy interfering with peoples lives, especially their love life, but this whole Aaron and Celina situation has me worried." "The Aaron and Celina situation."

Tim's surprised face is adorable, but Lucy rolls with it fairly well. They turn to look out at Aaron and Celina. As they do, the camera shifts to a three shot, Grey now standing behind them. They're on a more level playing field, here, flowing with the scene.

Gosh, I love Robert Bella's style as a director. He really lets the camera breathe with the script. I haven't been this excited about a television director since Robert Duncan McNeil started working on Chuck after debuting as a director on Star Trek: Voyager.

Lucy sneaks a glance at Tim, trying to gauge his response before they turn around. He finally meets her eyes with a quick, "Well, that was close" look as they turn back to face Grey.

And, look, I think Grey is on to them. He's not a fool. But, he's also outlining a lot of thoughts in this scene, if we try to see it as him sending them a message.

He's not saying don't date. But he does remind them of the power imbalance (Tim's her SO and a Sergeant). Yet, he calls out the need for Aaron to establish his reputation and for Celina to get through her Probationary period without distractions.

Tim and Lucy will have to deal with their power imbalance.

"Oh, the irony." "Are you gonna talk to Aaron?" "About his love life? Can't wait." "When are you gonna talk to Celina?" "I can't tell her not to date a cop. That is so hypocritical. Oh, I'm gonna get Nolan to do it." "That's cheating." *giggle*

This whole exchange makes me so happy. Here are Tim and Lucy operating as a duo, tasked with a job, and Lucy finds a way to get out of the uncomfortable situation. Tim's "That's cheating" hearkens back to every bet they've ever made.

The subtitles have Lucy saying "mm-hmm", but I swear the first time I heard it (first thirty times I re-watched the scene), it was a giggle. I'm going with giggle.

Because this is the episode where Lucy has the giggles.

"You and Celina dating?"

And Tim, with the subtlety of a Rams fan at a 49er's bar on game-day, reminds us why there's no personal talk in the Shop. Tim's really bad at it.

I'm not going to transcribe Aaron's full response, but I love the way it set Tim on edge. I've talked, before, about how Eric Winter is one of those actors who acts through his fingers and toes. Bruce Willis is one of those, too. Just watch his feet in the early scenes of Die Hard. It's beautiful.

So, when Aaron starts talking about direct reports in a not so subtle hint that he knows all about those types of relationships, Tim gets nervous. It's not that he's afraid of being found out. But the more he's reminded of their biggest issue—one of them will have to leave.

And, don't get me wrong, the show'll probably find a way to work around that by taking Tim out of her chain-of-command but keeping him largely tied to the established team. But right now, Tim's fidgeting on the wheel.

And I swear when I watched it live I thought I heard the engine speeding up with Tim's anxiety.

"Remember this morning when dating in secret was our biggest problem?" "That feels like a million years ago."

Excuse me, ma'am, but isn't your camera on your chest recording everything you say!? I've always been worried about what they say near cameras, but Lucy's throwing caution RIGHT out.

"Did you talk to Aaron?" "Yeah." "And?" "He neither confirmed nor denied." "But?" "But he pointed out that it wouldn't be problematic because he's not her superior and doesn't fall in her chain of command." "Oh."

I get why they don't want to face it. Right now, they only see that as a separation. Those 12 hours a day where they've gotten to know one another, and have been able to see one another, and check on one another, and keep tabs on the other's welfare... gone.

It's a lot to lose even if they get to keep each other.

"Are you sure about this?" "I'm sure he's gonna kill her if we don't do something. Where's my distraction?" "It's ready and waiting."

I can hear Lucy in my head, "I don't like Plan B." But she understands that this is what needs to be done, and that this is their job. Sometimes, they have to put themselves in harm's way, and that a tragic occupational hazard.

But I love how this illustrates that they can still work together, even with the new layer to their relationship. Tim and Lucy are still Tim and Lucy.

"That's the signal."

And the trust that Lucy would be the one to hear the signal, and get everyone else ready to go. They've worked side-by-side for years. They have a natural rhythm there that's been earned. I totally understand why they don't want to lose that.

But it's inevitable... that day is coming. And neither can face it just yet.

"We both can't get out at the same time." "Okay, then you go first." "There's only room for one of us to be a hero, here, and I outrank you." "Sir, with all due respect, Lucy will kill me if I let you die, so I'm dead either way." "Get out of the Shop, Aaron!"

We've seen Aaron comment on the Tim/Lucy thing directly and indirectly, but this is flashing neon lights compared to those other times. He's basically saying, "She will literally murder for you, and I know it, and I don't want it to be me."

And I have to stop to applaud Aaron's ingenuity in finding a way to save Tim, too. Tim accepts his fate. He's military-trained, and he's a seasoned cop who understands the risks he takes every day.

But it wasn't his day to die, my friends. Not today.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't die."

This. Transition! I'm salivating over that transition from one scene to the next, through the glass. I'll admit, I'm a big fan of scenes that overlap and allow us to trade from one conversation to the next. It has always made me feel more like the world was real, and we were walking through it rather than bouncing around through non-stop scene-shifts.

No, you can't do this all the time. It'd become tired out. But, I love the choice, here. Again, I don't know if it was the writer, the director, or someone else who saw the opportunity and seized it, but I'm so glad they did!

"You owe me a redo on our date." "It's what gave me the will to live."

He's needling her. He's so needling her and it's so adorable. I know they have a lot of incredible scenes in this episode, but this one gave me all the feels.

This is secret dating era at its finest. Walking side-by-side and speaking words just for the other while knowing there's so much more going on under the surface. And I am here for it!

I love how he looks at her, waiting to see if he's going to get a reaction. Oh, she gives him a reaction!

"In my mind, I'm hitting you right now." "That's good to know."

Heart. Exploding. The cuteness!

PAUSE: Before we get to the end scene, can we talk about Nyla and James choosing Angela and Wesley to raise their daughter!? As soon as the conversation came up I was screaming at the television, "Pick Angela and Wesley!" And I'm so glad they did.

The power couples of The Rookie really got to show up and show out this week, and I wanted to acknowledge these four, too, even if they're not the focus of our Meta.

"I've been falling apart these days," says the music as we transition to a crane shot, establishing twinkle lights in trees (and those hanging bulb-style ones that I've been coveting for my new backyard ever since we moved in).

We sweep past the... is that a food truck!? Was I actually right about one thing in this bloody episode!? My only prediction that came true was that Tim and Lucy would try to have their date, things would go wrong, and they'd end up at a food truck. I'll take the win since everything else's been a loss for me, predictions-wise.

The Rookie 2, Rachel 1.

We sweep over to Tim and Lucy in the most casually-intimate (it's a thing) position with those high stools. Tim's got his let completely wrapped on the other side of Lucy's, and one of hers is crossed with a foot on his chair.

They don't wear fashionable clothes. Lucy's hair isn't styled. The conditions are less structured and more beautifully chaotic, like the twinkle lights dangling just shy of perfection—but no less perfect in that imperfection.

Tim and Lucy are at ease.

This is the heart of Tim and Lucy's transition. Before, they were trying to do it without all the information on the table, and within the confines of what they thought they needed.

Instead, they've found themselves in metal chairs exposed to the elements, facing the less-than-romantic view of a parking lot, and they couldn't be happier.

I must observe that they don't eat or drink a thing during this scene. The props are simply props, and I always find it fascinating when a scene calls for actual eating versus the implication of eating.

"Streets of Vietnam." *giggle* "That's where we ended up."

For some reason, the caption says "Treats of Vietnam" even though Eric Winter clearly emphasizes the "S" on "Streets".

But, if you're following along and hard of hearing or deaf, I wanted to make that clarification. His words, indeed, do match the signage on the food truck.

And Lucy is giggling, again.

"So, I guess this is our official first date." "Mmm, last night was. For sure. I mean, it's a better story for the grandkids."

Watch. Tim's. Face. He dated Ashley for ages before finding out she had no interest in marriage or kids—two things that mean a lot to him.

And Lucy, beautiful Lucy, is telling him on their second date that she can't wait to share this story with their grandkids.

And I've seen people say, "Oh, what happened to taking it slow?" Welp, you can be in an emotional place separate from a physical place, and that's just fine. She wants to savor every second of this.

This relationship is full of "last firsts". Last first date. Last first kiss. Last first time sleeping together.

If you knew that going into a relationship, wouldn't you want to savor every second? Really live in the moments to form lasting memories rather than rushing through?

"We've got grandkids, now." *giggle* "Nice."

Ooooh, the giggling has got me in a chokehold!

And I'm floored by the confidence Lucy has with Tim. Before, we saw so much hesitation from her in taking big steps, especially with Chris. Hell, I don't know that I recall her ever calling him her "boyfriend".

With Tim, none of that exists. Yes, they had some butterflies to get through in the beginning. But part of what makes this relationship work is how it has been earned and built.

They didn't start day one of their Rookie/TO relationship making moony-eyes at one another. They built layers over time, like the most beautiful crepe tower cake.

Yes, I know it's a weird metaphor, but I like baking shows. And the best part about a crepe tower cake is that you make each crepe one at a time before binding it to the others to form a stack. And sometimes the crepes aren't the prettiest. You might burn one a little. But it still goes into the stack, and it still helps build a beautiful finished product.

Tim and Lucy have built this relationship bit by bit. That's why everything rings true so effortlessly, now.

"Do not break into that car."

I. Started. CACKLING. Much as the cold open had me in stitches, this is the line that slays me every time. Crochety, worn-out Tim comes out on that line.

It's like, "Look, do you see this stunningly gorgeous, amazing, tough-as-nails woman beside me? I'd like to have one date, just ONE where I'm not pulling out cuffs for work purposes".

"Hey, moron!"

Foley artist, I love you. Or if it was recorded audio at the scene, I love whoever did that because even the SOUND of the metal clanging as the perp retreats had me in stitches. This was such a beautiful moment for so many reasons.

First of all, Tim is always going to be Tim. Thank God. I abhor when shows destroy the characters the second they get in a relationship (no, I'm not naming names... Metas make you squeel and laugh. We don't need the negativity, here).

Second, Tim just made the choice to be a man instead of a cop in this moment. Now, if it was a dangerous criminal, I'm sure Tim would have done something, as he did on their first date. But, for Tim "Supercop" Bradford to choose the girl... it's such a huge metaphor for what's coming.

Tim's job has seemed like the most important thing for so long, especially since he finally went after Sergeant, and continues to work despite being eligible for Retirement. But some things matter more.

Friends, Lucy matters more.

"You know, he's just going to break into a car in a different neighborhood." "Well, then some other cop can arrest him."

Pause. Just pause right here and look at Tim's face as he gazes upon Lucy. That twinkle is back in his eyes. And, yes, I'm aware it's probably studio lights set up for this shot. Don't ruin my magic!!

But Tim Bradford is finally looking into the eyes of a woman who will love him as much as he will love her. She will call him on his bullshit, care for his wounds, follow him into the fire, and stand by his side through whatever life throws at them.

They both knew that when they took this leap, they could never, ever go back. It's a constant plunge into the unknown, and with every level deeper they go, it only cements their bond.

Tim and Lucy were never going to work as friends-with-benefits, or a casual thing. They're Endgame. And they both know it.

He reaches for her face with his left hand. The same hand that wanted to hold her face the first time they kissed, but hesitated. He's telegraphing his moves and giving her space to pull back, to tell him to stop, to let him know she's not ready.

But Lucy is ready for this next step.

His right hand resting somewhere between her knee and thigh, the other hand tangling in her hair as he gently tugs her toward him, he leans in for their last first kiss—together.

And Lucy smiles before their lips touch, because this is so damn sweet. This is the beginning of yet another phase for them. And as they share that beautiful moment, we fade to black.

And here we have the last thing I was wrong about—the episode didn't end with Lucy covered in blood.

Look, I called the kiss (so I hope that balances things out a little), but I have a lot of ship trauma. For goodness sake, look at Wash and Zoe from Firefly/Serenity. He wasn't a leaf on the wind... he was a corkboard for the world's largest push-pin.

So, I was pleasantly surprised we faded out to black with our favorite couple intact and happy.

One thing that The Rookie has done really well with its core relationships is allowing them to face issues as a couple.

Nyla and James were rockstars at the bank, but they also worked through the very real issue of who should care for their child in the event of their death. That's something all parents grapple with.

And then Wesley and Angela working through the conversations of when (and whether) to add children to their family. I suffer from infertility, so all three of our children were planned for, prayed for, and provided by nice doctors with catheters and egg timers (I wish I was joking about that last part).

So whatever Tim and Lucy are going to face, I have confidence that they will face it together. They aren't going to suddenly stop communicating, break up, and date other people. This is Season 5B and as of yet, there's no assurance of a Season 6. It's the perfect time to cement them as a couple, explore the obstacles they overcome, and allow the fans to bask in the breadsticks (double breadsticks according to the Roll-o-Meter).

Because, y'all, we ATE.

As always, thank you for reading. This one was a lot of fun to watch and write. And, special shout out to my husband who let me squirrel away for the hour (which is right at our kids' bedtime) so I could squeal in real-time!

See y'all on the next!

#Chenford #Tim x Lucy #Lucy x Tim #Tim Bradford #Lucy Chen #The Rookie #Eric Winter #Melissa O'Neil #Chenford Meta #The Rookie Meta

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